#Modern Ski Poster

[prettywordsyouleft]

Not A Myth

Pairing: Mark Lee x female reader

Genre: fluff, supernatural au

Tropes: reverse grumpy x sunshine, cinnamon roll mmc

Warnings: supernatural characters, mentioning of a toxic master, y/n has a minor bout of fear

Word count: 2064

Author’s Note: This was an idea that came to me after a friend joked about her youthful looks being thanks to vampire blood. I decided to turn Y/N into an actual vampire, and then the rest of the story just created itself.

Sliding into the back of the Uber you’d called, you closed your eyes exhaustedly. It had been the longest night, and all you craved was your darkened bedroom, the large four-poster bed in the middle of your domain, and complete oblivion.

“So where to?” a chipper voice asked, and you wondered how such humans existed. Here you were, ready to expire, and your driver sounded as if he’d just woken up before the crack of dawn and completely re-energised. You opened an eye to squint at him briefly. You supposed he could have done just that. Not everyone was going to bed like you were at the first sign of the sun.

You gave over your address curtly, hoping your no-nonsense tone would keep any conversation to a minimum. Slumping further into the car upholstery, you instructed your body to relax. The tension coursing throughout you had almost dissipated, and then he spoke again.

“Have a good night?”

“We don’t need to chat, driver.”

“My name’s Mark,” he introduced with a bright smile you caught when you glared at him from the back seat. Your leer didn’t deter him in the slightest. “You are?”

“Uninterested.”

“Ooh, you’re private. I get that. Can never be too safe these days. What is the world even coming to.”

You wondered how safe Mark would feel if he continued to talk to you. However, he remained oblivious to the simmering danger sitting in his vehicle, chatting about something he’d seen on the news – you weren’t all that invested in human affairs. Yet you had to admit, the tone of his voice was… well, really soothing. Soon you were settling back into the chair with your limbs growing heavier. Your eyes remained open, and you lazily took in the man before you.

Mark was rather pleasing to look at, you supposed. He had a strong physique from the way he expertly manoeuvred the car through the early morning traffic. His exposed forearms were particularly nice too. You always had a thing for a capable set of hands, and he was making very light work of driving. You sleepily considered giving him a decent tip, even if he did have an inability to shut up.

“… and so, I have to wonder how much is going on in this city that’s eventually going to affect all of us,” he summarised, and you blinked when his eyes caught yours in the rearview mirror. He watched you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

“I’m much too old to understand everything in this modern world,” you admitted, and he let out a boom of laughter that surprised you into blinking several times.

“You look younger than I am.”

A bemused smile graced your lips. “I can assure you I’m not.”

“How do you keep yourself looking so young then? What’s your skincare routine because-”

“Vampire blood,” you deadpanned, cutting off his expressive tirade.

He frowned momentarily before grinning lopsidedly. “Oh yeah? Where do you get that from?”

“I have a secret supply.”

“Do you just?” He was quiet for a beat longer than before, and you wondered if telling him the truth had robbed him of his good-natured conversational skills. For the briefest moment, you were saddened by the idea of breaking the poor guy’s mind.

And then he smirked, pulling the car over to the side of the road. Your glare returned after darting your focus to the skies outside. The darkness was lightening with the changing of the hour, and whilst you could withstand the sun, you would prefer to put on some SPF50 first.

“Do you mind, Mark?”

“Mind what?”

“Please continue to my destination. I didn’t authorise a stop here,” you stated vehemently, and Mark shrugged.

“So, you’re a vampire. Are you going to expire once dawn hits?”

You sighed heavily, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Spoken like a true clueless human. “No.”

“No? But vampires hate the sun and garlic-”

“I season almost all my food with garlic.”

“Really?”

“AB positive is delectable with a hint of herbs to it,” you shot back, and Mark spun around to face you entirely. You didn’t react how he was expecting, and he swallowed audibly. Your hearing picked up on his heartbeat and for a moment you were pleased with how fast it pounded in his chest. That ought to teach him to mess with an irritable vampire right upon dawn.

And yet… that wasn’t the heart rate of a normal human. There was something otherworldly around his heartbeat, and you shot your darkening gaze to his face again, your fangs threatening to elongate.

“So, you are a vampire,” he finally commented, nodding softly. “Haven’t met one in the flesh before.”

“What are you?” you hissed, whilst calculating the distance from your apartment and the impending breach of dawn. If you hadn’t been worked to the bone by your master all night, you would have had enough energy to get out of the car and take yourself home before any further threat here surfaced. You could probably still do it, but you were also famished, and you only had enough blood supply at home to tide you over to slumber, not restore to your full potential.

Just how your master liked it. Blood was too expensive to get legally, so he entangled your remaining morality by keeping you on a tight feeding leash.

“What are you?” you repeated, leaning forward and taking an inhale. Yes, he was definitely more than human. How exhausted had you been to hop into the car of a fellow supernatural and not notice it instantly?

“Me?” Mark asked airily, his pretty little voice attempting to take the edge off your fear.

You stared.

“Looks like you’ve figured it out.”

“You’re a siren?” you wondered aloud, blinking slowly as you looked him up and down. “You?”

“Should I take offence to that tone of yours? I think I’m going to.”

“Sirens are meant to be mind-altering beautiful.”

Mark huffed. “Yep, I’m taking offence.”

“You’re above average, I’ll give you that,” you continued, and Mark’s happy-go-lucky expression grew darker. You wouldn’t confess that increased his appeal. You were already baiting him whilst stalling for an idea to come to you on how you would escape.

Because you had inadvertently given another bloody supernatural your home address and would no doubt need to locate a vampire safe den. This was becoming rather a mess. You sighed again. You really did want to just go home, eat and then rest.

“You know, I could control you to tell me I’m the most beautiful male you’ve ever met.”

“But you won’t.”

“Why won’t I? I could do with an ego boost.”

You shrugged. “It wouldn’t be real.”

He harrumphed and pointed at you repeatedly. “I had you falling asleep before. You’ve been too relaxed to notice my true identity until now. You have to admit it. I’m good.”

“You have a lovely voice,” you agreed honestly, and Mark beamed.

“Thank you!”

“So, what’s a siren wanting a vampire for?”

“Want you? No, no. I’m just your Uber driver.”

You laughed heartily whilst Mark stared in confusion at your reaction. “You cannot tell me, you work as an Uber driver when you could control anyone or thing to submit to you.”

“That’s kind of unethical, don’t you think?”

You were exasperated. Was this male telling you the truth? You worked with other vampires daily. It was like entering a pit of vipers, waiting for the others to strike for any minute reason. It wasn’t in your nature to trust easily, especially since your leader had been the master of deception and slaughtered your human life too easily. You also knew that sirens could be so alluring that they would make you think any idea was your own, and not what they were projecting.

Still. Since you had grown alert, you could tell all your thoughts were your own. Mark wasn’t affecting your logic at all.

“R-really?”

“Vampires really suck at relating to others, huh?” Mark scratched the back of his head before nodding sheepishly. “Really. I work as a driver because I get to meet all types of people. You’ll be surprised how many are of the otherworld kind. I even took a load of spirits to a house party the other week. Can you imagine that? I mean, they didn’t quite register on the Uber app, but they didn’t feel like blinking in and out and transporting themselves as ghosts do. They wanted to feel human again, and that was an honour, really.”

You simply stared again.

“Wow, your world is really small, isn’t it?”

“Admittedly, yes. You aren’t after me for nefarious reasons?”

Mark shook his head immediately. “Until twenty minutes ago, I thought vampires were a myth.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he confirmed and then winced. “Sorry, was that on the nose? With the whole undead-”

“You’re a siren, you say you meet supernatural types all the time, and yet you thought, out of all the otherworldly kinds in this universe, that I’m a myth?!”

“Huh. When you put it like that…”

“I’m not a bloody Pegasus.”

“Actually, I’ve met one of them. They exist. Or at least I think they do. I did have a lot to drink that night, so maybe it was just a horse. But I’m sure they’re not a myth.”

This was becoming one of the weirdest ends to your night ever. Shaking your head, you pleaded with your driver. “Mark, the sun is rising, and I’m really hungry. I need to get home.”

“Oh! Sorry. Yeah, I can do that.” Turning back to the front, he started up his car and began driving again. However, this time, he was watching you constantly in the rearview mirror.

“What?” you snapped, when you got sick of his very obvious unanswered staring.

“Why are you so tired?”

“Because my master is an asshole,” you muttered, looking out the window and watching the world slowly turn a bruised shade. The new day felt as tender as you were on the inside. Battered but hopeful this cycle would one day lead to something real, something good for you.

“Do you have to work for him?”

“I do if I want to eat.”

“Can’t you like, bite people?” You glared so unpleasantly that Mark swore and gripped the steering wheel. “Right. Got it. Vegan vampire.”

“I don’t take what isn’t given freely. And unlike what movies depict about my kind, there aren’t endless people willing to truly give up their blood.”

“It sounds like we have similar ethics,” he mentioned as he pulled up at your apartment. You stared at the building with equal parts relief and a strange melancholy.

How had this talkative, greenest flag of a male worm his way into your cold, dead heart?

“Well,” you said, shifting forward whilst pulling out your phone and tapping on the Uber app to give Mark a rating and tip. You then looked up and froze at the card that was thrust in your face. “What’s this?”

“Oh, it’s my business card,” he told you with a warm smile and you frowned. He grew slightly shy and laughed lightly. “I figured you might need a ride again. And maybe I can help you relax properly next time. It’s not invasive if you really need it, right? Or we could just travel as we did this time. Oh! And I’m totally willing, you know.”

“I’m sorry, but what?!” you blurted out, completely stunned by his offer.

Mark grinned. “I’ll give you the chance to improve your above-average ranking. Besides, siren blood does contain some healing properties, though I’m not sure how much they’d work on a vampire. Worth a shot, no?”

You smiled, possibly one of the most genuine smiles since you had been turned two hundred years ago. Mark’s jaw went slack before he sputtered something incoherent. “Thank you. You’re completely reckless offering something like that to a vampire, so I’ll pretend you didn’t just do that. But I’ll keep this card. Maybe I’ll take you up for another ride.”

Leaning forward to take the card, you felt inclined to brush your lips over his cheek affectionately. You couldn’t tell if Mark had willed it or if you really had wanted to, but the small smile you pocketed from him after pulling back was worth it either way.

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[NCT Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist]

[suguru-getos]

| Aftermath | Keigo Takami x f!TherapistReader |

-> chapter one

summary: hawks who has just lost his quirk in the war & coping with his life as a quirkless man, decides to finally listen to his own self & seek therapy. why did he choose a quirkless therapist? maybe to seek solidarity— or maybe, he hoped you’d not judge him.

warnings: therapy, childhood!trauma, bnha!spoilers, mentions of inner child healing, keigo talks about his childhood, mentions of toxic!parenting, cocky!kei as always.

a/n: don't mind me giving my comfort character and my loml some healing lmaooo <33 i had sm fun writing this istg it made my heart warm. this is a slow burn fic, and the reader is a self-insert on some points because i can get self indulgent tehee!!

You wandered aimlessly, looking around the suite-like cabin and then down the skyline. Tokyo was always beautiful, even now when winters had just started to greet. There was a foggy blanket of clouds covering the labyrinth of buildings and you could never get over it. With your next client, it was obvious your thoughts were along the lines of… an Angel flying out in the skies keeping everyone safe, now reduced to someone without wings. Still an Angel though, but that's what you think. Maybe he doesn't.

You grimly sighed when your eyes wandered at the clock, there were still 30 minutes to your appointment, normally… someone like you would never get the opportunity to deal with heroes so popular. Hawks was a no show after the war, people thought he had died. People thought he left Japan for good. Though a faint glimmer of hope always made you want to believe he's still around. To your surprise when he was your client, you felt a knot on your stomach churn with anticipation and excitement.

You sat on your velvety chair, the lights dim and comfortable to the modernized architecture of your office. You gulped, opening his file and looking at the passport photograph of him. The scar he got in one of the fights in which a villain named Dabi publicized his kill was there, siren eyes staring into your very soul were there. How could you even try to open up someone who looks so ethereal and so threatening at the same time. You feel just as nervous as your first time, the personality that Hawks carries eating away at you slowly. You shook your head, jerking the thoughts away. Be professional, he is a client and you're doing your job.

If you hadn't been so dazed by your favorite hero and your crush; you were quite a number yourself. Cut-throat, not afraid to walk the talk, stern, fierce, kind and disciplined. People respect you and you command it when they don't. Not afraid to force someone to bend the knee if they indulge in animosity with you. It's just… Hawks was someone you admired oh-so-much! You had his merch and posters after all. Not that he would get to know that, oh no. That'd never happen.

Takami Keigo, 26, Born on December 28th. Blood group B+, MBTI-> ENTP, Schooling and training and everything was blank. Difficult, this would be a difficult case to deal with.

How did you fangirl over him? Well, that's perhaps for another day.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. He's here." Your assistant opened the door with a knock and you felt your stomach sink, biting your lip nervously and clearing your throat to gain composure.

"Hey there doc!" there he was, with his magical grin and long palms raised up to his eye level as he waved. Wearing denims and a loose fitted white T-Shirt. Casual, cute, confident.

"Oh hello Hawks!" You manifested the same energy, greeting him respectfully by standing up and bowing a little. "Jeez, can't get rid of the name yet huh?" He chuckles, though your mind has already starting to process if it was a fake one, the carefully crafted hero chuckle or was he genuinely this chill.

"I don't think so, whether or not you do hero work, you own the name." you responded with a smile, ushering him to take his seat. Oh he manspreads, leaning back and getting comfortable. Makes you wonder if he can see through the cracks of your personality just as you're trying to see in his. Who will unfold who first…

You closed the client book you had, looking into the beautiful goldens of his eyes and making eye contact. "So, I know the first session is usually the most awkward one. People try to get to know their shrink before letting themselves to open up." You glanced, and Hawks looked like he would devour you whole. He looked invested in your words, not in a faking concentration way… in a 'I will listen to what you have to say' way.

"Allow me to share some stuff about myself then, my name is Y/N. I am a therapist good morning. Apart from that, I like to participate in various hobbies like kickboxing, journalling, playing games, spending time with my cat, yada yada. I am an INTJ, I think MBTI has started taking the same wavelength in Japan as Korea huh? Everyone's obsessed with em' I think."

"Well" Hawks clicked his tongue, clearly unamused by your introduction, it was brief and curt. Not a fair deal for someone who will unravel him… then again, you are his therapist, not vice versa.

"I think so too, do you know, a lot of the fans pretend to be INTJs because they tend to be compatible with ENTPs?" He chuckled, rolling his eyes. God he does know everything… there was a whole article about this. "We could do the quiz together if you have your concerns." "Shyeah- no, I don't. Just sharin' yknow?" he winked, noticing how you nervously pressed your legs together. He was wearing Killian's Angel Share, and Bad Boy… one of your favorite scents & the effects were almost affecting you almost at a subconscious level.

"Mkay, gotcha! So, anyways… I don't want to force you to open up, take your time in it. Let's start simple. How are you?" You asked Hawks, and for a moment, the barest of seconds, you could see his eyes turn to a void. "Yeah, good, never been better you know? Vacationing now that I have a sick ton of money with practically nothin' to do. Ain't gonna waste it otherwise by being depressed."

You clicked your tongue, oh he would not open up huh? Well, not that you expected this to be an easy ride either. "Yeah, of course. Money does help… helps everyone. At the end of the day I'm sitting on this chair to be paid a hefty by you." You hum, crossing your legs and getting comfortable too. This would be a fierce mental war already. From the determination of a hero and from a healer who's been sought out by the same hero.

"Then again, it isn't everything."

Oh except if you could tell that to childhood Hawks, it was… it was everything. His eyes pale with the answer a little. "Led a very comfortable life haven't you?" He smirked, giving you a miniscule opening.

"Yeah, luckily." You responded, smiling… "Clearly you haven't."

Hawks stood silent at that, and that was an answer enough.

"You were a rich kid since you started your agency, was this your teens or childhood?" Before Hawks could decipher, the session had already begun.

"Well, I was the viral news subject after they found out I was Thief Takami's son." He raised a brow, and you nodded. "Shitty murderer dad, mum?" You felt bad on being so professional, but you also felt Hawks would push you away if you were too kind. Some people have stopped treating him as a person ever since All for One had taken his quirk away.

"Mum was well, absent, mentally." He responded, and shrugged. "Dad was abusive, used to beat me up as a child and mum was too engrossed in her own shit I suppose. Happy for her that she has a new life with a new husband and new kids." It was amusing how Hawks didn't sound salty about it… it could only mean detachment to the finest. A befitting coping mechanism.

"You didn't have to go through that, I'm guessing if I needed to ever, talk to baby Hawks, I can't have a childhood photograph?" You glanced hopefully. "Nah, not a single childhood photograph. Dad was too paranoid of things and mum didn't care."

"We usually uh, have this exercise you know? That you'd keep a picture of your childhood self at your bathroom mirror and remember who you're talking about whenever you feel self-doubt." You smiled, looking into his eyes with empathy but no pity.

"Well, too bad." He chuckled, embarrassed and definitely not liking this emotion.

"Who cares at the end of the day, it's just the first few years of your life." He responded again balming his own thoughts more so than talking to you.

"Yeah, but every phase of our life is important. When your father abused you, hit you, didn't you feel enraged? Or scared? Or both?" You bit your lip, trying to mentally detach as much as possible.

"I felt nothing. I just wanted to not end up like them. If I was as angry as him, then I would become like him. Even my childhood self knew I'm better than that." There was pride in his eyes when he said so.

"True, yes, however… no expectations from your mum to save you?" Hawks shook his head no, shrugging. "She'd get beaten up too."

You nodded, not writing anything down on the paper just yet.

"Alright, I want you to do something for me." He raised a brow when you said that, "I don't want us to traverse further until you try doing this, mkay?" You grinned, "Imagine someone coming to your home, breaking the door at the moment of your abuse, that someone is you. The big, pro hero, you. Then, I'd like you to hold little Keigo's hand, and take him out. How about that?"

Hawks gave you an expression which was a mixture of 'How absurd' and 'Interesting'.

"Do that for me, and do that as many times and in as many scenarios you feel like you needed to be protected. You needed to be healed from." You coo softly… meanwhile Hawks' brain lagged at you saying 'Little Keigo'. So far he thought you didn't know his name… despite it being telecasted worldwide. No, you just refer to old Keigo as Hawks, but little Keigo isn't Hawks… he's just Keigo.

Was he reading too much into this? Would you soon bridge the gap between little Keigo and Hawks? Would you call him Keigo too?

The alarm clock chimed, time was over. You glanced at it and then back at him. "Well, guess you wouldn't be bored anymore, of me." "Hey, give yourself some credit little Shrink." he winked, smirking, "You're really good at this, can't wait to see you next time." "Don't come until you don't do what I asked." "Sure thing jeez."

With that, he left, and you could almost kill yourself at the way you tried to imagine little Hawks in pain. No, attaching to clients is the biggest NO. Yet, you can't help but feel positive tingles at the thought of him doing that little exercise and telling you about it.

Until next time, Keigo Takami.

[lizzisimss]

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[mote-historie]

Léon Benigni, Cover Illustration for Femina Magazine, Modes d'hiver, circa 1929.

Biography

A leading fashion illustrator, draughtsman and lithographr, Léon Benigni worked with such designers and couturiers as Jeanne Lanvin, Marcel Rochas, Elsa Schiaparelli, Lucien Lelong, Jacques Fath, Jean Patou, Nina Ricci and Cristôbal Balenciaga. He produced drawings and cover designs for such magazines as Harper’s Bazaar, Femina, La Donna, Art Goût Beauté, The Bystander and Modes et Travaux, and also designed a number of travel posters in the 1920s and 1930s (notably one for the spa and ski resort of Brides-les-Bains in the Savoie region) and advertisements for Cadillac and LaSalle cars. In an appreciation of Léon Benigni, published in an English magazine article in 1933, it was noted that ‘M. Benigni is known to thousands through the medium of the leading fashion magazines. This young Frenchman has brought himself to the front rank of modern fashion artists. He has developed a style which fits perfectly with present ideas of fashion. Modern fashions contain an element of caricature, though they never lose their delicacy and charm. These qualities are apparent in Bénigni’s work. In avoiding heaviness and an exact representation, he works in line, and his line work is light and suggestive enough in its simplicity to hold all the attraction so necessary in publicity. The female face is depicted almost as a formula of design. The thin lines in which it is traced are not an accurate representation, but it is impossible to deny the conviction of reality carried by the design…an addition or alteration to any of these drawings of Bénigni’s, in the form of a few extra lines or corrections, would ruin the effect. They are, for their purpose, complete as they stand.’ (x)

[benignsnail]

So Veggie: A So Flora Mini Challenge

A mini sims legacy challenge inspired by not so berry legacy challenge. Have fun!

Garlic: You grow up in Forgotten Hollow and find yourself reading one too many fiction books on occults. You aspire to have a book you write made into a horror screenplay. Your self-care consists of Scare Max and Sims of the Dead. And of course, you have a Midnight Massacre poster above your bed. Which isn't always the most romantic things to have looking down on you. Your partner insists on Woohooing in the shower more often than not, but you refuse to take it down.

Aspiration: Bestselling Author

Right a copy of every book before you publish it to pass down

Buy the great storyteller reward trait

(Optional) Spooky lot trait if you live in San Myshuno

(Bonus) Buy spooky stuff pack paintings

Submit to a literary digest

Win a starlight accolade

Read a book you wrote to the public

Never become a vampire (or make and drink the cure if you do)

Write primarily horror short stories (you are edgar allen poe)

Always have garlic wreaths up in the house

Go on a trip to Brindleton Bay for your honeymoon and get pregnant at the lighthouse

Peas: Eat your peas, kids. Then maybe you can have the refined taste palate of this sim. You love dinosaurs as a kid but not enough to pursue a career in archaeology. Instead you pride yourself on always eating your vegetables. You are determined to change the food world with this wonderful talent of yours, so not only do you join the culinary career, but you apply your knowledge as a food critic as well.

Aspiration: Master Chef [Does anybody else always read this as Master Chief???]

Traits: Foodie, Snob

Career: Become a Sous Chef, write a cookbook, quit and become a Food Critic

Bemoan lack of banana for scale while dining out [the same way I bemoan the lack of bananas in game, plantains are not the same thing]

Earn Health Food Nut Lifestyle

Complete Experimental Food photo collection

Live in Oasis Springs near the dinosaur

Black Bean: Be gross? Yes please. Drink the milk out of the carton. So what if you're lactose intolerant. Belch. Fart. Release the gas. You just can't help yourself-it brings a smile to your face. And it's actually a bit admirable. You truly live life to the fullest with no shame.

Master mental skill as a kid and make a stink drink on the Beakers and Baubles Science Set

Buy shameless reward trait

Aspiration: Live Fast Teen

Love spicy food, always get food during festivals

Eat lots of beans and franks

Lactose intolerant

Plant a stink capsule in high school

Have so much fun you wet your pants because you can't be bothered

Buy something anytime you see a vending machine

Complete MySims Trophies Simmies collection

Spinach: You are gifted a doctor doll on your first birthday, and that's all you can dream of after. While getting fit in an effort to be able to run rounds and crack open rib cages, you have a crisis of heart. Should you be a doctor or pursue your love of sports? You never do decide.

Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Career: Doctor

Earn the Adrenaline Seeker Lifestyle

Play with the doctor doll as a kid

Climb up Mt. Komerebi and build on the secret lot

Try for baby in the ice cave

Teach a Ski Class

Drink protein shakes

Make a wish at the Ema Board

Swim in Mt. Komerebi's river

Determine the gender for your grandchild(ren)

Carrot: If there were cars in the world you'd be a car sim. You love taking things apart to figure out how they work. Your house is littered with bits and bobs and upgrade parts. You had every car toy possible as a kid and it still wasn't enough. Because you could never sate your curiosity about driving a car, instead you turn to building things. Nothing fancy, nothing modern, just a chair here a violin there. And if you're going to make it why not figure out how it works?

Aspiration: Nerd Brain

Eat lots of carrot cake

Upgrade everything in your house at least once

Craft your own violin

Master the violin

Master woodworking skill

Write a song

Buy a re-traiting reward potion and change your sim's whole personality for their midlife crisis

Move to Tomorang as an adult

Mermaid Kelp: Do you know Emily? Emily! You want to be like Emily. You live surrounded by water, but why can't you breathe under it? Who cares about legs, the little mermaid had it backwards. Scales and tails and fins, oh my. But why stop with yourself. Spread the joy! (You may cheat here for number 6)

Aspiration: Beach Life

Traits: Child of the Ocean

Complete shell collection

Have a beach club

Find a treasure chest

Make everyone in your club into a mermaid (have a mermaid cult)

Play fetch with a dolphin

Live on an Oceanic Paradise lot

Survive off odd jobs only

Kava: You've always been curious about your heritage. You mean to research your distant ancestors but you get caught up right away in Sulani lore. When you realize you can summon the Elementals, you have so many questions to ask. It's a bit disappointing to find out they don't have all the answers so you look to the next best place of mystery: the bottom of the ocean. Everyone needs to let off a little steam after working so hard taking care of the world. And you know just the way.

Conservationist Career: Marine Biologist

Traits: Inquisitive toddler, Child of Sulani, Party Animal

Party Animal Aspiration

Interact with Elementals

Go diving every Sunday

Reach gold hosting a kava party

Master dance skill

Marry a coworker

Teach your kid to swim

Dip infant's toes in the water in Sulani

Prairie Grass: You stay up late reading under the covers all the time as a kid. It actually kind of messes with your sleep schedule actually. And while books are fun when you're young, they get a bit boring after awhile. Too late you realize you could have been playing in the mud and splashing in puddles. But hope is not lost. You can squish all the fruit you want while the rest of the house sleeps.

Nectar Making Aspiration

Live at home your whole life

Buy a Restaurant/Store

(Bonus) Use a grow fruit as a fertilizer

Buy night owl reward trait and make nectar at night

Simple Living/Wild Prairie Grass lot challenge

Live on a ley line

Basil: I think, in the end, you are just too smart. Smarts are something to value for sure, but the what-ifs, the quantum possibilities-they really get to you. School is really hard. You talk to yourself more than anything and eat lunch away from everyone else. You try to play games on your phone to distract yourself from your running inner monologue but it doesn't last long.

Child Aspiration: Whiz Kid

Adult Aspiration Master Maker

Traits: Paranoid, Erratic, Genius

Make money selling candles and fabricated furniture

Live underground (you may go outside occasionally)

Write in a journal

Write a book about your conspiracy theories

Get really good at the pipe organ

Must have lots of handcrafted candles around the house

Get into fizzing

[miqolena]

The Modern AU (still untitled) Chapter 1

I don't know why, but posting to Ao3 feels like more of a long-term commitment for me - I don't want to publish there until I know a lot more details about the things I have planned further in. But I'm comfortable posting a preview of chapter 1 of my Modern AU Gaius/Lena work here.

This a modernized AU Etheirys. I hope that my writing does a good job of implying what is and is not present, and I'll do more work to establish worldbuilding in later chapters as seamlessly as I can. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this preview.

---

The skies favored Regio Urbanissima in Garlemald’s capital with a light snow and offered a bitter wind like a backhanded compliment. It was a late morning that the hardy people of the region would brave without second thought as they went about their business, but every one of them would vastly prefer to be cooped up inside where the warmth was plentiful and the conversation was easy. Gaius Baelsar’s preferred method of cooping up came in the form of The Last Page, a café protruding from the corner of two of Regio Urbanissima's most favored thoroughfares. It boasted wide and tall windows looking out onto the snowy and sometimes rainy streets. Whenever the weather grew too grim the staff would pull down the blinds and shield the patrons from the harsh realities of outside, bringing them instead closer to the warm colors of mahogany furniture and bookshelves, russet red cushions, and black metal bracings - all crafted to evoke a sense of strange familiarity and comforting warmth. Against the back of the baristas’ counter space there was a wall of shelves full to the brim with various spices, syrups, and concoctions which the employees there used to make coffee purists balk, and in front a set of ceramics masterfully crafted to resemble the various pastries on offer sat lit in a glass display case which also served as more counter space. Lanterns hanging haphazardly from the ceiling aided gentle spotlights that highlighted the central places of business: the counter at which one paid, the path which one walked to take a table, and the terminal at which one could search for and request books from the café’s selective library. There was a stand near the counter advertising a new detective novel from a wildly popular author, with several copies of the book nestled beneath the poster. One of these was presently pried open in Gaius’ hand.

He sat in his regular spot in the corner, at a table meant for two but only ever occupied by one when he was there, with a simple latte and a piece of vanilla-iced chocolate cake barely eaten before him. It was not uncommon for others to sit with strangers in this place, but his severe aura held a power of its own that secured his solitude. His brow knitted as regularly as a grandmother, even at rest. And everyone knew the eyes beneath it - gold as a singular beast’s, which combined with his other features marked him for his title for certain even among strangers. Gaius Baelsar, the Black Wolf. A moniker that historically had been plastered across newspaper headlines; a name he bore like a sore shoulder.

Judging from the introduction to the novel he held, the featured lead did not relish attention either. His various deeds in service to the fictional city in which he lived had earned him a sort of acclaim that left him recognized wherever he went. Gaius grudgingly sympathized. Grudgingly because he barely wanted to connect emotionally with a genre outside his regular reading which he had been badgered into even trying. The reading was not challenging at all - there were no flowery words to provoke his thoughts or stir his heart, yet the descriptions were vivid and entertaining and the dialogue gave him pause. It was easy to see why the author was popular.

Contributing to the ease of reading was the general subdued din of the patrons. The place was nearly full today, but others were reading or speaking quietly also. Gaius expected to be approached for the seat across from him at any moment, and was preparing the exercise of ignoring his new tablemate as a chef sharpens a knife.

The old-fashioned cluster of bells above the door chimed and then shuddered prettily in the frigid breeze that heralded the arrival of a small, young Miqo'te woman, who trotted in and let the door close on its own behind her, her long ears flicking flecks of snow away with a twitch. Gaius’ eyes were drawn to her at once - even with the nation's treaty expansions twenty-five years ago, non-Garlean races were yet something of a rare sight in the capital. In a glance he gathered that her brown hair was tied back and her thick black coat went down to just below her knees, above a pair of dark brown boots. She strode to the counter with a beaming grin and leaned over it as she began to speak with the barista.

He shifted his book to his left hand and used the little dessert fork to carve himself a bite of cake, which he ate before returning to his reading. A few minutes later he began to regret his choices viscerally; the events in the book seemed to be building up to a sex scene, even so early in the story. Popular author indeed. He paused on a line that made this seem impending, a frown carving seriousness down his face sure as a chisel hammered to wood. It wasn’t that he was against that sort of thing - he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to read it in public.

“Can I sit here?”

So embroiled was he in his own dilemma that none of his three eyes had perceived the Miqo’te woman approaching. He looked up and saw her standing over the table. Now she was close enough to let him notice that some of her hair was left unbound to frame her roundish face. Her eyes were bright and green, with wide pools of black making her pupils, which Gaius was fairly certain was a Moon Keeper Miqo’te trait. Her clan marks, pigmentation of the skin like sharp streaks of paint on her forehead and pale cheeks, were light, like deep blushes drawn into lines. Her wide smile bore Moon Keeper fangs framed by thin lips under a thick and somewhat shallow nose.

From a somewhat objective standpoint he might have called her pretty, or perhaps cute.

But she was asking to sit with him, which would make her a potential nuisance. He did not sigh.

He nodded. For a brief moment her smile intensified fiercely with satisfaction.

“Thanks!” She pulled out his opposing chair and looped the strap of her leather purse over the back, then gracefully took her seat.

Gaius lowered his eyes to return to his reading again, and abruptly remembered the dilemma he had been diverted from a moment ago. The sex scene. And of course he would not want to read something raunchy right in front of a young woman. But he also did not want to make conversation. He was left paralyzed, staring at the line where the male lead’s coat was wrestled off his shoulders by who he assumed to be the female lead.

The young woman in front of him unbuttoned and then shrugged out of her coat, allowing it to drape over the back of her chair, and emerged to reveal a slender form. Her blouse was thick and high-collared in accordance with the weather and vanilla white, the sleeves long enough that they bunched up around the tight cuffs which cradled her gloved hands. As she leaned back and crossed her legs, he glimpsed at the edge of his vision that her pants were tight and proclaimed the shape of her hips with aplomb.

She was looking at him. He ignored her. He pretended to read. To make the farce more believable his eyes traced the same line over and over again with a calm yet fervid desperation.

Her fingers slipped beneath the grip of his belt on his waist.

Her fingers slipped beneath the grip of his belt on his waist.

Her fingers slipped beneath the grip of his belt on his waist.

Out of the corner of his eye, the woman twisted around and fiddled with her purse, producing a thin tomephone. The case was fiery red and Gaius even glimpsed something of a flame motif on the back. She straightened and perched it upon her thigh while she peeled her gloves from her hands and stuffed them away. Her short fingernails were lacquered in a gentle pink, a mere few shades darker than her flesh. She picked up the phone and tapped its screen twice, and its glow caressed her face.

Gaius stopped re-reading and simply fell into a peaceful meditative state now that she was distracted, staring at the letter d in slipped. He remained this way for a time while she scrolled away with no care at all.

A staff member approached from behind the counter with a tray and Gaius was forced to look up to attend him - but the tray was for her. The attendant stopped next to the woman and carefully deposited his burdens before her: first a glass mug baring the layers of chocolate and coffee and cream within, all topped with fluffy whipped cream and three thin slices of chocolate embedded in it like swords on a battlefield. A wooden straw peeked out from the sweet mess. Then he produced a plated slice of tiramisu, which looked more immaculate than Gaius had ever seen in this establishment, with a sprinkle of cocoa powder brushing its surface and the plate in a fine dust, and the slice cut at perfect ninety-degree angles.

She said her thanks in a pleasant sing-song voice and the attendant departed for the counter once more. Her gaze swung around and met his for a brief, paralyzing moment - but she merely smiled at him with a curious warmth that entered him and ran along his nerves in a dash, minuscule, like the first unconscious note in the song of panic.

She broke their eye contact within the space of a moment to return to her phone. She tapped it a few times, then set it down opposite from the food she had ordered. She stood up, scooting her seat back a ways. Then she bent down and examined the tiramisu from several angles. Her lips pursed prettily with the depth of her thought. Moving carefully, she pushed the dessert off to the side and then pulled the cream mocha’s glass closer to the center of her half of the table. She took up her phone and clicked a button on its side twice, and then stepped to the side of the table, facing the glass and the window beyond it, and proffered the device, aiming its camera vertically at the glass. The picture would be framed by the light and the gentle snowfall outside. The whipped cream would glisten under the light of the lamp above their table. She took a few pictures - he could tell only because of the way her thumb tapped the screen, as the artificial shutter noise had been turned off - and then she stood up and took a few diagonally downwards at the glass from a few angles, each seeming carefully chosen with a precision the wisdom of which escaped him. She treated the tiramisu the same way, positioning the plate just so and taking several shots of it as it was caressed by the light pouring in through the window and from above, careful to prevent the shadow of her hands and phone from falling across her subject. She removed the fork from frame and took two pictures that way. When at last she sat down again, her eyes lifted and met his once more, and the smile returned with an undercurrent that he wanted, mournfully, to call flirtatious.

There was no mistake when she spoke again. “You seem interested in what I’m doing,” she said, placing a slight but playful emphasis on you. She tilted her head slightly, eyebrows lifting just so, inviting a response. Requiring it, actually - because they were in polite society and Gaius was no brute to simply ignore a woman kindly making conversation even when he wished for solitude. A knot unwound in his chest as he became resigned to his fate.

He snapped his book shut and laid it face down on the table. “The rituals of influencers have ever seemed strange to me,” he replied.

“Oh, you know I’m an influencer?”

“My daughter also takes pictures of her meals at times, and looks at others’. I believe she has more casual aspirations.”

Her smile widened. There was a glint in her eye. One hand gestured at the cake in front of him. “Would you mind if I got a picture of yours, too?”

“It is half eaten.”

“That appeals to people sometimes. Seeing the inside of tasty things in an organic way - like when someone’s already taken a bite out of it, instead of slicing it open with a clean knife.”

Caught off guard, Gaius frowned at her. His lack of understanding of this space of the internet was rushing up behind him, ready to make him look like a fool. But he had been made the jester many times in his life.

He lifted his arm and hand in an acquiescent gesture. She beamed and rose from her chair again, bringing her phone and herself around to his side of the table. Working quickly, she adjusted the angle of the plate so that the white sky’s light fell flatly upon the white icing and the dark chocolate where his fork had scraped away a few bites. She took three pictures, each from slightly different angles - and then froze.

She was very near to him, almost invading upon his personal space. “Say,” she began, “would you mind putting your sleeve in frame?”

“Why?”

A note of mischief entered her smile. “It'll make my followers wonder who I’m with. Drives engagement.”

After processing this information, Gaius could not help but breathe a hollow laugh. “I see. How practical.” He leaned forward and rested his arm on the table so that the fabric of his ink blue dress shirt would be unmistakably visible in frame.

“You’re a peach. Thanks much!” She snapped one photo, then quickly returned to her seat. And finally, finally, she picked up her fork and began to dive into the tiramisu.

Gaius folded his arms and watched her. Her eyes returned to him almost immediately, and after she swallowed her first bite, she asked, “So who am I with?”

In no instant, in no universe did Gaius desire to offer his name. There was the possibility that she might know of him, foreigner though she may appear. His hesitation stretched out a few awkward seconds as his gift of speech caught up with him. “No one of consequence,” he answered coolly.

That flirtatious smile returned. Gaius immediately felt himself some sort of prey. “Well, I’m Lena. MissLena, as I’m known online. I do streaming and food content and a lot of gaming. Today I'm sponsored by an Ishgardian magazine to... breach Garlemald’s culinary walls and sample her good stuff.” She perked up as she went through her little spiel. When she was done, she scooped another bite of tiramisu onto her fork. “This is my first stop. I have some places written down that I know I’m going to visit, but if you had to tell someone where to go to get a good meal, what would you say, Mr. No One of Consequence?”

She made him feel as though he had told a lie. And perhaps he had; some might have called him a man of great consequence in deeds both past and present. The thought tired him, as did the tiny note on her breath that insinuated that her disbelief was suspended and she was willing to treat him as unimportant. She might have recognized him. He was certainly not going to ask.

“I would not advise you to come to these districts,” he said without thinking. “This part of Regio Urbanissima serves the political, financial, and military folk whose duties center around the area. This place is a bastion in a sea of more mediocre offerings.”

Lena turned her head slightly, changing the angle at which her eyes appeared to perceive him. Her expectant expression screamed, Tell me more.

Buying time, Gaius briefly mentally admonished himself for playing into a stranger's hands while he took up his fork and softly pressed the prongs into the icing of his cake, barely penetrating it. A light silhouette in snow. Finally he allowed himself to sigh, and he gave himself to the consideration of her question. When he emerged from his contemplation, Lena had picked up her phone and her thumbs hovered over its lower half, ostensibly ready to take notes. Which was exactly what she did as he began to rattle off a number of places that he didn’t mind dining at and his reasons for favoring them. Lena countered some of his notions with further questions, the precise nature of which began to give him the feeling that she was even more of a connoisseur than her occupation might force her to be. And then he was done, having rambled for far longer than he meant to. Sometimes a bad habit. He felt a twinge of resentment for her having strung him along so expertly.

“The Imperial Fable sounds really nice,” she said, still absorbed in her phone’s notes. She began to smile again. “How about you meet me there at six tonight?” 

It took a second for her meaning to bludgeon the back of his head like the hilt of a gunblade. His lips parted in utter shock and he could not sense the expression on his face. He had leaned back to lounge in his chair as he rambled - the electric sensation of surprise and three or four other mixed emotions surging in his veins made him sit back up in a rigid posture. He was certain of his response, delayed in its coming though it was.

“I think not,” he said firmly.

Lena looked up at him from her phone, her smile not having budged an inch. She twisted around again to get at her purse, and produced a small business card which she immediately overturned to scribble at with a pen. When she was done she held it out to him. “Well, at least check me out. Here are my socials. I wrote my Dissonance username on the back. I’m sure you use Dissonance, everyone does."

Gaius felt hyperaware of himself as he reached out and took the card from her. He examined it: it was a pastel pink base color and had the chocolate brown outline of a slim Miqo’te woman standing with a wide stance and her hands on her hips, as well as a few other small embellishments. Some usernames and their corresponding platforms were printed neatly in black ink and thick Common letters. He shut his eyes and the imprint of the card blazed on the back of his eyelids. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, and in front of her, he slotted the card into one of the wallet’s stuffed sleeves - next to Allie’s picture - and then put it away again.

He could not envision spending any more time there after having rejected her and then accepting her business card directly afterward. He rose to his feet.

“Enjoy your tour of Garlemald,” he said stiffly.

She replied, “I will, thank you!” but he was already walking away.

He arrived at the rack where his favorite coppery red long coat was tagged and hanging alongside other patrons’. He returned the tag to the counter and donned it quickly. And just before he stepped through the door, he glanced back across the café. Another patron just barely blocked his view of the back of her head. A pang of something undefinable sounded in his heart, and he pushed through it with a grimace. He opened the door and stepped into the bitter wind which came across his cheek like a violent slap.

[roobylavender]

Yay! You’re back! I’m so happy you are talking about DC comics again because your thoughts are just THE BEST! I’m listening to your voice and I’m smiling because YES so true to everything you said! Also I love how you paused and took a sip of water 😂😂😂 I’m telling you there might be money in you making a podcast. Lol

I love what you said about Jason being more of an assassin and everything else you said about his body and the comparison to how Dick views his body and used his body. Your take on Jason are honestly always the best. I laughed out loud when you said that Jason was practical but also delusional but also flashy. That was interesting because you talked about Barbara and I see that they do strangely share a lot of similarities but that delusional murder-y part of must be like a shock to a character like her who both knew him before like what would that had been like to reconcile what he actually had done? Like if you read the brief mentions of Barbara once Jason returns he considers her a friend and there is a gap where they mention that they worked together as Batgirl and Robin but you never actually get those issues. Like the way he talks about Dick feels different immediately after as if Dick is an extension of Bruce but not really someone he’s close to or brotherly like fandom and now modern comics portray them as (cursed ski trip issue). It’s just weird that they never had an honest conversation about what Jason has done or that Jason didn’t try to seek her out later since like hey something was done to me and I feel a certain way and something was done to you too so why don’t you feel this way? But also like Jason seems to be very lonely which adds to that delusion he has which makes me think of like another character who was once lonely and was considered monstrous (Kirk Langstrom) who actual goes to Barbara Gordon and she recognizes that he came to her because he was lonely.

Okay complete different thing but thinking about Tim and how he became Robin made me think of Stephanie and why she ends up doing what she does. There was post not so long ago talking about Steph and I’m not sure if it was just an arc or about her whole run (I’ll admit I dropped her Batgirl title) but they were talking about a lot of what she does is because of selfish reasons and that was the first time I ever heard someday say that but reading the post and why the poster said that made lots of sense on what made Stephanie want to be hero and I guess the idea of being a hero and getting that title rather than what motivates most other heroes and etc. And I guess that leads me also to think about like how dangerous being a hero is and how though I know at the time it was because they wanted either to get rid of her, I actually like incorporating that Barbara Gordon stopped being batgirl because she started realizing how dangerous it was because there was a lot of close calls she got herself into and she did have that mind set at that time which then leads to like the idea that she left batgirl for a bit because it was dangerous and because she can do more elsewhere but in doing so she left right at the time Jason came in. Which is funny to see when like there are issues and he’s like oh you’re back! But it’s also that hey he died doing what you thought was dangerous and hey you got harmed when you weren’t even in costume like… just a lot you could do we that.

Sorry I know this is everywhere but my brains jumps like this so I write like this. Chaos in written form. Lol

i have a disease it’s called how many times can i segue between sentences by saying “it’s like” disease

[mentality-of-wukong-au]

How does everyone’s room look like…?

*AHEM-

*Tongbei’s room is filled with night-skies and galaxy colors as well as glow-in-the-dark constellations, just like every bedroom in the Palace, Tongbei has a purple king-sized bedroom with a see-through curtain that resembles a starry night, to contrast the galaxy-covered room, his furniture is mostly white with him not needing a lantern as he can just use the glow-in-the-dark light. It also has a small space for his books in potion making*

*Macaque’s room is stylized in traditional Chinese with a hint of modernity to it.*

*Something like this except with less light and more shadowy-like theme. Also remove the plants. He has a separate space for his puppetry and arts and crafts, as well as a personal radio*

*Wukong’s room is a little more simple, actually Wukong never customizes his room, he mostly stays by and leaves, so it looks bit like this*

*Rumble and Savage have a more modern looking room, with a twin-sized bed separated from purple to red. One space is for Rumble and one space for Savage, Rumble’s side is filled with posters for games and Savage’s side is filled with bookshelves*

*Chikao’s bedroom looks like this*

*Credits for the original images

*Zammy can decide what the spirit trio’s bedroom looks like*

[catmansquad]

Excerpt: "Fitting In"

Gabriel spends time raiding with familiar faces, while Miguel struggles with the weight of a new, heavy secret... (Modern AU)

He stood at the door to his brother’s apartment, a bag of two takeaway boxes in one hand as his other nudged his tinted glasses back up his face, then knocked on the door.

‘Gabri!’

He could hear his brother on the other side of the door; the click of keys on a keyboard, an almost frantic tapping, and his brother’s muffled voice. Miguel rolled his eyes and knocked once again.

‘Gabri!!’ He had told his brother he’d be stopping by, and that he’d be bringing dinner.

Exhaling in soft annoyance, Miguel counted to three, then slammed his fist on the door hard enough that he felt the whole frame rattle.

‘GABRIEL!’

He heard his brother yelp, cursing and muttering apologies, then footsteps squeaking across the room towards the door. Miguel relaxed as he heard the door chain being removed, the click of a lock, and the door was pulled open to reveal his brother’s sheepish expression, hair messier than usual, and a white headset resting around his neck that Miguel could hear noise and chatter from.

‘… Aha…. Hi, Brother… Sorry, I uh… There was a raid happening and I got distracted, and kinda forgot…?’

Miguel’s gaze narrowed softly behind his glasses and he lived in hope that Gabriel could feel the weight of his stare. Once again was his brother wearing an explosion of mismatching colour, worst of all were the bright pink slippers on his feet, designed like rabbits with googly eyes that squeaked with each step he took.

‘Gabri, why do you always dress like you have a hurricane in your wardrobe?’

His brother gave him a judgemental stare, resting hands on his hips.

‘Why are you still mumbling, brother? Why do you not seem to have any colour in your wardrobe?’

Gabriel grabbed at his headset, lifting one side to his ear and listened to it.

‘Uh-oh… C-come in, Miggy. Thanks for bringing dinner- what do we have?’ He stepped back, allowing his big brother into his apartment.

‘Chinese.’ Miguel muttered simply, glancing around the apartment.

Much like Miguel, his brother’s apartment reflected his personality and interests. It was a bright and colourful thing, walls covered in posters of Discordance’s various expansions, plush pastel furniture and a great sofa that faced a very large wall-mounted television. In sharp contrast to Miguel’s far more calm and monochromatic choice of décor. His brother scrambled back to the sofa, dragging a keyboard and mouse back into his lap and pulling his headset back up.

‘Yo! I’m back, sorry… My brother’s here- So, do we need any stuff mended? We’re good for food and pots, yeah?’

Gabriel flicked his headset back to mute as Miguel sat in one of the soft armchairs, placing the takeaway bag on the coffee table and taking out the two white boxes of oily prawn noodles.

‘Thank you, Miggy… They say hello, by the way.’

‘How are you doing on your… thing, Gabri? Your food’s going to get cold.’

At Miguel’s question, Gabriel rested with a finger on the mute button of his headset, eyes darting between his brother and the television screen; where a group of five adventurers in styles ranging from medieval to futuristic were standing in a ravaged street of a post-apocalyptic city beneath blood red skies and an eclipsed sun.

‘I… I’ll just reheat it… Sorry, they’re getting impatient… Yeah, sorry, I’m here. I’m good to go-! Hobie, did you change jobs again? Again? Yeah, I know you “don’t believe in consistency”, but in the past month, you’ve been; Rebel, Gunner, Apostate, Rebel, Chronomancer, Martialist….’

Miguel held a prawn between chopsticks, listening to his brother’s continuing rant before popping it into his mouth. His brother was, once again, going to be left with cold food.

‘…. Extant, Rebel, Technician, Bulwark, Scholar…’

Miguel found his brother’s continuing rant far more interesting than what was happening on the screen. Instead, he focused on his food, rolling the prawn around his mouth, teasing it with his fangs as he focused on learning how to dry bite. It was all well and good not being affected by his own venom, but would still like to not taste its powerful bitter tang on nearly everything he ate.

‘… Judge, Knight Errant, and now back to Rebel again. Please, can we just get started…?’

‘C’mon, we’ve just got the lass boss to get through- Pav… Pav- please let Hobie go first. I know you’re the tank, but he can see the… Traps- and you’re dead again. Big shiny treasure out in the open, what were you expecting?’

Miguel placed the chopsticks into his empty takeaway box, still stained with the traces of oil, and placed it on the coffee table beside the one that his brother had yet to touch. Well fed, and having apparently mastered the art of keeping his venom glands under control, the older O’Hara sibling kicked off his shoes and curled up, sinking deeper into the soothing comfort of his brother’s furniture, feeling very much like a lazy cat.

‘I think your food’s gone cold, brother….’ He had half a mind to pull off his sunglasses, night was starting to fall and Gabriel was far too engrossed in his raiding party to notice how his big brother’s eyes had turned blood red. He was sure his brother hadn’t even heard what he had said.

‘…. Well, it’s a Nightmare raid, Pav. It’s not meant to be easy. This is Nightmare, not “Where’s my medal and plate of orange slices for participation”?- Yeah, great, Pav. You can get your orange slices once we’re done here.’ There was a very subtle edge to his brother’s words, and Miguel knew him well enough to know that irritation was building somewhere deep beneath the surface.

‘I hope you like reheating cold takeaway, brother. God knows I love it as much as I love complete strangers grabbing my ass when I’m performing…’ Miguel murmured, eyes half lidded as he glanced at the screen; to where the raiding party were approaching a colossal figure that resembled Cthulhu, made from wood and dark red crystal.

‘…. I know that, but you’re just putting more strain on me and Peni, our heals aren’t bottomless…’

Miguel closed his eyes briefly, fingers resting on the frame of his sunglasses, ready to pull them off. He hesitated, then opened his eyes again and looked to his little brother, speaking in a tiny, broken voice as he allowed his guard to fall, vulnerability moving to the surface.

‘I… I have superpowers, Gabri…’

His heart skipped a beat as his brother glanced at him, their eyes met for a brief moment, then his gaze returned to the screen.

‘Hey, Peni? Yeah, Mig says your gun looks like a Supersoaker.’

The older O’Hara sibling quietly exhaled a soft sigh, putting his guards back up as he quietly decided that he would count his blessings with his oblivious brother.

‘YES! Get fucked, Bloodmoon Harbinger!’

Gabriel punched their air as the wooden Cthulhu crumbled, the night skies above resuming their usual night blue hues. The assembled party began to emote and celebrate; Hobie’s avatar popping and spraying a bottle of champagne, as Pavtir’s danced with glowsticks, and Peni’s was either dead on the floor or playing at being so. Miguel watched his brother celebrate, and he could even hear the muffled celebrations of his fellow raiders through the headset. He also heard Gabriel’s stomach growl like a hungry beast and watched his little brother’s expression change from joy to a soft frown.

‘… ‘kay, I need to get some food now, like… Desperately. Good job, see you next week, yeah? Yeah? Take care, see you! Bye, bye, adios!’ With a few keystrokes, Gabriel had disconnected from the game and pulled his headset off, hair getting even more messed up. He placed everything aside and grabbed the untouched takeaway box like it was his lifeline.

‘Ah…’

‘Oh, stone cold, Gabri?’ Miguel asked him with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yeah. Well, that’s nothing the microwave won’t solve! ‘

Miguel pushed up his sunglasses as he buried his face into the palm of his hand and sighed softly. His brother’s joy truly was irrepressible.

‘Have you got a costume for Halloween, Miggy?’

‘Cost-? You assume I still want to go trick-or-treating at my age?’

‘Well, we don’t need to go trick-or-treating, brother! Stop talking like you’re in your forties. Seriously, you’re thirty-four.’ He heard the clang of the door and beep of the microwave running, Gabriel leaned back in from the kitchen.

‘It’s just about dressing up and having fun. Being scary for a night. So, what do you think?’

‘I’m thinking September is too early to start thinking about Halloween.’ Miguel responded, rolling his eyes, already growing tired of the topic of discussion. The last time he had worn any kind of Halloween costume, it had been the year when he’d first started the gig as Spider-Man, his brother had decided in his infinite wisdom, to pick out a costume for him, and had returned with a scarier version of the costume he knew on the stage. It had been the one and only time he’d ever worn it.

‘Alright, alright, be like that… But how’s it going with you and your guy? You got a date yet?’

‘No. I don’t expect to any time soon, Gabri. He-‘

The beep of the microwave made his brother duck back into the kitchen and he emerged back inside, carrying a small plate with the steaming noodles on.

‘Ay… Ay, ay, ay! Caliente! Caliente!’ His brother’s footsteps squeaked across the room, and Miguel stared at the pink slippers, very well aware that a matching set, in bright orange, were left unloved and unworn in his own wardrobe; another one of his brother’s brilliant gifts.

‘He’s… going through a difficult time. Later, we will.’

‘Aww, that sucks…’ Gabriel managed through a mouthful of steaming noodles, trying to pull a pitying expression while chewing. He just ended up looking like he was about to sneeze.

[jenniferkatz]

Maynard Dixon Paintings: Capturing the Spirit of the American West

1. Maynard Dixon Paintings

Maynard Dixon paintings stand as timeless representations of the American West, capturing its vast landscapes, indigenous cultures, and the lives of pioneers with unparalleled artistry. Dixon's unique approach blends realism with modernist influences, creating artworks that are not only visually stunning but also culturally significant.

2. The Distinctive Style of Maynard DixonMaynard Dixon's work is celebrated for its signature artistic characteristics:

Subject Matter: Vast desert landscapes, Native American life, and the rugged spirit of cowboys.

Color Palette: Earthy tones and vibrant skies that mirror the region’s natural beauty.

Composition: Expansive spaces and balanced forms that create an immersive visual experience.

Artistic Style: A fusion of realism and modernism, with bold shapes and dramatic use of light and shadow.

These features ensure that Dixon's art remains relevant and deeply admired across generations. 

3. The Historical Contribution of Maynard Dixon's Art

Maynard Dixon's paintings resemble more than an artistic aesthetic; they provide oral accounts in the form of historical chronicles. His works depict fading frontier landscapes, the plight of the Native Americans; and the spirit of the American West. They are a reflective view into an era of transition, conveying its essence to posterity.

4. Suggestions on How to Collect Maynard Dixon Works

Owning a piece of Dixon's art is both a privilege and a responsibility. Here are some considerations:

Art History: It is essential to have background knowledge of the artwork.

Provenance: Establish the work's authenticity and prior ownership.

Condition: Look at the degree of preservation and restoration.

Investment: Dixon's works are also valuable assets and, thus, should be preserved for a long time.

Use Reputable Outside Sources: Make use of platforms that feature only authenticated and curated collections.

5. The Lasting Influence of Maynard Dixon at Present-Day Art Venues

The art of Maynard Dixon still inspires modern art collectors and interior designers. No matter if they are placed in a traditional gallery or a modern living space, his art evokes emotions, tells stories, and generates meaningful conversations. 

6. Conclusion: Explore Maynard's Dixon Art on Online Auctions

Maynard Dixon's paintings are immortal treasures revealing the nature's soul of the American West. His capture of landscapes, cultures, and stories grants the artist a value-add to any collection. Anyone interested in implementing the art would surely find an Online Auction worth browsing while keeping it authentic and exceptional while ensuring transparency and value.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Who was Maynard Dixon?

-Maynard Dixon was an American artist, well known for his iconic paintings of the American West, landscapes, cultures, and pioneering life.

Which themes dominate Dixon's paintings?

-He often depicted Western deserts, Native American subjects, cowboys, and wide-open skies.

How do I authenticate a Maynard Dixon painting?

-This can be done through provenance documents, original labels, and/or sellers recognized as credible in the areas of historical artwork.

What makes Maynard Dixon paintings of value?

-They are historical, represent a unique artistic expression, and generally appreciate with passing time.

Where can one purchase Maynard Dixon's artwork?

-Many authentic ones can be obtained via reputable art auctions or through curated collections found on trustworthy platforms. 

[gattoneropub]

Monte Carlo Poster, Vintage French Travel Print, Monaco France Beach Picture

Monte Carlo Poster, Vintage French Travel Print of Monaco. France Beach Picture. Vintage travel mid century poster of the Monte Carlo, Monaco from 1930. This vintage print has a modern style for a travel poster from 1930. It encapsulates the glamour of travel in times gone by and features two women with blue skies behind them, at Monte-Carlo, Monaco with the sea also in the background. The illustration was originally by Louis Icart in 1930 to publicise tourism for the area. The image has been carefully digitally restored by an artist to refresh the colours and to remove any obvious signs of wear and tear, but to retain the vintage character of the print. COPYRIGHT: For personal use only. You should not physically resell or digitally redistribute the artworks as originals nor as modified. WHAT YOU WILL GET You will receive a link to enable you to download a file with different ratio JPEG files. Each ratio file has high resolution JPEG images of at least 400 dpi which are ready for instant download and printing. Your link will expire in 14 days and you will be able to download the files 3 times. A 4×5 ratio file for printing 4″x5″, 8″x10″, 16″x20″, 40x50cm. A 3×4 ratio file for printing 6″x8″, 9″x12″, 12″x16″, 18″x24″. A 2×3 ratio file for printing 4″x6″, 6″x9″, 8″x12″, 10″x15″, 12″x18″, 16″x24″, 20″x30″, 24″x36″. An international paper size file for printing 5″x7″, A5, A4, A3, A2, A1, 50x70cm. A file for printing 11″x14″. Read the full article

[safarpublishing02]

Ushanka Hat: A Timeless Icon of Warmth and Tradition

The ushanka, a quintessential symbol of Russian culture and history, is a distinctive and practical piece of headwear that has endured through the ages. Known for its ear flaps and cozy fur lining, the ushanka hat combines functionality with a rich cultural heritage. This article explores the origins, design, and cultural significance of the ushanka, along with its modern adaptations and continued popularity.

Origins and Historical Significance

The ushanka hat, also known as a "shapka-ushanka" in Russian, has its roots in the harsh winters of Eastern Europe and Russia. The name "ushanka" is derived from the Russian word "ushi," meaning ears, highlighting the hat's primary function of protecting the wearer's ears from the cold.

Historically, the ushanka became widely recognized during the Soviet era, particularly as part of the military uniform during World War II. The hat's design was influenced by traditional peasant hats, but it was adapted for military use with durable materials and a sturdy structure. Soldiers and civilians alike appreciated the hat's ability to provide warmth in extreme temperatures, making it a staple of Russian winter attire.

Design and Materials

The classic ushanka is characterized by its ear flaps, which can be tied up at the crown or fastened under the chin for maximum warmth. Traditional materials for ushankas include sheepskin, rabbit fur, and even artificial fur, with the exterior often made of wool or leather. The inner lining is typically composed of cotton or fleece to enhance comfort and insulation.

Modern variations of the ushanka have expanded to include a wide range of materials and styles. Some contemporary designs use synthetic fur and water-resistant fabrics, catering to both fashion enthusiasts and those seeking practical winter gear.

Cultural Symbolism

Beyond its practical uses, the ushanka holds significant cultural symbolism. It is often associated with Russian identity and has been featured in various forms of media, from Soviet-era propaganda posters to contemporary films and literature. The hat evokes a sense of nostalgia and patriotism, representing the resilience and resourcefulness of the Russian people.

In popular culture, the ushanka has transcended its regional origins to become a global icon of winter fashion. Its unique design and cultural connotations have made it a popular choice for winter sports enthusiasts, travelers, and fashionistas around the world.

Modern Popularity and Adaptations

Today, the ushanka continues to be a popular choice for those seeking warmth and style in cold climates. Fashion designers have embraced the hat's distinctive look, incorporating it into high-fashion collections and streetwear alike. Celebrities and influencers have also contributed to the ushanka's resurgence in popularity, often seen sporting the hat in trendy and unexpected ways.

Additionally, the ushanka has found a place in the wardrobes of outdoor adventurers and winter sports enthusiasts. Its practical design makes it ideal for activities such as skiing, snowboarding, and hiking in cold weather, providing both warmth and a touch of classic style.

Conclusion

The ushanka hat, with its rich history and timeless design, remains an enduring symbol of warmth and cultural heritage. From its origins in the harsh winters of Russia to its place in modern fashion, the ushanka continues to captivate and protect those who wear it. Whether you're braving the elements or making a fashion statement, the ushanka offers a perfect blend of practicality and tradition.

[lizzisimss]

Modern Rural Home CC List:

CC used (list below) The Summer Home in Windenburg 40 x 30 3 bed, 3 bath $260,274

Aira – https://www.patreon.com/airacc

Froggy painting

Luxury clock

Moon light

Plant 1

Tablet pc

Vanilla flower light

ATS4 - https://sims4.aroundthesims3.com/

Groceries totebag

Brazenlotus – https://www.brazenlotus.com/

SecondChance

Steezy skis

Laundry Made Essentials

charly pancakes - https://www.patreon.com/charlypancakes

The Lighthouse Collection merged

Dinna Merged

Lavish merged

M&S Constructions part 1 Merged

Miscellanea merged

Modish merged

Munch merged

Selection one merged

Smol merged

Soak merged

Felixandre – https://www.patreon.com/felixandre

Georgian set

London Exterior

London Interior

Shop the look season 1 merged

house of harlix - https://www.houseofharlix.com

Orjanic Merged

Bafroom

Baysic Merged

Harluxe Merged

Jardane Merged

Livin’Rum Merged

The Kitchen

Tiny Twavellers Merged

harrie - https://www.patreon.com/heyharrie

Brownstone Collection merged

Brutalist Collection part 1 & 2 merged

Country Collection

Octave part 1, 2, 4 & 4 merged

Porto

Shop The Look

Spoons part 1 & 3

Stockholm

Kiwisim - https://www.patreon.com/Kiwisim4

 Blockhouse

Inspired buffet

KKB – https://www.patreon.com/user?u=15789815

Citrus Room

leaf motif - https://leaf-motif.tumblr.com

2202 Magnolia Bathroom

Aubrey Office

Botanic Boudoir

Calliope Bathroom

Keller Bedroom

Little Ceramics

Old Hat

Simblreen 2021

Starlight Crystals

Stellan Dining

Sunbeam Study

Sunny Corner

Winter Village

Patron gift 1

Patron gift 2

Patron gift 4

Patron gift 5

Lilis-palace – https://www.patreon.com/lilis_palace

Folklore Set Off the Grid Living

Intarsia Wainscot Wonderland

Littlecakes – https://litttlecakes.tumblr.com/downloadspage

Twinkly lights LC

Poor Bunny

littledica - https://www.patreon.com/littledica

Rise & Grind Café merged

Eco kitchen stuff pack merged

Sleek slumber stuff pack merged

Deligracy merged cottage living update

Roman holiday merged

Deligracy delicato stuff pack

Madlen – https://www.patreon.com/madlen

Miu Lamp

Ayumu

Numi Backpack

Marvell – https://marvell-world.tumblr.com/

Nom nom line art painting

Upcycle sculpture

max 20 - https://www.patreon.com/Max20

Master bedroom pack

Child dream kit

Classic kitchen

Garden at home

Poolside lounge pack

Mechtasims - https://www.patreon.com/mechtasims

Back to school

Bathroom set

Cyber girl

Desk planner

Essential clutter conditioner

Groovy baby

Mlys – https://mlyssimblr.tumblr.com/cc-catalog

Pufferhead

my cup of cc -https://www.patreon.com/mycupofcc

ColourTalk Kitchen Merged

Avant Basic Lounge set

colourTalk kitchen merged

maple manor

fireplace bellow

Tiny Dreamers merged

myshunosun - https://www.patreon.com/myshunosun

Elle office

Luna bedroom

Mette living

Nora living

Riikka

Serene bathroom

The art room

Uma living

Arrie office

Daria bedroom

Dawn living

Dawn storage

Gale dining

Lottie

Moonwood

MXIMS – https://mxims.tumblr.com/

IKEA Barso Wall Grid B

Networksims - https://www.thesimsresource.com/members/networksims/

Crack stone brick floor

Iris tile wall

oni - https://www.patreon.com/oni28

Kitchen pegboard timer

Antique country dining

Vintage living room

peacemaker - https://peacemaker-ic.tumblr.com/TS4O...

Atwood Living

Bayside Bedroom Set

Creta Kitchen

Elsie Bedroom

Essa Kitchen

Future

Hamptons Retreat

Hinterlands Living

Hudson Bathroom

Iris Seating

Kingston Dining

Kitayama Dining

Kitayama Living

MidCentury Eclectic

Mina Kitchen

Roarsome Kids Bedroom

Rolled Rattan

Urbane Kitchen

pierisim - https://www.patreon.com/pierisim

Previous Promises

Calderone bedroom

MCM

Oak House

The office mini kit

Tidying up

Coldbrew coffeeshop

Domaine du clos

Living room mini kit

Winter Garden

Renorasims - https://www.patreon.com/renorasims

Xtreme Shower Tub

RVSN – https://ravasheen.com/downloads/

SmartsContent School Posters

ArtAttack Graffiti Murals

simplisticsims - http://simplisticsims4.com

Cottage roman curtain

Loloi contemporary rugs 1

Luxe dining plush DH

Painting indigo 2021

RHshadeB

Rhspatoilet

RPCcurtainA

Rusticlifebed

Rusticrug

sixiamcc - https://imfromsixam.tumblr.com/

Breeze of Greece

Oak & Concrete kit merged

PD-Lilla Kids Bedroom

Artiu

Artz

Charming Chalet

Forjasline

Home Basics

Home Improvement

Home Office

Hotel Bedroom

Kids room

Love for Barn Doors

Luxbath

Retro Vibes

Small Space

SpringSix Kitchen

Teen Room

SYB – https://www.patreon.com/Syboubou

Bonbon

Flashy cloud light

Galileo

Julie

Laundry

Nathalie

TaurusDesign –

Elsa KidsRoom

Clutter Cat - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thec...

Cat milk no 2 reloaded

Mellow Mini

Petits Pirates

Busy bee

Busy bee 2

Kawaii Kidz

TUDS -https://www.patreon.com/TudTuds

2nd Wave Merged

Beam Merged

Ema Dining Room Merged

Ind Merged

Turn Living Merged

Vime Closet Merged

Wave Merged

Awingedllama – https://www.patreon.com/awingedllama

Apartment therapy inspired stuff v2 merged

Blooming Rooms Plants merged

Wondymoon – https://www.patreon.com/wondymoon

Ailuropoda painting

Greenllamas – https://www.patreon.com/greenllamas KERV

[evigtlivihimlen]

Se till att ingen bedrar er!

JESUS svarade dem: "SE TILL ATT INGEN BEDRAR ER!"

Frid, vi lever i den allra "Sista tiden" strax före Jesu Återkomst, och då skulle enligt Guds Ord ett stort avfall ske inom de kristna leden. Jesus och apostlarna varnar för villolära som bedrar och för in på den "breda vägen" bort från Kristi lära och det sanna Evangeliet, och det är många som tyvärr hamnar bland de "ovisa jungfruna som saknade olja", dvs Andens gemenskap med Jesus. De skaffar en "annan Jesus, ett främmande evangelium med en främmande ande" som 2 Kor.11:4 talar om, och de måste uthärda Jesu Ord "Jag känner er inte"… Vi har mitt ibland oss katolska irrläror, liberalteologi, judaism och falsk nådesförkunnelse som ofta obemärkt slingrar sig in "under radarn" och tar över alltmer. Det ges ut "det rätta" blandat med falskt eller förvrängt, och "lite surdeg syrar hela degen".

Jag känner mig inte hemma med modern kristendom, då jag läst mycket av väckelsepionjärernas skrifter, predikningar och vittnesbörd och då blir avfallet så tydligt. Rosenius, Lewi Pethrus, Moody, Spurgeon, Frank Mangs m fl skulle reagera kraftigt mot det som ges ut idag från predikstolen…

Det finns några kraftfulla "Profetiska varningar" som getts ut av kända väckelseförkunnare, jag vill ge dig dessa till välsignelse och hjälp för att bevara den frikyrkliga väckelsekristendomen, detta som producerat miljoner bestående Jesu lärjungar. Och detta som bevarar oss själva och andra trossyskon i frälsningen. Här nu, kanske de viktigaste budskapen av dem alla. Profetiskt av Steve Hill, Stanley Frodsham (som reste med Smith Wigglesworth), Michael Brown och Frank Mangs, allt på svenska:

STEVE HILLS Profetia om ”Sista tidens stora Avfall i Kristenheten”!:

"Detta budskap till dig är från en man som just har gått genom dödsskuggans dal….allt har blivit tydligare. Jag kan höra Hans viskning. Oförminskad lydnad har blivit mitt mandat. Det är därför jag skriver detta ord från Herren.

För några dagar sedan, efter att jag åtnjutit kvalitetstid med Jesus, blev jag överraskad av en alarmerande syn. Jag såg ett massivt, majestätiskt berg täckt av gnistrande snö. Det påminde mig om Matterhorn i de Schweiziska alperna. Dess toppar var mousserande vitt och jag var förvånad över Guds uppmärksamhet på detaljer. Det var så realistiskt att jag ville åka skidor! Men jag kände att det fanns mer som den Helige Ande var på väg att avslöja. När jag blundade, var jag i ett vinterlandskap med tusentals semesterfirare. I Ski Lodge, lägenheter, hotell och stugor var det full kapacitet på denna populära semesterort.

Dagen övergick fort till kväll för skidåkare, snowboardåkare och sportentusiaster. Förväntan växte när snön började falla. Alla gick till sängs och trodde att morgondagen skulle bli en dag av ren njutning på snötäckta sluttningar. För en ivrig skidåkare, är det en dröm och spänning att vara den första att åka ner för en backe med nyfallen snö. Hela nattens vinterstormar gav flera fot nysnö på sluttningarna. På natten blev skidpatrullen satt i full beredskap. Deras uppdrag var klart. Mot de mördande lavinerna intog de sina poster. Jag började gråta när visionen fortsatte att utvecklas andligt. Skidpatrullen opererade som en vältränad pluton. Vissa bordade helikoptrar var bemannade med små bomber, andra hoppade på snöskotrar och var laddade med handhållna spränganordningar. Vad som verkade vara en strategisk grupp av prickskyttar var stationerade vid basen för manövrering av pansarvärnsvapen som syftar till de snötäckta topparna. De sköt med sina vapen på strategiska punkter i "lavin zonen" för att tvinga fram laviner innan snön samlats till ett livshotande djup. Lämnas dessa därhän kan en ansamling av tung, tät snö packas ovanpå lättare snö och lätt glida ner med otrolig hastighet och kraft, vilket resulterar i enorma skador och förlust av liv.

Herren började tala. Jag darrade. Den färska nysnön representerade den falska lära som stadigt faller i öronen på troende i Kristi kropp. Det har varit, och är ett kraftigt snöfall. Skidåkarna representerade troende och icke-troende, de litade på att orten kunde ge en säker och minnesvärd upplevelse. Som kristna har vi blivit varnade att vara nyktra och vaksamma (1 Petr 5: 8). Emellertid har föreliggande och imponerande läror invaggat många i en djupare sömn. Lager på lager av snö har stadigt täckt den fasta traditionella sanningen om Kristus (klassisk Bibeltrogen kristendom). Sanningen är att dåraktig undervisning i dessa dagar kommer att bli så på modet att även de mest hängivna troende kan bli lurade (Matt. 24:24). Det händer framför våra ögon. En andlig ledare sade häromdagen: "Ni är gammaldags, ni som står för helighet, vi är moderna, vi som står för nåd. Du är i träldom medan vi kan göra vad vi vill”.

Pastorer och lärare runt om i världen har fallit för kätterska läror, inklusive allmän försoning, förgudning av människan, ifrågasättande av giltigheten av Guds Ord, inklusive hans domar, och de har även suddat ut gränser och hävdar att Guds fantastiska nåd faktiskt är "fantastisk frihet." Du är fri att leva efter dina egna önskemål. Låter det bekant? ”De hade ingen kung och gjorde vad som var rätt i sina egna ögon" (Domarboken 17: 6). Dessa populära självutnämnda förkunnare, lärare kommer att ställas till svars för miljoner människors andliga död. Precis som skidpatrullen gjorde i denna vision behövs de som är medvetna om vad som händer och de måste vidta snabba och korrekta åtgärder. Deras vapen av krigföring måste inriktas på topparna och "lavinterrängen" för att skingra lögnerna. Apostlar, profeter, evangelister, herdar och lärare måste vara villiga att släppa andliga bomber, eld mot kätteri med missiler, och även köra in i riskområden beväpnade med den explosiva Sanningen (i Guds Ord) och konfrontera denna lavin. Generalerna i denna generation måste lämna krigsrummet och använda sina år av erfarenhet på frontlinjerna.

Käre vän, jag vill ödmjukt uppmuntra dig att lyssna på denna vision och ta den inför Herren. Jag har skrivit ner det precis som det gavs. Mitt ansvar är att dela detta och Hans ord till Kristi kropp. De öron som hör och händer som lyder är utanför min kontroll. Detta är inte bara Steve Hill som berättar en historia. Det mesta av vad Herren delar med mig är personligt och förblir i mitt hjärta. Men jag tror verkligen att detta är en varning för den här tiden. Satan som "snöar in de heliga" kan stoppas. I visionen hörde jag explosioner. Jag såg överlåtna kristna soldater göra det som krävdes för att få ner denna lavin innan förödelsen inträffade. En av de mest kraftfulla vapen som vi besitter för att bekämpa detta angrepp är tungan. Låt Gud satta din tunga i eld så du predikar alla Ord i RÖTT. Om vi vidtar åtgärder nu blir resultatet att falsk undervisning rivs ner, och så får en fast och Gudagiven, Biblisk undervisning bli kvar som räddar de förlorade, botar sjuka och styrker de kristna att göra det sanna arbetet i tjänst för Gud".

Källa: http://www.charismanews.com/opinion/34894-steve-hill-the-spiritual-avalanche-that-could-kill-millions

STANLEY FRODSHAM Profetia! (han som reste med Smith Wigglesworth): Här ett urval på svenska från Stanley Frodshams profetia, detta är några meningar för dig som inte kan engelska så bra, ett “smakprov”. Men, sitt gärna med någon som kan engelska och läs igenom hela profetian:

”När jag besöker mitt folk i mäktig väckelse och kraft så är det för att förbereda dem för det mörker som ligger framför oss. Med Härlighet skall komma stort mörker (i världen)”.

”Lyssna noga om dessa ting, för i de sista dagarna skall det komma villoandar (1 Tim 4: 1). De skall vända bort många av de smorda. Många skall falla p g a olika lustar, och eftersom synden finns i deras liv…Många ska följa efter förförande och bedrägliga villoandar. Många (troende, förkunnare) finns redan mitt ibland Kristi kropp och förför mitt folk. Det är de som lever rätt som är rättfärdiga. Många täcker sina synder genom sin stora teologi och deras stora teologiska sätt. Men jag varnar dig om förförande andar som instruerar Mitt folk på ett ont sätt”.

”De som utför mirakler och inte talar om rättfärdighet är inte av mig. De som har stora folkmassor som följer dem, men talar inte om renhet och helighet (omvändelse och helgelse) är inte av mig… Jag varnar er, med stor intensitet, att jag kommer att döma Mitt hus och ha en kyrka utan fläck eller skrynkla när jag kommer”.

"Åh, mitt folk, ge inte era hjärtan till människor, och håll inte människor i beundran, genom just dessa personer ska Satan få inträde in i mitt folk. Se upp för hur de förför. Tror du en förförare kommer öppet avslöja sina villoläror? Nej, han kommer att tala ord om rättfärdighet och sanning, och kommer att verka vara en tjänare av ljus som predikar Ordet”.

”Bli inte lurad. För bedragaren kommer först att vinna mångas hjärtan, och därefter föra ut sina falska läror…Du skall ha ett vittnesbörd i ditt hjärta att de inte är av mig. Frukta inte, ty jag har varnat er. Många kommer att bli lurade. Men om du lever heligt och rättfärdigt inför Herren, din Gud, skall era ögon öppnas, och Herren Gud skall beskydda dig alla dagar av ditt liv”.

”Därför uppmanar jag och befaller er, säger Herren, att studera Skrifterna angående förförande bedrägeriandar, för detta är en av de största farorna för kyrkan i dessa sista dagar. Jag önskar att du ska stå fasta i mitt Ord, och inte i personligheter eller människors tjänster”.

”Om du verkligen kommer att döma dig själv (rannsakan, syndabekännelse och omvändelse), ska du inte bli dömd, när du söker mitt ansikte och i sanning av hjärtat vill bli renad av mig….Betänk ditt syfte i denna sista tid. Ibland skall alla stå upp emot dig och försöka med allt för att vända dig bort från den kursen av helighet”.

”Herren måste förbereda dig till att vara en övervinnare i alla saker så att du kan fullfölja ditt lopp. Förföljelsen skall öka, likaså skall smörjelsen öka…Frukta inte dagarna som kommer, men frukta endast detta: att du ska leva på ett sätt som behagar Herren. Detta är en tid då jag upprättar Min kyrka, den ska verkligen vara utan fläck eller skrynkla”.

”Spring inte efter den ene och den andre, för Herren har din frälsning i sin hand, det är i Honom och i Honom ensamt. Du ska inte vända dig till den herden eller till den där, för det ska vara en stor skingring (gallring) på jorden”.

"Många skall gå vilse eftersom de inte tillåter sanningen att bli en del av dem hela tiden. Men jag visar er i dessa sanningar, att de skall vara en del av dig, att du ska vara beredd och ha gjort allt, stå, stå fasta i denna sista tid. Han som har öron må höra vad Anden talar till sin kyrka”.

Källa: googla på ”Stanley Frodsham, prophecy”

MICHAEL BROWNS Artikel om ”Hypergrace”/Falsk nådesförkunnelse:

"Det bibliska budskapet om nåd är underbart, härligt och livsförvandlande. Vi kan inte leva utan detta en enda sekund i våra liv. Men det finns ett budskap som predikas idag som benämns som en ny ”Nåd reformation” där man blandar kraftfull sanning med det farligt felaktiga. Jag kallar detta Överdriven nåd (Hypergrace). Det grundläggande som denna felaktiga nådeslära ger ut är att Gud inte ser synderna hos sina barn, eftersom vi har redan gjorts rättfärdiga genom Jesu blod och eftersom alla våra synder, dåtid, nutid och framtid, har redan blivit förlåtna. Det innebär att den Helige Ande aldrig överbevisar troende om synd, att troende aldrig behöver bekänna sina synder till Gud, och att troende aldrig behöver omvända sig från sina synder, eftersom Gud ser dem som perfekta i sina ögon. Det är lätt att se hur en sådan undervisning kan vara farlig, särskilt för de troende som frestas att kompromissa.

En av dessa lärare som står för sådan här Överdriven nåd (Radikal nådesförkunnelse) skrev: "När Gud ser på mig, ser han inte mig genom Kristi blod utan han ser mig ren! Likaså ser han oss som heliga och rättfärdiga. Han ser oss, och han älskar vad han ser!”. Verkligen? Alltid? Hela dygnet? Älskar Gud alltid vad han ser när han tittar på sitt folk? Ja, han älskar oss, men älskar han alltid vad han ser? Älskade Jesus verkligen vad han såg när han tillrättavisade fem av sju församlingar i Mindre Asien i Uppenbarelseboken 2-3? Älskade Paulus vad han såg, när han skrev på uppdrag av Herren och varnade Galaterna att de hade fallit ur nåden och fastnat i lagiskhet? Älskade Jakob, en Herrens tjänare som också skrev på uppdrag av Herren, vad han såg när han tillrättavisade sina läsare för att vara "vänner med världen" och "äktenskapsbrytare och äktenskapsbryterskor"?

Och om Herren inte ser våra synder, varför skriver Jakob att om en troende som var sjuk också hade syndat, skulle Gud förlåta honom när han botade honom (se Jakob 5:14-16)? Och om Han inte ser våra synder, varför disciplinerade Herren de troende i Korint på grund av deras synder (se 1 Kor 11:27-32)? Och ägna stor uppmärksamhet åt 1 Kor 11:32 "Men när vi döms fostras vi av Herren, för att vi inte ska bli fördömda tillsammans med världen.” Om Jesus inte se våra synder, varför sa han till kyrkan i Efesos "Men Jag håller detta mot dig: Du har övergivit din första kärlek" (Upp 2:4)? Och varför säger Han detta till kyrkan i Sardes?: "Jag känner dina gärningar; du har namnet om dig att du lever, men du är död. Vakna upp och håll dig vaken och stärk det som är kvar och som var nära att dö. Ty jag har inte funnit att dina gärningar är fullkomliga inför min Gud. Kom därför ihåg vad du har tagit emot och hört och håll fast vid det och omvänd dig. Om du inte håller dig vaken ska jag komma som en tjuv, och du ska inte veta vilken stund jag kommer över dig. "(Upp 3:1-3). Låter det som Herren var nöjd med vad han såg i Efesos och Sardes?

Om Herren alltid "ser oss som heliga och rättfärdiga" och alltid "älskar vad han ser" varför tillrättavisade han de troende i Laodicea och sa till dem att de var "eländig, beklagansvärd, fattig, blind och naken" (Upp 3:17)? Varför sa Han inte?: "Jag ser dig som vackert klädd, frisk och rik?". Om han var så nöjd med vad han såg i Laodicea, varför hotar han att spy församlingen ut ur sin mun (se Upp 3:16)? Och om troende aldrig behöver omvända sig från sina synder, varför säger Jesus "Alla som jag älskar tillrättavisar och tuktar jag. Var därför ivrig och omvänd dig”(Upp. 3:19)? Och det är intressant att samma grekiska ord som används i Johannes 16:8, där Jesus säger att den Helige Ande kommer överbevisa världen om synd, är det ord som används av Herren i Uppenbarelseboken 3:19, översatt som "tillrättavisa", och notera Upp. 3:22: detta är Anden som talar!

Det är för att Gud älskar oss som han tillrättavisar oss (inte fördömer oss), och det är för att synden är så destruktiv som han vill att vi ska vända oss bort från synden. Detta är Guds godhet, och detta är vad nåd gör, som Paulus skrev i Titus 2:11-12 "Ty Guds nåd har uppenbarats till frälsning för alla människor. Den fostrar oss att säga nej till ogudaktighet och världsliga begär och att leva anständigt, rättfärdigt och gudfruktigt i den tid som nu är".

Hur tragiskt är det inte idag, när Guds folk misstar Guds korrigering i kärlek till att det skulle vara en fördömande röst från Satan, och hur tråkigt är det inte när Guds folk gör motstånd mot Andens renande verk och hävdar att det inte finns något att rena eftersom Gud inte längre ser synderna. Har Han gjort oss rättfärdiga genom Jesu blod? Absolut. Har Han avskilts oss som heliga för sig själv? Utan tvekan. Har Han kallat oss till att vara hans söner och döttrar, allt genom Hans kärlek och nåd? Ja det har Han. Och det är på grund av dessa saker som Paulus skrev "Då vi alltså har dessa löften, mina älskade, så låt oss rena oss från all besmittelse från kött och ande och i Gudsfruktan fullborda vår helgelse" (2 Kor 7:1). Detta är en vacker och hög kallelse. Låt inte någon stjäla det från dig".

Källa: http://www.charismanews.com/opinion/38297-confronting-the-error-of-hyper-grace

FRANK MANGS, var en av Nordens mest kända väckelseförkunnare, några år före sin Hemfärd gav han ut detta Profetiska budskap till kristenheten. Budskapet är i högsta grad aktuellt för oss idag:

"Det hände en ganska tidig morgon för en del år sedan. Utan att tända lampan drog jag upp rullgardinen och slog mig ned vid skrivbordet. Ute var det grådager. Egentligen tänkte jag inte på någonting. Utan fanns bara till och lyssnade till det stilla böneljudet från mitt väsens innersta. Då hände det. Helt plötsligt såg mitt inre öga en väg. Inte en körväg och inte heller en stig. Det var närmast någonting som liknande en bättre promenadväg på några meters bredd. Nej, det var ingen andesyn. Jag var inte i trans eller hänryckning, utan alldeles klarvaken. Och ändå såg jag vägen så tydligt och klart att jag närhelst jag vill alltjämnt kan se hela bilden framför mig. Jag ser den just nu. Jag såg att vägen började vid en trång port och visste att den slutade i härlighetens värld. Men av det målet såg jag ingenting. Jag såg bara porten och början av vägen. Och längs vägens mitt låg en strimma av ljus, som tycktes komma från en ändlös ljuskälla av ett slag som jag aldrig skådat. På vägens båda sidor var det kolmörker.

Vägen hade inga diken och inga staket. Men gränsen utmärktes av det konturlösa område, som fanns där ljuset och mörkret möttes. Gränsen var suddig. Jag såg människor som gick på vägen. Både män och kvinnor, unga och gamla. De gick inte i grupper. De gick inte ens par om par och i bredd. Utan alla en och en. Och det berodde därpå att den Herre, som lockat dem in på vägen, hade sagt: ”Om någon lyssnar till min röst och upplåter dörren, så skall jag gå in till honom och hålla måltid med honom och han med mig.”

”Någon !” ”Jag med honom och han med mig.” Det där betyder att det i Kristi sanna efterföljds innersta finns ett rum, som reserverat endast för honom. Och dit ingen annan varken kan eller får komma. De där människorna var klädda i vita kläder. Bländande vita kläder, som stund efter stund fick sin renhet förnyad. Inte därför att de bad om och hungrade efter sekundlig renhet, utan därför att de vandrade mitt på vägen.

Rakt under strimman av det övernaturliga ljuset. Reningen i Jesu blod var en konstant pågående process. Och jag såg deras ansikten. Det var ljus över dem också. Fast många av dem var märkta av både ålder, sorg och sjukdom. Och det skenet var både en återspegling av det inre ljuset och en utstrålning av det ljus de bar inom sig. Gärna hade jag med mina ögon velat följa dessa människors vandring ända hem. Med jag fick inte. Jag var tvungen att vända blicken mot vägens början och den trånga porten. Och där såg jag en stor mängd som stannat.

De hade stannat redan innan de gått in genom porten och kommit in på vägen. Och det märkliga var att många av dem tycktes vara glada. De var glada därför att de trodde sig vara på vägen. Fast de aldrig hade gått in genom den sanna omvändelsens trånga port. Och kanske det värsta var att mitt bland dem rörde sig gestalter i prästrock och pastorsdräkt och evangelistmundering. Nej, det värsta var att jag såg skuggan av min egen bild i den där hopen. Ty vi har fuskat, vi som är kallade att vara levande organ för Livet från Gud. Vi har blivit religiösa pratmakare istället för att vara fungerande organ för Livet.

Vi har garanterat människor deras salighet därför att de en gång blivit döpta till Kristus. Vi har garanterat att sökande själar blivit födda av Anden, fast de bara blivit födda av mänsklig påverkan. Vi har sagt att de är Guds barn bara därför att de är ”snälla”. Vi har blivit religiösa kvacksalvare, som i förtid intalat andliga sökare att de är födda av Gud. Fast de bara är väckta. Och vi har ibland genom just detta avbrutit den andliga födelse-processen. Resultatet har blivit att det i dag finns massor av människor, som tror sig vara på väg till himlen fast de inte är det. Men Jesus sade ju att det skulle komma att bli så i denna tidsålders afton:

”Då skall det var med himmelriket som när tio jungfrur gick ut för att möta brudgummen. Men fem av dem var oförståndiga, de tog ingen olja med sig.” Ingen olja! Ingen ande! Och inget fungerande andeliv. Bara formerna och skenet. Namnet och bekännelsen. Och de trodde att detta var nog.

Men jag såg mer. Jag såg människor som gått in genom porten, upplevt nya födelsens under och kommit in på vägen, men som sedan gjort vägen till någonting annat än det den var ämnad att vara. De har stannat och gjort vägen till en rastplats i stället för att låta den var en färdväg. De hade stannat, inte när det gäller ålder och tid. Men de hade stannat när det gäller andlig utveckling och tillväxt. De hade stannat och börjat leva på minnen. Och somliga hade bara stannat. Och somnat. Men alla hade de glömt de paulinska orden: ”Dock, såvitt vi redan har hunnit något framåt, så låt oss vandra vidare på samma väg.”

Men jag såg mer. Jag såg människorna som dragit sig ut ur det övernaturliga ljuset som låg över vägens mitt. De hade dragit sig in i den grådager som fanns på vägens båda sidor. Grå-dagen, där synen på både synden och saligheten var höljd i dunkel. Allt var dimmigt och grått och overkligt. Och den grå overkligheten gjorde att sådant som var en total omöjlighet på vägens mitt nu blev leksaker för både sinnet och talet och handlingarna. Och hur underligt det än låter så blev de ting, som fanns i mörkret på sidan av vägen föremål för deras intresse. Likt Guds gamla Israel under ökenvandringen greps de av lystnad till Egyptens köttgrytor, som de en gång hade lämnat.

Lystnaden blev inte bara ett visat intresse. Lystnaden växte till åtrå. En hunger som fångade deras tankar och känslor. Lade beslag på deras drömmar och fantasier. Och gjorde att de i verklighet befann sig på sidan av vägen, trots att de skenbart fanns kvar på den. Sedan hände det kusliga. Sakta som skuggor gled de bort ifrån den väg, som saknar både staket och diken. Bort ifrån den väg, som de en gång under tårar och böner sökt sig in på. Bort från det levande hoppet och in i hopplösheten. En hopplöshet som de själva inte kände av. Ty de var döda. De hade förlorat förmågan att uppleva en andlig kris.

Sedan jag sett allt detta sjönk jag sakta ned på knä och brast i gråt. Jag önskade att jag varit minst ett halvsekel yngre än vad jag är. Och haft möjligheten att på ett bättre sätt än vad jag gjort, satsa mitt yttersta för att Guds Helige Ande skulle få frihet att bruka mig på ett bättre sätt än vad han nu kunnat"…

Källa: tidningen Flammor (https://flammor.com/frank-mangs-profetiska-budskap-holger-nilsson-p266.html)

P.S Låt oss pröva allt profetiskt i Ordet och Anden, och låta sanningen sätta oss fria, då Jesus oss omsluter i sin kärleks närvaro och frid, amen.

[theunknowingproject]

When I lived here before, I had many names because the pretense of sticking to one had yet to be invented. I can bet you did, too. But of course, that was another here, and we never thought to set it all down for the record or posterity because those habits didn’t come until the static names, weighted to set into stones and books and badges. At first, we were excited to carry these like weights in our pockets. They kept us, as the saying went, grounded. Before, I had names for the birds and the ones they called me, the grasses and what they whispered back; the suggestions of skies–––and not one of these was ever wrong. Perhaps wrongness came later, too, or at least the modern form of it––the looming concrete tower with eyes on every side, ready to fire, that leaden shadow draping its weight over all the places where our names used to breathe.

[miqolena]

I have started writing the Modern AU. This is not a drill. Here's the first page or so.

The skies favored Regio Urbanissima in Garlemald's capitol with a light snow and offered a bitter wind like a backhanded compliment. It was a late morning that the hardy people of the region would brave without second thought as they went about their business, but every one of them would vastly prefer to be cooped up inside where the warmth was plentiful and the conversation was easy. Gaius Baelsar's preferred method of cooping up came in the form of The Last Page, a café protruding from the corner of two of Regio Urbanissima's most favored thoroughfares. It boasted wide and tall windows looking out onto the snowy and sometimes rainy streets. Whenever the weather grew too grim the staff would pull down the blinds and shield the patrons from the harsh realities of outside, bringing them instead closer to the warm colors of mahogany furniture and bookshelves, russet red cushions, and black metal bracings - all crafted to evoke a sense of strange familiarity and comforting warmth. Against the back of the baristas' counter space there was a wall of shelves full to the brim with various spices, syrups, and concoctions which the employees there used to make coffee purists balk, and in front a set of ceramics masterfully crafted to resemble the various pastries on offer sat lit in a glass display case which also served as more counter space. Lanterns hanging haphazardly from the ceiling aided gentle spotlights that highlighted the central places of business: the counter at which one paid, the path which one walked to take a table, and the terminal at which one could search for and request books from the café's selective library. There was a stand near the counter advertising a new detective novel from a wildly popular author, with several copies of the book nestled beneath the poster. One of these was presently pried open in Gaius' hand.

He sat at his regular spot in the corner, at a table meant for two but only ever occupied by one when he was there, with a simple latte and a piece of vanilla-iced chocolate cake barely eaten before him. It was not uncommon for others to sit with strangers in this place, but his severe aura held a power of its own that secured his solitude. His brow knitted as regularly as a grandmother, even at rest. And everyone knew the eyes beneath it - gold as a singular beast's, which combined with his other features marked him for his title for certain even among strangers. Gaius Baelsar, the Black Wolf. A moniker that historically had been plastered across newspaper headlines; a name he bore like a sore shoulder.

Judging from the introduction to the novel he held, the featured lead did not relish attention either. His various deeds in service to the fictional city in which he lived had earned him a sort of acclaim that left him recognized wherever he went. Gaius grudgingly sympathized, barely wanting to connect emotionally with a genre outside his regular reading which he had been badgered into trying. The reading was not challenging at all - there were no flowery words to provoke his thoughts or stir his heart, yet the descriptions were vivid and entertaining and the dialogue gave him pause. It was easy to see why the author was popular.

Contributing to the ease of reading was the general subdued din of the patrons. The place was nearly full today, but others were reading or speaking quietly also. Gaius expected to be approached for the seat across from him at any moment, and was preparing the exercise of ignoring his new tablemate as a chef sharpens a knife.

........

GEE I WONDER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT