#for someone who grew up in a very catholic area i have very little idea of how to address priests

[themonsterunderthebed]

wrote an email to a russian orthodox priest (about usda conservation programs that might be relevant to his farm) and couldn't decide whether i should address him as "father" or "mr" or by his first name or what. ended up chickening out and starting the email "hi there,"

[horrorcheck]

Organizing in my area means you have to consider religion. A little less than 37% "aren't religious"*, but that doesn't always mean they're atheists. West Virginia has one of the largest "unchurched" populations, but plenty of those folks consider themselves God-fearing Christians, they just think that none of their local churches are the right kind of god-fearing. And of the rest, plenty of us were raised Christian and still have Christian beliefs and ideologies that influence us, even when we stop considering ourselves "religious".

Moreover, you have to look at who in the area is already organizing for collective action, and at least 90% of those organizers are religious people. There are the churches and religious non-profit organizations created by churches, and then there's the less obvious non-profits that just have boards that are 100% made up of religious people.

These religious folks aren't uniformly evil. The local anti-war activism group that takes folks to demonstrations and runs a liberal/left radio station is held together by devout Quakers. The house that feeds and clothes anyone who needs it, including the queer homeless kids, is run by Catholic Workers. The Catholic Workers also did some extremely effective organizing this year to expand public transportation.

Of course the Catholic Workers are also vocally anti-abortion.

I'm thinking about religion a lot because I'm in a book club that's reading "Let This Radicalize You", and religion comes up often in our discussions. Pretty much everyone in the group is very new to the ideas presented in it.

The group includes an experienced Quaker migrant justice organizer and a - well I can't think of a better word than "hippie". The hippie has attended a lot of demonstrations but hasn't done any local organizing before, believes in a lot of conspiracy theories, and is very against "organized religion". If she just criticized Christianity I would understand because like I said, that is the one religion that has enormous political power locally. But she often brings up Judaism out of nowhere and we have to shut down the tangent before it strays into what I worry would be outright antisemitism. Sometimes I wonder if we should ask her to leave, but she also seems to be learning a lot from the book. I think our discussions are helping her consider different explanations for the way things are than "a secret evil organization of bankers did it".

Meanwhile the Quaker organizer has this thing where she seems to think motivation or thought is as bad as action. Hating a person who has hurt you or others is immoral. Getting angry (even if you don't act on it or show it) is wrong. Using "violent language" is wrong. Jokes about violence or destruction, about hating someone or something is wrong. And this is clearly coming out of the Quaker culture that she grew up in and still lives within. It seems to cause her a lot of discomfort when it comes to organizing with non-Quakers, but that also seems to be something that she's very interested in. I'd like to help her but I'm not sure how.

Not really any point to this, just lunch-break musings. Now back to work!

* So, during a break I looked up where this number for "No Religion" came from, and it's from the U.S. Religion Census, which asked congregations for "membership" and "adherent" data. So it's really a number of people who aren't in any religious congregation, not a number of people who self-identify as atheist or lacking religion. IMO it's likely that most of these folks consider themselves Christian and just don't go to church. I'd guarantee the number of atheists is much much lower.

[licncourt]

Why did Lestat decide to stay with a closeted, homophobic, and frankly unproductive Louis while being an 'out & proud' bisexual guy? Atleast, Nicki embraced it all 'with pride' if only to spite God (the courage counts). He was ambitious and create 'goodness' out of it. He would also have an impressive academic background which is more than 'reading pretentious books'. How did all of these translate into Louis as 'the chosen one'?

Alright, so this ask has been in my inbox a little while mainly because some of the implications really bother me, as well as other assumptions seeming to directly contradict canon. I have no idea if this ask is in good faith or not, but I'm going to go through it and break down what my issue is.

First of all, I'm going to start by saying that I would not consider Nicki or Lestat to be "out". Lestat never seems to struggle with any shame over his orientation, but he is very much closeted. He and Nicki never give any indication of being public about the nature of their relationship, and why would they? France was less severe in its legal treatment of sodomy than most other places, but the social penalties would've been extremely severe. Being confident in your sexuality =/= out.

As for Nicki, I would disagree that "the courage counts" when what he's essentially doing to fully embracing his internalized homophobia to the most extreme extent. What he's doing is self harm of a spiritual type. Hurting himself and Lestat with his acknowledgment of his orientation is very sad and unfortunate more than it is courageous. It's also rather hurtful to suggest that someone is objectively better than another if they use their pain to make art ("goodness"). No one is obligated to make their suffering something for consumption.

Regarding the fact that Louis is/was closeted and dealing with internalized homophobia...I really dislike the implications here. Louis was obviously extremely ashamed of his orientation and had no desire to share it publicly. And why on Earth would he feel any other way?

He grew up in the 18th century in a Catholic area where he would have been at best shunned from his community and family and at worst killed if he was outed. A gay person who doesn't feel safe or ready to come out is just as deserving of love as someone who is. It's not a moral failing or a strike against them as a person. Besides, even if Louis felt exactly the same as Lestat, there's no way they would've been out advertising it any more than Lestat and Nicki because of sheer logistics.

As far as being "unproductive", I mean, yeah. But Lestat was certainly not a productive member of society either. By definition, vampires are leeches. And Louis and Lestat are wealthy landlords who literally feed on humans. They spent seventy years doing absolutely nothing of value. If Louis is unproductive, Lestat is equally so, if not more because at least Louis ran the household and business.

Finally, the academic background is a strange thing to bring up. There's no indication that this is something that matters to Lestat in a partner. He himself is uneducated in the formal sense and it doesn't ever appear to be something that attracts him to Louis or Nicki. And if we ARE comparing (which there's no reason to do, Nicki and Louis are both very intelligent), I disagree with your assessment. Nicki was from a rural family and attended a few months of schooling at the Sorbonne for law. Impressive, but he was ultimately a drop out who never wanted to be there in the first place.

Louis is from a very wealthy family nearby a large city. We don't know if he attended college (it's possible, maybe unlikely), but he would've had private tutors all his life and possibly something like an elite boarding school education. And yes, reading is not formal education, but he clearly cares about and enjoys learning and I don't think what he accomplished on his own should be discounted as just "pretentious books".

At the end of the day, love isn't determined by a pros and cons list or what looks good on paper. Louis is the "chosen one" because Lestat loves him. Utimately, they're compatible, probably more than Lestat and Nicolas (I've talked about why here and here) and it works. Personally, I'm glad love doesn't work on a rational system like the one being described in the ask. Where would we all be if it did?

[bogkeep]

hmmmmmmmmmm maybe i’ll write an Introspective Musing Post about my relationship to religion and their depiction in stories because i’ve pondering about this topic lately

so for those who are reading this and DON’T know what’s been going on...  there’s this webcomic i fell in love with some years ago, about six years actually, that depicts a post-apocalyptic fantasy/horror adventure set in the nordic countries. it had, and has still, some very uncomfortable flaws regarding racial representation, and the creator has historically not dealt very well with criticism towards it. it’s a whole Thing. my relationship with this comic has fluctuated a lot, since there are a lot of elements in it i DO love and i still feel very nostalgic about, and like idk i felt like i trust my skills in critical thinking enough to keep reading. aaand then the creator went a teensy bit off the deep end created a whole minicomic which is like... a lukewarm social media dystopia where christians are oppressed (and also everyone is a cute bunny, including our lord and saviour jesus christ). which is already tonedeaf enough considering there are religious people who DO get prosecuted for their faith, like, that’s an actual reality for a lot of people - but as far as i can tell, usually not christians. and then there’s an afterword that’s like, “anyway i got recently converted and realized i’m a disgusting human being full of sin who doesn’t deserve redemption but jesus loves me so i’ll be fine!! remember to repent for your sins xoxo” and a bunch of other stuff and IT’S KIND OF REALLY CONCERNING i have, uh, been habitually looking at the reactions to and discussions around this, maybe it’s not very self care of me but there’s a lot of overwhelming things rn and it’s fantastically distracting, yknow? like, overall this situation is fairly reminiscent of the whole jkr thing. creator of a series that is Fairly Beloved, does something hurtful, handles backlash in a weird way, a lot of people start taking distance from Beloved Series or find ways to enjoy it on their own terms, creator later reveals to have been fully radicalized and releases a whole manifesto, and any and all criticism gets framed as harassment and proving them right. of course, one of them is a super rich person with a LOT of media power and a topic that is a lot more destructive in our current zeitgeist, and the other is an independent webcomic creator, so it’s  not the same situation. just similar vibez ya feel as a result of this, i have been Thinking. and just this feels like some sort of defeat like god dammit she got me i AM thinking about the topic she wrote about!!! i should dismiss the whole thing!!! but thinking about topics is probably a good thing so hey lets go. me, i’m agnostic. i understand that this is a ‘lazy’ position to take, but it’s what works for me. i simply do not vibe with organized religion, personally. (i had the wikipedia page for ‘chaos magic’ open in a tab for several weeks, if that helps.) i was raised by atheists in a majorly atheist culture. christian atheist, i should specify. norway has been mostly and historically lutheran, and religion has usually been a private and personal thing. it turns out the teacher i had in 7th grade was mormon, but i ONLY found out because he showed up in a tv series discussing religious groups in norway later, and he was honestly one of the best teachers i have ever had - he reignited the whole class’ interest in science, math, and dungeons and dragons. it was a real “wait WHAT” moment for my teenage self. i think i was briefly converted to christianity by my friend when i was like 7, who grew up in a christian family (i visited them a couple times and always forgot they do prayers before dinner. oops!), but like, she ALSO made me believe she was the guardian of a secret magic orb that controls the entire world and if i told anybody the world would burn down in 3 seconds. i only suspected something was off when one day the Orb ran on batteries, and another day the Orb had to be plugged in to charge. in my defense i really wanted to be part of a cool fantasy plot. i had no idea how to be a christian beyond “uuuuh believe in god i guess” so it just faded away on its own. when i met this friend several years later, she was no longer christian. i think every childhood friend of mine who grew up in a christian family, was no longer christian when they grew up. most notably my closest internet friend whose family was catholic - she had several siblings, and each of them took a wildly different path, from hippie treehugger to laveyan satanist or something in that area. (i joined them for a sermon in a church when they visited my town. my phone went off during it because i had forgotten to silence it. oops!) ((i also really liked their mother’s interpretation of purgatory. she explained it as a bath, not fire. i like that.)) i have never had any personal negative experiences with christianity, despite being openly queer/gay/trans. the only time someone has directly told me i’m going to hell was some guy who saw me wearing a hoodie on norway’s constitution day. yeah i still remember that you bastard i’ve sworn to be spiteful about it till the day i die!! i’ve actually had much more insufferable interactions with the obnoxious kind of atheists - like yes yes i agree with you on a lot but that doesn’t diminish your ability to be an absolute hypocrite, it turns out? i remember going to see the movie ‘noah’ with a friend who had recently discovered reddit atheism and it was just really exhausting to discuss it with her. one of these Obnoxious Atheists is my Own Mother. which is a little strange, honestly, because she LOVES visiting churches for the Aesthetic and Architecture. we cannot go anywhere without having to stop by a pretty church to Admire and Explore. I’VE BEEN IN SO MANY CHURCHES FOR AN ATHEIST RAISED NON-CHRISTIAN. i’ve been to the vatican TWICE (i genuinely don’t even know how much of my extended family is christian. up north in the tiny village i come from, i believe my uncle is the churchkeeper, and it’s the only building in the area that did not get burnt down by the the nazis during ww2 - mostly because soldiers needed a place to sleep. still don’t know whether or not said uncle believes or not, because hey, it’s Personal) i think my biggest personal relationship to religion, and christianity specifically, has been academic. yeah, we learned a brief synopsis of world religions at school (and i remember the class used to be called ‘christianity, religion, and ethics’ and got changed to ‘religion, beliefs, and ethics’ which is cool. it was probably a big discourse but i was a teen who didnt care), but also my bachelor degree is in art history, specifically western art history because it’s a vast sprawling topic and they had to distill it as best they could SIGHS. western art history is deeply entangled with the history of the church, and i think the most i’ve ever learnt about christianity is through these classes (one of my professors wrote an article about how jesus can be interpreted as queer which i Deeply Appreciate). i also specifically tried to diversify my academic input by picking classes such as ‘depiction of muslims and jewish people in western medieval art’ and ‘art and religion’ when i was an exchange student in canada, along with 101 classes in anthropology and archaeology. because i think human diversity and culture is very cool and i want to absorb that knowledge as best as i can. i think my exchange semester in canada was the most religiously diverse space have ever been in, to be honest. now as an adult i have more christian friends again, but friends who chose it for themselves, and who practice in ways that sound good and healthy, like a place of solace and community for them. the vast majority of my friends are queer too, yknow?? i’ve known too many people who have seen these identities as fated opposites, but they aren’t, they’re just parts of who people are. it’s like... i genuinely love people having their faiths and beliefs so much. i love people finding that space where they belong and feel safe in. i love people having communities and heritages and connections. i deeply respect and admire opening up that space for faith within any other communities, like... if i’m going to listen to a podcast about scepticism and cults, i am not going to listen to it if it’s just an excuse to bash religion. i think the search for truth needs to be compassionate, always. you can acknowledge that crystals are cool and make people happy AND that multi level marketing schemes are deeply harmful and prey on people in vulnerable situaitons. YOU KNOW???? so now’s when i bring up Apocalypse Comic again. one of the things i really did like about it was, ironically, how it handled religion. in its setting, people have returned to old gods, and their magic drew power from their religion. characters from different regions had different beliefs and sources. in the first arc, they meet the spirit of a lutheran pastor, who ends up helping them with her powers. it was treated as, in the creators own words, ‘just another mythology’. and honestly? i love that. it was one of the nicest depictions i’ve seen of christianity in fiction, and as something that could coexist with other faiths. I Vibe With That. and then, uh, then... bunny dystopia comic. it just... it just straight up tells you christianity is literally the only way to..?? be a good person??? i guess?? i’m still kind of struggling to parse what exactly it wanted to say. the evil social media overlord bird tells you the bible makes you a DANGEROUS FREETHINKER, but the comic also treats rewriting the bible or finding your own way to faith as something,, Bad. The Bible Must Remain Unsullied. Never Criticize The Bible. also, doing good things just for social media clout is bad and selfish. you should do good things so you don’t burn in hell instead. is that the message? it reads a lot like the comic creator already had the idea for the comic, but only got the urge to make it after she was converted and needed to spread the good word. you do you i guess!! i understand that she’s new to this and probably Going Through Something, and this is just a step on her journey. but the absolute self-loathing she described in her afterword... it does not sound good. i’m just some agnostic kid so what do i know, but i do not think that kind of self-flagellating is a kind faith to have for yourself. i might not ever have been properly religious, but you know what i AM familiar with? a brain wired for ocd and intrusive thoughts. for a lot of my life i’ve struggled with my own kind of purity complex. i’ve had this really strange sensitivity for things that felt ‘tainted’. i’ve experienced having to remove more and more words from my vocabulary because they were Bad and i did not want to sully my sentences. it stacked, too - if a word turned out to be an euphemism for something, i could never feel comfortable saying it again. i still struggle a bit with these things, but i have confronted these things within myself. i’ve had to make myself comfortable with imperfection and ‘tainted’ things and accept that these are just, arbitrary categories my mind made up. maybe that’s the reason i can’t do organized religion even if i found one that fit for me - just like diets can trigger disordered eating, i think it would carve some bad brainpaths for me. so yeah i’m worried i guess! i’m worried when people think it’s so good that she finally found the correct faith even if it’s causing all this self-hate. is there really not a better way? or are they just trusting she’ll find it? and yeah it’s none of my concern, it’s like, i worry for jkr too but i do not want her within miles of my trans self thANKS. so like, i DO enjoy media that explores faith and what it means for you. my favourite band is the oh hellos, which DOES draw on faith and the songwriter’s experience with it. because of my religious iliteracy most of it has flown over my head for years and i’m like “oh hey this is gay” and then only later realize it was about god all along Probably. i like what they’ve done with the place. also, stormlight archive - i had NO idea sanderson was mormon, the way he writes his characters, many of whom actively discuss religion and their relationship to it. i love that about the books, honestly. Media That Explores Religion In A Complex And Compassionate Way... we like that i’ve been thinking about my own stories too, and how i might want to explore faith in them. most of my settings are based on magic and it’s like, what role does religion have in a world where gods are real and makes u magic. in sparrow spellcaster’s story, xe creates? summons? an old god - brings them to life out of the idea of them. it’s a story about hubris, mostly. then there’s iphimery, the story where i am actively fleshing out a pantheon. there’s no doubt the gods are real in the fantasy version of iphimery, they are the source of magic and sustain themselves on slivers of humanity in exchange. but in the modern version, where they are mostly forgotten? that’s some room for me to explore, i think. especially the character of timian, who comes from a smaller town and moves to a large and diverse city. in the fantasy story, the guardian deity chooses his sister as a vessel. in the modern setting, that does not happen, and i don’t yet know what does, but i really want timian to be someone who struggles with his identity - his faith, his sexuality, the expectations cast upon him by his hometown... i’m sure it’s a cliché story retold through a million gay characters but i want to do it too okay. i want to see him carve out his own way of existing within the world because i care him and want to see him thrive!!! alrighty i THINK that’s all i wanted to write. thanks if you read all of this, and if you didn’t that’s super cool have a nice day !

[bulletballet-arch]

REALLY LONG  CHARACTER  SURVEY. RULES. repost ,   don’t  reblog !    tag 10 ! good  luck ! TAGGED. I took this from Minnie’s archived Bioshock blog. I’ve been looking for this meme all this month. TAGGING. @hammurabicomplex. @bluuxriising. @ Me - for Sal on @bulletsoverbensonhurst​. @immaterialed (charlie) @soypeor (bella) @svmmercmance​. @mrflayed. and you!

BASICS. FULL  NAME :  Eve Delores Littlejohn NICKNAME : Evie, Little Evie (by her maternal side of the family), Delores, Didi NAME  MEANING / S  Eve is from the ancient Hebrew name  חַוָּה (Chawwah), which was derived from the Hebrew word חָוָה (chawah) meaning "to breathe" or the related word חָיָה (chayah) meaning "to live". Delores is a variant of Dolores, meaning "sorrows", taken from the Spanish title of the Virgin Mary María de los Dolores, meaning "Mary of Sorrows." Littlejohn is a surname that has historically been found in England and Scotland. With potential origins being either ‘to distinguish a beloved child that was not the eldest.’ Or, ‘a contradictory nickname for a large man.’ HISTORICAL  CONNECTION? : She’s named after her grandmother, Evelyn Hollins.

AGE : 42 BIRTHDAY :  June 2 ETHNIC  GROUP : Black-American. Meaning she’s mixed with a lot (Some of her relatives are respectively Creole and Italian) but uses Black as a catch-all term. NATIONALITY :  American LANGUAGE / S : English, Italian, Spanish, Latin, some French SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :   Bisexual ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  Biromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS : Verse dependent, usually married -or connected- to Salvatore Scozzari in some way. CLASS : Upper-Class HOME  TOWN / AREA :   Brooklyn. Spent time between Bedford-Stuyvesant - with her paternal grandfather and Park Slope - with her maternal grandparents.  CURRENT  HOME : In her childhood home in Bedford-Stuyvesant. PROFESSION : Ballet Instructor. Former Professional Ballerina. ( Other verses see her as a professional thief. )

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Black. In terms of her natural hair, Eve has springy, 3C hair she seldom shows off because she was raised in a family where straightened hair was deemed presentable and professional.  EYES : Thin almond eyes. Dark brown. NOSE : Straight and small. FACE :  She has a prominent, high forehead, that’s accented with high cheekbones and a pointy chin. LIPS :  Full. COMPLEXION : She has a light brown (tawny) complexion.  SCARS : None major. TATTOOS : None. HEIGHT : 5′4″ BUILD : Eve has a slender build. One of those people who have been small and petite since childhood. Despite this, she also stays skinny because she is obsessively conscious of the food she consumes. The older she gets the more she weighs, however. USUAL HAIR STYLE :  Her hair is cut short. Reaching her shoulders in a neat, even bob. She either curls it in a retro fashion or curls the tips. For work she wears it in a traditional, pinned bun. USUAL FACE LOOK : In public, she appears stoic for the most part. Any emotion shown (such as the length of a smile) is carefully calculated. She has to seem perfect.  USUAL  CLOTHING : Form fitting dresses. Incredibly chic and fashionable for the time. Shoes include heels - never open-toed, unless she has on stockings. Extravagant earrings. Jewelry that can include either necklaces, crosses, pearls, or dainty rings. Prone to wearing black sunglasses in public.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Thunderstorms, airplanes, creatures like weasels, snakes and ferrets, break-ins, men she doesn’t know, harm coming to her children ASPIRATION / S :  Formerly wanted to become a major [black] ballerina in the elite world of ballet, now she just wants to expose more [inner city children] to dance through her job. Personally, she wants her children to change the world in some form or fashion, too. Eve also has good ideas on improving the community, but at the moment has no idea how to go about these ideas. POSITIVE  TRAITS :  Generous, compassionate, patient, protective NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Strict, sullen, hard to read, represses her emotions, secretive MBTI :  Advocate - INFJ-T ZODIAC :  Cancer TEMPERAMENT :  Melancholic ANIMALS :  Lioness VICE / S :  Pride & Lust FAITH : Christian. Grew up Baptist, but Catholic influences have been around her since childhood. Attended a Catholic High School in Park Slope, her grandmother Evelyn was also a practicing Catholic.  GHOSTS ? : Yes and no. She feels that objects formerly owned by the deceased posses the essence of their previous owners and that they essentially live on through these pieces of property. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes. REINCARNATION ? :  No, but it’s a romantic concept. ALIENS ? : No. POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :  Democratic ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE :  She likes being where she’s at now. But honestly, being upper class is all she’s ever known. SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION : Bourgeoisie, basically. The Littlejohn’s represent The Historical Black Elite.  EDUCATION  LEVEL : College level. FAMILY.

FATHER :  William ‘Bill’ Littlejohn MOTHER : Linda Littlejohn ( nee Hollins ) SIBLINGS : None EXTENDED  FAMILY : Amos Littlejohn (paternal grandfather) Liza Littlejohn (paternal grandmother) Evelyn Hollins (maternal grandmother) Giuseppe D’Aietti (maternal grandfather) and a wide host of cousins, aunts and uncles.

FAVOURITES. BOOK :  Night Song by Beverly Jenkins. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Some sort of old, French erotic novel that was published before she was born. MOVIE : Eve watches films along the lines of...Waiting to Exhale, Beaches, The First Wives Club and Fatal Attraction. She loves Made-For-TV movies from the time period. In regards to plays, her favorite one is Sunday In The Park With George. 5  SONGS :  Meet Me On The Moon / Essence of Sapphire / No One In The World / People / The First Time I Saw Your Face  DEITY :  Persephone  HOLIDAY : New Years Eve, Christmas, Thanksgiving. Major holidays during the colder season. MONTH :  October SEASON :  Autumn PLACE :  The dance studio she works at. WEATHER : Sunny, but cool. SOUND : The voices of Anita Baker and Sarah Vaughn. A skilled hand running over piano keys. Soft trumpets. Running water. Cats making chipper little meows. SCENT / S :  Perfume, floral scented lotions, her partner’s cologne TASTE / S :  Caramel, the tang of dark chocolate, strawberries coated with either chocolate, or sprinkles of white sugar. Light Vinegar.  FEEL / S : Performing in front of an audience. Hot water engulfing your skin after a long day. Satin - whether it be the fabric of her clothes or sheets, your fingers tightly intertwined with another’s, feeling your significant other’s chest raise and lower against your skin with each breath they take. ANIMAL / S : Cocker Spaniels, Afghan Hounds, Cats, Birds - she loves all ( well, a majority ) of animals. NUMBER :  Doesn’t have one. COLOR :  White, Pink, Gold.

EXTRA. TALENTS :  Dance, Eve is trained in ballet when it comes to her main verse. She has attended ballet classes since the age of eight and ever since then she placed all of her focus into it. Similarly, Eve has always had the makings of a good artist - as a child she enjoyed drawing and had informal art lessons with a man who lived in the basement of her grandfather’s brownstone, but she never invested into that half of her. BAD AT : Singing, Being interviewed, Public Speaking (as in Speech Giving), Decision Making TURN  ONS :  Charisma, Leadership Skills, Temperature Play, Phone Sex, Heavy Kissing, Light Roleplay TURN  OFFS :  Public Sex, Tearing [ Her ] Clothes, Threesomes, Cruelty, Senseless Violence HOBBIES :  viewing plays & some musicals, reading romance novels, shopping, working out (she was into the whole celebrity VHS tape exercise trend), playing tennis, decorating AESTHETIC :  Vintage Black Glamour, Black Ballerinas, Champagne and Wine Glasses, Paintings by Melinda Byers and Edward 'Clay' Wright QUOTES :  "I'm bad with words, I hope you're good in reading eyes." / "There are truths I haven't even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys."

FC INFO. MAIN  FC / S : Lynn Whitfield ( A Thin Line Between Love & Hate ) ALT  FC / S : Kylie Bunbury ( Twisted ) OLDER  FC / S :  Lynn Whitfield ( Greenleaf ) YOUNGER  FC / S : N/A VOICE  CLAIM / S : Lynn Whitfield

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own  movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be  filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?       A1 : Recently I decided that if/when I try to write anything serious about Eve again, it’ll center on her being a jewel thief because it presents me more fun, and emotionally diverse, opportunities. That and I have a very specific cover image in my mind. Ideally, her adventures would be a series of books. I have no title in mind, no idea about how ‘it would be filmed’ ( although a style replicating 90s films would be excellent, film grain and all. ) but, I do have a bunch of plots in mind that I really don’t feel like typing out here.  

Q2 :   what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?         A2 :  Her score would have a vintage sound (or a jazzy Spike Lee sound, if you will) with instrumentals by Dorothy Ashby (a Jazz Harpist) the Ahmad Jamal Trio, Pharaoh Sanders, Yusef Lateef and Tarika Blue. For music with lyrics, the soundtrack would include the likes of Julie London, Sarah Vaughn, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dionne Warwick.

Q3 :   why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?   + Q4 :   what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ? A3 :  Whenever I make NPCs for my character’s lives I actually can’t just let them just be NPCs. I start thinking about them too much. Developing them too much. And then I’m like, ‘wow! I really like this character!’ Eve was a different character when I began writing her, and likely wouldn’t be considered the same character as she was previously, if I told someone in real life who knows about my writing (like my grandma) about all the changes she has undergone. Originally Delores was a university professor, because I thought it could lead to interesting interactions with college-age muses. And her previous history with the mafia was also something interesting to tap in. But then I started thinking about what was realistic, what wasn’t realistic, what did I feel comfortable/interested writing? What didn’t I feel comfortable/interested in writing?  So as time went on, things would alter about this character. And the new things I came up with attracted me more. 

Q5 :   describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.         A5 :  I have a love/hate relationship with Eve’s quiet demeanor. On one hand, I think quieter characters need love and the ability to be fully dimensional but on the other hand, writing louder characters has always been more fun for me. But really, Eve’s guarded behavior makes writing her stressful in some cases with others because sometimes...if I’m going to be honest...people don’t know how to carry a thread and interact with someone of her demeanor effectively. 

Q6 :   what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?       A6 : We’re both black, we’re both into art (although our exact interests and aesthetics with art differ)

Q7 :   how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?         A7 : Realistically she would think I need to take better care of myself.

Q8 :   what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions with ?   A8 :  We skippin’ this question.

Q9 :   what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?       A9 : Films such as, “Waiting to Exhale,” “The Kitchen” and “Widows.” Books by Alice Walker, like “The Third Life of Grange Copeland” as well as her short story, “Roselily.” The historical mob figure Stephanie St. Clair.

Q10 :   how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?       A10 : A few hours.

[mollydollyjournals]

Finally had a long talk with hb about divorce and all that. A proper one. It's been vaguely hinted at and sort of spoken about a bit but today we talked about what we're actually going to do. The idea is to change some things about how we operate for a bit, take a lot of space, then in a couple of months he's having surgery and we'll use that as an opportunity for him to move back in with his parents for a month and we'll have more space, then decide from there. I feel like we're just running the last resuscitation attempts. We'll likely split up properly before next year.

It's kind of funny this talk happened today. It's his birthday. It's my dad's birthday too. I didnt get anything for either of them. Hb doesnt really do presents and I didnt talk to my dad for a decade after he disowned me so I never really know what to do there anyway. I'll have to drink more or disassociate harder if I'm going to send a text to my dad or come up with a present idea.

All kinds of abandonment triggers flaring today. I finished watching Beyond Evil. Weird show. But at the end I felt the same as I did at the end of My Mister (which I really loved) - something about seeing the characters go through so much shit and lose family and all sorts, but in the end they have each other in their little community, a found family, and they sit around a table having dinner and drinking and know they always have each other's backs.

It seems to be common in Korean dramas so presumably a cultural thing. I guess every culture has its food rituals. Just my family, the ones I grew up geographically closest to, are italian. And catholic. They're loud and toxic and it took me years to figure out they're where I get my eating disorder from. Part of me misses xmas dinners when my grandmother was alive because there was a food I loved that we always had. But maybe it's just because I was so young then. Maybe I just hadnt noticed all the shit yet. But those gatherings over the years just became such a toxic situation full of pressure and guilt and judgement, and in the end it's no surprise I developed every kind of eating disorder.

I miss the other side of my family too. Southern African, so another continent entirely, and more than a day's travel from where I grew up. They were loud too, but not pushy. They were just loud and you joined if you wanted. But my dad never taught me the language, and i never learned, so i could only speak to the people who spoke English unless my dad was around to translate. And of the people I was close to, only one is still alive. Other than them, the one who assaulted me as a child is still there too. It made me afraid to go back. It made me regret not seeing the others before they died.

And by the time I was old enough to start seeking out my own found family, I couldn't eat in front of anyone. Now I have issues with drinking too, the other way entirely. I'm always jealous of the scenes in these shows where everyone sits around a little table with good food and good drinks and good company. That's what life should be. We should all have that.

It hits particularly hard during this pandemic. Good company around a shitty little table is the one thing we can't have. It's why I felt so intensely about going to my friends' wedding weekend - they didnt make a big deal of it, it was just some nice people in a little location with nice food and nice drinks. Of course, I didnt join very well with the latter two. But being able to just be around people feels like such a rare thing.

Hb wants to close himself off entirely. I want to be around people I love. I'm someone who needs a lot of space but I'm still finding all of this so difficult. I dont know if I need more company than I realised or it's just the situation highlighting things. But I've felt so so isolated and I keep thinking about how a pandemic has one particular way in which it's worse than any other kind of catastrophe, and that's that we can't be together. Of course other situations will be worse in other ways, I dont mean to say this is overall worse. But in war or natural disaster etc you can come together and support each other. But a pandemic does more damage the more we do that, so we can't.

I don't know. I want some company. I wish I was stupid rich so I could buy a little community and put all my friends in it. Have a communal area where people just chill and do nothing together, or have those dinners and drinks around a little table. I wish it wasnt just me in my room being left alone again.

[endymionstudies]

ive always wanted to go to an hbcu!! howard is one of my dream schools :D what's the social environment like? how does being at an hbcu affect your courses, especially your social science courses? just thoughts in general abt your time there

hey!!! so i literally spent like an hour replying to this and reorganizing how i did it bc i had SO MUCH TO SAY and i kept jumping around and it was crazy. but here’s your answer finally :D 

SOME NOTES:

so howard is very different from xavier! if you have any specific questions about howard, you can send those my way still because my cousin goes there and i can pass them along.

i would like to preface my answer with this: xavier is a small, low endowment school. we are the only roman catholic hbcu, and this is very, very central to us. i’m also white passing, and grew up in a very mixed area (mostly white + asian), so my living experience prior to college was very different from that of my peers, and still is. so this is my own experience, but many of my friends have very different outlooks; college is a extremely individualized experience. no two people are the same!

i also tried to keep this general, in case you were applying or looking at other hbcu’s as well, but definitely added specific howard vs xavier things to give the idea of what a small school is offering

also i talk about stats some so here’s the basic ones: Endowment: → howard is 692.8mil → xavier is 171mil

Undergrad Enrollment: → howard is around 6.2k  → xavier is around 2.2k

SOCIAL LIFE / CULTURE:

the thing about hbcu’s is that they are not diverse. so if you come from a heavily diverse area, you are going to have a little bit of culture shock. this isnt something that i really expected, because i never thought about the fact that an hbcu is homogenous, whereas a lot of pwi’s are actually p culturally diverse. if thats not any issues for you then its not a problem! but its a thing, because everyone is very like-minded, and of similar backgrounds, so when youre not, you stand out. my cousin came from a similar background as me (more comfortable/wealthier than her peers, heavily diverse neighborhood, LA private school) and had the exact same problem of not being accepted for not have an “authentic” black life or whatever that means. so there is a very heavily prevalent idea that unless you grew up in one exact way, you’re not “black enough”, so like,,, just be mindful that this is a Thing and that people are surprisingly judgemental about it

each hbcu has a much more insular culture than ive really seen or heard to be at pwi’s, ESPECIALLY if you go greek. theyre extremely close knit, and i know that they are extremely involved and dedicated to each other and to the sorority/fraternity even after they’ve graduated. each school is very distinct, so you have to really get to know and get immersed in the culture. at xavier, we do a lot of music events on campus, because we dont have a big sports culture, and greek life is pretty low key. there are parties, but it’s all house parties off campus bc we’re strictly dry. there are things that are specific to xavier, that you find find or understand if you go somewhere else. everyone is very close knit, and if you go somewhere small, you will know everyone and everyone will know you. so just make sure you know and like the environment and locality that your school is in.

social activism is huge here. some people are light on it, some people are borderline militant. we’re activists by mission, so that definitely has an impact on the kind of people that are drawn here. make sure to really look into your schools mission and what they stand for, because you’ll find a lot of students are like minded to it. i can only assume howard is similar because of its DC location, so be ready for access to lots of protests and heavy government interest.

COURSES:

the religious mission is very important to the school, and so we have required theology courses and service hours to graduate. in terms of social science, for me, we are rather limited. most of our funding goes to science, because we’re a science focused school. we’re known for our pharmacy program, and bio/chem pre-med. if your school only has a few masters/doctorate programs, and they’re all in one field, that’s the section that will get the most funding. howard’s endowment is massive compared to ours, so this will probably not be as glaring.

in regards to hbcu-specific courses, there’s naturally a huge focus on black studies and all of its sub-studies. like black theology/philosophy, history, literature, etc etc. this of course means that if you have an interest thats outside of solely a black focused area, then youre probably not going to find as much. our history department really only does black history in america & the world, so they dont offer classes on larger areas, like greco-roman hist, asian hist, etc. if you have interest in a wider range of studies, but still want to go to an hbcu, i would suggest looking into whether or not your school has a consortium with nearby schools. xavier has one w tulane, so i take german class there bc its not offered for me. i think howard has one with american, so you’d be eligible to take some of their courses, which gives you more access to specialties of interest.

OTHER THINGS:

if you havent, when quarantine is over, i would suggest trying to visit howard and really get a feel for it. its in the middle of DC which is amazing, but the area is very heavily gentrified, and i know that the students are having a lot of issues with the local residents because of this. 

also, make sure to research not just the courses, but the culture. i got told culture didnt matter and that was a fat ass lie. this is how youre living for the next 4 years, and you cant study 24/7. so make sure you will actually enjoy your college years somehow. look at rate my school, look for facebook groups of applied/accepted students, look online for blogs or youtubers who talk candidly about their experiences. talking to current students is the single best way to get a feel for the university, because they can tell you what really goes on, not what the brochures show you.

i hope this helps some!!! if you have any more questions just send them my way, and if i can’t answer them myself i’ll find someone who can :D

[deepestdarkestsickestpartsofu]

Introduction

We met in spring of 2017. He changed my life forever, in a way that I will never be able to explain. What I would want you to understand before reading this, is how much love has taken charge of my feelings and impulses. 

I loved him, I love him. 

Nothing he did will ever change that.

At this point I bet you may be wondering who I am. Right... I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Nadir, a 25 year old man that is attracted to other men, but that’s not the most significant part in the story. I grew up in a quiet conservative town in Michigan, with a small population of less than 5,000 people. My mother is pretty old schooled and forced me to stay in school until I graduated. That meant no ‘girlfriends’, no sleepovers, no working. I always had the desire to help her monetarily by getting a job and at least pay the house bills. However she would constantly say to me to just focus on my studies and that would be what would help us in the long run.

My parents are originally from Israel. My mother grew up as Catholic, which was not the usual back then and my father grew up Jewish. They became less religious when they decided to move to the United States, which is where they had my siblings and I. They both lived here as immigrants and I didn’t understand what that meant when I was a child, I just thought we were like any other family living in the US. My father unfortunately passed away from a heart attack when I was 8 years old and it affected me in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine. During his wake, I didn’t cry. It was all so surreal and I felt like he would wake up randomly and claim that everything was a joke. He had a great sense of humor and always managed to make people smile, however his death wasn’t a joke. Once it was time to bury him, I cried as hard as I could since I knew I wouldn’t see him ever again. After that, my mother worked as hard as she could to give my siblings and I what we needed. She could barely afford to pay for the mortgage on the house until my older brothers started working and helping her out with as much as they could. My mother worked two jobs daily to make sure we had food on our table, clothes and a good education. 

It would hurt me to see her stress about providing for us, so eventually I managed to get a scholarship at San Francisco State University. Being the youngest of 4 children gave me a bit of an advantage to enjoy ‘the beauty of freedom’ as we know it now, and not have to struggle about being gay in the 70′s, not that it’s any different now. I mean there are hate crimes all over, shootings that keep getting more common by the minute and discrimination which is still pretty big now. That is one of the reasons why I decided not to come out to my mother, nor anyone in town for that matter. I was already struggling with self-acceptance and I didn’t want to be a burden to my mother. During my senior year of High School I managed to convince my mother to let me work to save up for essential stuff. I began working at a pharmacy and little by little saved up enough money to leave town and follow my dreams in a career I wanted. I wasn’t certain of what my major would be, however it needed to be in the art field. Whether it would be acting, directing, drawing or video editing. I decided to go with the flow and see what would appeal my interest. I wanted to be able to afford a place in ‘The City’, so working at that little pharmacy helped me save up & I also had a job secured so I would be able to help my mother with her expenses from afar. 

It took me a few months but right before spring classes started, I booked the first plane to San Francisco without looking back. My siblings showed up with my mother to the airport. Elijah, the oldest, was a bit of a role model growing up. He got married at 22, had 2 children and joined the police force. Amir, the second to oldest, was always a jokester which he definitely got from my father,  and had a bit of a ‘bad boy’ complex, which is quite the opposite of Elijah. He never got married, which my mother never agreed with, however he did have 3 kids, all with different women. Last but not least, my sister Hadassah, she was only 3 years older than me and I guess you could say we were the closest. Both of us would take care of my mom as much as possible and help her around the house as much as it was possible. She decided to stay in a community college to be closer to my mother and to help her financially as much as she possibly could. I hugged everyone goodbye, but when I got to my mother I couldn’t hold it in much longer. Tears started pouring down my face as I hugged her, but managed to remind her that this wasn’t a goodbye, but a ‘see you later’. I wish I could’ve come out to her, but I was afraid it would devastate her and we might lose the relationship we had built. As cliche as it sounds, she is my best friend, the person I trust the most in this world. I was considering staying as I hugged her. She pulled away and put our foreheads together. 

“You’ll be fine... You’ve got this! And remember einayim sheli, you’re stronger than you think! I’ll be supporting you from afar! Nothing you could do would ever disappoint me”.

“I love you mom. Don’t worry, I’ll send money your way and I’ll be back during the holidays!”

“You better, my dear! Now go, don’t want you to miss your flight”, she said as she hugged me once again.

Her words gave me enough courage to pick up my stuff and board the plane. I turned back once more before heading to the ramp and saw my siblings & her waving at me. Hadassah was hugging my mother and even though she was trying to stay as strong as possible, I saw tears rolling down her face. She noticed that I saw them and immediately wiped them off with a smile. I always admired how strong of a woman she is. She truly is a role model and someone I look up to as to how to live my life. However, I’ve never been as strong so I couldn’t hold back and started crying as I boarded the plane. 

The flight felt eternal and having anxiety didn’t help at all. I quit medication a few months before leaving since I didn’t think I would need it… Boy, was I wrong. I managed to calm myself down by working on some sketches I’ve been doing on my drawing paper pad. Next thing I knew, I was arriving in San Francisco, California; Population: 883,305, well... I guess now it’s 883,306 residents. I wasn’t necessarily going into San Francisco completely helpless, I was moving in with my best friend. I met Marcia in elementary school. Her father Sebastiao works for the government, and that’s as much as I know about him. That and the fact that he had to move to San Francisco due to a “really good job opportunity”.  Her father is originally from Brazil & his wife, Mayra is Mexican-American. Marcia grew up and learned all three languages, English, Spanish & Portuguese so she was able to fit in easier in “The Bay Area” when they left our little town. We would spend hours on the phone after she moved and she would tell me about San Francisco and how she thought I’d love it. She was honestly afraid to be one of those kids whose parents have to move regularly because of their jobs, but lucky for her, she didn’t have to do that. She set up a high bar for me arriving in San Fran and when I did... Well, let’s just say she didn’t disappoint. Her dad bought her an apartment and she was willing to share it with me at no cost, but I already had plans of helping her out with utilities & give her some extra cash to thank her for sharing her apartment with me. She shared her apartment with two puppies, Chuy & Elena, two small pomeranians whom she considered her children since she wasn’t planning on having any kids. When I told her I had gotten a scholarship to SF State, she immediately suggested I should move in with her. I wasn’t too sure of that idea, but it honestly was the best option I had so far.

I finally get my luggage and sit in the lobby to wait for her. I look around and see a lot of people meeting up with their loved one, whether it is their lover, or family. “You just left your family back there. You won’t even make it here nor achieve anything you had your mind set to. This is truly a bad idea. Why are you even doing here? You’re an idiot for leaving! All for some stupid experiment you want to try? Bullshit!”. I close my eyes and take another deep breath. I then feel my phone vibrate with the following text message:

“I see you!”

I looked up and saw her smile. She hadn’t grown much, stood about 5′6, black, curly shoulder-length hair, light skinned, with dorky glasses. People always claimed she was a weirdo, but who am I to judge? I was a bit taller than her, stood about 6′1, a bit of scruff on my face, brown semi clean-cut hair. I was always the weird kid at school, so we managed to click from the very beginning. She was the first person to talk to me in elementary school, and that meant the world to me. I was always a bit of an introvert, however she helped me come out of my shell little by little and when she left, I fell back into it. 

“Marcia! Babe! I’m so happy to see you!”

I ran to her and hugged her. It felt like yesterday that I had said goodbye to her at the airport. 

“Honeeeeey! Ugh, I’m soooo glad to see you! You smell soooo good! Don’t tell me you’re still into buying or should I say, collecting colognes?”

“Guilty!”

“Well then, you just might like what I have for you at home! Let me help you with your bags! I can’t wait for you to FINALLY meet Chuy & Elena! They’re going to LOVE you! My tia is still pretty mad that I named Elena after her, but she should take it as a compliment! It just means I love her! I mean, dogs are your most loyal companions... Not that she was ever loyal to my uncle, but still! I’m telling you, my little Elena is NOTHING like her!” 

I looked at her in disbelief. She still had that smile and a gleam in her eye. She had always had that hopeful gleam in her eye... Something I had lost a long time ago. 

I hated it.

“I’ll kill if I have to, but I’ll regain that hope again, just wait”

[bridgetlynn]

Goodnight & Goodluck

So I don’t know who reads these anymore - when I actually pop up and post something. Especially since I don’t do the usual tumblr “thing” and just re-blog pictures. But sometimes I just need to write something down and say it “outloud”, as it were. So really, it’s my own thoughts, for my own piece of mind, in an attempt to remind myself what should be.

It’s May 31st 2020. At least, technically, since it’s 3:20am as I start to write this. 

America’s burning. In the year of two-thousand-twenty. Think about that.

Then ask yourself why. 

(Newsflash - not covid)

If you had to either think too long about it - or don’t understand - then you’ll never get it. If you don’t think there’s even an iota of justification to that level of rage and terror and sadness then you’ll really never get it.

And I feel sorry for you. 

If you can answer those questions truthfully and turn a blind eye? Then I’m disgusted with you. 

If you’ve ever screamed all lives matter - especially right now - just don’t ever bother talking to me. ‘Cause you’re an oblivious moron.

Because there’s a simple fact at play - right now and always -

Black. Lives. Matter.

Maybe it’s ‘cause of where I grew up. Maybe it’s ‘cause of how I was raised.  

We see it year after year after year after year...and it doesn’t stop. And I can’t wrap my head around it. 

I grew up on Long Island - which everyone automatically thinks means I was a wealthy, privledged white girl from the suburbs. 

And I agree - I was a privledged white girl from the suburbs...wealthy not so much. I grew up in a mostly white town - but due to the way parts of Long Island are structured and zoned I also simultaneously grew up in a fairly diverse overall community. 

The way my family raised me was simple - a person is a person. That’s it. You treat a human being with respect and dignity and equality until they show you that they (singular to that specific individual) do not deserve it. Doesn’t matter if they’re white, black, asian, hispanic....you get the point. (and yes, that included LGBTQ+ as well) I’m just not built to think any other way.

I genuinely didn’t realize there was any other way of thinking until I got to high school. As far as I was concerned before high school - everyone was different and that was what made us beautiful. That’s what made it amazing to live here in the United States. 

My Irish heritage family. My best friend’s Nigerian heritage family. Various other friends of differing backgrounds who lived in our area. These were just the people we associated with because they were our neighbors and friends and co-workers and school mates. They lived their lives alongside us and they good people. That’s all anyone in my family ever needed to know.

Then high school came - and suddenly I was in a private catholic school (our public school wasn’t great) and I was weird. I was a poor, scholarship kid who “didn’t belong” because I didn’t have a lot of money. That I shrugged off. That I had been exposed to my whole life. Hell, I had expected it.

What I couldn’t understand was....if I didn’t belong because I didn’t have money....then why did the senior boy whose parents were both surgeons, drove a Jaguar to school and had a country club membership get treated like even more of a pariah then I did? Literally, possibly the wealthiest kid in the school at the time.

Maybe it was stupid of me at 14 to NOT have realized it - hell, maybe I was lucky to have not been exposed to it - but my african-american best friend’s mother had to sit me down and explain how genuinely shitty most people are. It wasn’t just on tv. It wasn’t just in history books. It was everywhere. Including what I thought was our nice little neighborhood. 

Apparently, my family, was the outlier. And I never realized that.

Then she told me she loved me like I was her own and sent me to do my homework. 

And I’m glad she was the one who told me - ‘cause my parents didn’t “get it”. 

Not really. They didn’t get it - not ‘cause they didn’t see it. Or know about it. Or hate it. But because they were physically incapable of living that experience. And they understood that. I know it’s the same for me. But I hate it now more then I hated it then. 

Years ago it was a child-like misunderstood hatred fueled by the idea that anyone would think my best friend - or any other person - was bad or wrong for how they looked. That they would dislike someone and use that as a reason. Now it’s an adult hatred that stems from a more fully lived life that brought about the understanding that it’s far more then dislike. Seeing friends looked at side-eyed for being in a store...seeing boyfriends get questioned about what they were doing with me in their car...seeing people murdered by the very people who are supposed to be protecting everyone.

And make no mistake - it’s murder in every sense of the word.

The systemic violence in policing has been getting progressively worse throughout my lifetime. Throughout my parents lifetimes. My grandparents. 

And it has to stop. It has to be stopped.

The ingrained, brainwashed, predjudice that gets drilled into them through a testosterone, rage, fueled culture of “us vs them” has to be crushed into to the dirt and rebuilt into something that can be relied on. 

Now, I haven’t seen my friend’s family in years. Jaycee’s parents moved when we graduated from different colleges. She got married. Kids came. People grow older and lose touch. It happens in life to everyone. Doesn’t mean they ever forget the people who helped to shape them into the adults they would become

Needless to say I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Not because “those are my black friends” (as some people like to point to for themselves as examples of how they aren’t racist) but because without them I sometimes wonder how I could have turned out. 

Without them in my life would it have been possible for my happy-go-lucky everyone is awesome childhood to be perverted throughout high school and college into me giving someone the side-eye because they were (allegedly) different then me?

I’d like to think the answer to that is a resounding no. But as I said earlier - our experiences and the people around us shape who we are. And if we avoid people who are (according to some) different then us? 

Then we never realize that they aren’t. Not where it counts.

And, if you were wondering - the answer to my question at the top. Why is America burning in 2020?

Because we got complacent. We stopped helping. We stopped seeing people for who they actually are; rather then our first glance. 

America is burning because white American’s let it get dragged there over years and years of injustice until it didn’t have anywhere else to go but up in flames. 

And I despise Trump - but he’s not the main problem. ‘Cause, he’s definitely a massive problem. But in this case - he’s a symptom of the problem. 

If racism, bigotry and hatred didn’t exist in our overall society then he wouldn’t be our President. Hell, if those things didn’t exist then he wouldn’t have even been allowed near the Republican Nomination - let alone the Oval Office. 

And, so tonight, when I would much rather be in the city - standing shoulder to shoulder with people I don’t know - but still love and support and admire - I’m writing this as my stand because of the damned virus. I’m stuck at home breathing through bronchitis and hoping it doesn’t get worse with a fever of 101.6 (which might have contributed to anything here that got stream of consciousness style) rather then off in Brooklyn or Times Square or the Bronx....or anywhere else I could get myself to so I could take a stand as well. Nothing else short of the fact that I can literally not get out of bed right now could have stopped me.

So, yes, this is as close as I could come. Just writing something. Just breathing it out onto the internet to be read or not read. To be absorbed or ignored. Just to be there in some form of spirit.

Because George Floyd Matters. Because Eric Garner Matters. Because Michael Brown and Freddie Gray and Philando Castile Matter. And all the thousands of others who don’t make the nightly news cycle for whatever reason. They all matter.

So all I can leave with is Edward R. Murrow’s classic sign off - with true heartfelt hope to everyone out there this evening - Goodnight and Goodluck.

I wish I could be with you.

[tisfan]

Title: (Consider this) The Hint of the Century @tisfan Square: R1 - KINK: mind-controlled sex WinterIron Bingo: B2 - Losing Religion @27dragons TSB: S4 - Resurrection  Warning: dub-con (ish), anal sex, ghosts, possession, Bucky has a plan, this wasn’t it Pairing: Bucky/Tony Summary: It’s just a box that they found in the crypt of a desecrated old church that rumor says is haunted. What could possibly go wrong?Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107763 Word Count: 7382

For @tonystarkbingo and @winterironbingo

A/n https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Puller_von_Hohenburg Richard and Anton are, in fact, real people who had a real relationship and were burned at the stake for it. Obviously, we’ve fic’d it up a bit, but here’s where the origin story came from. 

“God, this place is probably older than I am,” Bucky said, looking around the demolished remains of the cathedral. Admittedly, they were in central Europe in one of those countries that Americans could never seem to remember the name of, and therefore something that was only five hundred years old were ‘upstart buildings.’ So it probably didn’t matter that they’d wrecked the place.

It really wasn’t their fault, Bucky was going to raise his hand and swear before God that they did not mean to knock down the church.

Some wanna be sorcerer had taken over the joint, raised a bunch of zombies with some magical… thingie… and made a complete mess of the entire area, terrorizing the locals. The Avengers hadn’t been called in until the Ghost dude -- he’d shouted his villainy name as being the Ghost Whisperer, or something -- had brought down a damn aircraft with a resurrected pterodactyl. Bucky wasn’t entirely paying attention to the rant-and-rave, being much too involved in the set up and take down part of the operation -- and he was being dragged away by a combination of local police and Dr. Strange.

Tony was consulting with the local police, which involved a lot of hand-waving, and he was clearly growing more and more annoyed by the second. Finally, he stomped back over to Bucky, rolling his eyes so hard that it looked painful. “Strange says the guy had some kind of magical pendant that he was using to... he wasn’t controlling the zombies with it -- that was the grimoire -- but to protect himself from them, maybe? I don’t know, magic doesn’t make any sense to me. Anyway, he doesn’t have it on him, so it’s got to be in there somewhere.” He waved a still-gauntleted hand toward the half-destroyed old church. “And the locals refuse to muster a crew to search for it, because they think the place is haunted.” Another eye-roll. “We just arrested the guy who was haunting it; you’d think they’d get that. But they don’t. So it’s up to us to dig through the mess and find the pendant.”

“Great,” Bucky said, watching Tony stride around through the rubble, occasionally assisted with a repulsored hop or delicate leap. Watching Tony in that armor was like witnessing a very aggressive ballet dancer. Beautiful, powerful, great ass-- Bucky sighed, shook his head. “Seems a little, I dunno, heretical or somethin’. Don’t you think? Digging through church wreckage? I feel bad enough about smashing the building to bits in the first place.”

Tony glanced back over his shoulder. “Didn’t take you for the religious type, Klondike. It’s just a building, really. And Strange says we really can’t let anyone else walk off with that pendant; we’ll just end up with another villain in three weeks.”

Bucky shrugged, a little sheepishly. “I grew up in in the 20’s and 30’s, Stark. I was an altar boy and everything. Used to take communion and listen to the litany in Latin.” He grumped about that; he’d been back to church a few times since Hydra. His first confession in seventy years had taken almost four hours, and he’d barely been able to talk for two days after he was done with his penance. But the service itself was in English, and that had been weird enough that Bucky had mostly given up the habit.

Tony tipped his head a little, which meant he was conceding the point. “Still, I’m pretty sure this place was deconsecrated long before we got here. Zombies will probably do that.” He crouched, took hold of a fallen beam, and heaved it out of the way. “...Huh. There’s a door in here. I didn’t notice that before.”

(more below the cut)

“Where, in the Sancrist-- oh.” Bucky stopped. “Uh. I think I know where he was getting the zombies from. That probably leads down to the catacombs.” He crossed himself, kissed his thumb, and then pushed the door open, very slowly. Haunted, the locals said. Bucky wondered if the place had been haunted before the Ghost Whisperer showed up.

Tony muttered something and a soft, wide light shone out of his chestplate, dimly illuminating the stairs leading down. He eyed the passageway. “Strange definitely said that closing the grimoire would drop any remaining zombies wandering around. So there’s nothing down there to worry about. Just...”

“Dead people.”

“Yeah, that.” Tony hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and started down the stairs. “Okay. Might as well get it over with.”

Bucky crept down behind him, torn between wanting to hold Tony’s hand, because part of him was always going to be that scared Catholic boy who was positive he was going to hell, and the other half wanting to yell Boo and see if Tony shrieked like a little kid, because that would be funny as shit.

“Did the locals specifically say what was haunting, around here, I mean, are we talking angry poltergeist that throws the bones of the dead at us, or just scary sounds at night?”

He was working himself right up, that’s exactly what he was doing. Given that they’d been fighting zombies in the morning, complete with the whole hunger for brains and the horrible smell, he was pretty sure he could be excused.

Still…

“Nope, just ‘haunted’ and ‘cursed’, over and over,” Tony said, sounding annoyed. “There was a bit in there about... it didn’t translate well. The two in one body? The two who became one? Something like that.” He glanced back as he reached the bottom, flashing Bucky that insouciant smirk. “So maybe there’s only two ghosts. I bet we can take ‘em.”

“Lovely,” Bucky said. “I don’t really want to take them anywhere. It’s not like it’s their fault that they’re dead. Someone mucking around with the natural order of shit. Oh-- look at that!”

Bucky turned as something glinted and glittered. It probably should have been blue, reflecting the arc-reactor, but it wasn’t. It was golden, sunshine, and pure. Beautiful. A tomb, carved from marble and inlaid with gold.

On the top of what looked like a double-sized burial chamber were two marble statuettes, naked and beautifully done, almost lifelike, reaching for each other but never quite touching.

“Wow.”

“You said it,” Tony agreed. He came over to look at the tableau. “There’s no dust on them.”

“It’s beautiful,” Bucky said, staring up at the statue. While gorgeously done -- Michelangelo's David might well have been jealous -- the expressions on the statues faces were of people who were in terrible pain. Grief, or despair. Bucky’s gaze was drawn to the space between their hands. “Sad, though.” He walked all the way around the statuary, and then-- “Huh, what’s this, I wonder.” He pointed to a reliquary at the end. There were strange marks on it, but the container didn’t look locked or anything.

“How should I know?” Tony wondered. “You think the pendant might be in there?”

Bucky reached for the box; gold and colored enamel, pictures. He squinted, picked it up. “There’s a story here.” He turned the box around in his hands until he found the beginning, an ancient series of events. A wedding, but the man was looking over his new wife’s shoulder-- at her brother, maybe? The estranged couple fighting, the man fleeing to be with his lover. “God, they were burned at the stake.” Bucky shuddered, still looking at the pictures.

“Well, that’s horrible. What are they doing in the church? I thought heretics weren’t allowed proper burial, or something like that?” Tony came closer, shining his light a little more clearly on the box.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, his fingers grazing over the lid. “I wonder what’s in it.”

“You probably shouldn’t open that,” Tony said sharply.

“I just want to see,” Bucky protested. “It’s just a box, what harm can there be in looking inside a box?”

“Have you not paid any attention to the movies we’ve watched? At all? There are dozens of movies that explain why it’s a bad idea to open random artifacts in a cursed graveyard.”

“If I took your movies seriously, I wouldn’t go to the beach, either,” Bucky said, getting his nails under the lid and prying at it. “Man-eating sharks and everything.” Ahhh, there, there was a little catch under one side, and he pressed it. “Ha, got it!”

The box opened with a soft hiss and a delicate blue mist flowed out, all shiny, pretty, something highly magical is going on here fog. Great special effects, Bucky had time to think before he inhaled--

Richard von Hohenburg opened his eyes for the first time in six hundred years, looking around. The church, where they’d been tortured, forced to confess, burned, and then cursed. As if what they’d done was so terrible.

He’d been locked in a tiny space, no body, no anything. No contact with the realms of the dead. And sensing that Anton was nearby, sensing it, but not being able to touch him, tell him, apologize, nothing.

But he had eyes now. He could see now.

“Anton?”

                                                        ***

“It’s just a box, what harm can there be in looking inside a box?”

Tony nearly choked on his own spit. “Have you not paid any attention to the movies we’ve watched? At all?” To be fair, Tony hadn’t been paying a lot of attention during those movies, himself, largely because he’d spent them surreptitiously watching Bucky. Not that he had any intention of ever telling Bucky that. “There are dozens of movies that explain why it’s a bad idea to open random artifacts in a cursed graveyard.”

“If I took your movies seriously, I wouldn’t go to the beach, either. Man-eating sharks and everything.” Bucky was peering around the edges and seams of the box, and Tony couldn’t quite suppress a foreboding feeling.

“Maybe we should--”

“Ha, got it!” Bucky flashed Tony a grin, that bright, boyish smile that lit up the room and seemed to dissolve at least half a century’s worth of suffering from Bucky’s eyes.

Which meant that Tony saw, before Bucky, the glowing blue mist that curled up out of the box. “Bucky, back away!” But the mist had already slithered into Bucky’s mouth and nose like a hundred sparkling snakes, and was spreading rapidly.

Tony snapped his helmet closed. “Bucky! Are you okay?”

Bucky’s eyes met his, and for a moment, their normal stormcloud gray flickered and flashed the same blue as the mist.

“Shit, Bu--” The mist was seeping right through his armor, because of course it was, because fucking magic, and this was why Tony was never going on a magic mission again without--

Anton Mätzler gasped his first breath in centuries, since the smoke of the fires had choked out his last. He staggered back, away from the cursed relic with its compartments, keeping him from his beloved even in death.

“Anton?”

Anton’s head turned toward the sound of his name, a voice that was both utterly unfamiliar and at once well-known. “Richard, love?”

“What’s… what’s happened to us?” Richard was staring down at his hands, one was normal, human, if wearing strange gloves with no fingers, but the other-- the other was gleaming silver, unyielding metal, but as flexible as a normal hand. “And you, Anton, my dearest, look at yourself, clad in armor, like a knight?”

Anton looked down at himself. It was a strange armor indeed, with more of magic about it than metalsmith, ghostly messages and symbols writ across his very vision. “A strange knight, indeed,” he said uneasily. “I wonder how one removes such armor.” No sooner had he spoken the words than the armor... unfolded itself, spilling him out into the dank air of -- the crypts? Long abandoned, the sacred tombs fallen into disrepair and rot.

Anton felt no pity for them. Not after what they’d done to him, and to Richard.

He turned toward Richard, hands outstretched. “My love... I know not how this miracle has come to pass, but I can only be joyful to see you again. To touch your hand, your face...”

“I must say, you don’t look quite like yourself, but--” Richard came over to stand directly in front of him, clasped Anton’s hands in his own, and spread them, admiring. “It is a good form, nonetheless. And quite well-displayed in those strange garments. T’was always your brilliant mind that most captivated me, my dearest, although I did not object to a lithe form beneath me.”

Anton laughed. “Nor did I object to being beneath you, though it was your kindness and patience for which I first loved you.”

“Hey, hey, hey, sorry to interrupt, guys--” the voice that came from Richard’s throat was the same, but had a faster, less formal way of talking, an almost incomprehensible rumbling accent. “Tony-- Tony, you okay in there? Stark. Come on--”

Anton shook his head. “I know not this Tony--” And then it seemed he was rudely pushed aside, shoved to the back of his own consciousness, though he felt his throat working as he said, “I’m here, I’m here, Buckaroo, I’m okay. I think.”

Anton tried to push his way back to the forefront. “What sorcery is this?”

“I’m fuckin’ possessed,” Richard complained. “I owe you, like a hundred fuckin’ beers man, when we get out of this--”

“Stop! These forms are ours now,” Richard continued, face working uncomfortably as he seized control of the spirits that shared their bodies. “We have earned this, through countless centuries of torment. You will not--”

“Uh, no, dude, no, just-- ow!”

Richard went to one knee, heaving as if he was going to cast up his accounts, but when he looked back up, from his position on the floor, the twinkle in his eye and the suggestive smirk was entirely Richard’s own. There was a time when Anton would have killed for that look; a time where he had died for it.

Anton felt his own co-habitant jostling him, and wrestled for control. “Bucky! What the hell did you do to him, you--” Anton twisted back into place. “Please,” he said. “We died for our love, only to be held forever apart, unable to so much as whisper. Grant us a short while, at least!” With all his strength, he summoned his memories of the torture -- beatings and burnings, heavy chains and the ducking stool -- and pushed them at his host.

The body stumbled, and it was not Anton’s doing. “Christ,” the other said. “That’s--”

“Here, I’m here, my darling,” Richard said, and it was beyond heaven to be clasped in strong arms, willing to hold him, eager and exalting. “Let me kiss those honeyed lips, so long denied me.”

A kiss, tender and sweet, was pressed against Anton’s forehead, and even if the body was not his own, he felt it, keenly. Doubled, even, with a taste of regret, guilt… longing, underneath, until the sensation was almost unbearable.

Anton pressed into Richard’s arms, and if the feel of the metal one at his back was strange and unyielding, the gentle caresses of the other more than made up for it. “I love you,” Anton whispered, aching with the strength and sincerity of that emotion. “I could not recant that, even in the flames.”

“Nor did I,” Richard promised him. “Thus, this elaborate prison to keep us apart.” He spat through his fingers, protection from evil magics. “And I have you back, in my arms again, and nothing will keep me from you.” He stroked his fingers through Anton’s hair. “Say you will still be mine?”

“I have never been anything else,” Anton swore, “not since the moment of our first meeting.”

“Uh, hey--” The spirit that inhabited Richard’s body shivered and shuddered, “look, no, come on, romantical as all this is, I ain’t-- that’s Tony’s body and this one’s mine, and we’re gonna have to take up habitation again, an’ okay, no, seriously, that’s not fair, get out.. Get out of my memories!”

Anton felt his host’s frantic terror and fiery rage and laughed, delighted. “I believe these two hold each other in near as much esteem as we feel for one another,” he confided.

“It’s not like that--” Richard’s host snarled. “I ain’t nothin’ to him, an’ I don’t…”

“Shhhh, it shall all be well, my host,” Richard said. “You hunger for him, and you shall have him. It will be well. We will treat him… very well.”

“He doesn’t hunger; are you insane?” Anton’s host snapped. “Look, I’m sorry you got killed and locked up in a box for so long, but he’s not interested and you can’t just--”

Anton wrapped mental arms around his host. “My Richard does not lie,” he promised. “Nor are we mad, except with wanting each other. Let us have this, and enjoy your own desires come into fruition.”

“Tony--” and there was not a lot of change in the longing in Richard’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know, maybe it’s me. I can’t… I can’t fight it.”

“Bucky.” Anton’s hand tightened on Richard’s. “It’s, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Not if it’s you.”

And then, with an eager, fervid groan, Richard’s mouth was on his; a kiss of no finesse, no sweetness, but instead all avid hunger, devouring Anton, as if they could become one, as if they could hold each other tight enough to never have to let go.

Anton moaned, surrendering himself to that kiss, wrapping his arms around Richard’s shoulders, clasping at Richard’s clothes and hair and arms, anything he could reach, scrambling to press closer and closer yet, as if determined to merge their bodies into one.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, Tony, it’s okay,” and that was not Richard, but as he’d stopped fighting, and was letting those hands touch and caress, seemed to know how to unfasten the strange clothing they both wore, had stopped resisting and was now actively helping… well, it was good. It would be well.

Anton’s host -- Tony, apparently, and how strange that their names were so similar -- came forward again, more gently this time, showing Anton the strange clasps and catches that held Richard’s clothes together. “Yeah,” he said. “You always do. I’ve got you, too.”

Too hungry for his lover’s kiss to speak, Anton pressed their mouths together again, tongue flicking at the corner of Richard’s mouth, teasing and tasting.

Richard cupped his jaw with one hand, his thumb teasing at the corner of Anton’s mouth, coaxing it open. “Ain’t you sweet,” he murmured and Anton didn’t even know anymore, who was who, but it didn’t matter, those clever fingers were stroking his skin, raking passion up from the coals that had long since been banked.

Richard ran those hands down his chest, thumbing nipples erect, and then, “Beltpouch, second from the left,” he said, which made no sense whatsoever to Anton, but his host -- Tony -- was already sliding their hand into the indicated-- pocket? On a belt?

What Tony found there was some sort of packet, shiny like metal but softer, and whatever it was, it amused Tony greatly. “Really?” he said. “On a mission?”

“Look, you wanna go in dry with some randy old ghosts, be my guest,” Bucky said, and that didn’t make sense either, but that metal hand was curling around Anton’s member, stroking light. The metal wasn’t cold, either, but warmer than human flesh, and there was the faintest shuddering to it, a vibration from deep inside that stimulated and aroused. “But I done my share of trench quickies, an’ I’d rather be prepared.”

Still amused, Tony conceded the point. A deft twist of their hands opened the packet, and then Tony retreated a little, shooting Anton a burst of memories demonstrating the purpose of the contents -- it was like oil, it seemed, for this very purpose. Anton poured some over his fingers and -- oh, Tony had not been exaggerating; it was so much better than oil. Slicker, smoother. Anton reached between his legs and pushed the stuff into his hole, shuddering at the sweet burn of it.

“God,” Richard said. “You’re so beautiful.”

And Richard was nudging Anton over onto his knees, helping spread the oil, rubbing at the opening of his body eagerly, spreading it, tugging. “Careful now, you gotta-- gentle. It’s… well, I ain’t gonna apologize, but it’s a lot.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Anton returned, teasing. “But I have waited too long to delay any more than necessary. I would have you, my love, and soon.”

One finger pressed inside, thrusting, the slick easing the way, smooth and silky and perfect. Then a second, and that burned, but Anton had experienced fires much more potent, and all it did was make him whine and twist his hips, urging.

The fingers withdrew and then, yes, there it was, pressing urgently on him, and he bent his back, fingers clenching at the stone underneath him.

“Tony--”

“Yes,” they gasped, and Anton wasn’t sure which of them it was, speaking. “I need you, now.”

A strangled moan, hands gripping Anton’s hips, and he was pulled, slowly, impaling himself on Richard’s fine tool, filling him up, stretching him out. One hand went to the small of Anton’s back, rubbing in soft, soothing circles, tracing the line of his spine, and then gripped the curly mass of his hair, tugging his head back.

Anton gasped, curving his back even more, keening at the overload of sensations. “Fill me,” he begged, all shame long since gone, burnt up in their holy fire until all that was left of him was wanton desire, a burning need hotter than any flame. “My love, please!”

“I have you, I--” It was all hard, urgent rhythm then, being thrust into and pulled back from. The body that covered his was unfamiliar, and at the same time, that same, tender lover that Anton had given everything to, and been everything for. They moved together, hurried, racing toward release, eager to share in each other, the way they always had, and it was sweet, and rough, and just this side of blissful.

They moved together, push and pull, rocking together, words unimportant, only feelings, and the fire inside them, until..

“Oh, yes, yes, my darling!”

Anton cried out, groping for his own member; it took no more than a half-dozen frantic strokes before he was spilling, his whole body aching as it tried to clench down around Richard’s still-firm erection. He shivered and shuddered with the force of his release, a sudden wash of relaxation sweeping over him, like a deluge of warm spring rain.

Richard matched him, then moved slowly with him, stroking him down, soothing and sweet, and then he stiffened, biting down on Anton’s shoulder to stifle his scream. “Oh, oh, my darling,” he was saying, kissing the skin, as if tasting the imprint he’d left, his soft tongue stealing away the sting. “It’s always been you. Always you. Forever.”

“Until the end of days,” Anton promised, lassitude creeping in. “My only love.” How he longed for a bed, or even a rough pallet, where they could lie together and rest, tangled in one another’s arms.

“Look, a bed we got,” Richard said, apparently negotiating with his host. “Jus’ need to finish our mission here, yeah? There’s a guy, he hurt a lot of people, an’-- we’re looking for a pendant, about -- so big? You seen anything like that?”

“The priest who tried us wore an amulet of that size,” Anton recalled, sitting back on his heels. “He would have been buried...” Anton considered the catacombs, then pointed. “In that chamber.”

“Thanks,” Richard said, and offered him a hand up, already finding and pulling on his clothes. He made a face, apologetic, and handed Anton a-- surprisingly soft -- pale white shirt with no buttons and no laces. “T’ clean up--”

Anton might have protested, but what else was there to use? He wiped away the oil and the rest of it, rolling the shirt up around it. His host rolled their eyes. “Come on,” Tony said, “let’s find this pendant and get out of here.”

That chamber had been half-heartedly cleaned, and someone had set up a bedroll, and a desk. The cellar had been partially cracked open, perhaps in the battle, but Richard’s host was able to lift a portion of the collapsed rock out of the way.

“Our ghost whisperer,” Richard’s host said. “So, he probably already ransacked this place. You see anything in this mess, Tony?”

Anton moved over to the desk, looking it over. It was a spindly little thing, flimsy and unimpressive. He pulled open the first drawer and shuffled aside a few scraps of paper, and--

Anton backed away. “I don’t like it,” he said decisively. The pendant gleamed with power, sharp-edged enough to separate a man from his own shadow. He couldn’t quite take his eyes off it.

Richard went to him, as if to shield him from the amulet. It buzzed with surging energies, gleaming. “That is what our forms came to find,” he said. “To destroy it, or see it safely locked away, so no one else would suffer what we have suffered. They are, I believe, good men.”

Tony grunted. “Well, that’s the goal,” he said. He looked around. “We need something to put it in, until we can make other arrangements.”

“The box,” Anton said, pointing back the way they’d come. “The prison held us for centuries; it will surely hold this amulet for as long as you need.”

“I shall retrieve it,” Richard said, and he leaned in to kiss Anton’s cheek, soft and sweet. It shouldn’t have hurt to watch him walk away, he was barely going out of sight, and Anton would be able to hear him the whole time. But still, it ached with concern, throbbed with fear. The last time he’d let Richard out of his sight, they’d been separated, imprisoned. Told always that if he was willing to recant, to confess, to point the finger at his lover, that he would be spared. Told that Richard had recanted.

Anton had never believed that. Ever.

And, in the end, he was thus proven. Faithful, through all the long-- “How long, even, has it been, good host? What is the year?”

“What? It’s twenty-nineteen. Er, two thousand nineteen.” Tony, too, was watching the way Richard had gone, though Anton rather suspected it was the host who occupied Tony’s thoughts.

“That is… quite a long while to be imprisoned and alone,” Anton said. “We died in the year of our Lord, 1482. Richard was a knight, from Switzerland. I was his servant… and his downfall. He gave me gifts, clothing and jewels, and-- I looked too high for my station, so the church… declared us heretics.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “Things are... better, now.”

“This thing ain’t exactly light,” Richard’s host complained, coming back into the room, “but I guess it’ll do as good as any. Strange’ll make heads or tails out of the whole mess anyway. Pop it in the box.”

Anton reached out and then hesitated, not quite able to make himself touch the horrible thing. Tony took over, scooping it up. It felt cold, much colder than mere metal and stone should be, even in a crypt.

There was a tug, like something pulling at his soul, loosening it.

“You know you have to go, right?” Richard’s host said, and it was very gentle. He reached out, touched his flesh hand to the other side of the medallion. “Not back in the box, but… you died. It’s time t’ move on. Tony can make a big church donation, get the bishop t’ do Last Rites, or whatever.”

Anton’s vision blurred. “Must we? We’ve only just come together again, and I’ve missed you, my love, so much.”

“Wish for it,” Richard’s host said. “You can feel it, right? The power the amulet’s got over the dead. Stay together, all eternity. No heaven or hell without the other.”

“Richard?” Anton wasn’t even sure what he was asking, but he needed to see the spark of his lover in those strange gray eyes, one last time.

“I am here,” Richard said. “And I will-- always protect you. Even if I failed before, I can-- together. Always.”

“Always,” Anton promised through his tears. “Until the end of days.”

There was another tug, and--

“Well, that’s… look at you, all non-corporeal and shit,” Richard’s host said, although he wasn’t really the host anymore, and Anton couldn’t seem to bring himself to call him Bucky, like he was some sort of pet deer or something.

Nor was Anton still in Tony’s body. Rather, they floated above the two men, and when he looked at Richard, he saw -- a ghost, like a wisp of smoke caught in a Richard-shaped glass, but it was Richard, the countenance he’d known and loved. “Oh, my love.” He reached out and, incorporeal as Richard looked, he felt solid, even warm, to Anton’s touch.

“My most beloved,” Richard said. “Always. We will have it, our forever.”

“Uh, so, like, it was good to meet you an’ all, but we really need to get this thing gone and safe,” Bucky said. “An’ like, totally take a shower.”

“I’m seconding the shower idea,” Tony agreed. “You two lovebirds have a good time, now. Don’t spook anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” The ghosts barely even glanced at them, then they were fading away entirely, hands twined and hearts in their eyes.

Tony dropped the pendant into the box that Bucky was still holding and twisted the cover into place. “Right, well. That’s that, then, I guess.”

“It… uh, it was somethin’, all right,” Bucky said, not quite meeting Tony’s gaze, cheeks and neck flushing.

And they were both standing around in an abandoned and half-destroyed church’s catacombs in their underwear. Because they’d let a couple of ghosts use them to fuck.

Yeah, that was going to land pretty high on the Weird Shit rankings, and Tony was just going to hope Bucky attributed the embarrassing stuff Tony’d said to ghost. That would probably be for the best. “So. We should probably, you know. Get dressed. And get this back to Strange.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Totally that’s what we should do.” His hand fluttered a moment, like some wounded butterfly, in the space between them, and then dropped it before he could make contact. “Uh. Are you okay?”

“What? Fine,” Tony said, only a little brittle. “Never better. Well. Tired. And I really want that shower.” He eased past Bucky and went back to where his armor waited, his clothes still crumpled on the floor where they’d been dropped. He picked up his jeans and pulled them on.

“You know,” Bucky said, staring at his tactical armor, all over the place. “This is why Strange can portal. I gotta put all this shit back on… for what, ten minutes while we cross town?” Bucky gave Tony a grin, a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure that Tony was going to laugh at his jokes anymore.

Tony grinned back. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to fake being relaxed and easy with someone he’d seen naked. And he didn’t want to stop laughing at Bucky’s jokes, anyway. They were friends, these days; once the awkward wore off, Tony wanted them to stay that way. “I mean, you could stroll across town shirtless,” he suggested. “Earn a lot of local goodwill that way.”

“I am shirtless,” Bucky pointed out. “You… uh… yeah, I have a tac-vest, but. My undershirt was sacrificed to the cause. It’s good, it’s great. I mean… we’re okay, yeah?”

“Of course,” Tony said. He pulled on his t-shirt and stepped back into the armor. “I mean, awkward. But no reason not to be okay.”

Bucky just nodded at that, threw the tac vest on and didn’t bother to lock it in place, showing off arms, and ribs, and the very bottom strip of his belly between his pants and the bottom of the vest. He bent down and hefted the case under one arm, and his gun in the other hand. He didn’t say anything then, either, just jerked his chin toward the exit, watching Tony with eyes that seemed somehow… thoughtful.

Tony wondered what those thoughts were, but shut that down almost immediately. It didn’t matter. They were going back to their separate rooms at the hotel, take hot showers, and catch a night’s sleep. And then in the morning, everything would be back to normal. He nodded and made his way back out of the church.

                                                          ***

Bucky couldn’t decide if he was feeling satisfied and smug, or guilty, and the two extremes were yanking at him. He showered, water hot enough to boil a lobster, until his skin was pink and stinging. It would fade soon enough. It always did.

Ug. This was not how he wanted any of this shit to go down.

Tony had been drawing back the whole time between when the spirits departed and when he’d faux-cheerfully waved Bucky off into the next room.

They needed to talk.

And god damn, if there was one thing Bucky was really, really bad at, it was talking. And in that subset of bad things about talking, there was talking about feelings. Bucky hadn’t had bloody damn feelings in so long, figuring out what to do with them sometimes took him all damn day.

Sit a plate in front of him, and he’d eat. Ask him what he wanted to watch on the television and he’d freeze up for an hour or more, trying to decide.

But letting Tony get back to the Compound without talking about this, or making a terrible attempt at talking about this, and Bucky wouldn’t see him for a week or more, while he hid down in the ‘shop and pretended that nothing ever happened, he was fine, why?

“Fuck.”

Well, yeah, and that’s exactly what had happened, too.

Bucky yanked on a pair of soft sweatpants, a tee, and a hoodie, his preferred clothing for between missions.

Knocking was pointless. Tony would pretend not to hear him, if he didn’t want to talk. Bucky was going to go with the Natasha method of talking shit out. It took him exactly six seconds to scramble the hotel’s expensive key-card entry system and he let himself into Tony’s room.

Tony… was still in the shower.

Which was, in and of itself, a little worrisome. Was he washing… Bucky off?

Bucky threw himself down on Tony’s bed and prepared to wait it out.

Not too much later, the water shut off. Another moment or two while he dried off, and then the bathroom door opened, and Tony walked out, stark naked, still scrubbing a towel over his hair and humming something under his breath.

“Oh shit! Fuck!” Tony practically teleported back three feet when he spotted Bucky on the bed, jostling the towel down to cover himself, more or less. Mostly less. “What the fuck!”

“Oh, my god, stop screaming, it’s just me,” Bucky said, sitting up. “And I literally just saw… all of that, like not two hours ago.”

Tony pressed a hand to his chest, the other one still holding the towel over his groin. “Jesus, don’t do that shit. Christ, you take in a handful of spies and assassins and suddenly there’s no privacy anymore.” He grabbed up a pair of sweats and pulled them on quickly, half-turning in an effort to preserve his modesty that only gave Bucky a really fantastic view of his ass. “What do you want?”

“You--” Bucky said, and Tony shot him a look so incredulously disbelieving that Bucky amended his statement somewhat. “To talk this out with me, Tony. I mean, maybe you didn’t notice, or somethin’ but we just had sex. I think… we should talk about it.”

Tony huffed, then opened the mini-fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles of beer. Local stuff, so it probably wasn’t swill. He tossed one toward Bucky. “What, you want a Yelp review? ‘Four stars; excellent technique and presentation but the ambiance left something to be desired.’”

“That was shitty technique,” Bucky said. “I totally would have-- it was rushed and relatively unconcerned about your pleasure. I’m just saying. If I was… in control of the situation.”

Tony took a swig from his bottle, throat working as he swallowed, his still-damp hair dripping water down his chest. “If you were in control of the situation,” he said, “it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well, no,” Bucky admitted, “because I ain’t crass enough-- okay, no, not true, I’m totally crass enough t’ ask a fella for a quickie after a near-death experience. Jus’, you know, not… you. I wouldn’t do you like that. An’ I’m sorry as hell that it went down this way.”

“This way?” Tony was giving him that sardonic look, the one he used a lot when he was being snarky at the press. “What way would you have preferred, dare I ask?”

“I had a plan,” Bucky muttered. “I know they say Steve’s the man with the plan, but that idiotic bastard jumps out of airplanes with no chute, he doesn’t have a plan, he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the Titanic. I… I had a plan. Thought it might have been goin’ well. These days, we split off for a mission, I’m usually your backup. Which is good, right? You trust me… trusted. Me.”

Bucky sighed. Tony probably didn’t trust him at all, anymore. And Bucky didn’t blame him, not one bit, really. It wasn’t his fault, but-- but it was. He was the one who opened the damn box, wasn’t he? And he was the one who didn’t fight it, because he wanted Tony, and it was so damn easy to just let Richard have his way, have his body, have Tony’s body under him.

God damn it.

Frowning, Tony sank down onto the little desk chair. He rolled the bottle between his hands, intent. “You had a plan,” he repeated slowly. “For... me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted. “We already-- the concert series, this spring, that we went to? I know you like music, an’ I’m still tryin’ to figure out what I like, so… we had fun, right? That was fun?”

“Yeah, that was great, I-- Wait, that was... part of the plan? The plan where... What, exactly, is the end goal of this plan?” Tony’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any more focused.

“The plan, Tony--” Bucky said, and he couldn’t quite resist the urge to roll his eyes, “was for us t’, you know, figure out if we liked each other. I mean, that’s what people do, when they like a fella, think he’s somethin’ else. If we like spendin’ time together, not the whole saving the world shit, that gets old, but… normal stuff. An’ then, I was plannin’ to see if maybe you liked me back, an’ we could spend more time together. I got… I got so much time back, Tony, and I just want to live it, an’ share it with someone special, and I thought… maybe that could be you.”

Tony’s lips moved, soundlessly, repeating the phrase someone special to himself. “You’re talking about dating,” he said, looking startled. “The plan was to date me?”

The plan itself had gone up to dating.

That Bucky had wild and crazy flights of fancy after that, well, he didn’t need to dump his whole heart on the ground right this second, did he?

“The plan was to find out if we wanted to date. Or… whatever,” Bucky said, waving a hand. “Who knows, you couldda been terrible to hang out with. Not… I mean, you weren’t, you were great, it was… yes. The plan was to date you. I thought it was goin’ well, and now it’s all smashed to shit, an’... it wasn’t my fault, except that it was, and Tony, I am so, so sorry.”

Apparently he did need to dump his whole heart on the ground, right this second.

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot,” Tony said. He was staring at Bucky, though at least he didn’t look angry or disgusted. “Those were dates. How did I not-- Well, obviously, because I was too busy trying not to let on how much I wanted them to be dates to realize they actually were.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Idiot,” he reiterated.

“So, uh, it was goin’ well?” Bucky asked, because Tony was getting really deep into self-recriminations, and that wasn’t the direction Bucky wanted this to go, at all.

Tony lowered his hand, and he was smiling, not that practiced press smirk, but a wry, almost hesitant smile that was purely Tony. “It was going well,” he said. “Maybe a little slower than it needed to be.”

Bucky blinked. “I tried for a kiss once, and you backed off an’ asked me if you had cheese on your shirt,” he pointed out. “I thought… I dunno. But you didn’t say no, the next time I asked you to go somewhere, so--”

“I thought I was imagining that,” Tony said. “I thought... overactive imagination, it’s a thing, with me. Also, I did in fact have cheese on my shirt,” he pointed out. “Your first kiss with someone shouldn’t be with them looking like a slob who’d just nosedived into the nachos.”

“They were really good nachos, though,” Bucky said. “I was brushing crumbs out of my shirt, too.” He inched a little closer, probably not being as smooth as he would like to be. “So, what-- should my first kiss with someone be like?”

“It probably should also not be because you’ve been possessed by a couple of horny ghosts,” Tony said. “I think... I think maybe it should be after you’ve told someone you like them, just so you’re both on the same page. And then it should be...” Tony swept forward, fingers curling into Bucky’s hair, palm cupping the back of his neck as Tony’s mouth brushed over Bucky’s lightly once, twice, three times, teasing, drawing away when Bucky tried to lean into it, and then finally lingering, tongue flicking against Bucky’s lip. “A little like that,” Tony finished, a little breathless.

“Just a little like that?” Bucky asked, his thumb brushing against Tony’s jaw, coaxing him to stay, to sit down, to-- enjoy the moment, Barnes, you didn’t think you were going to get to have one.

“Well, you know, there’s a lot of variables, it’s impossible to account for all of them at once.” Tony hadn’t pulled away, was tipping his head into the light caress. “Lots of different ways a kiss can go, you know.” His eyes were wide and dark and full of something like wonder.

“We could, uh, try some of them out, if that… was a thing you wanted to explore?” Bucky suggested, hopefully.

“We’ll have to test all of them,” Tony said thoughtfully. “Probably more than once. Science requires repetition, you know.”

“It’s only science if you write it down,” Bucky said. “An’ uh, I was thinkin’ this was more of a what happens in Zurich stays in Zurich kinda sitch here. I mean, not the dating. Or the kissing, that’s… I’m totally open t’ you know, having the team. Well, know. Not that Nat doesn’t already, but… spies, what can you do? But… I think we can skip on the whole sexual possession post-mission report.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s fair, that’s... definitely not anything anyone else needs to know about,” Tony said. “Went down into the catacombs, found his camp and the necklace, the end.” He brushed his thumb down the side of Bucky’s neck, considering. “So what’s your candidate, then? For a kiss?”

“Oh, I kinda like those standing kisses, pushin’ someone back against a wall, and kiss til your legs get all weak an’ the wall’s the only thing holdin’ you up,” Bucky said. “That’s my favorite.”

“Yeah?” Tony looked around. “Oh look. A wall.” He hooked his hand in Bucky’s shirt and tugged until they were both upright. “Want to show me?”

"I would, in fact, love to," Bucky growled. New plan, his brain decided. How to get Tony out of these pants and into the bed, a three phase project.

[mucky-puddler]

Here is Kubrick blog no. 2

So, this week I’ll be looking at Kubrick’s early work (again), Paths of Glory, and the introduction of Depth of Field; Stanley Kubrick, film, and the uses of history – yes, that is the whole title.

The first thing Nathan had us all do was shout out any themes we could think of that Kubrick had used in the films we had watched so far. This list ended up being ridiculously long and appeared to contain every film under the sun (which is something I never understood – creatives don’t really think about themes when creating things, it just kinda happens, so what is the point in listing themes to look at?). Here are a few examples of themes we named;

- Madness

- Masculinity

- Obsession

- Photography

- Chess

- Brutality

- Violence

- Animalism

- Sport

- Fathers/mothers

We then reviewed the Seafarers (again) and looked deeper at the shot composition used; one of the more obvious ones was the shot change from machinery to people, suggesting that within the seafarer community the people are simply machines designed to complete certain tasks.

Let’s move on to the man himself. It has been suggested that Kubrick makes his films for men, and the evidence is as such – his characters fulfilled the stereotypes of having the damsel in distress and the knight in shining armour, making his female characters weaker and in need of assistance, he would often utilise the male gaze to sexualise women (as seen in the Seafarers when the camera pans up and holds on the image of a naked calendar), all of which makes him seem misogynistic. Alternatively, Kubrick could just be representing the world around him – personally, I think we give people who grew up during the 40’s and 50s much more credit than they deserve – there is no way we can assume that so many people during that time felt the way we all feel now, because the times have changed so much and we don’t want to ruin our idealised, romanticised perspective of a different time. I’m not saying that there weren’t people that thought this way, I have no doubt that there were, I just don’t believe that everyone thought that way. In every single piece of media I have studied where there is some injustice, the argument has always been made that they were “representing the views of the time”, inferring that the creators did not have the same views when it is entirely possible that their own views aligned with the unjust perspective they present.

Okay, rant over for now.

Something else I picked up on, that is somewhat related to what I’ve said above, is how Kubrick used his camera to give himself as much freedom as possible. Kubrick was commissioned to film the Seafarers as a promotional piece, meaning there was very little creative liberty given to Kubrick – what he did have control over was the camera movement. It would appear that his favourite were the long tracking shots, giving the audience long takes of the food hall (and the food itself, to a pornographic extent).

Another clear feature is Kubrick’s sense of humour – his sense of humour was young, like that of a teenage boy (hence the calendar shot). He would sneak as much suggestive evocative imagery through the loopholes into his films to entertain his audience.

And now for our word of the week – Gematria; Greek for geometry, turning letters into numbers, giving the numbers power, meaning texts have hidden codes.

It has been suggested that Kubrick used gematria in his films – critics and fanatics have spent hours poring over his films, trying to discover the hidden meanings behind the numbers and text he leaves in the shots. The numbers 7 and 3 are said to be popular numbers in Kubrick’s films but no one has figured out why yet. I personally don’t see the point in obsessing over every pixel in a shot to mangle it into an alternative meaning, but some people enjoy it, so you do you.

The last thing I took from the lecture was that theme and style should be considered together, especially over the many films brought to life by a single director. For Kubrick, we should look at similar themes through films like 2001 and Spartacus and Lolita, just to name a few.

Now onto the film – the film we watched this week was Paths of Glory. Like all of Kubrick’s films so far, it starts with a lovely bit of narration and a somewhat boring long shot – expositional, some would call it. Both these features together let us know that we are in for a war-time film. For almost the entirety of the rest of the film, I couldn’t understand what these characters were saying, So I had to gather the deeper plotlines from context. Something I drew from the film was how realistic it was for a film of that era; it does not romanticise war like others have, it is a good example of strong men being scared to obey orders, then suffering the consequences.

Here is something about the film that confused me – there is a single shot that pans around the characters to watch them leave, and a washing bowl that was used at the beginning of the scene comes back into the shot – why? It is not referenced at all in the scene, or even the rest of the film. Why was that shot included? Was it because it looks cool? Thinking about it deeper, the character played by Kirk Douglas was using it at the beginning of the scene – this character goes on to defend the men who get called to trial for ‘not following orders’ but assigning their deaths anyway because of the the decision of the court. To someone who grew up religious, this sounds familiar (that’s right, we got Jesus imagery right here). Kirk Douglas’ character could be reflected as Pontius Pilot – he washes his hands of the blood of the men under his command (as demonstrated by the washing bow) – making the men that were sacrificed as an example to the rest a reflection of Jesus – they were strung up to poles.

Let’s now talk about authority, an obvious theme in this film. There appears to be two types of authority – those who care about the mission, and those who care about the people. The general, who is the former of these two authorities, could be considered obsessed with winning the battle and then the war, and does not consider casualties (he’s a bit of a dickhead). On the other hand, the colonel’s concern is for the men and the logic behind why they did not obey orders (which makes sense). There is, as there is with reality, challenge and contention within and between the ranks; everyone wants to either impress their superiors or undermine them. Within the theme of authority, I’m going to make up a sub-theme – authority vs reality; those in higher authority have an idea that they want to execute, and put it into action without thinking about the factors that could make it possible e.g. the men that would have to die to make their ideas a success. The reality of the ideas is that it most likely isn’t possible, and hundreds of men would die in the process before the authority would begin to realise. One of my favourite scenes from the film is when the fate of the selected men are being decided by the colonel and two generals, one of whom is for killing them in a court-martial, the other hearing reason and willing to give them a fair(ish) trial. The colonel is framed between the two generals, and at first, I thought it would have made more sense to have the more neutral general framed between the two arguing parties. However, after a second thought, the colonel is the one frames between two opposing but equal forces – they are the angel and devil on his shoulders (hell year).

Ah yes, we love a courtroom drama, a turn I did not expect this film to make – it reminded me of the courtroom scene in Hacksaw Ridge (such a good film), and I feel this is a fair comparison; the intensity was continual and high, there was a ‘will they, won’t they’ vibe to it, and an all-round good scene for both films. Only with “Paths of Glory”, I hated the son-of-a-bitch prosecutor and the court for clearly favouring him, giving way to another sub-authority theme – humanity vs the court. Like the overbearing general, the court sides with the authority rather than reason – I thought the defence was not given the opportunity to give their case to the fullest extent, even though their evidence was solid.

The final theme I’m going to look at is religion (catholic flavour) – there isn’t a whole lot to say here as it doesn’t play a huge role in the film, the only religious figure (other than the Jesus imagery) is the father that comes to bless those who were chosen to be sacrificed as an example to the others.

Okay, onto the reading – this reading doesn’t really have anything to do with the film specifically, and I only got through the introduction again. These people really need to calm down with their intros because I’m never going to actually read something of merit if they keep their intro’s long. The book I read is called “Depth of Field: Stanley Kubrick, Film, and the uses of History”. One of the first things it discusses is the phrase ‘depth of field’, because it’s meaning it two-fold; the first is concerning photography, as depth of field refers to how sharp and in focus parts of a shot are (which is relevant to Kubrick because he loved photography, so would be able to use depth of field to his advantage), and the second is in reference to researching and trying to understand as much about an area of expertise as possible (this could be Kubrick researching for his films, or could be these critics learning as much as they can about Kubrick – I suspect it’s the latter).

Also, they spoke very briefly about how what is in the frame is the only thing that can “portray the world of human emotion/feeling and action realistically”. I completely disagree with this statement – there are so many elements that goes into portraying human emotion, like music, rhythm, acting lighting, just to mention a few.

Something else I don’t quite understand is how/why directors are praised for working in multiple genres over their career – how is it different to a student having to do multiple courses or modules at the same time? Surely, they just work in whatever genre they want to at the time?

This might just become a list of things I don’t understand because we already know that Kubrick liked to have control over every single aspect of the film, but according to this introduction, he let the cast and crew experiment with their tasks? How does that work?

A quote I found interesting is this – “…seen as bringing the terrible news of the twentieth-century history…to a mass audience” – sorry what? What is this even saying? Is he translating what was happening around him into film for other people to better understand? But if that is the case, then the ‘terrible news’ would have already passed because of how long it takes to make and distribute a film. Why aren’t these people reading the news? Surely no one relies solely on film to give them ‘terrible news of the twentieth-century history’? Or does this mean the people outside of America, seeing as global news was not yet prevalent?

Anyway.

Adorno is a man that pops up a few times in this intro and is said to have said “art and ideology are becoming one and the same thing” and I honestly love that because it’s kinda true. This is also the same guy that said “poetry became impossible after Auschwitz” which is the kind of deep, philosophical shit I enjoy.

This intro really does jump all over the place because then they discuss how Kubrick primarily adapted texts that weren’t already popular, with the exceptions of The Shining and Lolita, so his audience could judge his work as his own rather than an adaptation. This seems a little selfish to me. Like he’s not acknowledging the fact that it’s someone else’s work?

I do plan on reading more than just the intro’s to the actual readings, but it’s so difficult because the intros are so long! Also, somehow this blog ended up being longer than the last one, I don’t know how that happened, please don’t hate me.

[bellstanzo]

#ARIANA GRANDE | CISFEMALE | SHE/HER | HOMOSEXUAL - ISABELLA ( BELLE ) COSTANZO is a TWENTY-FOUR year old GRAD STUDENT that moved into apartment D2 a good TWO YEARS ago. the PISCES has been in town for SIX YEARS overall and is well known around seattle ridge for being +ALTRUISTIC and +LOYAL, but has a reputation of being -OPINIONATED and -JEALOUS. guess that’s why they call them the SWEETHEART around these parts! (miranda, 23, she/her, pst.)

hello !! it’s miranda ( again ), here to bring you my lil princess bELLE. i’ve written this character before so there’s a lot of info in here. feel free to just.. u know, skim. and then hit the like button so i can invade ur dms for more plots

NAME: ISABELLA  ( BELLE ) CONSTANZO AGE: TWENTY-FOUR ( march 3rd, 1995 ) GENDER:  CISFEMALE POSITIVES: RELIABLE, ALTRUISTIC, LOYAL, HELPFUL, PATIENT, & HONEST. NEGATIVES: OPINIONATED, CLINGY, PETTY, JEALOUS & SENSITIVE. LABEL: THE SWEETHEART

belle is the daughter of two italian immigrants and the oldest of two children. although her parents were able to afford a nice home in a decent neighborhood, they both worked full-time so she was often left to care for her younger sibling. despite the difficulties that they faced, she was always happy to help out around the house and take care of her sibling because it provided a sense of relief to her parents ( whom she admired greatly ).

in high school she did everything she possibly could to ensure that she would be able to attend a university without burying her family in debt ( i.e., she maintained a perfect gpa, did cheerleading, and was a member in many of her school’s clubs, etc. ). luckily, her hard work paid off and she was able to secure several scholarships and grants. now, after having graduated college with a b.a. in english and gender studies, she is pursuing an m.a. in education. she has yet to decide if she wants to teach children or pursue a phd and become a professor, but she has another year to contemplate her future before she graduates.

currently, she is a full-time student and a part-time tutor at the university. she lives in an apartment near the campus and is most often seen huddled over her laptop in a coffee shop or a park somewhere working on one of her assignments. she isn’t the wildest person out there, but she loves to go out with her friends and let loose as long as her school work is complete. for her, school has always been a top priority because she could never afford to lose any of her scholarships or grants. she wants to make her parents proud and take advantage of the opportunities they have provided for her by coming to the united states.

KEY POINTS:

she is bilingual ( english and italian )

she loves being helpful/feeling useful, so she is often generous and always lending her support to others

she is sUPER affectionate and loves forming close emotional bonds with other people

she is a lesbian

after coming out, a lot of her family were unsupportive of her. she grew up in a traditional catholic home so it took her parents a little while to get used to the idea of having a gay child but now she has the full support of her immediate family.

she has strong personal beliefs, morals, and values but living in such a liberal area helps her feel more at ease.

generally speaking, she’s pretty easy going. she doesn’t like being confrontational, but she is willing to acknowledge that sometimes confrontation is necessary.

she is IN LOVE with love. like, the girl is completely enamored by women and thinks they are divine.

she has two tatoos: ‘amor vincit omnia’ written in script along the left side of her ribcage and the outline of a small rose along the inside of her right bicept.

her mbti personality type is enfj-t ( the protagonist ), which is very must reflected in her desire to be a teacher. she is a natural leader, and someone who is willing to stand up for what she believes is right.

she’s a ravenclaw, for any potterheads out there.

enneagram type 2: the helper/servant ( caring, generous, people-pleasing, possessive )

she is very much a femme. or a lipstick lesbian, if you will. she loves her crop tops, make-up, oversized hoodies, high-heels, etc.

she likes reading, singing/anything that has to do with music, nature, learning ( about literally anything ), pasta, feminism, and people who are dependable.

she can’t stand liars. she values honesty and consistency far too much to put up with people who lie all the time.

i’m sure i’ll think of other things and probably come back to add them aksdjhaskl

WANTED PLOTS:

unofficial roommate, exs, best friends, enemies, childhood friends, a crush, a student/pupil ( since she tutors ).

i’ve got a plots tab on my blog if you wanna check that out *wink wink* bUT like this post and i’ll come message you

[jesusfreak83]

Supernatural gifts

Have you been able to witness any supernatural stuff lately? For most of my life this stuff which I believe seems like it should simply be everywhere, but doesn't seem to be anywhere! And to top things off, the darkness has been getting bigger and deeper.

Scripture says to seek ye first the kingdom of God, and I agree we should be seeking with all our strength to do that! What is God's kingdom?! We hear this all the time, but is it just a place up in heaven we should be remembering to keep our eyes on? The prize, the goal, the promise we are so excited to know about. Our hope, our passion, and what makes God so cool! But is that really what that means?! Maybe we made up to this next plateau and left something down below...

The kingdom of God is more than just our hope, or motivation, it is also described in the old testament, and is a real way of life, culture if you will. Adonai, the sovereign Lord, has a kingdom with a schedule that uses his superior view of reality to help us mentally and emotionally. It is what the Bible is all about! After years and years of church aren't you compelled to think there is something that doesn't add up?

One of the biggest parts of a kingdom, is that the king makes the rules and that includes the schedule. God appointed the Sun and Moon to be signs for the seasons, and he also asked for us to celebrate seven feasts with their very own topics of focus.

Chanukah, also known as the festival of lights, is one of the coolest holidays the Jewish people came up with! During the Maccabean war, the temple was claimed by heathens who defiled the temple by sacrificing pigs in it! The Jews later recaptured the temple but they were left with only one jar of holy oil. That oil was to keep the temple sacred by burning at all times... The oil survived eight days!! While the priests made new oil, and one jar usually only lasted one day. It was a miracle, and so often we need to be reminded of this miracle. It is all about trusting in the Lord! Right in the heart of the depression that sets in during the cold season too! The forces of darkness have removed the story of Maccabees from most non-catholic Bible's. The festival of lights was mentioned in the Gospel, and I am sure Jesus was celebrating it as well!

Here in the USA we relate to "for the people by the people", but God had a strict set of traditions that we were supposed to keep forever. Did you realize that Paul said that they should not burden the gentiles with a bunch of rules. Circumcision and other things were considered too heavy and they decided to leave them out for the new believers because they did not have enough of the established understanding of the laws and the significance. I know what you are thinking Jesus is the new covenant and the old covenant doesn't matter anymore, but that isn't the words that were used by Jesus! Jesus came to fulfill, not abolish the law, and the big leaders agreed.

The Puritan's that came on the Mayflower celebrated the Passover, and the festival of lights, there is a feast of booths and first fruits, there is also the day of atonement, the feast of trumpets, the day of Pentecost, and unleavened bread! God asked us to celebrate the feasts he created for us for a reason! He wants us to be in the right season to best supplement the our minds with the seasons and teachings together for our moods sake!

Did you know the moon affects our bioenergy? Statistics show trends in criminal activity due to the phases of the moon. Are you aware elctromagnetic chaos can affect your thinking? It does it to 🐝... They will lose their ability to fly, by frequenting a signal at a steady natural rate to flap their wings, inside areas where there is Wi-Fi! The moon is changing the electro magnetic fields as it moves in line with the sun to a stronger pull to something else when it battles the sun for the pull on the other side... I am compelled to add that Nickola Tesla called our planet a natural Tesla Coil. It is of significance because all of this stuff has general bearing in our mental positioning and mood to easily access certain parts of our mind... And God controls the positioning of the heavens and the rate they revolve. Sometimes there is a lunar month of 27 days and others it is up to 29.

It seems there is a lot of darkness that has been getting stronger and a lack of supernatural power in the world I grew up in. I cannot speak for you but I am pretty sure that seems to be the case for my guess is 90% of the community of believers. My recommendation is that we should pay attention to the scripture! God built a beautiful future for us, but we have got to be ready to grow up and learn and obey, as the gentiles would have had the opportunity to after they got enough education. A foster or orphan is a good analogy of this.

We are born into sin and this is something we must confront. Whether or not we think there is no way our parents or their parents or their parents could have been dumb or ignorant to this stuff... The Bible speaks for itself and we must let it tell us the truth.

Jeremiah 10 clearly depicts a Christmas tree as being something a Christian should not learn to do! Ponder upon the symbolic nature of the Christmas tree. What did the Christmas tree represent to begin with? If you ask me it is a mockery of life. The tree is cut down, one is wasting a perfectly good life force to dress it up for a funeral. It is laden with tinsel and everybody loves it, except someone can have a little secret. A nice laugh about the tree's doom. God is not one to laugh about destruction, that grieves him. He has done his best to purchase our salvation. It is a mockery of the truth, because we are blessed so immensely, and death is but only a moment on a short of moments that should not be dwelt upon. The tree is part of a bitter moment.

I have a feeling that God will answer prayers to those who will move into his kingdom, to live under his rules and follow his schedule. If we abide in the schedule he created for us, we are going to increase his love for us. He set a standard and if you don't show up you aren't going to be blessed. Scripture says the gate is narrow, I am very persuaded that the lunar Jewish calendar the feasts and original schedule for the Jews was and still are permanent pieces of God's kingdom. If we start using the edge we have in God's will, the best advice we can have, then we might start to impress the Lord, as we choose his will and ways over our own ideas of how life "goes"!

If you are like me you want to impress the Lord and do his will. So keep making sure you are on the good dirt by choosing him and his ways! The Lord is good to us he will provide a way. Trust in him and lean not on your own understanding!

So what can we do? Let's PRAY: Dear Lord you are the king of my schedule. You own each second of my life. Thank you for being so passionate for me! I need every foothold I can get. Help me find a way to your kingdom grace. Bring people into my life that will be open to your schedule. Help me resolve the issues I must struggle with in my worklife. Please forgive me of my anxiety about work and help me forgive those who will sin against me. Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from this evil. For yours is; the kingdom, the power, and the GLORY forever and ever, Amen!

Please do not look down on your pastors. Do not argue about these things but gently encourage others to see the truth. Hold a conference outside a library and explain to others what the lunar calendar is and the feasts of the Lord. Start with what you can handle, share your findings! We have to get the word out and others will start to soften or even become interested in the beautiful ways of the Lord!

I hope you will contact me with any questions... I would love to pass on some information I have learned to you. May you be blessed by our Creator and LORD!

[dudence-blog]

Just when I thought I was out...

What does it take to get me to do this again?

This.

It took this.

I just love dogs: I live in the downtown area of a gentrifying city. I have worked intentionally to become part of the community I joined, while respecting its roots—supporting local business, volunteering, etc. I know I have lots of unconscious racial biases, but I try hard to listen and not cause harm.

Dear I Love Dogs, this question goes on FOREVER.  You unironically use the phrase “dog parents”.  You also wrote “I usually operate with a fairly high level of emotional intelligence...”   Jeebus fuck, find a physician who can undo your rectal-cranial inversion and have your head extracted from your fifth point of contact.  Maybe they do think you’re a racist.  They certainly think you’re an asshole.  You should write them a note and slip it under their door so you can remove all doubt.

Sigh.  Okay.  Frustration is gone.  Now for useful advice.  Don’t write a note.  NuPru’s advice to apologize is spot on.  Since “apologize” didn’t pop into your head before “explain how I’m not really racist” I also suggest you do a little self-reflection on just how high your EQ really is.

Cousin: My cousin “Fred” and I grew up together. High school was very rough for him, but college is even worse. Fred has always been overweight and struggled with the opposite sex. His high school girlfriend broke up with him when she got accepted to a different college than he did. Fred hasn’t had a date since. He dresses like a slob, doesn’t shave, and does nothing but play video games and watch porn.

Dear Cousin, you don’t need to procure women for Fred.  Ignore NuPru’s advice about what you need to tell Fred.  Fred’s greatest limitation is not his misogyny but the fact that he is romantically unpleasant in every other way.  Don’t get me wrong, having video games and masturbating as a hobby isn’t a bad choice, but all things in moderation here.  Fred needs to become a person people want to be with if he wants people (read: ladies) to want to be with him.  Being overweight, not conventionally attractive, demeaning towards women, engaged in a lot of gaming and self-love are not, by themselves, barriers to getting laid.  But when you bring in the healing power of And to these traits you’re going to be doing a lot of self-love.  Straight-forwardly tell Fred that you’re not going to hook him up with anyone because right now he’s not someone you’d want anyone you know to hang out with.  You can be as kind or mean in this delivery as you wish.  But it’s a message that needs to be delivered.

Forgiving a May-December marriage: A few years ago, one of my closest friends started dating an 18-year-old girl. The relationship creeped me out because even though nothing seemed “wrong,” he was not anywhere close to being 18. I couldn’t see past it, so I pulled away from our friendship. Now it’s several years later, the couple is still together, and they’re talking marriage. The girl is now an age I consider old enough and wise enough to take care of herself, despite the age gap. Was I wrong to judge?

Dear Forgiving, see, this is question where Prudie’s recent joining of the patriarchy is failing him.  He sees “Older man dating young, but legal, adult,” and can’t wrap his mind around the idea that, sometimes, there are men who like young women, and there are women who also, like those older men.  So, where you’re seeing the okay to do something you want to do, he’s breaking out the “Maybe he was grooming her!”  First off, you know what, I’m going to say that you were wrong to judge them and to pull away from your friend due to this judgmental attitude.  But, we’re past this now, you miss your friend, your friend misses you, and you’re now comfortable with J. Howard and Anna’s relationship.  Re-engage with them, and if the topic of “why did we drift apart?” comes up, lie.

Heathen with hurt feelings: One of my best friends, “George,” got married this past weekend. We’ve been friends for about five years. I love his wife, “Alice,” too, who is kind and fun. They are a great match. I was around for a lot of the wedding planning, and I was aware they were planning a traditional Catholic ceremony as this was incredibly important to Alice’s parents and, to a lesser extent, Alice, who is a progressive practicing Catholic. George was raised Catholic but is now not religious. He made it clear to me that the ceremony was for Alice and her family. He expressed often how ironic he found it to be getting married in a Catholic church after he had distanced himself so much from the religion. Though I was expecting a traditional ceremony, I was honestly blown away by how regressive, patriarchal, and homophobic it was. It contained multiple, overt references to marriage as a union for a man and a woman. The theme of the homily was marriage as not about one’s own happiness but about servitude and sacrifice.

Dear Heathen, annnnnnnnnnnnd here we are.  The question that made me have to remember a Tumblr password.  “It contained multiple, overt references to marriage as a union for a man and a woman.”  Yes, because you were in a Catholic Church seeing two Catholics being married by a Catholic priest.  I was going to make a cheap-shot about your marriage recently ending and you taking a homily about sacrifice in a marriage, but that isn’t fair.  However, yes, a happy marriage does involve a good deal of sacrifice and servitude.  A marriage is not about you, or them, and if you make it so then you’re probably going to be disappointed.  But that is neither here nor there.  You wanting to have a conversation with George because his wedding to the woman he loves made you feel bad is an incredibly self-centered move.  You’re basically asking “How can I make one of the most important days of my friend’s life about how it hurt me?”  Actually, you know what, you’re not “basically” asking that.  That is what you’re asking.  You should totally ask him that verbatim.

No.  Don’t do that.

Ignore Prudie.  There is about zero approaches you can approach this issue in a way that is not an attack on George and Alice.  

[wayoutrp-blog]

AN INTERVIEW WITH DANI!

Welcome to Way Out Records, Ellie.

We thought you did a great job at combining the canon Dani with this alternate universe, and we love the face claim you picked for her! The changes you’ve made to her bio, and we’re really excited to see her in action.

We also like the idea of Demi staying her voice claim, so that we’ll accept that change as well!

Please get your account to us within 24 hours. We look forward to rping with you! We’ll implement the changes to her bio shortly.

THE MUSE…

CHARACTER: Danielle “Dani” Faith Harper.

FACE CLAIM: Lindsey Morgan.

CHARACTER CHANGES: Could Demi be her voice claim or is that not allowed? If not, leaving it as it is is fine!

DIGGING DEEPER…

#1 edit: Dani was raised in a big, conservative family. Being herself was something her parents discouraged, and tried to shape her into what they wanted her to be. Unfortunately for them, Dani was very much her own person, and it just so happened that that person was pretty damn cool.

#3 edit: Dani has been heartbroken more times than she’s willing to admit. When Dani loves, she loves hard, and finds it difficult to admit to herself that that’s probably why her ex girlfriends have left her. Being abandoned by her family, she definitely does harbor some issues in that area, and knows she needs to work on them.

Dani was raised in a small house, due to her parents having very little money. She worked part-time jobs as soon as she was old enough to, and has always been very realistic and appreciative as far as money and her spending habits.

With Catholic parents who raised her by the Lord’s word, although Dani doesn’t agree with their old Catholic ideals, she does love her Lord and thinks highly of her faith. Her parents may have told her God doesn’t love her anymore, but she sure loves him.

Despite coming out to her friends at the age of fifteen, Dani found it difficult to do so to her parents. Three years later, once she finally plucked up the courage, they turned their backs on her. Dani has been on her own ever since.

It’s rare Dani is ever seen without one of her two guitars; her only big purchases. She also plays piano, and loves to write her own songs. Though she hasn’t braved going solo just yet.

While music is of course a huge deal to her, Dani loves to make artwork, and if music runs its course for her, she’d love to explore the world of tattoo artistry.

THE INTERVIEW PORTION…

WHAT IS ONE BIG THING THAT’S INSPIRED YOU IN YOUR CAREER?

My aunt Sara. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are a million musicians out there that inspire me and that I grew up listening to, but my aunt is where I got my musical abilities from, I’m pretty sure. She always encouraged me to pursue music, and although I like to think of myself as a pretty out there, headstrong person, I don’t know if I would’ve really grabbed it as intensely without that big push from her. She’s totally my inspiration, I tell her pretty much daily.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE MOST ABOUT WHAT YOU DO?

Is it dumb to say all of it? Because I’m not even kidding, I freaking love all of it. There’s nothing like putting your work out there for other people to enjoy as much as you do, and then seeing how well they connect with it. I totally cried the first time we performed for a big crowd, but it’s okay, I’m pretty sure I passed it off as dust in my eye.

HOW HAVE YOU AND YOUR WORK EVOLVED OVER THE LAST FIVE YEARS?

I’m in my thirties now, and I feel like even though I thought I was super mature five years ago, I really wasn’t. I can handle criticism better now, and I feel like that totally shows in my work, you know? If someone doesn’t like something I do, I don’t get defensive about it, I take their feedback and I work with it, and I’m always able to create something better fitting. It’s just an all around more mature vibe these days, I dig it.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR WORK WITH WAY OUT RECORDS?

I think to answer this in one word, I’d say proud. It’s amazing knowing this started out so small and that I got to contribute something to the reach it has today. So I honestly just feel really freaking proud, and I’m excited to see Way Out expand even further.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 17

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 17

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The Parkinson Hills Cemetery in Valiant is old. Magic trickles down Rory’s spine as soon as they pass through the gates, and Dax’s jaw sets tightly. Alex calls his name, but Dax raises a hand and she goes silent. Near the gate, the graves are newer, the headstones shiny and tall. Rory can see statues rising near the back, along with the twisted overhanging branches of long-planted trees. He thinks he spots at least one mausoleum set into a hill.

Cars dot the roads that thread between the sites, but Dax drives through the newer sites and into the older area. He goes down a hill at the back, and Rory spots Darrik’s car just past a gate that leads into a separated off segment of the cemetery. Dax pulls in behind Darrik, then leans against the steering wheel, head slumped forward, breathing slowly.

“Let’s get out,” Alex says. She glances at Cass, then pushes past her.

“You go, I’ve got this.” Cass waits until they’re all out before she takes over the front seat, leaning with one hand on Dax’s shoulder. She brushes the backs of her fingers against Dax’s cheek, whispers something Rory can’t hear.

He backs away; it’s too quiet and intimate.

He almost walks into Alex, catching the tail end of her conversation with Kit. “You don’t have to stop being everything you were just so you can be who you are now,” she says earnestly. Rory stops himself from bumping into them, rocks back on his feet as if he can catch her when Alex steps his way.

“Sorry, I’m intruding.”

“No, it’s okay.” Alex tilts her head, frowning. “I don’t have a message for you. Which is weird because I think I have one for everyone I’ve seen so far today except for maybe whoever we’re here to—” Her eyes go wide, posture deflating. “Oh. You,” she says.

Rory turns to see Darrik standing there, his hands in the pockets of his beaten up leather bomber jacket, one eyebrow arched as he looks at Alex. “Miss Katsoulis,” he says.

“Mr. Malone,” Alex replies. She glances from Rory to Kit and back to Darrik. “In retrospect, maybe I should have asked Dax a few more details about this outing, rather than just going along on instinct. On the other hand, I really did need to be here.” She snaps her mouth closed, and it looks like she’s biting her tongue, trying to hold words in.

Rory slips past her, trying not to flinch when it involves touching her shoulders to make space for himself. Darrik holds out one hand, and Rory tangles their fingers together, letting himself be pulled into a hug. Rory holds on tight, presses his cheek against Darrik’s head; he can feel when Darrik exhales slowly.

“You okay?” Rory asks when he pulls back. “We sprang this on you last minute. But with Dax having the van, it seemed like a good time to try this again.”

“No,” Darrik answers plainly.

“I told you it’s okay if you—” Alex cuts herself off abruptly, clapping both hands over her mouth. “I’m going to go see if Dax needs help.” The words are muffled and tight.

Darrik shifts his position, his arm across Rory’s back. He’s warm and solid, and Rory has a feeling that it’s more for Darrik’s comfort than his own. He’s happy to do that, and lays his own arm across Darrik’s shoulders, holding on.

Kit clears his throat.

Rory motions for him to come over. “This is my friend Kit that I was telling you about. And the guy on crutches is Shane. And of course, that’s Dax, who talks to ghosts.”

Dax comes around the other side of the van, Cass and Shane trailing behind. “What happened with Alex? She’s sitting on Noah’s grave having a conversation like she’s the one who can talk to ghosts. And I’m pretty sure that Noah’s still not here.”

“That’s good, right?” Darrik asks.

Dax coughs, scratches at the back of his head. “As far as I know that’s good, yes. But we wanted to make absolutely sure he’s not here, too, so Shane, Kit, and Rory have some ideas for ways to try to augment my Talent. Most ghosts love to reach out and touch me. Noah’s not doing that, which should mean that he’s already gone on and doesn’t have any unfinished business.

Darrik’s shoulders slump. He twists, looking to where Alex sits cross-legged on the grave, talking animatedly with her hands moving. “On the first day of class this year, Alex walked into my freshman AP World class and said it’s okay if you don’t ever get over him, you’re not supposed to. Then she took her seat with her friends, and class went on like nothing happened. Noah was still alive then.”

“She’s part oracle, and she’s having a hell of a day.” Dax closes his eyes, exhales slowly. “I worry about her on days like this. I mean, it gets infuriating sometimes, because she’s just blurting things out, and sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad. Sometimes they hurt people, because they’re not ready to hear it. But she has to deal with all of it, too.”

“She’s smart,” Darrik says. “I don’t usually have a problem with her in my classes, aside from a few cryptic comments.”

“What else has she said?” Rory asks. He’s curious, wondering if anyone’s ever started a notebook of what Alex says to who, and what kind of picture could be built like a puzzle from those statements.

“It’s latent,” Darrik replies. “Just that, nothing else. I’m not even sure she was talking to me. It was last Wednesday, when she put her report in the basket, and she just kept walking afterward to her desk.” He shrugs, and Rory moves a step closer to him. “Why don’t we just get this done?”

Kit holds up a hand. “Hang on, I’ve got something for this.” He ducks back into the van, digs through his bag and emerges with a piece of sketch paper. The drawing isn’t anything more than pencil, but it’s enough to make Darrik inhale sharply when Kit passes it over.

There is one figure on the page, black cloaked with the hood thrown back. Darrik touches the face. “Noah.”

“I went combing through newspapers because I wanted to create a focal point, and I thought I’d use the base Tarot imagery I was raised with, but try to incorporate something personal for Noah as well.” Kit points to where the image carries a keyboard under one arm, the cable trailing behind him. He walks a path of ones and zeroes, leading into darkness. “It’s Death, which sounds bad, but it really means change. Because death is the ultimate change. But if we’re looking for Noah’s ghost, that’s a different kind of change. I just thought….” He trails off, shrugs.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Shane says.

Darrik still stands there, the picture in his hand, staring down at it.

Rory leans into him. “Hey,” he whispers.

“I’m not okay,” Darrik whispers back. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re mourning. Not being okay is part of it.” Rory’s not sure what to do. There’s probably something he should say or do, rather than just being here and holding on. He can’t imagine losing someone that important, and doesn’t even want to try. “Do you still want us to make the attempt today, or should we put it off?”

Several slow breaths, quiet and even. The only sound is Alex’s muttered chatter in the background, and Dax’s footsteps as he shuffles his feet.

“Yes,” Darrik decides. “I want to move forward, and you’re doing this to help Lorraine. And your friends.”

“Exactly.” Dax carefully takes the image from Darrik’s hand, smoothes out the few wrinkles. “Darrik, why don’t you find somewhere comfortable to sit with Alex and Cass to watch, and we’ll try to get started.”

Shane convinces Alex to move, and she ends up with Cass and Darrik sitting under a nearby apple tree. Most of the graves here are older, but Noah’s is obviously new. There is a similar headstone to the left, carved with Adam Steinberg, and dates that make Rory think it might be Noah’s father. He can’t read the rest of the writing on the stone, all in Hebrew.

“Are we going to be going against his faith?” Rory asks. The gates set this section apart, separate from the rest. “This is the Jewish Cemetery within Parkinson Hills, right?”

Darrik nods. “The Jewish Community Center is right over there. They purchased space almost two centuries ago, ensured that this part of the cemetery would remain for them.” He points past the hill and through the trees to where a low building lies, surrounded by parking lot. “And I don’t know. Noah was—he was reform. He loved his rabbi—they spent a lot of time talking, especially after we started dating. Long conversations about magic and God. I should go talk to him, but I just haven’t been able to convince myself to.”

“Did you ever talk about death?” Dax asks. “I mean, are we being disrespectful?”

Darrik shakes his head. “We weren’t old enough to. I mean, we still thought we were immortal. Noah definitely did. But magic—magic was okay. And I think that as long as we’re not trying to bring him back, or make him a god, or otherwise screw with his passing, it’ll be okay.”

Religion and magic have a cautious intersection, one that Rory knows very little about. He’s aware of the Catholic view of magic; his grandmother does her best to stay within the church and still accept her heritage. But it’s something that changes, day to day.

“Eventually we should talk to his rabbi,” Shane muses. “If he’s local.”

“Noah was local. He grew up with Lorraine and Jonathan right here in Valiant,” Darrik says.

Dax turns at that, frowning. “Wait. Lorraine had an older sister, right? Crystal? I remember her. We dated for like two weeks my sophomore year of high school—her freshman year. I didn’t even put all that together.”

“I don’t remember them,” Alex says quietly.

“How’s your history paper coming?” Darrik asks, and Alex squeaks.

“Good. It’s good. So good.”

She’s lying, and Rory wants to snicker at the way Alex has her hands clasped in her lap, her head tilted up as she tries to look innocent.

“I’m just editing the final draft,” Alex says. Rory’s still pretty sure she’s lying.

“It’s due Monday.”

“Oh my God, shut up, I know.” Alex claps her hand over her mouth. “That was rude. Sorry, Mr. Malone. I’ll have it done, I swear. I just. Dax’ll drop me off at home after this.”

Darrik arches both eyebrows, and Alex squeaks again.

When Rory meets his eyes, Darrik’s smiling broadly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. That look makes Rory’s heart thump, warming him from the inside out, better than a hug.

It is really weird watching Darrik in teacher mode and finding it adorable. Really, really weird.

“Rory, you stand over here.” Dax grips his wrist, pulling him into position. They’re arranged around the grave, with Kit kneeling right in front of the stone, the picture propped against it. Dax stands behind him, and Rory is at the rear left corner of the fresh patch of grass, while Shane stands awkwardly at the other rear corner. “Usually this is easy. If they’re here, they want to talk to me. I don’t normally do any kind of ritual to call ghosts to me. I have plenty of them chasing me as it is.” He casts his eyes sideways, and Rory wonders if there’s one right there, waiting for him.

Kit lays out a metal bowl of clear water on the ground in front of the stone, then lights candles. It is absolutely traditional ritual, but without any of the tradition behind it. Kit simply lights one to either side, then one floating in the water and sits back on his heels. He inhales, staying focused on the hand drawn Tarot card in front of him.

There’s a rising warmth around them, a soft breeze through the trees.

“Noah,” Dax calls out.

Shane reaches for Rory’s hand, and Rory grips him tightly. He breathes through the instinct to let his innate talent win through and does his best to bring power out, to feed it into the air around them.

“Noah, if you’re here, I’d like to talk to you. Help you,” Dax calls. He spins on his heel, takes a step back. “Shit.”

“What’s that mean?” Rory asks. He doesn’t see what Dax does, but he does see Dax’s hands come up, the way he pushes forward abruptly, stalking through the cemetery.

“Shit means that Noah’s still not here, but that much magic is attracting attention. Shut down the ritual,” Dax orders.

Alex jumps forward, crouches next to Kit, helping him douse the candles. One catches the corner of the picture, and the bottom corner burns away before Kit drops it in the bowl of water.

The warmth fades, leaving Rory shivering in the cold February air. He doesn’t object at all when Darrik wraps his arms around him from the back, pressing in close.

“I’m just going to go—” Dax motions into the other half of the cemetery, past the gate that they drove through on the way in. When Shane waves him away, Dax breaks into a jog.

“They love him,” Alex murmurs. “He’s going to be exhausted. Don’t make it worse on him tonight, Cass. Take care of him.”

“I will,” Cass agrees.

“That didn’t go as planned,” Shane says, a resigned note in his voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t help you.”

Rory gives him a look as Darrik’s arms go tight around his center. “Why?”

“Sometimes things go strange around me,” Shane admits. “But usually not anything relating to other people. Just things that affect me, personally.”

Kit straightens up, the bowl in his arms, empty of water and filled with candles instead. Alex has the picture, and she holds it out to Darrik, who unwinds from Rory to take it carefully.

Rory switches their position, wrapping around Darrik from the back to hold on to him while Darrik stares down at Noah’s face.

“It could be that we went against faith,” Kit says quietly. “Which is my fault. I didn’t realize he was Jewish, and don’t they refuse to have images of the dead on their stones? Which means using Noah’s image as part of the focus may have backfired.”

“Or he could just not be here.” Alex is watching where Dax is having an earnest conversation just past the edge of the Jewish section of the cemetery, his hands moving expressively. “We should probably get out of here as soon as Dax is able.”

She glances back at Darrik, walks over to him and touches his arm. “I’m sorry it didn’t go better, Mr. Malone. Don’t forget what I told you about latency, too. It’ll probably be important eventually.” She shrugs and walks past them, heading for the van. The door slides open, then closed again.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Darrik says quietly.

“That’s okay,” Cass tells him. “No one ever really does. It’s just Alex.” She squares her shoulders, reaches up and undoes her ponytail, quickly fixing it all over again, smoothing her hair. “I’m going to go get Dax and make sure he’s okay. You guys get into the cars. We’re going home.”

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