#but if you come with humility and curiosity and openness to learning new things-- sure why not?

[quantummindclassicalheart]

Also, for those based in the US, 23 states (as of time of writing) offer free community college for eligible students! The criteria vary by state but are usually income-/need-based.

For those who don't qualify for additional aid, the costs are reasonable-- in California it's a flat $46/credit unit (for a whole 16-week semester) for in-state students, where a standard course is 3-4 units (so around $140-180 for a full 16-week course). While many students enroll in a full course load of 12+ units, it's definitely possible to take less than that if a degree isn't your immediate goal.

Community colleges have programs to support students transferring to 4-year institutions, but they're also great places to learn in their own right-- in particular, because community college professors don't typically do research, they tend to be hired on the strength of their teaching.

As an educator myself, I'm a big proponent of creating structure for your self-directed studies. There's nothing wrong with dabbling in new disciplines and whetting your interest that way, but as I see it, when you approach a new subject it's often like being visiting a foreign city.

Just watching a video or reading a popular account is like staying on the tour bus-- you'll see the sights and get a broad sense of the city, but your exposure will naturally be somewhat limited.

Doing things like answering textbook questions, doing exercises, and quizzing yourself (what folks in the biz call "active learning") is a step towards getting off the bus, towards using your own mobility to learn the streets. It's a step towards engaging with the culture and the language and all the things that make that city great.

And working in that subject professionally-- moving to the city full-time, in the metaphor-- is a bigger commitment yet. Some people find this is the goal of their travels, but most people don't. And that's totally fine! All three of these options are equally valid, depending on what your goals are.

In my opinion, travel and (self-)education have a lot in common. There are often time and money costs associated with both. There may be accessibility impediments which make it hard for you to get off the bus (or even find a tour that will accommodate you and show you the things you want to see).

And both ask us to be humble as travelers-- to acknowledge that that while we don't leave our histories at home when we travel, the places and people we visit have stories and histories of their own, equally deserving of our respect.

[acknowledgment: the key metaphor here is adapted from Seven Sketches in Compositionality, a very nice textbook on category theory.]

DEAR EDUCATIONALLY NEGLECTED HOMESCHOOLERS

I’ve gathered some resources and tips and tricks on self-educating after educational neglect. This is only what I did and what I know helped me. I’m about to graduate college with honors after having no education past the age of 9. I wouldn’t be here without the following. Everything is free, and at/well above the standard for education in the US.

The holy grail: Khan Academy. Nearly every course you could take is available here, in order and by grade level. Their open-source free courses rival some of the college classes I’ve taken. This is your most solid resource.

For inattentive types: Crash Course offers a variety of courses that are snappy, entertaining, and extremely rewarding. They work for my ADHD brain. They also have college prep advice, which is essential if you’re looking to go to higher education with no classroom experience.

To catch up on your reading: There are certain books that you may have read had you gone to school that you’ve missed out on. This list is the most well-rounded and can fill you in on both children’s books and classic novels that are essential or at least extremely helpful to be familiar with. You can find a majority of these easily at a local library (and some for free in PDF form online low key). There are a few higher level classics in here that I’d highly recommend. If it doesn’t work for you, I’d always recommend asking your local librarian.

*BE AWARE* The book list I recommend suggests you read Harry Potter books, and given their transphobic author you may or may not want to read them. If you choose to, I’d highly recommend buying the books secondhand or borrowing from a library to avoid financially supporting a living author with dangerous and damaging views.

TEST, TEST, TEST: Again, Khan Academy is your go-to for this. I don’t personally like standardized testing, but going through SAT and ACT courses was the best way I found to really reveal my gaps so that I could supplement.

Finally: As much as you can, enjoy the process. Education can be thrilling and teach you so much about yourself, and help shape your view of the world. It can get frustrating, but I’d like to encourage you that everyone can learn. No pace is the perfect pace, and your learning style is the right learning style for you. In teaching yourself, be patient, be kind, and indulge in the subjects you really enjoy without neglecting others. You are your teacher. Give yourself what others chose not to.

[fairlyabookie]

Happiness

Author's note: Day 11 of February Prompt. Enjoy!

Content: wholesome interaction between Royal! Cater and Servant! Reader | character analysis

“Cater, I’m here with your clothes. Please let me know when you’re out of the bath.” 

Light knocks sound on a wooden door as a servant calls for their master. [Reader] and another servant carry a set of clothes and jewelry for their master, the weight of them quite heavy by their arms each passing minute.

“I’m done with the bath! Just a moment, [Reader].” 

To the servants’ surprise, they glimpse Cater’s incoming silhouette by the door. 

“Your Highness?” 

They fret, quickly averting their gaze to preserve the Prince’s dignity. 

“I’m wearing a robe, silly. Come now, my clothes.” 

From his coquettish words, a heat rose by [Reader]’s cheeks, being played a fool from engaging in presumptuous thoughts. They quickly recover, now prostrating themselves before the door. The other servant follows suit, carefully not to drop to their feet too quickly lest the gemstones embedded in the jewelry would shatter.  It slides open, the Prince dressed as he had claimed a moment ago. 

“Your mother insisted I help you dress, Your Highness. Your coronation is coming up, and she wants everything to be perfect.” 

[Reader], who had unintentionally imposed this fact onto their prince, didn’t see the dark look that had crossed his face. Yet, a while of silence seemed to indicate his quiet fury. They look up in concern. 

“Thank you for your concern, [Reader]. Please fit me for tonight.” 

“Of course, Your Highness.” 

Both servants couldn’t forget the uncanny smile on Cater’s lips, yet didn’t say a word as they enter the Prince’s quarters. 

“I trust Mother picked the outfit for me?” 

Cater inquiries, slipping behind the screen to quickly change to his undergarments. 

“Not quite, we personally chose them ourselves.” 

“You’re not kidding, aren’t you~” 

[Reader] suppressed the urge to cease Cater’s teasing right then and there. Thankfully, their colleague intervened with the pliant truth, 

“Stop it, Cater. We chose it for you.” 

Cater had to chuckle. 

“You two are so sweet!” 

He emerges from the screen, startling the servants with a tight hug. With bashful smiles, they return the hug lightly, keeping their humility to themselves - they learned the hard way if they were to convey any note of humility, the Prince wouldn’t hear of it - he was uncomfortable with the fact that his personal servants were doting on him. A bittersweet atmosphere hung as the servants began to fit the Prince. 

“As your personal servants, we’re honored to have you as our king, Your Highness.” 

[Reader] begins. 

“We will continue to serve you until the day we die-” 

“You don’t have to serve me for that long!” 

Cater quips helplessly; much to the servant’s dismay, he had more to say: “You two don’t have to push yourselves for me. I’m happy that you two are happy serving me, but..” 

He pauses, earning looks of concern from them. 

“Your Highness?” 

The Prince didn’t dare voice out his true thoughts, noting how brutally honest it would sound if he said it. He was envious of them, content with their life and happiness. Yet, what was his happiness? What was the one thing that could motivate him first thing in the morning? What was the one thing he could smile to when he was having a bad day? Sure, he could hone in his craft with the arts, formulating poems and writing new pieces - but what was happiness to him? 

“Will I truly be happy when I ascend to the throne?” 

This question needed to be said, he watched them lapse into speechlessness.

“Will you be happy?” 

They echo the statement, repeating the question to themselves as if in contemplation. Cater watched them mutter to themselves as they place layer after layer of fabric onto him, placing jewelry onto him, until one of them finally answers: 

“You’re not satisfied with your role, Your Highness?” 

[Reader] was spot-on with that question, their curiosity hitting a fragment of Cater’s pride. In the back of his mind, he trusted them not to say a word to his mother and sisters - who knew what would happen if word let out that he wasn’t willing to partake to his duties bound for the throne? 

“I’m not, really. I know I’ve been following my duties as Prince as Mother told me to, but am I truly happy when I become King? I feel like I want to do more..” 

[Reader] was confused. 

“You mean, live more of your youth?” 

A bittersweet smile graces the Prince’s lips. 

“That’s right.” 

Pity tugged at the two servants’ heartstrings, their lips curling to small frowns. 

“We’ve seen how you smile in court, practiced and polite just how your mother taught you,” 

“What your mother worries is if you’re capable of smiling authentically, you see,” 

“Happiness isn’t far away, Your Highness. If you wish to see happiness, it is everywhere around you, from your musings with natures to marrying your future partner. I’m sure you’d find these episodes of happiness, Dear Prince. All we wish for is your good health, happiness, and wisdom to the kingdom.” 

Cater wasn’t too convinced by this, part of him hoping [Reader] was right, the other wanting to prove them wrong. Yet, he feigns a smile to them. 

“Thank you, [Reader]. One day, I will find my happiness..” 

Upon this revelation, the servants had finished their task. Before them, Cater cut the figure of a king, decked in shades of gold and scarlet. Within a week’s time, he will become king, inheriting the throne from his father. From that moment, Cater told himself: 

By finding my true love will I find my happiness.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Clone Wars) Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader: Here to Stay a Little Longer

Author’s Note: In this fic, reader is a jedi who volunteers to care for an educate younglings in the order. Just wanted to say I know a few teachers and caretakers, and I just wanted to say the amount of respect I have for people who dedicate their time to little ones whether it be for a job or because their your own little ones!

    “Good work today.” 

    There was no stopping the affectionate smile that bloomed on your face as the youngling chirped in response to your affirmation.  You could sense his happiness at the lesson being over for the day.  He wanted to take a nap.

   “Me too, Grogu,” you sighed.  “Me too.”  He waddled over to you, and you lifted him into your arms.  Another jedi would be coming to take him back to the nursery for rest. 

   “___________?” a voice asked.

   “Hm?” you turned to see an elderly female jedi at the doorway to the training room.  “Oh, jedi Lilanou.  You are here to take Grogu back to his quarters?”

   “Yes, indeed,” she said with a smile, outstretching her hands.  They were weathered but ever so gentle as you transferred the tired baby to them.  He waved at you, and you laughed and waved back.  “Grogu will see you later this week for another training session.”

   “I will be expecting him.”  You nodded.  Grogu wasn’t quite like the other younglings.  He was more developed mentally for one so small, and he was much older than the others.  This meant he started training, but only a little since he was still a baby.  As Lilanou carried him away, you felt sadness creep its way into your feelings.  No doubt your attachment to the young one went beyond what it should.  You felt that way about most of the younglings you volunteered to look after and train before they became padawans and were assigned to mentors.  It was hard to let go when that time came, but the need for jedi to step up and help the next generation of younglings drew you in again and again.

   With the absence of Grogu, your afternoon was free.  The rumble in your stomach told you it was time for a meal.  You released a sigh and stepped out of the empty room into the vast halls.  Jedi walked to and fro, some in pairs while others had their noses in datapads.

   The sound of children’s laughter weighed your steps until you stopped altogether.  It was a collective laugh as if it was one shared by an entire class.  You started back on your way again before it rang out once more.  It was indeed a class that occupied one of the nearest training rooms, and from where you stood outside the doorway, you could hear Yoda’s voice instructing.

   “I’ll just stop in for a minute,” you said, grinning.  “Lunch can wait.”  As you approached, Yoda paused the lesson to meet your gaze.  As he greeted you, the younglings that were all seated in a semi-circle turned their heads to look in your direction.  Their faces lit up in recognition.

   “Ah, _________, how nice it is to see you,” Yoda said.  “Younglings, say ‘hello.’”

   “Hello!” they chorused.

   “Hello everyone!” you gave a nod of greeting before turning your gaze back to Yoda.  “I was just wondering if I could sit in on class today?  And maybe help if you need any assistance?”  It felt like a silly question to ask.  He was Yoda.  He’d been training many generations of younglings since long before you were born.  Nonetheless, his features softened as he motioned with his hand for you to enter.

   “Needing a lesson to refresh your memory, are you?” he joked in a good-natured way.  You chuckled as you took a seat on the far right of the semi-circle.

   “Something like that.”

   “Good, your timing is.”  He nodded.  “Discussing the process of constructing lightsabers, we are.  Perhaps, share with the class your experience, you could.”

   “That’s right,” you mused.  “Many of you are nearing that time.  Oh, yes Ganodi?”

   The Rodian girl lowered her hand, galaxy eyes averted shyly for a moment.  “Was it hard to build your lightsaber?”

   “It was a challenge,” you admitted.  “But it wasn’t meant to be easy.”  When you noticed her nervous expression, you added, “I’m sure you will do well.”

   “I’m excited to build mine!”  Petro exclaimed.  “I can’t wait!”

   “All in good time,” Yoda told the enthusiastic youngling.  “Anyway, back to our lesson, we should get....”

- - - - - - 

   After the class had been dismissed by Yoda, some of the younglings stuck around to talk.  Yoda walked over to you.  “Thank you for your help today.  Warms my heart, it does, to see your compassion and willingness to nurture the next generation of jedi.”

   You smiled.  “It warms my heart to see them so eager to learn.”

   After he left, you found yourself in the middle of a game of tag with the younglings in the classroom.  Katooni was “it”, and the rest of the group scattered.  She was fast for a youngling!  You raced past Byph, and he got tagged instead.

   “Sorry, Byph!”

   You were so captivated by the game that you hadn’t noticed a new presence.  “I thought I’d find you here.”  You skidded to a stop, looking over to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing at the doorway.  Your heart did flips at the sight of that smirk of his while he stood there with his arms folded across his chest.  He had left on a campaign weeks before, and his return to Coruscant was a surprise to you.

   You turned to the group, who didn’t seem to notice him.  “Give me one second, guys.”  They continued to run around, and you walked over to the jedi, out of breath.  “It’s good to see you.  How are things on the front?”

   “Well, we were successful,” he replied.  That smooth voice was like music to your ears.  As you listened to him describe the gist of the mission, your mind wandered to silly little things like his velvety hair that shone in the light or his soft blue eyes or the way his lip quirked when he spoke.  It was just so nice to see him, to be able to take it in that he was there.

   “Sounds like an interesting time.”

   “Oh, no.  Not interesting in the least,” he said sarcastically, the shine of amusement in his eyes.  “How have things been here?”

   “Same as ever.”  You smiled and nodded in the direction of the younglings playing their game.  “These ones keep me occupied.  It’s not fighting Separatist battle droids, but…”

   “It’s an important duty.  I can hardly think of a more noble endeavor,” he told you, eyes looking distant and warm as the younglings’ laughter carried.  “I myself hope to dedicate more time to the cause.  I haven’t been as involved as I’d like to be.”

   “Well, we could always use the help.  Besides, you have become a sort of legend around here.”

   Obi-Wan’s brow lifted curiously.  “Is that so?”

   “It is, and you have Anakin to thank for that.  He stops by every now and then and shares a story or two about his and your adventures on the battlefield.”

   “That sounds like Anakin,” he sighed.

   “He’s an inspiration to the younglings, as are you,” you paused.  “To me as well.”

   “Obi-Wan!”

  “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!”

   The group began to gather around the two of you, their eyes wide with admiration and curiosity.

   “Well hello there,” he said.  “I was beginning to think I’d gone unnoticed.”

   “Where’d you go? Did you fight Grievous?” Petro’s questions poured out quickly.

   “Was Anakin there?” Zatt asked, tipping his head to one side.  “He said he was going on a mission too.”

   “Alright, alright,” you laughed.  “Let’s not overwhelm him.”

   “I’ll tell you all about the mission another time,” Obi-Wan assured them.  “For now, you might want to run.”

   “What?  Why?”

   “Because it looks like Byph is still ‘it,’ and he’s sneaking up behind you.”

   “Ahhh!”  They burst into laughter and screams as they scattered once more, leaving you and Obi-Wan chuckling.  One of the smaller younglings fell down in front of him.  He simply took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet.

   “Careful, little one.”  His warning was tender, and you watched the scene with heart thumping.  Obi-Wan was always good with younglings.  His kindly nature and humility made him quite popular. 

   He’d make a good parent, you thought.  Realizing where your mind was taking you, you shook your head.  That was hardly appropriate for one to think about a fellow jedi.  Romantic feelings were normal, but these were driving you to imagine a life with him outside the order.  You imagined a loving man with whom you could have your own children with.  The way he was gazing at you made you feel embarrassed, as if he sensed your thoughts.

   “___________?”

   “Yeah?”

   “Are you hungry?”

   You glanced down at your stomach as it gave another rumble.  Ah, right.  You skipped out on lunch to join the youngling class.  How embarrassing he heard that!  “Uh yeah, I missed lunch.”

   “I’m rather hungry myself,” he said.  “Shall we go get something together?”

   You nodded, smiling.  “We shall.”  You looked at the younglings.  “I’ll see you all soon.”

   “Okay, bye ___________!”

   “Bye Obi-Wan!”

   They headed out the door, their chatter echoing down the hall.  You walked alongside Obi-Wan on your way to get something to eat.  He was always pleasant company.  He walked with his hands folded behind his back and his gaze occasionally resting on you.  You had longed to see him again, but when the moment was finally there, you weren’t quite sure what to say.  Finally, you thought of something.

   “Did you need me for something?”

   “Pardon?”

   “You said you might find me there with the younglings,” you said.  “Does that mean you were looking for me?” 

   He opened his mouth as if he had a clever response, but his voice came out in a subtle stutter before he found the words. “I thought I’d pay you a visit since I arrived back on Coruscant.  I merely...wanted to see you.”

   “Oh, I see.”

   “Is that a problem?” The question wasn’t irritated.  His eyes searched you with genuine concern.  He had made it known that he sought you out for no reason in particular other than his enjoyment of your company, and he didn’t want this knowledge to make you uncomfortable.

   “No, no, not at all.”  You shook your head.  “I’m glad you did.  I’m pleased to see you.  It was only a few weeks, but it felt like so long.”  You went silent after that statement, unsure if you crossed a line either.  You were supposed to be a jedi free from attachment, and the last thing you wanted was Obi-Wan Kenobi to think you were needy.

   “I know exactly what you mean,” he muttered in agreement.  His eyes went to the floor in a way that suggested he had something on his mind.  The implication that he may have missed you too made you want to hide your face shyly, but you remained nonchalant.

   “When do you leave Coruscant again?”

   “Not for some time, I hope.  Like I said, I’d like to be more involved with training the next generation for a while.”  He glanced your way, eyes crinkling as he smiled.  “But my apologies, that means you’ll have to see more of me.  I know how much of a burden I am.”

   “Indeed.”  You returned the smile.  “How terrible.”

   The warmth between you two was unmistakable during the playful banter.  Part of you was thrilled that he would be around, that you wouldn’t have to say “goodbye” for a while.  The other part was worried what it might bring upon both of you.  If the two of you spent more time together with the younglings, it would do you no good as far as dismissing the attachment you had to him.  And what of the Council?  Would they take notice?

   Obi-Wan sat across from you at one of the long dining tables, and those doubts one-by-one went out the viewport.  He spoke about his mission away and then listened as you told him about some of your adventures on Coruscant.  Some involved your travels outside the jedi walls while others were about your daily struggles and victories with the little ones.  You told him of a youngling still in the nursery that ran off without their robes that you had to chase down and dress.  Fortunately the nursing droids had proper security so the youngling didn’t leave the nursery.  Obi-Wan’ laughter rang out clear as a bell as he tipped his head back at the outrageous tale.  Something fluttered in your chest as he lost himself in the humor for a moment before taking a breath and sighing.

   “Well it seems I have much to look forward to,” he chuckled.  “I recall once you said you wished you had some war stories to share, but it seems you do now.”

   “Some days it is a battle,” you agreed.

   “Believe me, I know.”  He gazed at you then, that glint in his eyes as he smiled tenderly.  You found yourself unable to look away.  It was like a magnet pulling you to him, and if there weren’t a table separating you, you might have even leaned in for a kiss.  It was like electricity crackling between you, and you had to force yourself to glance down at your now-empty tray.  The time working with Obi-Wan again would be interesting.  Even after only a few hours together, you felt that same pull that you fought for years.  You wondered how long you could go without giving in.  You wondered if he felt it as strongly as you did.  By the look flashing in his eyes as you leaned in ever so slightly to scoot out of your seat, you figured he might.

   An interesting time indeed. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Humility Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader   Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, mentions of misogyny, daddy kink, non-con, kidnapping.  Words: 1370.   Summary: Everything was too different now. He fell out of time, and he didn’t need another reminder about that.    Part 1 P.S. A big thank you to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and her prompt lists! _____________________________________ 

He heard her quiet shuffling early in the morning; it was barely 7, but she was ready to leave him. His eyes shot open, and the girl stilled near the bed, looking at him wide-eyed.

Her face was a deep shade of red in an instant. She was confused but didn’t avert her eyes, and he looked at her with curiosity rather than anger. She was ashamed of herself. She didn’t spend the night with random guys often. Bucky smirked, watching her clean face with no makeup whatsoever and thinking she looked so much better than yesterday. Though watching her mascara getting smeared with his cum was something he would never forget. Once he sent her a grin, she got even more flushed than before, thinking of everything they did at night – things she barely tried with anyone else before.

Bucky tapped the bed lightly, asking her to come. It took her a few seconds, but then she moved closer to him and sat near, her eyes not leaving his face even for a moment. She was wearing a simple loose under dress instead of her glowing sequined one – she had it folded carefully in her arms along her little clutch. Now, when he saw her just out of shower, her slightly damp hair tugged back, she looked so much more human to him.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” She was barely audible. “I wasn’t sure you’d like to see me in the morning.”

He could guess how humiliated she felt right now and grinned at her. Good. She had a sense of shame.

“Come here, little girl.”

Moving like a small scared animal, she came a bit closer and bended over to him when he stretched his arm towards her. Pulling her to him, Bucky forced her to come down and kissed her hungrily, entering her mouth with his tongue, his metal arm clamping her ass – his prosthesis scared the fuck out of her once she saw it on the way to his house, but later she was so eager to lick his metal fingers when he was balls deep inside her. Now she didn’t protest too, astonished by his bold moves yet quietly accepting them like a good girl she was. He knew she liked the authority, this sense of submission to someone stronger than her. Last night she obeyed his every whim. When she was on her knees pleasuring him with her cute little mouth, she looked at him as if he were godlike.

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He growled into her mouth and felt her gentle hands wrapping around his shoulders.

Oh no, she wouldn’t go. He was not having it.

“I want you to ride me, little girl.” Bucky smirked at her surprised expression, rosy bloom on her cheeks only making him want her more. This sweet bunny of his was a fucking dirty slut who spread her legs for him and let him do as he wanted with her. “Take you clothes off. Now.”

“But Bucky…”

He raised his eyebrows, indicating she had fucked up, and the girl froze in a second. Yeah, she knew what she had to call him; she just needed a little reminder to get things right. As her eyelashes trembled, she nodded at him, watching his mouth curve into a smile.

“Daddy.” Her whisper made him recognize he was hard as a rock, her thigh pressing into his crotch and massaging it unintentionally with every slight move of her body. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I want you jumping on my cock, girl. Take your dress off before I rip it apart.” Bucky affectionately brushed his nose and lips alongside her ear, and she shivered at his touch. He helped her remove this thin piece of fabric covering her lovely body and barely restrained himself not to tear her black lace panties.

She didn’t leave that day. It was Saturday, and she had nothing planned, so when they finished bathing together after that intense morning session Bucky offered her to watch some movies. It was innocent enough to get her relaxed and make her talk more about her past and present. By the end of the day he knew everything he needed to know. When the girl asked if she could go home in the evening, Bucky turned on the music and asked her to dance a waltz with him. She was ecstatic. She didn’t leave on Saturday either.

He got a bit of an issue with her on Sunday evening – she said she had to get home because of her job tomorrow – but that day he had already gathered whatever was necessary to keep her with him. It took him to crush his porcelain teapot with his metal hand to calm her down and force her to realize daddy was going to take care of her regardless of how much she pleaded to let her go. Bucky wasn’t angry at her, though. No one ever took care of his sweet little bunny, she simply didn’t know what it was like. Besides, he also had to educate her about serious relationship and the way a man and a woman were ought to live together, tell her what he expected of her. Indeed, she was the best in her little group of whores, but she still got those ideas about feminism, power of women, open relationships and all that crap.

“Will I be locked here for the rest of my life?” She asked quietly and lowered her head. She was sitting on the carpet, her hands trembling badly, and looking at her lap. A part of him felt bad for her.

“Of course not. I’ve told you before, once we sort things out and you get used to living with me, you’ll be able to go wherever you like.” He snorted and put his large hand on the top of her head, massaging it tenderly and making her look him into the eyes.

“Can I have my job after that too?”

“Over my dead fucking body, little girl. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

She had something to say but kept her mouth shut, nonetheless. Actually, Bucky liked it. She was a smart one. A bit careless, but he was sure she would learn how to behave soon. In fact, she was already doing it now.

“You know, many girls out there open their legs for men just to sit home and do nothing.”

“Why didn’t you choose one of those girls then?”

In a second, she clamped her hand over her mouth, terrified of her own words and his reaction that would follow. She probably thought he would beat her. Instead Bucky leaned closer to her, his hand still on her hair, his grip getting tighter, and kissed the skin behind her ear.

“Watch your mouth before I fuck it.” He whispered to her softly, his metal hand caressing her throat while she shivered from his touch. “Don’t you understand you’re the one, bunny? Don’t tell me you can’t feel it.”

This time she pressed her lips together tightly to keep quiet regardless of what he said. Surely, she could feel a jolt of electricity coursing through her body every time he made love to her, Bucky knew it perfectly well. Besides that, just yesterday they talked about issues of modern romantic relationships, and she complained about both a lack of stability and unwillingness of partners to take responsibility. People treated relationships like cheap food – if they didn’t like the slightest things, they just broke up and switched to something – someone – new. Bucky loathed it. He was sure he wouldn’t treat her like that. He was ready to take responsibility, and he knew she would appreciate it after getting to know him better. A girl like her needed to be taken care of.

“Now why won’t you open your pretty little mouth for Daddy?” Keeping his legs wide apart, he reached out to his belt and unbuckled it with a simple move of his fingers. Her cheeks were immediately flushed again as if she weren’t drinking his cum for two fucking days already.

She would get used to being daddy’s little girl. It was a simple matter of time.

[thequibblah]

directors cut for WTRF? 🥺👉👈 not biased at all obviously just objective third party asking for a directors cut hmmm hmmmmm

literally how could u do this every other word in that fic is an easter egg i can't shut up about..... bestie u are about to have regrets

one thing u should know is that 90% of things in this fic have real-world equivalents and its not even like....... hidden equivalents. serie primo = serie a, for instance. this trend is going to continue and i won't apologise <3

fun fact i named the bar the Bar and the drinks after shapes because i was too lazy to come up with something actually clever

this bit

I’m grinning to myself by the time she approaches my table.

was a very intentional fakeout and if you read this and thought "she" would be lily, feel free to sue me for emotional damages

the biggest conundrum of this AU was, how are jily not going to have met in school when magic exists? the solution was, of course, having multiple magic schools. but i couldn't let one of them have hogwarts, that didn't seem fair. i know i did sort of let lily have it..... but i felt more comfortable making hogwarts a university so there was a legit reason why james wasn't there and in gryffindor (if he'd gone he absolutely would have been)

once solved, i did the fun thing of naming them! ottaline gambol's was easy, i just scrolled through the list of ministers for magic and picked a progressive one. peverell hall was a whim, made all the funnier when lily's reaction is:

Much was made at Otty’s — one of the more progressive magical schools, named for one of the more progressive Ministers of Magic — of schools like Peverell Hall and St. George’s. The latter, I know, is chock-full of pureblooded elite. Peverell Hall is supposed to be slightly better, but still.

dang, it's gonna be funny if she ever finds out james is a descendant of the guy it's named after

fun fact, i included this because peter's question was a real thought i had when reading bond and free, your inspiring writing knows no limits:

The first thing you conjure in Walking Wombat is a yellow quill... “Why yellow?” Peter asked. Eddie gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

i realised i'd put jily in the same conundrum they had in tis the fucking season here:

It’s only then that I remember she’s just bought us drinks. I turn back to my triangle. “Oh, shit.” I suppose I can pawn it off on one of the others.

...but of course the resolution is rather different, and i do so enjoy a james with no filter (aka default james)

I briefly lose control of my brain and my tongue. “Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

by the way, no-filter james will be a theme. wild things sure do run fast but not as fast as this boy runs his mouth!

also, another interesting challenge here was making sure james has a reason to be the way he is in AU. i love playing around with james's childhood/background and seeing how that affects his character while (hopefully!) staying true to who he is. i did that in ttfs by having him move around a lot and not meet the marauders until after the flashback timeline, which is why he's less of a git — he doesn't have the level of comfort in a social setting that canon james has with hogwarts, which is basically his playground from day 2 of first year lol

here, james was probably a fkn nightmare all through school, but of course he gets a big ego check when his quidditch career is derailed. i imagine his years in italy as a continuation of that humility lesson.

I will fully admit I used to be a cocky prick. This is what comes of being a kid who grew up with everything. But one useful thing that the whole fiasco four years ago taught me is humility. I’ve learned how to ask nicely for another chance.

and so much of writing him in wtrf is juggling that typical confidence with the insecurity/fear of losing something he's invested so much in (and has seen slip away before). it's really new to me, because typically i give lily uncertain life circumstances, but i suppose it's both of them in this AU.

the car thing was... i swear didn't start out as smutty, it was purely because i wanted a way to establish lily as muggleborn in a world where the connotations of not having magical parents is very different. more to come on that!

also, come to think of it, by this metric...

I’m now in dangerous territory, since that adds another impressive action to her running tally.

...i think james is already in love with her LOL

this bit:

The street is considered indecent and the downstairs hallway would have our landlady come running at once, so if it pleases Your Honour, we would recommend the sitting room sofa.

...was actually because in draft one lily was a lawyer, but then it was funny enough that i didn't want to take it out, but NOW i realise it makes it sound a little like she's addressing james as your honour, which.... hm. but anyway, we move on

Marc Bolan begs us to get it on through the stereo, vocalising my thoughts exactly.

the song here was initially "you shook me" (h/t @keepingupwithpotters) but i chickened out because zeppelin is SO horny dfjkhgkjs

also, it gave me so much joy to read everyone reacting to lily thinking about her ex (the general vibe was "who the fuck is this guy!!! ew!!!!") — rest assured (or, unassured??) that he has a part to play in all this. anyway, this is one of my fave lines:

He’s just a person, and there’s such a relief in sleeping with James and not the myth of a guy.

because as any come together reader knows....

Just James. Just James. It was never just James.

wtrf lily will learn!

literally the whole world knows i'm obsessed with needle drops that have no subtlety at all, but this one...

We just laugh, tangled together in a sweaty heap, as “Heaven Is in the Back Seat of My Cadillac” plays through the car’s speakers. “On the nose, isn’t it?” James says, sitting up.

...was pure luck, because i was looking up the top hits on the uk singles chart for the week(ish) this scene takes place in so that i could find a song that would realistically play on the radio, saw this, and was like omg the stars really do align

i feel like the thing i enjoy most about writing romance is the importance i get to place in noticing/looking/observing (and sometimes, not noticing!). it's just such a powerful but simple writerly tool, and god knows i am obsessed with pithy descriptions anyway, so this bit i am especially happy with:

James is already waiting, leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets. I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time, the faint light of the flickering streetlamp catching him in profile: the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He studies the facade of our building with open curiosity, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

(one can only imagine james's train of thought in this moment. perhaps "ah. here lives the future love of my life"?)

“Thanks,” she tacks on at the end. I tip my head to one side in confusion. “For what?” “For, I don’t know. Being nice.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t do this very much.”

it wouldn't be a quibblah original tee em without some discourse to come about the nature of romantic/sexual relationships, would it? one thing i enjoy about this AU ("one thing" i say as if this isn't the billionth thing in a list) is that i get to write a romantic lily who's squaring that romanticism with what she perceives as the culture of the times. (this is a bit of a staple in all my characterisations of lily, but it is not often paired with casual sex, the complication of all complications!)

oh this bit literally wrote itself like i didn't even pause to think just vomited it out:

In the morning — and it must be early still — the sun streams through Lily’s sorry excuses for curtains with aggression that cannot be ignored. I crack open an eye to find myself sprawled out across her bed, quite literally spread-eagled. She’s attached to my side like a barnacle. Or a very pretty barnacle, anyway.

i'm especially proud of james's voice in this story. i don't often write first-person fic and i was worried how it'd turn out, but i think james as a character/narrator typically colours his own 3rd-person narration so strongly that it ended up a smoother transition than i'd feared!

also i just. i can't resist throwing in comic relief and i hope that this whole segment was a gentle enough preparation for the awkwardness that followed LOL

All of a sudden, the balcony door bursts open. I nearly drop the mug. “What the—” Mary pokes her head around the corner, sporting a righteous smile. “Morning, handsome.” Over her shoulder she shouts, “He’s on the balcony!” I blink. There’s a sound from inside the flat, as if something very large has just been dropped. Then a swear. “Oh, shit,” I say, realisation dawning, “you weren’t looking for me, were you? It’s so loud out here—” Mary cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “Lily was frantic.” She’s quite violently yanked back, and Lily herself appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Should’ve checked the balcony first,” she says, and closes the door before Mary can insert herself into the space again. “Hi,” I say, which is agreed-upon best practice for greeting a woman you’ve just had fantastic sex with and ideally would like to have sex with again.

to this day i don't know what lily dropped. let's hope it wasn't expensive!

Captained the under-17 English squad at the World Cup some years back, Serie Primo’s lead goal-scorer of last year… Only an injury in what should’ve been his first season at Puddlemere mars his record. I wince reading about it and comparing it to a heap of press clippings. James Potter was hurt, and Puddlemere didn’t fancy paying for him not to play, so they shipped him off to Milan.

(you cannot imagine how much pointed interrogation of my brother it took to gather this intel.) i constantly worry that i've got dates or timelines wrong somehow — you might notice i tweaked under-17, which used to be under-19 until i realised that made no sense (even though in terms of its career importance i would much preferred it to have been u-19.... anyway). i also found out that u-17 football squads don't actually have captains but i said fuck it on that count.

but obviously i started writing this AU for the sports possibilities, only to discover i'm going to have to interfere a great deal with the Timeline (you shall see in future instalments).

god i really went through the whole fic. like i reread the whole thing to do this. here u go clare jfbghjfd

[fandom-blackhole]

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader

AN: hahahahahahah hello.....So I know that have have shit I was supposed to write but life has taken every bit of creativity from me so I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write those. So I am sorry if you have been waiting forever for me to post a story. I’ve also made the decision to close my requests indefinitely unless I change my mind because I just don’t do well with them, sorry. BUT, I struck gold and got the idea for this fic and before I lost the inspo I wrote like a mad man all yesterday! So I do hope you enjoy! And yes, I did get the idea while listening to Hayloft by Mother Mother

Also this is going to be a two part story, I am currently working on the second part and it should be posted tomorrow morning most likely.  And I made a playlist, if you’d like to listen to it (I am open to song suggestions to be added!)

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k (this a beast for me lol)

Warnings?: not really, AFAB reader, mentions of a stroke, Ezra’s charm (that needs a warning), bad poetry formatting (sorry tumblr destroyed how I had it in my Doc)

The itchy scratchy feeling of the hay digging through my nightwear was worth every uncomfortable second if it meant I could continue to sit here and listen to the man across from me, with his eyes that held galaxies and voice the carried the lilt of the most wonderful song, with that unplaceable accent. He was worth being tired in the morning from staying up all night up here in the loft of my family’s small barn. He was worth all the sneaking around and small meaningful glances sent each other’s way when no one else was paying attention, the brushing of hands when handing something to the other. I wouldn’t change anything about this unless it meant the small glances or the gentle brushing against each other didn’t have to be hidden from the others, if it meant that I could just be with the hypnotic man across from me with his hair as dark as the freshly tilled ground at the being of a harvest minus that one soft looking patch as white as a newly hatched chick’s down and a smile so crooked and white that it felt almost as if he was casting a spell over my very heart and soul. He was worth the pain of picking hay from my hair and clothes in the morning when I have to sneak back into the farmhouse, while already missing the touch of his rough and calloused but gentle hand. It was all worth every bit as long as he helped me forget everything just for the time being.

                   ---------------------------------------------------------------

Living on K-5 was rather simple. The planet was neither big nor small and it was known for its fertile soil that could grow just about any plant whether it was native to the world or not and once one harvest season had finished the other started as the weather always was spring-like with perfect growing conditions. Not many came to stay and those who did worked their entire life in planets many fields of harvest. To the few that actually knew the name of the forgettable planet called it the bread box of the known universe. Though the planet was known to very few people throughout space, the planet’s harvests could be found on just about any other planet or moon feeding just about everyone. 

The farmers of K-5 were known to have bigger families on the premise of needing hands to work the land for food of their own and for money. The farmers also knew that most of their children would leave the planet and look for better elsewhere, and would hope beyond hope that at least one of their children would settle on the sad planet and continue working their farm. Though if luck would have it there might come a ship every so often with people willing to lend hands and work the land if they were compensated well enough. Most that came were floaters looking for something to do in between prospecting jobs, others were looking for a quiet place to finally settle after a long life. 

My father had been one of 12 brothers and he was the only one to stay and take over the meager farmer his father and his father’s father had set up on a small corner of the planet. My father never really talked about his siblings, only ever calling them stupid for leaving the haven that was K-5 for a world they had no place to be in. My mother had been brought here by her mother, who had been a floater. They had made acquaintances with a farmer a town or so over and had lived there as farmhands as that family’s children started dwindling as they left. I have been told that my mother had a fire to her that no other on the planet had, that she was a woman of grace and humility, which is rare in space these days, something I was told I inherited though I’m not so sure I believe. We were a small family, I had two older brothers, twins identical in only their looks. Joshua, a dreamer as my father put it spitefully saying he inherited that from our mother, while his brother Anthony took after our father with his pessimistic view of everything including the world outside of our farm and K-5. I always counted Joshua lucky, he was able to sneak out of our small farmhouse late one night only leaving a note on my bedside table saying goodbye as he left one of the few ships to land on our soil. Father always resented me much like he did Joshua for multiple reasons, one of them being that it was the reason mother had passed, as Anthony informed me one night when asked, another reason being that I supposedly looked like a carbon copy of her, as I was told by the few farmers that remembered her, and lastly and most importantly was my fascination with the outside world. He hated that “Joshua did nothing but fill your head with fantasies.” He hated that because of our small family we needed all the farmhands we could get and that I would always sit with them listening to anything they would tell me, though few would say much as the floaters tended to be a quiet breed, preferring to keep to themselves. 

In our town, the floaters and drifters were usually pointed to our farm when looking for work and usually met with my father before I ever had a chance to meet them, most ignoring me throughout their short stay, anyway. If we were lucky we would get one or two by the time harvesting or planting time had come around and they were always roomed in Joshua’s old room, now cramped from shoving multiple cots into the room rather than one small bed. The room was furthest from mine, which made it hard to sneak into to and talk with those who were willing to feed my curiosities. Having been caught and reprimanded enough times by both father and Anthony I had to learn how to be light-footed and sneak around unseen, though I believe that after awhile Anthony has given up on trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me and just doesn’t try anymore. 

Life was the same for me day in and day out nothing much changing other than the faces and names of the floaters staying on our humble farm. Excitement in our corner of space was far and few between, leading me to seek it out through any means possible, and more often than not it was the few books I was able to get my hands on them being rare as they were, were exceptionally hard to find new stories. Though luck would have it, I was able to get my hands on three battered books whose covers were so worn and dirtied over the years that any image or words depicted were hardly seen. Of everything on my solemn planet, these were what kept me sane, even if I had read and reread each dozens of times. Though their covers were faded, the titles were imprinted in my mind. I treasured my well-loved copies of Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein and kept them close to my heart while also hiding them from my father for fear of how he’d react to them. Though I love every book I owned, it was the newest in my collection that meant the most to me, for it was the first thing that brought the man I long for and I together, a rather small but thick copy of a collection of poems and stories written by Edgar Allen Poe. 

                      ---------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up on Saturdays were the only time when I didn’t mind having to roll out of bed and deal with the early hour chill. Saturdays were the days that I got sent to town to collect groceries and odds and ends for the farm from the weekend markets. Father learned early on that I had the same touch as my mother when I came to finding the best bargains and deals, so he began sending me in his stead while he and Anthony ran other errands or helped the current farmhands do morning chores. 

This Saturday wasn’t much different, upon waking and changing into the day’s clothes, I pulled my hair out of my face before stepping out of my room to head to the kitchen to find the list of what was needed on the counter along with the money needed. As usual, I went through my Saturday routine of making a thermos of coffee before pocketing the money and grabbing my bag. I slip my thermos into the side pocket of the bag as I slip the strap over my shoulder, before grabbing the list and scanning the contents as I walked to where my boots were stored next to the door. While glancing through the list, I started to slide my boots on before stopping. In a small section at the bottom were a few items that were reserved only for the few saturdays that the supply ship stopped in our area of the planet, which was very rare if ever. The supply ships were sent to the planet every couple of months with limited supplies and it landed in certain areas to sell what ever cargo it had brought, only to leave when empty. Only the ships usually were emptied after the first two or three stops and this area was usually one of the last stops, making the ships rare and highly sought after in the area. So the fact that our area was finally getting a ship after almost a year and a half without one was a huge deal. A rather large part of me hoped that there would be floaters on the ship willing to be hired out for farm work, especially since the lack of a ship has made my small family have to tend our meager fame with only the three of us because of the lack of farmhands. 

Upon arrival, the town was already bustling with life. Quickening my pace, I went to the center of the town where the new supplies always were held, and upon arriving I made quick work of crossing off everything on the list in hopes of having time to browse for myself. Luck seemed to have shown mercy down on me today as everyone I talked to was fair in prices and after crossing the last item off the long list I still had enough money to buy something for myself and give father change without him being any wiser. Smiling I chatted with a few townspeople and other farmers as I browsed the market, and as I came to the last stall I had yet to look in the market. Having near given up and about to turn from the stall, my eye caught something that had fallen from the makeshift table. Upon picking it up I nearly cried with joy having found what I could only hope to be the next tattered book to add to my collection. Flipping the book over in my hands and flipping through the pages my smile grew as I called the seller over. We haggled the price for a couple of minutes before he accepted my offer with a murmur and taking the money and while turning to begin my journey back to the farm I heard my name being called a couple of stalls over. Looking up, I smiled politely when I noticed it was Mrs.Robertson, taking a deep breath and sighing it back out before making my way slowly over to where she stood.

Mrs.Robertson was a stout woman that had a smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a lovely woman whose lemon pound cake was well-known amongst the area’s farmers and always had a warm cup of tea and an open ear for whoever walked through her kitchen door, even after her stroke that took all mobility in her left arm. While I have always enjoyed her company, especially as a child when I was longing for a mother figure, recently talking with her always ended with her trying to push her oldest son and I together. Her oldest and youngest sons were the only two of her five children to stay on the planet, and while her youngest had already married and had a couple of children, her oldest didn’t seem to have interest in doing the same, even if she swears that he infatuated with me. Father continuously tells me that he thinks the marriage would be a good idea, even as I tell him it wouldn’t work between the two of us. 

So as I walk over to her and give her a hug in greeting I prepare myself for another attempt at matchmaking. Instead after parting from the one-handed hug, she had given me she motioned over her shoulder to a man who was standing there with a crooked smile that seemed to hold every last bit of charm left in the universe, and Mrs. Robertson, without missing a beat spoke up, “I was just explaining to this lovely newcomer that your father is always looking for new people to help with the farm and was just about to point him in your farm’s direction when I noticed you,” as Mrs.Robertson continued to rattle on I took the chance to glance back to the man behind her, only to find that his woefully dark eyes were still watching me with more mirth than I had seen in years. Looking back to Mrs.Robertson quickly hoping that no redness would grace my cheeks, though I knew it was there anyway. She quickly stepped aside and motioned to me introducing me before the man, if at all possible, smiled wider and stuck out his hand introducing himself as Ezra. As I stuck out my hand to shake his I opened my mouth to give him a polite reply only to be shocked into silence when instead of shaking my offered hand he raised it to his shining smile and graced the back of my hand with a kiss. Now I was absolutely certain that there was red dancing across my cheeks, if not my ears as well. Not able to take returning the gaze the man, I know knew to be Ezra, seemed to be piercing my very soul with I turned to Mrs.Robertson, thanking her and wishing her well before turning to Ezra who was still watching me and giving him a shy smile and tilting my head in a motion as to say ‘follow me’. 

Ezra seemed to be quiet as we walked throughout the town head back towards the farm, though that might have been because the small talk and greetings that were being thrown my way from those from the area that I was friendly with. When we finally broke from the town and the only sound was the dwindling chatter of the market and buzzing of the local wildlife. Though I was startled to a stop from the previous silence by the man as he spoke melodically and seemingly wit purpose, 

“In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed; But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him, with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream, While all the world was chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night, So trembled from afar― What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?”

Having turned to face the man confused, but noticing he was looking towards the sky with a smile, though one smaller than the one he was sporting when you  both had made your introductions with each other, this one seeming more blissful rather than purposefully charming. It was only now though that I noticed the absence of his right arm as his left was moved to his face to shield his eyes from the ever glowing sun. Turning his head back to look at me, his smiled widened again before noticing my slight confusion.

“Sorry flower but I couldn’t help but to notice the collection of stories and poems in your hand there, and thought to quote a poem by our dear morose friend Poe. I find his works to be a tad too depressing for my likes but somethings just stick with your very person,” Ezra drawled before sticking his hand out, “May I?”

Unable to really respond as I was still in slight shock I was only able to nod and pass the book over. Where upon gracing his fingers Ezra was able to skillfully thrumb through the book, mumbling quietly to himself with a smile, “It has been quite sometime since I have been able to visit our friend Poe here or any of my other long dead friends I’m afraid,” he paused for only a moment sticking the tip of his tongue between his lips before giving a small quiet winning cry, “ Ah hah! Here you go, ‘A Dream’ by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe.”

Handing the book back with it open on a specific page and there it was, the poem in which he had just quoted in full. Smiling down at the page, before looking back at him with a somewhat astonished look I dog eared the page before sliding it into the bottom of my bag, “No one else around here really reads anymore. At this point I thought I was the last one in the universe to do so. It….it would be nice to actually talk about reading with someone, though regretfully I just met Poe today so we are not quite as well acquainted as you two seem to be,” looking back up with a smirk and remembering my thermos I grab it out of my bag before lifting it up in offering. “Coffee? Its not quite hot anymore but it is probably still warm.”

With his ever wide smile, Ezra stepped up next to me as I slid my bag back into place and gave a small polite nod, “I would love to do nothing more than share what I am sure is the perfect brew with you, darling flower.”

(If you want to be tagged in part two, let me know in my inbox! Also if enough people are interested I am thinking about opening my inbox to talk and expand on this world I’ve created? Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated!! Much love and Happy 2021!)

(Also if you figured out what I based the planet I created off of please tell me, I’d like to see obvious I made it lol. And if you’d like a hint it’s in the USA)

[revlyncox]

Stone Soup 2020

This reflection was written for the Washington Ethical Society by Lyn Cox, November 22, 2020.

In the story of Stone Soup, we learn we are more powerful and resilient together than we are alone, and that however small we think our gifts are, they are a beautiful and necessary ingredient in the larger whole. Liz James makes a good point that we often miss opportunities because we haven’t noticed the beauty of our own gifts. It is also true that sometimes we hold back out of a feeling of scarcity, or because we’re not sure what else will be asked of us once we open up. We can tell by how many different versions of this folk tale are in existence that the legend of Stone Soup is rich with meaning. Just like a soup with many ingredients, a tale with many tellers has subtle notes and surprising flavors that we can keep discovering year after year. Today, I’d like to talk about appreciation and abundance.

Felix Adler knew that recognizing human worth is part of the project of moral uplift. He said, "May the humanity that is within every human being be held precious. The vice that underlies all vices is that we are held cheap by others, and far worse, that in our innermost soul we think cheaply of ourselves."

Adler exhorts us to appreciate each other and ourselves.

The Washington Ethical Society Community Relations Pact includes a commitment to “express gratitude readily and accept appreciation graciously.” You already know that appreciating one another and the staff is an act that lifts everyone up, and helps us to bring out the best in each other by reinforcing what is joyful, beautiful, and supportive of our shared mission. In a community as large as WES, especially when we’re mainly a virtual community, it can be hard to figure out how to participate, how to be part of the interactions and responses that help shape this poetry in motion. Positive feedback is an extremely effective way to do that. Appreciation increases energy and resilience. You know that. You voted on it.

What might be less obvious is the part about accepting appreciation graciously. When someone offers positive feedback, or even a simple greeting, take a moment and allow yourself to be known. We can’t always see each other face to face, even when we’re on video it’s tricky to figure out eye contact. An email, a chat message, an emoji, these small acts of kindness are worth noticing and celebrating. And when messages go out to the whole community, it may not feel personal, but the appreciation expressed for your dedication, your care, your simply being -- those sentiments are sincere. Thank you for being part of WES. Yes, I mean you.

Even less obvious is appreciating yourself. Please know that you are a precious creature of worth. Even before we get into what different people bring to this community or the world, you don’t have to earn your designation as a human being. I think it is easier to be part of something larger than ourselves when we start with the knowledge that we reach out from a place of inherent worth.

We’ve just been through Transgender Day of Remembrance, and I am reminded all over again that there are beloveds who don’t know that they are valued, who are shown by state-sanctioned violence and discrimination that they don’t matter, and the results are deadly. We have to do better at protecting our most marginalized beloveds, particularly Trans women of color, and we have to do better at building a world where every person knows that they are beautiful, valued, and loved. Here, we do our best to create a community where every person can be their whole selves, with all of who they are in terms of culture, race, gender, family shape, language, and ability.

People do not have to “contribute” to have inherent worth, and it’s still lovely to notice when people do offer gifts to the community. It is not mutually exclusive to appreciate people for simply being and to appreciate the time, talent, creativity, and resources that someone has intentionally made available to benefit others. In some retellings of Stone Soup, people bring things to the table that are unusual, things their neighbors would not have thought to add to soup. Maybe it’s some tart fruit that ends up adding tantalizing acidity to the soup, or something briny like capers that gives a surprise spark of salt, or some chickpeas to add body to the broth. Sometimes, but not often, Stone Soup retellings take place in a community where different families have different food traditions, and the resulting fusion creates a soup that is an entirely new culinary snapshot of that community in that place and time. Each person’s presence makes a difference.

Appreciation of others requires a certain amount of humility, recognizing that none of us can do and be all of the things that our communities need at the same time. We are each of us always learning, there are things we have not experienced and do not know. Humility does not necessarily mean self-deprecation. We can know that we are people of worth, and that the things we are in the process of learning are valuable talents to offer, while still admiring and appreciating others. You being your whole self, making mistakes so that you can keep learning to draw out your best talents, combines with your neighbor being their whole selves and being allowed to learn and grow in their talents, until we have a learning and growing community where works-in-progress are appreciated and encouraged.

Felix Adler spoke about how ethics is a cooperative endeavor, that we need each other in our uniqueness. He said, "People may be said to resemble not the bricks of which a house is built, but the pieces of a picture puzzle, each differing in shape, but matching the rest, and thus bringing out the picture."

Let’s go on appreciating the unique shapes of our neighbors, and the bit of the puzzle that we each bring, remembering that this puzzle is a living thing with constantly shifting pictures and shapes. Let’s find ways to affirm the shapes and pictures and flavors that are present in each fleeting moment.

Another value that Stone Soup reminds us of is abundance. In a scarcity mentality, we anticipate dividing up the resources that are apparently before us, with the expectation that it will not be enough. In an abundance mentality, we imagine what could be, and open our minds to the possibility that there may be resources we have not yet noticed. In an abundance framework, we use our time and our resources creatively, we find new applications for items and knowledge available among us, we remember what we are here to do.

Something I wonder about the village in the Stone Soup story is about their purpose for being a village. Why are their homes gathered together? Is it for convenience? Safety in numbers? Is it because political forces have pushed them together? Have they gathered to share a resource like fresh water or good soil? Are they in that area as stewards, caring for a sacred place? It is possible that part of the reason the villagers have stopped valuing their gifts and channeling them together is because they don’t know what their shared purpose might be.

The Stone Soup experience suggests that, whatever brought them together originally, the villagers might find new purpose as a result of this shift in perspective. Having a “why” can unleash energy, creativity, and unity. As the soup begins to cook, the villagers find a temporary purpose in curiosity. This is enough of a goal to help them to see their individual carrots and solitary noodles with new eyes. It is enough of a purpose to inspire action.

Abundance, coupled with purpose, helps us to overcome feelings of helplessness or despair. The people of the village didn’t seem happy at the beginning, or very active. Maybe hunger had made it more difficult to think, or maybe fear of scarcity was driving them apart. Coming together for a common goal reminds us that, even when we are individually limited, collectively we have power.

As we retell Stone Soup in these socially distant times, it is natural to long for the days when we can again safely gather in person. In a moment, we’ll see a video montage that includes photos of past celebrations. It’s OK to be happy about the memories and also sad that we can’t celebrate the same way today. But let’s also appreciate the gifts we have now, and those we have discovered as we have been forced to come up with new solutions. WES is more accessible than ever to those who live at a distance, or who have trouble with mobility. There are people who have never before been able to be part of a vibrant, humanistic congregation, and who now are just as much a part of the Platform experience as someone who lives in Shepherd Park. Let’s not lose our renewed purpose of inclusivity as we re-imagine a post-COVID future.

Given the challenges of planning a virtual Stone Soup, I wonder if one of the reasons the villagers fell into scarcity is because the world changed around them, and they weren’t sure how to adapt. They would have needed a new source of motivation when they couldn’t keep doing things the way they had always been done. They would have needed a new way to apply the talents they had developed under an old paradigm. They would have needed a way to encourage each other to try new things for this new world, to learn and grow imperfectly, with appreciation and acceptance.

Our experience of the last eight months tells us that none of that is easy. I know many of us are tired. Some of us have had economic and health challenges that need not have affected us as deeply in a society with a stronger safety net. Learning how to navigate a new world, even a temporary world when we don’t know how long it will last, is exhausting.

Yet here you are, seeking ways to practice abundance. You sent pictures of food and stones. You sent recipes, over 30 last I heard, which will be emailed to members in a PDF recipe book later today. Some of our Middle School families offered their talent for the story. Maybe there are days when you can’t focus on creating something, but you can begin with appreciating someone; that makes room for abundance, too. This community, collectively, has resources and skills and curiosity and creativity that can carry you into the future. There is abundance here, ready to be coupled with purpose.

The Washington Ethical Society is a precious and valuable community, comprised of beloved people. You are worthy just as you are. If you have gifts you want to share, skills you want to develop, a heart for caring, WES and the world will be made better by your generosity of spirit. We make room by appreciating each other as well as honoring our own gifts. We make way for the future with abundance and purpose. May it be so.

[beewitched-blr]

Donation Deity Reading for @northern-midwest-witch

Deities who showed interest:

Áine

Gefjun

Freyr

Rosmerta

Frigg

Ecne

Sucellus

Mokosh

To begin a connection with Áine, you must concentrate on your passion. Use this to ignite the opening of this connection. You must be courageous, open and honest; both in this partnership and in life itself. Right now seems like it could be a very interesting transition period for you. It feels as though there is new hope, wonder and curiosity in general. There is a lot of potential here and you need to learn how to use that to your advantage! Allow yourself to explore new avenues in life; try things that you’ve never tried before but maybe thought about with hushed interest. Understand that it’s okay to dream big and it’s okay to step outside of your comfort zone. You may find this is actually where you find the most success.

Áine warns that you must learn how to embrace your emotions and use them in a positive way. It’s important that you stay away from toxic mindsets and allow yourself to feel fully and honestly in a thoughtful and positive manner. You must realise that your emotions do not make you weak and you need to let them out. It’s just about balance! Focus on creating an atmosphere where you feel safe to just be yourself in the fullest form. Take time to reflect on what you feel and what you think. Meditation is highly suggested as is some sort of journalling or writing-based activity. Find an outlet that makes you feel happy to be vulnerable and soon this will become a new way of looking at things. A change in your perspective is needed and this could bring you that positive outlook without you even realising it.

From a connection with Áine, you will gain a lot of understanding. This is a highly beneficial connection for you personally. It seems as though you will be both tasked with responsibility but also self-confidence and understanding. Your view points may be challenged here and there and this is for the better as it will teach you how to see all of the sides to an issue and how to truly trust that you are doing what is right for you. It will also bring you a respect for patience in what goes on in your life. There is so much personal growth for you here, it would be a shame to miss out on this. You will learn to take your time, truly believe in yourself and what you can offer the world, how to go for what you want, and overall just embracing your strength. 

To begin a connection with Frigg, it’s important for you to take time for you, and to allow some indulgence there. Caring for yourself is not selfish and it’s crucial that you keep this in mind. Use this time to reflect on yourself and embrace your truth. As you start to discover more about yourself, you will also be presented with the opportunity to learn how to be more confident in your self-identity in general. Reflect on your past and the mistakes you have made, now forgive yourself. You may not realise but it seems that this is something that is clinging to you and stopping you from properly moving forward in your life. Learn to love yourself; it may take time but Frigg just needs to see small steps of effort. One by one.

Frigg warns to lesson what’s on your plate and learn how to say no. It’s important that you are focused on one thing at a time. Don’t allow yourself to become overwhelmed and overworked. You can achieve multiple personal goals but it’s crucial that you understand that you can take them on one at a time. You may want fast and instant results but that isn’t the most practical way of achieving these things nor will this make you any more successful than if you were to take your time. Make sure your focus is clear, specific and precise. It’s also important that you recognise your limits and acknowledge when you must say no to others to prioritise your own wellbeing. Don’t push yourself too far in the name of pleasing others. 

From a connection with Frigg, you’ll learn to cherish what is truly important in life. There are a lot of life lessons within this connection. It may be difficult at times but that’s the point; life is not always easy and we must work our way through the hardships. Frigg will help guide you towards the right path as well as teach you the importance of independence and self-confidence. There is courage and passion here. It seems as though what lies here in this connection are lessons that you truly need to learn. Skills will be improved and understanding will become clearer. This will actually also help you connect more with yourself and the deeper parts of you. 

To begin a connection with Ecne, make sure that you have a strong grasp on your beliefs and ideals. It’s important that you pursue this connection with an already established sense of confidence. Collect yourself for a moment and work on understanding who you truly are and who you want to be. Where do you want to go in life and how do you want to get there? It’s okay if you don’t have all of the answers but it’s important for you to bring these questions up. Focus on what you are currently loving and is working for you and run with that. You have so much passion so it’s important that you let that guide your “projects” and such as this will shine through. Work on your level of self-understanding when beginning this relationship. Empathy, humility and kindness are also strongly highlighted here!

Ecne warns not to become too comfortable in one particular way of doing things. It’s important that you have your beliefs and ideas challenged throughout your life. It’s also important that you reject any stubbornness and instead embrace these challenges with a sense of proactiveness. You must be willing to learn and truly open yourself up to the world. Allow yourself to be vulnerable and build up from there. Don’t forget that you have people around you who care about you that you can let in or ask for help when needed. You don’t have to do everything alone and you don’t have to feel bad when admitting your limits and asking for assistance. Everyone has flaws and they are things to be worked on not to be ashamed of. Don’t allow yourself to build walls between you and the rest of the world. You need to break them down instead and truly flourish.

From a connection with Ecne, you will gain so much wisdom and most importantly, a sense of independence. You will learn how to believe in yourself and your message that you bring to this world. You may also find yourself becoming more likely to speak up for yourself and defend your actions and the actions of others as long as you feel in your heart that they are pure and good. There is a lot of personal growth for you here and I feel that this is something important for you. Understanding when to use your voice and how to use it is something extremely valuable, especially for someone with the courage and passion that you have. You may also find that this leaves you in a position to be almost a role-model/mentor for others and that will suit you immensely. This connection is all about inner strength.

To begin a connection with Mokosh, it’s encouraged for you to speak to those around you and work on making new connections with people. Connections of the heart and soul. It seems as though there is an emphasis on both you helping those around you by being there for them and showing them love but also asking for help yourself. You need to get comfortable with the idea of true connection and the never-ending circle of generosity that comes with it. Focus on doing something kind that makes you and others happy. Take a moment of your day to do a good deed; this could be for someone else or for yourself. It’s important for you to remember self-care! You have a big heart, allow this to be shown.

Mokosh warns not to fight fire with fire. It’s important that when you are feeling exhausted and overwhelmed you take time for yourself to recover and recuperate as you work on healing yourself to understand where your journey is headed from there. You mustn’t allow your emotions to hijack situations and take free reign of your decisions as this could lead to some turbulent and troublesome outcomes. You must have confidence in yourself that you will be successful in what you do. Give yourself some credit because you deserve it! You have so much potential to get things done successfully and be happy with the results you just need to be careful of forgetting this and allowing yourself to spiral into a different headspace.

From a connection with Mokosh, there are many a new possibilities and pursuits here for you. This is an extremely beneficial connection for you! This connection seems to inspire you and further drive that already flaming passion that you have. It also allows you to have more faith in yourself when it comes to achieving your dreams which in turn will create even more opportunities and ideas. This is a very focused connection but it feels light in the most positive way possible. Exploring the unknown and stepping outside of your comfort zone are also both things that you may find here and yet with the guidance of Mokosh it seems as though you aren’t as afraid as you thought you would be. This is definitely something worth looking into.

Notes:

Knight of Wands jumped out

The number 7

Respecting your limits

Generosity 

Be careful of taking on too much

Passion

[morethanonepage]

i’m angery

i know i’m mostly a star wars killjoy on tumblr dot com lately but allow me to SCREAM about my latest nemesis, a book called “American Dirt”:

Lydia Quixano Pérez lives in the Mexican city of Acapulco. She runs a bookstore. She has a son, Luca, the love of her life, and a wonderful husband who is a journalist. And while there are cracks beginning to show in Acapulco because of the drug cartels, her life is, by and large, fairly comfortable.

Even though she knows they’ll never sell, Lydia stocks some of her all-time favorite books in her store. And then one day a man enters the shop to browse and comes up to the register with a few books he would like to buy―two of them her favorites. Javier is erudite. He is charming. And, unbeknownst to Lydia, he is the jefe of the newest drug cartel that has gruesomely taken over the city. When Lydia’s husband’s tell-all profile of Javier is published, none of their lives will ever be the same.

Forced to flee, Lydia and eight-year-old Luca soon find themselves miles and worlds away from their comfortable middle-class existence. Instantly transformed into migrants, Lydia and Luca ride la bestia―trains that make their way north toward the United States, which is the only place Javier’s reach doesn’t extend. As they join the countless people trying to reach el norte, Lydia soon sees that everyone is running from something. But what exactly are they running to?

Written by one Jeanine Cummins, who has Puerto Rican ancestry but grew up in the MD suburbs (as I did, tbf) and in 2015 considered herself white (”I am white...in every practical way, my family is mostly white.”  [cw for sexual assault and murder at the link]), everything I read about this book has begun to drive me to madness.

Recommended by the Mary Sue book club (the source of the above summary), it has since been retracted bc a) its sucks and b) THEY DIDN’T READ IT BEFORE PUTTING IT ON THE BOOK CLUB LIST (”I try to read most, if not all, of the books I recommend for the Book Club because I truly do love reading, and I want to make sure that if I suggest someone grab something, it’s something I can say I liked. When I was looking up two books to fill out the list, one of them was American Dirt. I saw that it had received a lot of positive press from Stephen King, Rumaan Alam, Don Winslow, Sandra Cisneros, and other literary news outlets including Oprah’s Book Club. It seemed like the type of literary fiction that’s always good for a book club read. I was mistaken.“)

Myriam Gurba, at Tropics of Meta, describes being asked to review it for a feminist magazine, and then being told her review was too negative to publish. It included gems such as:

Cummins bombards with clichés from the get-go. Chapter One starts with assassins opening fire on a quinceañera, a fifteenth birthday party, a scene one can easily imagine President Donald Trump breathlessly conjuring at a Midwestern rally, and while Cummins’ executioners are certainly animated, their humanity remains shallow. By categorizing these characters as “the modern bogeymen of urban Mexico,” she flattens them. By invoking monsters with English names and European lineages, Cummins reveals the color of her intended audience: white. Mexicans don’t fear the bogeyman. We fear his very distant cousin, el cucuy.

[...]

With their family annihilated by narcotraffickers, mother and son embark on a refugees’ journey. They head north, or, as Cummins’ often writes, to “el norte,” and italicized Spanish words like carajo, mijo, and amigo litter the prose, yielding the same effect as store-bought taco seasoning.

[...] Lydia’s husband, a journalist, describes her as one of the “smartest” women he’s ever known. Nonetheless, she behaves in gallingly naïve and stupid ways. Despite being an intellectually engaged woman, and the wife of a reporter whose beat is narcotrafficking, Lydia experiences shock after shock when confronted with the realities of México, realities that would not shock a Mexican.

It shocks Lydia to learn that the mysterious and wealthy patron who frequents her bookstore flanked by “[thuggish]” bodyguards is the capo of the local drug cartel! It shocks Lydia to learn that some central Americans migrate to the United States by foot! It shocks Lydia to learn that men rape female migrants en route to the United States! It shocks Lydia to learn that Mexico City has an ice-skating rink! (This “surprise” gave me a good chuckle: I learned to ice skate in México.) That Lydia is so shocked by her own country’s day-to-day realities, realities that I’m intimate with as a Chicana living en el norte, gives the impression that Lydia might not be…a credible Mexican. In fact, she perceives her own country through the eyes of a pearl-clutching American tourist.

Parul Sehgal, at the NYT, digs into the fact that while the motives of this book may be unimpeachable (tho: are they??), the writing itself is...perhaps less so:

I found myself flinching as I read, not from the perils the characters face, but from the mauling the English language receives. Lydia’s expression “is one Luca has never seen before, and he fears it might be permanent. It’s as if seven fishermen have cast their hooks into her from different directions and they’re all pulling at once. One from the eyebrow, one from the lip, another at the nose, one from the cheek.” Yes, of course. That expression.

Sehgal also highlights my favorite line I’ve heard about in this book: “when Lydia finds she is unable to pray, ‘she believes it’s a divine kindness. Like a government furlough, God has deferred her nonessential agencies.’” The Raised in the DMV Suburbs just JUMPED OUT, didn’t it, Jeanine? But like legit, why on earth would a Mexican bookstore lady’s frame of reference ever be A GOVERNMENT FURLOUGH and NONESSENTIAL AGENCIES. followers, i just about died. 

David J. Schmidt, at The Blue Nib, calls out other inaccuracies and stereotypes:

It is worth dwelling on the character of Javier for a moment. A “drinking game” could be created based on all the Latin American stereotypes he personifies. Javier is dapper, yet dangerous. He is charming, yet mysterious. He wears a white guayabera, a shirt the author describes as “more suitable for Sunday Mass than a regular workday.” (Untrue—this is a casual garment, more suitable for a love affair in a Fabio-bedecked romance novel.)

This quintessential “Latin lover” shows up at Lydia’s bookstore and speaks to her in a tone significantly different from the other characters of American Dirt. I  must emphasise, Javier’s dialogue does not reflect the normal speech patterns of Mexico, but perfectly reflects U.S. stereotypes. The only way to properly read Javier’s lines is through the most gross of caricatures.

One should imagine the husky voice of Antonio Banderas, speaking at his most sensual and Spanishy. Any character he has played in English will do, although it is clear that Javier was ideally written for the voice of Puss in Boots. When Lydia asks if Javier reads English, the dapper narco responds:

“I try, yes […] My English isn’t fluent, but it’s close. And this story is so delicate.”

[...]

The cultural inaccuracies of American Dirt run deep, right down to the language. Throughout her book, Cummins shows confusion regarding the grammatical genders in Spanish. Most notably, she baptises the drug kingpin Javier with the nickname La Lechuza. It is difficult to imagine a macho, womanizing capo using a feminine-gendered noun as his moniker. Would a hardened mafia boss call himself “The Princess of Compton” or “The Belle of Belfast”?

Cummins got a seven figure advance for this. A SEVEN FIGURE ADVANCE. She “wished someone slightly browner than me would write it,” but she did it,  and her team is throwing around the fact that her husband’s previously undocumented status as some sort of justification without mentioning that he’s white & Irish. 

Also, there’s this news:

Imperative Entertainment, the production banner behind the Clint Eastwood hit The Mule, has acquired the rights to American Dirt, the Mexican migrant drama novel by Jeanine Cummins.

Charles Leavitt, the scribe who penned the Leonardo DiCaprio drama Blood Diamond, has been tapped to write the adaptation, which will be produced by Imperative’s Dan Friedkin and Bradley Thomas.

Charles Leavitt is a white guy who, most recently, wrote the Warcraft movie. So, that’s going to end well. 

I’ll leave you with this other gem from Gurba (from her essay about it, “Pendeja, You Ain’t Steinbeck “):

Susan Sontag wrote that “[a] sensibility (as distinct from an idea) is one of the hardest things to talk about” and with this challenge in mind, I assert that American Dirt fails to convey any Mexican sensibility. It aspires to be Día de los Muertos but it, instead, embodies Halloween. The proof rests in the novel’s painful humorlessness. Mexicans have over a hundred nicknames for death, most of them are playful because death is our favorite playmate, and Octavio Paz explained our unique relationship with la muerte when he wrote, “The Mexican…is familiar with death. [He] jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with it, celebrates it. It is one of his favorite toys and his most steadfast love.” Cummins’ failure to approach death with appropriate curiosity, and humility, is what makes American Dirt a perfect read for your local self-righteous gringa book club.

so idk, The Mary Sue, maybe it should stay on your Book Club list after all. (Oh wait: as of this writing, it still is.) 

[heesgf]

apollo. musician! hyunsuk au.

in which choi hyunsuk’s exterior is bright like apollo, and you skim beneath his surface. 

plot: choi hyunsuk is a charming guitarist, and you’re tasked with reviewing his performance for your school’s journalism column.

word count: 3k

pairing: reader x choi hyunsuk 

a/n: i’d like to dedicate this dreamy fic to my lovely suk biased mutuals/followers! might be one of my fav pieces ever... it’s a little new for me, but i hope u angels enjoy anyways!!!💞  i hope you’ll give it a chance, and ur support means everything to me!!! ｡：ﾟ(｡ﾉω＼｡)ﾟ･｡

warnings: choi hyunsuk being a flirty baby and lots!!! of pining!!! mostly fluff, but some angst here and there, underage drinking???

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Beneath the incandescent glow of sputtering stage lights, Choi Hyunsuk’s was the face that launched the yearning heart.

The perfect muse.

           The boy clad in white chiffon garments, in gold and silver chains. With those hoops that hung loosely from his ears and shimmering pendant that so effortlessly framed his collarbone; in the same way those sunny locks of his hair did his eyes. It was the door to his sweet and everlasting gaze, to his soft and celestial smile.

           On stage, there was an air of extravagance in the way he rummaged through his hair. The way he strummed long and taut fingers against the string of his guitar, a desperation in the twinkle of his eyes, and a mystery on his lips—a mystery you wished to solve with your lips against his, with your hands in that hair, and your grip fixed on his sparkling neck—he was the kind of boy that might inspire the statue David. Entice your aching soul, and make you want to sculpt his every curve in stainless marble. On stage, you swore he was like Apollo.                                                           

Off stage, you knew he was trouble.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In your eyes, Choi Hyunsuk had always been kin with the sun.

Although now he stands before you in a cobalt gleam.

The yellowed hue of stage lights shines brightly onto the pale blue of his messy dress shirt, untucked and wrinkled. He sits alone on the cherry coloured wood, body coiled, and eyes glued to the scribbled pages of sheet music. It’s the way you see him wherever you turn; the way he seems to light up the darkness around him that makes you realize he looks so much more like the moon.

It’s then you understand the misconception, and it’s then you pull toward him; tidal waves to the empyrean sky.

You pull the camera hanging around your neck up toward your eyes, and feel the dampness of your palms against the pads of your fingers. The camera flashes when he looks up with an inquisitive glance, then he shoots you one of the those smiles. The kind that makes your knees weak. The kind that screams trouble.

“Like what you see?” He questions, eyebrows raised and gaze tender.

There is the soft rumble of jazz music droning somewhere in the distance, but it’s minute compared to the soft drawl of his voice, so much softer, and sweeter than you imagined.

You spare a glance at his beaming smile, then at the photograph on the dingy screen on of the camera. There’s a gasp in the back of your throat that yearns for release, and with a sharp cough from the chest, you ignore it. He is much more than alluring. Blonde hair that curls at the back of his neck, deep set eyes with chocolate coloured pupils. He is sweet like his voice, and he is much more than alluring. You look up from the photo and back to his eyes.

“No...” You ponder, scrunching your nose. “No, you’re blinking.”

His expression soon matches yours, and in a second, melts into another glorious smile.

“Guess you have to take a few more then, huh?”

The words are so simple, and yet, you can’t seem to shake the eruption of chills at the small of your back. His bottom lip is wedged between his teeth, and that’s when you give him a curt nod, turn your back, and walk away briskly, refusing to glance behind and absorb his bewildered expression.

“I’ll see you later?” He shouts after you, but you’re halfway out the auditorium door.

It’s when Choi Hyunsuk smiles. When his eyes are wide, and kind, in that mixture of confusion and amusement, that you understand he is neither the sun, or the moon.

He is much rather the cosmos.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I don’t trust him.”

          Sitting on the campus coffee shop, you’re tossed between drinking the rest of your half melted iced caramel macchiato, and delving off into the serenity of the cafe’s decor. There are green potted plants at the base of every crystalline windowsill, and large-scale murals on the plane of every wall. You have half the mind to walk into one of those paintings. Kim Junkyu’s loud mouth brings you back.

“You.” He says vaguely before taking a swig of tea. “—don’t trust anybody.”

While you attempt to reply, there’s a knit in your forehead that tells you he might be right. You shoot him a concerned glance, then you bury your head in your hands.

“This piece is going to be awful.” You groan. But Junkyu takes it upon himself to flick you against the forehead, drawing your attention back to his stern expression.

“Listen, [Y/N]. Do you think I like spending my Friday nights watching sweaty Lee Byounggon play basketball? Let me answer that question for you: NO!”

          The ferocity in his eyes makes your face twist in amusement, and you nod your head understandingly. Junkyu goes on.

“I do it because I like writing for the sport’s column. And you, are gonna be completely fine writing for Hyunsuk. He’s really not all that bad.”

You grimace. “But he’s such a flirt!”

“Being friendly never hurt anybody.” He argues, then he stifles a giggle. “Besides, I think you could learn a thing or two when it comes to flirting.”

“I will throw this hot tea at you, don’t test me!”

          Junkyu playfully maneuvers his body away from you, though you simply roll your eyes in response. With a small jingle of the door, there’s an influx of bodies, and a strong gust of air that hugs tightly onto your skin. You’re still focused on using Junkyu’s tea as a weapon by the time his mouth parts in surprise. You don’t quite understand the mystified look in his eyes; that is, until you hear the gentle whisper of his name.

Suddenly, as if with the sweep of Spring air, he stands against the cafe’s greenery; against copious vines of growing plants and the plush expanses of verdant leaves—like walking art, Choi Hyunsuk seems to appear in a myriad of bustling colours.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t take your breath away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He is better than art in that you can feel him.

          His presence, as if some force in the ether has a divine clutch on your body, is absolutely mesmeric. There are more goose bumps on your arms, calves, thighs than you could possibly count, and a hesitation in the back of your mind that coats your thoughts thickly. It’s a clouded sense of worry, but now your eyes are closing in on him, and only him. He is calling to you in open silence, and it’s a sensation unlike any other; you almost don’t notice the creeping hand of Kim Junkyu, which wraps around your arm, pulls you upward, and then forward, toward him.

“Good luck.” Junkyu whispers into your ear, voice airy from the lull of gentle winds, sodden with excitement.

“I don’t want to.” You’re hissing back at him, but it seems it’s too late. Hyunsuk looks toward you with a dip between his forehead, and he stands by the rows of sugar packets in a way that’s far too picturesque. He drowns in the splendor of a plain white t-shirt, like satin between your fingertips, and you turn away before the feelings linger. He looks to you once more, this time with a fervent wave.

“It’s you.” He says brightly, lips perched in a small smile.

He is unnervingly gentle, magnificently striking.

You nod. “Uh yeah, I guess it’s me.”

“You’re the one writing my piece for journalism, right? Is it [Y/N]?”

          Your name from his lips sends your heart into full bloom, and you think Kim Junkyu might be the worst friend you’ve ever had. You want to stay calm and collected, but the longer your mouth parts, the faster you realize the words won’t come out. You nod numbly at his inquiry, and groan inwardly at your frailty. His smile grows wider.

“I read your piece about the 101 Things not to do at a Basketball Game the other day, and I couldn’t put it down. You’re an amazing writer.”

You pause.

Then your rampant heartbeat slows.

You almost grin.

“Oh, I didn’t write that piece.”

His smile falters.

          If there was a hulk of chains strapped to your chest when Hyunsuk first walked in, those very chains feel like they’ve unraveled. Perhaps they’ve now claimed refuge on the withering boy in front of you, whose lips purse in confusion, whose cheeks burn a dusty rose. Choi Hyunsuk is a smooth talker to say the least, but now, he is bashful, and the playing field seems even.

“Trying to talk your way into a good review?” You ask playfully.

“Depends.” He bites his lower lip and squints eye. “What do you value more? Flattery or humility.”

          You look to the iced coffee that sits on your abandoned table. Kim Junkyu stands not too far away, avidly staring at a drink menu despite having ordered moments ago. You calmly take the drink into your hand, twirl the straw in your cup, and flash him the most candid look you can muster.

“How about… honesty?”

For a moment, he is silent.

Then he looks to you with a subtle sense of curiosity. There’s a hand running slowly through his hair, and a wild glint in his eyes; you can feel the thumping in your chest return once again.

“Honestly.” He breathes. “I think you’re breathtaking.”

          You know you should say something. You know more than anything that you should say something. But you’re not sure where this boy ends and begins, not sure what lies past his even-tempered veneer, still, not sure if you can trust him.

“I-I’m sorry. Was that too forward?” The hand is back in his hair, and this time, it’s erratic. “Can we just, uh, start over?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” You tease. “That was quite the first impression.”

          Sunlight shines through the cafe’s wide paneled windows and straight onto Choi Hyunsuk’s perturbed face. Now, he tilts his head and knits an eyebrow, still a blinding smile on his lips, but he’s less animated, more perplexed.

“Good or bad?”

You scrunch your nose. “I’ll sleep on it.”

“You?” He repeats.  “Thinking of me before you go to sleep? Yeah... yeah I can work with that.”

          Choi Hyunsuk is nodding his head when you turn around to face the cafe’s double door entry. There is a pool of emotion that fosters in the depths of your soul, and still, you think it’s best to leave it untouched, to dissipate. But you’re still thinking of him when you push past the door. Still when the crisp morning air latches onto your barren skin. Still when the bright morning sun offers you warmth and comfort. He is more charming than you imagined.

You realize Choi Hyunsuk’s artistry isn't the only thing you should stay weary of.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time you hear him play the guitar, you swear it’s the sweet sound of the lyre.

          It echoes against the concrete walls of the music room, up to the high peaks of the ceilings, and back down again; cups at your ears and nestles in the cracks of your conscience.

It’s a sound you want to reach out and touch.

When he finishes, he looks to you for approval.

“You gonna play that at the showcase?” Your words come out in a breathy mumble, though you blame it on the rapid movement of his languid fingers, on the harmonious tune, on his rhythmic humming.

“Nah.” He says loosely. “Probably not.” He stands abruptly from his position on a music room chair, and places his guitar back onto its stand. “They like pop songs.”

“Who’s they?”

He shrugs. “The audience. I don’t usually play my own stuff.”

“Where’s the soul in that?”

             It’s the way his face falls into itself that makes you think you’ve said the wrong thing, and suddenly, you feel a plummeting in the pits of your stomach; feels like your heart is sinking. An apology teeters at the tip of your tongue, but Hyunsuk looks back at you.

There is a tenderness in his face you’ve never seen. Sentiment.

You swear he’s never looked so beautiful.

“I guess...they don’t ever really wanna hear me, you know?”

You fight the urge to look at him with complete astonishment.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined a somber tone in Choi Hyunsuk’s speech. He is blinding rays of iridescent sunshine, toothy grins in boisterous hallways, jaunty cheers of joy and happiness—there is a complexity in his tone, vulnerability in his facade that now, more than ever, beckons for your attention.

You swear he’s never looked so beautiful. And he is far more hypnotizing when he tells the truth.

“I wanna hear you.” You reply bluntly, and your wonderment grows tenfold when you catch the uncertainty flashing through his eyes.

          He grins down at his fingers, and when he looks up at you, he’s nodding his head.

“How about you let me take you out on a date?” He starts suddenly.

“How about you write me a song?”

          His tongue darts out of his mouth to wet his pinkish lips, and then his eyes crinkle, along with the ghost of a small laugh. He nods his head again.

“You know, if you never give me a chance, you’ll never know what you’re missing. I could be the guy of your dreams.”

You spare Choi Hyunsuk a single glance, and it’s now that you acknowledge his close proximity. He sits across you, sparingly, on the music room’s wooden bench, with his eyes wandering. You catch his stare at your lips. You know that you should move, and yet, you find yourself looking deeper into his starry eyes.

“That’s what scares me.”

Choi Hyunsuk leans in to kiss you.

You rush out the music room door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The only part of Lee Byounggon’s beach party that isn’t swarming with drunken teenagers is the downstairs balcony.

          From the comfort of your stranded lawn chair, you can hear the remnants of Kim Seunghun’s beer pong game, and the shouts of your friend Park Jihoon, who has everyone convinced he can freestyle to Eminem’s ‘Rap God’. (You smile to yourself knowing that he can’t.)

          The night sky, speckled with gleaming stars, cowers over the small area in a cool toned haze. You are sipping on the watery mixture of orange liqueur and soda in your cup when the clumsy body of a tipsy Choi Hyunsuk barrels through the balcony doors.

“You’re here!” He clamors, sliding into the chair next to you and lying roughly against the chair’s upward slope. You find yourself leaning into his embrace, his touch, his warmth; and the brush of his fingers against your bare back is almost sobering.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here.” It’s a stutter when you first speak, but you can’t bother putting in the effort. Speaking with Choi Hyunsuk makes you want to stutter and the ease alcohol procures strips you down to your true self; it feels better this way. Much, much better.

“Thinking hard?” His head clumps down onto your shoulder. Silken strands of his hair skim the sensitive skin on your shoulder, your arm is ridden with goose bumps, but you stay put. This time, not pulling away. Instead, you lower your head alongside his, and you wonder if he can feel your heartbeat pulsating in your temple.

“Not really.” Your reply is absent minded, and he releases a vibrant giggle.

“Where’s the soul in that?” He repeats mockingly, and now, you start giggling too. “Seriously, [Y/N]. What’s your story? You’re always searching for answers with me. It’s my turn.”

          There’s a creeping sensation at the base of your neck. And you wonder how long he’s carried that thought, and how much longer it must’ve taken to muster the courage, and release it. Your mind is blank, and your body quivers, although the warmth he provides is mollifying. Your lips are more relaxed than you would’ve thought.

Your forehead pinches. “I don’t really have one.”

“Bullshit.”

You bite your lip.

“School... Family... Love.” He continues. “What’s your story?”

“Love.” You start shakily, whispering into the crown of his head. “Love is hard. I-It’s scary. Unreliable. I-I don’t like feeling that way.”

          Through the falling strands of your hair, you can feel his gaze fixed up at you. You cannot meet his eyes; you’re staring straight up at the moon, still so bold and resilient. Qualities you wish you could mirror.

“I disagree.” He mumbles. A raw pitch in his voice that dries the moistness in your sweltering eyes. You look down.

“Yeah?”

“I-I think when you’ve found the right person, loving them is easy.”

It’s half past midnight when you push your hands onto Choi Hyunsuk’s broad chest, and half past your breaking point when you wrap yourself in his embrace, and press your lips vehemently against his.

It’s half past his grandest dream when Choi Hyunsuk closes the balcony door behind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Choi Hyunsuk is most heavenly when his nose is bumping into yours, and his lips soothe over in batches of giggly kisses.

          By now, you have your hands tangled in wavy locks of his messy hair, and your thumb is pressed firmly on the smooth curve of his jaw. It’s then that you cradle the cusp of his face and skim over the tan skin of his neck. He is kissing sloppily onto your lips, and then at your cheeks, and when you turn your face into the crook of his neck, he places more at the base of your exposed collarbone. You breathe deeply into his sultry skin, and it’s a mixture of fading ocean water, and the sweet smell of vanilla.

          Weeks spent swearing Choi Hyunsuk is art reach their peak in this moment; because now, you know that he is.

When his lips lose their fervor, and his body clumps onto yours, together you travel to the neighbouring living room and lie instinctively on the couch.

Choi Hyunsuk is most heavenly when you’re falling asleep to the gentle thumping of his heartbeat.

You are most heavenly when you place sleepy kisses on his rounded cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If sound had colour, you think Choi Hyunsuk’s morning voice is misty baby blue.

          A sound that’s as soft as the sky at daybreak, and as wistful as the distant moon, barely visible in the nomadic sky. There is a rasp in the centre of his chest, and a soreness of the throat that seems to melt away with a few kisses. Radiant morning light spills into the disheveled room, like snowy milk into freshly brewed coffee, and you bask in the comfort it provides. Hyunsuk has an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, and another, perched tentatively at your blushing cheeks. He runs the back of his fingers over the patches of scarlet red, and as if to take the heat away from your face, murmurs into your fingers.

“Wish me luck tonight.”

          Begrudgingly, he moves his body upward, and you, along with it. He broadens, as if to stand up and straighten his wrinkled clothing, prepare for the big day ahead, but with a sudden spur of your tightly woven heartstrings, you grasp tightly onto his wrist, and face him with glossy eyes.

“You won’t need it.” You say onto the warmth of his skin. A timid grin makes its way onto his lips, and you wonder how it tastes.

You pull him back onto the couch.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Choi Hyunsuk greets the stage with the blinding luminescence of his acoustic guitar.

          There, under those sputtering stage lights, you recognize a new found fluidity in his presence; a sentiment in his eyes that is much deeper than the likes of his flawless exterior. It is the sheer rawness of his performance, the subtle melody of instruments, the deep lyrics of the soul, the voice of silver and gold; these things, amplified for the room to hear—not just to spectate, but to absorb.

          On stage once more, there is an air of extravagance in the way he rummages through his hair, the way he strums long and taut fingers against the string of his guitar, a desperation in the twinkle of his eyes, and a mystery on his lips—a mystery you continually solve with your lips against his, with your hands in that hair, with your grip fixed on his sparkling neck—Choi Hyunsuk is the kind of boy that might inspire a change from within. Entice your aching soul, and make you want to become the version of yourself that lives in faraway lands, lives in glorious dreams. On stage, you swore he was like Apollo.

Off stage, you knew he was something deeper.

You greet Hyunsuk backstage, when his performance is long over, but the crowd still cheers in his radiant memory. You first wrap your arms tightly around his neck, then push his guitar to the side, and pull his face downward. For a moment, you simply stare. He is dreary eyed and heavy breathed and he’s looking at you with such fondness; you gulp in the back of your throat and blink away the tears.

“I’m guessing that was worthy of a good review?”

          You smack his chest, and with a playful roll to the eyes, pull toward him at full speed; your lips hovering over his teasingly.

“Just kiss me, you moron.”

          His lips meet yours in a kiss you’ve imagined a hundred times, and still, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. You lunge deeper. And deeper. And deeper; into him.

          Over the time that you’ve known him, Hyunsuk had been the boy delved deep in his persona, overpowered by public pretense. But it is now that you understand Choi Hyunsuk has galaxies of emotion. Now that you understand, he may never have been the sun, nor the moon, but rather, someone that made you feel; made you learn. The touch of his lips against your cheek, the song of his soul mending the loosened strings of your heart; it’s now that you strike a divine realization in its own right;

Choi Hyunsuk’s love is cosmic.

And you love him to the moon and back.

 ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

hello lovely angels, thank u for taking ur time out to read this!!!💖💖 i know it can be a bore to read at times, but i hope u enjoyed for the most part, because i genuinely loved writing it :’)) some of my fav imagery yet <33 as always, feedback is appreciated!!!! (pls///!)

[araitsume]

The Desire of Ages, pp. 167-177: Chapter (17) Nicodemus

This chapter is based on John 3:1-17.

Nicodemus held a high position of trust in the Jewish nation. He was highly educated, and possessed talents of no ordinary character, and he was an honored member of the national council. With others, he had been stirred by the teaching of Jesus. Though rich, learned, and honored, he had been strangely attracted by the humble Nazarene. The lessons that had fallen from the Saviour's lips had greatly impressed him, and he desired to learn more of these wonderful truths.

Christ's exercise of authority in the cleansing of the temple had roused the determined hatred of the priests and rulers. They feared the power of this stranger. Such boldness on the part of an obscure Galilean was not to be tolerated. They were bent on putting an end to His work. But not all were agreed in this purpose. There were some that feared to oppose One who was so evidently moved upon by the Spirit of God. They remembered how prophets had been slain for rebuking the sins of the leaders in Israel. They knew that the bondage of the Jews to a heathen nation was the result of their stubbornness in rejecting reproofs from God. They feared that in plotting against Jesus the priests and rulers were following in the steps of their fathers, and would bring fresh calamities upon the nation. Nicodemus shared these feelings. In a council of the Sanhedrin, when the course to be pursued toward Jesus was considered, Nicodemus advised caution and moderation. He urged that if Jesus was really invested with authority from God, it would be perilous to reject His warnings. The priests dared not disregard this counsel, and for the time they took no open measures against the Saviour.

Since hearing Jesus, Nicodemus had anxiously studied the prophecies relating to the Messiah; and the more he searched, the stronger was his conviction that this was the One who was to come. With many others in Israel he had been greatly distressed by the profanation of the temple. He was a witness of the scene when Jesus drove out the buyers and the sellers; he beheld the wonderful manifestation of divine power; he saw the Saviour receiving the poor and healing the sick; he saw their looks of joy, and heard their words of praise; and he could not doubt that Jesus of Nazareth was the Sent of God.

He greatly desired an interview with Jesus, but shrank from seeking Him openly. It would be too humiliating for a ruler of the Jews to acknowledge himself in sympathy with a teacher as yet so little known. And should his visit come to the knowledge of the Sanhedrin, it would draw upon him their scorn and denunciation. He resolved upon a secret interview, excusing this on the ground that if he were to go openly, others might follow his example. Learning by special inquiry the Saviour's place of retirement in the Mount of Olives, he waited until the city was hushed in slumber, and then sought Him.

In the presence of Christ, Nicodemus felt a strange timidity, which he endeavored to conceal under an air of composure and dignity. “Rabbi,” he said, “we know that Thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that Thou doest, except God be with him.” By speaking of Christ's rare gifts as a teacher, and also of His wonderful power to perform miracles, he hoped to pave the way for his interview. His words were designed to express and to invite confidence; but they really expressed unbelief. He did not acknowledge Jesus to be the Messiah, but only a teacher sent from God.

Instead of recognizing this salutation, Jesus bent His eyes upon the speaker, as if reading his very soul. In His infinite wisdom He saw before Him a seeker after truth. He knew the object of this visit, and with a desire to deepen the conviction already resting upon His listener's mind, He came directly to the point, saying solemnly, yet kindly, “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born from above, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” John 3:3, margin.

Nicodemus had come to the Lord thinking to enter into a discussion with Him, but Jesus laid bare the foundation principles of truth. He said to Nicodemus, It is not theoretical knowledge you need so much as spiritual regeneration. You need not to have your curiosity satisfied, but to have a new heart. You must receive a new life from above before you can appreciate heavenly things. Until this change takes place, making all things new, it will result in no saving good for you to discuss with Me My authority or My mission.

Nicodemus had heard the preaching of John the Baptist concerning repentance and baptism, and pointing the people to One who should baptize with the Holy Spirit. He himself had felt that there was a lack of spirituality among the Jews, that, to a great degree, they were controlled by bigotry and worldly ambition. He had hoped for a better state of things at the Messiah's coming. Yet the heart-searching message of the Baptist had failed to work in him conviction of sin. He was a strict Pharisee, and prided himself on his good works. He was widely esteemed for his benevolence and his liberality in sustaining the temple service, and he felt secure of the favor of God. He was startled at the thought of a kingdom too pure for him to see in his present state.

The figure of the new birth, which Jesus had used, was not wholly unfamiliar to Nicodemus. Converts from heathenism to the faith of Israel were often compared to children just born. Therefore he must have perceived that the words of Christ were not to be taken in a literal sense. But by virtue of his birth as an Israelite he regarded himself as sure of a place in the kingdom of God. He felt that he needed no change. Hence his surprise at the Saviour's words. He was irritated by their close application to himself. The pride of the Pharisee was struggling against the honest desire of the seeker after truth. He wondered that Christ should speak to him as He did, not respecting his position as ruler in Israel.

Surprised out of his self-possession, he answered Christ in words full of irony, “How can a man be born when he is old?” Like many others when cutting truth is brought home to the conscience, he revealed the fact that the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God. There is in him nothing that responds to spiritual things; for spiritual things are spiritually discerned.

But the Saviour did not meet argument with argument. Raising His hand with solemn, quiet dignity, He pressed the truth home with greater assurance, “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus knew that Christ here referred to water baptism and the renewing of the heart by the Spirit of God. He was convinced that he was in the presence of the One whom John the Baptist had foretold.

Jesus continued: “That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” By nature the heart is evil, and “who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? not one.” Job 14:4. No human invention can find a remedy for the sinning soul. “The carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be.” “Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies.” Romans 8:7; Matthew 15:19. The fountain of the heart must be purified before the streams can become pure. He who is trying to reach heaven by his own works in keeping the law is attempting an impossibility. There is no safety for one who has merely a legal religion, a form of godliness. The Christian's life is not a modification or improvement of the old, but a transformation of nature. There is a death to self and sin, and a new life altogether. This change can be brought about only by the effectual working of the Holy Spirit.

Nicodemus was still perplexed, and Jesus used the wind to illustrate His meaning: “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is everyone that is born of the Spirit.”

The wind is heard among the branches of the trees, rustling the leaves and flowers; yet it is invisible, and no man knows whence it comes or whither it goes. So with the work of the Holy Spirit upon the heart. It can no more be explained than can the movements of the wind. A person may not be able to tell the exact time or place, or to trace all the circumstances in the process of conversion; but this does not prove him to be unconverted. By an agency as unseen as the wind, Christ is constantly working upon the heart. Little by little, perhaps unconsciously to the receiver, impressions are made that tend to draw the soul to Christ. These may be received through meditating upon Him, through reading the Scriptures, or through hearing the word from the living preacher. Suddenly, as the Spirit comes with more direct appeal, the soul gladly surrenders itself to Jesus. By many this is called sudden conversion; but it is the result of long wooing by the Spirit of God,—a patient, protracted process.

While the wind is itself invisible, it produces effects that are seen and felt. So the work of the Spirit upon the soul will reveal itself in every act of him who has felt its saving power. When the Spirit of God takes possession of the heart, it transforms the life. Sinful thoughts are put away, evil deeds are renounced; love, humility, and peace take the place of anger, envy, and strife. Joy takes the place of sadness, and the countenance reflects the light of heaven. No one sees the hand that lifts the burden, or beholds the light descend from the courts above. The blessing comes when by faith the soul surrenders itself to God. Then that power which no human eye can see creates a new being in the image of God.

It is impossible for finite minds to comprehend the work of redemption. Its mystery exceeds human knowledge; yet he who passes from death to life realizes that it is a divine reality. The beginning of redemption we may know here through a personal experience. Its results reach through the eternal ages.

While Jesus was speaking, some gleams of truth penetrated the ruler's mind. The softening, subduing influence of the Holy Spirit impressed his heart. Yet he did not fully understand the Saviour's words. He was not so much impressed by the necessity of the new birth as by the manner of its accomplishment. He said wonderingly, “How can these things be?”

“Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things?” Jesus asked. Surely one entrusted with the religious instruction of the people should not be ignorant of truths so important. His words conveyed the lesson that instead of feeling irritated over the plain words of truth, Nicodemus should have had a very humble opinion of himself, because of his spiritual ignorance. Yet Christ spoke with such solemn dignity, and both look and tone expressed such earnest love, that Nicodemus was not offended as he realized his humiliating condition.

But as Jesus explained that His mission on earth was to establish a spiritual instead of a temporal kingdom, His hearer was troubled. Seeing this, Jesus added, “If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?” If Nicodemus could not receive Christ's teaching, illustrating the work of grace upon the heart, how could he comprehend the nature of His glorious heavenly kingdom? Not discerning the nature of Christ's work on earth, he could not understand His work in heaven.

The Jews whom Jesus had driven from the temple claimed to be children of Abraham, but they fled from the Saviour's presence because they could not endure the glory of God which was manifested in Him. Thus they gave evidence that they were not fitted by the grace of God to participate in the sacred services of the temple. They were zealous to maintain an appearance of holiness, but they neglected holiness of heart. While they were sticklers for the letter of the law, they were constantly violating its spirit. Their great need was that very change which Christ had been explaining to Nicodemus,—a new moral birth, a cleansing from sin, and a renewing of knowledge and holiness.

There was no excuse for the blindness of Israel in regard to the work of regeneration. Under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, Isaiah had written, “We are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags.” David had prayed, “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” And through Ezekiel the promise had been given, “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. And I will put My Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in My statutes.” Isaiah 64:6; Psalm 51:10; Ezekiel 36:26, 27.

Nicodemus had read these scriptures with a clouded mind; but he now began to comprehend their meaning. He saw that the most rigid obedience to the mere letter of the law as applied to the outward life could entitle no man to enter the kingdom of heaven. In the estimation of men, his life had been just and honorable; but in the presence of Christ he felt that his heart was unclean, and his life unholy.

Nicodemus was being drawn to Christ. As the Saviour explained to him concerning the new birth, he longed to have this change wrought in himself. By what means could it be accomplished? Jesus answered the unspoken question: “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.”

Here was ground with which Nicodemus was familiar. The symbol of the uplifted serpent made plain to him the Saviour's mission. When the people of Israel were dying from the sting of the fiery serpents, God directed Moses to make a serpent of brass, and place it on high in the midst of the congregation. Then the word was sounded throughout the encampment that all who would look upon the serpent should live. The people well knew that in itself the serpent had no power to help them. It was a symbol of Christ. As the image made in the likeness of the destroying serpents was lifted up for their healing, so One made “in the likeness of sinful flesh” was to be their Redeemer. Romans 8:3. Many of the Israelites regarded the sacrificial service as having in itself virtue to set them free from sin. God desired to teach them that it had no more value than that serpent of brass. It was to lead their minds to the Saviour. Whether for the healing of their wounds or the pardon of their sins, they could do nothing for themselves but show their faith in the Gift of God. They were to look and live.

Those who had been bitten by the serpents might have delayed to look. They might have questioned how there could be efficacy in that brazen symbol. They might have demanded a scientific explanation. But no explanation was given. They must accept the word of God to them through Moses. To refuse to look was to perish.

Not through controversy and discussion is the soul enlightened. We must look and live. Nicodemus received the lesson, and carried it with him. He searched the Scriptures in a new way, not for the discussion of a theory, but in order to receive life for the soul. He began to see the kingdom of heaven as he submitted himself to the leading of the Holy Spirit.

There are thousands today who need to learn the same truth that was taught to Nicodemus by the uplifted serpent. They depend on their obedience to the law of God to commend them to His favor. When they are bidden to look to Jesus, and believe that He saves them solely through His grace, they exclaim, “How can these things be?”

Like Nicodemus, we must be willing to enter into life in the same way as the chief of sinners. Than Christ, “there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” Acts 4:12. Through faith we receive the grace of God; but faith is not our Saviour. It earns nothing. It is the hand by which we lay hold upon Christ, and appropriate His merits, the remedy for sin. And we cannot even repent without the aid of the Spirit of God. The Scripture says of Christ, “Him hath God exalted with His right hand to be a Prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance to Israel, and forgiveness of sins.” Acts 5:31. Repentance comes from Christ as truly as does pardon.

How, then, are we to be saved? “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness,” so the Son of man has been lifted up, and everyone who has been deceived and bitten by the serpent may look and live. “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” John 1:29. The light shining from the cross reveals the love of God. His love is drawing us to Himself. If we do not resist this drawing, we shall be led to the foot of the cross in repentance for the sins that have crucified the Saviour. Then the Spirit of God through faith produces a new life in the soul. The thoughts and desires are brought into obedience to the will of Christ. The heart, the mind, are created anew in the image of Him who works in us to subdue all things to Himself. Then the law of God is written in the mind and heart, and we can say with Christ, “I delight to do Thy will, O my God.” Psalm 40:8.

In the interview with Nicodemus, Jesus unfolded the plan of salvation, and His mission to the world. In none of His subsequent discourses did He explain so fully, step by step, the work necessary to be done in the hearts of all who would inherit the kingdom of heaven. At the very beginning of His ministry He opened the truth to a member of the Sanhedrin, to the mind that was most receptive, and to an appointed teacher of the people. But the leaders of Israel did not welcome the light. Nicodemus hid the truth in his heart, and for three years there was little apparent fruit.

But Jesus was acquainted with the soil into which He cast the seed. The words spoken at night to one listener in the lonely mountain were not lost. For a time Nicodemus did not publicly acknowledge Christ, but he watched His life, and pondered His teachings. In the Sanhedrin council he repeatedly thwarted the schemes of the priests to destroy Him. When at last Jesus was lifted up on the cross, Nicodemus remembered the teaching upon Olivet: “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life.” The light from that secret interview illumined the cross upon Calvary, and Nicodemus saw in Jesus the world's Redeemer.

After the Lord's ascension, when the disciples were scattered by persecution, Nicodemus came boldly to the front. He employed his wealth in sustaining the infant church that the Jews had expected to be blotted out at the death of Christ. In the time of peril he who had been so cautious and questioning was firm as a rock, encouraging the faith of the disciples, and furnishing means to carry forward the work of the gospel. He was scorned and persecuted by those who had paid him reverence in other days. He became poor in this world's goods; yet he faltered not in the faith which had its beginning in that night conference with Jesus.

Nicodemus related to John the story of that interview, and by his pen it was recorded for the instruction of millions. The truths there taught are as important today as they were on that solemn night in the shadowy mountain, when the Jewish ruler came to learn the way of life from the lowly Teacher of Galilee.

[aviationfiction]

XXX

Dante St. James

Upon slipping the other Air Jordan I sneaker onto my foot, I glanced towards the slightly uncovered enormous window and glossed my eyes over the unrivaled Los Angeles skyline. Though there’s is no way possible it can compete with New York City’s and the view of it I have from my own bedroom, it did a decent enough job in relaxing my body and allowing my mind to focus on the hectic day ahead. I’d made it through a mental rundown of this afternoon’s tasks before the stirring between the sheets of the canopy style California King Bed abruptly interrupted my thought process and completely captured my attention. As the rays of the sun subtly peaked through the curtain’s opening, they cascaded over her ever smooth skin and illuminated her nudity and the top sheet that barely covered it. I froze; partially because I didn’t want to awaken her but most of all, because it’s become a normal response to the breathtaking sight that I can’t quite get enough of or used to.

Over the years of coming into my manhood, my version of my dream woman transition from being a foolish figment of my imagination to an afterthought because the concept seemed not only dated, but childish. For friends and the occasional cousins who were within my age bracket, their versions of that particular woman consisted of about five to ten different celebrity women morphed into one person with the capabilities of a God, domesticated nature of their mothers, and the intimate capabilities of their wildest dreams while yet trapped into the unrealistic sexist standard of being untouched by any other man. As a matured, I began to seek instant compatibility. I figured that it was a fair enough necessity to judge a woman and relationship by. It’s what also withheld me from going beyond simple conversations and trapped me in a limited amount of dates. My short lived college relationship seemed to have started with a decent amount of compatibility and yet the lack of there being enough drifted us apart. Later on down the line, I revised that standard to testing out the waters and seeing if we could learn to be compatible. I lived that life with Samira for a couple of months and realized it had no standing. I then left it up to the higher power and universe to work something out and present it to me as one of my greatest gifts at some point in my life or to give me a sign of what to understand and seek while awaiting her. Both happened. As I sit here and stare at the being that has become an essential in my own world, I know that she is the woman of my dreams. I cannot deny questioning it and even wallowing in fear for having fell so hard in such a quick paced manner and yet every question has been answered, every fear is quickly alleviated, and every prayer is answered with a deeper understanding of who we are individually and as partners. My life hasn’t been the same since my eyes landed on her tear stained face. Days after that encounter, I found myself bitterly chuckling because she filtered into my thoughts and remained locked there despite my multiple attempts to distract myself. My nights in bed were filled with questions of her well being. My urge to get back to that jet company exceeded any other desire I had. What I thought was vacuous infatuation turned into this; all of this. My humility and thankfulness is boundless.

“Babe.” As her groggy voice filled my ears, I quickly stood up and approached her side of the bed. When she reached for the empty side, I leaned over to soothe her with a kiss to the side of her neck and a soft caress to her bare thigh.

“Go back to sleep. I have a few things to do so I’m heading out.”

“What time is it?” As she placed her hand over mine, I contemplated whether I should tell her that or not.

“Noon. It’s still early. Continue resting okay? Neither one of us slept much.” I had every urge to climb back into bed, wrap her up into my arms again, and fall back into the slumber my body so badly wanted but last minute details are awaiting me and I’d rather not have another deafening wake up call from Stacey.

 “Okay. I love you.” The words flowed from her supple lips so effortlessly and arose those normal chills I get in the napes of my neck whenever we’re within one another’s presence. My lips met the side of her neck once more and then the soft skin of her cheek as she drifted back into her slumber.

“I love you too.” I placed my American Express Centurion card and fifteen hundred dollars in cash on a nightstand before quietly exiting the bedroom and closing the door behind me. Fredrick’s slick persuasion caused us all to end up at Playhouse last night, including Stacey who rolled her eyes at the thought of being in the Los Angeles nightclub amongst the disgustingly small circle that is Hollywood’s celebrity scene. All it took was one drink for me and about two for Autumn to worsen our already raging hormones. I don’t even remember the poor excuse we used to leave, but we were gone within an hour of our arrival and pulling one another’s clothes off before the door to our executive suite could close behind us. Somewhere in the midst of catching our breaths and yet her straddling my lap for round two, she playfully scolded me for having sweated out her hair and stated that I’d be paying for it to be styled for the Baraya Los Angeles grand opening tonight. I’m keeping my word. The cash is for her hair and the card is for whatever catches her eyes if she passes by some stores around the city. I’ve yet to see what she intends on wearing this evening but I’m assured in whatever it is being a cause for us to sweat out her hair yet again but at least the event would be behind us.

Before exiting the suit, I grabbed my Nike backpack off the living room couch and tossed it over my shoulder as the door closed behind me. The elevator ride was as quiet as I needed it to be and surprisingly, so was the walk through the main lobby of The Four Seasons. I knew I was the last one to leave out of my comfort zone because Mike had already texted me and told me that I was on “light skinned people time” while they waited for me to come downstairs.

“What took you so long? Don’t pull that Mariah Carey ass shit no more.” Drips of Fredrick’s Gatorade trickled down the side of his mouth as he laughed at Mike’s unnecessary complaint and my middle finger was the only response that I could muster up.

“You look tired. Have you slept?”

“Not much.” Stacey examined my face and her eyes narrowed in curiosity as she awaited an excuse for why that was.

“Why not?”

“Y’all ready to go? This isn’t court. What am I being interrogated for?”

“Oh, I get it. You’re cranky because you and Autumn were humping all night long even though you knew you had to get up early. Now you’re tired as hell.” Of course she’d go there. Even if her assumption was completely inaccurate or baseless, she’d still go there because she can’t help herself nor is there a filter in her throat that waters down anything she says. “Go ahead and tell me I’m lying.”

“You’re not lying Stace. Look at his face. Most of all, look at his neck.” Fredrick pointed at a spot on the left side of my neck and I instantly reached my hand up to cover whatever love mark it could have possibly been. I don’t know how I missed it while glancing at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.

“There’s nothing there, but you damn sure just told on yourself.” Their laughter was loud enough to catch the attention of a number of people exiting through the revolving door. Though my lips curved into a subtle smirk, I suppressed my own laughter so I could refrain from giving them the satisfaction of getting off a shitload of jokes on me today.

“Y'all are clowns.”

“Aye man. It’s a beautiful thing.” Before Mike could pat my back in jest, I opened the door behind me and stepped outside. “She stole you from us and I’ve come to terms with that. We all have. You’re married and you’re not even married. Shit, are you married? I don’t know when it comes to you two these days.”

“Nah. I’m not married yet.”

As we piled into the awaiting SUV and took the thirty minute drive to our now completed Los Angeles location, I was thankful Stacey called for a driver. My sleepiness would spark up a restlessness that wouldn’t have been able to handle the never-ending and absolutely ridiculous Los Angeles traffic. While New York is supposedly the city that never sleeps, it’s laughable to speak on our rush hours when there’s literally always traffic on the roads and highways on the West Coast. There doesn’t even have to be an accident, construction, or some trivial hold up. The traffic is embedded within the city’s day to day life. It’s a norm that I can’t get with which is hilarious because I have a home in Malibu that I plan to live in at some point in my life. I suppose I have to mentally toughen myself up to bare it, but for now?

Hell no.

“This is absolutely breathtaking. You three have yet to do anything less than amaze me.”

Twenty-four floors above the downtown skyline, Baraya at The W Hotel, Los Angles is the embodiment of three visionaries coming together to supersede what we’d already done out in New York City. Initially, there was the idea tossed around of literally replicating the New York restaurant’s interior design and ambiance but it was myself who tossed that idea out of the window when I explained how both cities are absolutely nothing alike. While the three of us have our own biases towards the city we were raised in, there had to be acknowledgement of the Los Angeles tourists and it’s natives who stand by their city, it’s impact, and most of all, the vibe. After having secured a deal with the W Hotel, and choosing to build it on it’s top floor, it was a no brainer to use the skyline as the sole influence for the interior. Fredrick implemented the concept of creating a dining and lounging experience perfectly meshed together for a variety of age groups to enjoy. A group of women could come and relish an outing together for a girl’s night, a man can impress the hell out of the woman of his affections with a date night, and it’s the perfect setting for business dinners or an outing with colleagues. The custom pendant lighting served as a continuation of the L.A. skyline, by pulling it inside and continuing it above the heads of our guests. The atmosphere of the New York location is all about sophistication but this one is all about the grown and sexy. It makes me damn near want to remodel.

“Thanks Stace. I can’t believe it all came together like this. Look at this place.” Mike turned in a complete circle and crossed his arms over his chest in a moment of pride and contentment.I nodded. Hell, there was a point I doubted we’d be able to close the deal with Starwood. I don’t give a damn how educated we are, the accomplishments that followed, and the wealth that we’ve amassed. There has never been an instance where in some capacity we weren’t reminded of the color of our skin and our “place” when conducting business and trying to close a deal that no one within our ethnic background has attempted. Whether it’s the extensive research into our backgrounds and the onslaught of questions that follows it or the snide remarks about our kind and culture that are masked as jokes, it’s never as easy to leave the table with agreements made and contracts signed as it would be if we were of their kind. Not only does it take genuine determination, it takes being just as much of a shark, master manipulator, and slick fuck as they are. If I had to give Richard credit for anything in my life other than childhood financing, it would certainly be that.

“Not to sound arrogant, but this is the kind of place I could see myself eating dinner or having a drink at frequently. This is literally my style and I’ve yet to see anyone master that other than us. It’s was perfect switch shit up with the restaurant while keeping the nightclub as golden and first class as the one in New York. We gave them something new and yet something known and raved about. Pat your damn selves on the back fellas; shit you too Stacey. You’re always the essential helping hand we need. This is our accomplishment.” His words reigned truth in every single sense. Stacey isn’t only essential in helping. We see to it that she has actual stake in most of our endeavors. Initially she argued against it, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.

“A shot to that?” I suggested as I pointed at the fully stocked bar. Since our bartenders weren’t in yet for the grand opening this evening, it was left up to me to pour everyone’s vice into four glasses. Fredrick? Patròn Silver. Mike? Rèmy Martin XO. Stacey? Malibu Coconut Rum. She’s a lightweight. Myself? The good ol’ potent Hennessy.

“Shots not only to accomplishing yet another goal we set out to make happen, but also to being a family and continuing to do all of this together. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Love, family.” The sound effect of our glasses clinking together solidified our toast and we tossed back the contents inside of the glasses.

“Lets get a good look at downstairs and then get out of here. I promised Erica I’d take her to find shoes and accessories for tonight and then I need to pick up a shirt from the Tom Ford store over on Madison.” Fredrick tossed the glass on the counter and Stacey smirked as her eyebrow flew up.

“Mr. Only Spend My Money On Me is taking his girlfriend shopping? So you really love her huh? It’s quite interesting to see you all letting go of those boyish ways and actually becoming grown men. You all literally proved that men are teens until they’re damn near forty. How cliché.”

“First of all, I’m not damn near forty. Second, I’m not selfish. I just don’t prefer to spend the money I work my ass off for on temporary people. Third, I do love her. I can’t even deny that.”

“Oh shit. He finally admits it. It only took your ass how long? A year and some change? Shit, two years? You’ve been knowing her for a minute and refused to even acknowledged that you liked her. Then you denied being in a relationship. Now you’re in love? You and this Al B Sure face ass really has Satan chilling in winter gear right now.” Our laughter filled the entire room as Mike finished his statement and I shook my head at his antics. He’ll never fail to make his additional two cents a mixture of truth, jokes, and insults to keep the moments lighthearted between all of us. He and Stacey are notorious for it and yet the both of them serve as the perfect balance of tough love and endless support that both Fredrick and I need. “You’re taking her to Christian Louboutin aren’t you?”

“Shit, probably. That and Giuseppe are her favorite spots.”

“If you’re dropping stacks on shoes, I know this man here is probably buying Autumn property. He’s vomit worthy romance film in love with Esmerelda.”

“Esmerelda?” Stacey and I both called out the name in unison. His statement went completely over my head. I can’t even get Autumn to allow me to buy her a pair of socks let alone some property. I just want to spoil her. I know men typically do it for the stroking of their own egos, but for me it’s because she deserves it. She doesn’t spoil herself enough. She gives me a challenge when it comes to doing it on a normal day to day and is keeping up with that when it comes to her birthday. This evening, I’m wearing a damn near seven thousand dollar watch she gifted to me for mine and yet all she wants is a pair of Kanye West’s kicks for her birthday. Her stubbornness is wild.

“She looks like her. Y'all never seen The Hunchback of Norte Dame? Autumn looks just like Esmerelda.”

“You watch Disney on your spare time?”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I’m talking about. Look it up. Your girl looks like her.”

“Okay, Mike. I see what those young ass paralegals you be running through has you watching during pillow talk.” I glanced back at his widened eyes as I turned to towards the elevators and the sounds of him pleading his case for why my claim is inaccurate made me snicker the whole entire way downstairs to the nightclub. He’ll refuse to admit it but a lot of those paralegals literally aspire to work in the same building as him. He's a hot commodity around his firm but the best part about it is there isn’t a single person who’s employed there who doesn’t respect and appreciate him. No matter what their job position is, their ranking, or the amount of money they’re bringing in, I’ve yet to ever hear of anyone not speaking highly of him. He’s a hot shot lawyer so it’s a no brainer he’ll have paralegals, legal secretaries, attorneys, and even judges trying to get into his presence on a personal level. I’m just waiting to see which one’s going to actually keep his attention beyond playful flirting or one casual dinner date that every now and then leads to a night in their bedroom, because it’s damn sure not happening in his. The day I hear about him laying up with a woman in his house, is the day I’ll know he’s in love.

Until then he’ll flirt and pretend like he’s too busy to be the sucker for love that he truly is.

Lunch was pizza and because of that, I felt guilty because Autumn wasn’t with us. Before leaving, I ordered a personal pizza for her just in case she wanted it for either lunch or some sort of a snack as she readied herself for this evening’s festivities. Upon my arrival back to our privacy, the only signs of her presence were her possessions and her scent. I knew she planned to get her hair done but I thought she was going to pull one of those moves where she pays the hairstylist to make a personal visit to her. Instead, she chose to go to whatever salon Heather suggested. Of course, as I expected, the cash and my credit card were in the place that I left them in. I can already tell that I’m going to have to exhaust myself in trying to get through to her unnecessary pride and make her comfortable enough to confide in me for everything that comes with companionship.

A small smirk tugged at my lips as I glanced at my now steamed shirt hanging on the door of the bedroom’s closet and the rest of my attire for tonight neatly laid out so I’d be able to grab it with ease. On the night table was the jewelry box containing my Cartier watch and cufflinks and my Tom Ford loafers were conveniently at the foot of the bed. A chuckle followed my thoughts of how I’d occasionally picture what it would be life to have a woman doing all of these things for me. What makes it all the more amazing is my lack of expecting it. She does it because she wants to.

I’m so proud of you

While standing in front of the mirror in the suite’s master bathroom, I read aloud the message she wrote on one of the Post-It notes she tacked onto the corner of the mirror on my side the sink.

Your endeavors aren’t what make you successful. It’s your heart. It’s that beautiful mind. It’s your soul.

That message was on it’s own neon green little slip of paper right under the first message. In all of the racing that my mind had been doing, until that toast an hour or two ago, I hadn’t taken a moment to truly bask in yet another task on my list of dream endeavors having been executed and completed. As Autumn has told me time and time again, I tend not to celebrate myself or take time out to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I’m rarely interested in compliments from people outside of my circle and I tend to shrug off theirs as well. I’ve yet to actually stop immediately jumping into what’s next and appreciate the now. It’s Autumn who’s been influencing me to celebrate everything as they come because despite any preparations, you don’t know where life is going to take you next. Her whimsical nature is rubbing off on me in some aspects which is why something as small as her little notes feels so grand. No materialistic item can measure up to her love being put into words and thoughtfully tacked onto a mirror simply to put a smile on my face. To have her be proud of me counts tremendously because she now is apart of the reason why I do everything that I do.

After wrapping up a quick phone call with Stacey, I flopped down on the bed and allowed my body to sink into the comfort of the down comforter and the memory foam it covered. The scent of berries and cinnamon filled my nose as my face meshed against her pillow and I allowed the faint sound of the television to send me to an on and off couple of hours of slumber. Though I heard her when she returned, not even the sound of Autumn doing her best to quietly move around the room could coerce me to move my lazy body off of the bed.

“You can have the bathroom whenever you’re ready Suga. I took my shower.”

“Nah, you can have it. I know you have to finish up your make up and whatever else. I’ll use the other one.” I still hadn’t moved. I could barely lift my head to take a glance at her. When I forcefully opened my eyes, I happened to catch her as she walked around the bed and to the closet. Her wavy hair cascaded down her back and slightly sway with every subtle switch in her walk.

“You’re tired huh? I kept telling you that you should go to bed but no, Mr. Endless Stamina wanted to be the Energizer Bunny.” My groggy chuckle slipped out easily as I thought back to the moments of her warnings that I needed to get some rest and the moans that immediately followed them.

“The Energizer Bunny is just recharging for tonight’s rounds.” Her sudden silence was followed by a pillow crashing into my head. My laughter harmonized with her own and she hit me with it once more before dropping it.

“Go and take your shower.”

“Get in with me.” A chuckle and the shaking of her head quickly followed my request. I should have known she’d deny me.

“Oh, no, no, no. I’ve already done so and I have things to do. I let you sleep longer than I actually should have. So, it’s time to get up and get yourself ready.” I took her into consideration for an additional five minutes and didn't move until she was tugging at my shirt and doing her best to completely pull me out of the the bed. My vengeance was a reach up under her silk robe and smacking my hand into the completely bare flesh it was covering. I had every intention to wait until the last possible hour to handle it but it’s just my luck that the woman I’m in love with and the woman who is undoubtedly my big sister share a trait in staying ahead of things for me. I knew she wasn’t playing when she literally followed me to the second bathroom with my necessities in her hands and closed the door behind me once I was secured inside. As I turned on the shower water, I could faintly hear music being skimmed through. Of course. She rarely, if ever, gets ready without it.

“Do you need help with your cuff links?” In the half an hour I’d spent under the shower head drowning in my thoughts, she further transformed her already sublime appearance and entranced me in her usual manner. Her loosely curled and wavy hair fell over her shoulders in such a full and grand manner while my eyes panned over the make up she’d done on her face. Usually, she keeps it natural looking but this evening, she opted to create some sort of a silvery, muted grey, and maybe even black look over and slightly around her eyes. Everything else was natural, including her nude colored lips, but her eyes were dark and attention grabbing. She’d found a way to not only enhance but to brighten the sage green that I’m obsessed with. Her enthralling beauty should be illegal. It’s graceful and yet the most tantalizing thing ever.

“Thank you.” Once they were in her hands, she carefully secured what was apart of her birthday gift to me on the cuffs of my sleeves and then properly straightened my black cocktail jacket. The floral jacquard print certainly isn’t my taste but she saw something in it that she liked and persuaded me into making it my option for the evening. She also is the reason I’m wearing a white shirt instead of going with black in it’s entirety for every piece I’m wearing. The white is to compliment whatever jumpsuit or pants contraption I’m going to assume is being covered by her robe.

“Are you excited?” Her head swayed from side to side as sound of The O’Jays stimulated and serenaded her soul. I nodded to answer her question and untied the loose knot binding her robe together and allowed it to fall open to reveal what was under it. The suspense was killing me and the revelation completed the job. The angelic white against her sun kissed skin served like a piece of the heavens gracefully laying upon the earth. As I glanced over it’s left half, my eyes helplessly bulged at the intricacies of the thin material looping and intersecting to prevent the slipping of her nipple while revealing quite a bit of the skin of her upper body. The jumpsuit teeters the fine line between sexy and risqué and yet she in all of her grace made it tasteful and alluring. My hand grazed over her amusing Lil’ Kim inspired moment and I mimicked Diana Ross in my own manner by giving her breast a subtle squeeze.

“It’s Versace Atelier and it’s old. I dug this out of one of those garment bags lying around my parent’s basement and decided to bring it because I’ve never worn it. Hell, I’m surprised the white hasn’t faded into that awful yellowish color.”

“You look so damn good.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. You’re stunning.” Somehow in the midst of our speaking, I joined her in the swaying back and forth. To further it, I pulled her closer by her hips and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Oh?” One of her arms slid up until it was draped over the back of my neck and I grabbed the other to lace our fingers together. “You can slow dance too? Well aren’t I lucky.”

“There are a lot of things that I can do. Only for you though.” In all of the times that I’ve done this, it’s always and only been with one woman; my mother. If I’d be within her view while she and Richard’s favorite oldies blared from the speakers around the house, she’d wrapped me up into her arms while the both of them attempted to teach me how to woo a woman with their fraudulent love. It was their way of paying some sort of attention to me and fooling themselves into believing they were being hands on parents. I remember this song being played amongst her favorites on those Saturday mornings when she’d actually have Richard all to herself.

“This was my parents wedding song.”

“Really?” She nodded and slowly ran her hand over the back of my head. “Good choice.”

“It is.” Our lips met with a soft peck. “I got you a congratulatory gift, with help from a friend.”

“Did you? What did you get?” I heard her discussing some sort of surprise with Mike but I didn’t think it was for me. She carefully worded everything she spoke about in order to conceal the receivers name, so instead of being nosy, I summed it up to being something for one of her relatives.

“I’ll give it to you when the songs over. I believe you’ll like it. It’s for your office at your apartment. I feel like it needs a pop of color and this will do it.” A painting? Granted that I love art, I could imagine her figuring out some kind of way to incorporate some of my favorite artists into maybe a collage or poster for the wall. Maybe it’s a sculpture or some type of mosaic fixture. Maybe it’s a photo of us on one of our many trips that we’ve taken. Actually, I hope it’s that. I’ve been meaning to have something printed up, so I could hang it up in the living room. I’ve even considered it just being her. There’s this one particular photo of her standing in front of the Eiffel Tower that I’m in love with.

“Give me a hint.”

“Hmm. Vino.”

“Vino? What the hell is that?” Her eyes widened as the song slowly faded out and she cocked her head back in surprise.

“Seriously? Hmm. I’m going to have to question just how much of a fan you are now.” Once she was out of my arms, she hurriedly went into the closet and rummaged around for what she was looking for. With excitement, she unfolded the all too familiar yellow, purple, and gold Jersey for me to see.

“Vino. As in Kobe. Doesn’t he always say that?” My laughter followed her question.

“Yeah, that’s some nickname he gave himself. I don’t call him that shit. He’s been and will always be Bean to me.”

“I’m sure you have one of these, don’t you?”

“A jersey. Yeah. I have two.” I didn’t say it to rain on her parade because I’m appreciative either way.

“But are they signed?” She slowly turned it around so I’d see the back and there, in bold black marker, was Kobe Bryant’s famous signature sitting inside of the four of his twenty four jersey number.

“Are you serious?” I didn’t hesitate to grab it out of her hands to examine the signature and it certainly was there. I swore one of these days I’d run into him and get something signed, but it’s never happened. I’m not one of those people who shows their face at events for the sake of faux popularity or to feel like I fit in amongst certain circles. Outside of attending a couple of games over the years, I’ve yet to meet and converse with him. With his retirement looming, I already had plans to make it happen at All Star and here my lady is, ahead of the game.

“Mhm. I have both his number eight and the twenty four signed. The other one is in there too. Thank God for Heather. I gave them to her the last time she was in town and she pulled it off. I figure I’ll get frames for them and hang them up for you. You like it?” My answer was a kiss. We’re not even in an unspoken gift competition because she’s winning by a landslide. Her efforts have yet to be anything less than impressive and meaningful. She makes it a genuine effort to keep a smile on my face no matter what either one of us are dealing with and I’ve never had that outside of the three people in my life that I call my real family. Her love, much like theirs, is one that I’ve never had to question. I see it in the way she stares at me, I feel it in her touch, and she showers me in it with her actions.

“I love it. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Let me get into my shoes so we can get going.” I snuck another kiss and carefully placed the jersey down on the bed. Within minutes, Stacey will be calling and yelling about my lagging so I’d rather hurry up and get out of the door before she rips my head off with no regard.

“I’ll be moving around a lot tonight, but I’ll make my way back to you whenever I can, alright?”

“I know. No worries.”

No worries is how I pray things will continue to be tonight.

I had absolutely nothing to do with the guest list nor did I ask any questions. That’s Fredrick’s expertise and his streak certainly continues tonight. His knack for drawing in a celebrity presence never fails to impress me and yet I do not see him hanging amongst any of these people. He’s an architect and even so, his phone book is filled with some of the biggest names in multiple entertainment industries and the list continues to grow. Whether it’s his suave personality and the way he works a room or his undeniable charm that woos the panties off of women within minutes, it works to his advantage because they gravitate to him like flies on shit whenever he’s within their presence. It’s no different tonight as we welcomed guests and mingled from table to table to politely welcome all in attendance to our cuisine experience. I know they say it’s not about what you know but rather who you know, but he takes that quotable to a level that I don’t believe I can reach. Shit, I don’t want to. Though we tend to shy away from using investors, that’s my lane, along with the negotiating. Mike? All legal. He makes sure everything has the appropriate legitimacy and is within legal standing to be successfully executed. Stacey’s the follow up and back up. If we miss something, she’s sure to catch it. The fake ass Calvin Klein model that is Fred can have the networking portion of it. The most interesting part about it tonight is Erica being by his side as he does it.

Yeah, he’s going to marry her.

“Yo. Did you see this?” As I stood near the entrance of the kitchen, Mike passed me his phone and I skimmed over the headline of the Forbes article. “Effective Immediately: A&M Longtime Partner and Investor Rick Malone Steps Down.”

A lump formed in the middle of my throat at the thought of such a reality and what it potentially means for no one else other than myself. Rick and I have had a long and upstanding relationship with one another that stems back to my childhood. He’s watched me become a man and a pivotal part of the company. He held me in high regard and though I’d shun it, he often used words like progressive and the future when speaking of me in board meetings and negotiations. He would have told me something like this is coming whether it be in person or through a phone call. I’d been the first person he reached out to when everything went down with his son and I did everything in my power to reverse that decision and the tension that brewed before and exploded after it. At the time, I was no match for Richard’s stubbornness and his revolting hunger to have me in a position of power right under him. This has his name written all over it and it’s sudden nature fueled the once dormant fears that have been budding within the pit of my stomach and tormenting my mind for the past couple of months.

“It’s interesting.”

“He’s coming tonight. Your father that is.” He shot me a glance as I passed his phone back to him. I’d already known that before Stacey could shoot me a warning. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to show his face as a prideful father to a son he believes he built better than anyone elses’. This is his element. He’s the giant in every room and the snake when backs are turned.

“I know.”

“You told Autumn?”

“I told her it was a possibility yesterday. I didn’t necessarily confirm it. She wants to meet them. From my point of view, I don’t understand why but I’m not going to stand in her way.”

“You sure?” In unison, our eyes panned over to Autumn who was standing at the restaurant’s bar with a glass of wine in her possession and giggling along side Stacey. If I had it my way, she’d go downstairs ahead of me because I know they have no intention to step into a nightclub, but I’d rather not blindside or hide her. I’ll never do that.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” He wouldn’t question me any further. If it were anything else, it would have been a small interrogation happening on the spot, but when it comes to this particular situation he remains short and straight to the point as I prefer it.

I remember when we were working on opening up the New York City location. Though it was quite a bit of a struggle to balance, the excitement within me was the endless adrenaline rush I needed to multitask A&M and our project equally. We spent years talking about opening up a restaurant and a nightclub so to see it coming to fruition had easily turned that year into one of the best ones of my life. It wasn’t myself who told Richard and Elizabeth about it over a Sunday dinner, it was Matthew. While preparing for a conference call, I’d been on the phone with our contractor trying to figure out why our budget was increasing by another hundred thousand dollars within a day. Had it been something trivial, I would have hung up the phone and handled it another time, but I couldn’t and I allowed him in on what was supposed to be quietly kept on my end. I damn near thought we were going to have a genuine brother to brother moment when he assured me that not only was he proud of me, but also that he’d keep it to himself, but I shouldn’t have known better. Like a gossiping school girl, he blurted it out days later and left what was dear to me out on the table to be critiqued and damn near ripped to shreds by the two people I didn’t want to hear it from. For my mother, her curiosity about my being interested in the culinary and nightclub industry held hints of condescending amusement. She quickly called me a hermit crab who never leaves his shell and wondered why I’d ever put myself out there to be the often times awkward person she knows me to be. For Richard, his agenda was about his pockets, nothing more or less. He damn near nagged about the potential for it to be one huge distraction and it not being as profitable as what I’m doing at A&M. According to him, I needed to focus on expansion of the business that was built by actual family instead of a pipe dream venture with my friends because I’m a grown man and should know better than to get into business with friends. That evening worsened the trend of myself either barging out or leaving those dinners earlier than expected. A Sunday dinner in my apartment while I bask in solitude has given me far more peace than that bullshit.

In those early teen years, I wanted an Uncle Phil or a Carl Winslow kind of father. Shit, I would even take the headstrong James Evans. I wanted a Claire Huxtable maternal figure who understood what it took to be nurturing, understanding, and stern all at once. Television is scripted and often times unrealistic depending upon the program, but I knew that there was realism trickled in those family oriented shows. My friends have that. Their parents didn’t ship them off to boarding school when their screw ups continued to have a plague like affect on everyone around them. Shit, even the kids at that school had normal relationships with their parents. I could of had it at some point. My uncle wanted me. He’d even gone as far as assuring them that it didn’t even have to be an official adoption. Richard’s ego and his underhanded competition with him nipped that in the bud immediately. Besides, they’d already had plans to send me to London prior to him even asking. While away, I didn’t become cold. I had no interest in becoming hardened and completely shut down because of my circumstances. I adjusted and raised myself. I became knowledgeable and cultured by living and analyzing the success, failures, and mishaps of others. I don’t look at myself as bitter. I’m indifferent and I’ve outgrown that yearning to be the son who they accept and actually want. Now, I’d just prefer they stay the fuck out of my face.

“Hey.” I could feel the smoothness of Autumns hands touching my face and interrupting my thoughts. I’d lost track of how long I’d been lingering behind.

“Did I tell you how proud I am of you?” Only about a dozen or more times since our arrival. Her gasps, squeals, and raving hadn’t stopped. If she were trying to make me any more big-headed about all of this, my head should’ve exploded an hour or two ago.

“Did I tell you how much that means to me?” I drew her body in for a hug and a kiss to her forehead. She could tell me all night if she pleases. It’ll never grow old.

“I’m so proud of you. I really am. I keep looking around and I’m in awe of everything you all put into this. The ambiance is beyond anything that I could’ve ever imagined and you all have outdone yourselves. No matter what you’re doing, that brilliant mind yours finds a way to take it to the next level every single time. You don’t give yourself enough credit so I’m going to drown you in it. I’m inspired.”

“The inspiration is inspired. I suppose that’s fair enough. Thank you.”

“You kill me with all of that.”

“What? That you inspire me? You do. It’s the most important kind of inspiration. You inspire and influence who I am as a human being; as a man.” Her finger tips grazed the back of my tingling neck and those intoxicating eyes stared into mine. Though I know my words didn’t go unheard, the manner in which she stared was beyond them. Her lips fell agape and her eyes brightened and softened within an instant.  

“You’re so beautiful.” My surroundings morphed into nothingness as I basked in the feeling of her words and the caressing of her hands. I don’t know how much more deeper in love I can fall. I don’t have any parts of my body and mind that aren’t already synced to her every word and movement. She fills my dreams as I sleep and is who I reach for when the slumber is over. Her scent follows me everywhere I go, no matter the setting. I am captivated. I want her and I have her. I have a school boy crush on a woman who supersedes women who have graced films, music videos, or magazines. I’m enamored, smitten, besotted…all of it. I’d marry her tomorrow if she were ready for it. That would be my greatest accomplishment thus far and then our children would come along and further enhance that. I want nothing more than for us to be one of those couples who spent all of our lives together and then I want to die first, because she has the strength to live on without me. I can’t say the same for myself. I’m okay with a lot things in my life being temporary, but not this. This can’t be that.

“Can I borrow her for a photo please? ” Before I could protest it, Stacey was pulling Autumn out of my arms and hauling her back to the bar for whatever photo op moment she and Erica were concocting. I’m not sure if it was planned, but they looked like the black Charlie’s Angels in their white and silver attire. Of course, Mike jumping into the middle of their moment made himself Charlie. He can’t help himself and we all love him for it.

The live jazz band for tonight’s opening was a last minute pull through. The lighting needed a soundtrack behind it and nothing else could have done it like live instrumentation filling the atmosphere with vivacious and somber medleys. It’s what separates the two expressions of nightlight we’re presenting this evening. Aside from my love, it serves as a secondary soother for the tension smoldering me.

An all too familiar medley drew my attention to Autumn and we instantly locked eyes with small smirks tugging at our lips. The mesh of Ellington’s piano and Coltrane’s tenor saxophone painted a vivid picture of us and though our mental imagery may not be of the same experiences we’ve had together thus far, I know that she too has us on her mind. We are the notes, tone, and mood. We are the key. We are the words the sultry Ella Fitzgerlad’s sang.

“Sir.” The hostess was careful not to step into my line of view but she came close enough for me to see her out of the corner of my eyes.

“Yes?”

“We’ve seated Mr. and Mrs. St. James. They’re requesting your presence at their table.” My exhale was through my nose. Though I’ve known about their decision to come, I still quietly held an optimism that they wouldn’t give enough of a damn to take a five hour flight to Los Angeles in order to further exasperate me more than they already do.  

“Thank you. Have a glass of Glenfiddich 1977 sent to Mr. St. James and a glass of  Richebourg Grand Cru from Cote de Nuit sent to his wife.” My request for some of the most expensive wine and scotch we have wasn’t for brownie points. Richard would have ordered it himself without ever skimming through the drink menu either way, so I chose to handle it on my own. My next move was to lure Autumn away from Stacey.

“Give me your jacket.” My eyebrows flew up at her request as she fiddled with the ends of her hair and eventually tossed them behind her.

“For what?”

“I can’t meet your parents in this. I didn’t even think of that. You made it seem it was a toss up whether they’d be here or not. I should’ve just worn the dress.” Her nerves were worse than mine and had I not already been unnerved by all of this, I would have laughed because that confidence and slick mouth disappeared. This is all her idea and she was so assured in wanting it to happen and now that the moment is here, she’s damn near sweating.

“What’s wrong with it? You’re grown. I’m grown. I like it. You look classy in it. There’s no need to cover it.”

“Give me your jacket.”

“No.”

“Dante.” Once I had her hand in mine, I laced our fingers. Though I took the lead, she closely followed behind instead of stubbornly standing in place and sparking a back and forth spat over something so ridiculous. The calling of my name didn’t cease until we were within inches of the table that held enough prestige to have two guests who I don’t even know standing and shamelessly fawning over the pompous egomaniac sitting along side his wife. The manner in which she ogled over him while he boasted about me nearly made me turn around.

“Excuse me. There’s my boy.” Surprisingly, he stood to his feet and stepped around the table for a proper greeting. I tower over him and even so, I could sense Autumn taking a step back in clear intimidation. His conniving glare panned in her direction and locked on her frame. He scrutinized her physical appearance with a number of head to toe glances and turned to me with a sly smirk.

“I would have beat his ass too.” His laughter was lone. I have a feeling he’d been waiting for this moment just for that joke. Their interest in her heightened when Matthew and I came to blows and he warned me that she better had been worth attacking my own flesh and blood over while my mother whined to meet her. Now as she swiftly moves to stand beside him, the cheerful smile on her faces proves that she’s satisfied.

“Hello.”

Autumn stepped up until she was standing along side me and reached her hand out for his own. With no hesitation, he latched his on to hers and brought her hand up to his lips for a kiss.

Strike one.

“Hello. I’m Autumn. It’s very nice to meet you Mr. St. James and you as well Mrs. St. James.” When her hand was no longer within his grip, she immediately reached over and shook my mother’s, who was staring at her as if she were a rare object or some sort of a mythical being.

“Oh, Autumn. It’s so nice to finally meet you. You’re stunning.”

“Thank you. A compliment from someone as beautiful as yourself means a lot. I see where you get your looks from.” Autumn turned and smiled at me. I had no choice but to forcefully smile back. I don’t see it. Though I’ve never met the man, photos show me that I share a close resemblance to her father.

“He does look a lot like his mother doesn’t he? He has her looks and my brain. A perfect mixture I’d say.”

“So would I.” Bullshit.

“So where did you two meet?” And the questions began. I thought that typically happens with teen relationships. Autumn’s parents didn’t even ask me that question. Then again, it’s probably because they already knew.

“Through work. I work for my older brother’s companies, Blue Star and Meridian. I’m currently a corporate flight attendant and we crossed paths in that manner.”

“Really? What an interesting way to meet.” Though I have no intention to verbally pounce on my mother tonight, if she dares to say anything condescending, I’m going to embarrass her. The manner in which Autumn and I met will never compare to her intrusion on someone else’s marriage for the sake of self gain.

“So you two didn’t know one another prior to your divorce with the NBA guy? My son didn’t woo you away from him right?”

Strike two.

“Oh, no. Not at all. We met prior to my divorce, but my ex-husband and I were separated for about two years before we divorced one another. He’d already moved on with his life romantically and even created a life before Dante and I met.” She didn’t flinch nor shrink at his shrewd questions. Her answers were just as swift and straight to the point as his blunt questions were.

“Why did you two divorce?”

“Does that matter?” I chimed in to end it all because there was no purpose for what he’d been asking. They could have divorced for the most trivial or pointless reasons and it wouldn’t matter within this moment. Is she asking why he left his first wife to die while he had an affair with the woman standing beside him?

“It’s okay. We divorced due to irreconcilable differences. He wasn’t happy anymore and he wanted out.”

“You two had no children.”

“By choice.” Her tone wasn’t as lighthearted as before. What he implied was far worse than him treading into a sensitive territory.

“Enough. This isn’t a background check.”

“It’s okay.” She gave my hand a squeeze of assurance. “They’re just questions.”

“Well you’re happy now right? That’s truly all that matters.” The genuine smiles between both women cut some of the enmity down between she and Richard. This time it was my mother who reached for her hand and gave it a maternal like caress.

“I am. Life is better and this guy certainly plays a part in that.” Her arm wrapped around my waist and she leaned into me to express that sentiment.

“That’s so nice to hear. I’ve always known that any woman who has my son in her life is a woman who should be considered lucky. He’s a gentlemen and upstanding guy. It’s why I continue to be so proud of him.” I didn’t mean to snicker but I did and it put a damper on everything. The smile on her face fell into the pursing of her lips and her once gleaming eyes turned solemn. She’s proud of what she doesn’t get credit for. How can I not laugh? Autumn knows enough to know that this isn’t a normal happy family moment. Every St. James who is standing in this small huddle knows this is nothing more than showmanship. She’s just taking it up way too many notches.

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Indeed you are, son.” Richard raised his glass of scotch and poured every bit of it down his throat. “Take a walk with me.”

“I’ll keep Autumn company while you do that. I’d love to know more about her.” Before I could protest, Autumn obliged her suggestion by taking a seat at the table and giving me a nod to walk away.

“Follow me.”

Whatever’s on his mind has to be about business and I know what it entails. He’s been pushing to acquire more Hollywood clientele and I’m not the man for the job. I passed off the Calvin Harris account as quickly as I could and I’d do it with every single one we acquire. I’m a negotiator and closer. I only deal with personalities for a specific time frame. Personal PR and marketing work is exactly that, up close and personal. I have no interest in obliging a person’s unpredictable requests while quietly being a victim to their personality traits. I don’t want to build celebrities. The entertainment industry is a silent murderer and I don’t want any parts of physically or mentally ruining anyone for the sake of self gain. That’s Matthew’s talent. Let him handle that.

“Your flight attendant? She knows and is apart of your every move now. You’re going to get tired of that and her. You do know that right?”

“What the fuck happened with Rick?” Autumn was nice enough to answer his questions. I’m not.

“Fuck Rick. He’s been bullshitting ever since I brought forth how much his son wasn’t bringing a damn thing to the table and yet was making a seven figure salary. He makes everything personal and who the fuck has time for that when you’re trying to run a damn near billion dollar enterprise? He’s been pissed ever since and had been talking about how he wanted out behind the scenes. I just helped him relieve his misery. I’m going to buy him out and that will be done with. We don’t fucking need him anyway.”

“He helped you build that company from the ground up.”

“And he was willing to bring it down.”

“How do you not expect a man to defend his son?”

“And what do you think I’m doing right now? I’m not worrying about anyone elses’ sons but my own. I’m protecting my family. I’m keeping a roof over the heads of my family. I’ll be damned if I allow another man to take the food off of the tables of my children and my wife. A&M is mine. I am solely responsible for the idea and the brand. He came in to help me execute what I’d already began to formulate. Don’t ever mistake our partnership for it being some shit that we brainstormed together. He was never mistaken about that, he just wanted it to be implied because that’s what white motherfuckers do. This country was built on white people standing on the backs of people who look like us and taking credit for our shit. That’s not going to happen me. That’s not going to happen to my sons.”

“And you think creating an enemy with someone who knows the ins and outs of the company is a good thing? That man was your friend. Hell, I call him uncle.”

“A wise man once said the man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies but also to hate his friends.”

“Whoever said that must be as fucked up in the head as you are.” His laughter was boisterous and brazen. The smug expression on his face matched his stance.

“Congratulations on all of this son. It’s impressive. You haven’t allowed this to get in the way of what we’ve built. Keep that trend going when it comes to who you’re fucking around with in that bed of yours.” He stepped around me to return to their table but stopped briefly midway. “And send me another glass of that scotch.”

I got my drink, I got my music, I would share it but today I'm yelling…

Kendrick Lamar’s performance controlled the energy of the crowd and their response to him felt like we were inside of the Staples Center instead of surrounded by golden interior and floating bottles of champagne. Snoop Dog’s presence as the most overqualified hype man revved up the energy even more. I’d been in and out of the office since coming down here not only to look over paper work and the successes of the night, but mostly because I needed space to think. The need for it seemed to be mutual because Autumn hadn’t invaded mine and didn’t complain or send for me to invade hers. Instead, she sat at the bar and basked in the moment while every bit of the male energy in the room gravitated her way in some sort of manner. From the moment Richard walked away from me, I’d only exchanged goodbyes with them after covering their dinner and bidding my mother an empty promise of having brunch with her tomorrow at noon. Though she offered, she knows I won’t show up. It’s simply a call for a healing and maybe one day it’ll happen, but it’s not tonight or tomorrow. It’ll happen when she’s ready because though I’m not a perfect man and I have my shortcomings, the strain in our relationship is her sin.

“Tired?” My lips grazed the warmth of her ear and I looked on as she watched who she considers to be one of her favorite artists of this generation.

“No.”

“I want you to take a ride with me when the night is over.”

“I can do that.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Since when do you ask?” She turned her head and sweetly pressed her lips onto mine; the lingering on my bottom lip enticed a tightening in the pit of my stomach.

As we leaned against one another, we looked on as our special guests of the evening musically tore the place down. Eventually, what we deemed to be our L.A. Crew joined us at the bar, and we looked on with cocktails of our choice in hand. We’d done enough for the evening. All that had been left to do was enjoy the fruits of our labor and we did so, until our three a.m. closing time.

“Where are you taking me that has had us in this backseat for an hour? And then what are these hills? I do like to run, but I’m not a hiking kind of a girl, especially not in heels.” Our cuddling and lip locking session had come to an end when she sat up and looked out the window in an attempt to figure out our surroundings.

“Also we don't have to make out in a car. We have an amazing suite we can do that in…while naked.” She didn't join me in laughter. Instead she cut her eyes and awaited an explanation.

“You’ll see in about two minutes.” Her stubborn huff furthered the amusement and my caressing of her thigh did nothing to soothe that. It wasn’t until the driver brought the vehicle to a halt that she relaxed and once again turned to me to await an explanation.

“There’s water down there. Is this Malibu?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t wait for the driver to open my door. I did it myself and hopped out of the backseat with an impatient Autumn coming right behind me. She turned in a complete circle to give herself an panoramic view of the entire property. Her gesture reminded me of myself the first time I stood out here in the midst of nothing other than the view. I gazed at the sea for over an hour as daydreams of a future here washed over me one after the other. I envisioned my home and every single intricacy about it. It differed from my original design and yet surpassed it in beauty. Whenever I’m in L.A, I take a ride here and render myself to speechlessness in knowing that it now exists.

“This is the house.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t move. She stared and marveled at it’s Mediterranean style while two hundred and seventy degree views of rolling hills and ocean surrounded it. Though my apartment is very modern, I opted for a vintage style of design here because I wanted it to give the illusion of being timeless and lived in. It needed to be a place that aged with me rather than something that’ll make me feel like I’m going through a midlife crisis within the next ten to fifteen years. The pavers, French oak floors, and mahogany doors were all personally picked out by me and it was a lengthy process in finding exactly what I wanted. Though Stacey and I argued on it being three, it’s a two story home because I don’t want or need anything more than that. I didn’t want a mansion and I don’t consider this to be that despite the six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

It’s just home.

“This is breathtaking.”

“You want to go inside?”

“We can?”

“Well, it is my house.” My sarcastic response earned a light punch to my shoulder. I had to keep up with her as she swiftly made her way to the door and awaited my next move. As I unlocked it, she awaited my invitation for her entry and I was left to turn on the lights as she quietly examined every hall and the rooms that led off from them. She had no questions for me or criticisms about my choice of interior design. Everything was a polar opposite from New York. The blackened interior of my apartment was a reflection of the city’s nightlife and the vibrancy here balanced out with the ocean and true blue skies.

“Is every part of the house fully furnished?”

“No, not yet. There are two or three rooms left behind that need to be done. There’s also an office that has to be done.”

“How many rooms?”

“Six bedrooms and eight bathrooms. Ten thousand, one hundred, and thirty five square feet.”

“Wow.”

“Come through here.” We returned to the grand foyer and walked straight through the main sitting room. I opened one of the doors and her gasp nearly startled me as we stepped out on the trellised patio and into the illuminated back of the house. The nearly two acres of impeccably landscaped grounds contains the pool, a lighted basketball court, a tennis court that I’m never going to use and will probably turn into something else, and multiple sitting areas for entertainment purposes. There’s enough room back here for a barbecue or a huge family gathering. It’s perfect for birthday parties and whatever else can possibly be celebrated. Whenever Mike and Fredrick come out to visit, I know we’ll spend most of our time out here with cognac, good music, and card games at night and rounds of basketball during the day. Stacey and all of her diva antics will lay pool side and relax while I enjoy time with my God daughter.

“This place is a dream.”

“That’s a perfect one word description.”

The lighting from the pool and the glimmering stars faintly illuminated the white covering her body as she walked across the yard and eventually stopped to glance at the horizon. She became lost in the rhythmic percussion of the light waves as they rolled toward the sandy coastline and fizzled out.

“I can see why this is home for you.” She didn’t break her gaze away from what would soon be irradiated with orange hued rays of the sunrise. “This is the place where you’re most at peace.”

“It is.” My head nodded with the response. “I plan to be here permanently in a year.”

“A year? What happened to two or three?”

“In looking at it, I’ve realize how much that’s just wasted and stalled time. I’m ready. It’s what I need to be a peace with myself more than anything else.”

“I’m glad you realize that. You need to put what you want and deserve first, at all times. You work too hard and give too much to not do that. I’m sure things will be different because everyone you love is on the east coast, but that’s what planes are for right?”

“They’re coming.”

“What?” It was then that she turned her head and gave me her full attention.

“Skidmore, Owings, & Merrill LLP is a global firm. Fredrick can be wherever he pleases. Mike passed the bar exam out here years ago. He’s also considering not having any ties to a particular firm. He’s seeking his own practice and he has enough clientele to pull that off without sweating.”

“And Stacey?

“When I began building this place, she threatened that I wouldn’t be leaving her behind. I know her husband wouldn’t jump for joy at the thought of her wanting to move out here just to continue working with me and I’m okay with that. She has a family and I’d never ask her to sacrifice that for me, though I believe somehow someway she’s going to find her way here.” My chuckle was lighthearted and yet gloomy. I can’t imagine walking out of my office and not having her there to insult or scold me about something. It feels like she’s been around all my life even though that’s not the case.

“It’ll be hard for you to leave her behind.”

“I’m not leaving her behind. That’s my sister. Distance doesn’t stop us from being family.”

“True.”

Her gaze returned to the water.

“What about me?” That’s a question that I didn’t expect her to ask and it’s not because I’m afraid to answer it. She should already know the answer.

“I’d like to think you know me well enough to know that I didn’t bring you here to just show this to you. I could have shown you pictures a long time ago.”

“I know.”

“I know you’re not going to allow me to put a diamond on your finger right now but I want you to know that I want you here. I want to share this with you.”

“And what am I going to share with you? You’ve already shared so much with me.”

“Everything that you share with me now. More will come later.”

The shadows of the sun began to bleed through and filter out the deep blue of the skyline. A gust of air washed over me and the warmth of Autumn’s body meshing into my own interrupted it’s coolness. Her lips pressed into my neck and trickled their way from the back to it’s chill coated side.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”  

[newtonmediagroup]

The Echo Chamber - The Art & Science of Self-Growth-Peter Hollins-The Ar...

Intellectual curiosity also helps because it encourages you to simply pursue knowledge and dig below the surface level of information you are bound to find.   View people as sources of complex, fascinating knowledge and seek to discover it for your own benefit.   To lower your guard enough to properly learn, you also need to learn to avoid the echo chamber, which is where your opinions and viewpoints get amplified.   Instead, you need to get into the habit of seeking out opposing and alternative viewpoints to avoid confirmation bias.   The final aspect of humility is to tell yourself that you are never quite at your destination.   This isn’t to lower your self-esteem; rather, it’s to put you into the mode of constant learning and always striving for more, as opposed to being satisfied with adequacy.   We are all unfinished products; at least view yourself that way in order to feel that continual learning and progress is necessary.   The Art of Intentional Thinking: Master Your Mindset. Control and Choose Your Thoughts. Create Mental Habits to Fulfill Your Potential (Second Edition) By Peter Hollins Get the audiobook on Audible at https://bit.ly/IntThink Show notes and/or episode transcripts are available at https://bit.ly/self-growth-shownotes Peter Hollins is a bestselling author, human psychology researcher, and a dedicated student of the human condition. Visit https://www.PeteHollins.com to pick up your FREE human nature cheat sheet: 7 surprising psychology studies that will change the way you think. For narration information visit Russell Newton at https://bit.ly/VoW-home For production information visit Newton Media Group LLC at https://bit.ly/newtonmg #Abominable Snowman #achievement #Confirmation #Einstein #Himalayas #humility #intellectual #RussellNewton #NewtonMG #PeterHollins #TheArtofIntentionalThinking #EchoChamber The Echo Chamber

Speaking of challenging what you think you know, there’s a phenomenon that’s snared a good portion of the population roughly since the dawn of the new millennium, especially those with rather strident and unshakeable belief systems.   It’s the echo chamber.   This runs counter to the intellectually curious mindset, in which the most important part of learning is learning from people outside your immediate comfort or knowledge zone.   The echo chamber is a closed-off precept in which humans of all stripes and kinds tend to circulate in packs whose beliefs match their own.   Rather than reach out to hear alternative or opposing viewpoints, they seek to find more “information” that supports their own opinions or standards.   In reality, they only end up hearing echoes of their own viewpoints and opinions.   This kind of mindset is called “confirmation bias.” Confirmation bias leads someone to seek out and legitimize “proof” that confirms the beliefs and theories we already espouse—and to shut out, declaim, and often berate evidence that disproves our beliefs.   You see this quite frequently in current political discourse, which often leads to the acceptance of “fake news” that validates our own views.   If you want to find evidence that smoking is healthy, all you need to do is type “smoking is healthy” into a search engine and you’ll have found your echo chamber.   But it also occurs on more personal levels.   If you’ve decided that a casual acquaintance is a philanderer, you might ignore testimony about their committed relationship and believe that friend of a friend who might have seen them possibly hook up with someone else from a distance.   The confirmation bias mindset can lead to far more than just intellectual rot; we’ve seen it damage relationships and long-time friendships.   Avoiding confirmation bias and seeking to challenge your own beliefs is akin to the humbleness that one needs to learn, which takes a drastically different approach than merely finding only people to agree with.   It’s tough and truly requires being open to the fact that you might need to humble yourself.   One method in doing that is to take a certain belief or inclination that you have and to come up with two different hypotheses that differ from it—so you have three different theories to work with.   Not only do you want your original belief and its theoretical opposite, but you also want a third explanation that might float between the two extremes or occupy a certain gray area that neither extreme necessarily considers.   Seek out opposing perspectives or something that will prove the opposite of your assumptions or views.   Collect as much information as you can, and make sure you’re learning instead of confirming your biases and subconsciously seeking out your own echo chamber.   Then go to town and research your beliefs, finding evidence or explanations that support all three hypotheses.   There’s a good chance you might find yourself slightly updating or revising your original theory—and that’s a win.   It reflects your ability to understand from all sides, and you’ll find out which of your core beliefs are the most important.   As an example, I’m going to try and pick a “controversial” topic that’s so ridiculous it will make nobody upset: let’s say you have a firmly held belief that the Abominable Snowman actually exists and is causing trouble for dwellers in the Himalayas.   That’s your one hypothesis.   Coming up with an opposing hypothesis should be pretty simple.   The Abominable Snowman does not exist, and Himalayans are doing just fine.   A third theory might be trickier, but it could be that the Abominable Snowman didn’t quite exist as we knew him: he was in fact an extremely tall, antisocial, and hairy man that most of the Himalayans didn’t like.   The first thing I’d do is find as neutral of a source as possible to find what we definitely know about the Abominable Snowman.   I no doubt would have plenty of sources confirming my beliefs (websites, sympathetic friends), so I would go to them to find statements that support my own view.   Then—and this is where we all experience discomfort— I would seek out information from sources who diametrically oppose my point of view (other websites, friends who tell the truth, most mountaineering experts) and try to summarize their viewpoints.   I’d then try to find information supporting my third hypotheses.   It’s likely I would find enough information to at least revise my opinion of the Abominable Snowman’s existence or change it altogether.   I would take a note of that.   (Once again, I urge you to come up with an actual belief or controversy that’s not this unbelievable.   Also, I apologize to any hardcore Abominable Snowman believers.) This approach to tackling confirmation bias is supportive of another extraordinarily helpful mindset to cultivate: the humble, inquisitive mindset.   Humility is often confused for weakness of character, whereas qualities like presumptuousness, arrogance, pretension, and closed-mindedness are considered outward signs of inner strength.   This is possibly the biggest fallacy of philosophy in the present world—the truth is the exact opposite.   Humility and curiosity show strength of character and the self-confidence to investigate the world and not be shaken down by new understandings or beliefs.   In contrast, people who exhibit arrogance and narrowness almost always do so out of insecurity—they’re covering up something that makes them very, very vulnerable.   Intellectual curiosity suffers under the delusion of arrogance.   While the humility mindset offers access to deeper understanding and gained knowledge, the opposite mindset courts failure because the need to be “right”—or not even that, but just to be “certain”—is a need of the ego.   The ego cares only about insularity and protection.   It cares not one whit for learning, which in turn has nothing to do with ego (because you know nothing, remember?).   Intellectual curiosity leads to learning, even if it’s not the kind of answer you were expecting to find.   The egotistical approach leads to failure because of the arrogant “need” to be correct.   The point of the humility mindset is to check your pride during the course of learning.   You don’t have to chuck all of it out the door at other times (though it probably wouldn’t hurt), but at least in the act of finding new things, listening to others, and discovering new truths, set your pride aside.   Confronting our own beliefs isn’t easy because we fear the prospect that we’ve lived under false impressions for most of our lives.   Adopting the always-learning mindset relieves a good deal of that fear—and makes eliminating confirmation bias more of an opportunity than a risk.  

You’re Never There: Perpetual Progress vs. Achievement

Finally, here’s some stone-cold truth that will bug some of you but hopefully relieve most of you: you are a work in progress and always will be.   You will experience monumental changes in the way you think, feel, and behave over long periods of time.   Most of these will be improvements and developments on your way to becoming an amazing human being.   But you will, unfortunately, never quite be there—at least in mindset.   It’s not that you won’t accomplish great things or shouldn’t show some pride in your achievements.   It’s just that you can’t stop there.   Albert Einstein published his theory of general relativity—arguably the most significant scientific moment of the 20th century—in 1915.   He could have stopped right there and cemented his legacy forever.   But he continued to refine his theory throughout the next decade and a half, incorporating information about electromagnetism and finally updating his findings with the theory of distant parallelism in 1929.   Only when he felt he was finished did he move on to other theories.   Our actions are highly susceptible to the labels we give ourselves—the short and terse descriptors that we use to identify who we are.   This is especially true with negative identifications: “lazy,” “stupid,” “weak,” “unstable,” “angry,” or “unimportant.” That’s why I suggest a change in your mindset of self- identification: the elimination of the phrase “I am” and the adoption of the phrase “I’m working on it.” When you say “I am,” you’re immediately giving yourself a label that frankly acts more like a stamp: “I am lazy,” “I am stupid,” and so on.   You’ve crystallized that belief and made it part of you.   That makes change so much harder.   If you really are lazy, the “I am” statement has boxed you in that corner and branded itself to you.   But changing that statement to reflect what you want to become, you’ve flipped the momentum.   Instead of saying “I’m lazy,” say “I’m working on being more industrious and productive.” Instead of saying “I’m stupid,” say “I’m working on improving my knowledge and study skills.” Instead of saying “I’m unstable,” say “I’m working on knowing my triggers and how to react more evenly.” Even if you’re completely broke, don’t say “I’m broke”—say “I’m working on managing my finances and finding ways to earn income.” Will some people think that’s just a roundabout way of saying “I’m broke”? Probably.   But that’s their label, not yours.   They’re just being judgmental—or I should say, “They’re working on being more empathetic and accepting of people in challenging circumstances.” This way of thinking also keeps you in line with the humility aspect of the learning mindset if you flip it toward your positive traits.   Instead of saying “I’m smart,” try saying “I’m working on being smart.” Instead of saying “I’m talented,” say “I’m working on developing my talents.” You’re not saying you’re not smart or talented.   You’re saying you’re working on improving yourself— which can and should be an unending process.   In turn, it might increase your enthusiasm for learning and discovering new things rather than stunting your enthusiasm with the idea that you already know it all.   Not only are you removing the disparaging quality from your identity, but you’re also articulating your purpose every time you say you’re working on something.   And you’ll always be working on it—because we never stop learning.  

[jisforjudi]

Judi Dench on Shakespeare, 'Victoria & Abdul' and what she's learned

By Stephen Whitty

stephenjwhitty@gmail.com

ArtiSyndicate

Here's a lesson in humility: Dame Judi Dench still worries about whether or not she'll get work.

"I've always had that fear," she confesses. "So many people are unemployed and I always tell young actors, it's not the good ones who are always working. It's the lucky ones."

Well, for 60 years, we've been the truly lucky ones as Dench has amazed audiences with her range, playing in everything from "Macbeth" to "Cabaret" on stage, and "Shakespeare in Love" to "The Second Best Marigold Hotel" on film.

But the ever-busy 82-year-old - who also has "Murder on the Orient Express" opening this year - still took some time out to talk about Shakespeare, learning from directors and her new film, "Victoria & Abdul," in which the great British queen makes an unexpected friend.

Q: You have the sort of anticipation-building entrance in "Victoria and Abdul" an actor dreams of. Your exit isn't bad, either. And I was thinking afterwards - but then that's what real acting is, isn't it? Filling in all those interesting things in the middle. That's the job you have to take on.

A: Yes, well a lot of it is already there in the writing, and the rest of it is, you do your homework. But I also think it's your relationship with the other actors that gets you through. Once, I remember, Ian Holm was going to play Henry V and, well, he's not very tall, and he was rather worried about that, playing the king. And (actress) Caroline Guthrie told him, "It's not a question of you playing the king - it's how the other actors play your subjects." In the end, actually, I believe they figured out, in staging, that people wouldn't come within so many feet of him, to give him that space. We didn't do that here, but yes, I think it's far easier for me to persuade the audience that I'm the queen if the actors around me treat me like the queen. You depend on so many other people to make it work.

Q: Queen Victoria is a person you've played before, and marvelously, in "Mrs. Brown." But of course she's older now, changed, and she has a new relationship in her life, with this former servant. What was it like to revisit her?

A: It was terribly interesting because it was all so new to me. Abdul Karim's diary was only recently found, and published; this relationship really hadn't been known about, or if it were, it was kept very quiet. I had always thought that after the death of John Brown she had been on her own, and kind of coping with the rest of her life. But it is a great comfort to know that she met someone, a man who she could feel an affection for she didn't have for the children, and a friend she could easily understand, and learn from, and talk to - she wrote him sometimes five letters a day. It was a great comfort to her, obviously. I don't think she would have lived as long as she did without him.

Q: One of the lovely things about this film is, I think it keeps you wondering about these people, and their motivations. Sometimes I think even they're not sure of their motivations.

A: People ask me, "Was she in love?" But it's not a question of that; it's much bigger than that. It was this all-enveloping thing, really finding comfort in someone's company. And going to Scotland and getting away from London, and the court, and everyone standing around at keyholes. Although, of course, they still did.

Q: What I think is very telling is that she's the most powerful woman in the world - and yet people are still talking down to her because she's a woman. People are still patronizing her because she's old.

A: And she does have that lovely scene where she gets livid with all of them, doesn't she! But that's quite right, that's the way they all treat her. And (her son) Bertie - "I thought she was going to die!" But she's still there. And full of this innocent curiosity - learning Urdu, learning about the Koran.

Q: We'd be remiss, I think, if we didn't remember the recent passing of the director Sir Peter Hall, for whom you played a number of great roles onstage. What did he bring to an actor's work?

A: Oh, my word. Well, after Michael Benthall, who was the person who cast me out of drama school at the Old Vic, it was Peter who saw me at the Vic and asked me to join the company for "The Cherry Orchard," with Sir John Gielgud. And then there were the seasons at Stratford - oh, he taught me everything I know about speaking Shakespeare, obeying the punctuation, the end of the lines and the half-lines... I find it very, very difficult to express what I owe to him.

You speak of his dedication to the text, but he also had a great visual sense, and an original gift for staging.

A: Oh yes, he did it all. His idea of heaven, I believe he said, would be to do Shakespeare all day and then do Mozart at night. He was such a gifted director. When we were doing "Antony and Cleopatra" he came back once when we were about 50 performances in and said "It's got to be more baroque." I thought, What on earth does that mean? But then when I came to direct years later, directing Kenneth Branagh in "Much Ado About Nothing," I thought - now I know exactly what Peter meant by "baroque." It's let the actors go. Let them put in all the little curls and curlicues and flourishes that aren't really necessary but add so much. He taught me everything I know about Shakespeare, and a great deal of everything else.

Were their other lessons you had to learn when you began doing more film work?

A: Well, you know, filming wasn't something I ever expected to do. But when I found myself doing it, I thought, the only way you learn is to watch other people who are very good at it. And you soon understand that first important lesson - and, of course everyone is told it, but you never quite want to believe it - that less is more. When we're young, we're all very keen to go all out and try everything. You think, this is all terribly complicated and I've got to find a way to work that all out and get every bit of it onscreen. But eventually you realize it's far more powerful if you can convey an emotion with one look.

don't know if you're aware of the anniversary, but this month, 60 years ago, you first stepped on stage at the Old Vic to play Ophelia...

A: September 9!

Q: Yes! So there's a little rosemary for you, for remembrance. But I wonder, what would you tell that young actress today?

A: Well, again - less is more. Believe that. When I was playing Ophelia then, oh, I tried every way I could, everything I could think of to make the audience understand that she was mad. Now, I know that I only need to choose one thing to do that. But you don't want economy when you're in your 20s. You don't trust it. Now, in my 80s, I know that, and could play it that way. But I'm afraid I would be a very, very old Ophelia now.

[ardalionandnatalia]

Ardalion and Natalia (X)

Katya is awakening now.

Katya just had a dream about the first time she and Kuzma came together.

She blinks as she wakes up and realizes she is not with Kuzma any longer.

Having entered the temple with her bundles of sheaves, herbs and flowers, Natalia is led to bathe and purify herself. She does so, and then seeks Katya in the woman's assigned chambers.

She sighs, feeling cold and sad as she remembered what had happened to her.

Had she really died, though, she wondered? She did not recall dying. She had only assumed she was dead after talking to Sam and the others.

She see Katya sleeping, now stirring. She kneels down beside her bedside and awaits for her to wake fully.

Katya: Natalia?

Folding her hands in her lap, Natalia poses still. Hearing her name uttered, she raises slightly, nearing Katya now, over her bed.

Natalia: Are you awake now? *gently draws back the covers and helps Katya sit up in bed*

Katya: yes, I am fine. Thank you for attending to me. What will happen next?

Natalia: *bows head in respectful deference, since Iole tasked her with serving Katya and preparing her for tomorrow* Iole and the other oracles are in the midst of final preparations and prayers to appeal for the forecast tomorrow. Iole has asked me to guide you through the final preparations you and I must undergo, since I am to be your companion when we traverse down into the inner core of the temple, beneath the ground. Today, you must be dressed and taught how to offer offerings to ensure you are answered.

Katya: I see. Thank you for guiding me. Are we heading out now to the core of the temple?

Natalia: No, not yet- we need to dress and prepare our garments before we are summoned by the oracles. It's not tomorrow yet. We have many things to do today. *offers Katya her hand, though wonders if Katya will be alarmed by her own boniness and claws. Ardalion's words still gnaw on her about bodies and such.*

Katya does not seem phased and takes her hand.

She is careful not to touch the claws, but does not seem to really care.

Natalia notices that Katya's forearms have some small scars on them from the years of working at the factory.

Surprised by her acceptance, Natalia glances down at their hands, and in the growing light of the sunlight shafting through, she notices the fine, pale scars lining and splotching Katya's arms. Natalia realizes Katya has lived a hard live and is determined to make this new life easier for her. She feels a swell of sympathy for the composed woman before her.*

Katya looks at her curiously, but does not indicate any other emotions otherwise.

Katya: You seem to be very curious about me.

Natalia: Let's go to the outer hall- we have better lighting, and we can prepare our garments and headdresses for tomorrow. I'll show you yours, as I'll be making it for you. Yes, you do elicit my curiosity- you're from another land, another people. I'm curious, especially since you are from the future, at least to me. You're two centuries beyond me. Come, let's go to the outer hall. The sun shining and there's a nice breeze.

Katya: Ardalion is also from my time and my country. I see you have been talking to him a lot. How do you find him...?

Natalia: I found him, along with another man, a man from England, who disappeared. Ardalion developed an altered form with powers, and we slain a trio of monsters together. He is a vain creature, fueled by the basest. I dislike him now and do not wish to speak to him. He is amusing with his ideas, he fancies himself some sort of philsopher, but he is like some upstart who thinks they're another Descartes or Prometheus because they read a few books or get promoted in their trades.

Katya: ...I see.

Katya bows her head.

Katya: You dislike Ardalion?

Natalia: I do- what of it? Let's focus on you and your goal here. Enough talk of him. Or the men here.

Katya: I don't truly dislike him. I still like him somewhat, to be honest. He is a charming man. My goal here is to see the vision to see my husband again, right? Well, this is related. My husband and Ardalion actually share my traits in common. Perhaps this is why I can't dislike Ardalion entirely, still, after all that has happened.

Natalia: Charming? I suppose he can be. But he's a lewd brute as well. Let's focus on your husband. And your baby.

I know what you mean, though. About not hating someone entirely. I and my mother... well.... it is complicated. She and I were as complex at the Gordian knot. And it seems we tied that knot between ourselves, equally at fault.

Katya's mouth tightens.

Katya: Indeed, things can be like that sometimes. Shall we progress with the ritual now? One more thing. Lewdness is not necessarily a bad thing. Or perhaps I'm wording it wrongfully.

Katya frowns.

Katya: I'm not good at expressing myself sometimes. I wasn't that well educated, unlike Ardalion and my husband.

Natalia: *nods, and leads Katya to a low-legged table, laden with a cloth, on top of which are bundles of herbs and fresh flowers, plus ripened wheat sheaves and fresh, supple sprigs* Education can only do so much- I too am educated, yet I fail at being gentle and kind. It's hard for me to make friends or be liked.

Katya: Emotional expression plays a large role in getting people to like you.

Natalia: It's better to be a better person, than have all the education in the world. Better to be enlightened, than scholarly.

Katya: There is nothing wrong with being scholarly though. *she frowns, hating herself for being a peasant*

Natalia: Yes, you are right. And I have a bad temper, as you might see in the future, Katya. You should be warned.

Katya: Enlightenment doesn't always come to the blind who have blind faith.

Natalia: Scholars can solve problems, but never themselves.

Katya: one must learn about the world with open eyes and not rely on blind faith as the uneducated are wont to do. My husband is a scholar.

Natalia: Perhaps. Enlightenment is a choice. Arrogance can barricade a person from choosing enlightenment. It demands humility at times. Then he is fortunate to have you, then.

Katya: and ignorance often means succumbing to drunkenness and abuse. I've seen it all.

Natalia: I lived among the educated- drunkenness and abuse are in all people.

Katya: You and I are from different cultures, different times. Where you come from, it seems like the women, in particular, act very differently. The way you talk about your mother...

Natalia: My mother, despite being the most educated and refined lady of the highest breeding, was a cruel soul. She was violent, too. She killed my father when he became blind after an accident.

Katya: It is not common where I come from for a woman to act like that.

Katya bites her lip again.

Natalia: Let's forget the past, and focus on what's before us. You want to see your husband and child again, do you not?

Katya: Yes.

Natalia: I am fortunate fate gave me another mother in Iole, though I respect her enough not to call her so.

Katya: I don't need a mother.

Natalia: Let me show your headdress, it's different from mine and the others.

Katya: I am glad you have found one though.

Natalia: But I do. So let's focus on our task at hand.

Katya: You like to talk back a lot, don't you?

Her tone is not angry or reproachful, merely curious. She's never talked with someone who replies like this before.

Natalia: Yes. What of it? Does it displease you that I do?

Katya: Most people I know would have just ended the conversation just then. No, it's just peculiar. And makes me wonder if I have angered you with my different opinions. I personally don't like talking back, so maybe that is why I thought for a while you were angry at me.

Natalia: *softens and lowers sharpened guard down* We are different, for sure, Katya. I hope I have not angered you, or given you offense. *grows thoughtful* I guess I talk back because I felt a need to talk back. Like if I didn't talk back, I'd have no power, and others could demean me, or overpower me. I like to voice what I think and feel, because for so long, I was forbidden to do so. Why do you dislike talking back? You are shy, I think?

Katya looks away.

Katya: I want to avoid conflict at all means. I don't mean to disturb you. Let's just go back to the task at hand.

Natalia: You should not be afraid, now that you're in this new world. You don't have to worry about the conflict being bold would have had in your life and world. *picks up the sheaves and supple, green sprigs to make Katya's headdress*

Katya doesn't respond. She doesn't quite appreciate Natalia lecturing her, however, and thinks that people should just agree to disagree. She dislikes the idea of talking back just for the sake of it, particularly to a stranger like Natalia.

Katya: Thank you for helping me out again.

Katya: *to herself* I'm bold in my own way. Who does this person think she is, lecturing me? She doesn't know anything about me and assumed I was even shy. If I wasn't bold, how would I not have made the connections I did with Galkin? I would not have gotten close to Kuzma if I was not bold, either. It took guts for me to find and approach him again, for me to start our relationship!

Natalia: *glances at Katya sideways and senses her inner annoyance. Natalia regrets her brash assumptions and how she paraded them before Katya. She attempts to reconcile*

Natalia: You

Katya thinks she'll never see Natalia again anyways, so what is the point of thinking so much about this?

Katya doesn't say anything and stares straight ahead.

Katya: Is something the matter?

Natalia: You're irked by what I said, are you not? I'm sorry. I assumed too much. In truth, I do not know you, so I can't understand you entirely, and what you do, and how you act.

Natalia: Forgive me.

Katya: I am not angry with you. Please proceed.

Katya closes her eyes, hiding a dismissive look away from Natalia.

Katya: *to herself* and this is why I usually don't have female friends. They assume too much and they think they can tell you all of these things on a first meeting.

Katya thinks it's a great irony that she was thrown into this mostly female world and the only two males here are Ardalion and Sam of all people.

Natalia: *opens her mouth as though she desires to pursues this matter further, but seeing Katya's dismissive look, feels piqued and meek. Hangs her head slightly, wanting to withdraw a bit. She has driven away yet another, and she regrets it was a newcomer as Katya is.*

Katya has not really given Natalia much thought as she thinks about Sam and how humorous he is.

Natalia: No, we have to prepare here. *grows a bit pensive. She senses Katya dislikes her company.* *bites her lip down, not wanting to fail Iole and vex Katya any further*

Katya: What do we do to prepare?

Natalia: *begins picking up the sheaves and sprigs, now bending the supple, tender sprigs into a U-shape, like a crown of sorts* We first need to make your headdress. Because you're a wife and mother, your headdress must be fashioned with ripened sheaves of wheat and corn, to symbolize your fruitfulness in life as a wife and mother. *holds up a golden sheave as she explains, the fine bristled head of the sheave glimmers slightly in the sunlight*

Katya: What if I was only a wife and not a mother? Then what?

Natalia: *places down Katya's designated headdress and picks up several flowers* Then your headdress would be of these- these flowers symbolize the woman before motherhood and marriage- she has not lived long into life, so she is like a flower.

Natalia: It's the same if you're wife and not a mother.

Katya: I see.

Natalia: But you're both, you're a wife and a mother.

Katya looks at Natalia for a while and is tempted to ask if she was married, but doesn't.

Katya feels that Natalia is indignant about this topic.

Katya: Yes, I am. I didn't know I would be, to be honest. But that's a topic for another day.

Natalia: Mine differs because I was never a wife, nor a mother.

Katya: I see. It is interesting. It must be liberating to never be a wife and mother.

Natalia: Yes, it was for the best. I'm not fit for either role. But let's return to yours. It will look very nice once I'm done.

Katya: especially since you seem very at peace with your choice, and the fact that you long to be mentored by a woman.

Natalia: Liberty only comes to those who can enjoy it despite their lives. I could be free as a mother and wife, or free as a woman on my own. A woman on her own can be just as oppressed.

Katya: Can I help you make the headdress?

Natalia: I'm sorry. I spoke too much. Let's focus on the task at hand, here. Almost finished- yes, please help me*notices her claws are tangled and tied in the delicate threads of the stripped sprig- holds out her hands to Katya to untangle and then re-tie the sheaves to the bent sprig*

Katya untangles and helps her to re-tie.

Katya: I never got along well with women, to be honest. I cannot imagine living here that long. I'm sorry about the comment I made about not wanting a mother when you clearly have alway wanted one. I spoke too soon.

Natalia: *looks thoughtfully at her, pauses for a moment before she speaks*

Katya: I just never felt the need to connect with any woman, to be honest. I've always had difficulties for some reason. I've always felt that women were judgmental, rude, and nitpicking.

Natalia: May I be honest with you, Katya?

Katya: And I admire people with strong goals who climb the social ladder. most women I knew and know are not like that. That is why I always felt the most comfortable with men. What do you want to say?

Natalia: Back in my life, when I lived as a human, I too never sought or even liked the company of women. They all seemed, as you say, just as you say- nitpicking, assumptive, meanly-minded, materialistic, and cruel creatures. All I saw were women like my mother, so many women like her. And my prioresses as well, who were no better than her. I met one girl who was a friend to me, but I lost her. Men were intelligient, they did things, they advance and moved the world in ways women were not allowed in my time. I wanted to join that world. I liked the company of men, like my father, Andrea, Signors Morosini and Di Petro, and even an unusal and unlikely friend in Calafado. I relished their company and took comfort in their understanding and acceptance.

Natalia: Even Calafado was kinder to me than my own mother.

Katya: I see.

Katya sighs and looks away. She was not expecting Natalia's life story.

She feels too tired and overwhelmed to have a proper conversation about these kind of things. She feels a bit guilty she hasn't been very open to talking more to Natalia, though.

Natalia: But I spoke too much now, I'm irritating you. See*holds up the headdress before Katya* It's finished now.

Katya feels that Natalia's personality is somewhat like Liza's--very acidic, critical and overly emotional. This somewhat disturbs her.

Katya decides to smile and take the headdress and forget all of this came up.

Katya: Thank you! This looks wonderful.

Natalia: *gestures for Katya to bow her head so she can crown the piece on her head*

Katya bows her head.

Natalia: *carefully secures the headdress between her ears and weaves a few strands of her light hair to fully latch the piece like a crown*

Katya: I bet this looks great on me. Thank you for your wonderful help, Natalia.

Natalia: Yes, you look fit now. Now for your robes.

Natalia: *ducks into another hall, speaks with another oracle, and is handed two folds of robes, one for herself, one for Katya*

Katya: What will you be doing to my robes?

Natalia: *gestures for her to stand in another hall where the sun is shining the least, so there is shade*

Natalia: We need to dress you now, in these special robes.

Natalia: *lies out Katya's robes on a lit patch of the mosaic floor, a white peplos with a red himation, the red symbolizing her marriage and motherhood*

[thecurlysafari]

What lay behind the Door

My post regarding Knocking on the Door of Development was almost my love letter to the career field and lifestyle I have chosen, or more-so, walked, as often its as though the path chose me. 

As illustrated previously, I’ve spent my adult life genuinely knocking on this illustrious door. How could I ensure that my 7.5 or 12 hours of a working day was spent genuinely working towards reducing poverty, injustice, inequality? How could my job description contain objectives that empowered people, collaborated with those in poverty, facilitated participatory methods into people shaping their realities, futures and lives. Aka, when can I work in International Development?! 

My reflections for what lay behind the Door are as follows:

1. I had stepped through the Door many moons ago. From the time I was 20 years old, leading volunteers to raise funds and work in partnerships with grassroots projects across Kenya. Or the time I was 24 managing 24 adults in a rural Zambian town on a DFID funded project. Let alone the expeditions and projects I designed with superheroes across villages and slums in Kenya. From setting up a society or social enterprise, to governance, managing volunteers, designing training, creating a brand, editing videos, social media strategies to managing the programme aims and impact. 

This is what ‘Development’ was all along. Real people in disadvantaged marginalized, vulnerable environments and the people and projects working to support, help, empower. 

But because I only held a stipend or used my own funds, this wasn’t Development? Because my job title was not with huge INGO’s like Save the Children or UNICEF, I wasn’t in Development? 

So my first reflection is that I knew all along how it felt behind that Door, but the realisation didnt come into my consciousness until recently. 

How many of us are chasing the stars, ambitious, goal oriented and focused on that next step, that next role or opportunity, that next moment to level up? Well I know so many that are and all whom in some way or another achieve such in their own way in their own time. But something I failed to do was keep my feet on the ground whilst my head was in the sky. How I often didn’t marry the grounding and gratitude with the goals. Ultimately, I was chasing something I had already experienced and worked so hard at, but as it didnt look or categorise the way I thought it should, I overlooked its very significance and presence. Being present, honest and inward is something that can enable each of us to appreciate the work we currently do and the impact it currently creates. Being kind and honest reduces the silly emphasis on ‘should’ and replaces with ‘is’.

2. Behind the Door = Work!

Brendon Burchard is one of my favourite speakers, authors and trainers. His words are poetic and incredibly uplifting to me, with his truly beautiful ability to shape ideas and move me with his words. It is he who coins this famous phrase:

‘Behind the door of opportunity is work!’

Obvious? Not so much. It is one of those classic life cliches that seem so obvious, but one that doesn’t necessarily resonate until we are faced with that truth. 

I was faced with this truth almost this time last year, when July onwards my daily work involved managing the in country operations of a grassroots charity across two countries, delivering humanitarian aid to thousands of refugees and asylum seekers weekly. 

Now, any job I have worked since graduating with my BscEcon in 2011 has been hard work! Crazy hours. Vulnerable groups. Difficult but exciting roles. 

But until I was faced with full day to day responsibility of this level of aid, support and a role...I didn’t realise the magnitude of what lay behind this door. 

It’s one thing to work endlessly, tirelessly, have huge targets to reach, limited time, constantly evolving roles and responsibilities...whichever sector. 

But- what does work look like when your targets involved keeping people physically alive after a police clearance in the thick of winter? Or stretching aid to reach the most vulnerable out of everyone who is homeless, cold, tired and desperate? When I’m balancing the safety of volunteers lives with the delivery of effective support to hundreds of people at a time. 

Knocking on a Door and having ambition and drive is the fire to keep the soul and spirit alight. Through work, passion, art, love, focus, curiosity in work and life, we live fully and purposefully. Yet, in chasing the sunlight, in knocking on that door, be ready for what is to come. Getting the person, job, gig, contract or opportunity brings both a fantastic sense of joy, pride, satisfaction. But my word does it also bring about an incredible amount of work! The ability, knowledge and skillset acquired to live out those goals and dreams are far more than you can often anticipate. Yet so is the magnificent capability and potential you already have withing you to honour this.

3. Curiosity leads to beauty 

To be in a certain place in your life and aim for something different elevates you or moves you into new places, discovering new parts of who you are, hobbies or interests, people, experiences, new loves or passions. Without such we stay still. Stuck. Sure, we also stay secure and stable as we simmer by, contented and present. 

And at times how I envy those who live this way. This simpler way. Same job, friends, home, holiday spots, foods, habits, hobbies. But, curiosity doesn’t have to mean quitting your job, relinquishing your life of responsibilities, shaving your head and moving to Bali.

Curiosity can be picking up a paintbrush for the first time and attempting a new skill. Going to a new class, visiting a new place, meeting new people. To act on curiosity brings in new life and joy. 

I, though, have been incredibly fortunate to meet, work and co-create with the curious of this world. The friends who created businesses and charities, touring the World, spreading light and impact. The Chief Execs moved by a cause and working tirelessly to address this. In my work, this is all I’ve known. Jobs, projects, charities, events, creations, all birthed from curiosity. All constant moving parts. 

Knocking on doors of opportunity invite this curiosity into your life. Professionally acting on an idea, starting a new project or taking on a new level or role, activates a new excitement and can ultimately bring so much more. 

Knocking on the Door of Development led me to African countries full of colour, innovation and a lifetime of lessons. It led me to study more, grow in humility, become obsessed with developing myself further. The sector isn’t stagnate so neither can you be. A charity needs better social media so its time to learn social media strategies, trialing out tools and learning techniques. A project is focused on technical assistance so its time to upskill on curriculum. 

Accept that to seek and to knock is an act of courage. Sending the CV, working on your idea, sharing your talent with other, interviewing for something new, focusing on achieving something more...these acts of curiosity are brave and can ultimately lead to such beauty. Add a splash of colour, develop who you are, be brave in your wonder and the benefits outweigh it all. 

Working in International Development is the most humbling, challenging, heartbreaking and heartwarming thing I could think to do. A sector with brilliant minds, courageous people, complexities and challenge like no other. 

I was proud to step into the Door and continue my work, my efforts to partner, collaborate, move, shake, create, resolve. But on reflection, I am prouder to seek to knock in the first place. 

So, be daring enough to seek out a new Door to knock, be prepared with what’s to come behind the door, full of work and challenge but most importantly, be grateful and present enough to recognise your journey throughout it all. Navigating your way professionally is rife with expectation, challenge and stigma. But being curious, brave and daring to want to do more and be more; its the reason we have exciting companies, products and services. 

In my industry, having courage and being curious of a better World, is the reason global movements are set on combating poverty, abuse, injustice, climate change, health epidemics, political instabilities, exploitation and more. As long as as we live in a World where these things are rife, you better believe people like me will forever knock on these doors for the opportunities to continue fighting, moving, building and creating. 

If you believe in your vision, keep knocking. One day the door will open- and things will never be the same again.