jacketstop23

[akkivee]

zion was a walled city/fortress thing where, according to biblical mythos, god installed the king he saw fit to carry out his law and promised it would be a place of no conflict. it’s sometimes called a paradise, being the city of god, so chuuoku is totally ichijiku’s paradise lol

[lavendersies]

Willuz prompts:

- Willow and her bumblebee Palisman grow an extravagant topiary of her and Luz, adorned with beautiful bouquets of flowers (as well as make delicious honey) for Luz to thank her for everything.

- Kind of a recap of Season 1's Luz and Willow adventures, but with the notable highlight that Willow gives Luz an appropriate flower bouquet as thanks of helping her out (can be combined with previous prompt if preferable)

- Amity and Hunter argue which of the two Luz loves the most, only to find Luz on a date/making out with Willow in a secluded, forested area, maybe with blossoming flowers (this is a non-serious fic as an allegory to the whole shipping war at the moment, but could come off as a bit mean :P)

- Luz practices with her Glyphs once more to make nice flowers and topiaries for Willow.

- Willow has a crush on Luz and can't help but feel a little jealous when she and Amity get close instead. Willow is too shy to confess her feelings for Luz, fearing rejection, and doesn't want to be in hot water with Amity again after they're finally getting along since their breach years ago. Willow wants to be happy for them, but Gus notices her depression.

- Boscha has thrashed Willow's beautiful plant garden, a passion project that's been taken years, and Willow is despaired by this, too depressed to continue and rebuild. Luz decides to fix the garden and improve it.

@Arendalphaeagle gave theses wonderful prompts so I have went with fourth one. The request was suppose to be uploaded on A03 but it didn't work out so until further notice all Willuz requests will be uploaded here. Feel free to drop ya'll request in my ask box. Enjoy.

A flower for Willow

Luz tapped the symbol emitting a green light and a single flower merge. She looks over at her spell book that specializes in plant magic for something new. She had committed her time to mastering a new glyph, hoping it would create the perfect gift for Willow. Luz didn't care if she spent the whole night out here and woke up with tired eyes caked with crust. Starting earlier this week would have been the wise thing to do but studying for her witch classes ate up the time. In a sluggish motion the sun disappeared behind the trees, allowing the moon to provide a dim light and usher in darkness. Luz casted a luminous orb as she read the instruction on how to evoke multiple flowers. She read the guide once more then traced the symbol on paper and activated it. A patch of lavender and lilac flowers bloom before her, this was just what she needed. Luz would allow her artistic skills to do the rest, she took her book and went inside. 

She found Eda knocked out on the couch with an empty cup of apple blood dangling from her hand. A smile spread on her lips seeing the grey-haired witch in her apple blood coma. King was probably upstairs waiting for Luz's return so they could continue watching an anime series that she had downloaded on her phone. Upon entering the room Luz sees King scowling one of his stuffed animals.

When he noticed her presence. He stopped chiding the pink rabbit, "Oh hey Luz, are you ready to watch soul eater with me?" He asked, sitting on the sleeping mat.

"Not tonight love," She replied.

"Why not?!" King whined.

Luz faced the opposite direction and stripped from her outwear into pj's. She put them near the mat and got out her sketch pad.

"I have to finish a gift for Willow," she said, sitting down to begin sketching her friend's face.

"You can finish it tomorrow, I've been watching all week for us to watch soul eater!" 

"Sorry King, I promise we will watch it together tomorrow" she assured.

The furry demon grumbled under his breath and joined her on the mat. "What are you drawing anyways?" He asked, peeking over her shoulder.

"A picture of Willow" she responded.

"What's the occasion?"

"None, I just want to do something nice for my friend," she said.

"Do you have anything else in mind?"

Luz had finished Willow's eyes and moved on to her nose, "Tomorrow I'm 

going to create a plant statue with this picture".

"I want a plant statue of me!" King cried. 

Luz chuckled.

"And you've been doing a lot for Willow lately, last week you went out of your way to get her that plant baby".

Luz's heart raced, she already knew the next words coming, "She sounds more than a friend" King commented. 

"Friends do things for each other all the time" Luz struggled to tolerate her frisky heart, hoping the tone of her voice wasn't a dead give away.

"Eh, if you say so."

The room fell in silence and Luz worked diligently on Willow's portrait. The plant witch dominates her thoughts, now her heart flutters thinking of those olive green eyes behind the thin-rimmed glasses. The way her ear twitched at sudden noises. Willow had been nothing but a sweet-heart since day, she deserved the world and Luz was willing to give her it. Although these feelings bloomed, she didn't know if it was mutual on Willow's end, and she would keep them buried away. When Luz finally looked up from her sketch-pad King was fast asleep at the edge of her mat. She set aside the finished product and got some rest.

Later that night, Luz had woken up to relieve her heavy bladder, she carefully stepped over a sleeping King and visited the bathroom. After washing her hands, she found herself outside.

 The moon's bright orbs brighten her path as she walks through the woods. Luz was a moth drawn to light, she felt compelled to keep moving. The orbs glowed rapidly like glistening gems, Luz could hear the vibration. She was led into the opening and a massive bush that resembled Willow's head came in view. 

Woah...

"Thank you Luz!" It says

"Huh?"

Its large yellow luminous remind her of fireflies, she had accidentally swallowed one when she was seven.

"Thank you" it repeated.

"What for?" Luz asked.

She didn't get a response to her question,7 the bush thanked Luz on an endless loop. Suddenly, gravity reeled her forward and its mouth opened wide, swallowing her. 

Luz was expecting to be engulfed in darkness, her eyes were squeezed shut. She felt warmth and a chubby body press against hers, opening her eyes. Luz realized it was Willow. She embraced the plant witch hug and gently ran her hand along Willow's turquoise hair. 

"Luz!" 

Everything faded. Luz woke up in her makeshift room with an annoyed little demon held prisoner in her arms. "Luz let go!" He whines struggling to break free.

"Sorry.." she said sheepishly.

Luz released him and King scurried off on all fours. She took care of her personal hygiene then returned to the room for her uniform. When Luz went downstairs, Eda was waiting at the door with her staff. She wore her pajamas. "Can we take the tub?” 

“No, its for emergencies only”

“Please” Luz said, giving the grey haired woman pitiful eyes.

“I’m immune to those” Eda stated dismissively.

“But you can’t be the coolest witch without it,” 

“Keep it up and you’ll be walking to school” Eda said heading out the door. 

--

The schoolyard was still empty when Luz hopped off the staff. She watched Eda fly away, disappearing over the autumn colored trees. Luz took out her plant magic textbook and turned to the page about manipulation. After she got a good understanding, she pulled out the portrait of Willow and drew two symbols on them. Luz crossed her fingers and tapped the paper, a stem sprouted forth and the leaves took on the form of Willow's face. Two Lilac flowers blossomed on both sides, the topiary was the size of a miniature house plant. She had expected bigger  but before Luz could sulk her crush arrived. 

"Willow!" She quickly hid the plant behind her back.

"Hey" Willow smiled. 

Luz felt butterflies tickling her stomach, she forced a skittish smile and revealed the topiary. Willow eyes widened with astonishment, she took the plant from Luz's hands.

"Aww thanks" Willow shifted the plant in her other arm and gave her a hug. Luz no longer had butterflies pestering her insides. The euphoria buttered her up, if Luz hadn't stopped herself she would have kissed Willow. For a brief moment, the turquoise haired witch stared at her. Luz was about to look away but Willow touched her cheek and gently kissed her lips. She led Luz by the hand towards the school building. 

[shallow-seas-we-sail]

“Okay!” Alex bellows and claps her hands together, “Next game! You gotta partner up!”

Nia scoots in close around the coffee table and pushes into Brainy’s side, while Kelly settles down on the arm of the chair that Alex is sitting in and cards a hand through her hair.

“I’m with Lena!” Sam claims across the room from the kitchen and runs over with two precariously balanced glasses of wine in one hand, plopping down next to Lena on the couch.

Kara, hunched over in front of the fridge, stands up quickly and lets out an indignant scoff, “That’s not fair! Lena is my partner by default. House rules.” Kara closes the door and jams her finger into the scoreboard stuck the front of the fridge. “See!”

“She’s my best friend!” Kara and Sam say in unison, and Alex swears she can see her sister’s eyes pulse with a burst of hot anger and sinks down into her chair a little further.

“I am the property of no man.” Lena counters, which causes an elbow to jab her in the side from a smirking Sam.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Sam says conspiratorially under her breath, and Lena snorts into her wine glass as she brings it to her lips.

Kara’s brow crinkles as she makes her way over to group and takes a spot on the floor across from the couch, “Fine, I guess I’m the game master.”

Kelly glances down at Alex, who gives a small grimace as she reaches into her pocket and removes her phone, “Uh, okay. So I-..”

“Not going as planned?” Kelly dips her head and whispers into her girlfriend's ear.

“Nope,” Alex reponds under her breath with a pop.

Nia clears her throat and gives Alex a pointed look from across the room and motioning with her eyes discreetly towards the couch.

Alex opens her mouth to speak, but realizes she is taking too long and juts her hand with her phone out to Kara, “You gotta read the questions and keep score.”

Kara eyes her sister suspiciously and she plucks the phone from her hand. She scrolls through the screen for a few seconds before glancing up and looking around the room.

“Really?” Kara deadpans.

Alex tries her best to hide her pained expression, so she picks up her beer bottle and presses it to her lips and tilts her head back with an emphatic thumbs up.

This is going to be a disaster.

Kara rolls her eyes and places the phone down on the table and picks up a pen and paper to keep score, “Okay, so, you gotta guess the answers based on what you know about your partner.”

“Like the Newlywed game?” Nia asks, perking up.

Brainy tilts his head, taking in his girlfriends information, “Yes. Exactly like the Newlywed game, we discussed this earli-.. OOF! ” He is effectively silenced by a sharp elbow in his side. Brainy clears his throat and forces a smile, “continue” he whines through a breath and raises his hand weakly, relinquishing the floor back to Kara.

“What is the Newlywed game?” Lena asks, arching a quizzical eyebrow.

Sam waves her off, “Don’t mind her. She has never had a stay-home-from-school-sick day and watched daytime tv.”

Lena scoffs and presses hand to her chest in offense, “I would never watch daytime tv.”

Sam turns her hands over in a so-there gesture, “See.”

Kara smiles softly, because of course Lena doesn’t watch daytime tv. Though, she does remember the one time she had to convince a hungover and couch-bound Lena not to order Lifelock  just because “Jane Rizzoli said so.” Lena had relented only after Kara made her a mimosa to nurse her headache and sang “Take my identity as a Luthor, take all my money too, for I can’t help falling in lo-..” until Lena’s bright laughter had cut her off and filled the room.

“Hey,” Alex leans forward, snapping her fingers in front of her sister's face, “ground control to Major dork. Let’s go!”

Kara shakes her head, loosening the memory from her thoughts, but a floating warmth remains in the center of her chest. She adjusts her glasses and smiles in Lena’s direction, who has a single finger pressed against her lips and a curious look.

“Wha-.. oh, yeah, right. So, I ask a question, and both of you come up with an answer. If the answers match, you get a point.”

Everyone nods agreeably, and Kara lifts her glass, and takes a long pull of the amber, alien liquid inside, “First question, what is your partner’s favorite movie?”

Alex and Kelly raise their hands in unison, “Terminator 2!”

Alex pumps her fist and gives her girlfriend a high-five, “Yes! And yours is....” Alex snaps her fingers, hoping that perhaps it will jumpstart her brain, “honestly, anything black and white. She’s a sucker for classics.”

Kelly nods and presses a quick kiss to the crown of Alex’s head.

Brainy’s favorite is ‘any movie with Keanu Reeves’, which causes a ten minute reprieve of the game as he launches into nearly a film-thesis-length speech about the transgender allegory of The Matrix until Nia clasps her hand over his mouth.

“Babe, I love that you know that, but just answer the question.” she says.

“Ah, yes. Nia Nal’s favorite movie is the Harry Potter series. She is a Gryffindor and her Patronus is a dapple grey stallion.”

Kara tallies two points each under their score column, and taps her pen against the table with growing impatience as Sam stares intently at Lena.

“God, you had the VHS box set in college. I can picture it on your shelf.. fuck, I can’t remember it!” Sam throws her hands up in frustration.

“Titanic.” Kara says under her breath to no one, and averts her gaze down the point sheet in front her, because how could Sam not know that? Best friend, her alien ass.

“Yours was that obscure French one, Jeux d’enfant,” Lena laughs, “God, how many times did you watch that? I swear you just wanted to impress that French exchange girl. What was her name?”

Sam lets go of a breath, “Esmée.” she says, dreamily, “I could be living in the French countryside right now as a vineyard wife.”

Lena gives Sam a playful swat against the arm, “What’s yours, Kara?” Sam asks between playful attacks and fits of laughter from her friend.

“Working Girl,” Kara and Lena say in unison, and Lena’s laughter dies down, “she always cries at the end.” she says, punctuating with a wink at Kara.

“All of the hair in that movie is just so horrifically 80’s. It would make anyone cry.” Kara counters as she marks down a one under Lena and Sam score column.

The game continues, and Alex and Kelly are so finely tuned that Kara reminds herself to tell her sister to wife Kelly quickly, because she has already started a mental catalogue of what she is going to need for their wedding.

“Favorite TV show?”

“Game of Thrones!”, “Greys Anatomy!”

“Worst handwriting?”

“Alex. She writes like she finished medical school.”

Brainy and Nia seem to find a rhythm, even if Brainy keeps going on tangents about each of his answers.

“Her favorite musical artist is Taylor Swift, but not 1989 era Taylor. She considers that album too popsugar polished, especially since it is widely believed that she played up her so-called ‘beef’ with fellow singer, Katy Perry.”

Kara’s scoring has started on a sideways slant, because every time she ends up on Sam and Lena, she finds herself drinking more and tempering down her annoyance at Sam who can’t seem answer one fucking question right.

Kara instead has started a running tally in the corner of the score sheet, checking off each answer as she mentally screams.

Lena’s favorite junk food? Big belly burger. Check . Silliest pet peeve? Lena hates fliers and leaflets because “They are a waste of our time and trees, Kara. Honestly, if one more follower of Rao tries to shove one in my hand, I’m going to shove a redwood tree up his ass.” Check.

Lena’s favorite color is purple. Check. Lena hates salmon. Check. Lena doesn’t like tequila, but if she is buzzed enough will take a shot of it, but only with lick of salt and a lime as a chaser. Check. Lena hates her brother. Triple Check. Lena takes her coffee black. Check. And Lena always looks like she stepped out of a noir film with a dark shade of red on her lips that Kara is sure, ‘so sure’, would not smudge if she was kissed. Check (tbd).

Kara is throwing her head back, finishing off the liquid in her glass, burning and hot in the back of her throat when Sam answers ‘Maleficent’ for what Disney character Lena would be.

“Oh my god,” Kara shakes her head, “how are you so bad at this?”

Sam seems taken aback and looks between Lena and Kara, “Excuse me?”

“This.” Kara gestures towards Lena and then drunk and loose over the scribbled score sheet in front of her, “You haven’t gotten one answer right. Lena is carrying your team. You,” Kara sits up straight, trying to center herself but sways as she points an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction, “suck.”

Sam looks around the room. Kelly and Nia are both suddenly very interested in their phones, while Alex’s eyes have grown wide, wondering briefly if her sister is going to rear up off the floor and throttle their friend. Lena is staring at Kara with a bewildered look from over the rim of her wine glass while Brainy’s searching eyes move across the room from each person, trying to form the proper reaction to this level of intensiveness.

“Relax, Danvers. It’s just a game.” Sam scoffs as she leans forward to pick up her wine glass from the table.

“No!” Kara shouts a little too loudly, and brings her hand down on the table, splintering a corner and nearly rattling the drinks off of it, “No.”

“Kara,” Kelly leans forward, and with her best therapist voice, tries to defuse the situation, “perhaps we should just take a break from the game, and get some wate-..”

“No. Anyone with eyes knows that Lena is Moana. She would cross oceans and fight Gods and do whatever it took to do the right thing.” Kara says resolutely towards Kelly, and then turns back to Sam, “Lena is Moana. She is a Queen and she is good, and she isn’t fucking ‘Maleficent’!” Kara punctuates with air quotes.

Sam’s eyes grow wide, and she settles a steely glare on Kara, “Fine. You wanna do this?”

“You’re damn right I do.” Kara bites back, pushing her sleeves up her arms, “Lets go.”

“Well, fuck me I guess.” Kelly mutters under her breath as she sits back, defeated. Alex cautiously leans forward, and takes her phone from in front of her sister.

Brainy narrows his eyes and glances between Kara and Sam, “Am I to believe they are fighting for Lena’s honor?”

Nia waves a hand frantically in Brainy's face, “Just.. shush.” she says squeezing her eyes shut, “Shhh.”

Sam finishes the last of the wine in her glass, and juts out her arm in Lena’s direction, a silent demand for a refill. Lena rears back and plucks the wine glass out of her friends hand at the stem, “Oh kay, then.” and cautiously moves from the couch towards the kitchen.

Kara and Sam’s eyes never leave the others as Lena scoots past.

Alex clears her throat and lets a silent prayer float up into the rafters of her sisters loft that Kara has home insurance in the event Sam ends up dangling over the fire escape.

“Describe your partner in one word.” Alex says, and glances up from her phone.

“Bitch.”

“Good.”

Kara nearly digs her fingers into the hardwood floor beneath her.

“How are we gonna keep score?” Nia whispers over the table to Alex.

Alex grits her teeth at the realization and shoots the woman in the kitchen a sympathetic look, mouthing “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no.” Lena shakes her head, “No.” she says, pointedly.

Brainy perks up, “So Lena must determine the answer, and then deem one worthy of her affections.”

Nia smacks him in the chest.

A pair of bright blue and honeyed eyes look towards Lena, who is gaping in the kitchen with one quaking hand holding a scotch tumbler and a wine bottle in the other.

“You must decree it so, Lena. Who gets the point?” Brainy bellows enthusiastically, and then flips a single kernel of popcorn into his mouth with a smile.

“Where the hell did you get popcorn?” Nia asks, dumbfounded.

“Inconsequential!” Brainy declares, shoveling a fistful into his mouth.

Lena swallows hard, and dips her head towards the living room, “Kara.”

“HA!” Kara barks, and raises her hand, which is promptly high-fived by Brainy.

Sam cranes her neck side to side and shakes out her arms, “Again.”

Alex glances up at Kelly, “Is this how I die?”

Kelly gives a noncommittal shrug, and leans over her girlfriend's shoulder, scrolling through the questions on her phone, “What is your partner’s worst habit?”

“Biting her nails when she is nervous.” Sam says, glancing at Lena as she sits, who promptly pulls her thumb away from her mouth.

“Running on three hours of sleep and thinking of a large, black coffee as a meal.” Kara counters.

All eyes land on Lena, leaving her drumming heart echoing in her ears and the steady crunchcrunchcrunch of popcorn filling the room, “Nails. It is horribly unsanitary.” she says with a wince.

Kara curses in Kryptonian under her breath, and Sam sits back on the couch, arms crossed with a smug smile plastered across her face.

Nia raises up on her knees, and reaches across the table, quickly snatching the phone from Alex’s hand, “My turn!” she declares and scrolls for a few moments, “Ideal vacation?”

“Beach, getting her cute, pale ass burnt in the sun with a margarita in her hand.” Sam waggles her eyebrows, and nudges Lena with her elbow.

Lena sways and keeps her eyes set on a single thing; the door, her only escape from this current hell on earth.

“Swiss alps. Skiing and just relaxing in the lodge,” Kara answers with a smile that shifts with a distant look, “bundled in some cozy sweater, hands curled around a cup of Irish coffee. She’d probably read a book and enjoy the quiet of the falling snow. She’d doze off on the couch by the fire, and she’d look so at peace and warm that you wouldn’t want to move her, but you know she’d complain in the morning about the knots in her neck, an-..”

“Okay,” Sam raises her hand, “we get it. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

Lena turns her head and looks at Kara, who gives her a soft smile, one that she returns.

“Oh, you gotta give Kara that one.” Kelly says, propping her head up in her hand, nearly swooning.

Alex takes in her girlfriend’s dreamy reaction and looks around cluelessly, “I’ve lost her.”

“Whatever,” Sam rolls her eyes, “you’ve clearly never seen her in a bikini.”

“Oh, snap!” Brainy bounces in his spot.

Nia places a calming hand on his shoulder, “Not the right time, babe.”

“Yeah,” Lena concedes with a sheepish smile that she masks behind the tumbler at her lips, “you get that one.”

Kara straightens and gives a quick nod and bright smile towards Lena, who gives a subtle wink.

Brainy flips up fingers on his hand, “So, that makes two for Kara and one for Sam. At what score does Lena determine the winner?”

“Best of five?” Nia offers, and Lena tips her glass towards her friend, “Five is good.”

Nia hands the phone back to Alex, who smiles as she lands on the next question, “Who is your partner's hero?”

Lena nearly spit-takes her scotch, but instead dribbles it down her chin and shirt.

“Well, it sure as hell wasn't Reign, that’s for sure.” Sam mutters under her breath. Lena gives her friend a sympathetic smile, and a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Oh, I’ve got this,” Kara says, pushing up on her knees so she is nearly level with Lena on the couch. She clears her throat, and pulls back her hair into a tight ponytail, “Supergirl may have saved me, but Kara Danvers,” she gives a sly smirk, donning her best Lena impression, “you are my hero.”

Lena pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and forces a tight smile, “Oh, so you can do me now? You think you’re so clever.”

“Oh my god,” Sam breaths out under breath, and looks over to Alex, “do they even hear themselves? Are they always this stupid?”

Alex closes her eyes and gives a pained nod, “ No, and always.”

Kara quirks an eyebrow and shuffles on her knees closer to the couch, “Am I wrong?” she asks, all the alcohol having burned out of her system. She is simply gloating for the sake of gloating at this point.

Plus she likes the flush that is creeping up Lena’s neck, and settling in her cheeks.

Nia leans over towards Brainy, “Now you can ‘ oh snap.’ ” she whispers.

Alex puts down her phone, “Sorry, Sam. It goes to Kara in the best of five.”

Brainy suddenly stiffens, “Wait,” he turns fully towards Nia, “this is not going according to our original plan.” he says, conspiratorially.

“Ya think?”

“Lena was supposed to partner with Kara, so that Kara would gradually be led into her feelings for Lena. Sam has co-opted this entire operation!” he hisses, “every scenario that I ran had Lena and Kara confessing their feelings to each other with 98.6% success rate, leading to their eventual coupling.”

“Does she always have that lovesick puppy thing going on with her face when she looks at you?” Sam says out of the side of her mouth.

“Samantha!” Lena admonishes.

“What?” Kara’s gaze shifts from Lena to the woman beside her, and a warm pulse flickers behind her eyes.

“Oh, chill with the theatrics. I already handed your ass to you once, I can do it again.” Sam says a little drunk and with far too much bravado.

A round ‘WOAH’s’ quickly moves throughout the loft. Kara is on her feet, along with Alex.

“I’m going to say it. Lena must know how Kara feels. Their future depends on it.” Brainy says resolutely, and stands, taking in a deep breath.

“Brainy, don’t!” Nia pleads, pulling on her boyfriend's arm, trying to reel in the control of a situation that has clearly lost it.

Kara takes a confrontational step forward and cocks her head to the side, “You need a flight back to Metropolis?” she says raising a fist, “Oh? You have a layover? Then I’ve got your connecting right here.” Kara mocks, raising her other fist.

“How about I dangle you over the fire escape and drop you off the side of a building again?” Sam sneers.

“HEY! WOAH!” Lena stands abruptly, positioning herself between the blonde and brunette, “We are all friends here. What is going on?!”

“She started it!” Sam and Kara say in unison, pointing an accusatory finger at the other.

“Lena! You must know that Kar-..” but Brainy is effectively silenced by his girlfriend’s hand clasping tightly around his mouth.

“Shut it.” Nia says curtly, and pulls Brainy back down the floor with her.

Sam closes her eyes for a moment and shakes her head, “It’s just a game. Why are you so bent out of shape about it?”

Kara scoffs, “Because you claim to be Lena’s best friend, and you don’t know a damn thing about her!”

“Defensive much?” Sam counters, and arches an eyebrow as her eyes flit to Lena, “I know more than you think.”

“Sam.” Alex warns, quietly.

Sam scoffs, and rolls her eyes, “Watch this.” she says, raising a finger, “I’m going to take care of this in less time than it took you dummies to set up this game night coup.”

An offended noise rumbles in the back of Alex’s throat, “Wh-..what are you talking about?”

Sam cranes her head back, “Ugh, you’re what? The director of a covert government agency? Kelly has a Phd in psychology, so she should really be better at this. Nia is...” Sam glances down to the woman on the floor.

“A journalist.” Nia finishes.

“A journalist, and Brainy is what, a twelfth generation Texas Instruments calculator?”

Brainy’s mouth falls open, and he lets out an offended, high pitched whine.

Sam turns her attention back to Kara, “You wanna be Lena’s partner?”

“More than anything.” Kara grinds out.

“Oh my god. Grant me the serenity.” Sam mumbles under her breath, “Lena, you have what? An IQ of 168?”

Lena straightens slightly, and tilts her head, “180, why?”

“Because you’re the dumbest genius I know.”

Lena’s mouth drops open, “I beg your pardon?”

“And Kara” Sam glances over Lena’s shoulder,  “I bet you learned calculus at seven.”

“Five.” Kara says, the anger draining from her tone.

“And you probably know all about quantum entanglement.” Sam says with a smirk, which causes Lena to turn around with a surprised look.

“You do?!” Lena asks, affronted.

“Pfft, of course she does. She just likes to hear all the words that come out of your dumb, pretty face.” Sam says with a tone that leaves no room for an argument, “Do you know how long I had to hear Lena go on and on about your stupid, cute, dumbfounded face after that conversation?”

“You think I’m stupid?” Kara asks dumbly.

“You think I’m pretty?” Lena says, giving a hopeful smile.

Sam cuts her eyes to Alex, who raises a hand, effectively cutting her off before she has the chance to ask the question, “Yes, it is like this all the time.”

Sam sighs, “Look, I’m going to ask you both rapid fire questions. You need to answer at the same time.”

“Why?” Lena asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“Because we ,” Sam gestures vaguely around the living room, “can no longer live like this. Just humor me, okay?”

“Fine.” Lena says sharply and turns her attention back to Kara, “Ready?”

Kara gives a resolute nod.

“Okay, great. Favorite color?” Sam starts.

“Navy blue!”

“Purple.”

Lena and Kara both smile at each other, and Kara gives her a playful poke in the shoulder, “Nice.”

“Favorite junk food?”

“Eliza’s chocolate pecan pie, but that is only rivaled by Noonan’s sticky buns.”

“Those little scones from Dublin.”

Lena’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, “God, those are good.”

Kara leans forward and winks, “I’ll make a trip soon.”

Brainy narrows his eyes, “This is actually quite clever. I did not take this into account during my scenarios.”

Kelly, Alex, and Nia nod in agreement and continue watching in rapt awe.

“Who is the little spoon?”

“Lena.”

“Me.”

Sam pinches her chin, and taps her index finger against her lips, studying the two women in front of her, “Anything clicking yet for you two?” When she is met with resounding silence, she continues, “No? Great. This isn’t painful to watch at all.”

“What song best describes the other?”

“Where You Are.”

“Glass Vase Cello Case”

Kelly throws up her hands, and Alex sinks down into her chair, nearly collapsing onto the floor, “Oh my god, from the movie?!” she groans.

“I didn’t know Kara was so emo.” Nia whispers towards Alex.

“We went to Warped Tour three years straight,” Alex says, pulling herself back up into her chair, “It was a whole phase.”

“It wasn’t a phase.” Kara says, keeping her gaze fixed on Lena and taking a tentative step forward.

Sam quirks an eyebrow and takes a step back, “Phew, it’s like a sexual tension black hole,” she glances over her shoulder at the audience behind her, “how do you guys deal with this?”

“You get used to it.” Nia says nonchalantly, throwing some popcorn into her mouth.

“Right, so last question,” Sam claps her hands together and rubs them together,  “are you two in love with each other?”

The collective gasp nearly sucks the remaining air that Lena and Kara haven’t already burned up out of the room.

“Yes.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Great!” Sam chirps, “My work here is done.”

There are a few beats of silence, and Lena blinks hard, breaking the moment, and bringing Kara back to reality along with her.

Kara’s hands shoot up and clasp over her mouth tightly, skewing her glasses, eyes wide behind the sideways frames

Lena lets out a bubble in incredulous laughter and shakes her head in disbelief, “Oh.”

“Ho-..how did you do that?” Alex asks.

“Sometimes you just gotta light a fire under their asses.” Sam chuckles, and smacks Lena firmly on the backside, the impact sending her forward and into Kara, who catches her with steady hands on her hips as Lena’s arms wrap around her neck

Brainy is the first to stand and offers his hand to Nia, assisting her to her feet, “This is our cue to leave.”

“Mhmm.” Alex hums in agreement, swatting Kelly against the leg, “Let's get out of here.”

Sam scoots past the two intertwined women and gives a sly wink as she passes, “This was a fuckin’ blast. You two have a great night.”

“Oh, they will. There is a 100% probability they will be engaging in a copious amount of lovemaking tonight.” Brainy says, gathering his and Nia’s jackets from the coat rack by the door.

Alex’s face scrunches up, “Ew. Copious?”

“Nice.” Sam says, opening the front door.

Brainy waves his hand towards nothing in particular as he steps into the hallway, “It will be an entire thing in the future. Any available surface will be a target for their insatiable sexual appetite: work desks, kitchen counters, the bathroom stall at Al’s, Alex’s bed.”

Alex turns on her heels in the threshold of the door, “My bed, Kara?!” she shouts as Kelly pulls her back, and leans around Alex, closing the door and muffling her girlfriend's curses.

“I-..I haven’t done anything yet?” Kara says confused, looking back at Lena, who is barely containing her laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

Lena loosens a hand from around Kara’s neck, and waves in between them, laughing “It’s just... have we always been that clueless?”

Kara snorts out her laughter, “I mean... I guess so?” she says with a growing, bright smile.

“Well,” Lena says quietly, bringing her hand up and removing Kara’s glasses, “I’m glad we figured it out.”

Kara hums her agreement, and kneads her fingertips firmly into Lena’s hips, and walks them around her lower back, pulling her in closer, “So now what? I heard something about copious lovemaking ” she says in her best Brainy impression.

Lena tosses the glasses behind her, somewhere forgotten on the couch, and wraps her arms around Kara’s neck, absently twirling soft, blonde hair around her fingers, “How about,” she presses a soft kiss to Kara’s cheek, who turns her head in an attempt to capture Lena’s lips, “you explain quantum entanglement to me.”

Kara drops her head to Lena’s shoulder, and sways in their embrace, groaning her displeasure into the fabric of her shirt before lifting her head and flipping her hair dramatically away from her face with a pout.

“Alexa, play Warped Tours greatest hits.”

[sparkliingdust]

“God’s righteous man pretending you could live without a war.” A different take on Steve’s vision in Age of Ultron.

I was re-watching Avengers: Age of Ultron, because why not, and I was thinking about Steve’s vision. A lot of people, even myself have pointed out that it obviously reflects his PTSD – seeing the flashes of photography as you hear bullets and bombs in the background, wine spilt on a soldier like he’s been shot, couples dancing deliriously as if their lives depended on it, a mix of a bitter and strange victory amidst all of the bloodshed.

After Steve stops walking through the chaos, he takes a second to survey everyone around him. For a second, he looks helpless because a soldier, like him, facing everything he did would certainly feel helpless. But I wonder if everyone around him are the reflection of people he wanted to help but couldn’t. Almost like what Steve Trevor says to Diana in Wonder Woman, “We can’t save everyone in this war,” or what Steve says in The Avengers, “When I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost.” His vision is almost like putting faces to the things that were lost and wanting to do something for them, but obviously isn’t able to.

But then, Peggy comes along, and she provides an ultimatum of sorts. Because I listened to Hayley’s voice a little too much, it’s interesting how every line changes with the tone she uses.“Are you ready for our dance?” is a bit nightmarish and her appearance mixes in well with Thor’s part of the vision. “The war’s over Steve.” is a sterner declaration. “We could go home. Imagine it.” is much more softer, like she’s beckoning him to choose their dance. 

Steve’s surprised to see her but even more conflicted. He’s gonna have to give up everything around her to dance. He’s not wearing his Captain America uniform - it’s just regular military garb. He sees himself as a regular soldier. (We also have to remember Steve drops his CA helmet when Wanda entrances him too.) So she’s not asking Captain America. She’s asking Steve. As soon as the choice between going home and dancing or fighting and staying a soldier intersects, both options disappear in a second. He turns away from Peggy for a split second to an empty hall - all of the horrors of war and the people that couldn’t be saved as well as Peggy are gone in an instant. He stands by himself. 

But then his mind goes back to dancing with Peggy. A fleeting second when he could’ve taken her into his arms. He still wants to go home, but he can’t. He’s stuck where he is. He’s stuck in this new world of “I thought I could throw myself back in, follow orders, serve. It’s just not the same” as well as Sam saying “You could do anything you want to. What makes you happy? / Home is home you know.” A soldier's return to normalcy is not typically possible because they're haunted by their greatest nightmares of never going home to their loved ones and building the life for themselves they should've had before war beckoned them to leave. 

When Steve tries to wrangle his new team of agents and Nat in The Winter Soldier, he says to Fury “Soldiers trust each other. That's what makes it an army. Not a bunch of guys running around shooting guns” as well as “I can't lead a mission when the people I'm leading have missions of their own.” This is counteractive to Steve fighting with the Avengers, where they follow each others’ lead. The team wouldn’t work without one of them and helps them to be in sync. But when he’s outside of the Avengers, led to do Fury’s bidding, he’s not a soldier like he was with the Howling Commandos where they followed his command but it was a team effort, and everyone was on the same page. There was no compartmentalization or Steve having to lie to himself about who he is or who he is taking orders from in order to serve. Fighting for him now isn’t the same as it was then. As soon as the Avengers disassemble, so does the lasting remnants of Steve’s self-image as a soldier and as Captain America. Fighting, no matter who it’s with, is not going to be the same after that.

Captain America: Civil War reinforces this even more when Steve tells Tony he wishes he couldn’t help others, but then admits he doesn’t – because as Ultron said, who would Captain America be without a war? When Steve crashes the Red Skull’s plane into the ice, he’s drawing the line between sacrificing himself/being selfless, and choosing his own personal happiness. In fact, it’s the hope of going home and dancing with Peggy that gives him something to look forward to as he accepts plunging towards his death, or what they assume will be his death. Similarly, in the rest of the movies, Steve’s life comes down to personal happiness or being a soldier, but so much of what would give him a life outside of Avenging is non-existent – a family, home, stability. So he keeps making the sacrifice play and helping others.

I think, like a lot of fans have pointed out, Endgame was about Steve realizing he can finally put his personal happiness above fighting and serving. Steve is ultimately an allegory for all the men and women who served believing selflessness and sacrifice would save others and make the world a better place….only to wake up from the dream about a hopeful and stable future to realize that corruption and horrors of humankind still exists. His faith ultimately becomes, not about serving or defying the government, but about individuals who will step up to the plate with him. At the end of Age of Ultron, he says he’s home as you hear military chants in the background but the compound isn’t a military camp, it’s not Camp Lehigh. He’s thinking of it as Camp Lehigh and still thinks of himself as a soldier first. At the end of Civil War, he and the disavowed Avengers fight in the shadows. He’s still a soldier. A big part of Steve’s letter to Tony says “We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith's in people, I guess. Individuals. And I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down. So I can’t let them down either.” When you think of the people who gave Steve faith you have to think of the old and new worlds combined - Dr. Erskine, Peggy, Bucky, the Howling Commandos as well as Sam, T’Challa, Bucky, Nat, etc. His service to the world and everyone he would give his life for is what pushes him to stand alone against Thanos. But he must’ve also realized when the Portals opened, his faith in people still pays off. There were more than enough Avengers to protect Earth if he decided to leave it. He’s still a soldier, but he’s not the only one. If he can go home, why shouldn’t he - especially with the blessing that Sam, Bucky, Nat, Tony, etc. would want him to take advantage of.

It’s the second chance that ultimately matters in Endgame, that Steve couldn’t have possibly had before. He started to give himself permission to draw a line between fighting and living – probably the first time after he wanted to finish what Nat started with the Infinity Stones, and the second after Tony died to give everyone a second chance.  Steve, a soldier who survived two wars against robots and three world wars, finally goes home and feels safe in the arms of the woman who loved him before he became ‘the greatest soldier in history.’ He doesn’t have to pretend to live without a war. He can just live and face any upcoming wars as they come instead of depending on them for self-worth.

(I know people will be pissed about that last section because that opens up a can of worms about alternative timelines, what happens to Peggy’s career, etc. but please don’t reply or reblog/comment with that type of stuff – it’s been talked to death and nobody will ever agree on everything.)

[muhammad-ubaidullah-khan]

The Man in Asbestos: An Allegory of the Future

by Stephen Leacock

To begin with let me admit that I did it on purpose. Perhaps it was partly from jealousy.

It seemed unfair that other writers should be able at will to drop into a sleep of four or five hundred years, and to plunge head first into a distant future and be a witness of its marvels.

I wanted to do that too.

I always had been, I still am, a passionate student of social problems. The world of to-day with its roaring machinery, the unceasing toil of its working classes, its strife, its poverty, its war, its cruelty, appals me as I look at it. I love to think of the time that must come some day when man will have conquered nature, and the toil-worn human race enter upon an era of peace.

I loved to think of it, and I longed to see it.

So I set about the thing deliberately.

What I wanted to do was to fall asleep after the customary fashion, for two or three hundred years at least, and wake and find myself in the marvel world of the future.

I made my preparations for the sleep.

I bought all the comic papers that I could find, even the illustrated ones. I carried them up to my room in my hotel: with them I brought up a pork pie and dozens and dozens of doughnuts. I ate the pie and the doughnuts, then sat back in the bed and read the comic papers one after the other. Finally, as I felt the awful lethargy stealing upon me, I reached out my hand for the London Weekly Times, and held up the editorial page before my eye.

It was, in a way, clear, straight suicide, but I did it.

I could feel my senses leaving me. In the room across the hall there was a man singing. His voice, that had been loud, came fainter and fainter through the transom. I fell into a sleep, the deep immeasurable sleep in which the very existence of the outer world was hushed. Dimly I could feel the days go past, then the years, and then the long passage of the centuries.

Then, not as it were gradually, but quite suddenly, I woke up, sat up, and looked about me.

Where was I?

Well might I ask myself.

I found myself lying, or rather sitting up, on a broad couch. I was in a great room, dim, gloomy, and dilapidated in its general appearance, and apparently, from its glass cases and the stuffed figures that they contained, some kind of museum.

Beside me sat a man. His face was hairless, but neither old nor young. He wore clothes that looked like the grey ashes of paper that had burned and kept its shape. He was looking at me quietly, but with no particular surprise or interest.

"Quick," I said, eager to begin; "where am I? Who are you? What year is this; is it the year 3000, or what is it?"

He drew in his breath with a look of annoyance on his face.

"What a queer, excited way you have of speaking," he said.

"Tell me," I said again, "is this the year 3000?"

"I think I know what you mean," he said; "but really I haven't the faintest idea. I should think it must be at least that, within a hundred years or so; but nobody has kept track of them for so long, it's hard to say."

"Don't you keep track of them any more?" I gasped.

"We used to," said the man. "I myself can remember that a century or two ago there were still a number of people who used to try to keep track of the year, but it died out along with so many other faddish things of that kind. Why," he continued, showing for the first time a sort of animation in his talk, "what was the use of it? You see, after we eliminated death--"

"Eliminated death!" I cried, sitting upright. "Good God!"

"What was that expression you used?" queried the man.

"Good God!" I repeated.

"Ah," he said, "never heard it before. But I was saying that after we had eliminated Death, and Food, and Change, we had practically got rid of Events, and--"

"Stop!" I said, my brain reeling. "Tell me one thing at a time."

"Humph!" he ejaculated. "I see, you must have been asleep a long time. Go on then and ask questions. Only, if you don't mind, just as few as possible, and please don't get interested or excited."

Oddly enough the first question that sprang to my lips was--

"What are those clothes made of?"

"Asbestos," answered the man. "They last hundreds of years. We have one suit each, and there are billions of them piled up, if anybody wants a new one."

"Thank you," I answered. "Now tell me where I am?"

"You are in a museum. The figures in the cases are specimens like yourself. But here," he said, "if you want really to find out about what is evidently a new epoch to you, get off your platform and come out on Broadway and sit on a bench."

I got down.

As we passed through the dim and dust-covered buildings I looked curiously at the figures in the cases.

"By Jove!" I said looking at one figure in blue clothes with a belt and baton, "that's a policeman!"

"Really," said my new acquaintance, "is that what a policeman was? I've often wondered. What used they to be used for?"

"Used for?" I repeated in perplexity. "Why, they stood at the corner of the street."

"Ah, yes, I see," he said, "so as to shoot at the people. You must excuse my ignorance," he continued, "as to some of your social customs in the past. When I took my education I was operated upon for social history, but the stuff they used was very inferior."

I didn't in the least understand what the man meant, but had no time to question him, for at that moment we came out upon the street, and I stood riveted in astonishment.

Broadway! Was it possible? The change was absolutely appalling! In place of the roaring thoroughfare that I had known, this silent, moss-grown desolation! Great buildings fallen into ruin through the sheer stress of centuries of wind and weather, the sides of them coated over with a growth of fungus and moss! The place was soundless. Not a vehicle moved. There were no wires overhead--no sound of life or movement except, here and there, there passed slowly to and fro human figures dressed in the same asbestos clothes as my acquaintance, with the same hairless faces, and the same look of infinite age upon them.

Good heavens; And was this the era of the Conquest that I had hoped to see! I had always taken for granted, I do not know why, that humanity was destined to move forward. This picture of what seemed desolation on the ruins of our civilization rendered me almost speechless.

There were little benches placed here and there on the street. We sat down.

"Improved, isn't it," said man in asbestos, "since the days when you remember it?"

He seemed to speak quite proudly.

I gasped out a question.

"Where are the street cars and the motors?"

"Oh, done away with long ago," he said; "how awful they must have been. The noise of them!" and his asbestos clothes rustled with a shudder.

"But how do you get about?"

"We don't," he answered. "Why should we? It's just the same being here as being anywhere else." He looked at me with an infinity of dreariness in his face.

A thousand questions surged into my mind at once. I asked one of the simplest.

"But how do you get back and forwards to your work?"

"Work!" he said. "There isn't any work. It's finished. The last of it was all done centuries ago."

I looked at him a moment open-mouthed. Then I turned and looked again at the grey desolation of the street with the asbestos figures moving here and there.

I tried to pull my senses together. I realized that if I was to unravel this new and undreamed-of future, I must go at it systematically and step by step.

"I see," I said after a pause, "that momentous things have happened since my time. I wish you would let me ask you about it all systematically, and would explain it to me bit by bit. First, what do you mean by saying that there is no work?"

"Why," answered my strange acquaintance, "it died out of itself. Machinery killed it. If I remember rightly, you had a certain amount of machinery even in your time. You had done very well with steam, made a good beginning with electricity, though I think radial energy had hardly as yet been put to use."

I nodded assent.

"But you found it did you no good. The better your machines, the harder you worked. The more things you had the more you wanted. The pace of life grew swifter and swifter. You cried out, but it would not stop. You were all caught in the cogs of your own machine. None of you could see the end."

"That is quite true," I said. "How do you know it all?"

"Oh," answered the Man in Asbestos, "that part of my education was very well operated--I see you do not know what I mean. Never mind, I can tell you that later. Well, then, there came, probably almost two hundred years after your time, the Era of the Great Conquest of Nature, the final victory of Man and Machinery."

"They did conquer it?" I asked quickly, with a thrill of the old hope in my veins again.

"Conquered it," he said, "beat it out! Fought it to a standstill! Things came one by one, then faster and faster, in a hundred years it was all done. In fact, just as soon as mankind turned its energy to decreasing its needs instead of increasing its desires, the whole thing was easy. Chemical Food came first. Heavens! the simplicity of it. And in your time thousands of millions of people tilled and grubbed at the soil from morning till night. I've seen specimens of them--farmers, they called them. There's one in the museum. After the invention of Chemical Food we piled up enough in the emporiums in a year to last for centuries. Agriculture went overboard. Eating and all that goes with it domestic labour, housework--all ended. Nowadays one takes a concentrated pill every year or so, that's all. The whole digestive apparatus, as you knew it, was a clumsy thing that had been bloated up like a set of bagpipes through the evolution of its use!"

I could not forbear to interrupt. "Have you and these people," I said, "no stomachs--no apparatus?"

"Of course we have," he answered, "but we use it to some purpose. Mine is largely filled with my education--but there! I am anticipating again. Better let me go on as I was. Chemical Food came first: that cut off almost one-third of the work, and then came Asbestos Clothes. That was wonderful! In one year humanity made enough suits to last for ever and ever. That, of course, could never have been if it hadn't been connected with the revolt of women and the fall of Fashion."

"Have the Fashions gone," I asked, "that insane, extravagant idea of--" I was about to launch into one of my old-time harangues about the sheer vanity of decorative dress, when my eye rested on the moving figures in asbestos, and I stopped.

"All gone," said the Man in Asbestos. "Then next to that we killed, or practically killed, the changes of climate. I don't think that in your day you properly understood how much of your work was due to the shifts of what you called the weather. It meant the need of all kinds of special clothes and houses and shelters, a wilderness of work. How dreadful it must have been in your day--wind and storms, great wet masses--what did you call them?--clouds--flying through the air, the ocean full of salt, was it not?--tossed and torn by the wind, snow thrown all over everything, hail, rain--how awful!"

"Sometimes," I said, "it was very beautiful. But how did you alter it?"

"Killed the weather!" answered the Man in Asbestos. "Simple as anything--turned its forces loose one against the other, altered the composition of the sea so that the top became all more or less gelatinous. I really can't explain it, as it is an operation that I never took at school, but it made the sky grey, as you see it, and the sea gum-coloured, the weather all the same. It cut out fuel and houses and an infinity of work with them!"

He paused a moment. I began to realize something of the course of evolution that had happened.

"So," I said, "the conquest of nature meant that presently there was no more work to do?"

"Exactly," he said, "nothing left."

"Food enough for all?"

"Too much," he answered.

"Houses and clothes?"

"All you like," said the Man in Asbestos, waving his hand. "There they are. Go out and take them. Of course, they're falling down--slowly, very slowly. But they'll last for centuries yet, nobody need bother."

Then I realized, I think for the first time, just what work had meant in the old life, and how much of the texture of life itself had been bound up in the keen effort of it.

Presently my eyes looked upward: dangling at the top of a moss-grown building I saw what seemed to be the remains of telephone wires.

"What became of all that," I said, "the telegraph and the telephone and all the system of communication?"

"Ah," said the Man in Asbestos, "that was what a telephone meant, was it? I knew that it had been suppressed centuries ago. Just what was it for?"

"Why," I said with enthusiasm, "by means of the telephone we could talk to anybody, call up anybody, and talk at any distance."

"And anybody could call you up at any time and talk?" said the Man in Asbestos, with something like horror. "How awful! What a dreadful age yours was, to be sure. No, the telephone and all the rest of it, all the transportation and intercommunication was cut out and forbidden. There was no sense in it. You see," he added, "what you don't realize is that people after your day became gradually more and more reasonable. Take the railroad, what good was that? It brought into every town a lot of people from every other town. Who wanted them? Nobody. When work stopped and commerce ended, and food was needless, and the weather killed, it was foolish to move about. So it was all terminated. Anyway," he said, with a quick look of apprehension and a change in his voice, "it was dangerous!"

"So!" I said. "Dangerous! You still have danger?"

"Why, yes," he said, "there's always the danger of getting broken."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Why," said the Man in Asbestos, "I suppose it's what you would call being dead. Of course, in one sense there's been no death for centuries past; we cut that out. Disease and death were simply a matter of germs. We found them one by one. I think that even in your day you had found one or two of the easier, the bigger ones?"

I nodded.

"Yes, you had found diphtheria and typhoid and, if I am right, there were some outstanding, like scarlet fever and smallpox, that you called ultra-microscopic, and which you were still hunting for, and others that you didn't even suspect. Well, we hunted them down one by one and destroyed them. Strange that it never occurred to any of you that Old Age was only a germ! It turned out to be quite a simple one, but it was so distributed in its action that you never even thought of it."

"And you mean to say," I ejaculated in amazement, looking at the Man in Asbestos, "that nowadays you live for ever?"

"I wish," he said, "that you hadn't that peculiar, excitable way of talking; you speak as if everything mattered so tremendously. Yes," he continued, "we live for ever, unless, of course, we get broken. That happens sometimes. I mean that we may fall over a high place or bump on something, and snap ourselves. You see, we're just a little brittle still--some remnant, I suppose, of the Old Age germ--and we have to be careful. In fact," he continued, "I don't mind saying that accidents of this sort were the most distressing feature of our civilization till we took steps to cut out all accidents. We forbid all street cars, street traffic, aeroplanes, and so on. The risks of your time," he said, with a shiver of his asbestos clothes, "must have been awful."

"They were," I answered, with a new kind of pride in my generation that I had never felt before, "but we thought it part of the duty of brave people to--"

"Yes, yes," said the Man in Asbestos impatiently, "please don't get excited. I know what you mean. It was quite irrational."

We sat silent for a long time. I looked about me at the crumbling buildings, the monotone, unchanging sky, and the dreary, empty street. Here, then, was the fruit of the Conquest, here was the elimination of work, the end of hunger and of cold, the cessation of the hard struggle, the downfall of change and death--nay, the very millennium of happiness. And yet, somehow, there seemed something wrong with it all. I pondered, then I put two or three rapid questions, hardly waiting to reflect upon the answers.

"Is there any war now?"

"Done with centuries ago. They took to settling international disputes with a slot machine. After that all foreign dealings were given up. Why have them? Everybody thinks foreigners awful."

"Are there any newspapers now?"

"Newspapers! What on earth would we want them for? If we should need them at any time there are thousands of old ones piled up. But what is in them, anyway; only things that happen, wars and accidents and work and death. When these went newspapers went too. Listen," continued the Man in Asbestos, "you seem to have been something of a social reformer, and yet you don't understand the new life at all. You don't understand how completely all our burdens have disappeared. Look at it this way. How used your people to spend all the early part of their lives?"

"Why," I said, "our first fifteen years or so were spent in getting education."

"Exactly," he answered; "now notice how we improved on all that. Education in our day is done by surgery. Strange that in your time nobody realized that education was simply a surgical operation. You hadn't the sense to see that what you really did was to slowly remodel, curve and convolute the inside of the brain by a long and painful mental operation. Everything learned was reproduced in a physical difference to the brain. You knew that, but you didn't see the full consequences. Then came the invention of surgical education--the simple system of opening the side of the skull and engrafting into it a piece of prepared brain. At first, of course, they had to use, I suppose, the brains of dead people, and that was ghastly"--here the Man in Asbestos shuddered like a leaf--"but very soon they found how to make moulds that did just as well. After that it was a mere nothing; an operation of a few minutes would suffice to let in poetry or foreign languages or history or anything else that one cared to have. Here, for instance," he added, pushing back the hair at the side of his head and showing a scar beneath it, "is the mark where I had my spherical trigonometry let in. That was, I admit, rather painful, but other things, such as English poetry or history, can be inserted absolutely without the least suffering. When I think of your painful, barbarous methods of education through the ear, I shudder at it. Oddly enough, we have found lately that for a great many things there is no need to use the head. We lodge them--things like philosophy and metaphysics, and so on--in what used to be the digestive apparatus. They fill it admirably."

He paused a moment. Then went on:

"Well, then, to continue, what used to occupy your time and effort after your education?"

"Why," I said, "one had, of course, to work, and then, to tell the truth, a great part of one's time and feeling was devoted toward the other sex, toward falling in love and finding some woman to share one's life."

"Ah," said the Man in Asbestos, with real interest. "I've heard about your arrangements with the women, but never quite understood them. Tell me; you say you selected some woman?"

"Yes."

"And she became what you called your wife?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you worked for her?" asked the Man in Asbestos in astonishment.

"Yes."

"And she did not work?"

"No," I answered, "of course not."

"And half of what you had was hers?"

"Yes."

"And she had the right to live in your house and use your things?"

"Of course," I answered.

"How dreadful!" said the Man in Asbestos. "I hadn't realized the horrors of your age till now."

He sat shivering slightly, with the same timid look in his face as before.

Then it suddenly struck me that of the figures on the street, all had looked alike.

"Tell me," I said, "are there no women now? Are they gone too?"

"Oh, no," answered the Man in Asbestos, "they're here just the same. Some of those are women. Only, you see, everything has been changed now. It all came as part of their great revolt, their desire to be like the men. Had that begun in your time?"

"Only a little." I answered; "they were beginning to ask for votes and equality."

"That's it," said my acquaintance, "I couldn't think of the word. Your women, I believe, were something awful, were they not? Covered with feathers and skins and dazzling colours made of dead things all over them? And they laughed, did they not, and had foolish teeth, and at any moment they could inveigle you into one of those contracts? Ugh!"

He shuddered.

"Asbestos," I said (I knew no other name to call him), as I turned on him in wrath, "Asbestos, do you think that those jelly-bag Equalities out on the street there, with their ash-barrel suits, can be compared for one moment with our unredeemed, unreformed, heaven-created, hobble-skirted women of the twentieth century?"

Then, suddenly, another thought flashed into my mind--

"The children," I said, "where are the children? Are there any?"

"Children," he said, "no! I have never heard of there being any such things for at least a century. Horrible little hobgoblins they must have been! Great big faces, and cried constantly! And grew, did they not? Like funguses! I believe they were longer each year than they had been the last, and--"

I rose.

"Asbestos!" I said, "this, then, is your coming Civilization, your millennium. This dull, dead thing, with the work and the burden gone out of life, and with them all the joy and sweetness of it. For the old struggle mere stagnation, and in place of danger and death, the dull monotony of security and the horror of an unending decay! Give me back," I cried, and I flung wide my arms to the dull air, "the old life of danger and stress, with its hard toil and its bitter chances, and its heartbreaks. I see its value! I know its worth! Give me no rest," I cried aloud--

. . . . . . .

"Yes, but give a rest to the rest of the corridor!" cried an angered voice that broke in upon my exultation.

Suddenly my sleep had gone.

I was back again in the room of my hotel, with the hum of the wicked, busy old world all about me, and loud in my ears the voice of the indignant man across the corridor.

"Quit your blatting, you infernal blatherskite," he was calling. "Come down to earth."

I came.

[gra-sonas]

In the next episode of The CW series Roswell, New Mexico, entitled “Good Mother,” Isobel (Lily Cowles) is determined to regain control of her life, which leads her to make a risky choice that has potentially very dangerous consequences. With Liz (Jeanine Mason) still hard at work at trying to bring Max (Nathan Parsons) back, Isobel finds herself isolated and unable to turn to anyone to help her through what she’s experiencing, which causes her to further spiral.

During this 1-on-1 phone interview with Collider, actress Lily Cowles talked about the downward spiral that Isobel is currently on, how hard it can be to pick up the pieces after your entire world has been shattered, the relationship dynamic between Isobel and her mother (Claudia Black), how scary and thrilling it’s been to tackle her story arc this season, how Episode 206 could break the internet, and what it’s meant to the cast of this re-imagining to have some of the original cast involved with and supporting the show.

Collider: Clearly, a lot of things are happening this season, and Isobel is just not having a good time of it, right now. How chaotic are things for her to deal with, and does she have a handle on anything, at this moment?

LILY COWLES: Great question. I was really hoping, as an actor, that we would start this season six months in, with Isobel having a little bit of time to process, she’s been seeing a therapist, and she’s a little calmer. But of course, that’s not gonna happen, when you have to let the viewers see her in the trenches. Unfortunately, the beginning of Season 2 is about as bad as it could get for Isobel. She’s lost her brother, her twin, her best friend, the most important person in the world to her. And then, she’s lost her husband, who not only died, but died having turned out to be a psychopathic alien serial killer, who used her body to commit murders and manipulated her. So, she already has a lot to deal with. The world that she knows has already been completely destroyed.

She’s always lived in a pretty restricted gilded cage that she’s built for herself, where everything seems like it’s really fine and everything’s really good, but she’s been very co-dependent on these two men, in her life. Suddenly, her entire world is shattered, so that is already really terrifying, and enough to make anyone lose their mind. On top of that, she realizes that she’s with child, and that she’s carrying a baby, which is something that, three months before this, she might’ve been really happy about. But then, she finds out that she’s carrying the child of this man, who was completely abusive and deceptive, and who totally took her body and took away her own autonomy from her. This is not the way that she wants to find herself pregnant. To be honest, Isobel probably does wanna have a family. I think what she wants most in this world is stability and family and community, and people around her who love her and who make her feel safe. But suddenly, everything has been turned on its head.

She doesn’t have her brother, and her husband was a deceitful liar. And not only that, but now she’s holding his baby. I think this baby represents, for her, the continuation of the legacy of a traumatic abusive relationship and something that has completely ruined her life. She doesn’t think she can move forward with that. I think she feels that she needs to first find herself and rebuild herself, before she can think about taking on raising another life. So, Isobel is in really dire straits, at the beginning of this season, and she finds herself in a particularly bad situation because she really has no one to turn to.

Max is gone. I don’t think she feels that she can talk to Michael about it because he was an unwanted child in the foster care system and he doesn’t feel like someone that she can talk about this with. Beyond that, there’s no medical resources available to her. And of course, Isobel is an alien, so she’s biologically different than a human. She can’t exactly go to a doctor for help through this. She functions as an allegory for people who also find themselves in a situation where they can’t get access to medical care that would help them have autonomy over their own bodies. She’s facing something really bad right now, where she feels very much backed up against a wall and doesn’t have many options. I don’t think that she feels that she can have this child, but what are her alternatives. She has nowhere to turn, which is what leads her to start taking some really drastic measures.

We’ve seen Isobel spending some more time with her mother, to varying degrees of success. How would you describe their relationship, and what do you enjoy about exploring that dynamic?

COWLES: It’s great. We didn’t really get to see Isobel with her mother, at all, before. Isobel has learned a lot from her mother, who is a woman that has, on the front, a very polished exterior, where everything looks good and she’s very much playing by society’s rules. This is who Isobel learned how to behave from. So, we get to see who Isobel has modeled herself after, which is a woman who’s highly attuned to social cues and expectations. There’s no small part of her that really resents her mother for that. She doesn’t feel like it’s necessarily safe to be very vulnerable with her mother. And of course, Isobel is also hiding a giant secret from her mother, which is that she’s not a human being. There’s that complicated factor, as well. She’s hiding something very big from her mother, but clearly, she doesn’t feel comfortable telling her mother that. We can all relate to that relationship with your parent where you’re like, “God, I love them, but they drive me crazy. All of the little things they say, they just know how to trigger me.” She still wants to be close to her mother. She’s in need. She’s a woman who’s completely lost at sea, and she’s reaching out for people. Her mother wants to take her to this warrior class and, at first, she’s a little cruel to her and like, “I just wanna be alone.” But she sees that it hurts her mom and is like, “I don’t mean to make you feel bad, mom. Okay, let’s do it. It’ll be good.” But, it’s wonderful. Working with Claudia [Black] is incredible. She’s so funny and so open. We were really having a good time riffing and doing some fun things, in Episode 2. Ultimately, Isobel doesn’t feel that maybe she can turn to her mother in a time like this, which also probably many young women can relate to, who find themselves in a situation like this. You would hope that your parent would be there for you, and yet so many young women can’t turn to their parents, for whatever reason, and have to deal with it on their own.

When I spoke to your showrunner, Carina MacKenzie, and I asked her what she was most proud of with Season 2, she told me that it’s the fact that she was able to really push the stories in bolder directions and shake things up, and have it be a little darker this season. Clearly, all of that applies to Isobel. So, without spoilers, what has that been like for you, as an actor to get to really dig into and explore?

COWLES: It’s scary, and it’s thrilling. I remember when Carina reached out to me, proposing the storyline for Isobel, my initial reaction was just like, “Oh, my god.” I remember feeling light-headed, where I was just like, “We’re gonna have to put Isobel through so much pain, and as an actor, I have to go there with her.” That’s not a pleasant place to go, and yet, as an artist, you hope that you get to represent all aspects of the human character and experience, and at least half of those are not pleasant. So, I felt an enormous responsibility to do justice for this character because I know that she is an emblem for so many women and humans and men, too, in general, who have had to go through enormous amounts of trauma and come out the other side. Trauma and really terrible things can lead us to places that we never thought we could get. We can find inner strength that will surprise us, and that we never would have had to call on, if we hadn’t been pushed. So, there is real value in taking a character to a dark place and exploring these really dark parts of the human condition because that’s also where so much of the beauty of courage and strength and vulnerability comes from. It’s not hard to be strong and courageous when everything is going your way. It really is in those moments of extremis and dire need that people have to step up and they’re called to show their strength. That’s such a beautiful part of life, so it’s wonderful that Carina is challenging us and pushing us to go there. I was really honored to be able to represent this story, although it was also something that I took very seriously because it’s a very sensitive and weighty issue.

Do you have a personal favorite episode that’s coming up?

COWLES: I loved the first three. I loved them so much. Eva [McKenna] is such an incredible writer, and she wrote the second episode. Deirdre [Mangan] and Carina wrote the third episode, which I think is stunningly beautiful. But I will say that our dear writers, Rick [Montano] and Vinny [Ingrao] knocked Episode 206 out of the park. It’s funny and wonderful, and a reprieve from all of the really high intensity, emotional drama. It’s exciting and it’s got action, and it’s got really juicy things. I think it’s going to break the internet. Episode 206 – tune in!

Things have been a little bit different this season. Last season, you had this little alien trio of Max, Isobel and Michael, and it’s different now, with Max mostly dead. What’s that like for you, as actors? Does it feel like a very different experience without that?

COWLES: Yeah, definitely. All of the actors on our show are so fun to work with, in their own ways, so it’s cool when you get to switch it up. I love working with Amber [Midthunder]. I love working with Heather [Hemmens] and Jeanine [Mason]. I love the little Scooby gang that we’ve got going on, with [Michael] Trevino and Tyler Blackburn and Michael Vlamis and Jeanine and I, all working together to like solve the mysteries of the universe. But I definitely sent a message, at one point, to Michael Vlamis and was like, “I miss you! I miss working with you!” I love working with both Nathan [Parsons] and Vlamis. They’re so different as actors, and they’re both so good and wonderful. Vlamis and I get together and we just riff and have so much fun. I hope, in some world, there’s a blooper reel that comes out with all of our riffing ‘cause we’ll just go off. Eventually, the director will be like, “Okay, enough! Just say the lines.” We rev each other up and get going, and it’s so much fun. When I don’t get to work with my bros, I’m like, “Dudes, I miss you!” But it’s also so wonderful to be able to work with other actors and get to know them. There were characters that Isobel didn’t interact with as much in the first season, that suddenly she’s getting to be bumped up against in the second, and it’s really fun to see how the different characters relate to each other and work around each other.

It’s also very cool that this re-imagining of this has been able to include some of the original cast, with Shiri Appleby directing and Jason Behr now guest starring on Season 2. What’s it meant to the cast to see how the original cast is supporting the series, and what’s it been like to have them around, on set?

COWLES: We’re so lucky to have Shiri and Jason supporting us and wanting to be part of our show. When you make an adaptation of an original, of course, you want to do justice and you wanna feel that the people who made the original are supportive of what you’re doing. It means the world to us that they’re both so excited to be a part of it and to work on it. It boosts our morale so much to see them and to feel like we’re a part of this larger legacy of a story that’s being told across generations. They’re so professional and so funny, and they bring their ow flavor of the original, that was so specific and good, with that tone that they had. They bring that into our show, and it’s so wonderful to be able to infuse what we’re making with that OG flavor. It feels really good. They’re both the most gracious, warm, friendly and hysterical people. I have a huge crush on both of them. If I got to out with one, it would be very difficult for me to choose. And that’s saying a lot because Jason Behr is everything that I thought was good and true, as a 12-year-old. But Shiri, man, is something else.

~ CoIIider

[dailyaudiobible]

12/09/2020 DAB Transcript

Joel 1:1-3:21, Revelation 1:1-20, Psalms 128:1-6, Proverbs 29:18

Today is the 9th day of December welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian and it is a joy and an honor and a privilege to be here with you today just like it is every day of the year. I'm excited for us to take our next step forward in the Scriptures. That next step forward is actually going to lead us into new territory in both old and new Testaments. So, we have two books that we are entering into today that we need to talk about and the first one that we will encounter is the next of the minor prophets in the Old Testament, and this book is known as Joel and we’ll read the entire book of Joel in our reading today. So, let’s just kind of get a little bit of understanding of what we’re reading.

Introduction to the book of Joel:

Nobody really knows exactly which Joel wrote the book of Joel. There are people…other people in the Bible that have the name Joel but…but scholars believe that these are the…any of them are the author of this prophetic book although the language of the book does share kind of a style with other prophets, prophets, like Ezekiel or Jeremiah or Amos or Micah in the minor prophets or Zephaniah. So, that leads to conjecture like so much of the scholarship that surrounds the origins of the Bible. On the one hand it…it could be that the book of Joel is the work of more than one prophet or it could be that the writer of Joel, Joel, this Joel that we’re talking about was in fellowship with other prophets, maybe even in close proximity to other prophets, so they shared kind of a common vernacular. And, so, with repeated readings of these texts these similarities become apparent. But those are like plausible ideas. The text itself doesn't really give any historical clues. So, dating the book is really, really difficult at least with any precision. If we’re just kind of like aggregating the ideas, somewhere between 500 and 800 B.C. like a three-century span here, somewhere between 500 and 800 years before Jesus came. And what we’ll see is that Joel wrote of this massive overwhelming horde of locusts that invaded the land and just destroyed the vegetation of the land, including all the crops. And, so, following that, as you can imagine, famine because there's no food. And, so, a plague and then a great famine. And Joel uses this as the backdrop to call the children of Israel to repentance. And its thought that the locusts…like this isn’t a vision, this isn't like a metaphor or an allegory. There probably was this type of locust invasion and people knew of the circumstances and had endured these things. And, so, when Joel's speaking of these things people know exactly what he's talking about and so they’re listening. And as is the case with the other prophets, the prophet is essentially announcing a fork in the road like that. Things have reached a point where like this is the last stop. This is where you either get off the train or you stay on the train and go straight into destruction. And if they stay on the train headed for destruction, then…then they will encounter the great and terrible day of the Lord as Joel describes it. But there is an alternative path as there typically is in the prophets, a path of restoration, a path of repentance. And following that path in the book of Joel leads us to some of the most encouraging and famous passages in the Scriptures, things like “I'll pour out my spirit upon all people and your sons and your daughters will prophesy, and your old men will dream dreams, and your young men will see visions”, stuff like that. So, God through Joel is saying, “you can have the great and terrible day of the Lord, or you can have Me pouring out my spirit upon all of you. The choice is yours.” And friends, the choice is still ours. And, so, let's dive into the book of Joel understanding that not matter what's been going on, no matter what the locusts have eaten, restoration is still always possible. And, so, we’re reading from the English Standard Version this week. Joel its entirety, which is three chapters.

Introduction to the book of Revelation:

Okay. So, that is Joel in its entirety and now we flip the page or flip several pages into the New Testament, and we find ourselves at the very final book in the New Testament, and this book is called Revelation. And there isn’t a book in the Bible that seems to have captured the fascination of…of its readers more than this book. And it's been interpreted many, many various ways through many various lenses over many centuries, in fact, over thousands of years. And these interpretations can be fantastic just wild stuff and then there are more pragmatic attempts to try to find out what's going on in this book. And, so, revelation tells us, it self-identifies the author as is John. It's just…we don’t have like a last name. We didn't have those then. And, so, which John are we talking about because this is not particularly an uncommon name? So, traditionally we would accept the author being the apostle John who wrote other portions of the New Testament as well - the gospel of John and first, second and third John. But this isn’t like a straight line and this isn't like modern scholarship trying to tear things apart. that's been questioned since at least the third century and that debate continues to the presence but  without, you know, without new evidence, without something archaeologically being discovered that would give more clues or that would paint a more complete picture, the tradition…the tradition holds just as strongly as any other explanation that the…it was the apostle John who probably wrote this text. So, this being the case, it's not just any John who was exiled to the island of Patmos it's…it’s John the evangelist, the disciple of Jesus who was banished to the island of Patmos where Revelation was written. And it’s believed that Patmos, it…Patmos still exists, it’s still an island today. But at the time it's…it's like a Roman penal colony, a place of criminal and political exile. So, rather than just dealing with all these people they just put em’ on this island and let them sort it out under the guard of the Roman…Roman military. And like I said, it’s still an island. You can still go there. You can visit Patmos. It’s in the Aegean Sea. It’s like between modern-day Greece and Turkey and not too far actually from Ephesus where the tradition holds that John spent the elder…elderly years of his life. But here's where it gets interesting. Here's where the intrigue about the book of Revelation begins. It is a work in the genre of literature known as apocalyptic literature. This type of literature is highly symbolic, highly allegorical. And, so, when you read the book of Revelation and you have to kind of have your discerner…if that’s a word…you have to have discernment, you have to be paying attention because you find that as you go through this, you're taking certain things to be literal, you’re taking other things to be allegorical or symbolic and you have to wonder why you're doing that. How is that happening? How do you decide? And because we have so much seemingly symbolic language and be…because it appears that the subject matter here is the end of all things as we know it, like the end of the world and the beginning of the next, well then you’ve got a good recipe because everybody’s interested in that topic. Like if there's going to be the end of the world then we should probably have as much understanding about that as we can get. So, we would read this at different than say a poetic allegorical poem like the Song of Songs, right? So, we can read Song of songs and put different lenses on and go, “this is Christ's love for His bride, this is God's love for His people. This is just a beautiful portrayal of love between a man and a woman.” And we could be fine with that but you overlay the end of the world into that mix and you’re paying attention, but you still have highly symbolic language to…to discern and work your way through. And, so, as you can imagine, there have been thousands of very unique diverse interpretations over thousands of years. So, some scholars would say this is a very, very important book. Obviously, it's in the New Testament. Pulling it apart and trying to lay the pieces, the components out and then put them back together, this is indeed a prophetic utterance, but it is meant for people in the first century and contains a first century perspective and the sym…symbolism is something that would be understood better in the first century context. And, so, they conclude that the book of Revelation is already been completely fulfilled. That's like one way of looking at it. Others see like that Revelation outlines a chain of events that starts when this was written in the first century but lasts until…well…until the end of the world. And then others believe that the symbolism is the thing that keeps the relevance. It's…it's poetic and so can be interpreted and brought into any time period. So, it's timeless, and is ultimately describing the overarching cosmic struggle that we find in the Bible between good and evil. And the thing is, all of that can be legitimate. Like all of that can be right but even knowing that we still pretty much have only ever gotten it wrong because what happens is that we get intrigued in all these details and we’re trying to fit them together and overlay them into the time that we live in and come to some sort of conclusion that this is it…this is all going down right now. The problem is that's what's been going on for 2000 years. So many, many, many, many generations have looked into this and overlaid it into their time and said this is happening now. And yet 100% of the time until right now they've been wrong. One thing that I can tell you that is a right though, remember when we started getting into the letters and started to move to Paul and I'm telling you like this theme of endurance is going to show up and it's going to be unrelenting all the way until we end the Scriptures and understand how important that word, endurance, actually is to our faith journey, that is probably as clear as it can get in the book of Revelation, the final book of the Bible because it's a fundamental theme in the book of Revelation. In some ways, it almost feels like we've been pulled forward in this theme of endurance all the way to this point where we can see its enduring, not just kind of enduring healing because you broke your leg or enduring the transition of a job. It's…it's enduring until the very, very end, enduring until the end of all things. And Revelation ultimately tells us that those who stay faithful, those who endure and stay faithful to the testimony of Jesus until the very end will then experience eternal victory. And that brings us to one of the famous passages in the book of Revelation –“they overcame, they defeated evil by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony.” Here's the thing, this theme of endurance that we’ve been working our way through for months, and it has probably encouraged us on days that we needed to endure and enduring is never easy, but as we kind of come to the end of the Bible and this theme becomes dominant, we begin to realize that this is…endurance isn't just sitting still and suffering until something is over. It’s not a passive waiting thing. It's not like some sort of defensive posture. It's actually a very conscious active thing that we are doing understanding that it's going somewhere. It's our endurance in the face of deception, our holding true to the blood of the lamb and the word of our testimony. In the face of the entire world being dissected around us, we’re to remain true. When I say, “we are to remain true” I’m talking about the people at the very end that are spoken of in this book. It's their witness that remains until the very end so that there was always a chance for anyone to turn. And when everyone who is going to turn has turned then things get very bleak and they come to an end and a new beginning emerges. And, so, let's dive into the book of Revelation. This will carry us until December 31st in the New Testament, until the end of our year. And we will notice that as we begin the book of Revelation, we begin by hearing from Jesus. Jesus writes some letters to some churches and that sets the backdrop. Revelation 1.

Prayer:

Father, we thank you for your word. We thank you for bringing us into this territory, this new territory across the board…board in both old and new Testaments. And Lord we invite your Holy Spirit as we now encounter and move into and move through the final book in the New Testament, the book of Revelation. Show us what we need to see. Give us what we need to take with us into the future. From the very beginning of this year we've been asking for something specific because it's something that you told us Jesus that we need - eyes to see, ears to hear. And, so, this is again our prayer as we move through the rest of this month, as we move through the territory that we’re moving through in the Bible. Give us eyes to see and ears to hear what you're saying. We pray this in the incomparable immeasurable name of our Savior Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it’s the website, it’s where you find out what’s going on around here.

And really, the things to talk about are Christmas related because that's where this is headed. That's where we’re going. And, so, the first thing is we have an annual program and …sort of like our annual Christmas party. And, so, for the next week beginning yesterday you can call in your holiday greetings to the community that you’ve been spending the year going to the Bible together with. And you can use the Hotline button for that or the phone number 877-942-4253. And that might sound familiar because that's how we send in our prayer requests and encouragements to each other. And, so, we’re gonna use that same apparatus to collect our holiday greetings. There's just one kind of rule…rule about it. Don’t call a holiday greeting mixed with a prayer request or anything like that. If you’re gonna call in a holiday greeting, call in a holiday greeting and let that be that. If you have some other things going on or you wanna pray for somebody or you want to ask for prayer, do that separately. This is like the only time year that you can do like multiple…like you can do that, call and then call right back. We’ll take those calls for the next week and then we’ll start assembling everything and create our annual Christmas gathering and I can't wait for it. It's always virtual because we’re a virtual community but this year, especially. It’s like we get to do this without a…we don’t have to change a thing. There can be viruses running around the world or pandemics. We don't have to change a thing. We’re gonna do what we always do and it’s gonna be beautiful as it always is. So, you can call those in now.

And then the other thing is the Daily Audio Bible Shop and shopping. Go there and look for resources that you might want to use to invite others along for the journey, or just to encourage their…their faith. There are written resources in book form, like the God of Your Story or Sneezing Jesus or Reframe or Passages. Like, there's there are books there. There are all kinds resources from things to wear to things to write with, to things to write in. Our Global Campfire candle is in the Shop. We worked so hard on that with a perfumer last year, with a sent a designer to get a candle that smells like a campfire but still smells good, not like ashy, like still smells good like a campfire to remind us. It's amazing how aroma actually brings us to a place. And, so, to have the Global Campfire candle reminds us that we’re in community together. All kinds resources like that. The Daily…or the Wind Farm coffee, our entire line of coffee that we roast fresh and send you our entire line of tea because these are activities that we do most every day. We drink something warm…not everybody…but most people drink either a cup of coffee or a cup of tea in the morning and maybe even throughout the day. I do. Everyone around here does. And, so, we created this line well over a decade ago because it's kind of part of the journey. It's nice to have a cup of coffee and allow God's word to be spoken over us and gives some things to think about and move into our day. It’s just part of the rhythm. All those resources and more are available in the Shop. If you spend $40 or more in the Shop, we will send you this year the 2020 Christmas ornament for the Daily Audio Bible included in your order. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible here in the latter part of the year, then thank you. Thank you humbly and deeply. Sincerely, we wouldn't be here if we weren't in this together. So, thank you. If this has made a difference, then thank you for your partnership. There is a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, or right now holiday greeting then you can hit the Hotline button in the app, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer ad Praise:

Hi everybody it’s Lisa the Encourager I just wanted to remind everyone of something that I wrote down after Brian read the last part of second Peter and I just called it when I wrote it down in my notes I just wrote it down as Peter’s charge. And I thought it’s…it was so good the way he reminded us that, you know, we should honor Peter in this last message that he gave to us as followers of Christ and basically telling us that, you know, this would be things that you would follow in the gift of having the rich welcome into the kingdom of Jesus Christ. And, so, I love that. And, so, there are seven beautiful principles to follow. And, so, the first one is goodness and the second one is knowledge. And we’re certainly getting all that through Brian and also reading the Bible every day. Self-control, which we could all use that especially with the busy holidays and busy traffic and even with our families continuing to have self-control with those that we love the most. Perseverance and walking with Christ, mutual affection and respect for all. I love that…just…just having mutual affection for, you know, people that we interact with. And then godliness, mirroring the way we are like Jesus, so continuing to have godliness. And then the last one is love. Again, just reminding us to show love to all and everything we do and all of our actions, like put those word to action. So, I wrote them down because I need reminding of this. So, I hope it helps you. I also shared them with my children…

Good morning DAB family my name is Pamela and I’m calling from Toronto Canada. It’s December 5th 130 in the morning and I’m calling for prayers, to ask for prayers for my son in Jamaica. His name is Ray. For him to turn his life over to Jesus because it’s the only way. And I’m praying for my other family members, nephews, and nieces, sisters, brothers. And I am also praying…asking for prayer for myself. I’m having pain all over my body. Sciatica pain, arthritis pain. So, I’m asking for your prayers and I just want to say thank you Brian and your family for the beautiful work you’ve been doing through Jesus. Thank you. I love you all. In Jesus name. Amen.

Hi DAB family this is Radiant Rachel and like Jane in the Everglades I’m going to pray Psalm 191 over us and with us for anybody who is in battle against demonic attacks. And I’m also specifically calling out protection and clarity for Janna and her family - Billy, Amber, Roland, Braden and Izzy. I may have one of those names wrong, but God knows his name and also over the state of Washington where they currently reside. Lord, we choose to live in the shelter of the most-high where we will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. You alone Lord are our refuge, our place of safety. You are our God we trust You. Thank You, Lord for rescuing us from every trap and protecting us from deadly disease. We are covered with Your feathers. You shelter us with Your wings. Your faithful promises Lord are our armor and protection. We will not be afraid of the terrors of the night nor the arrows that fly in the day. We do not dread the disease that stocks in the darkness nor the disaster that strikes at midday. Though 10,000 fall at our side, though 10,000s are dying around us these evils will not touch us. Open our eyes Lord that we may see all the wicked are punished. You are our refuge. You Lord are the most-high and You are our shelter. No evil will conquer us. No plague will come near our home. You Lord have ordered the angels to protect us wherever we go. They hold us up with their hands so that we won’t hurt our foot on the stone. Thank You, Lord for the strength to trample lions and cobras and the strength to crush fierce lions and serpents under our feet. You tell us Lord that You will rescue those that love You. We love You Lord. You will protect those who trust in You name. We trust in You. Thank You for answering when we call on Your name. Thank You for being with us when we are in trouble. Lord, thank You for rescuing and honoring us and rewarding us with a long life and giving us salvation. In Jesus’ name we pray all these things. And we thank You for all these things. Amen.

I recently learned the lesson of the bamboo tree and the many parallel analogies between that tree and me that tree can grow so tall so fast that it mystifies the mind 90 feet or more in the first five years much faster than any other tree you’ll find but for the first 4 ½ years you’ll only see a sprout just a tiny shoot above the ground is all that’ll be sticking out but in the last six months of that last 5th year it grows 90 feet and more only the most faithful and loyal cultivators would stick it out to see what’s in store but God is like that in our lives he’s faithful and he’s true and even when we show little or no growth he still gives grace and mercy too most would say just let it die it looks like it’s dead already but God never loses hope for us his hands are true and steady great is his faithfulness morning by morning new mercies we see God changes not his compassions they fail not and as he has been he forever will be and when all our worldly hope is gone and no more friends are left around that sprout we had left for dead becomes a tree high above the ground with roots so deep that the fiercest of storms could never erode its grip it bends it sways some branches may break but mostly it’ll just dip while we see nothing above the ground there’s continual growth below only God can make a tree there so much that we just don’t know but I also know that sometimes it looks like there’s little or no growth in me so I’m thankful for his loving hands and I’m sure in time all will see that growth was present all the time and God was present too carefully nurturing day by day so my roots would hold fast too don’t be so quick to judge that shoot that’s barely out of the ground God has the power to make it as strong as any of the tree that’s around

blindtony1016@gmail.com...

This is from junk to treasure. I want to talk about our voices for couple minutes. I have heard so many people on the DAB mention of a miss the voice of someone who used to call in for prayers or someone who will comment about how they love to hear from those who call in regularly. The study of the voice and the ability to recognize voices is so complex and amazing. Like our unique fingerprints everyone has a voice identity due to pitch and tone rhythm and tempo and texture and so on. Also, many of us have little catchphrases that are used for their own special way of expression like when I say “kiss kiss”, “shalom shalom”, “okay Holy Spirit let’s roll”, or “in the name of Jesus!” You would know exactly who I’m referring to without me even using their name. I love to hear Grandpa Bob on here. His voice is so calming and soothing. He expresses such a sense of sincerity that you want to hear from him more and more. But there is one voice that is above all others and that is the voice of the One who has the power of creation and judgment, that of healing and forgiveness. It calms a raging storm and raises people from the dead. How do we recognize the voice of the Lord? By spending quiet time contemplating in His word. I believe we also hear from God in the voices of those who call in for prayer and encouragement every time they throw their log in the community campfire. Each day I find that I long to hear and get into the word with Brian every day and to hear the wonderful unique voices of my DAB family and I praise God for the ability to recognize and to hear from each and every one of you.

Hello DAB family this is Russell from superior. I just had a call talking to my daughter. She told me she’s injecting drugs. Ask you all to pray for her and keep her safe. Thank you.

[ganymedesclock]

Hollow Knight as a game is just unbelievably full of dads. I don’t even say that like... as a joke, it’s clear one of the major repeating themes throughout the game is the relationships between parents and their children, and this is conflated pretty directly with the relationships between gods and their creations / worshipers. There’s flawed, dysfunctional, or strained parent-child relationships, and also altruistic or compassionate ones, and both are often framed in the extreme of one party sacrificing for the other or demanding the other sacrifice for them. We also see children who feel faced with the prospect of inheriting things from their parents, regardless of the nature of that relationship.

This gets quite interesting if you read Monomon - Quirrel as a parent-child relationship, given how she appears to have set things up so Quirrel doesn’t really have an ‘inheritance’ from her, but, ultimately, he’s as unbound from the past as he ever could be once his duty is done. And the cut full script of the ‘Elegy for Hallownest’ even points to a smoking-gun reason: even if she doesn’t directly draw a parallel there to worrying for Quirrel’s future, she does talk about being able to ‘hear the cries’ of THK, their burden and agony of trying to carry the kingdom’s fate, its past, forwards- if that’s how she views THK, even becoming part of that seal herself, it’d be pretty clear why she might want to take drastic measures to avoid Quirrel ever feeling like he has to carry the past, or possibly follow her into sacrifice.

After all, in the ‘worst’ ending, another Dreamer’s child does take up that same sacrifice- Hornet becomes a Dreamer, just like Herrah, in Sealed Siblings.

Getting back to Monomon and Quirrel, it’s also interesting in how they seem to mutually care deeply about each other. The last thing we know for sure they did together was set up a protective seal- ostensibly just on Monomon, with Quirrel being the bearer of the key. This would ostensibly put him in company with a bunch of other major protagonists who are in a way serving duties given by their parents- except, while Quirrel is tasked to place a seal on Monomon, Monomon uses this exact moment to place a seal on Quirrel. 

Part of this is the physical protection of the mask, which Quirrel loses when he returns said mask to her- which, considering he comments afterwards on “feeling my age” when before that you could easily read him as fairly young for his sprightly manner and lanky build, might be that familiar fictional allegory of children outgrowing a need for their parents’ protection- not that Quirrel was a child when he began his journey, at all, but, perhaps, in a way, him giving up that comfort a bit like someone setting aside a childhood security blanket because they feel like they can’t be held back by that nostalgia- and that being the final step in him openly grieving Monomon.

But the other side of the protection is, again, Monomon severing the things that anchor Quirrel to Hallownest besides the connection between him and her, and his grief losing her, which is, again, a process, that he seems to complete with returning the mask, leaving him untethered. You don’t have to look back, you don’t have to feel obligated to this kingdom and the idea of what it was. It reminds me a bit of the end of Wind Waker- the scene where Daphnes stands in the drowned remnants of Hyrule and tells Link and Tetra, floating away from him, back to the surface- the land of the living- not to try and recreate what he had, but to move forwards and be something new.

Only with Quirrel and Monomon, it’s more poignant for the directness of the connection. “Leave my memory behind, and find new happiness.”

It ties the thread of parents and children to a whole other repeated thread about duty, which comes through clearest in the Nailsmith’s plot- in a way, Monomon’s actions seem to be in the same spirit as the choice you can make to walk away from the Nailsmith, sparing him. “Leave your duty behind and live for yourself.” And Quirrel’s in a better position than the Nailsmith, in that Quirrel doesn’t beg for sacrifice or even suggest he wants to die- at one point he can even be dream nailed musing that it’s better that he lost his memory since it lets him find new wonder in things, basically summing up his viewpoint as that one oft-memed tweet:

[scribe-the-write-thing]

Hey, it’s ya girl, back at it again with some more OCs discussed with @autophagic , who’s already seen this but heyo. Here I bring something I’m naming A knight with shining scales.   I hope you guys like a Princess Kwenthryth (also known as Nimueh) and her dragon(shifter) knight / girlfriend / target of far too much pining, Remiel.

A lil passage containing: pining, idiots-to-lovers, wlw who need to stop being fools and KISS already, discussion of royal names and the weird world of feudalism and nobility.

-

Kwenthryth had always thought that the crown weighing heavy on the heads of those who wore it was merely a metaphor -- some representation of the pressures that came with the throne, with heading the court and holding an entire kingdom in the balance. 

A while, yes, that certainly was too -- oh, was that overwhelmingly and terribly true, it was far more than some allegory. It’s difficult to balance properly, weighted gold threatening to slide and crash heavily onto the floor. She has to keep her head upright and straight to be even marginally comfortable, and it feels as if, if she tilts even slightly, her neck might just break under the pressure. Wouldn’t that be a sight for a coronation?  (Though, she supposed, that was the whole point of practising; to not make a fool of herself right away).

She adjusts it, carefully, on her head, and it indeed weighs heavy on her head.

Far too heavy. Both literally and metaphorically. She wonders, faintly, if it being uncomfortable is part of the point; if it’s meant to be some sort of reminder.

If she was more awake, if she felt less sick to her stomach and more in the mood to be clever, she may just have been able to come up with a quip about it all. 

She had tried - admittedly, in vain - to argue against wearing it at all. Wouldn’t a lighter crown be better? A new reign, a shedding of the old-- a new crown would surely be better, wouldn't it? 

Her advisors hadn’t appreciated the sentiment -- blathering on about traditions and their importance, and they had gone on so long that Kwenthryth had been forced to just laugh and pretend she had been making some bad joke. And that idea had been soundly quashed there; if she brought it up again, one of the chancellors might just magic up a way to enchant the damn thing to stay there permanently. 

She adjusts the crown again, before tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, observing herself in the mirror for a few more seconds before sighing, deeply, gaze flickering to look over her shoulder in the reflection, watching the figure standing there -- on guard and alert as ever. And she can’t help the small smile that plays on her lips.

Kwenthryth turns, slowly, careful not to jostle the crown; she’ll have to get used to moving with it on, she supposes. She can only grimly imagine the embarrassment of it toppling off mid-speech during her council meeting -- the last thing she needed was any more reason for those superstitious old men to doubt her ability to reign. 

“How do I look?” She asks, with a half-smile that’s more like a grimace -- everything about it feels awkward, as if she’s an imposter taking the place of whoever should actually be here instead. 

Remiel’s gaze is fixed on her, intense as ever -- though there’s a hint of… something, almost like stunned but not quite, within the look. 

“You look…” Remiel pauses, seems to grapple for words -- and Kwenthryth hopes that that’s a good thing, that she’s not trying to come up with some white lie or politely word criticism. “... Queenly.” It what she settles on eventually. 

Kwenthryth can’t help the snort that escapes her at that -- good-humoured and soft.

“I would hope so.” She says, with a hum. “Looking the part is at least the minimum.”

Remiel huffs, nervously, and Kwenthryth can see the faint tint of a blush rising to her cheeks, pink flushing as she straightens up more, adjusts herself, seemingly flustered. 

“I- I meant that- of course you’ve always looked regal-” Remiel bites her lip, fidgeting from side to side, and Kwenthryth feels the urge to move forward and soothe her anxieties- “You- you look beautiful.” It’s said quickly, and there’s some flicker of regret on the knight’s expression immediately after, some anxious energy bubbling beneath the surface. “Not that you don’t always look amazing, you do but…” She trails off, just watching Kwenthryth back for a while.

It’s Kwenthryth’s turn to blush, then. 

It’s more than just warmth across her cheeks, though -- she feels the burst of affection and… something, in her chest, too, along with that familiar fluttering in her abdomen.

“You think I’m beautiful?” She asks, quietly; the question falling from her lips before she can even think, before she can consider properly if she should ask it. Beauty was a thing she seemed to be ever chasing, yet never reaching. No matter what, some criticism would be made. True, she had been called fair by many of the court and outside of it, but she could never know for sure whether such compliments were genuine, or the work of sycophants wishing to grow closer to her. 

Oh, and just when she hadn’t thought it possible for Remiel to flush any deeper -- the flustered nature is cute, really, even if she doesn’t completely understand why things are spiralling like this. If anything, shouldn’t Kwenthryth be the one more flustered? She’s the one complimented, after all-

“I- well- I-” Remiel shifts, one hand moving to scratch at the back of her neck, and her gaze has shifted to fix on some spot on the floor. “Of course I do- I mean- you are- I don’t mean to step out of line, I-”

“Please, don’t apologise.” Kwenthryth soothes, with a grin that she hopes is reassuring, moving closer to Remiel, careful step by careful step -- both out of necessity to keep the crown in place, and so as not to alarm her. “You’re not stepping out of line at all. I… I really appreciate it.” It feels different when Remiel says it; more than just some standard compliment, something said merely because it’s polite. It feels real. “I- if it means anything; I… think you’re beautiful too.” 

Gods, how had Kwenthryth ever thought that she wasn’t? It was a different beauty to most ladies of the court perhaps -- something more wild, powerful, all might and oh-so-gorgeous strength. Kwenthryth can remember seeing her during combat training- 

She shakes the thoughts from her head before she’s too lost in them. 

Remiel’s looking at her again, expression confused, unsure, as if she thinks this might be some sort of joke- and it’s only now Kwenthryth takes note of how close they are, because Remiel is having to look down at her. 

“I- you’re too kind-” the knight begins, sounding doubtful already, and Kwenthryth elects to shut down that doubt as quick as she can-

“I meant it.” She tells her, firmly. “You are. You’re… the most beautiful person I know.” She utters it almost like a confession -- some secret she’s held. “Inside and out.” She adds, quietly.

Silence settles then, and Kwenthryth feels a flighty panic take hold in her heart; just how awkward has she made this now?

“Sorry- I… perhaps I overstepped there…” 

“No- it’s- it’s alright-” Remiel exhales a laugh, though it’s shaky. A little bewildered. “That means a lot, coming from you, your hi- Kwen.”

Kwenthryth quirks a smile at the catch -- the adjustment, however slow, feels nice. More casual. But still-

“You know, if you wanted, you could call me Nimueh-” Her real name, the thing buried under the grandeur of the royal name, one she often forgot herself. “-I think that everyone else will only know Kwenthryth. Not many will remember Nimueh” Kwenthryth was a name earned, a name chosen -- but Nimueh felt like home, some rooted thing she could go back to when the title felt too much. “I should like it if you were one of the few that did.” True names were an intimacy -- the sorcerers of old said there was magic in a name, and perhaps that was partially true. 

“That- that’s a great honour-”

“One I see fit for my closest friend,” Kwenthryth reassures, feeling another flutter in her chest at the little intake of breath that gets her. “Think of it as returning the favour.” She gives a shrug. “I consider it a great honour that you remain my companion.”

“Are you sure? It feels far too-” Remiel shakes her head, not finding the word she’s looking for, but looking thoroughly… well, overwhelmed. “... intimate.”

Would intimacy be such a bad thing? Is the first thought that flitters through Kwenthryth’s mind-

“Alright,” is what she says, however, “perhaps we should focus on just Kwen for now, and work up our way from there?” She offers, amusedly. 

“That… That sounds good.” Remiel says, with a nod, returning her smile. “I agree, Kwen.” Her name’s said more confidently this time, more sure. “I’m glad that you view me as a friend- I think of you as mine, too- Not that I’m not also your guard but-”

She isn’t quite sure what’s driven her forwards -- whether it’s the flustered look, the compliments still swirling in her head, a way to still the nervous, awkward scramble for the right thing to say or a mix of them all, but Kwenthryth has moved herself forward, rising up on her tip-toes and letting her eyes flutter closed as her lips meet Remiel’s.

What am I doing?

It’s her last thought, before she loses herself in the feeling -- she’s warm, her lips soft, and it feels so right that it’s sending bursts of tingling energy bursting in her chest. All she can think of is questioning why she didn’t do this sooner, when it feels oh-so-perfect, as if it’s the only place she should be. For a while, she feels Remiel pause, only for a beat-

Then there comes the best part -- the fact she’s kissing back. She’s accepting this, she wants Kwenthryth, too. That’s enough to make her heart soar, to make her lean in deeper, sighing softly as she feels Remiel’s arm wrap around her waist, protective and yet so gentle. She encircles an arm around her shoulder in turn, pressing herself closer, and she hears the crown slip and fall to the floor behind her, but by now, she doesn’t care. 

The kiss is chaste, soft and simple, and yet more than enough, and they only break for air -- both of their breathing slightly shallow, blushes for the both of them flushed deeper than ever. 

With the pumping adrenaline gone, it’s only then that the flighty panic of before, the fear of awkwardness, comes crashing back in like a wave-

What had she just done? 

Remiel is just staring at her, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, looking as if she’s still not fully recovered-

“I-” Kwenthryth tries to start, but her sentence dies in her throat. What would even be right to say?

She doesn’t know why - she doesn’t know why she’s done anything, now -, but instead of speaking, she quickly swoops down for the crown again, faintly relieved but not truly caring that it’s not dented, and settling it back on her head. She readjusts her hair, smoothes out her dress, as if nothing happened.

“I should get to my meeting. The council are probably waiting-”

“K- Kwen-” Remiel starts, sounding incredulous, voice still quivering slightly. 

“I’ll- I’ll see you later,” she says, trying to lower her tone into some seriousness. “I promise. You… meet me in my room, if that’s okay?” She tries for a grin, some feigned casuality as she moves by, focusing on reaching the door before she can make any further decisions without thinking them through. “Just- meet me after, Queen’s orders, hm?”

She has to joke, in all this mess of her own cause. She doesn’t even know what she feels, whether she did right, had Remiel even really kissed back or had that been some imagining? Why had she even followed through on the thought to do that? Why had she even had the thought in the first place?

Bheric always did say she had a way of making things far more confusing than they had to be -- here, she supposes, is the evidence.  Being a Queen wasn’t easy; and yet here she was, seemingly wanting to make it harder for herself.

Gods, just how was she going to be able to get through a council with this spinning in her mind? So much for a decently focused first day. 

What a brilliant start to her reign.

[zweiginator]

Good Company- Part Eight

Summary: After Brian’s startling confession, there’s a lot to talk about and even more bittersweet changes to come.

Word Count: 5.2k+

Warnings: light kissing, a little (lot)? bit of angst, some cuteness

Author’s Note: this chapter took a lonnng time to get out because it’s the literal definition of a filler chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless; it may be quite boring but the next chapters will be a lot more interesting!!

If every synonym for “fast” was jumbled into one excessively long, powerfully connoted word, it wouldn’t begin to do justice to the rapid throbbing of your heart within your seemingly hollowed out chest. It felt as if Brian had scooped your heart out from underneath a wall of bone--but with ease; he had no idea the effect his confession had on you--not one bit. You sat back down on the toilet as Brian fumbled with the lock, the protruding metal knob of it chipping his nail varnish that had only been painted on a few days before.

“Damn,” Brian pulled his hand away and scrunched his eyebrows, assessing the damage of his nails. “This lock is awful.” He jiggled it again and you sighed loudly, standing up to pull his arm away from the door. He whipped his head around and braced his hands on the sink, quirking an eyebrow at you, almost suspiciously.

“Brian.” You looked at the pregnancy test, still sat stationary next to the faucet, the negative symbol daunting, almost mocking you for thinking you could ever have a functional relationship.

“Yes, bub?” He hoisted himself onto the sink and tapped along the lip of the countertop, his head falling against the mirror, hard enough so it wiggled against the nails it was loosely bound on.

“Brian, you just said you wanted to impregnate me and now you’re wondering what I could possibly be wanting to talk to you about?” You pulled the shaggy bath rug towards you with your feet, crossing your arms over your chest.

Brian stepped down from the sink effortlessly; he was so tall he just had to balance his already-planted feet on the ground to stride over to you, where he knelt down in front of you, running his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “I know--” He shook his head, his curls swaying over his face, catching against his moistened lips. “I know this is a lot to take in, but--I don’t know. I just feel ready. Like my time is running out.”

“Like your time is running out?” You repeated, pulling one of your hands away from his to push his hair back, away from his face. “Brian, you’re in your twenties. Your life has barely begun.” You watched him intently, as his eyes flickered to your lap, tracing the path of a dust bunny that was fleeting over your jeans, clinging on the rough fabric for dear life, but so, so easy to tear off. It reminded him of your and his relationship in a way; a weird allegory that symbolized how close he felt to you, how completely shackled he was to you by something that was so easy to rip apart, to watch the remains flutter away and meddle into the air, full of similar broken ties, impossible to be put back together. There would always be something pulling at the ripped and re-sewn seams of your relationship, wanting nothing more than to shatter this hope of true love that felt so fading, so momentary although he wanted it to last for an eternity.

Maybe this was just a defense mechanism, a way to make sure you and him were strung together forever, by something more substantial than a metaphorical clump of dust.  Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized he wasn’t equipped to be a father; he lived in a shared flat with three other men, who all spent the little money they earned from gigs and dead-end, under-the-counter jobs on tons of cheap booze and revealing clothing used as a tactic to gain courage and sex. They had no steady source of income, not to mention Brian’s emotional health had been anything but stable; he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt a swarm of butterflies fluttering their way through his intestines. And while he didn’t blame it on you, he knew you were the reason why. The pining, the desperate sex, the condemnation from Roger. And now a pregnancy scare could be added to Brian’s massively long list of stressors, topped off with a confession he wasn’t sure he really meant.

“I mean, I know I’m young--just” He felt trapped, like he had really fucked everything up, and in his mind this was irredeemable. Asking his new girlfriend--his best friend’s ex--if he could impregnate her was more severe than a marriage proposal--which Brian knew he wasn’t ready for, not in the slightest.

“Just what?” You ran your fingers through his curls at the nape of his neck, tracing your eyes over the dark stubble peppered along his jaw. His eyes flitted downwards, his eyelashes shielding the look of despair pooling and feathering throughout his honey irises.

“You’re right--we’re not ready. I’m not--at least.” He looked back up at you, bracing himself on your thighs by running his fingers along the fabric of your jeans. Your legs shook anxiously, your feet almost numb against the cold tile floor, pained from the consistent pressure on your heels.

“Then why did you say that?” You stroked the top of his cheek with your thumb and leaned forward, partially to relieve the ache from your uncomfortable position on the porcelain--but mostly to comfort Brian who was looking increasingly uncomfortable himself. “Gave me a heart attack. I’ve thought about it you know?”

Brian stood up, your hand still enclosed in his. He ran his fingers across the ridges of your knuckles and pressed a quick kiss to the deep divot between them, his lips just a bit chapped like they always were. “You’ve thought about it?” He repeated, straightening out the cluttered sink; bars of soap were seemingly melted upon the porcelain, ivory soap caked the smooth, glassy surface and Brian furrowed his eyebrows, scraping it off with his nails. “Having a baby in general? Or with me?”

“I mean--both. But we haven’t been together nearly long enough to make a decision like that.” You explained and he nodded, understanding that of course, you weren’t ready to have a child with him; you had only been together for a few months--a few months of turmoil and chaos and miscommunication that left you in Brian’s cramped bathroom in the first place, hugging your knees to your chest as Brian blinked back salty tears.

Brian wasn’t sad; he was mostly relieved that everything was going so well, despite your argument that morning that left his eyes bloodshot and lips tingling from his nervous nibbling at the delicate skin. He was angry that your conversations had to be so hushed and shoved under the surface of everything; the fact that you had to hide in the bathroom and share whispers and secret kisses was angering to Brian; he didn’t like feeling as if loving you were some taboo, forbidden enigma when it wasn’t, when it shouldn’t be. To him, it was natural, right. “You’re right; I know.” He sighed, unlocking the door again. That time, the lock was able to be unhooked easily, and Brian was thankful he didn’t have to sacrifice another carefully painted nail. “I guess I just want stability--I don’t know.” Brian peeked out of the door, bracing his hand on the doorframe, making sure to stay clear of the splintered wood chipping away like the ivory paint.

“Okay.. I’m just a bit confused here--are you mad at me?” You stood up quickly, your circulation flowing back to your extremities quickly; your legs had been crossed for hours and  were tingling from the idle worrying that had pervaded the past two hours, wedged in Brian’s tiny bathroom, intertwined with him.

“No! No, not at all. Just a bit confused about what I want, you know?” He splayed his fingers across your lower back, leading you from the bathroom. Deaky, Roger and Freddie sat in the living area, feigning attention at the television, which was muted and playing a scientific program Brian might have found interesting on a particularly boring day. He stopped you in the corridor, pulling you behind a thin wall that acted as a partition between where the rest of the household was. Framed photographs and haphazardly hung polaroids of the boys taken by Brian and fleeting strangers fluttered against the drywall as your shoulder blade hit it softly. Brian leaned forward, looking utterly serious, his lips pursed in a straight line, his fingers twirling his necklace like he always seemed to do when he was nervous. “I was oddly calm when you thought you were pregnant.” He began, pushing a shorter tendril of hair from your forehead. “Of course I was a bit nervous, but--I realized I wouldn’t really mind if you were. I guess that doesn’t mean I want a baby right now--but I wouldn’t mind you--” He paused, swallowing and lowering his voice, which was a bit raw from his screaming match with Roger earlier. “Having my babies. Having our babies.”

You ran your thumb over Brian’s knuckles, feeling the soft ridges of the protruding bones. His hand trembled in yours, his tongue flitting out of his mouth to swipe over his bottom lip, dry from a continuous flow of anxiety. “You’re really something else, Brian.” You reached your arm over his shoulder and held a curl of his between your fingers, feeling the lock twist and coil around them. “How did you get so sweet?” You squeezed his cheeks together, the skin soft and warm from a persistent flush upon them.

Brian clasped his hands over yours and pulled them down over your hips, the calluses of his fingertips brushing over a patch of exposed skin. “Maybe it’s because I’m your honey?” He pressed his forehead against yours, the soft ends of his eyelashes tickling along the skin, fluttering like the butterflies in your stomach--but they were good butterflies, ones that you only felt when Brian was around. They were warm and inviting and very unlike the ones you had felt a bit earlier, waiting to see if your life would be altered irreparably by a tiny bundle of cells.

You cupped his jaw and smoothed your thumb over the bone, which jutted out a bit further than usual, due to his effervescent smile that beamed over his sleepy features. “You’re so cheesy--but I really do love you, Brian.” You assured him, pushing your thumb along his bottom lip. His breaths became shallow, laborious, as if he needed help to fill his hollow lungs with oxygen just to keep him there with you. “I don’t think I tell you enough.”

Brian lowered his head and nudged your nose with his own, tilting your head back. He sighed as you pushed his face forward and gently kissed his bottom lip. Brian’s head always felt irrevocably hazy when his lips touched yours, as if an impermeable grey fog rose from his numbed feet and clouded throughout his body. He couldn’t see; all he had were his thoughts, and those only pertained to you, all the time. He moaned sweetly into your mouth and you tightened your grip on his hair, wanting him everywhere--on your lips, through your fingers, against your entire self.

“I need you--” Brian ran his fingers over your hair as you nipped at the skin of his collarbones, peppering wet kisses over the warm skin. He rolled his head back quickly, his eyes fluttering shut as the back of his head hit the corner of a wooden picture frame sharply. “Ow fuck!” Brian yelled under his breath, clasping a hand at the throbbing pain.

You pulled away from kissing him and smiled, bringing your hand up to rub over the small bump forming on his head. “Sorry bub.” You pressed a kiss to your palm and patted the injury. “Will a kiss make it better?” You disheveled his hair slightly.

“Of course it will.” He gave you a wide smile, his tongue poking out to gather the remainder of your last kiss on the corner of his mouth.

You both heard a sigh, and then a sharp knock along the corner of the wall you were both leaning against. “Are you chaps done tongue-fucking each other over here? Maybe you forgot that I’m awaiting the verdict too?” He held a hand over his chest and nodded, looking facetiously sad, but his wide doe-eyes were a darker blue than you remembered ever looking into--although you had been so used to Brian’s eyes, their brown akin to a deep, sweet nectar that you had forgotten the eyes you used to stare into so longingly before.

“We were getting there, Rog.” Brian pushed his body off the wall by his sock-covered foot.

“Right.” He held his hands up and pursed his lips, which looked undoubtedly bitten by someone else, your suspicions only confirmed by two purpling love bites perched upon the junction of his shoulder and neck. “Just a bit of a detour, I suppose.” He sighed, raising his eyebrows, thick and untamed. “Well? Are you?”

“God, Roger you’re being insensitive, Jesus.” Brian rolled his sleeves up and tensed his arms, his goal of intimidating the blond revealing itself to be completely obsolete; Roger was only looking at you.

“This entire situation is completely insensitive to everybody involved. We’re past decencies at this point.” Roger shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the same spot on the wall Brian was; now he was on the other side of you, snug in the chipped doorway. “So?” He heaved out a sigh, shoving away the spilled deck of cards Brian dropped reflexively when your lips attached to his neck.

“No; I’m not pregnant. At least not according to that test.” You adjusted your shirt, pulling it down where it had ridden up, Brian’s doing. Patting Roger’s extremely tensed shoulder, you peeked around the corner and saw Freddie and Deaky chatting in a soft whisper, very uncharacteristic of their usually quite unrestrained conversations.

“Are we going to be godfathers to a very illegitimate child?” Freddie held a hand over his throat, swallowing a piping sip of his afternoon tea. His cup tinkled against the hollow wooden table his and John’s feet were resting upon; Deaky shifted them further away from Freddie’s earl grey.

“Shut up, Freddie.” Deaky shoved his shoulder, covered by a blood red t-shirt. There were a few darker patches over the front of it--a result from shaky hands and scalding tea. “But will we be?” Deaky asked, shoving his hands in his tight front pockets, his fingers rubbing over the linen lining inside of them. “Not that it’s really any of our business, I reckon.”

“None of our business?” Freddie scoffed, rolling his eyes and keeping them there, watching the warm light fading in and out due to the thick sheet of rain pouring over the streets outside. “Please. That baby was conceived in the very shower we use every day; I beg to differ that it’s none of our business.” He leaned forward, fanning his hand over the steam billowing and folding over the lip of the cup. “Bloody bitch won’t cool down.” He complained.

Brian nibbled on his already-ruined nails, his cheeks flushed the same color of Freddie’s sangria shirt. You just kept your head down, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, next to Deaky’s exposed legs. “What?” Brain questioned, hoping if he seemed clueless enough, Freddie would drop the subject.

But they both knew that would never happen. “What do you mean, what?--I came back to grab some cash that day after I left; fuckin’ forgot it because Johnny boy moves my wallet whenever I set it down.” He explained. “Anyway--you two weren’t being quiet; it sounded like two wet seals slapping against each other. And--” He shivered. “I saw the stains on one of our only hand towels...you two aren’t sly.”

“Jesus!” Roger ran a hand through his hair and nudged John over to sit between the two men. “She’s not fuckin’ pregnant, so we can stop talking about this.” He held his head in his hands and tugged the sleeves of his sweater down to warm up his numbing hands.

“In the shower? Really?” Deaky shuddered, and then nodded appreciatively. “Nice one, though, Bri.”

Roger glared at him, kneeing John in his own knobby knees. “Christ, Deaky. Enough.”

“So now you’re worried about sensitivity, Roger?” You challenged. Brian stood far removed from the situation, staring at his socks, feeling the coolness of the floors through the holes in the wool material, scratchy against his ankles.

“Deaky is my friend. I’d expect it from someone I trust.” Roger examined his cuticles with utter care, although his face revealed the opposite.

“God, Roger!” Brian threw his hands up and leaned over the table, his necklaces dangling over the exposed skin of his neck, where a new hickie was blossoming over the ridge of his collarbone. The veins in his forearms extended below his effortlessly smooth skin, feeding into the smaller ones in his hands, crinkling a newspaper in his tightening grasp. “Can you just let me be with her? God, you’re making it so much worse than it needs to be!”

Roger squeezed the taut skin of his upper thigh, refraining from looking Brian in his eyes, which were darkened into a deep, deep brown--like honey tainted with dark charcoal, poisonous to look at. “I just don’t understand why you act like you’re all high and mighty--like you saved Y/N and are her knight in shining fucking armor when you caught me with that girl at that party last year. Remember? While me and her were together?” Roger said this calmly, his jaw angled, tense.

“What?” Brian stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. Freddie and Deaky couldn’t pretend to be enraptured in the television that Brian was now obscuring, and they sighed, feeling forever enclosed once again in this perpetual drama. You did too.

Feeling like someone was was squeezing at your throat, and trapping your contrived breaths there, idle and unable to get out, you turned to Brian. “What?” You repeated. It came out squeaked and heavy and vulnerable. “You were cheating on me-before?” Of course it hurt, but you couldn’t act surprised; it seemed as if your entire relationship with Roger included deep suppression of true feelings on both of your parts, it was never meant to be. But Brian knew; your sweet, kind, guy with only good intentions--the same guy who sealed pinky promises with kisses and called you during long recording days in mud-caked phone booths--knew. All along. You couldn’t look at him, knowing your eyes would well up with salty, ardent tears--and his would too. He just had to be so sweet--so seemingly perfect that when he made a mistake it hurt like the purest, sharpest pain, pierced right in the chambers of your heart.

“I--at the party last February?” Brian questioned, confused.

“You’ve got it, Brian. Remember that? Her on my lap kissing me. You were so jealous of me already because I asked Y/N out a few weeks before. Still don’t know why you never said anything.” Roger flipped his lighter open, thumbing the etched metal cap as he fished a spare cigarette from his diminishing pack.

“I was drunk that night--very drunk. I didn’t even--I didn’t remember that until you mentioned it.” Brian was responding to Roger but he was looking at you, at the back of your head, your hair falling forward as you crossed your ankles, watching the last ephemeral glow of light flutter over the cold skin before the dawning of dusk.

“But you remembered the exact party?” Roger scoffed running a finger through a well-defined wave at the back of his scalp. “Sure.”

“Because you mentioned it! And--don’t make me the bad guy when you were the fucking cheater...I truly don’t understand your logic, Roger.” Brian strode to the door quickly, slipping on his semi-wet clogs; a pool of water sloshed in the toe of each shoe. “Can you just let me be happy? Let me have this one thing that doesn’t have to be yours too?” He pulled his coat over his shoulders, so frazzled and betrayed and embarrassed that he couldn’t zip himself up. Instead, he gave up, slamming the door behind him, the vibrations anything but subtle, reverberating and skipping over the floor.

Freddie was the one to break the silence, although apprehensively. “I’m sure he’s going to his parents’ house.” He explained, hooking his pinky in the handle of his tea cup. “He’ll be back by tomorrow--”

You interrupted him, gathering your jacket under your arm, too irate to care it was on the verge of snowing in London. “I don’t want to see him.” You sniffled, pulling the tongue of your sneaker to shove your foot in, not caring that the back was folded over, pushing against your heel. “And Roger? I hope you never get a wife. You’ll just fucking disappoint her.” You spat.

__

Brian shifted uncomfortably on a foreign couch, tucked in the back of a vast room, decorated with forest green ferns in clay pots, sat upon rustic tables. Cream linen curtains swayed in the wind but it was still dark; the time could barely be made out, but Brian could see just well enough that it was nearing seven in the morning. It took a few fleeting moments for Brian to realize he was at his parents house, curled into their brown leather sofa, his legs tucked into a fetal position just so he could fit himself on the temporary bed completely. He had driven there in a fit of rage and confusion; it was so odd, not having Roger there with him, there to be his wingman after gigs or challenge Brian’s vast knowledge, just to see him flush in anger. And not having you there was torturous; he wished his mother’s couch could be his own personal cocoon, that he could shrivel up and bind himself to the sticky leather and stay there, wrapped in a warm knitted blanket, and have nothing to fret about. But nothing could end his ceaseless worrying about your relationship--were you angry at him? Of course you were; what Brian did--or perhaps didn’t do-- was absolutely wrong and asinine, but he couldn’t help but defend himself, the id on his bony shoulder was telling him he was drunk that night, he didn’t even think about that seemingly irrelevant moment because the circumstances themselves weren’t uncommon. Brian had learned to expect catching him with casual shags, and he had seen his friend--and many girls--in very compromising positions. At one low point of his life, he thought you, too, were one of those one night stands, but he endlessly hoped you would stay--for what, exactly he didn’t know. Because he knew Roger couldn’t stay faithful. And he felt his eyelids becoming weighed down by the shame soaked through his eyelashes, mixed with dried, salty tears. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell you. He didn’t know why he felt this abiding loyalty to him when loyalty wasn’t anything Roger was even vaguely familiar with. Hearing his mother shuffle through the hallway in his father’s fleece robe, Brian quickly sat up, wiping the remnants of his sulking with the back of his trembling hand.

“Bri?” She pulled the ties to the long robe, trying her best not to trip over the thick fabric. “Are you still here?”

Brian clasped a hand to the side of his neck, rubbing the sore muscles; he had definitely slept on it wrong. “Yeah, mum. Just on the couch.”

“You never really said what was the matter last night, hon.” She pulled the baby blue blanket off of her son’s body momentarily, joining him under the warmth. She pulled it over his shoulders, noticing his persistent shivering. “Are you sick?” She touched his clammy forehead with the back of her hand, the skin soft but wrinkled, peppered with sunspots and baby freckles.

“No, mum.” He sighed, taking her hand from his forehead. She ruffled his hair lovingly, admiring the locks that poured over his collarbones, thick and streaked with the barely-there remainder of summer, caramel brown strands glittered just under the right light.

“All this hair!” She ran her fingers through, being gentle with the inevitable knots. “Where did it come from?”

“‘M not sure--my head I suppose.” He joked, his canines protruding from his mouth, a side-effect from a goofy smile.

Smiling herself, his mother pinched Brian’s lifted cheeks. “And how did you get to be so handsome?”

“Ask yourself and dad that. All your doing.” Brian nudged her shoulder. “But--seriously, my life could be...better. Lots of drama.” He nodded, picking at the nail polish on his thumb, the least callused of his fingers.

“Band drama? Is that going anywhere?” She asked. As loving as his parents were, they never would understand fully as to why their son--their bright, impossibly intelligent, scientifically gifted son--would give up his studies to be a guitarist--something his father always said with a sort of grimace-scowl hybrid. Brian was glad he was on a business trip for the time being.

“No--I mean yes, the band is doing great--but it’s not band drama. Roger drama.” He shifted uncomfortably, his neck still tender.

“Oh, that Roger, always dragging around drama like a dog on a leash. What is he up to now?”

Brian weighed his options; his mother saw him as a little boy still, and she had even set a glass of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice--his favorite--on the table in front of them, just like she did whenever he came off the school bus in primary school. She wouldn’t believe--or at least wouldn’t want to believe--all that Brian had done in college, and in the past few months. But he also knew his mother as a worrier. Plus, he was her only child--he owed it to her to be honest, forthcoming. “Okay. It’s a lot. And it’s sort of--personal. But I need to tell you, mum. I just need someone to be nonjudgmental; please keep that in mind.” He took her hands in his and squeezed them pleadingly.

“God, Brian. What did you do, exactly? You’re worrying me.” She pushed her glasses further up her sloped nose, not knowing what to expect.

“Okay, I think it’d be better if you listened all the way through. Save the gasps and comments for later; can you promise me that?”

She nodded, confused.

And Brian told her everything: about his love for you, and Roger’s commitment problems, and him catching you two in his unkempt bed after that gig months ago. About sneaking around, and the fights, and the fits of depression. He left out gritty details about the sex, not wanting to give his own mother a stroke, but he capped off the seemingly insurmountably dramatic story with the pregnancy scare.

“What?!” She held a frail hand over her heart, her wedding band sparkling under the dim lights above them.

“Don’t worry, mum!” He explained himself, touching her knee softly. “She’s not pregnant--the test was negative. I promise; that’s all sorted out.”

She slapped his knee. “You’re going to give me a bloody heart attack, Brian! Be careful--for God’s sake, I know you’re in your twenties but be smarter!” She shook her head, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Boys and their urges I swear--you’re all insatiable.”

“Mum I don’t want to talk about--this--with you anymore. Let’s drop that subject.”

“You do know condoms ex--”

“Yeah, I know!” He rolled his eyes, sighing. “So what do I do? Do I talk to her? I know she doesn’t want to see me but--”

“Oh I’m sure she very much does not want to see you. You’ve become quite the homewrecker… it’s that band, I’m telling you.” Brian knew she was joking, but probably only halfway.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He took a long swig of the juice in front of him, in a tall cloudy glass. “I think I’m going to drive to her flat now. Love you, mum.” He gave her a tight hug, before getting up to put his empty cup in the sink, watching the last droplets of the thick juice swirl down the freshly cleaned drain.

She returned the affections, and Brian bent his knees so she could press a firm kiss to his forehead, a forever parting gift from mother and son. “Thank God your father wasn’t here to hear that mess of a predicament,” She scrubbed the glass clean, feeling the bubbles spill over her hands. “He would have surely had a stroke.”

__

Brian followed his own advice--which is why he found himself exceptionally nervous outside of your flat. It was only nine in the morning and the sun had barely made an appearance from behind the heavy purple clouds pervading the smoggy air. Brian rubbed his hands together using the lining of his coat pockets, preparing himself for your assured yelling--which he admitted he deserved; it was completely warranted given the situation.

“Brian?” You took a sip of your coffee, taking in his mussed curls and heaving chest; he was panting.

“Y/N, hi. We need to talk. Listen I’m so sorry--I didn’t know you guys were dating and I was drunk that night. You know how I get around shots. But I know it was stupid and I understand--”

“Brian--stop.” You yanked him inside by his hand, setting your chipped mug on the counter softly. “I’m not mad anymore--I know you would have told me; plus--” you sighed, feeling your throat tighten as you sat at the tall stool by the marble tabletop of the counter. “I’m just tired of being mad. It’s so exhausting.”

Brian picked up your mug, quirking an eyebrow as a silent query, asking if he could have some. You nodded softly, watching his pink lips cover the ceramic lip of the cup. He set it down a few second later, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “It really is--but that wasn’t all I came to talk about.”

You gulped, picking some lint from some flannel pajama bottoms you found shoved in the corner of your room. “Oh. Okay?”

“Are you serious about us? Do you want this to be real?” He leaned forward, swiping his thumb over your cheekbone lovingly.

“Of course--what do you mean?” Lifting your legs a bit, you wrapped your ankles around the backs of his calves, pulling him forward. He squeezed your waist and hoisted you onto the counter quickly, standing between your legs. You looked at him worriedly; his lips were parted, his tongue flitting out nervously as his eyes focused on the drawstrings of your jumper.

“I just wanted to know--” He held your head gently as you kissed along his neck, lining his upper chest with loving pecks. “Y/N.” He pleaded, unable to resist the wet kisses you were leaving over his collarbones, his thumbs digging into the soft skin by your hips.

“Hm?” You trailed kisses up the column of his throat, feeling his adams apple bob against your pillowy lips. Then you kissed his chin, and then finally his lips, swiping your tongue over the semi-chapped skin. Brian parted his own lips immediately, meshing them with yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth. “You taste fruity.” You commented, pulling away for a second. But you kept on going after that, holding the back of your boyfriend’s head and listening to his needy whimpers become louder, before they halted altogether, his voice choking as his hands fell from your waist.

“Y/N.” His voice cracked. “Queen is going on tour in a couple weeks. Freddie called me last night.”

__

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[carumens]

sunflowers at night snippet: about Valba and Romello

hey loves, i passed 300 followers and i’m super happy about it, so here is a longer than normal excerpt!!!

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It had been over a year since the Mayham heir had decided that it was okay to stroll around the world saving people’s lives without asking for their explicit consent first.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Mark had said. “That is not how it works. Not that kind of thing.”

Valba had glared at him, venom dripping from her tongue. “That’s exactly what he said.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I agree with him.”

“Well,” she had said, rising her tone to a higher pitch and adopting a mocking stance. “You can go be his friend then.”

Mark had pitched forward, a taunting smile curving his cracked lips. “Oh, so we are friends?”

“No,” she had muttered. But Mark had leaned back again with a triumphant set to his jaw, and Valba had had to fight very hard not to punch him. She had pressed an intent finger against his ribs instead, where he had had two of them fractured —most probably deservedly­— some days before by the son of Romello’s police head chief.

Valba kicked an innocent pebble and watched it stumble forward, bouncing lightly a few times over the gravel road before coming to a stop. She kicked it again, and again, and again, until she reached the metal ornate gates to Mayham Manor. The pebble stepped into the property before Valba did.

She checked the time in her rusty wrist watch, a token from her grandmother’s great grandmother, her mother had said. It was a wonder it was still working. There was a rumor that had been running around the village for decades now, that the Barsels had once been master watchmakers, and that their timepieces where so marvelous they could control time. It wasn’t one of those secrets that are whispered behind backs and closed doors. Valba had been told to the face plenty of times, things like ‘Rosetta Barsel stopped time for three days straight, so she could catch up on lost sleep’ or ‘Theodore Barsel fast-forwarded three hours in time and then back so he could get the answers to an exam he had to take.’ She didn’t know if it was true, because her father had sold every single tool and watchmaking to pay one of his debts. She didn’t care, either way.

Valba pushed the metal gates open and let them clank softly behind her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it was a glorious thing, Mayham Manor. Just after crossing the gates, there was a long sandy path leading to the huge stone mansion, fringed at both sided by a roguish concoction of pine trees, rosebushes, violets, poplars and cherry trees. It was a wild view and it clashed beautifully with the regal presence of the enormous house at the end of the gravel stream.

Her fingers brushed reluctantly the untamed flowers that didn’t quite stay out of the path and watched as a line of ants made their way up and down the rough bark of a pine tree. Valba reached the house, grand wooden double doors glinting in the sun, and ringed the doorbell, eyeing warily the bright red Ferrari parked a few meters away. So anachronistic, she thought. Mayham Manor was not far away from the village, but it wasn’t exactly close either, so if Valba looked back now she could see the clutter of houses sinking in the valley and the vast expanse of the sunflower fields behind them. The sunflower fields were Romello’s pride and glory. Acres and acres of yellow sun-starved plants that grew as far as the mountain’s feet. They never withered ―not in winter, not in summer, not in a lifetime. It was a natural anomaly that gave Romellians a sense of wonder and self-importance, because even if they didn’t have the most breathtaking landscapes, or the most intricate architecture, or even any cultural figure of significance, they had the eternal sunflower fields. Valba understood the feeling. An allegory of their own existence, never withering, resisting in between the vast mountains among the pine trees and weeds and abrasive summers and bone-shattering snowfalls.

Yes, Valba understood the feeling.

It was strange, how she stood face to face with Gerah Mayham for the first time after she met him a year before. There was some shuffling coming from the other side of the door and Valba was proud of herself because the polite smile she had set on her face only twitched a little in her lips before settling in again.

“Hello…?” He said, a slight confused frown bringing his dark brows together.

“Hello.” She answered, tilting her chin insolently.

Gerah looked a lot taller than he had when they first met. Valba had seen him in the village a lot of times, of course, but it had been fleetingly and from a distance, their eyes meeting silently for a few awkward seconds before deviating again. It felt like a defiance to Valba, gold clashing with rock in a wordless duel of wills. You owe me your life, his gaze seemed to scream, and Valba knew that it was just her unhealthy obsession with debts whispering in her ear, but it made her feel hollow and revulsed all the same.

Now they just stood there, feet planted on the floor and eyes trained on each other in a strangely comfortable silence. Gerah didn’t move to let her in, and Valba didn’t try to go through, either. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and Valba thought he looked like one of those golden fish Mark had had when he was a child.

“Gerah! Have I not taught you any manners?” Valba didn’t take her eyes off Gerah’s, because she was not about to lose a staring contest, but she could see Elmira Mayham’s regal figure hovering at the edge of her vision. “Let her in!”

In the end, it was Gerah Mayham who tore his eyes away first.

[educationofanidealist]

Notes

I think that it's time that I explain to you the way in which my mind works because I am an anxious person. It is something I have and on bad days and weeks, it's tough to separate me from anxiety. I hope we can have a meaningful conversation from this.

But maybe we should set some ground rules because I want to make sure this doesn't escalate in the way it has in the past.

1. I think we should both begin with having an open mind. So whatever the other person thinks and feels, let's just be open to that. I think we both have to remember that the way we currently feel comes from a place of not having information on what's really going on. If I were to compare it to the allegory of the cave, we're still in the cave. So let's not defend ourselves yet.

2. Let's dedicate a time for talking and then a time for clarification. So let's make sure the other person gets to finish saying what they want to say before we jump in. Jumping in might sidetrack us.

3. We could try avoiding the "you phrases". Because I see how that gets destructive. Identify the complaint and not the criticism. It's not "you're like this, you do that and that, and that upsets me." I think it's better if we rephrase it as "I feel upset about how this happened".

Okay let's start.

The thing that I've been learning in therapy is that disorders in general are the root cause of disordered behavior. Makes sense right? But I want to clarify it again by placing it in my perspective. There are times when I get anxious and nothing really can trigger it. Sometimes I'm just trying to read and I get nervous. Other times it's something as small as "oh I feel like the energy has changed with you." You used to talk to me in the morning or greet me consistently every day and then now you kind of just stopped. And that makes me anxious, it makes me nervous.

What I want you to understand is that I'm used to people doing that to me especially if I'm not useful to them anymore. So for instance this week, and since I have friends who are at the same pace with me aka it's their thesis time too, 2 of my friends who would not otherwise talk to me consistently asked for my help to revise their research papers. Which I'm okay to do except that it makes me think that I'm only good for things like that; if I stopped extending help, people will just leave.

And that's really all I'm used to. So I've started developing a mechanism where I just harden myself. It's something like "okay this is what happened, just embrace it and then steel yourself. Then move on with your life." And for so much of my life, especially at very critical moments, this mechanism has helped me.

So I want to explain that when I begin to feel like what's happening is the person is stepping back or there is a radical shift in energy, I really back down. I step away and try to stay out of their way. I won't chase after a conversation, I won't go out of my way to put in that effort because it ends up hurting me. So I just wait and mimic the other person. If they message, then I'll reply. If they want to talk, then I will if I can. But I definitely don't initiate it because it physically hurts to do it; my stomach really drops, I get a headache, my heart really palpitates. Basically, the symptoms of anxiety really hinder me from reaching out. Because I know that if I reach out and I'm not minded or replied to or I'm shot down, it will really cause me to spiral deeper into anxiety.

So going back to what happened, let me talk about it chronologically. So we had that difficult argument on Thursday (September 9). And then we were able to talk the following days but I don't think I had fully processed everything. We talked most days until Monday (September 13). And then in the following days you did stop talking to me in the morning and you stopped wanting to call. You didn't greet me, we didn't do any of our usual routines. And I really must point this out, it's alright that these things happen. If you didn't want to greet me anymore in the morning, I guess that's okay. It's just that I had grown so accustomed to it that the abrupt stop made me pause and wonder what happened. And then because of that, because we stopped talking, I started processing things on my own, our argument, the way we communicate or don't communicate properly. And I started to recognize that we both really do have faults when things get out of hand or escalate. It's not a one-sided thing.

However, when I was prepared to talk to you, I felt like we were off already. We wouldn't talk at all. You really did stop greeting me in the mornings and then would only talk to me very late in the day or at night when I was already doing something. So those times that you messaged me, I was either working on my thesis or I was at my friend's house or just in a situation where I wasn't minding my phone right away. But when I did see your messages, I would reply instantly in the hopes that we could continue talking but then I noticed that when I would reply, you wouldn't reply to that. So I was just left on read. And then thing is I was replying the way I always reply. And you check our chat histories, whenever you ask what's up, I always say "nothing much" and I use that as an indication that I'm doing anything so if you wanted to talk, I'm free, I'm not doing much. It's like when I ask you "are you okay?" meaning to ask if you're sleepy. It's the same thing. But there, you would ask what's up or what am I up to and then you wouldn't reply thereafter. So I was surprised on Friday when you asked if we were good, because I really didn't know. On my end it seemed to me that I wasn't really being talked to anymore so I just tried to be okay with it. And then you asked if we were good so I was really confused.

And then fast forward it kept happening that you would message, I would reply and then you wouldn't reply after. So the conversation always seemed to just die and it was frustrating because I did want to talk.

On Sunday (September 19) I was very anxious about it. I had already agreed with myself that I wasn't going to initiate anything, I was just gonna leave it alone because as far as I knew, you did not want to really talk. And I was set on just leaving it and maybe just bowing out and exiting from your life quietly. I thought it would be better for both of us if I just took myself out of the equation and just tried to make a slow exit. It was particularly difficult because I was getting different vibes from you; I thought you would want to talk because you messaged. And then you wouldn't reply or acknowledge/react to any of the replies I sent. So it felt ambiguous and so that's why I really was set on just leaving it; I just wanted to bow out. But I decided that it was important that I should try to work on it instead. So I wanted to give us a chance to have an opportunity to really work on it and fix things.

And what I know you really don't know and probably didn't understand at the time is that it took everything I had to place myself in a situation to initiate that conversation at all. First and foremost, it makes me really uncomfortable to do it. And the one time I did that before, I ended up begging the other person to talk to me. I was crying to that person to just give me the time of day to listen to me and I was shot down. I was told just "no". It was really one of the most painful experiences; to be dismissed because the other person will not give the time of day for it. It made me feel so incredibly small and disposable, and all of that. Honestly I hope you never get to that point where you're begging someone so important to you to just give you a few minutes of their day to talk to you only for you to be rejected. I hope no one makes you feel the way I felt because it made me feel irrelevant.

When I asked you on Sunday (19th) to talk or how you wanted to start, it really was a big leap for me. It took all of me to do it; and it sounds like a small deal but to me it didn't feel that way. So when you said "idk I have to do groceries", it just cut deeper than you will ever really know. And then it took even more effort to be vulnerable and verbalize "hey I'm bothered" and "hey I'm trying my absolute best here, I don't do this". For that to have been met with the response of "Okay thanks for trying your best" and "I just have to do the groceries" just felt hard. And I felt dismissed. And while I recognize your intentions may have been different, I can't help but feel that. I mean if you reread it, doesn't it appear like I'm being dismissed? It's not as if I knew that your dad was going to stay with you so needing to do groceries was an absolute must.

Maybe it's just because I'm different and that I respond differently. In fact, I remember when you were really bothered by something and I was studying for my comprehensive exams in the morning, I still gave you 30 minutes because I didn't want to leave you feeling that way. Again, I'm not saying this to make you change, we're really different. I just brought this up to clarify to you why it hurts me more than you would think. And it genuinely is because I would have responded differently.

Right now what I'm pondering is what steps should we take because something is off. And I think it's really because we aren't communicating well if at all. I will admit that I have been hesitant to communicate much with you because of how it turned out last time. For instance, the usual me would have been able to discuss freely with you why it bothered me that you stopped talking to me. But I feel so hindered from doing that anymore these days. I know that there's something off with us and I'll admit that even if I could identify that there was off, I was very hesitant to bring it up. And that's why it dragged on for as long as it did. I think not talking for over a week is the longest that we've not talked and it really did bother me.

But I guess I have to learn how to respect that. If that's what you want, I'll follow. If you feel it's best that we don't talk so much anymore, then I'll learn with it too. If what you want is for me to start approaching the exit, I'll do that. I'll just follow what you want because if it were up to me, I would resort to my usual mechanism of just hardening myself and preparing to cut contact with you. And I don't know if that's what either of us wants in the long run.

I do want to be very honest with you and say that I have been hurting really deeply over this. And there is a part of me that has been beginning to wonder if I should continue on. Because it feels simpler to just cut communication to make sure that it just stops hurting. Especially since I did feel a lack of effort or maybe to phrase it differently "inconsistent effort." And I'm not sure if you know much about anxiety but one of the things that intensifies it is really inconsistency. And that's because the anxious person can either learn to expect or not to expect when the other person is being consistent about it. But with inconsistency, what happens is, the anxious person doesn't know what to expect so it really makes anxiety much worse.

So I don't know about you, but that's where I'm at now.

[lazyplague]

Mouth Sweet - A Party Where You’re Unwelcome

Really just wanna talk about it, and I don’t think I really have enough for an essay. So here we go. Let’s talk about Mouth Sweet by L.O.V.E. games. 

Mouth Sweet

I always kinda have had a dislike of critique of corporate culture. Not really because I like corporate culture, but rather because there’s something missing from those critiques that highlight how painful it can be. I suppose you could say it’s because they’re very “broad strokes,” if you will. There’s a lot of talk about how it’s stifling, but it’s very rare for me to see how it’s stifling. Or how suffocating it is, how dehumanizing it is... represented in a digestible way that doesn’t require pre-existing experiences to convey it.

I have never actually held a job (In the conventional sense, at least...) so obviously something being able to convey the experience of being in a suffocating job is important to me.

So let’s break it down!

Gonna try and be spoiler-free. If you haven’t actually played the game, this should be fine to read!

Okay, the basic premise is that you’re in a corporation, that just happened to be infested with invisible monsters that will kill you if you ignore them. Oddly enough, the majority of what I’d consider horrifying doesn’t come from this, although these monsters are an interesting addition to combat I’ve seen in RPGmaker Horror games.

The general idea is that the monsters in Mouth Sweet are only detectable via sound. Specifically, their footsteps. As you move the camera, you’ll hear changes in the channel distribution, and once you have a roughly equal sound on both channels, you’ll know the monster is in front of you. Miss, and you waste a precious second. You have to be deliberate, but also keep up a pace. Which is a fairly nice allegory for having to keep up with a job’s more intimidating busy work. Responsibilities are terrifying.

Stepping away from symbolism, I’m gonna quickly state some things on why I personally love this mechanic:

It’s actually somewhat scary! I feel dread at the idea of not getting the right spot, and wasting a precious bullet. The game isn’t unfair with ammo distribution, but it doesn’t shy away from putting you in situations where you’re unsure if you should be liberal with your ammo or not. (There’s even a few moments where you have to take a leap of faith, and continue forward despite not having any ammo left.) It’s a unique pixel-horror take on some survival horror ideas.

The audio design is very on point here. The game doesn’t go too hard with music, I’d describe it as how you’d turn silence into background music, I’d say. It’s not a focus, it’s nothing you’re going to be bobbin’ your head to. It’s low-key ambience, and it doesn’t compromise the sound you’re REALLY listening for, the light footsteps in an empty hallway. Hearing those footsteps through fairly chill (unless you’re in certain areas) is good audio design for me. It keeps me on my toes, without putting anything outright in my face.

The camera angle is really important, I feel. Compare it to like, The Crooked Man, which had shooting/combat, but it was presented in the same way as the rest of the game, top-down. A big thing I like is the forced first-person camera, that makes you stare at your surroundings. It’s jarring, and keeps you on your toes because of that. It brings the horror closer, forcing you to look at it with your own eyes, rather than as an outsider. You have to look right at the immediate danger, even if you can’t actually see it.

There’s a lot more I can say there, but I wanna go to the more abstract stuff, which is the writing and how the game strips you of your identity.

First off, simply, it destroys any choice you have in your identity. It takes away your chosen name, and it forces you into an appearance you don’t want. You have to fit the corporations mold if you want to stay. It slowly grinds down your identity, no matter how much you protest and clarify who/what you are. It doesn’t matter, no one cares. Making a scene is ignored, stating your thoughts isn’t acknowledged.

For example, you have the choice to lie to the CEO, who asks you if you’re happy being there. No matter what you say, lying or keeping silent, his response is the same. You don’t get to have agency in how you’re perceived. This is recurring, you aren’t allowed to have a choice.

This is especially important, when you consider that the CEO considers this business to be a “party.” Everyone’s supposed to be having fun, everyone should want to be there. He says this, ignoring that there’s corpses littering his hallways, and his workers want to kill him. The glorious corporate life he sees is limited only to him. He’s the only one who’s having fun. Everyone else who doesn’t fit his standards isn’t wanted there, and his standards only include him.

He’ll toss you into the streets if you’re not having fun, and you are not having fun.

It’s this fake sort of smile, the kind of comfort that comes from someone you know is using you, but you have to deal with anyway. He wants you to feel welcome... while not giving you any ground on even your own identity. You’re stripped of that, and he doesn’t care. But have fun anyway!

Mouth Sweet really makes an effort to keep you from feeling like anyone cares about who you are.

The game really sets the tone when it says it’ll use your preferred name, they just need your REAL NAME first. As a trans woman, this is especially dehumanizing, and I think that’s the goal. It’s to express the feeling of not being taken seriously for even your own sense of self. You don’t matter, and this small introduction sets the tone masterfully, and it’s only further compounded when they don’t even follow up on that promise. You’re still referred to by your “real name.” They stripped you of identity from the get-go.

The biggest kick in the face, is when you’re told that you need protection from the monsters in the hall, but you only get a shoddy six-shot revolver, and told that they didn’t have anything else to give you. They effectively show in one action that not even your life is important to them. You are expendable, so they won’t even bother giving you something more effective.

Mouth Sweet excels in making something normal in modern life, working in a corporation, feel isolating and terrifying. It expresses this sort of existential pain that comes with working within the corporate machine, while not resorting to broad strokes criticisms of corporatism. It expresses the pain of living at the bottom of the corporate ladder, while someone up top is having a party with themselves. It’s essentially what’s beautiful about horror to me, the ability to express kinds of pains and dreads in daily life, through an artistic filter that can convey them to people who haven’t had your experiences, or even have had them.

Just before I finish this, I wanna talk about the music.

The music, as I said before, isn’t that fun to listen to. It’s not something I’d put on my phone and listen to on the bus, or anything like that. The real stand-out tracks are works of art themselves, though. These tracks utilize screaming of all things, to express how these situations can be agonizing and terrible. My favorite track plays in the last section, where you’re trying to escape, and it’s just this constant, pained screaming as you walk through the dark and try and find a way out of your own personal hell. 

If you haven’t tried this game, I really recommend giving it a go. It’s only a few hours long, and it’s a deeply personal story. The art is good, the game-play is unique in a good way, and its sound design is wonderful. I can’t get it out of my head, and I almost don’t want to.

[gaslampsglow]

(For the playlist ask) playlist: midnight moon riutal

The crowd is still milling aimlessly, chattering and finding their seats, silk gloves and polished shoes rustling over the slightly soiled velvet rails.  The lights dim, dip.  They move faster, scurrying to find A15 and D9, or whether box 2 is the right or left side, and is that stage left or audience left?  The lights blink twice again, then go out, rather faster than anticipated.  Whispers dart across the theatre before burying themselves in the shadows of the footlights.

A trapdoor just in front of the curtain slams open. Slams hard enough to feel it in the fourth row.  The crowd is silent now, eyes locked on the golden square of light.  There is a long, lingering moment where nothing happens, the kind that stretches onward, ad infinitum, like waiting for the dentist to finish picking at that one particular spot on your gumline.

Cigar smoke belches out of the trapdoor, followed by the crown of a bowler hat.  This followed by the brim of the hat, followed by a face that never looked young but probably looked handsome for ten minutes in 1949.  The man waggles his eyebrows at the audience before putting the stub of his cigar out on the stage, then laborious hauls himself the rest of the way up through the trapdoor.  He is short, wrinkled, and filthy.  He pulls another cigar out from an undershirt that may have been white at some point.  He lights the cigar and kicks the trapdoor closed.

“So.  Here we all are.”  His voice is a belt sander going to town on the sistine chapel.  “You all look nice.  Really, really...nice.  You, yes, you ma’am, in the blue dress, in the second row.  You look lovely.  You really do.  I know your mom passed away last week, you’re doing a really good job of holding it together.  Its ok, take a load off, relax.  Have a good time tonight, ok?”

He scans the audience for a response.  You could hear a pin drop, or at least, you could hear the woman in the second row start to sniffle and hold her breath.

“Tough crowd.  Ok, ok.  Not every night this goes over well.  It plays better in Cleveland.”

He whistles a long, high note, and the curtain finally rises.

The stage is set like a classic fairground, the kind that gave Bradbury the willies, but all the lights are out.  In the center of the stage is a massive carousel, and its no prop.  There’s no telling how the crew managed to assemble it on the stage, but its the genuine article, with chipped paint and worn steps, and dead-eyed wooden animals of every stripe and spot.

How did the man get to the top of the carousel?  There must be a ladder around the back.  He pops open a breaker box built onto the roof of the carousel, and turns to give the audience one last piece of advice.

“I mean it, people, enjoy yourselves.  Go on, grab the brass ring.  Get your second ride free.  We all pay for the first time.”

He throws the breaker switch, and the stage comes to life.  The sign over the midway is a blinding neon MOONLIGHT GARDENS in green and blue and pink.  The lights scream and buzz, and the smell of stale popcorn and cotton candy and hot dogs is in the air, and the theatre is a memory.  Wind peels across the fairground, the pennants rippling from the top of the ferris wheel (wait, how did they get a ferris wheel on the stage?  A carousel is already crazy, but this?)

And then at last it begins to spin, and the bellows in the organ at the heart of the carousel shudder and pump, and the flywheel sounds like a bicycle race, and the airpipes start to keen and then-

OVERTURE: MOONLIGHT GARDENS (1)

ACT ONE: In which a celebration is made, a promise is given and a love is spurned.  

A community of worshippers gathers from far and wide in anticipation of a lunar eclipse, there to give offerings and make merry.  Among the celebrants are JANET, a beautiful young woman of strong will and much talent with magic, and her father, ORSINO, The Minister of the Midway, leader of their rites.  Orsino opens the festivities with a paean to community and tradition (2).  Orsino’s current partner and confidante is MADAME DELPHI, an oracle who may only speak her prophecy in riddles and allegory.  She is concerned that this festival is predestined to be disastrous, and vents her frustrations with the other fortune-tellers of the community (3).  Orsino’s position as chief mage of the order was secured years ago, when he bound THE DEVIL himself in mortal form, sealing satan from his powers.  The price to seal the devil was the willing sacrifice of Orsino’s wife, Janet’s mother.  As a result, he feels he has a tenuous grip on his soul (4).

Janet, meanwhile, feels that her father has been too overbearing in raising her, and that as a young woman she should be free to explore her desires, particularly those of a sexual nature (5).  Also attending is the STRANGER, a handsome young man with a silver tongue and golden eyes, who Janet sees as a worthy prize (6).  Janet and The Stranger meet during the preparations for the evening, and immediately feel a connection.  The stranger attempts to impress her with his bad boy image, which she finds hilarious (7).

BARNABUS, another celebrant, is a man who covets Janet, but believes he can win her heart by magic.  He struggles with his inner demons, particularly a sense of guilt for abandoning the church after the death of his abusive father (8).  As sun sets on the night of the eclipse, Janet and the Stranger are overcome by each other in the hall of mirrors, while Barnabus watches from the shadows.  The Stranger expects Janet to be a naive and innocent conquest, but she easily has the upper hand (9).  

The rites of the eclipse begin (10), meanwhile Barnabus tricks the Stranger into separating from the group and kills him (11).  He offers the stranger’s soul in exchange for Janet’s love (12).  The spell goes awry, however, and the moon fails to return (13).

ENTR’ACTE: CALLIOPE (14)

ACT TWO: In which bodies are sundered but hearts are not.

The narrator ponders the larger questions of life, setting the scene for our return to the carnival (15).  Barnabus gloats to Janet, presuming that his spell was successful, only to find that it has not taken effect (16).  Madame Delphi announces that a presence is coming, and that the carnival has been removed from time (17).  The Devil begins to manifest around the carnival, revealing himself to have been The Stranger.  He is only able to appear momentarily while he gathers strength, but swears that before the night is out he will take Barnabas’s soul (18).

Janet, in shock, takes time to consider that her lover is The Devil (19).  The Devil manifests before her, and they both sadly acknowledge that these stories do not end well (20).  

Barnabus convinces himself that, in the end, he bears no blame.  The Devil made him do it (21).  Orsino, exhausted and demoralized, feeling that his wife’s sacrifice was in vain, rallies the revelers for a final showdown with the lord of darkness (22).  Madame Delphi, however, declares that though the devil has lost his mortal form, he can do no harm, for the spell Orsino cast years ago bound him to Janet’s soul (23).  The gathered revelers are at a loss and begin to argue as to the way forward, until Janet appeals to their shared sense of family and community (24).  

Barnabus, fearing for his soul, believes that killing Janet will force Orsino to bind the devil away (25).  Janet wakes in death to find herself in purgatory, with ROBIN GOODFELLOW, the narrator, as her guide.  She has not gone to heaven or hell as the carnival is still out of step with time (26).  Realizing that she must act quickly to save her love, she casts a spell to summon herself to him, pulling her soul out of purgatory and back to the carnival (27).  Their souls both lacking mortal form, Janet and The Devil share their power, restore the carnival, obliterate Barnabus, and ride off into the Moonset (28).

The company, as Curtain Call, asks the question: what makes the soul of a man? (29)

The curtain swings closed.  The hall is silent.

“Well, I know the bill said we were playing The Magic Flute, but I thought this was a little bit more fun.”

When the ushers opened the doors to let the audience out, only a humid evening breeze left the theatre.

Track Listing:

Danse Macabre, played on Fairground Organ

Cup of Wonder - Jethro Tull

After Midnight - Dorothy

Marked Man - Mieka Pauley

The Devil - PJ Harvey

The Heat - The Bones of JR Jones

Reynardine - Show of Hands

Old Time Religion - Parker Millsap

Hunting Girl - Jethro Tull

Dance In The Graveyards - Delta Rae

Death Is Not The End - Nick Cave and Friends

Shoot The Moon - Tom Waits

No Light, No Light - Florence + The Machine

Calliope - Tom Waits

Hows It Gonna End - Tom Waits

I Put A Spell On You - Screamin Jay Hawkins

Conman Coming - Monica Heldal

Lose Your Soul - Dead Man’s Bones

Devil’s Resting Place - Laura Marling

Demon Lover - Tim O’Brien

Beelzebub - Black Pistol Fire

Satan Your Kingdom Must Come Down - Robert Plant

Tam Lin - Fairport Convention

Come On Up To The House - Sarah Jarosz

New American Standard - Ford Theatre Reunion

Singapore - Tom Waits

Tell That Devil - Jill Andrews

Aint No Grave - Crooked Still

Soul Of A Man - Tom Waits

[jenniferfaye34]

#Giveaway ~ Sword of Soter by Ralene Burke... #books #fantasy #Christian #readers

On Tour with Prism Book Tours

Book Tour Grand Finale for

Sword of Soter

By Ralene Burke

We hope you enjoyed the tour! If you missed any of the stops

you'll find snippets, as well as the link to each full post, below:

Launch - Author Interview

For those new to the series, what should they know? Yes, the series is written from a Christian worldview. In fact, the trilogy was inspired by the premise question, “What if the Armor of God were real?” But, no, I did not endeavor to preach or convert or anything like that in the story. It is just a fun epic fantasy adventure!

Life is What It's Called - Excerpt

Karina thrust the sword toward Tristan’s gut, but he sidestepped her advance. She stumbled forward a couple of steps, then growled, spun around, and lunged again. “No.” Tristan batted her blade away with his and swatted her behind. “You’re too impatient. You have to wait for the right opening.” Karina sucked in a breath. The more she trained with Tristan, the more she wanted to take the dull blade in her hand and run him through. Releasing a long breath, she squared her shoulders, turned around slowly, and smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “I am sorry. I have no idea what has come over me.”

JeanBookNerd - Guest Post

A SWORD OF SOTER CHATTERER PANEL — RALENE BURKE Interviewer: Welcome one and all to the Sword of Soter panel. We have got the noble questers for the sacred armor with us today: Karina, Queen of Aletheia and Prophetess of the Creator; Tristan, Prince of Tzedek; Rashka, Guardian of Shadowed Wood; and Sam, Knight of Aletheia. Sam (growls): I am not a knight. Karina: Of course, you are! You have shown more courage and strength of character in the last weeks than most of the knights of Aletheia have shown in lifetimes. It’s an honor that would have been bestowed upon you more officially if we’d been in Aletheia. Sam: Thank you, Your Highness.

Candrel's Crafts, Cooks, and Characters - Interview

4.) What drives you as a writer? I am an encourager and a “fix-it” type person. As a writer, I seek to combine both of those traits in a way that can inspire and encourage readers. That can be pretty difficult in fiction, but I don’t mind the challenge. I live for the days when I hear from a reader and they say that my stories helped them in some way.

Remembrancy - Excerpt

Tristan stared off in the direction of the sound. “That definitely lends to the mystery of what lupens are doing this far south." Another howl echoed through the chasm and across the plains. Karina took a step toward Tristan. An answering bay came from the east, from the distant woods. More than one? Her heartbeat skittered. A chorus of howls brought frightened whinnies from the horses. Dom stomped his feet. “We need to go, Prophetess.

Wishful Endings - Guest Post

Top 10 Things to Bring on a Quest We’re going on a trip…a journey…a QUEST. First, we have to pack. Now, this ain’t a trip to the Bahamas—we can’t bring 3 suitcases on a plane to unload onto a cart and then into a car. If we’re lucky, we’ll have a horse to strap a couple extra small bags to. . .

Hallie Reads - Review

"I enjoyed getting to know Karina and the characters that surround her on her quest, as well as the challenges they face and overcome. An uplifting spiritual thread, too, can be found throughout the two stories. All in all, these books left me ready for the next one."

Christy's Cozy Corners - Excerpt

“And what has you two stooping to eat humans again?” The woman paused before the two ogres and raised her head to meet their glares with one of her own. Bogey jerked his thumb in the other ogre’s direction. “Madge’s stomach.” “What have I told you two about engaging with innocent folk?” The mysterious woman crossed her arms. From here, Sam could tell her eyes were a beautiful emerald green, the same color as her dress. No wonder she hid so well on her approach. Whoever she was, at least she seemed to be on his side. Or at least on the side of not letting the ogres eat him.

Faithfully Bookish - Interview

What did you learn or discover about yourself (or your characters) while writing Sword of Soter? R: Well, I discovered I could write 10k words in a single day on multiple Saturdays. Ha! Life was kind of hectic, and I kept having to catch up on my word count goals. On a more serious note, writing Rashka’s story in this book, helped me work through some of my own issues of “trying to do it all on my own.”

Reading Is My SuperPower - Review

"Armor of Aletheia and Sword of Soter present an action-filled allegory of faith set against the backdrop of good vs. evil . . . the author has clearly drawn some intricate world-building and left some intriguing possibilities for the third and final book in the trilogy. A great choice for young adults, to entertain as well as strengthen their faith."

Paulette's Papers - Excerpt

She opened her eyes to a shimmering green flame, reminiscent of the bonfire from their night in Greenhorn. She shrunk against Tristan’s side. He nudged her farther behind him and stood, pulling his sword. Masculine laughter rose from amid the unusual flames. Rashka, her face a stoic mask, rounded the fire with her bow poised as she made her way toward Karina. “What is happening?” Karina asked. “I do not know, Prophetess.” Rashka fixed her gaze at the fire. “Stay back.”

Library Lady's Kid Lit - Review & Interview

"After reading Armor of Aletheia earlier this fall, I was eagerly anticipating Sword of Soter. Ralene Burke did not disappoint. Burke continues the epic adventure begin in book one. Some of the characters continue in Sword of Soter and new ones are introduced. . . . If you enjoy epic fantasy like Lord of the Rings or Chronicles of Narnia, I highly recommend Sword of Soter." Who did you have in mind as you wrote the book? The Sacred Armor trilogy was written for those who are still searching for their calling. Or those who have found their calling but are unsure they are worthy of it or how to embrace it. Each character is the story is called to something they are uncomfortable with for different reasons, much like we are.

Andi's Young Adult Books - Excerpt

Holding his monocle, the man offered a deep bow, to which Karina nodded. There was something familiar about him. “Greetings, Queen Karina. How nice to see you again. You are welcome indeed. I am sure you have forgotten by now, but I am Bormain, steward of the roy—by the Creator, Tristan Lemur, is that you?” Karina fought to maintain her composure as she turned to Tristan, who stiffened before holding out his hand in greeting. “Bormain, my good man, it is good to see you again.” Bormain looked a bit flustered. “I did not realize we had two royal guests.” He quirked a brow. “Much less that you were traveling together.”

Colorimetry - Guest Post

Building a Storybook World One of the best aspects of being a fantasy writer is the freedom to build our own story worlds. Granted, to an extent, we are still bound by the laws of science. But there is still massive freedom in creating a new world, including geography, creatures, and cultures. . .

Inspirational Reading Adventures - Interview & Review

Q: Which genre is your favorite? If you could only write or recommend readers read one, what would your ‘go-to’ genre be? A: FANTASY! I love that fantasy allows us to expand our imagination, to create new worlds, new peoples, new creatures. We can explore all the stuff we face in real life, but in a way that is removed and still provides a sense of escape. "If I enjoyed the first, I loved reading Sword of Soter! From the start, I was quickly pulled back into to this series, and having already met some of the main characters, this one holds more character growth and I loved all the awkward tension as Tristan and Karina learned to work together both with each other, and with others. I also felt this one is a smoother read, and the pacing was much better."

Red Headed Book Lady - Guest Post

#SHINEBeyond in Soter Readers often ask me where I came up with the #SHINEBeyond tagline and what exactly it means. And I’m all too happy to take the time to answer as this philosophy is something dear to my heart. Essentially, #SHINEBeyond was a culmination of all my work in writing, editing, and ministry—a cohesive theme seen in everything I tried to do. . .

Romancing History - Excerpt

As the steward opened the door, Karina cleared her throat. “Please remind the king that my business is urgent. I need to take my leave as soon as possible.” “I will, Your Majesty. Enjoy your stay at the palace.” And then he was gone. Karina turned back to the room. Tristan stood in the corner not bothering to hide his smirk. Rashka paced by the windows, looking out over the courtyard below and the sea beyond. Lady Moriah and the two handmaidens stood off to the side, watching them expectantly. What now?

Singing Librarian Books - Spotlight

Locks, Hooks and Books - Excerpt

Sabreen clasped her hands together and held them near her heart. “And you found her.” The words sounded sarcastic, yet there was a hint of some other emotion—something Sam could not determine. He chuckled. “Yeah, I found her with a bounty hunter.” She gasped. “How did you all get away?” “We didn’t. Turns out the bounty hunter was helping her. At least he was by then. After he kidnapped her. After he took her to Faramos.”

Paper, Ink, & Lizard - Review

". . . Burke’s passion for Christ shines through the pages of Sword of Soter through her characters, especially the main character Karina. Sword of Soter is a pleasant story and great for reading on rainy days."

J. L. Mbewe - Review

"Ralene Burke knows how to weave a story! . . . Sword of Soter was an enjoyable read that kept me turning the page to see what will happen next."

Don't forget to enter the giveaway at the end of this post...

Sword of Soter (Sacred Armor Trilogy #2) By Ralene Burke YA Fantasy, Christian Paperback & ebook, 275 Pages September 25th 2019 by Elk Lake Publishing Inc NEW KINGDOM. NEW FRIENDS. NEW DANGERS. NOT EVERYONE CAN BE TRUSTED … Karina, Tristian, Rashka, and Sam venture forth into the wilderness of Soter on the next leg of their quest to retrieve the Armor of the Creator. With the ancient evil already affecting the kingdom, nothing in Soter is what it seems—from what skulks beneath the canopies of the woods to what lies within the sleek white and gold of the capitol city to the people Karina and Tristan have known since they were children. Danger lurks around every corner. Discerning who to trust is paramount to staying alive and discovering the location of the Temple of Soter. Yet, to Karina’s horror, Faramos’s reach finds them time and again. The longer they are forced to dawdle, the more people are affected by the growing panic in Soter, and the closer Faramos is to taking over the Three Kingdoms. Can Karina retrieve the information they need while Tristan keeps his brother at bay? Or will the entire quest disintegrate before they even arrive at the temple?

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Goodreads│Amazon Also available on KindleUnlimited.

Other Books in the Series

Armor of Aletheia

(Sacred Armor Trilogy #1)

By Ralene Burke

YA Fantasy, Christian

Paperback & ebook, 268 Pages

August 29th 2018 by Elk Lake Publishing Inc.

The death of her king changes Karina’s life forever. Fleeing the royal house, she must leave her life behind to seek out the Armor of the Creator—to save the very people who now hunt her.

Faramos, the evil warlock waiting to unleash hell, knows the Creator has already chosen his warrior, so he sends his bounty hunter to retrieve her. After Tristan abducts her, he witnesses Karina’s gentle nature and strong independence, and he finds he can’t complete his assignment.

Together, they set out to retrieve the armor and defeat the hordes of creatures sent to destroy them. But is Tristan’s heart secure as he faces certain death for defending the queen? And will Karina have the courage to become all the Creator intends her to be? Failure will condemn the world to eternal darkness.

(Affiliate link included.)

Goodreads│Amazon│Barnes & Noble

Also available on KindleUnlimited.

About the Author

Whether she’s wielding a fantasy author’s pen, a social media wand, or a freelance editor’s sword, Ralene Burke always has her head in some dreamer’s world. And her goal is to help everyone #SHINEBeyond their circumstances! Her fantasy novels are available on Amazon.

When her head’s not in the publishing world, she is wife to a veteran and homeschooling mama to their three kids. Her Pinterest board would have you believe she is a master chef, excellent seamstress, and all-around crafty diva. If she only had the time . . . You can also find her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or at her website.

Website│Goodreads│Facebook│BookBub│Twitter│Instagram│Newsletter

Bookstagram Tour

This has its own giveaway, so go check it out! Enter at each stop for extra entries.

October 28th: @TheReadingCornerforAll

October 29th: @h.szott

October 30th: @mamabear_reads

October 31st: @brenyandbooks

November 1st: @bookishdelightz

Tour Giveaway

One winner will win a prize pack that will include print copies of Armor of Aletheia and Sword of Soter, a plush blanket, a tumbler with candy, a journal, and a pen all inside a half-bushel basket inlaid with a gorgeous book print material.

US only

Ends November 6, 2019

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[laurendzim]

In McEwan’s “Machines Like Me,” humans learn from robots

“From a certain point of view, the only solution to suffering would be the complete extinction of humankind.” So observed Adam, a newly powered up artificial human, following an afternoon of quiet reflection while weeding his owner’s garden.

If you have read even one of Ian McEwan’s 17 books — perhaps the contemplative “Atonement” (2001, Jonathan Cape) that was adapted into an Oscar winning film in 2007 — you know the British novelist brings an insightful and eloquent style, often with a dark edge, to his storytelling.

Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, April 2019

Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan

“Machines Like Me” is a ruminative mix of science fiction, romance and alternate history set in 1980s London. The political backdrop is built around the loss of the Falklands War. Londoners are in shock after the military defeat, alarmed by high and growing unemployment, and conflicted about a proposed withdrawal from the European Union. This unsettled larger context frames a personal story marked by the tensions that come when wading into unknown territory.

“I’m always a little bored of sci-fi set in the future,” McEwan said in a telephone interview in mid-April. “I rather wanted Alan Turing to be alive, and also considered how the present could so easily have been otherwise. The Falklands War could’ve been a terrible failure. I wanted to conjure a world of politics and reality that is sort of familiar, but different.”

In this divergent timeline, self-driving cars transport people around a country where Margaret Thatcher’s embattled Tories and the rising Labour Party, led by a popular Tony Benn, are grappling over what to do, including the possibility of taxing robots based on the number of human workers displaced.

And so the stage is set for single, broke 32-year-old Charlie Friend, who impulsively uses his mother’s inheritance to purchase an Adam, one of 25 newly launched artificial humans quietly made available to private buyers around the world. Charlie had hoped for an Eve, but was nonetheless excited to see how one of the planet’s most advanced machines might improve his life.

Despite the branding of these pioneering creations named after the first man and woman depicted in the Bible, McEwan said the story is not meant to be an allegory.

“I suppose it overlaps with some religious themes but it wasn’t in the forefront of my mind,” McEwan said. “If we want to play God and make a humanoid creature so that we put ourselves in that Godlike position, it would be a big step for us. At the same time, we will be casting ourselves out no longer as the cleverest things on Earth.”

Even so, these modern-day Adams and Eves were designed to be decent and wise as well as our physical and mental superiors: “There was hope that our own creations would redeem us.”

Charlie and Adam’s relationship is soon strained by the complicating factor of Charlie’s budding romance with his upstairs neighbor. Miranda is a university student with a secretive past that Adam quickly uncovers through his access to online public records. From that moment forward, the three struggle with undefined rules of engagement and feelings of trust, loyalty, love, jealousy and how to view justice and morality.

Charlie and Miranda worked together in choosing the personality traits for Adam after his delivery as a sort of blank slate packaged within an attractive and lifelike mature caucasian male body. (Adams and Eves, like their namesakes, do not get to experience a childhood.)

Even as he is attempting to pass as human, Adam is constantly studying and assessing human behavior, and finding it lacking. Other people come into play, including Miranda’s ailing and once famous father, an abused boy, a violent ex-con, and the aforementioned Alan Turing. In our reality, the late mathematician is now widely considered to be the father of artificial intelligence who died by suicide in 1954.

In this story, Turing’s work with A.I. has largely contributed to the creation of this first iteration of  Adams and Eves, and he is following their experiences with a keen, behind-the-scenes interest. These are not the monsters or machines of popular entertainment, but the most sophisticated of consumer electronics built to last 20 years before having their data transferred to fresh new devices for an immortal and ever-improving evolution.

Related Articles

“Cardboard Kingdom,” selected for Youth One Book, One Denver 2019

What about a blobfish? Colorado author Jason Gruhl believes small humans can think big.

McEwan believes it may be another 50 years before artificial humans of the type imagined in his novel are viable, but he believes the time is ripe to start deciding how we are going to adapt to their inevitable existence.

“We’re not thinking about it enough. They will start taking our jobs and we are really going to have to reorient ourselves away from work. Stop defining ourselves by work. This could be a great opportunity for mankind,” McEwan said.

And this is why McEwan chose to center his 18th book on the consequences of artificial intelligence for humankind, rather than leaving it up to the movies and popular television series like “Westworld” and “Humans.”

“There have been many robots in the arts, but I always feel they don’t examine closely enough what it’s like to be in an intimate relationship, or what it’s like to have a creature like Adam in your house. And what it means to be human as opposed to being a machine. This needs the close examination a novel can provide,” McEwan said.

Vudi Xhymshiti, The Associated Press

Booker Prize award-winning English novelist and screenwriter Ian McEwan talks about his new novel, “Machines Like Me,” in London.

This thought-provoking cautionary tale based on McEwan’s sharp observations of our flawed human nature is detailed with a vocabulary that will have you reaching for a dictionary at least half a dozen times.

The story ends on a note that leaves the reader thinking ahead and wondering what might come next. Of course, the possibilities are endless, and impossible to direct. As McEwan noted, “The one thing the internet has shown us is it might be us who devises the technology, but we’ve got no control over it as a human invention — it runs with a mind of its own. We really are hopeless at predicting our own future, and that’s the thing that really fascinates me.”

IF YOU GO

Ian McEwan will discuss “Machines Like Me” with author and journalist Helen Thorpe at New Hope Baptist Church in Denver, hosted by Tattered Cover bookstore, May 1 at 7 p.m. Tickets are available online and include a pre-signed book.

from News And Updates https://www.denverpost.com/2019/04/26/machines-like-me-review/