#it please me greatly to see paul also use it in the same way

[ratatatastic]

cats interrupting an interview and told to shut up (fork found in kitchen!) but this time its paulson like the gradeschool teacher he is having to tell them off? beautiful

florida panthers @ colorado avalanche pregame interview | 1.6.25 (x)

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for January 21

Morning

“He giveth not account of any of his matters.”

Romans 9:1-13

We omit some of the minor details of the history as contained in Genesis, and pass on to the birth of Isaac’s twin sons, Esau and Jacob. Let us see how the New Testament explains the Old. We shall read

In this chapter the apostle illustrates the doctrine of election by the history of the households of Abraham and Isaac, in which the will of the Lord made differences irrespective of merit. Here he brings us into a great deep; but if we only wish to know what God reveals and no more, we may safely follow where Scripture leads. Election is not a fit subject for idle curiosity, neither is it to be passed over in neglect, for whatever is taught us in the Word is profitable for some gracious purpose.

Romans 9:1-3

Paul did not write as he did because he hated the nation to which he belonged. Far from it. He would have sacrificed everything for their good; and he felt almost ready to be cast away himself, if by such a fate he could have rescued the Jewish people. Passionate love speaks a language which must not be weighed in the balances of cold reasoning. View the words as the outburst of a loving heart, and they are clear enough. O that all Christians had a like love for perishing sinners.

Romans 9:4 , Romans 9:5

Paul pauses to adore the Lord whom he loved. Let us bow our heads and worship also.

Romans 9:6 , Romans 9:7

Here was a difference made according to the divine will. God has a right to dispense his favours as he pleases, and it is not for us either to censure his actions or ask an account of them.

Romans 9:8-13

God passed by Esau, and gave Jacob the covenant blessing. This is a fact to be believed, and not to be made a matter for human judgment. Who are we that we should summon Jehovah to our bar? God is righteous in all his ways. We find that Esau despised his birthright, and sold it for a mess of pottage, and so by his actions abundantly justified, as well as fulfilled, the purpose of God.

How it ought to humble us when we remember that we have no claims upon God. If he should leave us to go on in sin and perish, we have no right to complain, for we deserve it. How earnestly and humbly should we implore him to look upon us in mercy, and save us with his great salvation. “Whosoever cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out,” is the voice of Jesus, and whether we see it or not, it is quite consistent with the predestination taught in this chapter. The Lord has a chosen people, and yet his gospel is to be preached to every creature. Believe, but do not cavil. When we believe on the Lord Jesus, we are in the way to make our calling and election sure. Only by faith can we be assured that the Lord has called and chosen us.

‘Tis not that I did choose thee,

For, Lord, that could not be;

This heart would still refuse thee,

But thou hast chosen me:

Thou from the sin that stain’d me

Wash’d me and set me free,

And to this end ordain’d me,

That I should live to thee.

Evening

“Hold thou me up.”

Genesis 25:27-34

Having read of the purpose of God concerning Esau and Jacob, we will now follow their history.

Genesis 25:27

Children of the same parents may differ greatly in disposition, in conduct, and in character. The sovereign grace of God creates grave distinctions when it begins to operate, and every year makes the differences more apparent. Esau was wild and Jacob gentle. The one was roving, unsteady, and proud, and the other domesticated, thoughtful, and sedate.

Genesis 25:28

This was bad on the part of both parents. Favouritism ought to be avoided, for nothing but discontent and ill feeling can come of it. Yet if Rebekah loved Jacob because of his quiet, pious disposition, she had good reason for it, which is more than can be said of Isaacs love of the rough huntsman Esau, only because “he did eat of his venison.”

Genesis 25:31

This was uubrotherly and ungenerous of Jacob; the only good point about it is that he set a high value upon the birthright, and so showed his spiritual understanding. It is plain from this that Jacob’s salvation was due to the mercy of God, for his natural character was by no means commendable. The good points in him were of the Lord, the bargaining propensity was inherited from his mother’s family.

Genesis 25:32-34

He valued it so little that a sorry mess of lentiles could buy it of him. Surely it was the dearest dish of meat man ever bought, though we remember a little fruit which cost us more. Many a worldling barters his soul for the pleasures of an hour, crying, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.” In order to be rich, to indulge in pleasure, or to have their own way, men have thrown aside all hope of heaven. This is to exchange pearls for pebbles, realities for shams, lasting bliss for fleeting mirth. May those who are just growing up into life take warning from this sad act of Esau, and choose earnestly the good part which shall not be taken from them. The apostle turns Esau’s story to good account in

Hebrews 12:15-17

Hebrews 12:15

We are to watch lest any of us who profess to be children of God should fall short of grace, like an arrow which does not quite reach the target. To fail to possess grace in the heart is a fatal thing.

Hebrews 12:15

Sin is a bitter root, and brings forth sorrow and shame.

Hebrews 12:16

It is a profane thing to compare the priceless blessing of God to a merely sensual enjoyment. It is an acted blasphemy.

Hebrews 12:17

The deed was done, the blessing had been given to Jacob, and Isaac could not withdraw it from him. If men sell their hope of heaven for the joys of earth they will in the world to come repent of their bargain, but there will be no repentance with God. He that is filthy must be filthy still.

Should I to gain the world’s applause,

Or to escape its harmless frown,

Refuse to countenance thy cause,

And make thy people’s lot my own;

I sell my birthright in that day,

And throw my precious soul away.

No! let the world cast out my name,

And vile account me if they will;

If to confess the Lord be shame,

I purpose to be viler still.

For thee, my God, I all resign,

Content if I can call thee mine.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[ancestorsofjudah]

1 Kings 5: 7-10. "Got Wood?"

7 When Hiram "the Rival" heard Solomon’s message, he was greatly pleased and said, “Praise be to the Lord today, for he has given David a wise son to rule over this great nation.”

8 So Hiram sent word to Solomon:

“I have received the message you sent me and will do all you want in providing the cedar and juniper logs. 

9 My men will haul them down from Lebanon "purity" to the Mediterranean Sea "the mirror", and I will float them as rafts by sea to the place you specify. There I will separate them and you can take them away. And you are to grant my wish by providing food for my royal household.”

10 In this way Hiram kept Solomon supplied with all the cedar and juniper logs he wanted, 

11 and Solomon gave Hiram twenty thousand cors[b] of wheat as food for his household, in addition to twenty thousand baths[c][d] of pressed olive oil. Solomon continued to do this for Hiram year after year. 

12 The Lord gave Solomon wisdom, just as he had promised him. There were peaceful relations between Hiram and Solomon, and the two of them made a treaty.

The Mediterrean Sea means "the place where one sees one's greatness reflected in the mirror." Hiram fells cedar, symbols of a human sentience and Junipers, whose extracts are considered kosher and can be used as a kosher flavoring.

Juniper is also called "desert broom" and symbolizes the junipery fresh and clean essence that is distilled during a Jew's Forty Years in the desert. It makes perfect sense Hiram would include these in the materials used for the purposes of building a house of worship.

Hauling them to the sea is a metaphor for ways the rivalry between King Hiram and Solomon will be eqaulized, much the same way a teacher and disciple who must eventually become equal reflections of one another.

The Gematria for this section is derived from verse 11 which returns a value of 13918, אג‎טאח, or agatha, "a market place where words can communicate what is holy." The goal is to remove stratification, provide food, end fragmentation and bring union.

"One more striking convergence occurs with the form αγη (age). When the noun αγη (age) derives from the verb αγαμαι (agamai), to wonder, admire or envy, it means just that: wonder, amazement of (divine) jealousy. But when the noun αγη (age) derives from the verb αγνυμι (agnumi), to break or shatter, it means fragment or even wound. This is turn takes us to the word αγον (agon), meaning strife or contest (hence our word "agony"). Paul uses this word to describe the proverbial "good fight" of the saints."

Cors are from the Hebrew word kore, which means to be near, to meet or to happen upon. Noun קורה (qora) describes a rafter or beam; the things that come together to form a roof, and which obviously relate to bricks pieced into a wall. Verb קרה (qara) means to piece beams together and noun מקרה (meqareh) means literally place of beams; beam-work.

Persons who work together to farm and bale wheat, who tend orchards of olives and press them as tribute to a friendly nation are clearly not engaging in war and are no doubt providing themselves with generous opportunities to advance their levels of happiness and prosperity.

This is contained in the number 20,000. Twenty is the age one becomes a Levite, competent in all the ways of civilization. Any quantity expressed in terms of millennia refers to the imprint one leaves upon a particular age of humanity itself. In this case it was the creation of a treaty and an era or prolonged peace and prosperity.

All of this took place because of David's realization the People of the Kingdom of Israel needed to stop wandering and focus on building a fixed and venerable house of worship, necessary to complete a society's axis of civilized life.

[abbysanders2000]

Sneak preview of a little something I've been working on!!

First thank you to everyone who has liked my posts I greatly appreciate it!! I do not own any characters from the lost boys only my OC. With that being said please enjoy and no hate! This also ties into another Fandom but you'll have to read to find out.

~New Orleans 1923~

Vicki sat in front of the fireplace book in hand. The rain beat softly against the window pane as the yelling got louder and louder from downstairs. She rolled her eyes at the petty argument from downstairs.

No doubt her father and sister. She was more or less raised as her cousin but seeing as they were the only two females in the house they were more sisters. She sighed slightly as she now heard the voice of her fathers lover weigh into the conversation.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph what is it now?!" She asked irritated as she slams her book shut. She rises from her seat and makes her way downstairs to see what all the ruckus was about.

She walked in late to the conversation. "White girl down in Algiers. Sings torch songs with a flat no nothing ass. Been following you Uncle Les. You ain't been your careful self." Her sister snears over at Vicki's father.

"Excuse me? Your still seeing that whore? And to think you pass yourself off as cultured father." She said not even thinking about the words as she said them. She had never spoken against her father. Not in the 23 years she's been on this earth.

He snapped his head back towards his daughter. "I don't recall asking your permission ma petie. You never ask for mine when you run off with those four miscreants and spend all hours of the night. Doing only God knows what."

"I'm not the one running around on my companions either. You spout this nonsense about a hidden connection none of us can see how you and Uncle Louis are tied together as maker and created. But yet here you are." She said placing a hand on her hip as she looked int her father's cold dead eyes.

"To think... you treat Uncle Louis like this... I hate to have see how badly you would have treated my mother." And that of course had been the final straw. Vicki's mother had died in childbirth as most did bringing a half vampire half human child into the world. It was a topic that was not often discussed between the two.

He went to advance on her but was stopped. "Lestat. Enough. Everyone's on edge. Let it be before you do something you'll regret. Vicki..... go back upstairs now. Go on.." He said looking at her with pleading eyes.

Vicki shook her head. "No. No I refuse to be in the same house as him. I cant." She shook her head as she came fully down the stairs. She grabbed her coat from the rack as she looked at her father in disgust.

"And where do you think your going?" He asked. "None of your concern." "Victoria Esme De Lioncourt if you walk out that door don't bother coming back!"

And with that she was gone. Out the door as quickly as a flash of light. Tears rolled down her face as she walked down the street as rain covered her from head to toe. Through her sobs she managed to get a word out to her lovers.

'David? Marko Paul Dwayne anyone at this point?' She cried out into their link. A gruff voice finally answered. 'Come to us doll. Max has us in this townhouse the next street over.' It was Dwayne.

'I'm guessing you heard what happened?' She asked. 'I'm afraid so. David and the others are hunting so it's just me here.' He said. Her sobs got worse.

'I can't do this anymore Dwayne. I have to get away from him. It's like the more I stay the worse it gets. I don't understand.' It started getting harder and harder for her to breathe. She gasped for breath as she sobbed

'Shhh doll everything is going to be alright. Once you get here and the boys get back we're going to get everything figured out. You've got my word on that my love.'

Those words of comfort seemed to ease her soul. The tears stopped falling. Her breathing regulated the closer she got to the townhouse. It was like the thought of being in their arms took every worry in her mind away. Almost as if they never existed to begin with.

As she reached the door of the townhouse a thought came across her mind. A thought she had for a while now. One that was buried in her mind so far not even her own father could find. One he hated and yet always knew would come.

Maybe... just maybe it was time.. Victoria left her father. Left for a life of her own. A life with her mates in a California town called Santa Carla. Maybe. Just maybe.

Well?? Thoughts comments concerns? Let me know what you think!

[mrepstein]

The Beatles Book Monthly (No. 5, December 1963)

‘A TALE OF FOUR BEATLES’ by Billy Shepherd

PART IV (PART I // PART II // PART III)

Part IV opens in June, 1961 and charts Brian Epstein's early involvement with the Beatles.

And so the Beatles, with two experience-garnering trips to Germany behind them, got back to Liverpool. A swingin’ scene... and they were very much a part of it. It was the end of June, 1961.

But though they liked having more money to spend, they hadn’t the foggiest idea of just how much they were worth. The offers came in. Anything between £6 and £14 was the pay-packet, to be shared between Messrs. Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and drummer Pete Best.

“We just didn’t know,” admits George. “We loved the work, the excitement. We didn’t realise we were often being exploited. But it was hard work and somehow we didn’t seem to have much money in the kitty after we’d kept our equipment up to scratch...”

July, 1961, could go down as a summit meeting in Merseybeat history. A steamy, summery, shimmery night at Litherland Town Hall. A young promoter named Brian Kelly announced his attraction: The Beatmakers.

George Harrison was on lead guitar. Paul McCartney on rhythm. John Lennon on piano. Drummers were Pete Best and Freddie Marsden. Les Maguire operated on saxophone, Les Chadwick on bass guitar - and Gerry Marsden nipped on and off behind a big grin to take the vocals.

Gerry and the Pacemakers and the Beatles had linked up. For one night only and for a fee which is the smallest fraction of what they’d command for such a show now.

It led to friendships between the group members... but it didn’t seem to be leading to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for the Beatles.

Says John: “We went on knocking ourselves out night after night but somehow there was a bit of frustration creeping in to it all. It didn’t seem to be leading anywhere.”

But the audiences were greatly appreciative.

Says Paul: “We started accepting dates further south. We got pretty near London on some of them. No change of material for us - still the stuff that went down so well in Germany. But we were veering away from the leather gear. Don’t make this sound big-headed, but the fact is that a lot of other groups were copying the way we looked on stage. So we changed to more ordinary clothes for a while.”

But in September, depression set in. Paul and John took themselves off to Paris for a holiday. They remember being flat broke. Remember having to search through every pocket to rake up enough francs for a Coke. Now, of course, they can go where they please and not count the cost.

And George and Pete stayed on in Liverpool, virtually lost to the Beat scene. Ray McFall, owner of the Cavern Club remembers seeing Messrs. Harrison and Best around the lunch-time sessions but they seemed dispirited. They took a lot of persuading even to join in on the impromptu roar-ups.

Let well-known Liverpool show compere Bob Wooler fill in the background to this black spot in the Beatles’ history.

“I’ve known the boys since the early days. I’ve been a long-time admirer. What they really needed was a manager in those far-off days. They seemed content not to argue about the fees they were offered. And they didn’t seem to realise that they were pulling in crowds on the strength of their own name and performance.

“After all, they had to live. They had to look after their equipment - and they often had travelling expenses to pay. It’s all very well being popular and enjoying your work, but you should be paid what you’re worth as well.

“Ray McFall at the Cavern was different. If the crowd was good, he upped the fee. That’s why the boys have always been so loyal to the Cavern. But you can understand them being puzzled at the lack of hard cash from their other venues where they were so often doubling the attendances.”

Paul and John were meanwhile spending a lot of time on their song-writing. You’ll see how much they’d already achieved in this direction as the story pushes on to the first recording days.

John and Paul could never sit down and simply write a song to order. They admit: “We have to wait for the ideas to arrive. It can happen anywhere. On a bus, or a train, or backstage at a dance-hall or theatre. Sometimes the title suggests itself first. Then we get going on the words and music. Sometimes we’ve finished a very successful seller in less than an hour.”

But their most pressing need was for a manager. Paul has told me “When we first started on paid jobs, we honestly thought we weren’t manageable. We thought nobody would want to bother with us. We were a pretty off-beat bunch of characters, to say the least. And we had a sense of humour which somehow involved us all and which was hardly in the interests of discipline. So, for a long time, we just didn’t take any notice of the advice that we should be properly handled. ‘Who’d WANT US,’ was the way we thought...

“And that’s where we were wrong...”

A MANAGER. Liverpool man Allan Williams took on the chore for a while... he now runs the Blue Angel Club on Merseyside.

But the man who was to make show business history with the Beatles knew nothing about the group in that September of 1961. That man, of course, was Brian Epstein, one-time drama student, member of a family which owned a chain of furniture and radio-TV stores in Liverpool.

He was not exactly WITH the beat scene. But he WAS in touch with the public taste through his work in the record department of the stores. He’d been there for five years, building up the business, enlarging the staff roster and increasing the turnover.

And in September, 1961, he was a puzzled man. Fans kept approaching him with: “Have you any records by the Beatles?” Brian mused. Pondered. Wondered. One young lad was particularly persistent in his demands. Brian dug deep into the record-lists. And found reference to that “My Bonnie” single, recorded in Germany, on which the Beatles played a strictly supporting role to guitar-star Tony Sheridan.

“I became Beatle-conscious for a while,” he says. “I always tried to work on the theory that the customer was right - and if they wanted the Beatles, well... I’d do my best to supply the Beatles. Eventually I traced the source and ordered some 200 copies for the record-stores. They sold quickly...

“Then out of the blue I heard they were Liverpool boys, had a rapidly-growing following - and were actually playing in a club near the store. It was a place that I’m sure I’d visited before, a sort of teenage gathering-place, but I really didn’t know much about it.

“After a while, I thought I’d better pop down there and see what all the fuss was about.”

Brian Epstein went to the Cavern. Met the Beatles. And things really started happening for the ambitious but not-too-sure group.

There are two ways of looking at this near-historic meeting. Brian Epstein’s. And the Beatles’ viewpoint.

Beatles first. Said George: “He started talking to us about the record that had created the demand. We didn’t know much about him but he seemed very interested in us and also a little bit baffled.

“He came back several times and talked to us. It seemed there was something he wanted to say, but he wouldn’t come out with it. He just kind of watched us and studied what we were doing. One day, he took us to the store and introduced us. We thought he looked rather red and embarrassed about it all.

“Eventually, he started talking about becoming our manager. Well, we hadn’t really had anybody actually VOLUNTEER in that sense. At the same time, he was very honest about it all - you know, like saying he didn’t really know anything about managing a group like us. He sort of hinted that he was keen if we’d go along with him...”

Brian, quite honestly, thought that the Beatles looked a mess. He wondered what exactly they thought they were trying to be. Their strange jackets, the rather scruffy jeans, the hair-styles, which could only have been styled on something called “chaos.”

“But there was something enormously attractive about them,” he recalls. “I liked the way they worked and the obvious enthusiasm they put into their numbers. People talk about the Liverpool sound but I sometimes wonder what exactly they mean. These boys put everything into their routines but they didn’t use echo. That struck me as being a very good thing.

“It was the boys themselves, though, who really swung it. Each had something which I could see would be highly commercial if only someone could push it to the top. They were DIFFERENT characters but they were so obviously part of the whole. Quite frankly, I was excited about their prospects, provided some things could be changed.”

And Brian told his friends: “This could easily turn out to be the biggest show business attraction since Elvis Presley.” It’s a tribute to his foresight and intuition that that is precisely what has happened.

Brian decided to get the boys together at a round-table conference at his store. A time was fixed and the boys agreed. But Beatles are not always the easiest of people to organise. Brian sat waiting... and waiting... and waiting. He was trying to cope with the vastly complex figures of Christmas orders for the store and minutes were precious to him.

Eventually THREE Beatles arrived. George, John and Pete. No Paul. Story goes that Brian got George to ring through and see what had happened to the left-handed guitar-star. And that Paul admitted he was still in the bath... but wouldn’t be long!

Brian was rather on his high-horse. He felt it was not the right thing for someone who wanted to talk business to be kept waiting. He pointed out that Paul, the cherubic one of the four, would be extremely late. “Yes,” said George, forcing back a grin. “But he’ll also be extremely clean.”

Says Brian: “That sense of humour is invaluable. You could hardly feel annoyed at their lack of business ability. They were just four individual and off-beat characters.”

Prior to Brian taking such an interest, there was great concern among Cavern people that there was a chance of the Beatles packing in all thoughts of show business careers. Bob Wooler had tried hard to get BBC television producer Jack Good interested in the group. Jack had produced beat shows, like “Six-Five Special” which had been the stepping-stone to success for artistes like Cliff Richard. But Jack was also in demand in the States... and he’d gone there to further his own career long before Bob could get any decision from the telly-folk.

Brian, having eventually assembled all four Beatles in the same room, put his propositions to them. He went through a process of brain-washing, though he did it all very tactfully. He didn’t like their manner of dress. Wasn’t knocked out by the unruly hair-cuts. Was singularly unimpressed by the way they casually drank tea on stage while in the middle of shows.

He pleaded with them rather than ordered them. He knew they were a valuable property and he was knocked out at the way their personal following was growing through the Merseyside area.

Said John: “He’d tell us that jeans were not particularity smart and could we possibly manage to wear PROPER trousers. But he didn’t want us suddenly looking square. He let us have our own sense of individuality.”

He added: “We respected his views. We stopped champing at cheese rolls and jam butties on stage. We paid a lot more attention to what we were doing. Did our best to be on time. And we smartened up, in the sense that we wore suits instead of any sloppy old clothes.”

It was a master-plan. A long-term plan if necessary but it was aimed at making the most of four young men who clearly had that star quality in them... even though a recording contract was still more than nine months away.

Obviously, Brian Epstein’s main job was to get the group on record. He knew the strength of their popularity in Liverpool and he felt it wouldn’t be a hard job to interest some of the London companies. But that was where Brian was wrong.

He even delayed any sort of action until the results of the 1961 “Mersey Beat Poll” were announced. That came up at the end of the year. And the Beatles were high and dry in top place in this important survey of how the public felt about the myriad groups operating in the scene. Said Brian: “I thought this was the ‘Open Sesame’ to the recording scene. I felt that Liverpool was important enough to have London executives falling about to sign the boys. I was wrong...”

Brian, though technically still in charge of important parts of the family business, threw himself into the job of getting the Beatles known nationally. He had the backing of the Beatles’ parents and it was to be no holds barred for the major break through.

He started visiting London. Hopefully. Optimistically. But record executives showed an alarming tendency to register non-committal gloom. Brian had to keep reporting apparent failure to the boys - by now riding higher than ever in popular acclaim in Liverpool.

Cont’d next month in No. 6

[pinkpatiencecreepers]

Izzy Stradlin & Johnny Thunders: An essay in the making lol

Okay, time for the conspiracy theories over here. Nah, just kidding but let's talk about the connections between Izzy Stradlin and Johnny Thunders. Here's my take:

I'm currently reading "Too Much Too Soon", the authorized biography of the New York Dolls by British journalist Nina Antonia, who was also close friends with Johnny. The thing is that I can't help but find a lot of similarities between Izzy and Johnny (of course, taking into consideration how much of an influence was Thunders in Izzy's life, not only on a musical level).

So, let's start analyzing some facts about Johnny's life and observations from the people who knew him. First, he didn't grow up with his dad, since the latter split when Johnny was just a baby and he was raised by his mom and his older sister. 

From an early age, he developed an interest in fashion, rock music, and especially, in Keith Richards. So much, that he dyed his hair jet black and asked his sister to cut his hair in the same style as Keith’s. During his teenage years, Johnny made a reputation as a regular on the NY music scene of the late 60s and was praised for his unique appearance. He didn’t look like any of his peers and people often wondered where he got such rare and incredibly interesting pieces of clothing since they couldn’t be found at any of the local thrift shops. Turns out, he bought his clothes at the women’s department and customized them with the help of his mom and sister. 

In terms of his personality, people described him as a quiet, shy, and reserved guy, except when he was on stage and you could see him jumping around and living his best life. Also, he started dabbling in drugs pretty much since puberty, beginning with pot, and then experimenting with LSD, quaaludes, coke, meth, etc., until getting to the ultimate killer: heroin. 

Also, alongside with frontman of the NYD, David Johansen, Johnny was responsible for writing the most important songs of the band, as well as being praised as a songrwriter. Same as Keith Richards, he was keen on simple and precise compositions and focused mostly on bluesy sounds and nods to old school rock n’ roll with heavy influences from the greats Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, John Lee Hooker, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, etc.

.....

Got all that? Okay, now let’s go with our Indiana boy.

At this point we have pretty much nailed down Izzy’s background and biography, right? We know that he was raised by his mom and his grandma Elizabeth back there in Lafayette. He has two younger brothers, Kevin and Joe. His dad split and left for Florida where he remarried and had two other kids. 

Same thing, from a very early age he became interested in music, mainly thanks to his grandma, who was a drummer on a local jazz band. He was also greatly impacted by Don Kirschner’s tv show where lots of the most important musical acts from the 70s made appearances. He definitely saw the Dolls there and they became one of his favorites.

We still don’t know many details about his life as a teenager in boring Lafayette, except the little that he, Axl, or other close sources have shared. Izzy started smoking cigarettes and pot, firecrackers, and the usual soft drugs that all of us have taken during high school years at one time or another. We know that he liked skating, playing drums, and drawing, among other stuff.

Things start to get interesting when he gets to Los Angeles. Being Keith & Johnny MAJOR influences on him, he dyed his hair jet black and styled it the same way as Johnny in the early 70s. Long, straight, and looking like raven feathers. So, if you are a hardcore fan of the NYD and one afternoon you casually bump into Izzy down the Sunset Blvd in 1980, you’d highly lose your shit and think you’re seeing Johhny Thunders himself in front of you.

Also, like Johnny, Izzy didn’t start playing guitar. He was a drummer, then a bass player, and finally a guitarist. The difference in Johnny’s case is that he first played bass and then switched to guitar.

Now, concerning clothing, Izzy also brought attention for his curious looks, being one of the first people in Hollywood to wear creepers (according to Hollywood Rose founder and close friends with Izzy, Chris Weber). Same thing happened in New York to Johnny when he decided to subvert the local style by wearing chunky shoes and platforms. Not saying that he was the creator of the look (neither was Izzy), but they certainly inspired some people to do the same and express themselves through fashion. Izzy also used to customize his clothes, DIY some of them, make jewelry, thrift flips, etc.

On top of that, as a little tribute to his idol Johnny, Izzy embraced the color pink by wearing it in jackets that he spray-painted, socks, shirts, etc. Mix that with his ivory skin, dark hair, and facial features and you have another Mr. Thunders right there (And they DO look like they’re related... as well as Keith, Ronnie Wood, Sami Yaffa, Nasty Suicide, Tracii Guns, etc. On the fandom we call that breed of rockstar: “Emo Rat Boy” lol).

Another thing is that Izzy’s drug of choice was smack and as it also eventually happened to Johnny, it made him all doom and gloom, moody, and vanished the once happy and joyous spirit, both on stage and in real life. 

Even in the dynamic between Axl and Izzy, you can see the same chemistry and looks of Johnny and David Johansen back in the day. Even the essence of the New York Dolls as a whole is visible during the formation days of GNR. Just look at Arthur Kane and Duff McKagan, and this is just a little example.

To finish this, around 1990-1991, Izzy is seen playing the same guitar model that Johnny is most known for, Gibson Les Paul Junior in yellow. And in the late 90s-early 2000s (I’m not exactly sure when) he made a cover of “Do You Love Me?”, really, but really inspired by Thunders. 

And that’s all, folks. THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK.

PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT!

UPDATE: @roger-taylors-car please illustrate this with pictures. I can’t do it because my internet connection is SHIT. Thanks and excuse my French. Much love!!!

[dwellordream]

“Girls’ schools promoted an intense female peer culture which contrasted with the disciplines of moralistic home environments. Evidence from the accounts of girls attending the myriad female seminaries and girls’ boarding schools throughout the Northeast suggests that their academic programs were relatively gentle, and that their peer culture was powerful and often fun. Despite the best efforts of outnumbered teachers, relations with friends tended to overshadow lessons learned. Overwhelmingly when girls wrote home to their parents, they described the girls they had met, and the antics they had shared; in diaries they noted the romantic intimacies they had formed, with academic work generating only occasional mention.

Girls’ peer life at school was high-spirited, collective, and ritualized all at once. Teachers themselves often participated. At Miss Porter’s in Farmington, Connecticut, in 1860, teachers organized a costume party, suggested characters for everyone, and helped sew costumes—perhaps in part a sewing lesson. (For Lily Dana, suggestions included an elf, Mischief, or a witch.) At a Prospect Hill School party in 1882, townspeople came, the girls wore flowers and white dresses, and Margaret Tileston reported that she had done the quadrille with Miss Clarke and the gallop with Miss Tuxbury—concluding that she had had ‘‘a very nice time.’’

Girls remembering their days at convent schools report similar good times. Julia Sloane Spalding recalled elegiacally her years at Nazareth Academy, a school run by the Sisters of Charity in Louisville, Kentucky, in the 1850s. ‘‘The sisters allowed us to romp and play, dance and sing as we pleased and our stage performances were amusing, if they had no greater merit. Musical soirees, concerts, serenades and minstrelsy kept our spirits attuned to gladness. Varied by picnics, lawn parties, hayrides, phantom parties, nutting parties in summer and candy pullings and fancy balls with Nazareth’s colored band to fiddle.’’

Exclaimed Spalding, ‘‘O what fun!’’ in fond reflection on the good times among the sisters who served ‘‘good substantial sandwiches, cakes and fruit’’ from ‘‘great big baskets.’’ She concluded, ‘‘and so, the spice of life conduced to our health and happiness.’’ Mary Anne Murphy arrived at Nazareth Academy with her sister in 1859 during a quadrille, the slave musicians calling out the figures. She and her sister stood in ‘‘wonderment that such fun was tolerated in a convent.’’ Whatever the nostalgia of middle age, certainly these reflections suggest that elite Catholic and Protestant girls’ academies left some of their richest memories in collective fun.

If teachers sponsored some activities, they implicitly sanctioned many more. Wilfrida Hogan attended the Sisters of St. Joseph convent school in St. Paul in the 1870s and remembers fondly her class, which was known for its lively irreverence: ‘‘Each girl seemed to view the other as to who could play the biggest pranks, or have the most fun.’’

Ellen Emerson overflowed with delight in a letter to her mother (significantly, not her father) while at Miss Sedgwick’s School in Lenox, Massachusetts: ‘‘Every night we do things which it seems to me I can never remember without laughing if I should live to be a hundred. The most absurd concerts, ludicrous charades, peculiar battles etc. etc. Then the wildest frolics, the loudest shrieks, the most boisterous rolling and tumbling that eye ever saw, ear ever heard or heart ever imagined. I consider myself greatly privileged that every night I can see and join such delightful romps.’’

When teachers were around, the pranks were more likely to occur upstairs in student bedrooms. Lily Dana and friends joined together to victimize two other girls by putting crumbs in their bed, and cutting off candle wicks. Another evening Dana noted that she ‘‘Had some fun throwing pillows and nightgowns,’’ and though Miss Porter caught her, it did not seem to dampen much her spirits. Teachers at girls’ schools were occasion- ally disciplinarians, clearly.

One teacher told Lily Dana that ‘‘she supposed my mother let me do everything,’’ and the sisters at St. Mary’s Academy in South Bend, Indiana, turned the piano to the wall in order to keep girls from waltzing with each other. Yet students often emerged victorious; at St. Mary’s they played combs for dance music instead. (One participant reported that ‘‘the Sisters had to give up, for they knew not what to do.’’) The ideology of nurture combined with the shared exuberance of age mates overpowered much teacherly remonstrance.

It is sometimes hard to read such tales of schoolgirl exuberance without wondering whether the inmates had taken over the asylum, however, so a corrective is in order. One such account which requires a second look is the spirited account of Agnes Repplier, In Our Convent Days (1906), about her time in the late 1860s at a Pennsylvania school run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. Repplier writes of the pranks and passions of her band of seven partners in crime, in an ebulliant account designed to appeal to a readership newly attracted to childhood naughtiness in revolt against Victorian propriety. It is clear in retrospect, though, that she must have concealed or minimized an- other side to her experiences. For the denouement of her story is her expulsion and removal from a school she adored.

Peer cultures could also be cruel and hurtful beyond the control of evangelical teachers, as the practices of hazing in British public schools testify. Some of the most painful memories of inclusion and exclusion in girls’ schools centered around that most primal of media, the sharing of food. Food boxes, customarily sent from home, were the occasion for impromptu parties, a demonstration of wealth and taste, or an opportunity to play favorites.

The elation which greeted such arrivals might well prove a commentary on the regular fare at boarding schools, which sometimes undoubtedly was very poor. (The advice giver Mary Virginia Terhune’s critique of girls’ boarding schools included the accusation that they fed their students from a ‘‘common vat’’ which supplied breakfast, dinner, and supper all together, a practice partially confirmed by one account of eating the same stew at least twice a day at an Ursuline academy in San Antonio in the 1890s.)

At any rate, the arrival of food from home occasioned select gatherings and provided opportunities for discrimination among friends. When one friend’s mother brought good things to eat, Josie Tilton noted that ‘‘we’’ had a feast tonight, explaining for the future who she would always mean when she said ‘‘we’’—‘‘Lizzie, Emma, May and I’’— the groupness secured by inclusion in this select group of diners.

Lily Dana suspected a friend of being miserly and so snuck into her room to inspect. ‘‘There was a box which had been filled with cake, part of a pie and several other things filling her trunk nearly half full. . . . If I had a box sent to me I think I should give my friend more than ‘five or six cookies.’’’ If girls could feel short-changed by each other, relations with parents could also strain over the sending of food boxes, which represented extremely conspicuous con- sumption for girls attempting to ‘‘belong.’’

In an unusually direct letter home in the 1840s, Maria Nellis passed on to her parents her unmediated hurt and sense of disadvantage in the competition for food—and the status that came with it. Elizabeth got her box yesterday and was favoured with six times more things than I was. Her box was so large and heavy the master found it his match to carry it upstairs. She has 4 kinds of cake, nuts, apples, candy, clothing and every thing else, but after all, Dear Poppy, I am not jealous. . . . When you sent that box you did not send half what I asked. I was very disappointed. You said it would be eatables, but it wasn’t. You sent only a few apples, one cake and some clothes. Why didn’t you send me some nuts? I haven’t had a nut yet this winter, and indeed I expected nuts above all things. E. Fox had a box worth speaking of. Now that shows that you don’t care enough for me to even send me a few nuts.

Intermittently, Nellis regained control, but her grievance was palpable. Finally at the end, she acknowledged to her parents that she might be hurting their feelings, reassured them that she loved them all with ‘‘a deep and fervent love,’’ and promised better behavior in the future. Clearly at stake for her was both status in the school world and a primitive sense of deprivation in her own family.

As the correspondence suggests, the emotional atmosphere in girls’ boarding schools was not only intense but more expressive and enacted than that within moralistic, Victorian households. Within private, female, boarding academies, duty-bound Victorian daughters learned languages of sentiment, desire, and emotional excess censored from other parts of their lives. The elaborate conventions accompanying the expression and affirmation of affection among boarding-school girls, sometimes involving teachers as well, was indeed a separate ‘‘female world of love and ritual,’’ as Carroll Smith-Rosenberg affirmed in a classic article about nineteenth-century women’s culture.

In recent years, Smith-Rosenberg’s ‘‘Female World of Love and Ritual’’ has been attacked for its overgeneralizing characterization of an exclusively female emotional sphere in the nineteenth century, but her strongest evidence confirms the significance, the power, and the longevity of girls’ boarding school friendships, which were enacted through elaborate rituals in a range of schools.

The rituals of boarding school life centered around the making and breaking of special friendships, known variously as ‘‘affinities,’’ ‘‘specials,’’ or ‘‘darlings’’ and increasingly as either ‘‘smashes’’ or ‘‘crushes.’’ One way of expressing interest was to ‘‘filipine’’ with someone, to leave her a surprise gift outside her door. (When Lily Dana was caught, she needed to give her gift, a large apple, outright.) Such relationships played out in diaries, letters, and the poetry of autograph books. Girls expected to pair up for many school activities and entertained a variety of ‘‘dates’’ with different girls for walking, going to church, and sleeping.

Sally Dana wrote home to her mother explaining that she was following her father’s advice not to form special friendships too soon, and so had ‘‘slept in eight different beds.’’ During these private moments, girls would share secrets about their own likes and dislikes, each other, their teachers, families, and their school lives. The intricacy of such social calendars opened ample opportunities for misunderstanding and frayed feelings.

These peer relationships characterized elite female seminaries in the North- east, but they also appeared in a range of schools, including the African American Scotia Seminary, founded by the American Missionary Association in Concord, North Carolina, following the Civil War. Scotia had northern roots, which may have influenced its student culture. Glenda Gilmore tells us it was modeled on Mount Holyoke, and was ‘‘calculated to give students the knowledge, social consciousness, and sensibilities of New England ladies, with a strong dose of Boston egalitarianism sprinkled in.’’

Roberta Fitzgerald went to Scotia in the early twentieth century and kept a composition book, likely in 1902, which was filled with the talismans of schoolgirl crushes. A note inside addressed to ‘‘Dear Roberta’’ asked, ‘‘Will you please exchang rings with me today and you may ware mine again,’’ and Roberta herself wrote a sad poem to a friend ‘‘Lu’’ who had thrown her over.

And so you see as I am deemed

Most silently to wait

I cannot but be womanlike

And meekly await my fate.

Ah! sweet it is to love a girl

But truly oh! how bitter

To love a girl with all your heart

And then to hear ‘‘Cant get her.’’

And Lulu dear as I must here

Relinquish with a moan

May your joys be as deep as the ocean

And your sorrow as light as its foam.

On the back of the notebook, which also contained class assignments, was a confidence exchanged with a seatmate. ‘‘I was teasing Bess Hoover about you and she told me she loved you dearly.’’

For those much in demand, this charged atmosphere of flirtation and intimacy in the North and South represented an exhilarating round of fun and sport. For those less secure, diaries and letters presented an obvious outlet for the anguish of the neglected. Agnes Hamilton, a member of a Fort Wayne clan which sent several daughters to boarding school on their way to prominent careers in progressive America, experienced some of both. Sometimes she basked in the glow of family reputation; often she worried over her own inability to keep up with her illustrious cousins. Her unusually detailed accounts document an entire school culture rather than just an individual emotional life.

Hamilton’s first impressions of school social life at Miss Porter’s School were favorable, but even these revealed insecurities to come. In an entry from November 1886, when she was seventeen, Hamilton noted that ‘‘Farmington is just as perfect as they all said it would be, the girls, Miss Porter, and all.’’ Her reservation had to do with her own imperfections: ‘‘But I don’t think I am the right sort of a Farmington girl.’’ Even so, Agnes was in demand, describing a flurry of close attentions from numerous girls. A week later, in her cousin’s absence, she received displaced attentions:

Yesterday Mannie was very nice to me. I suppose she thinks I am lonely without Alice. We walked past the fill around by the river to the graveyard. Then she came in and we talked for an hour. All evening we were together. This afternoon we walked together too for Tuesday is her day with Alice. We went down to the green house where Mannie gave me some lovely roses. I would give anything to know what she thinks of me. . . . Will I ever be able to talk and be jolly as other girls? Some girls are frightfully stupid and yet they can make themselves somewhat agreeable. I have struck up a sudden friendship with Lena Farnam. We were together Saturday afternoon and evening and Sunday I asked her to be my church girl in Alice’s place.

Agnes was still in a position to be picky, noting one drawback: Lena ‘‘seems very nice indeed but I wish she were not only fifteen.’’ Lena was far from the only prospect. Agnes noted another new friend: ‘‘I have seen a great deal lately of Edith Trowbridge too. When she overcomes her shyness she will be exceedingly nice.’’ Not surprisingly, with all the intensity of the socializing, Agnes mentioned with no comment that only three out of thirteen in the class were prepared for their lessons that Tuesday. In those early weeks, Agnes Hamilton’s enthusiasm for this exciting life of emotional intrigue was palpable. The next week (she seems to have written on Tuesdays), Agnes announced to her diary ‘‘the jolliest crush in school’’ involving one of her very own intimates of the week before.

‘‘I walked with Edith Trowbridge this afternoon, on purpose to have her tell me about Lena. I hinted and hinted in vain. I told her about every other crush in school but she never said a word about Lena’s, so at last I told her that I knew all about it but even then she would not say a word about the subject. I hope she will tell Lena so that she will speak to me about it next Saturday when we are driving.’’ The triangulation of such relationships increased the possibilities for intrigue. Agnes wearied a bit of the uncooperative Edith, though, observing that though ‘‘very nice . . . she did not get over her stiffness.’’

Agnes Hamilton seemed to be trying to do her schoolwork, but her roller- coaster social life intervened. One day when she was preparing for class, a friend came by to teach her a dance step, from which she was interrupted by the arrival of a buggy she had rented to take another friend for a ride, the same girl whose ‘‘jolly’’ crush had amused her the week before. (‘‘The more I see of her the better I like,’’ she now reported. ‘‘Her face is rather attractive at first and then it grows on one.’’) When she returned, she found another visitor who stayed till it was time for tea.

The result: ‘‘I have not looked at my Mental since Thursday.’’ By the end of the same day, yet a new ‘‘crush’’ had taken over when Agnes got word of someone’s interest in her, and Agnes wondered ‘‘if I have ever been as actively happy.’’ The frenzy had settled down a week later, when Agnes announced that she had all her walking days ‘‘just as I want them.’’ Each day of the week was assigned a different companion, with whom Agnes would exchange intimacies and gossip, using the rituals of girls’ school life to structure its emotional extravagance.

One must conclude that the intensity of the social life was seen to serve some purpose, for evidence suggests that it was allowed to flourish until the turn of the century. (Lily Dana noted that Miss Porter’s permission had been sought for at least one and probably more sleeping dates.) At that time, new sexualized interpretations of girls’ and women’s friendships brought a crackdown on such friendships. At the time, though, they appear to have received official sanction. In fact, one of the first of Ladies’ Home Journal ’s ‘‘Side Talks with Girls’’ took up the question of ‘‘School Girl Friendships.’’ The Journal endorsed such girlish relationships for their innocence and energy and their precious brevity, saluting ‘‘the giddy, gushing period’’ as one which ‘‘never comes to some and to most it soon passes.’’

In particular, it contrasted this girlish spontaneity with the superficiality of the jaded young lady. Its contrast of ‘‘young girls, lively, radiant, energetic, spirited, loving girls’’ with ‘‘young ladies who talk of their beaux, dresses and the surface shows of society’’ represented another version of a conventional warning against precociousness. Girls’ crushes on other girls were still perceived as innocent and healthy—and would be well after doctors first began to cast suspicion over such relationships in the 1880s and 1890s.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Competitive Practices: Sentiment and Scholarship in Secondary Schools.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Title: Road Trip

Gif credit @spuhuras

First twilight imagine. First Sam Uley imagine. I hope you all enjoy.

It's a little smutty.

Happy reading dollies

Feedback is greatly appreciated ❤

BEEP BEEP!!

As you were packing up snacks for the trip you heard a loud honking outside. The pack ran through the house to see what it was all about and you followed.

There was a RV parked in the drive way. Sam and Edward came out both with smiles on their faces.

"What's going on? We were supposed to be going on a little road trip just you and me".

"We'll, we thought why not take a family vacation together". Edward told you and the pack.

"Are you all going to behave and not threaten or kill each other"?

"We'll be fine". Sam came and scooped you up planting a kiss to your lips.

"I like the idea that all of us are going but how are we supposed to have alone time"?

"I'm driving so you can ride up front with me".

"That's not what I meant Sam Uley". You say sternly.

"Oh. Ooh. We'll figure out something". He quickly kissed your lips, put you down and ran inside grabbing the snacks and heading on the bus.

"Wonderful". Frowning as you got on the bus, Sam patting the passenger seat up front with him.

Taking a seat beside him, you got comfortable since it may be a long trip cause you had no idea where you were going. Everyone piled on the bus. The whole Cullen family and the pack. There was hardly any room to move but they all were happy to be together. Kinda weird if you asked anyone that knew them.

About fifty miles into the road trip you got this surge of sexual excitement. It came out of no where and that's why you wanted to be alone with Sam. It's been happening from a month now. You didn't know what was happening to you.

"Sam"? You whispered looking in the back. Knowing the Cullens and the pack had such great hearing and could read minds you had to be sneaky.

"Sam"?

"Yeah, babe"? He didn't take his eyes off the road.

"I'm horny". You purred. He blinked his eyes at you, like he was processing what you told him.

"Now"?

"Yes. If you didn't invite the families you would be balls deep in me right about now". You moaned just thinking of the idea of Sam pounding into you.

"I love you but you really need to control yourself at the moment". He scorned you. You huffed, crossing your arms and slouching in your chair.

"Fine. I'll go see what the guys are up to".

Sam shook his head. He wanted you just as badly but he knew how to control his urges.

Walking back to the back of the bus. Edward came up to you. "Hey, sorry if we ruined your getaway week".

"No, it's okay. We can do it another time". You told him with a slight smile.

"I'll make sure you two get some alone time. I know that's what you wanted since you cant get it when the tribe is around".

"You really need to stay out of my mind, Edward. It's not nice". You laugh.

"Actually, it was in Sams mind. He can't stop thinking about it. It's really disturbing what all he's thinking about, to be honest".

"How are you in his mind without him knowing"?

"He's distracted with driving and the scenes he's picturing".

"Can you tell me what he's picturing up? Please"?

"I'm not giving you a mental picture. I'm not your porn source".

"Oh so that's what kinda stuff he's thinking of". You bit your bottom lip.

"That's my Sam alright. He's alittle freaky in bed. May not show it as a alpha but when he's in bed he is way alpha-yer". You laughed as you made up a word to describe Sam in bed.

"Yeah, I didn't need to know that". Edward scrunched up his eye brows.

"So, where are we going"? You thought why not ask someone else and they may tell you.

"It's a surprise".

"If you want to give me a surprise Edward, give me Sam, a room and have Sam give me tons of orgasms then that would be the best surprise you could ever give me". Edward chuckled but you were dead serious.

"I think we should go to our seats before you tell me actually what Sam does in bed".

"I can tell you. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two". You giggled as you walked passed Edward.

"Hey now". He chuckled shaking his head going back to Bella. Who heard everything and was quietly giggling to herself.

Getting back to your seat, Sam was still in drivers mode which annoyed you.

"Where are we going"?

"I'm not telling you so stop asking. You'll love it, I promise".

"Fine". You chewed the corner of the inside of your cheek. Getting a idea that Sam would love and hate.

Seaching for the RV guide to see if there was a door or curtain to close you off from the others. And there was. The divider was in the wall and you found it easily closing you off.

"What are you doing"? Sam asked confused.

"Just watch the road and enjoy". You seductively said getting down on your knees beside him. Undoing his belt and pants. You slid your hand in his boxers pulling out his cock. Running your tongue from the base to the tip. Sam shivered as you did so.

"Stop. Someone's going to catch us".

"You really want me to stop"?

"Yeah, we have too".

"Well, someone has a mind of his own". You kissed his cock as it grew in your hand.

You wrapped your hands and mouth about his cock, sucking him off. Swirling your tongue over this tip licking up his pre-cum that was oozing out.

"Shit. Don't stop". Sam moaned throwing his head back.

"Sam, road". You giggled as Sam jerked the bus back on the road, growling at you.

You went back to stroking and bobbing your head. Taking him down your throat, gagging a little as he hit the back of your throat. Sam closed his eyes tightly trying not to cum right away, he didn't want you to stop.

"Road, Sam". You said with a pop of his cock. He jerked the wheel back in place. Rubbing his eyes. You continued you tease and suck him, he tried his darnest to keep his eye on the road.

Meanwhile in the back of the bus, everyone was holding on. They didnt know if they would get thrown one way or the other. All of them confused except Edward, he was giggling heavily his face looked as if it got heated from the laugh.

"What the hell is going on"? Jacob cussed as he was forced on to Paul as Sam jerked the wheel again.

"Maybe he's dodging pot holes"? Esme suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

"Maybe. I'll go check". Jacob got up from his seat.

"I wouldn't do that". Edward warned but Jacob shrugged it off and opened the divider coming to a scene he never wanted imprinted in his brain.

Sam was a moaning, groaning mess under your touch. He bucked his hips when he could without slowing down the bus. You sped up your bobbing and pumping him. He was close to coming and felt it as he tensed up.

"You going to cum for me baby"? You purred as his face turned beet red. He nodded with a grunt. You wrapped your mouth around his cock and he exploded down your throat. The warm liquid slipped down your throat with ease, you hungrily swallowed it down.

"Fuck". He cursed under his breath.

You both were so caught up between sucking and coming that you didn't hear Jacob freak out.

"Oh god. My eyes". Jacob screamed shutting the divider.

You giggled as you wiped your mouth going back to your seat. Sam panicked and fastened his belt and pants. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"That was fun". You say with a smirk.

Sam growled giving you the evil eye. "It's not funny".

"Stop pouting. We had a good time. It's his fault for coming in without knocking".

Sam rolled his eyes and turned on the turn signal as he pulled into a gas station. Coming to a stop. The buses door swung open and Jacob ran off. The pack laughing at him.

"What happened"? Bella asked as she got off the bus.

"Jacob saw something for mature eyes only". Edward chuckled as Bella caught on.

Sam and you got off the bus, eyes were on you two. "So dodge many pot holes lately"? Emmett asked with a snicker getting a slap from Alice.

"Does everyone know"? Sam blushed.

"We have a pretty good idea but we'd like for you to tell us". Emmett opened his mouth again but instead of Alice slapping him Rosalie did it.

"Shut up, Emmett". You told him.

"I told you we should stop, now everyone is making jokes". Sam was embarrassed.

"Who cares. I bet everyone here has been in the same position we are right now. I don't care. I liked what I did and I would do it again. If you dont want to be with someone that does stuff like that then we need to break up right now".

Sam stayed quiet. You threw your arms up in frustration walking away.

"We've all be there, Sam. Dont worry". Carlisle reassured Sam. Emmett nodded with agreement.

"Should I apologize"?

"I would if you ever want that to happen again".

Sam took of running after you. He found you in the woods beside the gas station playing with a twig.

"I'm sorry". Sam came up behind you spooking you.

"I just don't know why you got so mad".

"I was more embarrassed. Jacob saw. Im supposed to be the alpha not some teenager getting caught fooling around with his girlfriend".

"I'm your girlfriend and imprint we can do whatever we want. Who cares who sees or what they think. I love you and I'm going to show you how I feel".

Sam smiled wrapping his arms around you engulfing you in a warm hug. "I love you and I'm sorry that I got them to come with us but I had my reason".

"What crazy reason was that"?

Sam pulled away making you whimper as the cool air hit you. He pulled put a box and got down on one knee in front of you.

"I love you and I wanted the people most important in your life to see this moment. Y/N Swan will you marry me"? Sam asked. You heard twigs breaking around you as the families circled around you. Bella had her phone with your dad video chatting since he had to work.

"God, you're amazing. Yes, Sam Uley I will marry you". You pulled him up by his face, your hands cupping his face bringing him to your lips kissing all over his face.

"I love you, I love you". Sam took your hand and slid the ring on your ring finger.

"I love you more". His kissed your lips softly.

"Congratulations guys". You heard your dad over the explosions in your head as you were kissing Sam. And also something about road safety.

"Thanks. Thanks everyone for being here. It means alot. Sorry I was rude for not wanting you all to come".

"That's okay. We know how it is when you find someone you can't get enough of". Bella and Edward kissed. Emse and Carlisle kissed. Jasper and Alice kissed. Emmett and Rosalie kissed. The packed just looked at each other and nodded. They all knew what you were going through. Finding that special someone is hard but when you do you want to do everything together even if you get caught in the act.

"Sorry to break up this moment but we need to get going. I promised Y/N that Sam would give her tons of orgasms so I'm driving and they can have the back bedroom". Edward spoke up and getting the keys from Sam. Everyone laughed awkwardly.

"Really, Edward? Really"?

Sam buried his face in your neck with a groan that turned into laughing. You giggled at how subtle Edward was.

This was going to be a very interesting road trip.

[waritawrites]

Gender Dysphoria & Trauma

https://followerofthewayforever.wordpress.com/2021/07/08/gender-dysphoria-trauma/

Gender Dysphoria seems to happen to some when trauma has occur. Taking on the opposite gender can be at least four things: Defense Mechanism, Self-Comfort, Escapism, and Symbolic Rejection.

- Defense Mechanism

°One takes the strength if the opposite

gender as shield to protect. In cases where parent of the opposite gender was neglectful or abusive, the person takes on an identity that is dominated by the strength that the parent in question lacked.

- Self-Comfort

°Similar to Defense Mechanism and often a defense mechanism in and of it itself self-comfort. Using opposite gender traits to comfort oneself, especially in cases of Dissociative Identity Disorder, is a way of giving oneself self-validation and assurance that things will get better. That you will get better.

- Escapism

°You just don't want to be you anymore. It hurts too bad. You want start anew in a different way.

- Symbolic Rejection

°Seeing bad examples set by a signifcant person(s), such as a son being traumatized by the actions of an abusive father, may cause the son to reject his own male identity because he wants to be nothing like his father.

For those dealing with these issues, please seek GOD. I know it may sound cliché. However, GOD is a healer and HE teaches us how to overcome and triumph the most horrible things that happen to us.

Philippians 4

1Therefore, my brethren dearly beloved and longed for, my joy and crown, so stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved.

2I beseech Euodias, and beseech Syntyche, that they be of the same mind in the Lord.

3And I intreat thee also, true yokefellow, help those women which laboured with me in the gospel, with Clement also, and with other my fellowlabourers, whose names are in the book of life.

4Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.

5Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand.

6Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

7And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

8Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

9Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you.

10But I rejoiced in the Lord greatly, that now at the last your care of me hath flourished again; wherein ye were also careful, but ye lacked opportunity.

11Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.

12I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

13I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

14Notwithstanding ye have well done, that ye did communicate with my affliction.

15Now ye Philippians know also, that in the beginning of the gospel, when I departed from Macedonia, no church communicated with me as concerning giving and receiving, but ye only.

16For even in Thessalonica ye sent once and again unto my necessity.

17Not because I desire a gift: but I desire fruit that may abound to your account.

18But I have all, and abound: I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you, an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, wellpleasing to God.

19But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.

20Now unto God and our Father be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

21Salute every saint in Christ Jesus. The brethren which are with me greet you.

22All the saints salute you, chiefly they that are of Caesar's household.

23The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen. (To the Philippians written from Rome, by Epaphroditus.)

We don't have to be in bondage to trauma. We need not base our every decision on trauma. We are in a spiritual war that manifests in this physical world. Satan is our enemy. He uses trauma to weaken and destroy us. He even uses it to get us on his side in a twisted way. satan is the abuser who beats you then tells you he loves you afterward. Like many abusers who want to separate their victims from those who love them, satan wants to separate you from the Love of GOD. GOD gives us all free will, the freedom to choose life or death. It is satan's goal to tempt us all to choose death and destruction. Please resist him.

1 Peter 5:8

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:"

satan is a thief and a murderer. he wants us to destroy ourselves and those around us. he wants to steal our lives, steal our souls, and destroy us. Jesus, God The Son, says in John 10:10:

John 10:10

10The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.

satan wants us to believe that it is GOD's fault for letting the trauma happen. satan doesn't was us to recognize that he is source of trauma. he does not want us to see that he is working through those that hurt you. satan and his kingdom of darkness are your abuser. he will stop at nothing to prevent you from holding onto GOD, even if he has to pretend to be GOD to deceive into turning to him. Here is what GOD, speaking through the writings of Paul, said of satan, satan's false ministers as well as Paul speaking on the victory that he has in GOD even in tribulation, 2 Corinthians 11:

2 Corinthians 11

1Would to God ye could bear with me a little in my folly: and indeed bear with me.

2For I am jealous over you with godly jealousy: for I have espoused you to one husband, that I may present you as a chaste virgin to Christ.

3But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.

4For if he that cometh preacheth another Jesus, whom we have not preached, or if ye receive another spirit, which ye have not received, or another gospel, which ye have not accepted, ye might well bear with him.

5For I suppose I was not a whit behind the very chiefest apostles.

6But though I be rude in speech, yet not in knowledge; but we have been throughly made manifest among you in all things.

7Have I committed an offence in abasing myself that ye might be exalted, because I have preached to you the gospel of God freely?

8I robbed other churches, taking wages of them, to do you service.

9And when I was present with you, and wanted, I was chargeable to no man: for that which was lacking to me the brethren which came from Macedonia supplied: and in all things I have kept myself from being burdensome unto you, and so will I keep myself.

10As the truth of Christ is in me, no man shall stop me of this boasting in the regions of Achaia.

11Wherefore? because I love you not? God knoweth.

12But what I do, that I will do, that I may cut off occasion from them which desire occasion; that wherein they glory, they may be found even as we.

13For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ.

14And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

15Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness; whose end shall be according to their works.

16I say again, Let no man think me a fool; if otherwise, yet as a fool receive me, that I may boast myself a little.

17That which I speak, I speak it not after the Lord, but as it were foolishly, in this confidence of boasting.

18Seeing that many glory after the flesh, I will glory also.

19For ye suffer fools gladly, seeing ye yourselves are wise.

20For ye suffer, if a man bring you into bondage, if a man devour you, if a man take of you, if a man exalt himself, if a man smite you on the face.

21I speak as concerning reproach, as though we had been weak. Howbeit whereinsoever any is bold, (I speak foolishly,) I am bold also.

22Are they Hebrews? so am I. Are they Israelites? so am I. Are they the seed of Abraham? so am I.

23Are they ministers of Christ? (I speak as a fool) I am more; in labours more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft.

24Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one.

25Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep;

26In journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren;

27In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.

28Beside those things that are without, that which cometh upon me daily, the care of all the churches.

29Who is weak, and I am not weak? who is offended, and I burn not?

30If I must needs glory, I will glory of the things which concern mine infirmities.

31The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is blessed for evermore, knoweth that I lie not.

32In Damascus the governor under Aretas the king kept the city of the Damascenes with a garrison, desirous to apprehend me:

33And through a window in a basket was I let down by the wall, and escaped his hands.

#GOD #Yahweh #Jesus #HolySpirit #HolyGhost #TheBible #HolyBible #Christianity #genderdysphoria #sexuality #christianity #homosexuality #transgender #transgenderism #satan #trauma #abuse #virtualreality #roleplayinggames #rpg #imvu #secondlife #avakin #dissociativeidentitydisorder #DID

[lu-undy]

Chapter 48 - SBT

Here it is!

Mundy parked the van about a mile away from the palace Duchemin lived in. It was the end of the afternoon and the sky was turning orange. The endless desert ground was hard, dusty and brown where the few cacti would cast their growing shadows. 

"It's all on me now." 

He slipped out of his van and shut the door.

"Right. Let's find the bloke." 

The Aussie adjusted his rifle on his back and climbed on his van's rooftop before scoping in to watch over the impressive mansion. There were guards patrolling and…

"Sick bastard…"

Mundy had to do a double take at the impressive number of lightly dressed females lounging in the gardens, the same French gardens him and Lucien had been in back when -

"Ugh…" He sighed but shook his head. Those days were over. The days where his heart would feel warm at the sight of the expensive suits and the alluring man wearing them.

Mundy focused on his scoping again. The ladies weren't a problem in itself, no, the problem was that they looked young, very young, no doubt even... illegally young. 

However, Duchemin wasn't with them. So Mundy moved the scope to align it with the windows and tried to get a glimpse of what was happening through them. 

"More guards… More goons… Ugh… Where the hell is he…?" 

He followed one of the guards going down a flight of stairs until - 

"What the hell?! Where is he gone to?" 

The man had disappeared underground. 

"Wait, so there is an underground to this place? Alright…" 

Mundy stayed a bit longer, counting the number of guards and watching them patrol around. 

"Right, I won't see more without getting closer. But there are cameras… I hope those bullets will do the trick…"

The Aussie loaded his rifle and one by one, the CCTV cameras went off. 

"Perfect, now the guards…"

Mundy changed his bullets for his double-chambered sleeping darts and started shooting. Thank God for the suppressor, no one heard him shoot and the guards fell limply one after the next, starting from those on the rooftop. When he was done with the dozen or so, the Aussie came down his van and got closer to the gardens. He found the young girls next to the pool, where he had first seen them.

"Hey - Ssh! No, don't shout, don't scream! I'm here to free you up!" He took one as a hostage to make the others obey. The poor girls were scared to the bone in their bikinis. He released the little girl that he had in his arms and looked at them earnestly. "Listen, if you run that way for about a mile, you'll find a van.. It doesn't have much space but you can hide there until I come back and take you somewhere safe, ok?" 

"What about Arthur?" One of them asked. "He'll find you and kill you and us for it!"

"Nah, I'm here to kill him and look around you, no guards, no alert, nothing. You're safe. Besides, this might be your only chance to get free. Now, tell me anything you know about where he is." 

"He must be underground… I heard him say that something important would happen today…" A young black-haired girl said, in tears. 

"Yeah, he's about to move his merchandise someplace else…" Another added. 

"Alright, how do I get underground without being seen and what's my best bet to get to him?" Mundy asked.

"There's a… A sewer pipe, it's actually a whole network of them… He uh…" The poor girl couldn’t continue. 

"That's where he gets rid of the corpses." Another one explained and Mundy's pupils shrank.

"Bloody sick bastard… Alright, where does it lead? If I find the end of it, I can just work backwards to him, yeah?" Mundy asked.

"You'll have to go around the house, look down and you should see a manhole." 

"Alright, I'll do that. By the way, are there any others like you?" He asked. 

"There were." 

Mundy gulped down hard and frowned. 

"Alright. Go to my van and stay there, ok?" 

"Thank you so much! Be careful!"

Mundy left them and followed their instructions. He walked in the maze of hedges that he knew from that time in the party. The only difference was that this time, the sunlight was enough to see and… 

And Lucien wasn't there. 

"No!" Mundy said to himself and shook his head. 

No, Lucien wasn't there and that was the whole point of it. Mundy would find Duchemin and kill him such that his goons would go after him and not after the Frenchman. He had a cat to raise and someone he longed for. 

Mundy finally found the manhole. He moved it with great effort and took the ladder down until his heeled boots hit the floor. 

"Bloody hell, that's some stench…!" He winced and switched on the light on his little keyring.

Mundy wasn't surprised by the existence of the bad smell, after all, he was now walking in the sewers. No, what surprised him is the nature of the stench, he could clearly identify rotting flesh in the air… 

"Sick son of a whore…" He mumbled to himself as he progressed in the tunnels. 

He had no idea where he was going exactly or where he should be going. But as long as he kept moving, he was bound to find something. Eventually.

"Fuckin' hell, that bloke has a thing for mazes or what…?"

Those sewers proved to be another kind of mazes, just like the hedges in the French garden; only this time, the visibility was extremely low. The little flashlight on Mundy's keyring wasn't powerful enough to help him greatly and the Aussie started to regret not having taken a torchlight with him. But how could he have known that he would end up travelling in some disgusting and no doubt highly contaminated sewers? 

Mundy sighed and put his hat in front of his face like a mask. The lingering smell of his soap in his old, leather hat was better than the filth floating in the air. 

He walked and walked, wishing he had something to mark his way, just to make sure he was not going in a circle… 

Mundy let the little light explore left and right around his feet and the sight wasn't one he wished to remember. In the dirty waters he could clearly see remnants of what used to be living beings. Sometimes animals, sometimes not. He winced in disgust and pulled the light higher up in front of him. 

The cracks in the walls spoke for the age of the building Mundy was exploring, the rats too, although he didn't meet that many of them. 

"That's always a good sign, isn't it? If even the rats don't want to live here…" He grumbled and kept walking. 

He had no idea how deep the network of undergrounds ran, or where Duchemin would be with respect to them. And even if Mundy wanted to spin on his heels and make it back home, where the hell would he go…? Through which tunnels…? Every fifty metres or so was a junction and with it came multiple possibilities not to find the damn criminal, but to get lost entirely!

However, Mundy didn't lose patience. He thought about his parents and carried on. His parents were not shown any mercy and they were put through hell itself. There was no reason why Mundy wouldn't do the same, as penance, to pay for his absence on that day, ten years ago. 

He went on, walked, and with each junction came a choice and with each choice his rage grew. 

"Oh bloody hell, no, not now!"

The battery on Mundy's light decided to die, leaving the Aussie in the dark. He took a deep breath and waited a minute or so, for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. There, that's a bit better… And he went on. 

"Huh?" 

There was a metallic clinking noise. It came from his left. For lack of any other clue, Mundy went in that direction. He walked further but the noise had died and there was no way to see where it had come from either.

"Hm…" 

Mundy put his ear on the walls. 

Rumbling. 

Distant but continuous rumbling, a bit like a boiler maybe, or a power generator. The Aussie tried to walk towards the noise, his ear always probing the walls left and right. And the rumbling grew louder and louder until he managed to identify what it was. 

"Oh bugger…"

It sounded like a waterfall. The sewers actually went in small cascades lower and lower down in the ground. Mundy sighed. 

-- Meanwhile, in town --

"Richard!"

Lucien had barged in the tailor's shop throwing politeness and courtesy out of the window.

"L?"

"Please, I need equipment urgently!"

The tailor nodded. 

"Paul, occupe-toi de la boutique!"

[Paul, come and deal with the shop!]

Both Richard's sons came out of the workshop and shut the front window.

Fortunately enough, there were no customers that afternoon. Richard nodded to Lucien and jumped to the wall with the fleur-de-lis handle before pulling on it. The secret wall opened and both slipped in. 

"What will you need?" He asked as Lucien ran to the display cases. 

"This gun," Lucien pointed right. "With a suppressor, please..."

"Ammunition?"

"Both non lethal and lethal, please."

Richard opened the display cases and collected the items as fast as Lucien was listing them. 

"Do you still have watches?" The spy asked.

"I'm afraid they are a bit outdated and modern agents don't use them much anymore nowadays…" Richard answered. 

"Do you have them?!" Lucien exclaimed, furious. "There is no time to lose!" 

Richard got startled but he nodded and opened a drawer that was connected to the wall. 

"Here there are." 

Lucien jumped to them. 

"I will need this one."

He pointed at the one with the silver strap. 

"Of course." Richard gave it to him and Lucien fastened it around his left wrist in a flash. 

"Do you have earpieces?"

"Yes, we do, how many do you need?" 

"Two, please."

Richard opened another drawer and tossed them over to the Frenchman. 

"Merci… I will also need a balaclava… this one, here." Lucien pointed at the black one. 

"Do you need a matching suit? I have a few black ones in stock, one of them should suit you…"

"Oui, please, and hurry!"

After a few minutes, Lucien exited a changing booth dressed in a black three-piece suit: jacket, vest and trousers, even the shirt was black. 

"Parfait, merci Richard!"

[Perfect, thank you Richard!]

"Here, a utility belt with throwable knives and additional ammunition. And this is a special pair of garters with an additional hidden blade in…" 

Richard threw the items above the curtain of the changing booth and Lucien caught them with ease. About a minute later, he exited the booth. 

"I don't have much time, Richard. See you!"

And the masked man ran out. He hopped on his motorcycle and dashed out of town. He drove as fast as he could through the desert, not even on the asphalt itself. He needed to get to Duchemin's palace as fast as possible. 

What on Earth did Mundy think he could accomplish on his own? Find Duchemin, in broad daylight and then what? Kill him then and there?! That would for sure end up in Mundy's death! 

The Frenchman saw the van in the distance and switched the motorcycle to silent mode. He parked next to it and turned it invisible before dismounting it. 

"S'il vous plaît, mon Dieu, faites qu'il soit encore dans son van ridicule…"

[Please, Lord, tell me he is still in his ridiculous van…]

"Mundy…?"

Lucien approached the van and heard some muffled noises coming from the inside which fell completely silent after he called for the Aussie. 

"Mundy, I can hear you are in there, come out and I promise to stop punching your idiotic self before you die." 

Nothing. 

"Bien. You have chosen poorly, for if you do not come to me, I will come to you!" 

Lucien took his blade out and forced the lock open before slamming the door wide open. His jaw dropped as he saw a group of young teenage girls in bikinis, scared to the bone, trying to all hide and fit in the van. They all screamed with their high-pitched voices at the sight of the man with the mask.

"Mon Dieu! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?!" 

[My God! What the hell is that?!]

"Don't kill us, please!" One of them cried. 

"I will not kill any one of you, what are you doing here?" 

"Fuck! Duchemin's gonna kill us…!" Another one said, sobbing in her hands. 

Lucien jumped in the van and they all gasped. He knelt down and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. 

"Listen, my… friend is the owner of this van. He is off to kill himself and I am trying to save him. Have you seen him?" Lucien asked. 

"He saved us… We were Arthur's girls…"

"His girls? I thought he had no children?" Lucien asked, confused. 

"N-not his children…" 

"What do you - ? Oh mon Dieu…"

[Oh my God…]

Lucien couldn't be more disgusted if he had wanted. "Don't tell me that…"

The girls grouped around the sobbing one and hugged her.

"I am truly sorry for what you have lived with that man. But please, tell me where I can find him. My friend, you see… He is my best friend. I can't let him die." 

There was a kind of honesty in Lucien's eyes that the young girls understood without really knowing what it was.

"He is off to kill Arthur. He freed us and asked us to hide here until he comes back."

"Do you know where I can find him?" 

"Your friend or Arthur?" 

"Both." 

"Your friend is going through the sewers to find Arthur. His offices are-"

"Underground, oui, I know. Stay hidden here. I will call someone who will pick you up and hide you."

"How will we know that it's not one of Duchemin's men?" One girl asked and Lucien looked in her eyes. 

"Ask them who sends them. If they answer L, they are an ally. If they answer anything else…" Lucien looked around the van and saw a few kukris hung on the wall. He pointed to them. "Use them and do not think about any consequences. You are now under protection from the French government."

"French?" One the young ladies asked. 

"Oui, in coordination with local authorities. But you do not care about this nonsense. And remember what I told you: a friend of L is your friend. Anyone else…" Lucien took the three kukris and gave them to the girls. "No hesitation. It's you or them. Understood?"

They all nodded. 

"My friend will be here shortly." 

Lucien exited the van and shut the door. He pushed a button on his watch and put the earpiece in his ear. 

"Richard…? Yes, it is me. Call Maurice and ask him to send a van or a minibus here. There are young girls who need to be evacuated. They are safe in a van so far." 

"Will do immediately."

Lucien pushed the button on his watch again and headed for the gardens. The sun was below the horizon now and the Frenchman took advantage of the dark to make very fast progress. 

When he arrived in the maze of hedges, he was only half surprised to find Duchemin's guards down, all struck by a double-chamber dart to the head or the neck. 

"Hm. The guards are still here and asleep. No one has found them yet and I hope that the same can be said about Mundy."

Lucien headed for the house and switched a button on his watch. He looked at his reflection on a window and couldn't see any. 

La bonne vieille montre d'invisibilité.

[The good old invisibility watch.]

He nodded to himself and entered through the window. 

Ah, la bibliothèque…

[Ah, the library…]

The Frenchman was standing in a wooden room filled with endless rows of books. No guards there. He went to the door and peeked through the lock before slipping out of the room. He found himself in a corridor with doors left and right. 

He walked through it until he met a guard and passed him without being seen. 

Je ne comprends vraiment pas pourquoi les agents actuels n'utilisent plus ces montres, elles sont divines! 

[I really don't understand why modern agents don't use these watches, they work wonders!]

He thought to himself as he soon found the stairs. He took them and spiralled down, stopping at each level and trying to find any way to see where the sewers could connect with him. 

Lucien was on the third level underground when he overheard a conversation between a group of guards. They were sitting around a table with drinks and playing a game of cards.

"The bloke stinks like there's no tomorrow…"

"How long has he been in the sewers?" 

A card was placed on the table and the guards frowned, planning their next moves.

"No idea, but when Russel found him, he got a decent beating and his nose is broken now. Thank God I arrived in time with Jimmy to help."

"The Boss knows about it?"

"Of course, we told him, he might be with him now or something, I don't know."

Another card and another second of thinking.

"Jimmy told me the bloke was weird, I mean, apart from the smell."

"Yeah, he was carrying weird stuff. When we searched him, we found a blowgun, some darts, a sword of some sort, like a machete, and some bullets."

"Just bullets?"

"Not just bullets, they're a rifle's bullet, a big one, like a sniper would use. I've seen some like that back when I was serving." 

"Bloody hell… And what did he want?"

"Finding the Boss and killing him." 

Another card landed on the table and the guards burst out laughing at the idea that a single man had gone through the sewers to try and get the most protected man in the whole of Oz at least. 

Lucien frowned. 

"Oh, God, that's a funny one, mate…" One of them resumed the chat as he laid another card on the table. 

"Yeah, I know. Well, I guess the boss is gonna kill him and throw him with the others, eh."

Lucien's pupils shrank. The others? 

"Yeah, I reckon he'll just scare him off a bit before killing him and poof, back to the sewers but this time, dead." 

They shared a laugh around the table as they raised their glasses and had a drink. 

"Oh I don't know about that, he took him down to cell 1."

Lucien frowned. Cell 1.

"Cell 1? For a dude fished out of the sewers?"

"Yeah, the Boss asked us to do that after having had a quick chat with him." 

"Might be more serious than that then, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but the bloke's alone and smells of rottin' shit. He can't do much." 

Lucien had heard enough. He needed to find Cell 1, which he felt was a bit of a special one, from what the guards said. He took a quick look at his watch and slithered against the wall back to explore the place.

One of the guards had said 'down to Cell 1', so presumably Lucien had to go down some more stairs…  

And he did until he came across a very useful plan of the place. Finally! He had been looking for it! As secret as a place might be, there always is a fire escape plan somewhere on the walls, finding it reveals a lot of information on the building. 

Lucien stared at it and studied it carefully. He was looking for a floor with cells, so presumably, a row of small rooms… Hm… 

Ah! There! Two levels below him! Those must be cells!

He thurtled down the stairs as silent as a shadow and went through a few doors before finding that he had been right. He found a corridor with cells left and right and in front of him, at the end of it, was a larger cell with a man chained to the wall from his wrists and his ankles. 

Lucien winced. He passed a table on which was Mundy's blowgun, his darts and a few bullets. He came closer to the prisoner and, after making sure no one was around, he tapped on his watch. Out of a thin cloud of smoke, the silhouette of the Frenchman appeared in thin air. 

"Ugh… Spook…? Oooh, you look like a burglar, dressed all in black like that…" Mundy was sitting against the wall limply, he was speaking comically slowly and Lucien guessed he had been drugged. 

"Ssh! Bushman, I will get you out of here but you must stay quiet!" Lucien whispered as he took his cigarette case out. He flipped it open and took the pins concealed there to pick the lock. 

"Eh… Spook…? You came here through the sewers too..?" 

"Non, but I can clearly smell that you did. Now, keep your mouth shut!" 

Lucien managed to pick the lock and entered the cell before shutting its door again. He went straight to Mundy's wrists and ankles and started picking the locks there too when a door opened in the corridor. The spy tapped his watch again and turned invisible. 

"Woohoohoohooo Spook…? I thought only yer bike could do that…!"

Lucien didn't move and just watched the guard approach. 

"Eh… Eh mate? See the Spook? Hey! Can you see him?" Mundy drunkenly asked.

"Shut up in there, will ya?" The guard shouted back. He looked in the cell and judging that everything seemed normal, he left. 

Lucien waited for the man to be completely gone before reappearing and dealing with the cuffs. 

"Bushman, keep your mouth sealed. If they learn that I am here, we are both doomed." 

"Yeah but at least I'll get to be… I'll get to be with you, eh? I mean…"

Lucien blushed but kept on trying to free his stinking friend. The ankles were free, time for the wrists. 

"Ssh, Bushman."

"No, no… Listen… I mean… If we both die here and now… I mean… No… That's not what I mean… Pearl needs you…" Mundy raised an index finger and stared at it. The poor man was seeing double under the drugs he had been fed. "And there's this bloke you like… Ah, damn him… Damn him to hell and back…!"

"Oh for that, I couldn't agree more. Damn him because he can't keep his mouth shut!"

"No, not for that, Spook…" Mundy missed the meaning entirely. "Damn him cause you… you like him and that's a problem, see?" 

One wrist free. Now the other. 

"It's a problem cause… See, I like you…" 

Lucien stopped his picking of the lock on Mundy's wrist and raised his eyes to him. 

"Bushman. Stop talking before I make you." 

"No… But seriously… I like ya… You're…" 

Lucien expected a compliment. 

"...weird." The Frenchman rolled up his eyes. "But a good kind of weird, eh…?"

"Bushman, listen to me." 

"Huh?"

"If we want to make it out of here you will have to stay quiet. We can't afford to be spotted, especially you, running free outside of your cell. How often do these guards come and check on you?" 

Lucien helped the Aussie up and Mundy naturally put an arm on the Frenchman's shoulders. The spy realised that he had been beaten up quite badly when Mundy started limping. They moved to the table and Lucien took Mundy's equipment that he stuffed in the poor man's pockets.

"I don't know, mate… Quite a bit of time… Gets lonely here y'know… So I just think of my parents… Heh, keeps the motivation goin'... And I think of you too… Keeps me warm inside… Can't help it…"

"Listen here. Let us make a bet, shall we?" Lucien tried another strategy to make his rescue shut up. 

"Yeah, alright, anythin' for you…"

Lucien rolled up his eyes again. 

"I bet that you cannot remain quiet until we reach your van."

"What's in it for me…?"

"If you succeed, I will owe you a dinner. If you fail, we will however both end up back in this cell before getting killed and thrown in those infamous sewers you went through. How does that sound?"

"Dinner… with you?" Mundy asked.

"Oui. Dinner with me." 

"Just you and me…?"

"Just you and me."

"Like… a date or something?" 

Lucien sighed.

"Oui, Bushman. Now, do you take the bet, yes or no?"

"Right, I'll uh… I'll shut up until we get to the van… Easy…" 

"Good." 

Lucien tapped his watch and both turned invisible. They went to the stairs and started climbing them. To his honor, the Aussie stayed silent even though he looked like he was suffering immensely while taking each step up. His gait was slow and heavy but Lucien was patient. 

When they finally made it back outside and on ground level, Mundy tapped his friend's shoulder and asked for a break. Fine, Lucien stopped pulling him and gave him a moment. 

They were in the middle of the maze of hedges and no one was around them except the bodies of tranquilised guards. 

"Huh…" Mundy frowned. His vision was blurred and seeing double did not help, especially in the middle of the night. The lights from the lanterns in the garden waved and danced before his eyes and his whole head was spinning. "Ugh…"

"Mundy?!"

The Aussie collapsed but thank God Lucien caught him before he hit the floor. He carried his limp body over his shoulder all the way to the van. When he arrived, Lucien went straight to the passenger's seat and laid Mundy there. The Aussie was only unconscious, thank God.

Lucien fastened his seatbelt to secure him before going to the back door. 

He opened it and the girls had gone, the kukris were all back on the wall as well. Good. Lucien rummaged through the Aussie's belongings before he found some deodorant. He grabbed it and went outside again. There was one detail to arrange: the motorcycle. 

Lucien double tapped it and it appeared. He fiddled with its dashboard for quite a long time before he managed to make it understand that it had to follow the van. Once it was done, the Frenchman went back to the van, on the driver's seat this time. 

"Oh…!" He winced at Mundy's smell and sprayed some deodorant on him. There, that would do, at least momentarily. For now, the Frenchman raced through the desert back to town. He needed to get Mundy to the Doctor's.

[ramon-balaguer]

As reflect on my recent prayer post from a married friend on the download or closeted homosexual or bisexual if you will… praying against his homosexual temptations and thoughts to be a true husband and father to their children…

I believe more needs to be discussed, revealed and taught on sexual sins. Not just for their benefit but for ours, as The Church to extend love, grace and mercy.

And though this is focused on same sex stuff like lesbians and homosexuals, it really can be applied to ANY sexual sin, even in the heterosexual sphere, so let’s dig in and see what God has to say, that unfortunately so many see as Hate talk or speech:

 What Does the Bible Say about Homosexuality?

Few subjects are more controversial today in the church than this: What does the Bible say about homosexuality?

If one regards the Bible as God-breathed and authoritative, then one must respect whatever the Lord says about every topic.

What we say and think about the LGBT+ (#LHBTTABCDFIGMPPQZ) community should be derived from Scripture, including the ways in which we are to treat one another.

 Bible Verses about Homosexuality

Christians must always start with the Bible in order to hear God’s Word on any subject. His commands are not optional, and he states clearly, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination” (Leviticus 18:22).

Neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:9-11).

For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error (Romans 1:26).

 Some Christians suggest that a progressive God would overturn his own commands in a certain social climate, but God does not progress in his thinking; his thoughts and commandments are always right.

We know that God does not change his mind. That he is always the same; and this is foundational to our hope and our faith in his Kingdom purposes.

God was, is, and always will be against sexual sin in all of its forms, which include lust for a person who is not one’s spouse, sexual affairs, and even emotional affairs.

One must not single out someone who identifies as gay or transgender as a “sinner” but instead look inward. Ignoring one’s own sin by way of deflection does not fool God.

 Modern Arguments about Etymology

There is an argument that Scripture does not contain the word “homosexuality” and that God is not opposed to men or women having sex with consenting members of the same sex. The word “zakar” in Hebrew can refer to any male, including human and animal, but also to boys.

But Strong’s concordance indicates that “zakar,” as used in Leviticus 18:22 above, refers to sodomy, a term not reserved for acts of child sexual abuse or rape but also consensual acts between adults.

“Arsenokoitai” is Greek for “men having sex with other men. And there is no real other interpretation that makes the best sense of the evidence both in the early Christian literature and especially in the Old Testament.”

Kevin DeYoung explains that Paul, a scholar and former Pharisee, coined the term. If Paul had been referring to men forcing boys to have sex, then he could have used the word “biazó” for “violent force” to denote a difference between consensual and non-consensual sex. He did not.

 Positive Commands about Sex

Sex is a gift. “Before the fall — before sin — sex was part of the created order. It was good — VERY GOOD,” wrote Paul Carter. “In fact, contrary to cultural ideas about sex propounded during the first century AD, “Christianity taught that sex within a marriage should be free, generous and reciprocal.”

But God never depicted coital relationships between two men or two women in a positive way. When God made Eve, Adam said “this at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman” (Genesis 23).

Marriage is represented frequently in Scripture. We have the examples of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, and Rebekah, Ruth and Boaz; Mary and Joseph; and several more. None of these couples was perfect, but each is an example of heterosexual marriage.

 Jesus' Relationships

When it comes to how society treats individuals who engage in homosexual relationships, Jesus’ attitude is the benchmark. The gospels illustrate how Jesus wants us to treat a person who has been marginalized by society on the basis of gender by highlighting several encounters Jesus had with women.

He called out their sin but offered something better. He allowed Mary Magdalene to serve him by washing his feet with her hair. The Messiah saved an adulterous woman from stoning. The Samaritan woman depicted in John 4 had been married five times and was with a sixth man.

He sat and talked with her when the rest of her community shunned the woman. Each of these women was guilty, but so were the Pharisees and other members of society who scorned or condemned them, and the men who used them.

Instead of judging these women, Jesus invited them to be part of his mission. The Samaritan woman was one of his first apostles. Mary was among his devoted followers.

Jesus gave these women a new identity so that they could freely choose to follow him, relieved of shame, and make him the focus of their lives. Everyone needs God’s mercy, but 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 is often taken out of context so that the emphasis lands on homosexuality.

This narrow-mindedness overlooks thievery, greed, drunkenness, abuse, and fraud which are also listed. Paul does not exclude anyone, even classifying himself as the chief of sinners. (1 Timothy 1:15)

 Intimacy, Identity, and Culture

You may have heard of the famous South Carolinian Gospel singer, actor and Minister of the Gospel Donald “Donnie” Andrew McClurkin, Jr. I greatly admire him for his many gifts and talent, but especially his complete uncompromised commitment to our God despite his struggle with his sinful fleshly and worldly desires of homosexuality that started with being sexually abused by two uncles and ended being ostracized and blacklisted by Barack Hussein Obama for his opposing views on Same-Sex Marriage… Likewise Sam Allberry, a same-sex pastor from England, confronts the pain of being alone, even by choice, on the grounds of obedience to God. Celibacy is made more difficult by the elevation of marital intimacy to a lofty position above all other forms, including friendship.

Allberry’s fear is that “if someone’s only choice in life seems to be either unbiblical intimacy or no intimacy, they’re going to end up choosing unbiblical intimacy. And if that’s the case, I think the wider church shares responsibility for that.”

As Allberry asserts, people within the LGBT+ (#LHBTTABCDFIGMPPQZ) and the entire #SinSickSocialistLyingLeftistLiberal community are being denied access to this kind of intimacy, so even those who are keen to follow God’s commands and to please Him by their faithful obedience are drawn to other sources for belonging and acceptance.

Jesus never taught his disciples to deny friendship and familial love to anyone. “Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:50).

He also promoted mutually uplifting, godly friendship. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The word friend, philos in the Greek, means “beloved” or “dear.” “I have called you friends,” Jesus said to his disciples (John 15:15).

Not everyone accepts forgiveness through Jesus; but he offers dignity, love, and truth to everyone. When a Gospel-Believing person highlights Sin in a person’s life, the purpose should always be to point that person to Jesus and His Saving grace and mercies.

Admitting and repenting of Sin, turning to Christ for Salvation, restores a person to peace and wholeness with God. Many so-called Christians, however, point fingers and exalt themselves by knocking down anyone whose lifestyle does not line up with their own.

 A Merciful Love

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7:1-2).

A big problem in the church right now is the attitude that because someone identifies as homosexual, lesbian (or gay as they now prefer to be called), transgender, pedophile, etc., that they should not be welcomed into the church.

This is wrong for a few reasons:

1. We are all sinners. To suggest otherwise is to ignore the plank sticking out of one’s eye while examining the speck in someone else’s (Matthew 7:3-5).

2. We are commanded not to judge others. If we treat other people as though they are not as valuable to God as we are, then we risk incurring his judgment on ourselves (Matthew 7:1-2).

3. Jesus hung out with everyone. He ate with sinners. That’s why the Pharisees were so scandalized. He offered the gift of his presence and the offer of salvation without prejudice.

4. Jesus says, “Come to me all you who are weary.” This is not an invitation to particular individuals who qualify on the basis of their behavior or lifestyle but to anyone who is tired (Matthew 11:28).

Given the obstacles and even dangers the LGBQT+ community faces, added to the ordinary strains of life in general, one might imagine they are very weary, indeed.

 What’s Next for the Church

Everyone was made in God’s image, but not all people embrace Christ’s message of Hope, Peace, Love, Holiness, Grace, Mercy, and Justice.

One reason for this is religious arrogance (Not much has changed in over 2,000 years, sadly) — Christians who act as though they are in a position to condemn or pardon.

But if churches shut their doors to those who defy God’s commands about sexual intimacy, the doors would be shut to everyone. The duty and privilege of Christ’s disciples are to offer all who will listen to the message of salvation and the promise of a love greater than anything.

His Love and Justice go together, but all who call on Christ’s name for Salvation are covered by His Blood. Believe it or not, that includes same-sex folks and all the rest… Each of us is a work in progress.

We can teach His inerrant Word but must always do so without judging or persecuting anyone, and with love and kindness.

If churches shut their doors to those who defy God’s commands about sexual intimacy, the doors would be shut to everyone. The smokers and drunkards, the liars and gossipers, the thieves and robbers, the cheaters and beaters…

The duty and privilege of Christ’s disciples are to offer all who will listen to the message of Salvation, Restoration and the promise of a love greater than anything.

 I have way too many friends and family who’ve dibbled and dabbled or live out any of these lifestyles the same way others do with alcohol, marijuana, porn or other addictive drugs… but I Love them all and would support and do anything for them that I’d do for anyone else within the Word of God. :) #REBTD

 My God and Father, how great is Your Love and Mercy… Thank You for Saving me from me and my poor choices in this life. Thank You for Saving my wife, sons and Godsons and so many family and friends from the Devil’s deceptions that lead to addictive behaviors. My Lord, bless and increase their Faith and Hope in You to continually walk with You that they won’t lose the precious Gift of Salvation from when they first Believed. Last but not least, let the lost find You and takeaway any thought or desire to sin and come to You with a repentant heart to give themselves to You. In Jesus’ Saving name, Amen.

[woundarks]

A Film Student and an Athlete Walk into a Bar

(Also on Quotev)

Aran Ojiro finds himself dealing with a woman that could almost rival the Miya twins' annoyance scale.

Aran Ojiro doesn’t consider himself a procrastinator. He exercises regularly, he turns things in on time, and Aran never rushes through his homework. He’s always the second, or sometimes third, one to show up to his volleyball practice too. He does not consider himself lazy in any way, if anything, he was considered responsible in every way among his peers. His importance to his team was greatly admired too, if he wasn’t there then who would check in on the infamous Miya Twins? Who would calm down Ginjima from his overwhelming overprotective attitude? Who would encourage Riseki into a positive mindset? Who would convince Akagi that he’s not getting fatter and it has to be muscles? Who would take care of his friends, his family, even strangers if he wasn’t there? He was admirable, strong, and most importantly, hard-working.

That was until he got into college.

College was as fast-paced as one of his games. Aran didn’t have time to stop by the park on the way home from practice anymore. He was a fast thinker, that was something his classmates, teammates, and teachers praised him for. He wasn’t stupid or anything, it’s just hard to find time to study in his already packed schedule.

This is what led him to ask his coach for a day or two off from practice. Although he truly did love the sport, Aran needed to pick his grades up more than he needed to work on his receives.

He was in a bigger town than what he was used to. It wasn’t as big as Tokyo but compared to his own town it was huge.

The street’s traffic lulled by with each hour. Aran’s thumb swiped through the various playlists he had on Spotify before finding his most boring study music. He tapped on the mix and was immediately greeted with an ad. What was up with Spotify and their ads? Like jeez, you had thousands upon millions of customers yet you still need to have an ad every other song?

Finally, a song began to play in his earpods and the smallest smile slipped onto his face. He wondered what that girl in the thumbnail was studying. Was she going over Paul Dirac and how he introduced the Perturbation theory too? Probably not but it was nice for Aran to think about.

Aran pocketed his phone into his sports jacket before finally cracking open the first book. The clock ticked by as the pages were turned one by one. It was around sunset when he had finally experienced his first interruption outside of those pesky ads.

“(L/o)-san? Right?” He asked, taking out his earpods.

The sucker was swiped out of her mouth and replaced with a bright smile. She wasn’t someone he was close with, hell he only talked to her a total of three times in his whole college career. During all the times their paths had crossed, he had never once seen her not doing something childish; whether it was a simple candied treat or a whole entire teddy bear dressed head to toe in pastels. Out of all the people in the school, she seemed to him like the oddest. This was saying something since this school was known for its freakish film students.

“Close, it’s (L/n),” She popped the sucker back in and gave it a loud crunch. Aran nearly visibly cringed at the sound. A few students glanced her way. (Y/n) openly acknowledged them for a mere second before her eyes reached his once again.

“Ya shouldn’t eat in a library,” He whispered. He glanced down at her shoes for a second before his whole entire head reared down at the sight before him.

“Why are y-” He stopped himself from even asking why she was wearing bunny slippers in a public place. She sat on the table before him and chewed on the sucker's stick for a moment.

“I mean- I live here, my dad owns the place,” She pointed at a plaque on the wall. The plaque spelled out her last name in golden letters. How convenient that the library closest to his apartment is home to her.

“No offense, but could you-” He was cut off by (Y/n) slapping his back.

“Oh my god! Chill out! I just recognized my favorite peer!” She slapped his back again before settling her hand back at her side.

“Excuse me, favorite wha-” He was cut off once again,

“I’m kidding! I just recognized you dude! Oh my god don’t get so angry!” She laughed loudly into the air, a student far away slammed his book in anger before suddenly starting to pack up. An old man looked up from the counter and glared at Aran and (Y/n). He bowed to him once before uneasily looking back up at his acquaintance.

“I’m not angry. Keep it down, you’re bothering the customers,” He began to wrap up his earpods, sensing as if he would have to deal with her for a bit longer than he liked.

“Nah, they love me. Whatcha studying?” She picked up a random note he had in one of his many piles. Aran quickly took it from her and placed it back in its respective pile. (Y/n) stuck out her tongue as if forgetting the sucker stick in her mouth. Aran watched as the stick fell straight onto his list of references. Why was this woman so annoying?

“Oh shit, my bad dude,” She quickly picked it back up and looked around for a trash can. Aran took a deep breath and held it for a second.

“Could you please leave?” He finally breathed out. (Y/n) glanced back at him.

“Sorry,” She started, finally realizing how annoying she must’ve been. “I just sorta thought you were hot. My bad dude,” (Y/n) nodded to him once before standing up from the table.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m probably just a little frustrated from studying.” (Y/n) moved down to properly look at what he was reading.

“Who’s Albert een-stin?” Her eyes squinted at the paper. Aran stared at her for half a second before shaking his head to stop himself from even registering what she had just said.

“I could probably ask my friend or my dad to help tutor you,” She offered, “My dad’s pretty smart, he used to like.. Do things... and stuff...” Aran could feel her limited vocabulary begin to surface. Although Aran thought this woman was a bit annoying, he liked the idea of getting a tutor.

“Could you give me the contact info of your friend?” (Y/n) pulled out her phone and unlocked it with a few quick swipes.

“Uh, yeah hold on.” (Y/n) tapped on her phone a few times before placing her phone on the book Aran was studying from.

“If she like asks you to go to her house, say no. She will try to peg you if you’re in literally any private setting.” Aran hesitantly brang his phone up and entered the woman's number. Was her whole friend group as odd as her? “...Thanks,” He smiled gently at her. (Y/n) retrieved her phone and tapped it a bunch more.

“This is mine.” She placed her phone back on his book.

“...Thanks...” He politely smiled once more. In all honesty, he didn’t really want it. This was college. He didn’t have time to mess around with someone as loud and annoying as the Miya twins. He didn’t have time to get to know her and her friend which would lead to him leaving practice early to help fix a mistake they had made. Aran didn’t want to jump to conclusions but she was obviously not in the right group. Christ, she had an ear full of earrings.

“I’ll get going now, see ya whenever.” She awkwardly bowed.

“Yeah, bye,” He bowed back and watched as she stuffed her phone into her pocket, left the library, then reentered to throw her sucker’s stick into a nearby bin. Aran watched the door for a second before sighing out loud. A few customer’s shoulders collapsed in comfort for her departure.

After she had surely left, Aran looked at his new phone number. (L/n) (Y/n), a childish film student known for being great friends with most of his school’s staff. (L/n) (Y/n), a woman who wore an ear full of piercings and hung out with other women who owned strap-ons that knew every hole of the male and female body. (L/n) (Y/n), the library-across-from-his-apartment-building’s daughter yet also the same person who never heard of Albert Einstein. (L/n) (Y/n), a definite idiot seeing as she had just gone out into the streets wearing literal bunny slippers. (L/n) (Y/n), the third most annoying person to ever enter Aran Ojiro’s life, gave him her number. Usually, someone holding all these odd titles wouldn’t get the chance to stay in his phone contacts for longer than a minute, and yet something stopped him from deleting her number. She had called him cute.

[headslogos]

Beneath the Areopagus

      When Paul of Tarsus judgment's mount descended,

Damaris, seeing that his speech had ended,

Approached him where he stood below the rock

Where citizens of Athens came to talk,

Or weigh, of matters philosophical,

subjects religious, or those criminal.

Resting her foot upon a stone, she spoke:

"Strange man, your words hurt me, and at one stroke,

All that I've learned suffers torment.  What use

Are Epimenides or Aratus,

Our poets, whom you seem to justify,

Though not your god they praised, as you imply?

They invoked Zeus, of Whom we are the Offspring."

Whereupon Dionysius, retiring

In disturbed meditation from the hill,

Drew near, his hand upon his breast.  His still,

Deliberate manner belied his heart,

Which, racing, yearned to know by what quaint art

Such artless speech as that he had just heard

Might spurn the logic, bend the rational word,

From Stoic porch or Epicurean garden,

And yet within his hungry mind still harden

Into conviction grown more adamant

The more it proved his spirit's complement.

A question might his famished soul impel

to harbor hope: "If God choose not to dwell

Within a solid temple made of stone,

Or on Olympus, not of flesh and bone

Comprised, but solely spirit, as we learn

From these, our poets, or the same, in turn,

As our philosophers of logos write,

That God is everything, though beyond sight,    

Where dwells He then, if you can answer make?"

    Then Paul, lest others hear, made bold to take

Each by the hand and led them to a tree.

"Forgive my presumption.  Please sit with me

Beneath this acacia." Upon the ground

They sat, and Paul began, "I will expound

Upon the mystery I barely broached

There on the rock before you two approached.

I am a simple man, not a rhetor,

A tent-maker, skenepoios, before,

At God's behest, I donned a stranger garb,

Found fire in my throat, despite the barb

That tears my flesh, and sped to do God's will.

Not without trepidation I fulfill

His purpose, weaving tents wherein He bides,

Not made of linen, thread, nor badgers' hides,

But of the skin and sinews of mankind."

    At this, Damaris spoke: "I cannot find

Within your words an answer as to why

You deem our God of the Shining Sky,

Almighty Zeus, to be the selfsame God

As He you here proclaim and so belaud."

Paul gasped and then excitedly arose,

"But not the same," he said. "These words I chose,

These lines, to show how consciousness evolves.

Your Titans ruled the earth, but this dissolves

When Zeus destroys belief grown primitive.

But now your god reflects the way you live,

His foibles, follies, petty arguments

Are merely yours.  The poet then augments

Belief and feels his way forward despite

The weight of certainty. Poets unite

Past thought with new, classic with the modern,

Private with universal. They discern

The slightest color change within the sea

Of consciousness when what's to come will be.

These bards of yours have already advanced

When they describe a God greatly enhanced

In Whom we live, and move, and have our being,

The small within the large, though not yet seeing

That large is also compassed by the small."

    Dionysius now asked, "These you call

The large and small, what do they signify?"

And Paul, his eyes alight, said in reply,

"Imagine, if you will, a stern-faced priest,

Joseph ben Caiaphas by name, the least

Of all those in Jerusalem his name

Would know, a man thought to be without blame.

One morning he awakes from a dread dream

Where phantom angels beckon him and seem

To challenge his belief and to invite

His stolid mind, so apt, so erudite,

Into a realm of madness and illusion.

A wind roars in his ears and his confusion

Increases when, within this dream, he climbs

The temple mount and sees a form that mimes

His own lying unclothed upon the rock

Where once the temple stood. The shock

Benumbs his head.  He smells the blackened skin,

His own charred flesh. And next, somewhere within

The mind's own ear he hears the plunk and splash

Of water, a sudden, symbolic crash,

And then his hair is drenched, like summer grain

When, with thunder and flash, a pelting rain

Sweeps down upon the field. He hears a hum

Of voices, a brief laugh, and feels the thrum

Of his own heart, then silence.  In a room

He finds himself, a place where shadows loom.

He feels the urge to weep and starts to pray,

But tears of frankincense and myrrh belay

The utterance of his mouth. The light grows dim.

Words, numbers, seven, three, twelve, planets swim

Before his eyes, gods, angels, sphered in flame

And arithmetically aligned. The same

Glide, dancing, hand-in-hand before a screen

Draped like the backdrop to a theatre scene

Across the room. Persephone appears,

Though veiled, and in her hair a garland wears

Of larkspur, iris, asphodel, and rose.

Her gown is green as Nature's and there blows

Upon his head a balsam-sweet incense

Of styrax gum.  His wonder grows immense

As from the screen, with joyous laughter, come,

To take the hands of Kore who, still dumb,

Stands fixed upon the center of the floor,

Three girls, their gowns embroidered with a score

Of celandines.  The priest condemns the glee

With which this Trivium of girls makes free

To raise the veil which covers Kore's face.

They beckon him, and arm-in-arm retrace

Their steps beyond the screen.  In agony,

Labdanum claws plucking his spine, now he

Lifts up his hand to part the final veil,

Suspended membrane, skin and fingers pale.

A noise, a flash, a sudden whirr of wings.

His heart flutters within his breast.  He flings

His arms before him as he falls.  Silence.

The room is empty."

    "Then why this suspense?"

Damaris asked as she rose to her feet.

"Do you mistake the story I repeat?"

Asked Paul. "Priest Caiaphas awakes in dread.

Retrieves a basin, washes, clears his head.

The dream passes. Nothing remains at all.

The tale is one of large within the small."

  Joel Cameron Head

[xgenesisrei]

Truth x Peace

The pandemic opened the way for a heightened migration of people into the world of digital platforms. Lockdowns and restrictions on public gathering pushed everyone, especially those who remained hesitant and unconvinced of the value of social media, to nonetheless make do with what technology can offer. And for Filipinos who are culturally wired to connect with people, that means intensified presence and engagement in social networks. It did not help that the shutdown of ABS-CBN contributed to the further weakening of traditional media such as television and radio. More and more, people, regardless of age, have become reliant on social media as their primary, immediate, and at times, the only remaining source of news and information.

Now that creates a huge problem. Some years ago, social media was seen as the bright solution to greater democracy and more social good. The prospect of everyone having an opportunity to air their own personal opinions, views, and perspectives, a space where free-flow of information is possible, sounded like a path towards people getting more informed and enjoying more freedom. For a time it did. We saw the rise of bloggers, influencers, and thought leaders from everywhere. We saw ordinary netizens empowered to join the public discourse on both pressing and amusing issues in our society. 

That is, until humans in the digital realm saw the rise of trolls taking over, of networks of organized disinformation poisoning our walls and feeds, and of filter-bubbles and echo chambers being birthed by ‘cancel culture.’ In the past years or so, social media morphed into a toxic wasteland flooded with fake news, causing its inhabitants to suffer online fatigue and trauma, and seeing friendships built over a long period of time ripped apart in an instant. It is like seeing the Promised Land, the Holy City of Jerusalem, burning to the ground, ravaged by the fury of the ruthless Babylonians, and leaving it with a very uncertain future. Again, the pandemic provided a most volatile context wherein people fought it out in an open mic tournament, trashing the loudest of voices on vaccines and conspiracy theories, missiles in the Middle East, and what remains of Harry Roque’s soul.

A few months ago, Netflix released a documentary, ‘The Social Dilemma,’ that uncovers the mechanism of how social media is changing our lives in ways that we do not expect and will not want, yet leaving us with very little power to stop it. A few weeks ago, MIT convened an impeccable panel of digital experts for ‘The Social Media Summit.’ They discussed the prospects of rescuing truth in a hostile digital environment. The big question being: Can truth still win in a world where fake news is manufactured and disseminated faster than anyone can fact check it? The experts sounded helpless and as a result they looked not so helpful.

The tension lies between the need to confront people responsible for spreading fake news on one hand and on the other the need to be open as well to the reality that truth not only has two sides but multiple sides and therefore demanding the idea of being willing to listen to ideas you don’t agree with and people you don’t like. 

Towards the end, the MIT summit came up with plans of action that centers, more or less, on the following: “shine light on falsehood,” “bear witness to the truth,” “speak truth to power,” and other similar admonitions that any IVCF-er will be able to quickly connect to not a few passages in the New Testament.

Hearing MIT’s panel of experts, who are by no means church people, much less theists, convinced me that Christians do have something to contribute in winning the war against falsehood without necessarily ripping apart families, friendships, and for God’s sake, faith communities.

So, how do we do this? I will not pretend that this can be tackled in a short time, much less by a single individual. But perhaps I will be able to help in laying down a map of the digital landscape which can serve as a point of departure for those who care enough to find a possible resolution. I will also try to sketch a biblical framing that can serve as initial stepping stones for the path ahead.

Digital Mapping: Maze, Spaces, and Faces. I think it will be helpful to identify the different spaces wherein people are moving in and out of as they engage in social media. At the very least, there are three spaces that we need to pay attention to: first, the terrain of today’s digital environment; second, the virtual presence of Christ’s church in such an environment; and lastly, the manifestations of God’s kingdom ever breaking-in. And on top of those three, another set of three spaces wherein the circles overlap.

Today’s Digital World. I already painted with grim colors the state of social media that we inhabit today. Maybe, I will just add that more and more we are seeing a world undeniably shaped by its digital soul. Definitely, there remains a digital gap, considerable segments of society that are pushed all the more to the margins in the ensuing massive migration to the digital sphere. But as the pandemic rendered digital technology as the primary means by which people communicate and connect to one another, government and private industries, community pantries included, the virtual is already part of our everyday reality. In fact, the virtual has become real. And this is where the reminder of Neil Postman, chair of the communications department of New York University, remains relevant, “The clearest way to see through a culture is to attend to its tool for conversation (Amusing Ourselves to Death, 1985).” Today, the conversations that shape our public discourse and our social imagination is greatly influenced by what we can Like and Share.

Church Presence in Social Media. The next circle, the status of the church’s digital presence, is the one that should cause a bit more of panic and stress on our mental health. Everyone knows that supposedly the church is sent into the world to serve as its “salt and light” (Matthew 5:13-16). And because church people are by no means ‘bulletproof’, Apostle Paul gave a strong reminder of not letting the world provide the mold by which Christians are to conform themselves (Romans 12:2). Instead, they are to be people who keep their minds renewed and transformed into the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God. But the more we examine how churches conducted themselves in social media, the less it appears faithful to its calling. 

Looking at the overlap of the circles of today’s digital world and the church’s digital persona, we will find that there is hardly any difference on how Christians, pastors and church leaders included, can treat one another, trash each other, and treat unverified information as gospel truths. A quick visit to some of the more popular ‘Christian’ FB groups will reveal the amount of salt worth trampling and amount of light sucked in a blackhole. All as a result of defending and insisting for what they believe in their hearts is true and just. This is where the mix of religion and propaganda can even be more damaging. Church people fight for political opinions not only for the sake of the common good but in the name of biblical faithfulness. To differ is to risk being branded as heretical if not altogether evil. And, as you can guess, the feeling is always mutual. In a digital wasteland fragmented by fake news and echo chambers, church communities swallowed in these toxic spaces have very little to offer as an alternative counter-culture. In fact, the degree of fragmentation and delusion to half-truths may even be worse. Tragically, this is the face of the church whose character is slowly being eroded by its digital habits. And, given the formative impact, there can be no denying that the virtual is as spiritual!

God’s In-breaking Kingdom. Fortunately, the kingdom of God is by no means limited to where the church has fallen short of and has failed. In fact, the kingdom of God transcends the borders and backyard of the church. George Eldon Ladd reminds us in his groundbreaking book on the topic, “the church is the community of the kingdom but never the kingdom itself” (The Gospel of the Kingdom, 1995). God’s mission of transforming the world, while primarily proclaimed by the church, is not exclusively carried out by people who call themselves Christians. Wherever life is encouraged to flourish, truth is upheld, and relationships are healed, you know God is at work. Regardless, if there are Christians around. The kingdom is ever on its way and it happens that at times the church so often arrives late.

No wonder it escapes not a few how God has always been at work, in ways that defy expectations, and if we bother to take a closer look, through people that will come as a surprise. Suffice it to say that in God’s kingdom, blessed shall be the nazi fact-checkers, the murdered journalists, the oddballs in toxic echo chambers, and even those who find it within themselves the simple act of just remaining sober. They are the ones who are in the overlap of the circles between today’s digital world and the kingdom of God. Unlikely agents of God’s healing touch in a fractured world. They may be far from the church but very likely near to the kingdom. The MIT summit that I mentioned, honestly, is the kind of conversations that I hoped we have in our Christian circles instead of the endless webinars left and right that offer very little help in healing the worsening fractures in our churches. 

Fortunately, there is that overlap between the kingdom of God and the church’s digital presence. We have here Christians who are caught in the tension of conviction between the need to love people and at the same time refuse lies. They navigate the fleeting space for hope wherein truth-telling and peace-keeping thrives alongside each other, without the need to sacrifice one for the other. They understand very well that severing relationships for the sake of truth is the badge of fundamentalists and legalists. But they also are very much aware that compromising truth for the sake of relationships is a sure step towards the rabbithole of injustice. Somehow, they know that the two have to be held together. A careful balance which the digital culture of social media has undermined and rendered almost impossible to recover. 

But there must be good news that Christians can offer right?

Biblical Framing: Truth and Grace. Do we have anything, from the deep wisdom of the Scriptures and in the clear example of Christ, that can point us to the steps moving forward? 

Immediately, what will come to mind is a familiar passage in John 1:14 that describes the remarkable life of Jesus: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth (ESV).” John the beloved could not have chosen a better pair of words: grace and truth. They sounded great together right? But we know in reality, these are two things that can cancel each other out. We see it everyday on social media. Truth thrown devoid of grace. Grace dispensed at the expense of truth. How could have Jesus made a happy fusion of these two seemingly contrasting values?

There are episodes of his life on earth that shed a clue. Two public engagements are worth noting:

In John 8:1-11, we read of how Jesus was confronted with the case of a woman caught in adultery. Jewish law demands that the penalty of wrongdoing be carried out. But Jesus chose to dispense grace and let the woman off the hook of the requirement of justice. Yet still, he made sure that the woman realized the error of her ways (v. 11). 

Then, in Luke 18:18-24, we read of how Jesus dealt with the rich young ruler. Jesus was blunt and straightforward. Publicly, he identified what was lacking in him and demanded what he himself said was impossible for mere mortals to render -perfection. But it is by this truthfulness that Jesus also opens the space for grace to come in (v. 27).

If anything, Jesus could not afford to either just be a prophet who cries ‘woe to you’ or a shepherd who ‘comes not for the healthy but for the sick.’ He is both. I guess, we cannot do so either. Prudence and discernment calls for us which of the two is needed at a particular moment. As usual, context and timing matters. But it may also be helpful if we can wrap our heads around the subtle irony that lies between the exercise of grace and truth: 

What if truth breaks into us fully when we realize that those people who are most undeserving of grace are actually the ones who need it most? What if grace grips us most when we realize the truth no matter how painful and blunt is what will eventually bring healing and closure?

In any case, my theological conviction is that the character of God’s kingdom we can best see in the life and example of Christ. Anything less are but echoes that need further fine-tuning. It is in Jesus’ story where justice, truth, peace, and grace all fall into their proper places. Going back to John 1:14, Jesus moved into our neighborhood so that we can see that the glory of God is most fully reflected when truth is wrapped in grace and grace is founded on truth.

If our truth-telling prevents us from extending grace to those who clearly have their hands dirty, then we fall short of Jesus’ words on the cross; “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Except for vengeance and retribution, we will have nothing to offer to those who made the hammers fall, people who have earned the right to become our enemies. 

If our peace-keeping prevents us from telling the truth to those who need grace the most, then we fail to follow the badass Jesus who hesitates not in calling people names when he has to. We will have nothing to say in the face of the Pontius Pilates and Caiaphases of today.

The tension between truth and grace shall remain and it ought to. There might be easy resolutions but I am of the view that this tension is part of the “here-but-not yet” aspect of the kingdom of God. So, we will continue to struggle and juggle until the kingdom comes in all its fullness when Christ returns. I will not forget what Miroslav Volf said when he was questioned by the great theology professor Jurgen Moltmann. Volf delivered a lecture that will serve as the framework of his book ‘Exclusion and Embrace’ (1996) wherein he argues to err on the side of forgiveness and grace. Professor Moltmann then asked him whether he can live by what he has written and be able to forgive the bloody Serbian murderers who massacred his people in Croatia. Volf responded by saying, “Well, I cannot. But as a follower of Christ, I should.”

When people drunk with power make us feel they are undeserving of grace and when people’s cry for justice make us want to see blood, we turn to Jesus and let his story continue to challenge us and to shape us. He left us the big picture of what it means to be a good neighbor especially for those who deserve it the least. More and more I am getting convinced that immersing ourselves in how Jesus loved others is what will help us bridge what we can't/won't do as human beings and what we are freed to do as his disciples.

Crux omnia pro bat. (The cross tests all things.)

Conclusion. I want to end by quickly looking into one of IVCF’s core values -holistic mission. Of course, an important aspect of this work is engaging in prophetic ministry, upholding justice and truth, so that social transformation, and not just personal conversion, will happen. So often, this passion for transforming society is what moves people to ‘cancel’ people so that truth shall prevail amidst a barrage of lies. But a good friend and mentor, Dr. Al Tizon, in his new book, said this:

“I see a great need to advance the meaning of holistic mission, to build on the evangelism and social justice affirmation, by understanding the ministry of reconciliation as the new whole in holistic mission. It must be if the Christian mission is to remain relevant in our increasingly fractured world. In the age of intensified conflict on virtually every level, it can no longer be just about putting words and deeds back together again (though it will take ongoing effort on the part of the church of the church to keep them together); holistic mission also needs to be about joining God in putting the world back together again (Whole and Reconciled, 2018).”

The point of social transformation is ultimately God’s longing for reconciliation. Truth that eradicates is no different from the bombs that got dropped in Palestinian homes. One can argue with a formidable case that it is justified but it won’t be a step towards the peace of Christ. Only towards the peace of Rome: Pax Romana (be at peace, otherwise, rest in peace). What is true of Gaza is also very much true of social media.

“There is no way to peace. Peace is the way. There is no path toward love except by practicing love. War will always produce more war. Violence can never bring about true peace.” -Richard Rohr

-Rei Lemuel Crizaldo, “Truth-telling and Peace-keeping in God’s Kingdom,” prepared for the webinar series on ‘Kingdom Calling’ by IVCF Philippines (May 22, 2021) 

[plum-pudding-and-honey]

MONTHLY RANGE : Eight & Charley & C’rizz (1/2)

Scherzo -  2.5/5 : So... I really don't know how to rate it. Because I recognise the brilliance of the thing (excellent way of using the audio medium, the sound creature was brilliantly creepy and the atmosphere is so cringy but in a good way? Also Paul McGann and India Fisher are excellent and they do have good chemistry together). But I'm not a fan of Eight/Charley so this was kinda … annoying? I liked how the Doctor/companion relationship is explored and I like the fact that companions are memento mori (a nicer way of saying "pets", the Master gets it) but I really hated the idea that Charley was the first one the Doctor really loved (lol no) because like Rose and Clara, Charley is supposed to be """special""" (the difference being that Rose and Clara actually believe that they are special, it's not the case for Charley which is why I don't hate her with all my guts like the other two) in her relationship to the Doctor. Each and every companion has a special relationship with the Doctor, no one is special and the Doctor (whatever the incarnation) loves them all. Period. So yeah, having them mopping for two hours about "You said you loved me, you didn't mean it", "But I love you", "No, I don't love but actually I do, I'm just trying to protect you." was annoying. Just say you love each other, kiss or whatever and move on, but don't linger on it for THREE episodes, thank you very much. And then in the last part, the Doctor admits that he loves all his companions, so yeah great, but what was the point of saying that Charley was the first one half an hour before except pissing me off greatly? Despite all this, this was still a good illustration of my Eight-treats-his-companions-like-shit thesis. (Also, forgot to mention, Eight at the beginning whining about loses his senses … annoyingly brillant and sent me huge Eleven vibes). So yeah, I love some of it and hate other bits, so I guess I'll settle for something in the middle, rating-wise.

The Creed of the Kromon -  2/5 : It was going well pretty much until the end first part. Then it became a huge disappointment. We have two female characters, Charley and L'da, and they're both reduced to being reproductive tools for the Big Bad Bugs of the week and despite saving L'da being C'rizz motivation from the beginning, he just shoots her when he finds her without even considering trying something else to help her, I mean it's not like she begged that bad. And then he's ready to do the same to Charley. Great. Way to go. I hope this trigger-happy tendency will be corrected soon because I do find him an interesting character - I mean he's rough around the edges but there's way for amazing character development so please don't screw this up. The chameleon concept is also great (and wouldn't work on visual medium, let's be honest). Consider me hooked up for the Kro'ka/C'rizz arc (which I don't remember at all btw so that will be like listening to it for the first time). Also, I have to add that Eight's laugh in this episode cleared my skin, watered my crops and all of this. Also! I’m glad to have a Doctor + two companions dynamic, I really love it

The Natural History of Fear -  4/5 : So this was weird. I mean most of Eight's adventures in the main range are weird but this is another level of weird. Like they're really taking meta to the next stage. I don't have much else to say to be honest, except that it was difficult to follow at times but that I obviously loved the 1984 vibes. THIS IS THE VOICE OF LIGHT CITY. WELCOME TO YOUR NEW WORK DAY. TODAY IS HIGH PRODUCTIVITY DAY. Also that end twist *shocked*

The Twilight Kingdom -  2.5/5 : That's not particularly memorable. It really struggles to keep us hooked up for two hours and it didn't really work for me : I've lost interest and let my mind drifted several times and I was still able-ish to understand what was going on. That's not a good sign, people. The interesting bit was at the end with the return of the Kro'ka and how the mystery thickens about this weird place. Also Eight yelling "RASSILLON" at the end … someone's mad at daddy. We get to know a bit more about C'rizz which is always good to take since last episode didn't offer us any insight on his person at all. There's something definitely shifty and not coherent at all about him, like he's supposed to be a pacifist monk and yet, he's a pretty violent lad (I mean, this episode doesn't really count, he was controlled, but in the Creed of the Kromon he's not particularly gentle), which he acknowledges himself (I mean it could just be that being enslaved by the Kromon changed the man that drastically, but still...)

Faith Stealer -  3.5/5 : Ah! Finally we learn a bit more about C'rizz and we address what the hell happened in the Creed of the Kromon. Although, did he just get brainwashed into getting rid of his guilt, just like that? Because if that's the case, I'm gonna be very disappointed. I mean, I don't want him to suffer or anything but it all seemed a bit easy. Also, yeah, poor C'rizz, easily manipulated and preyed on by pretty much anyone is this freaking universe - can anyone give him a break for a second please? (also, is strangling Charley going to be a recurring thing or what? Because that is NOT ok, writers, no matter how much Charley jokes about it afterwards). Anyway, the plot was ok, the multihaven (or whatever the name of this place was, I don't remember) is an interesting concept (even more relevant today) and I really liked the idea that it's completely ok for anyone to worship literally anything without judgement. 

The Last - 3/5 : Excelsior used a nuclear weapon to end a never-ending war and killed most of her people in the process? Excuse me? The unpredicted parallel with the Doctor and the Time War is up the roof people. And so I can't help thinking that this story would have been much better in a shorter version with a post Time War Doctor (can you see this with Nine, Rose and Jack? Because I definitely can and I'm not ok). Anyway. Charley doesn't get strangled this time but choked with a pillow. I don't know, do the writers have a kink about strangling/choking/killing women? And her death was the least credible possible with the Doctor moving on from it like twenty seconds after and absolutely not going into huge drama/self pity/extreme guilt mode, so you know she won't stay dead very long. I liked C'rizz very much here, he's actually growing on me much more than Charley. I like his loyalty and the fact that he has a much darker side, when it's actually well exploited.

Caerdroia - 5/5 : gfvbvgttybvgf THREE EIGHTS THREE EIGHTS T H R E E  E I G H T S it's more than I can take. Hmm. So, i love the first part where the Doctor takes a nap (he deserves it) and sass the Kro'ka into telling him where the TARDIS is. I love him. Then we gets three versions of Eight and that's when I completely lost it. I also quite liked the crazy vibe of this episode, which felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland (again). The labyrinth part (or is it a maze??) was quite well done and the fact that it feeds off the Doctor, Charley and C'rizz subconscious was a nice to get to know them a bit more (especially C'rizz, whose annoyance with Tigger!Eight was very relatable). Charley and Eeyore!Eight was also priceless to be honest. And finally, finally, we get the TARDIS back and yeeeah! Also the Kro'ka is a frog vbyvegbvfy I can't

The Next Life - 2/5 : Excuse me but did this thing need to be that sexist? I mean... even Eight was a bit borderline a couple of times. I hated Charley in this episode, I hated how quick she was to judge C'rizz and how jealous she is throughout this audio when she's never really struck me as being jealous, especially not of C'rizz of all people. And it's a shame, really, because I was starting to think that maybe, she was getting less annoying. And most of all I HATED how her interactions with Perfection were depicted, how they bicker about the Doctor and, like, I get that it makes sense with Perfection being Zagreus and all, but it was very poorly brought, and ... just no. Also Perfection's relationship with Kip ... brrrr. Again, no. The plot in itself was not particularly memorable. It ends the Divergent Universe arc properly, the idea of this universe being in a constant cycle was kinda interesting and made sense with everything we had learnt so far so that's that. It was also nice to get to know more about C'rizz and I really like him more than Charley, and I hope he'll have a proper chance to find out who he is now. I'm definitely disappointed with this audio, it was way too long and problematic. (Just kudos for the Grace reference ... and it's made me miss Grace so I might rewatch the movie as a treat)

Overall opinion : Well I’m glad this is over. The Divergent Universe was an interesting concept but the quality of the episodes overall wasn’t very good and the way women are treated/depicted here is just a big NO. Big kudos for Caerdroia which was a nice surprise. The Natural History of Fear and Faith Stealer are good too, not as much though, and the rest, I’ll probably forget very soon, just like I did the first time. The only good thing to come out of this is my boy C’rizz

[potteresque-ire]

Happy 30th Birthday Good Omens!

... and here’s a quick ficlet as a present! Aziraphale/Crowley, fluff, based on the Good Omens Lockdown video released today. 😇❤️😈Given the rewards of burglarizing one bookshop in Soho and no one would ever equate burglary with socializing, it is only logical for one demon to slither in and test his luck, as a rather noodly burglar.

ETA: Crowley, I mean, the noodly burglar, mentions Hamburglar in the story. For those who’re too young (or who eat too healthily) to remember Hamburglar, he was a character from McDonald's and here’s his image: https://mcdonalds.fandom.com/wiki/Hamburglar.

=====

That night, AZ Fell & Co had its second break-in in a week. The burglar was transcendentally professional in his burglarizing, donning the black-and-white-striped attire as required by the human thieving tradition and complete with a face-covering (in accordance with both the tradition and NHS guidelines). He didn’t forget, either, about The Big Money Bag with its Big Dollar Sign that signalled intent. The bag got a drinkable inside because burglary was thirsty business, and because the thirst of this one burglar was particularly, (un)fortunately undeniable.

The burglar was, of course, caught red-handed (and -bellied) by the owner of the bookshop. Mr Fell had, rather curiously, been baking a Kirschtorte in the middle of the night. A bowl of miracled, brandy-soaked cherries sat on the cash box that had somehow been transported to the kitchen.

One could almost suspect that Mr Fell had been expecting a crime.

Almost.

“Wily old serpent,” admonished Mr Fell, picking up the burglar by the neck with his plump hands, floured white and smelling of butter and sugar. He narrowed his eyes at the pair peeking out from the cut holes of the burglar’s face covering. “I should’ve known there’s no rest for the wicked, even during a lockdown.” 

The burglar, who, indeed, fine, was a snake (and his black-and-white-striped attire a tube sock; now please shut up and mind your own business), half-heartedly wiggled to try to set himself free. Half-heartedly, because cool criminals never wiggled. 

The burglar was also presenting his burglaree a placard from his money bag. 

“Give me your cashbox,” the placard said. “I’m burglar-ing.”

“Burglarizing,” corrected Mr Fell, acting quite gay for a burglaree. Couldn’t blame him,  for even the burglar had to admit the kitchen smelled good. “You can talk in human as a snake. Why don’t you?” The interrogation would’ve gone on if not for the ding! from the oven. Perhaps this was why Mr Fell’s question lacked the surprise warranted by the situation, per the customs of Earth and its humans. Perhaps this was also why the burglar found himself dropped on the cherries (and the cash box), in not so much a I-shall-fling-you-to-a-scaly-death way than a have-a-snack-if-you-want-while-you-wait way.

The burglar would later respond to the question with yet another placard. Yes, he got one ready. “Loose jaw, long tongue,” this placard said. “Tried fitting on masks that stop droplet transmission from talking. Didn’t work.” The burglar slithered out of the way for Mr Fell to move the cherries onto the freshly baked torte -- every cherry but for the one the burglar had coiled around, along its now alternatively glossy and pebbled circumference where the flesh had been licked and nibbled. Cherries or any food, really, were more palatable with alcohol -- ah, no, the correct term for alcohol tonight was disinfectant. Poison. Smuggled into the bookshop in the money bag also to lower Mr Fell’s guard, ensure the crime would go smoothly. As it would evilly. “Plus,” the placard admitted then, “going for the Hamburglar look.”

Mr Fell looked up, perplexed.

Another placard materialized (say what you want about the burglar, but he was prepared)(...and bored out of his wits at home)(...and really kinda missing someone enough to imagine the entire conversation). “* Sigh *” — yes, that was how this placard started — “Think of Hamburglar as Zorro. Designed by one occult but dashing entity. Tempted many children into coveting.”

“Ah.” Mr Fell looked demystified at the answer, as if any bookshop owner would concur that wearing a Hamburglar-Zorro look while burglar-ing  ... burglarizing on his property was perfectly reasonable. While being a snake. During a pandemic lockdown.

Either that, or because the presentation of the placards had revealed the bottle of drinkable in the money bag. “May I?” asked Mr Fell, already reaching inside. The label of the drinkable had been scrawled over. “Disinfectant,” tempted the writing in the same wild hand as seen on the placards. “Inject to fend off the plague!” Inject was underlined and the next sentence capitalised: “This label is not sarcastic”.

Mr Fell stared at the not-sarcastic-but-absolutely-wily temptation, and the burglar took the time to drag a set of silverware and a tumbler to his end of the table. Mr Fell, apparently abysmal at the maths, had retrieved two sets from his cabinet instead of one, and it was only reasonable, and suitably diabolic, for the burglar to covet his share. A look of epiphany soon crossed the bookseller’s cherubic features, perhaps inspired — very much inspired— by the rich amber liquid sloshing behind the label against its glass walls. “To thwart your wile, then,” Mr Fell spoke of his epiphany belatedly and thoughtfully, addressing more so to the disinfectant bottle than to the burglar, “to stop the occult work of a good-for-nothing burglar in its tracks, I shall have to drink this poison before you can ejaculate in me —”

CRASH.

A fork clattered on the floor. 

And the burglar had forgotten about his lack of mouth-covering too, along with the use of his tail for proper fork gripping and really, the use of his every other organ for every other grand, ineffable tasks God had possibly created them for. He ejaculated in human speech, no, not ejaculated, injaculated, no, wait, injected, ejected, oh oh oh interjected that’s right. “Inject, Angel, for Heaven’s—ugh—whatever’s sake! Inject!”

Mr Fell was remarkably unfazed by the rather human screeches, and more disturbingly, the accidental endearment from his serpentine burglar. Instead, he surveyed the damage done to the fork, the plate that’d tipper over and the burglar half spilled from it with his tongue a quarter tied (side effect of ... ejaculating in another species’ language). He did it all with a rather holier-than-thou flair, his chin so slightly raised, his gaze moving measuredly, majestically from one damage to the next. He did it all before a tiny twitch, no, no, a smirk, that’s what it was, no mistake about it, tugged the corners of his lips. 

“Inject, of course. Inject.” But he agreed solemnly, putting back on his usual air again of a tranquil if a bit stuffy professor, the type who’d give you an A if and only if you could quote from his favourite book. (”He was overcome by sleep; and as Paul continued speaking, he fell down from the third story and was taken up dead.” — Acts 20:9)  “What other unholy words could I possibly have spoken?” He placed an emphasis on unholy, his blue eyes widened and doe-like with innocence, but the hint of Kirschtorte in his tone more Schwarzwälder than Kirsche. 

At that, the quarter-tied tongue of the burglar could’ve won a scouting knot award. Mr Fell must have known it and his plump hands, miracled clean just to showcase just how buttery smooth and sweet and flawless they already were without the cooking stuff, proceeded to give the neck of the disinfectant bottle a long, loving stroke, and repeated doing that twice for good measure before uncorking the bottle. He swirled the liquid inside and gave it a sniff, all the while looking quite smug. 

Ngk. The burglar had been played.

The rest of the night has gone as well as it could. Mr Fell has enjoyed with his cake the disinfectant, smokey and as finely aged as expected from its year and origin. The burglar, meanwhile, has enjoyed, no, he’s endured, suffered greatly and painfully, the act of coiling up on the plate he’d dragged across the table and watching his burglaree eat. No social distancing rules have been compromised because one, criminal activities do not count as socializing, and two, what’s distancing anyway to a serpent who can social distance his tail and his head at will? And right now, that long, long tail of the burglar is in the shadows under the table where no angels or demons or God or NHS can see, curled around Mr Fell’s ankle and caressing that soft, soft skin under the sock because ... well, because Mr Fell, because this dangerous, book-hoarding, cash-box-toting being with a cake kink, has to be chained in place while his burglar is about to ransack his shop. Yes. The cashbox is no longer satisfying enough for a loot. The burglar will ransack. In a bit. After his tail gets a taste on Mr Fell’s calf, maybe, just a tiny lick, if Mr Fell is amenable to that. If the width of the leg hole of Mr Fell’s trousers is amenable to that. Or the burglar can do the ransacking tomorrow. Mr Fell mentioned he’ll be making angel’s food cake and at this moment, the burglar is very much for the idea of angels for food. His dips his tongue into his tumbler of disinfectant again to quench his unquenchable thirst, the tumbler under which still lies the placard that explains, while humans have transmitted the plague to their pets, there’s yet to be instances of pets transmitting the illness back to their favourite humans. 

“Pets, huh?” That was all Mr Fell has said about it, a breathy ask with an upward glance from under his long eyelashes. The burglar pulled out that placard as an act of courtesy, to assure his burglaree that while he’d be lighter on cash and heavier on disinfectants after the ordeal, he wouldn’t have to worry about catching the plague. And what gratitude was the burglar given for his niceness? That one, breathy huh?, followed by the sight of another one of those shiny, drunk cherries slipping into Mr Fell’s mouth, of his lips, red and just as plump as the cherry, following the fruit’s swollen curve and opening just enough to show a hint of his teeth, the delicate tip of his tongue. The closing of the mouth came with a small, wet smack, as Mr Fell’s lips pursed just a little ...

That’s it. That’s why AZ Fell & Co, The Bookshop from Hell — not that there’re bookshops, or books, or shops in Hell — deserves a break-in from a pet, no, a burglar every night. The burglar, specifically the one who was sent to this world to make trouble, will make sure of that. He’s got lots of placards at home and even more markers. And tube socks. And more importantly, fend-off-the-plague-injectable disinfectants from every year dating back at least a century, from every wine country of the present and the past. Mr Fell deserves to have his cash box forcibly removed from his shop every night because he’s an outright BASTARD — and one day, one day when this stupid pandemic is over and this stupider lockdown is a done thing, the burglar will have his real angel food, made of every blasted cherry being oh-so-daintily popped in the mouth across the table from him...

He’ll set his alarm for July — nuh-uh, June — to have it done.