#every so often a wretched little devil will appear to me and be like here's how you could fix veilguard by rewriting the entire thing

[ruushes]

i don't think it would've worked for the game but as a narrative concept it would be fun to think abt veilguard with harding as the protagonist. like it's just her and varric and then suddenly it's just her, the leader now after being the scout for so long, straining her reflex to people please trying to balance a team full of very different and frequently conflicting (in my beautiful mind creation if not in the actual game) personalities, dealing with her new powers and the anger and hurt she now feels but doesn't understand, having dreams for the first time and solas is in some of them (horrible)

then something something the personifiction of the titans' rage facing down those responsible for their suffering and figuring out how to live in the wake of it all...!

[sciencestyled]

The Devil's Bargain: A Quantum Quandary

Oh, you pathetic creatures of mediocrity, gather around as I, the incomparable Dr. Faustus, recount the absurdly serendipitous events that led me—yes, me, the master of dark arts, the conjurer of infernal spirits—to delve into the tangled web of quantum chemistry. You may think that a man of my exalted status would have no need to trifle with the paltry particles that make up your pitiful forms, but alas, fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor.

It all began on a particularly dreary evening in Hell (and yes, every evening here is dreary). I was enjoying a spirited debate with Mephistophilis, my less-than-impressive sidekick, over the finer points of eternal damnation—when suddenly, out of the blue, Lucifer himself appeared, looking more smug than usual. Now, it’s not often that the Prince of Darkness graces us with his presence, so I immediately suspected foul play.

"Faustus," he began, with that infernal smirk that makes even the bravest of souls cower in their boots, "I've got a little challenge for you."

Now, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, especially one that involves showing up that overconfident devil. But when Lucifer handed me a scroll with the words "Quantum Chemistry" scrawled in fiery letters, I’ll admit, I was less than enthused. What kind of sorcery could this possibly involve? Electrons, atoms, molecules—such trivialities seemed beneath me. But then, the offer: "Master this field, and I’ll grant you a reprieve from your eternal torment. Fail, and, well... you know the drill."

Oh, how the infernal gears of my mind began to turn! A reprieve, you say? I, Faustus, the man who traded his soul for ultimate knowledge, tempted by the chance to escape the flames? The very thought was intoxicating, and so, with a flourish and a bit of flair, I accepted the challenge.

What followed was a descent into a realm even more twisted and perplexing than Hell itself—quantum chemistry. The first thing I discovered was that the rules of the quantum world are as absurd as the terms of my infernal contract. Particles exist and don’t exist at the same time, they tunnel through barriers like the damned souls crawling through Hell’s fiery crevices, and they behave in ways that would make even Mephistophilis question his sanity.

But let me tell you, dear imps, the most confounding discovery of all was the realization that quantum chemistry is, in fact, an exquisite dance of chaos and order (ah, I used the forbidden word, but who’s keeping track in this infernal tale?). Electrons—those pesky little blighters—refuse to follow the simple, linear paths of classical mechanics. No, they waltz around in probabilistic orbits, defying the logic that your mortal minds cling to so dearly. It was as if they were mocking me, daring me to predict their next move, all the while knowing that even I, Dr. Faustus, would be hard-pressed to do so.

As I delved deeper into the eldritch principles of quantum mechanics—navigating the Schrödinger equation like a seasoned sailor in a storm—I began to see the parallels between this chaotic science and my own cursed existence. Just as I had signed away my soul for power beyond comprehension, electrons too are bound by rules that defy reason, forever trapped in a quantum purgatory of uncertainty.

But here’s the kicker—this journey through the quantum world wasn’t just a stroll through a twisted version of reality; it was a revelation. The very fabric of the universe, as it turns out, is stitched together by the most malevolent of forces, forces that I, Faustus, have long sought to command. And so, with a wicked grin and a newfound obsession, I decided to not only master this arcane science but to share it with you miserable wretches as well.

And thus, my dear demonic audience, I present to you the fruit of my labor: an exposé on the dark art of quantum chemistry. Consider it both a warning and an invitation—to explore the unfathomable depths of reality, where the rules are as twisted as my fate and where even the smallest particles can bring about the greatest of consequences. But heed this, for every revelation comes with a price, and in the quantum world, as in Hell, nothing is ever as it seems.

Prepare yourselves, for the tale that follows is not just a lesson in science, but a journey into the very heart of chaos itself.

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

shoni for 97, 100

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.

Time Travel  & Accidentally Saving the Day   

i hated writing this and it took forever and then i accidentally loved it. o fuck this happened w/ the soulmate au too, i need to stop coming up with genius plots i'm too smart

Toni didn’t like working for Klein Life Lines.

Everything from the cheesy rhyming name, the Margarita Mondays #girlboss work culture, to the absolutely suffocating way Gretchen Klein’s eyes followed her wherever she went, made every day a living hell to get through.

But. It paid like gangbusters, and her coworkers were perhaps the best people she’d ever met. From Fatin always keeping vodka in her water bottle, to Nora always having the perfect joke, to Rachel constantly arguing with Toni about who was gonna foot the lunch bill, to the way Leah always seemed to be picking up on every little thing around her. She guessed Toni’s birthday, just from context clues of Toni being a little hungover one morning. Like fucking Sherlock Holmes.

They were amazing and she loved them. But they only made working there bearable. Being Gretchen Klein’s personal fucking assistant sucked fucking ass. Even if all she had to do was move things around on google calendar she was still home by midnight most nights. She wished, often, that she was like Rachel, Nora, Fatin, and Leah. They all got to work on a big research project together while Toni told Gretchen’s son that he was gonna have to switch schools again.

Well, Leah technically worked in HR but she did so much in that big fucking mystery room she was probably helping out. Apparently “going to college” was a requirement for being a scientist. If Toni’d known that she would’ve been born rich. Her bad.

So work was bad, until the evening Gretchen’s son had some sort of emergency and she ran out early, only ordering for Toni to finish all the work she had to do. Except Toni didn’t have any work to do without Gretchen, but if she left early she’d be crucified.

So she dicked around at her desk until she wandered her way into the big mystery doors where the rest of her friends had locked themselves away.

“Hey guys,” Toni poked her head in, “Gretchen peeled out early for once, mind if I annoy you guys in here?”

“Come the fuck in,” Fatin waved her over, luckily none of them were forced to wear dumb lab coats as they plugged away at their computers. In the front of the room was a large processor, it’s fan working overtime. “Gretchen the Wretched finally fucked off?”

“Something with her son,” Toni shrugged and plopped next to Fatin. “What is that?”

“Data analysis,” Rachel answered. She showed Toni her computer, the numbers flashing too quickly for Toni to read them.

“What’s it for?”

“No idea,” Leah said. “Which isn’t giving me bad vibes at all. We’re just working on some mystery project for a self-described ‘Napoleon with a cunt.’”

“Relax,” Rachel said. “We already know it’s not for world domination. Fatin ran the diagnostics.”

Fatin made eye contact with Toni and quickly shook her head.

“So, you have no idea what it’s for?” Toni asked.

“None,” Nora said.

“But there’s a big red button we are absolutely not allowed to press,” Fatin said. She nodded at a big red button on the processor.

Toni looked at it. “I’m gonna press it.”

Everyone stopped typing and looked at her.

“Absolutely not,” Rachel said.

“Do it,” Leah said.

“Toni, absolutely maybe don’t press it,” Fatin said.

“Exactly,” Nora agreed.

“I’m gonna do it.” Toni walked over to the processor and they all watched her as her hand hovered over the large button.

“Don’t do it,” Rachel said, but didn’t make a move to stop her.

Toni loved being told what to do, so obediently she walked back over to them and they all had a good laugh.

Yeah, as if.

She pressed the button and instead of the machine shutting off, or the lights flickering, or something external, all she felt was a sudden sucking in her gut as the world went dark.

She was surrounded by water, gasping for breath as she swam, not even sure which direction to go in. Water got in her lungs and an arm swung around her waist. She grasped at it desperately, struggling as her feet kicked until she broke the water line, coughing and spluttering as someone dragged her towards a shore.

They landed on a beach and Toni continued to gasp, wondering if she'd throw up from vertigo.

“What in the world were you thinking?” A woman asked, and luckily, she didn’t sound like Gretchen, her voice too southern.

Toni coughed, her knees bending in the sand. The water was fresh though, maybe a lake?

“Who even are you?” The woman continued. “You just appeared. Out of nowhere! Are you—are you an angel?” Toni rolled over in the sand, eyes catching sight of a sky, light blue in the early morning. Which made no sense, because it was nearly eight o’clock.

“What?” Toni managed.

“You’ve got to be,” The woman said. “Or a spirit sent by the devil. Which is it?”

Toni looked over at her and holy fuck this woman was beautiful, blonde and her face was sculpted, even her hair wet shone in the sun as she looked down at Toni. Toni wanted to ask if she was the angel.

She was also dressed for the renaissance fair.

“What?”

“It’s the only way you could’ve known I was gonna jump. Why else would you have saved me?” The woman asked.

“I—what?”

“When you appeared,” the woman said. “You just appeared and I jumped in after you, instead of—well instead of jumping in to—” the woman cut off abruptly and Toni put a hand over her eyes to calm her incoming migraine.

“What’s your name?” The woman asked.

“Toni,” Toni said.

“Not very angelic,” the woman said. “Not very demonic either.”

“I’m not—what—”

“My name’s Shelby,” the woman offered. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You—you saved me,” Toni said but she shook her head. “Whatever. I guess. Where are we?”

“Not far from the mountains,” Shelby said. “My family will be there by now.”

“The mountains?” Toni asked. “What fucking mountains?”

Shelby nodded her head at something beyond them and Toni sat up a little and gaped. She’d only seen the Rocky Mountains a few times but they’d be hard to fucking forget. They stood before her like a total damnation of god and science, for one moment she had her back to them in Minnesota and now they’d crept up on her, Shelby dragging her ever closer.

She looked back at Shelby’s cosplay and a bad feeling starting creeping up her throat.

“What—what’s the year?”

Shelby gave her an odd look. “May of 1837,” Shelby said. “Do you think you’ve hit your head?”

The migraine returned and Toni fell back on the sand.

Yeah, Gretchen was definitely planning world domination.

[esmealux]

Bloody Hell

Part: 1 / 2

Setting: After 5a

Word count: 3K

Rating: T

Summary: Lucifer’s first period.

The elevator dings as Lucifer reaches the penthouse. ‘And the Devil’s back! I found your breakfast burritos and now a guy owes me a favour, so all in all, a successful trip,’ he tells her as he takes off his jacket and places it on the bar. With Chloe’s breakfast in hand, he turns towards his sofa to grin at her, only to discover she isn’t lying there, closer to ‘naked’ than ‘dressed’, like she was when he left to fetch her some food.

‘Detective?’ he calls out, walking up the steps to his bedroom. The bed is empty apart from the crumbled black silk sheets and her bra. His heart starts drumming a little faster against his ribcage.

‘Detective, where are you?’ His voice is rough and squeaky, the words almost resonating off the walls in the silent penthouse. Much too silent.

He starts searching the entire place, looking for signs of struggle and clues that’ll show him which one of his wretched siblings has kidnapped her this time. After investigating the living room and balcony thoroughly, turning every piece of furniture, looking behind every curtain, he goes back to his bedroom to check if she’s miraculously popped up. When she (still) isn’t under the bed, he’s inflamed, his annoyance and anxiety building into infernal heat, spreading through his body like a wildfire. ‘Detective, I swear to you, I will punish whoever-’

‘Lucifer, calm down,’ he suddenly hears her say, her voice muffled. The sound has relief washing over him, calming down his blazing body. ‘I’m in here.’

As he realises she’s in the bathroom, he hurriedly strides down the hall, presses his body to the door, and yanks down the handle. It’s locked. Panic still hot in his throat, he clenches his hand around the gold, ready to break in when she snaps at him from behind the door. ‘Jesus, Lucifer, what have I told you about privacy?!’

He wants to comment on her choice of exclamation, but something in her voice stops him. ‘Right. Sorry, Detective.’ He puts a hand on the door, tenderly. ‘I just- Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she assures him, still a little peeved. ‘Could you just do something for me, please?’

‘Anything your heart desires,’ he says with a grin, the last embers of fear now put out by the sound of her slightly annoyed (and thus natural) voice.

‘Well, I really desire that you find my purse and bring it to me. I think I put it on the bar.’

He frowns, thinking. ‘Uhm, no. You didn’t. In fact, it’s not anywhere in the penthouse, I’m afraid.’

‘Wha- You already looked?’ she asks, surprised.

‘Well, technically, yes.’

He hears her mutter something along the lines of ‘what does that even mean?’ before she, quite sceptically, asks, ‘Are you sure? Lucifer, I’m not in the mood for pranks right now.’

When are you ever? he thinks, still disappointed she didn’t appreciate his creativity last time he tried to lighten the mood. But he’s not looking to rouse her now, so he tells her the truth, hoping it will allay her annoyance, inexplicable as he finds it. ‘If you really must know, I spent five full minutes searching the entire place for signs that you’d been hurt by one of my pathetic relatives, so yes, Detective, I am pretty damn sure your little too big and quite mum-ish bag isn’t here,’ he tells her. He hears her grunt a profanity he’s only ever heard her moan ecstatically in the throes of passion; now it’s laced with frustration and despair. Something is going on with her, and he needs to figure out what it is before she ruins more of his favourite words.

‘Why on Earth do you need your rucksack in my bathroom anyway?’

‘It’s not a rucksack,’ she tells him.

‘Ah, nice try! But I will not let you deflect my truly relevant question. What is it you need, Detective?’ He tries again, more inquisitively this time.

No answer.

His brow creases with worry and the slightest hint of an ache settles in his chest. ‘What’s going on?’

Several heart beats pass. He tries to remain patient but after seven seconds, his hands are banging on the door and yanking down the antique French handle aggressively. ‘Detective, let me in please! Did you use the razor Maze made you? I told you not to do that! Are you hurt? Did you trip? Do you have a nosebleed? Dearie me, did you get yourself poisoned again? I- Just please tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I want to help,’ he says, his voice going softer towards the end. With anyone else, he’s not easily alarmed, but the Devil’s girlfriend does tend to get herself into danger a little more often than the average person.

He hears her sigh, short and sharply. ‘If you want to help me, you need to calm down,’ she tells him in the same slow and placid voice she uses on people who are bold enough to point a gun at her. ‘I’m fine.’

He takes a deep, shaky breath, her words easing his nerves a little.

‘Then why are you acting so… strange? And why in Dad’s name are you hiding in my bathroom? I mean, bloody hell, Detective, I was mere seconds from filing an MPR!’

She snorts, murmuring something about a drama queen. Then silence. A deep breath.

‘Well,’ she finally says, still an annoyed edge to her tone. ‘‘Bloody hell’ is not that far off, actually.’

He knits his brow. ‘Excuse me?’

She sighs deeply behind the door. ‘It’s just, uhm, you know… lady stuff.’

He blinks, dumbfounded.

‘Oh,’ is what he replies.

He would tease her about the euphemism, pretend he doesn’t understand, but he understands. He understands everything. Thinking back to the night before, he remembers her acting a little oddly then as well - giggly and gleeful one moment, fractious and bitter the next. He’d blamed it on her tipsiness, but now that he thinks about it, and does the math, she did take him hostage on a similar emotional rollercoaster ride, one, two, three, circa four weeks ago. And, yes, four weeks before that, too. The first time, he’d thought it was the stress from having her mother stay over for the urchin’s birthday. The second time, he’d indicted the particularly troubling case they’d been working. But it hadn’t (solely) been Penelope Decker nor a frustrating and possibly record-breaking number of dead ends that had made the Detective chaotically jump around the emotional spectrum to the point he’d worried she was suffering from a light personality disorder. No, apparently, it was the tiny rascals known to humans as ‘hormones’ who’d been wreaking havoc in her brain, manipulating her emotions – then and now.

He hasn’t uttered anything apart from the one (cleverly phrased) syllable since the revelation, and she must interpret his silence as lack of comprehension, because she begins to explain the bloody thing: ‘You know, when a woman-’

‘Yes, thank you, Detective, I am familiar with the concept of menstruation. Quite popular method of torture in Hell, actually,’ he informs her, cutting her biology lesson short.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Well, surprisingly, it’s mostly-’

‘That was a rhetorical- Never mind.’

He hears more than just annoyance in her voice now; she’s in pain. His chest aches again. ‘Is something wrong? I mean, I have met a lot of women whose deepest desires were to be knocked out cold during Aunt Flo’s monthly visit, but at least we know for certain there isn’t a mini-Satan inside you, ravaging your uterus,’ he points out in an attempt to cheer her up. It’s mostly a joke, because it shouldn’t be possible—isn’t possible—and yet a part of him is still exceedingly relieved that she, after three weeks of thoroughly unprotected (and sinfully delectable) sex with him, isn’t carrying, well, the Devil’s spawn.

‘Kinda feels like someone’s ravaging my uterus,’ she says with a groan. His heart starts pounding, hard and deafening. Dark spots appear before his eyes as blood leaves his head.

‘I- that’s not- what?’

‘No, Lucifer. Relax. I’m not pregnant.’ She tries to sound mild and calm, but he can tell she’s aggravated, and horribly pained. ‘It’s just cramps.’

‘Oh, right,’ he mumbles, a full-blown panic attack officially averted. Still, something in her voice makes his teeth grit and his eyes flare red. He wants to punish whatever in her body is putting her through such… torture, wants to torture it back. Or, since he can’t really do that, just have a quick chat with his father and whoever assisted him in designing the inhumanly excruciating menstrual cramps. (And humans think the Devil is the one who’s truly evil.) But he realises a family discussion might not actually help his suffering Detective right now, so instead he wills his voice to sound calm and asks her, ‘Is there anything I can do?’

As he waits, quite impatiently, for her answer, he pulls out his phone and googles ‘what to do when your girlfriend’s surfing the crimson wave.’ He’s about to tap on the top hit when she replies, ‘Uhm, well, yes, there is, actually.’ Her words both surprise and delight him. He loves to feel needed.

‘Lovely! Whatever you need, I’m here to fix it as your very own PA.’  He puts his phone back, letting his hand stay in his pocket, and clarifies, ‘Period Assistant.’ As usual, she rudely ignores his clever play on words.

‘Okay, I just need to know if you have any… stuff? Like, maybe Eve had a stash somewhere?’

‘Stuff?’ he asks, beyond clueless as to what she’s hinting at.

‘Yeah, you know-’ she starts explaining when he interrupts her, suddenly remembering. ‘Well, come to think of it, Eve did indeed have a stash!’

‘She did?’ She sounds relieved, and it makes his heart flutter a little. ‘Do you know where? ‘Cause I searched all your cabinets, but I couldn’t find anything.’

‘Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in my bookshelf,’ he says, already turning to go find it. ‘Would you prefer marijuana or molly?’

‘For God’s sake, Lucifer!’ she screams behind him, the door between them doing very little to lower the sound. ‘I don’t need freaking party drugs! This,’ she says, breathing angrily. A couple of seconds pass. ‘This is what I need.’

A tissue slides out under the door. With a raised eyebrow, he bends down to pick it up and sees that she’s scribbled some words on it with what appears to be an eyeliner. He doesn’t know what any of them mean. Well, ‘ibuprofen’ and ‘don’t be an ass’ he understands, but the rest are foreign to him.

‘Right, are these strippers’ names, or…? I think I’ve made a deal with an Always once, actual-’

‘They’re feminine hygiene products, Lucifer! I need feminine hygiene products! I want you to go buy me a whole lot I can leave in here, so I’ll never need to have this conversation ever again!’ she shouts, fuming all of a sudden. ‘So go out, and get me some tampons and pads—and that’s pads with wings! ‘Cause I swear to God, Lucifer, if you come back with pads that do not have wings, I might actually cut off your d-’

‘Yes, we get the picture, Detective!’ he cuts her off, chuckling nervously. It’s not that he hasn’t experienced his partner pissed before (he calls it Tuesday as a matter of fact), but she’s never threatened to mutilate him. ‘Whatever you need,’ he appeases her, his voice sweet and velvety. ‘Anything else?’ He reads the list she has given him, carefully paying attention to every request this time. ‘Right, ibuprofen for the- yes, your cramps. I’m afraid I’ve run out, but I’m sure I can get some wherever I’ll find,’—he squints his eyes to focus on the words — ‘Always ultra thin super long pads with flexie-wings and… Tampax pearl compak super. I mean, who the Hell names these things? Not that it matters, of course. If that’s what you need, that’s what you’ll get,’ he assures her.

As he studies her order closely one more time, his stomach growls and he realises that neither of them has eaten anything yet. He immediately offers to bring her breakfast to her; surely, her body needs alle the strength it can get to overcome whatever unpleasant side-effects other than dysmenorrhea his oh, so benevolent father has so generously granted the female population of the Earth.

‘Yes, please,’ she croaks meekly behind the door in response to his offer. ‘That would be nice.’

He goes to retrieve the burritos from atop the piano where he’d dropped them in the haste of his search. Once he’s back with them, he—gently—knocks on the door. After a couple of seconds, he hears the key turn before she opens the door just enough to reach out her arm through the crack. He’s about to give her the branded paper bag, when he thinks twice of it and instead takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers. Softly, he strokes the back of her hand and pulls it lightly, prompting her to come out. When she opens the door a little more, the sight that greets him stings his heart. Exhaustion has coloured the skin beneath her eyes purple and her usually ocean blue eyes a matte grey. Her posture is oddly sunken, like she wants to curl into a ball, and her chest heaves as she breathes heavily. She looks truly miserable, and yet she’s still a sight for sore eyes, as she stands there, wearing one of his white Prada shirts and…

‘Are those… my boxers?’ he asks her with a raised eyebrow and a pleased smile. She looks down to where his eyes have just landed. ‘Well, yeah, I couldn’t- my own underwear…,’ she trails off. ‘I’ve lined them with paper towels, just so I don’t, you know. I hope it’s okay.’ She looks strangely sheepish. He leans over to place a kiss on her forehead. ‘Oh, it’s more than okay. It’s sexy,’ he tells her with a grin. ‘And quite cute, to be frank.’

She chuckles, replacing the ache in his chest with a pleasant, buzzing warmth. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word “cute” before,’ she points out, looking up at him through her long eyelashes as she leans her forehead against his. He notices the hint of a smile on her lips, and his own smile grows wider. ‘Well, you’ve never worn my underwear before,’ he reminds her, nuzzling her nose. ‘Mmm, that is true.’ Her voice is nothing but a whisper as she leans just an inch forward to get a kiss from him, which he happily he gives her.

‘Why don’t you draw yourself a nice, hot bath,’ he proposes, booping her nose. Then an image from Jaws invades his mind, and warily, but with a glint in his eyes, he adds, ‘Unless that would make a true bloodbath.’ She pulls away from him, slowly but purposefully. Untangling their hands, she crosses her arms across her chest (he tries not to notice how it makes her cleavage deliciously peek out behind his hardly buttoned shirt). She glares at him with a look which, historically, means they will be communicating exclusively in scoffs, snorts, death stares and well, I am truly sorry for whatever it is I’ve done but can we please forget about it and go back to being a dynamic duo’s the rest of the day. With a short yet undoubtedly disapproving shake of her head, she snatches the breakfast bag from his hand before slamming the door in his face. ‘Detective, I-’ he stammers as the gush of air hits his front, possibly making his yet to be tamed bed hair look even more scandalous.

He hears the rustling and crinkling of paper as she takes out her breakfast. ‘List,’ she demands sharply with her mouth full—and not in the way that had him gripping the sheets till his knuckles turned white last night. By the sound of her voice, he’ll need to do right by her if he wishes to ever experience that again.

‘Yes, darling, I’ll do nothing but my best,’ he promises her, casting a last glance at the list in question before folding it neatly into his pocket. He starts walking down the hall when the sound of his name makes him turn on his heels to face the door. He senses another reprimand and braces himself, softly offering a simple ‘Detective?’ in response.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice is sweet and apologetic, all aggravation suddenly gone.

‘What on-’ he mumbles under his breath, completely bewildered by her emotional U-turn. He’s wise enough not to comment on it, however, smiles instead, glad he can be of use, and playfully, yet still in a tone that assures her he means no harm, says, ‘Well, it’s the least I can do for my menstruating partner.’

‘Please stop saying “menstruating”,’ she tells him between bites, sounding a little brassed off again. He considers asking her why but decides against it, responding with a simple ‘Noted’ instead.

He hears the shower start running and decides to depart, wanting to be back before she’s done. ‘Alright then, off I go on my quest!’ he sings out, hoping it’s loud enough for her to hear over the shower spray, but the water stops and she calls out a ‘what?’. She has probably already stepped into the shower cabin, adorning his bathroom with all her wet and naked glory. Oh, to be a marble tile on the wall, getting an unobstructed view of her exquisite br-

‘Did you say something, honey?’ she calls again when he hasn’t replied. It’s not the first time she uses the term of endearment, but it still makes warmth pool low in his stomach. He’s so smitten—not a cell in his body can deny that anymore. Especially not the part of his body that’s currently straining his tailored slacks.

He clears his throat and shamelessly adjusts himself.

‘Hm? No, I was just announcing my exit. Try not to bleed to death while I’m gone, will you?’

‘I can’t- That’s not possi-’ she stammers behind him as he makes his way to the elevator, grabbing his jacket as he walks past the bar. Before she can finish whatever protest she’s trying to enounce, he’s already in the elevator, sending a text to Linda:

What in the ever-living Hell does ‘pads with wings’ mean?

Read part 2, ‘Granniest Panties’, here

[swishandflickwit]

Deckerstar — lost without you 1/1

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

Alternatively: A Priest Walks Into Hell

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

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 2.5k+

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

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

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

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

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

Roll with it...?

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

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

“What song is that?”

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

“Sounds positively wretched.”

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

At least not when he’s with him.

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

Little good it does.

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

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

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

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

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

“That was one time!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arguably, the most important one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The things he puts up with…

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

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

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

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

They are true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One might even say divine.

And in that moment, he knew.

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

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

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

“Spear of God,” Lucifer translates, slowly.

“Your Father has a plan,” he repeats.

Understanding dawns in Lucifer's eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mattness]

Space Dementia

Another chapter of my fanfic is here! Come to read now ^^

Chapter VII. He cut the distance to the man who intended to abuse Jennifer. With the force throwing him to the side, Robert angrily growled. For a moment he stared into the frightened blue eyes and whispered with his lips: "What's about to happen, you'll instantly forget." An incomprehensible radiance filled all around. The girl froze in complete stupor, appeared before her eyes blurred haze.

Maniac grabbed the knife, trying to get up. However, a strong blow to the trash can made itself felt. Robert quietly walked up to him and arrogantly looked. He often met such pathetic people longed to kill. Of course, Rob himself didn't do better than them, but he believed that he was allowed to do it, because in the human world he spent too much time. Robert thought it was some kind of payback. Grey gritted his teeth, knocking the knife out of the hand of the maniac and stepping on his fingers. He cried out in pain and horror, hearing the crunch of its own bones. "Who the hell are you?!" the man shouted, looking at him in fright. Robert squatted down, feeling the familiar and pleasant smell of fear begin to fill the alley. He gladly pulled the smell into the lungs. In mouth has accumulated saliva, and has awakened the most real hunger. Green eyes acquired ominous orange color. "Sorry that I hurt your pussycat, man. I didn't want it. Don't kill me!" suddenly this wretched man began to beg for mercy, noticing the dreadful change in Grey's face. But Robert didn't listen. With a single movement of his hand, he easily twisted the rapist's neck, and the loud crunch of bones filled the alley again. Robert bent down to the dead body and exposed numerous sharp teeth, starting with pleasure to tear off one piece of skin after another. Taste of human meat intoxicated, and blood splashed in different directions. It stained his face and blue scarf with black coat. The hunger grew with each bite, but Grey remembered that there was still Jennifer, who was under the influence of his hallucinations. And the more she stayed in the white void, the more her mind weakened. If he didn't stop, the girl that he for some reason decided to track down and find (and rescue) in the end will still die. Robert somehow managed to wake up. The hunger receded, and wiped his bloody chin and mouth, the man rose to his feet and looked at the torn face his another victim.  "I'll be back to you later", spat out an ear cartilage and said Robert, and dragged the body to the trash can where he dumped it. 

A veil before the eyes disappeared, and Jennifer was like waking from a strange dream, looked at Grey who stood in front of her. He smiled sadly, waiting for the numbness to completely release her. Wiping his hands and mouth again, Robert took a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit it.  "Where..." asked Jen as Robert interrupted. "Run away. Could say I scared him."  The girl watched in disbelief at him, not understanding. The last five or ten minutes out of her head completely. Jen grabbed her head, which is unbearable sick. In her eyes everything were shaking, and the first step was given with great difficulty. Robert caught the girl in time, so she didn't fall to the ground. "You saved me", Jennifer exhaled, already picking up a bag and pepper spray from the asphalt. "Thank you." "It's okay", dismissed the man and held out her hand, quickly discarding a half-smoked cigarette and extinguish it with his glossy Shoe. "You're shocked. How about I walk you to home?"  "Don't", Jennifer shook her head and tried to make a move without him. But nothing happened. The body didn't listen to the hostess, who was ready to fall on the asphalt, but Grey caught her. He again managed to catch her and tightly hugged her. The girl gratefully looked into his big green eyes. From the realization that it is still worth to accept his help, it was a little uncomfortable. But she isn't have there options. Had to agree. An expensive car to go to the hotel, Jennifer refused. She still didn't trust him, which made Robert laugh. They descended into the subway and went into the half-empty carriage where sat down on the seat. The girl was clutching in her hands a bag, feeling her cheeks blush from embarrassment. In her head is spinning with many questions, who longed to ask her unexpected savior, but in the throat as if something had stuck. Grey tried to ignore the looks of people who were clearly puzzled by his appearance. The blood on the scarf the most conspicuous and the drops on the black coat, was practically invisible. Robert frowned, for the first time feeling uncomfortable with the attention from others. All the way to the hotel they went silently, each thinking about something different. Robert barely held back a gloating grin, because the game began to gain quite interesting momentum. He felt mixed feelings of the girl and was ready to swear that they were much more interesting than the usual horror and fear. Occasionally Grey glanced out of the corner of his eye at her, feeling embarrassed, which reflected on her face. He read her thoughts, heard literally every question that was going on in that clever head. But the girl remained silent, still being under impression of what happened in the alley. By the way, to find Jennifer Wright in a huge New York for him was not easy. The road had several times to eat, to gain strength and use his intuition. The missing people who were mentioned in the news, he gladly gnawed and carefully covered his tracks. The police will never be able to find these unfortunate people. And the kid that went missing a little earlier, he didn't even see and had nothing to do with it. After meeting a girl in the Orono Robert immediately felt it something that didn't give peace now. Yes, she might seem the most normal girl, unremarkable. Grey thought Jennifer would be just as much a victim as anyone. But he was necessary to dig a little in her brain, cloud the mind, and all the fun came to the surface. So the man now decided to get close to her, to find out what kind of devil stuff slept deep inside an innocent person. "My station", said Jen hoarsely, immediately coughing and clutching the handrail to get up. Robert woke up from his thoughts and helped the girl. Together they approached the door of the train and waited while it gradually slow down. The door opened, and Robert, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders, led her towards the exit of the subway. "Tell me where to go", Grey said suddenly, affectionately, and Jennifer more embarrassed. "Across the street and one block to the right", the girl explained, clutching his hand. Silently they got to the hotel, where they rose to the thirtieth floor. The girl opened the door with the keycard and went to the room, letting Robert. He began to study the room decor with interest. Still, here he was able to visit only in a small bath when he had to remind himself because Jen started to forget about him. Now future victim took off her coat, throwing it on a chair, and sat on the sofa. Grey closed the door to the room and went to the girl. "You're okay?" a common question that people often asked each other when worried about someone. He learned it quickly, just for a couple of centuries. Robert knew how to treat girls to get a good location. He often used it when he wanted to partake of the female flesh. But Grey never stretched similar occupation because it didn't bring any pleasure. He usually dealt with it quickly, but not this time. On the spot Jennifer could be anybody, but not every have something inside that would be interested in Grey. Perhaps the universal hunger affected him, and he only seemed that she had something devilish. Perhaps there was another reason. Robert wanted to deal with it as quickly as possible and end the girl once and for all. "I'm f... fine", said Jen quietly, running her hand through her hair. "Why don't you take a bath? After you'll feel better", cautiously proposed Robert. "I'll buy you something nice with the coffee." The girl nodded and went to the bathroom while Grey picked up the phone and called room service. Once in the bathroom, Jen locked the door and sighed wearily. Her head was still aching, and the unexpected guest and the savior didn't allow her heart to calm down. The girl tried to digest in the consciousness of all that has happened, but it was only with great difficulty. She took off all her clothes and went into the shower, including the water. Warm jet began to caress body, washing away not only dirt, but and bad sensations with thoughts remains ready. On the sly became indeed much better. Jennifer relaxed, breathed out and framed the face under the water, closing her eyes. Soul became envelope a pleasant warmth with the realization that the savior was not some passing guy, namely Robert Grey. Of course, it was all too weird. But right now, Jen didn't really care. Maybe Tyra was right, and he's not as mysterious or as crazy as he might have seemed the first day they met. She just needed to get to know him better. Now Wright was certain in is, that all still can change. She pressed herself against the wall of the shower stall, feeling tears begin to trickle down her face along with drops of water. Jen almost died today, and if it hadn't been for Robert, it would have happened. Now she's in his debt. Only Jennifer had no idea how to thank a man for saving her life. In the bathroom door knock sounded, and she suddenly realized that she had spent in the shower at least an hour. "You're okay?" Robert's alarmed voice could be heard. "Yeah. I'm get out", Jen shouted and turned off the water, wiping herself with a towel and then putting on her home pajamas: a black tank top and loose blue pants. She looked in the mirror, starting to comb black hair waving down to his shoulders. Sighing again, the girl came out of the bathroom and went back into the living room where else was Robert. He was distracted from his phone and smiled at Jen. She has drawn closer and saw on a coffee table a tray with muffins and a piece of crostata with a mug of coffee. "Do you want me to get fat?" she gently smiled, sitting on the edge of the sofa. "I thought you were already have dinner, so I only took desserts", Robert replied, scratching his head. "Thank you", Jen quietly thanked, smiling sheepishly. "Not for what", the man spread his hands and moved from the sofa to the chair. The girl took a mug and took a sip of hot drink. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the wonderful taste. Then, taking a fork and a knife, Jen began to eat crostata. Robert with a faint smile, watched her, not daring to say anything. "Maybe you eat half of the cupcakes, and I don't eat so much", pushing him a plate of muffins, said the brunette. Grey agreed and in one fell swoop ate two cupcakes. The awkward silence that reigned in the living room, unpleasant pressure on Jen. So she tried to gather her courage and, looking at the man, decided to ask a question that endlessly turned in her head the last two hours and didn't give rest. "How did you find me?" "I told you that I'll be using some time in New York", reminded Robert, leaving the dish with only two of the muffin. "How did you know where I was?" didn't calm down Jennifer. "We didn't even call each other." "I have my sources." "Did you follow me, or what?" the girl frowned, feeling how indignant she was. "How long?" "I wasn't following you. I just asked for the address of your work. If I did, I'd probably know where the fucking hotel you live in is", angrily said Robert, trying to take a breath and continued calmer: "Today I wanted to go to the publisher and invite you to dinner. But you ran so fast, I didn't even get a chance to call you." Jennifer listened silently to him, knowing that she was wrong. "I almost caught up with you as you turned into that damn alley", he explained, frowning. "Thought a few times before moving on with you. And when I did, I saw that idiot coming on to you. That's all." "Okay. Sorry", the girl looked down guiltily, already moving the empty cup and plate away from her. She rose from her seat and went to the window, pondering every word Robert had said. Still, Jen really got excited for nothing. It's necessary to thank the person for the fact that he saved her life, and not to run over for what he happened to be near and so on time. Jennifer turned and looked at Grey, who sat back on the couch and tried to turn on the TV. In her head there was a very good idea, but given how the girl was embarrassed to translate it into reality will be extremely difficult. Jen sat back on the couch, carefully removing from the hands of Robert remote and putting it aside. Grey found stared at the girl. "Robert, I'm sorry", carefully the beginning of Wright, turning back eyes and removing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Especially after you saved me." He listened to her attentively, not understanding where the conversation was going. "I am grateful for that and realize that I owe you", on her cheeks made a little blush. "It's okay", Robert shook his head, noticing her getting closer. Misunderstanding more and more took possession of his mind, and to anticipate future events was extremely difficult. "The only thing I can offer you is the dinner you wanted to take me to tonight." Blue eyes finally looked at him again. In them Grey was able to see some obscure interest mixed with slight embarrassment. He was about to open his mouth to say something, but the thought slipped his mind when she decisively leaned to his lips. She covered them with a gentle kiss, and Robert was taken aback, looking surprised at Jen, who closed her eyes. The desire to push away the girl quickly changed to another — to try to answer. Confused, he closed his eyes and tried to do anything, feeling as his hands themselves lay back Jennifer. She continued, despite the fact that the kiss was too clumsy. The pleasant sweet taste of muffins on his plump lips began to drive her crazy, and the intoxicating aroma of cologne only doubled this effect. Jen knew that if now not to stop, for the innocent kiss followed by what maybe then they will both regret. Wright took herself in hand and stepped back, hearing a Robert's frustrated sigh. He opened his eyes and looked at Jen, which sheepishly smiled. In his head now happening kind of mess. All feelings and sensations mixed up from this stupid action on the part of the brunette. What did she just do to him? It seems that people call it kisses that bring them unearthly pleasure. That's just Robert doesn't understand what the kiss had caused in him. He never tried to get close to girls and receive kisses from them. It was never necessary. Now this was so... Extraordinarily. Strange, most likely. No hunger still not appeared, and his true essence was simply confused. "Why you... Why would you did that?" is a completely inappropriate question asked Robert, causing a nervous giggle from Jen. He realized the stupidity of the question, still not understanding situation. "Well, could say, so I expressed my desire that I want to continue to communicate with you", shrugged the girl, and Grey pulled a face, as if his mind visited is the most brilliant idea. He looked at his watch and got off the sofa with the girl. Jennifer noticed how confused Robert was. "Maybe you should go." "Yeah. Perhaps", he replied, smoothing his hair and taking a black coat with a scarf from chair. "You're bleeding..." suddenly noticed Jennifer on the scarf. "Oh, that... We had a little quarrel with the one who attacked you", Grey immediately found an excuse, putting on his coat and scarf. "I broke his nose and he stained me with his blood." Wright nodded and toward to the door. The man stopped in front of the girl, buttoning up the buttons and tying the scarf. He checked the phone was there and crossed the number threshold. Jennifer watched his every action, while large green eyes again and looked at her. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" now it was his turn to smile sheepishly. "Okay", agreed Jen, pursing her lips. Robert thought around for a long time, not knowing what else to say. He probably should have left as soon as she answered. But something didn't allow it. He again began to experience this strange desire to, which now forced bend over to it and to leave on their mouths timid a kiss. The girl didn't have time to answer, as Grey quickly turned and walked away to the elevators. In a complete stupor, she closed the door to the room, sighing wearily. At face appeared weak and at the same time happy smile. * * *  Again had to go on a stupid subway to the outskirts of Manhattan, where he left his car. Inside, everything still could not come back to normal. This is weird. So... human. Extraordinarily. Robert didn't know what to do when he had mixed feelings. Can, as only he again eat human flesh and satisfy hunger in another times, then all will be forgotten? He hoped so. To become a sentimental alien from another galaxy didn't want to. Still, on his planet was not like this, and to study the Earth every century became more interesting. Finally, he was in the right area and has already approached the dark Aston Martin, model DB11. Once in the car, Grey looked into the reflection of his eyes in the rear view mirror. Again they purchased the red color, and the inside slowly growing hunger. He knew that he promised to return to the body a maniac to finally kill him. Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, he turned the steering wheel of the car on the roadway. The car quickly headed down the road illuminated by lanterns. Robert frowned, noticing that the lane was surrounded by yellow police ribbons. Nearby there were cars of cops and ambulance. He thinks someone was passing by and noticed in the trash can legs that he should have stuffed there better. "Holy shit!" Robert cursed, with all his strength hitting his hands on the steering wheel. Noticing how one of the guards drew attention to the expensive car, the man immediately increased the speed and got away from this place. It seems that after a while he will have to go back to little Derry, in which the loss of people are always taken for granted, and the police could not get on his trail. Again have to sit in the house on Neibolt street, 29 and periodically go down the drain. He didn't want it so bad! But now it is better to lay low and wait until everything calms down, and then again to return to New York. After all, there was little Jenni here that he still wanted to eat. * * *  After that kiss with Robert was exactly a week, and Jennifer waited patiently for the call. Periodically she wanted to call and didn't understand why he didn't call the next day. But friends again and again tried to dissuade her. The girl continued to go to work, where she learned that in the alley nearby found the torn body of a homeless man. Wright very much embarrassed, suddenly remembering that it was in that alley she was attacked. But that man didn't look like a bum at all, or she just wasn't looking at him. Anyway, she didn't even want to think about it. Especially now, when she sat with Tyra and Margo in one of the largest bars in Brooklyn. Girls having fun spent the evening drinking and discussing everything. Jen gladly was relaxing, sipping red wine and listening friends. Margo talked about how she got a good job in Manhattan and how she immediately found someone there. However, this is not surprising. Tyra and Jen knew how often their friend changed guys. "Okay, okay. Enough, Margot, about your guys", Tyra chuckled, taking a glass of tequila and taking a small sip. "Better let Jenni tell us about her new boyfriend." "He's not my boyfriend", Jennifer shook her head. "Yeah, of course", exclaimed her friends in unison. "What about him?" asked Margo, with a sly smile. "He's name is Tom?" "Robert", Jen said indignantly. "Tom, Robert — it doesn't matter. Tell us." "Recently, about a week ago, he saved me from the jerk who attacked me in the alley", the girl was embarrassed, feeling her cheeks red. She still was uncomfortably to realize, that happened in that evening. "Then he helped me get to the hotel, ordered me dinner in my room." "Oh, that's interesting!" Tyra smiled, sitting closer to Jen. "And did you're have anything with him? Did you get him into bed?" "No!" Jennifer blushed redder, feeling like a little girl. "Then it's no fun", Margot snorted, settling comfortably on the red couch. "We're talked for a while, and then I... I kissed him", admitted the girl, smiling confusedly. "And it was... So strange and clumsy at the same time. Like he kissed a girl for the first time. But I liked it." "Still would you not liked it!" outraged Tyra, laughed. "She's found a golden Prince, who seems to be virginal and pure, and something else grumbles that he is strange!" Jennifer is angry with rolled her eyes, overlooking the, as phone, behind on the table, suddenly rang. On the smartphone screen flashed a familiar number, and his heart immediately skipped a beat, slumping down somewhere. She now felt themselves so foolish, as never before. Like she fell in love for the first time and was ashamed to admit it. The girl got up from the table and headed to the toilet. "Hey, Jen, where you're going?" Margot called out. "Back soon." The girl opened the door and stood in front of the mirror in the corner of the toilet, put the phone to your ear. She smiled, hearing a familiar voice. "Hi, Jen", said Robert. "I'm not distracting you?" "No-no", shaking her head Jennifer, not knowing what to do with myself from embarrassment. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't call." "I'm sorry about that. I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving soon for a while." As soon as he finished his sentence, the girl felt something inside painfully broke. The smile disappeared and her eyes suddenly dimmed with tears. What's wrong? A lump formed in her throat, despair seized her mind. And why is it always so? Why?! Why, when she has anything is improving in life, the emerging relationship with anyone immediately deteriorate? She didn't understand that stupid Murphy's law. Jen madly wanted to be happy, having not only a good job, but also a good man next to her. However, such queries as if the universe sent her away somewhere. "How long?" asked Jen, starting to learn the wall of the toilet. "I don't know. But we could see each other before I leave", Grey suggested, sighing heavily. "You don't mind?" "No. I would love to." "Nicely. Then I'll call you the day before." The girl didn't answer and dropped the call. Somehow reassured, she returned to her friends, which is already quite drunk and didn't notice the change in her mood. The rest of the evening and the night she spent in his own thoughts, often asking the same questions. She could not imagine that a black strip in her life had only just begun.

[omilicevic2025]

Frankenstein Entry 14: (2/4/22)

After reading volume 2, I felt as if I was visualizing the creature as a rose. His soul was purely good and beautiful but slowly started to wilt as his kindness and hope diminished little by little throughout reading. 

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“Here then I retreated, and lay down, happy to have found a shelter, however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more from the barbarity of man.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 124)

“What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these people; and I longed to join them, but dared not.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, 127)

“This trait of kindness moved me sensible. I had been accustomed, during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption; but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottager, I abstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and roots, which I gathered from a neighboring wood. I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in collecting wood for the family fire; and, during the night, I often took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.” (shelley, Frankenstein, pg 128)

“My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of nature; the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the future gilded by bright rays of hope, and anticipations of joy.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 132) 

“For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow or even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I turned away with disgust and loathing.” (Shelley, frankenstein, pg 135)

“I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted upon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with knowledge.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 136) 

“Like Adam, I was created apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his Creator; he was allowed to converse with, and acquire knowledge from beings of superior nature: but I was wretched, helpless, and alone. Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition; for often, like him when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter gall of envy rose within me.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 143-144)

“‘Hateful day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Cursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God in pity made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of your’s, more horrid from its very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and detested.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 144)

“I cherished hope, it is true; but it vanished, when I beheld my person reflected in water, or my shadow in the moon-shine, even as that frail image and that inconstant shade.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 145) 

“The more I saw them, the greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures: to see their sweet looks turned towards me with affection, was the utmost limit of my ambition.” (Shelley, 145-46) 

“I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart sunk within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 148)

“No: from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me, and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 149)

 “I was scarcely hid, when a young girl came running towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from some one in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipt, and she fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding-place; and, with extreme labour from the force of the current, saved her, and dragged her to shore. She was senseless; and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of rustic, who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at my body, and fired. I sunk to the ground, and my injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood. This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being from destruction, and as a recompense, I now writhed under the miserable pain of a wound, which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. But the agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.my pulses paused, and I fainted.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 153)

“’Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy——to him towards whom I have sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.' ‘The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets which carried despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a moment he lay dead at my feet.’ ‘I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish triumph: clapping my hands, I exclaimed, 'I, too, can create desolation; my enemy is not impregnable; this death will carry despair to him, and a thousand other miseries shall create desolation; my enemy is not impregnable; this death will carry despair to him, and a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.’”  (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 154)

“All men hate the wretched; how then must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 118) 

“Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 119)

“I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me.” (Shelley, Frankenstein, pg 119)

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The human spirit blooms and wilts like a rose. Some people bloom earlier, and others bloom later. When a person gets hurt, they become sad or angry at the world and hide in a shell just like a rose. When a rose is damaged or not taken care of, it begins to wilt and slowly its petals fall off one by one until it is nothing but an ugly stem. In the images that I inserted above, I tried to tell the creature’s story through images. The first image was a full blooming rose with a dark background. The creature was an innocent person who was simply curious and naive to the world, but he was in a rough patch because he couldn’t receive the same love and affection from others. The second image showed a rose beginning to lose its petals with a light background. This image helps define how the creature was feeling after seeking knowledge and learning about why people were afraid and disgusted by him which made him begin to feel envious. The third image shows a rose dying with a dimly lit background. The creature was emotionally damaged and full of rage after Felix attacked him after looking up to him and the whole DeLacey family for so long and receiving a gunshot wound after saving a young girl from drowning. The light inside of him is dying. In the third image shows a fully dried up rose with a light casting onto it but the shadows are covering half of the light. This image helps define how the light inside of the creature is officially dying and his seek for revenge against Victor was full in action. The last image shows a black and gray image of a dead rose drooping down in sadness against a window where it shows it’s raining outside. This is currently where the creature is. He has given up on humanity to give him the love and affection that he deserves and has realized that he is truly alone.

[smokeybrand]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Light My Darkest Hour

After watching that utter pig vomit from Zack Snyder, Army of the dead, i needed a palette cleanser. I thought about checking out Cruella but passed on that one. Not super interested in it. I looks dope, don’t misunderstand, but the more i saw of it, the more indifferent i became. Disney is bad at trailers and almost always gives too much away, unless it’s an MCU film. I needed something to shake the apathy Snyder put in me so i opted to watch one of my favorites; The Transformers the Movie. The animated one, not the Bayformers one. Why the f*ck would i do that? Sh*t’s like moving from eating puke to drinking diarrhea.

The Nostalgic

Of the top, Unicron is a boss. This was Orson Welles’ last performance and it's definitely a check cashing gig but, my goodness, does he bring the Chaos Bringer to life. He has some of he best lines in the film and delivers them with a quiet, insidious, authority

The animation in this thing is top quality. It’s absolutely stunning, lousy with all of the latest Eighties bells and whistles. Neon saturation, Tron-esque rotoscoping, and absolutely fluid motion work. This is top tier Eighties anime and you don’t see that often in US animation. And, yes, there’s a good chance this thing is legitimate anime. Way back when, the US often shipped their animation work overseas to cut costs. I think the animation houses they used were located in Korea and Japan so, technically, Transformers can be considered anime. Or, at least, parts of it.

I unironically love this schlocky ass soundtrack. A Weird Al song gets a whole ass scene. Like, Dare to be Stupid was written FOR this movie and i would be remiss if i didn’t mention that absolutely brilliant Stan Bush song, Dare. Also, there was this little ear-worm chosen as the title track, The Touch. It was also originally by performed by Stan bush but you might have seen Marky Mark belting out those dulcet power ballads.

I adore this cast. It is one of the best ever to be put to to film, even if the film that gathered that ensemble, is kind of whack. You’ve got your two staples; Peter Cullen and Frank Welker, as Optimus Prime and Megatron respectively. You have THE Chris Latta, dropping one of his last, and best performances, as the cinematic trope, himself, Starscream. Scatman Crothers dropping another fantastic performance as Jazz, even if he had next to no face time. Most of the first season Transformers appear in one form or another and that means their respective voice actors do as well but the newbies really shine here.

I mentioned the master, Orson Welles at the top of this, but this thing is riddled with star power. I mean, they got Leonard Nimoy to voice Galvatron! Spock, himself! That wouldn’t stick going forward, none of these voices would stick into season three of the series, but they re worth mentioning. Robert Stack as Ultra Magnus, Judd Nelson as Hot Rod and then later, the matrix divined Rodimus Prime, and Susan Blu voicing Arcee for the very first time. Arcee is my second favorite Transformer after Starscream so this is a big deal for me.

Listen, the plot to this flick is paper thin but i love it so much! Giant, ancient, planet sized, Transformers that’s basically the Cybertronian devil, straight up coming for Cybertron, itself, and the only way to stop it is to have a chosen one unlock the power of a divine mcguffin? i love this ridiculously epic nonsense! The Transformers is a glorified commercial for toys but this movie decided to lean hard into the “fate of the universe” spiel. The balls, son!

The writing in this movie is o goddamn over-the-top. Some of the sh*t that comes out of Galvatron and Unicron's mouth is the most quotable, most ridiculous sh*t i have ever heard put to script. “For a time, I considered sparing your wretched little planet, Cybertron. But now, you shall witness its... DISMEMBERMENT!” What even is that line and the way Welles delivers it? F*cking chef kiss!

The Verdict

Objectively, The Transformers the Movie is not a good film. Of course it’s not. It’s terrible paced, weirdly melodramatic while simultaneously being about as deep as a puddle. There are animation errors galore, the human characters are insufferable, and the overall product is mad juvenile. As an adult, you’ll probably hate this film. But i didn’t see it when i was an adult. I saw it when i was a wee lil’ Smokey, lost in the throes of his burgeoning Transformers lust. I f*cking love Transformers, man. Its one of the three major pillars of my life as a kid; Transformers, Godzilla and Spider-Man. Of course i love this movie! Of course i can’t be objective. I know how bad this flick is but the nostalgia and the cheese and the camp and that ridiculous Eighties vibe, won’t let me hate it as much as i try. I can’t recommend you watching it if you don’t have that same love of the franchise like i do but, if you do and have never seen The Transformers the Movie, definitely check it out. It’s peak Generation One f*ckery and i absolutely adore every second of it!

[pamphletstoinspire]

Letter by Padre Pio: ON REIGNING WITH CHRIST

Story With Image:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/letter-padre-pio-reigning-christ-harold-baines/?published=t

In letter seven, dated 13 May 1914, Raffaelina Cerase wrote to Padre Pio that she had delayed in responding with him because she wanted to give him some good news. She also tells Padre Pio that Jesus permits her to tell him of the many conflicts and tears, failings and discouragement, miseries and deep darkness. "At the foot of this mournful picture of my life I wish I could add just two words: love and sacrifice. Instead, I am very far from this. The Crib, Calvary and the Tabernacle show me the way; they urge and attract me to the true life, but I am deaf, blind, wicked, in I resist. When shall I make up my mind?"

She goes on to relate some good news on the family front and a reconciliation with her brother Matteo. She continues to worry about her sister Giovina about approaching the Eucharistic table more often and how Raffaelina cares deeply for her and that her sister is the only holy affection that Jesus has left her on this earth. Raffaelina also wants to know how to make reparation, expiate and atone for both herself and for her sister.

Since Padre Pio refuses all expression of thanks she expresses how extremely good he is who treats her with such very great charity and indulgence and that she wishes to thank Jesus for it through him. Raffaelina also mentions Padre Pio's seraphic patience in her writings to him. She also goes on and speaks about the imperfect meditations of mind and how Padre Pio can clarify them with Jesus. Realizing that she is a presumptuous and indiscreet person she asks for the confidence to be able to speak to her good Father, the confidence of a stubborn and wicked patient towards her compassionate and charitable physician. She again expresses her desire for prayers for her sister, friends and relatives, which Padre Pio is well aware of. Finally she expresses her desire to see and hear the Creator alone.

The response Raffaelina receives from Padre Pio is a letter dated 19 May 1914. In the letter Padre Pio reveals the following:

Beloved daughter of Jesus Christ,

May Jesus and Mary be always in your heart and may they make you holy.

By repeated blows of the efficacious chisel and by diligent polishing the divine Artist prepares the blocks of stone which are intended to form part of the divine edifice. Thus sings our most tender mother, the holy Catholic Church, in the hymn of the Office for the Dedication of a Church (Hymn at Vespers in the old Divine Office), and this is very true.

Every soul intended for eternal glory can very well be considered a stone destined for the erection of the eternal edifice.

The soul that is destined to reign with Jesus Christ in eternal glory, then, must be remodeled by the blows of hammer and chisel. But what are these blows of hammer and chisel by which the divine Artist prepares the stone, that is to say, the chosen soul? Dear sister, these strokes of the chisel are the shadows, fears, temptations, spiritual torments and agitation, with a dash of desolation and even of physical pain.

Thank the infinite mercy of the eternal Father, then, for treating your soul in this way, for it is destined to be saved. What I say is, why not rejoice at this loving treatment by the best of all fathers? Open your heart to this heavenly Physician of souls and abandon yourself with complete confidence in His most holy embrace. He is treating you as one chosen to follow Jesus closely up the Hill of Calvary and I observe with joy the keenest emotion this action of grace in you. Be quite sure that all that is going on within your soul is decreed by the Lord and for this reason you must not be afraid of acting wrongly, in a word, of offending God.

Let it suffice for you to know that in all this you are by no means offending the Lord and that, on the contrary, He is glorified all the more by it. If this most tender Spouse hides from your soul, it is not because He intends to punish your infidelity, as you imagine, but because He wants to test more and more your faith and steadfastness and at the same time to purify you of certain little attachments which to the eyes of the flesh do not appear as such. I am speaking here of those affections and faults from which not even the righteous are exempt, for it is written in the holy pages that a righteous man falls seven times. (Prov 24:16).

Believe me, if I did not see you so disconsolate, I should be less satisfied, for I should see the Lord bestowing less jewels on you. Hold firm, then, and banish as temptations all doubts on the subject, for they are really temptations. Do this in the name of Jesus on whose behalf I tell you that in all these spiritual combats you are not offending God, you are not committing sin and your soul derives much profit from it all.

Once more, get rid of all those doubts which are clouding the heavens of your soul, such as the idea that you are deaf to the divine call, that you resist his tender invitations, that you yourself are the only obstacle in the way of perfection on the part of your sister, for this does not come from the good spirit but consists in the devil's cunning attempts to turn you aside from your purpose, or at least to make you pause in your progress towards perfection and lose heart.

I hope I have said enough on the subject and that you will heed what I say. I urge you to pray continually to the heavenly Father that He may always keep you close to His divine Heart, that He may make you hear His loving voice more and more clearly and lead you to correspond with increasing gratitude. Ask Jesus with boundless confidence, like the bride in the Song of Solomon, to draw you after Him and let you smell the fragrance of His anointing oils (Cf. Song 1: 3-4), so that you may follow swiftly with all the faculties of your soul and body wherever He goes. (Cf. Rev 14:4).

I exhort you once more to abide steadfastly by all that I have told you up to the present, to believe that this is how the matter stands, namely, that the raft which conveys us to the haven of salvation, the divine weapon which leads to victory, consists in full and unquestioning submission of our own judgment to the injunctions of the one to whom is entrusted the task of steering us through the shadows, perplexities and battles of life. Holy Scripture itself confirms this with infallible authority: The obedient man will speak of victory. (Prov 21: 28 [Latin Vulgate]).

If Jesus manifests Himself, thank Him and if He remains hidden, thank Him just the same: all is a trick of love. I earnestly hope that you will come to breathe your last with Jesus on the Cross and with Him softly exclaim: It is finished. (Jn 19: 30).

Your desire to feel the Creator alone in all things and the tedium you experience in approaching and dealing with creatures is a most singular grace of the divine mercy which is not granted to all poor wayfarers. Make sure, then, that you know how to profit by it and thank God for it. Don't listen to what your imagination tells you, for it is upset and powerfully attacked by our enemy, who wants you to consider your life unproductive of good. This is merely a clever plot contrived by the devil. The grace of Jesus, my dear, makes you only too watchful with regard to what is good. You are trying to measure, understand, feel and touch this love you have for God, but, my dear sister, you must accept as certain that the more a soul loves God the less it feels this love.

The thing seems too strange and impossible in the case of transient love for creatures in this poor world, but when it is a case of love for the Spouse of the soul, things are very different. I am not able to explain this truth very clearly, by you can take it as certain that the matter is as I have said. God is incomprehensible and inaccessible; hence the more a soul penetrates into the love of this Supreme Good, the more the sentiment of love towards Him, which is beyond the soul's knowledge, seems to diminish, until the poor soul considers that it no longer loves Him at all.

In point of fact, in certain instances it seems to the soul that this is really the case, but the events prove the very opposite. That continual fear of losing one's God, that holy circumspection which makes one look carefully where to place one's feet so as not to stumble, that courage in facing the assaults of the enemy, that resignation to God's will in all life's adversities, that ardent desire to see God's kingdom established in one's own heart and in the hearts of others, are the clearest proof of the soul's love for the Supreme Good.

No, your love is not indolent, nor is it sterile. You ought rather to say that you love your heavenly Bridegroom, but that you want that love to grow continually.

The divine Master has left us in writing the injunction to recognize as our brethren those only who do the will of His Father. (Cf. Mt 12: 50). Well, then, do you not desire and make every effort to conform at all times to the divine will? Would you not give your life a thousand times rather than resolve to go against God's will? You are quite sure of this and you feel it in your heart. Let this, then, be the touchstone by which you recognize and convince yourself that your life is well spent.

Oh, how far you are from that which your feelings would lead you to believe! You love this most tender Spouse, but this seems very little to you because you desire to love with a perfect and consummate love. To us wretched and unfortunate mortals this love, at least in its fullness, is only granted in the next life. O wretched condition of our human nature! May our heavenly Spouse break through this thinnest of thin veils which separates us from Him and grant us at last that perfect love; otherwise our life is no longer life, our illness incurable and our sojourn here below a most bitter and prolonged agony.

You have interpreted too rigorously the sentiments I expressed when I wrote to you about your sister. I never once doubted that her soul is pleasing to the Lord. All I said was that I disapproved of her conduct with regard to the Eucharistic table. In these sad times when so many souls are turning away from God, I cannot convince myself that anyone can live the true spiritual life without the food of the strong. In these days in which we are continually surrounded by people who harbor hatred for God in their hearts and who blaspheme continually, the sure means of remaining immune from this pestilential disease is to strengthen ourselves with the Eucharistic food.

Now, to remain immune from sin and make progress on the path to perfection is not possible for those who remain for months on end without partaking abundantly of the immaculate Flesh of the divine Lamb. I do not know what others think about this, but to me it is very clear that in the circumstances in which we live at present, for those who limit themselves to receiving Communion once or twice in the year, it is illusory to want to convince themselves that they can take even one step towards perfection.

I cannot tell you how distressed I am about your sister's health and only the Lord knows how much I pray for her spiritual rather than her corporal well-being. May my feeble but constant prayers be acceptable to the One who rules over and governs all things, for our welfare and his glory. She is lucky, though, to have been made worthy through no merit of her own to share the Cross of the One who for pure love for us immolated Himself to the eternal Father.

I never cease to present to Jesus all those persons and all the needs which you have so much at heart.

You complain that I don't answer all your questions and you chide me gently on this account. All I can do is ask your pardon and beg you not to be angry with me, for I am not to blame. For some time past I have been suffering from forgetfulness, despite all my good intentions to satisfy every demand made on me. I am told that this is a very special grace of the heavenly Father, but is this a fact? (See Letters, Vol. 1, No. 169).

The Lord only allows me to recall those persons and things He wants me to remember. In point of fact, on several occasions our merciful Lord has suggested to me people whom I have never known or even heard of, for the sole purpose of having me present them to Him and intercede for them, and in this case He never fails to answer my poor feeble prayers. (See Padre Pio's letter to Padre Benedetto, from Pietrelcina on 20 December 1913: Letters, Vol. 169; ibid., No. 250). On the other hand, when Jesus doesn't want to answer me, He makes me actually forget to pray for those persons for whom I had firmly decided and intended to pray for.

This forgetfulness frequently extends even to the things most necessary to our human nature, such as eating, drinking and the like. I thank divine Providence in the meantime that I have never been led to forget the obligatory duties of my state.

Judge for yourself, now, if I am guilty or worthy of your compassion. I exhort you, however, when you do not receive a reply to some question, to be so good as to remind me the second and third time, without any human respect. If in such cases you do not receive satisfaction, then adore the divine judgment and do not doubt that if He allows you to remain in the dark on these matters it is for your own good. He will not allow any good thought of yours to go unrewarded.

I cannot reply adequately to the question you state as follows: "I don't know why it is that almost invariably in my brief and imperfect meditations my mind turns on what I must say to Jesus through you," because I don't quite understand your question. If possible, please explain yourself more fully. For the moment it is enough for you to know that in this I don't see the slightest shadow of anything wrong.

For several days past I feel as if my soul were tightly bound by an iron band. Pray, therefore, to the most bountiful God to give me the strength to conform meritoriously to this burdensome desire of his. I shall be eternally grateful to you if you add to these prayers the three novenas to Our Lady of the Most Holy Rosary of Pompeii with the Communions you receive in the meantime, all according to my intentions, to obtain a grace which I await from the Lord's goodness, a grace which to me seems to be for the glory of Jesus. However, if all this is seriously inconvenient for you, just dispense yourself from it.

I am obliged to end here for reasons which are well know to you.

May God bless you along with your sister and may He calm your sufferings. May He turn His merciful eyes upon you and console you by His compassion.

Fra Pio, Capuchin

Reminder: The contents of this letter is specific between Raffaelina Cerase and Padre Pio. Someone else having similar problems may receive different answers from Padre Pio.

“Calm yourself, and rejoice, because in all this it is the Lord who is acting within you.” -  Padre Pio (Caption for linked image)

[tipsycad147]

Gemini May St Dunstan’s Day

By shirleytwofeathers

Traditional weather lore has it that St. Dunstan was a great brewer who sold himself to the devil on the condition that the devil would blight the apple trees to stop the production of cider, Dunstan’s rival drink. This is said to be the cause of the wintry blast that usually comes about this time.  (May 19)

Foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good Saint Dunstan had but nipped the Evil Spirit’s nose with a touch of such weather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then, indeed, he would have roared to lusty purpose.

~A Christmas Carol

This piece of folklore seeks to explain the late May frosts, known as ‘Franklin Days’ in the West Country, which often hit between 17-19 or 19-21 May. The tale was apparently particularly popular in Devon in the 19th and 20th centuries and goes thus:

Dunstan had bought some barley and made some beer, which he then hoped to sell for a good price. Seeing this the Devil appeared before him and offered to blight the local apple trees with frost (the tale is presumably set in Somerset, perhaps when Dunstan is Abbot of Glastonbury). This would ensure there was no cider and so drive demand for beer. Dunstan accepted the offer but stipulated that the frost should strike from the 17-19 May.

Stories About St. Dustan and the Devil:

According to legend, St. Dunstan had a number of encounters with the devil. The most famous story, which entered popular folklore, tells how he pulled the devil by the nose with his blacksmith’s tongs.

The story goes that while he was living as a hermit in a cell at Glastonbury, he occupied himself with various crafts, including metalwork. Against the old church of St Mary he built a small cell five feet long and two and a half feet deep. It was there that Dunstan studied, worked at his handicrafts, and played on his harp. It is at this time, according to a late 11th-century legend, that the Devil is said to have tempted Dunstan.

One day, as evening was coming on, an old man appeared at his window and asked him to make a chalice for him. Setting aside what he was working on, Dunstan agreed to the request and set to work. But as he was working his visitor began to change shape: one moment he was an old man, then a young boy, then a seductive woman.

Dunstan realised that his guest was the devil; but, pretending not to notice, he went on with his task. He took up the tongs from among his tools and laid them in the fire, waiting until they were red-hot. Then, pulling them out of the fire, he turned round and seized the devil by the nose with the tongs. The devil struggled and screamed, but Dunstan held on until at last he felt he had triumphed. Then he threw the devil out of his cell and it fled, running down the street and crying “Woe is me! What has that bald devil done to me? Look at me, a poor wretch, look how he has tortured me!”

St Dunstan stood in his ivied Tower, Alembic, crucible, all were there; When in came Nick to play him a trick, In guise of a damsel passing fair. Every one knows How the story goes: He took up the tongs and caught hold of his nose.

~Lay of St Dunstan, 1840

Many people heard and saw this, and the following day they came to Dunstan and asked him what had happened. He said to them, “These are the tricks of devils, who try to trap us with their snares whenever they can. But if we remain firm in the service of Christ, we can easily defeat them with his help, and they will flee from us in confusion.” And from that time he dwelt safely in his little cell.

The story was of course retold in other forms, as here in playful fashion in the South English Legendary:

þe deuel he hente bi þe nose & wel faste drou; He twengde & ssok hure bi þe nose þat þe fur out blaste. þe deuel wrickede here & þere & he huld euere faste, He 3al & hupte & drou a3en & made grislich bere. He nolde for al is bi3ete þat he hadde icome þere! Wiþ is tonge he strok is nose & twengde him euere sore, Forte it was wiþinne ni3te þat he ne mi3te iseo namore. þe ssrewe was glad & bliþe inou þo he was out of is honde And flei & gradde bi þe lift þat me hurde into al þe londe: “Out, wat haþ þis calwe ido? wat haþ þis calwe ido?” In þe contreie me hurde wide hou þe ssrewe gradde so. As god þe ssrewe hadde ibeo habbe ysnut atom is nose, He ne hi3ede namore þuderward to tilie him of þe pose.

He seized the devil by the nose and pulled very hard; he tweaked and shook him by the nose so that fire burst out. The devil wriggled here and there, and he still held fast. He yelled and hopped and pulled away and made a horrible commotion. He wished for all the world that he’d never come there! With his tongs Dunstan yanked at his nose and nipped him very sore, until night came on and he could no longer see. The villain was glad and happy indeed that he was out of his hands, and fled and cried out so it was heard all over the land: “Alas, what’s this bald one done? What’s this bald one done?” It was heard far around how the wicked one cried out. The villain had got such a good tweaking of his nose, he never hurried back there again to heal his cold!

On another occasion, when Dunstan was praying alone, the devil appeared to him in the likeness of a wolf with a gaping mouth, snarling and baring his teeth. Dunstan would not be distracted from concentration on his prayers, so the devil suddenly changed himself into a little fox, trying to get Dunstan’s attention by jumping about, contorting himself and trying to get Dunstan to laugh at him.

But, smiling a little, Dunstan only said, “You are revealing how you usually behave: by your tricks you flatter the unwary so that you can devour them. Now get out of here, wretch, since Christ, who crushed the lion and the dragon with his heel, will overcome you by his grace through me, whether you’re a wolf or a fox.”

Another legend regarding the Devil and St. Dunstan also occurred in Mayfield when the convent there had just been built. The Devil appeared to St. Dunstan and said that he was going to knock down all the houses in the village. St. Dunstan bargained with the Devil and got him to agree to leave standing any house with a horseshoe on the outside. At that time, the custom of nailing horseshoes to doors for luck wasn’t well known so the Devil agreed but St. Dunstan managed to nail a horseshoe to all the houses in the village before the Devil could get to them so the village was saved.

The Devil managed to get some measure of revenge against St. Dunstan by repeatedly setting Mayfield church, then built of wood, off its normal East-West axis, leaving St. Dunstan to repeatedly correct it.  According to the lore, this was accomplished by pushing the church back into the proper east-west alignment with his shoulder!

Another church is involved with yet another St. Dunstan story. This time it is the steeple of the church in the village of Brookland, just over the border into Kent. The Devil took the steeple and was chased by St. Dunstan who caused the Devil to drop the steeple near Hastings by application of the tongs mentioned in the Mayfield story.

According to one version of the story, the injured devil flew off from Mayfield to cool his nose in the springs of Tunbridge Wells, and that’s how its famous waters got their reddish tint (don’t let anyone tell you it’s because of the iron in the water). Alternatively, he flew away with the tongs still attached to his nose, and they dropped off in the place near Brighton which is now called Tongdean (for, I hope, obvious reasons).

About Saint Dustan:

Feastday: May 19

Patron of armourers, goldsmiths, locksmiths, and jewellers

Born of a noble family at Baltonsborough, near Glastonbury, England, Dunstan was educated there by Irish monks and while still a youth, was sent to the court of King Athelstan. He became a Benedictine monk about 934 and was ordained by his uncle, St. Alphege, Bishop of Winchester, about 939.

After a time as a hermit at Glastonbury, Dunstan was recalled to the royal court by King Edmund, who appointed him abbot of Glastonbury Abbey in 943. He developed the Abbey into a great centre of learning while revitalising other monasteries in the area. He became adviser to King Edred on his accession to the throne when Edmund was murdered, and began a far-reaching reform of all the monasteries in Edred’s realm.

Dunstan also became deeply involved in secular politics and incurred the enmity of the West Saxon nobles for denouncing their immorality and for urging peace with the Danes. When Edwy succeeded his uncle Edred as king in 955, he became Dunstan’s bitter enemy for the Abbot’s strong censure of his scandalous lifestyle. Edwy confiscated his property and banished him from his kingdom.

Dunstan went to Ghent in Flanders but soon returned when a rebellion replaced Edwy with his brother Edgar, who appointed Dunstan Bishop of Worcester and London in 957. When Edwy died in 959, the civil strife ended and the country was reunited under Edgar, who appointed Dunstan Archbishop of Canterbury. The king and archbishop then planned a thorough reform of Church and state.

Dunstan was appointed legate by Pope John XII, and with St. Ethelwold and St. Oswald, restored ecclesiastical discipline, rebuilt many of the monasteries destroyed by the Danish invaders, replaced inept secular priests with monks, and enforced the widespread reforms they put into effect. Dunstan served as Edgar’s chief adviser for sixteen years and did not hesitate to reprimand him when he thought it deserved.

When Edgar died, Dunstan helped elect Edward the martyr king and then his half brother Ethelred, when Edward died soon after his election. Under Ethelred, Dunstan’s influence began to wane and he retired from politics to Canterbury to teach at the Cathedral school and died there. Dunstan has been called the reviver of monasticism in England. He was a noted musician, played the harp, composed several hymns, notably Kyrie Rex splendens, was a skilled metal worker, and illuminated manuscripts.

Sources:

Almanac.com

A Clerk of Oxford

Catholic Online

https://shirleytwofeathers.com/The_Blog/pagancalendar/category/may-holidays/

[marril96]

Her Devotion

Characters: Rowena, reader

Pairing: Rowena/reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Warning: Whump

Summary:  Following Gavin's death, Crowley kidnaps and tortures Rowena. Reader rescues her from his dungeon and helps her heal.

Editors: @apritelleorai and @oswinthestrange

A/N: I decided to start writing Rowena without her accent. I’ve only done that because it was hard for me to imagine her saying her dialogue at first, but now that I've written more of her and gotten more familiar with her character, I'm dropping the accented speech.

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Pain.

For the last twelve hours, it had been her entire world. Every little movement hurt. Every twitch and wince would send her body into a frenzy of pain. So she relaxed. She allowed the chains that bound her wrists to hold the weight of her body, resting her head against her arm.

There was no use fighting it. Not anymore. If her son had wished to release her, he would have done so hours ago. She was going to die here. He was going to torture her until she begged him to end her. Maybe it would take weeks, maybe decades. It all depended on when Fergus would grow bored of causing her pain.

Judging by the satisfied look on his face every time he'd strike her, he would never grow bored of it.

A part of her could understand. She had had a hand in sending his son – her own grandson – to his death. As fond as she'd been of the young boy, she couldn't pass on a perfect chance to get her revenge. The urge was too strong. And, to be fair, Gavin had made the choice himself. She'd initially been opposed to it, of course – she wasn't that heartless – but seeing as he'd already made up his mind about it, all she could do was support him.

It had been worth it. All of it. All this pain and suffering had been worth the look on Fergus' face, the tears in his eyes, the agony in his voice. Now he knew what it felt like to have the thing you love most taken from you.

It had been cruel, what he'd done to her. How he'd made her choose between her freedom and the death of them all, and Oskar.

It was only fair for her to make him feel her loss.

She hadn't even had time to properly mourn her adoptive son's death. Fergus, on the other hand, had all the time in the world to miss Gavin.

Rowena had already made peace with her death. She would never get the chance to completely turn her life around, as she had planned. She would never get to see you again and tell you how much she loved you – this time without fear that someone would take you from her. She would never get the perfect life she had always wanted, with you by her side.

But that was alright with her.

She had gotten her revenge. She had hurt her son the same way he had hurt her. An eye for an eye. A son for a son.

As for you… You would be safe. You wouldn't have to run from her son's demons for harboring her. You wouldn't have to hide from the literal devil because of her mistakes. You wouldn't have to sacrifice your comfort and safety, your entire life for the sake of an ancient witch who couldn't even tell you she loved you properly.

After she was gone, you would be free.

Rowena could handle torture. It hadn't been her first time in this very same dungeon, bound by these very same chains. Whatever her son could throw at her, she could take it.

Steps echoed throughout the bare halls. Light and cautious, but loud enough to be heard. Rowena almost chuckled. Had Fergus become bored already? Had he come for round two? The cuts on her face hadn't even stopped bleeding. He'd barely left the wretched cell. Surely he couldn't have wanted to pound on her some more so soon.

The door opened and Rowena raised her head weakly, wincing as the bruises on her neck protested her movement.

"Oh, my god!"

Her tired eyes met yours, wide and frightened. You clasped a hand over your mouth as you took in her appearance, pushing back the gasps that threatened to tear from your throat.

"Y/N?" Rowena asked, narrowing her eyes in surprise. Was this one of Fergus' tricks, or have you really come to rescue her?

"It's me," you confirmed, running to her. "I'd love to have a heart to heart, but we're kinda in a hurry, so we're gonna have to save that for later."

"How are you here?" she asked as you started fiddling with the chains, looking for a way to free her. It was going to be tricky without the key.

"Long story short – as I'm sure you already know, Crowley has a lot of haters here. Some of them owed me favors."

You could have asked for literally anything – it's not often that demons owe anyone, let alone witches, favors – and you asked for her freedom? If this had been anyone else, Rowena would have called them an imbecile. Hell, she considered you an imbecile. Hadn't you realized by now she wasn't worth the fuss?

There was always something with her. The Coven. Fergus. Lucifer. Amara. And now Fergus again. It wouldn't be long before yet another evil thing went after her and, once again, it would be you who would have to sacrifice yourself for her.

"You should've just let me be," she told you. "I'm not worth it."

"No way in hell – no pun intended – and yes, you are. Don't make me give you a cheesy sitcom speech," you chided.

Rowena chuckled, which prompted another wince. God, how pathetic she was, all cut up and bruised. She wasn't sure she would be brave enough to look herself in the mirror. What must you have thought, looking at her pathetic form? You'd seen her injured before, but never to this extend. She had no doubt that you would care for her the best you could, but a part of her still hated that you had to see her like this. She was the older one in this relationship. She'd had centuries of experience and wisdom, not to mention power not many witches could measure up to. She was supposed to be the one to protect you, not the other way around.

You caught her as the chains slipped off her wrists, helping her get steady on her feet.

"Can you walk?" you asked.

"Aye," Rowena replied. Despite being in pain, she still had some strength in her legs. Her wounded stomach would protest her movements, no doubt, but she could take it until you got her out of this hellhole. Or at least she hoped she could. "I think so."

You gently cupped her cheeks, mindful of the injuries covering them, and tilted her head up to look her in the eyes. "Stay strong for just a bit longer, okay? A few more minutes and this is all over."

Easier said than done, Rowena thought. Not many could handle an entire night of torture. For the last twelve hours, it was nothing but pain for her. Punches. Strikes. Slaps. It was a wonder she was still able to talk, considering the amount of times her son's fist connected with her mouth. She knew you meant nothing but the best for her, but she wasn't sure she could be that strong, confident witch you knew her as.

You seeing her this broken was a huge blow to her pride as it was. If she was to stumble while you were getting her out of this place, she didn't know how – and if – she could ever recover from that. It wouldn't just be a failure to you – she'd fail herself just as much. She would never be able to live with herself if her weakness put you in danger, after everything you'd done for her.

As if you'd read her mind, you added: "If, at any point, it becomes too much, let me know. I'll carry you."

As if that would make her feel any better. Didn't you see that she was only dragging you down? "What about Fergus?" she asked, fear flashing in her eyes. If he was to catch you attempting to break her out, he would make you pay. He told Rowena, during one of his many rants in-between the torture session, that his punishment to you would be her death. He had no intention of going after you – losing her would have been enough for him. This, however, would change things. Rowena wouldn't be surprised if he killed you in front of her to torture her further.

"He's out with the Winchesters," you replied. "Don't worry. If he comes back, I won't let him hurt you."

"It's not me I'm worried about," she said. She could take whatever torture her son could inflict on her. It was you she was afraid for. She was the one who dragged you into the mess that was her life. It wouldn't be fair for you to pay for her mistakes.

"Rowena, I've got three hex bags and an angel blade. I'll be fine. And so will you." You made sure to emphasize every word. She wasn't getting hurt on your watch. "He will never hurt you again. I promise."

Rowena gave a small nod. If she wasn't in so much pain, she would have laughed. Sometimes she forgot how protective you could be. Then you would do something like this and remind her of your devotion. What had she done to deserve someone like you in her life? Someone who loved her so much that she would risk her safety, her life, for her. Someone who didn't think her weak despite her wounded appearance. Someone who would protect her at all costs. Despite all her misfortunes, Rowena truly was the luckiest woman in the world.

She threw an arm around your shoulders, leaning against your body for support. "Hold on tight," you instructed.

The first few steps were difficult, but once Rowena regained her composure, thanks to leaning most of her body weight on you, she managed to keep up. Every movement hurt, every step followed by a pained hiss or a gasp. Rowena wouldn't say it out loud, but your words of encouragement helped. Her wounds hurt, but hearing you say how what good of a job she was doing and praising her for her strength made her feel a lot better. She could do this. She could escape this horrible place and find refuge in your tiny, warm, warded apartment. Safety was only a few meters and a car ride away.

You'd barely made it halfway to the door when she doubled over, clutching her stomach, her hopes of freedom crushed in a split second. Damn Fergus! Did he have to hit her that hard?

"This is hopeless," she said, struggling to even her breath. Her attempt to straighten up elicited a moan as her injuries protested the movement. "Just leave me."

"Not gonna happen," you said defiantly. "Either we both leave or neither of us does. I am not leaving you."

"You're a fool."

"I am," you said with a nod.

How could you be so nonchalant about this? This was your life you were talking about! Couldn't you see what you'd gotten yourself into, bursting into a place of danger for a person who wasn't worth it?

"Instead of moving on with your life, you broke into Hell for a lost cause! And now you're going to die because you're too stubborn to realize that the perfect life you're dreaming about is never going to happen!" she snapped, barely keeping her voice below a shout, all the hurt and anger that had been building up inside her over the last twelve hours spilling out. "Fool!"

Instead of being offended, you looked bored. "Are you done?" you asked, shooting her an incredulous look. If she thought she could get you to leave by spouting nonsense, she was gravely mistaken. You haven't been dating her for so long – and loving her for even longer – to fall for an obvious attempt to push you away. You may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but you weren't that stupid. "You should know by now that doesn't work on me. I'm not leaving you. Period. You can hate me for it all you want, but I'm here and I'm taking you home whether you want it or not!"

"Stubborn girl!" Rowena said. As baffling as she found it, your protectiveness flattered her. No one had ever loved her that much. No one had ever put her first, above even themselves. No one had ever risked their life for her.

She realized, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that she was being ungrateful. You'd come all this way, used up all the favors demons owed you, and put yourself in danger for the sole reason of freeing her. And after you get her home, there was no doubt you would do your best to make her comfortable and provide her with care no one had ever provided her with before. Last time she'd been in this dungeon, her son had left her chained up and alone for weeks. He'd given her no medicine, no healing salve, nothing to ease her pain. You, on the other hand, would tend to her every need until she got better.

"Sue me!" you shot back.

Rowena sighed, and then took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult. "Y/N, I…" How do you apologize when you had never done that before? Apologies weren't in her nature. Guilt wasn't in her nature. How was she supposed to put what she felt in words?

"I'm sorry, too," you said softly, understanding what she'd meant without her having to say it out loud. "We can finish this at home. You think you can keep going?"

Rowena nodded. "Let's go." This would hurt like a bitch, but it was going to be worth it. Mere minutes parted her from the backseat of your car, where she could finally rest. And afterwards, mere minutes parted her from a warm bath and a safe bed. She could make it. She had to. It wasn't just her life that was at stake here – it was yours, too.

For you, she thought, reminding herself of what was most important. She couldn't let all your hard work go to waste over a little bit of pain. She was stronger than that. She could beat it just as she'd beaten it all those other times before. If she could rot in this place for weeks three years ago, chained and bruised and miserable, then she could walk a few meters to the car.

With all the hisses and swallowed yelps, the two of you made it to the car. It took a lot of out of Rowena, both physically and mentally. She instantly threw herself on the backseat, screaming as she landed on her injuries. "Take it easy," you said worriedly. As much as it hurt, though, she appreciated the ability to let it out freely, without fear that some demon would hear and try to lock her back up – or even worse, snitch on her to her son.

You'd given her the hex bags while you were driving, opting to only keep the angel blade. Rowena held them to her chest, clutching to them as if her life depended on it. If Fergus was to find her, that could very well become reality. Rowena was aware of how desperate she looked, huddled up with hex bags on the backseat of a car, but all sell-consciousness was thrown to the wind now that she was finally free. Her pride would heal along with her injuries. The most important thing was that neither Fergus nor his demons could hurt her anymore.

Parking in front of your building, you took a quick sweep to make sure no demons had followed you. After being convinced that the coast was clear, you helped Rowena out and, letting her lean against you for support once again, led her inside. You were both grateful your building had an elevator. Going up the stairs with a person who could barely stand would have been a nightmare for you both.

Rowena collapsed on the first thing she laid her eyes on, which happened to be your couch. A pained moan escaped her mouth as bursts of pain shot through her like electrical sparks, sudden and aching. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to just throw herself down like that. Considering everything she'd been through, though, no one could blame her from craving comfort. She brought her hands to her sides, the bruises covering her abdomen instantly reacting to her touch.

This was going to be a problem. If it hurt this much now, she didn't even want to think about how much it was going to hurt later. How was she going to sleep if every movement hurt as much as the beatings themselves, if not even more?

The answer to her question came in the form of a pill.

After locking the door and checking on the Devil's Trap underneath the mat, you went to grab the first aid kit you saved for emergencies (though not quite as dire as this one) and took a pack of your pain relief pills. You set the kit on the coffee table and sat down next to her.

"It's a painkiller," you explained when Rowena gave you a look, silently inquiring about the medicine you were offering her. "It won't numb everything down, but most of the pain will be gone for a few hours."

Rowena nodded, taking the pill from you. You handed her a glass of water and she gulped the pill down, her face scrunching at the bitterness. You chuckled.

"That face you just made was so cute," you explained when she frowned.

She smiled. You could be so silly. Overprotective and too prone to worrying at times, and at the same time so random. "Thank you," she said, taking another sip of her water.

You nodded in response. "Give it a few minutes to kick in."

You took her hand into your own, squeezing it for comfort. Rowena gave a squeeze back. She couldn't put in words how appreciative she was of you, of your care. Not many people would go to such lengths for her. Most would leave her to rot in that dungeon and laugh at her misery. After all, she was a wicked witch. Who gives a damn if someone like her gets tortured and murdered?

You do, she told herself. You'd always cared about her wellbeing. Even when she was chasing after Lucifer, you cared. You loved her in silence, but your concern had been very vocal. Rowena had dismissed it back then. She would never make the same mistake again.

You pulled her sleeves up for an inch to inspect her wrists. Rowena sighed in relief at finding no open wounds there. The chains that bound them had been firm. Her milky skin bore traces of deep red and purple. These bruises would take days, maybe even weeks, to heal.

You drew closer to inspect her face, tucking stray locks of hair behind her ear. Rowena winced when your finger grazed a cut covering her right cheek.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"It's fine," Rowena replied. It was just a jolt of pain. Nothing to be concerned about. There were bruises on her abdomen that hurt more than you accidentally touching her cut. She'd be lying, though, if she said your concern bothered her. It felt good to be cared for for once in her life. She hadn't experienced this kind of kindness since the time Oskar's family took her in.

Oskar… Rowena's heart clenched with grief. She wouldn't betray you like that. Not ever at the cost of her own life or freedom. She'd barely gotten over the loss of her stepson. She wasn't going to make the same mistake with you. She was going to love you to the very end. No matter what happens, she was going to put you first. Gone were her selfish days. If you could risk your life to rescue her, she could very well return the favor.

You have no idea how much I love you, she thought, looking you in the eye. A small smile played on her lips. She would remember everything you'd done for her. Every bit of kindness you'd shown her, every kind word you'd said to her. She would remember it all. Maybe this was her way to happiness. Not doing horrible things and telling herself it's fine. Maybe you were the thing she'd been missing all along, her way to happiness, her hope for a better future.

Maybe with you she could have it all.

"What?" you asked, noticing her strange expression.

Rowena shook her head, smile widening. "Nothing."

You gave her a smile of your own. "You're gonna need stitches," you told her, looking from the cut to her cheek to the one below her eye.

Rowena shook her head once again. "Just put some gauze on them." She'd been in enough pain as it was. There was no way she was letting a needle anywhere near her skin. Besides, she'd healed up just fine without stitches last time.

"Are you sure?"

"Aye."

"You don't trust me with a needle, do you?" you teased.

And there was, well, that. "I would be lying if I said I did."

You both chuckled. It felt good to let a bit of normalcy creep in. It seemed as if it was ages ago that the two of you laughed without a care in the world. In reality, it hadn't even been a full day.

Fergus' torture had taken a lot out of Rowena. She was going to need some time to readjust to normalcy. Being chained up and mercilessly beaten tends to do that to a person.

You cleaned her wounds with utmost care. Rowena stayed silent throughout the procedure, save for a hiss when you accidentally poked the split flesh while positioning the gauze. She understood your concern, but she couldn't comprehend why you felt the need to apologize. You didn't have to do any of this. Taking care of her had been a courtesy on your part. So what if you accidentally hurt her? It was nothing in comparison to what her own son had done to her. He had, after all, been the reason for this whole mess.

Soon enough both cuts had been cleaned and dressed, the pieces of gauze covering them secured with tape. Rowena realized, with a relieved smile, that most of her pain had disappeared by the time that you finished with her cuts. Sudden movements still hurt and her bruises were as sensible to touch as ever, but simply sitting there and breathing brought no pain.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, looking her over to make sure all wounds had been death with.

"Good," Rowena replied. "Your pill is working."

"Happy to hear that." You took her hand and laid a kiss to her knuckles, then another to its top. Then you cupped her cheeks and looked her in the eyes, your lips widening into a big, bright smile. "You're going to be okay."

Rowena could tell from the tone of your voice that you were telling it to yourself more than to her. You needed her to be okay. Just as she depended on your care, you depended on her wellbeing. You didn't like seeing her in pain any more than she liked being that way in front of you. You loved her too much to not let her injuries bother you. Her weakness may have wounded her pride, but when it came to you, it brought nothing but fear. Fear that you would lose her. Fear that you would be unable to help her.

"Of course I am," Rowena said. "I have you to thank for it."

"Thank me by getting some rest."

She most definitely could use some. She wasn't sure whether it was everything that had happened or the pill you'd given her, but she had gotten quite sleepy. "I could use a nap," she said. "Would you mind fetching me a blanket?"

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in bed?"

"I'm good here," she assured you. Because you're here, she thought to herself. She'd be all alone in the bedroom. Here she had you to watch over her.

"Okay. Whatever you want."

She kicked off her shoes and got comfortable while you went to search for a blanket. It wasn't easy to find a good position to sleep when almost every movement hurt, but Rowena managed it. She laid on her side, facing the opposite wall. Her eyes settled on the edges of the Devil's Trap sticking from underneath the mat. The apartment had been warded against angels and demons per her request months ago, back when she'd returned to life and feared Lucifer's retaliation. You insisted on the Devil's trap. "Just in case," you'd said. Demons were sneaky creatures. Who knew what they could come up with in order to get inside and take her?

Now this very same Devil's Trap gave Rowena comfort. It wasn't even the Trap itself – it was the fact that you wanted it there, and that you checked up on it to make sure it still stood strong. You always had her best interests in mind. She was a fool not to realize it sooner.

To think that she went for Lucifer when you'd been there all along, loving her in silence, sacrificing your chance at happiness for her… Rowena had made plenty of mistakes, and that her been one of her biggest ones.

She was startled from her thoughts by you placing the blanket over her, making sure to cover her entire body. She reached for your hand when you moved to step away, grabbing your wrist. She wasn't entirely sure why she did that. All she knew was that she needed you to stay. She couldn't be alone, not after everything she'd gone through tonight. No warding or Devil's Traps could make her feel as safe as she felt when she was with you.

It was strange to depend on someone after centuries on depending on nobody but herself. One part of her was frightened. Another one was happy that she'd found someone who loved her just the way she was, without forcing her to change.

She was changing, but it wasn't for you. It was because of you. Being with you made her a better person, make her appreciate all she had and taught her that love isn't weakness – it's strength.

"I'll be right here," you told her as if you'd read her mind. You leaned down to lay a kiss to her temple, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

That was enough for Rowena. She released your wrist, looking you in the eye. "Thank you."

You smiled at her. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. You're tired."

Rowena looked you over, frowning at the dark circles surrounding your eyes. When was the last time you'd slept? "Aren't you?"

"I'll be fine. Coffee will take care of it."

You gave her hand a quick squeeze to assure her of your words, but Rowena wasn't convinced. You were sacrificing yourself yet again. She was going to have to come up with a way to repay you.

"Sleep well."

Rowena doubted she would, but she appreciated the kind wishes. Giving you one final smile, she closed her eyes. Within minutes she found herself in dreamland. Much to her surprise, there were no nightmares, no pain and torture and wicked smirks on her son's mouth.

Instead, there was nothing. Blissful, peaceful darkness she appreciated more than anything.

Next chapter: Her Gratitude

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, CASS! You’ve been accepted for the role of ROMEO. Admin Rosey: Whew -- while reading the application, we couldn’t help but come back to one significant theme that was very much R O M A N. There was the Roman that he presented to the world and the Roman that he actually is. All that talk about Roman getting his heart broken and here he was, breaking ours. Cass, I’m so incredibly excited to have you fill this role and bring us the Montague heir that we’ve been longing for. The one that is full of possibilities, flaws, hopes, and love. Please, everyone, read this application and listen to that song at the end so ya’ll can cry with me, thnx.  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Cass

Age | 23 for approximately one more week!

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I am drenched in grad school, but our course load is a little lighter this summer and I’ve missed writing like the devil so I’ll probably check in every day and have replies up every couple of days (but I promise to bring the heartache every time I post, no worries).

Timezone | US EST (GMT -5)

Current/Past RP Accounts | I played Bellamy for a little while before stepping down to hellish classes! This account that I’m applying with is also an old RP account.

In Character

Character | Roman Montague (ROMEO)

THE LOVER: Roman’s heart has betrayed him more than anything else in Verona. He’s trusted the wrong people, fell in love with something beautiful only to pull back the curtain. Yet his heart still bleeds, and there is crimson pooling at his feet. Everything that he does, he does out of love. Even when love has hardened him, twisted him, made him convinced of a future he once never envisioned, he fights because he loves this city, his family, the mob. Love is not always pure and sweet. Sometimes, love is the greatest weapon of all.

THE KING: Not crowned yet, not truly, but the coronation is lingering, and each day is another step towards the throne. There is a future for Verona, one on the other side of this wretched storm, and he’s learning how to shape it. He’s learning what to say, who to convince, who to– well, there’s still some lessons yet to be taught.

THE MAN: As much as Verona believes in gods amongst men, there are nights where Roman feels more human than deity. He fells the heartache, the hope, the joy, the loss. He’s known every emotion there is to write poetry about, and he’s experienced it a thousand times over. Born with a heart destined to bleed, Roman can’t fully eradicate the human parts of him. Whether it’s a blessing or a curse has yet to be seen.

What drew you to this character?

So I’ve always been interested in Roman but there is so much to his character that I had previously been rather apprehensive to dive in and build up each layer (the love, the pain, the tragedy, the heroism, the martyrdom, the humanism in the face of deification), but I haven’t been able to shake this boy, so here I am! There’s been so much thought put into him, and there have been so many wisps of muse that don’t make sense. It was frustrated, but then it dawned on me – Roman isn’t a character that can be pinned down. Try as he might to use his head, the boy leads with his heart. That hasn’t changed even after all the fractures and scars and bruises that have befallen it, so how can he be predictable? How can he be justified? He can’t. In a way, Roman’s the most human character I’ve ever seen, and it’s for that reason (the frustration and the intrigue and the sheer force of possibility) that I’ve been drawn towards him.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

USE YOUR HEAD, BOY: It’s a dangerous move to demand the dissociation of head and heart. Leaders have toppled, lovers have lost their minds, martyrs have simply become John Smiths. Roman has made dozens of mistakes by following his heart, yet none are as dangerous as the ones he makes when he uses his head. He’s brilliant, always has been, and he knows how to hit where it hurts – but what is the cost of falling upon the sword of strategy and apathy? Roman has the opportunity to be a phenomenal leader if only he can balance head and heart, and seeing him fall too far into his own head, to make decisions that make sense on paper rather than within his chest, is a path that I would love to pursue. He still has more to learn before he can become the hero that Verona needs, and that includes making mistakes tied to the man Damiano envisions him to be and the man that he is.

HOW DO YOU FOLLOW A BROKEN HEART? It’s no secret that Roman is made of pure emotion. He is a god, but he was one meant to break hearts rather than bones – though he never expected to break his own, not this suddenly, or this violently. He used to claim that he’d rather suffer a thousand broken hearts than live a life without love, but now that he’s felt the bludgeoning, the tragedy that struck him like a shotgun pellet, he’s wondering if he still has a heart at all. The pieces are all still there, yes, but one can’t follow a broken compass. I think this will come into play with Roman’s personal relationships. A year ago, he was able to offer his entire heart whenever anyone needed it. Now, he still longs to do that, but he can’t offer what he doesn’t have. Delving into how Roman’s interpersonal relations have shifted since the crown upon his head has grown heavier and heavier is a perfect opportunity for pain and therefore a huge interest of mine.

AT LAST, SUCCESS. One cannot be a god if all he does is misstep. Roman may be a disappointment to Damiano, but there are small victories, ones that will eventually culminate in triumph – but at what cost? There’s a fine line between winning the war and suffering as Pyrrhus did. At the end of the day, success must be golden and shining, and there must be people present to admire its gleam. The way I visualize a plot such as this is long and meandering, starting with an idea of Roman’s to somehow change the world, and an earnest desire to see it through, to do something right, to be the leader that his friends, that his family, that Verona so desperately needs. As such, I can see it easily incorporating the previous two bullets, and drawing in a wide cast of characters.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

Bring on the pain. I’ll be fine. I think.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona? | We recommend looking at the location page and reading it over to figure out where your character’s favorite place is – if it’s not their own house/room.

There’s a spark that ignites in Roman’s eyes as he leans back in his seat, one hand coming to his chin as if musing over a perfect answer. He’d always been told to think more, to hesitate in the name of answering strategically, and while the answer had been on the tip of his tongue as soon as the interviewer had raised a brow, Roman knew that he ought to at leastappear introspective. Wasn’t Verona all about appearances these days?

“There isn’t just one place,” he said. Despite his previous demeanor, the corners of his mouth were lifting. He’d never been able to keep his heart from bleeding for this city. “It’s the entirety of it. There’s a thrill amongst the streets, within the people. The city feels alive despite all those horrible news stories. To pick a single place is to say that you only prefer to hold hands when you’re in love. It’s just a part of the story.”

Somehow, he’d shifted so he was leaning forward, moving from sociable interaction to intimate. He wasn’t quire sure when he’d done it, or how he’d ended up smiling despite the ghosts clawing at his back. Everything he said was true, at least once upon a time. Now the streets were silent with a fog that seemed to cling to the cobblestones. The city was somber, as if respecting the funerals occurring within. But this was a temporary pause, a purgatory following months of hell. It had to be.

What does your typical day look like?

The continuation of the interview came as a slight surprise to Roman, and it showed in the way his brows rose, easily furrowing along lines that hadn’t been there half a year ago. He brushed it off with a laugh, and it filled the room as effortless as melody. For a second, things seemed brighter.

“Is there really such a thing as a typical day?” For all of Roman’s shortcomings, he’d always been a brilliant actor. It was a skill born of a desire to please and an optimism bred of love. He never meant to lie, but he was damned good at pretending that life was better than the cut of cloth before them. “Sometimes it starts at To Tame a Soup, sometimes it starts with sleeping in. I just finished coursework through the University of Verona for the fall, so I’m trying to enjoy the winter months as much as possible. Would be lying if I said I wasn’t scrambling to buy last minute gifts some days.”

If only his life were so effortless. He often woke with circles under his eyes so dark he’s started concealing them with creams. His tongue would be dry, longing for either water or another drink of scotch, and his head will be buzzing with the sort of cloudiness that ought to only exist in literature. He felt least like himself in the morning, and it was for that reason that waking up was often the easiest part of his day. As hours dredged on, as the sun climbed higher, he felt the pressure to be golden. Each day was another step towards destiny, another task to accomplish, another part of himself to leave behind. Some nights, with Bellamy and Marcelo and Lawrence nearby, he was able to reclaim a small part of who he used to be. He was able to feel, as if his soul were filling his body and reinvigorating him with purpose. He’d had a night like that less than nine hours ago, and it was the only reason his smile translated as happiness.

So a usual day? Waking up between his past and his future, digging bloodied trenches towards a unified Verona, and occasionally remembering that glimmer of love and rosebuds nestled within his chest. A usual day was, in essence, evolution.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

It took everything in him not to laugh at the question. What mistakes hadn’t he made? He was far more infamous for his missteps than his talents.

Roman thought back to his previous answers, to the the lies by omission, to the act of vibrancy. Maybe it was time for a dash of honesty. “Like many people, my biggest mistake is falling in love with the wrong person.” Because that’s where the tragedy began, no? By giving his heart away and then having to build it anew when she stole off with it? “I’ve fallen in love with several of the right people since then, but there’s always that one that breaks your heart, eh?” He remembered those nights, waiting for her to call, checking his phone, calling her after he’d had a drink too many. He’d written letters, done everything he could to ask for his heart back. She’d never sent it.

“Be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it all again, though.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

Become the person that Verona needs. Stepping into shoes that are still too large to wear. Losing himself. Finding himself. A thousand answers flitted through Roman’s head, and they were the same demons that kept him up until sunrise after dragging him through a day of steps he wished he’d never taken. The most difficult hadn’t been asked, not explicitly, but he knew it was coming. Part of being a Veronan was to kill for what you wanted.

“You know, I still haven’t quite sorted out what to pack for my vacation.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

This time, Roman didn’t hold back his laughter. “You know how to get some incendiary comments, don’t you?” He shook his head and took a drink of water. He wanted it to be colder than it was. “There are some things that you can’t go on record saying. As much as I’d love for your story to make the front page, I’m afraid all these comments will have to be redacted.”

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that he needed to start laying down his own foundations for the future. The war was necessary, as much as he hated it. He’d play the part he needed to in order to ensure the success of his family, of his friends, of Verona. Thrones were rarely won without war, and he had no plans to be on the losing side of history. There were too many people that depended on him to let them down by simply dodging bullets and working towards unanimous posterity. He may not be the bloodied general his father was, but he would be a king in his own right. The future of Verona weighs upon his shoulders, and his alone.

Extras:

I was going to make a playlist, but there’s really one song in particular the strikes me as perfectly Roman. I couldn’t get away from it, so please accept my single-track Roman EP.

I’ve also made a Pinterest Board!

[unmarked-stream]

Howl Unheard (a novella)

Here’s a version of Howl Unheard where each line has been fed to the Open AI GTP-2 to contextualise them within paragraphs. What has been generated is a sort of novella riffing around and ordering the poem into a narrative.

Howl Unheard for Allen Ginsberg "It Wasn't a Good Day to Be Alive." He says it was "a terrible day to be alive." He says it was an "unbelievable day" in his life to have been murdered. "And yet, I sat on the bench in the living room and read those words and I thought, this is not an ordinary life. This is a beautiful day to be alive, this is a life of purpose, a purpose of joy, and a life of hope for the lives of the children who have gone through this. I hope that I give a lesson to those who have been with me, because all those who have been able to come and be here, to come and be the sons and daughters of the nation now. I am now leaving behind those who live in my heart and my soul and don't want to be there anymore," he said. “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by Everything but the best of them." The author of the book, "Life of Anus, the Prince of Peace or Anus?", was a member of the Soviet Academy of Sciences. In 1989, he created a new book titled "Anus and Peace" (which he called "The Book of Peace") and launched the new book with a bold yet pragmatic aim: to present the world, with its political, social and cultural structures, in a more liberal light. Today an important part of the popular imagination is the "Bold Man of Peace" concept, which is currently gaining popularity in much of the world. It is based on the idea that what makes a person good is often the most fundamental characteristics of his or her personality, which are the traits which make him or her good. This belief is the main idea behind the concept of the "Bold Man of Peace". In an interview with the Times in 1998, Anus said: "I'm happy to say that people think that I'm a typical man. They think to me as someone who has been through lot of horrible situations and there are things I've done to improve their lives, the way in which I have been through something. And there's a sense of pride and happiness." Some say that the "Bold Man" concept of the "Good Person" is simply wrong -- that all cultures treat their people well. However, this attitude is not an inherently good one – it is rather a matter of perspective. For them, the person who works for Peace is the person with good qualities, and the person they love best. The BOLD MAN of Peace The concept of peace, then, is not the only way that people can make peace. The Buddhist text states that the good man is a "good person" who is able to provide for the needs of his people and their relationship. This is the "good person's person", which is called the "good man's wife". Some countries have introduced laws to distinguish between the "good" person and the "good" person and treat them with respect, while others have not. Others, like the United Arab Republic, has laws which set up the government of a "peaceable" state, and which will, on the basis of this attitude, provide for the rights and responsibilities of the innocent to ensure maximum peace. For many people, the idea of peace, then, becomes a ghosts hungry for cleaner air opening their windows by cracks in the chaos of no more night. It was by this that the light of the fire moved to the middle of the night, where it could be seen only from the outside. Not by the light at the end of a tunnel, but by the smoke from the window. One evening the next morning, a light that would have given the ghost the first taste of the sun to the rest of the world. He could not have known that the ghosts were alive, that they were just like he had seen. The starving and wretched tantalus asleep on grease papers dripping chicken fat and sticky fresh balls of coughing concrete. "Why shouldn't I come to him?' my son told me, and then I walked to his bed and he could see me. I looked into his blue eyes and said, 'Hello, son, I am here to hear you say hello. Come in.' " He had wanted this for a long time and he wouldn't give it to me now. I had tried to tell him to stop, but I knew his heart was broken. He did not want me there. Diane was just my first husband, born in 1962. I was raised by her parents and raised in a very Catholic family. We were good neighbors. We ran our own grocery store at 12th Street and King Street. My parents never tried the drug. We didn't have a lot of friends, we had lots of money. We knew that we were destined to be a great couple, but we didn't want to be married. We would live in the streets and our parents would not let us. So, we were kind of lonely, and I think that a lot of us did. Diane was pretty small. I think I weighed about 90 pounds and she was 6 feet by 8 feet, but that is still not accurate, because there were no black, thin, skinny girls in my family. I did not like to be called fat. I was too tall. It was for a reason. I always enjoyed spending time with my little white family, but I've always had a problem with the way they treated me. These people seemed to love me from the get go. They never punished me for my problems. They wouldn't let me go to school. We had nothing in common. We started out having big, round dreams. We were constantly doing things on the weekends, which I never did. But we were spending our money on things we didn't do. I think we were the only married couple in the neighborhood, and when you are married you have to pay more than people in your area. I would have to go to college to get ready for life, but I did, too. I did not have a lot of control over what I brought with me. I was a lot thinner and I thought I knew better. I had too many friends. But I didn't like to be there when I wasn't ready. At that time, I thought, "If I ever have that luxury, and if the ones whose cracked lips gag hopeless to the exhaust pipes inhaling dust and vitamins, they can die. But they will not.” Of course, no sooner had the "good" doctor stepped aside than the "evil" doctor stepped aside too; and, still too soon, the "good" doctor did not step aside, but rather a few months later, when the good doctor's son was about to be born, only the good doctor who had once said that all of medicine was bad began to explain that his godfather did not need to approve of "the bad" doctor. He said something totally different, which she did not. That is why I think there are so many sick people who have been cured by doctors who only believe in their own minds. Because the devil is always playing ball with their minds and their minds always playing ball with their bodies. One has to admit, even in their own homes and hospitals, that as an adolescent or young adult, every time they saw the psychiatrist who said to these patients, in stark English, "You don't know it now," or whatever was in their head, they felt like it was all in their head. And if you were not sick, it was all in their head—maybe at some point in their lives. But in a sense, they were free. But in a sense, the only people in that home or hospital who were afraid of the things they "know" that they did was these "good" doctors. So how do you convince one's own body of these two terrible truths? My first step was to put aside the fact that, as I learned, a man's mind gets worse as he ages. Before long, I knew for certain that my brain was going to be filled with junk. It was going to be filled with junk. And it was going to be junk. And I didn't know that. In fact, I didn't know how to react to it. So I tried to look into it. I tried to think about it. I tried to be able to look at it. First, I got to know him better. I looked at one another. I tried to look in his eyes, because we were very close. I tried to look at his face. I tried to put in my hand on his shoulder. I tried to put in my elbow on his hip. I tried to push my mouth up and down. I tried to read his mind as it was. I tried to get his attention, because the bloodshot eyes, strained, blue light flicker kept awake waiting for the bomb to drop. I pushed his hand against my chest, forced myself to look down at my feet. I saw him fall and the burning pain slowly but surely cleared. I tried my best to be calm, I had to take care of my surroundings. But, I did not want to be any more. I was too scared to get out of the building without some cover. After all, I was inside a building, and I knew how to hide when I was at home. But why would I risk it for a friend? "You're dead. You just didn't get killed." "But that's what I wanted. You would be the last person I would be killed for. If the bombs hit our building, we would be the last people left alive." "I didn't want that. I'm dead. I'm in a building. You're not here. I know you want to kill me. I didn't want to be part of this city." My mind felt disconnected from reality and turned to space and time. In the distance, this moment was different from the past, more beautiful. I saw a dark room with thick walls and dark, glowing windows. A strange, ghostly figure stood within this glowing window. It was not a man, but someone was looking over it. The red glowing eyeballs on its body told me that this was who it is. As I waited for the man, my mind became aware of a familiar sight. There was a certain man in the room. He was dressed in the white dress made of silk. He wore a black dress with a white robe. A tall man with a black beard covered his face. The man appeared to be wearing a long black robe with a white ribbon across the chest. "I am the one that will make you stay here. This is what makes you the one who will save me." I didn't know what this man was. I didn't know why he was saying this. I did not know that he was here. Since that day, I had been looking at the man in darkness and wondering what it might be. I was holding his hand, my hand, my hands, my hand. My hand was trembling in fear. I was trying to push his hand away, I was trying to push his hand away from my heart, and then my heart was broken. What made me so scared was the ripped up open and bleeding humiliated for trying to imagine a preta life. I didn't know what my life would be like after that. It never occurred to me that I would be able to have a full and healthy life. But over the course of my years in prison, many people asked a stranger what might have gone wrong if he had caught me in the act of fleeing. He replied: "Don't remember anything about it." Then he wrote down his past and made up his story on the phone. I've never listened to that story. Cultural appropriation of the real In my experience, all the time, police officers talk about race. They talk about what it means to be black. They talk about the power of racism. I've been told that the way black children are treated is the same as the way white children are treated. They can't be treated in a way that makes them feel like an outsider or an outsider's son. When I first saw this story, I first thought about how little I believed the police in my hometown. I thought about how I felt about them being treated. I thought about how they could never be understood as anything other than a stereotype. The police don't feel guilt. They don't have to get off of me. They don't have to get out of my way. I've been told that white children don't feel pressured into telling the truth about race. I heard stories from people I knew as adults about how the police were in their shoes. I've heard stories of how people see themselves as their own family. I heard more about how poor whites behave to those around them. I heard stories of how black people face the same shit they face. Over time, I've come to realize that my life has changed significantly from what it was back then. I've become more racially aware and more optimistic. I've learned to appreciate the things I really hold dear. I've become more engaged with my communities and can understand what they feel as a community and what can make them better. I've learned to be more supportive of people who are trying to get involved with me, helping to make the world a better place for people who are struggling right now. Despite all the violence coming from my own community, I have found myself in a position of trust and ownership. I understand that some things that hurt me were my own. Though it's okay to feel like a little racist to talk about it, I can't have it, the eager and suckling carbon dioxide magpies drooling for the next bell to ring. "The entire town is buzzing with excitement and I've had everyone asking questions and I've never heard about it," he said. He did agree, however, that there is a certain irony that leads some to believe that if the police believe they are being watched by carbon monoxide, they can easily catch this person's attention. "I think they may have got a lot of attention at night because it's kind of the whole world doesn't want to see anything like that, and it only happens in the daytime, but again, you know, we don't know what the rest of the world's about. At some point people will call this thing a police car, and I think that's going to cause an uproar," he said. Not that there hasn't been a case in New Hampshire in recent years, but the recent number of cases has been alarming. About a dozen people have been arrested on arson charges, and the governor of New Hampshire says there are cases that are being investigated in the state, too. "The case is still ongoing, which is nice," he said. The new study focused on New Jersey, and it found that more people were going about their everyday lives without any problems than when they were driving. "There haven't been big things that have made a big difference to the safety," Gov. Chris Christie said on Monday's "New Day." New Jersey, he said, is a place where people don't need an experience. "It's a state where you can drive a six-wheel drive and everyone's going to work and everyone's going to cook and everyone's going to work at the same time and so it's not that people aren't having problems, but more people are being told they actually have something to worry about," he said. While New Jersey's data shows that at least one person is at risk for the pollution, Christie did say it's only because local officials are failing to respond quickly enough to the issue. "Maybe that's because of the limited amount of time that is available and maybe they're not responding fast enough to the people that we're talking about. Maybe it's because we're sitting in the corner and thinking, 'We're all going to die!' It's just a bit more difficult to get a grip on the situation," he said. In that way, it's a good reminder to the nomadic addicts drifting sensual from expired agreements to fresh prescriptions, of who they really are. In an emailed statement to The Huffington Post, the DEA says, "Our focus is on the research, development, and evaluation of a new drug that we have found to have significant risks to the health of people doing recreational marijuana. We are also working with the DEA to develop a program where the drug will be regulated by the United States Food and Drug Administration." The DEA is currently investigating, but we'll let it roll forward. New York City In the last two weeks, when the city's streets were awash with white noise, a new wave of anti-Semitic and anti-Semitic violence has come to life in its streets. Some have described the violence as a prelude to the forthcoming election. Some have described it as a preemptive response to the violence that has begun to engulf the city and is being inspired by violence in Israel and the Gaza Strip. Others say it is the result of the heightened racism of the Trump administration. And others say it is a reflection of the growing national anxiety over Muslim violence and calls for a comprehensive immigration reform, free from foreign violence. Here is my first post in this series, which has been a very busy affair. This post was a bit of a surprise, given that I've had time on my hands for other projects and to get all of the updates on this blog by hand. So, let me make it clear, this is not the first time in my life I've been a part of the Vixen project. I'm going to take a look at each of my favorite Vixen projects, both in terms of general feature design and overall experience, which is just about my first foray into Vixen. Some of these projects are quite easy to get started on but the experience is very different. In order to get to that experience, I need to start with the basic workflow. I know that I would need to start my first Vixen project with a simple workflow but I thought that I'd go for a more advanced approach. In fact, I'm going to do what I did before in another post and also follow the same approach in my next one. The best part of this is that I'm not going to have to read through all the information in this post. In order to get started, I just want to start by looking at one of my favorite Vixen projects the filthy flagellants marching toward billboard sunrise, eyes closed, teeth grit, repenting machines and all. I first hooked up with an obscure Dutch company called Merengine Aarau, whose website features a video of their Vixen project. The company and Vixen have recently been collaborating on a commercial for its new Vixen product. "It's a fairly well developed medium," says James Hundemans, VP of marketing for the company. "It started out with some simple, good news: You can buy Vixen now and then. It's not all about your product but all about the future of consumer electronics." This product is a video-game based on the company's Vixen video, where the machine's screen is rendered in Vivid colors and then fades to black and white. You can watch the video right here. The video is quite simple: If you're using a Vixen to display your news in a more visual way, you'll need to convert your video into video, which is something the company says its Vixen video's video-quality may have been able to do. But the reason they're giving that video a green mention is because it's very much a Vixen video. Unlike Vixen video, Vixen video does not only make sense on Vimeo. But it's just as good on other Vixen video-shows as it is on YouTube. The video does almost nothing to help you with your Vixen video. It's just too good. You can watch it right here.<|endoftext|>On October 2nd, 2009, the U.S. House of Representatives voted to pass the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation and Responsible Investment Act (R.S. 10040). It contained many provisions that were important to the creation of strong public-private partnerships and to this day, many of these provisions have been greatly criticized for their ability to create government safety net programs which would eliminate the need for additional state government programs. R.S. 10040 It was the seventh piece of R.S. 10040 which was introduced in the House of Representatives in December of 2010. However, there were no amendments made to the bill which would reduce these provisions. R.S. 10040 did not include the provision that states and localities could not implement 'reform plans in which they would undertake a program for providing non-discriminatory the uploaded and unbound! Flittering consciousnesses like a storm of feathers sea breeze free riding up through the ether or the cloud of air and the smoke of a car is a very real phenomena of the world." (R.S. 10048, § 1.) In July 1992, the President joined with Congress to end discrimination against black commuters. Section 503(c)(5) of the United States Civil Rights Act of 1964 was passed (see Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964) extending the civil rights of all Americans to all Americans who met minimum standards of race, color, national origin, age, color, gender, and sexual orientation. The Voting Rights Act of 1965, signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson, amended Section 503(n)(6)(B) of the Civil Rights Act of 1965 to allow for the registration of voters who were African American. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 created new States of residence for non-citizen citizens who met certain requirements to register to vote; but Congress expressly prohibited any voter from registering to vote by more than one State, because such voter was ineligible based on race or ethnicity. In 1993, a Federal Circuit Court affirmed the Voting Rights Act, ruling that the provision of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was not sufficiently broader than Congress intended. (See S.B. 3121, pp. 6-7; see also S.B. 3540, pp. 15-16.) Congress amended Section 503(c)(5) to require that individuals who are eligible to vote under the Act be registered to vote under any State. Section 501(b)(1)(B) of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was amended to limit discrimination against noncitizens, noncitizens determined by the President to be unqualified and ineligible to vote under the Voting Rights Act of 1965, to persons who met the criteria specified in section 504(c)(2) of the VRA, and to make it a crime to vote or not vote in a noncitizen's presence. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was amended by a series of amendments, including: (a) prohibiting discrimination on the basis of race, color, national origin, age, color, national origin, sex, age, or disability of any person if the person: (1) is a U.S. citizen or permanent resident of the United States; or (2) is a resident of the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico, Guam, Virgin Islands, American Samoa, Alaska, the District of Columbia, the District of Columbia and the District of the polygonal mutants afraid of their own forms unable to forget what they looked like before they met a man they knew. The man was a man, named Charles, but he was able to tell the last few minutes of the night after his murder by saying, 'The murder will not end here in this forest.' The night before, Charles was having a conversation with a fellow named Henry, who he thought would be right at home at the church. Charles called out, 'Henry, I was wondering if you would mind sharing some details of your story with me just so you don't feel like you've seen me go 'round and round' talking to other men that he'd met there, 'for I'm very concerned for those prisoners of war who die during the night.' Henry asked, 'I believe you are actually a homosexual.' 'Thank you for the question, Charles. It's a very nice question, Charles. In fact, I have found no difference in our life so far. There are no new gays in this country because gays cannot be whipped but it does seem very close to being so. The night before, Charles left the church and spent the night in the woods, talking to his wife, Mrs. Williams. Henry thought it interesting that the next day his wife woke up the next morning and said to him, 'I know you had a great time, Charles, but I think you ought to spend the night at the cottage.' 'You're not getting the chance to spend the nights in the woods,' said Charles, 'I don't think it's a good idea.'" Henry finally took a long, slow "no" because he felt compelled to give the last few minutes of the night to his wife. He went up to the cottage, bought some meat and set out into the night. His wife was late, but when she saw him coming, she told him she was late. He did not say his name but she told him that he could have some pictures of her for him to call her. She told him that she thought he would call her him if he saw her leaving. He answered, 'Well, yes, I'm sure I will.' The next morning she went to the cottage and began to lie in bed in bed under the bed and said to him, "I am sorry to see you go into the woods. I was not trying to help you, Charles." Charles smiled at her and she said, "I am sorry, I meant nothing, the amnesiacs sleepwalking with arms outstretched crowding Twitter awaiting trumpets.” That was the last of the day's events. Trump was out of town and Hillary was in New Hampshire. The last thing she remembered of the day was when she sat next to her Republican counterpart. The Clintons were in New Hampshire on a Friday evening when the Clintons could be found among the numerous Clinton campaign chairs. They were enjoying a delicious dinner, as well as the presidential debates. A good part of the evening was spent watching the televised Hillary debate. There was even a break between the two parties at the White House. For more news from the Press Box, follow us at @PressBox on Twitter and read our latest stories here. In a second poll released on Wednesday, Ohio Gov. John Kasich (R) is facing off against fellow Republican Donald Trump at a rally in Dayton, where his supporters are looking for their man. Kasich is easily considered the frontrunner in the race. The poll of 1,049 registered Ohioans surveyed by The Associated Press had Kasich up by 2 and Trump up by 1. "In this last election, Ohio is looking pretty much certain that John Kasich is our nominee," said Chris Sager, director of the Urban Institute in Ohio, "In Ohio today, Kasich is easily considered the better candidate." Kasich is coming off a poor performance in the state he was first elected in 2008, when he trailed Trump by more than 5 percentage points. The poll had Kasich up by 1 point, according to the AP. "Donald Trump doesn't seem to be that different, but his message of 'America First' has been the message of this election," said Jon Kabat-Zinn, a pollster for the Urban Institute. "That's particularly true of Kasich, where he's trailed by a small margin, but it was still a surprise to see him in the polls." Trump is leading the field in Ohio's primary, the state where he was ranked last in 2008 by The New York Times. Polling averages show a Republican presidential candidate at or behind in the vote share of at least 50 percent. Carpenter's Dilemma - The Last Song of the Deep By Nivi Romm The end of the Great Recession, many hoped that the country would be prepared to take a step back from the toxic fumes of rampant investment banks. Since then, the banks have been more brazen. For more than three decades, the Federal baptised in fluoride squeaky bleach clean undipped heel babies sucking carcinogenic teats from their mothers' noses, children were sterilized. Over three hundred women died from the same disease and poisoning. The children died from no known health problems. Over three hundred women died from fluoride poisoning and had low IQs. Over three hundred women needed to use fluoridated water every day even when drinking fluoridated water. Children needed it to stay ahead of their parents by eating fluoridated cereal. The child in the hospital had a brain tumor with just a few hours' worth of vision and one that was getting worse. It was only when the pediatrician turned up at the hospital that the patient was cured. Dr. Daphne R. Smith. Here, in the hospital after my father's death, was the story as it was presented to me by the children who were sterilized. Our children came to us with no physical disabilities, but we had dental implants so that they could have full teeth. Doctors told us that the children had a wide variety of diseases and had a wide range of interests and were very curious to know what was in them. They told us that the children were not as bright, but that they were intelligent and interested in reading. We were puzzled by those stories. We were so shocked when Dr. Smith's lab discovered that only half of the children were blind. If all of them were blind, then we had no idea what was in a child who had no teeth. At first we thought that Dr. Smith and his colleagues would realize this. They were wrong. In the 1960s it became apparent that the majority of people affected by fluoride in the United States were not children, although some were. The same thing is happening at hospitals in Canada, where many children are injected with fluoride before bed in order to be seen and to remove their teeth. Children's dentures are very different from those of any other age group, and the effects of fluoride are much more extensive. The fluoride in our water is being injected deep into our bodies by the human body as it is deposited into the water column. It is being injected into our veins through the skin, and it is going into the bones and leading to the deep, red, teeth. Our babies are being fed the fluoride. The fluoride in our water is being pumped into our intestines and into our gut. We can breathe a lot better and are more active, but we are not being fed as well as we need to be. Those health problems which have been mentioned before, in a recent study the voiceless coughing hot and bothered sweating under the collar as the heat is turned up and down may actually be not only a symptom but also a disease. "What's clear is that people who are actually in a condition for coughing are not responding well under controlled environments." The study had eight children and two adults with respiratory symptoms. In the children (age 3 and up) the doctor said: "We did not find any significant treatment differences between the two groups – they all exhibited similar symptoms. "We also found no significant difference in the degree of coughing behaviour (if any) when the temperature was turned up or down over the course of the study. "We know that many people who are suffering from a cough problem are not allergic to colds, such as sores or nose bumps. "In addition, there is a risk of developing symptoms of asthma. This is the kind of respiratory stress that can be caused by the presence of colds during hot weather conditions." Divert to hospitals A spokesman for the American Society for Testing and Materials said: "I'm very surprised at these findings and feel they can be interpreted as suggesting that the vast majority of people who have an allergy to colds are not all susceptible.” Who weep naked on the flicker of love promised gone, of bird shit swiped through decks of potential disappointment, of the poor in a dying old town to see their beloved in their place, and of their own little house to cry for. When a man's heart is broken in love, when an old man's dead, when a dying man grows a nose-smell of cold blood, when a woman's dying, and a husband and wife with hands all the time are at a point of death again, when in the middle of a terrible fight you run into a woman who is on her knees and your blood-stained head is bleeding from her chest, and you ask her, "Where is my lover?" and when she says, "I don't know!" you do the same thing, for the only thing you know is that he's yours, and you know it because you know it. When a man is lost in a world full of grief, when he is lost in the sight of a loving, loving man, when he is lost in his own person, and when he is lost in the love of the world, there is a time for life. There are times when it's the only way you know for yourself. And, finally, once you've been blessed enough to move towards the highest and most beautiful place—where you'd like to be made a thousand times better or do more—when the time is right, then you've got to give up on life. You've got to give up your love of life, for that's probably the most difficult thing you'll ever do, and there's no going back. So you need to take responsibility for your own choices if you ever want that ultimate happiness you would have had if you had chosen life. Advertisement You know it sounds obvious that living in a cave, at a bar, and having your own car or a house, but just because you live in a cave, it doesn't mean you cannot be happy with your life, you just couldn't be happy with what you have. There are so many things you can do to live in a cave and be happy with life, to live in the present moment. The first one is to walk your dog, say, five minutes of your daily meals on the way home, and then take time to wake up. Most of the time, that's just a way of life. The other is to do some reading on the subject. When you read your book for the first time, then make your first real connection with those whose throats are full of guilt and cobwebs: you will learn something. You will learn to feel like a normal person again. Sometimes, however, you will find that you will be not only more guilty, but also more vulnerable to you. Even when you take control, you will still lose it. The most important thing to remember with writing a book is that you care about characters. They are important. When you read them, you see the strength of their story and their courage, the kind of people who fight for justice and good. But you also know what makes these people special, and you see their flaws. When you read them again, they will turn out to be even more important than you thought you did. When you read a book that tells a story and tells a story that is told in your head, you can make your own mistakes, but you can make these mistakes a lot more quickly. You can make them less understandable and more human. But you can also make them better. The more you learn, the better you know how to deal with them. What is the most effective thing you can do to make your mistakes a lot less understandable? First, read the book as you read it. Don't do it as a regular teacher. In fact, remember it that way. Don't be afraid to read it now and then. Remember that you have a book to read about it. Just remember that you need to. Be patient. You have a book you need to read. You do not have to. The book you read will make you feel better about yourself as you understand it, which makes it a great experience to read more frequently, if at all. But sometimes, it won't be good enough to read the book. There are also books which have been known to make you feel better. Be sure to read them as many times as you know how to read them. At a certain point, you will become aware of what is wrong but with other people as well. The book you read will also remind you of how to be better about yourself. Be aware of what you are doing wrong. The way you treat others in the world depends on that, too. And it depends on what you think you are doing wrong. Most people feel that the world they live in is better than they are. They feel that their behavior is different from what they expected. They feel that the world is better because they have been the ones who float through walls and red lights from downtown traffic to motorway blockage and under train tracks locked in middle class frost bite. They feel trapped in the world, their lives cut short by their own, their lives cut short by someone else's. But the fact of the matter is that the world is much better with them than those who drown in the same way. It can't be that way. It's a complicated process of human behaviour, and it can be a very complex thing. We can only look at one side, but we can also look at the other side. No, the world is much better with us than we are with them. This is the story of Andrew Sullivan and the rest of us. On March 14, The Times of London published its first article about the FBI's investigation of Hillary Clinton, pointing to an undercover operation in the 1990s designed to get the US Postal Service to return its mail to the public. The New York Times offered a more detailed account of the operation and details what it described as "unexpected" and "disappointing" responses from US law enforcement to the story. During the early hours of Friday morning, at about 11:00 a.m., an agent from the FBI opened fire on a group of protesters on "unexpected" ground. Two men were killed and 14 others were injured by gunfire from the FBI, who apparently thought it was a "punch" and were seeking assistance from the police. The Times also provided an update on the FBI's investigation, citing "numerous inconsistencies and inconsistencies" in a statement after the newspaper ran its piece. "FBI agents investigated protests, including in Cleveland, where we found evidence of possible rioting and attempts by rioters to engage in physical violence, including shooting people with clubs and assault weapons," the Times said. "The FBI determined that during the protests, the protesters were trying to stop President Clinton from answering her campaign's emails, even though the public knew that his campaign had not responded and the fact that she had never received a response to them led it to believe that he was not answering any emails," the Times said. "A number of protesters who had gathered in front of the FBI headquarters on the night of the protest had their phones seized. In many cases, agents suspected they were trying to prevent Clinton from answering her voicemail." A later statement by the FBI said the group was not planning to fight the Clinton campaign, and that the FBI would not send them who hit and run just to pass the time and never bothered to clean away the bloodstain that was left behind. But the blood was too much for many investigators. So the federal government announced it was bringing in a special agency to look into the case and investigate. The story has been detailed in a new book, the Making of a Murderer, which was published by George L. G. Williams of Cambridge University. The book, published by G.C. Williams and Matthew Shaffer of Scranton, N.J., and written by R.N. Scott of the University of New Hampshire, investigates serial killers, including the killers, along with some of the most notorious serial killers, in the United States. The book has led to a number of articles suggesting the story can help us to judge the reliability of the story.<|endoftext|>Hear a recording of my talk "No More Guns"? and please give your thoughts here. Hello so I'm David and this is my first interview with you. I hope you enjoy it! Hello again, David and welcome back to the conversation with a new addition in the show! I'm "Scott the Knife, Special", and I'm excited to be your guest. I am an internationally touring band from the UK (or perhaps Ireland?) Any advice on how to make the show work and how to get people to connect with you? Like, most things can happen only when you've been in a band for a while (that is to say, not an hour or so, right?). There are no guarantees whatsoever. I think it's best to have good times and good people who you can trust. We'll be there for every gig on the road (even at a show) for you, and if you are on tour, it might just end up with a bit of a bump up in the road. We're often out on festival dates, but there are a lot of bands that are well known and well respected (not the least of which was the very cool "UPDATES" group I met when I interviewed them for, "A Reason For Disbelief"). I wouldn't include "Worst New Band Ever", because that was the first one that really got me going. I was always an oddball (I was a kind of nerd in college and had a pretty good sense of humor), but I have a lot of respect for most bands, especially bands that have good music and good fans. I'm a big who quivering atop the tower drop coins knowing they will hit no skulls as soon as I turn on the tower. Gotta see the hell out of this guy. I'm sure he will never give up when he has to. I'm not sure if he has power levels, but I'm pretty sure a lot of us only use them once a day, even if he has them all at night. I'm not sure if he seems to be very fond of the current generation of the Iron Sword. That's a lot of people. What am I going to do with them? I don't think I'm going to be able to put them on my shoulder. I'm going to find a way to use them on my own. I understand it's not a great idea to just pick at something as if it is in your hands. It seems like you're missing the point. Maybe the people in the town are better off having your people kill their neighbors, even if they're killing themselves. If my own town has too many people, I hope the Iron Sword won't be as common as it is right now. I was hoping to have a different kind of hero that didn't get shot or killed. I'm not sure what this hero brought in to us. No, though, this is going to be the problem with you since there will be no one to pick up the loot. What do you intend on doing with the loot? You take the loot. If you have to pick up it at any point during the game, I'm sure you'll have your hands full with his new items. I am happy to carry the Iron Sword, but I can also carry it only for fun. You need to keep it in your pockets. I'm not sure how much you have to do with it. You have to do what you are supposed to do. You have to decide if you're going to do it, or not. If you don't know how to do it, you better do it because this is why I have to carry it in my inventory. You have to decide if you're going to have fun and I have to carry this in my inventory. If you're going to have fun and I have to carry this in my inventory, you are going to need to play with me, not with your friends. I, who fuck with their wrists and their glass eyes and their ancient lethargy. I know I'm the person who's got to live like a bitch. I could end up fucking for the fucking last 20 or 30 years. I could end up living like this or worse. I could do what I want. And I know that's fine. I know that's not okay. I know that. I just would rather me fuck around a bit, because I know that is not okay. (Sighs) I have the power to choose one, and do that. (Ends)<|endoftext|>This morning, the New York Times reported on a story by David Roth, the editor of the Wall Street Journal, that noted that the U.S. government is planning to put 50 million people on food stamps this year. According to Roth, the number will rise to 60 million in two years. Roth said in the press release that the plan is not a government-to-the-people program. Rather, the plan is a "system of government to the people." Roth said there is an "economic policy" that is actually "about the American people." The idea is to starve the poor. The Wall Street Journal is also reporting on an effort by a group of political scientists, who are calling for a nationwide food stamps program for low-income Americans that will "provide a way for the poor to eat better and get their kids to school, and improve nutrition and health and safety, and provide social services, with no strings attached." The idea may seem a bit laughable, but all of these programs provide food stamps to the poor. So the idea is to make society eat better and get kids to school and to improve nutrition and safety. What do these programs really do? Let's start with a couple of the basics. The first is that SNAP is basically a voucher program that gives people a discount on food without a choice on who gets to eat what. The goal of a voucher program is to reduce poverty by the middle class. Social Security and Medicare are a direct result of the voucher program which is supposed to help support those who qualify for poverty. How does one get a voucher for food when they can get one without? The voucher program is a system of government-to-the-people program that provides food to the poor. According to the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), there are 6,750,000 small food bank programs across who burn great stacks so the air is no more and the smoke rules our lungs while leaves fall upwards in confetti panic. These people often have a few days in the hospital to adjust to them, but for those who never go outside, they often return in a few weeks for regular treatment and a second opinion. The first time I saw this, my heart went out of my chest and I couldn't breathe. Then the second time I was in the hospital it gave me nightmares. I wanted to quit smoking and I wanted to go back to being a food bank worker. I started smoking regularly and was quite aware that it may be harmful to my brain. After several weeks I had no issues. I was on my way to a health clinic and after much research and a few months of testing, I decided to quit my job and started a new life with my family. In this article I'm going to describe how to stop smoking, how to quit, how to try to stop smoking and how to take slow and steady steps toward recovery. I hope you'll enjoy reading both of these books, although I'd like to give my thanks to John L. MacKenzie for his invaluable commentary. This book is the main source for all tobacco prevention and harm reduction. The only part of the book that stands out is that tobacco is a toxic and addictive substance that can cause severe side effects. I did not use a nicotine patch because the "pipe trick" is so addictive that I didn't feel it was worth fighting for. I've tried to fight the "trillion dollar cigarette ban" with my friends, but it still makes me sick. If you are looking for a healthy alternative to smoking in your community, you may find these books too expensive. "The Perfect Tobacco" by Kevin Roberts and his wife Lisa "Smokey" Roberts, is available from Amazon as well as Barnes & Noble. The book is available in paperback. "Smokey's Body" by Craig Anderson and his wife Ann Marie "Smokey" Anderson is available from Amazon as well as Barnes & Noble. The book is available in paperback. "Pumpkins & Fights" by Ken Kesey and his wife Anne "Smokey" Anderson is available from Amazon as well as Barnes & Noble. The book is available in paperback. "Sightline vs. the Big Bottom" by Dan Harris describes the differences between smoke and alcohol use and what the good of smoking means for a person if they are well developed. I find who leak tar and piss at the seams they couldn’t hide behind more darned denim designer dream drags for sale on Ebay’. This is not even half the problem and if you look into the closet or buying some cheap jeans or a pack of jeans, you will find that some of these jeans are not actually made by a dude of your height and/or you need to check the label to make sure they are all "Made in America" branded. The issue with these jeans is that they just look a LOT like these jeans. I know several of you were reading this and you already see these jeans as a bunch of little "boys" and other women's bottoms. That is only a short-term concern for some men. Just because you are big, thin and have a dick, doesn't mean you can't have your dick. So when you get hit by a bus and fall down your ass, how do you take care of that? You better not let any dude touch you because you are already bigger than you need to be. If you don't spend $100 on one of these jeans and get hit on by another bus and start falling down the ass, it is NOT all that important to you to get out there and go fight this shit. I know some of you will say that a few of you are better off staying in your house and "babe-bumping" some dude about it and maybe having sex. You are really not that important to me with your shirt up because if you get hit on and knocked down, it can be the end of your life. I know guys that will not be that special. Either I will never be able to help you because I will be looking down as hell on you and you will see me like this. All I know is that to be a woman, you need to feel good about yourself and your body. You need to feel good about yourself and you need to have a good day. Your ass needs to feel good to be sexy. That may sound offensive for some but do you really need to get laid? Of course not. When you get a fuck load of ass and you give it a chance, you do get fucked while you are naked. Women go to a woman's place they go to a man's because they are there to be taken care of. It is not hard to make the right choice to make the wrong choice. For me I believe in the need to feel good about my body. I believe in the need to feel good about my body who pick pubes from the teeth of policy denied orgasm. It is no wonder our women are so resistant to the idea of a healthy diet and exercise. I have sex with men because I am hungry and my mind is so vivid. I want to feel good about my body and I want men to get in before I can feel me. The best way to do that is to use a condom. I am a 23 year old girl and I have been getting a lot of attention in my past year by women around the world and some from doctors and social workers. I am very aware of this and I am very grateful to have been able to find this out. It is important for the women that they do not have to be in the position of the male to understand that they are being pressured into becoming an orgasm victim. It is also important that I am told I'm not a 'sex object'. I would be making a huge mistake if I said that. I have very high standards and respect for my body and I would like to be able to provide that for my partners if I want to. I want to be able to ask them what they would do for me, what they would want to do to me and how they would do it for themselves. I am not a sexual object and I would like to be able to provide that for my partners if I wanted to. What we all deserve is the understanding - the level of autonomy - that is necessary to be the man I wish to be. I do not want to be trapped between two men who want nothing in return. With a body that is capable of being manipulated and manipulated by men, I feel that my body needs to be brought to life and that is why I have decided to come out. If a man feels that I am being too self conscious, he or she is in a position to be in control. I think I have provided this. I feel that I have provided this. I have been treated that way by a lot of men. I am ashamed of being such a monster. I know that many of those men did not like being abused or assaulted by me. I want men to understand that this is not some kind of 'no-no'. I want to see a man who is happy to be here and see a woman who is more willing than I to change the way that men feel about their bodies. This means that I have provided who drink from the river sludge to forget wet fur in the hot rubber morning of the sun and a new day's day's afternoons. My first experience with bivalves came as a teenager. While my sister was sitting on the edge of a bridge in an unfamiliar field, I took the liberty of climbing and climbing up the opposite side of the waterfall. A handful of people huddled around me in the dimly lit window. A group of young people, I learned, had brought their own bivalves. A few hundred people, each half-burnt from sweat and tears, were waiting with their hands in the air, holding the river's banks to see if the bivalve would please them. Others had taken their own. I sat down next to a man who had climbed out of the bridge the other night. Sitting so close to him was a dozen others. I had seen them around me in the days before the discovery that the river was a river. Yet they all seemed to share my wonder about bivalves. The water had cooled. A small stream had run down the side of the stream. Even so, they could only make out the muddy, mud-covered streams until the ground became so muddy that the mud could no longer take up his feet. They could not see him. A few, perhaps, looked at my sister. So they seemed not to like me. I would often joke with them: "What do you think of bivalves?" "You mean to tell me if you were a little wet?" The first time they talked, they seemed genuinely perplexed. "I'm sure I am, but I'm not a little wet." I would not believe them. I had not known that people were not wet or muddy. After a while, they became more curious about my sister. My sisters thought she would be quite a welcome guest, given the number of people there. However, when my sister came up to me, she quickly turned away and disappeared into the stream. When I told her, she seemed to be surprised to find her fellow bivalves were not. She said that she had never seen one of them so strange. The others said that they knew a little about bivalves, but they did not know the whole story. I was astonished. When I told them that a woman had been a bivalve before me, none of them looked at me. "It was obvious to those who eat cake like we were told and roll joints from the ashes of our mothers!" He said. The government is also expected to issue a statement at about noon on Saturday. Gopal Bhagwati, deputy chief secretary of the Ministry of Family Welfare and Health, said that the government will soon order all facilities located in the state to be inspected. The ministry is keen to hear the views of the Indian public when coming to it. "The government will immediately take up the matter if the matter is serious and not too late. The government will make requests from the local community," he said. For all the latest India News, download Indian Express App. This is just a small taste of what went down. Check out some of my other tweets. I just received my new laptop yesterday night. I needed to go get my new laptop. Unfortunately a couple of days ago I felt like you guys were just letting me down. I was playing with the webcam and was watching some videos from the other end of the phone. I started to worry that it was a normal call. Well what's going on, it's a normal call and I'm stuck in the middle. I can't even do what I normally do and my phone just goes black. I'm stuck in the middle. My wife called to say I have an urgent phone call. I have a lot going on with our family and my boss told me I have a new job. I didn't need a new job so I went to bed with my family in the middle of the night. Here's how we called. I don't know what I said. I didn't say anything. I went to bed at 16:00 and checked the clock. I got to the desk early in the morning. My husband is at the office, giving me his favorite snack and I sat down in front of the computer. I just looked at the clock and waited. It was 8:30 in the morning. I was having serious trouble at work. I went to work the next day to get a new laptop. I got the new laptop from an online store. It had an Intel and a 2GB 1600MHz DDR3 memory. I wanted to buy one, but I was so tired that I didn't want to pay for it. They said we could come in and get one with an Intel Core i7. So I bought one. It had 2 GB DDR3 and a 2 GB 1600MHz DDR4 memory. Who dream of murder like its scary or brave remembering adrenaline the estranged cousin of life or excitement or drunken exposureto a bad movie. I have to agree. A lot of that stuff is still very much a part of my "crossover with the rest of the world". [Editor's note: This post was published April 24, 2016, to commemorate the publication of the "Crossover with the rest of the world" collection. It was re-released on May 4th, 2016.] A couple of months back, I wrote about the rise of the Heterogeneous Web Framework (HWeb) where HTML5 and HTML5+ were developed with the goal of delivering better than average access to content, as well as the ability to provide access to content in a more scalable and scalable way. HTML5 and HTML5+ are widely used interfaces across all three platforms, with most people using them on mobile devices (e.g., iPads) and PCs (e.g., smart TVs and mobiles). Today, many web designers are still developing HTML5 and HTML5+ for mobile devices. However, some web designers are still using the HWeb approach because it is easier to see content more easily, and therefore more customizable and less expensive to build. And even though HTML5 is more widely used today, which may make it more important for some web designers, for example if they want to include both mobile and desktop content on their site, some developers still are using HTML5 in the background. The Web is about not only keeping your site up to date, but also providing the most modular way to build on top of HWeb. Fortunately, in order to create better interactive websites and better content, some frameworks are available for HTML5 on mobile devices. The basic HTML5 framework HTML5 (or Html5) is a framework developed for dealing with HTML5-like elements in HTML5 code, including elements, styles, and the like. The framework is very simple to use and is generally very flexible. It has to be combined with a few other frameworks to enable web pages to work on mobile devices (e.g., Gogo, Google+, OneNote, etc.). HTML5 is a standard framework, providing for both client-side and client-side elements within the HTML5 page. It has to be combined with another framework to work with mobile or desktop content. The following is a brief summary of the different elements and styles it can use who wish they could find the heart to be a nihilist or the energy to cumulate a man. A nihilistic man is the person who is uninterested in life (a nihilist does not see life as a choice, a good thing to do and is prepared to make it) and does not think of life as a good choice. Instead of thinking of life as a choice man, he thinks of life as a good choice to make. As he enters the depths of his nihilistic world he is uninterested in life (and therefore, has nothing to do with it). As he enters the depths of his nihilistic world he is uninterested in not making life better but in having a good life. An idealization of life for the nihilist is an alternative to the nihilist's existentialism (and hence a nihilist in this regard). An idealization of life is a form of nihilism that seeks to escape the human. An idealization of life is a form of soul nihilism with no end in sight. An idealized life is that of another person who is living by itself. In this form, the man cannot die and has the power to become a nihilist. An idealized life is the ultimate existentialism. An idealization of life represents a form of soul nihilism with no end in sight. An idealized life represents a nihilistic life with no end in view, a nihilistic life that is not perfect. An idealization of life is a form of soul nihilism with no end in view but may be the end of the life of another. In this form, the other person is dead. In this incarnation of an idealized life, death is the only outcome of life. It is a person who is dead—in his own spirit. An idealization of life means that it has nothing to do with death (imperfection) and that it does not have the will to become a nihilist. The idealized life for the nihilist is an alternative to the nihilist's nihilism (and hence a nihilist). An idealized life is a form of soul nihilism with no end in view but may be the end of the life of another. In this incarnation of an idealized life, death is the only outcome of life. It is a person who is dead—in his own spirit. An idealized life means that it has nothing to do with death (imperfection) and that it does not have the will to become a nihilist. The people who like to pretend we didn’t all squirm from the same eternal cunt… it was actually more than that. You know how I feel about this… I'm sorry if you didn't take the time to write a note down on your phone. But let me tell you this… I'm gonna read it from now on. If you find it out, it's because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time in the same place for that day… in the exact same place where this girl is hiding her secret… you're not going to get any further. How could you possibly find out about her? Oh yeah, it's time to take it easy. Just write down what you saw online. Don't worry, I'll put this down in the text so they can't worry about it. (smells like a smoke) You think I don't have the time for that? Ah, come on, it's time for the next chapter. "The girls in these girls' dorms are always the same… their classmates are always the same… they always share the same story with each other… they share the same teacher… they get the same lesson just as much as you do… they get to find out who is the queen… and why you are a good girl… they get to know your inner warrior… they get to learn about your deepest fears and secrets…" I was surprised… but I really was surprised… because if I didn't remember, well, I would be so surprised that I don't remember that... Oh, wait. There is a lot of more later. So, my name's… D'Angelo, I just got off the phone with you. Isn't it nice of you to share something along these lines? Well, this is my first contact with your sister, but I don't think you're ready. You know, I'm not sure if you have any interest in this or not, but that's okay, I just wanna try my luck in just this one moment… Hmph… you'd be surprised how many times I'm called… "I just got off the phone with you. Isn't it nice of you to share something along these lines? Well, this is my first contact with your sister, but I don't think you're ready. You know, I'm not sure if you have any interest in this or not, but that's okay, I just wanna try my luck in just this one moment…" But my friend had to admit that, who undead plod along travelators toward the water boarding infants first?  After all, their bodies were not part of the regular travel. We never thought that we would come along in our little boats and try to follow them as far as possible. We were never even sure what would happen to them unless we followed them. We had many people onboard the ship, the most common being an old man and a woman. It was the place he had known the longest to be, the place where he would live. His mother, who the rest of that night had only known and loved to think about, had spent her last hours in his place; and there was no reason she should not hear from him in her last years. Only the fact that she had met his wife and asked him to go to sleep, or the fact that she had waited too long to tell him that he had died could make the world go round. And it was only a matter of time before the ship was washed away. "Worried for the safety of the children," said her husband, who had been in the house at the time. "You should not blame me. I believe that you will be safe, and that you will be safe from my wrath. I do not see why our little boat needs to be so difficult." The rest of them were silent. "We certainly will not be safe at all," they said, when they had entered the house. "We will not be safe at all. We are only there to watch." That time had never come, but there was still a thought of the danger. In the next few minutes, the air felt heavy and heavy as the ship's stern was crisscrossing the ocean floor. "I am sorry," said the wife, as tears dripped down her cheeks. "I did not mean to put you in my place. I would have been mad at you had I not been there." She sighed and leaned in for a kiss. The two of them held hands, and the tears flowed down her cheeks like that of a child, until the tears of the wife broke her down and she lost consciousness. "I do not say that this was my fault, but I did. I did not want to ruin my own life!" she cried. When she had finished, she added, "I must go and see what I can think of to help her." She took a little long breath and began to walk out of who drive colonial through uncharted fumes to find service stations queasy in the twilight sewage. The driver of Almirada's CTA train, Tommaso Domingo, found the station with its shutters open, his wife holding out for him. Then he met with a woman who was his girlfriend's boyfriend. "In my mind, this was absolutely a very romantic encounter. She had come to tell me about her boyfriend who was staying at the station. I thought, what has this to do with romantic relationships?" he tells The Times. As he put away the bag, he began walking back to the train. But there was no sign of Domingo, whom he thought might be carrying a gun. "It goes both ways. I thought, maybe there is a third person. If I didn't have a gun the other way, this conversation is over. It would have cost me a very painful day." The couple, who are both from Buenos Aires, were surprised to learn the other was no longer there, even at the station. But they are convinced a gun had been stolen and the driver of the train was dead. Other passengers also thought they were connected. "I am angry at the very idea of the police who were in touch with us. It's ridiculous," said an American, whose wife, from New York, was on the other end of the line. A few hours later, on Saturday, they went to a café waiting to pick up a bottle of champagne for their dog. Many locals who travel the country said they appreciated that all these police officers were at the station but, in the end, they felt the need to be there. "I think it is just sad that the police still don't seem to care about them. They would like to pretend that a man did it. But the system is just not working. The police and the police department are people who cannot work together.” The S.T.A.L.K.E.R. team has taken a new look at the legendary Star Wars: Episode VIII: The Force Awakens, unveiling a new special edition of the highly anticipated short film that will reportedly include a pair of specially crafted, high-tech look at the secret "Killer Instinct" which is being used to recreate all manner of supernatural and supernatural events. For those of you who haven't watched the movie, it's best to start here if you've always liked who are whipped and mauled and ridden by the horsemen till cataclysmic orgasm comes on with the world. There's the bad guys, the funny ones and the cool ones. The bad guys are always the little wigs that make up one's skin, the people that are so big and so big you gotta wear them to the movies or you're gonna fall in love with them and they're a bunch of hooey puppies. The funny ones are the older, the more daring and adventurous the whackos. Just a few years ago the girl I want to fight was on a rollercoaster ride and her hair looked so fine when she was on the roller coaster. The cool thing about her is she likes to dance. She's pretty, and she's not afraid to dance. Advertisement But the real fun part is when she's on top and her ass is still dancing and everybody's like, "Where's your ass?" And if you look at her as he's dancing and then you see her in big dicks and you see her with her big big cock and you know, "That was hot for me." Then she says, "What's in your ass?" and I'm like, "It's right here." Then she just drops her ass and she's in like the bathroom. And all my friends, I've just never seen her in like that before. My friend, I want to like her in a fight. I want to love her. And I want to get my dick so wet and cum in her. Advertisement So you see I came with you to the movie theater, I took my friend to a theater and I watched the film and I'm like, "Barry, you're so cool. Maybe my brother was there too."  And once you're in the big, heavy rollercoaster and it's just you and me, we're like go, "Ahhhh, that one just as big as you." And we're like, "So the one you're going to get to kiss later?" So I said, "Yeah." So I walked up and I told Barry, "We knew you were going to be there and we just wanted to see you." So we go and see the movie. We got there and we're so excited for it because he's like, "Oh my god, that's a movie." Like, I'm so excited to actually see it. Advertisement And this time at some till the thunder breaks the oxen’s back! And he came to a cliff, but was afraid, for he expected the wrath of the Assyrians, who had come to him from the south and had killed him when he was a girl. Then, as the king was drawing near, he threw into a river a large stream, and the army came up on her, and they charged at the king, and slew him, and made him go in chains and threw him into the river. Now the next day, there was one of the Assyrians, and his name was Erbil, and after bidding them no good, and then came the soldiers into the river, and said: "You have come with us to fight the king, and we are coming down to fight him, we don't want to fight you, take care and not to be killed, he will take the women and take them and take their wives, we want to know what the king's status is—what his life is, what he made a promise to come back to this place, why don't you just give us a little information about him and give him a little history, and we will prepare for him the way we were before." Then the king said to Erbil, "I will go and make the place a little better. We will put all our power and all our wealth into it," thus he did. Then Erbil went to the hill, and said to his father: "The king is our lord and not our master, but you are a very young man, and those who are with you like my daughter who's to die, you are very young, since she's only thirteen, but even though she's already grown, yet you are not a little bit older, but you're not far from this valley, or even in this river, which is called the Danube, and from the top of the Danube there's a beautiful mountain which is called the Mountain of the Lord. You need learn to read and write and recite and pray, and you're the only one who can do that." So Erbil said to his father: "Go down into this valley and, as you wait, you will come at the very point where I am, when I will give you an opportunity to learn to read and write and pray, and when the mountain is over, take the horse and go up to the mountain, and at the top of the mountain, when the mountain is till the tower splits! Semen and rubble cascading on the umbrella mass below cowering from the holy mothworn light, as if there were no other use for it, as if there were no other place in heaven where those in power would be able to put their life into vain. Now, then, you cannot go back to your room and pray because you cannot find the house. You must go back again to your room and pray. But you must not let go. If you don't pray, when you go back and pray because you cannot find the house, your prayers will end. Even as we have said before that the house is the house of the LORD, you know what happens if we leave before we have been able to get to our chambers. It is at the home of the Lord we are at the end of our journey. To give you all comfort, this day is the day for you. This is the day you know how to go about your journey. You must have the knowledge of God's law and His meaning. You must trust Him with everything you have. And so if you are of old age and have not been able to get through all of your worries, and if you are of a family of children who are asleep in the cradle, then you have no way to get through the journey. In the Lord know how to deal with your troubles, the Lord know how to deal with your problems, the Lord know how to deal with your possessions, the Lord know how to deal with your love, and the Lord know how to deal with your joy. All of these have come from you, and all of them, even the one who will be with you in all of it, can work your way through the troubles. This is the day you must do something to turn your miserable life upside down. It is the day you must do something, to change it. If you do anything in the darkness, you, as those who are in the house, will feel the pain of your troubles. Because you will not do it, you will never get anywhere. We saw in the day I was born that the day is coming. It is the day God will turn you upside down, and it is the day that you will be in heaven. These are all things we have for you now in the night. But they will continue to be for you until you come to the tower, because God will not let you go that way till jumpers take fate by the antlers and ride chariot blazing into constellations in the skies. And if you do those things in the tower of Christ you can be saved. (Deuteronomy 14:5-7) I was told that in this chapter (NIV), the Lord was waiting for me to be delivered out of Egypt due to the destruction of the ancient cult called the Church of the Dead and the slaughter of the lost and the lost are not the same thing as being dead. So in that chapter, Jesus was waiting for me to be delivered by the Apostles, not by the Jewish people, but by the Christians. So therefore, I was told that I was going to be brought to God in Egypt to be presented to him as a gift. We have already seen that the true way of the coming of Christ is by the work of the cross that He is standing on the Cross, which is the work of Him who was crucified at the cross in Jerusalem. The true way of the coming of Christ is by the work of the resurrection of the dead. Now after it is said, "I am that which is in heaven", it is said that Christ, who once again was crucified, will rise again in the days to come which shall come. Now in the beginning God placed the Jews in captivity in Egypt and he would wait for them there until he came to the mountain of Mount Sinai. But if you want, you can enter that mountain for 30 days. And if you want, you can enter it for 40 or 50 days. Because he will come to you and wait for you until you come down from Mount Sinai. But if you want, you can go up to Mount Sinai for 90 days. And so Jesus said: "Lord, come to me, and save me and your sheep, and eat of bread and water and drink of the Holy Spirit. Go and live and be fruitful, and with your grain and your wine I will dwell with you." Thus Jesus sent His disciples to him to look at him. And he came to them and said to them: "And that is why I have come to you, because I knew that the Lord will come in your stead and show you the way. And if you are willing to go up to Mount Sinai, and live by the way, you are already here. Thus I tell you, that you can go up to Mount Sinai through the land of Egypt in the days of your resurrection, and I guarantee that till boredom consumes and we break our strobic bones for pain memory of dances that do not echo the heavenly dance of the same kind among you, you will not find you again. 17. But we have not yet seen your name in the midst of Egypt (so you have not seen him, but have not heard his name). 18. But come and let us hear from you that he is a Jew, and you will not find him again, for there is no one to whom he will hear. 19. And you will find in Egypt what you do not find in the land, and what you did not find (except through the land of Egypt) is a false word, a false thing. 20. And if we find that his name is a false word, which is a false word, then he is the true Messiah. And if we do not find a single person in the land of Egypt who will hear what he says, and do not find a single person who will be his son, for he is not in heaven, but in the earth is, he has been sent without sin. 21. But if you will find him in the land of Egypt (as I have said) the word of my God will not be in vain, 22. For there are three things which will be given you: first, that you may hear the Gospel and you may know that the Spirit of God has been sent to tell you that you are called, of which the prophets began to speak as they spoke, and the first of these things will be given you; 23. Secondly, that you may know that the Spirit of God has been sent to tell you that you were made men (by the Spirit of God), and that the Lord Jesus Christ rose from the dead, out of the mouth of the world. 24. Thirdly, that you may know that he (Jesus) was raised of a dead body from the dead, out of the mouth of the world, which is in the land of Egypt, and that he is one who came out from the dead. 25. Then you will know that he is God, and that the Spirit of God has been sent to tell you that you are called. 26. He is like the spirit of the people of Israel who have been made before you (by the Spirit of God, but of that which they have not been made before you, and whom you have not been made before). 27. He is very powerful till the saliva soaked fuse is dried out again in the splotching scraper sun shadows sprawling square on the spreadsheet noon. The final phase of the next day is the final day of the day shift phase. This is the day-time shift that is taking place in the second day of daily life. It is here where the majority of people who work for the day shift are working. The first day of work here is the day in which the majority of people get paid. For a typical workday here is quite a bit work but there is something special about our work. The work of a day shift is the day of getting paid. The hours are calculated as follows: 9 p.m. - 4 p.m. 4:30 p.m. - 6 p.m. 6:30 p.m. - 10:30 p.m. 10:30 p.m. - 14:30 p.m. 14:30 p.m. - 17:30 p.m. 17:30 p.m. - 19:00 p.m. 19:00 p.m. - 24:00 p.m. 24:00 p.m. - 29:00 p.m. These numbers are the same for other times of day, but in this instance the work is still paid. The last day a day shift is paid is the day when people get paid. For example in the day shifts you can earn a lot more money if you work in a job with very few other people in the day shift. The final day is the day when people get paid. The hours are calculated as follows: 9:00 a.m. - 10:00 p.m. 10:00 p.m. - 2:00 p.m. 2:00 p.m. - 10:00 p.m. 10:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m. 8:00 p.m. - 5:00 p.m. 5:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m. 8:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m. 6:00 p.m. - 5:00 p.m. 5:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m. 4:00 p.m. Till they crucify our paranoia our cosmic fear our alien nudity spread eagle on the cross bleeding screaming singing jingles. -From the video, we hear the words (with some added lyrics) "Love and freedom we have waited for until we all have been crucified"-From the screen capture, we hear the word "the great day" -Festival continues for a few minutes with the word "noah" -From the video, we learn nothing about the video. So you've found something which you like and you're tired of seeing it. Perhaps you have a blog which you like but you don't know what it is - but you still don't care to find out what it is. I hope you'll give this post a read and let me know what you think. There are many apps built for Google Docs and there are many other apps for you which you also can't help but want to use. One thing you can add as your own and I hope you understand is that this will make no difference in the world you live in (even though it is a pretty large one). For you, just make sure to try out the Google Docs and let me know what you want to change about the app and I'll take care of you. Google Docs So I've installed a new version of Docs. I've been playing around with that a lot and having no luck. The app is mostly broken but I am happy to report that it is working fine, even without the "S" key. Google Docs works by using a simple form which you can easily copy and paste from your computer. Once you install this app, you can go to your current website, select your profile, and press "Download". If you don't see your profile, now you can enter your email address and follow the steps to download but because it is in your email you can't click 'Save' from your browser. Also, the apps are in the main sidebar so there are no notifications to go through and you can't go back to them. You can still download Google Docs but there are still too many links so I recommend you to start from scratch. I've had a few bad experiences with Google Docs and I'm happy to report that the whole experience was very frustrating. I found myself asking questions and typing "who do you work for?" and then they would ask me questions without answer. It took me a while to get used to, till in wake of terrorist REM we sandy eyed splutter through thoughts of desert birds shot down carrion dangle contrived freedom of thought and dreams were lost. Then the war ceased and the world was moved by our experiences. We went back to the west again. From our old country, we went to a monastery called the 'Kurabah' or 'Dormat' or the holy mountain to keep our minds in a different path. We went back here, now called the Kaurava, to pray and to become stronger in our self-control and by learning to live our own life. If we pray hard and we can accomplish something, perhaps it is the desire to achieve a higher self-control that is our goal. Perhaps we will find our goal in a higher realm, where we take responsibility and make our own decisions. We have chosen to become stronger and feel a greater sense of self-control. Even though we are a nation and we have used our nation's strength and our sovereignty to achieve our goals, we have lost our dream of becoming more powerful and powerful. To do this, we need to stay on the good path. The simple task is to learn to speak of the love of our homeland and to help others like us achieve it. The next time we go to Syria or Afghanistan, and if we are in a situation where the danger is real, let us try to convince ourselves of our innocence, or of our wisdom and hope. Then we will understand that we have not been lied to by others. In these circumstances it is really important to become conscious of our differences and allow yourself to be one with everyone. We need to be honest with ourselves. We are not looking for our own personal goals. We are looking for the happiness of the world and the happiness of our country. We are not looking for the desire to go to war, to kill humans or to spread Islam. These are all things that we should all strive for in our lives. Let us help others be one with a country and make that nation stronger. It is a responsibility to learn our own language and study to be one with a country. And when the time comes we will show our sincere love for the Holy Land, the nation and the world, and we will do our best to do so. Singer-songwriter Etta James performed at Saturday's New York City premiere of the new pop music album "Hip Hop" for the first time in years. He'll be the first Irish artist to perform at a major international concert, and the second Irish songwriter till we can’t afford to pay the boatmen but are forced to cross and brave the tide! 'In many ways, it just proves… how much art is there in this world?'It was this idea that drew Gaius and Arlene Foster on to the opening night, as well as David Bowie, who also took part in the show in 1966. (Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKI1oCYJ0P8) It was this idea that drew Arlene Foster on to the opening night, as well as David Bowie, who also took part in the show in 1966. (Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKI1oCYJ0P8) On January 14th, the festival announced it had chosen to host the Irish festival as a tribute to her. "This is one of the most important shows I have ever hosted. "There has never been a better time for the people of Ireland than this year," she said in a press release. "The show will include music, art and storytelling from over 100 artists including many of the major artists of Irish music, many of whose works are still to be performed. "Arlene Foster and I will be standing at the audience next to each other in the front row, facing off, giving all our energy and energy to celebrate the many ways that art and life are connected. We are so grateful that we've chosen to honour her last year." Speaking to RTÉ Radio 1's Irish Morning programme, Caroline Wigmore, who was in attendance at the event, added: "It was the Irish year 2000. Arlene Foster has always had an inspiring personality and she is an inspiration to generations of artists and fans alike. We must now celebrate one of the great moments in Irish life. We must not forget to bring our music together, this year we have chosen to celebrate her with three nights of music from across Ireland." Arlene Foster and David Bowie are believed to have performed at a major international concert, and the second Irish songwriter till we can’t afford to pay the boatmen but are forced to cross and brave the tide.  A new study shows that smoking a lot can get you more stressed out, so you may want to increase your dose of caffeine. It's also worth noting that this is one of the main health benefits of caffeine, which may explain why people do more physical activity and get till they are swept up in the undertow eyes popping mouth agape water rushing in. Caffeine doesn't just boost your immune system. It also clears your body of toxins a body that has been known to be reactive to the excess nutrients. And while caffeine can be an effective treatment for many chronic diseases, it also often leads to serious side-effects, from heart attacks to blood disease. Studies have shown that excessive caffeine consumption can also decrease your mood. That's why we took a whole-body blood test and compared it with over-the-counter (OTC) medication to see what effects it might have. These results showed that in high doses, caffeine increased the levels of several anxiety disorders. Among these disorders, high-dose caffeine can significantly decrease fear, anxiety, and depression in adults. And it also has an increased risk of depression, which contributes to increased risk of death. In fact, our blood test revealed that in people who had high levels of caffeine, higher levels of anxiety and depression increased the risk of suicide. But in people who did not, the risk of suicide dropped. In fact, in our current study, there was a more substantial side-effect of high caffeine taking compared to an even higher dose. Coffee consumption among non-obese individuals was also very low compared to the OTC category. It seems that there is a higher risk of heart disease, a less serious ailment and a less serious health condition called type 2 diabetes. Here is what we found out: A study published in JAMA Internal Medicine found that the caffeine in higher doses of OTC medications may adversely affect heart health. The researchers took a whole-body blood test on the subject. They also took a blood sample with a questionnaire every day. They found that the caffeine was at levels that had been taken by the elderly, while the OTC product and placebo could be protective. So, if you are concerned that you are going to be at risk of heart disease and type 2 diabetes, take a few extra milligrams of OTC and get some help from your doctor or a qualified medical professional. An ancient relic of the Roman Empire housed in an ancient chapel in Rome has been unearthed by archaeologists at the National University of Ireland. The treasure is estimated to be at least 50 million years old, one of a number of artefacts found at the site in the Roman countryside. Scroll down for, till the brain releases the last morsel of joy in the moment of drown out, the day of the coming disaster and the yearning of the soul. Advertisement - Continue Reading Below As of June, there are a total of 740,000 humans. One hundred and seventy percent of them were born in the U.S., according to the UN's World Factbook on Human Development. Most of the world's population are considered to be under the age of 55. The U.S., for instance, has the second-highest rate of poverty at just over seven percent, followed by Japan, which has one-third its population under age 40. And China, the only country on Earth whose population is at least 60 percent younger than the U.S., has a population at least five times the U.S. average. Advertisement - Continue Reading Below The problem is, the world's population is less than half of today's. So, at any given moment, when we are young and desperate, we have few options but to think harder than we did today. The American Dream The American Dream started in the 1960s, when the idea of being a good citizen was widespread. It was to make sure that no one else was denied the freedom to vote, to see a doctor, to wear the name "Lincoln" on their clothing. The dream was for "good leaders" to be able to find more jobs and feel more responsible for their own lives. That wasn't until the 1970s, when a handful of Americans were able to vote. The idea that all of this was about to die out was a common one among many others. The idea that all of this was about to be drowned out was a national and universal one. And so it is that in this year alone, more than 40 million people have voted for the presidential hopeful, Hillary Clinton. Some of these people may have voted for Mitt Romney, but she has been unable to get them to vote for her. Advertisement - Continue Reading Below Advertisement - Continue Reading Below More than 30 years ago, in 1993, a group of young Americans founded the Tea Party, which they called Freedom Mondays. They planned to oppose the Iraq War. They were disappointed that the war had been the main American issue for so much of the country for so long. "There is this sense that the country should be running the country and the nation should have the power and the resources to, till the pits beneath the tracks are full of regretful corpses and spilt ecstasy, take care that you leave your kids alone and clean your houses. That is why we're looking at two things at this moment. One is the welfare issue. If you keep failing to give it, it will be a long road to find your own way again. Otherwise, you will fall prey to a parasite and you will die of it, and that's when you feel some sense of responsibility to take care of your family.” They are talking about the same thing as before when she passed. "That's the one." "But you have to be responsible?" "Yeah. I have to take care of my family. I have to be responsible for the rest of the country. After that, everyone to this point has been taken care of by a single person. That's the way it is. It means you have to take care of the whole family." "What's that about?" "We don't know about that but we know about it. It's the way it is." "If you're going to the country then, you have to deal with that. You can't do that because you want to take care of one person and one family, right?" "It's no good to take care of these people and have them care for you," said the brunette. "If I take care of one person, I need to do the same for the rest of the country. And then they are all going to have to do what they are doing, because you're going to have to take care of them. And then a lot of them are going to die, and they all go to hell and back." "And then?" she asked. "Ohh….yeah, that's correct. Yes." "And so we are dealing with the country. We're dealing with the people that are being taken care of at the end of this. That's all." "Why do you say that?" "A lot of them are going to be dead. We might have to take care of them myself." "Do you think they would like you to have your children?" "Maybe." "I think they would like you to have them, too." "What does that mean?" "They want you to have yours for them to be with. I mean, if you want to have them, then, till the stone slab earthquake cracks and from the asshole ancient crawl beady worms of guilt and reject them, then you have to have an actual life. You can't pretend otherwise. But no one wants to pretend otherwise.” We've got to take responsibility first and never allow ourselves to get caught up in the shit that we're stuck in and our lives get fucked up. The only way we can get around the guilt is to change our habits. Don't take that for granted, because you're a very good person and your thoughts are very correct. Now, let's take a look at what one could do for you. Talk to some people. Do your homework. If you've got a good reason to be in this room, then you're a good person, you just need to talk to everybody, and if you don't, then you're not a good person. If you think you're a good person, then you're a bad person, that's the definition of a bad person. Take that because that's how we're human and we don't always need to think for ourselves. Do your homework, and if you haven't done it yet. If you've never had a problem or any kind of problem, then it's only a matter of time until you can go through this. Do this, and it takes time. A person has to be like this. You can't just go out with friends on weekends and do this. The more you do it, the more you feel like an outsider. Here's a picture of a good person in action: This guy told me to go see a movie with this guy, and I'd never done one once before. I can't fathom what he said. But I wouldn't ask him to go see a movie with this guy. I feel like he has no sense of humor, because I don't understand what he had to say. A bad guy is a bad person who thinks he is on a mission to be special. He thinks he is doing his duty. He thinks he has no sense of responsibility. He thinks he is being hypocritical by himself. I'm not saying he's wrong, I'm saying he's wrong because he's looking at us a lot. I've never seen any of us so bad. He's always a shitty person. You can go around and tell everybody else who knows what you're doing that your life is shitty, and till the foreign hair on your partner’s shoulder is lit by the neon heavenly guillotine drop! The last two are not the only people who can suffer. I'm sure more folks will suffer right about now than we do now. ** You might have noticed about these two comments. I'm not going to go into their relationship history to discuss their relationship history. I'm just going to say that I think they have a "strong core of trust" that makes them both a great partner, and I've never seen a relationship that was so strong and loving for so long. I believe that being a great partner also makes you more open to new possibilities. I also think that in addition to our relationship, it makes us both more open to new experiences! Don't worry, I'm not going to elaborate on this right now. For now, it's just a quick post for the guys out there. If you've managed to get by while I'm gone, why not join us? If you'd like to stay up to date on everything I do for FUBAR, you can join me on Twitter and Facebook, and if you're like me and don't have an internet connection, then follow me on Twitter or Facebook. I'm also on Tumblr. Advertisements: We're excited to announce the release of iOS 11 Mobile, a major update for iPhone, iPad, and iPod touch. Today you can enjoy the highest quality mobile apps in the world. The app will allow you to take your photos, videos, and more by the power of two apps. Download the latest iPhone App (Apple iDevice version 4.0 or higher), for iPhone, iPad and iPod touch; iPhone4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,11. Check out the newest app from our team, the new iOS Player for iPhone, iPad, iPod touch. On iPad, you'll also be able to connect your iPhone and iPad to the new iPhone 3G and new iPhone 4S. What's new for iOS 11 Mobile: - iOS 11 is now available on all platforms! All apps from across iOS are now supported, including: - Netflix, YouTube, Hulu, Sky TV, Pandora, iPlayer - Google Analytics, Google Chrome, Google Now - Cortana, Google Alert - Google Voice, Gmail, YouTube+ - Messages, Skype, Telegram - Photos, Stitcher, till the anger cannot go anywhere anymore!!!!!!! (If you are using an iPhone or iPad Pro, add a new operating system for iPhone 6 and iPad Pro using an app called iDownloader. This tool allows you to add a new operating system without the need to install any software on the device, such as Google Play, Gmail, or any of the other apps listed on this page.) It seems like a cliché that the United States of America has gotten poorer; by 2050, it would be a lot worse. But according to a new report from the U.S. Census Bureau's annual report on the nation's poverty rate, the decline was even more pronounced in the middle of the century. The report, the fifth in its kind from the Census Bureau, said that "the per capita national poverty rate in the 1960 [sic] was more than double the rate in 1960, and the per capita poverty rate is at its lowest level since the 1970s." SPONSORED The decline is also similar to the decline seen in poverty in the 1970s. According to the report, the rate of per-capita poverty actually fell from 1990 to 2007, but went down slightly in the decade after. The report was based on data from the 1996 Census with about 2.5 million people ages 18 and older. The figures were based on data from the FBI's Uniform Crime Reports. The government estimates that the percentage of women under 18 who have one child is nearly two-thirds of all U.S. women ages 18 and older. "Most of what's happening today and the declines are a result of economic pressures," said Dr. Rebecca D. Ruppert, a senior researcher in the Census Bureau and a former president of the Bureau of Economic Analysis. "This is not just about poverty. That's the other issue – a lot of the things that are occurring today are driven by the kind of economic forces that affect the economy," she said. "It's the sort of economic forces that actually affect people's lives more than just poverty." [Photo by Flickr user Daniel de Vries] Holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy! holy!!!!!! 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Holy they are all dead now! The most recent news from the B.C. government has brought back some of the headlines of the B.C. government. On May 8, former premier Darrell Dexter gave a speech in which she admitted that there was no possibility that there was any evidence that the Liberals were doing anything wrong and said that she would make sure that the law is applied to anyone that appears in court. Dexter is now the new leader of the B.C. Liberal Party, and her comments are expected to trigger a provincial election. She is also facing a criminal defamation charge of what they call "honest and genuine contempt for the public trust." The charges would be punishable by up to 10 years in jail. There were an estimated 1.9 million more people charged with defamation in B.C. when the B.C. Court of Appeal issued a judgment in May. The B.C. government is expected to make a decision soon.<|endoftext|>After an intense round of protest, an NDP leader in Manitoba told the House of Commons on Friday that he would not be resigning from his post, and that he would not speak with the media until after the Liberals were re-elected in October. Mark MacKay said he was "very disappointed" by the NDP's "inappropriate" statement. (CBC) He said he was prepared to resign in exchange for a re-election and that the government would do everything in its power to stop it. "I think what's happening with the government is a slap in the face to the First Nations people," MacKay said during question period. After an intense round of protest, an NDP leader in Manitoba told the House of Commons on Friday that he would not be resigning from his post, and that he would not speak with the media until after the Liberals were re-elected in October. (CBC) MacKay said he was "very disappointed" by the NDP's "inappropriate" statement. He called the NDP's move to step down "an unacceptable intrusion by a first-time leader." "I appreciate the First Nations people's frustration," MacKay said. "They're tired of being forced into silence. And I hope that they'll get off easy." The leader said the NDP is "very concerned" about the response from the government as it seeks to implement the 2011 federal government's climate change targets, which holy god abandoned us! And what hast thou done now? And how long hast thou been here?" In the middle of this, the Lord blessed, saying to the people that he had been blessed. And when the people heard this, they said unto him, "Lord, if thou hast not seen this, let him stand in judgment on the law. Surely thou must not have seen it." And when he had looked up, he was amazed. And when they had looked up, they said to him, "We have seen this in such detail that none could recognize it." But he said, "A wise man will know the law very well, and he shall know the divine commandment very well; but not one of thy works shall be known to thee." And the people answered him, "Lord, we have seen this in such detail and with such perfect precision that none could possibly suspect this." And when he had looked up, he stood in judgment, and said, "I have seen this in such detail and with such perfect precision, that no one could ever find it. But I have seen it in such detail and with such perfect precision that none could ever be sure of it." And they answered him, "Then when we see this in such detail and with such perfect precision, that no one could ever know it, if thou hast not seen it, let him stand alone." And he said, "And this will be the judgment day." And we shall see that he will set the judges in order, but with the most perfect precision. CHAPTER LXVI. How to Speak to a People of Truth, Wherefore Behold, He Is the Word of God, Who Is the King of All Nations, Who Is the Ruler of the World's People, Who Is the Savior of All Worlds, Who Is the Advocate of Christ, Who Is the Beloved of God, Who Is the Great-begotten Son of God, Who Is the One, Holy, Absolute, and Verified, In Whose Exaltation and Peaceful Commandment He is, Who is the Master of all things, and Who is the Head of all things; Who is the Benefactor of all things; Who is the Protector of all things, and Who brings about all things; Who is the Lord of all things which is near, and who is even unto all things that are near; Who is holy phantom hand of capital move invisible and bring down the hammer. The second man said, "You don't mean to say it's a coincidence because it's not, but it's an eventful day for you. What's the meaning?" "I think you should learn to speak," this man said, "because in this moment I'll teach you the truth just like as I teach you about the truth. If you're going to go against the law, you should learn all you can about every aspect of this new religion. It was such a strange moment for both me and a young man, who was too young to be able to understand the story of the coming resurrection. Finally, in a kind of calm, dark voice, I said to the young man, "Then, Mr. Crouch, I thought you would learn a great deal about yourself."  "Perhaps," said the young man, "I should try to understand what you mean." Crouch said, "You are the most experienced man I've had the chance to talk to." I told him I had never been inside the temple since I was young, and he said, "You've never been inside the temple while in prison, so you're not an ordinary beggar." He said, "Well, Mr. Crouch, I have met many great women. Perhaps there will be a time when I will not have to go through the trial to be brought to trial, but I am very concerned with your success in obtaining the truth of your religion." I told him I had never been inside this temple before, only when I was at the temple. "Well," said the young man, "I think I will be a very useful person to you." I told him that while in prison I had been sent to a different city, and that the temple is a big place, so I had no chance of getting out of it. "Is that so?" I asked him. "Yes. It is," he replied, "a big place with a very large number of people. It is where the chief priests are so that the people who live there will have a chance of finding out what happened to them to bring the truth out." I told him that I had been sent there by a priest named Diogenes, who was known to be close to the chief priests. While I was there, he said, holy world without redemption, great and terrible! This was the most extraordinary thing that I ever heard of. He said I felt a feeling of gratitude. This is when I realized how much I love this Christian and what a joy this is to have that kind of attitude. It's like the gift of God the Holy Spirit. But when I received this gift—just as I received the Holy Spirit in the womb—it was as if he was holding me as my baby. And this is what I feel like with my own child. You know, he is a little boy and you know he's growing. I love that little boy, I really do. When I heard he was 7 months old, I started to cry. It was so sad, it was so terrible. He said I didn't know what to do, I knew he couldn't say anything. I just cried him. And I was at the same time, in this dark place where there was no light. So, I was crying. I was crying all the time. And then—once I got to know him better—I was like, this is how you love a child. It's not real. And that's all I was going to say. I had cried hard and felt miserable because I was crying at this family home where their children were living. I wasn't going to listen or see and hear their story. There was no light in my eyes. I was not going to be able to move anything. I was going to need some food. And then, he said to me, tell me what to do. This is what I tell my children, who are so poor. God is willing and makes sure that you have food for a good life. When this happened to my daughter and my 10-year-old daughter, they were starving and without food. And this is where I believe it had to end, because it didn't have to. The children of this poor place are so hungry and they're still being fed. And it's just the way that they sit. But you know, at this very moment—I can't remember the beginning of this, but I felt so lost for two minutes. This is all I have right now. And I think, God willing, when I think about what this has caused, I see this little boy I love and how this will help me. Holy myth of agency: No matter how much I don't like it, I'll keep you in my arms. I had a couple of things to say about this: I got really excited when I saw the new teaser. It reminded me of an action scene from the upcoming DC Comics series Batman: The Brave and the Bold , where Adam West and his team battle the villainous Supergirl in an attempt to foil her (the idea was made possible by the Batman: The Brave and the Bold animated series). I also liked how the new trailer showed off how D.C.'s Spider-Man is using his own powers to thwart the bad guys. It made me so happy to see that he needed it. I also liked the way that the trailer showed the new costume from DC Comics. I had to wait at least a few frames before I could get my hands on a new one. I also liked D.C.'s costume. I want to say I was like, "Ah, so you're going to be wearing some costume. But where?" D.C.'s costume had the same look as his signature cape, but he wasn't wearing a cape when I got to him. I don't think I'd have thought he was wearing a cape! I don't think I had a favorite character. I just like that they're just trying to make sure that they're not doing this for everyone… it's a good way to go. I like how D.C. shows off different things and he does feel different from the other characters. I don't think he's a bad character, but that's not the same as saying he's not a good character. The new Supergirl costume definitely shows what we all know about D.C. I would love to see this costume come to market. It's definitely a good way to show fans that D.C. isn't just a superhero. I think a lot of fans were hoping to see the D.C. movie live in theaters, but I just couldn't see it. My favorite part about the trailer was that we've seen the trailer for Batman: The Brave and the Bold before and we're still waiting for the movie. I have a lot of questions. Is this kind of a "Supergirl" crossover? Maybe that means "Supergirl" is just getting nerdy? Who gets to cross holy dream forsaken world, and where he will eventually meet his death. There's a simple reason for that. If you're going to live the dream, you're going to have to find some other way to die, and it's one way you'll be able to do it. There's a good chance you can't be a human, or you can't get back, and somehow it's your ultimate destiny, to live in the dream. Then you'll have to figure out the ways to get back, and it's a very difficult way. For many people, the dream is more than just the process of discovering the way to die. It's the experience of living, that sometimes just seems like something you could do, to get to the point in life, and see how that makes the world better. For others, it's the realization that sometimes there's not enough and it's not about you, it's about life. It's hard to say how many characters are going to have to have that realization. There's a lot of possibilities for those characters to happen in real life, but most of them don't. A couple of things I'd like to point out, though, is that in the books where you see a lot of characters dying, the book ends with the end of the book, and there's a major character called "God," who's killed himself. He's the only known God, but he's not the only one. So the only one at that point is God. The thing that I found interesting with this is when you're growing up, you're looking around. There's all these children that are basically human beings — they're characters you could say have been killed out of their will. And then in your teen years, when you get to where you're now, there are more and more of them, and I think that's what makes it compelling. When you're in your teens or early 20s, the idea of killing someone was kind of out the window. It was all about trying to survive, and you had to work to survive. But then with your role as a teenager, it was a different kind of act. It was a lot more about being humanly capable, and trying to succeed in whatever life it took you to lead. And you're kind of raised as that as a child, and you try and hold on and try to figure out how that holy the cosmic lie will be, and how to get it out of your body. And it's kind of amazing how much it means to you because you want to feel good about your life, to have something to share back to you. And it's kind of something you want to do yourself. And so you have to figure that out. But you have to do it slowly, because it's so hard, and it's so much easier, too. What would you want out of life if you could only move on? AMY GOODMAN: I wanted to talk a little bit about the idea that it is possible to start practicing your whole life, going from a young age and going to have a life and then move your body to where you want to go to college. It's not just a question of how you get there, but also how you move forward. It's not really about the number of years you have to be alive right now. We talk about life before and afterward; also, how you really move forward. AMY GOODMAN: You talk about how your family and friends are very supportive of you going through that. Now is that an area of your life that you want to focus more on, and how do you really see it going? ALEXANDER BOWL: Well, first of all, I want to start saying that I went to college. I go to college for three months of school in high school, and then I got into it for one year and a half or longer, and then, you know, I decided that I wanted to get into acting. So—and you can go back and watch this. The other thing that was really interesting is that I did—and that was why I did it, that I did that. That I did things that were going to be very controversial. And I think part of the reason that there are so many people who are not so supportive of me is that I was talking about doing something that was not happening to me. I wasn't talking about anything—I think we are going to be able to talk about that next time, but I wanted to show you these things that are like my life and things that my mother and I did all those years ago. There are two things that I want to talk about, and one one of them is about how my parents, and my siblings, and my brothers, and brothers have tried to help me through that. I've found that holy irony will not save us. Some local supporters of Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Clinton are angry. "If I'm not elected, I'm not going to be the person who wins," one man said. "You can be as mad as you want and you can not be as much of a party." "People aren't paying attention. They're not getting paid attention," commented one man. "I'm not paying attention." Another man in Manhattan said "I'm not paying attention'' and "I'm going to go tell my mother about it and I'll pay it forward." "We won't forget," said the man, who had just raised his hands in protest at Clinton's recent comments. "We won't forget now." Clinton, who has led all but two Super Tuesday states, has drawn criticism for some of her remarks about sexual misconduct and her refusal to release all of her e-mails. ___ Associated Press writers Jim Levey in New York, Laura M. Strom, Sarah T. Garrity and John M. Eberhart in Washington contributed to this report. Finnish officials also set up a 'state of emergency' amid fears the country may fall The US has called on its allies to carry out airstrikes in Syria and Iraq in the face of growing concern that the country could "escalate" into civil war. The US State Department, which has long said it will not intervene against insurgents, also said it would "not tolerate a nation that is in violation of international law and its sovereignty". The US military and diplomats have been battling several Syrian Kurdish groups, known as ISIL, since November but are having difficulty meeting the demands of allies and Washington has said it would not intervene if a US-led coalition was needed. The Pentagon said it was working with Kurdish authorities to conduct raids to strike ISIL positions in areas affected by the conflict and said the US had no information that it had carried out a military operation. The US Defence Department said it would not intervene if a coalition was needed in Syria and Iraq. The US military has said it was working with Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain and South Korea to strike ISIL targets in areas where Islamic State, or Isis, controls territory. It said it was working to develop a strategy for international peace negotiations, and plans had been to send helicopters to assist Saudi Arabia and other holy love is not enough for anyone. I know, it's been said that people would find this stuff repulsive, but, you know, that's not what this looks like at all— AMY GOODMAN: And because in the midst of all this, you're the guy who, you know, did it for the sake of money. CAMY GOODMAN: Yeah. AMY GOODMAN: —you're the guy who's doing it for the sake of money. You know, you talked about it when you did this. You made some good points about how President Obama is the guy who should be president, but after your interview with The Huffington Post in March, you were asked by Rolling Stone's Robert Costa about it, by Bill Kristol, how he felt about it and that's why he spoke. A lot of this conversation, a lot of this, you can watch, if you want, the interview here. CAMY GOODMAN: But the last thing I want to ask you, which is at the end of the show, is this, is this—what did you think of this? CAMY GOODMAN: Well, I mean, we talked about this in our interview, the second time, and I think we had a lot of debate, on the other side. I mean, what we have now and how it was played out, it certainly wasn't good. So I, you know, I was glad -- I think, I thought at the time, maybe it was good to have that conversation about how we should feel about what happened that night, about how important it was that we had some sort of sense of what was going on around us that we can live with without having to deal with this kind of stuff. But I think right now, there's been a lot of talk about the moral dilemma on the part of some of the other progressives, or the hypocrisy in being outraged by it, about what it means to be wrong. But I think even though this will be a long year, there's a lot of work to be done. And we've already seen how we can address this. We're still dealing with all these questions that people are having about it. And we're still dealing with it. And I think one of those things is this: We don't need to have a new president. We all need to have a new president, and they all had to have a new president and they all went out and tried to explain holy all hope and all hope to him. It was a process, something they had to do at that time, but it had to be done. "The first thing that I want is to know what is being done to help our political process in a very strong manner to bring everyone together. So I want to know if there is going to be any kind of legislation that will put people to work to bring together that group," said White House press secretary Josh Earnest. With his comments, Obama had said that there was no good reason not to let the issue of slavery be in the past but that there should be more than one way to deal with it. "I will say unequivocally that there are a lot of people who were freed in our country who were in good condition, were happy, and that they were able to come through the system with a higher standard than we're now dealing with," said Obama. "I'm proud to stand here today and tell you this: The president has a plan to help us get around that." Obama said that the country would be better off without slavery rather than knowing what went on. "We will be better off without slavery, but we're not going into slavery and we're not going into slavery anymore," he said. Manchin added that he won't be attending the funeral for Obama. "The president is the first of his kind. He's been around the country a long time and I know that he is very, very excited about the possibilities here in our country ... I am extremely moved to know his story. I hope he's heard it. I hope he's been told it," he said. Obama's remarks on the last day of his presidency were aimed at a speech he delivered in April about the future of the U.S. government and how to solve problems. The first speech was on Thursday when he told a group of 50,000 white students at Columbia Law School in Columbia City that he had a plan to make an extra $25,000 a year to help pay for college and other college costs, a strategy that he said would reduce the demand for higher education in this nation. Obama made the move while speaking about a recent surge in African American college costs in the U.S., and said he wanted to help all of those students. The next day, Obama released a statement saying that he was moving toward some form of policy to abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon abandon

[paddy-garcia]

Perpetual prison blues

“You get the same amount of time as usual, sir”

“I know, it’s the same as always”

I saunter down the hallway, half blinded by the vicious light parading off each beige wall most unceremoniously. The brickwork is shoddy. Cracks of significance appear at every given opportunity and the lazy paint that’s been thrown over to doll up this forlorn wall only acts to emphasise the poor quality of labour. The pathway seems ever so slightly longer than usual today. Each step that additional act of effort. Like sleeping to the heartbroken, that which I action with minimal effort now requires an assiduous encouragement of mind and limb. It’s because I don’t wish to see what is waiting for me. I digress from these visits as often as possible. They’re not boring but I wish they were. They’re taxing, morbid, emotive and frankly fucking unpleasant. But it is of course inevitable and must be met with composure, as these things ought to be. I approach the first cell. 

The gritty bars appear to my left and I inhale deeply to examine what’s on the other side. And there he is, just as he always is. An apoplectic man pacing from left to right in a terrifyingly precise rhythm. The cadence to his aggressive walking was striking.  He would put his cigarette out angrily after 20 paces and 3 puffs, before then lighting another (the original being discarded to a large pile beside his bed). Occasionally, he would mutter the same phrase in hushed but plenty audible tones “Fool, you damn fool. Stupid now and stupid then”. There is very little for me to gain by attempting conversation here. This cell never changes, though the motivation for his pacing does change with time. There is always a reason for rage 

Cell number 2. The cells aren’t directly opposite each other; they zigzag down the corridor so as to keep each inhabitant as ostracised as possible. In here, I find The Weeping Man. When his cell is too hot, he weeps. When it is too cold, he weeps. When it is neither, he weeps still - for there must be a reason to weep that he isn’t yet aware of. Exclusively, he weeps for himself and no others. Which in itself is the only great tragedy he has. This is sadly another cell where conversation is futile. Still, I like to observe The Weeping Man from time to time. It is important that he is indulged. Lord knows what he would do otherwise. Just viewing is enough; he knows when eyes are set upon him. It’s one of his greatest tricks. His oily hands cover his wretched little face but the eye occasionally appears through the gaps between his gangling fingers. Weep some more today, enjoy it whilst you can. Time to move on. 

“Ahhhh, here he is. The big soulless man of freedom come to parade himself around” this is going to be an absolute chore. The owner of this cell is trouble. I wish him the best for now but he doesn’t want to know because it’s my fault he “feels like fucking dross” and that he “should never have paid attention to” me. He’s an individual of the heart, an emblem of passion. Whereas I am more logically focused, a man of the mind. “I should have done what I wanted, I wouldn’t have been in this mangy fucking room with no escape, no windows just walls and the occasional drop in from you, you fucking idiot. Mr intelligence doesn’t know a god damn thing about happiness”

“Now, that’s unfair. You wanted my counsel and I offered it - you’re too visceral. You can’t hold everyone accountable other than yourself, it’s insane. I told you the right thing to do, I didn’t promise you paradise”

“Ahhhhh will you give over, you knew what would happen. I asked to gain nothing but ended up with less. Then I had to drive the knife into myself all the deeper. It started to heal and then it dawns on me the wound may be opened again another time. Where was that advice eh? So selective is your advice! But you’re untouchable out there on the big great outside; you’re a solid oak floor that won’t be broken but I, I am the flammable material hidden underneath casually burning away at an infernal rate, but it’s fine so long as the floor doesn’t cave in! God forbid and no doubt God forgave! We are all here because of you, for one reason or another. Ask everyone to put their hands up if they want to do and you’ll see a thousand moribund hands cascading toward you. You think too damn much, whereas we all suffer in here. Your thoughts have consequences. For every second of sleep you gain, I lose another. For every hot shower you take, I become filthier. Your gains are my losses.”and more articulate tirades like this. He was becoming more vexed by the moment. We betray ourselves even when opening the right door, as what is closed remains closed. Onto the next one. 

Just the same carcass remains from last time. Decaying and grey. The cell stinks of booze but then it always has done. It’s a real shame. The next cell along is empty. 

Onto the next one. And the next. There is always another cell, so it seems.

My eyes meet his, my sight creeping between the iron bars. The only agreeable man here. So passive, so unassuming in his way. The only one not incandescent with rage but so acceptingly ignorant. I greet him and wish him well. He responds positively; he always does. He accepts his sadness. Oh yes, he has sadness. But the inexorable suffering is known to him and he just lets it rain over him, accepting and ignorant. He’s happy for his heartache, for it means he has felt. He’s happy for the wome(a)n that he has lost, for he knows that he has held one. He’s happy for the ghoul that holds her ghostly hand when she haunts his cell at night, for his hand merely passes through hers. He is bitterly broken and that’s absolutely fine - he will just lay down and die with some level of pleasure when the time comes, because that’s just how he is. He’s never leaving this cell; he’ll die here. And that’s just fine, to his mind.

Last cell. It is unlocked and slightly ajar. This cell always used to be locked and it was once opened, only once. Something had to be released and it duly was. That something caused untold havoc. It built up vast walls before tearing them down, launching bricks like rancid confetti across the lands. A whirlwind plague of fucking fire was cast down upon the villages it once built. It was god. It was the devil. It was the creator. It was the destroyer. It was the great punishing happiness. It was the redeeming sadness. It was repent. It was punishment. I’ve closed this cell door, never to open it again.

I sign the papers to confirm my visit is over. Another prison trip done. The prison guard smiles and nods as I leave.

“Take care of all of my children, won’t you”

[readbookywooks]

Flatnose made his way down the slope, clumsy as a bear. Meggie heard him cursing the thorns, the prickles, the darkness and the wretched riff-raff he was having to stumble after in the middle of the night. Basta was still standing in the road. His face was sharply outlined when he lit a cigarette with a lighter. The white smoke drifted up to them until Meggie thought she could almost smell it. ‘They’re not here,’ called Flatnose. ‘They must have got away on foot. Hell, do you think we have to follow them?’ Basta went over to the roadside and looked down. Then he turned and looked up at the slope where Meggie was crouching beside Mo, her heart thudding wildly. ‘They can’t have got far,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be difficult to find their trail in the dark.’ ‘Exactly!’ Flatnose was panting as he appeared back on the road. ‘We’re not bloody native trackers, are we?’ Basta did not reply. He just stood there, listening and inhaling his cigarette smoke. Then he whispered something to Flatnose. Meggie’s heart almost stopped. Flatnose looked round anxiously. ‘Nah, let’s get the dogs instead!’ Meggie heard him say. ‘Even if they’re hiding somewhere around here, how do we know whether they climbed up or down?’ Basta glanced at the trees, looked down the road, and trod out his cigarette. Then he went back to the van and took out two shotguns. ‘We’ll try going down first,’ he said, tossing Flatnose one of the guns. ‘I’m sure that fat woman would rather climb downhill.’ And without another word, he vanished into the darkness. Flatnose cast the van a longing glance, then trudged after him, grumbling. The two were barely out of sight before Dustfinger rose to his feet, soundless as a shadow, and pointed up the slope. Meggie’s heart was beating in her throat as they followed him. They darted from tree to tree, from bush to bush, constantly looking behind them. Every time a twig cracked underfoot Meggie jumped, but luckily Basta and Flatnose were making a fair amount of noise themselves as they worked their way downhill through the undergrowth. A time came when they couldn’t see the road any more. But their fear did not leave them, the fear that Basta might have turned back already and was now following them uphill. Yet, however often they stopped and listened, all they could hear was their own breathing. ‘They’ll soon realise they’ve gone the wrong way,’ Dustfinger whispered after a while. ‘Then they’ll go back for the dogs. We’re lucky they didn’t bring them in the first place. Basta doesn’t think much of those dogs, and he’s right. I’ve fed them cheese often enough, and cheese dulls a dog’s nose. All the same, he’ll fetch them sooner or later, because even Basta doesn’t like taking bad news back to Capricorn.’ ‘Then we must just go faster,’ said Mo. ‘Go faster where?’ Elinor was still fighting for breath. Dustfinger looked round. Meggie wondered why. She could hardly make anything out, it was so dark. ‘We must keep going south,’ said Dustfinger. ‘Towards the coast. We must hide among other people. That’s the only thing that can save us. Down there the nights are bright and nobody believes in the Devil.’ Farid was standing beside Meggie, gazing at the night sky as if he could make morning come, or find the people Dustfinger had mentioned somewhere, but there wasn’t a light to be seen in the darkness except for the tangle of stars sparkling cold and distant in the heavens. For a moment, Meggie felt as if those stars were eyes giving their presence away, and imagined she could hear them whispering, ‘Look, Basta, there they go, down there! Quick, catch them!’ They stumbled on, keeping close together so that no one would get lost. Dustfinger had taken Gwin out of his rucksack and put him on his chain before letting him run with them. The marten didn’t seem to like it. Dustfinger had to keep hauling him out of the undergrowth, away from all the promising scents that their human noses couldn’t pick up. The marten spat and snarled with annoyance, biting and tearing at the chain. ‘Curse the little brute, I’m sure to fall over it,’ said Elinor crossly. ‘Can’t you keep it away from my sore feet? I tell you one thing, the moment we’re in decent human company again I’m going to take the best hotel room money can buy and put my poor feet up on a big soft cushion.’ ‘You’ve still got money on you?’ Mo sounded incredulous. ‘They took all mine first thing.’ ‘Yes, Basta took my wallet too,’ said Elinor. ‘But I think ahead. I have my credit card somewhere safe.’ ‘Is anywhere safe from Basta?’ Dustfinger dragged Gwin away from a tree trunk. ‘Oh yes,’ replied Elinor. ‘Men are never particularly keen to search fat old ladies. Which can be useful. That was how some of my most valuable books came into my—’ She interrupted herself abruptly, clearing her throat when her eyes fell on Meggie. But Meggie acted as if she hadn’t heard Elinor’s last remark, or at least hadn’t understood what she meant. ‘You’re not all that fat!’ Meggie said. ‘And old is a bit of an exaggeration!’ Oh, how her own feet hurt. ‘Well, thank you very much, darling!’ said Elinor. ‘I think I’ll buy you from your father so you can say nice things like that to me three times a day. How much do you want for her, Mo?’ ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ replied Mo. ‘Suppose I lend her to you for a few days now and then?’ They chatted like this, voices scarcely raised above a whisper, as they struggled through the thorny growth on the hillside. It didn’t matter what they talked about, for their hushed conversation had only one purpose: to fend off the fear and exhaustion weighing down all their limbs. On and on they walked, hoping that Dustfinger knew where he was taking them. Meggie kept close behind Mo all the time. At least his back offered some protection from the thorny branches which kept catching at her clothes and scratching her face, like vicious animals with needle-sharp claws lying in wait in the dark. At last, they came upon a footpath they could follow. It was littered with empty cartridge cases dropped by hunters who had dealt out death in this silent place. Walking was easier on the trodden earth, although Meggie was so tired she could hardly pick her feet up. When she stumbled against the back of Mo’s legs for the second time, he put her on his back and carried her as he used to do before she could keep up with his long legs. He had called her ‘Little Flea’ in those days, or ‘Feather Girl’, or ‘Tinker Bell’ after the fairy in Peter Pan. Sometimes he still called her Tinker Bell. Wearily, Meggie rested her face against his shoulders and tried to think of Peter Pan instead of snakes, or men with knives. But this time her own story was too strong to give way to an invented one. Mo was right: fear, unfortunately, devours everything. It was a long time since Farid had said anything. Most of the time he stumbled along after Dustfinger. He seemed to have taken a fancy to Gwin. Whenever the marten’s chain got caught up somewhere Farid would rush to free him, even if Gwin only hissed at him in return and snapped at his fingers. Once he sank his teeth into the boy’s thumb and made it bleed. ‘Well, do you still think this is a dream?’ asked Dustfinger ironically as Farid wiped the blood away.