#i went to an author panel today and the book was about a father son relationship ajdkajsk

[rosekasa]

ladybug makes the observation at some point that chat noir, at the ripe age of fifteen, acts like such a dad sometimes. like he'll comment about how she should really sit up straight while theyre chilling out after patrol, and he'll start bringing a pair of binoculars so he can birdwatch from their rooftop, and he'll do that thing where after she casually mentions she's been craving strawberies lately he starts bringing industrial amounts of strawberries for her every time they meet. and she just thinks, wow, this boy must come from such a wonderful family for him to be so cute.

so when he quietly admits to her one day that he hasn't hugged his own dad in years, in fact he's not even sure if his own dad really likes him very much, her heart shatters

[atla-suki]

sokka’s treatment in lok was astonishing tbh but i’m actually glad he was dead by the time the series started bc toph being a cop??? aang being an awful dad???? they would’ve ruined him and suki’s characters lbr.

as far as any possible kids go idk we didn’t meet suyin till book 4 we barely saw izumi i think they just didn’t want to make the new series be a atla reunion plus lok was only meant to be one season so they were making that shit up as they went along lmao. and back in 2012-14?? they didn’t know themselves what happened to sukka lmao.

sokka and suki are definitely the type to break up bc of long distance but then find their way back to each other a few years later especially as they settle into their roles in life.

while bryke definitely neglect suki and sokka to some capacity also they do have a soft spot for suki after bringing her back. many don’t consider her to be team avatar but they’ve stated they do so idk ! she shows up a lot in the comics which have obv been created post-lok and it’s been said that they’ll utilise it’s plots and characters in shall see in future projects (crane fish town becoming republic city maybe??? where suki currently is working?? and sokka later lives!!)

i’m p sure suki will be in it at some capacity anyway and that there’ll stick with jennie as she’s one of the few asian og va’s. she’s doing a lot of work atm for avatar studios.

also random but i literally found out today that it’s not bryke-confirmed that mai and zuko end up together. it was a comment on a panel by the old comic writer. it’s not technically canon. izumi is the spit of mai anyway but hmm! interesting!!

btw btw suyin’s father was def a sandbending outlaw who toph had a secret relationship with that couldn’t be public bc of her role as police chief x

oo big ask ok let me break this up into different paragraphs …

fist point - one thing i will admit about lok is that it fell short in incorporating the original characters into the new series in an interesting way with enough verisimilitude (realistic-ness) that it didn’t feel like they were just throwing a popular character into an episode for the sake of it. such as the whole ‘aang is a bad dad’ thing because they under-utilised him as a mentor figure to korra and instead focused on his supposed favourite son (i have thoughts on this re. aang NOT being a ‘Bad’ dad but i will make another post on it if u are interested (or have i alr made one? i’ll make another one.))

i have to agree that they would’ve probably done something shitty to sokka or suki if they were included. especially with the entire first season of lok being about bender/non-bender equality… i can just imagine they’d make sokka say something dumb about the equalist movement being 100% Bad instead of him actually supporting some of their completely valid arguments. idk. i’m sad there’s no sukka but at the same time…. quit while ur ahead yk.

second point - sukka long distance relationship is so real ESPECIALLY during their first few years together. i can see them just kinda calling it off because of commitment issues due to their work, etc. but not ever really losing feelings. they’d be endgame tho🥰

i can absolutely see suki being in upcoming projects! especially since she and the other kyoshi warriors expanded their reach across the nations - it would be hard to ignore them completely if we’re assuming they’re including comic canon into the universe. i hope jenny returns!!

third point - yeah! how crazy that maiko as izumi’s parents isn’t canon confirmed… though she’s so clearly mai’s daughter. i wonder if mai’s role will be expanded in upcoming projects / if she’ll be featured more. hmmm.

fourth - would honestly prefer this to the theory sokka is her father lol. it kinda baffles me that TOPH became a cop.. not bc she opposes authority - there’s something different about enforcing it than there is having to follow it. i can see toph in authoritative positions, and she fits them well. but i think it baffles me moreso because why would toph even work as a COP? isn’t that boring as hell for her?? go do something awesome like probending or professional underground fighting (adult blind bandit anyone?? this would make a good fic) or literally just construction idk i feel like toph isn’t a Hard Worker type that would want to be stuck in such a rigid career.

[holystormfire]

John 8:51-59

"Before Abraham was, I am."

Scenes from the Story of Abraham,

An English linen needlework panel,

Worked with silk thread; tent and couching stitches,

Mid 17th century

© Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Gospel Reading

Very truly, I tell you, whoever keeps my word will never see death.' The Jews said to him, 'Now we know that you have a demon. Abraham died, and so did the prophets; yet you say, "Whoever keeps my word will never taste death." Are you greater than our father Abraham, who died? The prophets also died. Who do you claim to be?' Jesus answered, 'If I glorify myself, my glory is nothing. It is my Father who glorifies me, he of whom you say, "He is our God", though you do not know him. But I know him; if I were to say that I do not know him, I would be a liar like you. But I do know him and I keep his word.

Your ancestor Abraham rejoiced that he would see my day; he saw it and was glad.' Then the Jews said to him, 'You are not yet fifty years old, and have you seen Abraham?' Jesus said to them, 'Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am.' So they picked up stones to throw at him, but Jesus hid himself and went out of the temple.

Reflection on the Needlework Panel

The beautiful 17th-century English needlework panel depicts some scenes from the Story of Abraham, as recounted in the Book of Genesis. The central scene shows Abraham being informed by a host of angels that his wife Sarah will bear him a son, despite her (and his) advanced age. We can also see Abraham banishing his servant Hagar and her son by Abraham, Ishmael (lower left corner), and Abraham's attempted sacrifice of Sarah's son Isaac, the act he was ordered by God to perform as a test of his faith (upper right corner).

In today's Gospel reading Jesus makes an extraordinary claim that leads the Jewish leaders to want to stone him, ‘Before Abraham was, I am’. This claim of Jesus in the Gospel of John is in keeping with the opening line of that Gospel, ‘In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God’. Jesus existed with God in the beginning, before the creation of the world. He was before Abraham was, indeed, before anything had come into being. Yet, the Word who was with God in the beginning became flesh. He became like us in all things, except sin. While on earth, he remained with God. Having returned to God through his death and resurrection, he remains with us.

In the lead up to Holy Week, Jesus continues to reveal his true identity. Here he declares himself to be God, by stating that he existed before Abraham lived, thus revealing his divine nature. This is another one of the great "I am" sayings of Jesus in which he clearly states who he is.

We feel the tensions building up now towards the crucifixion. Because Jesus made claims such as this one, the Jewish rulers consider him a very real threat to their power and authority. They cannot let him continue to teach and attract more and more followers. Something has to be done about him. Jesus knows that the time is drawing near, and so his teachings become more and more intense, straight-to-the-point and urgent….

Article by Father Patrick van der Vorst

[funnyexel]

Something About You

Loki x Black Female Reader

A/n : In honor of the kick off of Loki, I’ve made this little short story about him. Thanks for 90+ followers! Requests are open!  Masterlist Mega List

You sat in the same seat you always did. In the same coffee shop you always visited but somehow today felt different...It didn’t feel like the other days. Typing away on your laptop, a towering male takes a seat across from you. Ignoring him, you continue your work. Stealing a glance, you see he has been staring at you. Clearing your throat, you try your best to sound intimidating. “Can I help you?” You look up from your screen for a few moments. He shakes his head, still in awe with something about you. 

“Look. I don’t want to be rude or anything but your staring is kind of distracting me.” You finally stop what your doing, trapping him in solid eye contact. Your eyes roam around his figure for a moment. Jet black hair, that reached his shoulders. Pale skin, that looked even paler compared to yours and a lazily sharp jaw. “What are you writing?” Your face twisted in a confused format. “A book. I am writing a book.” You take a sip of your drink. “Don’t let me stop you.” He gives a peering smirk.

With a huff, you go back to typing. His eyes are still fixed on you. Saving your document and closing your laptop. You fold your hands on top of the device. “Ok, what? You have my full attention.” He chuckles at your words. His laugh shaking you to your core. “What kind of book are you writing?” You lean your head on your hand. “I don’t know yet. I’m kind of having writers block at the moment.” He nods his head to you. Your eyes gliding over this handsome stranger. “That does seem quite frustrating.” His voice smooth and his wording proper. “Yes, very.” You look out the window for a moment before turning your head back to him and putting your hand out.

“I’m Y/n.” You introduce yourself to him, taking your hand he introduced himself. “I’m Loki.” His cold palm met your warm one and lightly shook. “Nice to meet you Loki.”

Y/n and Loki have met in that coffee shop ever since that day. It was their spot. They got to know each other. He’d tell her ridiculous stories about his home. Going on about how his father wouldn’t treat him like a son, how his brother is a brain dead doofus, and how he felt different from others. She could relate to some of his issues. He wanted to better himself and he told her, he was in a situation he couldn’t get out of. Months pass, you were on your way to your apartment from your publishers office in Midtown Manhattan. 

“Yeah, yeah the avengers are cool and all but no one ever considers the damages after their battles. People call me crazy because I don’t like this area.” You talk to yourself, quietly as you walk to the subway. Suddenly hearing screams and commotion, you turn your walk into a sprint. “This is why I don’t like this area!” You slide your card and your train comes into view. A spark of hope flares in your eye. Your footsteps slow to a stop, that spark in your eye dying instantly as the train gets blasted to pieces. 

The creatures speaking their foreign language, you slowly back up and run out of the subway. Stopping dead in your tracks at the sight. Some type of floats in the sky and more creatures. “I should have stayed in New Jersey.” You jog away from the subway entrance as footsteps become louder. Finding a building, you bang on the door. “Hello!? SOMEONE PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR” You hear shuffling inside, you know people are in there. “Please! I Know Someone Is In There!” You project your voice. Hitting the door one last time, you move on. “I hope it was worth it Y/n. You just had to give your publisher a paper copy because it was the best book you’ve ever written.”

You mock yourself. On the verge of tears. You suck those tears up at the sight of more creatures. Turning back, two appear behind you. Push comes to shove and somehow, someway you got taken on one of those floaty thingy’s. “Let go of me!” You twist and turn, trying to get out of their grasp. “Someone!” You scream. Seeing an opportunity to get out their grasp, you take it and get pushed off. Now falling from god knows how many feet, you scream fearing your inevitable fate. A pain hits your stomach, a hand holding your back. You groan, gripping onto the back for dear life. “damn, that hurt.” You mutter as your stomach aches. You lift your chin up, your head spinning.

“oh look at that...a blond man?” Your head was messing with you at this point. Hallucinations clouding your thoughts. You hear the person under you curse. Two palms hold onto each side of your waist, pushing you off with enough force to rip your hands off their back. A great power pushing you away. In the midst of it all, you get a glimpse of that recognizable long dark hair. “loki.” You roll backwards, your butt hitting the ground hard. Those tears that you were holding in before, flew freely down your cheeks. You attempted to wipe them away but they kept coming. Looking around through the tears, you see you’re in Central Park. Somewhere they didn’t reach yet, people were walking around like it was any other day. 

The pain of your ribs comes backs to bite, as you feel two of your ribs break. “Damn you and your strong shoulders.” You collapse, not yet having the energy to move from that spot. “Ma’am, are you alright?” You look aside. “yes.” You find the strength to wipe away the tears, holding your ribs as you sit up. A small pain hits your shoulder. “no.” You tilt and fall back into your spot, blacking out.

You groan, your head pounding almost as painfully as before. “Y/n L/n. Orphan. Mildly Popular Book Author. Three books published.” You force your eyes to focus in the dimly lit room. “where am I?” Your hand flies to your ribs as you sit up in the chair. “Unimportant. What’s important is why the chitauri would go out their way to get you.” You look at the black man. “I don’t know.” You breathe out. “You should know something.” Looking around the room, your eyes trail back to the man. “I know something.” You pause your sentence for suspense. “I know I have two broken ribs from being tossed around like a rag doll.” He chuckles for a moment before doing a hand motion.

A few moments pass, your wounds get tended to, with the black man gone, a few new comers take over. “Why would you let him do an invasion?” And before you could breathe a sign of relief, you get bombarded with questions. “I didn’t let him do anything.” They were convinced you had something to do with the invasion. “What were you doing in the area? Why did the chitauri capture you?” They were beginning to make your head hurt all over again. “I was giving my publisher a copy of my book and I don’t know.” You tried your best to answer the questions but they refuse to believe your answers.

“What part of “I don’t know” do you not understand? I keep telling you I don’t know meaning I actually don’t kn-” Your sentence gets cut off with a hissing of the restraint, they place on your mouth. Attempting to pull it off, they respond with grabbing your wrists and putting on handcuffs. Yanking you out the seat. “Maybe you’ll know like this.” They practically drag you to your next destination. “Get in.” It wasn’t a choice. Pushing you into a small capsule. They shut the glass, it wasn’t the roomiest of spaces. “Someone will talk.” 

You flinch at the sudden light, shining brightly into your eyes. “Do the avengers know you’re doing this?” Loki tries not to show his panic. This isn’t what he wanted for you. He didn’t want you to get caught up in his mess. “They don’t need to know as long as we get information.” You see the mans hand shift to a panel. Using the heavy duty cuffs you try to break the glass. Muffled screams come from your capsule. You shake your head, pleading for him not to drop the capsule. ��Last chance.” Loki traps your eyes in a gaze, for the seemingly last time. Without remorse he pushed the button causing your capsule to- 

Your knuckles ache as your hands rip away from the sheets. With a groan, you sit up and dangle your feet over the edge of the bed. ‘I hate that nightmare.’ You sigh. Standing to your feet and looking back to the abnormally large bed made for two. Putting on shorts, you walk over to the kitchen. That’s what you loved about this place it was all one floor, very easy to get everywhere. Sitting at the island stool, you rub your fourhead. Gazing out the window missing your lover. You decided to leave the house. But not before leaving a note, just in case he came back before you. 

“went to earth for a little. will be back later. xoxo y/n”

Stepping outside into your yard. You click the little device Loki “borrowed” from his brother. Selecting “Midgard” a bright light taking you to the desired planet. Your nightmare recommencing on the way.

The whirling winds of the storm happening on the outside abused the capsule as it fell into a foggy cloak. Before you could realize, what you’d done. You were holding onto a bright gold little hint of green string. It was powerful. “Did I just do that?” You said to yourself. The highspeed winds making it impossible to hear yourself.

A loud crash echoed the vacant alleyway as you are brought onto the planet. “I need to fix that.” You groan, getting off the floor and looking around to see which area you’re in. Waiting patiently for a crowd of people to walk by, you quickly step out of the alleyway and join them, blending in. You stop at your coffee shop, missing their signature drinks and food. You sat at your usual back table. The worker recognized you and began to prepare your order. While waiting you, spent your time on social media. You saw your friends and how they’re getting their lives together. You noticed that they were messaging you about how you never post anymore and how they are worried about you.

Thanking the worker with a smile as they placed your order down, you take the time to try and respond to most of the messages. Your leg began to bounce and you started to feel uneasy. Steadily glancing up from your phone, you saw nothing out of the ordinary. A small tap on your shoulder startled you. Your eyes following the well shaven man sit in the seat across from you. His aura was fairly strong but compared to yours it was faint and weak. For a moment your leg stopped but then your hand began to tap on the table. Your anxiety becoming known. “Can I help you?” You ask, trying to continue to reply to the messages and distract yourself from this man.

“I’m Doctor Strange and I’d like to have a word with you.”

Part 2?

[alyssawritesssfics]

Hounded [1] 1. Pilot

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: violence, series spoilers

Summary: After being locked away for eight months, Athena Kane alongside 99 other criminals is sent to the ground to find out if it's survivable. The ground was the dream, but who knew it would turn out to be a nightmare?

Author’s Note: Hii, this is the repost of my series Hounded! I’ve decided to have each chapter represent an episode. I just personally like the look of it way more and find it easier for me to follow along with while writing (and hopefully you find it easier to follow along while reading it). Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you! PS. If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please send me an ask with your @ and I will add you to my list!

previous chapter // series masterlist

The cement floor of my cell was cold against my legs, the sensation searing through the fabric of my jeans. I had sat here many times over the last few months, visualizing myself being blasted into space. It was a morbid thought, but one I could never seem to shake.

My cellmate Octavia let out a heavy sigh, pulling me from my thoughts. I examined her, lying across her cot on her stomach, her feet swaying back and forth in the air as she reread one of the few books she had for the hundredth time.

As I watched Octavia, an alarm began to sound within Skybox, causing Octavia to close her book and sit on the edge of her cot.

“What’s going on out there?”

I stood from my place on the ground, making my way over to our cell door. Peeking through the bars, I noticed guards piling in the main doors, opening cells and dragging people out of them.

“The guards, they’re removing people,” I spoke, my voice shaking.

Octavia stood up. “Moving people? Moving them where?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

We both watched the guards remove more and more people before finally, two reached our cell. Octavia and I stepped back, allowing the guards to enter. The first guard to enter carried a case with him.

“Prisoners 395 and 530, stand facing the wall.” One of the guards said.

Octavia and I complied, as the other guard asked us to extend our dominant hands. Octavia extended her right arm, while I extended my left. The guards reached into the case, pulling out large metal wristbands and placing them around our wrists.

“What’s going on? Neither of us is eighteen yet.”

Eighteen. That was when we’d be up for reevaluation, the council deciding whether or not we’d be floated.

“No questions.” One of the guards responded, pulling me away from the wall. “Let’s go, both of you.”

Octavia and I exited our cell, the place we’d called home for nearly a year now, entering the chaos that was Skybox. There were long lines of teenagers, most younger than myself, on each side, on all levels. We followed the line all the way out of Skybox, into a long corridor.

“I want to speak with my father,” I said, turning to face the guard behind me. “Marcus Kane, he’s on the council.”

The guard stared at me, his face expressionless. “Keep moving.”

“No,” I spoke, a glare appearing across my face. “Where is my father?”

The guard pulled out his shock baton, extending it. “I said, keep moving.”

Not wanting to go through being shocked again, I took a deep breath, turning back around and continuing to follow the line. Eventually, the guards who had taken Octavia and I disappeared, more guards lining the path to wherever we were going.

The further I get down the line, I finally see it. One of the Ark’s guards were scanning identification cards before ushering them onto… a dropship?

A dropship.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled to myself. “They’re sending us to the ground.”

…

“Prisoners of The Ark, hear me now.” I listened on as Chancellor Jaha appeared on several screens within the dropship.

Octavia and I had been separated, sent to different levels of the dropship. Looking around, I didn’t recognize many faces, only a few from Earth Skills.

“You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself.” He continued. “We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would've sent others. Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

The sound of booing filled the dropship.

“The drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years. If you survive this mission, your crimes will be forgiven, your records wiped clean.”

Chancellor Jaha continued on, though I began to tune it out. All I could think about was my father. Did he know about this? He had to have known, him being one of the Chancellor’s closet allies on the Ark.

As the thought of my father’s involvement drifted from my mind, the dropship jolted, sending my head forward, then back against the seat with brutal force. The dropship continued to shake, as screams filled the air.

“What’s happening?” A girl called out.

I had the same question.

The shaking lasted several minutes before finally, the dropship crashed. Everyone remained silent, unsure if we’d actually landed. After a few moments, people began unbuckling themselves, rushing towards the dropship doors.

I was one of the last to unbuckle myself, wanting to avoid the rush. By the time I had arrived, nearly everyone within the dropship was surrounding the door. As I peeked through the crowd, I spotted Octavia standing by the door, next to a taller boy I’d never seen before.

“Where’s your wristband?” I knew that voice.

Octavia spun around to face someone out of my view. “Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in over a year.”

While sharing a cell with Octavia, she’d told me many stories about her brother Bellamy. I almost wouldn’t have believed she even had one, if she didn’t bring him up so often. It was sweet though. I’d always wished I could’ve had a sibling.

That was against the law on the Ark.

“No one has a brother,” someone spoke.

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden under the floor!”

I watched as Octavia lunged forward, Bellamy grabbing her arm. “Octavia, no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

By now, I’d pushed my way further through the crowd.

“Yeah?” Octavia asked, looking back at her brother. “Like what?”

Bellamy smirked. “Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.”

With those words, Bellamy reached over and grabbed the dropship door’s handle, pulling it down. There was a faint bang before the door slowly began lowering, creating a platform that led to the ground.

It was beautiful, more so than I ever could’ve imagined. The ground was covered in grass, just like I’d seen in books on the Ark. Trees surrounded us, nearly covering the clear blue sky above us entirely. 

I watched as Octavia slowly made her way down the platform, looking back at her brother. He gave her a reassuring nod, and Octavia in turn took a deep breath before jumping off of the platform, her feet colliding with the ground.

We all watched her as she looked around, silent for a few moments. Finally, Octavia threw her hands in the air. 

“We’re back, bitches!”

Cheers erupted through the dropship, delinquents spilling out around Octavia and running through the forest surrounding us. I slowly made my way down the platform, bracing myself as if I expected to burst into flames the second I touched the ground.

Octavia looked back at me, smiling. “What are you waiting for?”

I jumped from the platform, my boots meeting the hard ground. “Oh my god… We’re really here.”

Octavia squealed, pulling me in for a hug. “No more tiny cells and uncomfortable beds for us.”

“Well, I imagine uncomfortable beds aren’t quite out of the picture yet.” I laughed.

“You’re probably right.” Octavia shrugged with a giggle.

Octavia rushed off to catch up with Bellamy, while I stood in place, taking everything in. As I looked around, my eyes fell upon the girl whose voice I recognized earlier; Clarke Griffin, my childhood best friend.

Clarke stood by the edge of a cliff, staring down at the map in her hands. A tall boy with medium-length brown hair stood next to her. Based on the look upon her face, I figured I should head over there.

“Clarke?”

Clarke turned around, her eyes widening. “Athena?”

I couldn’t help but smile. It had been a year since I’d spoken to Clarke, and she looked exactly the same today as she did then. I remembered hearing stories of Clarke being arrested, the reasons often varying, but I never actually thought those rumours were true.

“What’s with the map?” I finally asked.

Clarke took a deep breath. “Do you two see that peak over there?”

Both I and the boy nodded.

“Mount Weather,” Clarke said. “There’s a radiation-soaked forest between us and our next meal. They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.”

“Please tell me you’re joking?”

Clarke shook her head. “I wish I was.”

“We’ve got problems-” Wells Jaha, the son the Chancellor, spoke as he reached our little group. He stopped as his eyes landed on me. “Athena?”

I blinked, confusion setting over me. “Wells? What the hell did you do to get sent down here?”

“Don’t ask.” Wells shook his head, before continuing. “We’ve got problems. The communication system is dead. I went to the roof. A dozen panels are missing. Heat fried the wires.”

“Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather,” Clarke responded, marching closer to the dropship. She spread her map out on one of the wings. “See? This is us.” Clarke pointed to a spot on the map. “This is where we need to get to if we want to survive.” She moved her finger across the map.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wells asked.

Clarke’s face turned pale as she looked away. 

Wells sighed. “Your father.”

The two remained silent, as another boy with a pair of goggles strapped to his head approached. He leaned over Clarke’s shoulder, surveying the map.

“Cool, a map.” He spoke, looking Clarke up and down. “They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.”

Wells lightly pushed the boy back. “Do you mind?”

“Woah.” The boy spoke, holding his hands up.

“Hey, hands off of him.” I turned to see a group of boys approaching. “He’s with us.” The rest of the delinquents were also gathered around us.

“Relax,” Wells spoke, stepping back. “We’re just trying to find out where we are.”

“We’re on the ground,” Bellamy spoke. “Is that not good enough for you?”

“We need to find Mount Weather. You heard my father’s message. That has to be our first priority.”

“Screw your father,” Octavia called out. “What, you think you’re in charge here? You and your little princess?” She was staring at Clarke.

Clarke shook her head. “Do you think we care who's in charge? We need to get to Mount Weather not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we'll get and the harder it’ll be. How long do you think we'll last without those supplies? We're looking at a twenty-mile trek. So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Bellamy responded. “You two go, find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change.”

Everyone around us cheered.

“You’re not listening, we all need to go!” Wells urged. “Athena?”

Before I could respond, another boy spoke. “Athena Kane? You’re Marcus Kane’s daughter!”

“Your father floated my mother!”

“And my father!”

“Mine too!”

I looked at Wells, narrowing my eyes.

Wells shook it off. “We have to go, now.”

“Look at this everybody,” A boy stepped forward. “The Chancellor of Earth.”

“You think that’s funny?” Wells asked.

“No,” The boy responded, kicking Wells in the leg and watching him fall to the ground. “But that sure was.”

Cheers erupted through the forest, people begging them to fight.

“Come on, Wells.” The boy egged him on.

Wells stood up, getting into a fighting stance. Before any swings could be thrown, the medium-length haired boy jumped from the top of the dropship, landing between them.

“The kids got one leg.” He spoke to the boy. “Why don’t you wait until it’s a fair fight?”

“Hey, spacewalker!” Octavia called out. “Rescue me next.”

People began to laugh, the crowd dispersing. Bellamy grabbed Octavia’s arm, pulling her away.

“Uh,” The boy spoke to Clarke. “So, Mount Weather? When do we leave?”

“Right now,” Clarke replied, looking at Wells. “Finn and I will be back tomorrow with food.”

“How are the two of you going to carry enough food for a hundred people?”

Finn looked around, grabbing goggles boy and another. “Four of us.”

“Sounds like a party!” Octavia had rejoined the group. “Count me in.”

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asked.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Going for a walk.”

Clarke suddenly reached for Finn’s hand. “Were you trying to take this off?”

The wristband.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, I don't know. Do you want the people you love to think you're dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won't if they think we're dying.”

Finn nodded. “Okay.”

“Now, let’s go.”

“Wait,” I spoke up. “I’m coming with you.”

Clarke grabbed my hand, leading me away slightly. “I need you to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Wells can hardly walk and I need someone to help him keep an eye on things here. I know it’s been forever since we’ve talked, but I trust you a hell of a lot more than anyone else here.” Clarke spoke, her eyes shifting to Wells for a moment.

I smiled. “I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”

She smiled back. “You got this?”

I nodded. “Be safe.”

Clarke and I made our way back to the group. She grabbed a bag before looking at Wells, who sat on the ground leaning against the dropship. “You really shouldn’t have come here, Wells.”

With that, Clarke headed off into the forest alongside Finn, Octavia, and the two other boys I’d yet to meet.

I looked at Wells, frowning. “Let’s get you into the dropship so you can rest your foot in peace.”

…

A few hours later, I found myself returning to camp after going on a water run, my efforts having been futile. Just as I was about to reach the camp, I spotted Wells gathering sticks. He had also been searching for water the last I’d seen him.

“No luck?”

Wells looked up, startled. “No, you?”

I shook my head. “There’s gotta be water somewhere.”

“Just not anywhere near us,” Wells sighed. “Want to give me a hand with these?”

I picked up a pile of sticks, following Wells towards the dropship. We began dropping them in an already started pile when footsteps came up behind us.

“Find any water yet?” It was the same boy who had tried to fight Wells earlier. I recently learned his name was John Murphy. He stood beside another boy, also named John.

“No, not yet-” Wells paused, his face going pale before he quickly pulled himself back together. “I’m going back out if you want to come.”

I followed Wells’ gaze, spotting something carved into the dropship: first son, first to dye.

“You know, my father begged for mercy in the airlock chamber before your father floated him,” Murphy spoke, his eyes narrowed in on Wells.

Wells shook his head, pushing past the pair. “You spelt die wrong, geniuses.”

I attempted to follow Wells, though both boys blocked my way. “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t think we haven’t forgotten about what your father did.”

Shaking my head, I took a step back. “That was my father’s doing, not mine. The same goes for Wells. Feel free to take it up with them when they come down here though. I’ll be the last to stop you.”

Murphy looked me up and down for a moment before a smirk crept across his face. He didn’t say anything, simply stepping out of my way. I took it as an opportunity to join Wells, who still stood just a few paces behind them.

“We’re not safe here, Athena,” Wells whispered.

“No, we’re not,” I agreed. “There’s nothing you or I can do about it, not until Clarke and the others get back. We just have to lay low, watch each other’s backs, like the good old days.”

Wells smiled. “I’d give anything to go back there right now.”

I let out a small, shaking breath. “You and me both.”

…

Wells and I spent the rest of the afternoon searching for water, with no luck. As we came closer to the camp, I stopped. Noticing my absence from beside him, Wells also stopped, turning around to face me.

“Can I ask you something?” Wells nodded. “What happened with Clarke? I heard stories in lockup but never from anyone who had actually been there.”

Wells was quiet for a moment, kicking his feet around in the dirt. “Her father discovered a flaw in the Ark. That they’re running out of air. He wanted to go public with it.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Clarke found out and told me, and a few days later her father was arrested.”

My heart sank into my stomach. “You told your father, didn’t you?”

Wells shook his head. “It wasn’t me, but Clarke thinks it was.”

“So he was floated?” I was having a hard time processing all of this.

“Yeah,” Wells responded. “Clarke saw it happen, and then she was arrested too.”

I shook my head. “I had no idea…”

“That was kinda the point,” Wells mumbled.

I frowned. “You haven’t told Clarke it wasn’t you, have you?”

“I can’t tell her, Athena,” Wells said, not able to look me in the eye.

“Why not?”

Wells once again fell silent. “It was her mother.”

My eyes grew wide. “You’re sure?”

“It wasn’t me and I’m the only one Clarke told. Do you really think she’d expect her mother to turn her father in?” Wells asked. “I can’t tell her. It would break her, especially now.”

“So you let her hate you…”

Wells frowned. “Better than her hating her mother.”

I smiled softly. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?”

Before Wells could respond, the sound of screams filled the air. They were coming from the camp. Both of us looked at each other before hurrying our way back. By the time we arrived, there was a large crowd surrounding the campfire.

We both pushed our way through the crowd, spotting Murphy prying off a girl named Fox’s wristband. She winced as the wristband popped off, and Murphy tossed it into the fire.

“Who’s next?” Bellamy asked.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wells asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Bellamy smirked. “We’re liberating ourselves. What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to kill us all.” I hissed.

“The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and the Ark will think we're dying, that it's not safe for them to follow.” Wells added.

“That’s the point, Chancellor,” Bellamy replied. “We can take care of ourselves, can’t we?”

Everyone around them cheered.

“Do you think this is a game? Those aren't just our friends and our parents up there. They're our farmers, our doctors, our engineers.” Wells shouted, looking around the crowd. “I don't care what he tells you. We won't survive here on our own, and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?”

“My people are already down here,” Bellamy replied. “Those people locked my people up. Those people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. Your father did that.”

Wells shook his head. “My father didn’t write the laws.”

“No, he enforced them, but not anymore, not here. Here there are no laws. Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want. Now, you two don't have to like it. You can even try to stop it or change it, kill me even. You know why?” Bellamy’s smirk only grew wider. “Whatever the hell we want.”

“Whatever the hell we want!” Murphy cheered.

Everyone began chanting around us, repeating those five words over and over again. I couldn’t believe it. How could they all be so stupid? So selfish? They were going to get all of us killed.

Suddenly, I felt a speck of water hit my bare arm. Then another, and another. Then, water began falling from the sky rapidly.

“It’s rain,” A girl called out. “Real rain!”

The cheering began once again, as I lifted my head to stare at the sky, letting the rain wash over my face. It was as if all of my previous worries washed away for a few moments.

“We need to collect this,” Wells spoke up, yanking me from my bliss.

Bellamy smiled. “Whatever the hell you want.”

~

next chapter

[love-takes-work]

The Tale of Steven - Outline & Review

The Tale of Steven is a wonderful, timeless-feeling storybook about identity, authority, and finding your own way. It's got an innovative design that requires the reader to turn the book upside-down, sideways, and right-side-up to get the whole story, sometimes all on the same spread of art and text, and as we come to find out ultimately, this "tale of Steven" really is STEVEN'S story.

We begin with White Diamond, matriarch of the Gem homeworld, setting the stage--and not only does she frame the other Diamonds uncharitably (especially the littlest Diamond, Pink), she even sets the tone by admonishing THE READER straight away, scolding us to turn the book her way to read her words. (We must turn the book upside-down to read her perspective. Very nice.)

As we listen to White Diamond tell us how ridiculous Pink Diamond is and frame her as "impossible to understand," we also see exactly why Pink felt driven to leave her home. White apparently appointed herself the authority on keeping Pink in her place, and we're treated to White's huge pale hands holding little Pink Diamond in her tiny pink throne, “right”-side-up. White's perspective is proper, and she is to be praised, you see, for understanding that Pink's desires and attributes are not worthwhile and need to be forced out of her. Pink is shown as having run away to Earth and reinventing herself as a new Gem: Rose Quartz. Suddenly, we are able to turn the book sideways and see what she's thinking too. (White does NOT approve.)

The Earth, where Rose Quartz is allowed to love herself and love her surroundings, is simultaneously called "grotesque" by White, and we're seeing the same planet through two sets of eyes. White sees Rose as "stubborn" and "absurd," while Rose just gives us an aside about not listening to White if we don't want to and giving us a choice to read the book her way. As Rose continues to depict rainbows and falling in love with a human--Greg Universe--White is getting angrier. She shrieks, "You're ruining my story!" Rose, rightly, replies, "This isn't your story."

Soon, Rose has bequeathed her Gem--the center of her being--to her half-human son, Steven, with the consequence of ceasing to be herself. Baby Steven appears with his father and Rose Quartz's three companions--Amethyst, Garnet, and Pearl. White Diamond finally abandons trying to narrate this story, escaping with a vindictive comment and an attempt to frame Rose as simply Pink Diamond hiding "inside an unwitting creature." Rose's perspective expresses that she wanted her son to experience the love and acceptance she never received. And then, Steven's perspective pops onto the scene. We can now turn the book fully right-side-up to read his tale.

As the story slides fully into Steven's perspective, Rose's hopes for him still line up on the sides of the pages, longing for him to experience kindness, to never know the awfulness she went through on Homeworld, to never have to feel the criticism issued by the other Diamonds, and to be able to tell his own story one day. Steven reflects on Rose's influence on his life, how he's heard about her and the more truth he's discovered the more everything frightens him. There are many perspectives, he recognizes. Perhaps there is more than one way to read the story.

White's perspective, upside-down now, returns alongside all this. She suggests "Pink" has come crawling back to turn the world the "right" way again, and she's puzzled by Steven's appearance, but she's determined to rescue Pink from herself by separating Steven from his Gem. Meanwhile, Steven's been wondering what his relationship is to Pink and Rose--is she inside him? Is he actually her? What's real?

But they all learn the truth when Steven's Gem reveals that he was also Steven inside there. All along, he was himself and no one else. This is, and has always been, his story, and he has been right about who he is.

Several wordless frames depict Steven's two aspects finding each other, reconnecting, and becoming one again. Newly confident in who he is and having asserted as much in the face of crushing authority, Steven declares, "This way feels right to me." The orientation of the book AND the definition of himself are the focus here, and for the first time, White begins to consider that her perspective was the wrong side up in someone else's story.

Steven closes by claiming the book as his own (writing his own name in the "This Book Belongs To" space, which is superimposed over a Diamond Authority symbol with the Pink Diamond on top instead of on the bottom). The end dedication is made out "To Trans & Gender-Expansive Kids."

To reflect on this sentiment and the rest of the book, I will say that a large portion of the Steven Universe fandom already recognized some threads of a trans allegory in the animation this is based on. Steven, though he is not specifically depicted as a confirmed trans character in the show, does not demonstrate or seem to experience toxic masculinity in association with his quest to be powerful, and has no qualms about using symbolism, iconography, and apparel that is more commonly associated in today's Western society with women and girls (e.g., the color pink, flower symbolism, protective and defensive rather than aggressive and offensive behaviors, wearing jewelry and dresses occasionally without it being a gag). His assertion that he is Steven and not Pink Diamond or Rose Quartz has many parallels with a common trans narrative--including pronouns that the Diamonds refused to respect--even though it is also its own thing since human beings do not have to defend that they are not literally their mother. 

They do, however, frequently struggle with authorities in their lives "correcting" them on who and what they are "for their own good," brushing off the seriousness of the misery it causes, and these children do find themselves forced to wear clothes, use names, and adhere to roles that do not match who they are. They even sometimes hear authorities mourn the "loss" of a different-gender version of them and accuse the child of being selfish for wanting to manifest their truth instead of being the son or daughter the parent thought they had.

It is my deepest hope that authorities like this can learn to turn the book around.

It is so important for children to learn that they ARE the authority on their identity, and while some well-meaning authorities in their lives may frame their identity as a phase or a fake, they do not have to accept this view of the world, or even that it comes from a loving place. White Diamond did not sound like a stern but caring figure to me. She sounded like a tyrant who is convinced of her own correctness, determined to gaslight and shame Pink Diamond into becoming the person SHE wanted. Love is listening. Love is nurturing. Love is seeing pleasure and pain and letting those things guide you in supporting a happy existence. Kids whose gender is complicated and young people who develop misunderstood identities need books like this to center them in their own stories and empower them to show others how to read their book.

Except for the section of the book where Steven's organic self and Gem self are separated and re-combine, the message is solid for readers who have not watched the show. But because of how important that wordless series of panels is and how much background you actually have to have to understand what's happening there, I recommend this book primarily for fans of the show who have seen "Change Your Mind" and the episodes that support it. The other depictions are more powerful and illuminating for those who have context from the show also, but the main purpose of the book can be readily understood without that background. 

If you haven't seen the show, all you need to know is that Steven is a hybrid Gem/human who has a gemstone in his human body, and it gives him superhuman powers. Gem characters generate a body from their Gem, while Steven's body is organic and presumably NOT generated from the Gem. White Diamond removed Steven's Gem from his belly, expecting Pink Diamond to take form out of the Gem. She thought his organic half was just a human that the Gem was stuck in. But instead, a Pink Steven emerged and went back to his organic self to merge again, proving that he is Steven, not someone else, through and through. And he truly loves and knows himself.

A couple other notes fans of the show might enjoy: White Diamond's hypothesis that Pink Diamond was "hiding in an unwitting creature" is really interesting--she knew what Steven was but believed he was just a normal human hosting a Gem. Interesting. White's disdain toward Yellow and Blue for "spoiling" Pink is an interesting addition to what we know about her, too. Pink is pictured standing on her hands on her throne, upside-down, which is interesting since it's both "silly" and an expression of her right-side-up perspective (since, when we obey White, we're reading the book upside-down!). White's commentary that she kept Pink in line is also interesting, considering we've seen way more of how Yellow and Blue treated her and none of that was very nice either (yet they're the "nice" ones in this story, indulging her even though we know they abused her). There's a really cute image of Rose lounging on the beach with Greg in what looks like a swimsuit. Connie is in a frame with the Gems looking through a telescope. And there's a frame with Garnet holding pink and blue butterflies.

Inventive, beautiful, moving, and so necessary. Buy a copy. Let kids turn the book around.

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Teach Me [M]︳01

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

AU: Greek Mythology (mini-series - 2nd installment)

Genre: Romance/smut

Rating: NSFW

Warning: Dirty talk, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, oral sex (m. receiving), spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (wrap it people!), creampie, public sex (kinda?), very soft humiliation

Words: 10600+

Notes: I present to you the second story of the Greek mythology series! I think I’ve come to the conclusion I like writing rough sex (sue me).

For any new readers - this story is part of a mini-series! Each member has their own story - you don’t have to read each one to understand the general plot. Story order: A Taste of Honey (Jung Hoseok), Teach Me (Kim Namjoon), Flutter (Kim Seokjin).

I hope you all enjoy the story and thank you for all the support - don’t forget to leave a like, comment, or reblog <3

Masterlist ︳Prologue

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

You were everything Namjoon sought after; sexy and intelligent. He watched the way you balanced on your tippy toes, ass sticking out as you placed the dusty books back in their spot one by one. He licked his pouty lips, a grunt leaving him as his hand brushed his growing bulge. He could already see it, the way you squirmed underneath him, your moans. You were stuck up, always acting better than everyone else, but not anymore. He was going to teach you a valuable lesson; you may be the boss of this library but he was the boss of you.

Teach Me ︳Final

        No amount of words could describe the distaste and annoyance on your face as Athena patted your shoulder with a taunting grin. Eyes narrowed, nose scrunched up as your lips pressed together out of pure revulsion.

         But in all fairness, how else were you expected to react to Athena’s words? You were being forced to teach that God Namjoon, God of that stupid wine grape Agiorgitiko. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t a one-time thing, but a whole week.

         That’s right.

        Seven.

        Bloody.

        Days.

         Another frustrated sigh left you, causing the grin on Athena’s face to largen. “And what do you expect me to teach him? How to party? Or how to have an orgy?” You spat, crossing your arms in frustration as your tone held more venom than even you expected.

         Athena raised a brow at your words before her eyes lit up. As if she finally clued in on something. She stepped forward, crossing her arms as she shook her head, “While he enjoys a good festivity, he’s no fool. He enjoys learning about philosophical topics, even dabbles in literature and mathematics.”

         “Great, so I get to teach a God how to count to five?”

         “I think he knows how to count, he does have to count how many grapes are hanging on a vine after all.”

         Athena’s and your eyes met, a small smile flickering as you laughed at her joke. Athena chuckled, squeezing your shoulders, eyes softening, “You’re my second, the only one I could trust with such a task.”

         “I know…” You huffed.

        It was foolish to put up such a fight, letting such pointless emotions consume you. But you couldn’t help it, you didn’t like Namjoon one bit.  

         “Don’t judge him so easily, my pupil.” Athena’s words brought you back to reality, head snapping as you gazed at her. She picked up one of the books that were in your cart, opening it with ease as her eyes scanned the words, “He’s not what he seems. He’s not like other men.”

         You scoffed, turning on your heel as you started placing the books that laid in your cart on the shelves, “Trust me, child, I wouldn’t give him access to these libraries if he were.”

         She had a point.

        You trusted Athena. She was the logic, reason, in this realm.

        “…okay…”

        The single word left your lips as nothing more but a defeated whisper, placing the last book away, shoulders slumped as you turned to face her once more, “Do you mind listing some of the works he enjoys so I can start formulating a study chart?”

         Athena smiled, tapping your forehead with a bounce before walking away, “It’s a free week- he’ll come to you with questions, and all I ask of you is you answer those questions of his truthfully.”

         Free-range?

         Another tired sigh escaped you, pushing the cart forward as you watched your beloved Goddess walk away. As annoyed as you were, you still moved forward, whisper-shouting, “Safe travels!”

         Athena stopped, looking over her shoulder with a devilish grin, a grin you haven’t seen before, “Have fun and don’t be afraid to indulge - submit.”

         Your mouth dropped, confusion written all over your face. But before you could blurt out a question, Athena was gone like the wind. What in the world is she talking about?

        You didn’t get a single piece of work done all damn day.

        Your hands shook, eyes continually flickering back and forth between your work and the damn library entrance. It was silly, how nervous you were to see that damn fool walk through those doors.

         But why?

         Why was I so nervous?

         You didn’t like Namjoon, so infatuation was out the window already. But you couldn’t help but let your mind wander…

        Namjoon was handsome.

        You’d give him that.

        But to be fair, their whole family was gorgeous.

         Seven brothers, all Gods of a particular wine grape, all sons to the great God Dionysus. They were initially Demi-Gods, but under Zeus’s authority, he declared them Gods due to their tremendous strength and power.

         You shook your head, huffing as you slammed your pen onto the table. You’re giving Namjoon too much credit. Credit that in your books, he didn’t deserve. All Namjoon did was make wine, what was so noble about that?

         The sound of the grand doors opening, a struggling groan from the wooden panels slowly being opened echoed throughout the library. There wasn’t a single soul here, it was late in the evening. But word had spread that tomorrow God Dionysus would be hosting a festivity, and it seems everyone decided to take the night to prepare rather than learn.

         You pushed yourself back in your chair, walking over to the banister as you looked down at the front entrance. Hands gripped the railing, eyes scanning through the dim light of the candles, he’s here.

         In a heartbeat, you began walking towards the staircase, leaving your books and writings behind. The sound of your gentle footsteps seemed to have caught his attention, his dark coloured eyes flickering to you.

         God, he was good looking.

         Namjoon’s hair was a bit chaotic, a hand gently patting down his lush robes and furs. It must have been windy outside, but your eyes narrowed, spotting something in his hand.

         “Wine?” You blurted, cheeks rosy because you uttered out what had been in your mind.

         The grin he shot to you, nodding, “A gift. For teaching.” Namjoon spoke, walking forward, arms outstretched as he passed you the bottle. Your hands grasped the gift, eyes scanning the dark red liquid.

        You heard about his wine, Agiorgitiko red wine. Rich in flavours with a seamless blend of spice. People would kill to get a sip of such wine, let alone a bottle.

         “Thanks…”

         His eyes narrowed, undoubtedly seeing your unamused expression, “You don’t drink?”

         “It’s a distraction, prevents me from studying.” You scorn.

        And for a split moment, you realized your words may have come across a bit too gruelling. Your mouth opened, ready to apologize and re-word the sentence altogether, you were speaking to a God after all, but his voice stopped you, “We’ll see about that.”

         “What do you mean?”

        God, you hated how smug he was, the damn smirk on his face. Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, nudging his head at a near by table, “Shall we start my lesson?”

         The way those words slipped from the tip of his tongue, a huskiness that had you pushing your legs together in pure delight. You detested how much you found him attractive. He had this roughness to him, voice coarse, an alluring gaze, but you pinched your thigh, focus.

         You merely nodded your head, and turned on your heel, “What piques your interest today?” You asked, but your tone seemed anything but interested. The sound of his heavy feet trailing behind you, his low breathing, “Honey-nymphs.”

         The moment those words left that sinful mouth of his, your feet stopped, grasping the wine bottle tight as you twirled around to face him. And although you were shocked at his response, you were more shocked at how close he was to you. Your body ungracefully bumping into his, the wine swishing obnoxiously loud between your bodies.

         Without realizing you inhaled deeply, taking in his rich, husky scent that would’ve had you moaning if you weren’t in utter shock at the moment. Namjoon’s large hands grasped your shoulders, steadying you as your legs failed to keep you balanced, “Falling for me already?” He chuckled, a tongue-in-cheek smile on his face.

         Your face went red, pulling away and huffing stridently, “Why were you following me so bloody close?”

         “Why did you stop out of nowhere?” He shot back.

         You rolled your eyes, fuming to yourself - I’m going to kill him.

         “Why, honey-nymphs?” You interrogated, trying to divert the conversation to something else. Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, trailing behind you once again as you searched through the library in search of information regarding Goddess Demeter’s followers.

         “My father…he’s throwing a party tomorrow but it’s to mask another objective…”

         You looked over your shoulder, gazing at his expression. His brows were pinched together, lips pulled tight as he thought to himself, “What kind of objective?”

        Although you hated being noisy, you hated being left in a cliff-hanger more.

        There was a reason why you didn’t put a book down until you finished it, or why you always got in trouble with Athena due to your snooping. You loved learning, and that also meant your sense of curiosity bit you in the ass at times.

         Your feet stopped, eyes scanning through the endless rows of books, looking for what you needed, “It seems that my brother’s soulmate is a honey-nymph.”

         Soulmates…

         The concept was not unfamiliar to you, in fact, you spend years studying the ideology of two beings being linked to one another by a mythical bond – a connection of eros, agape, love. But it always applied to humans, and an unanswered question still laid hidden; whether the same concept of soulmates also applied to Gods. You could’ve asked the Goddess Aphrodite for the answer, but something in you told you she wouldn’t spill her secrets willingly.

         “What does that have to do with the party tomorrow…?” You muttered, fingers trailing along the spines of the books, feeling their smooth edges tainted with golden ink. “It’s a setup, a way for them to meet up. A secret that only my father, you, and I know.”

         The moment your eyes aligned with the book you sought after, your eyes lit up, carefully pulling it off the shelf while balancing the wine, “I believe it to be unwise to tell such an important secret to a mere follower of Athena, don’t you think?” You mused, raising a brow.

         But Namjoon just grinned, “Something tells me you’re much more than just a follower.”

         The book fell on the table with a loud thud, carefully placing the glass bottle off to the side. “Well, what do you wish to know about honey-nymphs, God Namjoon?” You breathed, opening the book wide.

        And just as you turned your back towards him, letting your fingers trail down the inked pages, he pressed himself up against you. His hands firmly planted on the desk on either side of you, acting as if the sudden action was anything but out of the norm.

         The shiver that ran up your spine, feeling him so close, his hot breath ghosting your exposed neck. You found yourself once again pressing your legs together, the same desire that sneaked through from earlier making another grand appearance, but this time stronger.

        “I want to know about their real personalities, what they like, what makes them smile, and what makes them tick.” He grunted, but the way he spoke into your ear, made it seem like it wasn’t so much about honey-nymphs as he was directing the question to you.

         The sound of the light breeze hitting the windows made you wake up, your face rosy as you felt his heat radiating off him. And to make it worse, you relished in it.

        “E-excuse me God Namjoon, with all due respect, you don’t have to be so close to read.” You stuttered, trying to gain control of the situation again. He chuckled, and in a bold move, rested his chin on your shoulder, “I know, but I can see a lot better from here.”

        “Well, I’ve never seen you read like this with Athena.” You shot back. He huffed reluctantly, pulling back and standing beside you. It was crazy how cold you suddenly felt after just a few mere seconds of his body pressed against yours.

        With an excessive amount of force, your hands flipped through the pages of the book, trying to hinder the unnecessary tension that seemingly built out of nowhere. “W-well, honey-nymphs are followers of Demeter-”

        “Not this nymph…” He muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he watched your finger glide across the page. You opened your mouth to question his statement but quickly pushed it aside. As curious as you were, you wanted to kick him out of here as soon as possible before you did something stupid.

        “Their responsibility is to help the bees pollinate. Not many know, but bees are of huge importance in our ecosystem, more than half of our crops rely on bees. If they die…well, I hope Hades’ has enough room for us all.”

        Namjoon nodded his head in understanding, “What about their temperament?”

        “They’re like us, each nymph has their own personality. But there does seem to be a common characteristic between honey-nymphs. They’re shy, but once you get to know them, they’re a literal ball of sunshine and awfully cheery. Easily mistaken as one of Apollo’s followers.”

        Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head as he smiled to himself, “Yeah…I think she’ll be a good match for my brother.”

        A soft smile painted your face, observing the way Namjoon chuckled to himself, “I’m guessing he’s energetic?”

         “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him not smiling.”

         “Any other questions?” You hummed, shutting the book softly. But Namjoon just sighed and shook his head, “Not for today, thank you.”

         You merely nodded at his words, “I assume I won’t see you tomorrow.”

         “And why is that?”

         You raised a brow, nudging at the book, “The party’s tomorrow. Don’t you want to meet your future sister-in-law?”

         “Yes, but I don’t see why I can’t visit you as well.”

         “Because unlike you, I’ll be tucked away in bed.”

         “Then do me a favour, and come to the party.”

         You laughed, shaking your head as you picked up the book and started walking off to place it away. And as expected, you could feel his footsteps, “I don’t do parties. I’m a scholar, not a maenad.”

         And just as you were about to turn on your heel, away from him, he gently gripped your wrist, making you look at him, “Then at least drink the wine.”

         “About that, take it back, give it to someone who would appreciate it. I don’t drink.” You insisted, but Namjoon shook his head. The way his long boney fingers tapped along your wrist, grinning madly as he stepped closer, “Drink it because from now on, you’ll be receiving one every day.”

         “That’s a waste!”

         “Not in my eyes.” He retorted. And just like that, he stepped back, his hand letting go and bowing down. Your eyes widen at his gesture, not once has a God ever bowed down to a mere follower like yourself, and to be fair, a God shouldn’t have to bow down to anyone besides other Gods.

         But Namjoon laid a hand on his chest with a smirk as he watched the way you flushed at his gesture, “I expect to see you, here, in this library, in the night. Till tomorrow.”

         How badly you wanted to bite his ear off, argue that there was no way in bloody Hades you were going to stay up, waiting for him. But Namjoon spun on his heel, opening the doors wide as he shuffled away with ease.

         You eyed the bottle of wine on the desk, and with much annoyance, grabbed it and stormed off to lock up the library doors.

        I hate that man, with a passion.

         Your eyes felt heavy as you laid slumped against the wooden desk. A small yawn escaping from you as you fidget around in your seat to find a somewhat comfortable position for your head, but of course, how comfortable can a piece of wood be?

        With an internal scream, your head rose, staring aimlessly at the endless rows of books in front of you. Another important note to add to your growing collection of random facts – wooden tables make horrible pillows.

        This was insanity.

        The bloody owls were wide awake, stars twinkling high above you through the windows as another tired yawn escaped you. You hadn’t even bothered putting on decent clothes, wearing your pyjamas with an old nightgown on top.

        You were confident that you wouldn’t dare wait for that ignorant fool to arrive at your library at midnight. Who in their right mind would? But yet here you are, contemplating on whether or not you should try out another stupid hypothesis while you wait for that fool.

        God, you hated him.

        The way he smiled, his dark eyes, that husky voice of his…

        “Sleepy?”

        Your eyes widen, nearly jumping out of your seat and heart pounding heavily in your chest. But what ticked you off more was the way Namjoon’s eyes crinkled, entertained at how you cried out in fear at his voice.

        Hands swinging to your chest, trying to calm down your erratic heartbeat as you glared at him with such hatred, you knew the God Ares would’ve been proud.

        “You scared me!” You screamed, ready to slap the man silly, but Namjoon just laughed.

        The way his eyes lit up with delight, cute dimples appearing on his cheeks as he hollered at your mortified expression. You never did notice those dimples of his, and for a split moment, you swear your heart fluttered.

        “You just seemed in such a deep thought. I didn’t want to bother you, so who were you thinking about?”

        The way your cheeks flushed red as you crossed your arms, standing straight and not bothering to put the chair back into place, “W-what makes you think I was thinking of someone?” You blurted, gazing away from him. But it didn’t matter that you weren’t looking at Namjoon, because just hearing him chuckling had you weak in the knees, “I know that look. That’s the look of someone in love.”

        Your head snapped towards him, hands itching to wrap around his neck and strangle him. “You’re wrong. Now, let’s hurry up so I can go to bed.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at him.

        But Namjoon just kissed his teeth, still entertained, “I thought you were already going to be in bed? I didn’t think you’d wait for me.”

        Nostrils flared as you heaved in annoyance, “I swear, if you don’t pick a damn topic I’m going to kick you out.”

        His hands rose upwards, acting as if he surrendered, but the coy grin on his face stayed. “Alright-alright!” Within seconds you turned on your heel, flicking your wrist and beaconing him to speak, “Soulmates.”

        And just like last night, you stopped dead in your tracks.

        With a turn on your heel, you felt his body crash onto yours, but you also felt a coldness grazing your chest, a faint swishing sound to go along with it. Your hands fell upon his torso, falling headfirst into his chest. “Are you alright?” Namjoon gasped out, a grasp of his pulling you back as his eyes frantically studied you.

        But your eyes fell upon his chest once more. He was holding a bottle of wine, how did you not notice before?

        “I-I’m fine, sorry.” You muttered because you were utterly embarrassed. And not so much because of the fall, but because you felt the muscles that lurked underneath Namjoon’s silks and furs as you reached out towards him.

        You felt every divot, every muscle tense as your body collided against his. Not once did it come across your mind that while he had a handsome face, he had a body to go with it.

        Namjoon let out a sigh of relief, taunting slightly as you brushed back your hair into a bun once again, “You really need to stop doing that.” He muttered, head shaking as his eyes still wearily overlooked you.

        But without a second thought, you reached forward and grabbed the bottle from his grasp. The way he held it, it was screaming for disaster, was this man always so clumsy? He held the neck of the bottle like it was a toy, not made out of glass that could shatter into a billion pieces. “It’s for you.” He spoke, and your eyes lined up with his once again.

        “Thanks…” You muttered softly, cheeks still rosy from the whole situation.

        And there you two stood, in awkward silence as you hug the bottle to your chest. The unexplainable euphoria that ran through your body as you held the wine. Were you actually happy that Namjoon gave you a gift? It’s not like you drank anyways, but your fingers anxiously tapped the glass.

        You were tired.

        That’s why your body was seemingly in high alert to his every stare, every touch. You didn’t like him one bit, it was just you being tired…right?

        “S-soulmates. Why do you want to learn about that?” You asked, trying to fill the void of silence with something. As if your words reminded him of the task at hand, he stepped forward, “It’s more of a question than anything.”

        “And that question is…?”

        “Can two people fall in love with the same person?”

        You were in full alert, choking on air at his words. How did this man come up with such questions? Maybe you did judge him a bit too harshly, he was undoubtedly a man with a creative mind. “It’s rare, but not impossible amongst humans-”

        “What about Gods?”

        “What is this about Namjoon?” you asked with narrowed eyes. His questions were too specific. Was he in love with a woman? Suddenly you felt your heart squeeze - an unexplainable pain in your chest at the thought of him liking someone.

        But you pushed the thoughts aside, why am I getting possessive over who Namjoon likes? It has nothing to do with me- “My brothers. It seems they’re both heads over heels with the same woman.”

        A sense of relief but also confusion consumed you, “What is with you and love? Is your whole family on a ‘find my soulmate’ field trip?” You grumbled, crossing your arms tightly with the bottle as you watched him. It was really then you saw how tired Namjoon looked, forgetting that he did stay up all night at a party.

        His hair was messy, faint under-eye circles as he chuckled at your response. His voice was a bit deeper than usual, a certain gruffness that had your heart pounding. His hoarse voice itself was a sin in so many ways.

        “Soon you’re going to come asking about mermaids.” You scoffed, smiling at how Namjoon laughed. His smile brightens, crossing his own arms as he raised a brow, “I was saving that for day four.” Your mouth dropped, “A mermaid? One of your brothers is in love with a bloody mermaid!”

        “Tomorrow I thought we could learn about Hades-”

        “One of your brother’s is in love with Hades!?”

        This time Namjoon bent over laughing, head flung back as he wiped tears from his eyes at your expression, “Not Hades himself, one of his workers. It’s complicated, I don’t even want to try to explain.”

        You felt your body hitting the bookshelf, an exhausted sigh escaping you. No wonder this man drinks, I would too if I had to deal with a family like that.

        “What about you, were you dreaming about your soulmate?” He teased. Right away the blush you worked so hard on making disappear came fluttering back. “N-no, I told you, I wasn’t thinking about anyone!” You huffed, fingers scratching the glass of the bottle.

        Namjoon chuckled, cracking his fingers as he rolled his shoulders back with a sigh, “Let me guess, were you thinking about me?”

        “The only thing I fantasize is you leaving.” You shot back, frustration eating you away. Because you were fantasizing about him, as foolish as it was. He was a tick, a damn tick that seemed to infest your mind and have thoughts that only followers of Aphrodite would have the nerve to act upon.

        And what made it worse was that Namjoon seemed to see right through your act. He stepped forward leaning, his husky scent engulfing you once more. Your heart fluttered, drunk off his scent alone as he leaned his moist lips towards your ear, “Taste the wine, you’ll enjoy it. I promise.” He purred, only to pull back just as fast.

        You swear you’re surprised that the bottle was still intact, not crumbling away under your tight grasp. With a huff, you walked off in sexual frustration towards the entrance of the library, prying the door open for Namjoon to get the bloody hint, “See you tomorrow!” You shouted, only to hear him laughing from behind you.

        His torso grazed your back, letting his hands wander along your sides gently. Namjoon’s touch alone made your resolve crumble, gasping softly at how delicate his touches were. He hummed in your ear, voice low and sultry, “By the way, your nightgown is see-through, and I must say – I quite enjoy what I see.”

        He didn’t give you a chance to shriek, running off through the open door you held with a light skip.

        Your mind was a mess.

        Torn between chasing after him and murdering him with your bare hands and wanting to kiss the man to death. He was infuriating, but what was more infuriating was you couldn’t get enough of him.

        You slammed the doors shut, locking it before heading to the back of the library, where your quarters lurked. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the other bottle of red wine he left yesterday sitting on your counter, still unopened. You’ve seen Athena drinking plenty of times in the library with Namjoon…And another sigh of frustration left you.

        Damn it.

        You grabbed the nearest glass and pulled the cork from the bottle in your grasp, letting the scarlet liquid fill the cup. But what caught you off guard was the smell.

        It smelt exactly like him, Namjoon in a damn bottle.

        You brought the cup to your nose, sniffling the liquid, and a soft moan escaped you. It was like Namjoon was right here, in your kitchenette. And this time, you let all of those sinful desires of yours bubble up.

        Your legs pressed together, a need consuming you as you took another sniff, aroused just by the scent – his scent. With a gentle tilt, the cold liquid touched your lips, another content mewl fleeing.

        The wine was smooth, going down your throat without any slight burn. So good in fact, that you found yourself taking another swing. The richness of the red liquid, it made your eyes flutter with delight. It wasn’t acidic, but it still held a faint spiciness to it, but the distant flavours of plum helped sweeten it just a tad.

        You let the glass leave your mouth begrudgingly, licking your lips - not allowing a single drop go to waste. And it was after you finally came down from your high, you noticed that half of the bottle was already gone. You flushed, realizing how much you did enjoy Namjoon’s wine - Agiorgitiko.

        A groan of frustration ate away at you as you reluctantly placed the cork back into the bottle. You couldn’t deny it, the wine was delicious. But it also made the itch between your legs worse.

        Everything about him was godly.

        And it rubbed you both the wrong and good way.

        His deep chuckles, alluring eyes, even his long thin fingers. You blew out the remaining candles and stumbled into your bedroom, head spinning.

        Your body fell onto your bed with a soft thud, eyes watching the night sky through your window. The moon was high in the sky, stars twinkling. And it was staring at the beautiful night sky that the realization hit you.

        I like Namjoon….

        This is all your fault, Athena.

         A soft grunt flew, standing on your tippy-toes as you tried to put the book back into place. The sun was shining brightly, and surprisingly, quite a bit of people arrived today. You figured that after the festivity of Dionysus people would’ve slept in, try to sleep their hangover away.

         Your fingertips pushed the book, and a satisfied sigh left your lips, perfect.

         The sound of your feet hitting the ground firmly resonated, as your eyes shifted once again to the cart beside you. So focused on your work, you failed to notice the set of dark eyes that watched your every move.

         Namjoon smiled softly, watching the way you grabbed another book and struggled to put it away. You were quite tall, but the shelves were higher.

         The way you leaned your body against the bookshelf, breasts squished and ass sticking out as your fingers wiggled to slide the book into place. Namjoon couldn’t help but groan. You were so damn sexy, and it frustrated him to no ends that you didn’t realize it yourself.

         You were maddening, a damn tease and a half.

        And the moment Namjoon remembered that sharp tongue of yours, he groaned once again. He found you tempting, and this was something he figured out the moment he set his eyes on you. But just from these two days alone, he realized he wasn’t just physically attracted to you, but more.

        Namjoon was addicted – to your personality, that shy smile, and the way your skin turned pink under his gazes. His hand brushed his crotch, already feeling a bulge starting to form, and he bit his lips. He wanted you so damn bad. And he knew he would treat you so damn well, have you a moaning mess and put that sharp tongue to good use.

        Because while most men in this God-forsaken realm hated the thought of an independent woman, he loved it. He treasured how smart you were, and struggled to control the urge to pin you up against the bookshelf and take you right then and there whenever you went all teacher on him. You could be talking about dog shit for all he fucking cared - because somehow, you would make that topic seem sexy.

        But the moment he saw you bend over, picking up a book that slipped from your fingers, giving him a perfect view of your perky ass, he lost it. Tonight, he’ll make his final move. And hopefully, it wouldn’t backfire in his face.

        The book slipped from your fingers, hissing under your breath as the book caused a loud thud to sound off. Talk about listening to the library rules of being quiet.

        Without a second thought, you bent over, huffing in frustration as you grabbed the book that slipped from your fingers. And just as you straighten out, a pair of hands upon your hips caused you to jerk forward, bumping into the bookshelf in surprise.

        “Be careful.” A deep voice droned into your ear, your body pressed against the shelf. But you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was – because the sound and scent alone had your body heating up.

        A soft gasp escaped you, biting your lips as Namjoon’s hot breath hit the back of your exposed neck once again. His scent alone made the thoughts of last night come flashing back. The wine he gave, damn it smelt just like him.

        His hands ran up your back, along your sides, the same gentle touch from last night. “W-what are you doing here so early?” You mewled, struggling to get your voice steady under his caresses. You hated it, how much your body yearned for him.

        To think that this was the same man who you hated with such passion not even two days ago, now the only desire you had was to feel his fingers move downwards to do unspeakable things. The chuckle, the way his chest rumbled on your back as you gasped breathlessly, “I wanted to visit you, make sure you’re ready for tonight’s lesson.”

        Your hands gripped the wooden shelf underneath you, trying to understand his words, “O-of course I’m ready. I’m Athena’s second for a reason.” You spoke, taken pride in your intelligence. But the way Namjoon kissed his teeth into your ear, “Oh no, tonight, I want to teach you something.”

        The shiver that ran up your spine, it was wicked.

        “Teach me what?” You panted, forgetting that you two were out in public, dozens of people who could easily see you pressed up against the bookshelf, Namjoon pressing himself against you. And you swore, you could feel something hard, something throbbing against your ass.

        “Whose boss.” He grunted.

        Your knees buckled.

        Namjoon pulled away, and with a flick of his wrist, spun you around, your back hitting the bookshelf. Seeing his face, his eyes dilated as he licked those plump lips of his, “See you tonight. And wear what you wore last night, I liked it.” He hummed, before walking away.

        Finally, you breathed, observing how he walked away with not a care in the world, as if he didn’t just have you under his finger for a split moment. The gnawing on your lip brought you back to reality, a few innocent bystanders gazing at you and Namjoon with a look of confusion.

        Indulge…suddenly that word made too much sense now.

         Without realizing it, you found yourself anticipating for Namjoon. The sky was dark, and foolishly, you found yourself twirling the thin fabric of your nightgown in your fingers. It was silly to think that you listened to his words, his plea for you to wear the same lingerie from last night, and a part of you wanted to revolt and wear a suit of damn armour.

         But you would also be lying to yourself because you were eager to know what Namjoon could teach you. You were well educated, a living, breathing compilation of useless facts. Yet the urge to understand what Namjoon could show you, something that you didn’t know excited you.

         This whole time, you viewed Namjoon with tainted eyes.

        You always assumed he would be like every other man who roamed this realm, an absolute sexist jerk. But he wasn’t. He was a flirt, that was for sure, but he did genuinely seem interested in learning, and what was more shocking was he never once undermined you for being a woman with high authority.

         If you said stop, he did, hell you kicked the almighty God out of the library last night when he decided to get a bit too handsy with you. And it was because of that, you found yourself fluttering.

        “Don’t judge him so easily, my pupil.” – That was what Athena said to you before she left. And now you understood why. Maybe…he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. That while he may be the God of wine, he was still powerful and wise. That he did deserve his title of being a God after all.

        Your head fell against the wooden table at which you sat, you were officially crushing on Namjoon. Let Hades take pity over your soul.

        The sound of your fingers patting aimlessly drifted throughout the empty library, your eyes started feeling heavy. When is that bloody man going to-

        “Miss me?”

        Hearing his voice made your body energized, sleepiness disappeared, and suddenly you were on full alert. Your head snapped upwards, looking in front of you to see him with crossed arms, and of course, holding a bottle of wine.

        The thoughts of last night came rushing back, how just a sniff of that wine made you press your legs in desire and a wetness pool. He was so damn addictive and frustrating at the same time, always challenging you, keeping you on your toes – and you loved it.

        A small scoffed escaped your lips, sitting upwards, “Keep dreaming, I didn’t miss you, I saw you this morning.”

        “So I guess I could just leave then-”

        “N-no-” you blurted, the word flying out of your mouth before you could process what you had just said. The cocky smirk on his face, the way he stepped forward, letting the bottle swing between his fingers, “What was that? You don’t want me to go sweetheart?” He mused, raising a brow.

        The way your cheeks turned a bright red, hearing the way he called you sweetheart, but also the way he strode towards you - like he’s getting ready to bounce.

        “W-well why leave when you came all this way already? That would be a waste of time.” You huffed, crossing your arms, keenly walking away from the situation itself, because the itch between your legs was intense.

        You could feel your wetness starting to build, so much it stuck to your inner thighs. The sound of him putting the bottle on the table, his footsteps trailing behind you as you hastily walked to whatever bookshelf was close, trying to look somewhat busy.

        “You wore the nightgown for me?” Namjoon spoke, a hint of pleasure lingering. Your steps stiffen, itching to slap the man behind you silly, “I wore it because it’s late at night, time for bed.” You shot back, finally coming to a complete stop at a bookshelf, your fingers dragging along the spines of the books. And your eyes widen when you realized what section of literature you decided to stop at - ‘erotica.’

        You got to be kidding me.

        Namjoon’s hands fell upon your hips, his long fingers digging into the thin material of your dress, “I warned you, this dress is see-through…” He purred into your ear, pressing himself onto you, caught between his body and the novels. And that alone was enough to cause your head to fall, sighing softly as you bit your lips.

        The way he trailed up your sides, his lips sweeping against your neck and ear, “Did you taste the wine yet?” He buzzed. You closed your eyes, indulging in the sound of his voice so damn close to you, feeling his massive frame, his scent.

        “I-I did.” You moaned breathlessly. Namjoon had this effect, the ability to make you lose all sense of logic. He chuckled deliberately into your ear, his hands moving along your bare arms, goosebumps rising on your skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

        “Yes.”

        “Do you want another taste?”

        You hesitated - you didn’t just want another bottle, you wanted him.

        “Yes.”

        “Then turn around.”

        Namjoon’s hands squeezed your arms, flipping you on your back and slamming you against the bookcase. The books shook at the sheer force, but he didn’t give you a chance to lecture him, because he slammed his lips against yours.

        You couldn’t stop the moan that exploded from deep within in, eyes fluttering shut as his hands wrapped around your waist. The way he moved his lips, sloppy and eager, borderline frantic. His wet muscle grazing your lips, urging you to open your mouth and submit, but you weren’t that easy.

        He grunted, pushing you firmer against the books, no longer playing nice and letting his teeth brush against your bottom lip. But as he concentrated on the kiss, your hands wandered his body, wrapping around his neck before letting your fingers run wild in his hair. The animalistic groan that he unleashed as you tugged on his hair, panting slightly as his eyes rolled back.

        And the sight alone made you mewl, pressing your legs together, feeling the way your wetness dripped down, your core clenching to feel him inside you. He swore under his breath, eyes heavy as he gazed at you, “Why do you hate me so damn much woman?” He huffed, and his question caught you off guard.

        Mainly because now that you thought about your reason for disliking him, it was stupid. You bashfully looked away, but he grasped your face with a strength that made your eyes line up, “Because you’re a man.” You blurted.

        He grinned, pushing himself against you, and that’s when you felt it - his manhood pulsing underneath his robes, just missing your own heat. A soft moan left you, and he kissed his teeth, “Good observation, I am a male – a 100% if I do say. Now, what does that have to do with hating me?”

        “I-I thought you would be like the others, as the God of wine. Lustful, a fool.” You spoke truthfully, quivering at the way he watched your lips move because you were flat out insulting a God. Somehow the fact that he was a God slipped out of your mind far too many times, and if you’re being honest, there were many times he could have unleashed his wrath on you based on the way you spoke.

        But instead of getting upset he let out a sigh, “I know…a lot of people think that. Think I’m some lustful man like my father.”

        You frowned, realizing the stigma he carried, his whole family in fact. Dionysus was notorious for sleeping around with men and woman, and to judge a man based on others, even you knew better. “I’m sorry and…”

        He raised a brow, urging for you to finish your sentence, “I don’t hate you…you just drive me up the bloody wall – literally.” The way he bit his lips, looking down at you, “I’m going to be your teacher tonight, sweetheart.”

        And the thought alone made you weak in the knees.

        With ease, Namjoon pushed his legs between yours, grinning at the pathetic whimper that escaped your lips, “I promise, I’ll never try to dominate you if you agree to be mine. I’ll let you roam free, do whatever you please, continue serving my dear friend Athena.”

        He was asking you for your hand, asking you to be his. But you found yourself shaking your head, “No.”

        His eyes narrowed, Namjoon hissing under his breath, “What do you want from me, woman? I’ll do anything-” he groaned, his lips brushing your neck and causing you to shake. You tried helplessly to push your legs together, seeking some sort of relief but his legs prevented such action, “Teach me.”

        The way Namjoon’s eyes darken, a stifling grunt leaving him as he watched the way you squirm, “Teach you what.”

        “Let me have my way, yes. But when it comes to love – devour me. Consume me. Make me yours.” You purred, letting your nails dig into his hair, tugging at his lush locks, and that alone made him snap. He lifted his knee, rubbing it against your core and causing you to whine out in delight.

        Indulge and submit.

        Two words you never understood, until you met him.

        Submitting is not weakness, it’s not you losing control, because you were willingly letting him devour you. You wanted Namjoon too – and that is not a weakness but strength, power. Because with a flick of your wrist you could make Namjoon stop dead in his tracks, ending this.

        That was real power – and he gladly gave it to you.

        Namjoon’s knee rubbed teasingly slow, hissing into your ear, “Your soaking wet, I can feel you dripping on my knee. You like this, huh? Getting off on my fucking knee.”

        The way he spoke, voice low and coarse as he humiliated you just made you whimper. You unknowingly bucked your hips, gasping as you felt your bundle of nerves hit his thigh. Your eyes rolled back, “Fuck, you love this, huh, sweetheart?”

        The way he rubbed his knee got faster, deliberately letting your clit rub against his skin, lips readily nipping at your neck. There was so much stimulation, his hands trailing upwards, cupping your breasts and folding them. Your head swung back, pleasure coursing through your body.

        How you dreamt of this, dreamt of him just pinning you up against this bookcase and fucking you stupid.

        Your cries got louder, grinding your hips harder against his leg, “Namjoon~.” You gasped, not bothering to hush your moans. It was just him and you in this damn library, you would be as loud as you wanted. The way he always managed to get your clit rolling, nails digging into his skin as you felt a pressure so heavy building in your stomach.

        The way your hips bucked, knees giving out and causing you to fall against his knee, “You’re already going to cum for me, sweetheart?” He groaned, enjoying the sound of your whimpers, your weak cries as you shut your eyes. It was everything he fantasized and more, his member getting harder, aching to be inside of you and feel your walls clenching.

        Your mouth parted, whining, “N-Namjoon, I’m so close.” You gasped. Fuck, you couldn’t believe it. A whimpering mess from Namjoon’s thigh alone. Your legs trembled, spots flooding your vision despite your shut eyes as the pressure built to a new peak. You were so close, your cries getting louder, his rubbing more furious.

        “You think I’m gonna let you cum?” Namjoon whispered into your ear, fingers tugging on your perked nipples through your nightgown. Your back arched, your release coming close, but his words dawned on you, “Please, please Namjoon.” You gasped, head shaking as you struggled to open your eyes.

        When your eyes finally did flutter open, and you looked at his face, you almost lost it.

        His heavy breathing, eyes half-lidded and cheeks coloured as Namjoon leaned into your body, lost in ecstasy, “After all the damn trouble you put me though, oh this is just the start of your punishment.”

        He pulled his knee back, leaving you a soaking mess, cheeks glowing, looking at the sticky chaos all over his legs. Sexual frustration took over, hands hitting his chest in defeat, “You asshole.”

        You were so damn close – so bloody close, but Namjoon didn’t seem to care at all. The grip on your breasts became aggressive, puffing as you felt the fabric starting to strain under his touch. “I’m gonna punish you, make sure you learn that I don’t like being teased.”

        And that’s when you heard the rip. Your eyes widen, feeling the cold air on your skin, white fibres floating as your dress ripped in half. “M-my dress!” the words flew, gasping as your boobs bounced and Namjoon hungrily pushed his body forward, “Worry about yourself first.”

        He gripped your wrists, dragging you away from the bookshelf and leading you to one of the many study desks that littered the area. The red tinge that painted your face spread throughout your body, trying helplessly to cover yourself even just a tiny bit. Namjoon was still fully clothed, still wearing the finest of silks and furs and in your eyes, you seemed very underdressed.

        But just as you were about to complain, his lips slammed against yours, shushing your cries for good. He tasted just like his wine, so smooth and addictive – that denied orgasm of yours had you begging already, “Please-please just touch me.” You spoke with jagged breath, struggling to stand up straight as your body leaned against the wooden table.

        “I’ll touch you, alright, teach you your first lesson.”

        “And what’s that?” You kittenishly spoke, a bit more bite in your voice than needed since you were utter putty in his hands.

        “What happens when you tease me – what your punishment is.”

        His body sat on the chair, tugging on your wrist harshly, letting your body fall along his lap. The way your ass stuck out in the air, his member poking your lower stomach, itching to be touched had your pussy throbbing with need.

        It was such a submissive position and something you never in a million years thought you would ever do. But the way his hands ran down your back, grabbing your ass with such vigour and want, “You don’t know how long I’ve stared at this pretty ass of yours.”

        And the thought of him checking you out all this time had your heart fluttering, knowing that he actually sought after you, that you broke this man, a God, and made him work hard. “Are you going to stare at it or punish me?” You huffed, looking over your shoulder and giving him the snarkiest smirk.

        The way he bit his lips, his hand falling down on your ass with a smack that bounced off the walls of this library with such volume. You cried out, not anticipating such strength, Namjoon’s hands running over the spot he just hit softly, “How’s that?” He taunted, this time bearing the smirk.

        You glared harshly, “That’s all you got?”

        Just because you were book smart didn’t mean you knew when to shut your mouth, and this was a perfect example of that. You swore you saw the vein in Namjoon’s neck bulge in infuriation, hand raising high and smacking you once again. You hissed, the pain radiating, but also the pleasure.

        The way his hand rose and fell over and over again, your voice shaky as you whimper out in pure delight and anticipation. It was like Namjoon knew, how hard to spank, breathing heavy as his blows never wavered once.

        How badly you wanted to turn around and look at his face – you could already image the sweat on his forehead, biting his lips as he watched the way your ass jiggled with each slap. And despite the tears that streamed down your face, you loved it. The pain he inflicted, but also the soothingly rubs he did between.

        Ten…twelve…fifteen…eighteen…

        “Namjoon~.” You whimpered.

        “What’s wrong, is someone tapping out?” He huffed, mocking at the way you trembled over his knees.

        It was shameful how wet you were, and you knew you were leaking down your legs and all over his expensive robes. It wasn’t a matter of your body not being able to handle his punishment anymore, but more so you wanted him to just fuck you already.

        Without realizing, your legs pressed together, seeking temporary relief, and the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “Look at you, getting punished and your fucking soaking wet.” He grunted, and instead of receiving another slap, his hands ran down your buttock, only to tease your core.

        The sharp gasp that left your lips, eyes fluttering closed as he let his fingers slid over your slit, scooping up all of your wetness. Your hips jumped upwards, squirming, and you could hear him grunt, you’d been teasing his member without realizing.

        “Please, just fuck me.” You cried, hands covering your face in frustration, “You want me to fuck you? Then show me how much you want it.” And you didn’t need to be told twice.

        In an instant, he tugged on your bun, forcing you to sit up and pushing you down to your knees. The way he sighed contently, your wide eyes looking up at him with such desire that he licked his lips, “Convince me.”

        Your hands ran up his legs, feeling the way his thighs tensed, only fueling your urge to make him feel good. Make sure that he realized how good you felt, and how badly you needed him.

        But you couldn’t help but smile softly noticing that he undid the stash that wrapped around his waist, slipping the black furs he wore off his body - helping you undress him. With a final tug of your hands along the hemline, you pulled, exposing him fully.

        Your jaw shamefully dropped, seeing his cock standing proud, fully erect and already oozing pre-cum. “What you waiting for, sweetheart? Do you want me to fuck you or no?”

        And that was all you needed to pounce.

        You hands fell on Namjoon’s thighs, your mouth inches away from his member. The head of his dick red, angry and begging to be sucked. Your fingers wrapped along the base, feeling him pulse underneath you, and you dove.

        Mouth parted, slipping him between your lips hungrily with a deep suck. Cheeks hollowed, making sure he felt every ridge in your damn mouth. And as your head bobbed down him slowly, your eyes rolled back, because you were hit with a familiar taste.

        His bloody wine.

        Memories of the way the cold scarlet liquid ran down your throat, the spiciness and hint of plum, without realizing you bounced your head up and down rapidly, not caring at all at the spit that dripped out of your mouth.

        His hands tangled themselves in your ruined bun, hips bucking to meet your bobs as he grunted, “Fuck, I thought the followers of Athena are chaste.” And with that comment you pulled away, grinning, “Untrue. Athena is pure, but she doesn’t care what we do in our spare time.”

        “So fucking you in her library is okay?”

        “As long as it’s after work hours.”

        “Fuck your dirty.”

        And your lips found it’s way back to him.

        Your tongue lapped the head of his dick, engulfing him as you let your teeth slightly graze him - earning a low groan. Your hand moved up and down his shaft because as much as you tried, you struggled to fully down him.

        He was unquestionably on the longer side, and that only fueled the thoughts of how deep you’ll feel him inside of you. How Namjoon would hit places utterly unknown to you.

        With a deep breath, you swallowed, feeling Namjoon’s legs tense, enjoying the way his cock was clasped in your throat. He moaned, head thrown back and knuckles white as he gripped your hair. His hand shoved your head down on him, pushing himself farther down your throat.

        You groaned, choking on his length, causing pleasurable vibrations to course through him. Another fucked out growl escaped him as he let his hips meet your sucks. “F-fuck. I-if you keep that up I’m gonna explode.” He huffed, and just from the way his voice wavered, he was telling the truth.

        The pool between your legs was slowly eating you away, wanting frantically to slip a finger inside but you could only image what your punishment would be if Namjoon saw you do that, and right now, you couldn’t handle another punishment of his.

        Your tongue licked the head of his dick urgently, loving the way he helplessly bucked underneath you, that a mere follower, was making a God like him come undone.

        His breath hitched, hips raised, and before you could swallow him down your throat once again, he pulled away. The way Namjoon’s chest heaved, face blissed out, cheeks crimsoned as he panted, “Fuck. Get up here so I can fuck you senseless.”

        You scrambled onto your feet, his hands grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him. “Straddle me.”

        With his arms as support, your legs wrapped around his hips, feeling his member lay against your cunt and teasing your clit, “Put it in already.” You moaned, unable to wait any longer.

        You’ve dreamt of this, these past days were driving you absolutely insane with lust, but also because you’ve become fond of this God of wine. Namjoon wasn’t who he seemed, and if only you didn’t let your damn attitude get in the way, maybe you could’ve been fucking him this whole week.

        With hips raised, Namjoon grabbed your waist to steady you, “Take your time, I didn’t get to stretch you out.” He hummed, and you couldn’t help but let your heart waver at how gentle his tone was. With a weak nod, you grabbed his length and slowly started going down on him.

        Your lips parted, a small mewl fleeing as you felt him starting to enter you, stretching you completely. The burning sensation of being spread wide because of him, and you noticed the way Namjoon huffed to himself, seemingly in more pain than you, “What’s wrong?” You gasped, itching yourself on him.

        “Trying not to fuck you senseless at the moment.” He grunted, shutting his eyes close. You grinned, and despite the burning stretch, you let your body fall hard on him, the base of his dick and balls slapping against your skin.

        The way he groaned, biting his lips so hard you thought he drew blood, “You bitch.” He hissed, and you laughed because you knew what you just did. “Punish me?” You purred, wrapping your arms around his neck, and his eyes narrowed, staring at you with such passion and aggravation, “I think you like being punished.”

        “Only if it’s done by you.”

        His hands moved away from your waist, down to your ass, grabbing the flesh harshly. You winced, still sore from his smacks, but Namjoon grinned, “You’re not gonna be able to walk for days.”

        “Good, wasn’t planning on it anyways.”

        And with that, he thrust upwards. You raised your hips up and down to met his jerks, feeling the way he pulled out entirely before slamming back inside of you. Your breath hitched, because fuck. You’ve never felt so damn satisfied.

        You could feel every ridge of his member along your walls, clenching him tightly as you bounced on him. His huffing, hands frantically guiding you up and down, pulling you forward and causing your clit to rub along his pelvis. “Damn, Namjoon.” You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your legs already trembling from the pleasure.

        He chuckled, his head falling into your neck, biting your skin crudely, “You like it rough, huh?”

        “Fuck, yes.” You mewled, letting your body rest against him weakly as you bounced on him. God, you could feel the way his legs tensed in bliss, fingers digging into your soft flesh and causing bruises to emerge. The lewd sounds of your wetness seeping, his dick slamming back into you.

        Skin on skin – it echoed loudly, and you bet that anyone near this damn library would figure out that you two were fucking. Your eyes rolled back, grinding yourself harder, letting your clit rub along Namjoon’s pelvis, giving you that extra kick to bring you to your impending orgasm. “Harder.” You gasped out, riding him frantically.

        The need to cum, it was driving you insane. That’s all you wanted, was to cum with Namjoon inside you - feel him explode.

        “You’re so damn sexy.” Namjoon panted, and you could tell he was hitting his limit as well. His thrusts become sloppy, huffing into your neck as his hips moved at an inhuman speed. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, a sweaty sheen covering both of your bodies as you rode him.

        The knot in your stomach, the knot that you’ve been denied for far too long -  desperately wanting to snap, “Please-please, I’m so-so close.” You whimpered. Head spinning, mouth hanging open, not caring at all that you looked like such a mess.

        Namjoon groaned watching the way you fucked yourself on him, breasts bouncing, body flushed and twitching. “Fuck look at you-you can’t even open your eyes.”

        His harsh words made the knot tighter, moaning, “I-it’s so good.” Namjoon thrust upwards once more, the angle causing him to brush against a particular spot that made you see stars.

        You screamed, and you could hear him snicker underneath you, “Found it.”

        He didn’t give you a chance to ask what he meant, Namjoon’s hands holding you steady, taking charge and fucking you at such speed and hitting that spot over and over. The way he pounded into you, seeking out his high, chest heaving. Your walls clenched, causing him to grunt passionately.

        Your bun came undone, hair flying everywhere as your head fell into his chest, and the release that you’ve long sought after fast approaching, “Fuck you’re so tight, you’re going to cum aren’t you?” He hissed, his hands letting go to only smack your ass.

        The whimper that left your lips, unable to speak but just nod, “Fuck, I’m going to cum.” He huffed, and at the sound of his words, you gasped, “Cum inside me, please.”

        “You want my cum that bad?”

         “Yes, inside, please~.” You whimpered.

         Your legs stiffen, eyes struggling to keep open, “I’m going to-I’m going to-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, a cry escaping you as you bit his shoulder, legs trembling and your clit rubbing frantically against his pelvis as your orgasm ripped through you.

        Namjoon groaned noisily, feeling the way you tightened, holding him inside of you as he tried to fuck you. His name slipped off your tongue like a song, crying out Namjoon’s name as he thrust, “F-fuck-” he stuttered.

         His hips shot forward, planting himself deep inside as you trembled. A sudden warmth shoot inside of you, a desperate cry escaping his lips, head thrown back, breath hitched.

        You could feel it, the way his hips sloppily fucked you, riding off his high. Long spurts of his seed filled you, and you could only moan in pleasure. Your chest rose up and down, struggling to control your limbs, shuddering as you milked him dry.

        His hands left your ass, still inside of you as he ran his hands up your back - pulling you close. Your face nuzzled his neck. The only thing you could hear was your pants - enjoying his touch, his warmth, his honey skin underneath you as you embraced.

        Namjoon’s hand stroked your back, soothing your quivering body, sighing in pleasure. You could still feel him inside of you, hard in length as your wetness and his cum slowly seeped out of you. And while the thought of him releasing inside of you would have disgusted you last week, you were currently basking in it. Blushing as you never felt so close to someone before as you did now.

        “So…give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready for round two,” Namjoon muttered. You head shot upwards, looking at with wide eyes and a face of disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re still hard.”

        “Are you joking? I have the sexiest woman on my lap, what man wouldn’t be?”

        Your cheeks turned pink at his words, not used to such compliments. He gave you cheeky grin, “You’re crazy we aren’t going for another round.”

        The way Namjoon lifted his hips, causing a bolt of pleasure to run up your back, gasping softly and eyes fluttering. You didn’t have to look at his face to know he was smirking, “You sure about that?” He mused, slapping your ass and grabbing it lustfully.

        You could feel his member twitch inside of you, and you mentally kicked yourself, “…let me lock the library doors at least.” You muttered shyly.

        But before you could process what was happening, he stood.

        Your arms wrapped around his neck frantically, your body falling into him, his dick hitting new spots inside of you that had you moaning. “W-what are you doing?” You gasped out, Namjoon walking with you wrapped around his waist, balls deep, “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m fucking you to the main doors.”

        “N-Namjoon!”

        But he just grinned, every step towards the door causing you to bounce, moaning at the pleasure. And although you wanted to slap the man silly for not being able to wait the five minutes it’ll take you to lock the doors and come back you smiled.

        “How the pupil has become the teacher…” You muttered.

        “Trust me, sweetheart, I have much more to teach you.”

        You smiled, “Teach me.”

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

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[dfroza]

there’s so many fake things in this world.

so many false and deceptive paths to lead the heart away from its True nature that is only found in our Creator.

but there is nothing false in Heaven as it is impossible for Love to lie.

and have you ever wanted to run away from the insanity of this world and its fear? there is such a place that is promised to us, even a “secret elopement” to come.

and so we hold this pure hope as a treasure in the rebirth of the heart (inside, Anew) as we live out our lives here in a physical and temporal body.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 4th chapter of the Letter of First Thessalonians:

And now, beloved brothers and sisters, since you have been mentored by us with respect to living for God and pleasing him, I appeal to you in the name of the Lord Jesus with this request: keep faithfully growing through our teachings even more and more. For you already know the instructions we’ve shared with you through the Lord Jesus.

God’s will is for you to be set apart for him in holiness and that you keep yourselves unpolluted from sexual defilement. Yes, each of you must guard your sexual purity with holiness and dignity, not yielding to lustful passions like those who don’t know God. Never take selfish advantage of a brother or sister in this matter, for we’ve already told you and solemnly warned you that the Lord is the avenger in all these things. For God’s call on our lives is not to a life of compromise and perversion but to a life surrounded in holiness. Therefore, whoever rejects this instruction isn’t rejecting human authority but God himself, who gives us his precious gift—his Spirit of holiness.

There’s no need for anyone to say much to you about loving your fellow believers, for God is continually teaching you to unselfishly love one another. Indeed, your love is what you’re known for throughout Macedonia. We urge you, beloved ones, to let this unselfish love increase and flow through you more and more. Aspire to lead a calm and peaceful life as you mind your own business and earn your living, just as we’ve taught you. By doing this you will live an honorable life, influencing others and commanding respect of even the unbelievers. Then you’ll be in need of nothing and not dependent upon others.

Beloved brothers and sisters, we want you to be quite certain about the truth concerning those who have passed away, so that you won’t be overwhelmed with grief like many others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, we also believe that God will bring with Jesus those who died while believing in him. This is the word of the Lord: we who are alive in him and remain until the Lord appears will by no means have an advantage over those who have already died, for both will rise together.

For the Lord himself will appear with the declaration of victory, the shout of an archangel, and the trumpet blast of God. He will descend from the heavenly realm and command those who are dead in Christ to rise first. Then we who are alive will join them, transported together in clouds to have an encounter with the Lord in the air, and we will be forever joined with the Lord. So encourage one another with these truths.

The Letter of First Thessalonians, Chapter 4 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 22nd chapter of the book of Jeremiah that warns against injustice:

Eternal One (to Jeremiah): Go down to the palace of the king of Judah and say to him, “Hear the word of the Eternal. Listen, O king of Judah, who sits on David’s throne. Listen, you advisors of the king. Listen, you people who walk through these city gates. This is what the Eternal has to say: ‘Do what is just and right. Rescue those poor ones being robbed by the extortionists. Protect the outsiders, orphans, and widows in your land from any oppression, for they have no one. Stop the violence and the shedding of innocent blood in this place. If you do what I say, there will always be a king on the throne in Jerusalem. The descendants of David will ride through these gates leading a great processional of chariots and horses, of advisors and subjects. But if you refuse My words of warning, I swear by My name and all that I am that this palace of yours will be laid to waste.’”

This is what the Eternal says concerning the king of Judah and his household.

Eternal One: You are as precious to Me as the lush forests of Gilead;

you are like the cedars on the summit of Lebanon.

But I swear I will make you into a wilderness—stripped of trees—

with cities that lie empty and lifeless.

I will unleash destroyers against you—

ruthless men with fearful weapons.

They will cut down your best trees

and throw them on the fire.

When other nations pass by the ruins of Jerusalem, they will ask each other, “Why did the Eternal destroy this great city?” The answer they will hear is the one you already know: “Because these people violated the covenant they had made with the Eternal their God by worshiping and serving other gods.”

Do not cry for the one who is dead; do not mourn for him.

Cry instead for the living one going into exile

For he will not come back again,

he will never see his home again.

This is a word of the Eternal for Shallum (son of Josiah), who succeeded his father as king of Judah and went from this place into exile:

Eternal One: He will never return, and he will die in that land of captivity, never to see this place again.

Woe to the one who builds his palace on the proceeds of unrighteousness,

who adds upper rooms on the gains of injustice,

Who forces his own people to labor for nothing,

who refuses to pay them for all their hard work.

He thinks to himself, “I will build a huge palace

with a large second story and many windows.

I will panel the walls with the best cedar

and paint it red to impress everyone.”

Do you become king because you have more cedar than another?

Your father, so different from you, had plenty to eat, plenty to drink.

Didn’t he live his life as a righteous and fair man?

And look how well he did.

He stood up for the poor and needy;

then things went well for him and the people.

Isn’t this what it means to know Me?

But you are so different: your eyes are focused and your heart is set

on one goal: deceitful personal gain.

You make the innocent pay with their blood;

you violently oppress them and take what is not yours.

So this is what the Eternal says

regarding Jehoiakim (son of Josiah), king of Judah:

Eternal One: Upon his death, no one in his family will weep and say,

“Oh my brother, oh my sister—our loved one is gone.”

Nor will any of his subjects weep and say,

“Our leader is gone; our great king is gone.”

No, he will be buried like a dead donkey—his body dragged away

and dumped outside Jerusalem’s gates in the trash heap.

(to Jerusalem) Go to the mountains of Lebanon and cry out.

Run to Bashan and the peaks of Abarim, and cry out loudly

Because all of your lovers have been destroyed.

I warned you when things were going well,

but you said to Me, “I will not listen.”

You have treated Me this way since the days of your youth;

you have never listened to My voice.

All your shepherds will be driven away by the wind,

and your lovers will be led into captivity.

In that moment, you will be covered with shame,

humiliated because of your evil ways.

You who live in Lebanon,

safe and nestled among the cedars—

How you will cry in anguish when the judgment comes,

like the anguish and pain of a woman giving birth.

As surely as I live, I declare the following about Coniah (son of Jehoiakim), king of Judah: Even though you were a signet ring on My right hand, I have torn you away. I will drop you into the hands of those who want you dead, those you fear—Nebuchadnezzar (king of Babylon) and his Chaldean army. I will cast you and your mother into another country, where you were not born. It will be there, in that foreign land, where you will die. Though they will long to come back to this land you call home, they will never return.

Is this man, Coniah, a broken and worthless pot?

Is he like something tossed on the garbage heap that no one wants?

Why are he and his children being thrown out—

no, hurled out into a foreign land?

O land, land, land!

You must hear the word of the Eternal!

Eternal One: Write in the record that this man is childless and disgraced.

As long as he lives, none of his children will succeed him

And sit on the throne of David

and rule over Judah again.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 22 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, September 4 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at the True and pure hope of the heart:

In our Torah for this week (i.e., Nitzavim), we read: “The LORD your God will return as you return, and will have mercy upon you, turning to gather you back...” (Deut 30:3). This has both a present and prophetic application. First, in the present hour, if you turn to God, he will show you compassion, and he will “gather back” all those distant and fragmented parts of yourself into shalom and wholeness. He will restore your lost days; he will bring you out of exile and give you comfort in Yeshua. He makes all things new. “Draw near, therefore to God, and he will draw near to you” (James 4:8). Second, the LORD will return to earth as the Jewish people return from their captivity, and he will restore Zion during the time of the final redemption. The LORD will turn captivity into mercy; he will turn in his compassion to his people. As it is written: “I will be found by you, declares the LORD... and I will bring you back...” (Jer. 29:14).

The language of the Torah here is emphatic: “even if your exile is at the farthest edge of heaven (בִּקְצֵה הַשָּׁמָיִם), from there the LORD your God will gather you...” (Deut. 30:4). Note that this prophecy is written in the singular and therefore pertains to each individual exile. God will “gather you,” that is, he bring you back to make you whole. Even if your exile (singular) is to the uttermost, the LORD will take you and deliver you, as it is written, “He is able to save to the uttermost (σῴζειν εἰς τὸ παντελὲς) those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them” (Heb. 7:25). We are close to the end now, waiting for our Lord to come take us home, in whatever way he chooses.

If you are a child of God you are destined for unimaginable beauty and glory... “All things work together for your ultimate good”; there is a future and hope reserved for you. Nothing can thwart God's overmastering providence and purposes for your blessing in Yeshua our Lord. Amen, one day soon you will forget all your miseries and be engulfed in great joy! [Hebrew for Christians]

and another about our human frailty and the treasure of grace:

No one escapes suffering in this life, and therefore it is senseless to pretend to hide or deny our troubles. We are likened to fragile and easily broken vessels that hold the truth of salvation; we are mere dust held together by the sustaining power and glory of God. Our frailty is intended to reveal God's sufficiency and strength: "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us" (2 Cor. 4:7). In light of this, the only meaningful question is how our woundedness and vulnerability may be used to encourage others (2 Cor. 1:4). The "surpassing power belongs to God and not to us" means that God keeps us continually dependent upon himself; we have nothing at our own command; God alone is our strength.

I wonder how often, when I pray from my heart, yearning in my sorrowful unknowing, reaching for utterance in my emptiness, that God sees past my momentary struggle to behold who I really am - despite myself - by means of his grace. What are words but disguised groans, sighs, and lament? And when there's nothing left to say -- silence -- being in the presence of God, quietly surrendered to everything, to my own inner contradictions, to my hopes and to my fears, to my delights and my disappointments, when all is abandoned - I forget myself in peace because everything I am or ever will be is laid out, nothing hidden, before Him. I am no longer fighting, struggling, angling, reasoning, or desiring anything other than just to be there, just as I am, a broken soul in need of my heavenly Father's love... and it's a beautiful place of shalom. [Hebrew for Christians]

9.3.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

September 4, 2021

The Doctrine of the Few

“The LORD did not set his love upon you, nor choose you, because ye were more in number than any people; for ye were the fewest of all people.” (Deuteronomy 7:7)

Modern people—even Christians—tend to measure success in terms of bigness. God’s measure, on the other hand, is based on quality, not quantity. There were undoubtedly millions of people on the earth, for example, when the Flood came in the days of Noah, but only “few, that is, eight souls were saved” as the waters lifted up the Ark (1 Peter 3:20).

A few centuries after the Flood, populations had again increased, and great nations developed in Egypt, Sumeria, and elsewhere. But God called one man, Abraham, to establish a new nation, and he obeyed. Many great nations (Arabs, etc.) came from Abraham, but again God chose only one, Israel, to inherit the promise. Israel did grow, but as our text shows, even this chosen nation was nearly always insignificant compared to other nations.

In Israel’s history, many instances are recorded when God used just a few to battle many. God used Gideon’s 300 men to defeat 135,000 Midianites (Judges 7:7; 8:10). Similar deliverances occurred in the days of David, Asa, Jehoshaphat, Hezekiah, and others.

In the New Testament, the Lord Jesus told His disciples that “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). He also said to them: “Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).

God’s criterion is that of motivation rather than multiplication. “Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it” (Matthew 7:14). But those few will be faithful servants and will someday hear Him say: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant...enter thou into the joy of thy Lord” (Matthew 25:21). HMM

A musical prayer wiry Cageless Birds:

“I recently heard the Lord saying 'Melissa, I want to give you a gift…I want to give you the gift of a sound mind.'

2 Timothy 1:7 says “I have not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind”

The Lord is showing me that I have a choice, and He is asking me to lean into wisdom, abandon fear and turn away from anxiety and panic and CHOOSE a sound mind, to choose self control.”

- Melissa Helser

We gathered on Monday, March 26, 2020 to worship and pray over our nation and the world. As we are quarantined together, our heart was to get Heaven’s perspective and partner with the heart of God in the midst of current events surrounding Covid19. This is a small portion of nearly 2 hours of spontaneous worship and prayer that we will be sharing in full. Our desire is that this encourages you and infuses your own prayer life, wherever you watch this.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

This is How I Lied by Heather Gudenkauf

 Smash bang killed her in the first chapter BUT who killed her? Then, 25 years later her BFF is called in and told that new evidence has popped up after a boot, boot of the deceased cold case, has popped up. So, Maggie, laden and ready, nearly, to pop out her first born takes on the cold case of, “Who killed Eve?”

 At this point I have to admit I promised to do a Book Review and Blog Post so…am taking a break from the riveting reading to post the review (not finished) and tell you why you should read this book.

 What I like (so far):

* Maggie, she seems to be on the job, in the marriage, willing to do what it takes to solve the mystery of who killed Eve 25 years before

* Shaun: I think…haven’t seen enough of him yet BUT as a farmer and someone that Maggie is with…he probably is a good guy

* The writing – well done and can’t get back to the story

* That this is a cold case that might be solved with the use of DNA trace evidence on items saved from a previous crime scene

* Plenty of red herrings

* Wanting to get back to the story even though I should probably go to bed

 What I did not like

* That Eve had to die to make this book happen, and that she suffered so much

* That the bad guy got away with the murder for almost three decades

* That I have not finished the book yet so have to return so I can find out what happened.

 Did/Do I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Yes

Will I finish the book? Yes…at least I hope to!

 Thank you to NetGalley and HQN-Park Row Books for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 4 Stars

BLURB

With the eccentricity of Fargo and the intensity of Sadie, THIS IS HOW I LIED by Heather Gudenkauf (Park Row Books; May 12, 2020; $17.99) is a timely and gripping thriller about careless violence we can inflict on those we love, and the lengths we will go to make it right, even 25 years later.

Tough as nails and seven months pregnant, Detective Maggie Kennedy-O’Keefe of Grotto PD, is dreading going on desk duty before having the baby her and her husband so badly want. But when new evidence is found in the 25-year-old cold case of her best friend’s murder that requires the work of a desk jockey, Maggie jumps at the opportunity to be the one who finally puts Eve Knox’s case to rest.

Maggie has her work cut out for her. Everyone close to Eve is a suspect. There’s Nola, Eve’s little sister who’s always been a little... off; Nick, Eve’s ex-boyfriend with a vicious temper; a Schwinn riding drifter who blew in and out of Grotto; even Maggie’s husband Sean, who may have known more about Eve’s last day than he’s letting on. As Maggie continues to investigate, the case comes closer and closer to home, forcing her to confront her own demons before she can find justice for Eve.

Buy Links:

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Amazon

Books-A-Million

Powell’s

EXCERPT

Maggie Kennedy-O'Keefe

Monday, June 15, 2020

As I slide out of my unmarked police car my swollen belly briefly gets wedged against the steering wheel. Sucking in my gut does little good but I manage to move the seat back and squeeze past the wheel. I swing my legs out the open door and glance furtively around the parking lot behind the Grotto Police Department to see if anyone is watching.

Almost eight months pregnant with a girl and not at my most graceful. I'm not crazy about the idea of one of my fellow officers seeing me try to pry myself out of this tin can. The coast appears to be clear so I begin the little ritual of rocking back and forth trying to build up enough momentum to launch myself out of the driver's seat.

Once upright, I pause to catch my breath. The morning dew is already sending up steam from the weeds growing out of the cracked concrete. Sweating, I slowly make my way to the rear entrance of the Old Gray Lady, the nickname for the building we're housed in. Built in the early 1900s, the first floor consists of the lobby, the finger printing and intake center, a community room, interview rooms and the jail. The second floor, which once held the old jail is home to the squad room and offices. The dank, dark basement holds a temperamental boiler and the department archives.

The Grotto Police Department has sixteen sworn officers that includes the chief, two lieutenants, a K-9 patrol officer, nine patrol officers, a school resource officer and two detectives. I'm detective number two.

I grew up in Grotto, a small river town of about ten thousand that sits among a circuitous cave system known as Grotto Caves State Park, the most extensive in Iowa. Besides being a favorite destination spot for families, hikers and spelunkers, Grotto is known for its high number of family owned farms – a dying breed. My husband Shaun and I are part of that breed – we own an apple orchard and tree farm.

"Pretty soon we're going to have to roll you in," an irritatingly familiar voice calls out from behind me.

I don't bother turning around. "Francis, that wasn't funny the first fifty times you said it and it still isn't," I say as I scan my key card to let us in.

Behind me, Pete Francis, rookie officer and all-around caveman grabs the door handle and in a rare show of chivalry opens it so I can step through. "You know I'm just joking," Francis says giving me the grin that all the young ladies in Grotto seem to find irresistible but just gives me another reason to roll my eyes.

"With the wrong person, those kinds of jokes will land you in sensitivity training," I remind him.

"Yeah, but you're not the wrong person, right?" he says seriously, "You're cool with it?"

I wave to Peg behind the reception desk and stop at the elevator and punch the number two button. The police department only has two levels but I'm in no mood to climb up even one flight of stairs today. "Do I look like I'm okay with it?" I ask him.

Francis scans me up and down. He takes in my brown hair pulled back in a low bun, wayward curls springing out from all directions, my eyes red from lack of sleep, my untucked shirt, the fabric stretched tight against my round stomach, my sturdy shoes that I think are tied, but I can't know for sure because I can't see over my boulder-sized belly.

"Sorry," he says appropriately contrite and wisely decides to take the stairs rather than ride the elevator with me.

"You’re forgiven," I call after him.  As I step on the elevator to head up to my desk, I check my watch. My appointment with the chief is at eight and though he didn't tell me what the exact reason is for this meeting I think I can make a pretty good guess.

It can't be dictated as to when I have to go on light duty, seven months into my pregnancy, but it's probably time. I'm guessing that Chief Digby wants to talk with me about when I want to begin desk duty or take my maternity leave. I get it.

It's time I start to take it easy. I’ve either been the daughter of a cop or a cop my entire life but I’m more than ready to set it aside for a while and give my attention, twenty-four-seven to the little being inhabiting my uterus.

Shaun and I have been trying for a baby for a long, long time. And thousands of dollars and dozens of procedures later, when we finally found out we were pregnant, Shaun started calling her peanut because the only thing I could eat for the first nine weeks without throwing up was peanut butter sandwiches. The name stuck.

This baby is what we want more than anything in the world but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm a little bit scared. I’m used to toting around a sidearm not an infant.

The elevator door opens to a dark paneled hallway lined with ten by sixteen framed photos of all the men who served as police chief of Grotto over the years. I pass by eleven photos before I reach the portrait of my father. Henry William Kennedy, 1995 - 2019, the plaque reads.

While the other chiefs stare out from behind the glass with serious expressions, my dad smiles showing his straight, white teeth. He was so proud when he was named chief of police. We were all proud, except maybe my older brother, Colin. God knows what Colin thought of it. As a teenager he was pretty self-absorbed, but I guess I was too, especially after my best friend died. I went off the rails for a while but here I am now. A Grotto PD detective, following in my dad’s footsteps. I think he’s proud of me too. At least when he remembers.

Last time I brought my dad back here to visit, we walked down this long corridor and paused at his photo. For a minute I thought he might make a joke, say something like, Hey, who's that good looking guy? But he didn't say anything. Finding the right words is hard for him now. Occasionally, his frustration bubbles over and he yells and sometimes even throws things which is hard to watch. My father has always been a very gentle man.

The next portrait in line is our current police chief, Les Digby. No smile on his tough guy mug. He was hired a month ago, taking over for Dexter Stroope who acted as the interim chief after my dad retired. Les is about ten years older than I am, recently widowed with two teenage sons. He previously worked for the Ransom Sheriff’s Office and I'm trying to decide if I like him. Jury's still out.

  Excerpted from This is How I Lied by Heather Gudenkauf, Copyright © 2020 by Heather Gudenkauf

Published by Park Row Books

AUTHOR BIO

Heather Gudenkauf is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of many books, including The Weight of Silence and These Things Hidden. Heather graduated from the University of Iowa with a degree in elementary education, has spent her career working with students of all ages. She lives in Iowa with her husband, three children, and a very spoiled German Shorthaired Pointer named Lolo. In her free time, Heather enjoys spending time with her family, reading, hiking, and running.

Q&A

1.         What is your writing process like?

I approach each of my novels with the goal of being a plotter – someone who explicitly organizes and outlines her books – but it never quite works out that way for me. I make notes and outline the plot but ultimately the characters take over and do what they want to anyway. My process is messy and meandering. Thankfully, I have a brilliant editor who is able to see through the weeds and pull out the best parts of my plots and keep me on the right path. This is How I Lied completely evolved from my initial intentions. The characters changed, the plot shifted and the final ending poked its head up near the end of revisions and I couldn’t be happier with the results.

   2.         Which came first: the characters or plot line?

For me, the two go hand in hand. The basic plot line comes first, and close behind comes the characters. It doesn’t matter how suspenseful of a plot I develop, if the right characters aren’t there to mold the story and carry it forward, it won’t work. Before I begin writing, I attempt to give my characters rich backstories. Often many of these details don’t make into the novel, but by fully developing their personalities and biographies, it helps keep me in tune with them as I write. Knowing the characters’ likes and dislikes, their foibles and strengths helps me to honestly and accurately determine their motivations and the decisions they make as they move through the novel.

   3.         How do you come up with your plots?

I’m a news junkie! I’ll scan newspapers and websites and a story will catch my eye. It can be the smallest detail or a broader theme but if the idea sticks with me and keeps harassing me to write about it, I know I’m on the right track. For my novel Little Mercies, it was an article about a social worker who ended up on the other side of the justice system because of alleged negligence with her caseload. From this I created an entirely new story about a social worker who was fighting for her own child. In This is How I Lied, I was intrigued by news stories that dealt with the use of familial DNA to solve cold cases and it became a key detail in the novel’s resolution.

 4.         Do you use music to help set a mood/tone for your books?

I do listen to music as I write. It varies based on the story and what I think the characters might listen to. By curating these playsets, it helps me get into their mindset. As I worked on Maggie’s sections in This is How I Lied I listened to a lot of Avett Brothers and Lumineers. For Nola, I listened to classical music and hard rock – she’s an interesting mix. As for Eve, since she was sixteen years old and living in the 90s, I listened to plenty of Nirvana and Beck.

 5.         Where did the idea for this story come from?

 Before I started writing This is How I Lied, I read I’ll be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara, about the author’s investigation of The Golden State Killer who, for decades, terrorized northern California. This book both terrified and fascinated me and I became intrigued by how modern technology was being used to close old cold cases. For my project, I thought it would be interesting to explore how this might play out in a small town where the perpetrator thought the truth behind the crime would never be discovered.

 As I was writing the novel, I learned about the developments in a 40-year-old cold case not far from where I live where familial DNA was used to ultimately convict the killer. Amazing!

  6.         Do you find inspiration for your novels in your personal life?

I often get asked what my childhood must have been like because of the twisty thrillers I write. Thankfully, I can say that I had a blissfully uneventful childhood with parents and siblings that loved and supported me. For me, the inspiration from my own life comes in the settings of my novels – the Mississippi River, farmland, the woods and bluffs – all found in Iowa. In This is How I Lied, the town of Grotto is loosely based on a nearby town until I moved to this part of Iowa, I never realized that we had cave systems.  Visitors to the state park, can literally step back thousands of years. The limestone caves and bluffs are beautiful, haunting and have something for everyone. You can take a casual stroll through some of the caves and have to army crawl through some of the others. Old clothes and a flashlight are a must! The caves made the perfect backdrop for a thriller and I was excited to include them in This is How I Lied.

 7.         What is the one personality trait that you like your main characters to have and why?

In looking back at all my main characters, though they are all different ages and come from different walks of life, I think the trait that they all seem to have in common is perseverance. I’ve had characters battle human evil and demons of their own creation but it doesn’t matter what traumatic events they have been through or the challenges they will face, they manage to make it through. Changed for sure, but intact and hopeful for the future.

 8.         Why do you love Maggie and why should readers root for her?

I do love Maggie! As a police detective, Maggie has dedicated her adult life to helping others and is a loving daughter, sister and wife and is expecting her first child. This doesn’t mean that Maggie is perfect. Like all of my protagonists, Maggie is complicated and flawed and has made some big mistakes, but ultimately she is doing the best that she can.

 9.         What is one thing about publishing you wish someone would have told you?

As a former elementary school teacher, I had absolutely no insights into the publishing world beyond what I saw on television and in movies – which portrayed it as a dog-eat-dog world. I have to admit, as a new author, I was very intimidated. But to my delight -  and relief - the people I’ve encountered along the way– my agent, editors, publishing teams, fellow authors, booksellers and readers – all have been nothing but supportive, encouraging and kind.

 10.       What is coming up next for you?

I just finished the first draft of my next novel, a locked-room mystery about a reclusive writer working on a true crime book when a snow storm leaves her trapped inside her remote home, setting off a series of events that lead to a stunning revelation. It was so much fun to write!

 11.       Has quarantine been better or worse for your writing?

It’s been such a scary, unsettling time but I’ve found writing a nice distraction and a great comfort during this extended time at home. I’ve been able to turn off the news and get lost in my manuscript or other writing projects. It’s a lot like reading – a much needed escape from the real world.

 12.       What was your last 5 star read?

Julia Heaberlin has a new book coming out this August called We Are All the Same in the Dark and it has surged to the top as one of my favorite reads of the year. It has everything I love in a great thriller: a beautifully written small town mystery, with multilayered, unforgettable characters and a twisty plot. It was absolutely mesmerizing.

Social Links:

Author Website

Twitter: @hgudenkauf

Instagram: @heathergudenkauf

Facebook: @HeatherGudenkaufAuthor

Goodreads

THIS IS HOW I LIED

Author: Heather Gudenkauf

ISBN: 9780778309703

Publication Date: May 12, 2020

Publisher: Park Row

[deadpresidents]

Bush 41: War Hero • President • Patriarch • Patriot

The USS Finback, a 312-foot-long Gato-class submarine surfaced a little before noon on September 2, 1944 in the treacherous waters near Chichi Jima, the site of a Japanese military base on one of the Bonin Islands, approximately 150 miles north of Iwo Jima. The Finback was assigned “lifeguard duty” and was performing search and rescue missions for American airmen who had been shot down in action and might have survived via bail-out or crash landing.

Earlier that morning, four TBM Avenger aircraft had launched from the USS San Jacinto targeting radio installations on Chichi Jima. At around 8:30 AM, one of the Avengers was blasted by Japanese anti-aircraft shells as it made its bombing run over the island. With the plane on fire and losing control, the pilot continued his run, dropping his four 500-pound bombs on the target he had been given that morning on the San Jacinto. Turning back towards the sea, smoke and flames filled the cockpit, choking the crew of three. Working hard to create distance between the island and the failing aircraft, the pilot ordered his crew to bail out by parachute, shouting “Hit the silk!” over the Avenger’s radio.

As the pilot exited the aircraft, his head smashed into the plane’s tail, slicing a thick gash above his eye, tearing panels from his chute, and sending him plummeting towards the sea at a higher rate of speed than he should have been. Still, he splashed down in the Pacific Ocean and another American plane in the vicinity dropped a life raft near him. He was alive. He was alone.

On Chichi Jima, four miles to the southwest, Japanese authorities began to organize a search party to capture any downed American pilots who might have survived. Boats were launched to find them. The pilot, stung by a Portuguese man-o-war, vomiting from ingesting sea water, and dazed from the trauma of the attack and the bleeding head wound, still had the presence of mind to begin paddling away from Chichi Jima. Allied forces never captured Chichi Jima during the war, and reports of atrocities ranging from Japanese soldiers summarily beheading Allied prisoners to cannibalism of POWs by Japanese troops led to the post-war execution of five of Chichi Jima’s leading officers, including the commander, Major Sueo Matoba.

The current was sweeping the Avenger’s pilot towards Chichi Jima and he desperately paddled against it and out into the open sea. Other members of his aerial squadron opened fire to keep away the Japanese boats heading towards him while another American aircraft radioed the downed pilot’s position to the Finback, which steamed towards him.

When the submarine surfaced, it was unclear to the pilot whether he had been rescued or captured. Then five American submariners appeared on the deck. Grainy video footage, now over 70 years old, survives of the Finback’s submariners fishing the gangly, 6'2" pilot from the sea after his three-hour-long ordeal battling injuries and the Pacific Ocean.

Like so many of the soldiers and sailors risking and sacrificing their lives on distant continents and in remote seas, including the men who saved his life on that September 2, 1944, the pilot was very young – just 20 years old.

His name was George Herbert Walker Bush.

•••

Today, George H.W. Bush celebrates his 93rd birthday and is one of the longest-living Presidents in American history. As of today, only two U.S. Presidents have lived longer – Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan, both of whom died at the age of 93 (former President Jimmy Carter will turn 93 this year, as well). On October 11th, Bush will have lived longer than Reagan, and he will break Gerald Ford’s record as the longest-living President in American history on November 25th. He was 17 years old and attending the elite Philips Academy boarding school in Andover, Massachusetts when Pearl Harbor was bombed on December 7, 1941. As Bush and many of his fellow well-to-do classmates prepared to graduate in 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson gave a commencement address urging the patrician prep school grads to go to college first rather than to enlist in the war. Four days after graduating, Bush turned 18 years old and immediately enlisted in the United States Navy.

With the influence of his father, Bush could have found himself in any number of safe, stateside jobs in the service. Instead, he became the Navy’s youngest fighter pilot. Even before being shot down over Chichi Jima, Bush had experienced the rough landings of flight training and ravages of war. During training, he totaled a plane during a crash landing. In June 1944, he was forced to ditch his plane – fully-loaded with bombs – in the sea during a mission, escaped the plane just before it exploded, and had to be rescued by the USS Bronson. By the war’s end, Bush had flown 58 combat missions during 1,228 hours of total flight time. There were 14 pilots who originally formed Bush’s VT-51 torpedo bomber flight squadron; when he was discharged from the service in September 1945, only Bush and three other pilots from that squadron survived.

Yet, it wasn’t what he saw that haunted George H.W. Bush – indeed, what haunts him still today. It was what he didn’t see as he parachuted out of the burning wreckage of his TBM Avenger on September 2, 1944. Or who he didn’t see.

•••

As Bush prepared to bomb Chichi Jima that morning, he was joined by two crew members in his TBM Avenger, tailgunner Ted White and radioman John Delaney. At 26, White was a few years older than Bush, but their fathers had been classmates at Yale, which created an obvious connection between the two young men aboard the San Jacinto. White wasn’t a normal member of Bush’s crew but, that morning, requested that he be allowed to replace Bush’s regular tailgunner, Leo Nadeau, and received permission.

When their plane was hit, Bush did all he could to order his two crew members to bail out of the plane and assist them in doing so, but the black smoke and flames tearing through the aircraft made it impossible for the pilot to see if White and Delaney had indeed exited the plane. Not only had Bush turned the badly-damaged plane out towards the sea, but he dipped the wings to make it easier for the crew members to pop open their door on the left side of the aircraft and bail out. By doing this, Bush cost himself some precious time and made his own exit from the Avenger more difficult – perhaps the reason he slammed against the tail of the aircraft as he parachuted out.

Other American pilots in Bush’s squadron that morning said that they noticed two parachutes deploy from Bush’s Avenger. As Bush plummeted towards the Pacific Ocean, he scanned the sky for the chutes of Delaney and White, but saw neither. As he paddled with one hand in his life raft to get as far away from the coast of Chichi Jima as possible, Bush continued to search the sky and the sea for his crewmates. But it was to no avail. John Delaney and Ted White were never found. If one of the two men did bail out of the plane with Bush and deploy his parachute, he was immediately lost and the same pilots overhead that radioed Bush’s position to the Finback never located him. The other man most likely went down with the crippled TBM Avenger.

Nearly 60 years later, when Bush’s son had also been elected President of the United States, Bush visited the Bonin Islands and spoke to CNN about his ordeal. With all of the experiences of his life – all of the triumphs and tragedies – it was the loss of Ted White and John Delaney which continued to weigh heavily on George H.W. Bush. “I wake up at night and think about it sometimes,” the former President told CNN, “Could I have done something differently? I’m not haunted by anything other than the fact I feel a responsibility for the lives of the two people that were killed. I wonder if I could have done something different? I wonder who got out of the plane? I wonder – wonder why the chute didn’t open for the other guy? Why me? Why am I blessed? Why am I still alive? That has plagued me.”

How much did it plague George H.W. Bush? When the author and historian James Bradley interviewed the former President about his story for Bradley’s 2003 book Flyboys: A True Story of Courage (BOOK | KINDLE), Bush startled Bradley by asking the author if he had any new information about the fates of John Delaney and Ted White.

•••

When the Finback surfaced and fished George Herbert Walker Bush out of the sea, the submariners treated him for his wounds, fed him, gave him new clothes to wear, and he became a part of the Finback crew – an honorary submariner – for the next month, as the submarine continued its mission, patrolling hot spots in the Pacific Theater just in case another downed pilot required rescue.

Everything was still raw when the future President sat down the next day at a typewriter on the Finback and pecked out a letter to his parents back home in Connecticut. It is the testament of a 20-year-old man born with all of the advantages in the world, sharing his story with his parents and letting them know how the war had touched him…and how it could easily touch them:

Dear Mother and Dad,

This will be the first letter you have gotten from me in a good long while. I wish I could tell you that as I write this I am feeling well and happy. Physically I am O.K., but I am troubled inside and with good cause. Here is the whole story at least as much of it as I am allowed to relate right now.

Yesterday was a day which will long stand in my memory. I was on a bombing hop with Delaney as my radioman and Lt. (j.g.) Ted White as my gunner. He did not usually fly, but I asked him if he would like to go with me and he wanted to. We had the usual joking around in the ready room about having to bail out etc. – at that time it all seemed so friendly and innocent but now it seems awful and sinister.

I will have to skip all the details of the attack as they would not pass the censorship, but the fact remains that we got hit. The cockpit filled with smoke and I told the boys in back to get their parachutes on. They didn’t answer at all, but I looked around and couldn’t see Ted in the turret so I assumed he had gone below to get his chute fastened on. I headed the plane out to sea and put on the throttle so as we could get away from the land as much as possible. I am not too clear about the next parts. I told them to bail out, and then I called up the skipper and told him I was bailing out. My crewmen never acknowledged either transmission, and yet the radio gear was working – at least mine was and unless they had been hit back there theirs should have been, as we had talked not long before. I heard the skipper say something but things were happening so fast that I don’t quite remember what it was. I turned the plane up in an attitude so as to take pressure off the back hatch so the boys could get out. After that I straightened up and started to get out myself. At that time I felt certain that they had bailed out. The cockpit was full of smoke and I was choking from it. I glanced at the wings and noticed that they were on fire. I still do not know where we got hit and never will. I am now beginning to think that perhaps some of the fragments may have either killed the two in back, or possibly knocked out their communications.

Fortunately I had fastened all my straps before the dive and also I had left my hatch open, something I hadn’t been doing before. Just the day before I had asked the skipper and he advised leaving it open in a dive. The jump itself wasn’t too bad. I stuck my head out first and the old wind really blew me the rest of the way out. I do remember tugging at my radio cord which I had forgotten to unplug. As I left the plane my head struck the tail. I now have a cut head and bruised eye but it is far from serious. After jumping, I must have pulled the ripcord too soon for when I was floating down, I looked up at the canopy and several of the panels were all ripped out. Just as I got floating down, I saw the plane strike the water. In the meantime, I noticed that there was a liferaft down in the water. Not until later did I discover that it was mine that was supposed to be attached to my lifejacket. I had forgotten to hook it on, and when I left the plane it had come loose and had fallen into the water. Fortunately, the wind didn’t carry me too far away from the raft. The entrance into the water was not too bad. I had unloosened several of my chute straps so that when it came to getting out of the harness I wouldn’t have too many buckles to undo under the water. I went fairly deep when I hit, but not deep enough to notice any pressure or anything. I shook the harness and the wind carried the chute away on the water. The wind was blowing towards shore, so I made every effort to head the other way. The skipper saw me and he saw my raft, so he made a pass over it to point it out to me. I had inflated my mae west [sailors called their inflatable yellow life vests “Mae Wests”] and then started swimming towards the raft. Fortunately, the fall hadn’t injured the boat, so it inflated easily and I struggled into it. I then realized that I had overexerted myself swimming, because suddenly I felt quite tired. I was still afraid that the wind would take me in closer so I began paddling. It was a hell of a job to keep the water out of the raft. In fact I never did get it bailed out completely. At first I was scared that perhaps a boat would put out from shore which was very close by, but I guess our planes made them think twice about that. A few fighter planes stayed nearby the whole time until I was rescued and you can imagine how comfortable that was. One of them came right over me and dropped me some medical supplies which were most welcome, since I had no idea how badly cut up I was. It turned out to be slight, but did use the iodine anyway. I had some dye marker attached to my life jacket and also there was some in the raft so I sprinkled a bit of that on the water so the planes could see me easily. I took inventory of my supplies and discovered that I had no water. The water had broken open when the raft fell from the plane I imagine. I had a mirror and some other equipment, and also was wearing my own gun and knife.

There was no sign of Del or Ted anywhere around. I looked as I floated down and afterwards kept my eye open from the raft, but to no avail. The fact that our planes didn’t seem to be searching anymore showed me pretty clearly that they had not gotten out. I’m afraid I was pretty much of a sissy about it cause I sat in my raft and sobbed for awhile. It bothers me so very much. I did tell them and when I bailed out I felt that they must have gone, and yet now I feel so terribly responsible for their fate, Oh so much right now. Perhaps as the days go by it will all change and I will be able to look upon it in a different light.

I floated around for a couple of hours during which time I was violently sick to my stomach, and then the planes started zooming me, pointing out my position to my rescuers. You can imagine how happy I was when I saw this submarine hove into view. They pulled me out of the raft and took me below where they fixed me up in grand style. As I write this I am aboard the sub – don’t know how long I will be here, or when I will get back to the squadron.

As I said physically I am o.k. The food aboard here is unequaled anywhere I have ever seen. I am getting plenty of sleep and am even standing watches so that I will get the air occasionally. My back ached as did my leg last nite, and also my seat was a bit sore from the chute straps, but the pharmacist mate rubbed me down and today I feel much better. Last nite I rolled and tossed. I kept reliving the whole experience. My heart aches for the families of those two boys with me. Delaney had always been a fine loyal crewman. His devotion to duty was at all times highly commendable and his personality most pleasing. I shall most certainly write to his family after I am sure they have been notified by the Bureau.

As for Ted White, I have spoken of him several times in my letters before. He was the fellow from Yale, one class ahead of Stu Clement [Bush’s first cousin]. He comes from St. Paul Minn. White Bear Lake to be exact. Perhaps Dad, you know the family. If so do not write them until you get the word from me or elsewhere that the family has been officially notified. There is a possibility that they parachuted and I didn’t see them, but I am afraid it is quite remote as we received a message aboard here last nite saying that only one chute opened. All in all it is terribly discouraging and frankly it bothers me a good deal.

As time goes by I shall add bits to this letter and will mail it at my earliest possible convenience. I shall do the same by Bar, but shall not go into detail like this over my experience so please read her the parts of the letter which might interest her. It’s a funny thing how much I thought about Bar during the whole experience. What I wouldn’t give to be with her right now. Just to see that lovely face and those beautiful eyes and to know she was by my side. Right now I long to be with you so much. To be with you both and to be with Bar is my main desire – at least it won’t be too long, the time is going by quite rapidly.

Please excuse all my misspellings – they are caused not from ignorance but from carelessness in operating this machine.

much much love to you all, your ever devoted and loving son, Pop

••• As he celebrates his 93rd birthday, George Herbert Walker Bush has been many things to many people, and has done so much for so many more.

During the Vietnam War, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s song “Fortunate Son” sang: “It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no Senator’s son/It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate one, no.”

Not too long after World War II, George H.W. Bush was a Senator’s son – his father Prescott was elected to the U.S. Senate from Connecticut. Later, George Bush blazed his own trail. Oilman. U.S. Representative from Texas. An unsuccessful candidate for the U.S. Senate from Texas (famously encouraged by the Texas Democrat and President Lyndon B. Johnson that the difference between the House and the Senate was the difference between “chicken shit and chicken salad”). U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations. Chairman of the Republican National Committee. Chief U.S. Liaison in China. CIA Director. Vice President of the United States under Ronald Reagan. President of the United States (“41”). Father of one Governor and President (“43”) and another Governor who was once considered a top candidate to become “45″.

But before everything – George Herbert Walker Bush was a war hero. And he was a war hero because of his love, honor, and duty to his country.

Just don’t ask George Bush if he was a war hero.

“It was just part of my duty. People say ‘war hero’. How come a guy who gets his airplane shot down is a hero and a guy who’s good enough that he doesn’t get shot down is not? Ask [John F.] Kennedy about it, why are you a hero? 'They sank my boat.’ Why am I a hero? They shot down my airplane.”

[bowmanx7-blog]

The 1846 Clinton Gilbert House - 12 West 10th Street

The addition of the fourth floor is evidenced in the change of brick color.

In 1845 attorney Augustus W. Clason, Jr. began construction on an upscale brick-faced house at No. 58 West 10th Street (until 1870's 10th Street addresses began at Sixth Avenue.  The house would then be renumbered No. 12.).   The residence, completed the following year, outdid most of its imposing neighbors through its exceptional 32-foot width.

Originally three stories tall, it sat above a brownstone clad English basement.  The floor-to-ceiling parlor floor windows sprouted exceptionally fine cast iron balconies, their delicate design incorporating stylized plant forms.  A lacy fringe ran along the bottom, dripping acorns.

Clason erected the house as an investment.  It was purchased by banker and importer Clinton Gilbert and his wife, the former Mary Stokes.  Born in 1816 near Washington Square, Gilbert was the son of silversmith George W. Gilbert (reputedly the first silversmith in New York City).   He and Mary, who were married on June 1, 1831, had no children.   They maintained a summer house in New Rochelle, New York.

Mary's widowed mother, Mrs. Thomas Stokes, lived with the couple.  Her grandson, Anson Phelps Stokes, described her in his 1910 Stokes Records as "a woman with delicate hands, fine complexion, large eyes, calm and gentle manners, and pleasant English voice."  She died in the house in 1849.

Clinton Gilbert started his career in the metal importing business, forming Stokes & Gilbert with brothers Benaiah and Henry Stokes, two of his wife's brothers.  By now his many titles included president of the Greenwich Savings Bank, a trustee of the Corporation of Greenwood Cemetery, and a partner in The Broadway Railroad.

It was most likely Gilbert's busy schedule that prompted him to skip grand jury duty on January 15, 1862.  The judge was not pleased.  The New York Times reported "The Grand Jury reported to the Court that they were unable to attend to business owing to the absence, without excuse, of several of their members."  Gilbert was fined $25--about $630 today.

Mary Stokes Gilbert suffered "paralysis of the throat" in her latter years, making her unable to speak.  Anson Phelps Stokes recalled that "On account of his wife's health, he afterward moved to a quieter part of Fifth Avenue."  She died on Tuesday, April 4, 1865.

Gilbert did not give up ownership of No. 12, and, in fact, by now owned No. 14 and No 20 West 10th Street.  An advertisement in The New York Herald in 1875 offered "To Let--Extra wide house, handsomely furnished, No. 12 West Tenth street; rent reasonable to good tenant."

Gilbert would die in No. 20 West 10th Street on November 29, 1891 at the age of 84.  The Rhodes' Journal of Banking noted "The greater part of his life was spent within a stone's throw of the house where he was born, and he died at his home in 10th street not far from the same place."

Before his death No. 12 had become home to Frederick Esler, head of the streetcar firm Metropolic Contract Company, and his wife.  The couple moved among polite society, rubbing shoulders with other wealthy visitors at fashionable resorts.  On October 14, 1887, for instance, The Evening World reported "Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Esler, who have been spending the summer at Seabright and Bar Harbor, have returned to their home at No. 12 West Tenth street."  A month later the newspaper noted "Miss Elanor Winslow will be entertained at luncheon on Thursday by Mrs. Frederick Esler, of 12 West Tenth street."

Around 1892 Dr. Walter Vought, a bachelor, purchased the house.  He would not enjoy it for long.  Vought selflessly treated patients suffering the worst of contagious diseases.  That year he was in charge of the Quarantine Station at Fire Island during a cholera epidemic.  On September 25, 1893 The New York Times reported that he "died at 11 o'clock yesterday morning in the New-York Hospital of typhoid fever, which disease he contracted while attending a little child about ten days ago."

In May 1894 the doctor's estate sold the property to Robert J. Fox for $31,000--about $911,000 today.  The sale triggered a rapid-fire turnover of ownership, ending with esteemed architect Bruce Price.  Before the family moved in Price made some substantial changes.

A full floor with a simple paneled cornice was added, the parlor windows were removed and replaced by a sizable copper-clad rounded bay, and the Greek Revival style entrance was changed to neo-Classical.

The double entrace doors with their wonderfully-eccentric brasses were Price's design.  photo via Sotheby's.com

He and his wife, the former Josephine Lee, had two children, including Emily, recently married to Edwin Main Post.  She would become a successful author of articles on architecture and interior design, five novels and serials in popular magazines like Harper's Weekly.   Her greatest fame came through her books on etiquette.

This 1910 photograph shows that Price's redesigned stoop originally had no railings.  from Stokes Records, 1910 (copyright expired)

Bruce Price was among the preeminent architects of his day.  Among his works were the cathedral in Savannah, Georgia, the Lee Memorial Church in Lexington, Virginia, and the cottages and clubhouse at Tuxedo Park (where the Prices had their summer home).  So when rumors circulated that the largest hotel in the world--backed by "Vanderbilt interests"--would cover the entire block between Park and Madison Avenues and 41st to 42nd Streets, reporters went to No. 12 West 10th Street to verify the story.

On the night of December 15, 1897 he opened his door to a New-York Tribune journalist.  The reporter wrote "Mr. Price stated explicitly that so far as he knew there was no such project in contemplation."  However, he would not turn down the job.  "'I should be only too happy,' he said, 'to be commissioned to draw up plans for a monster hotel.'"

Price's niece, Sadie Price Pell, divorced her wealthy insurance broker husband, Archie H. Pell, in Saratoga in the summer of 1902.  The daughter of Price's brother, Benjamin, she soon announced her intentions to marry Dr. Percy R. Turnure.  Following their marriage in the Church of the Ascension on Fifth Avenue, a reception was held in the 10th Street house.

Bruce and Josephine were traveling in Paris on May 29, 1903 when the architect died at the age of 57.   In May 1906 Charles Buchanan purchased No, 12; who resold it by 1914 to Felix Lamond.

Lamond was a renowned organist.  Not only was he organist of fashionable Trinity Chapel, he was the director of the Trinity School of Church Music, a training school for organists, choirmasters and choristers.  Additionally, he was one of the organizers of the New York Oratorio Society.

The Lamonds' daughter, Marjorie, was educated both in New York and in Europe,  She had been introduced to society in 1912 and was traveling with her parents in Europe on August 1, 1914 when her engagement to Henry Fairfield Osborn, Jr. was announced.

The family did not return to New York for the wedding; instead the groom and his family (described by The Sun as "one of the most prominent families in the city") went to London.  The original plans were for a Paris wedding, but, as explained by The New York Times on September 9, 1914 "when the war began it was decided to wait until the party reached London."  The destination wedding, held in Westminster Abbey, was attended by prominent New Yorkers like Mr. and Mrs. J. P. Morgan.

Shortly after Marjorie's wedding No. 12 West 10th Street became to Henry Wood Flournoy.  His wife's niece, Alice Gertrude Gordon (who often went by her middle name), lived in Washington; but the couple kept a room available for her visits to New York.  The arrangement would draw the house into the history books.

When Gertrude's father, General J. J. Gordon died, he left her what The Evening World termed "a large fortune."  Gertrude's best friend was the widowed Edith Bolling Galt.  The two were virtually inseparable, seen at entertainments and the theater together both in New York and Washington.  Gertrude's prominence in Washington society was evidenced on May 6, 1914 when The New York Times reported "President Wilson, who frequently seeks relaxation after an arduous day at one of the local theatres, varied his custom to-night by attending the circus, accompanied by Miss Margaret Wilson, Miss Helen Woodrow Bones, Miss Gertrude Gordon, and Dr. Cary T. Grayson."

In the fall of 1915 both Gertrude and Edith Galt were staying in the Flournoy house.  On November 28 a prestigious caller arrived.  The New-York Tribune reported "Woodrow Wilson set down his Presidential burden last night on the door-mat of an unpretentious red brick house in West Tenth Street, Just off the avenue.

"The door opened to his ring and closed behind him--and then for more than two hours, while secret service men, detectives, reporters and plain hoi polloi awaited the reappearance of the President, Woodrow Wilson, the human being, the accepted suitor, enjoyed the companionship of the woman who is to become his wife."  Reportedly, it was in the Flournoy home that the President had recently proposed marriage to Mrs. Galt.

No. 12 became the focus of press attention.  On November 30 The Times reported "Yesterday was a busy day for Mrs. Norman Galt, the fiancee of President Wilson.  From early morning until sundown she kept appointments with her dressmakers, furriers, and milliners...Mrs. Galt left the home of her friend, Miss Gertrude Gordon, at 12 West Tenth Street, about 9 o'clock."

Despite nasty rumors that the President and his fiancée had murdered his wife, Ellen, the couple was married on December 18, 1915.  But the presidential couple would return to No. 12 West 10th Street at least one more time.

The following year, on May 24, Gertrude married White House physician, Dr. Cary T. Grayson in St. George's Chapel.  The First Lady stood by the bride's side and held her bouquet.  Witnessing the ceremony with the President, were Secretary of the Treasury, William Gibbs McAdoo, and his wife.  Outside around 300 people gathered in the park to get a glimpse of the distinguished persons entering and leaving the church.  Three years later The Sun mentioned "It was very much of a White House wedding, even though the ceremony was performed in New York."

Afterwards a reception was held at No. 12 West 10th Street.  The wedding cake was a gift of the Wilsons, who attended the "informal reception."  The Times noted "Gifts were received by Dr. Grayson and his bride from the President and Mrs. Wilson, members of the Cabinet, Senators, Representatives, many Government officials and employees at the White House."

Following the Flournoy's leaving, around 1919, the house was converted to two residences, the homes of Mr. and Mrs. Herbert S. Houston and Mrs. and Mrs. William Ransom Barbour.  The Houstons remained at least through 1930; by which time Harris Baldwin Fisher and his family had moved into the former Barbour apartment.

In 1928 the lower level was converted to the Poetry House.  On June 8 that year The New York Times remarked "Pegasus went in dinner jacket and gleaming white shirt to the formal opening last evening of Poetry House, a meeting place for poets and all lovers of literature, at 12 East Tenth Street."

A renovation in 1958 resulted in two apartments in the basement, where Poetry House had once been, one on the first floor, and two each on the upper floors.  Among its more celebrated residents was Isabel Lydia Whitney, the renowned water colorist and muralist.  Upon her death in her apartment on February 1962 The Times called her "the first woman in America to stand on a scaffold or ladder and do fresco painting."  Among her works was the fresco for the 1925 wing of the Brooklyn Museum.

No. 12 West 10th Street never truly declined.  When cosmetics creative directors Richard Ferretti and James Gager sold their 2,200-square-foot apartment in December 2015, it commanded a price of $5.75 million.

photo via city realty. com

And while most of the interior details have been removed over the decades, some, like the entrance staircase, survive.  Outside the 1890's remodeling by Bruce Price remains little changed.

photographs by the author

Source: http://daytoninmanhattan.blogspot.com/2018/11/the-1846-clinton-gilbert-house-12-west.html

[dazzledbybooks]

The Lunar Chronicles meets Rook in this queer #OwnVoices science-fantasy novel, perfect for fans of Marissa Meyer and Sharon Cameron. A secret beats inside Anna Thatcher's chest: an illegal clockwork heart. Anna works cog by cog -- donning the moniker Technician -- to supply black market medical technology to the sick and injured, against the Commissioner's tyrannical laws. Nathaniel Fremont, the Commissioner's son, has never had to fear the law. Determined to earn his father's respect, Nathaniel sets out to capture the Technician. But the more he learns about the outlaw, the more he questions whether his father's elusive affection is worth chasing at all. Their game of cat and mouse takes an abrupt turn when Eliza, a skilled assassin and spy, arrives. Her mission is to learn the Commissioner's secrets at any cost -- even if it means betraying her own heart. When these uneasy allies discover the most dangerous secret of all, they must work together despite their differences and put an end to a deadly epidemic -- before the Commissioner ends them first. Tarnished Are the Stars by Rosiee Thor Publisher: Scholastic Press Release Date: October 15th 2019 Genre: Young Adult, Science Fiction, LGBT Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43319680-tarnished-are-the-stars Amazon: https://amzn.to/2HbLT7j B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tarnished-are-the-stars-rosiee-thor/1130053238#/ Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/tarnished-are-the-stars Google Books: https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/Tarnished_Are_the_Stars.html?id=TJKCDwAAQBAJ&redir_esc=y Favorite Quotes: "For your tech-related inquiries, see a consultant when the moon sleeps and the kettle sings. It is a long four to the short nine." "Beneath the panel, a familiar machine ticked. Silver sheets fanned out like flower petals, interwoven with scarred flesh; the marks of metal from long ago still bloomed angry-red on his skin." "He wished she wouldn't. he did not deserve to be touched, marred by dirt and filth and the kind of blood no one could see." Review: Tarnished are the Stars by Rosiee Thor is such a great read. I really liked these characters so much. I really love Eliza but I will try not to play favorites. Let's dive right in to this great book. Anna has a mechanical heart. She tries very hard to keep her TICCER a secret. This one difference sets her apart from other people on the planet. I think it truly makes her special. Anna being a gear head wants to help everyone she can with technology that has been outlawed. If Anna were to get caught using this technology, she would die. Anna thinks the people are worth that risk. I really liked Anna's character because she is brave and determined. She wants to do what is right by the people even if it would cost her life. Nathaniel is on the hunt to catch The Technician. He wants to prove to his father that he  is able to take over the family business. Nathaniel just wants to be understood and treated like an adult. His father The Commisioner likes to keep him locked up. Once Nathaniel learns that he and Anna have something in common, he wants to learn more. Eliza works for the Queen. She is the eyes and ears. I think Eliza's story is very interesting because one minute she is an assassin and spy and then the next she is supposed to be engaged and reporting back to the queen. I feel like s hew went from having kickass experiences to pretending to settle down. I really loved how Eliza's personality just screamed off the page. I felt like I really got to know her and I want more. This book was so good. I really enjoyed the characters and the story line. I was routing for these characters the whole way even though at times they all wanted something different. Tarnished are the Stars definitely surprised me. You get some sci-fi, some fantasy, some steampunk, some romance, and even some adventure if this novel. I swear it has it all. Definitely pick up a copy today. I can't wait until Rosiee Thor's next book. She is an author to watch. Character Art: About the Author: Rosiee Thor began her career as a storyteller by demanding that her mother listen as Rosiee told bedtime stories instead of the other way around. She lives in Oregon with a dog, two cats, and four complete sets of Harry Potter, which she loves so much, she once moved her mattress into the closet and slept there until she came out as queer. Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18157283.Rosiee_Thor Website: http://www.rosieethor.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/rosieethor Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rosieethor/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rosiee.thor Giveaway: Prize: Win a signed hardcopy of TARNISHED ARE THE STARS by Rosiee Thor (US Only) Stars: 15th October 2019 Ends: 29th October 2019 a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: https://fantasticflyingbookclub.blogspot.com/2019/08/tour-schedule-tarnished-are-stars-by.html October 15th The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Welcome Post October 16th Utopia State of Mind - Guest Post Moonlight Rendezvous - Review + Favourite Quotes Book-Keeping - Review everywhere and nowhere - Review A Dream Within A Dream - Review October 17th L.M. Durand - Interview Luchia Houghton Blog - Review + Favourite Quotes Dazzled by Books - Review + Favourite Quotes Pages Below the Vaulted Sky - Review The Reading Chemist  - Promotional Post October 18th BookCrushin - Guest Post Novelishly - Review My Thoughts Literally - Review + Favourite Quotes TBR and Beyond - Review + Playlist + Favourite Quotes Fanna Wants The World To Read - Review October 19th Here's to Happy Endings - Review Morgan Vega - Review + Favourite Quotes Starlight Reads - Review + Favourite Quotes Arzo Reads - Review Confessions of a YA Reader - Promotional Post October 20th NovelKnight - Interview Bookishly Nerdy - Review The Layaway Dragon - Review + Favourite Quotes Musings of a (Book) Girl - Review One in a Million - Review October 21st Kait Plus Books - Interview Shalini's Books & Reviews - Review The Book Dutchesses  - Review + Favourite Quotes Novel Nerd Faction - Review + Playlist Library of a Book Witch - Review

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2019/10/tarnished-are-stars-blog-tour-review.html

[jeremystrele]

Author + Comedian Catherine Deveny On Raising A Trio Of Boys

Author + Comedian Catherine Deveny On Raising A Trio Of Boys

Family

Emma Eldridge

Comedian and author Catherine Deveny and her partner Anthony Artmann near her home in Melbourne’s north. Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

Catherine has three sons: Dominic (21) Hugo (17) and Charlie (16). Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

She recently contributed to an important new anthology on the topic of abortion, Choice Words. Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

Anthony and Catherine have ‘become tedious, active seniors’ hitting the gym at 6am! Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

Catherine hopes her boys to embrace the notion of logical, not biological, family. Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

‘My kids are lucky because I’ve always lived the life I wanted. They expect to look after themselves,’ tells Catherine. Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

Catherine believes that if motherhood was so amazing, men would be pushing women out of the way to do it! Photo – Sarah Collins for  The Design Files.

I moved from Melbourne to Sydney in my mid-20s, and would often pass The Private Clinic in Surry Hills on my way to university or work. This was before it became illegal to protest outside an abortion service, and the screaming intimidation of pro-life activists (not to mention their plastic models) would take my breath away.

Edited by Louise Swinn with a foreword by Tanya Plibersek, Choice Words: A Collection of Writing about Abortion draws attention to the fact that, though a decade has passed and progress has been made, abortion remains a criminal act in parts of Australia, with prosecution a real risk. In states where procedures are legal, access can prove nearly impossible.

Today we talk with author and comedian Catherine Deveny about her contribution to the book, and how she’s fiercely balanced a multifaceted career with care for her family.

You’re a comedian and columnist, author and atheist, television personality and teacher – with three sons. Can you tell us a bit about your professional vision and how it’s evolved since starting out in stand-up and writing for Steve Vizard’s Tonight Live?

I am a carnie and have simply set out to make a living and support my family and friends by doing what I love to do – which is a heap of things that involve words, people and creativity. I’ve muddled through having no idea what was next.

When I was four, my kindergarten teacher asked the class what we wanted to be when we grew up. Darren wanted to be a fireman, Leanne a nurse, but I wanted to be Carol Burnett. I’ve always loved performing, and music was one of the bright lights of my childhood. From six to 12, I was desperate to learn dance, singing and piano but we couldn’t afford it. So when I wasn’t cooking, I was hunched over macramé, knitting, sewing and crochet.

I grew up poor, in a dysfunctional and emotionally chaotic family. When I was 10,  things were particularly dire. The car had been repossessed; the water was down to a drip; and things were broken, dirty, missing and old. I would collect the mail, and if there was a ‘letter with a window’ I’d know it was a bill – and when mum and dad got home, no matter how shit they felt the sight of more bills would make it worse.

One night, Mum and Dad said, ‘We’ve got no money. If you can cut any corners please do.’ I had a camp note in my bag from school that day; I was so excited about it, the break from home was all I’d been thinking about since being handed the form. I remember silently scrunching up the note and putting it in the bin. I remember tears and gulping. I didn’t say a word to my parents, and remember the day the kids went to camp. I watched the bus leave and felt excluded, alone.

The next year I was in Year Six. We’d lost the house and were now living in public housing. My parents had sold their shop and were bankrupts; the worst was behind us financially, but we were still poor. When the form for camp was handed out, I took it home and asked Mum to sign it. ‘But we’ve got no money, Catherine – we can’t afford it.’ I said, ‘I’ll find the money, Mum. Just sign the note.’ And she did.

So I sold macramé owls, lavender bags and pin cushions door-to-door. I made the money and went to camp – and still look back on it as one of the happiest weeks of my life. That sense of achievement has never left me, and I’ve  been financially independent ever since.

I did stand-up for the first time at The Espy when I was 23; I got a very positive review, which was thrilling. On my 24th birthday, I was offered a full-time job as a comedy writer on Tonight Live with Steve Vizard. From then until now, I’ve shifted through television writing, stand-up, being a ‘warm-up man’ for studio audiences, writing columns, doing one woman shows, writing books, giving keynotes, hosting conferences, facilitating panels and now running my Gunnas Writing Masterclasses, workshops and retreats. I’ve done quite a bit of television, including being on Q&A five or six times and appearing on Go Back To Where You Came From.

You’ve written on what you term ‘the narcissism of motherhood… the competition and judging each other from labour to Year 12 results to grandchildren.’ It’s so true, but why? I imagine you have an excellent approach for dealing with this or calling it out?  

Sometimes I say, ‘That’s amazing about your high achieving, good looking, well-balanced kids – congrats! My kids play computer games, watch porn and make bongs.’ I won’t enable their competition parenting. When they ask, ‘What school do your kids go to?’ I respond, ‘What difference does it make?’ and flat out refuse to answer until they give me a rational answer. They never do.

But I don’t really call it out – I observe it and feel sad. These women are complicit in their own oppression, and we’ve all had a role to play in that. If motherhood was so amazing, men would be pushing women out of the way to do it – and mums would be paid bucket loads and not used to advertise toilet cleaner.

Religion, the patriarchy and state have had a vested interest in sucking women in to be slaves and incubators. Not only does having women raise children allow the powers-that-be to have full access to control, decision-making, money and recreation, it keeps women away from those things and makes them dependent. They appeal to women’s egos, take advantage of social conditioning and manipulate them to feel they are not real women unless they’re caring for children in a labour-intensive way.

I hold these views despite really loving being a parent. My experience has been excellent – the boys’ dad and I practised more or less equal parenting and paid work/career building. I have always been financially, creatively, socially, emotionally and intellectually independent. That is all my sons know – they consider it normal.

As one of the Top 100 Most Influential Melburnians, you’ve got quite a platform – and views you’ve expressed regarding veterans and farmers have blown up. How do you deal with the outrage and trolling, and teach your sons to get through it and consider alternative perspectives?

The lion does not lose sleep over the opinion of sheep; I don’t care what morons and trolls think, they don’t matter. I’ve tried to teach my sons to consider different perspectives by modelling that behaviour. I just eyeroll and vague out when I hear people say things like, ‘I raised my kids to…’ They’re like plants, you can’t make them grow how you want them to! I treated them as equals from the get go, and have never told them what to think. Jung said, ‘The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of its parents.’ My kids are lucky because I’ve always lived the life I wanted. They expect to look after themselves, have a meaningful life and a career that makes them happy. They expect a life not a living because that is all they’ve ever seen.

You contributed to Choice Words, an anthology on abortion. From Trump’s use of stark, graphic language to condemn late-term abortion in his State of the Union address (see Backyard Briefing’s investigation into this in Oz) to the Queensland Government’s legalisation, abortion has been back in the news big-time. Why do you think it’s still considered a women’s (and not human rights) issue, and one that men have an outsized interest in?

Because men don’t want to parent. They don’t mind being dads, but as far as truncating their lives and career trajectory, they’ve no interest. And that’s fine; I’ve written about my support for ‘financial abortion,’ where men can opt out of parenthood’s responsibilities (and privileges) in the case of unwanted pregnancies.

But women should not be forced to become parents any more than men should. The financial and emotional wellbeing of a mother and child should not be dependent on a potentially unreliable and/or abusive source like a father who never wanted a child.

Can you give us a glimpse into how your days start and end at home with your family – an all-male, atheist kibbutz that makes you want to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘where have you looked?’

Our days start with coffee. My partner Anthony and I have become tedious, active seniors and often go to the gym at 6am, but if it’s the weekend we will generally sleep in, have a shag, hop on our bikes and have brunch somewhere. But on a school day, it’s coffee, coffee, coffee and then everyone bikes to school, university or work.

I spend most of my days weaving through administrative, domestic, social and work tasks. This can involve anything from emails, invoices, phone interviews and writing for TV and radio to face-to-face interviews and/or photo shoots, running a Gunnas Writing Masterclass, hosting a conference or facilitating a writing workshop at the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre.

If I’m not cooking at 5pm, I’m at the IGA preparing to start. I do all the cooking; the boys can cook and do when I go away for weeks at a time, I just don’t want to eat their food, and I like cooking. Dinner can be anything from cabbage rolls, kranskys and ratatouille, sushi poke bowls, schnitzel or stroganoff. One of our favourites is Mongrel Dinner when ‘any mongrel I find in the fridge is getting cooked.’ So grilled halloumi, tomato, basil and bocconcini salad, buttery, garlicky mushrooms and half a chook with some fresh bread and sauerkraut.

Two or three nights a week, I’m out for work or play with or without my darling Anthony. Most of the time I’ll leave food for whoever’s here – the boys have a constant stream of mates over, and we always have drop-ins for dinner.

With your sons now young adults, how might you like them to remember you to their own families – what do you think your parental legacy will be?

They call me a ‘wog mum’ – their Dad is Sicilian, and I’m a bit obsessed with cooking. I’m always asking them what they want to eat, what’s the best thing they’ve had and what I haven’t made for a while. So I hope it’s food, hospitality and generosity that I’m remembered for. The boys have also had housemates their entire lives – there may have been a period of 18 months when it was just ‘mum, dad and the kids’ – so I’d like for them to embrace the notion of logical not biological family.

 Family Favourites

Activity or outing

Breakfast at A Minor Place, lunch at Lobbs and dinner at La Luna Bistro.

Book, film, or show

The Australian Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake Book? We don’t have a family favourite on many things, we’re quite different and independent.

Place to travel

We all love Asia, but had a great time in Europe 18-months ago together with their dad, his partner, my partner and his sons – we’re a splendid (not blended) family. Closer to home, we holiday in Bear Gully in the winter and Cunjurong in New South Wales in the summer. We ski at Mt Bulla, and this year the youngest came with Anthony and I to Niseko, which we loved.

Choice Words: A Collection of Writing about Abortion by Louise Swinn includes contributions from Jane Caro, Claudia Karvan, Tanya Plibersek and many more. Proceeds from the book go to the charity Marie Stopes Australia, the only national, independently-accredited, not-for-profit safe abortion provider, that has helped more than 600,000 women in the past 20 years.

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Are people constantly dumping their negative energy on you? Do you find yourself bombarded with painful thoughts from your past? What if with seven simple steps you could minimize their mess and maximize your happiness? Interested? Read on…

  In Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs, author Anita Washington details personal stories of surviving a homicidal alcoholic father, a neglectful mother and an emotionally and physically abusive brother to show you how childhood trauma turns into adult dysfunctional behavior. She includes lessons to learn from her abuse and her life-altering mistakes, along with teaching you how to use the affirmations, techniques and activities of her 7-Step Method to resolve the effects of emotional baggage and create a life of purpose and meaning. The 7-Step Method is a process of seven sequential steps she had seen produce the greatest results. It has not only worked for her and her previous clients, it can also work for you!

BOOK REVIEWS

  ASwirlGirl 5.0 out of 5 stars  This Book is Riveting! I finished this book a few days ago and I’m still mulling over what I’ve read. So much of Family Is Not Everything is heartbreaking and painful to read, and my heart ached for Anita. I rejoice in the fact that despite EVERYTHING that happened in her childhood and young adult-hood, Anita TRIUMPHED. She shares realistic, actionable steps that can be taken by others who feel trapped by their past or the circumstances of life. I applaud Anita’s courage and transparency in writing this book. I’ve been impacted profoundly as a result of reading this, and I know I’ll be thinking about what I’ve read for years to come.

Falexia 5.0 out of 5 stars  A must read! Amazing book, hard to put down. It’s heartbreaking to read about the horrible things Anita endured, but despite what she went through she didn’t let it destroy her. This book is for everyone who grew up in a dysfunctional family, it gives you hope and inspired you to use what you’ve gone through to help others. We are taught that family is everything, yet the Word even says that your enemies will be members of your own household, Matt 10:36, therefore family is not everything and it’s okay to cut them off if it means saving your life. The book helps you under generational curses and educated you on how to be an overcome and not stay a victim. This book is going to help a lot of people who want to be free from the prison of their past, it gives hope for those who grew up in a negative or toxic environment. Freedom can be yours if you put into actions the steps Anita lays out in this book.

  Sharon Lawrence, LCSW-C 5.0 out of 5 stars Brave, Resilient, and Courageous!! This book is amazing!!! It speaks for many who are afraid to share their stories of pain and trauma. Anita takes us on a journey while providing us with tools to improve our own lives with no guilt. It will teach you how to establish self-respect, set boundaries and live a free life. Thank you Anita!!!

  Rhonda Dickerson 5.0 out of 5 stars  Family is Not Everything!!! This book is sooo good. It is very hard to put down. After reading this book it gave me a extra push to finish my book and not worry about others opinion. I am so happy for you Anita. Thank you for allowing God to use you to help and health others. Love you!!

  Charlie Latham 5.0 out of 5 stars  A helpful book that gives you actionable steps to work on Everyone has traumatic events happen in their childhood and this is what shapes and molds our psychological behavior and outlook. Ultimately we all have traits we don’t like because of this, and they vary in so many ways depending on what exactly we’ve been through. For me I mainly struggle with a mixture of anxiety and emotional detachment which grew from going to boarding school at a young age. Reading this helped me analyse why I had these personality traits, dissect that a bit and deal with it. It showed me how these had formed and gave me steps that I can actively follow to change this way of thinking and behaving.

  Explore Books Anita Washington

AnitaTheAuthor.com/FINEAmazon (Amazon)

AnitaTheAuthor.com/FINEbn (Barnes and Noble)

        Excerpt: Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs

  BACK IN THE DAY

Once upon a time, we managed emotional problems with only prayer and encouragement. Seeking professional help was frowned upon. We were taught, What happens in this house, stays in this house. Seeking counseling services for divorce or molestation or addiction or domestic violence was taboo. Society expected the wife being battered by her husband to stay married, the niece being molested by an uncle to keep quiet, the daughter with the alcoholic father to make the best of it. Divorce wasn’t even regarded as a serious consideration. Instead, any spouse considering divorce was encouraged to make a new commitment to their vows, to pray, and to have faith. We were expected to achieve emotional wellness through a process of suppression and turning a blind eye. Adults had to live their lives according to who they were expected to be and hide who they really were. Children were expected to be seen and not heard.

Remember those days?

The unspoken belief was that when the person died, the problem died with them. When the alcoholic father died, the problems and effects of alcoholism died with him. When the physically abusive mother died, the problems and effects of battery died with her. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth and, because of this, generational curses have been present in our society for centuries. A generational curse is created when the effects of an emotional offense are passed down from one generation to another. It manifests through different dysfunctional behaviors in each family member but can be traced back to one common cause. So how is a generational curse passed down? In emotional baggage.

Children who grow up in dysfunctional environments become adults who exhibit dysfunctional behavior. A child learns from their experiences and from what they’re exposed to and then utilizes that later—albeit unknowingly—as a mechanism when they become an adult. In large part, the person you are today is a collection of your past experiences. Your behavior is shaped by what you think, and what you think is determined by what you’ve seen and heard. Basically, traumatic events experienced during childhood and left unresolved produce dysfunctional behavior in the adult. We carry it around unseen in the form of emotional baggage. Don’t believe me? Keep reading. Let me put it in live and living color for you.

  THE STORY – THREE GENERATIONS

Imagine a family of three generations: a grandmother, mother, and daughter. Although the grandmother dies a couple years after the granddaughter is born, somehow, at the tender age of sixteen, they will each have become teenage mothers.

The year is 2000. In a small town in the southeastern United States, the high school football team is playing in the state championship game. The entire town is excited. Flat-panel TVs are mounted over the counters of local hotels and fast-food restaurants. Policemen direct the heavy traffic with glow-in-the-dark mascot paw prints painted on the palms of their gloves. Young and old, those with children and those without gather in the local stadium to watch the beloved home team take on their fifty-year rival. The bleachers rock from the beat of the fight songs played by the high school band as the crowd claps and dances along with the cheerleaders. The art club paints paw prints and jersey numbers on the faces of fans of every age. The booster club sells hot dogs, hamburgers, French fries, and popcorn decorated in the team’s colors. The junior class volunteers sell commemorative programs and T-shirts to raise money for their impending senior trip. It’s the second quarter and the score is 14–7, with the home team in the lead.

While love, happiness, and excitement roar over the bleachers, under the bleachers lives lust and desire. Justin, affectionately called “the Magic Two” by other students, is the son of an alcoholic and the lead-scoring shooting guard for the high school basketball team. He stands six-four, is clean-cut and caramel colored, with hazel eyes. He has set his eyes on Monisha, a 4.0, coke-bottle-curved yet unpopular geek sophomore who has just celebrated her sixteenth birthday—and who is very conflicted. In her head she keeps hearing the one thing her mother has repeated her entire life: “Leave boys alone. They’ll ruin your life.” But inside she feels the butterflies flutter as Justin says, “You’re really beautiful,” and wraps his letterman’s jacket around her shoulders.

When Monisha was born in 1984, her mother, Monique, was sixteen, and her father, Clayton, was seventeen. They were the head cheerleader and captain of the football team, and everyone adored them. Wherever you saw her, you saw him and his cherry-red Ford Escort. Monique had thick, jet-black, shoulder-length hair and a tiny waist. Clayton had a bright, big, money-grip smile that sparkled with all the promises of possibility for future success. The night of the junior prom, Monique wore a floor-length Carolina Herrera sheath-silhouette evening gown with a twist one-shoulder strap. Clayton was in a black-and-white tuxedo. He picked Monique up at her home at seven o’clock Friday night and dropped her off at noon on Saturday; with that, Monisha was conceived. The generational curse had claimed another member of the family. The emotional baggage of hurt and shame had shut down healthy communication about love, sex, or relationships in Monique’s household. Monique too had been the product of a teen pregnancy, a disappointment to not only family but also the community, which was harbored by Millie, Monique’s mother, in silence.

Millie threw herself into making life look perfect and good, even though she was hurting on the inside. That silence left Monique to learn responsible behavior by trial and error. Millie was too hurt to bring it up for discussion and too ashamed to acknowledge the right way because it would shed light on the fact that she’d done it the wrong way. Millie and Sam, Monique’s father, were one of the more well-respected and affluent couples in town, the kind that keeps family faux pas quiet.

In 1968, Millie and Sam were the pride of the local Section 8 project community. A straight-A student, Millie excelled in math and science. Monique’s father, Sam, was the lead singer in a quartet, crooning Motown jams at parties every Saturday night and belting out soul-stirring gospel hymns in the churches every Sunday morning.

Millie and Sam managed to make marriage look good. Millie attended teachers’ college and secured a position teaching math at the elementary school. Sam traveled the world extensively, first as a lead singer, then as a solo artist. It was his way of handling his feelings of hurt and shame from teenage pregnancy, creating a family he was not able to provide for. If he didn’t see it, he didn’t have to face it.

The music hits and the steady paychecks were ever present in Monique’s home, but attention and love were not. Her parents provided food, clothing, and shelter but otherwise ignored Monique. She was the evidence of their failure to live a moral life. If they did not look at her, they didn’t have to wear the badge of embarrassment. Rumors of Sam’s cheating on the road would sometimes filter back to town, but proof didn’t materialize until the other wife and children attended his funeral. Neither Millie nor Sam was emotionally present or available to cultivate genuine love in their child. Unconsciously, her parents passed on the emotional baggage of hurt and shame and, though she was always the best-dressed girl in school, the baton of the family curse seamlessly moved from one generation to another and now another.

Monisha, the third generation, has her mother’s curves and her grandfather’s soulful songbird voice. Her grandmother, Millie, raised her until her untimely death when Monisha was three years old. At that time, Monisha went to live with her mother, Monique, who rarely smiled because, like Monique was to Millie, Monisha was the evidence of the life-altering mistake Monique had made. It had crushed her dreams of attending college and going to law school. She was stuck in a small town working swing shifts at a dead-end hourly job in the local food factory. Her conversations were full of pessimistic snappy comebacks uttered between the cigarettes she chain-smoked. Unfortunately, because of the emotional baggage she carried, she couldn’t free herself of the hurt and disappointment so she could mature and be a better mother to Monisha than Millie had been to her. When Monisha entered high school and the house phone started ringing with boys calling, Monique simply hung up the phone and told Monisha, “Leave boys alone, they’ll ruin your life.” Throughout Monisha’s childhood she heard her mother’s grumblings about how her father was no good. Monique complained constantly about how Clayton didn’t buy food or how he was not trustworthy enough to babysit.

The educational trend of social promotion of star athletes made it very difficult for Clayton to survive at the Ivy League college that heavily recruited him. Though he had a 3.7 GPA, it was obvious Clayton could read and write at only a fourth-grade level, so he dropped out. Out of compassion, the community business owners, who were once high school teammates of Clayton’s, employed him for odd jobs until his addiction to alcohol would take over his performance and he would return to rehab to dry out once again. He was of no assistance to Monique.

Teen pregnancy is the epidemic, lack of communication and courage to heal are its enablers, but hurt and shame are the generational curse. And so, two weeks after her sixteenth birthday and just twenty minutes after belting out a soulful rendition of the National Anthem, Monisha is under the bleachers at the state championship football game. She thinks she knows what love is. She believes Justin is the one to give her that forever-after kind of love. Justin has taken her from nerd-weird to crazy-cool with one wink of his eye and made her the most popular girl in school—that’s love, or so Monisha feels.

Our biggest problem as a society is that the emotional baggage of hurt, pain, guilt, and shame gets passed down but not resolved. It can live in a family for centuries yet never be discussed openly. Why? Some believe discussing it openly glorifies it. Others believe if it is not discussed, it will go away. These misconceptions breed life into the problem and death to the soul. It forces victims to continue to suffer in silence. It creates a breeding ground for dysfunctional behavior that can hurt future generations.

You’ve seen it a hundred times. The daughter of a teen mom grows up to have a baby at the exact same age her mom birthed her. The son of a heroin addict grows up to be addicted to heroin. The son of a physically abusive father grows up to physically assault his wife. The daughter of a battered and beaten mom grows up to only feel she is loved—when? When she’s being hit. The string of connected dots from one generation to another is a generational curse. But hold on—please do not think the “dots” are always the same kind of dysfunctional behavior.

The pattern of maladaptive behavior can manifest differently in each person. For instance, a father beaten and sodomized in the sixties commits suicide. His son, who was a teen at the time of the incident, becomes a substance abuser. And his son, the third generation, for lack of having a healthy father, becomes a womanizer. Suicide, substance abuse, and womanizing are all dysfunctional behaviors that can be traced back to the experience the family suffered in the sixties. All the behaviors—suicide, substance abuse, and womanizing—are dysfunctional behaviors but not the same behavior. Get it? Maybe this will help …

Imagine three generations of men—a grandfather and his brother, son, and grandson—exhibiting different coping mechanisms but carrying emotional baggage because of the same horrific historic incident.

The year was 1972. MLK Jr. and JFK had been assassinated. On every wall in America hung honors in their memory as the fight for civil rights raged on. Jim and his brother Peter were leaving a protest in Atlanta, Georgia, driving back to Charleston, South Carolina, when they stopped at a country corner store for gas. The sign in the window read “Always Open, All Welcome,” but the rifle pushing into Jim’s back as he paid for the gas Peter had just pumped said “White’s only.” Peter was forced behind the store at gunpoint with his hands up in the “don’t shoot” position. After the pillowcase went over Jim’s head, he began reciting the “Our Father” prayer. He thought about his darling wife, his aging mother, and the murders of Mr. Evers and Dr. King. Jim could hear Peter screaming as he was dragged behind the store. Both men were sodomized, severely beaten, and left for dead. Both men were found by a white college professor returning from a summit in Charleston, South Carolina, to his home in Atlanta when he stopped for gas around midnight and oddly found the store closed.

Jim and Peter were taken to a hospital. When they returned home, they were physically healed but emotionally destroyed. Jim sat for days without uttering a word. His wife continued to love and care for him until his death in 1983, just shy of his son Jeremiah’s sixteenth birthday.

Jeremiah doesn’t remember his father’s happy-go-lucky personality. He remembers only a lump of human existence that sat on the porch from sunup to sundown, and then at the dinner table until bedtime. Because she worked as a housekeeper at the local college, Jeremiah’s mother was gone all day, but Jeremiah’s Uncle Peter would stop by the house to see his brother, Jim. Somehow, Peter seemed to have bounced back to a normal life—always full of jokes for Jim and candy for Jeremiah. On one particular day, Peter didn’t stay on the porch with Jim. He softly walked the house and found it empty, with the exception of Jeremiah, napping in his bedroom. Sitting on the porch, Jim cried as he listened to his son scream for Uncle Peter to stop hurting him, but Jim never moved. Two years later, Jim drove to a nearby pond, locked all the doors on his 1957 Chevy pickup truck, set it ablaze, and burned to death.

Jeremiah’s high school friends affectionately called him Jerry. They loved his happy-go-lucky demeanor and warm smile. When they cut class to hang out at the baseball field, he always supplied the booze. Jerry started drinking heavily at fifteen—the same year he fell in love with Susan, the beautiful sixteen-year-old platinum blond with the baby-blue eyes. Together, they smoked, drank, and made love. The next year, they had Justin, a beautiful baby boy with hazel eyes. Jerry and Susan remained a couple. Though Susan worked full-time as a receptionist, Jerry bounced around doing handiwork for the people in town.

In 1984, Justin, a high school sophomore, is the star of the varsity high school basketball team, and Susan could often be seen in the stands sporting a sweatshirt screen printed with Justin’s jersey number. His dad, though, never made it to one game. Many nights after he and his mom returned from one of his basketball games, Justin stepped over his father, who was passed out in the doorway. Susan would pick Jerry up and drag him to their bedroom as the phone bounced off the hook, constantly ringing, from a steady stream of girls vying for Justin’s attention.

The family curse affected each of the men differently, though the root cause was the same. Peter became a molester; Jim committed suicide; his son, Jerry, became an alcoholic; and his grandson, Justin, was a womanizer. Unresolved guilt, hurt, pain, and shame was the emotional baggage handed down in the family’s generational curse. Without a strong positive father figure, the second and third generations were left to deal with the hurt and shame experienced by the first generation and to figure out how to become men on their own.

Everyone has been affected by dysfunctional behavior, if not through their family, then through their job, church, or community. Perhaps you can remember lying awake at night listening to your neighbor abuse his love interest. Maybe you watched over and over as the youth pastor or priest exhibited a stronger interest in one child as they disappeared into rooms alone. Or maybe you’ve suffered at the hands (or media coverage) of a mass shooter. However you were affected, everyone has some emotional baggage, and they may or may not be properly working through it.

Some people keep their story secret because they’ve suppressed it so well they aren’t immediately aware of it. Others keep it a secret because they think they’d just die if anyone found out. Unfortunately, emotional baggage can cause us to become stuck. It creates insecurities that prohibit us from living our best life in the moment. Insecurities can show up as self-doubt, negative self-talk, low self-esteem, arrogance, conceit, low self-confidence, worry, or indecisiveness. Behaviors that can become dysfunctional are belittling, intimidating, neglecting, hitting, baiting, threatening, manipulating, lying, choking, abstaining, and indulging.

When we’re stuck, the effects aren’t always obvious or overt. For example, we’ve earned two college degrees but still cannot break the desired six-figure income ceiling. We’re smart, beautiful, and accomplished but can’t find genuine romantic love. We’re always around loads of friends and have managed to establish a social calendar that would make Oprah and Gayle blush, but we feel lonely, lost, and purposeless. We’re driven, task-oriented, and the highest producer quarter after quarter, but life still feels aimless and empty. We’ve got the gorgeous husband and brilliant kids, but we feel invisible and underappreciated.

Occurrences are bubbling over, becoming systemic and uncontrollable in homes, schools, and workplaces all over the country. Divorce, addiction, domestic violence, and sexual abuse are social ills that create deep-seated emotional baggage that seeps from the secrecy of our families into mainstream malls, entertainment complexes, and workplaces. Over time they deteriorate the soul of the person carrying the hurt and shame of the trauma, causing that person to inflict wounds on other people. Every problem you have is your responsibility, regardless of who caused it. Take responsibility to not pass your pain to the next generation.

Managing emotional wellness with silence has driven us into a hurricane of destruction on every societal level—from the family to the workplace, church, and school. The bad news is that emotional baggage is killing our communities. The good news is that over the last decade or so, the tide has turned, and emotional wellness is now a societal priority. No longer are we expected to nurse our wounds in silence. It’s the best time to find your authentic self and live a fulfilled life of joy. At no other time in history have we had as many life coaches, counselors, and clinicians abundantly available to assist you or corporate brands publicly championing for mental health causes and social responsibility. Now is the time for you to move past the stories that cause you pain. This is your moment. This is your pivotal place in space and time. It is no longer a situation of chance—you get to decide to win!

  CRACK THE MASK, BREAK THE MOLD

With this book, I want to help you accept your past and decide it will no longer control your future. I want you to discover the past experiences that created your limiting beliefs and fuel your sabotaging behavior so you can beam with joy from the inside out. I want you to utilize the process of continuous growth and development. Living the same year ninety-nine times is not living a life. There’s more, and you can do more than have it—you can thrive in it. I want you to remove the restrictions your past has put on your ability to feel free to live true to your own personality, spirit, and character.

You have to crack the mask to define success and happiness for yourself: In your wildest dreams, what would give you the greatest joy? Think of three things that, if you owned them or earned them, would make you feel like you are living your best life. For example, my three things would be a private jet, a five-acre estate, and a home management staff—no debt. What are your three things? Now, let’s do this. Pick up your cell phone (yes, I know it is right there next to you), join my Facebook Group at https://www.ThatAnitaLive.com/group, and post your “Best Life Top 3.” We are a safe circle of compassion and understanding. Who knows, your “Best Life Top 3” may pop up in your direct messages when you least expect it as a reminder that dreams do come true—you just have to put in the work.

But understand, time is of the essence. Change is evident and always evolving. Just as times changed to produce a new day of pride in one’s authentic self, it can quickly change to make anyone with an emotional issue a dangerous detriment to society. The focus of pop culture and public opinion is largely dependent upon the latest major headline—good or bad. The pendulum swing affects the openness with which we can practice self-help. Today, hashtags that end in “pride” fill every social media timeline daily, but how long will we be able to live unashamed? No one knows, which is why you need to move to create the life you were destined to live now. It’s time to soar to your next level in life. Will you continue to go round and round on the merry-go-round of sameness, or will you jump and reach for destiny’s brass ring of happiness and success?

  IT’S YOUR TIME TO SOAR

In this book, I’m educating, entertaining, and teaching you a new process for dealing with emotional baggage. This process will not only help you to stop living an aimless life but will teach you how to sustain your momentum and steadily accomplish your goals. I’m going to educate you by demonstrating how childhood trauma becomes adult dysfunctional behavior through my own personal stories. I’m going to entertain you with my southern colloquialisms and quick-witted tongue but also by showing you the silver lining to your own dark clouds, the good things that have come out of all those tough times. Lastly, I’m going to teach you how to defend and prioritize what is most important—your happiness and your health.

That new process is my 7-Step Method, which got me off the emotional spin cycle. The basic format of the chapters in Section I are the same. First, I share a personal story highlighting a certain type of abuse and its lasting effects. In some chapters, I give you multiple examples of abusive incidents. I need you to know abusive behavior is not a onetime event. When a survivor says “I was abused,” the listener hears and sees one single event. I need you to see, hear, and feel that abuse is repetitive and will persist as long as the perpetrator has access to the victim.

Each chapter will also feature a Lesson to Learn section highlighting the dysfunctional behavior resulting from the abuse (the effects), and how the 7-Step Method can be used to overcome the maladaptive behavior (the technique). The activities will teach you how to minimize toxicity, maximize what serves you, and enjoy a meaningful life. Section II of this book—chapters seven, eight, and nine—shares with you how to keep your momentum going once you’ve gotten free.

The Techniques of the 7-Step Method are:

Step One – Life Mapping Step Two – Track and Trace Step Three – Dispose of Distractions Step Four – Celebrating Self Step Five – Inner Peace and Quiet Step Six – Emotional Equation (Performance Review) Step Seven – Gratitude and Give Back

  My Successful 7-Step Method Affirmations include:

1. The better I know the person within, the happier I can make her.

2. I am the master of my emotions. I control them, they don’t control me.

3. Having boundaries shows I want self-respect. Forcing people to adhere to my boundaries shows I have self-respect.

4. I am precious.

5. I am peace. I am peaceful. I am at peace.

6. I am in a perfecting process.

7. I am receiving goodness and giving greatness back.

  My successful 7-Step Method Activities include:

1. Life Mapping 2. Tracking and Tracing 3. Disposing of Distractions 4. Celebrating Self 5. Inner Peace and Quiet (Bonus: Finding My Father Collage) 6. Solving Your Emotional Equation 7. Gratitude and Give Back (Bonus activity: Creating a Family of Choice)

This book does not include a comprehensive list of all of the Affirmations, Techniques, or Activities in my 7-Step Method. It does include all the steps. However, I’ve carefully selected the specific Affirmation, Technique, and Activity that best correspond with the lesson to be learned from the True Story in the chapter.

WHY LISTEN TO ME?

I hear you, I hear you. Who is this woman and why should I listen to her? Why should I continue to read this book? Let me give you four reasons: my education, my career experience, my personal experience, and most important—my gift.

I’ve earned three degrees—a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics, a Master of Education in Counseling, and a Master in Business Administration—and I do mean earned. I attended all my own classes, wrote all my own papers, and conducted all my own research. I learned from professors that cared more for my well-rounded, intellectual development and my ability to rise to the top than my feelings.

But I’m not just heavy on the education side; I’m also qualified by career experience. I’ve counseled, coached, and trained hundreds of people between the ages of eleven and fifty through their own personal transformations and professional endeavors. I’ve been a summer teen program counselor and a middle school guidance counselor. I’ve worked as a counselor in a life skills, education, and technical job training program as well as a career services counselor at a college. And I’m still that one friend everyone seeks out when they need help with their challenges. In addition, as you will learn in later chapters, I’ve been on every side of emotional baggage.

I am an expert because of the combination of my education, career experience, personal experience, and heavenly gifting at identifying where you’re stuck and mapping out how to move you from where you are to where you want to be in life. Yes, I said “heavenly gifting.” Consider what world-renowned celebrity personality Steve Harvey tells his audiences all over the world about The Gift:

“At birth God gave each and every one of us a gift. A gift is something you do the absolute best, with the least amount of effort. Gifts are more than just running, jumping, singing, and dancing. Your gift is where your success and happiness will be found.”

My gift is counseling—picking apart people’s insecurities and helping them find their emotional wellness. When life throws everything at you, when you’re buried under the mess of this world, I am the hand that you reach for, the hand that will pull you out of the dust, dirt, and mud, then teach you how to live a life of joy, love, and peace.

  ARE YOU WITH ME?

Nothing gives you a better understanding of a topic than a 360-degree experience, and as I’ve said, I’ve been the victim, the witness, and the conduit God uses to heal.

Using that full panoramic view, I have made this my mission—you will:

· Be EQUIPPED to boldly go beyond your comfort zone and refresh, reinvent, and revise your life for the better.

· Learn how to TRANSFORM negative thinking into positive thinking with 7 affirmations, 7 results-driven techniques, and 7 actionable activities.

· Learn how to DEFY your limiting beliefs about yourself and create a life you’ll love living.

· Be EMPOWERED to do more for yourself and demand even more from others.

· Learn how to CHANGE your self-sabotaging behavior.

· Learn how to RELEASE fear.

· Be MOVED by the vivid and transparent personal stories of violent abuse to realize you are not the only one with a past and it doesn’t define your destiny or stop you from getting it.

In chapter two we’ll examine the importance of self-awareness and why no one should know you better than you. We’ll review the benefits and the life-changing effects each benefit can have on us. Turn the page, and let’s get started.

( Continued… )

© 2018 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Anita Washington. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

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  About the Author Anita Washington, M.Ed. & M.B.A., CEO & Founder of That Anita Live, LLC, host of the TV show That Anita Live and The Emotional Happiness Podcast with That Anita Live provides a platform for women to learn, laugh and more importantly heal emotionally by learning from the challenges and successes of others.

A former school and community agency counselor and creator of the 7-Step Method, Anita’s helped guide people from the ages of eleven to fifty through their own life issues, personal transformations and professional endeavors. With an old soul and a comedic, honest voice. She uses many southern colloquialisms and colorful expressions to unwrap personal stories of surviving a homicidal alcoholic father, a mother in denial and four physically and emotionally abusive brothers and relates them to guiding principles and healing techniques.

Through her powerful and uplifting interviews at ThatAnitaLive.TV and The Emotional Happiness Podcast women get to see and hear real women with resourceful stories living relentless lives after life’s most devastating events. Through her charismatic and compelling speaking, Anita helps women use the tools and resources they already have to reveal and release success blockers such as childhood trauma and family dysfunction to build self-confidence, boost their self-esteem and feel free to live true to their own personality, spirit and character.

She has self-published two books: number one ranked ebook, 7 Simple Steps to Beat Emotional Baggage: How To Become Whole, Healed, Healthy & Happy, which shares actionable techniques that will walk women through letting go of the past and rising above the glass ceiling to reach higher levels of success and satisfaction in life and newly released book (ebook and paperback), Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs which shares trauma stories you can relate to along with the seven techniques, affirmations and activities to help you heal.

From nine-to-five, Anita is a Senior Acquisition Support Specialist, possessing over nineteen years of performing and administering program management and cradle-to-grave commercial and federal contracting activities for acquisitions ranging from $500,000 to over $2 Billion. She has progressively worked her way up the federal acquisition life-cycle and commercial supply chain through various positions from pre-award and requirements definition to commodities buying to contract close-out. In her career, she has mastered the art of transitioning to level-up.

Anita is a graduate of Limestone College, Virginia State University, and Strayer University with a B.S. in Mathematics, an M.Ed. in Guidance & Counseling, and an M.B.A. in Contracts & Acquisitions. You can find Anita online at ThatAnitaLive.com, Twitter, Periscope, Instagram and Facebook. Her handle is That Anita Live on all four social media platforms.

Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs by Anita Washington Are people constantly dumping their negative energy on you? Do you find yourself bombarded with painful thoughts from your past?

[pastoralbert-blog]

The dark side of Porn???

I saw that title in a YouTube video about a former Playboy model discussing the horrors of pornography and about how we need a sensual revolution and not a sexual one; I just put it as a question here. She alleged that the sexual revolution brought about sexual freedom but along with it came bad sex because many have become desensitized to it. Another guest on the show stated that the sexual revolution killed three ingredients that lead to erotic desire and they are unavailability, mystery and "forbiddeness." I was listening to the panel and they had me interested to the point that the question was asked if porn was the culprit and as such should be banned. They all seemed to disagree as if porn was an unfortunate guy whose identity was stolen by some ridiculous hacker and perpetrated as the culprit.

Let me be clear: Pornography's identity was not stolen and making the above statement

"The dark side of Porn,"

diminishes the role this monster has played in our societies into turning good citizens into animals who, rape, kill and go to great lengths to quench this insatiable thirst. If you're looking for any dark side, look no further than porn. Families have been and are been torn apart because of one simple thing porn enthusiasts fail to see. That thing is that men/women are having a hard time connecting with the real because their minds have feasted so much on the wrong thing that when the real thing appears they have a problem with it.

You may wonder what I'm talking about. Well consider this: it's a proven fact that men that have spent most of their lives watching pornographic images have little interest in their wives even if she's "smoking hot." They're bored out of their minds because in pornography you get to see tons of beautiful women/men's bodies in 15 minutes than maybe your grandfather/grandma have seen in their entire lives. The thrill of the mind, consuming quantity, and variety presented on the computer screen keeps the addict glued to the screen and he/she is not bored until they're completely and totally worn out. That my friend comes with a cost because when that person is forced to make love to just one person, the mind rebels because it's been trained for maybe decades to look at multiple images.

That is the problem among young men in their 20s and 30s today which is causing erectile dysfunction. These men can't get their "Mr. Action," to attention when it's action time. For some of these men/women, if they get involved sexually, they'll be imagining other sex partners which is still wrong. It's not that they don't love their wives but many of them can't perform without pornography or multiple women and thus some are resorting to "swinging" where multiple partners have sex with together. Even though this is a little off the subject I'll say this: especially for a man, swinging is like a country giving its sovereignty to an enemy nation who pretends to be a friend. In the end, that act will be regretted.

So I say again pornography is not innocent, it is the culprit that has ruined many homes and love lives and it has to be stopped or it'll ruin our societies. I know this is an uphill battle because it's so interwoven in our cultures and it's so addictive. For example, I went to Google today to look for a good pic for this story I'm doing and typed in the words:

"Porn is not innocent,"

and what the results of the search engine were, was nothing short of pornography. Now imagine if that was a curious child just looking around the internet for that topic. Those initial pics stay in the minds of the young, sometimes till adulthood and when once they're hooked, it's very hard to break the habit.

However, there's hope and anyone can be set free by the power of the Holy Spirit in the name of Jesus Christ. He's the only One that is able to break that or any other habit without painful withdrawal symptoms. Are you bound to pornography or any other addiction? Accept Jesus Christ today and allow Him to help you break that habit because porn is not innocent. It can take you to the fires of hell.

Say this prayer out loud:

Father, I believe that your son Jesus Christ died for me. I repent of my sins, accept Him into my life, and make Him my Lord and savior. Forgive me of my sins and write my name in your book of Life. Thank you God in Jesus' name. Amen.

Albert Amara is the senior pastor of Agape Word Embassy in Ansbach, Germany and is the author of many books including his latest which is set to be released on March 13, 2018:

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_fb_1_25?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=the+undefiled+bed+albert+amara&sprefix=the+undefiled+bed+Albert+%2Cstripbooks%2C248&crid=3PMVOK7PXU8IU

[trendingnewsb]

O.J. Simpson murder trial: Where are the key players now?

O.J. Simpson is back in the public spotlight as he faces a Nevada parole board Thursday in a bid to be released from a 33-year sentence for armed robbery and assault with a weapon.

The former football star was the subject of one of the most famous trials in American history in 1995, when he was acquitted in the murders of his ex-wife Nicole Brown and her friend Ron Goldman in Los Angeles, drawing intense public scrutiny.

As the parole hearing nears, Fox News looks back at some of the key players in the murder trial and where they are today.

O.J. Simpson

Simpson is set to face the Nevada Board of Parole Thursday in a hearing that could see him released from prison following his 2008 conviction of armed robbery in Las Vegas. Lawyers familiar with the case say the 70-year-old has a good chance of making parole. In 2007, Simpson was found responsible for Brown and Goldmans deaths in a civil case and was ordered to pay $33.5 million to the families estates. As of 2014, Goldmans sister Kim, in an interview with CNBC, said the family has collected less than 1 percent of the settlement.

If Simpson is freed from his prison term at Lovelock Correctional Facility, a substantial portion of his future income is expected to go toward paying that. Simpson, who has stayed out of trouble at the facility, has passed time by playing fantasy football and coaching softball, guards and an inmate who were there with him say.

Johnnie Cochran

Cochran, the lead defense attorney of what the media dubbed Simpsons Dream Team which factored into Simpsons estimated legal bill of $3 million to $5 million since the murders died of a brain tumor in 2005. Cochran continued his career following the trial, founding The Cochran Firm and defending clients such as rapper Sean Diddy Combs and NYPD brutality victim Abner Louima. Malcolm LaVergne, one of Simpsons current lawyers, told The Associated Press early last year that Simpson believed Cochran was depicted unfairly in the FX hit series The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story, despite not being allowed to watch it.

Robert Kardashian

Kardashian, a close friend of Simpson who was on the Dream Team, died of esophageal cancer in 2003 at the age of 59. Kardashian let Simpson stay at his house in the hours before the now-infamous slow-speed pursuit Simpson led police on in a white Ford Bronco in June 1994, which eventually culminated in his arrest. His daughters have since risen to fame in the reality TV world, with Kim Kardashian West estimated by Forbes to have a 2017 income of nearly $46 million.

Robert Shapiro

Another member of the Dream Team, Shapiro has gone on to launch the websites LegalZoom and Right Counsel, which help the public with legal services, documentation and finding specialized attorneys for individual cases. Shapiro opened up about the murder trial in a 2016 interview with former Fox News host Megyn Kelly, saying that there is a strong possibility that more than one person was involved in the killings. He also told Kelly that there is a strong possibility that the killer of Brown and Goldman has never faced trial. Shapiro is currently representing one of the younger Kardashians Rob — in a custody battle with Blac Chyna over their 7-month-old daughter.

F. Lee Bailey

The former Simpson defense attorney once again filed for bankruptcy in June stemming from a longtime dispute over his handling of client assets in a 1994 drug smuggling and money laundering case, according to the Bangor Daily News. The 84-year-old, who currently lives in Maine and runs a consulting business, continued to work as a defense attorney after the Simpson acquittal until he was disbarred in Florida and Massachusetts.

Alan Dershowitz

Dershowitz, an appellate adviser for Simpsons defense in the murder trial, went on to teach at Harvard University. He makes appearances on Fox News and also works as a legal adviser and activist for Israeli sovereignty and animal rights. Despite helping out the Dream Team, Dershowitz told Business Insider in 2016 that it was more like the nightmare team.”

“There were an enormous amount of egos clashing. There were some clearly who were not happy with the hierarchical arrangement, he said.

Gil Garcetti

Garcetti, who served as Los Angeles Countys District Attorney during the Simpson murder trial, now works as a photographer with seven photo books attached to his resume. He also teaches an art class and is a goodwill ambassador to West African countries seeking fresh water, while his son, Eric, is the current mayor of Los Angeles. He told the New York Post in 2016 that he never wanted prosecutor Marcia Clark to take the lead in the O.J. case.

Marcia is a very good lawyer, but one of the things with her was that she didnt heed the advice of our trial consultant who told her not to pick African-American women particularly black mothers for that jury, he said, making note that eight black women ended up on the panel.

She didnt listen and once she did that, there was no chance that wed get a guilty verdict, although I still thought wed get two or three jurors to hold out for a hung jury.

Marcia Clark

The lead prosecutor in the Simpson case, Clark continues to write books, most recently releasing “Moral Defense” in November 2016, a fictional novel about a defense attorney handling a tabloid-ready stabbing case that left two people dead. Sound somewhat familiar? Clark has also worked as an Entertainment Tonight correspondent and co-authored “Without a Doubt,” a book about the Simpson trial in which she insisted that the former football star was guilty.

And this just in: Moral Defense just hit the WSJ bestseller list! TY to all for this! http://pic.twitter.com/VFWxZA52NI

— marcia clark (@thatmarciaclark) November 18, 2016

Christopher Darden

Another Simpson prosecutor, Darden launched his own firm, Darden & Associates, Inc., after the trial, while also accusing Cochran in 2012 of tampering with the bloody glove found at the scene of the Brown and Goldman killings. In an interview with Entertainment Tonight in 2016, Darden revealed he and Clark were inseparable during the trial and more than friends, but hasnt spoken to her in years. He told the New York Daily News Tuesday that he has a hard time understanding why people want Simpson released. Is this the parole hearing of the century? I guess it is, he said.

Kato Kaelin

The surfer-dude who lived with Simpson at the time of the killings and was a witness for the prosecution made headlines again this past Fourth of July weekend after winning $12,411 with his brother, sister-in-law and a friend in a 50-50 raffle at a Milwaukee Brewers game. The other half of the winnings will go to charity. Outside of running a sports talk show and being a traveling emcee for Wizard World Comic Con, Kaelin has made several television appearances since the trial, showing up on comedy and reality programs.

Al Cowlings

Happy is when @Brewers R WINNING & ur swarmed by MILWAUKEE’S BEST FANS. #kidsrule @MikeVassallo13 @321cuekevin @Todd_Rosiak @AdamMcCalvy # http://pic.twitter.com/KVsyk9tyHK

— Kato Kaelin (@Kato_Kaelin) July 3, 2017

The former defensive linesman who drove the white Ford Bronco during the police chase, Cowlings is semi-retired and resides in Malibu, Calif. He has no contact with O.J. Cowlings is still remembered at USC, which recently named a new residential facility in his honor. The university said it received a $15 million from an anonymous donor to set up the A.C. Allen Cowlings Residential College, scheduled to open in August to connect 320 students with faculty-in-residence and student support staff to provide a stimulating and social setting, cultural activities and academic excellence that enriches and teaches.

Lance Ito

Ito, who presided over the Simpson trial as Los Angeles Superior Court Judge, went on to oversee around 500 more cases until retiring in January 2015. He has kept a low profile with media since the Simpson case, but has expressed his intent to learn to play guitar, The Associated Press reported.

Fred Goldman & Kim Goldman

Fred, the father of Ron Goldman, told ABC News in February — two decades after winning the civil case — that he still thinks about his murdered son every day and all of Ron’s dreams that didn’t come to fruition. He also said he feels disgusted about Simpsons opportunity for release. Kim, Rons sister, has done advocacy work for victims of domestic violence and runs The Youth Project, a non-profit that provides counseling to teenagers. She told ABC that she wrote letters to O.J. while he was in prison and wanted to visit him at one point to see him be reduced to something that was more manageable for me because at that time it was just overwhelming.”

Mark Fuhrman

Fuhrman, a key investigator and witness in the O.J. Simpson trial, now works as a forensic and crime scene expert for Fox News. In a column for FoxNews.com, Fuhrman explained why he thinks Simpson will be granted parole Thursday. I predict that on October 1, O.J. Simpson will walk out of Lovelock Prison, Fuhrman wrote.

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