#Me writing Al in the present challenge: IMPOSSIBLE

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Vulnerable

Alastor x Fem!Reader- Part 3

WELCOME TO THE LOWKEY FAN SERVICEY PORTION OF OUR BROADCAST🗣️! Sorry for the long wait..uh ANYWAY- Its just a silly little steamy make out session I felt like writing lowkey unnecessarily added into the plot. Its character development This is done mostly on the grounds of I felt bad for being slow with the plot and wanted to give you radio demon lovers out there some crumbs.<3

✨The plot✨(these are getting worse as we go)

Our depressed dear y/n self deprecates in front of a "hang in there" kitten poster. before bitching about the cold on her walk home.Oh shit her house is broken into. In this life its just you and your shitty pocket knife. Nvm its a cool dress! She then spends a good half hour thinking about their old relationship's spicy times.

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Mentions of domestic violence

-Mentions of alcohol

-Fuckass Val

-A little make-out sesh (smut is scary so you can use your little imagination to figure out what happens after)

Mornings in hell were colder than one might expect, despite the nearly constant blaze of sinner set fire. At its heart, Hell was frigidly cold, especially at night. A part of you had gotten used to the way it clawed deeply against your skin. However, the other part of you secretly begged to some god somewhere you didn't quite believe in to make the sun rise a little faster. It wasn't necessary by any means, Hell wasn't anything more than a desert. All you had to do was wait. The crisp morning would lose its glacial influence as the sunlight reached out to touch it just as it always did. You just needed to be patient. You take in a deep breath, attempting to let go of your displeasure.The sharp frosty air pierced your lungs, unknitting the last strings of warmth from your skin on impact. Your teeth began to chatter. You curl into the softness of your wings, it wasn't much, but it helped.

From your recently awakened slumber, you had briefly forgotten the events of the night before. However, upon seeing angel slumped in bed beside from you, the realisation took root. The recollection flattened your heart like a careless truck running over a measly stray bit of garbage

Your performance last night was nothing more than a falsified forgery. It was adorned with the typical strokes and details found in your normal act, but it was so hopelessly fake. Valentino could always tell when you were phoning it in. Despite his fraudulent demeanour, he demanded authenticity from you. After your previous..altercation, you just didn't have it in you to thread your harsh edges in salacious intent. You were an excellent dancer, but you hated the prying eyes that glued themselves onto your figure. Val wouldn't be happy with that. You were already voiceless, he already owned your soul. He couldn't physically take much more, but he could still make your life a relentless nightmare. The punishments he so easily gave out always had a creatively cruel flair. The thoughts brought on a familiar uneasiness. You could take whatever he threw at you, you wouldn't like it but you would endure. You didn't have to like it. Your grounds were barren in the terms of genuine will. You didn't have a reason to keep living, you just refused to die. You would endure until the red toned city around you pathetically crumbled back into the ground. You would watch the world you lived in reflect the terms of your anguish in twisted perfection over and over again...All by the hands of Valentino. You couldn't do much else. Your dimly lit soul had grown more accustomed to calloused hands and absinthe than you wanted to admit..It was just the way of things.

Great now you were cold and stressed out.

Your mind drifted to Angel. His crumpled hair and soft arms outstretched in your direction. The night before, he had spilled a glass of gin soaked secrets, revealing more than you expected him to. His drunken tears leaked into the brimstone walls of your heart. You learned his name was Anthony in life among other things. He probably didn't remember opening up to you, you were surprised you did.

He had been in Hell much longer than you had been..he had been with Valentino much longer than you had..years longer. The thought held more pain than your sore bruise lined body could feel.

Valentino had the poor habit of misguiding his frustration. As much as you pissed him off, your groans of pain just weren't as satisfying as Angels. Even if Val dragged your limp body across the studio, his nails dug deeply into the flesh of your skull, he wouldn't be satisfied if he didn't hurt Angel too. You couldn't help but wonder how he put up with it all. He was a lot stronger than people give him credit for. How long had Angel been his favourite toy? How many other souls tied to Valentino fucked up as you so often did? How did he deal with the brunt of that frustration tipped in his direction? How many times was he hurt because you didn't give Val what he wanted?

He was an angry disagreeable man he would always find some excuse to take that out on others.You knew that, you just hadn't stopped to think how many times had you been the excuse he used to justify how he treated Angel. Your hand brushed a stray strand of hair from his peaceful face. You didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Angel at least looked warm. He still slept soundly curled up towards the edge of the bed. His legs were neatly cocooned into a pile of various blankets. You stretched, shaking the sleep from your eyes and the fog from your brain.

You stood up glancing back on his sleeping form. A part of you felt bad for leaving Angel wordlessly.. His night wasn't great either, even if it was your fault, you could still help make it better. You could also make it worse. You couldn't risk that. He would get over your sudden absence, but what if you said the wrong thing and he hated you for it. He should hate you, after all it was your fault the night went to shit.

I mean even if for some reason he didn't want you to leave, it would be easier if he didn't have to explain why you're here to the literal princess of hell. Its not like you could tell her yourself. You'd rather walk home a bit early and save him the trouble.

You glance at the digital clock stationed on his nightstand, It read 5am. Hopefully the other residents of the hotel weren't early risers. that would really be hard to explain.

You walked into his bathroom to at least attempt to make yourself a bit more presentable. You let out the breathy shell of a laugh; amused by the emotionally supportive posters and positive notes that adorn the wall around the sink. He was trying in some way, he was trying to make the best of things. He didn't have anyone to remind him it was going to be okay besides the small grey kitten saying "hang in there". on one of the larger posters. You pick up a note in Angel's swirled handwriting

"You're hot in more ways than just physically! Nice ass but nicer everything else"

It was a little silly, but it made you feel better for a second. Your eye gets caught on your hellish exterior in the mirror. God- you looked rough.

The mascara stains under your eyes did nothing but highlight the heavy bags that already resided there. Your hair had awkwardly shifted back into its natural texture in some places and erupted in frizz in others. You were still wearing that burlesque outfit Valentino had picked for you. Russet red dried blood and what you assumed to be half a fruity cocktail stained the front. You looked like an extra in a poorly funded zombie film.

Ironically the outfit had been one of your favorites before then. It reminded you of Alastor- big surprise there- almost everything does at this point.

The cut of the top and the off shoulder sleeves reminded you of the dress he had bought you to celebrate your new part time gig singing at that little bar downtown. The outfit's color reflected it marvelously as well- sadly the similarities seemed to end there. The outfit had numerous cut outs and a slit up each side. It didn't leave much to the imagination, but those subtle details kept it in your good graces. Not that it mattered, it was practically ruined now. Maybe you thought too deeply, but it started to feel painfully ironic.

You had sewn into the outfit memories of an ill-fated gentle romance and a shared cup of camomile tea, but ultimately it doesn't change what it really was, stained with the shadow of lust...Just as you had been.

The outfit would never truly resemble that dress. Even if you found an ounce of similarity. Even if you dragged it to the tailor and used its corroded bones to recreate the dress exactly.They weren't the same, they could never be.

You weren't the same.

You hadn't been for quite some time.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if he would ever consider accepting you in the condition you're in. Your skin will always sustain the weight of Valentino's hand. The vulnerability in your soul had been sparked by fear as opposed to love. Whats done is done. Even if you had been crafted with the object of love in mind your heart had been distorted beyond the point of recognition, it could never really be the same again.

With that, you didn't want him to find you anymore. It would be worse to watch him fall out of love with you as he realised you weren't the same. The love you had so protectively harboured in your heart for the devilish man was cut loose. It drifted away into the rotting sea of your soul surrounding it. You couldn't bring yourself to tear down the post you had previously tied it to. Even if you told yourself you couldn't love him any longer, the hole he left in your heart was too large for your will to cover.

You shrug on the coat you had slung on the floor before crashing last night and slide on your shoes.

You grab a pen from Angel's desk-if you could even call it that. It was nothing more than an old bar stool with a jar of pens and a pink glittery notepad. You scrawled a simplistic message. You didn't want him to worry about you. Even if he said he didn't care, he was sensitive. You didn't want to hurt him any more than you had already.

" Hey Angie! I went home- don't worry I wasn't kidnapped! Eat something for breakfast or I swear to god I'll make you eat an eyebrow pencil next time I see you..Love ya lots<3" Your handwriting was a bit messier than normal but it did the job okay.

You walked to the door, opening it it quietly, the lock behind you clicking as you shut the door to Angel Dust's room.

Finding your way out of the hotel was trickier than you expected but nothing you couldn't manage. Once outside you began to shiver. You tugged your coat tightly against your skin, not that it helped much. You refused to fly in such icy temperatures. The wind would be far less intrusive at a slower speed.

The walk from your apartment to the hotel was a little over an hour. Perhaps if you weren't so hung over it wouldn't have taken you as long.The sun just begun to peak out from the horizon, simultaneously allowing enough space for the nightly wind to have free passage, and the blinding light of the sun to assault your eyes; your own special little fuck you from the universe.

The steps up leading to your third floor flat were much steeper than you had previously recalled. Hauling your body up them took a lot more energy than you care to admit. Out of breath and slightly sweaty you were finally headed down towards your room.

Your steps creak in harmony with the ancient building's crumbling walls. You glance down the hallway at what you had hoped would be a chance to decompress.

You stop abruptly a few units from your own. The door was ajar. You pull a short pocket knife from the side of your shoe. The rusted knob looked no worse than it already did. The lock however, featured a few more scratches than you recalled.

You were too tired for this bullshit, You hadn't actually used a knife before. Stabbing people seemed like an intuitive thing to do, but your inexperience left you drenched in anxiety. Nothing within you wanted to go inside, but your legs begged for rest. There really wasn't any use in preventing the inevitable. Eventually you would go inside or whoever was inside would come out. Either way its stab or be stabbed. The door whines as you slide yourself inside. You knew the situation was dangerous, all you had was a shitty knife you mostly used to open packages. If someone was here to kill you..without your voice no one would even know. You pushed the thought aside. You could still run. You could still fly. You weren't hopeless.You crept throughout the apartment with the knife raised steadily in front of you- ready to fight whatever had arrived.. Nothing ever came. By the first two rooms you had lost your concern. It was just how you left it. You stepped into your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You must have just forgotten to close the door behind you the day before.

You glanced around the bathroom before you noticed it was not in the disrepair you'd left it in. A fresh bouquet of roses sat neatly in the vase, the old dried flowers tied and hung above them to use in your next bath. The radio you had so unfortunately melted been replaced by an antique model adorned in golden trim and a stained glass depiction of a small canary. Lastly, a neatly wrapped vermillion box sat on the opposite side of your vanity, a wax sealed envelope tucked between the box and the large velvety bow.

This was a bit ( really fucking) weird. Curiosity over took you as you reached for the dark inky envelope.

You trace the underside of the waxy seal with the edge of your knife, effectively tearing it from the envelopes dark paper. You unfolded the letter unsure where something like this would even come from. You had admirers, but anything they said or gifted to you went through Valentino first. He was the only one he deemed fit to give or take anything from you. He was greedy in the gifts he received and thoughtless in the gifts he gave. None of this felt thoughtless.

Dearest y/n,

I believe it is time you were compensated for all that I have put you through these past two days. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color. If it is to your liking, please wear it tonight. I hope to see you there.

With love,

-Yours truly

Val had gifted you dresses and other fashions in the past, more for his own satisfaction than as a reward. He rarely wrote the notes himself or even delivered the gift. He left it up to an unlucky assistant or just threw the garment in your face in passing.. Nothing about this felt like anything he would do. Perhaps one of his newer assistants didn't get the memo he is a massive piece of shit.

Regardless, you were curious to see what odd fantasy you were fulfilling tonight. You untied the ribbon. Upon lifting the lid, you realised today was going to end up much stranger than you'd hoped. Nothing about this made sense. The dress reminded you of something you might have worn out in your younger days..Was Val planning some weird 20s fetish night or just attempting to fuck with you? He knew the details of your past, with the exception of Alastor's involvement. Perhaps it was some form of psychological warfare you didn't understand.

Upon closer inspection , the dress was astoundingly quite tasteful. You pulled the item from the box pleased it kept going. Usually if the purchased dress was "too long" it would be cut short before it arrived in your hands, causing you a stressful few hours with your sewing machine fixing seams and hem lines.

You slid of the shell of your dirtied clothes and stepped into the dress. It fit you like a glove. The familiar 1920's silhouette and subtle inclusion of art deco threatened to pull you back into your old habits. It really was a gorgeous dress. The beaded scarlet fabric clung to your hips before slightly flaring at your knees. It sported a neckline adorned with crystals that dipped off of your shoulders and into the sleeves The back of the dress scooped down to your lower back a deeper toned train following it. Despite your otherwise disheveled appearance, you felt beautiful.

You look down at the red fabric pooling behind you, you don't want it to, but your mind begins to shift.

1929: New Orleans: The Bar

Your hands shake more than you wished they would, no matter how many times you sang here it always left you feeling anxious. The music sways in tandem with the bars patrons, mimicking the constant lull of conversation. You began to sing.Your voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and exhilarating cheers with a crystalline ring. You glance over to the bar in view of Alastor. His eyes trapped in a half lidded love led daze, filled with nothing but adoration for you.

You glance back down at your hands. They are covered in black velvet, contrasted by a simple pearl bracelet hanging loosely from your wrist. It was one of the many from Alastor on your birthday earlier that year. You had insisted it was far too much, and he insisted you were making far too big a deal of it. He wanted you to feel appreciated and loved, what better way to accomplish that than with a meaningful gift.

He wasn't fantastic with words when it came to you. His hands craved contact with your own. The sentiment he needed to convey didn't fully exist within the bounds of english, or french for that matter. You were worth more than any riches the world could offer you. He could spend his nights bottling starlight and collecting bits of moon and lay them at your feet, and he still wouldn't feel like it was enough. His mind drifted to your past. You were private with the majority of the details. He had collected the story over time from thoughtless anecdotes you mentioned in passing. He knew life before him hadn't been kind.Your mother had died during your birth, but her face stayed firmly in your grasp. Your father hated you for that reason, and he was not a pacifistic man. He felt you had taken the love of his life and left him alone with nothing more than a portrait you hadn't yet grown into. He had been sickly the majority of your life. The more you grew in likeness to your mother the less he fought to get better. He died when you were only 14, leaving you to fend for your siblings. You had raised them just as much as you raised yourself. If the world wasn't going to gift you a delicate existence. Alastor certainly would be. In that moment he vowed to make sure you never felt worried or lost ever again, he couldn't bare the thought of it.

He was shaken from his thoughts as the song climaxed into a loud jazzy finish. You glanced over at him again with a smile. You stepped down from the stage, the red fabric trailing behind you. You walked across the bar and into his arms. He instinctively wraps around your waist, his hand nestled into your own. The moment is pure ecstasy.

"If I could on pick one sound to hear for the rest of eternity it would be your darling voice mon cher" His honey toned voice whispered into your ear. You looked marvellous but the sound of your voice was entrancing.

Your eyes roll, a satirical air taking over your tone. "How many times did you rehearse that line Al?"

" Very evidently not enough. You've made i clear I needed a bit more rehearsal" His familiar sarcastic attitude evident in his tone. "For such a pretty face you have a hard time accepting a compliment"

You giggle into his chest.He placed a kiss against your forehead. Subconsciously you lean into his touch. You can't help but want to be closer to him. Your arms stretch around his neck effectively pulling him into a hug.

"My my, someones touchy this evening" his distinctive laugh following shortly after. It was the kind of laugh you could hear across a crowded room twenty years in the future and immediately know it was him. your hands travel to either side of his face, cupping it gently. Before you know it, your lips meet his. This kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is imbued with ever ounce of love you have ever felt for each other. His grasp on your waist tightens, pulling you in as close as humanly possible. The dark brown strands of his hair tangle into your hands. The kiss heats up faster than either of you care to admit before you finally register you're in public. He quickly composes himself, as do you. A sly smile stretches across his face. He glances down at your dress, his mind floating aimlessly searching for an excuse to be alone with you. Despite how deeply he loved you, he wasn't the type to display that in public. It felt a bit unsavoury. You were his and his alone.

"Darling, I think you may have torn your dress, during your wonderful performance. Would you allow me to help you fix it in a more, secluded location"

You looked down at your dress not entirely understanding what he meant. He always had your best interest in mind, perhaps he saw something you didn't. Besides, you didn't want to ruin the dress he bought you any further than you already had unknowingly.

"Oh I didn't realise it had torn. Of course, thank you love."

You take his hand in yours and lead him into the small dressing room. It was really just an extra office the owner had put a few mirrors, a changing screen, and vanity into. You stood in front of the taller of the two mirrors attempting to locate the tear.

"Alastor love, I don't see what you mean perhaps it was the ligh-"

Before you can finish your sentence his lips are pressed against your own. You lean into the kiss grasping onto his vest to steady yourself. You're caught in your own personal whirlwind. Your hands are glued against his sepia skin.

He breaks the kiss for a moment kissing the corner of your mouth trailing down your jaw and onto your neck. He sucks lightly against your skin

You're so precious to me y/n" his voice is deeper than it normally was. It held each desire he felt and simultaneously every ounce of adoration.

You let out a soft gasp as he lightly bites the side of your neck. He travels along it as your hands tangle themselves in his hair once more. God you didn't want this to end, but you wanted to feel closer to him. You drag him away from your neck placing your lips against his once more.Your hands trace the outline of his shoulders. His hands explore the curve of your spine and the softness of your waist. He lifts you up and sits you against the vanity. Subconsciously your legs wrap around his waist deepening the kiss. (scream)

"I have never loved someone the way I love you Alastor..thank you for letting me" You breathe out in between kisses.

He wasn't one to let people in. Not truly, he had a public persona and a private one. You were glad to get to know the esteemed radio host outside of the studio. You were so glad he let you seen him the way he was so afraid to be perceived as...Vulnerable.

A/N: LOL IM SORRY THAT ONE WAS KINDA SHORT. Also please let me know it the writing style and lengths are working. I've never really written before so Idk the right way to do this. Thanks for reading :) <3

-Also congrats to me for not using a song as the crutch to come up with a title.

[dyrewrites]

Thumbprint Challenge

Thanks to @kaylinalexanderbooks for this one.

I am tagging @rowanmgrey-author and @starbuds-and-rosedust and @aziz-reads -- because I am not suffering through figuring this out alone and maybe you guys will find it fun ^.-

Rules: look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. What are five to ten narrative elements or tropes that continuously pop up in your work? Give a list of these things!

I am terrible at picking out tropes, so I'm not sure on tropes. However, narrative elements I know...kind of. So let's find out together what I have going on.

->under cut because long<-

Isolation -- Whether the story is told in isolation, with the character alone and detached, or they simply feel that way and it drives them through the plot. It seems my biggest element throughout. Someone is always lonely enough to do basically anything to not be.

Family -- Sometimes a natural relation, often it is escaping said relation, but largely it is a case of finding or forging one's own. It pops up a lot.

Love -- Not necessarily romance, or searching for it, but someone is always either in love, searching for it, mourning its loss, or staunchly fighting against it (in the case of one not yet written). This is all types of love, mind, but I've noticed the emotion itself does crop up frequently.

Loss -- Every single one of my characters appears to have lost someone important to them, if not before the story begins then during. I apparently enjoy giving them something to love, something they care more for than life, more than themselves, something they cannot live without...only to tear it from their fingers and force them to.

Shadow and Light -- I have a few that are expressly about shadows and light, wherein living shadows exist and light is a fearsome and dangerous thing. However, I mean this more metaphorically. There's a lot of darkness and light in my stories, and rarely in expected ways for what those words are typically associated with. I think it goes back to the isolation bit, but I can't be sure. Darkness is safety as much as danger, light danger as much as comfort. It's in a lot and I'm not entirely certain where it comes from...but it's there so it's here.

Color -- Everything, quite literally everything, that I've written is drowned in color. I can't help it. Might be the artist part of me, or being raised by one, I dunno. But if you come out of something I've written not knowing what color the sky is, or the light, or the eyes of at least one character...I probably didn't write it.

Power at a Cost/Under-Powered -- I'm mixing these together, as they relate. Even those billed as being big and scary and capable...aren't. They're the least skilled of whatever they're doing. I like strong, scary characters, but I also like to make sure they never think they are. So if they get too big, they get smacked down. I'm not entirely sure why, might just be something I like reading/watching so it's what I write? I dunno, but you won't find any 'pulled this out of thin air' chosen one super powers here. If you see something close, well, chances are they're going to regret using it immediately after. As that's the other thing I seem to have a lot of. All the magic, the innate power, even the vampire and werewolf stuff, has side-effects or a cost of some sort if abused. And they're rarely easy things to deal with, discouraging the easy-mode buttons.

Impossible Enemy -- The antagonists/villains of my stories are rarely obvious. They're forces or emotions or some other nebulous thing. Even when they are something tangible the characters can face and fight...they're rarely defeated.

Complicated Endings -- On the previous note; I don't write happy endings. I've not gone in with that intention, but I've noticed looking back. Bittersweet is best case scenario. Conflicts will be resolved, mostly, but not all of them and while the characters will most often live on the world will not exactly be 'saved' so much as 'altered'. For the better? Maybe, for most, probably worse for some but it wont be as bad as it started and there might be hope that it'll continue to improve because of what they did. So, complicated. Always a little complicated.

Abuse -- Now...now this one is uncomfortable, as it should be, but it is in everything. My main characters, or those they interact closely with, have been abused in some way. Usually it is a horrific way that is touched on but not expressly described, other times it is expressly described to illustrate how horrific. But it's there. It's always there. I can't seem to write anything without it. I know the reason. I will not share the reason. Writing is therapy, and it helps.

[griseldabanks]

Ooooh, I like the looks of this! >:D Here are a few of the many WIPs I've got kicking around at present:

Foster Family AU - From my Let Me Count the Ways ask game, but I've gotten so many requests for this I'm going to count it as its own WIP right now. A modern-day FMA AU where Ed and Al lost their mother in a car crash that left Ed with a prosthetic leg and Al mute from the trauma. Roy and Riza Mustang become their foster parents.

The Other Side of the Coin: Burning - The next chapter of my FMA genderbender I'm chewing on (Ed and Al are girls, Winry is a boy). Roy Mustang comes face-to-face with the unfortunate consequences of a teenage girl joining the military when El is kidnapped by human traffickers.

Worth a Thousand - The latest in my fanart-inspired Captain America series, an AU in which Bucky voluntarily goes to find Steve after TWS. This chapter would involve Bucky struggling with depression and probably self-harm, with Steve his only lifeline. Metaphors involving tentacles and sinking into darkness abound.

Take Me Beyond: Staron wedding/honeymoon - What I see as the biggest challenge facing me in my "extra scenes" fic that will come after Take Me In, the Captain America fic I've been posting, is Steve and Sharon's wedding, so I want to get started well in advance ^^' It will involve shenanigans, cuteness, fluff, and also probably too much angst and drama because I'm me.

Cosmic Eclipse - A BBC Sherlock fic in which Sherlock is blinded and has to learn how to work more closely than usual with John to solve his cases. I only have one chapter left to write, which I've been dragging my feet on for literally eight years because it will require writing Sherlock's POV, which I have somehow never done and find incredibly daunting oTL

The Ambassadors - An original fantasy novel, a dragon rider story. When a dragon crashes into his village, Shard discovers that she was trying to protect her egg - which hatches practically in his lap. Unwilling to let his angry fellow villagers kill the innocent baby dragon, he flees for both of their lives and eventually finds his way to the Ambassadors, the dragon riders who have taken on the seemingly impossible task of fostering peace between humans and dragons.

"kick-in-the-pants" writer's game!

Rules:

Reblog this post and put the names/working titles of your wips in either the tags or your reblog. (You may add a brief bio/ship name/any other info if desired)

Your followers can send you the name of one of the wips in an ask, and are welcomed and encouraged to send multiple.

For each wip title you recieve, work for a five minute sprint on writing that wip!

Respond to their ask with one of your favorite lines you wrote during that sprint!

(to encourage community spirit, it is suggested to send an ask to the person you reblogged it from, and whoever reblogs it from you)

[theheraldsrest]

“Inner circle receiving/giving gifts”

‘Tis the season, you know? -Cabot

Cullen

 He’s that type of person who has been with a group for a long time, but still doesn’t know what to get anyone. His main gift to people are sturdy and powerful weapons. Receiving a gift, he’s quite humble about it and accepts it, unless it’s from Sera. His favorite gift, though, would have to be receiving a weapon made just for him, a new cloak, or even a box of baked goods from home. If romanced, he’d either still get them a weapon but with etching on it saying “Andraste’s Blessed” or he would get them something so simple, yet so meaningful such as a piece of necklace with a small chess piece tied to it. He's such a mess if you get him anything, keeping it with him or putting it somewhere he can see at all times.

Josephine

 She tries to get everyone such fine gifts: cloaks, clothes, candies, and cakes. She tries to make the gifts perfect for everyone. When receiving a gift, she absolutely adores it, complimenting details and designs, thanking her friend over and over again. Her favorite gifts are new parchment, quills, ink, a new writing stand, and the little cakes from that one shop, oh dear she really should write a ‘thank you’ note to them- If romanced, her gift is all she can talk about for the rest of the day, or if she can’t talk about it, admiring it. She also gets her love their own signet ring and tickets to the opera, "since you loved it so much last time!"

Leliana

Oh she knows EXACTLY what everyone wants, you can bet on it. She knows what everyone is getting and for who and if there is something in particular they want. Even if it’s impossible to get, she finds a way, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t add her own little touch to it, a simple Inquisition emblem for each of her closest allies and friends or even a feather tied to it. Get this woman shoes. Honeyed wine is also a plus. Hums in delight with each gift, thanking everyone, including Cole as she opens a box with a nug in it. 

Vivienne

She does what she believes is a service to the inquisition by giving everyone an outfit that actually looks presentable. If not an outfit, at least a specifically made piece of jewelry for everyone. Get her anything exquisite and she’ll be pleased. Of course, you get her something so simple as a tome of magic, she’ll be delighted and gushing over it.  

Varric

Most of his gifts are jokes. Bull gets a shirt the size of his man boob upper peck, Solas gets a paper smiley face, Cassandra gets ANOTHER fully edited chapter of Swords & Shields, etc. It’s people’s expressions that are the best gift he could receive, he says. If you wanted to get him a gift, look no further than giving him a joke right back. Seriously though, he does appreciate those, along with some new improvements for Bianca, a new coat, or even new boots. He’s a simple man with simple needs.

Cole

Four words: Get. This. Boy. Puzzles. Really, anything is fascinating, but puzzles just seem to keep his attention, to a point where he’ll have other people do it but listen to how they solve it. As for giving gifts, it’s...questionable. Varric is wondering why his son his boy Cole gave him a candy wrapper until he explains that he heard Varric say he needed help ‘wrapping up’ his story and Dorian is trying to contain his laughter when he connects the dots between him having said that he was quite ‘cheesy’ to the cheese Cole left him. 

Solas

Sweet and simple, a small charm that he made to keep people safe. Everyone (including Sera, Dorian, and Vivienne) has a special one made specifically for them, some for magic, some for strength, and some for protection. Politely declines most gifts as he didn’t really request anything, but for some he does keep, such as books from Josephine and a new staff from the Inquisitor. He might have not asked for anything but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want anything. Painting supplies and some old artifacts are enough to have this old man grinning from ear to ear. Especially given to him by his Vhenan, he would be so joyous over such little things and a little surprised over how well his love knows him. You have no idea where he kinds an old ancient piece of elven jewelry that he gives to you as a gift, but he’s very excited to explain to you it’s value and the history behind it.

Cassandra

Someone help her, please. She doesn’t know what to get anyone or what anyone likes. In the end, she settles on just getting everyone war horns. Some appreciate the thought, some are never able to find them after receiving them, and others have theirs taken away immediately because they won’t stop blowing them at midnight cough SERA cough. For gifts, if you want to make this woman happy, just get her some new armor or even a better fitting sword. Romancing her, she actually tries to find something meaningful for you, such as a shield with your emblem on it, sturdier than any you’ve ever used even if you don’t use a shield. You have also come to learn that if you want to steal this woman’s heart, just get her romance novels and poetry.

Iron Bull

Ale. Beer. Alcohol. That’s his gift to everyone. There’s nothing more to say, he just gets every alcohol and then challenges them to a drinking contest. He’s happy to receive armor, weapons, potions as gifts, you know the usual stuff, other than the shirt Varric gives him. Romanced, whatever you give him, he holds it in high honor. A dagger? He’ll use it for everything. A new eye patch? He wears it all the time, barely ever wearing his old one. Armor made from dragon scales? Everyone is surprised to see him trying to keep it clean. As for giving, you have two options. One, he gives you his old eyepatch along with a dragon’s horn, saying he “has his eye on you.” Your other gift is rope, to which he hints at making you his gift later.

Dorian

He’s never really had many people other than his family that he could give gifts to, nor did he want to give gifts that said “I’m doing this because I have to.” So he went with gifts that said “I tolerate you” such as rings that he enchanted himself to help them in battles to come. He would never admit it, but it did bring him some joy to get gifts that weren’t just clothes and jewelry like he usually got. Instead, he took it in stride with everything he received, even the box that had an angry buzzing emitting from it from Sera, her only response being “Throw it downstairs when Egg is being annoying.” If in a romance, he frets over what to get you. Nothing too gaudy but also nothing too simple, he wants you to know that he cares but not make it overwhelming. He finally settled on giving you his family amulet. He jokes about you returning it in disdain but is actually really pleased when you keep it. That said, he’s only very excited when he finds out that you got him several books of rarity that delve deeper into magical studies.

Sera

Those who accept her gifts take it with caution. Most of the time it’s harmless jokes, others it’s close to almost getting hurt The bees, they’re everywhere. You don’t even have to look far for a present for her. Hell, send her a bucket and she’ll think it’s the best thing in the world before filling it and placing it over a door. In a relationship, it’s still all jokes. She gets you a crude model of Corypheus’s head with a dumb expression or her own artistic rendition of her naked body. Anything you get her that is meant to be sentimental rather than joking, she’s all “Pfft, you’re such a lovey-dovey person. You’re gonna make me puke, Inky!” When in reality, she loves it and keeps it on her at all times.

Blackwall (Thom Rainer)

You bet your ass that he made little wooden carvings for everyone. Leliana receives a raven, Solas receives a halla, etc. He doesn’t deny any gits, but does mention quite a few times how he really doesn’t need anything. Doesn’t stop people from getting him new Grey Warden armor or even some weapons. When romanced, he makes sure to add even more detail to the carving he makes for you, little things that only you and he can recognize, such as how he drew a little griffon on the bottom or how he painted it your favorite color. You can see the twinkle in his eye when he sees that you got him some new wood carving tools and/or his own personnel Grey Warden emblem.

[amenvs3000]

The Sound of Music....or Should We Say Nature?

Every day we are surrounded by music. Think about it, when we get into our car the radio begins playing or when we walk into a store or restaurant there is always faint music in the background, even on busy city streets there is someone playing their guitar or singing. Thus can we truly say we have never gone a day without being exposed to music? Even if you can say yes I would challenge you on your answer, as I doubt you can say you never experienced a day where you didn’t hear birds chirping or the wind blowing through the trees. 

A stream in BC where the rapid rushing of the water made this beautiful melody which formed this sense of calm and peace in me.

I strongly believe that leaves rustling in the wind or the chirping of birds are all forms of music found within nature. I like to think that all biotic and abiotic things can act as an instrument-making beautiful melodies both day and night. I tend to view walking through a forest as attending a talent show that nature is putting on put on - with all the biotic/abiotic elements competing for their sound to be heard! Oxford Dictionary says that music are sounds combined together producing a beautiful harmony and expression of emotions, which is what we hear when we hear the chirping of a bird or the water crashing along a shore! That is why I think music in nature is something we can find quite easily.

However, nature in music is the real challenge. How many songs today are about nature? We have more than enough songs about love, friends, drugs and money but unfortunately, we lack songs about the natural world. The course material emphasizes how songs can be used for so much more than dancing! Music can be used as a form of teaching (think about how we learn the ABC), which is why it is quite a shame that all the music we have is teaching or informing an audience about drugs, violence, and other unnecessary topics when it can be utilized to discuss matters like climate change or habitat loss.

Beck et al. (2018) discuss how music draws and focuses an audience’s attention into a particular message and has actually been found to help individuals remember key points from a presentation! Which is why this form of art needs to be used to its full potential. Writing this post I was stuck trying to even think of one song that discusses nature, but I manage to think of one. The song from Bambi ll “There is Life”, uses elements of nature to expresses the various changes we face in our lives. For instance, one line goes “the colder the winter the warmer the spring”, highlighting how tough times in our lives can make us appreciate the good so much more; all while making one feel closer to nature. I think this displays why nature in music is relevant, especially for nature interpretation, as it can help one remember key messages and strengthen their relationship with nature. All you need is to find the right message, the right words, and instruments and you have not only developed something that people will talk about but can sing about. Let’s be real, once you learn a catchy song it is nearly impossible to forget it!

This is a photo of one of my favourite places to go in the summer to help me relax. I will go and set up a blanket and just sit with my sketch pad listening to all the animals in the forest. To me all the elements of nature compose the most calming music possible!

References

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: For a better world. CHAMPAIGN: SAGAMORE Publishing.

Friedman, D. (2006). There is Life. [Song Recorded by Alison Krauss]. On Bambi II. Walt Disney Studios.

Hooykaas, A. (2021) Unit 07: Nature interpretation through Music. Retrieved from courselink.uoguelph.ca. Website: https://courselink.uoguelph.ca/d2l/le/content/666945/viewContent/2593375/View

Oxford University Press. (n.d). Music. In Oxford English Dictionary. Retrieved February 27, 2020 from https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/english/music?q=music

[johnkrrasinski]

Coffee with Cream

Chapter 2: Dream of You

full masterlist

series masterlist

Pairings: Frank Castle x reader x Mad Sweeney

Word count: 2,693

Warnings: cussing, mentions of alcohol, street fight, men being men. 

Summary: Two men, one diner and little old you. Working at a diner had never been your dream job but, fate had a funny way of bringing two contrasted men into your life.

a/n: hey guys! as you all know my obsession over frank castle and pablo schreiber had been exploding these past couple of months. and so, me and @nellblazer decided to write a good old threesome fic involving these two bulky men. hope you like it. enjoy!

You laid in your bed that night with a romance novel that you hadn't had the chance to pick up and finish in awhile due to the weariness of working double shifts. It's the same old pattern for the last few years; you'd get up early for your morning shift at the diner, rushed back home to take a little break, and possibly enjoy your catnaps before your second alarm rings for your night shift. 

And then when the night was ending, you'd take another bus to get yourself home, take a shower and eat your takeout or heat up your frozen pizza, and went to bed. For years, life was merely a repetitive cycle of humdrum. You barely had time for yourself due to your relentless endeavour to stay afloat. 

Living in Brooklyn when you come from a middle-class family means that you really had to fight tooth and nail to pay the bills and fill your fridge. You were raised to be an independent and hardworking person by your parents and that's why it wasn't much of a challenge for you to work double shifts at a diner when you could've taken one. You taught yourself to push through your boundaries in life, and you were aware that sometimes it's not always convenient but at least you were proud of your own effort. 

That also means you didn't have time to swipe right and left on Tinder and find yourself a date. It was nearly impossible to find a decent guy in Brooklyn, let alone trusting a dating app that could possibly be utilized by creeps or murderers to find their next victim. Although your co-workers had suggested it many times to you, you refused to present yourself to the angels of death just simply you were desperate to get laid. 

But tonight was different from the others. It was comical, really, how one, well, two, actually people could walk into your life, okay that was dramatic, walk into a diner and elevated the sour mood that you had grown used to in recent years, and made a difference. A good one.

You couldn't remember the last time you had a genuine smile on your face. You also couldn't remember when was the last time you felt butterflies in your stomach. And here you are, lying in bed, replaying the scenes that took place earlier. In the daylight when the bustle was in full swing and in the nighttime when the city was placid.

You barely knew anything about them and you had only met them in less than 24 hours, but, you could still remember the way Frank Castle made you feel when his brown eyes stared intensely into yours as he shook your hand. The quiet yet magnetic force that he exuded only compelled you to learn more about him. In the brief conversation that you had earlier, you knew that he was a wanderer of a man.

He'd been hoping from one place to another, but he was thinking of staying in Brooklyn for a while and you were hoping that nothing changes his mind about that. You were really hoping that you'd see him again real soon.

And then, your thoughts drifted to the second man that you encountered with earlier. His auburn hair burned the lights in the room, causing a small fire that you didn't light up. But his amorous words had left you starstruck in a way that you didn't know was possible. You weren't one to stumble on a brazenly flirtatious man but something about him was too tempting to be overlooked. And the fact that he had this eccentric thing for coins made you wonder... What else has he got up in his sleeve?

Sweeney hadn't been able to get you off his mind all night.

The grumpy server who'd taken over had definitely not been a patch on your sunny optimism or brimming curiosity. He couldn't remember the last time a girl was so interested in his stories. Usually he got brushed off as a leering drunk or just a plain old letch but you'd entertained him, asked questions and given him a form of fresh cream to boot, all for him. A form of worship as it was.

You hadn't realised it of course, nobody ever believes in gods these days unless they're the Big Three or the Norse pantheon. Little old Sweeney with his Celtic cohort was hardly going to register on anyone's radar. I mean, fuck, nobody could even say his actual name right, let alone believe he was a god.

Even so, he felt refreshed, more refreshed than he'd been in years and when he got absolutely blasted on whiskey, the feeling was not the same as it was. The crippling existentialism was gone to be replaced by joyfulness and he sang most of the way home, thoroughly amusing everyone on his way back with his rude songs. He even danced with an old lady like they used to do in the twenties which he thought had made her night as she blushed furiously and began saying it'd been a while since she'd danced with a young man in the street.

Sweeney was having the time of his life, precisely up until he got in the alleyway and his loud singing got him into trouble.

There was a group of thugs hanging around in the middle, trying to sort something out but Sweeney didn't care to venture too close to find out what precisely.

“-Well I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that thing in your thing where my own thing should be!” he belts out, stumbling slightly in their direction and he sees the flash of irritation on their faces.

The next thing he knew he was getting dog piled on. Bodies seemed to leap on him from every corner and all he could think about was protecting his coin at all costs so he sent it in the Hoard, the magical hiding place for his treasure and once he'd taken a few harsh licks to the gut, he tried to pull himself together to fight back.

Drunken brawling was his speciality after all.

He wasn't expecting it when a couple of the gang members were yanked off of him. He took the opportunity to jump back to his feet, delivering a haymaker to the nearest lad who's cheek splintered under his weighted punch. The kid dropped to the floor like a stone, howling about his face.

The next man behind him, he twisted and grabbed around the middle, running them backwards to the edge of a dumpster before letting go and watching his head clang noisily off the metal as they fell backwards.

Oh it had been a good long while since he'd had a fight. He missed the adrenalin, he missed the cracking of bones and the taste of blood. It spoke to his soul that was millennia old when the world was war, ale and feasting.

Sweeney finally looked up to see that another man was fighting with him, a shorter man, stockier and well built, a nose that'd been broken at least once and the buzzcut styling of an ex-military man. The newcomer shifted his position and Sweeney saw a painted skull on his chest. His first thought was that Baron Samedi was expanding his worshipper's network but it didn't make sense for the Baron to recruit a soldier when he preferred his company to be a little more love and less war.

Who the fucking hell was this guy?

“You okay?” the man asks gruffly as he sees Sweeney staring at him. “Get out. Run.”

“I ain't fuckin' runnin',” Sweeney wrinkles his face in offence. “Do I look like a pansy to you?”

“You look fuckin' drunk is what ya look,” Skull Man counters, elbowing an attacker in the mouth. “I'll handle it. Run home.”

“Callin' me a coward?” Sweeney squares up. “I don't run, boy-o.”

“Really?” Skull Man raises an eyebrow. “Ain't the time for pride, Big Red. Fight or don't fight then. I don't care. Just stay outta my way with that one.”

He points to the man who Sweeney had knocked out on the dumpster. His eyelids were fluttering as he started to regain consciousness.

“What's it worth to ya?” Sweeney shrugs.

“Are you fuckin' kidding me?!” Skull Man storms over, coming up until he was chest to chest. “I save your ass and this is what I get?”

“Didn't ask to be saved, lad.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, right back.”

Just at the point where Sweeney is curling his fingers into a fist, ready to give a good old right hook, he's hit hard in the head from behind and goes down onto his forearms, scuffing them with pebbles and dirt. He scrambles unsteadily to his feet, feeling a little trickle of blood oozing down the path of his hair and sees Skull Man beating the living shit out of the dumpster guy before finishing him off with his bare hands.

Sweeney, meanwhile, jumps back into the fist fight, taking down every other gang member who'd dared to get back up. They make a break for it, running desperately down into the other alleyways and out of sight.

“You'd better run!” Sweeney bellows after them. “You'd all be fucked if I still had my spear. I WAS A FUCKING KING ONCE, YOU CUNTS!”

“I've heard some drunk talk in my time but you...” Skull Man shakes his head. “You're crazy, huh?”

“I'm a god, mate,” Sweeney holds out his arms proudly, swaying on the spot.

“Sure ya are.”

“And what the fuck are you, murderer?”

“Nobody you need to know about. You ain't seen me. I don't exist. I'm just taking out the trash of this city.”

“Oh aye? Are ya? And what did he do?”

“Shot up a playground.”

“Oh...” Sweeney tails off, looking at the dead man on the floor. “Well....good then. Good work. Bastard deserved it.”

He holds out his hand and Skull Man shakes it warily. Sweeney got the sense the guy didn't interact with people much because the handshake was stilted, unsure.

“Got a name?” Sweeney asks. “Or are ya hellbent on being mysterious?”

“It's Frank,” the guy replies after a pause. “But I was-

“-Never here, I got that,” Sweeney snorts. “I'm Sweeney.”

“Sweeney the God. A'ight, go on home then. I got clean up to do.”

“Nice fightin', by the way,” Sweeney calls over his shoulder. “See ya around, Frank.”

“I fuckin' hope not,” comes the quiet response.

Sweeney didn't care though. He was too elated to care. Good booze, a good fight and the promise of going back to that sweet little diner where you were.

He'd have to come in earlier just to spend more time around you. He wanted to know everything about you and more than anything, he wanted to see your smile again.

A god he may be but your smile was absolutely magical.

He sang the whole rest of the way home, already looking forward to tomorrow.

[mittensmorgul]

Y’all know I don’t speculate, right? I mean, I’m always saying I don’t like to speculate on specifics, because I really honestly CAN’T answer specifics. But there is the shape of the story, and the type of story they’re telling, and understanding how stories work. That’s... not speculating. That’s just assuming the people telling this story actually understand their jobs and aren’t totally incompetent, or outright dicks who are just screwing with us. For the record, I do not believe Dabb, Bobo, Meredith, et. al. are dicks. And I do believe they know exactly what they’re doing, and how to craft a well-told story.

So this is not speculation. This isn’t about specifics. This is about narrative shape, the structure of the overarching story of s15. This is my assumption of Good Faith on the part of the writers to tell the story as they’ve set it up as of 15.03, in genre. This isn’t so much speculation as it is story architecture 101.

When you read the opening chapters of a novel, knowing the genre and the author’s storytelling style, you have Expectations based on the premise and setup, right? If the hero of the story is presented with a seemingly impossible challenge, you expect them to have achieved a resolution to the challenge by x point in the story. ALL stories SHOULD work this way, barring edgelord asshats who think writing nonsensical plot twists 3/4 of the way through the story is somehow “outsmarting” their audience rather than just being a terrible storyteller who can’t be bothered to write a narrative that makes sense and holds together. Anyone can slap on a random ending. It takes skill to write a cohesive story where everything builds to a satisfying conclusion and retains narrative integrity throughout.

Based on that, what’s been set up in the opening salvo of s15 (since 1, 2, and 3 worked together as a single functional setup to the rest of the season) are The Problems that must be overcome by episode 20. That’s just how stories work.

I was talking to someone last night, and laid out my personal expectations-- not specific plot points so much as narrative emotional beats-- based on the setup we’ve been dealt. I copy/pasted my comments to @angstphilosophy​ this afternoon because we ended up talking about the same things. So since I’ve shared these thoughts with two people in the last 12 hours, I figure others might be interested to read it. Again, this isn’t a guarantee of these things happening, and I’m not gonna get more specific about details, because the details aren’t even interesting or important to me to try and guess at. I’m far more interested in this larger Shape Of The Story.

And again, this isn’t speculation, but more an assumption that they’re telling a genre-conforming narrative within a known structure. This is how stories work.

mittensmorgul I was chatting with someone else earlier and I laid out what I expect to happen over the next 6 episodes or so... lemme see if I can find what I wrote

mittensmorgul okay, I'm just gonna paste in my comments, so it's coming to you slowly...

mittensmorgul mittensmorgul But I think at least 4, and probably 5 are going to include some rather intense Chuck POV scenes... and yeah, I am POSITIVE we're gonna see him reacting. (AN: we were discussing before this whether we’d see Dean reacting to Cas having left)

angstphilosophy 👀 mittensmorgul mittensmorgul Probably in the standard Dean denial mode in 15.04

pretending everything's fine, especially if he's convinced himself that Chuck really is gone (which we know is a lie, and HE know's it's flim-flam to believe that, but it's EASIER to believe that for now, and allows himself to begin "reassembling" himself psychologically from his complete fracture) but I also think that Sam's wound is going to become more of a concern, and it will become obvious that Sam is lying about it being fine... and that will in turn force Dean to admit to himself that he is not fine at all and lying about this stuff isn't helping anything and that will lead him to admit to himself that he massively fucked up with Cas especially once the Big Problems of the Season resurface... because we've been told that what they did to "fix Hell" in the beginning of the season is only a temporary fix... I think Dean will begin to really accept that he needs to talk to Cas honestly during 15.07, and that episode will end with his intent to do so, but the events of 15.08 will somehow interfere with that good intention, and being the midseason finale, will lead to Circumstances Getting In The Way of their conversation

angstphilosophy Pls Use Words Dean mittensmorgul yeah, thing is, I think they're gonna bring Dean to the point where he's ready to use words, just in time for Major Plot to happen

and prevent him from doing it because that's how the show works :'D

angstphilosophy Which is frustrating but RIP mittensmorgul we still have a midseason hellatus to make us feel hopeful for a minute before crushing us and leaving us all as lil squashed bugs on the floor for a month and a half :'D

happy holidays!

angstphilosophy Hooray~ mittensmorgul this is the last season, they're gonna wring us for all we're worth

angstphilosophy Can’t even stuff my face with ice cream cause winter lol mittensmorgul right now is the time to stock up on half price halloween candy. just fill your freezer and you'll have a constant supply through Angstmas!

***

The above conversation took place long before the Last Question at the cockles panel at DC Con today, but just hearing Jensen reply that in 15.09, Dean will have a quiet moment alone, and will pray to Cas with an explanation for how he’d behaved and why... well... that just furthers my belief in what I’ve said above. That Dean will be ready to talk to Cas around the end of 15.07, will intend to do so (think: Cas deciding at the end of 14.17 to go right home and talk to Sam and Dean about Jack, only to get the call before he can get back to the Bunker that something had gone horrifically wrong... this is the sort of interruption in Dean’s plans to talk to Cas I’m talking about here... it’s gonna be horrible... I mean, why else would Dean feel the need to PRAY to Cas, vs just... talking to him in person, you know? All I’m saying is Gird Your Loins).

What will happen beyond that point? I’d like to have more information about the Main Plot, all the Chuck stuff, what Michael’s role will be (because I think he’s gonna be dealt with in just a few episodes and won’t be a Rest Of The Season problem), and what Cas’s status will be following 15.08 before guessing about how the rest of the season will play out. But for now, I think getting us at least through the winter hellatus and into January is a good start.

Buckle up, sweeties, it’s gonna be a rough ride.

The line I’ve used the most recently is, you’re gonna suffer, but you’re gonna be happy about it. :’D

[thaumaturgesaint]

pick a card: what does august hold?

This pick-a-card reading reveals what August holds for you, what lessons you are learning or will need to learn, and what you should be doing in order to fully understand and make the best of these lessons. Close your eyes, take four deep breaths, and let your intuition guide you to one of the four piles. Once you’ve made your choice, continue reading to see what messages the cards have for you!

If you enjoy this reading, consider tipping me through venmo, cashapp, paypal, or ko-fi! If you want a more expansive and personalized reading, please consider buying a reading from me!

Group One: Rose Quartz. Receive with Love and Appreciation, Enclosure, The Moon, Death, Nine of Swords reversed, Knight of Cups. Your number is 34.

August will bring a sense of release, and an end to your pain, your fear, your doubts, your worries. There has been a heavy weight on your shoulders for some time now, keeping you from seeing and realizing what your life offers you, what the Universe has been offering to you, how much beauty and goodness surrounds you.

You’ve been doubting yourself, your abilities, your gifts, and the goodness in your life. You’ve been looking towards the end, wondering when these things will be taken away from you, when they will stop being here for you to partake in and enjoy. You may think you’re being practical; that by acknowledging the impermanence, you’re readying yourself for the inevitable ending. But really you’re wasting the time you do have, the goodness you’ve been given, the abilities inherent within you.

Yes, things must come to an end eventually. But rather than waiting for this end, you should be enjoying what time you do have. You should be enjoying what you’ve been given, being thankful for all your answered wishes. Looking to the future not with dread, waiting for an ending, but with excitement, preparing for a new beginning.

Look around you. Clear your mind for just a minute of all the doubts and worries. Look with open eyes, a clear mind, an open heart. Acknowledge and appreciate the beauty your life holds. The beauty you hold inherently within yourself. Look at al the good things you’ve been able to witness, to receive, to hold, to keep. Cultivate gratitude and consistent acknowledgement of the goodness in your life and in yourself. Appreciate all that you’re given. Stop taking things for granted, stop rushing towards the end, sit in stillness, in the present moment, with gratitude.

Remember that no matter how lost you feel, no matter how dark it may seem, you are always being guided by your truest self as well as your guides, the divine, the Universe. Let go of your fear and cultivate trust; know that you are not lost, you are not alone, you are where you’re meant to be in this moment. The lessons you’re learning are not always pleasant, but they are teaching you something. Open yourself to this knowledge, learn the lesson you’re being given, and move forward with the weightless knowledge that you are protected and guided, always.

Group Two: Yellow Brucite. Be Authentic to who You Are, The Great Everything, The Sun reversed, Queen of Cups reversed, Queen of Staffs (Wands), The Hierophant. Your number is 54.

August will bring a sense of growth, maturity, responsibility, and ending of old cycles. Gone is the boundless energy, the leap without looking mentality, the wonder and awe at what is to come, replaced by a sense of knowledge, of lessons learned, of growing up and moving forward. You are stepping into your own this month, determining just what you want your future to look like, figuring out exactly what it holds for you.

You have a tight reign on your reactions, your emotions, and your communication. You are very much in control of yourself, to the point where you’re right at the edge of restricting. Find balance between self-control and self-expression, don’t stifle one in order to encourage the other. You don’t need to hold yourself back in order to move forward in the world. You don’t need to cut off your emotions in order to be and appear mature. You don’t need to make yourself unhappy in order to find success.

In fact if you want to cultivate success in your life you will need to find happiness in fulfillment in your work. Pouring all your energy into something that gets you ahead in life but drains you of all energy, vitality, happiness, and excitement, simply isn’t worth it. You will not find applause or even a congratulations by pushing yourself further than you can handle. You will not find achievement by doing what you think you have to in order to be successful. You will find the recognition you crave by finding the work that envigorates you, that excites you, that fills you with passion and motivation.

Don’t follow the path laid out for you by someone else. Don’t be so afraid to disappoint other people that you end up disappointed with your own life, your decisions, your career, your life path. Don’t let anyone— including yourself— hold you back or box you in. Recognize that you are limitless. That you have limitless opportunities and choices to pick from. You don’t have to, and you are being encouraged not to settle for the first thing that offers success and recognition to you. Take your time, feel things out, do what is fulfilling to you.

Connect with your emotions, your desires, with the dreams you feel are impossible to achieve. Recognize that they’re not, that the only thing holding you back from achieving them is the limitations you place on yourself, and allow others to place on you. When you imagine your ideal, perfect future, what are you doing? What are you putting your energy into? What career do you have, what kind of lifestyle do you lead, what brings you a sense of fulfillment? Realize that these things aren’t limited to your imagination. Create your own reality. Create your own success. Find what fulfills you and chase it, claim it, make it yours. Let it fill your mind, your senses, your actions, your life.

Be authentic, express yourself. Focus on developing and expanding your connection with yourself. Learn about yourself, find every unexplored nook and cranny of your psyche and delve into it. If you don’t know who you are, what you want, who you want to be, now is the time to figure it out. Don’t rush, don’t go in with any expectations. Open yourself to all outcomes, open yourself to the possibility of being surprised by what you find within yourself. Open yourself to the possibility of being completely different than you, or those around you, thought you would be. You are your own person. Find that person within yourself!

You are being encouraged to reach out and develop an open and honest connection with the Universe. Explore yourself, your soul, your purpose. And while you do so, open yourself to the whispers you hear, to the connections you feel, to the inklings of knowledge that nudge at you. Don’t write anything off, don’t give in to the temptation to say you’re making this up. Dig into what you want to brush off. Figure out where it comes from, what it means. The Universe is guiding you to somewhere new, within yourself and within your life. Don’t be afraid to follow.

Group Three: Red Quartz. Climbing Mountains, Be Willing to Express Love, Ten of Staffs (Wands), King of Swords, King of Cups reversed, Page of Cups reversed. Your number is 2122.

August will bring a sense of challenges, growth, self-control, and mindful expression. There will be a lot of work for you to do before you’re able to reap the rewards you seek. You may feel very far off from your goals, your dreams, your needs, your desires. But in reality you’re very close to achieving them; there’s just a lot blocking your sight.

You will be called to let go of your need for control. You can’t control every situation, you can’t control any person outside of yourself, and you can very rarely completely control outcomes. You can shift situations, take meaningful action in order to get what you want, you can influence other people, and you can work towards specific outcomes. But you can’t control these things completely, and trying to do so will only waste your time.

Loosen your grip, allow your expectations to change as the situation changes. Be open to surprises, look at change not as an obstacle or setback, but as a new adventure. Develop curiosity towards your situation. Close your eyes and let your gut guide your hand. Realize that perfection doesn’t exist, not in people, not in things, not in events. Nothing will go exactly how you want it to, and that’s good. Things happen the way they’re meant to. Changes crop up in order to bring about better results.

The way you deal with these things will decide what the outcome will be. If you drag your feet, complaining that nothing goes your way, that you never get what you want, that you work so hard and get so little in return, those things will become true. You will be creating that as your reality, speaking your outcome into existence.

This isn’t to say you can never vent or complain, that you can’t be disappointed when things change, when they don’t go the way you wanted or expected. You’re allowed to express your feelings, you just need to do so in a healthy and constructive manner.

Instead of “Nothing goes my way” shift that to “The way I was headed was leading me away from what I wanted. This change in where I’m heading brings me closer to what I want.”

Instead of “I never get what I want” shift that to “What I want is not always the same as what I need. I need to be clear about what I need so that the Universe is easily able to bring it to me.”

Instead of “I work so hard and get so little in return” shift that to “I work hard and receive so many rewards for that work. I am grateful for all the Universe provides and gifts to me.”

Shift your focus, shift your mindset, shift your state of being and feeling. Develop excitement, develop curiosity, develop gratitude. Be thankful for what you have, and for all that is coming to you. Your needs and desires will be taken care of once you develop patience and follow through. Don’t let obstacles stop you in your tracks, figure out ways around them, and continue on towards your desired outcome.

Focus less on what you don’t have, and more on what you do. Express love, and gratitude for everything you’ve already received. Take all your determination and hard work, and put it into yourself. Starting a gratitude log, where you write 5 things every day that you’re thankful for, what you appreciate in your life, will do wonders for improving your mindset.

When you are faced with a challenge, look at how you react. Do you rush forward without thinking things through? Do you immediately give up and find something new to put your energy into? Or do you look at this challenge, and take your time figuring out how to deal with it? If you react one of the first two ways, become mindful of those reactions, and start shifting them towards patient continuation. You can’t lash out or give up every time things don’t go your way. Eventually you will need to learn endurance. Start the learning process now.

Group Four: Black Tourmaline. High Priestess reversed, Queen of Pentacles reversed, Ace of Swords, Wheel of Fortune, Forgiveness, Healing Gift. Your number is 4244.

August will bring a sense of grounding, a shift towards the physical, the external and away from the mental, the internal. August will bring you out of your head and into the world around you. If you’ve been focusing on yourself, on your inner world, your intuition, your spiritual connection, this is a sign that you’re doing good work, that you’re learning what you need to know, and that you need to balance this work as well.

Give your mind a break from the heavy lifting, give your physical body a workout, if you’ve been neglecting it. Take care of the real world connections and opportunities you have. Don’t focus entirely on what’s going on inside you, balance your focus with what’s happening around you as well.

The things you’re learning aren’t being presented to you just so that you can know them and do nothing with them. Your newfound knowledge has real world applications that you need to focus on developing and applying. Look at the world around you, not just your personal world, but at everything. What changes do you want to see? How can you go about bringing these changes?

This isn’t a sign to take the weight of the world onto your shoulders. You are not responsible for the massive changes necessary to create a better world. But you are capable of inspiring and creating change, in your everyday life, in the actions you take, in the words you speak and the people you choose to speak to.

You are being reminded to look forward, not backward. Be present in each moment, ground yourself in what’s happening now. You can’t change what came before, but you can change the way it affects you. Allow past hurts to inspire you to do better, to be better, to encourage others to be better as well. Let go of your attachment to the past, and move forward into the future you want to have. Realize that each decision you make now changes the shape of your future. Realize that you are the one creating your future for yourself. You are the one in control.

Work on not only letting go of the past, but healing from it. Holding onto what happened weighs you down, keeps you from moving freely, and keeps you in a state of grief and shame. You need to heal these things within yourself so that you can move forward with intention and purpose. Be kind and gentle with yourself, don’t punish yourself for what you’ve gone through, for the mistakes you made in the past, for the ways you were hurt and neglected. Heal yourself from these things, treat yourself with love and kindness, let yourself be free.

[setaripendragon]

Never Simple - Chapter 4

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] This chapter is mostly just build up, if I’m honest, and Tucker is really annoying to write. I’m never sure if I’ve got the right balance of unassuming and creepy.

Central City was huge and crowded. To Ed, who had never been beyond Risembool before, it was overwhelming. He was loathe to admit it, but he really did not want to get off the train. Just looking at the platform through the window was enough to make him feel claustrophobic. But he wasn’t the only one inside his own body anymore, and Truth got them up off the seat before Ed could sink any deeper into his reluctance.

Swallowing down his nerves, Ed gave Truth a mental nudge, and took over the task of collecting his suitcase. “Come on, Al.” He said, watching his brother as unobtrusively as possible to make sure he didn’t need any help. Al nodded, although he didn’t look any happier than Ed about the prospect of wading through the press of people on the platform, and slid down off his seat.

It hadn’t been the plan, for Al to come with him. Ed had been very determined to do this on his own, not to drag Al any deeper into the shit he’d stirred up, but then… Al hadn’t gotten better. Not all the way. It wasn’t anything as bad as right after Truth had possessed him – no more seizures, no more passing out, no more or lost time – but he’d been running a constant low-grade fever that just… wouldn’t go away. He complained of aching all the time, of shortness of breath, of persistent coughs and colds.

Then he’d caught pneumonia, and Ed had been half convinced he was going to have to bury his brother less than a year after burying his mother, he’d gotten so bad so quickly. After that, Granny had insisted that Al go with Ed to Central to see a specialist or five, and Ed hadn’t argued, never mind the fact that Al had eventually gotten better.

Wordlessly, Al grabbed hold of Ed’s hand, and Ed squeezed back, hoping it was reassuring. Then he set his jaw and forged ahead, hopping down off the train and into the seething crowd. The press of humanity was immediately overwhelming, and Ed was abruptly reminded of the Gate, of the multitudes of biological masses crushed together and writhing amongst each other, desperate and devouring and- His body threatened to lock up but Truth, once again, took over and kept them moving. They popped out of the scrum right beside the train into a less crowded section of the station, Al’s hand still safely clutched in Ed’s, only to be immediately confronted with military blue.

“Ah, there you are.”

Truth rippled under Ed’s skin, an instinctive roiling, and even if Ed hadn’t recognised the voice, he would have known who it was just from that reaction. “Mustang.” He greeted, glancing over the man and the ever-present Hawkeye at his shoulder. “I thought I was supposed to meet you at the military place.” He added with a scowl, because Granny had lectured him thoroughly on where he was supposed to go and how to get there, and there had been no talk of someone meeting them at the station.

“Originally, yes.” Mustang agreed. “But my original plans only factored in yourself, a State Alchemist candidate, for which I would have a certain leeway in providing for with military funds. The same could not be said for your brother, so I was forced to make other arrangements.”

Ed glowered, wondering whether he ought to take offence at the way the man was making Al sound like an inconvenient burden. Before he could do more than take a deep breath, though, Al squeezed his hand, and interrupted. “What sort of other arrangements, sir?”

“Since you would not be permitted to reside in the military dorms until the exam, I’ve convinced a State Alchemist to take you both in until the exams. I assumed you wouldn’t want to be separated.” He added, glancing at where they were still holding on to each other.

Ed refused to be embarrassed. “You got that right.” He asserted.

Mustang smiled, infuriatingly smug, and turned towards the exit. “Come along, then, Messrs Elric.”

“Not your fucking dog, bastard.” Ed growled.

“Not yet.” Mustang retorted without missing a beat, and Ed was dearly tempted to kick the man in the back of his knee. He wouldn’t be so smug after he’d fallen flat on his face in the middle of a train station. It was a nice thought, anyway, even if he knew Truth would never actually let him go through with it.

Mustang led them to a shiny black car, and opened the back door for them while Hawkeye got into the driver’s seat. Ed made Al get in first, then shoved their suitcases in, and climbed in after him. “How’re you feeling, Al?” He checked, rearranging the suitcases so they weren’t in the way. Mustang reappeared, getting into the front passenger seat, and Hawkeye started the car and pulled out onto the road.

Al gave Ed a deeply long-suffering look and a fond smile. “I’m okay, Brother. Really.” He added when Ed only continued to stare at him, trying to judge if he was being sincere. “Just a little bit tired.” He added, which was par for the course these days, and so it didn’t worry Ed too much.

“Then you should have a nap whenever we get to where we’re going.” Ed insisted, and then turned to look at what he could see of Mustang, which was mostly just his shoulder, his hair, and one pale ear. “Where are we going, anyway?” He demanded, raising his voice a little to make it clear he wasn’t talking to Al anymore.

“You’ll be staying at the house of Shou Tucker, the Sewing Life Alchemist.” Mustang informs him. “He has a very extensive library, including several works on biological alchemy that cannot be found anywhere else. I thought you might appreciate the chance to study some more before the exams.” He explained smugly.

Ed honestly wasn’t sure whether it was himself or Truth that snorted at that. They were so united in their scorn at the notion that they might need to study that it hardly mattered anyway. “If there’s anything he can teach me about biological alchemy, I’ll eat my boot.” Ed announced, folding his arms over his chest decisively.

Mustang turned around at that to give Ed a deeply unimpressed look. “For his own State Alchemist exam, Shou Tucker successfully created a talking chimera.” He stated, and then raised one eyebrow in blatant challenge.

Ed narrowed his eyes right back. “Talking or mimicking?” He asked.

Mustang’s other eyebrow rose to join its twin. “What do you mean?”

Slumping back into his seat, Ed scowled and rolled his eyes. “I mean that there are a lot of animals that can mimic human speech. Parrots, corvids, some monkeys. Make a chimera out of one or more of those, and you could probably teach them a bunch of phrases. So. Was it actually conversing, or was it just mimicking human voices, repeating things by rote?”

“It said only ‘I want to die’.” Mustang informed him, sounding mildly thoughtful, and Ed made a triumphant sound, that died in his throat a moment later when Mustang finished; “Then it starved itself until it got its wish.”

So it knew what it was saying. Truth concluded for Ed.

Some birds can use human speech to communicate. It’s not exactly conclusive proof. Ed thought grouchily, but he knew Truth would be able to tell that he wasn’t convinced. It was one thing for a bird to learn to associate the sound ‘food’ with being fed, and use it to request food, and another thing entirely for it to manage proper grammar, to understand ‘I’ and ‘want’ and the grammatical difference between ‘death’ and ‘to die’. And to put it all together into a sentence that wasn’t just a bunch of sounds learned by rote, but something it meant, enough to starve itself to death.

Not an easy thing to do, with food being provided for it. Truth pointed out, not that Ed needed it to. Survival instinct was a powerful force, usually. I assume Mustang would have mentioned it if the chimera looked human? Truth wondered, sending a nasty chill through Ed.

“Did it… look anything like a human?” Ed asked tentatively.

There was a pause, and Ed looked up to find Mustang glancing back at him again, startled by the question. “Not at all.” He said, with enough conviction that Ed didn’t doubt that he’d seen it. “It looked somewhat like a dog, somewhat like a monkey, and somewhat like a very small pony.” He paused, thoughtfully. “It had opposable thumbs, though.”

There was a grim note to Truth’s emotions that made Ed feel a bit sick. “Are there pictures?” He asked, and then, even though he didn’t want to; “Can I see them?”

Mustang abruptly looked smug again. “So, is this you admitting that perhaps Mr Tucker could teach you something about biological alchemy?” He taunted. Ed glowered at him, but Mustang just hummed knowingly, and returned his attention to the front of the car. “I’m sure Mr Tucker would be willing to show you his notes, if you asked nicely.”

Ed crossed his arms in a huff, but resolved that he would do his best to wheedle the notes out of Tucker. After the last six months or so, Ed had learned enough about the composition of many different brains to know that it would have been difficult – if not impossible – for Tucker to create a sufficiently advanced brain in a chimera made up of less complex animals. There was a very slim possibility that, if he’d studied brain structure and brain chemistry thoroughly enough, he could piece together a functional language-processing system out of bits and pieces, but… Ed had a sneaking suspicion that that would have required the knowledge of the things behind the gate.

It’s a really bad sign when you’re hoping for it to just be human experimentation, isn’t it? Ed thought dully, turning his head to glower out of the window. Truth didn’t answer, but Ed didn’t really need it to.

Outside the window, Central City rushed past, buildings and people and a couple of other cars now and then. The occasional tree or patch of greenery that signified a park or a particularly well-kept lawn. It distracted Truth more than it did Ed. It’s been so long since I last saw through human eyes. Truth explained, when Ed wondered about it’s preoccupation with the sights. It had said similar things before, when Ed was exploring Risembool, and it had been particularly interested in automail, which had definitely endeared it to Winry, but this seemed… different somehow. Cities didn’t used to taste like this, so much metal, steel and iron. And the concrete. Plastics. Ed’s head spun a little as Truth remembered every ‘taste’ it had experienced as Ed had ploughed through the crowd at the station, the molecular structure of everything it had touched en route to the car.

The scenery eventually slowed, and then stopped, and then Hawkeye said, somewhat unnecessarily, “we’re here,” as she turned the car off. Ed turned to check on Al, and found that at some point, he’d fallen into a light doze, head resting against the window.

“Al?” Ed called gently, reaching out to nudge his brother’s shoulder. Al grumbled, scrunched his face up, and tipped his head to squint blearily at Ed. “We’re here.” He repeated, and Al perked up a little, lifting his head properly to look out of the window.

“Oh.” He said dumbly, and Ed snorted.

“Come on, sleepy, let’s get inside so you can have a proper nap.”

Al nodded, so Ed scrambled out of the car, dragging their suitcases behind him so that Al couldn’t try to be an idiot and carry his own. The house he found himself standing in front of was huge, with a wrought iron gate and a wide lawn and at least three stories of red brick and large arched windows. “Oh, wow.” Al breathed as he came up to stand at Ed’s shoulder. “This place is huge.”

“The State Alchemist programme pays very handsomely.” Mustang agreed, smugly. Ed was beginning to figure out that was just the man’s default state. He allowed himself to be ushered up the pretty white path bisecting the front garden, and up the steps that lead to the front door. It was very nearly picturesque, but the closer Ed got to the door, the less he actually wanted to go through it. Something about this place was setting his teeth on edge.

Mustang knocked on the door, and after a few minutes, one half creaked open apparently by itself. At least, that’s what Ed thought until he looked down and saw a little auburn-haired girl hanging off the door handle. “Hello.” She said, staring up at them. “Are you Daddy’s guests?”

“That’s us!” Al confirmed cheerfully.

“Nina!” An exasperated voice called, right before a man that Ed assumed was Shou Tucker appeared behind his daughter. “I’m sorry, I was in my lab. Hello, Colonel Mustang, Lieutenant.” He greeted them with a nod, and then looked to Ed and Al. “And these must be the Elric brothers.”

“I’m Ed, and this is my little brother, Al.” Ed introduced.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Tucker replied with a faint smile. “I’m Shou Tucker, and this is my daughter, Nina.” Ed was about to say he’d figured that much out already, but Al elbowed him, and he snapped his mouth shut before the words spilled out. Right, politeness. “Please, come in.” Tucker went on, stepping back from the doorway and tugging Nina with him. “Will you be staying, Colonel? I can put on some tea…” He trailed off, sounding just a little uncertain, or maybe sheepish was a better word. Ed couldn’t quite place that strange hesitance.

“Tea would be lovely.” Mustang said politely.

Hawkeye cleared her throat. “You have work, sir.” She reminded him crisply, giving him the evil eye. Ed didn’t even bother to hide his grin at the way Mustang squirmed.

“Work can wait for another fifteen minutes, Lieutenant.” Mustang protested. “You wouldn’t want to abandon two children in a strange house without making sure they were settling in okay, would you? Besides, it would be rude to refuse.” He wheedled.

Hawkeye glared at him, but then her gaze softened a little as it flicked down to take in Ed and Al. Who absolutely did not need any supervision to dump their suitcases in a guest room and locate the library, but whatever. Adults were weird about that sort of thing. “Fifteen minutes, sir.” Hawkeye capitulated.

“Excellent!” Mustang enthused.

Tucker, who’d been watching the back and forth in bemusement, started leading them down the impressive hall now that everyone had decided whether they were staying or going. Nina scampered along at his heels, constantly peeking back at Ed and Al. Al waved every time she did, and on the third go around, Ed was pretty sure he heard her giggle.

The kitchen was just as large and impressive as the rest of the house, and they settled in around the large table after Ed double checked that Al was okay to stay up long enough for tea. “I told Edward some about your work on the way here.” Mustang began, once they all had steaming mugs in front of them. “He was very interested in your talking chimera.”

Tucker grimaced. “Ah, yes…” He sighed, and then glanced towards Edward, who was sitting up a little straighter, and trying to look attentive, instead of suspicious. “I was very proud of that, but I’ve been… unable to replicate the results.” He admitted ruefully, adjusting his glasses.

Do you think he could have put the right pieces together by accident? Ed wondered sceptically. Truth didn’t reply, just nudged him to pay attention. “That’s a pity.” Ed said, trying to sound sincere. “Do you think I could see your notes?”

Tucker blinked at him in surprise. “Uh… sure…” He said slowly, then winced. “That is… if you can find them. I know they’re in the library somewhere, but I can’t remember where. It’s been a while since I could wring anything useful out of them myself.”

“We can see your library?” Al asked, bright and eager. It was a relief to see, given how tired Al tended to be most of the time these days.

Tucker huffed a sound that was almost a laugh, and nodded. “Of course. I’m afraid I have a lot of work to do, what with the recertification coming up, so I won’t have any time to entertain guests.” Another grimace, and this time he slanted his look across to Nina. “I barely have any time for Nina anymore, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s okay, Daddy. I have Alexander to play with!” Nina assured him.

Tucker smiled, and leaned over to pat her on the head. “Alexander?” Al asked curiously.

“Our dog!” Nina informed him. “He’s huge and white and fluffy! And he’s really friendly and loves hugs!” She enthused.

Al chuckled, which turned into a cough. “He sounds like the perfect dog.” He managed to say once he’d suppressed the cough and drunk some tea to help wash the tickle away.

“Are you okay, Mister?” Nina asked, peering at him with exaggerated little kid worry.

“It’s just a cold.” Al assured her, not even twitching, the lying liar.

“You should go lie down.” Ed told him. “Get that nap.”

“I slept in the car, Brother. I’m fine.” Al insisted, scowling at him. “I’m not made of glass, you know.” Ed scowled right back, opening his mouth to argue further, but Al cut him off before he could start. “Besides, I want to see Mr Tucker’s library. Imagine how big it must be if you could lose notes in it!” His gaze slid out of focus as his expression turned wistful.

Ed couldn’t really blame him, but he could put his foot down. “Nap first, then the library.” He ordered. And this time he was the one cutting Al off before he could argue, which he was definitely going to with that outraged look on his face. “If you see the library first, you’ll start reading, and then the next thing you know, it’ll be dinner time, and you won’t have gotten a nap at all! Nap first.”

“Spoilsport.” Al pouted, because they both knew Ed was right. “You just want to keep the library all to yourself.”

“You know I’d rather have you there, Al.” Ed shot back, and Al wilted.

“You could come play with me and Alexander while Al has a nap, and that way you still both get to see the library together?” Nina suggested, and even though her voice was bold, there was a look on her face that tugged at Ed’s heartstrings. Truth was less affected, but since it didn’t actually voice a complaint, Ed decided to ignore it.

“I guess I could…” Ed mused reluctantly.

“That’s really sweet of you, Nina.” Al said, kicking Ed under the table. “I’m sure Brother would love to play with you.” Ed kicked Al back, but nodded for Nina, and the last of his reluctance melted away when he saw how she brightened at the confirmation.

“Well, since you seem to be settling in perfectly well, it’s time we were getting back to the office.” Hawkeye interjected. “Thank you very much for the tea, Mr Tucker.”

“Of course.” Tucker replied, trying not to smile at Mustang’s theatrical groan as he hauled himself to his feet. While Tucker was seeing them out, Ed chivvied Al upstairs to their room for the next few weeks, and tucked him into bed, despite Al’s eye-rolling at his fussing. Ed knew he was being kind of overbearing, honestly, but with all the knowledge Truth had crammed into his own head and leaking through in dribs and drabs, it just left him painfully aware of how ridiculously, stupidly fragile the human body really was.

Sitting on the edge of Al’s bed, he reached out and patted Al’s head, surreptitiously checking his temperature under the guise of ruffling his hair. “I’m just worried about you.” He muttered. “That’s my job as big brother.”

“I love you, too.” Al huffed fondly. “Now go away and let me sleep.”

Ed snorted, and ruffled Al’s hair a little more vigorously in punishment before getting up and going to find Nina. He found her peeking out at him from around the corner at the end of the hall his and Al’s bedroom was on, and when she spotted him she gave a tentative, hopeful little wave. “Hey.” Ed greeted. “So where’s Alexander, and what do you want to play?”

Beaming, Nina grabbed his hand the moment he was in reach, and began towing him towards the stairs. “Alexander is outside, because Daddy says he needs lots of exercise, but he doesn’t have time to take him for a walk.”

“Well, maybe we can do that for your dad while we’re here. You, me, and Al can take a walk with Alexander, and you can show us if there are any good parks around here.” Ed suggested. Of course, he regretted that offer the moment he stepped out of the back door and was promptly tackled by the biggest, fluffiest, friendliest dog he’d ever met and flattened to the floor as it snuffled at his hair and attempted to lick his face.

“Alexander likes you!” Nina enthused.

“Great.” Ed grumbled, pressing his face into the grass in the hopes of deterring the overly affectionate miniature bear sitting on top of him. The slew of mocking laughter he was expecting to hear inside his own head never came, and for all that he was glad not to be laughed at, it was more than a little weird to have such silence in his head when he’d gotten so used to the Truth having an opinion on everything.

You still there? He prodded.

Of course. I could hardly be anywhere else. Truth replied, but it felt distracted.

What’s got you all weird then? Ed pressed while he attempted to wriggle out from under Alexander, which devolved into play-wrestling, mostly because it made Nina laugh so hard she fell over on the grass.

We don’t… like this place. Truth decided.

Ed really wished he he could give Truth a look for that one, but he settled for just projecting as much disbelief and scepticism as he could. Because, well, obviously it didn’t. The guy who lived here was either experimenting on humans or had committed the same sin as Ed, that made the whole place creepy. What’s that supposed to mean?

We don’t know. Truth grumbled, petulant and frustrated and uncomfortable.

Well, let me know when you figure it out. Ed thought, rolling his eyes, and then threw himself headlong into playing with Nina and her bear that was masquerading as a dog to distract himself from everything. He didn’t really know what the hell was bothering Truth, but he could admit that he wasn’t exactly at ease with this place either. He would feel better once he’d found Tucker’s notes and could figure out what, exactly, he’d done to make a talking chimera, but since that had to wait for Al to wake up, he didn’t want to dwell on it.

Nina, he found, was a very lonely kid. All the shyness he’d seen in her before melted away under a little bit of attention, and she became quite the precocious little commander when given the opportunity. They played for long enough that even Ed was starting to get a little tired, and he was grateful when Nina flopped down onto the grass and called time out. He sat down beside her, and was forced to admit that Alexander wasn’t terrible when he came and flopped down in exactly the right place to be a back-rest for Ed to lean against.

“You must be a really good big brother.” Nina said lazily towards the sky.

Ed choked back the bitter laugh that wanted to escape on the surge of guilt that statement provoked. “I dunno. I try.” He hedged awkwardly.

“I wish I had a big brother like you.” Nina went on, and she sounded so stupidly sad and wistful that Ed couldn’t bring himself to explain to her that she really, really didn’t want a brother like him.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Well, hey. Plenty of me to go around. I’m sure Al wouldn’t mind sharing.” Nina gasped and scrambled to sit up, looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “A baby sister wouldn’t be too terrible.” He added, looking away and scratching at the back of his head awkwardly.

“I’m not a baby.” Nina protested, but didn’t linger over long on the point when there were clearly more important issues to address. “Really? You mean it?!”

“Sure.” Ed confirmed. “Me’n’Al, we can be your big brothers, if you want.” Nina threw herself at him, landing half on his stomach as she wrapped her tiny arms around him. Ed wheezed, but didn’t let it stop him hugging her back. After a little while, during which Nina showed absolutely no signs of intending to let go of him any time soon, Ed said; “It must get pretty lonely in this big house just you and your dad.”

“Mm.” Nina agreed. “I don’t mind, Daddy’s work is important and I have Alexander.” She insisted, but Ed was beginning to suspect that was lie.

“What about your mum?” Ed asked, even though he wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

“Mummy left.” Nina told him, very subdued. “She used to say that Daddy wasn’t doing enough to s’pport us, and Daddy won’t say, but I think that’s why she left. That’s why Daddy’s work is so important. If he works hard enough… maybe Mummy will come back.”

Ed winced. Yeah, that made a nasty kind of sense. He would lay good money on Mummy never coming back, but he certainly wasn’t about to tell Nina that if she wanted to cling to the hope that she might. So instead he asked Nina if she was in school yet – not yet, she was starting next year – and what she was looking forward to learning most – science, of course, because she was obviously a little kid with excellent taste.

Al found them not much later, and grinned down at the pile of them on the lawn. “You look like you had fun, Nina.” He said, sitting down cross-legged beside Ed’s legs.

“Yeah! We played tag, and princesses and dragons, and I got to be a knight, and Alexander really likes big brother Ed.” Nina explained, sitting up a little and nearly kneeing him in the side in her enthusiasm. Ed wrapped an arm around her middle in an attempt to prevent too much squirming.

Al arched an eyebrow at Ed at that last part, and Ed glowered at him, tightening the loose hold he had on Nina in response. “We have a little sister now.” He declared stubbornly.

“You don’t mind sharing, right, Al?” Nina checked.

“Not at all.” Al assured her. “Especially not with someone as cool as you.” He added, which made Nina light up with pride.

Ed took the opportunity to start clambering to his feet, setting Nina on her own feet once he was up, and then offering Al a hand. “So, library?” He asked with an eager grin.

Al took his hand, but didn’t immediately jump on the idea of finally getting to the library, although he looked decidedly torn. “I was thinking, Brother.” He began, and Ed gave him a pleading look, begging without words for him to not distract them from the library. Al, of course, ignored him. “We really do need to see if we can find a good butchers nearby, and you know if we don’t do it now, we’ll never get around to it.” He pointed out significantly.

Ed sighed. “You know it’s not like they’re going to have fresh produce in the city.” He retorted, but he wasn’t really arguing.

“The closer to the source we get it from, the better it will be for you.” Al countered.

“But the library-!” Ed whined, gesturing back towards the house.

“It’ll still be there when we get back.” Al assured him. Ed scowled at him for being patronising, but he knew that he couldn’t exactly explain what exactly he was so eager to look for while Nina was in hearing range. “Unless you want to try hunting for rabbits in the underbrush again.” Al said thoughtfully.

Ed actually considered that, sincerely enough that he got Truth’s attention. At the sense of Truth’s curiosity, he indulged the memory of the training he and Al had been put through in order to prove themselves worthy of alchemy training, too relieved that Truth was actually responding to something to deny it out of spite. Truth, however, had no compunctions about laughing at him. An excellent alchemy teacher. It decided. But we should still see if we can find a butcher.

You just want to get out of this house. Ed accused. Truth didn’t respond to that, because they both knew that Truth wasn’t the only one who would be grateful for an excuse to get away. Ed was torn though, between the creepy feeling he got from the place, and the need to know exactly what was going on here.

He was distracted from his internal musings when he heard Nina asking “Why would you be hunting for rabbits?”

“To eat.” Ed informed her bluntly, ignoring the stinkeye Al gave him for it.

Nina gasped in horror. “No! That’s mean!”

“That’s how life works.” Ed retorted. Al punched him in the arm, and then turned to Nina to try and explain the circle of life to her in a less upsetting way. “Come on, you can explain while we walk.” Ed told him, and Al nodded, agreeably continuing his explanation while they trooped through the house, found a leash for Alexander, and set off on their quest.

[thoughtlessghost]

Salem ou alekoum fellow disbelievers,

I decided to write this story down because one of my friends is currently questioning Islam. She said it might be a good idea for me to share my journey to help her and others find inner peace once you have walk out of something you grew up thinking was correct. I think I will make this a 2-3 parts series depending on interest and how she deals with just part 1. There's a lot to go through, and I will try to be brief, but I do not mind elaborating on any section in the comments or private. I am very open and confident about who and what I am. Finally, I want to have at least one part dedicated to my current worldview with the hopes of helping you guys create your moral landscape.

Finally, I would like to complete this preface by saying that I know that we all have personal reasons for leaving a Religion. Some of you have left the faith because you felt as though it was too controlling; others may have felt that God was simply too cruel. I will say that in the end, those were not the deciding factors for me. In my view, only Truth matters. Therefore, for me to stop believing in a concept, it merely has to be proven untrue, whether scientifically or logically. So my journey of leaving Islam did not originate because I had problems with its takes on the world. They occurred in large part because I feel as though Islam is inconsistent with our understanding of the natural world. Given the purpose of writing this is to help people, and that most people don't make decisions based on logic, I will try and emphasize how events and not thoughts affected my worldview to help illustrate how and when the transition occurred.

1. Humble beginnings: I know everybody has a different upbringing, so I would like to give you guys some context of how familiar I was with Islam growing up as a child (4-12). For starters, I am the eldest son of first-generation Algerian immigrants to Canada. This is just to tell you I'm brown, and I went to a school surrounded by non-muslims. In school, I was a troublemaker. I was basically this brainy kid who cared so little of rules and norms that I was almost transferred to this school for a learning disability. In response, my dad would beat the shit out of me every day for not being an obedient student despite my grades being decent (during that period B to B+). Despite his sincerest efforts, I never learned or changed. I'm only saying this because it made Arabic school impossible for my parents to manage since I simply refused to do my regular homework from school. My thinking was something like this: "What's the point of going to ANOTHER school on the weekend and spend all of my time off doing pointless alphabetical exercises in a language no one other than my parents spoke?" This, in turn, limited my exposure to Islam since I didn't interact with other Muslim kids. Finally, my parents bestowed upon me few Islamic teachings or practices. For instance, I fasted, I didn't eat pepperoni pizza, I was a relatively good kid, and I knew of prayer. Still, it wasn't something we did in our household. So I basically ended up with the same amount of knowledge of Islam and Arabic as Mohammed did when he was visited by Gabriel.

2. The quest begins: By the time I reached 14, I began to change mentally (One would only hope). I had stopped being this rebellious kid and became a book worm. I read encyclopedias, watched documentaries, binged read Wikipedia and genuinely wanted to learn everything the world had to offer. Therefore, religion seemed like the next logical step. Another reason that pushed me to that position is my first adolescent trip to Algeria. It was the first time I had truly been exposed to Islam, and I felt like I got a good whiff of what it meant to be a Muslim. And so, I decided I had now come of age and was of sufficient maturity to read the Quran and become a proper Muslim. I purchased a translated version of the Holy Book and waited until nightfall to open it. I vividly remember the mindset I put myself in before opening the book. I told myself the following things:

1. Bismillah. (YAH BOY) 2. I am about to read a book written by a being that is not human. (how fucking cool is that?!) 3. It is a book of ultimate and limitless knowledge and is the literal word of God.   4. It will guide me now and forever, for it is a timeless work meant to guide all of humanity.

By the time I made it halfway through Al-Baqarah, the second chapter of the book, I was mortified. For whatever reason, God presented himself as a terrifying merciless being. So many verses spoke about how powerful God was, and for some reason, it felt weird to me. It's almost like Bill Gates flaunting billions at a homeless person or a fisherman trying to shame a fish on how it cant breathe once it's out of water. I also felt as though too many verses spoke about eternal damnation instead of collective upbringing. In essence, it wasn't the book I expected. I was hoping for the key to save my soul and help humanity. All that ran through my head was that I was unworthy and had to dedicate myself or else face the consequences. But I persevered. Over the next few days, I kept reading while trying to keep an open mind, but I was definitely feeling perplexed. What I could not wrap my head around was the following: If God can indeed do anything, why can't he have a son?  Like all this talk about how Powerful he is, but he can't have a son?

It was around this time I started to explore other religions. However, there were so many religions that existed that it would take an eternity to study and contemplate every single one. So I elaborated the following shortcuts:

1. I skipped Judaism because a "true" faith can't have fewer subscribers than the city of New York. That also threw a bunch of other religions out the window. In my view, a Divine being should do a good job of spreading his work even if he has to do it remotely. 2. I skipped polytheistic religions like Hinduism because multiple Gods seemed odd to me. 3. Buddhism didn't have a deity, can we, therefore, call it a religion?

By that flawless logic (lol), I thought that Christianity was likely to be the One True Faith. But there were inconsistencies. For starters, the faith had multiple subdivisions and multiple versions given the Bible was written after the life of Jesus. Suffice to say, I agreed with most Muslim criticisms towards Christianity's essence manipulated by men. If Christianity is the real deal, then God would have cared a little more. As a side note to my thinking, the book of Narnia really helped me appreciate Christianity. It portrayed a more merciful caring version of God that wanted what was best for his disciples and all that existed. Yet the feeling of a merciful and just God was simply not sufficient to make me convert.

And so I started to think about atheism. However, I could still feel the presence of God. In the end, I just felt discouraged. I wrapped my head around the whole thing when I realized there was a possibility I was simply too immature to understand Islam or the Quran. So, in the end, I decided to postpone my immersion in the faith until later.

3. I committed: By the time I reached 16, I had started rereading the Quran, which actually flowed better this time around. I was relieved to know that my 14-year-old self was simply too childish. Eventually, I stumbled upon a verse akin to the following: Oh, Believers look into the world, and you shall see evidence of Islam. It felt as though God challenged me to learn science and search for proof of his existence in the natural world. And so, I did.

So one thing that occurred to me growing up is that I wanted to learn everything. By the time I reached 12, I thought to myself that if I knew every word in the dictionary, I would end up knowing everything. But the dictionary was dull. So, I decided that if I know how all things came about by reading history, then I would end up knowing everything. So when I read that verse that said learn science, I was ecstatic.  I just doubled down on my readings and started to focus more on scientific theories. I read about physics and the origin of the universe. I read on chemistry and the nature of matter and atomic bonds. By the time I reached biology, Darwinism quickly became very problematic. I thought really long and hard about how to counter it. I started to read into Intelligent Design and watched Islamic Scholars debate atheists. Still, it didn't make sense to me since the evidence for evolution was just overwhelming.

I voiced some of my concerns to a Muslim friend of mine in High School, and we had this long-winded conversation in which he convinced me he was right. I wish I remembered exactly what he said, but I remember him instilling upon me enough doubt to make me not drop the faith. Following that conversation, I decided it was time to commit to Islam finally. Here are a few things I started to do: 1. I started praying 5-7 times per day. 2. I read the Quran. 3. I would watch videos daily on what it meant to be a Muslim and how I can improve on my practice. 4. I would fast every once a while. 5. I went to the mosque whenever I could since it was far from where I lived. 6. I even helped start our prayer group in High School. In that group, we would all sit and eat together. We shared food, laughter and drinks. We were a brotherhood through and through, and for a time, it was good.

Reflecting on this period, I was one standard deviation from being in a CIA hit list. I literally messaged Benjamin Netanyahu on YT, encouraging him to stop his occupation of Palestine and to seak a peaceful approach when engaging with my brothers and sisters. Despite these friendly messages, some darker thoughts flowed through me. So I will say that there definitely is some credence to the idea that the more radical a Muslim is, the more you should worry about him, especially if he is a dude.

So when I say I genuinely believed 100% of what the Quran said, I really did. Some people will say: "Well, yea, I also used to be that way too." Well, I think I took it to another degree. For instance, when I used to walk, I would think to myself there are two people next to me—these immortal, holy beings made of light were sent by God to watch over my every move. I must, therefore, walk and behave in the utmost perfect ways to not only impress them but also uphold my honour. I was 16. 

4.The Masturbation/sleep problem:

Now I'm going to say that the period mentioned above lasted about 6 months. During this period, despite my holier than thou behaviour, I was still a man, and I had urges dawg. Every once in awhile, i.e, once a week, I would lament hypothetically at my hypocrisy. Repression creates obsession; truer words have never been spoken. The more I fought my urges not to masturbate, THE MORE I HAD TO. I created this whole inner mathematical system based on the number 19 since its a particular Islamic number. Basically, I would only masturbate around times when I could calculate 19. To me, it meant God approved of my addiction. I ended up using the time since my alarm clock was next to me. Its such warped logic don't look too much into it for when there is a will there is a way and I can get creative. Here are a few noteworthy examples:

1.Its 1:09 AM. Shit that's 19 to me since all you have to do is ignore the 0, and you have 19. 2. Its 1:45 AM. You guessed it 19. 3.7:00 PM. 19. 4. 12:07 PM. Unzip. 5. 12:17. PM shit, that's 19 too. 12+(1 times 7). Guess its Time for round 2.   6. 12:35 PM. FUCK I have to again you see 1+2+35=38, which is 19 times 2. EYYYY

[Insert COOMER MEME.]

To get over this dissonance, the Devil was responsible for these intrusive thoughts. I was a holy man of God, after all. But the voice that told me to unzip my pants and wax my carrot was the EXACT same voice that told me to go bed when I didn't want too. In the end, I knew deep down temptation doesn't come from the Devil. It comes from me. I decide what I do with my life, not some off-world entity. Keep in mind for later its just this thing I noticed. The Mosque event: So the day started like any other Friday prayer. The Imam began to speak about how God has no equal. He went on about how great and awesome of a sky Chad he was. He said that although he had no equal, there was another being that was insanely powerful as well. My eyes lit up, for I loved Islamic lore. He said that among non-God entities, the strongest was Gabriel. Eventually, he went on to say how to associate any other thing to God's power was literally the worst crime a human could commit. Shirk was worse than murder, he said. It literally guarantees you a trip to Hell.

And so given that I was human when I am told not to think about something, I immediately start to think about it. So I began to think well what if Gabriel stood up to God. I do not know what came over me but I got a literal panic attack from this. [Insert meme it was at this moment he knew he fucked up]

As the Imam had so eloquently put it to associate anything to God, you just committed the worst sin ever. I kept trying to tell myself not to think about it. Still, it just kept repeating it over and over again despite my sincerest efforts. I legit left the mosque and went back home and prayed all night, hoping God would forgive me.

The next morning was wild. I was basically schizophrenic since I kept thinking God was going to smite me for I have sinned. Crossing the street was so hard since I felt God would turn a car invisible and run me over or would simply kill me there where I stood. I lived in utter fear since I felt as though I had a bounty on my head. The inner world that I worked so hard to create had fallen apart from stupid, intrusive, thoughts. How the mighty have fallen.

5.Rethinking the Conspiracies:

A few days later, I started to rethink everything inside my head once I started to calm down. I felt as though my fears were way too irrational for the type of person I usually am and that I could not regain my sanity by thinking I was unworthy. I just simply had to work my way back up to the top fam.

During this time, I also began to rethink my understanding of the political world. For starters, as far back as I can remember, I have always been anti-authority. I believed in political realism, and so large corporations or governments always used their powers to oppress others. And so, what began as a soft-hearted liberal who thought 911 was an inside job turned into a cult of devil worshippers who rule the world and are trying to get us into the End Times.

This political worldview of a small elite who use the Devil to gain off-world power was further validated my understanding of Islam. In my view, the END WAS NEAR. Eventually, people took my ideas and thoughts in High School, and it became its own thing. Just to give you context on the time here, but it was when Lady Gaga dropped Bad Romance, and Kanye West and Jay-Z dropped Watch The Throne. We would analyze the videos and look for satanic imagery, but I always felt like that was a tad bit too far. Why are they being so apparent about something that's supposed to be secret? Predictive-Programming can only go so far after all. I began to pushback on this worldview, and I went so far back that Islam was caught in the cross-fire.

This turned into a three-month-long journey. I started by revisiting natural selection, and I realized that I duped myself. I just did not understand natural selection well enough to defend my position 6 months ago. I read The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. I binged watched George Carlin, and he really helped me overcome any anxiety I had towards leaving my faith because, like him, I really did want to believe in a deity, but I started to realize all of the inconsistencies. [I will elaborate more on this in a later part]

5. The social consequences: By the time I left my faith, I was open about it. I have always been vocal about what I believe in, and I simply told all of my prayer brothers why I stopped going to prayer. Needless to say, they weren't pleased about it. Unlike Elementary School and as a result of our immigration policies, High School had more Muslims in it, and many hated or criticized me for questioning the faith. As time went on, they became more toxic and vicious in their opposition, and so I called them out on their shit. I told them that I am on a journey like each and every one of them, and if they don't want to talk to me anymore, I would not care, and if they wanted to fight me, then bring it on. It was the last time any of them said anything to my face that was negative. Some of them never spoke to me again, some spoke to me less. I respected their choice and moved on; whether they respected mine mattered not. All that I cared about was that I felt that I was moving forward in my life. Eventually, the Muslim prayer group fell apart, and everything went back to normal in my High School.

Now, all of what I wrote happened about 10 years ago, and despite standing up to my fellow peers, I still haven't mustered up the courage to tell my parents. Honestly, I'm glad I still haven't. To this day, I have a good relationship with them, and they are far more religious now than they were. It seems like an egregiously unnecessary thing to do that will not only sour my relationship with them but also with their future grandkids. That just seems too selfish for my liking despite my usual vocal tendencies.

End of part 1.

[lettersofwrittencollective]

Binti Ra’s al Ghul (3/?)

Summary: The daughter of the Demons Head has been trained as an assassin. Learning how to kill a person in a multitude of different ways before being allowed beyond her mountain. Trained from a young age, she excels at the work before traveling with her father. One day, his travels take them to Kattegat where she meets the Ragnarssons. Falling in love with the lands and their world very quickly, she soon learns what it is to be Viking.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective

Pairing: Unconfirmed, possibilities include:Ivar x OC (Azira), Ubbe x OC (Azira), Hvitserk x OC (Azira), Sigurd x OC (Azira)

Word Count: 2671

Warnings: References to sex,  attempted rape, attempted suicide

Summary: Reader just wants some time on their own but instead finds herself in interesting places. 

a/n: This is written as much as possible as a reader insert. However, as I write the character, there have been moments when there are oddly specific things. However when I remove those oddly specific things she seems to not flow very well. So while I am trying to write as much as a reader insert friendly story as possible, I did not wanna tag as such because of the oddly specific things.

Anyways, please let me know what you thought!

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The next few days passed and you found that you had gotten restless. That feeling of missing your mountains had gotten stronger over the last few days and was making you feel as if you had been trapped in Kattegat. It made your training time more intense and pushed you to try new techniques but you still felt an ache within, telling you that you needed to go somewhere, do something.  

One morning, you told the boys that you needed to get out for a bit and would not be joining them for their morning training. They’d offered to go with you but you told them that you needed some time. You’d gone to Floki and, after a bit of convincing, he’d let you borrow one of his stallions.

“You must return before the sun wakes tomorrow or the boys will be after you,” he warned. 

You chucked as you packed some of your weapons in a satchel, “When have I ever not returned in time Floki?”

“The time those boys went searching for you, only for Hvitserk to find you sleeping amongst the trees,” he reminded you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“Floki! That was how many summers ago? I was still but a small child!”

He gave you a look of surprise before raising an eyebrow and leaning against one of his incomplete boats, “Then what of the summer before last when Ivar buried his ax in that man?”

You froze for a moment, it was a memory you wished had never been made. One that had haunted you for many moons after the fact. 

Your body had been changing, becoming more and more defined as that of a female the last few moons.Traders had come to port and were seeking shelter within Kattegat. Unknowingly, you had caught the attention of one of the traders. 

He’d cornered you after having gotten drunk in the Great Hall. It was before you’d started carrying knives on your person. His breath was hot upon your neck and you’d pushed against him as his hands had traveled your body. 

You’d been able to bite his hand, surprising him an making him stumble backward. You’d been ready to fight him but he’d fallen to his knees before you, a gasp escaping his lips. It had surprised you for a moment before the man had fallen forward, an axe embedded in his spine. Ivar had been silently furious before demanding to know how you could let yourself be in such a situation and you remember it as being one the few times that you had ever been afraid of Ivars temper. 

He’d demanded that you return to the private rooms of the Great Hall and on the way, you’d run into Hvitserk. Hvitserk had seen how shaken you were and how angry Ivar was and at first, assumed the two of you had gotten into a fight. He had reached out to you and you’d flinched away at the same time that Ivar had dragged him down. 

It was then that Hvitserk knew something more was going on. You don’t remember if they ever spoke aloud or not but Hvitserk knew before the end of the night. You had spent the night in Ivars chambers, not wanting to be alone.

The next morning, the traders that came with the man had brought his body in, demanding that justice be served. They’d had no idea what he’d done and when Ubbe informed them that their man had been killed while trying to assault a female they seemed not to care. 

“Perhaps it will make a difference if we told you the woman he assaulted was the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul,” Ivar had sneered at them.  

You remember watching the men turn impossibly pale as they apologized and tripped over themselves. They had looked around, trying to find the Demons daughter but the boys had kept you behind them and out of sight. 

It wasn’t long before the men had gone from Kattegat and from what you understood, they had yet to come back.

Your boys had been insanely protective of you after that night and it had been welcome. When it came time for you to return to your mountains, they were reluctant. Though they never said a word to anyone, it was obvious in the way they carried themselves.  It was only after you had bested each of them upon your return this summer that they had allowed you to travel the city without one of them always present. It, however, meant that they had trained you harder. 

Swallowing, you nodded your head. When you said, “I won’t ever find myself trapped in that way again,” your voice sounded as steel to your ears and you turned to meet Flokis gaze.

Floki held your gaze for a moment, kohl-lined eyes searching yours for truth and determination before he nodded his head once, “Then may the gods be with you. Make sure you stay close enough to the treeline to escape into it if you need to but not so close you can be dragged in.”

Smiling at the man you nod your head and the two of you work together to saddle the stallion you were borrowing. Helga brought you some food for the day which you gladly accepted before setting out.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself riding through the countryside. Pushing the stallion into a trot, you rode this way for a ways before stopping by a river-bank to enjoy the afternoon sun and the food that had been preppared for you. 

It was as you sat there, that you thought of the last few days, Ubbe would pull you into a normal conversation and the two of you would laugh and jest with each other. Hvitserk and Sigurd would tell you stories of what they had done or who was in town, a pair of gossips the two as far as you were concerned. Ivar, however, would only nod in your direction. 

The first time it happened, you thought nothing of it. It was normal for Ivar to be closed off around his brothers. This was no different as far as you were concerned. However, when a thrall came into the room, your boys would suddenly quiet down. Ubbe would, uncharacteristically, become slightly skittish and would trip over his words when he spoke with the thrall. Ivar would avoid your gaze. Hvitserk and Sigurd were the most normal but even they were slightly different. 

It took you a couple of days but you eventually realized that this was the woman they had spoken of. 

The one that would want a son of Ragnar Lothbrook. 

So, you watched her. She was a pretty thing, hair that was blonde and skin a cream color that was the mark of a woman from these lands. Throughout the day, you would observe her as she and the other thralls went about their work, she seemed to be good at her job, though that may be because she had no choice. She seemed to be a bit ostracized from the other thralls, however, and you wondered as to why that was.

It’s as you contemplate this that there’s a flock of ravens that fly past you. There’s so many that you can feel the wind of their wings as they fly past you. 

One of them lands on your arm and you while you try to move your arm to move it away, it flaps it’s wings and warbles at you before landing back on your arm. Looking at the bird it warbles at you again before flying in the direction the birds came from. 

You watch the bird for a moment when it suddenly turns around flies back towards you. Cawing at you this time, it circles, making sure that you’re paying attention before it turns back towards the way it came from. 

‘Really?” you sigh as you look up to the sky. It would seem that the gods are trying to get you to go somewhere. 

Whistling for the stallion you mount and move to follow the raven.  You’re not riding for very long when you come upon a tree, at the base of which there’s a body collapsed on the floor. 

Pulling the Stallion to a stop, you jump off the horse and rush over towards the body. Checking the body, you can’t help the exasperated chuckle that leaves you. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask before you realize that there’s a rope around his neck. 

“Did you-?”

“And what if I did?” he asks you, his piercing blue eyes demanding that you try to challenge him.

Leaning forward, you smack his chest, “How dare you?! Do you realize what this will do to your sons? To Ubbe? To Ivar? Or Hvitserk or Sigurd? What of Bjorn?

Did you think about what you killing yourself would do to them?”

“It’s not as if they need me,” he tells you. A chuckle as he sits up. 

“Well how about instead of killings yourself you make an effort to get to know your sons! They don’t need you but that doesn’t mean you should rob them of the chance to get to know you.”

Ragnar looks at you like he’s studying you for a moment before he shakes his head, “And what do you think will happen if I get to know them?”

“Well for one, you can learn how wonderful they are,” you point out as you lean back, sitting on your legs. 

“You think they’re wonderful?” he asks pointedly like he doesn’t know if they believe you or not. 

You shake your head for a moment, “You know, you really are an Old Fool. They’re stubborn but they’re the most amazing men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.”

He shakes his head and laughs, “You care about my boys?”

“More than you can imagine,” you tell him and grab his arm, pulling him up. “Now let’s get going.”

It takes the two of you a while to make it back to Kattegat and by the time you do, the town is mostly sleeping. You pass some of the sentries before making it back to the Great Hall. 

The thralls have left some food out and, grabbing some you and Ragnar both begin to eat. Before you can begin a conversation, Ivar’s voice breaks the silence, “So you’re back.”

“Hmm?” Ragnar asks and shaking your head, you turn to Ivar. 

“We’re back.”

Ivar merely levels a glare at you and you narrow your eyes at him before he turns to his father, “Mother never let anyone sit on your throne since you left. She always hoped that one day you would return”

“Ivar,” you warn. 

Ignoring you, he asks Ragnar, “WHy do you not talk to Mother?”

“I will,” Ragnar sighs and you can’t help but wonder when he plans on doing that. 

“I would wait for everyone to go to sleep, and then wake Azira. We would come out here, and just talk.”

“About what?”

“Ivar don’t,” you try to warn him but he glares at you and shakes his head, “Then you tell him.”

“Ivar…”

He scoffs at you and then turns to Ragnar, “About how you abandoned me. And my heart would fill with anger. Azira always told me to try and be compassionate but I didn’t want to. I would try to will my stupid legs to work so I could go out and find you and tell you how much I hated you.”

“How much you needed him.”

Ivar, again, glares at you and you raise an eyebrow at him, begging him to prove you wrong. The two of you are silent before Ragnar cuts in, “Well perhaps I’ll explain my actions when we get to England.”

“When “we” get to England?”

“That is what I said.”

You can feel the anger radiating off Ivar as he growls out, “What use is a cripple on such a journey?”

“Ohm then don’t come.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Then come.”

“No, not unless you ask me like you asked my brothers.”

The two are practically in each other's faces and you can see Ragnar reflected in Ivar at that moment. As he takes a breath in, Ivar answers, “Of course I’ll come.”

They both turn to look at you. You see Ragnar look between the two of you before he smiles, “And what of you Azira? Would you like to go to Eng-”

“NO!” Ivar cuts him off forcefully and you’re startled for a moment by his ferocity before you realize exactly why he’s saying no. 

Scoffing you roll your eyes before standing up, “You know, Ivar, I can very much make my own decision and if I want to go to England I will.”

“And if I can’t keep you safe?”

“Who says I need you to keep me safe?!” you snap at him as you make your way towards him, “Who says I need you to do anything for me? Have I not trained with you? Have I not bested your brothers and even you on different occasions?”

Getting to the throne, you adjust so that you’re eye level with Ivar. When you speak, your voice is cold and exacting, “I am Azira, daughter of the Demons Head, Ivar Ragnarsson. If I so choose to go raiding I will and not you or any other man or woman could not stop me”

There’s a glint of triumph in Ivars eyes as he smirked up at you and, pursing your lips, you realize this was exactly what he wanted. Ragnar did not know who you were, other than a friend of his sons. You make no outward effort to show that you figured anything out but Ivar knows you figured it out.

“Then you will join us?”

Keeping your eyes on Ivar you contemplate the idea for a moment. It would be nice to travel again, but you have things that need your attention on your mountain so you give Ragnar a simple, no, with no other explanation.

Straightening out, you bid them both goodnight before making your way back to your rooms for the night. 

You’d decided not to be angry with Ivar. Mostly because when you were angry with him, sleep did not come easily and it wasn’t long until your father’s men would be back and you would be traveling. 

The next day passed as normal, nothing really exciting or different. After eating, you spent the morning training with the boys, though you probably shouldn’t have gone after Ivar as much. He’d managed to best you each time and your body hurt from the amount of times it had connected with the ground.

Wandering the market, you watch the Old Fool talking to some people. The vendors are selling their wares when one of them is pulled into conversation with the Old Fool. at first, Ragnar seems happy to be talking to the merchant but soon enough he’s trying to walk away. 

As he does, the merchant yells out, “And if I had the mind to raid, I would raid with your son and not with you! For I believe the gods have deserted you , King Ragnar Lothbrok! You are on your own!  Everyone hates you now!”

Ragnar has kept walking, ignoring the merchant and you wonder if the words have any effect on him. 

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Do not comply and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective. Associated characters belong to HISTORY CHANNEL/ MGM TELEVISION and are being borrowed for this work. All OC’s and plot lines are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under the International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any for or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information stoppage and retrieval system without express written permission from author/publisher

Posted 08 July 2019

taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @stiles-o-dylan24 @lucifersnipnips @imayhavemisunderstood 

[swishandflickwit]

Deckerstar — lost without you 1/1

Summary: In which Father Frank hears of Lucifer's return to Hell, follows in Eve's footsteps by visiting the Devil from time to time, and finally establishes the kind of friendship they had been laying the foundations of before they were both so rudely interrupted by his death.

Alternatively: A Priest Walks Into Hell

(...and, quite possibly, doesn't come back out?)

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 2.5k+

Warnings: Post-S4. Spoilers ahead. Implied Deckerstar. Canon divergence. Seriously, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED SEASON 4.

AN: This started out as a crack if and evolved into... something more emotional than I had originally intended it to be because why not *sighs* lol.

AN: This started out as a crack fic and evolved into... something more emotional than I had originally intended it to be because why not *sighs* lol. I wrote this way before the IG takeover by Tom, Ildy and Joe so the fact that Tom wishes he could see Father Frank again but that he couldn't because he's in Heaven and Lucifer is in Hell was just bloody kismet!!!

Title, and song referenced below, is by Freya Ridings which is SO DECKERSTAR except you change 'I have to see the world' to 'I've got to save the world' and I cRYYYYYYY.

Also, Father Frank went to Heaven! But if Amenadiel's theory of Free Will is to be believed—and it obviously can because how else was Eve able to escape Heaven, come back to life and in her original, youthful body, if it can't be—then anyone is free to leave Heaven or Hell, which is how Frank can visit Lucifer. Trust me, I had a whole backstory, I'm just... not... strong enough to write it out so, uh.

Roll with it...?

SHOUTOUT to Devil'sMiracle17 for beta reading the SHIT out of this and whipping it into shape better than I ever could. This was fine, but you made it BETTER and I'm so grateful to have met you through this experience! You have my heart!

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

“What song is that?”

Lucifer saunters into the designated music chambers of his hellish castle before seating himself onto the bench next to Frank.

“Sounds positively wretched.”

Although, ‘saunter’ might have been too generous a term… slinks would have been the appropriate description—trudge even more so. Unless he holds court with his demons, the Devil doesn’t much care for appearances these days.

At least not when he’s with him.

Dejection has made a home of his friend’s shoulders, so Frank does what he can to, if not extinguish—then alleviate the insidious homesickness that plagues him by providing his more human company.

Little good it does.

Frank sighs. “Something one of the newer, younger residents of the Silver City keeps blasting on repeat through the courtyard speakers. Apparently he’s having a bit of trouble accepting his newfound… state and so the angels have permitted the coping mechanism, however repetitive,” he grumbles. “The other residents have given the kid a wide berth, but I actually like staying in the courtyard and it’s been weeks,” he feels his face pinch in shame, even as he cannot hold back the admission. “Now the song’s always stuck in my head. I can’t catch a break, not even here!”

(And if he, too, benefits just as greatly from their arrangement then no one else need ever be the wiser)

Lucifer snorts. “It’s always nice to be sought, not for the scintillating conversation but, for your ability to provide refuge from angsty teenagers and shrieking, mainstream bops,” he says, drily. “You sure know how to make a Devil feel wanted, Padre.”

Frank chuckles. “Don’t forget the refreshments,” he quips, raising a goblet of demon-brewed ale to his lips and taking a dainty sip because—as he learned the hard way—the beverage was not for the faint of heart, dead or alive.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s the tiniest hint of a curl to the corner of his lips that exposes his amusement, “Oh, of course,” it widens in mischief. “That is, when you’re not puking your guts out after having partaken a little too much of the libations…”

“That was one time!”

“And my hellions are still wiping your vile, regurgitations from the side of my castle, you little weakling!”

The pair of them dissolve into giggles as they recall the events that currently fuel their mirth; Lucifer challenging the priest and he, against his better judgement, indulging him in some petty motivation to prove him wrong. Suffice to say—they both lost that night.

Much, much later, when their nostalgia trails off and their chortles fade, Frank plays the piece in its entirety, complete with its lyrics because he’s heard it so many times it’s that embedded into his mind. Lucifer doesn’t do anything as innocuous as applaud, but Frank can sense his appreciation—recognizes it in the easiness of his breaths and the slackening of his shoulders (however minuscule, tension never truly leaving him, not even in his slumber, in the few times Frank has caught him unaware).

“Sounds like something dear Ella would have listened to.”

It’s mumbled out of the corner of his mouth in evident mockery, a derisive tilt to his articulations. Except it’s lost in the soft lines about his mouth and the brightening of his eyes as he becomes swept in the current of his memories.

So he waits, always waits… happy to let Lucifer dictate the pace of their interactions, the weight of their conversations. He learned early on when they’d reunited that Lucifer suffered through good days and bad days like the best of them, that the good days were often outweighed by the bad, and the one method to temper them that didn’t involve isolating himself on his throne for days at a time, or going on a manic bender, or some crazed combination of both, was when he reminisced of his time on Earth. Or more specifically—

The people that made his time there all the more meaningful.

Though he’d been witness to the Devil’s subtle but present humanity in the all too abrupt time they spent together topside, it is never more apparent than when he speaks of the Earthly family he’d found himself, reluctant maybe but ultimately, belonging to.

Sure, the bulk of his tales involve complaining about the notorious righteousness oozing from Amenadiel’s brawny form (“Never fails to bring up he’s the Favorite Son like, alright! We get it, yeesh!”), and the deviousness with which his newborn nephew commands the adults around him with a mere sniffle… ranting about Maze's betrayal (“Twice, Father. Twice! The audacity of that little demon!”) by teaming up with Cain (“I’m going to need a drink for this, aren’t I?” Lucifer cackles. “Or ten!”), and Linda's maddening advice during his therapy sessions (“She can never just give me the answers, honestly, what else am I paying her for?”), before recounting the whole debacle with Eve—after which he upchucked the contents of his stomach over the side of Lucifer’s balcony.

Yet even amidst the palpable, if thinly veiled, vexation of his intonation, there is that undercurrent of affection that one would have to be blind not to notice... but Frank does, and he is happy. Truly. And everyone he knows, and wouldn’t have known if not for Lucifer’s divulging moods, who is significant to Lucifer has made an appearance in all his, sometimes hurtful but mostly fond, chronicles… save for one.

Arguably, the most important one.

Yes, it doesn’t escape his notice that Lucifer hardly ever speaks of the detective that spearheaded Frank’s investigation when he had been alive. His friend is in the middle of narrating his experience in a nudist sanctuary, when he cuts himself off in that manner that tells him Chloe is a part of the story.

This is what he does, every time, and it happens so often that it becomes impossible to not discern that she—his partner in every sense of the word—is so deeply interwoven within his past, his present. One need only be in their presence for more than a second to confirm, there was no mistaking the connection between them, whether it is platonic or otherwise. And so Frank is of the firm belief that it would take more than a couple of short-lived dalliances with third parties to crack, what more break, their relationship.

So, he prods. Not hard. Not pressing enough to warrant his anger or, worse, aggravate his sadness. But a little hint here, a nudge there. He can see the strain in Lucifer's muscles and the melancholy that darkens his all ready too dark orbs… and he's aching.

He can sense the fight brewing in his soul—to speak of her, to bury her memory deep inside himself, to feel her, to wrap her in his darkness, to bring her to the light, to forget her, to remember her. So Frank tells him as much as he can without actually saying the necessary confabulations that he's here, that it's okay. Lucifer can cast his burdens onto him because this is what friends (for this is what they are and yes, his celestial best friend, for all intents and purposes, is the Devil and strange as it is, he wouldn’t have it any other way) do, they listen and they protect and they share the load of your despair as well as they can ‘til finally.

Finally, it spills out of Lucifer like a break in a dam and he is crashing, crashing and all Frank can do is hold him through the tidal wave so he doesn’t drown.

“She loves me,” Lucifer admits openly, softly, even as rivulets stream silently into the collar of his ever-impeccable suit. “She wanted me to stay, and I could not give her even that. I couldn't give her what she desired.”

“Why?”

“That damned prophecy,” he snarls, and his eyes flash red before altogether receding to their natural umber as he further expands on this foretelling, Frank's grimace deepening as a new, priestly, player is introduced and revealed to have preyed on both Lucifer and Chloe’s insecurities through his dastardly manipulations, which resulted in the deaths of a hefty number of innocents.

“And Hell must always have a ruler—a celestial one at that,” Lucifer concludes in muted, hopeless tones.

“Forget the prophecy!” Frank roars, an unexpected heat that tastes of indignation at the awful circumstances that seem to follow Lucifer no matter how undeserving he is of them, coursing through his veins. “Do you love her?”

And the despondency lifts for even just a fraction, replaced by a familiar exasperation.

“Haven't you been listening? First love equals destruction upon humanity? I don't really know how much clearer than the risk of an apocalyptic threat I can get.”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “I've yet to hear you actually declare your love in relation to her name, Lucifer.”

“Ah,” he breathes, and fiddles with a cufflink, which only gives away his unease. “Funny, that—I've also yet to say them to her. Really say them. I just keep calling her my First Love, which, not a lie! Still,” he shrugs but the nonchalance is misplaced in the tremble of his hands, as he lifts his own goblet to his lips for a particularly long gulp before he, mingled with an uncharacteristic sheepishness, huffily continues, “I do adore you, Frank, but if it’s all the same to you, I would much prefer that the first time I say them, properly, it would be to her, yeah? We both know how awful I am at communication and at this point in the game, I wouldn't want any wires getting crossed and all...”

Frank takes pity on the poor creature and halts his rambling with a steady hand to his shoulder. “So, tell her.”

Lucifer gapes. "Sure, because it's as easy as fluffing my wings out and landing at the foot of her bed. Silly me, why hadn't I thought of this before? Oh, that's right! Something to do with Evil being unleashed upon the whole of humankind? Ring any bells? We were literally just talking about this. Am I doing something wrong? Wait, what am I saying. I'm perfect.” Lucifer shoots him a look so pitying, Frank must restrain himself from cuffing him in the back of his head out of annoyance.

“Heaven really does make the lot of you dull, doesn't it?”

The things he puts up with…

“There's always gonna be something, Lucifer,” he entreats (ignoring his last statement). “In any relationship. Sometimes it's fear of commitment, other times it’s disagreements on expenses or the number of kids you want. In your case, it just so happens to be the possibility of the end of the world.”

“Is that all?” he growls, voice dripping with disdain.

“The point is—would you rather face it alone? Or take the risk together? Come on, Lucifer,” he wants to weep.

Frank doesn’t understand where this vehemence stems from, but it seizes his body with an urgency that feels as natural as his phantom heartbeat. Because he’s caught tendrils of this peculiarity before, but never so glaring as now—this fire in his chest and a carillon in his brain that blares, Lucifer does not belong here. Lucifer ruling Hell reeks of all kinds of wrong. But what he’s coaxing him to do… it feels right. Because Chloe and Lucifer feel right.

They are true.

So he asks him, though he can surmise the answer, “Are you willing to fight for that love?”

And Lucifer doesn't hesitate, not for a second. Not for a heartbeat. He doesn't even take a breath before his assent spills forth from his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispers. Then, firmer—louder, “Yes. I want to fight. For her. For us.”

Because of course he would, the rebel son of God. He would.

“Then what are you standing around here talking to me for? Go!”

“And what of Hell? What's to stop the demons from coming after me again. It would really help against whatever's coming if I wasn’t worrying about a possession epidemic on top of the apocalypse.”

And Frank thinks about those scant seconds before he died. How fleeting but impactful his last words had been. “Maybe he put me in yours,” he had said. “Your Father has a plan.” He thinks about how easily the words had slipped out, almost of their own volition.

He thought dying meant the cold. But—in that transitory precipice of life and death, the sanguine fluid that fueled his essence leaking from his body and staining his cassock, and Lucifer’s hands, red—held in the arms of the Devil, all he felt was warmth… a glowing fireplace after a day in the snow, the fiery embers of a bonfire, the comforting flame of an inimitable presence scoring across his heart, engulfing his soul. It was magnificent.

One might even say divine.

And in that moment, he knew.

“I'll do it,” he says. “I will rule Hell in your stead.”

And he can see Lucifer gunning for a laugh ‘til he notices the steely glint in Frank's eyes, the resolve firming the lines of his figure, making him seem taller. Stately. Royal.

“Have I ever told you,” he starts, a smirk burgeoning on his lips, “that my full name is Frankiel?”

“Spear of God,” Lucifer translates, slowly.

“Your Father has a plan,” he repeats.

Understanding dawns in Lucifer's eyes.

“Doesn't mean it's always a good one,” he ripostes, weakly.

“And yet,” Frank chuckles, surety making him bold, excited even, as he gathers him into his arms. “I’m certain that in this, we can both agree—it is. It works.” He nods onto the taller man’s stiff shoulder. “It has to.”

Because this is what he endured the pain of living for—so that in death, he could give another a chance to be reborn, to return the love which had been so lost to him before. Because God may work in mysterious ways, but He used him as a vessel and revealed the truth of Lucifer to him, so that he could use his final breaths to bestow a glimmer of hope into His son.

He would accept no other explanation apart from this miracle unfolding before him—all the cogs and wheels that made up his life, and afterlife, shifting into perfect gear.

He says as much to Lucifer, and though he shakes his head as if in denial, he gradually returns the embrace. Frank closes his eyes—and knows that same hope that tethered him in those final, critical, beautiful moments of his life, is now a living, breathing entity in Lucifer’s own soul because—when he opens them, the Devil is gone.

There is much to work out—the insurgence of the demons that will surely reignite at Lucifer’s once more, and final, departure, arranging visits with his daughter, how to get up on that damned throne, perhaps begin forging a new one in its stead, figure out whatever his freshly-anointed status truly entails. There will be time for all of that, eons of it, even. But for now…

The priest walks out onto the edge of the balcony that overlooks his newfound domain—Hell is a sprawling, ebony terrain before him.

And this, quite naturally, is how Father Frank ends up ruling it.

AN: Honestly, I wrote this because I just really miss Father Frank. Even after S4 'A Priest Walks into a Bar' is still hands down one of my most favorite episodes in all four seasons.

And, just as Father Frank, I too would sacrifice my spot in Heaven if it meant Deckerstar could be together. LET THEM BE HAPPY!!!

Speaking of, I got some bigger stuff in the works. This came to me at a 4am, sleep-deprived yet frenzy, haze and wouldn't leave me alone till it was written. I know, the lack of Chloe in this is abysmal XD but rest assured, the Deckerstar program should resume soon so, stay tuned!

[alquran-science]

Al-Quran, a scientific introduction

Al-Quran, the only book on this planet with text produced in the seventh century contained ideas that have only been discovered in modern times.

Astronomers, zoologists, geologists and specialists in the history of the earth would all have been struck, just as forcibly as medical doctors, by the presence in the Quran of highly accurate reflections on natural phenomena. These reflections are particularly astonishing when we consider the history of science, and can only lead us to the conclusion that they are a challenge to human explanation.

There is no human work in existence that contains statements as far beyond the level of knowledge of its time as the Quran. Scientific opinions comparable to those in the Quran are the result of modern knowledge.

In the commentaries to translations of the Quran that have appeared in European languages, we have only been able to find scattered and vague references to them. Nor do commentators writing in Arabic provide a complete study of the aspects of the Quran that deal with scientific matters. This is why the idea of a comprehensive study of the problem appealed to us.

Religion And Science

There is, perhaps, no better illustration of the close links between Islam and science than the Prophet Muhammad’s often-quoted statements:

“Seeking knowledge is compulsory on every Muslim.”

“wisdom is the lost property of the believer.”

“whoever follows a path seeking knowledge, Allah will make his path to paradise easy.”

These statements and many others are veritable invitations to humanity to enrich their knowledge from all sources. It comes as no surprise, therefore, to learn that in Islam religion and science have always been considered as twin sisters and that today, at a time when science has taken such great strides, they still continue to be associated. Nor is it a surprise to learn that certain scientific data are used for the better understanding of the Quranic text. What is more, in a century where, for many people, scientific truth has dealt a deathblow to religious belief, it is precisely the discoveries of science that, in an objective examination of the Islamic scripture, have highlighted the supernatural nature of revelation and the authenticity of the religion which it taught.

When all is said and done, scientific knowledge seems, in spite of what many people may say or think, to be highly conducive to reflection on the existence of God. Once we begin to ask ourselves, in an unbiased or unprejudiced way, about the metaphysical lessons to be derived from some of today’s knowledge, (for example our evolving knowledge of the smallest components of matter or the questions surrounding the origin of life within inanimate matter), we indeed discover many reasons for thinking about God. When we think about the remarkable organization presiding over the birth and maintenance of life, it becomes clear that the likelihood of it being the result of chance lessens quite considerably.

As our knowledge of science in the various fields expands, certain concepts must seem increasingly unacceptable. For example, the idea enthusiastically expressed by the recent French winner of the Nobel prize for medicine, that living matter was self-created from simple chemical elements due to chance circumstances. Then from this point it is claimed that living organisms evolved, leading to the remarkably complex being called man. To me, it would seem that the scientific advancements made in understanding the fantastic complexity of higher beings provides stronger arguments in favor of the opposite theory: that the existence of an extraordinarily methodical organization presiding over the remarkable arrangement of the phenomena of life necessitates the existence of a Creator.

In many parts of the Book, the Quran, encourages this kind of general reflection but also contains infinitely more precise data which are directly related to facts discovered by modern science. It is precisely this data which exercise a magnetic attraction for today’s scientists.

The Quran And Science

For many centuries, humankind was unable to study certain data contained in the verses of the Quran because they did not possess sufficient scientific means. It is only today that numerous verses of the Quran dealing with natural phenomena have become comprehensible. A reading of old commentaries on the Quran, however knowledgeable their authors may have been in their day, bears solemn witness to a total inability to grasp the depth of meaning in such verses. I could even go so far as to say that, in the 20th century, with its compartmentalization of ever-increasing knowledge, it is still not easy for the average scientist to understand everything he reads in the Quran on such subjects, without having recourse to specialized research. This means that to understand all such verses of the Quran, one is nowadays required to have an absolutely encyclopedic knowledge embracing many scientific disciplines.

I should like to stress, that I use the word science to mean knowledge which has been soundly established. It does not include the theories which, for a time, help to explain a phenomenon or a series of phenomena, only to be abandoned later on in favor of other explanations. These newer explanations have become more plausible thanks to scientific progress.

There are also some very rare examples of statements in the Quran which have not, as yet, been confirmed by modern science. I shall refer to these by pointing out that all the evidence available today leads scientists to regard them as being highly probable. An example of this is the statement in the Quran that life has an aquatic origin ( “And I created every living thing out of water” Quran 21:30 ).

These scientific considerations should not, however, make us forget that the Quran remains a religious book par excellence and that it cannot be expected to have a scientific purpose per se. In the Quran, whenever humans are invited to reflect upon the wonders of creation and the numerous natural phenomena, they can easily see that the obvious intention is to stress Divine Omnipotence. The fact that, in these reflections, we can find allusions to data connected with scientific knowledge is surely another of God’s gifts whose value must shine out in an age where scientifically based atheism seeks to gain control of society at the expense of the belief in God. But the Quran does not need unusual characteristics like this to make its supernatural nature felt. Scientific statements such as these are only one specific aspect of the Islamic revelation which the Bible does not share.

Authenticity of Quran

Before getting to the essence of the subject, there is a very important point which must be considered: the authenticity of the Quranic text.

It is known that the text of the Quran was both recited from memory, during the time it was revealed, by the Prophet and the believers who surrounded him, and written down by designated scribes among his followers. This process lasted for roughly twenty-three years during which many unofficial copies were made. An official copy was made within one year after the Prophet’s death at the instruction of Caliph Abu Bakr

Here we must note a highly important point. The present text of the Quran benefited in its original preparation from the advantage of having its authenticity cross-checked by the text recited from memory as well as the unofficial written texts. The memorized text was of paramount importance at a time when not everyone could read and write, but everybody could memorize. Moreover, the need for a written record was included in the text of the Quran itself. The first five verses of chapter al-‘Alaq, which happen to constitute the first revelation made to the Prophet (S), express this quite clearly:

“Read: In the name of your Lord who created. Who created man from a clinging entity. Read! Your Lord is the most Noble, Who taught by the pen. Who taught man what he did not know.” Quran, 96:1-5

These are surely words in “praise of the pen as a means of human knowledge”, to use Professor Hamidullah’s expression.

Then came the Caliphate of ‘Uthman (which lasted from the twelfth to the twenty-fourth year following Muhammad’s death). Within the first two years of Caliph ‘Uthman’s rule, seven official copies were reproduced from the official text and distributed throughout a large area of the world which had already come under Islamic rule. All unofficial copies existing at that time were destroyed and all future copies were made from the official seven copies.

I shall also mention another fact of great importance. We shall examine statements in the Quran which today appear to merely record scientific truth, but of which men in former times were only able to grasp the apparent meaning. In some cases, these statements were totally incomprehensible. It is impossible to imagine that, if there were any alterations to the texts, these obscure passages scattered throughout the text of the Quran, were all able to escape human manipulation. The slightest alteration to the text would have automatically destroyed the remarkable coherence which is characteristic to them. Change in any text would have prevented us from establishing their total conformity with modern knowledge. The presence of these statements spread throughout the Quran looks (to the impartial observer ) like an obvious hallmark of its authenticity.

The Quran is a revelation made known to humans in the course of twenty-three years. It spanned two periods of almost equal length on either side of the Hijrah. In view of this, it was natural for reflections having a scientific aspect to be scattered throughout the Book. In a study, such as the one we have made, we had to regroup the verses according to subject matter, collecting them chapter by chapter.

Source Authors

Dr. Maurice Bucaille

Dr. A. A. B. Philips

[everydayanth]

Time is Money or... Identity?

This became something of a thought-experiment paper... I don’t expect many reads here, but I’m working on getting more comfortable sharing thoughts, particularly on the internet, rather than keeping them in my head and getting annoyed when no one wants to talk about them, lol, so here goes....

It started with this image popping up three times while scrolling through the dash:

And then I had some thoughts....Sorry it’s so long. I suppose this post in itself is an experiment.

Things like this, collections of ideas concentrated into a few spectacular people (Renaissance artists, Baroque composers, WWII scientists, etc.), make me wonder about philosophy vs. aesthetic, and if what really sets progress in motion is competition and a group of people who feed off each other’s asking of questions and discovery of answers.

Can we fresco and entire ceiling? Sure, but it will be painful and probably kill you. Can we art better by understanding anatomy? Sure, but you’ll have to snatch some bodies, or let someone else do it first. Can I make music do this instead of that other thing? Sure, but then you’ll be copying that one guy, try this even cooler new idea! Instead of repackaging the same idea into new models or melodies, they pushed the boundaries of known into connections that traversed the unknown, adding bubbles to the collective mind-map of human knowledge and intelligence. That’s what makes them special, right?

I’m currently reading The Invention of Nature by Andrea Wulf, and I’m doing it slowly on purpose, reading all the materials referenced (Kant, Hume, Goethe, etc.) as a personal exercise in understanding a period of time/culture rather than simply Alexander Von Humboldt the person (also, it’s a good book, but the author is very biased-in-favor, so I’m trying to read it in tandem of others who were more critical). Anyway, I’m going through the part where a group of young men require each other’s thoughts as stimulation and inspiration to new ideas, how they challenge and change what is and feed off these new connections, even as they are being recorded by scientists and artists who would become ultimately more preserved in historical documents and textbooks.

And that seems to be the key, one brain questions and answers, another questions that answer and answers itself, and so on, agreeing on very little outside of context, but pushing each other into new territory. It only takes one four-minute mile to prove it can be done at all. But if we’re caught up in the ethics of how to question and answer, then aesthetics quickly become more desirable. So the cultural understanding, particularly with Millennials, seems to grow weary of argument and become: if I can’t discuss policy (because the nuances are extreme or not understandable/accessible to me, or most often because my voice is denied and change is unattainable), I can at least look good while it slowly chokes me to death.

And while it’s easy to write it off as narcissism and entitlement, perhaps it’s only because what we deem “looking good” is one of very few things we can generally agree upon, everything else is hopeless, creating a cycle of nihilism where hopeful people are considered naive or dumb. Sure, there are different styles of aesthetic, and we label those subgroups with passionate adamance, but I think even the most minimalist among us can appreciate an aesthetic collection of clutter when done well. We share an ideology of quality that makes art and media that was once appreciated by few an aesthetic that is valued by most - Marvel comics vs. the MCU, SF/F shows like Lost or Game of Thrones becoming cultural phenomenons vs. the elusive Geekdom prior to the Star Wars movies. Aesthetic unites us where every other aspect of nationalism and group identity divide us by philosophy - our perceptions and understanding of geography, history, culture, language, or enemy (traits of nationalism, yeah, I’m citing my own article lol) are all based on complex webs of experience, education, world view, etc.

We focus on aesthetics in literature, visual arts, and technology, business branding, business models, and even the application of science to the public. Aesthetics becomes the focus of energy because it is where we find freedom of identity in a world ready to challenge any semblance of diverse thought. We agree on aesthetics, because they fit a model and communicate efficiently if we are something to consider good or bad.

But that false dichotomy is severely flawed because projections of reality and reality itself are two vastly different things. Dichotomous thinking is a way to simplify the world when it becomes too complex too fast, it is a tool used to make choices, like making a pros-cons list or an if-then projection in order to decide to do or not to do, to be or not to be. It is often supported as a tool of control, and becomes extremely dangerous when it begins to dictate our identities and understandings of the world. When there is no us-vs-them, what idea can we rally around?

To start, we have a lot of inclusion to do, because discussions of philosophy, art, and science all start with time, and you know who doesn’t have time? People who need to make money in it. So when we skew our education systems to favor those who have time (and therefore money), we allow economics to dictate progress in philosophy and art and science, we hand over control to those who profit most from dichotomous thinking. And when we do that... well... money will favor some things over others, like product over research, revenue over investment, aesthetic over thought, etc. until deviating outside of that cycle is nearly impossible if not unsurvivable.

We’re in a loop, where making money is the goal, because there is no other option, research needs support, and research’s only support comes from money, and money wants more money, so research is limited to whatever gives us money.

Has that always been the case?

Renaissance artists were successful if they demonstrated the church’s power, gaining the church support through aesthetics, not challenging its philosophy (well... not directly anyway). That church profited (and still does) greatly from the development of dichotomies and used art and emotion to encourage this thinking, often as a way to control the lower classes.

Baroque composers (or Romantic, Classical, and Modern ones for that matter) were successful if they sold shows and inspired attendees to purchase their music, again, often sponsored by those in financial power and following the requested agenda (and again, not always directly, often including illicit subtext). Stepping too far away from what was popular and appropriate meant they lost sponsorship and public interest. Thus, the freedom of the starving artist vs. the conformation of the sell-out dichotomy.

And WWII/post-WWII scientists were successful if their work was supported by government institutions, particularly military or intelligence branches, and advanced the prospect of victory over a consistent manifestation of physical enemy (Nazis, Russians, soldiers, and spies). 

The money comes when the proof is clear, not when it’s being searched for, and then only after decades of scientists and artists have died in poverty after discoveries of curiosity, not agenda. Progress, then, is controlled by public interest... or else private investment, and must, therefore, conform to the expectations of one or the other, often balancing the greater of two evils, it seems.

This is not a disrespect of those genius giants before us. I’m just noticing a pattern in the system of prosperous aesthetic periods and less progressive philosophical ones. We see the results of the philosophers only when they are applied aesthetically, and those aesthetic focal points divide the world into answers instead of questions, so it can seem that large progress has been made, when perhaps it was in-process for quite some time and was completed when a group of people crowded around the concept with the financial support of a capital agenda and the peers to push the boundaries of answering the questions that had been asked before them.

Most of the giants whose shoulders we stand on are invisible, it seems we only recognize the ones who present the answers aesthetically to our culture of origin. The “discoverers” of America are preserved in record because of their historic access in writing, but also because of their royal and religious backing. 

Many scientific theories were proposed prior to our Western heroes by individuals those heroes had access to reading, particularly those outside of our Western vernacular. Darwin had access to tons of theories, but I’m not just talking Lyell and Linnaeus here, but the likes of  Zhuang Zhou, al-Jāḥiẓ, and Ibn Khaldūn, whose names are ignored even in evolutionary biology/anthropology classes. 

We remember Apple’s ipod, not the saturated market of mp3 players before it; we discuss the unveiling of the iphone, not the industry and inventions that already existed. And while the fun of literature is often disassembling its parts, we don’t discuss the mythology or market predecessors to Harry Potter, because it was the new aesthetic of young adult. That’s a bold claim, and much more subjective than the tech/science ones, but I think it’s important that we recognize this across industries and throughout our culture, not simply within the aesthetic streamlining of technology. Our immediate “successful” heroes make money because they provide and aesthetic that applies to many philosophies.

We don’t diversify our education because we admire the end result of science, rarely considering the entirety of work that went into final discovery or product. We try to explain science in chains of linear progression rather than the mind-map of questions and ideas and artistic or political influence that it is.

Progress then, depends a great deal on affluence and we exist in a culture of “who you know” rather than a balance of who AND what you know. Sure, there are always exception, but is it any surprise that we younger generations are obsessed with image? 

Success, it seems, is directly correlated with it, and while we know genius takes more than money, success seems to exist outside of it - in fact, success rarely seems to involve genius itself at all anymore, but pure aesthetic. I’m thinking of the likes of Steve Jobs, who cultivated a following through his personal branding and rhetoric that helped change an entire industry, but often did so through aesthetics, not invention. 

We have grown to idolize the firsts as people who invented something, however, the reality is that those tech giants and big names rarely invented, rather re-modeled and presented something aesthetically compatible to society. We do not celebrate the inventor of the piano, but rather those composers who presented us with an aesthetic style for it. 

But that makes sense, because science’s value is in application. Who cares about dark matter? Well, no one (except sci-fi authors lol), yet, because it has no application to the public. But projects are still funded by institutions and government because our curiosity drives research and the potential outcome (weapons, control, power, money) justifies investment. How much money our government spends on NASA is directly correlated to the expectation of results, in the 60s, that was a way to defeat our perceived enemies, now, for some, it’s useless and should be privately funded.

I’m getting a little off topic, but my point is that what we deem “progress” is often only the part of the iceberg that we see, and rarely the whole of it. So what we see in the initial photo as a culture is a group of genius scientists (yes, again, respectfully, I am not denouncing the discoveries or large amount of work put in by any individuals here), rather than the prosperity of the Industrial Revolution, whose amount of excess-everything funded work that wasn’t considered necessary, until it was. When we fear a limit of resources, we understandably become more controlling over what we spend money on as a society, but even in limited resources, there are those with excess, who can then more easily control what is considered valuable or not. 

So, to be a successful genius, one must have access to funding, and to do this, one’s work must fulfill an agenda of another who has or is access to funds. This often entails being well connected, which includes a performance of image, false confidence, and the crucial understanding of the mind map of philosophy, art, and science in the intended discipline, which is often only accessible to those who fit the desired cultural template of the controlled upper class (read: wealthy, white, male, and upperclass-educated, for historical America anyway). 

Which means that in idolizing the presenters of knowledge, we value the aesthetic of it, the pretty package wrapped around a completed idea, more than we value the process of it. And this is dangerous because we repeat it everywhere, in politics and government (we might value the cheaters who take a shortcut as a symbol of intelligent application, or those who represent an aesthetic we agree with without looking into their application of policy), justice (social justice often values the aesthetic meaning of an outcome of a problem, rather than deconstructing the process by which that outcome was reached), education (we use standardized testing to represent a student’s ability to memorize outcomes - or the aesthetic of looking intelligent, rather than demonstrating an ability to apply knowledge and understanding), business (we herald in those who present us with a desired aesthetic brand - Apple, Starbucks, Google, etc., rather than investigating the potential corruption of human conditions that leads to that aesthetic; or else using a popularity rating of stars as peer-approval of a brand rather than developing our opinions out of experience).

Even in our personal lives, it is more important to be perceived as positive and confident than to investigate and deconstruct what might be making us unhappy. For me, it was health, I didn’t like how I looked or felt, but was obsessively told that I’m great, I shouldn’t feel that way. My negativity was rewarded, victimization was encouraged, and the conclusion seemed to always be leaving everything as-is.

Eventually I had to say fuck it and stop seeking the support and understanding of friends, utilizing spite to rebuild a healthy life, which isn’t the only option, that was my choice, but our obsession with aesthetics became a lose-lose for me. I didn’t want to look like a photo-brushed-whatever model, which seemed to be everyone’s assumption, I just felt unhappy because I was unhealthy and unproductive in my life. 

But that’s a bad aesthetic, or maybe not one at all and that denial of aesthetic might be the worst part. I didn’t fit into a box, not out of any higher intelligence, but because I could never pick one. This story is much more complex (and for the record, Jake was instrumental in helping me develop and maintain a health plan) and could probably be unpacked into an entire book of an extended metaphor, but put simply, I want to be a minimalist some days and a traditionalist other days and my brain is just a clash of ideas. Even my wardrobe reflects this, lit-nerd some days, world-traveler other days, outgoing-athlete, and even the occasional clash of weird accessories that is dancer-chic, lol. 

I was feeling stuck by a body that was in endless rehabilitation and recovery (long story, broken bones), and I didn’t like it, so I wanted to change it. But that proactive idea was met with passionate defenses of body-positivity (which does have a place in society as a whole) and a focus on aesthetic (”you look fine”) rather than philosophy (well I don’t fucking feel fine). And I can’t help but think it’s because aesthetics are things we can agree on, or because they are safe, and to change aesthetics or to request a focus on philosophy, makes people scared about the burden of change.

So I have a revision to my own idea of what curates success:

Successful genius exists in a place supported financially, often by an agenda that is commonly more afforded to those who already fit a familiar cultural aesthetic of money or power, armed with an understanding of connection and access to un-biased and diverse knowledge and education (again, often most commonly afforded to those already in the upperclass), surrounded by a group of similar individuals who provide competition as well as resources and connections that progress the understanding of concepts in non-linear objectivity, and present finalized ideas to the public in a consumable and digestible aesthetic package of understanding that does not require extensive negative change on behalf of the consumer.

If that is true, I think it answers the cycles of science in ages of philosophy and reason vs. aesthetics and image that creates the popular science vs. art false dichotomy. STEM is more easily objective, and objective is more easily packaged and sold, therefore we create an art vs. science dichotomy and science wins - but only if it’s presenter understands enough about art to package it aesthetically. Social sciences are doomed by their own use of inductive arguments, complex layers of pattern and observation that don’t have a single objective Truth, rather a layered perception of potential truth, which is not easily distributed - it’s not a pamphlet, it’s a book. 

Ain’t nobody got time for books.

It explains the Millennial obsession with image outside of an individual psychology of narcissism, by looking to cultural understandings of success and value. And while deviating from traditional models of progress - looking at thought as a mind map of connection rather than linear funnel of detail (while still applicable and useful), it illustrates the time lapse between discovery and progress. There is a gap between the actual discovery of knowledge and the generalized application of that knowledge, and that gap is filled by whomever presents the information most effectively or efficiently, sometimes accurately, to the public. That presenter is then considered successful, valuable, important. That importance leads to respect, time, and freedom.

So Millennials are emulating what they need to look like to be considered successful (fake it ‘till you make it and all), while science emulates linear thought in the same way. Linear thought can be more easily objective and packaged for public access, taught in schools and accepted by society. We create a dichotomy of linear and non-linear thought and say they have pros and cons or specific uses and applications, but I think in the same way our predecessors argued about Empiricism vs. Rationalism (read: art vs. science) until we understood them in tandem, we are at the point of having to understand linear and non-linear thinking not as opposites, but as extremes on a spectrum, most useful when balanced. 

It’s complex and complex things take time to understand. And time is money. And money is freedom. And freedom is happiness.

Perhaps this explains why dichotomies are so popular - they fit an aesthetic, and they remove the exhausting layers of philosophy that exist inside our own identities. Dichotomies limit the complexity of an idea into two extremes, and  when we define ourselves by an image rather than our modes of thought, much of our decisions can be made by whatever aligns with the image. We can feel free by the illusions of power or choice, while minimizing the effort it takes to get to that freedom, and maybe it makes us feel happy for a minute. 

However, while we spend much of our decision quota in a given day on deciding which aesthetics to consume or conform to, those choices are still influenced by those whose agendas are funding our understanding of the world through science and art. Is it any wonder we’ve created a dichotomy of disconnect in every way. What I mean is that it is easy to make irrational choices based on feelings of aesthetics (easier, not always easy), and when our culture divides aesthetics into categories, they are predictable, marketable, and controllable, so we must separate the world into understandable groups.

If this is true, then maybe it’s not the internet or social media or Millennial entitlement that is separating us. Maybe it’s the control of wealth being recycled into similar agendas to produce work that conforms to or provides evidence supporting already existing biases in science. Keep us too busy making money to have time to understand it and too loyal to brands to investigate the money, and too exhausted of choices to discover ourselves. So the freedom of choice that we find in aesthetic dichotomies - the ease of making decisions and lowered exhaustion of not analyzing those experiences, is actually a sacrifice of identity and agency to those funding our research and creating the requirements of aesthetic conformation . 

This is getting a bit conspiracy-theory-esque, but dichotomies are good for reducing choices and controlling groups, however, they do not inherently exist outside of a few basic dualities (like light and the absence of light, or dark), they extend out of a focus on aesthetic and a disapproval of thought, voice, and criticism. Or, to simplify, they are social constructs to organize information.

So if this all related in some way, if science and progress is inhibited by the agendas of the elite, and we are very aware of our elite, how do we trust it? How do we step out of the aesthetic-obsessed cycle and into forgiveness and understanding and patience and... time?

And perhaps more importantly, how do we develop a way to support science AND diversify it? How do we make the next photo like this include races and genders across a spectrum of ideologies? How do we create a collective group of genius that exists outside of a capital agenda, is it even possible? How can we encourage investment over revenue when so many Americans (and people around the world) feel they don’t have enough time to make money to survive, or choices to spend thinking about philosophy, policy, and what they believe in vs. agreeing with something that seems to vaguely align with their desired aesthetic identity? It’s not laziness, I don’t think, but over-work, we’ve reached our daily capacity and the sacrifice of demanding more is...less.

I struggle to pick an aesthetic and it has helped me break that easy black-and-white view of the world, but that is a fight I am exhausted by every day. It would be so simple to pick an aesthetic and run with it, to define myself by a collective idea and make choices based on what matches it, but that swings with my emotions, and maybe that’s closer to the problem? 

We have done some weird shit with emotion, from disregarding it as feminine or “weak,” to writing it out of strength and art and science. We have created a dichotomy between emotion and logic and then mapped it into our brains as hemispheres of thought. We made a taboo-aesthetic of sadness (I mean, look at Inside Out’s character development of Sadness, but they did a good job using balance as the answer) and disregarded most emotions beyond contentment or positive excitement as bad, which is, surprise, starting to look like a mistake. We’ve branded empathy as weakness; we are simultaneously admiring, and for many worshiping, empathetic individuals while funneling our money into heartless heroes who we deem successful. Maybe it’s our emotions that have faded, beaten out of us or encouraged into silence, leaving us lonely and dependent on our chosen aesthetic to find any pieces of identity that might lead to authentic happiness. Maybe emotion is what keeps us in just-enough chaos to challenge the agendas that control our choices by keeping us unpredictable? Or perhaps they are what unite us beyond aesthetic.

Maybe staring at that shelf of shampoos and conditioners, over half of which are produced by the exact same factory and owned by the same company but branded with different versions of you in mind and with how you will feel looking at them taken into account, is extremely overwhelming. And some days you feel lazy and tired and you just grab that same ol’ thing. But occasionally you feel rebellious or responsible, and you investigate and make a completely different choice because maybe you are made of a layer of realities held together by your collective experience of life that creates a unique worldview, that thing that we conform to an aesthetic or maybe an emotion, or philosophy, or a conviction of values, and maybe that thing cannot be predicted. Maybe our models predict an aesthetic, not a person, and maybe that’s a duh, but it’s not a logical concept I consider on a daily basis of rhetoric hailing technology and AI as all-knowing and capable of perfect reason.

Maybe it’s our chaos that is trying to be organized into compartmental identities of aesthetic ideologies: minimal, vintage, grunge, professional, bad-ass, athletic, urban, feminine, boho, whatever it is. And those who challenge it are in for a much more difficult life of choices, each of which must be broken down into action-and-consequence, current emotion vs. future potential, the history and creation of a product, etc. We don’t have time to ask our coffee if children were kidnapped to harvest it, we have an image and this specific coffee or product fits it; we are too busy trying to be successful so that we can eventually have the freedom to fully identify ourselves and be happy, and we see by cultural example that our desired success comes from aesthetic.

Capitalism creates a need for money, and that excess capital is often syphoned into the remnants of pre-constructed systems. I don’t have the expertise to divide that into its logical components yet, but maybe our adoration of monarchy as seen in our popular media, art, and entertainment, has us assuming the elite among us deserve their position, romanticizing the trials of poverty as obstacles to be overcome, and forcing racial stereotypes into equally damaging aesthetics - the white female, incapable damsel in distress, vs. the black female, independent queen who can survive everything on her own. This is not a real dichotomy, it’s a shitty stereotype, but you probably wouldn’t know it from the outside looking in, or perhaps from the inside itself, if you felt the need to align with a specific aesthetic, or even to invert that pressure into the opposite aesthetic. Businesses thrive by utilizing those dichotomies, and sometimes by creating a solution to them. So if they are useful to some, perhaps that’s enough reason to be suspicious of the agendas that tell us how to think or make our lives easier. 

I feel like I’m saying a lot of stupid things while feeling my own brain nodding along and going like oh, here’s a dichotomy and there’s another dichotomy and all dichotomies are false dichotomies, and I know all this in formal educated argument, but when it comes to daily application, I want to just be a cool millennial who has health insurance and can grab takeout without humming about the cost and what I might be able to pull together from the fridge. That doesn’t mean brands or aesthetics, despite the market’s attempts to the contrary, just the means to survive financially with a bit of excess time for myself to think and be bored and contemplate the world with other people so we’re all a bit less lonely and more emotionally adjusted.  

Diversity, money, research, science, art, aesthetic, it all seems to come back to identity and time. Time to make choices, time to reflect and think about identity and emotion, time to deconstruct and criticize reality, time to investigate corruption, time to gather knowledge and resources, time to exist along other humans rather than floating away, isolated and ungrounded from the world. Therefore, successful geniuses also have time to exist outside of a singular aesthetic and enhance our understanding of the world in order to develop positive changes that we often label “progress.”

How do we give people more time so that they don’t have to divide the world into aesthetics and dichotomies in order to keep up or attempt to be successful? Does giving someone time allow them to feel successful? If that perseverance of success was in order to gain the time, would we then use the time to curate individual identities that we feel comfortable and confident in? Is time what it takes to be happy? Is time what separates the classes in America?

How do we un-do “time is money,” particularly in a capitalist economy and remember that time is also thought and connection and values and friendships and more than obligations?

How do we remember that time is identity?

Is time a renewable resource? Or are we. 

[stretchjournalemerson]

Maternity Leave: A false Hindrance to the American Workplace

By Diti Kohli   

Acknowledgments 

“Once a month, my mother and I somehow fall into a conversation about the day my brother was born. I was five––a curious child dawdling at kindergarten, presumably learning about seasons and basic additions. But she was working.”

Thank you to Mary for her soapbox rants in class which inspired this paper and my quiet fight for better maternity leave policies. Thank you to Audrey, Kayla, and Clare for making my recklessly pieced-together words more understandable and eloquent. Thank you to Phil for enduring me while proofreading this piece out loud to him nearly four times the night before it was due. Thank you to my mom for serving as the pivotal point for me to center my academic analysis around and for being the shining light in my life every day. And most importantly, thank you to women and mothers everywhere who fight the good fight because they have to or they want to. My words are their words.

***

Once a month, my mother and I somehow fall into a conversation about the day my brother was born. I was five––a curious child dawdling at kindergarten, presumably learning about seasons and basic additions. But she was working. After downing a glass of warm milk in the morning and feeling rightfully queasy after, Mama hiked up her stretchy maternity jeans and made her way to the Subway franchise our family owned. There she gently laid tomatoes on people’s sandwiches, cleaned countertops, and managed payroll until her water broke, and my father scooped her away to the hospital. Exactly a month after her labor, we sold our Subway to another presentable family that had the time to manage it, unlike my mother who was now straddled with not one, but two young children.  

With my father working full-time, Mama found it best to dismiss her responsibilities at the restaurant to care for her newborn and five-year-old. This solution was possible only because of our family’s financial stability and my parents’ compromise. And because my mother essentially worked for herself, it was painfully easy to voluntarily slip out of her obligations. She wasn’t bound by contract to upper management, and there was no man in power to whom she had to explain the strenuous reality of parenting. Millions of other parents around the country cannot afford this same luxury of leaving work so effortlessly for their children.

Throngs of complaining women root their frustrations in an unsatisfying federal maternity leave policy. Author Megan Sholar, who detailed the policy in the American Historian, gained acclaim for her professorship at Loyola University and her book titled “Getting Paid While Taking Time” on the history of United States leave. Sholar explains the provisions for parental leave that were detailed in the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) in 1993. The FMLA mandates employers offer 12 weeks of unpaid, job-protected leave to women starting families––but even this stringent three-month release is limited by an array of eligibility requirements, including length of employment, size of employer, pay scale, and more (Sholar). Though the legislation was seen as an accomplishment and haven for those starting families at the time of its release, the American mandate is especially strict and unforgiving on households, and families cite its inadequacy time and time again.

The argument often stands that poor maternity leave policies hinder families. Restrictive family regulations loosen children’s bonds to their working parents, set up ample opportunities for childhood isolation, and leave women daydreaming about the state of their newborns while at their desks. But the argument the corporate world should be considered goes unscathed. Due to an ingrained American cultural perspective, extending maternity leave is commonly seen as a hindrance to business. But would extending maternity and parental leave policies’ nationwide truly hurt women’s workplace performance and the economic state of employers in the way this perspective argues? The reality may be the opposite.

Lengthening the duration and financial regulations assigned for maternity leave results in long-term positives that are currently either voluntarily or ignorantly overlooked by most employers. The eventual benefits of extending parental policies, as is done by dozens of other countries and will be detailed later, are overshadowed in today’s negative cultural lens through which leave is usually viewed. And the advantages of widening these policies cannot materialize without first challenging and changing the national attitude toward maternity leave.

Opposition to improved maternity leave is deeply rooted in this American cultural norm, easily adopted and expanded by conservative lawmakers and employers. As a country founded through strident individualism and dogged hard work, leave of any kind––parental leave included––is perceived as a deviation from professional goals. Career features journalist Rachel Gillett writes for Business Insider, “individualism and business...these ideals have been incompatible with the idea of paying new parents to spend time off from work for their kids” (Gillet). Companies view the need to take off work for early childcare as an extradition from economic productivity and profit. But this perception is painfully simplified; it adheres to the basic idea that less work overall is being done when the employee cannot come to her job temporarily.

This attitude is compounded by the economic system that rules the United States. America thrives on being fiercely capitalist––an identification that immediately undermines jobs that traditionally befall women, like housework and child care. A capitalist society hinges itself on the accumulation of profit, and consequently, employers assign financial value to the work their laborers complete. Bryce Covert, women’s political writer and contributor to The Nation, explores the interplay between capitalism and career women in her piece “Is There Room for Women Workers in Capitalism?” The dismal response to her title’s question is no. “Under capitalism, work done outside the home can be sold for wages to capital; work done inside the home can’t create more capital for the capitalists,” she wrote. Following this principle, corporations see little need to ascribe resources for women caring for children outside of their professional jobs (Covert). Their absence from work for maternity leave does not create conventional “capital,” and in this effect, attains no basic monetary contention for the company. But employers’ decision not to provide these resources for working mothers perpetuates a unequal system where these women's labor goes overlooked, hurting both the employee and the employer.

A group of three researchers commissioned by the International Labor Office detail the outmoded perception that allows this cycle of underappreciation to continue in their study titled “Maternity Leave in SMEs: An International Review.” Prominent labor researcher Suzann Lewis and her colleagues highlight the need for a cultural shift in order for the benefits of extended leave to finally reach fruition. “Without a wider understanding, employers are likely to perceive staff maternity as an unnecessary disruption rather than a fact of business life that can be managed productively,” wrote Lewis. Employers’ inability to look past this cultural obstruction is the foundation of their misconception, “underpinning their hostility or resistance to the introduction of related measures” (Lewis et. al). Those constructing leave regulations on a policy level are stuck in a one-track mindset that prioritizes checkmarks on daily to-do lists over long-term productivity that is inevitably boosted by more reasonable maternity policies.

The nature of the American workplace and its inherent lack of flexibility only further obstructs the path for maternity leaves’ betterment. The American workplace not only rewards, but expects, overworking––an activity that is an impossibility for the average working parent. Journalists Hanna Schank and Elizabeth Wallace wrote a seven-part series on women’s ambitions following college for The Atlantic, a popular American commentary magazine. In their article, Schank and Wallace find the average employee extending the 40-hour work week by seven hours in addition to time spent commuting. The women realize that “for the working world to continue to function as it does, and for houses and children to continue to function as they do, someone must take on double duty” (Schank and Wallace). As parents on “double duty” prioritize the needs of their children and slip away from the demanding environment of a workplace that operates over full-time, it’s no wonder bosses see no way through which maternity leave could help their bottom line.

Based on this enduring cultural perspective in the United States, resistance to improved leave carries on, founded in the aforementioned idea that parental leave cannot contribute beneficially to economic productivity. But research into the impact of better leave offers up a more progressive perspective. In actuality, improving maternity leave lends itself to further cost efficiency for the employer and strengthened national workplace equality.

In reaction to poor maternity leave policy, more and more women find themselves interrupting or ending their careers because of their inability to sustain the upkeep of two jobs––one professional and one familial. University professorships and administrators serve as microcosms to examine the linkage between length of maternity leave and retention. Mariaelisa Epifanio and Vera Troeger, prominent researchers at the UK institutions Liverpool University and the University of Warwick respectively, explored this connection at colleges in Britain in their study titled “Bargaining over Maternity Pay: Evidence from UK Universities.” In relation to this paper’s study of American parental leave, their research is prefaced by the fact that the UK offers stronger maternity leave than the United States to begin with––52 weeks with few additional contingencies. Nevertheless, the study concluded that universities who provided shorter maternity leave provisions saw lower retention rates in the women they previously employed (Epifanio and Troeger). Companies then lose trained workers, equipped for the jobs they had and likely to return if offered extended opportunities around childbirth.

And decreased retention of working women, as seen in Epifanio and Troeger’s research, ultimately hurts the pockets of employers who are often too concerned with the immediate finances required to cover parents on leave. Budgeting the extra money to allow for improved leave is a cost far smaller than that of replacing trained workers. Researchers for Family Matters, a non-profit organization dedicated to ending the structural oppression of families, spearheaded a study called “The role of planning, support, and maternal and infant factors in women's return to work after maternity leave,” led by Melissa Coulson and two other colleagues with extensive experience in family-related research. In it, they evaluated the economic realities of turnover: “the costs of replacing employees is quite high, with estimates of turnover costs ranging from 29% to 46%. Moreover, the costs cited do not consider the indirect costs…such as those associated with the initial inefficiency of a new employee” (Coulson et. al). Women, who are bound by the cutoffs of America’s current leave policies, are subjecting their employers to turnover costs when as mothers, they are given an age-old ultimatum: keeping their jobs or having the prolonged ability to care for their newborns? When many inevitably choose the latter, companies’ budgets flail. In this situation, the shortsightedness of the average American employer limits them from considering the overall finances which undoubtedly support improved leave.

Aside from the costs of replacement, retaining working women who return from childbirth elevates the quality of employees and therefore employers’ work. Epifanio and Troeger's research in Britain found some universities offered better leave provisions to attract and keep skilled professors and administers who produce work that would benefit the reputation and standing of the institution. This concept can be expanded to companies, who can look to enhance the quality of their production by putting employee loyalty at the forefront of their mission by strengthening their leave policy.

Conversely, improving leave policies allows employers to attract a wider range of applicants for positions, in addition to retaining their skilled workers as explored in the last paragraph. Rebecca Greenfield, a journalist for the business and market news publication, Bloomberg, explained how companies with longer better leave draw in a larger breadth of applicants: “such laws can motivate companies to adopt the benefit in order to stay competitive...benefits such as paid parental leave may be more psychologically appealing than a raise.” Greenfield’s work evidences a concept that is often overlooked––better maternity leave not only keeps those who are good at their jobs, it entices other highly skilled people to employers with reasonable leave regulations. An expanded applicant pool has the potential to improve a company's workforce, efficiency, and productivity as a result.

In addition, adopting improved maternity leave regulations potentially allows employers to showcase a progressive stance on hiring practices––they can display an understanding that women, including those who give birth and raise children, are equally hireable as men and single women. They can convey both through increased hiring and retention that these women are not professionally disposable in the way they have been in the past. The normalization of employing working mothers will also raise the level of societal equality in the workplace.

In fact, improved regulation before and after pregnancy has a wide-reaching bettering effect on equality in the American workplace in more ways than the one previously mentioned. Shivani Kapur, a graduate law student at The University of Alberta, examined how pregnant women and mothers are negatively stereotyped and positioned in Canadian workplaces in her thesis titled “Pregnancy and Motherhood: Prejudice, Stereotyping and Discrimination in the Canadian Workplace.” Kapur cites maternity leave discrimination that has reinforced “women’s economic dependence on men.” She continues to say that “the general absence of maternity leave laws...fostered the notion that the mother and worker were incompatible roles, thereby perpetuating women’s subordinate position.” Her research asserts stronger maternity policies would provide more room for career-driven women to climb the professional ladder and aid the goals of employers (Kapur). Improved leave regulations then would lead to the increased presence of equal pay despite gender and allow more women to reach higher-level positions––two indicators of greater workplace equality. In addition, women’s increased professional climb and pay equity as a result of improved maternity leave policy will strengthen American economic productivity overall.

Despite the economic advantages of extending maternity leave, the national perception of leave stands still. The societal, financial, and systematic obstacles are seemingly endless for working mothers, building one after another even as more women enter the force. This paper’s exploration of maternity leave only skims its economic and societal effects. Topics including gender-free parental leave, pregnancy discrimination, and family impact post-leave were not even mentioned simply because of time and space restrictions. In an ever-evolving world where jobs become antiquated and new ones emerge, working mothers’ dilemmas shift and change with the times and are in constant need of being justified and explored.

As of now, after seeing my own mother dip out of professional life for her children, I find it essential we reevaluate the American capitalist model that devalues parental work. I watched Mama go to every single one of my dance performances, make my crustless sandwiches after school, and pick up the laundry off my floor as I was a reckless middle schooler. And after leaving her job at Subway, she did the same for my brother. Though looked down upon from a corporate perspective, her decision was praised by full-time mothers and perfect for our family situation. Eventually her choice derailed others’ professional perspective of her. But the public must question the way the overarching American cultural perspective, proven wrong in this paper, has influenced their thinking before judging all mothers the same way. Only then can the label of “mother” and “worker” professionally and personally coincide.

Works Cited

Covert, Bryce. "Is There Room for Women Workers Under Capitalism?" The Nation, July 2015.

Coulson, Melissa; Skouteris, Helen and Dissanayake, Cheryl. The role of planning, support, and maternal and infant factors in women's return to work after maternity leave [online]. Family Matters, No. 90, 2012.

Epifanio, Mariaelisa, and Vera E. Troeger. "Bargaining over Maternity Pay: Evidence from UK Universities." Feb. 12 2019.

Greenfield, Rebecca. "More Companies Than Ever Offer Paid Parental Leave." Bloomberg, June 28 2018.

Gillett, Rachel. "Most people in America want paid parental leave — here's the real reason the US is the only developed nation that doesn't have it." Business Insider, Oct. 1 2017.

Kapur, Shivani. "Pregnancy and Motherhood: Prejudice, Stereotyping and Discrimination in the Canadian Workplace." University of Alberta Journal of Law, 2017, pp. 85-94.

Kohli, Gurpreet. Personal interview. Mar. 30 2019.

Lewis, Suzann, et al. Maternity Protection in SMEs : An International Review. International Labor Office, 2014, pp. 1-16. International Labor Office. FLO eResource Catalog Emerson.

Schank, Hana, and Elizabeth Wallace. "Beyond Maternity Leave." The Atlantic, Dec. 2016.

[fortheheavenssake]

https://www.powerofpositivity.com/stephen-hawking-depression-message/

Stephen Hawking, well known for his work in theoretical physics, has one of the greatest minds of our time. He was born on January 8, 1942, in Oxford, England. As a young child, he wanted to study mathematics, but once he began college, he studied Natural Sciences. During his first year in Cambridge at the age of 21, Hawking began to have symptoms of ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis). Doctors gave him two-and-a-half years to live.

Throughout his life, Hawking has taught, researched, and provided the world with beautiful messages. He once said that his expectations were reduced to zero when he was given the ALS diagnosis. Since then, every aspect of his life had been a bonus until his death in early 2018.

STEPHEN HAWKING’S BEAUTIFUL MESSAGE FOR ANYONE WITH DEPRESSION

One of the most brilliant minds did not allow these life challenges to stop him. He continued studying. Hawking has twelve honorary degrees. He has dedicated his life to finding answers about the universe, the Big Bang, creation and scientific theories. He cannot speak or move. While bound to a wheelchair, however, he has found ways to inspire the world, encouraging us to find the mysticism in the stars. Hawking says:

“Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Never give up work. Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it. If you are lucky enough to find love, remember it is there and don’t throw it away.”

During a lecture in January at the Royal Institute in London, Hawking compared black holes to depression, making it clear that neither the black holes or depression are impossible to escape:

“The message of this lecture is that black holes ain’t as black as they are painted. They are not the eternal prisons they were once thought. Things can get out of a black hole both on the outside and possibly to another universe. So if you feel you are in a black hole, don’t give up; there’s a way out.”

depression quote

STEPHEN HAWKING ON DISABILITY

When asked about his disabilities, he says: “The victim should have the right to end his life, if he wants. But I think it would be a great mistake. However bad life may seem, there is always something you can do, and succeed at. While there’s life, there is hope.”

He continues with an inspiring message about disabilities:

“If you are disabled, it is probably not your fault, but it is no good blaming the world or expecting it to take pity on you. One has to have a positive attitude and must make the best of the situation that one finds oneself in; if one is physically disabled, one cannot afford to be psychologically disabled as well. In my opinion, one should concentrate on activities in which one’s physical disability will not present a serious handicap. I am afraid that Olympic Games for the disabled do not appeal to me, but it is easy for me to say that because I never liked athletics anyway. On the other hand, science is a very good area for disabled people because it goes on mainly in the mind …

My disabilities have not been a significant handicap in my field, which is theoretical physics. Indeed, they have helped me in a way by shielding me from lecturing and administrative work that I would otherwise have been involved in. I have managed, however, only because of the large amount of help I have received from my wife, children, colleagues and students. I find that people in general are very ready to help, but you should encourage them to feel that their efforts to aid you are worthwhile by doing as well as you possibly can.”

HAWKING AND A SENSE OF WONDER

Stephen Hawking does not only encourage the scientific minds to pay attention, but inspires the rest of us to take notice that there is connection between the stars and each one of us. His disabilities have not stopped his curious mind and sense of wonder.

His daughter, Lucy, shared with the crowd at the lecture, “He has a very enviable wish to keep going and the ability to summon all his reserves, all his energy, all his mental focus and press them all into that goal of keeping going. But not just to keep going for the purposes of survival, but to transcend this by producing extraordinary work writing books, giving lectures, inspiring other people with neurodegenerative and other disabilities.”