#Also there is something that corresponds with how I see something about AGN. You will see in chapter 16

[sidneyxeckhart]

[cis female and she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [SIDNEY ECKHART]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [ALICIA DEBNAM-CAREY]. You must be the [TWENTY NINE] year old [PARAMEDIC]. Word is you’re [STRONG] but can also be a bit [PARANOID] and your favorite song is [SWEET DISPOSITION BY THE TEMPER TRAP]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [FISHER’S COVE]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

INFORMATION:

fullname. sidney eckhart.

nicknames. sid.

gender. cis female

pronouns. she / her

d.o.b. november 29th, 1994 | ( 29 years old )

astrology. sagittarius ☀ libra ☾  virgo ↑

birth place. camden, maine, usa.

hometown. camden, maine, usa / brisbane, australia.

current residence. fisher's cove, aurora bay, california. ( @aurorabayaesthetic​ )

occupation. paramedic.

religion. not religious.

tattoos. letter 'd' on wrist ( reference pic ), 'let it be' ( reference pic ).

piercings. earlobes, helix.

marital status. single.

sexual preference. heterosexual.

family. louise eckhart ( mother ), simon masters ( father ).

children. delphine eckhart ( daughter, 4 y.o. ).

CHARACTER INSPO:

agnes hart ( the lost flowers of alice hart ), katie ( safe haven ), sansa stark ( game of thrones ), lily bloom ( it ends with us ), lexie grey ( grey's anatomy ).

PERSONALITY:

+ strong, caring, gentle. - paranoid, hopeless, cautious.

BIOGRAPHY:

( tw: domestic abuse, abortion mention )

Sidney Eckhart hasn't always had it easy. The daughter of a travelling American and an Australian surfer instructor meant that she was constantly torn between two places. Her mother, Louise had been travelling around Australian, in the time between finishing high school and starting college, and got swept up in a whirlwind romance on the beaches of Brisbane. It wasn't hard to fall in love with the place and the people, but especially Simon Masters. He was young, handsome and said all the right things, it was a holiday romance but Louise went back home to the States with a souvenir.

When those two little lines appeared back in Louise's hometown of Camden, Maine - it was more than a surprise, it was life-changing. While it hadn't been the plan, how often does life listen to such things? Sidney and her mother lived with her grandparents who gave never-ending support and love to their grandchild. Due to Louise's young age, the two felt more like sisters than mother and daughter, especially since Louise lacked the emotional maturity to be a mother but also she still went to college every day to become a teacher.

Sidney was never much interested in what other kids were. Forever having her nose in a book, she took life too seriously. There was always something to worry about, her mother's unwillingness to be a great parent, the ravages to time that would take her grandparents away from her, what her father was life and if he knew she even existed. Given how little she could control the first things, she could control whether or not he knew he had a daughter. A single photo of her parents amongst a group of young travellers under a sign that said Kirra Point Surf School had her walking to the local library to search the address.

The correspondence between her and her father went on for years. His first letter didn't come for months, presumably while he mulled over whether this was real or not. But the phone Sidney had sent of her and her mother was evidence enough it seemed. They exchanged letters for years without anyone knowing, eventually moving to long-distance phone calls. When she was twelve, her father sent her a plane ticket to visit. Her mother was firmly against it, but her grandparents knew that Sidney couldn't live a life without knowing her father. Meeting her father for the first time was the highlight of her childhood, she loved the place and could see how easy it was to love a man like Simon.

From this time, Sidney would visit Brisbane and stay with her father. It was the highlight of every year and as she went through her years, she found herself wanting to stay more and more. After graduating high school, Sidney spent a year on the shores of Brisbane, just as her mother did. But eventually, it was time to go back to reality. When deciding what she wanted to do with her life, Sidney decided she wanted to save lives. At first, she thought of nursing but there was something about keeping the person alive long enough to get the help they needed that appealed to her. So upon her return to Maine, she started studying to become an Paramedic.

While she wasn't in medical school, she did often frequent the same library that medical students did to study. And it was here that she met Kaiden, a young, rich, doctor-in-training. They fell madly in love, fast and hard. Sidney didn't ever think she was the kind of person who fell in love but here she was, acting a fool. They moved in together; finally out of her grandparents house, Sidney really thought that this was her happily ever after. But it quickly turned into a nightmare.

The warning signs was small, at first. When it came time for his exams, Kaiden would become irritable, angry. There was a lot of pressure from his family to succeed, another doctor in a long line of overachievers. And while Sidney always tried to help, it seemed that when he was in a mood like this, she could only ever say or do the wrong thing. Then one night, things became physical and Sidney began to wonder how she'd let her life become like this.

She hadn't noticed how isolated she'd become. Avoiding friends and her family, just to avoid having to answer questions about how things were going. Sidney didn't want to have to lie. Work became her safe haven, helping people when she couldn't help herself. But then he'd apologize, make up for all his wrongdoings and Sidney, being so devastatingly in love with him, would forgive. Things would be good for a while, but the cycle would repeat. Time after time.

When she found out that she was pregnant, Sidney wanted it to be a good thing but all she could feel was crushing dread. Maybe she could live like this, but a child couldn't. And while she'd wanted to hide it from Kaiden until she could look at her options, he found out quicker than she'd expected. He'd used his access to hospital files to check her appointment notes with her doctor who confirmed the pregnancy. While he was thrilled, Sidney was not, but she had to play the part. Pretending that she was just trying to find the perfect way to tell him. If he thought she wasn't happy having his baby, she didn't want to think what would happen to her, and now their unborn child.

Throughout her pregnancy, Kaiden was the man that she'd fallen in love with. Helpful, thoughtful, funny. It was almost as if the abuse she'd suffered had never happened. As if she'd made it all up. And when Delphine was born, maybe they'd finally become the happy family she'd thought they could be. But it only took six weeks for Kaiden to become irrationally angry, the lack of sleep catching her off guard and paying for it with a bruised cheek.

She had to be smart, calculated. Sidney didn't want anyone else getting hurt because of her. Slowly squirrelling what little money she had away for a day things got more than she could handle. As long as Kaiden didn't hurt Delphine, she could wait until there was enough to support them. It took years. Sometimes, nothing would happen for months and months, a false sense of security would wash over her and then, it would happen again. Every time, the plan to leave began to take shape. When she finally reached out to her grandparents for help, not for money but a place to stay, they'd recently bought a summer house in a town called Aurora Bay. She didn't tell them the extent of everything, just that they needed a place to stay. A place that Kaiden didn't know about.

Sidney talked to Delphine all the time about leaving, escaping the clutches of the man who'd fathered her child. But every time, it wasn't enough. What if hunted them down? What if he found them? It only took one bruise to bloom on Delphine's arm to realise that they needed to leave. Drugging him with sleeping pills, Sidney made her escape in the dead of night, her daughter in her arms. A car purchased with cash, hidden away, awaited them. They drove all the way to Aurora Bay not stopping except for gas. Eventually they arrived at their new home in Fisher's Cove, a fresh start.

Taking a job as a local paramedic, keeping to herself mostly, Sidney worried about putting down any roots. At any point, if Kaiden caught wind of where they were, they might have to leave. But as time passed, they couldn't help but get sucked into the town and its people. Now Aurora Bay is their home, a place where they are free.

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Spillways (Chapter 3) A Gilded Age fanfic

Faceclaims for George and Randolph Stewart

Contents: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Word count: approximately 2300

Story Summary: All of New York society is in a tizzy over the news: The Earl of Galloway is in town with his son, the 30 year old (bachelor) Randolph.  Marriage-minded mamas are on the prowl but the Earl and his son eschew most of the lavish parties and teas they’re invited to...except to a certain tea with Agnes Van Rhijn and her niece, Marian.

Rating: Teen (mentions of drunkenness, slut-shaming) Ratings will be *by chapter*, so subsequent installments might differ in their rating.

Author's Notes: This is a canon-divergence story beginning a few months from episode 5 of Season 2.

DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with The Gilded Age in any way beyond being a fan, I do not own the Gilded Age characters nor am I using them for any commercial purposes or making money from this, this is just basically word fanart of the show

Beautiful divider by @muchomago

It came as a shock to everyone (except Bannister and Peggy) that Agnes Van Rhijn objected to Marian potentially being courted by an Earl’s son.  

Everything Agnes did, especially since Ada’s leaving to be with her new husband, was in hopes of finding Marian a husband.  Failed courtships did nothing to deter her. 

“It  seems like she would pair Miss Marian with anything that breathed and wore a top hat if it came down to it.” Jack said one morning at breakfast. The rest of the servants and Peggy  agreed: if it was male and available, Agnes Van Rhijn would attempt a match.

Until it came to Randolph Stewart, that is.  

Both ladies were in the sitting room when the argument broke out, Marian reading the newspaper and Agnes tending to her letters near the window.  Marian seemed more willing to be open with her Aunt about her goings on these days.  Agnes sometimes took the information with ill will.  Like today.

“He is not courting me, Aunt Agnes, he merely wishes to talk of how to better support St. Mary’s and also the Red Cross! Charity work is important to him.  Even if he was courting me...would that be so horrible?”

“He is the son of a member of the peerage, my dear.  The most important thing to him is finding a gullible lady who will turn a blind eye to his whoring and give him a legitimate heir so that he can prance around as if he has accomplished something worthwhile in this world.” Agnes said acidly.

“How can you say that when you don’t even know him?!” Marian argued.  She folded the newspaper in her lap.  

“You certainly had no issue when Charles and Aurora pushed me to meet a drunkard!  I heard no complaints from you when Dashiell proposed to me, when it turned out he was only doing it to spite his now wife because she had rejected him!”

“I was right about that Raikes scoundrel, wasn’t I?”

“You weren’t at first and you know it.” Marian shot back.  “People change and Tom Raikes unfortunately decided not to include me in his life when he did.”

“I suppose you’ll continue to ignore my advice, as you always do.” Agnes said, returning to her correspondence with a huff.  Peggy had the day off, and so Marian and Agnes were alone together in the house with the remaining help. 

“I don’t ignore your advice, Aunt Agnes.  You only say that because I make choices different to those you would make yourself.” 

“Cavorting with a likely rakehell is definitely a choice I would never in a million years make.” Agnes said curtly, continuing to write.

“Giving people a chance to show me who they are is not a poor choice.” Marian said, returning to her reading of the paper.  “I will go to see Randolph in the park tomorrow, whether you approve of it or not.”

“Hpmh!” Agnes answered. “I knew nothing good would come of you lowering yourself to doing work at that school.”

The day after their argument, Agnes Van Rhijn strangely accepted Marian’s suggestion that she include Randolph Stewart’s father on an invitation without fuss.  The whole incident had gone well. Eerily so. Bannister and the rest of the servants were truly surprised.  Comparing it to their previous quarrel, it was like comparing night and day.

 It worried Marian now more than when she had anticipated another tantrum before asking.  She had expected a battle and gotten mildly annoyed acceptance instead. 

Beforehand, Bannister and Peggy had warned Marian that her Aunt felt…strongly about the Earl, even if she had no legitimate quarrel with his son besides lingering prejudices stemming from history with his father.  Whatever that history was, the rest of the inhabitants of the house still did not know, but it was obviously something Agnes Van Rhijn refused to let go of for decades.

“If the Earl decides to accept your invitation, I suspect his visit will not go smoothly.” Bannister warned.  “Mrs. Van Rhijn may be plotting something.”

“The way she rejected Mrs. Astor’s invitation that day…she was more cordial when refusing Mrs. Russell’s invites when she was first establishing herself in society, let’s just leave it at that.” Peggy had informed her.

“Aunt Agnes is nothing if not proper.  She will not dare to behave so impulsively in person with an Earl in her home.” Marian said.  She wished she believed it. Perhaps Randolph would tell her what was going on.

There was already gossip in the papers about Marian having talked to Randolph Stewart.  When so many pleas for the presence of Lord Stewart and his son had been rejected, seeing Miss Marian Brook going for a carriage ride with one of them felt like another rejection.  A statement as well.  One that said: Marian Brook is better than you, people whose invitations we have denied.  When it came out that both the Earl and his son were invited to tea at 61st Street by Miss Brook, not Agnes herself, and had accepted?  Well, the uproar was quite a thing.

They wouldn’t dare utter a word in Agnes Van Rhijn’s presence (or within her hearing range) about it, but many mumbled how unfair it was that someone like Marian Brook managed to snag time with the Stewarts of Galloway.  

What was so great about her?  Sure, she participated in society, as was proper.  However, in the eyes of many, Marian Brook did nothing noteworthy.  She did not wear the most extravagant gowns and sure, she was beautiful, but hardly enough to take one’s breath away.

Bertha Russell took no issue with it, despite having received a rejection.  Miss Brook had been kind to her from the beginning and if anything, she was impressed by her feat and intended to wheedle all the details out of her when she could.  An invitation to luncheon next week was accepted by Marian, and if all went well, Bertha was sure she would be bringing along a very important guest.

Mrs. Astor was not displeased by the news either, even with her friend’s refusal to attend her own tea with the Earl and his son. Marian was Agnes’s niece, after all, and part of Old New York. She saw such a development as Marian’s due.  Her worry remained with how Agnes would deal with facing George Stewart again, after all these years.

Aurora and Charles were delighted at the possibility of no longer being pushed to play matchmaker by their Aunt Agnes.  They prayed Randolph’s interest in Marian went beyond charity work.

Those that were less than enthused by all this kept their complaints to whispers in a corner at a party or private chats at a luncheon. They did not want anything they said in complaint of being rejected to be misconstrued as a comment against Miss Brook, even if that was what was meant.  The specter of Agnes Van Rhijn’s rage loomed over them, the potential of being publicly given a dressing down by her was enough to cow them into being discreet about the matter.  Not so with Susan Blane.  

The widow had become bitter for a while now, ever since rumors of her and young Mr. Russell had made it into the papers last year, it seemed.  She did not grace the ballrooms and sitting rooms of New York with her presence, but all over Newport her complaints were heard.  Even the young Mrs. Winterton, with her own position in society more precarious than ever, did not dare publicly disparage a member of Agnes Van Rhijn’s family.  

For Susan Blane, Marian Brook seemingly always getting men flocking around her had always been a thorn in her side. To get the attentions of an Earl’s son when Susan herself had been rejected by them, it was like an insult.  

“Miss Brook has another suitor? I wonder what this one will find wrong with her.” Mrs. Blane was heard saying at one of Mamie Fish’s parties. 

It shocked even Mamie, who was like a moth to a flame where gossip was concerned.  “Who is to say it is Miss Brook the one that something was wrong with?” Mamie had put in, attempting to nip in the bud speculation of Marian’s reputation.  “Many of her suitors were rather distasteful, if you ask me.  Especially that drunk banker friend of the Fanes.”

“I agree,” Carrie Astor said. “Miss Brook showed good sense in rejecting many of them.” 

“Rejecting all of them, you mean?” Mrs. Blane continued.  “All of them had something wrong?  Most of them are married themselves now. What could they possibly have that wasn’t good enough for Marian Brook but was sufficient for their present wives?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Carrie said, eyes narrowing and disdain in her voice. 

“Surely you aren’t implying Miss Brook is too high in her instep for rejecting suitors?” Gladys Russell asked in disbelief.  “I’ve rejected plenty myself.  Are you suggesting a lady should just settle for the first man who will have her, no matter his flaws?”

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort.” Mrs. Blane said silkily.  “Miss Brook is suggesting something else entirely with her actions.” 

“And what would that be, Mrs. Blane?  Are you sure you’re not imagining things?” Carrie said. 

“My, my, I didn’t realize Miss Brook had such a legion of defenders!” Mrs. Blane said. A mean look colored her eyes as she laughed lightly.

“I don’t care for your tone.” Carrie responded coldly. “I don’t see anything that Miss Brook should be defended for, either.  She isn’t doing anything improper.”  The mood was rapidly shifting to a negative atmosphere and even nearby guests were growing uncomfortable.  When Carrie Astor was displeased, it meant something serious was afoot.

“Miss Brook is as respectable as any of us here.” Mamie said, desperate to alleviate things.  “There’s no need to try to throw mud on her good name simply because the Earl denied an invitation from you but accepted one from her!  He has denied an invitation from nearly all of us.”

Mrs. Blane smiled as if accepting what Mamie said, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

“You know, I think this courtship between Randolph Stewart and Miss Brook will go well.”  Carrie began, turning to Gladys.  “They already seem to have so much in common.  Their good breeding, their dedication to charity…their shared good sense when it comes to rejecting certain people..they seem like a good match, don’t you think so, Gladys?”

“Absolutely.” Gladys said, smiling as she sipped her wine.  

Mrs. Blane’s fake smile immediately fell off as she left the scene, not even bothering to excuse herself.  The people around them buzzed with whispers.

“I will try to stop the gossip rags from learning of this, but I know that is a fool’s errand, with the servants I have.” Mamie said sheepishly.  Gladys and Carrie giggled.  

“No doubt we are not the only ones Mrs. Blane has subjected to her grumbling.” Gladys said.

 “Still, I will at least try to prevent a scandal.” Mamie replied.  “The last thing I need is Agnes Van Rhijn’s wrath raining down upon me for seemingly allowing someone to smear a member of her family in my own home.”

Mamie left the girls to their socializing, both giggling nervously at the thought of Mamie Fish being yelled at by Mrs. Van Rhijn. They were not at all nervous at the prospect of Mrs. Blane getting that treatment, however, and actually hoped Mamie failed in her mission so that they might see the widow get her just desserts. 

“WHAT IS THIS?!” Agnes Van Rhijn thundered. 

“The morning paper, ma’am?”

Bannister stood before her, holding a tea tray, his mistress shaking a newspaper in his face. He was glad Miss Brook was gone to St. Mary’s for the day.

“Do not talk as if I have lost my senses, Bannister, I mean what is this?!” she pointed to the headline, eyes flashing angrily.

“It seems as if…distasteful comments have been made, ma’am.  About Miss Marian.  I understand your upset-”

“DISTASTEFUL COMMENTS?! Distasteful?  Bannister, she might as well have called Marian a dockside tart!” Agnes screamed.  In the back behind Agnes, Bannister saw Bridget immediately turn around with the smelling salts and leave after he gave her a quick shake of his head. 

“How DARE she?!  A washed up harlot of a widow talking about my niece courting in such a way!” Agnes continued.  “If she thinks she can drag a member of MY family through the mud with no repercussions, well, she is about to learn differently! Fetch me my hat!” Agnes threw the paper at the table. 

“Ma’am, you have the tea with Lord Stewart and his son today after Miss Marian gets home! I don’t think it wise to go off to Newport right now.” Bannister said, following his mistress stomping to her rooms.

“Who said anything about going to those hovels in Newport?!  I intend to call on Mrs. Astor and have that trollop Susan Blane removed from the Academy waiting list! Then, god save me, I intend to call on Bertha Russell and have her do the same with her waiting list for her garish opera house!” Agnes rattled off. “THEN I shall instruct them to refrain from ever inviting that horrid woman to anything EVER AGAIN if they want to continue considering themselves my friend!  I intend to go to Aurora about this and Mamie Fish, too, though what I should be doing first is asking Mamie Fish why she stood by and did nothing to stop Susan Blane from opening her muckraking mouth abou-”

“You consider Mrs. Russell your friend?” Bannister asked in surprise.

“Bannister, I do not have time for your jokes!  NOW FETCH ME MY HAT AND GET ARMSTRONG UP HERE TO HELP ME CHANGE!”

Bannister bowed quickly before ringing for Armstrong. 

----------

NEXT: Chapter 4

[2q5b]

TRUMAH

By Agnes

February 16th, 2024

This week’s drash is dedicated to Cecilia Gentilli, who passed away last week. She was kind of a legend, activist, mother, storyteller, performer. If you don’t know her, or her work, there are all kinds of interviews and profiles. And her book, Faltas, is funny and moving and complex — one of the deepest reckonings with something like a moral order that I’ve read in a long time.

She had a huge impact on many people’s lives. I’m still a little shocked she’s gone. I see part of her legacy as an invitation to consider how huge a life can be. How much fight it can hold, how much humor, how much joy, how much love. She was also funny as hell and described herself as a “grudgy bitch.” So — no sanitizing please. Just — what a fucking woman.

Zichrona l’bracha.

It feels fitting that this week’s parsha, then, is about the building of a house. A house that was, if you’ll excuse my language, glamorous as fuck. All acacia wood and gold and silver. Ram skin and dolphin skin. Copper instruments and the finest yarn of blue, purple, and crimson. Linen woven with a pattern of angels. Filled with incense and spiced oils. I can see it in the desert now, glowing, and billowing. Light, and mobile, like a cloud. And also solid, formidable, like a rock.

God is talking to Moses. Let the people build me a sanctuary, She says, that I may dwell among them.

I’m not the first to hear this parsha as an echo of the story of creation. Jacob bar Issi says, “the Tabernacle is equal to the creation of the world itself.” And in Midrash Tanchuma, he gives us an elaborate set of correspondences — God stretched out the heavens like a curtain, and here we are supposed to stretch out a curtain. Etcetera. And I love this. To build a meeting place — a place for encounter between humans, and between humans and the divine — is to build a world. That, already, is Torah enough for me as theater-maker. All the world’s a stage, etc.

But there is something heartbreaking, too, in all the ways that this moment is not like Creation. In creation, of course, God speaks things, and they are done. It’s immediate. No gap. The Word is the Doing, the Speaking of the Word is the Becoming.

But this is different. Speaking has been sundered from making. Language is no longer a doing, it’s a preparation for doing. God is speaking, is giving instruction, but the instruction won’t be fulfilled until much later.

And there’s the horrible dramatic irony to it, too, knowing that even as God is speaking these words to Moses at the top of the mountain, the people are starting to murmur to each other. The promises they’ve just made to God — not to worship idols — are beginning to be forgotten. I wonder if the gathering of the materials for the Golden Calf is not happening literally as God is describing how She wants us to gather materials for her own home.

I see God in her frilly pink prom dress. She’s telling Moses how much she loves her boyfriend. She’s telling Moses that she wants him to take her out to a certain restaurant after the dance, that she wants him to bring her certain flowers, and a certain kind of chocolate. She’s talking about what they’re going to do after graduation, how wonderful their lives are going to be.

Meanwhile we cut to God’s boyfriend out behind the football fields, making out with some other girl, already planning to ditch God and leave her waiting at home.

It makes the speech — and then you’re going to do this, and do this, and then dolphin skins, and copper lavers, and the finest linen, and really nice spices — a little sad, honestly.

God is already stooping. She’s putting down the power She once had to make with language — a power where Speaking and Doing are identical — and offering this limited, human, husk of speech — asking, with what I read as a sweet and vulnerable desire, to be taken care of a certain way. Even as the Israelites are preparing to betray her.

There is a phrase in Hebrew, “Galut ha’dibbur,” the exile of speech. When the Israelites went down in the Egypt, the rabbis tell us, language, too, went into exile. This is why Moses talks about himself as slow of speech, and as having an uncircumcised tongue. In one particularly beautiful image from the Zohar, Moses is described as voice, coming for the sake of speech, to bring it out of exile. And when he arrives with the people at Sinai, voice and speech are finally reunited. Sinai, in this framework, represents the hope of an end to that exile.

But Sinai happened two weeks ago! In theory, voice and speech are already one. God has spoken to the people from the top of the mountain. In fact, the rabbis describe the moment of God speaking directly to the Israelites in the erotic language of the Song of Songs: “He Kissed me with the Kisses of his Mouth”!

So what does it mean that we spend all this time listening to God give a set of instructions. Language separated from action. Desire for a collectively built sanctuary that we know, even as it is being spoken, won’t happen, at least not yet.

This parsha in particular feels like a profound deflation. A poem chanted in a degraded, and tawdry tongue.

For most of the Torah we lived under the theology of Genesis, in which Language is a creative Act. Speaking is a Doing. To speak is to be in relationship — God spoke to Abraham, to Isaac, to Jacob. When someone speaks, the fabric of the world shifts. There are obligations that are enjoined, somehow, automatically.

And here we are, now, in a theology of the Desert. In which language does not Make. Language explains. It describes. It can articulate desire but there is no guarantee that that desire will be met with response. Language is an instruction manual, left to crumple in a kitchen drawer somewhere. It’s easy to ignore.

I wonder where that leaves us.

The horror of Israel’s bombardment of Gaza continues to mount. It has reached such a fever pitch — and the silence of politicians, the hesitations, the couched language; the muteness of so many Jewish institutions — feels like a degradation of all of us. A crumbling of our relationship to both language and action. And then there is social media — one posts, one doesn’t post — the whole nightmare feels like it gets framed as hinging on the question of speech. Let us not remain silent, we say. And also: What do we believe our speech does? Are we living the theology of Genesis, or the theology of the desert? What, actually, do we believe about the power of our language?

I have been thinking a lot about how I was raised, and educated. I was educated, I think, in the theology of Genesis. In which there was a vitality and a creativity to language, and to the act of naming, inventing, narrating. I was raised to believe in specialness. That if you were smart, or creative, you could do something of value in the world. That your speaking would conjure relationship. That hard work would be met with reward. That creativity could make change.

And yet here we are. My creativity can’t save a single life.

I know now that I live — that we all live — under the theology of the desert.

And what happens, I think, when we feel a crisis of this sort — a failure of language as action — is we shut down. I don’t know what to do. And so I do nothing.

I think that at the heart of this parsha is some sort of answer. The building of the mishkan is not a project for one person. It’s a project of many hands. It requires everyone to bring gifts — everyone, at least, whose heart impels her to. It requires artists, and designers, and planners, and craftspeople. It requires, I imagine, lots of spreadsheets and emails and zoom meetings.

And above the ark in which the tablets are to be kept, there are to be built two angels.

וַ֠עֲשֵׂ֠ה כְּר֨וּב אֶחָ֤ד מִקָּצָה֙ מִזֶּ֔ה וּכְרוּב־אֶחָ֥ד מִקָּצָ֖ה מִזֶּ֑ה׃

Make one cherub at one end and the other cherub at the other end...

וְהָי֣וּ הַכְּרֻבִים֩ פֹּרְשֵׂ֨י כְנָפַ֜יִם לְמַ֗עְלָה... וּפְנֵיהֶ֖ם אִ֣ישׁ אֶל־אָחִ֑יו

The cherubim shall have their wings spread out above, ... They shall confront each other....

(25:19-20)

וְנוֹעַדְתִּ֣י לְךָ֮ שָׁם֒

There I will meet with you

(25:22)

The two angels face each other. Literally, “a man to his brother.” The JPS translates it as confront, which feels like an interpretive jump to me, but it’s true there is a sense of facing, of opposition — they’re not with each other, they are to each other.

And it is inside the space that God will meet with us. וְנוֹעַדְתִּ֣י.

יָעַד. An appointment, and also a kind of betrothal.

There’s another gorgeous reading of a line from Song of Songs that links our theology of the Desert to the erotics of speech, the wilderness to God in her pink prom dress.

Shemot Rabbah tells us:

Ein midbar ella dibbur.

There is no desert [midbar] other than language [dibbur]. Why, the rabbis are asking, is the desert so essential to the history of our people? Because the experience of the desert IS language.

And they cite, again, as if to seal the legitimacy of the pun between midbar and dibbur, the Song of Songs, Your lips are like a scarlet thread, your mouth [midbarech] is lovely (Songs 4:3).

For us, my dears, language isn’t the kiss of God. Language is the desert.

There is no desert other than language, and there is no language other than the desert.

Language no longer guarantees relationships. It can no longer separate light from darkness or bring a world into being. It cannot end a war. Language will feel a little pathetic sometimes. Sometimes we’ll be speaking words of love, getting all dolled up for the prom, only to realize later that our lovers were betraying us with some Golden Heifer.

But that is language. Language as desire that won’t always be fulfilled. Language as a vision, as a set of possibilities, that may not come to pass.

AND YET. That is not a reason to stop speaking. Ein dibbur ella midbar. 

To actually build something requires action. And collaboration. And gifts, and emails, and meetings, and artists, and planners, and administration. If we are to continue the work of creation, we are going to have to face each other and talk. That talk will not always correspond precisely or efficiently or neatly or consistently with action – but the building we need to do cannot happen without it. 

Cecilia was an organizer. I interviewed her once, and I told her when we finished that I’d send her a draft of what I’d written to get her okay, before sending it to the editor. One wants to be respectful, you know? One doesn’t want the wrong words to get out there into the world. Oh, no, she said, it’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And she smiled.

It’s a small thing, but it stuck with me. Probably she just knew she was very busy. She’s done a lot of interviews at this point. She wasn’t worried about this one more. But also: it was a reminder that sometimes it’s okay for words to get a little messy. As long as they’re in service of the work. Ein dibbur ella midbar. 

This week’s parsha is an instruction manual. And we feel its limitations, its pathos, given the fickle fucked up mess that are, at this point, the Israelite people. Us.

But we need it. And we do build, eventually. And that’s the important thing. Between us – in the space where we do eventually face each other — we have a date with God. 

Our words aren’t going to bring the world we dream into being. Our words are going to fall flat sometimes, and land wrong. We’re going to feel embarrassed sometimes, for having spoken. But that doesn’t mean we stop speaking.

We try to speak in the hopes that our speaking might bring people together. We speak because we are still in the desert. We speak because we need each other. We speak because there are sanctuaries we still need to build. (I’m seeing photos of Cecilia’s funeral earlier this week, in St. Patrick’s cathedral – she was sent onwards truly truly in Splendor.) 

When we finally build our sanctuaries, for this desert, they will be glamorous as fuck.

[fierykitten2]

Trying again with the headcanons (I can't believe I have to restart my progress!)

There will be Animal Crossing (if I sound impatient or rushed or whatever it's because I already wrote this and had to start again because I accidentally deleted the tab) anyway it's time for some headcanons that I will almost certainly end up cringing at when thinking about it in a few days time

--- There is a difference between universes (which correspond to a whole franchise or on rare occasions several franchises in one) and dimensions/sub-universes (which correspond to part of a franchise eg the Wuhu Island that the Wii Sports Club Miis live on is in a different dimension to the one seen in Wii Sports Resort)

--- Falcon, big sisters (especially Agnes, Shari, Renée and Hazel), some jocks, some peppies and maybe the odd smug require an excessive amount of cups of coffee per day in order to stay awake

--- Originally I did this as several points but honestly, they all relate to the same character(s) so I'mma just combine them (that was a GREAT idea). The Mewtwo in Smash somehow knows Teleport and Transform. It gets on Falcon's nerves for using Transform to disguise as him which has on rare occasions led to a physical fight breaking out between them but it usually just leads to Falcon shouting at Mewtwo to stop it because it creeps him out. Ironically, I enjoy the idea of Falcon (often reluctantly) using Mewtwo from Smash to challenge the gyms of a certain region. One thing they can bond over is their (ironic) fear of Isabelle (you know, the dog from Animal Crossing) because she beat them in their first battles against her in Smash due to the fact that she learnt from the Doom Guy. She's still popular with the girls though. Both Smash's Mewtwo and Fox refer to Falcon as "the Cap" (although Mewtwo stole it from Fox and Falcon doesn't really approve of Mewtwo using it). Mewtwo is more of a trickster than is usual for its species. It also doesn't get along well with Sabrina's Alakazam because of Mewtwo's limited psychic ability. Smash's Mewtwo resides in Cerulean Cave and is not the same as Giovanni's Mewtwo or Quest's Mewtwo (nicknamed Cubetwo). Both Smash's Mewtwo and Giovanni's Mewtwo like to nickname others but their nicknames are different (eg Smash's Mewtwo calls Falcon "the Cap" and Sabrina "Sabbie" while Giovanni's Mewtwo calls Falcon "Falkie" and Sabrina "Sabri". Giovanni's Mewtwo also refers to Giovanni as "the Boss" but I haven't got an alternative for Smash's Mewtwo yet). It is unknown if Cubetwo does the same. Smash's Mewtwo (among other limits to its psychic ability) is unable to communicate telepathically without talking out loud (this is shared with non-psychics put into a "telepathic connection"). It also speaks the same way as big sister villagers ("'em", "-in'")

--- Sabrina gets a headache every time people argue but the full extent is unknown

--- Katrina (Animal Crossing) is a psychic

--- Sabrina (somehow) has an inability to multitask

--- Psychics tend to specialise in certain areas. Katrina specialises in seeing the future, Smash's Mewtwo specialises in attack, telekinesis and telepathy, Sabrina specialises in future sight and telepathy and her Alakazam specialises in telepathy, telekinesis, attack and knowledge

--- Most characters are omni but a few exceptions are Falcon (bi), Pico, Marty from Animal Crossing and Sabrina (aroace)

--- Dr Stewart has a crush on Captain Falcon (if you think it's weird because of their 5-year age gap, my parents also have a 5-year age gap and anyway, I headcanon that Falcon's birthday is the next one so that there is a period of time when the age gap is only 4 years) but Falcon is dense (which may have something to do with the fact that he doesn't know how to handle love) so he is unaware but Pico and Samurai Goroh have worked it out and occasionally bully Dr Stewart for it. It's possible his crush has something to do with the fact that Dr Stewart always claims he is better at racing than Falcon

--- Roald, Leonardo, various other jocks and Hilda and Calem from Pokémon also have crushes on Falcon. Roald and Leonardo's crushes are so obsessive that it creeps Falcon out. Calem's is probably the only one that isn't obsessive

--- Rosa has a crush on Hilda and she is both a deredere and a yandere - basically be careful Falcon

--- All jocks that existed in Doubutsu no Mori e+ have played at least one F-Zero game and are therefore aware of Captain Falcon firsthand. Jocks introduced in Wild World and later have probably played a Smash game and know him from that. While all jocks have crushes on Falcon, earlier jocks (the ones who have played at least one F-Zero game) also have crushes on Black Shadow (because of his big muscles)

--- Matt from Wii Sports, Captain Falcon and Fang from Animal Crossing have very similar personalities and likely voices too but I reckon Matt's would be higher-pitched and Fang's would be lower-pitched

--- Sabrina and Katrina (Animal Crossing) have similar personalities

--- Dom gets bullied by Tiansheng for being more similar to a peppy than a jock

--- Calem and Serena put their sunglasses over their eyes when they are sad, embarrassed or getting into Serious Battle Mode (like Yuya from Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V)

--- Despite having similar interests to jocks, Audie is obsessed with ribbons

--- Even though I've already mentioned most of these, the following characters have crushes on others that may or may not be requited: Megan (Audie - depending on situation but it is likely she at least knows about it), Dr Stewart (Captain Falcon - he doesn't realise but Pico and Samurai Goroh find it obvious, only requites if told), Rosa (Hilda - doesn't realise, usually doesn't requite), Erika (Misty - probably knows, usually requites) and Leif (Kicks - doesn't know, doesn't requite). Unsurprisingly Leif was very happy when he discovered that Kicks would be joining him on Harv's expanded Island

--- Tom Nook has a harem with Blathers, Isabelle, Sable and Redd

--- Celeste has limited psychic powers (even more limited than Smash's Mewtwo). She specialises in knowledge

I know I'm forgetting something but I can't remember what

Rematched these two today

[sanoiro]

Lucifer Season 2  Extras: (Transcript)

 I’m not going to give you the link of this video. The issue here is that such videos are deleted once they get too much attention. Thus trying to protect the account and the uploader I’m not going to post the video here. Also one more note, I get that you are excited about the show but I’ll not deal with juvenile vulture tendencies in this fandom. I have seen it and it’s quite disturbing.  And so it begins a really long post.... (Google will not be your friend by the way)

Ellis Tom - Lucifer Morningstar

German Lauren - Chloe Decker

Ildy Modrovich - Executive Producer/Writer

Henderson Joe - Executive Producer/Writer

Philip Cousineau - Author, “Once and Future Myths”

Garcia Aimee - Ella Lopez

Alejandro Kevin - Dan Espinoza

ABOUT L.A.  • Ellis: Los Angeles is the epicentre of the entertainment industry, so this is a classic place for people who want to go and pretend to be someone else.

• Garcia: You can be a DJ in the club, and the next day you are already on the billboard.

• German: It ... you know, as a place where you can re-discover yourself.

• Henderson: It's sex, drugs, rock'n'roll.

• Alejandro: What better place than Los Angeles?

• Henderson: Underneath it, you’ve got greed, you’ve got desire. You’ve got murder. You’ve got this just this strange underbelly of Los Angeles. This combination of glitzy top and gritty underbelly is a lot of what helps make Los Angeles not only the city it is, but the perfect place for Lucifer.

• Ildy: One of the biggest themes of Lucifer is duality. The dar always has a light, which is what appealed to Lucifer about coming to Los Angeles. 

• Henderson: It's a city where the devil can go any path, be any person.

• Ildy He is supposed to be the worst villain of all time. And there is somebody who also wants to be forgiven, who also wants to be understood and loved. I think it goes hand in hand with Los Angeles. What you see is not always what you get.

• Phil: California is significant. It is the end of the world, is a kind of paradise, which is a beautiful old Arabic (PERSIAN!!!) word, that means: "A walled garden."  So it’s always had the mythology of being dreamlike. It’s is a world of beauty. It’s is a world of fantasy.

• German: No matter where you came from or what your circumstances are, there is this red-coloured glasses opportunity, where it presents itself as a place where you can go and try and reach your hopes and dreams.

• Phil: Every artistic city throughout history has had a magnetic draw to it. Painters, sculptors, artists of all kinds went to Athens, Paris, Rome, New York and then Los Angeles. These are all "edge" cities. These are all places where you can gaze out at water and transform and reinvent yourself.

• Henderson: It's a city of rethinking. This is a city where you can be whatever you wanna be.

• Ellis: I must say: when I first got to Los Angeles, I thought it was really ugly. (Chuckles). The architecture leaves a lot to be desired. But then you realise it’s not about that. People are living, how they wanna live, and that's what that city is about.

• Alejandro: I come from a really small town in West Texas, landed in Canoga Park. And when I came here I saw palm trees and I thought: "Yes, this is LA, this is the life."

• Garcia: Coming from the Midwest, Los Angeles was a big city. Everyone had an agenda. Everyone had it out for you. I came out there thinking that I was literally going into the devil’s lair.

• Ildy: I went to UCLA. Go Bruins. I remember walking up the steps to the quad area. I remember thinking, "I have arrived in nirvana."

• German: I went to college at USC. Met a friend who knew a manager, who is still my manager, and called my dad just before my senior year. My dad said: "Okay, I'll either pay for school and you'll stay at school, or I will give you nothing, and you are on your own, but I believe in you and good luck!" (Laughs)

• Henderson: I moved out here 15 years ago, trying to figure out who I wanted to be, I tried to reinvent myself as a kid from Iowa who’s gonna be a screenwriter. That line "Where else would I go?" was one of the first lines of dialogue I wrote on Lucifer. Um, and it's partly because I was trying to wrap my brain around who the character was. What I think unconsciously Lucifer is doing is exploring who he is, in this place where you can be anybody.

ABOUT LUCIFER:

• Ildy: Lucifer is unaware that he really wants to reinvent himself.

• Ellis: He believes that everything he has done thus far has been part of his Dad’s grand plan. He’s always playing a part in his Dad's play. What his Dad has decided to do, Lucifer has to do.

• Phil: Lucifer was God’s favourite angel. We need to honour our fathers, but on the other hand, we have to express ourselves, and it is painful when we do (it). What’s the pain? It’s the pain of separation. You do not fit anywhere else, so you come to a world ... Lucifer comes to Los Angeles, to a world where everybody is reinventing themselves day and night. (Linda’s voice by the show: But here’s is the thing. When angels fall they also rise. All you have to do is to embrace who you are. Lucifer: So much punishment so little time.)

ABOUT DAN:

• Alejandro: Dan is going through a big transition in his life when he has to face the facts of moving on from his relationship with his wife and his daughter. He is taking a turn for himself to become a stronger individual, taking improv classes to work on his social skills and to understand who he is as a human being so that he can move forward in his life.

• Ildy: Dan might... Shh. He might be the writers’ room favourite. We love ourselves some Detective Douche. 

• Henderson: Dan eventually became someone who understands Lucifer, grows close to Lucifer. Dan has no idea what he's doing. He is trying to figure out where he stands in life. And them bonding over that mutual attempt at reinvention, I think really lets us pivot their relationship and get them closer to an unlikely buddy-cip duo, that we plan to explore much more in season three.

ABOUT MAZE:

• Ildy: Maze had a very specific job, which was taking care of Lucifer. When she came to Los Angeles, she was like, "Oh, this is another playground for us. We're going to bring Hell here on Earth." "That'll be fun." When she saw Lucifer find his own thing, she realised that she was living for Lucifer.

• Henderson: Season two is about her going: "You know what? I'm tired of protecting you from yourself. More importantly, I'm tired, of defining myself by you. Who is Ma`e outside of Lucifer?”  The answer started to come from her friendship with Linda. We knew her arc was gonna be to find herself. We didn’t know how fundamentally Linda would fit into that until we kept seeing how these two very different women helped each other get out of their own shells.

ABOUT LINDA:

• Ildy: If there is a word that describes Linda, it's "brave." She’s seen everybody’s bad sides, everybody’s ugly bits. She says: "You know what? I walked in with my eyes open, and I made this choice to be your friend, so I’ll take the good and the bad, and all that comes with it."  ABOUT AMENADIEL: • Ildy: I think that Amenadiel is a little bit of a cautionary tale. He thought he was the big responsible brother doing the right thing. And he was a little high and mighty. The truth is, he’s not.

• Henderson: He's weirdly like Lucifer. He is all about himself. He’s not looking outwards. He’s looking inward. And, really, what he’s looking at is: "Dad, what am I gonna have to do to make you love me?"

• Ildi: When he comes back in season two and he’s fallen, he’s starting to lose his wings, and he’s starting to lose his powers. He thinks that it’s God punishing him, but he’s punishing himself, which is something he realises by the end of season two.

ABOUT ELLA:

• Henderson: Ella is a character that I'd always wanted to bring as an archetype. And I think there is something so interesting about someone who believes in God, and then the characters all around her are proof that He actually exists, but she doesn’t know it.

• Garcia: She is a bundle of fun. She has no filter, no screener. She obviously, she works with dead bodies all the time. All the other detectives are like ... (Imitating robot) Like, so serious. And she just busts in speaking Klingon. I love her combination with Lucifer, because he is judgemental and she is so not. It’s Ella’s perfect coping mechanism of a city, because she is allowed to escape. And the best playmate is the Devil. ABOUT CHLOE AND LUCIFER: • Ellis: The relationship between Chloe and Lucifer is ... It is a very important part of our story. These two characters are most disarming of each other in each other’s presence.

• German: I think that Lucifer coming into her life was really the catalyst to even be aware of wanting to change (her life). I think she is a very hard worker, can be stoic. He affects her where she opens up and can let loose a little. 

• Ellis: Chloe offers something to Lucifer, and Lucifer offers something to Chloe, that no one else can. And for some reason, they can be completely themselves with each other.

• Ildy: I think that Lucifer is our eternal teenager. And Chloe is the eternal adult. She, I think, became an adult when she was 16. So she’s learning to have fun from Lucifer, and Lucifer’s learning how to have meaning in his life.

• German: In the second season, they fall in love, and they do not really know how to deal with it. He is always off with another girl or guy. So It’s not a natural relationship to fall into. But I think that there is great love there.

• Henderson: Be it love, be it friendship, be it trust, be it intimacy, there's always gonna be a bond between them.

ABOUT LOS ANGELES:

• Ildy: The Golden beaches and the palm trees and the twinkling lights of the city... It’s a beautiful place, an unreal place.

• Ellis: It's very easy to get tempted in various directions and lose yourself.

• Henderson: It's a city of “If you can do anything you want, do you do the wrong things? Do you choose the wrong desires?”  Some people might say: “Ugh... You went and lived a hedonist life in this city of sin”. Other people would be like “You had a really fun Tuesday.” What is embracing desire in a healthy way? What is embracing desire in an unhealthy way? And that’s the fascinating part of this city, and that’s the fascinating part about all the characters that are in our show because they represent all the different aspects of it. They are having a great time, but I think they’ll also find that maybe there’s more to life. And maybe you can do those things, and mayby there is also value in slowing down and looking around you and enjoying the people around you. And that duality, I think, is our show. 

• Ellis: When we’re talking about "It’s a city where you can reinvent yourself,” It’s also a city of lost souls, and it can be quite a lonely place for people if they haven’t got some kind of epicentre of love around them.

The End

[apenitentialprayer]

Bishop Hassan Dehqani-Tafti (bottom left), with his wife (Margaret, bottom right), and children (daughters Shirin, Sussanne, and Guli; son Bahram). Source. The Right Reverend was the first ethnic Persian to hold to office of Bishop of Iran in the Anglican Church. Dehqani-Tafti was technically a convert to the faith, but Christianity was an interwoven element in his life from before his birth. A gradual process, Dehqani-Tafti’s conversion highlights how blurred the lines Christianity and Islam can be. The outline of this relationship, given below the cut, is derived from the doctoral thesis of Sister Agnes Angela Wilkins, “From Islam to Christianity: A Study in the Life and Thought of Hassan Dehqani-Tafti and Jean-Mohammed Abd-El-Jalil in the Ongoing Search for a Deeper Understanding Between Christianity and Islam,” itself heavily reliant on the Right Reverend’s autobiography.

Childhood and Education

Hassan was the son of Mohammad, an illiterate but pious Muslim, and Sekinah. Sekinah, the daughter of a ‘Mulla Zahra,’ who received that honorary title for being able to read and recite the Qur’an, was a convert to Christianity. She had worked as a nurse with her mother in a missionary hospital, and it was there that she decided to be baptized. She also learned to read and write. After being married to Mohammad, she had three children, the middle one being Hassan. For the first five years of his life, Hassan, despite being raised a Shi‘a Muslim, remembers visits from the missionaries and singing songs with Biblical themes. This changed after his mother died, when he was about five years old. Before her death, Sekinah had requested that a friend of hers help raise at least one of her children to be Christian; this friend, a Ms. Kingdon, spent about a year and a half trying to convince his father to allow it. Ultimately, the boy was allowed, spending about a year in an otherwise all-girls school. There, he learned The Lord’s Prayer and memorized a few psalms, in addition to learning the Persian alphabet. Once he beeccame too old to stay at an all-girl’s school, the boy was sent to a missionary school in the former Safavid capital of Isfahan. It was there that he studied calligraphy, poetry, and Scriptures under the headmaster Jalil Aqa. Jalil Aqa was of Cossack descent, but had fully integrated into the Persian culture of his upbringing. As a young man, he was a Sunni Muslim, but with a strong mystical bend. He converted to Christianity through conversations about the relationship between Christ and the body of believers with missionaries at a hospital. Jalil Aqa represented a kind of Christianity that “digested the best of Persian culture, and then had baptized the whole into [itself].” Nonetheless, the young Hassan would oscillate between the Christianity of his schooling and the Islam of his family life. By the time he was 15, his father wavered over whether he should continue to allow his son to go to school, but ultimately allowed him to; by 17, Hassan had written a list of 77 resolutions he wished to follow; by 18, he was a baptized Christian. Many friends no longer spoke to him, he could no longer eat from the same bowl as his family, and contact with him made his loved ones ritually impure. His father described watching his son convert to Christianity as akin to having his hand cut off.

Crisis

The first few years after baptism were relatively easy. He attended the University of Tehran as a closeted Christian. Most students were more interested in secular philosophy and Western culture to really care anyway, but a couple people that he did tell were supportive or disgusted. When he had to join military service, he had to out himself, and was dismissed by his superior for being untrustworthy for having apostasized from Islam. Problems arose, however, when he considered ordination. His military service had given him a good salary, and his family -who also did not like the idea of the social suicide he would undergo as a pastor- attempted to convince him to remain there. Instead, the local missionaries encouraged him to go to Cambridge University, where he felt a loneliness he had never felt before. He began to resent God for his mother’s death, blame the missionaries for the widening gap between himself and his family, and even consider suicide. This crisis was resolved through forming a relationship with Bishop Stephen Neill, who seems to have taken on a fatherly role to him. Although they only met in person six times, the two would continue to correspond through letters. It is around this time that Hassan developed a strong attachment to the Book of Job, and felt a calling to a deeper sort of repentance, a total reorientation of his life. Though offered a job at Cambridge, he wanted to continue his ministry in his home country.

Returning to Iran

Though he was frequently visited by the Detective Bureau of Police, an frequently dealt with minor harassment, the early years of Hassan’s return were happy ones. In 1949 he was ordained a deacon in the Anglican Church (an organization whose theological leanings Kingdon did not approve of, though she was happy for him). In 1950, he was made a priest, and in 1952 he married the daughter of the current Bishop of Iran (Margaret, pictured above). In 1960, he was consecrated the Bishop of Iran. Hassan’s father died in 1970, and his attempt to attend the funeral only highlighted how large the rift between his family and himself had become. His brother did not want him there, and a group of mullahs refused to let him enter, forcing him to pray for his father outside the mosque. The growth that the Anglican Church in Iran would experience, including the establishment of more hospitals and programs to help make the blind community more self-sufficient, was reversed in the early weeks of the Revolution. Although the land that the hospitals were built on was waaf, a semi-sacred gift under Islamic law, they were seized by Revolutionaries after a senior priest was murdered. His house was ransacked, and threatening messages sent to his house. The anxiety and stress left him bedridden for three weeks. During this time, he decided that taqiyya, pretending to assimilate into the larger religious majority, could not be a strategy for the threatened Christian community: “Christ was almost ruthless about being and showing who you are.” Hassan found inspiration from the life of Saint Thomas Moore, an English Catholic who was killed for refusing to renounce his faith during the Anglican Reformation, and attributed his recovery to a “new infilling of the love of God.” If he were to be killed, then he would be killed; “The important thing is to continue God's work with utmost loyalty to the end.” This was a good attitude to have, because he was soon arrested and interrogated for access to a diocesan bank account. He was forced to stay in a yard where public executions by firing squad happened, he was brought to a revolutionary court, and was the victim of an assassination attempt - an attempt that ended with his wife being shot in the hand after she threw herself in front of him. The two were ultimately sent to Cyprus, with the hope of reuniting with their family. Unforunately, the situation in Iran became too much, and after his son was assassinated (an act that Hassan forgave the killers for), the family was permanently moved to England.

A Persian Christian

The nineteen year exile that lasted from 1979 to his death was very hard on Hassan. The Bishop of Iran was an Iranian who loved his country and his culture. In the early years of his bishopric, he had worked with thinkers like Kenneth Cragg in an attempt to reconcile his Islamic Persian heritage with his Christian faith. In his writings, Dehqani-Tafti wrote for a mixed Christian and Muslim audience. His largest influence in the formation of his faith was a man who did not see Christianity as something at odds with Persian culture. The name of Dehqani-Tafti’s memoir, The Unfolding Design of My World, is a reference to the Naqsh-i-Jahan (Design of the World) Square, a prominent landmark in his beloved Isfahan. His gravestone has a Persian translation of Ephesians 2:19 (“So then you are no longer strangers and sojourners, but you are fellow citizens with the holy ones and members of the household of God”) engraved onto it. His pectoral cross has been returned to Iran, where it is displayed in the Isfahan church he spent so much time in.

[blkholeinfinity]

God in Good Omens: Why Her Plan is Ineffable Headcanon

I’m a polytheist so my view on gods/goddesses/deities give me a... different view on Good Omens’ God than those who grew up in Christianity and/or Judaism have (probably)? I try to reconcile it with what little I DO know of the Old and New Testaments, but God in the Good Omens miniseries in particular is a fascinating character to me.

So, time for some Good Omens God headcanon!

Disclaimer: I am unlearned in Christianity and Judaism beyond what pop culture has taught me, and what was forced at me from living in the United States. I’m not trying to offend anyone with this headcanon; I simply see the Good Omens God in the same light I see the gods and goddesses and deities of the religion(s) I follow. I am willing to learn more, but I am also unwilling to go out of my way to learn it because of how much Christianity is forced down my throat on a daily basis (‘Murica). So feel free to comment/reblog to point out inaccuracies or specific things from the mythos to support either your stance or mine, but please understand the knowledge base and personal experience I come from. If I say anything inadvertently offensive, please help me learn by pointing out what I said and why it was problematic and I promise to do better next time. As long as you’re not rude, I won’t be mad.

Tl;dr - I welcome criticism on my headcanon, but please be patient and kind with me about it and I promise I will return the favor. ❤️

This mini-essay is going to be focused on the miniseries as God is more of a character in the show vs. the book.

To start, God has an interesting character development through human history — both in real life and in Good Omens. She started off as an easily angered, violent, and vengeful deity: Satan/Lucifer and the demons rebelled (to varying degrees) and she cast them down; Adam and Eve gave into temptation and she threw them out of Eden; the whole Noah’s Ark thing; and many other (Old Testament, iirc?) examples, I’m sure. But then she chilled out, it looks like, around the time of Jesus and probably because of Jesus.

I think this was when her Armageddon Plan changed. Originally, it was absolutely going to be a war against Heaven and Hell like everyone thought. Then, she decided to make it personal against Satan instead (because she decided he was who she was really mad at, and all of her other grievances stem from his initial rebellion - for better and for worse, but she’s still salty) and started moving the pieces into place to ensure that the Antichrist would rebel against him at the crucial moment.

He needed to feel how she felt when he rebelled, was her reasoning. Because God can be petty. Just because Jesus forgave his enemies didn’t mean she needed to.

Over time, she also grew to love humanity for all our stupidity, goodness, and yes, wickedness, much in the same way as Aziraphale and Crowley albeit as a distant observer. I’ve heard Christians say that she made humans in her image, and she probably started to see that - that all of their flaws are her flaws. And maybe even started to see humans as being even better than herself. 

Then she looked at her own angels and realized that they (all but one) were dicks. And at the demons and saw that they (all but one) were also dicks but she was less surprised and disappointed about that.

So before, when she decided not to clue in anyone, not even the Metatron, to her change in plans, it was for the sake of making sure no one interfered with the Antichrist. Once she realized that all the angels and demons were assholes, she decided that they deserved a good trolling, too.

(Okay, maybe she let ONE person know her new plans: one Agnes Nutter. Because God wanted to be mostly hands-off in the affairs of humanity, because she kind of felt bad that when she did get hands on, it was only to punish them, and she was always ruthless in her punishments. She didn’t really trust herself — but also she wanted to test the humans one more time to see if they were really worthy of being saved. More on that in a bit.)

But the centuries are long and she got bored. So the plan was in part a lesson to be taught to all the immortals, in part for the lulz. (Because in my head, God is a trickster. Sort of like a mix of Odin and Loki from Norse mythology. And iirc, there is historical evidence that when Christianity came to the Nordic countries, Odin was kind of rolled into the Christian God in order to more easily convert the masses?)

Which brings us to our favorite angel and demon: Aziraphale and Crowley.

I have a few different mindsets as to why she didn’t punish Aziraphale for giving away the flaming sword. A part of me feels like she might have been particularly fond of him in that “aw look at my cute puppy, I can’t stay mad at that face” sort of way (because, I mean, look at that face). Another part of me feels that she was too exhausted from her anger at Adam and Eve, at Satan and the demons, to care anymore, like “ugh I can’t deal with this right now whatever” and then just never got around to it. I have other thoughts, too, that he was following her Ineffable Plan, but that doesn’t fit with the theory I’m presenting here... or maybe it does? That maybe she felt bad for Adam and Eve, hindsight is 20/20, and she was like, “Well, okay, I don’t feel so guilty anymore. Good job, angel. Not that I’m ever going to admit that to you.”

But outside of that, I don’t think she was paying too much attention to what Aziraphale and Crowley were doing on Earth until after Jesus, and with her now more benevolent attitude towards humans (again see: because of Jesus), she appreciated them a whole lot more and started to work her into the New and Improved Armageddon Plan.

Which is why she didn’t mind that they were, as Aziraphale infuriatingly put it, “fraternizing.” She saw in them a new potential - for humans, for Heaven and Hell, and for herself. And that’s why she let them have Agnes’s prophecy on what they needed to do to survive their respective punishments from the other angels and demons. And also yes because she still wanted to troll the angels and demons because they deserve to be trolled.

(And yes, I do prescribe to the headcanon that God ships it, too, and set the events of Armageddon into motion because she was sick of the slow burn mutual pining of these idiots like the rest of us. But for her, that was more the cherry on top than the true goal. To incorporate the two headcanons, the timing corresponds with “you go too fast for me” because I imagine shortly thereafter was when the American Air Force base near Tadfield was established, so she began moving the chess pieces from that point forward because FFS AZIRAPHALE ARE YOU KIDDING HER. Maybe Armageddon came a little earlier than originally planned, or maybe the timing was Just Right and therefore coincidental, I can get behind both.)

So, for the next Armageddon when it’s all of Heaven and Hell against all of humanity, she’s counting on Aziraphale and Crowley to fight on behalf of humanity. And also that’s why Aziraphale never became a fallen angel and never will become one; unfortunately, Crowley has to remain Fallen, because forgiving him in an official capacity isn’t in the cards for what she’s planning next... right now, anyway.

Because I think the real reason the Ineffable Plan is ineffable is because God keeps changing her mind and therefore the plan. So yeah, this is her plan right now, but give it a century or two. It might change again. And maybe that’s when Crowley would be forgiven in the official capacity because it’s necessary for God’s plan. Or something else entirely, who knows. That’s for fanfic writers to speculate.

But I mentioned about how Armageddon was also to test humanity. And that’s all tied up in Adam the Antichrist.

She wanted him to go to the wrong family. Send him to the most boring, normal family and ensure that he would receive no interference from Heaven or Hell and just... see how he turns out. If he became the prophesied Antichrist, humanity fails, time to start over. If he turned into a normal kid, “Human Incarnate,” then humanity passes. And needless to say, humanity passed the test, because without even knowing what they were doing, they transformed the embodiment of evil into the embodiment of a human child. And that’s what God wanted to see.

That and the Antichrist screaming at Satan, “YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD.”

Which, again, was God’s real goal with Armageddon anyway. It was always about getting back at Satan. And now she has. Everything else was a happy bonus.

But there was more to it than that. See: Agnes Nutter and her descendants, and why they were the only ones entrusted with the real Armageddon plan. Now, this makes my headcanon shaky - because if God knew that things were going to go down exactly the way that they did, even for things having little to nothing to do with Armageddon, why even bother testing anything at all? I mean, it does go back to the whole, she’s testing humanity via Adam and Adam was the one Unknown. (Which means that Agnes’ second prophecy book was always meant to be burned, but that’s a whole other theory.)

It could also be that she was going to make sure everything happened exactly the way that they did. If her plan was written out in full in Agnes’s book, maybe it was a checklist of things she intended to happen, and certain things would be left up to interpretation. After all, some prophecies were very specific (these were the ones she was absolutely sure she was going to make sure came true), and others were less so (these were the ones more up to interpretation). Which then begs the question: how much of how things went down did God actually intend? Is she just clever enough to have planned everything to the last detail? Or did she encourage things along a certain way to make sure that they happened exactly according to her plan? (For example, moving the pieces into place so that Shadwell would see Aziraphale talking to the Metatron to be sure that the prophecy “Three shall ride as two” came true.)

Who knows? It’s ineffable, after all.

And Anathema was always meant to lose the book, and Aziraphale was always meant to find it, because this was the exact moment God wanted Aziraphale and Crowley to actually become involved in the Plan. Now that the Antichrist is... well, not all grown up, but at the apparent proper age for Antichristing, now Aziraphale and Crowley can start “interfering” with the Plan. Because they can’t hurt anything anymore. Yeah, they were about to kill Adam, but that was also part of the test for humanity, I think: would Madame Tracy stop them from doing it? And she did.

As for why Agnes’s prophecy forced Anathema and Newt together, idk, I’m going with God was bored and trolling. But honestly, getting into the specifics of plot points wrt God’s Plan is beyond the scope of this essay. Maybe I’ll give my thoughts on it later. Maybe if you actually made it to the end of this essay you’ll give your thoughts?

Seriously though, if you made it to the end of this mini-essay, you win a few dozen gold stars. And thank you so much for sticking with me if you did.

Tl;dr - I think God’s plan is ineffable because she keeps changing her mind about what she wants to do, and she just... fits her new agenda in with the old somehow so she can act like she “planned it like this all along.” And she’s trolling everyone. And testing humanity. And really is fond of Aziraphale and Crowley.

[thesimplyluxuriouslife]

255: 34 Inspiring Daily Rituals to Ignite Your Creativity

We talk quite often about the importance of routine, and how by having a routine, we actually set ourselves free, especially our minds. And it is in that vein that Mason Curry shares his two books Daily Rituals. His second is focused entirely on Women at Work, sharing the routines and preferences of creative women who lived and created over the past four centuries.

I thoroughly enjoyed his second book, even more than the first which I also found great inspiration. It was refreshing to see so many women living their lives in a variety of different ways, but all in which they discovered worked well for them and the craft they most loved.

Not all of the ideas resonated with me, but it was wonderful to get into the minds for a moment of these women and how they approached their days. I highlighted vigorously from beginning to end, and would like to share 34 daily routines to consider to enable your creative ideas to flow freely and without withdrawal.

Some will speak to you, some will not, but each one is inspired by a woman's routine which is shared in the book: Daily Rituals: Woman at Work - 143 artists on how they paint, write, perform, direct, choreograph, design, sclpt, compose, dance, etc.

~Be sure to tune into the audio version of the podcast where much more discussion takes place on each point. 

1.Begin with a hot glass of lemon water

Designer Elsa Schiaparelli woke up at 8 am, sipped lemon-juice-and-water and a cup of tea for breakfast as she read the papers, handled private correspondence, made telephone calls and gave the menus of the day to the cook.

2. Wake up early if that is when your creativity is most fruitful

—Lillian Hellman would wake up at 6am.

—Marie Bashkirtseff would wake up at 6am

—Maggie Hambling wakes up at 5am each morning

"I get up between three or four o'clock in the morning, because that's my best writing time." —Octavia Butler

3. If spending less time with people fuels your creativity, embrace it fully

"I enjoy people best if I can be alone much of the time. I used to worry about it because my family worried about it. And I finally realized: This is the way I am. That's that." —Octavia Butler in 1998

4. If traditional "holidays" don't work for you, create your own, or dive into what you love.

Coco Chanel worked six days a week, and dreaded Sundays and holidays. As she told one confidant, "That word, 'vacation,' makes me sweat."

5. Greet the day in a habitual way that sets the tone for a great day

6. Live your ideas, don't talk about them

"People would sit around and talk about things constantly. I never really went in for that. If you talk something out, you will never do it. You can spend every evening talking with your friends and colleagues about your dreams, but they will remain just that —dreams." —choreographer Martha Graham

7. Keep a small journal next to your bed to capture ideas

"I always have notebook and pencil on the table at my bedside. I may wake up in the middle of the night with something I want to put down." —American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay

8. If you work at home, carve out a part of the day to get out of the house and just absorb inspiration or let go of the day completely 

"In the nocturnal evening, I get the hell out to some movie or damn play and I come back and sleep like a rock." —Frida Kahlo

9. Figure out the ingredients that are needed to let the ideas find you

To develop a new work of choreography, Agnes de Mille needed 'a pot of tea, walking space, privacy and an idea'.

10. Don't feel obligated to keep the same schedule when you are in the middle of creating your art or craft

Margaret Bourke-White required long periods of solitude to write, with as few interruptions as possible." In an interview with a Life photographer Nina Leen, Leen remembers after asking her if she would have lunch with her, "She told me she was writing a book and there was no hope of a lunch for several years.

11. Don't feel bad for loving your work and working on what you love beyond the traditional work hours.

"Everything seems petty and uninteresting, everything except my work . . . ". Russian-born painter and sculptor Marie Bashkirtseff

12. Do something during the day that is relaxing and keeps you present

'I relax before lunch by arranging flowers . . . When these are all beautifully arranged in bowls and vases, it's usually lunch time." —English actress Gertrude Lawrence

13. Have a studio or space of your own to create

"The most important thing is to have a studio and establish and preserve its atmosphere." —Agnes Martin

14. If you love solitude, embrace it 

"But it is, as Yeats said, a 'solitary sedentary trade.' And I did a lot of gardening and cooked my own food, and listened to music, and of course I would read. I was really very happy. I can live a solitary life for month at a time, and it does me good." —poet Katherine Anne Porter

15. Trust your intuition as to what works best for you

"It's not right if it doesn't feel right." —English painter Bridget Riley

16. Find regular time to just read what you love

Rachel Whiteread [English sculptor] would "at some point stop for lunch, and she'd often spend an hour of the day reading sitting in a comfortable chair away from her desk.

17. Establish a flexible routine to work with what you need

Morning routine: "Zittel feeds her chickens, waters plants, and performs other outdoor chores before meditating, taking a shower, making breakfast and getting dressed. In the winter, Zittel's morning schedule reverses: She meditates, showers and eats breakfast first; then, once the sun has raised the outdoor temperature, she heads out on her hike and does chores. 'It's really all about establishing a flexible routine."Andrea Zittel, an American artist, in 2017

18. Don't quit trying to live the life you wish to live

"It never occurred to me that I couldn't live the life I wanted to lead. It never occurred to me that I could be stopped . . . I had this very simple view: that the reason people who start out with ideals or aspirations don't do what they dream of doing when they're young is because they quit. I thought, well, I won't quit." —Susan Sontag

19. Try a crossword puzzle like Joan Mitchell

20. Determine what view in your studio/sanctuary/work space is most productive for inspiration

"Where do I write? In a Morris chair beside the window, where I can see a few trees and a patch of sky, more or less blue." —Kate Chopin, American writer

21. End the day with a signal to your mind to relax

"During the performance I drink water with breadcrumbs, which is most refeshing. After the ballet I have a bath as soon as possible. Then I go out to dinner, as by that time I have an unmerciful hunger. When I get home I drink tea." —Russian prima ballerina Anna Pavlova

22. Let baths be your creative muse

"Baths also played a part in her creative process - a post-breakfast bath enjoyed regularly by Virginia Woolf.

23. Let lunch be a true mid-day break

At 1:00 p.m., Hambling has lunch, takes her Tibetan terrier, Lux, for a walk, and switches on the television to satisfy her tennis addiction.

24. Write when inspiration hits - even if it is in bed in the morning so as not lose the ideas. 

25. Go outside and breathe in the fresh air

"Fresh air and cold water are my stimulants." —Harriet Martineau - the first female sociologist

26. Enjoy someone's company for tea, lunch or a walk regularly 

Emily Post would regularly welcome a guest or two for tea in the afternoon.

27. It's okay for your personal time to be less than what others feel is acceptable 

"It seems to me you have to have your personal life organized so that it takes as little of your time as possible. Otherwise you can't make your art." –Eleanor Antin

28. Don't expect the routine to come naturally, create one and stick with it as it enables you to flourish

29. Cook and walk

"The only other essential component of her day is a twice-daily walk with her dog, during which she avoids thinking about her writing project. In the evening, she makes herself a simple dinner and goes to bed at 10:00 or 11:00 p.m.." —Isabel Allende

30. Create space for your ideas to be seen 

"Open a gap for them, create a space. Be patient." — Hilary Mantel

"I think the way to become inspired is to empty your mind and let things come into your mind."  —Joan Jonas

31. Do you and don't apologize

"I live here as in Paris. I rise every day at 5 o'clock; I drink my two large glasses of hot water; I take my coffee; I write when I am alone, which is rare; I do my hair in company; I dine every day with the king, chez lui, or with him and les seigneurs. I make calls after dinner; I go to the theater; I return to my place at ten o'clock; I drink my hot water , and I go to bed." —Marie-Thérèse Rodet Geoffrin, a major salonniéres of the French Englightenment

32. Turn on music paired with your favorite drink to start the day

"I wake about nine, turn on the symphony and have juice, fruit and a pot of black coffee . . . " —Grace Hartigan, American painter

33. Leave evenings open for your social engagements

"In the evening, she would see a friend for dinner or attend another social engagement. But the real key to this perfect writing day, she said, was to know that the following day would be exactly the same." —Eudora Welty

34. Be patient until you find what works, then cherish it

"Trial and error, and then when you've found your needs, what feeds you, what is your instinctive rhythm and routine, then cherish it." —novelist Doris Lessing

~SIMILAR POSTS/EPISODES YOU MIGHT ENJOY:

~Why Not . . . Be Creative?

~The Benefit of Daily Rituals

~The Importance of a Daily Routine & How to Create One You Love, episode #164

Petit Plaisir:

~Chilled Cucumber and Yogurt Soup with Dill and Fresh Mint, a Patricia Wells recipe, click here for the recipe

~Why Not . . . Grow a(n) Herb Garden?

~Check out TSLL's IG account, see the Highlights and Part 3 of my FR Trip '18 - mid-roll to see the presentation of the dish in Provence.

~Chilled Cucumber and Yogurt Soup with Dill and Fresh Mint, enjoyed in Provence with Patricia Wells and the other cooking class students during the summer of 2018~

~the same dish served this past weekend as the second course during a dinner party at my home. Cool and crisp cucumber and yogurt soup.~

Tune in to the latest episode of The Simple Sophisticate podcast

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It Part 8 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Catch Up Here!

A/N: This update took fucking forever! Forgive me, lol. But I have started a new challenge to see if I can finish this series before Endgame so... fingers crossed! Also, I won’t lie, I enjoy young Howard Stark’s personality.  And the opening was definitely not inspired by the opening of Marvelous Mr.s Maisel s2!!! *winks with both eyes!*

Remember: Reader’s alias is Helen Rushman but everyone calls you Elle!

Words: 2463

Warnings: Angst?! Pfft, I don’t even know!

(gif isn’t mine)

One Month Later

You sat at the work station of Betty Bloom, one of the employees you had befriended during your 3 weeks at your new job. Her calls were fairly few, giving you a lot of breathing room between calls. On the other end of the operators' office Agnes, a shaky poodle of a woman, was having less of a breezy time.

"Hellen, help!" Agnes yelped from her chair by the switchboard, "There are too many calls coming through!" she panicked, lost in a tangle of cables.

You used your chair to swivel to her place as she smoothly moved out the way. "Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?" you asked with the company-polite-policy tone. After a few seconds, you put the right switch in its corresponding section. "Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?" you repeated the process like a record player.

After a few minutes of dealing with the bulk of the calls, you gave Agnes a cheeky wink, "All done. I believe these are yours?" You held up a switchboard jack yet to be connected.

Agnes fanned herself dramatically as she wheeled back to her station, "Girl, I don't know how you do it. You are a literal angel."

"All in a day’s work," you smiled back before heading back to the station you were covering. Betty came back from her quick smoke break soon after. "And Agnes, it's Elle. Never Helen."

"Thank ye, darlin'," Betty retrieved her headsets from you, "You are an actual lifesaver. Now ye best get on, before the handsome Moustachioed Casanova notices you've been gone a minute."

Some of the girls giggled youthfully at Betty's mention of Howard Stark's nickname, others visibly swooned. You thought it best to follow the trend and feigned the same level of adoration the other women showed. You bid the girls a fond adieu and made your way back upstairs to your office.

You had been working as Howard Stark’s secretary for a few weeks now. From early on, the other secretaries showed a colder reception towards you when you first arrived, they probably thought you slept your way to the position considering a lot of the other girls had been vying for this position months before you even stepped foot in Brooklyn. And so you wound up spending time with the much more accepting and lively telephone operators in the basement.

You made your way to your desk, getting a few sour looks from the other secretaries. The piercing intensity of their fiery gaze reminded you a lot of the Red Room and how people you had considered allies could just as easily turn into adversaries. One of them even resembled Yelena which made you grind your teeth every time you saw her permanently squinted eyes. When you got to your desk you were greeted by the all too familiar sounds of your boss, Howard Stark, being a little too cheeky and less attentive than he should be while a suit argued over a patent.

"Howard, you stole my invention, admit it!" the man shouted.

You heard a chuckle and had the urge to peek into the office subtly from behind your desk.

"I did no such thing old boy," Howard said condescendingly. Giving the unknown man a pat on the back. Even you had to admit, he could be charming when you least expected it. "It can't be helped if we both thought up the same idea. It's a mere coincidence."

"That's folly and you know it!"

"Listen here, Frankie. Do you know the difference between your patent and mine?" the suit, Frankie, stayed silent. "The answer is simple. Mine is simply better than yours. See, Stark Industries invents quality, reliable and groundbreaking products. And to be frank, yours just doesn't meet any of those standards."

Frankie was turning beet red, "Why you--"

"Mr Stark, your 3 o'clock is here. Should I tell security to let him up or will you be going down to meet him?" You interjected just in time to diffuse what could have been a rather messy situation. Howard smirked at you, no doubt impressed by your cunning.

"Thank you, Helen but there'll be no need. I was heading out anyway," You didn't bother to correct him. Howard pretended to organise some documents into a briefcase. "Sorry, Frankie. Guess we'll have to continue this stimulating conversation another time. Set a time with my very capable secretary, she'll pencil you in."

Frankie or Frank, whichever it was, muttered a few choice words under his breath before he stormed off in a huff.

"Nice timing there, darlin'," Howard complemented. "To think of all the times my previous secretaries caused a scene by actually calling security… And all the tabloid headlines that followed. Where have you been all my life?" he mused.

"Certainly not running in your circles, Sir." You bit back with a little too much attitude. You were about to apologize until you saw how Howard was looking at you: like his next conquest.

"Ah, the Dame's got bite too," he threw a dashing smile your way. Shameless flirt he was.

Now you got to witness first hand why they called him the Moustachioed Casanova, he did have the curse of charisma.

Howard gathered a file and walked towards you, "Here, file these for me and go down to Research and Development and make sure we didn't actually steal Frankie's designs. Can't have a lawsuit on my ass." He handed you the papers. He lingered for a moment before gathering his coat and hat.

"Of course, Sir."

He stopped by the door of his office and looked at you with a raised brow, "One more thing..."

"Sir?"

"I thought my 3 O'clock was a… woman."

You held back the urge to laugh, "It is. I just didn't think that particular piece of information was pertinent for others to be privy to."

Without warning, Howard placed a harmless, giddy kiss on your cheek. "If only every other secretary could have your smarts!" He said hastily before departing for his 'meeting'.

That would be a frightful thing to behold you thought, knowing full well how devious and merciless assassins could be, let alone underpaid secretaries!

In the background you heard what sounded like him walking into someone, followed by a hasty "Pardon me."

You glanced over at the large file in your hand and at Howard's empty office. Finally! The opportune moment to search his office for anything pertaining to Project Rebirth. The sooner you could uncover a new lead, the sooner you could leave your post and try to go back to the way things were. You felt a sting in your heart when you remembered the sad look on Bucky's face when ended things three weeks ago. You shook those thoughts from your head and got to work.

In a bin, by the doorway of the floor, you saw a fresh bouquet of pink flowers. Strange… You hadn't noticed them when you went for your break in the basement earlier. They reminded you of the peach farm you, Bucky, Sal and Steve had visited.

***

Steve and Bucky were having lunch at a different diner in town. Bucky had had a constant far-away look on his face lately and Steve was getting worried.

One of the waitresses came down, she seemed very interested in hooking Bucky's attention but he simply placed his order and gave a polite smile before gazing back out the window.

"Come on Buck, you can't keep moping about," Steve tried to console his best friend. "It's been three weeks." In all truth, Steve had never seen his pal so worked up over a girl before. If only there was something he could do besides endless pep talks. Steve wracked his brain while he sipped his burnt coffee.

A man besides their table was reading a newspaper that read "12 Month Countdown to Stark Expo".

Steve nudged Bucky and whispered conspiratorially, "Hey, what do you think about the Stark Expo?"

Bucky followed after Steve's eye line and saw the newspaper, "If I'm being honest Steve-O, I haven't thought much about it."

Steve started going off about his thoughts on what was quickly becoming the event of the decade, Bucky nodded his head and gave a few Oh's and Ah's, but really his attention was fully placed on the Uncle Sam poster printed in black and white on the back page that screamed "We Want You!"

"Hey… Buck?" Steve seemed less confident now.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know why Elle… you know, ended things between you two?"

Bucky gazed down at his coffee cup. He began stirring the coffee despite there being no sugar or milk in it. "Work," was all he said.

"That can't be it, can it?"

"She said she'd be too busy, didn't want to hold me back… or something rather."

"And you just went along with it? That's not like you Buck. When you want something you always go for it!"

Bucky chuckled, a smile threatening to spread across his lips, "So what you're saying is, I should never have let her walk out of my life?"

"Come on man, you're absolutely miserable without her!" Steve fidgeted about a bit, he saw a vase with a few wilting flowers in it and suddenly a thought popped into his head. "Hey! Why don't you make some grand gesture and tell her you don't care if she's going to be busier with work or you won’t see her as much. Tell her how you really feel. That you lo--" Steve stopped himself before he said too much.

Bucky mulled over Steve's hopelessly romantic words for a moment. And in a flash, he stood up, placed some money on the counter, thanked his friend and walked out of the diner with purpose.

Steve smiled after his friend as he waited for his food patiently, "Hey, 'scuse me. Mind if I borrow that?" He asked the gentleman with the newspaper.

"Sure thing pal," he handed him the paper.

Bucky made his way to the subway and took the Two-Twenty-Two to midtown. When he reached his stop a whole 30 minutes had passed. It was quarter to 3 when he took the elevator up to the secretarial pool of Stark Industries -having bribed the security personnel 5 bucks and swooning over about winning a girls heart. He had a bouquet of pink flowers that reminded him of their picnic at Sue's Farm, a new found smile that felt strange on his face since becoming accustomed to brooding and a smart head of hair -having used the reflective surface of the elevator to smooth it out. He was ready to win her back! But then he saw something he didn't expect.

Elle was standing in a man's office, he looked to be enjoying her company. Then abruptly, he kissed her cheek, and she didn't protest. Bucky stood frozen in the doorway for a few moments. Only to be snapped out of his haze when the very same man, who he recognised from the papers as Howard Stark, nearly bumped into him on his way out. Bucky felt a surge of red hot boil his blood, but he simply balled his fists and dumped the bouquet in the nearest bin. He chose to leave using the stairs, not wanting to face the security personnel he had told of his plans to woo Elle back.

Walking back to his apartment he saw a large Uncle Sam poster, and this time he felt as though it was pointing right at him. With purpose and still glazed over with anger, Bucky began walking in the opposite direction. In the direction of the nearest recruitment centre.

***

When you returned to your apartment you were beyond exhausted. Not only did you have too many files to sort through -you made a mental note to impose a more efficient filing system on Mr Stark- but you also had to juggle snooping around Howard's office without raising anyone’s suspicions before he returned from his 3 0'Clock meeting.

You kicked off your shoes and placed the lonely bouquet you saw earlier on the table. You filled an old marmalade Jar and snipped the stems shorter before placing the newly hydrated flowers on the counter. You set the kettle on to make some tea and went to change out of your work clothes.

"Elle, darlin' that you?" Sal chimed in from her room.

"Hey, Sal. I just put on the kettle. Want some tea?"

"Oh, swell!" you heard her feet patter across the floor into the kitchen. "Oh, these are wonderful. Who sent them?" She asked in reference to the flowers.

"No idea. Found them in the trash."

"And you just… picked them up?" she wasn't amused.

"It was empty!"

"Oh, well, that makes it okay," she retorted.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Maybe... this is what happens when you leave me alone with Annie," there was a pause as she removed the whistling kettle from the stove and plopped some cups down. "Oh, there's a card."

You walked out of your room and gave Sal a warm smile. "Who's it from?"

Sal went slightly pale before she balled the card in her hand and walked over to the bin, "No one." You thought her voice sounded odd. She walked back and sat at the count, her hands fidgeting in her pocket. "Probably a lover’s quarrel." She cleared her throat.

"Boy, have I had the most exhausting day--"

"Sorry Hun, I just realised I have to call my brother before it gets too late," Sal practically all but ran into her room. You thought she was acting rather odd but didn't follow up on it. You stretched and headed to the bathroom to run a bath.

***

Sal scoured through her diary looking for Steve's number. She knew she had it somewhere because she called him when she was planning the surprise party she threw for Elle last month.

"Here it is," she cheered. She dialled the number and uncrumpled the card that was on the bouquet. It read: To my best girl, B.

It had to be from Bucky, but how did Elle not notice it? Why hadn't she said anything? And why did Elle find them in the trash? Sal had so many questions and she hoped Steve could answer them, but most of all, she wanted to see if this meant there was space for a reconciliation. Because, honestly, Sal noticed how down Elle's mood had been since she and Bucky split and she imagined Bucky wasn't doing much better either.

When Steve picked up, she almost squealed at the image forming in her mind: Elle and Bucky, back together again!

Part 9 is here!

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As Always: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, If you like it don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and feedback is like a writer’s favourite gift, so if you have anything to say, don’t be shy!! ;)

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[leahazel]

Verity & Allegra: ♥ - family headcanon☮ - friendship headcanon

oh W O W where do I start even

okay let’s try this: 

♥  - Allegra

I think I mentioned several times that Allegra’s mother and grandmother never got along. In fact, they detested each other. Katherine had Big Plans for all her children and her Plan for Oswald did not include him falling in love with a pretty, flighty thing like Flora, however charming she was. She wanted him to marry a sensible woman who would steady his flights of fancy and his impulsivity, and bring out the best in him. But Oswald, like his older sister before him, went and inconveniently fell in love, and was utterly adamant that he could wed no one else. You know the rest: too many children and too much spending and way too many unsound financial decisions. He nearly lost them the family estate, more than once. And Flora in no way curbed his wilder impulses, so it’s not as though Katherine’s feelings towards her were unreasonable. 

There’s another side to the story, though. When the coup happened, they were forewarned because Oswald’s brother Victor is an officer and he had prior knowledge. That allowed Katherine the time and space to put in place the machinations that allied them with the new regime, and protected them from reprisals. The Chases of Arrowfield are an old blood family. They (claim to) trace their ancestry back some five hundred years, back to the old empire. So Katherine was willing to do just about anything to protect the family by cosying up to the new royals, and distancing themselves from anyone who could compromise them. That included Flora’s parents and brothers. Despite her personal frivolity, Flora came from two dignified, long-lined old blood families, Witherwend and Taryn, the latter of which even had (distant) family ties to Katyia’s line. 

As far as Katherine was concerned, any contact with them had to be forsaken, and in this matter, Oswald completely sided with her. Flora hasn’t actually spoken with or written to anyone in her family in almost twenty years. They may have suffered reprisals, she doesn’t know. Information of that nature doesn’t spread very well outside of the immediate neighborhood. When it does, it’s mostly in the form of rumor, gossip, and propaganda scare tactics. The worst of it? Part of cutting off her family entirely meant that she was forced to be absent from her mother, Eleanor’s funeral. So, she also has extremely sound reasons to resent Katherine, even other than the fact that she never made her feel welcome in the family. And Flora is a forgiving person by nature, but she’ll never forgive this. 

The other big secret is that at least one person from Flora’s family is still alive, and they may show up later on in Allegra’s story. No promises. 

♥  - Verity

Verity? I have developed her family, at this point, almost as extensively as Allegra’s, but some of the best secrets in that backstory remain spoilery, so I lean away from them in my stories. This one, though, is free: in “Masters of the Hunt”, Verity tells Kavita that she and Constance are half-sisters. This version of Constance is completely different from Felicity’s Constance. She’s ten years older than Verity and Dion, and she’s the daughter of her father’s first queen. Her mother passed trying to deliver a baby boy when she was about eight. Less than two years later, she was already dealing with a young stepmother and two squealing infant half-siblings -- one of whom, by virtue of having been born a boy, was automatically the new favorite. 

Constance strongly favors their father in looks, dark-skinned and slender with long, straight dark hair. Verity and Dion favor their mother, plumper and curly-haired. Although Verity’s particular dark blonde shade of hair is a peculiarity, since both of her parents are dark-haired. And I think I told you (although I didn’t post it publicly) that, although Verity is very attached to Constance, Dion barely knows her. 

There is also something about the twins’ mother Agnes, and her father and his second marriage, but that veers awfully close to spoilers. It’s an interesting story, although the family ties are incredibly convoluted, and I haven’t named all the characters. It’s worth noting though that the only one of her grandparents that Verity ever really got on with is Agnes’s stepmother, Primula. When she mentions learning Onvu from her grandmother, that’s who she’s talking about. 

☮ - Allegra

Prior to the summit, Allegra really didn’t have that many friends. Many acquaintances, and contacts, and invitations. And, you could say, assets. And she had Leonie, who is just about as close to a friend as she ever had in the capital, but Leonie is more like half-friend, half-rival. And she definitely thinks Allegra is a spy, but I won’t get into why that is. 

After the summit... Well, it hurt her to leave so many people behind, not knowing when or if they might meet in person again. But that is part of the uncertainty that’s native to their style of life, and she’s never known anything else so she doesn’t expect anything else. And I believe I mentioned once, Allegra is a very good correspondent. How well she keeps in contact with people is entirely dependent on how diligent they are at answering her letters. So it breaks down something like this: Cordelia, Penelope, Lyon and Avalie write frequent, long letters. Lisle often doesn’t have time to write and always feels guilty about it, but Penny sends updates from him. Emmett’s letters are disorganized and sporadic, but always heartfelt. Zarad’s letters aren’t frequent, but they’re long and juicy and extremely filled with gossip. Hamin is not much of a letter writer but he somehow finds other ways to keep her updated, and certainly knows way more than he has any business to about what she’s up to. Jasper writes... once or twice. Anaele... honestly, I think she might be the only one Allegra completely loses contact with. And Ria is a special case. 

☮ - Verity

So many spoilers, just so many. I’m... actually working on a story from Nerissa’s POV right now, and it’s been an interesting journey for me. 

Both Kavita and Nerissa are less sincere friends than Verity chooses to see them as... to start with. Kavita is very fond of Verity, but she has a job to do as the ambassador’s wife and she has a whole life and web of connections back in Corval that she never speaks with her about. But for the sake of her connection with Constance, she’s tried to keep an eye on the Princess, to make sure she’s as clever as she thinks she is. That’s part of why she directed Petra her way. Petra is more of an ally than a friend, but she’s trust-worthy, and there’s a lot yet to happen that will change the way she and Verity interact. 

Nerissa is a complicated case. She’s a widow and she has all the ambitious widow’s weaknesses, and in many ways she’s even worse than Allegra at treating people like assets instead of friends. But at least she has a reasonably good excuse. For Nissa, people can be family or they can be strangers, but her mentality has no category for “friend”. 

Gisette is much the same way. She has genuine affection for Verity, who is after all always surprising her by being smarter and more competent than she initially appeared to be. But as the immortal quote goes, love is never any better than the lover. Gisette is cold, cruel, and selfish, and her love for Verity is much the same. She is also unwavering, but that’s already edging into spoiler territory. Violetta is much the same: she’s a moody, inconstant narcissist, so her love for Verity as a daughter-in-law, while certainly as genuine as she is capable of being, is capricious and self-serving. 

Of all the supporting characters I have introduced so far, I think the only ones who approach Verity without any sort of self-serving agenda are Desmond and Una, and maybe the guardsman Alek. I haven’t really gotten around to developing them properly, though. 

[mmfpeg]

Oh yeah, it's Hari Kartini, isn't it.

An excerpt from Kartini's letter to Mevrouw M.C.E. Ovink-Soer, November 1899 (from Letters of a Javanese Princess, translated by Agnes Louis Symmers, https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34647)

I only realized that it's Hari Kartini only because I typed "twi" on the address bar and it suggested "twibbon hari kartini". Just for added sadness.

Isn't it funny how we celebrate Hari Kartini every year, and yet I didn't seem to learn anything about her throughout my primary education? We had a small festival thing when I was in grade school, celebrating Hari Kartini. We dressed up in cute traditional clothes and had a little ceremony thing. Sure didn't learn anything about Kartini herself that day. All that I've got from all the history classes seemed to be bits and bobs of pieces. There's this book called "Habis Gelap Terbitlah Terang". You'd be forgiven if you think that she wrote and published that book, much in the vein of Multatuli's Max Havelaar (that's another book which has a disconnect between its reputation and actual content of, but that's another can of worms). Then you learn that it's originally in Dutch? Then you learn that it's actually a collection of letters, of her corresponding with her Dutch friends, compiled by a Dutch person. What are the contents of the letters? God knows. Vague, feminist-y stuff? I certainly don't know. Throughout 12 years of compulsory education, I've never even seen the book, let alone read it. You know that she's supposed to be an educator, and there's a few schools named after her. Sekolah Kartini. Oh, sure, she opened those schools, then? No, it was a result of Dutch Ethical Policy. The first school opened in 1907. Kartini passed away on 1904. Aged 25. That's an awfully young age for someone who is sung of as "our mother"; "Ibu kita Kartini". But did she really get that much activism done during these years? Of course not. She went to Batavia to study to become a teacher, and then… she went home, to be married as someone's fourth wife. And then she passed away.

Reading back the above paragraph, I feel like I was just here to denigrate her. I'm not sure if that was my intention. It's a par-for-the-course reaction for someone who's getting disillusioned, no? And of course, I don't actually begrudge Kartini herself. She did actually get to open a small school for women! She did lament the condition of women in her country, and wished for emancipation of women. What I hate is the disconnect between her supposed reputation, what the Nation wants you to know about her, and what the person actually was like. She was bright and witty! She also spent most of her life trapped in her own home, to be prepared for wedlock. Only reason we seem to know so much about her is because of those letters. But "smart and progressive girl being penpals with some Dutch people" is hard to be made to sound heroic. She needs to be this flat, mythological figure. Nevermind the ironic cruelty of giving the national designation of "Mother" to someone who died young and never got to see her only children grow up. But somehow, after all that, still one truth shines out. After effusive praises of her being a True and Noble putri, on the only line that actually told us something about her, the very last line of the song: "Sungguh besar cita-citanya bagi Indonesia". Despite a life that was restrained and cut short, she did have a big dream for her people. I would have known that if I had gotten to read the letters themselves. Maybe we should start doing that.

[thinktosee]

OUR IDEALS AND OUR STRENGTH TO SEE THEM THROUGH  - PART 1 – RADEN ADJENG KARTINI

Image courtesy Goodreads.

“You asked me how I came to be placed between four thick walls. You certainly thought of a cell or something of that kind. No, Stella, my prison was a large house with grounds around it. But around those grounds there was a high wall and that held me as prisoner. Never mind how splendid a house and garden may be if one may never go beyond them, it is stifling. I remember how often, in dumb despair, I would press my body against the fast closed gate and the cold stones. Whatever direction I took, at the end of every walk there was always a stone wall or locked door.”(1)

- Kartini,  Indonesian feminist and pioneering educator (1879-1904) “Letters of a Javanese Princess”

Graduation ceremonies, in-person and virtual, are on-going across the world. The privilege which education confers, is undoubtedly one of the most valuable gifts bestowed on us within the realm of our civilization. This gift empowers, obsesses, drives and enables us towards a dream unique only to each as individuals. The opportunity to live this dream, becomes possible because education equips us with the wherewithal to go in confidence into the world to be who we are truly destined to be. That dream begins as always, with an ideal.

As young lads in elementary school in Singapore long ago, we were taught about the legacy of Raden Adjeng Kartini. She, a youth, seemingly ahead of her time, who painfully struggled within a tradition-laden feudal society, enveloped by a colonial haze. Kartini was a child of the Regent of Jepara in Java. Her father was formally tutored by the colonial Dutch, which influenced him to share the gift of education with his children. Kartini and her four sisters received their elementary education in a Dutch-run school where they were exposed to the consuming passions of the European Age of Enlightenment. But what we might not have been conscious then about Kartini during our lessons in school, was the indelible connection between Western education and the wonderful possibilities which it offered. This was especially evidenced by the several correspondences between Kartini and her Dutch pen friend, the feminist Stella Zeehandelaar, and also between Kartini and J.H. Abendanon, the Director of Education, Industry and Religion in Java, and his wife, Rosa. In one of these letters, Kartini expressed her hopes thus :

“I have so longed to make the acquaintance of a ‘modern girl’, the proud, independent girl whom I so much admire; who confidently steps through life, cheerfully and in high spirits, full of enthusiasm and commitment, working not just for her own benefit and happiness alone but also offering herself to the wider society, working for the good of her fellow human beings.”(2) That singular passion, and obsession of spirit, to first attain a coveted education, and thereafter to associate and share that gifted knowledge and training, through the school which she founded within her community, sets Kartini apart as a notable historical figure. Her legacy, which transcended and aided in the struggle for Indonesian independence, proclaims that the road to emancipation is through schooling. In another letter, she said :

"‘By keeping the majority in ignorance one gains control’--that could be the slogan of very many high-ranking people who see with regret that others too are striving for knowledge and cultivation.”(3) 

Kartini passed away at 25 years. Her youthful ideals and their practical creations, galvanized many in Indonesia and South-East Asia, to set on that path she courageously blazed. They, including her sisters, would go on to that path and also to bravely chart new ones, for future generations. 

“Later when we have flown from the warm parental nest and are in the midst of ordinary human life, where no faithful parent’s arm is thrown protectingly around us, when the storms of life rage and rave above our heads, and no loving hands support us, and hold us fast as our feet waver – then for the first time you will see what we are.” (4)

- Kartini, “Letters of a Javanese Princess.”

Image courtesy Insideindonesia.org

Sources/References

1. Raden Adjeng Kartini, “Letters of a Javanese Princess.” p19. Translated from Dutch by Agnes Louise Symmers. Duckworth and Company, Covent Garden. 1921

2. Lawrence, Annee, “Dangerous Women Project.” 2016

Raden Adjeng Kartini - Dangerous Women Project

3. Raden Adjeng Kartini, “Educate the Javanese!” 1903. Translated and Introduction by Jean Taylor. p88

INDO_17_0_1107130745_83_98.pdf (cornell.edu)

4. Letters of a Javanese Princess. p53

[aion-rsa]

Conan: Ranking the Best Remote Segments

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WarnerMedia announced on Tuesday that Conan O’Brien’s long-running TBS talk show, Conan, would be coming to an end next summer. Thankfully, however, the late night pioneer isn’t leaving television altogether – just trading the network world for the streaming one. In addition to his Conan Without Borders travel series already airing on TBS, O’Brien will produce a new weekly variety show for WarnerMedia’s streaming platform, HBO Max, to premiere at a yet-to-be announced date. 

“In 1993 Johnny Carson gave me the best advice of my career: ‘As soon as possible, get to a streaming platform,’” O’Brien said in a statement. “I’m thrilled that I get to continue doing whatever the hell it is I do on HBO Max, and I look forward to a free subscription.”

At first glance, this appears to be bittersweet news. O’Brien has been a late night talk show staple for decades. Following an excellent writing career for The Simpsons and Saturday Night Live, O’Brien took over for his hero David Letterman on NBC’s Late Night in 1993 and stewarded it through 2009. That was followed by a measly half-year as host of the venerable Tonight Show before NBC got spooked about not having Jay Leno on TV anymore. For the past 10 years, O’Brien has continued his late night talk show format for TBS’s Conan. 

Though it’s sad to lose O’Brien as a late night talk show titan, the reality is that the comedian was never much of a talk show host to begin with. That’s not to say that he wasn’t good at the job, because he was. But it’s always been evidently clear that O’Brien succeeds the most when not tied to the restrictive talk show format. This is something that the host himself has increasingly realized over the years, cutting out an interview segment slot from Conan to bring the running time down to a breezy 30 minutes, and producing the acclaimed Conan Without Borders series to capitalize on his already popular remote travel segments

The best comedy that O’Brien has throughout his impressive run has very rarely been delivered in-studio. Every time O’Brien left the confines of his desk, whether it be for Late Night, The Tonight Show, or Conan, viewers could be confident that they were about to witness something truly hilarious. The longtime comedy writer quite simply thrives being out “in the wild.” There he is able to put his gangly comedic physicality to use and truly relish his ability to make people uncomfortable.

In honor of O’Brien finally making the long-awaited jump back to variety comedy, we’ve gathered together our 10 favorite remote segments the comedian has ever done. The only qualifications here are that the bits have to have occurred on one of his three major shows and they have to feature him away from his studio. Also, we won’t be counting any official Conan Without Borders entries as that is a distinct entity and would muddy the waters too much.

Without further ado…

Honorable Mention – Triumph the Insult Comic Dog Attends the Premiere of “Star Wars: Attack Of The Clones”

(Original airdate: 5/17/2002)

Sadly, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog is not Conan O’Brien and therefore cannot appear on this list of Conan’s best remote segments. But it would feel unfair not to take time to highlight Late Night with Conan O’Brien’s other remote segment superstar. As created by SNL’s Robert Smigel, Triumph is a Eastern European-accented, cigar-chomping insult comic…who also just happens to be a dog puppet. Triumph’s trips outside the studio are almost always hilarious, but the rude canine hits an absolute comedic high with his trip to the Attack of the Clones premiere. Perhaps the most amazing thing in that clip isn’t the numerous cutting, hilarious, and utterly cruel nerd jokes, but how rapturously the audience responds at the beginning upon learning that Triumph is the correspondent Conan sent to the premiere.

10. Conan’s Trip to Ireland

(Original airdate: 3/17/1999)

Here, as far back as the 20th Century (before “the year two-thousaaaanddd”) we can see Conan began to realize how much fun he, and his audience by extension, had when he hits the road. Sending a red-haired individual named Conan O’Brien to Ireland is about as easy a slam dunk that a late night comedy writer can find. There’s a lot to love here, but nothing will top the photoshopped portraits of all of Conan’s ancestors. 

9. Conan Delivers Chinese Food in NYC

(Original airdate: 11/1/2011)

Late in 2011, just under a year after Conan premiered, Conan returned to New York City where he had spent his Late Night tenure to film a week’s worth of shows. And what better way to ring in the return than with a stellar remote segment? In this bit, Conan serves as an inept delivery boy for Manhattan Chinese restaurant King Wok. It’s apparent early on just how excited he is to be back in New York when he’s already purring at one of the employees 10 seconds in. Conan gets the full New York experience in this, from one standoffish deliveree angrily denying that he’s her delivery guy to him being served Argentinian tea from a beautiful woman leaning out her window. The citizens of New York City are often Conan’s best comedic collaborators and they show why once again here.

8. Conan Goes to Trucking School

(Original airdate: 7/18/1997)

“Conan Goes to Trucking School” benefits from having the thinnest of setups. Conan wants to be a truck driver. Why? Well, who cares, the Jersey Truck Driving School is up for it and we’ve got some time to kill. Into that conceptual vacuum steps Conan just having the time of his life. You know you’re in for a good remote segment when Conan and a trucker he just met are singing a country song less than two minutes in. 

7. Conan Tries to Sell His Ford Taurus 

(Original airdate: 5/6/2004)

Conan O’Brien’s reviled puke green 1992 Ford Taurus is one of Late Night’s most enduring non-human characters (right up there with the Masturbating Bear). This segment serves as the first time we get to see the damnable machine in the chrome and it doesn’t disappoint. “Conan Tries to Sell His Ford Taurus” is among the best Conan remotes ever because it’s pretty clear that Conan actually loves the stupid thing. Of course he’s joking when he says things like “the wolf is on the prowl” or calls his stick shift the “Cone Bone”, but he doesn’t have to fake much pain when car experts give in an assessment in the $1800-3000 range. 

6. Conan Visits The American Girl Store

(Original airdate: 12/18/2013)

“Conan Visits The American Girl Store” is perhaps the best argument you can find for giving Conan O’Brien alcohol and putting him on television. The first half of this bit is undoubtedly solid as Conan plays up the creepiness of him visiting a store designed for young girls. But things really take off when he finally chooses his doll (Potential Nazi war criminal Agnes Schweitzhoffer) and settles in for dinner in the American Girl Store’s shockingly lush dining room. As the chardonnay goes down, Conan (and Agnes by extension) are increasingly unable to hide their annoyance at the garçon and all his stupid riddles. 

5. Conan Goes to Houston to Find Viewers

(Original air date: 5/1/1997)

In the first few years of Late Night with Conan O’Brien’s run, Conan and his team of writers had plenty of fun with how little people seemed to enjoy their dumb show. This segment takes that concept to its extreme. When Conan discovers that the Houston television market doesn’t air Late Night until 2:40 a.m. local time, he takes a camera team to Texas to find some fans after hours. The journey takes him from a bail bonds office, to a hotel basement, to an emergency room, and all the way to a bus terminal at 3:21 a.m. where he meets a man who is decidedly not a fan. “I was just almost murdered,” Conan says as he sits down for comedic effect…but also probably to catch his breath. 

4. Ice Cube, Kevin Hart, and Conan Share a Lyft Car

(Original airdate: 12/10/2013)

The apparent success of Conan’s remote segments can be charted over the years by the level of talent that wants to get in on them. In this segment, Ice Cube and Kevin Hart are unambiguously big gets. And instead of any studio nonsense, they were more than happy in 2013 to check out this strange new service known as…Lyft? Are we pronouncing that right? Something about getting Conan, Cube, Kevin, and their Lyft driver Anthony in an enclosed space brings out the madness in them all. Hart and Ice Cube have a blast trying to turn Anthony against the gangly Conan as he runs into 7/11 to get everyone swisher sweets and a DVD of Ghosts of Girlfriends Past. Highlights here include Conan’s absurdly burdensome beatboxing and Kevin yelling “I’ll cut his shins off!” to Anthony’s friend over the phone. 

3. Conan Plays Old-Timey Baseball

(Original airdate: 6/25/2004)

When Conan signed off of Late Night for what would be an unexpectedly brief Tonight Show tenure, he brought back this 2004 skit as an example of the kind of absurdist humor he felt the show did best. And it’s clear to see why. Conan’s trip to Old Bethpage Village Restoration where reenactors play old-timey baseball is in many ways the goofy platonic ideal of a Conan segment. The absurdity of the premise is funny enough as is, and then Conan’s buy-in only enhances the proceedings. “What is that demonry???” a 19th century Conan cries as a plane passes overhead. But the not-so-stealthy MVP here is the reenactor who is truly committed to her role as the dour village woman with a dead father and a soon-to-be-dead husband in the Civil War. “You know that guy ain’t coming back. I was down in the Civil War. I saw him and he was acting very cowardly I have to say,” Conan says in an attempt to woo her.

2. Dave Franco and Conan Join Tinder

(Original airdate: 7/17/2014)

Just about every moment of “Dave Franco and Conan Join Tinder” is joyously, ludicrously hilarious. Conan gives viewers all the set up they need for why he’d want to browse Tinder with Dave Franco, saying “Naturally, because I’m a creep, I’m intrigued.” Conan and Dave adopting their Chip Whitley and Dgenghis Roundstone (the “D” is silent) personas is wonderful. As is an unexpected cameo from Conan’s assistant Sona and Conan and Dave’s competition over the 74-year-old Gloria. But per usual, this thing really gets moving when Conan and Dave hit the road in their creepy panel van. Conan assures Dave that the van is filled with duct tape solely to hold the cameras up. “I wish I could say I saw duct tape on any of these cameras,” Dave responds. Once Chip and Dgenghis finally meet their Tinder date, this segment evolves into its glorious final form where Dave and the citizens of L.A. bond over what a weirdo Conan is.

1. The Jordan Schlansky Saga

(Original airdate: 9/1/2008)

Our number 1 entry is a bit of a cheat. For starters, this is not referring to merely one remote segment but a whole genre of them. And the first entry is not even technically a “remote.” Still, we must highlight it all the same for the saga of Conan O’Brien’s associate producer Jordan Schlansky is among the best comedy that Late Night/Tonight Show/Conan ever produced. During the writer’s strike in 2008, Conan tried to keep Late Night going without his usual bevy of writers to help out. This meant segments in which Conan would meet with some of the people behind the scenes of his show which brought him into contact with his eventual archnemesis Jordan Schlansky.

Schlansky is just an aggressively strange person. Always dispassionate and rarely smiling, Schlansky fancies himself a Bohemian renaissance man with his breakfast shakes, mastery of the bullwhip, and vespa. The best part of their original meeting is when Conan realizes just how hilariously bizarre the gestalt of Jordan and can’t help but collapse into laughter as he chokes out “You’re just not like other people.” Later Jordan would join Conan and many remote segments to aggressively annoy and vex him, including one dinner that is among the best things the show has ever done. That lead to Conan’s truly chilling villain monologue:

Conan: I promise you this, I will not kill you myself. But I will have you killed. I will have you wiped out. 

Jordan: I am subject to the same winds, the sun, the air that created the wine that I am drinking. 

Conan: There will be nothing that links me to your murder. There will be no physical link between your dead body and myself. But you will be murdered. I will order it. I will pay for it. But I’ll have no- I am blameless in the eyes of the international court, that I promise you. (laughs) I’m gonna kill you. (laughs) You have to go.

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BONUS – Conan Checks Out the Christmas Lights in Dyker Heights

(Original airdate: 12/22/2000)

Here’s a bonus entry for purely sentimental reasons. This is nowhere near the best of Conan’s hundreds of remote segments, but it holds some personal value to your dear author. Once upon a time I was a child celebrating the Christmas season a month after my family’s 400-mile move to a new home. My parents had a Christmas party that day and I severely overindulged on chocolates, finishing them off with several clementines before bed for some reason. Suffice it to say, sometime around midnight, I puked all over a brand new sleeping bag I received as a gift and ended up on the couch, full of chocolate, clementines, and regret. My mom flipped on the TV to distract me while she hauled off the sleeping bag to be cleaned…or burned. On TV was this very segment “Conan Checks Out the Christmas Lights in Dyker Heights.” I was enraptured by this strange orange-haired man making fun of people’s garish Christmas decorations…even as I tasted the foul acidy sting of rancid citrus in my throat. And thus is the perfect Conan O’Brien watching experience. Best of luck at HBO Max, Conesy!

The post Conan: Ranking the Best Remote Segments appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[saimabaig360]

What is a Black Hole and What is Inside a Black Hole

In 2016, two scientists at the California Institute of Technology, Mike Brown and Konstantin Baytgin, hypothesized the existence of a ninth planet in our solar system. With mass 10 times greater than that of Earth, this planet would explain the weird orbits of some objects far beyond the planet Neptune. Since then they – and other scientists – have been looking for Planet 9 to no avail. Then just last month, in August 2020, different scientists put forth another hypothesis: that the weird orbits of these objects could be explained by a collection of bodies – one of which is Planet 9 – and that all these are black holes.

Well, that’s all very interesting but what is a black hole?

It is not empty space. It is in fact a region of space time where gravity is so strong that nothing – not even light can escape it – and if light cannot escape it, we cannot see it – hence black hole. Scientists think that the smallest black holes are as small as an atom but with the mass of a mountain.

When a big heavy star – from 5 to perhaps 65 times the mass of the Sun – runs out of fuel it collapses onto itself, causing an explosion called a supernova. The explosion squeezes the remaining matter into a tiny space, giving the black hole its heavy-duty gravity. These are stellar-mass black holes, which can be up to 10 to 100 times more massive than the Sun.

This by the way will not happen to the Sun because it is not massive enough. Our star will have a much less explosive, though no less spectacular death, when, in about 5 billion years it will turn into a red giant and will engulf Mercury, Venus and possibly even Earth. Eventually, it will become a white dwarf with just about 50% of its current mass. But that’s a long time away, so let’s get back to our black holes.

There are also super massive black holes, which are inordinately humungous, the largest type of black holes, with mass of millions or even billion Suns (generally super massive black holes are those above one million solar masses). Some scientists have started labelling black holes above 10 billion solar masses as ultra massive black holes. Over the years, observations have revealed that at the centre of most galaxies is a super-massive black hole formed at the same time as the host galaxy. Even our galaxy, the Milky Way has a super-massive black hole at its centre corresponding to the location of a bright and compact radio source known as Sagittarius A*. This black hole is equal to about 4 million suns, but remember this mass is compacted inside a small space and that’s why the gravity is so high. Research is still ongoing on the formation of super-massive black holes but scientists think that they can grow by accreting matter due to their extremely high gravity or even by merging with other black holes.

Primordial black holes may have formed directly from external pressure in the first moments of the Big Bang. These could have accreted matter, eventually becoming super massive black holes. So, primordial black holes could have been the seeds of the existing super massive black holes.

Fun fact: black holes were predicted by Einstein’ theory of relativity but he did not believe they could exist because the idea was so bizarre. Many scientists have since then contributed to the theory that black holes do – in fact – exist. Initially, the idea of a massive body that even light could not escape its gravity was proposed by English astronomer and clergyman Jon Michell in 1784.

How do we know they exist?

Remember that immense gravity we talked about? That’s how. This gravity pulls material into the centre of the black hole and we can see this material falling into it by the electromagnetic radiation it emits. Scientists study stars orbiting or flying by a black hole. When they are close enough to a black hole, they emit high energy light, which they can observe with satellites and telescopes.

Black holes have some well-known characteristics.

Event Horizon

An event horizon is the defining feature of a black hole. This is the boundary in space time through which matter and light can pass only inward into the black hole. Once matter or light have passed the event horizon, that’s it, there is no escape. Any object approaching the event horizon appears to slow down and to an observer, seem to take an infinite time to crossover, till it fades away and can no longer be seen. Typically, this happens very quickly though, taking less than a second. However, if you were to fall into a black hole, time would appear normal to you.

Singularity

At the centre of a black hole may lie the singularity – a region where the curvature of space time becomes infinite. The singularity has zero volume but contains all the mass of the black hole. If you fall into a black hole and reach the singularity, you will go through something called spaghetification. You will be stretched so that you look like spaghetti, and then torn apart. After that, you will be crushed into infinite density and your mass will be added to that of the black hole. A cool way to go I think.

Black holes can be static and rotating and both can have a singularity.

Active Galactic Nuclei (AGN)

As gas and dust from stars and other objects, orbiting a super massive black hole at the centre of a galaxy, falls into it, it forms an accretion disk. This disk emits electromagnetic radiation that can be captured by our instruments. The extreme gravity of the black hole compresses the accretion disk till it reaches millions of degrees kelvin and forms the bright active galactic nucleus at the centre of a galaxy.

Quasars are extremely luminous active galactic nuclei, in which a super massive black hole with mass ranging from millions to billions of times the mass of the Sun is surrounded by a gaseous accretion disk. The power radiated by quasars is enormous and we are able to detect the electromagnetic radiation they emit with our instruments.

A blazar is an active galactic nucleus emitting a jet composed of ionized matter travelling nearly at the speed of light.

For most of the time we have known about black holes we were never able to directly observe them. Then, in 2016, scientists announced the detection of the merger of two black holes. The merger produced gravitational waves (also predicted by Einstein), which were captured by special instruments here on Earth. Since then gravitational waves produced by many such mergers have been detected, some even indicating the presence of intermediate mass black holes i.e., those between stellar mass and super-massive ones.

My name is Saima Baig and I am the owner and content creator for 360 on History. Welcome to my knowledge portal, https://www.360onhistory.com/, providing FREE content on science, nature, history, and climate. From the Big Bang to today, I take a 360 degree look at life, the universe and the history of everything. Visit www.360onhistory.com for blogs, podcast and videos on science, history and nature.

[imagine-loki]

Mr. Laufeyson's Ward

TITLE: Mr. Laufeyson’s Ward

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 7 AUTHOR: goddessofmischief ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit. 

RATING: T

It was apparent that my master and Lavinia had made up that particular morning following their small quarrel, for they were inseparable throughout the rest of her stay at Heathcote. However, Mr. Laufeyson’s attention on me, during the following week, had not diminished in the slightest. He always made sure that I was content and kept well engaged with various indoor diversions - since, by the doctor’s orders, I was still not permitted to go outside. To my delight, he gave me permission to consistently borrow from his library whenever he was present. Upon my first return inside that room, after the incident, I had not been surprised to see that the mysterious daguerreotype of myself was missing from his desk.

Throughout this time, I additionally received, and answered, a few more correspondences from Agnes and Miss Grey, which brightened my spirits even further. They all seemed to be doing well, and Agnes had begun to lay layers of seeds in the garden, which reminded myself about the garden in which Mr. Laufeyson had given me permission to work on.

The Browne’s left early on a beautiful Saturday morning in mid-March, which had been precisely a fortnight since their arrival. I once again joined everyone else in sending them off. Mr. Browne said goodbye to me in a cordial manner, while Lavinia and her mother ignored me completely. In fact, the two women eyed me strangely, with expressions of envy and suspicion. Was it because I would remain at Heathcote with Mr. Laufeyson, while Lavinia would be miles away from her lover? After assuring Lavinia that he would send her a letter shortly, he briefly kissed her and their carriage soon departed.

But then, after they were gone, Peter came around with the phaeton, in which I recognized was being pulled by Dorian and Xavier. This bewildered me quite. Once Peter exited the carriage, my master got inside and called out to me. “Victoria, go on inside and fetch your bonnet and cloak.” He said, as Richard handed him his top hat and gloves. “Why sir? Where are we going?” I inquired. “Well, as you are now allowed to venture outside, I thought we could take a ride into the village.” I was so enthralled by this that I hurried inside without another word, and I could hear my master heartily laugh at my reaction. I put on my lighter cloak and bonnet, as it was one of those rare March days that foretold the coming of spring. The sun shone high in the sky, and the temperature was pleasant. When I returned outside, I took my master’s outstretched hand and he guided me into the carriage. I perceived how amazed the servants were by my master’s actions, and I also was quite flustered by how altered his disposition kept proving to be. Nevertheless, they all wished us a pleasant afternoon. Mr. Laufeyson tightened his grasp on the reins and we were soon on our way. “Have you missed the outdoors, Victoria?” he asked. “Tremendously, sir!” I exclaimed, gleefully. He smiled and turned onto an empty lane. “It seems that only a moment outside has brought back the rosiness to your cheeks.“ He briefly examined my face before he spoke again. "I must admit I have disliked having you so confined to the house throughout the past week.” “As have I, but it’s no matter. This makes up for it.” I assured him. I looked past him onto the moors, and, unlike on that other foggy morning, I could now see the village in the distance. He brought my attention back to him as he held out the reins towards me. “Would you like to steer?” “I believe that would be unwise, sir. I’m far too incompetent. I haven’t even ridden a horse for about a year.” This was true. The last time I rode a horse was on a trip to Cornwall with my parents last spring. “We must go riding together soon, but here, I’ll help guide you.” He quickly gave me the reins before I could say another word, but then placed his gloved hands over mine. I was daunted by partially navigating the carriage at first, and this was evident in how tense my hands were. “Just relax, you’re doing fine.” He spoke calmly. We continued onwards and as soon as I became rather comfortable in steering, due to the feeling of his hands encompassing mine, he suddenly lifted his hands off. “No! Please don’t!” I exclaimed, terrified at the prospect of steering the carriage on my own. He chuckled, but held my hands once more. “Are you this scared when you ride horses as well?” “I’m not scared.” I retorted sharply. “I just haven’t maneuvered a horse in a while.” “Of course, Victoria. I am only joking.” He spoke in a lighthearted manner, and appeared amused by my anger. “Do you happen to have a riding habit, by the way?” “No, sir. I did not pack one with me.” My parents had purchased a few riding habits for me, especially for that trip to Cornwall, but I knew that I would not need them at the orphanage. I hadn’t predicted, however, that I would have the chance to wear them in Yorkshire. “Well, it looks like that we will just have to add one to our shopping list.” He slyly grinned. “No. I couldn’t possibly think of having you purchase my clothes, sir.” “Now, I want to make one thing clear.” His tone suddenly darkened, and I shrank away from him. “You will not question me further in regards to how I spend my money.” He paused and sighed deeply. He avoided my eyes by looking back onto the road, and his next words were delivered more benevolently. “You are my ward, and therefore I get to ultimately decide what I wish to buy you - with your opinion, of course.” “Yes, sir.” I said meekly before also returning my eyes to the lane ahead of us.

We soon drove into the quaint village, which was everything that I hoped it would be. It had a wide variety of shops, including a dressmaker, general store, post office, bookshop, pharmacy, tea room and tavern. Upon our arrival into town, I became aware at how the townspeople reacted as we passed them by. They would hurry to get out of the street or nod timidly towards Mr. Laufeyson with averted eyes. I didn’t question Mr. Laufeyson about the behaviors of these people, for I saw that his entire countenance conveyed a look of superiority and arrogance. He turned into a wide alley, in which a young man immediately appeared and held the horses as we got out of the vehicle. Not a word was spoken between Mr. Laufeyson and the young man, but the young man proceeded to lead the horses forward into an extensive barn where other carriages were parked in. “I was thinking that we can visit the dressmaker first, and then I will drop you off at the bookshop for a little while. I have some business to attend to.” “What kind of business, sir?” “I have not made it known to you, but I am the landlord of most of the houses situated in this part of Yorkshire. Therefore, I am meeting with one of my tenants at the tavern this afternoon.” I nodded in understanding, yet I was quite surprised to hear of his title as a landlord. Was his occupation really so trivial that I had never heard any of the servants talk about it before? I wondered why nobody had mentioned it to me prior.

He guided me in the direction of the dressmaker’s, which proved to be a beautifully designed store, complete with different mannequins showing the latest fashions from London and abroad. Various display tables exhibited exquisite laces, ribbons and other bits and bobs. As we had entered the store, a bell above the door had marked our presence and a middle-aged woman came out of the back juggling many boxes in her arms. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!” She said, her voice muffled by the large boxes before her face, which also obscured her view. As she tried to maneuver behind the counter, she stumbled over something and the boxes, which most definitely contained various bonnets and other hats, flew out of her hands. However, all of the boxes had been secured tightly and none of the contents had spilled out. I hurried over to help her pick them up. “Oh, thank you, miss.” She said graciously. I said it was no problem at all, and after she placed her boxes onto the counter, her eyes widened and she stepped backwards into the wall upon looking in the direction of my master. “Good day, Mr. Laufeyson.” She said shakily. “How may I be of service to you?” “Hello Mrs. Walsh. My ward Victoria is in need of a new riding habit, and some other dresses as well.” Other dresses? I did not need, nor did I desire, additional frocks. I was perfectly content with the ones that I already have in my possession. I had not even worn the majority of them yet, as I was still in mourning. “O-Of course. Let me get out our new catalogue.” She returned to the back room. “Sir, I do not need more dresses. Just the riding habit will do.” I remarked. “I will be purchasing you two additional dresses, Victoria. A day and evening dress. And I don’t want to hear another word of defiance issue from your mouth.” He said resolutely, but in a jovial tone of voice. And as I crossed my arms in defeat, I saw that he grinned triumphantly.

Mrs. Walsh returned to the catalogue, and Mr. Laufeyson told me to choose whatever styles I liked. The style of riding habit that I chose was harmonious to the ones that I used to own, yet I chose it in a dark charcoal grey to correspond with my mourning. The deep burgundy day dress I selected was rather plain, but still pretty, and was detailed by ruching at the bodice, puffed sleeves and a small bow at the back. The evening dress was more difficult to decide upon, as I couldn’t settle on a color. “Which do you prefer, sir? The blue or the green?” I asked my guardian, showing him the silk swatches of the two colors. “The green.” He said without hesitation. “And have you just chosen that color as it is your favorite?” I eyed his cravat, as he had chosen to wear one of emerald green today. “Perhaps.” He grinned. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to see me in another color? Like pink, for example?” I immediately regretted my words, as I knew that they might offend him as they obviously referred to Lavinia’s many gowns of that color. However, he began to chuckle. “Yes, I am quite sure.” When I turned back to Mrs. Walsh to confirm the color for the dress, she appeared baffled by what was going on between Mr. Laufeyson and I. Nevertheless, she wrote it down in her order book and told me to follow her to the back to take my measurements.

“You are a blessing, Miss Victoria.” She whispered to me once she closed the curtain that separated the back room from the front. This statement took me off guard, yet when I responded I also spoke softly as I didn’t want Mr. Laufeyson to overhear our conversation. “How so, Mrs. Walsh?” “Please dear, call me Gertrude.” I nodded at her request and she continued. “Not I, nor anybody else in the entirety of Yorkshire, have ever witnessed Mr. Laufeyson act with such amiability before!” She began to take my measurements with diligence as I asked her a question. “Has he always been so formidable?” “Ohh, yes, dear. As a landlord, he has caused families to move out of their homes and out onto the streets to live the rest of their lives in poverty. Just last year, one of my good friends Jan Appleby was forced out of her home with her five children due to her husband’s inability to pay Mr. Laufeyson’s high charges of rent.” “And where are the Appleby’s now?” I inquired worriedly. “They had to move out of town. They are still in Yorkshire, yet are far away enough from being influenced further by Mr. Laufeyson.” I was saddened to learn of this. She finished up with the necessary measurements, and I informed her to give me an additional inch or two. She initially thought that I was joking, but I told her that I wished to gain back some weight. “Is Mr. Laufeyson treating you well?” She immediately asked with apprehension. “Yes. I just recently had a fever. That’s all.” It did not want to give this woman another reason to hate my master. “Ah, yes. This winter has been cruel to us all.” She said with a sigh. “Well, we better go back out. I don’t want to make your master suspicious of what we are talking about.” She said with a wink. I obliged, and as she drew the curtain, my eyes fell on my guardian, who appeared completely dissatisfied from having to wait so long in such a store. “I expect that all of these garments will be completed in two weeks.” He firmly addressed to Mrs. Walsh. Her eyes bulged open wide. “But, sir, surely you must understand-“ “I don’t want to hear any grievances from you, Mrs. Walsh. Make the completion of these dresses your upmost priority.” I then spoke up, for I would not allow him to inflict such pressure upon the woman, who probably had many other garments to complete other than mine. “It would be unnecessary for Gertrude-“ Mr. Laufeyson turned to me with shock at already being on a first name basis with the dressmaker, having only spent less than five minutes with her alone. “I mean Mrs. Walsh, to prioritize two dresses that I will not wear until a few more months, or whenever I deem is the right time.” “What do you mean, Miss Dowling?” He scowled disapprovingly. The fact that he had once again addressed me in this way did not go unnoticed. For the last two weeks, I had grown accustomed to hearing him call me only by my first name. “I am still in mourning, sir, and therefore I will continue to wear black and grey for the time being. So, Mrs. Walsh will take her time on the dresses and only focus on completing the riding habit in two or more weeks.” I turned to my master and he bit his lip in agitation. When he opened his mouth, he could utter nothing. “Two weeks for the riding habit will be just fine, miss.” Said Mrs. Walsh appreciatively.

“How dare you humiliate me, Victoria!” shouted Mr. Laufeyson once we exited out of the shop. “I apologize, sir. I did not intend to offend you. I only thought to remind you of my mourning.” I was finding it hard to hold back my laughter at his wounded pride. “Well, I still will not have you boss me around in such a way again!” His words wavered, and did not come out as confidently as he intended. “Yes, sir.” I agreed, even though I felt like challenging him on his own morals, especially in regards to the information that I had gathered from Gertrude. He then placed his top hat firmly on his head and took out his pocket watch to check the time. “I must meet my tenant now, Victoria. Do you mind spending a few minutes at the bookshop?” “Of course, sir.” I nodded with approval. He smiled, and his previous crossness towards me seemed to dissipate into thin air. “Good girl. I will meet you inside shortly. Pick out whichever books you like.” He departed in the direction of the Red Lion Tavern, as I headed to the bookshop across the street.

There was already a large gathering of people inside, and I grew disconcerted when the crowd, which was largely made up of men, turned to observe me. They all began to mutter things to one another, and I hid behind a stack of books. Although I appeared interested in the large volumes before my eyes, I was not in the slightest: for they were all medical and scientific journals. “Is that she?” whispered one voice. “Yes, indeed. Just look at how she is dressed in all black. Yet, the color becomes her quite well.” answered another. I then heard a women’s voice out of the congregation of men: “Poor thing. I heard from Mrs. Sweeney that her husband believes that Mr. Laufeyson abuses the girl.” “It wouldn’t surprise me, considering how much of a brute he is.” another man responded.

“You take an interest in medical and scientific journals then?” said a voice from my right. “I’m certain that many girls your age would not be interested in such subjects.” I looked away from one of the spines of a ten year old book entitled: The Provincial Medical & Surgical Journal: 1867 and saw that a young man was standing besides me. He had curly auburn hair and wore an apron, which informed me at once that he was an employee here. He continued speaking when I did not respond. “My name is James. Is there anything I can help you with?” “No. I am alright.” I spoke in a whisper, as I was still trying to discern what the others were saying. “So you are interested in such subjects then?” “No.” He laughed at this, but I found no humor in what I had said. I was too focused on what was being said about my guardian and I. The conversations were echoing throughout the store, even more audible than before. “I personally find it very suspicious that Mr. Laufeyson would be given the role of a guardian after only meeting with Thomas Dowling a few times.” said a voice that I hadn’t heard previously. “Yes, very suspicious indeed. Perhaps he just wanted a pretty girl to look at all day. John Spencer’s daughter, who is a maid there, is not much to look at, and the only other woman is old Petunia Cunningham.” I recognized this man as the one who had called my master a brute. The others laughed at what he said. Another unidentifiable male voice responded: “Just to look at? No. I think he desires to use her for something more than that: a source of pleasure.” The other men chucked and gibed further over this, but this information startled me so much that the only thing I could do was to run out of the shop, with James persistently calling me to come back.

I stood in the middle of the street, not knowing where to go. I practically was run over by a oncoming carriage that I hadn’t even took notice of until it was a three feet away from me. All of the townspeople were studying me and I feared I was going to faint from the panic I was experiencing. My heart was beating widely in my chest and I could barely breathe. I was usually strong and unaffected by such situations, but given that I felt absolutely abandoned in a foreign place, I could not summon up the ability to act so bravely at that moment. I ran to the tavern to seek my master, as I no longer wanted to be alone with all these strangers around me. The inside of the establishment was dark, and the aroma of heavy liquor and tobacco smoke overpowered my senses. It was quite empty, as only one man was at the bar, but then I head shouting from one of the back rooms. I sought to find the room, my master’s voice serving as my guide: “You must pay today, Stephen, or I’m afraid I will have to send you and your family out onto the street!” The voice of the man who answered was all aquiver: “P-please, sir, just give me another week. I ensure you that I will have the money by then. One of my little ones is very sick and me and my wife have been spending so much time on caring for her. She would not survive if we had to move.” I found the room and peeked inside to observe that my master’s back was to the door. “I don’t care! Your family matters do not concern me!” He shouted with rage and pounded his fist hard onto the table. Stephen did not respond, and a strange silence filled the space. “What are you looking at, Stephen?!” asked Mr. Laufeyson. I could sense that the man was looking towards the doorway, where I had just been. He had caught me when I had momentarily peeked out. I remained in my spot besides the door, hoping that he wouldn’t give up my presence. “There… there was a young girl at the doorway. Just now.”

I sighed uneasily, as I knew that it was too late to run away from the scene and that I would have to encounter my master’s rage once again. The sound of his chair scraping the hardwood floor was followed by heavy footsteps. He called my name in a most hateful manner. I had closed my eyes, partially to brace myself for his unpleasant words and also because I was still panting from what had happened in the bookshop. I was holding onto the wall for support as I felt him enter the hallway. “Victoria! What are you doing here? What’s happened?” Upon observing my present condition, he was quite distressed. He came closer to me and I managed to open my eyes, which met his directly. When I didn’t respond, he carefully took my arm and I allowed him to lead me to one of the uncomfortable and rickety chairs inside the room. “You know this young lass, sir?” inquired Stephen. “Yes, she is my ward. Will you fetch a glass of water for her, Stephen?” The poor young man initially did not know how to respond to my master’s gentle request, but he nodded his head and left the room in haste. “It seems I was wrong about you, sir,” I said breathlessly. “You have clearly exhibited to me that you are still the same harsh, condescending man that I had originally believed you to be!” He was silent for a moment, analyzing what words he should say to such a insulting statement. “Victoria, you don’t understand.” He couldn’t look at me directly upon saying this. “I think I have witnessed much of your malignant character to understand quite clearly.” I sternly replied. I don’t know what compelled me to be so bold in this moment to say such things. Perhaps it was because I felt completely overwhelmed by what I had heard in the bookshop, and that my frustrations over the legitimacy of my master’s guardianship caused me to act aggressively towards him. No matter how much I wanted to, I could not muster the courage to question my master about his relationship with my father. Just then, Stephen reentered the room with the glass of water and I took it appreciatively. “Will she be alright?” he asked my master. “Yes, I’ll take care of her. She is just a bit shaken over something.” He studied me with worry before deciding what to say next. “Go, Stephen. I will give you until the end of the month.” “I am most grateful, sir. Thank you.” He dismissed himself forthwith.

Mr. Laufeyson placed a seat besides mine and questioned me without delay. He seemed to have already forgotten about how I had insulted him, as his concerns were only only for my wellbeing. “Now, I want the truth, Victoria. Did somebody touch or harm you in any way?” I shook my head as I was still sipping the water. “No, not physically, sir.” “Then what caused you to leave the bookshop? “They were all talking. About me, about you.” I whispered this reference to him, as I was unsure with how he would respond. “What if all of this has been a mistake?” I softly confessed, when he still had not replied. He then swallowed hard at my words. “You consider all of this, including my guardianship, to be a mistake?” The sadness that then suffused across his features caused me to respond sympathetically, despite all those terrible things those strangers had said in regards to him. “No. No of course not, sir.” I reached out and held onto his arm. I was surprised at myself for doing this, and he was as well as he looked down at my hands. “What I meant was that I don’t think we should have came to the village. I hadn’t expected this to happen.” He remained quiet for a moment, deep in thought, and he then placed his hand gently on-top of mine. “I will seek out those who spoke poorly about you.” “No, sir. I think it would be unwise if you gave them another reason to dislike us.” “Us?” He chuckled lightly. “I can deal with their hatred towards myself, Victoria, for I deal with it practically everyday. But I will not allow them to speak degradingly about you.” “But perhaps we can both try to make amends somehow?” I implored, hoping that he would find some truth in what I was trying to say. He rolled his eyes sarcastically and smirked. “Curse your kindheartedness.” I held his arm more tightly to emphasize my pleas. “At least promise me that you will try to be more sympathetic in the future.” He looked at me, and his next statement was sincere and without equivocation: “I promise that I shall do my best to please you.” “Thank you, sir. Now, can you please just take me home?” Home. Had I just considered the gloomy, desolate Heathcote Manor to be my home? My master appeared as baffled as I when he considered what my words implied. However, he composedly agreed to my request, as if my words had no affect on him at all. But I knew that they had.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: S-F Weapons, Thomas Ligotti, Savage Minicrate, Michael Whelan, Starman Jones

Cinema (IGN.com): The concept of the sci-fi weapon also has its allure. Whether it’s a cyborg hero taking down villains with some kind of crazy blaster, or evil Dark Lords wiping out entire planets with their mechanical monstrosities, there is no doubt that the destructive capabilities of such futuristic weaponry appeal to a certain base instinct in us all.

  Writers (Social Ecologies): Over a period of years the works of Thomas Ligotti have pervaded my thought and life. I’ve decided to spend time writing on the art and philosophy of Ligotti in a new book, one that I will hopefully finish by the end of fall. Not sure when it will be published, but I’ll keep you informed. I may not be as active on the site as I’ve been but will still pop my head up from time to time as I progress.

  RPG (Conan.com): Privateer Press has announced the SAVAGE MiniCrate subscription box, where you can get minis featuring heroes and villains from

King Conan

the rich worlds of Robert E. Howard. The first miniature in the series is Dark Agnes de Chastillon from Howard’s Sword Woman stories.

The SAVAGE MiniCrate is offered as a monthly subscription service monthly ($16.99), or as a six-month VIP subscription ($98.99). Each shipment contains a single exclusive, limited-edition miniature and a corresponding Collector’s Card. International costs will vary, as usual.

Magazines (Mens Pulp Mags): In case you don’t know about it, PulpFest is one of the biggest and best annual pulp-related conventions in the country.

Since the theme for that year’s presentations was “The Pulps at War,” we put together a set of overheads about the war stories and artwork in men’s adventure magazines and the thematic, artistic and literary DNA they share with the pre-World War II pulp magazines.

In the second half of the presentation, I spent some time talking about the men’s adventure mag BATTLE CRY.

    Cinema & Movie Novelization (Glorious Trash): I was probably one of the very few 19 year-olds who had a copy of Circle Of Iron on VHS in the summer of ’94, and I certainly was the only one who got his girlfriend to watch it…several times! It’s a wonder she didn’t break up with me halfway through the first viewing, because Circle Of Iron is a bad movie, one that should’ve been roasted on Mystery Science Theater 3000 but for some reason never was.

  Writing (Sly Flourish): I’ve recently been doing a lot of adventure writing, the results of which you can find in the Fantastic Adventures: Ruins of the Grendleroot Kickstarter. As part of this project, I wanted to dig deep into what makes great adventures. So, as I did when writing Return of the Lazy Dungeon Master, I hit the books (and the blogs) to collect as much of the best advice on adventure design that I could.

    Sports Fiction (Paul Bishop): Boxing and noir go together as smoothly as a one-two combination punch. The inherent qualities of both noir and boxing, desperation, bad choices, violence, tension, humanity stripped bare, combine for a marriage made in Hell.

We’re not talking the Rockys of the boxing world here. We’re not talking the life affirming, if you punch hard enough, sooner or later you’re gonna be a contender, kind of boxing stories. We’re talking about the down and dirty, punch drunk, cauliflower-eared, in bed with the mob, no hope fighters who populate such novels as Fat City (Leonard Gardner), Ringside Jezebel (Kate Nickerson), The Leather Pushers (H. C. Witwer), The Bruiser(Jim Tully), or Iron Man (W. R. Burnett).

    Art (DMR Books): oday is the birthday of Michael Whelan, one of the greatest artists to ever work in the fields of fantasy, sci-fi and horror. The occasion prompted me to think back on the Whelan covers that really, really affected me when growing up. I have decided that there were four such.

I was a Whelan fan before I was a Frazetta fan. In fact, Michael Whelan—along with Jeffrey Jones—was the first non-comic book artist I was ever a fan of. My fandom started the day I bought the DAW edition of Elric of Melniboné. I was already familiar with the Barry Windsor-Smith comics version of Elric, but that cover blew me away.

          Vintage Fiction (Hi Lo Brow): Eighty-five years ago, the following 10 adventures — selected from my Best Nineteen-Thirties (1934–1943) Adventure list — were first serialized or published in book form. They’re my favorite adventures published that year.

Please let me know if I’ve missed any adventures from this year that you particularly admire. Enjoy!

  Pulp Fiction (DMR Books): The two Northmen ships he had encountered in the Channel had turned and rowed up the Thames to raid the British villages along the river; even though he has only 30 men able to fight them, Tros is able to ride a rising tide up the river and wreak havoc on the raiders.  He sinks one ship and manages to steal the other but the able-bodied Britons desert, more comfortable fighting on land than on a ship. Tros gives Orwic permission to go, leaving the defense of his leaking galley and the stolen long ship to Conops, a score of badly wounded Britons and himself.  Tros wants that long ship; it is beautiful and whoever built that ship could help him build the ship of his dreams.

  Fiction (Brain Leakage): Confession time: I love post apocalyptic stories. ​I always have. Something about the genre’s tropes and trappings just gets my blood pumping. Give me bombed-out cities, atomic mutants, and barbaric biker gangs, and you’ll keep my ass glued to the seat until the credits roll. Funny thing is, as long as I’ve had it, I’ve never given my apocalyptic obsession much thought. If anything, I chalked it up to watching Thundarr the Barbarian as an impressionable kid.

  RPG (Rampant Games):  Matt Barton’s outstanding history of computer role-playing games is now out in a second edition. I haven’t read the whole thing yet (it’s HUGE), but the last ten years have brought about some enormous changes and tons of new games to the genre. This is kind of funny to me, as Matt had kind of closed the previous edition on a down note, thinking the era of quality single-player RPGs had come to a close.

  Heinlein (Tip the Wink): I’m reading my way through many of the Heinlein juvenile SF novels. Last time it was The Rolling Stones, this time, Starman Jones. No, it’s not forgotten, none of Heinlein’s juvenile SF novels are, really, but I recommend them, some more, some less, so here we go.

  Mystery (Jerry’s House of Everything): After reading and reviewing Kuttner’s collection Three by Kuttner last week I was in the mood for another book by him.  Luckily Murder of a Wife, the last of his four mysteries featuring San Francisco psychoanalyst Michael Gray, was near the top of mount TBR.

Kuttner, who died much too soon in 1958, had directed much of his energies to mystery novels in his last years, even as he was studying for a Master’s degree when he had his fatal heart attack.  Murder of a Wife appeared in March 1958 (just one month after the author died) in a paperback edition from Permabooks — its only paperback appearance.

  Weird Western (Scifi Movie Page): Deep in a Wyoming mine, hell awaits. Former cattle driver, Rough Rider and current New York City cop Nat Blackburn is given an offer he can’t refuse by President Teddy Roosevelt. Tales of gold in the abandoned mining town of Hecla, in the Deep Rock Hills, abound. The only problem-those who go seeking their fortune never return. Roosevelt’s own troops are among the missing, and the President wants to know their fate – and find the gold. Along with his constant companion, Teta, a hired gun with a thirst for adventure, Nat travels to a barren land where even animals dare not tread. Along the way, they are joined by a Selma, a fiery and beautiful woman in search of her brother who was swallowed up by Hecla years earlier.

  Games (Jeffro’s Space Gaming Blog): Such a small box, but there’s so much game inside! You can play it as a “design-a-thing” game where you spend five or ten minutes figuring out how to destroy your friend’s continuing character in a campaign of endless arena duels. But you can also cut out the min/maxing element entirely by dealing several of of the fighter cards to each player and seeing what happens. How do you make these unoptimized figures work together as a team in order to crush the spirit of your opponent? It’s not immediately obvious! The range of options each turn are tremendous!

  Westerns (Rough Edges): As you can see from the back cover copy above, BLOOD TRAIL by Gardner F. Fox (originally published in paperback by Belmont in 1979) is a revenge Western, a very common plot in the genre. Fox doesn’t really bring anything new to the table in the story he tells in this book (on the trail of the three men who bushwhacked him and left him for dead, the protagonist finds himself in the middle of a range war), but it’s the execution that really matters in a book like this, not the plot. And in that respect, Fox does a superb job.

  Sword-and-Sorcery (Legends of Men): Last week I review Holmes book Enter The Barbarian. If you haven’t read that review yet, check it out here. Morgan Holmes is an expert on pulp fiction, sword & sorcery, sword & planet, Robert E. Howard, Conan The Cimmerian, and red pilled man. Morgan was kind enough to share much of his knowledge on sword & sorcery with Legends of Men in this interview. In fact, this interview so comprehensive that it’s a great reference for those who want to know more about the genre and masculine fiction.

    Sensor Sweep: S-F Weapons, Thomas Ligotti, Savage Minicrate, Michael Whelan, Starman Jones published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/