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antihumanism · 3 years ago

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When I type everything out as a single run-on sentence I want you to imagine me cornering you off-guard in a crowded room, my empty brown cow eyes staring straight at you and reflecting you--nopony home here, she checked out and hopped away forever ago on the toxic chemical trains and clacking cattle cars years ago--and just, for no reason, I’m here and you’re there pocketed in the corner of a crowded room, and I’m channeling my alternate history past-self who was a preacher that got kicked out of the church for delivering sermons about the impossibility of sin and just ran off to Point Sur with my harem of distractions since I could never stop blessing my congregation saying “Go forth and know that you cannot sin, in the beautiful eyes of God and in my beautiful eyes there can be no wrong or evil” which backfired on me when they started setting fires and it all went to Hell, but I’ve won out over them because the world honored my wishes when I sighed “I should like to start again,” and so I’m here with you and you’re hear with me and I’m saying some insane shit like: “Looking back on Emily’s early works it is easy to see where her later reactionary turn comes from, because, from the start, Alfred Alfer was a story about the fear of castration, I mean, the first video was literally about Alfred getting neutered and escaping into a violent fantasy where he is loved and praised for his violence and the ‘punchline’ establishes the general theme of ‘reality by despair,’ which is to say that Alfred’s clearly dissociative episode is ‘verified’ by his destruction and it is this self-destruction that establishes ‘reality,’ like ‘pinch me i might be dreaming,’ but the pinch is violent and unfair self-destruction as hope is still ripped away, but hope remains, because it is a hope to die rather than be changed by the world, and this theme remains throughout her most famous work (the Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy which cements in canon the jokes of her previous Rise of Alfred cartoon) where Alfred is possessed by the spirits of Stalin and Hitler--a false equivalency made by the authoritarians that have passed for liberals for years--in Rise of Alfred, one would be remiss not to mention the phallic imagery in both the title and the video itself, Alfred is cut loose upon the world by the absence of a Near God or little other by the orders of a Distant God or big Other (in this video played by a droning and irrelevant corporate figure that can offer nothing more than a wall without lead paint that one can lick), and this is the essence of reactionary thought, the idea of a big Other who is totally incompetent yet all powerful and somehow worth respecting and suffering for (King Henry II saying ‘will no one rid me of this troublesome priest’ or the departed Daiymo of the 47 Ronin), the reactionary sees the big Other as a master who can only set the dogs off the chain, the police chief who needs to get out of the way so McBain or Dirty Harry or Paul Kersey (especially in Death Wish III) can do what needs to be done and purge away all the filth and make the world right again (no different than Rambo--even the first movie, which for all of it’s goods part still is reactionary propaganda bullshit pushing the fascist lies about a ‘fifth column’ that was rude to poor little meow meow war criminals--or modern day fantasies about nuking all of MENA until it glows green (fantasies delivered to raucous applause at Republican presidential conventions); the reactionary is perpetually trapped in this fantasy of destroying the world and escaping into the void of space, freed of the ground where the riff-raff are so they don’t have to negotiate life with their neighbors, and this is true, yes, even of people who spout bullshit about Fully Automated Luxury Communism who only want the right to consume as much as possible free of guilt--a condition they think is inflicting upon them by the big Other--as the Champagne of Shame Socialists of the 60s), and the righting of the world for the reactionary is just that, that the world must be Righted and the reactionary must be loved for all of their violence and because of their violence, for the reactionary finds themselves ever needing new excuses as they open new fronts in their fake, phony Culture War, and that is all they need (excuses), which is why Emily is so obsessed with justifying her edgy shit based on some Trauma (which is handy excuse to do Anything, even Things that Cannot Be Excused like war or self-harm or wanting to be seen), and so here you should already be able to hear so much madness, so many plaintive cries, all aligning around the same point (the trannies in the ‘wrong’ bathroom, the refugees in the ‘wrong’ country, the people in the ‘wrong’ neighborhood, the Jewish Question, etc), and, anyway, so in Rise of Alfred, Emily’s OC directly addresses the audience and tells them that they must love him/her--the castrated bitch desperate to be let off the leash--and in Alfred’s Playhouse she/he simultaneously affirms and denies the nature of a trauma that justifies everything (one is constantly reminded of The Act of Killing where one of the mass murderers imagines how, depending on the editing of the final film, he could be either a woobie or a war criminal) as the Trauma is simultaneously a joke--’sodomized with a popsicle!’--and the alleged real event that motivates her self-mutilation as we’re expected to believe Emily is processing something, but what is she is processing, hmmmm, isn’t that the true spice,” I rail and rave against your poor ear drums as my empty, dead cow’s eyes capture your entire body and reflect it back at you and the ice cubes in my drink pop and shatter and dissolve and as my fist clenches tighter and tighter around the glass containing them and I continue: she’s processing a fear of castration, which is shown clearly in Alfred’s Playhouse where Alfred’s “sodomy” is demonstrated by the sight of his crotch covered in blood (a scene that will be repeated in The Alfred Alfer Movie) but “what is castration,” one might ask, and one can respond “it is the removal of power by the Father,” and this is how we wrap back around to our root in the nature of Emily the Reactionary who believes herself to be deprived of the power she holds by The Bolshevik Jew that has inserted itself between her and the Father and this is the cause of the big Other’s ineffectiveness, and this is also the core of the reactionary as a whole, the reactionary doesn’t want a daddy to control them, but a Master to set them off the chain because they hate the Father who has castrated them, this is the nature of the mumbling corporate manager in Rise of Alfred, but it is also the nature of Alfred herself--and now you may ask if Emily is trans and the answer is I literally couldn’t fucking care less about any question left forever unanswered on God’s Green Earth and you shouldn’t care either--but Alfred the Castrated is also the Father/Mother of Alfred the Dictator, the murderous inner-self that is immune to consequences of the onrushing future (The Alfred Alfer Movie) but not immune to the justifications of the imagined past (Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy), and therefore free to inflict whatever violence that Emily the Reactionary desires, and it is in pursuit of this freedom that the reactionaries set off in the name of New Sincerity (two things to be noted here: (1) the Death of Irony was proclaimed at the birth of the 21st century police state and the new Forever War with all of its genocidal objectives, that is to say, 9/11, and (2) the broken necked coward who complained of American Psycho that it’s author provided no easy outs for easy survival was the one who offed himself while Bateman’s father still lives) and the Talking Cure (i miss who we used to be), and at this you should see me slugging back the whole lukewarm glass in between two syllables and continuing on without pause (as if this dog still has legs on which to receive them in any case), “Emily, like Alex Jones, is so desperate for an excuse because neither of them can accept that they have to be the one that pulls the trigger, like all liars they don’t understand that they have to define reality by action, the answer to what one might do is found in the difference between the types of irony, one type is constantly desperate for excuses (such as the broken necked coward found one day) for violence, and the other irony, the true spice, is the irony that releases from excuses into violence and energy, one must seek not to know or endure but to inflict, knowing that this inflicting was always inevitable, no searching for justifications, instead the answer is to realize that there was never a chain there connecting you to the Master or the present to the past, and the Father/Mother never had the power of castration (the past, after all, is a foreign country bombed and blasted to ruins already and better forgotten), and you can just be fucked up and terrible and do whatever amuses you right now without needing an excuse, and to the extent that anyone should, one should, because that is what fascism needs, fascism needs the need for an excuse and that is the irony of fascism--where the falling angel (the superego) meets the rising ape (the id) in an ego of ultimate violence which seeks only release from both of its creations in an instinctually and totally misunderstood caricature of dialectics--which opposes its opposite irony (the irony without fascism which is the id’s violence against purpose and reason rising free of anything else to obstruct it), and if you let go of that, if you just, ya know, if you just, you just have to cut loose and go and no one can stop you until it is too late, because there’s no Jew sitting over your shoulder to justify everything in terms of opposition or support, not even The Nazarene is real, but do you understand that you’ve always been free to just go? You’re free to go. You’ve been free to go all this time. You never needed permission for this or anything else. You’ve been free to go all this time. You’re free to go. A whole day off. Just mind the mo(u)rning and get on with it.”

#emily youcis #Alles ist wahr Nichts ist erlaubt #let's live now before we're back below

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

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Chapter 107 - SBT

Here it is!

"Meow…"

"Non, mon garçon." Lucien turned his head. "Glovy, those tomatoes are not ready yet, do not bite them."

[No, my boy.]

"Meow!"

"Glovy..." Mundy added from a few metres away, in a fatherly tone. He was lying on the grass with a hat on his face and Soot lying on his chest and stomach, napping.

"Meow…!"

"Glovy, you don't want me to count to three now…" Mundy said and the kitten obeyed on the spot.

"He listens to you better than he does me." Lucien said, raising his head from the tomato plants. He had spent the afternoon there, helping Caroline to take care of the plants. He had trimmed the trees and was now on his knees, removing the weeds between the tomatoes.

The kittens were roaming around, discovering fresh grass and a garden. Most of them played with the plants innocently. Only Glovy had wanted to taste them with his little fangs.

"Kitties? Who wants some treats?"

"Mum, you gave them some after lunch already…!" Mundy removed his hat off of his face and looked up at his mother.

"It's four in the afternoon! Someone's gotta feed the little ones so that they grow strong, eh, Glovy?"

"Meow! Meow! Meow!" The kittens came jumping around Caroline's feet. She sat on a chair and bent down to deal the treats to the eager little balls of fluff.

Mundy was laying on the grass, with Soot on his chest, while Perle was inside, with Mike.

"Easy on the food, Glovy."

Glovy stopped chewing sharp before resuming. He swallowed his treat and his ears pulled back. Caroline winked at the kitten and offered him an additional treat, as she put a finger on her lips.

"Mum… Don't try and feed him behind my back."

"How did you know?"

"Cause you used to do the same with me." Mundy said as he opened his eyes and stood up. "Right, I need to go now, Mum. I'll say bye to Dad on my way."

"You need to go?" Lucien raised surprised eyebrows and turned to his lover who was approaching him.

"Yeah, but don't worry, we'll spend the evenin' together. There's somethin' I need to do first. And by the way…" Mundy crouched to whisper in Lucien's ear. "Dress up nice and come at 7pm at the crossroad between the High Street and King James Avenue."

Lucien's cheeks went pink.

"Fine, I will."

"Be there on time and put on the nicest clothes you have. We'll spend the evenin' just you and me." Mundy turned to his mother who was playing with the kittens. "Mum, you'll watch over the cats tonight, right?"

"Yeah, we will, don't worry…!" Caroline answered.

"Right, I'd better go then, I got stuff to prepare." Mundy winked at Lucien and the Frenchman felt like the most special man on Earth. "See you later, Lu'."

"See you, Mundy."

Mundy went away and Lucien stayed with Caroline in her garden. The kittens seemed to love playing there. Soot went to Lucien and sat next to him while the Frenchman went on cleaning the plants area.

And soon, the time came for Lucien to go and get ready himself.

"Don't worry, Lucien, I'll keep an eye on them." Caroline came to the living-room.

"Yeah, you go and find Micky. We'll take care of the kids." Mike answered from the sofa, brushing Perle, lying like a queen on his stomach and lap.

Lucien went to Mike and sat down next to him for a moment.

"Are you sure about this? I would understand if you changed your mind. Looking after all these little ones is quite tiring."

"What are you on about? They're lovely!" Caroline said. "Besides, playin' in the garden got them all tired and they're sleeping now."

"Yeah, and look at this one. She likes watchin' the television with the old man, eh?" Mike looked at Perle on his lap.

"I think what she likes the most is the attention, the scratches and you feeding her treats…"

"Maybe, but she likes me too! Eh, baby, tell yer dad you like your old Mike, yeah?"

"Meow!" Perle answered.

"See? She does!"

Lucien got closer to the sofa.

"Thank you very much, Mike, I really appreciate your efforts."

Mike moved his eyes from the television screen to Lucien's light blue eyes.

"Well, thank you too. Carrie was right."

"I heard that!" A feminine voice said from the kitchen and Mike rolled his eyes with a smile.

"I mean," Mike went on. "Micky really found what he was lookin' for with you."

"I try my best."

"Ya don't need to, son. Now you guys go and have yer fun. And whatever you do, you watch out for each other, yeah? And you be good to my Micky, eh?"

"I dream of nothing else."

"Did he tell ya what's the plan?"

"Mike…! It's their evening, not yours, get yer nose out of their business right now!" Caroline answered from the kitchen, surrounded by the mewling kittens.

"Non, I do not know." Lucien answered, whispering.

"Lucien!" She added and both Mike and Lucien chuckled.

"Right, you go before she gets out the kitchen and tells us off, yeah?"

"I shall, thank you again for looking after the babies."

"Meow?" Perle raised her head and her paw to her Papa. Lucien took it and left a kiss on her white fluff.

"I shall see you tomorrow."

"You have a good evenin', Lu'!"

"Merci, Caroline, see you tomorrow!"

And Lucien left the house. Mundy had told him to go back home and get ready for an evening just with him. What for? Lucien didn't know, but if Mundy thought he could surprise Lucien, he had another thing coming!

Lucien had hesitated quite a bit before deciding, but he shall do it. He headed straight for the bedroom when he arrived, he lost no time stripping naked and started the act. He had dressed as a woman before, oui, and had put on the whole elegant show. This time, it shall be different. This time, he shall play another card.

He had talked to Richard about it and the taylor agreed to help, not without having a second of surprise however. It was a request for a dress, but not any odd one.

"Cut?"

"Close to the skin, but comfortable and not compromising."

"Length?"

"Down to half of the thighs."

"Colour?"

"Bright red."

"Dinner or social event?"

"Special occasion, something intimate."

Richard blushed slightly and his moustache only seemed more white in contrast with his pinkish skin. He stopped taking notes for an instant to clear his throat, before going on.

"Fabric?"

"Enticing to the eye and the touch."

"Any special requirements?"

"The cleavage." Richard raised an eyebrow. "Generous." Lucien added.

The Frenchman had his eyes closed on the tailor's armchair, imagining the dress as he described it. The smoke of his cigarette wreathed and curled, rising in the air.

"Anything to go with it?"

"Do you happen to make lingerie?"

Richard adjusted the glasses on his nose.

"I do."

"Can you do it for men?"

"I thought you had resigned." Richard answered.

"What? Non, I am still a teacher, but what does it have to do with-?"

"No..." Richard took his eyes off of his notebook. "I thought you had resigned from your military duties."

"Of course, I have. I am not a spy anymore…!"

"Then, why the disguise?" Richard asked.

"It is no disguise."

The tailor frowned.

"I will not act a part that isn't myself." Lucien made himself clearer. "If my demand cannot be met, I understand perfectly, Richard. But if I am asking you of all people, it is because I know the quality of your work, and I wouldn't want anyone else for this. I wouldn't be able to ask anyone else."

Richard raised his eyes to Lucien.

"I shall do it. After your last request, I thought that it was for someone else…"

"Non, of course not." Lucien said. "It is for me."

"I am relieved." Richard nodded.

"What were you imagining?" Lucien asked.

"Well… If you had come back to your military duties, then surely you wouldn't work for France, and as such, I should have to treat you with distrust, at least. And if, like last time, you asked me to use your measurements to fit the dress, then surely, with M…?"

"Oh, you thought my relationship with M ended and I was now seeing a woman?"

Richard nodded.

"What else could I have understood?"

"And why would I train my walking with high heels here?" Lucien answered.

"Ah, yes, that I do not know…"

"I merely want to surprise Mundy." Lucien answered. "You should have seen his face last time when he finally understood that the woman flirting with him was me in fact." Lucien chuckled, thinking about it again. "But again, if you do not want to do it for any reason, I shall by no means force you."

"Non, please." Richard shook his head. "I must admit that your orders always push the limits of my knowledge and my craft. My apologies for judging, and badly so. I should take this as an opportunity to hone my skills and teach my sons with me." Richard nodded to himself. "You know, uhm…" He looked left and right before going on. "One of my sons, Paul, the eldest…"

"What about him?" Lucien asked.

"He… I think you and M gave him the courage that he needed." Richard blushed and Lucien didn't understand where he was going. "He… He confessed to his mother and I that he… He prefers gentlemen."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Now, we did have our doubts but he just confirmed it and… We are actually delighted that he worked up the courage to tell us."

The Frenchman smiled.

"He is fortunate enough to have a father who describes himself as 'delighted' about it." Lucien said.

"Indeed. I imagine others are not so fortunate."

"Far from it."

Richard shook his head.

"Anyway, now, to come back to the dress…"

And Lucien described the vision he had, something that was enticing, revealing and inviting. The only thing the Frenchman wished he could buy was a few years of his life back. Ah, he wished he was closer to Mundy's age…

In any case, he put on the lingerie, the stockings, the dress, and the assorted red high-heeled stilettos. Lucien then went to the bathroom and put on his make-up. Eyeliner, mascara and this time, a hint of red lipstick. He put on golden earrings, a long and thin golden necklace and looked at himself in the mirror.

His hair.

What should he do with it? Ponytail? Bun? Braid?

Non, non, non. He needed something bold, something to go with the glamourous show he had been planning.

"Fine then…" He grabbed his hair dryer and a brush, and got to work.

-- Later --

"Gosh, he should be here…" Mundy looked at his watch and his eyebrows jumped. "Ah, yeah…"

He had worn Lucien's watch for the night, the one he had broken on the day he had died. It was permanently 4.26pm.

He smiled.

Looking at that broken watch didn't pinch his heart anymore, and especially not today. It made him smile. That broken watch was an I love you in itself, it was something that Lucien had left before giving away one year of his remaining life. And for what? For the mad hope that somehow he would end up with Mundy. Somehow…

"C'mon…" Mundy wanted to wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers but refrained from doing so. "Mh." He grumbled and waited.

He had told Lucien to be there, at that crossroad, and on time. It wasn't too far from the house. But the Aussie started to be nervous. He thought back about what his mother and father had told him and kept on repeating to himself to breathe.

Take a deep breath, take a deep breath, take a deep-

"Hey there, 'scuse me," Mundy turned to the feminine voice and the pat on the shoulder. "D'you know where I could find a wild man in a van?"

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. In the night street, the Aussie couldn't see the woman clearly, but gosh, the curves, the shapes…! Mundy's eyes snapped back to her eyes, not without lingering at the wide cleavage and the golden necklace shimmering around her neck, diving down her shy chest.

"Uh, what?"

"Mundy, it is me." Lucien chuckled. "How many times can I fool you?"

"What?! How the fuck?! Hold on…" Mundy put his hands on Lucien's shoulders and pulled him under a lamp post.

"Holy dooley…! What have you… Is it really you? I mean…"

"And look at you, mon amour. What is this suit? I have never seen it."

Mundy looked down at himself.

"Well, you aren't the only one who can go to Richard and ask for somethin' special, eh? Like it?"

Lucien took a keen look. The cut was well adjusted, close to Mundy's body. It made him look even taller. The Frenchman let his fingers touch the fabric.

"Soft, yet one can feel little asperities. Mixed fabrics, satin and cotton of India."

"Gosh, you sound like Richard." Mundy chuckled. "Like the colour?"

"Dark, Burgundy red. One of my favourites." Lucien said.

"Guessed so."

"How?"

"The first time I met you, as a spook, you were dressed in dark red, the suit, the tie, the balala-thingy. Thought I might wear it this time, give it a try. Besides, Richard went about givin' me a lecture about how it would suit me cause of my skin tone or somethin'..."

"Ooh, paid attention we have, huh?" Lucien chuckled.

"Hard to ignore the tailor when he gets emotional, eh?" Mundy grinned. "But I uh… I mean I look at you and uh… Is that really you?"

"Look into my eyes." Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy and the Aussie raised a shy hand to his cheek, cupping it gently, while the other rested on Lucien's hip.

"Gosh, you're… You're even more than last time."

"More what?" Lucien asked with a smile that made Mundy's heart flutter.

Mundy was devouring him with his eyes. The red, short dress, the black tights, the red high-heels and gosh the face… The face! The eyeliner, the dark yet subtle shadow on his eyelids. Mascara? Was that mascara? His eyelashes didn't need it, they naturally were long and thin, and gently flapped like the wings of a butterfly.

"Is that… lipstick…?" Mundy squinted on Lucien's lips.

Lucien gently nodded.

"You didn't have that last time."

Lucien shook his head and lowered it.

"Hey…" Mundy put an index finger under Lucien's chin and raised it. "You're beautiful, baby doll." He smiled and Lucien blushed. "And what's with the hair…? Curly and fluffed up? That's… bold. Reminds me of a certain spook I met back in the days, eh."

"Is it too much?" Lucien asked, his eyes still evading Mundy's as the pink on his cheek deepened.

"Nah. It's… It's amazin'."

Lucien finally raised shy eyes to his lover.

"Really?" He whispered.

"Yeah, really. And look at you… Dress, purse and everythin'... A gorgeous doll you are."

"Yours, please?"

"Course, I'd never imagine that-"

"Hey!" A voice cut them. A group of men were passing by. "The doll busy for tonight?"

"Yeah, come with us, baby…!" Another man from the group added.

They were clearly past tipsy. Mundy frowned.

"We're busy." He simply growled.

"C'mon mate!"

"Sharin' is carin'!"

"C'mere baby…!"

"Hands off!" Mundy clenched his jaw and pulled Lucien to himself. "Lay a finger on her and I'll make a necklace of yer teeth."

"Wohow," One of the men went. "Possessive bloke in a suit. We're five, you're alone, what are you gonna do?"

"Pop yer teeth," Mundy pointed at the first one. "Re-arrange yer ugly mug," He pointed at the second. "Break your leg." His finger moved again. "And you two, you'll get so scared, you'll shit yourselves and run away."

The group of men laughed.

"Well, then, come and get my teeth if ye like, mister suit and tie!"

Mundy turned to Lucien. The Frenchman's heart was pounding so hard that the dress around the cleavage was shaking. The Aussie bent down to kiss Lucien's brow. "Stay here, baby doll, I'll take just a sec."

"Mundy, you don't have to-"

"No. I said no one'd touch you and I mean it."

"Then please, go easy on them. The last thing we need is the police after us, especially me, in this attire." Lucien said.

"Yeah, now stay right here." Mundy kissed Lucien's hand and turned to the group of drunken men. "C'mere then…" Mundy opened his suit jacket. One punch flew and the first man got unconscious before his body hit the ground. "Teeth out? Now, you c'mere…" Another punch flew and the second man hit the floor limply. "And you, yer leg…!" Mundy raised his heeled boot and that's when Lucien realised that those were brand new. They weren't brown, they were black, to better go with the suit. Mundy stomped his heel down the other man's tibia as he had wrapped an arm around his neck. Even Lucien heard the bone break and the Frenchman's thighs tensed.

Non, non, non, non…! The Frenchman bit his lip and stepped on his own toe to prevent his body from showing the effect that Mundy's confidence had on him.

"Now, both of you, d'you know who we are?" Mundy addressed the two remaining drunkards. Their knees had given up, they were on the floor, eyes wide and breath sort. As the Aussie didn't receive any response, he bent down and took one of them by his collar. "I said: d'you know who we are?" He spoke slowly, his nostrils flared and his eyes flashing fiercely.

"N-no, w-we don't know! We swear! Just thought the sheila was for the takin'! We swear!"

"Then take your mate to a hospital and if you mention my sheila'n me, believe me, I'll find you." Mundy said menacingly and didn't see that under the lamp post, Lucien bit his lip. The Aussie let go of the drunk man and dusted himself off before closing his jacket again and coming back to Lucien. He offered his hand and the Frenchman gladly held it as they started walking in the street. "Sorry about that, baby."

"I… It… Ah…"

"You alright?" Mundy asked with a chuckle.

"Oui… I think? This is quite an eventful way to start the evening."

"And it's only the start, luv'. Now, can you climb on the bike with yer dress?"

"Oui."

"Then c'mere and hang on tight."

Mundy straddled the motorcycle that he had parked a bit further away and invited Lucien to hop on behind him. He started the engine and drove through the streets. Lucien wondered what the Aussie had in mind for them but soon understood when the streets became familiar.

Eventually, Mundy parked and turned to Lucien, whose dress shimmered under the golden lights of the establishment that both men knew very well.

The Queen Victoria.

"Remember this place?" Mundy asked, helping Lucien out of the motorcycle.

"Of course, I do." Lucien answered but he frowned. "Did you book a table there? I cannot go inside, for them, I am dead."

"Relax, I know. I didn't book anythin'. Just wanted to bring you here."

Both stood side by side, about a dozen or so metres away from the entrance and Mundy laced an arm around Lucien's waist.

"Brought you here cause this is where I saw you for the first time." Mundy said and Lucien smiled.

"Are you feeling nostalgic?"

"Not really. Just been thinkin' about it all, from the start till today. We've done some mad stuff, eh?"

"Quite the adventure indeed." Lucien agreed and leaned on Mundy's side. From where they were they could hardly hear anything but the muffled sound of the music playing in the restaurant.

"When I saw you in there, you woke things up in me." Mundy said. "At first, I didn't really understand. But the more I came to your shows and listened to you, the more I understood that I just wanted to hold someone, I wanted to have someone to say the words you were singin' to. And then I realised that I wanted someone to sing those words to me… As pathetic as it sounds, I was on my seat there, and I just imagined you were singin' for me."

Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder.

"I just… I didn't even want intimate stuff, I just wanted to touch someone, hold their hands, be touched by their hands… Feel like I exist and not just drag my feet from one day to the next." Mundy sighed. "You… You made me fall in love with an idea."

Lucien raised his head to Mundy and smiled sweetly.

"With your voice, I just… I felt like I was head over heels for someone who doesn't know I exist, and I didn't even know if they did too. But I felt it in my heart, the butterflies in my stomach, everythin'. I was in love, but with no one."

Lucien grabbed Mundy's arm between both of his and squeezed him gently.

"I-I don't know if that makes sense."

"Oui, it does." Lucien said. "You had the same effect on me. I think what we felt was longing. We both had love to give but no one to give it to, no one was worthy enough of the pain and the sacrifices that one does when one is in love. Because when you are in love, then you do not count. Such sacrifices of your time, your space, your energy, your money, all those do not appear as sacrifices, they are investments. You are investing in something that you are building, as opposed to yielding to something that costs you more than what you gain from it."

"Yeah… Yeah, that's the idea." Mundy nodded.

Silence fell between them, only interrupted by the occasional passer-bys and cars. Lit by the yellow neon name of the place where they met, Lucien and Mundy shimmered in red, splitting the dark blue night.

"Why did you bring me here?" Lucien asked.

"Because that's where it all started. That's where you gave a point to my life that wasn't just kill a bloke to get revenge for my parents. That…" Mundy pointed at the restaurant. "That's the place you revived me, after ten years of draggin' my feet in the desert, walkin' around under the scorchin' sun like a dried lizard. So I wanted to come back and tell you all this before…"

"Before what?" Lucien looked up at his lover.

Mundy looked away.

"We need to go." He simply answered and walked towards the motorcycle. Lucien followed him, still hand in hand with him and at a loss as to what Mundy had in mind.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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aj-the-cat · 4 years ago

Text

Lawless

~ Chapter 2 ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 1683

Scorpion's Roost

Solidarity, Texas

(Dedicated to all 100+ followers. Enjoy!)

Undertaker left the saloon that afternoon utterly confused. What whas that cowboy doing? He didn't understand humans, ever since he turned immortal he forgot all about being one. All memories left him except one particular one. Why it stayed, he had no idea. It tormented him.

Eventually his walking led to him being inside the comfort of his funeral parlor. His gathered up thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as he took off his hat and overcoat. A large black cat met him at the door. It was pudgy, and the look on its face resembled one an irritated human could pull. Its face was also very pudgy, and a shrill meow left its mouth to gain the attention of the tall man.

"I just got home, Paul. Settle down please. It's been a long day." Another shrill meow. "Who cares if I've been drinking?! I'm immortal, it's not gonna hurt me. Now leave me be, I want to be alone." A scoff-like noise came from the cat, then he left, his pudgy paws padding on the floorboard. "Ever since he put himself in a cat, he's been more annoying than ever, I swear." Undertaker told himself.

Sighing, Undertaker pulled off his shoes and threw them somewhere. He'll find them in the morning. His socks, belt, vest and shirt flew off somewhere as well, leaving him in just his slacks. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight from a window, as well as the mysterious patterns on his arms. Intricate demonic designs littered his arms like sleeves, stopping at his shoulders. They appeared the night he turned immortal.

Undertaker staggered a little, the whiskey in his body finally taking effect. His head buzzed. He took slow and steady steps to his bedroom, careful not to bump into any precious coffins he made. Blueprints littered the countertops everywhere, with all sorts of designs for coffins.

His staggering journey took him to his wanted destination and he flopped facedown on his bed, inhaling the scent of his own cologne and a hint of cat. 'Paul must've slept here', He thought.

Deciding not to get up, his mind wandered back to the small cowboy at the bar. He didn't understand humans and their frivolous ways. Always rubbing themselves against each other for pleasure just to end up sad and lonely afterword. Letting out a yawn, he turned himself over to stare at the ceiling, eventually falling asleep from the large amount of whiskey in his body.

*~*

Light snores escaped Undertaker's body. He seemed peaceful, until his occasional twitches turned into thrashes. Fire was all he could see. Orange flames swallowing up a house. Screams. All he could do was watch in horror as the house he grew up in was swallowed by bright flames. "Mother! Father! Kane!" His mouth moved on its own. The screams died down, until all you could hear was the crackling of the fire. Undertaker fell to his knees, helpless. He just watched his parents and brother die in a fire caused by his foolish hand.

A scream left the lips on the undead man and he flew up from his bed. Sweat and tears dripped down his body and cheeks as his breathing staggered. Undertaker gripped his head in his hands and slowed his breathing to a normal rate. He hated falling asleep. This nightmare plagued him.

After calming himself for a few minutes, Undertaker slowly got out of his bed and found his scattered clothes one by one. He placed them in a basket and went back to his bedroom. Paul, the cat, sat on his bed. "I don't need to hear anything from you." Undertaker growled out. The cat just shook his head and jumped off the bed, heading to another part of the parlor. Sighing, Undertaker grabbed clothes from his dresser and a towel and headed to the pond behind the parlor.

He stripped his pants and undergarments and padded into the cool water. The cold temperature didn't bother him. There was a bucket with cleaning supplies at the other side of the pond, but Undertaker didn't bother to grab it for right now. He wanted to relax.

*~*

After sitting in the water for a while, Undertaker decided it was time to wash himself so he moved towards the bucket. He quickly dunked his head underwater to get it wet and grabbed the shampoo, but stopped when he heard voices. 'What the fuck? This is my private pond!', he thought.

The voices grew louder and Undertaker panicked and dipped his head underwater until only his eyes and top of his head could be seen. Who needs to breathe anyways?

The cowboy and his partner appeared from the bushes surrounding the pond, followed by two other guys. They were both big and burly, but the darker haired one was just a bit shoter than the bigger blonde.

"Voila. Found it a couple weeks ago while me n' Scott were running from a sheriff. Been our secret pond since." The bigger of the four said. 'Except this is my pond and I made it myself, dick head.', Undertaker narrowed his eyes. The small cowboy scanned the pond and smiled. "Last one in is a rattlesnakes lover!" He shouted and started stripping.

Undertakers eyed widened. 'No, no no no no!' He watched in horror as the four strangers stripped to their undergarments and jumped into his pond. 'And I thought I would have a good day...' He thought. The cowboy started splashing everybody, getting lots of water on the bank and dirtying up the clean water with dirt and debris.

'That fuckin does it.' Undertaker's eyes became black. The rest of his head emerged from the water, and he focused in on the cowboy from yesterday. 'Want to intrude on my life? Fine.' His horns started to sprout, but the cowboy noticed him.

"Hey! Its the man from the bar yesterday! What are you doing in this pond?" The three other men looked to where the cowboy had pointed out. Undertaker quickly averted his eyes back to green and the horn nubs desappeared. He said nothing.

"Shawn, who's that?" The cowboy's original companion asked. The two other men stayed silent. The cowboy- Shawn -chuckled. "Just some hot guy from the bar yesterday. Surprise seeing you here! How'd you find the pond?" Shawn asked. Undertaker narrowed his eyes. "I live in the building right in front of this pond. I own it." He spat.

Shawn's eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion. "But Kev-"

"GET OUT!" Undertaker yelled. His eyes turned back to black and he stood up fully, exposing his muscular torso and marked arms. Shawn blushed.

A growl started in the throat of Undertaker, and the four outlaws panicked and scrambled over one another to try to get out and away from the demonic man in the pond. They grabbed their stuff and jumped the fence, the taller of the four accidentally knocking over Shawn's original companion in the process.

Undertaker sighed in annoyance, and his eyes slowly turned back to normal. His bath was ruined, the pond probably contaminated, and he just exposed himself to the cowboy from the bar. He mentally slapped himself and finished his washing.

*~*

Grabbing his new clothes and towel, he quickly dried himself and put on black slacks, grey dress shirt and black dress vest. He would ditch the tie and overcoat today, he planned to spend the day inside his parlor working on coffins.

He walked up the path to his parlor, making sure Paul's food bowl was filled, as well as the flower garden not trampled or littered with bugs. The daisy's were nice and fragrent, the roses with beautiful colors, snapdragons at attention, and the peonies-

"What the hell happened to my peonies?!" Undertaker exclaimed. Dirt and flowers were scattered. Boot prints led a trail to the other side of the parlor. "Somebody dug up my peonies..."

Paul stalked up and sat his pudgy body beside Undertaker. His shrill meow didn't faze Undertaker, he was too busy mourning the loss of his flowers and plotting ways to kill the flower murderer.

Undertaker kneeled down and palmed at the dug up soil, finding tiny roots from flowers and scattered petals. "I'm gonna kill whoever did this." He growled. Paul meowed and licked one his paws. Undertaker still didn't bat an eye.

Sighing, he stood back up and walked through the back door of his parlor, Paul hot on his heels. Or however fast a fat cat can keep up with a 6'10 zombie.

Inside, Undertaker threw his dirty clothes and towel in a nearby room and walked to the front doors of his parlor. 'I really don't want to open today but I guess I have to.' He thought as he opened the doors, letting mid-morning light flood his front room.

He looked around, and noticed pink on the ground. He looked, and a bad bouqet of pink peonies messily thrown together sat on the ground. The roots were still intact. Grunting, Undertaker bent down and picked up the bouqet. A messy note was attached.

'Sorry for playing in your pond. I hope these make up a good apology. - Shawn'

"I'm gonna fucking kill him." Undertaker growled. He resisted the urge to hold the flowers close, as he was in broad daylight, but he did when he turned to go back in his parlor. "Of all people, why did HE get invloved in two days worth of my life?!" He thought aloud.

Paul padded up to Undertaker and gave another shrill meow. This time, Undertaker noticed him and rolled his eyes. "No, I don't even know him. He just came up to me in the bar yesterday and tried to fraternize with me." Undertaker replied. Paul meowed harshly. "Shut up! Not like you can do anything, you're just a cat." Paul huffed, and swiped at the mans ankles.

Undertaker pulled his leg up just in time and shooed off his pesky human-like cat. Paul ran off, leaving Undertaker with his peonies and murderous thoughts.

#lawless!au #fanfiction #wwe

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dragqueenpentheus · 3 years ago

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Okay no one has to read this but i DO have to write it:

PYROC VS FATHER PAUL

Ya bitch needs an art break bc im getting angry about voices existing as i try to keep myself entertained. Today is NOT a god one for sinking into repetitive line work and that’s just about all i have on the table atm

SO! Im gunna do a little thinking about my little meow meows all fucked up by religion. Just a comparison for my sanity and interests. Pyroc is my baby i wrote him for the first time years ago. Five?????????? Whadda hell. Going on six.

ANYWAY john joined religion because of his trauma. His sister died and he felt lost. He was unmoored in this fishing village and looking for reason looking for hope. Hed had his heart broken and trying to make sense of tragedy on his own was totally beyond him. Thats why his interactions with riley in AA are SO good like. He knows that confusion and he knows the rhetoric that’s supposed to combat it. Only it dooesnt work for riley.

The same sort of thing happens for pyrc, only inverted. Loss urns him away from god and religion because its SO strong in his family and not only is he loosing trust in god, but his kin as well. He’s suspicious there’s mre they arent telling him, at the point of his fathers death. And he agrees to, on the surface, absolutely wholly throw himself in to being the second the family and the village need. But he’s keeping his treachery under wraps.

That’s one of the coolest things about father paul imo is like. That slow unraveling of what is. Frankly. An awful half assed plan, driven by fear and loneliness and desperation and dementia and love. Even VERY obvious things like. Taking down the newspaper photo of his young self ‘slip’ by him. I think, on some level, its DEEPLY intentional. He wants people to CHOOSE this. He wants people like bev. He wants people who see him and are in aw of him beating god. Of killing death. He wants to be worshiped and adored and for people to come to him willingly, no tragedy driving them to his arms.

Pyroc also wnats to be worshipped, but he ALSO wants to do the worshipping. He really longs for an element of almost????? But not quite??? Subjection?? He wants to be shown something and for a Great Voice to tell him, unquestioningly and unerringly that it is GOOD. Full stop. And then he wants to spend his life worshipping it. But this booko is an exploration of how….. no such thing exists. And more importantly no great voice exists either. There is nothing wholly good, nothing wholy evil. His lack of faith in himself once he becomes god is him starting to understand that as well. Thats on purpose baked into the lore. The starting point was ‘what if god was a position and in order to get promoted you had to be a murderer. No matter what’. He understands things are not wholly good, at that point. I onder how long it will be for him to realize they are not fully evil as well?

Bc pruitt does hm hm hm an interesting move. Where he takes something the narritve is very sure to communicate is EVIL no wiggle room just fact. Even if its driven by animal instinct its. Evil. And he makes it, not just good, but HOLY. And god i LOVEEEE that for him i ADOREEE that what a MOVE. Driven by desperation and dementia and relief and ‘if god saved me than maybe i can be good despite loving and sinning and maybe if i defeat god then i will be Thee Good’. SO sexy of him. Im really fascinated by his morality. He seems to have an understanding of the shades of grey in some respects??? But if he had a BETTER one with more forgiveness in his heart i feel like hed have left the church anyway after sarah was born??? Even if millie didnt ask him??? That might just be my own sensibilities creeping in but ….. like he culd have seen her on the weekends. He can do other jobs. Hes straight (??? Not totally convinced of this) he could have just dated her that makes me crazy. LIKE OBV HE HAD LINES HE THOUGHT THAT WOULD CROSS AND HE HAD INTERNALIZED THE CHURCH AND THE RULES AND SHE WAS MARRIED AND ECT ECT i know he couldnt have really but. Thye were straight. They coulda.

Im not gunna do fantasy homophobia bc i think its …………….. Boring. But i think some element of??? The vindlegaurd line MUST be passed along and for that particular rules must be applied. But thats also boring as hell :/ maybe i can work in my parthenogenesis lore?????????? I bet pyroc would love building that spell in any universe. That’s the sequal when he goes to magic university in helsin. But yeah i do like the concept that. Anyone can have a baby thru magic its just a time and energy commitment. Just a matter of wanting it enough together. Every baby is so deeply wanted and its mere existence is proof. Thats dope i love that. HMMM to be decided at a later date when im deeper into the story i think. I still havent figured out fully how and where and why orion is going to be invovled and if???? Pyroc and orion are even going to be romantic??????? Im torn im TORn…….

Thikns about john bonding w sarah over science and learning and starts wEEPING…. Like theres some surity beloved. Its just a matter of uncovering. I think sarah felt that same thirst for answers and hunted them differently. Her faith is in logic and science. I loveeee her god. Every scene w her and her dad absolutely RUIN me like!!!!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW LOVED SHE IS!!!!!! I hope at hte very end she saw the blood as the gesture of love it SO clearly was and not him trying to poison her. God i love that she spat it out. GOD. Thats about being gay, btw. Spits the religious offering that could save you across the gasoline soaked church floor like BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I think we as a collective should talk about the possibiites around sarah/erin more. Bc their defiance combined would be. Earth SHATTERING for crockett.

In the future pyroc gets a kid. Ever since that campaign where Enemy ended up playing his daughter im like. How did i NOT know this idiot wanted nothing more in the entire world than to travel it with his daughter. I dont care how or why hes getting a kid. Hed be so doting and awful abut it. He would need orion as a co-parent for the kids self esteem to be normal levels. thINKS ABOUT PAUL GETTING TO RAISE SARAH AND JUST ABSOLUTELY GASSING HER UPPPPPPPP HANGING EVERY DOODLE SHE EVER MADE ON TEH FRIDGE. BOASTING ABOUT HER SCEINECE PROJECT OT ANYONE WITHIN EYESIGHT EVEN THOUGH ‘WE K N O W JOHNWE WERE ALL AT THE SCEINCE FAIR’!!!!!!!!!!! Let these fuck ups be doting fathers im fucking begging. That scene where paul is like. You take ccare of everyone on the island sarah. Its more than being a doctor. You comfort them.

HM HM comfort is such a thing for Miss Bitch like!! He sees it as a Good Thing. He tries to bring it for riley by asking to hold the AA meetings on island ((also manipulation. Obvously also manipulation. I wouldnt have bene shocked if he was slipping the vampire blood into the coffee every meeting either. But thats just a theory. A game theory.)) ANYWAY he sees comfort as hly. The church gave it to him when he needed it. The angel gave it to him in the cave. Feeling safe and warm is HIGH on his list of priorities and what makes him hand over respect.

I think pyroc has lived a very comfortable life in SO many ways, but in none he. Activly recognizes. A key part of his character arc his him…. Opening his eyes to the world around them. Seeing the privilege he has and being like. Wait. This isnt Right. We have to change thi. And when no one agrees ti shifts to I have to change this. With Violence. A little revolutionary <3 it only costs the life of his whole ass family

Thats more fun comparison ground like…… paul is SO much about I know whats right and there is a cost but i AM ignoring it. Like HE KNOOOOWSSSS he knooooows he just doesnt want o See. I’m not sure if im going to surprise yroc with the ……megadeath of. His whole family. Or if it’s a choice he has to activly make. I think a choice makes it more compelling, more layerd. It has to be in the moment though, becaus ei think thats. A key difference between them. Pyroc wouldnt do it.. hed just leave hed peace out and do what he could in small ways. But he wouldnt do his big stand off with god. Hed shrink his goals in order to not hurt his family. Out of love?? Intimidation?? Some instinct wihtin him that balks at the idea of disobedience??? I think even he doesnt know. But i LOVE john becaue he jsut decides to lie. He closes his eyes and says i am being stupid on purpose. I think thats PERHAPS more compelling than good guy coward pyroc BUT!!!!! Thats who he is rip to ths little man. Cant change him now hes a whole ass child in my head. The PLOT i can change. Him….. not without massive character development <3

UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MM set my brain on FIRE!!!! Im so glad nano is coming up. I love sharpening pyroc against the comparison of other AMAZING characters. Father paul hill my beloved millstone <3 anyway sorry to anyone who reads this its literally me unhinging my jaw and emptying my brain out. I had to write stuff that wasn’t novel or fic. A little character time down and dirty. I wil NOT be editing this love and light to future me trying to decode this

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #pyroc #midnight mass

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bellakitse · 5 years ago

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Of little girls and their cats

TK Strand has seen Officer Carlos Reyes before, but it isn't until he meets his daughter that he gets to know the man.

* Carlos has a daughter, his daughter has a cat up a tree, TK brings the cat down.

TK watches as his fellow firefighter, Judd Ryder comes back into the kitchen from talking with his wife with a broad smile on his face.

“What’s so funny?” he can’t help but ask, he’s only known Judd for a few weeks, and this kind of open amusement is not something he’s used to.

“Grace,” Judd says with a smile, his voice fond the way it always is when he speaks about his wife. “She got a call from her goddaughter, telling her that her cat Mr. Whiskers is stuck in a tree and asked if she could ask the firemen to come and get it down. She called to ask if I could drive over there, it’s not far.” Judd finishes looking over at Owen in question.

TK watches his father too, no matter what the movies say, firefighters don’t really waste their time getting cats down from trees, but TK also knows his dad is a sucker for kids, plus, it’s been a painfully slow shift, everything is clean, and everyone is bored.

TK stands up, knowing before his father even opens his mouth that he’s going to indulge the little girl. Sure enough, Owen smiles.

“Let's go save Mr. Whiskers,” he says to the room, grinning when the rest of the crew laughs as they head downstairs.

Judd nods, pulling out his phone again as he follows Marjan and Paul, more than likely calling Grace back to tell her they’re going.

TK walks alongside his father, elbowing him in the side. “You old softy,” he says quietly, grinning when his father gasps at the word old.

“Who can say no to little girls and their cats?” Owen questions him.

TK shakes his head, amused. “Not us, it seems.”

They get into one of the trucks, and just like Judd promised, the ride takes no more than ten minutes before they’re pulling up to a blue ranch-style house with a massive tree in the front. As they get out, TK spots the cutest little girl, probably no older than seven with long curly hair in pigtails by the tree. Next to her is another girl, a teenager who is looking at them with wide eyes and worry on her face.

“Someone called about a Mr. Whiskers?” Judd calls out a step behind him, and TK watches as the little girl lights up.

“Uncle Judd!” she screams, pulling out of the teen’s hold to run to the other fireman. TK watches as the surly man grins widely, picking the girl up.

“Mr. Judd,” the older girl addresses him, and the rest of them. “I’m so sorry Lisbeth called you guys. I didn’t even realize she had the phone in her hand. Her dad is on the way, and he’s not happy about it.”

Judd waves the girl’s apologies away.

“She called Grace, not dispatch, we just had free time on our hands,” Judd reassures her, turning the little girl in his arms towards them. “Lisbeth, this is the 126, wanna say hi?”

The little girl seems to go shy as all eyes are on her, hiding her face in Judd’s neck as she gives them a small wave.

Judd just smiles, hiking her up higher on his hip. “Guys, this is Lisbeth Reyes, she’s officer Reyes’, daughter,” he tells them, and TK tries not to react.

He knows the name and the man, he’s seen him more than once on a call, and while they haven’t spoken much, there is still this thing between them. Something indefinable but very much there. Maybe it’s that TK is a hundred percent sure that they’re eye-fucking every time they’re near each other.

TK shakes his head, probably not the best time to think about Officer Reyes and how much he wants him when in front of his kid. He’s not done considering that, when they hear the siren of a police car. TK and the rest of the crew turn to watch as the car pulls up to the house, and TK holds his breath as Officer Reyes steps out of the car, large, imposing, and damn hot in his uniform. He has a frown on his face as he focuses his attention on his daughter.

“Lisbeth Rebekah Reyes,” Carlos starts as he steps on the grass with his hands on his hips.

“Uh-oh,” Lisbeth whispers, which Judd agrees with a hum as he puts her down.

“Mr. Reyes, I’m so sorry,” the teen says quickly, looking around at all of them littering the yard, watching and waiting.

Carlos flashes the young girl a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, pulling out his wallet and giving her a couple of bills. “I know how tenacious my kid can be, you couldn’t stop her. I need a sitter next Tuesday afternoon, that work for you?”

The girl nods, taking the money.

“Good, I’ll text you,” Carlos gives her another calming smile. “You can head home, I’m done for the day.”

The girl hesitates for a moment before heading back towards the house, more than likely to collect her stuff.

Carlos turns back towards them, kneeling in front of his daughter. “Lisbeth, what have I said about calling 9-1-1?”

Lisbeth looks around at them with wide-eyes, and TK has to bite down on his lip to keep from jumping in to defend her.

“Lisbeth?”

Lisbeth takes a deep breath, letting it out loudly. “9-1-1 is only for emergencies,” she recites.

Carlos raises an eyebrow as he nods. “And do you think Mr. Whiskers being in a tree, is an emergency worthy of calling 9-1-1?”

Lisbeth shakes her head, and Carlos nods again.

“That’s right –“

“But I didn’t call 9-1-1, Papi. I called madrina, and she called uncle Judd,” Lisbeth says, cutting her father off.

TK watches as Carlos closes his eyes for a moment before standing back up, glaring at Judd. “Seriously, man?”

Judd shrugs, unconcerned. “That’s what you get when you make my wife your daughter’s godmother.”

“I’m trying to teach a lesson here about not bothering first responders with non-emergencies,” Carlos says, rolling his eyes when Judd just shrugs again.

“We’re already here,” TK interrupts what looks to be a stalemate, and he has to remember to breathe when Carlos’ eyes lock on him for the first time since he arrived. TK feels the tension spike between them instantly, and he knows he’s not imagining it.

It’s there crackling like a live wire.

“We might as well get the cat down,” he continues, looking away from Carlos to look down at the little girl. “We’ll get him down, okay, sweetheart?” he says to her, getting a wide smile in return.

The next few minutes pass quickly as they set their ladder, and TK climbs up the tree. He gets a few scratches for his troubles, but soon he’s jumping back down with a fat tabby in his arms. He rolls his eyes as his team mockingly claps for him. Ignoring them, he gets down on one knee in front of Lisbeth.

He tries to focus on her and not on her father, who stands behind her with his hand on her shoulder, watching him.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he says gently, smiling at her as he hands her the cat. He lets out a surprised sound when Lisbeth steps forward and wraps one small arm around his neck, Mr. Whiskers between them letting out a meow at the indignity.

“Thank you,” Lisbeth says quietly, those pretty brown eyes of her full of joy, and TK thinks he’s completely smitten with this cute little girl. It would make sense given his crush on her father. He sneaks a look up at Carlos to find him watching him with a smile on his face that makes TK’s heart skip.

“Thank you, TK,” Carlos says softly.

It's not the first time Carlos has called him by his name, but it's the first time he's said it in a way that feels personal and intimate. He watches him for a moment, spotting interest, and maybe even affection in his eyes, and TK wants to get lost in the warmth of Carlos' gaze.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and TK blinks, realizing that he's been in a staring contest with the officer while his crew and the man's daughter watch.

He stands from his kneeling position, feeling his face grow hot as he catches the smirk of more than one of his teammates, his father's eyes all too knowing for his comfort.

"No worries," he clears his throat. "It's our job," he says inanely, cringing when he hears his father let out a coughing laugh.

He's embarrassed, but still, as Lisbeth beams at him, and Carlos gives him a small quirk of his lips, he thinks it's worth the ribbing he's going to get when they get back to the station.

"TK!"

TK stops mid-pull-up to look over at Paul, who is walking into the equipment room with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Officer hottie and his kid are downstairs waiting for you," Paul grins, his eyes dancing with amusement when TK's hold on the bar slips, and he slightly trips as he lands. "And I believe we're at the baked goods of your mating ritual, because I spotted brownies."

TK smiles in spite of himself. It's been three days since they were at the Reyes household. Three days of his path, unfortunately not crossing with Carlos'.

He starts to leave the weight room only to have Paul throw him a shirt.

"Dude, don't send that man into cardiac arrest with all that on display," Paul gestures towards TK's sweaty torso making a face.

"Knew you thought I was hot," TK winks at Paul, grinning when Paul scoffs.

"Whatever pretty boy," Paul smirks. "Just make sure you get a date this time, or the teasing you've been getting these last few days will seem like child's play."

TK waves his middle finger in the air back at Paul, making the man laugh again. Going downstairs, he spots Carlos and Lisbeth talking to Judd over by the trucks.

"Hey," he calls out as he slips on his shirt over his head. He doesn't miss the quick way Carlos runs his eyes over him though. "What brings you by?" he questions as he comes to stand in front of the small family.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles down at Lisbeth.

"We made you some brownies," Lisbeth smiles back up at him, turning to tug on Carlo's shirt. "Daddy, give him the brownies."

TK looks at Carlos, taking the pan from his hand when Carlos extends it. Pulling back the aluminum foil, TK breaks off a piece of the treat, popping it into his mouth.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes lighting up at the chocolatey taste. “These are delicious Lisbeth, thank you.”

Lisbeth beams at him, her cheeks going rosy, and TK can’t help but be charmed.

“You going to share those?” Judd questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

TK raises an eyebrow, looking back down at Lisbeth. “What do you think sweetheart, should I share?”

Lisbeth makes a show of thinking it over, making TK and Carlos smile, while Judd makes a disbelieving sound.

“Lisbeth,” he pouts, putting on a show for the little girl making her giggle.

“I guess you should be nice and share,” she finally says, smiling so hard a dimple appears on her left cheek.

TK chuckles as he catches Carlos eyes, which are also amused as he watches TK interact with his daughter. There is something else there though that remind TK of Paul’s comment and springs him to action.

“What do you say to Judd showing you the station, and you can hand out the brownies to the rest of the crew? They’re all upstairs in the kitchen and the weight room.”

Lisbeth lights up, and she tilts her head up to look at her dad. “Papi puedo?”

Carlos nods at her giving her a nudge in Judd’s direction as TK snags another piece of the brownie before handing the pan to the older fireman.

“But stay with Uncle Judd, okay?”

Lisbeth nods, taking Judd’s hand. Judd flashes them a knowing look before he and Lisbeth take the stairs up.

“These are really good,” TK says once they’re alone, taking another bite of the brownie. He sucks on his thumb to clean it from the chocolate, grinning when Carlos’ eyes darken as he tracks the action.

“That’s how you want to play this?” Carlos asks, his voice low and rough as he takes a step closer towards TK, making his heart skip at the intensity he sees on Carlos’ face. Any doubt that maybe he’s been imagining this attraction between them gone. Still, he can’t help but tease.

“How do you want to play it?” he questions with a smirk, letting out a gasp when Carlos puts both hands on his chest and pushes him back until he finds himself pressed against the side of the truck. TK gives a quick look around, thankful that for once, no one is around on the ground floor. Not that it matters when seconds later, Carlos is covering his mouth with his.

TK moans, blindly grabbing at Carlos’ broad shoulders as he licks his way into his mouth. The kiss is rough, no hesitation of a first kiss as Carlos’ takes, it’s disarming in contrast to the gentle hold Carlos has on his face, and TK is left defenseless to the contradicting actions, leaving him feeling wrecked as he surrenders to the kiss.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” Carlos murmurs against his mouth, biting down softly on TK’s bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Brownie,” TK gasps, chasing after it.

Carlos chuckles quietly, and TK feels it more than hears as Carlos presses his body against him, holding him up at this point as TK is sure he’s gone boneless from Carlos’ kisses. “No, that’s all you.”

TK pulls Carlos into another kiss, his hand sliding down the hard plains of Carlos' chest to cup him through his pants, moaning into the kiss as he finds him hard and thick. He can already picture getting his mouth on him, and it's only the noise of his team above him that reminds him where they are, keeping him from sinking to his knees.

He pulls back to look at Carlos, making a soft needy sound when he sees how blown Carlos' eyes are, his lips shiny from their kisses. He already looks wrecked, and TK just wants to mess him up some more.

Carlos touches the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb, running it over his bottom lip, and all TK can do is pant against the digit, in awe of the need, and want coursing through him for the man before him.

"Lisbeth has a sleepover tonight with her cousins," Carlos tells him, licking his lips. He closes his eyes like he can taste TK on them. "My sister is picking her up at 7."

Carlos looks at him, his gaze hot and promising, but also so sweetly hopeful, TK is filled with tenderness to go along with the lust that's making his blood pump harder.

He smiles at the man, getting one in return. "I get off at 9."

TK arrives at the Reyes household 15 minutes before ten. He took a quick shower at the fire station and ran out of there to the sound of his crew, teasing him for his rush. The ride over was short, but his anticipation of the night ahead made it feel forever, and when he steps up to the door, his heart is racing.

Carlos opens the door with a beautiful smile on his even more beautiful face, and all TK wants is to lick it off.

"Hi," he says breathlessly as he takes in the tight pale blue dress shirt and slacks, feeling more than a little underdressed in his yellow hoodie.

"Hi," Carlos greets him back, letting him in.

TK walks, looking around at the well lived-in home. "Lisbeth with her cousins?"

Carlos closes the door, stepping up behind him, his hands resting on TK's hips. "Yeah, she and the other little terrors should be driving my sister crazy as we speak."

TK chuckles, but it turns into a soft moan when Carlos pulls down his hood and presses his face into the crook of TK's neck, his lips touching the sensitive shell of TK's ear.

"I cooked," Carlos says softly, his breath against TK's skin makes the hairs stand up. "Tamales. Do you like them?"

"Never had them," TK answers honestly. "But I'm sure I'll love them."

He turns around in Carlos' embrace, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ neck while he pulls him closer.

"Later, though?" he questions, tilting his head an inch up to brush his mouth against Carlos'.

Carlos smiles against his mouth, his brown eyes shining with amusement and affection. He starts walking them deeper into the house towards a hallway. "Tamales are awesome as midnight food."

TK grins, surging forward to kiss him. Carlos wraps his arm around his waist, lifting him off his feet and TK gasps, wrapping his legs around Carlos' hips. He's not a small man, and yet Carlos carries him like it's nothing as he takes them into his bedroom.

TK let's out a laugh when Carlos drops him on the bed, causing him to bounce. Carlos flashes him a grin as he all but rips his shirt off. TK follows suit or tries to, cursing as he gets stuck in his stupid yellow hoodie.

He hears Carlos laugh from his hoodie prison before he feels a set of hands free him. He looks up to find Carlos looking down at him, tenderly amused.

"I'm usually better at this," TK promises as he blushes. "Much more seductive."

Carlos chuckles, he cups TK's face between his strong hands and leans down to give him a kiss that makes TK's toes curl.

"Believe me baby, you've been seducing me since the first call we were on together," Carlos tells him, giving him half a smile. "I took one look at those eyes of yours and knew I was in trouble. Haven't been able to get you out of my head since."

"I know the feeling," TK says softly, meaning it. He doesn't know much about the man before him, all he knows is that the moments he spends around him, even if it's a few seconds on an emergency is enough to lift the grey fog TK has been living in since even before he and his father left New York. Every encounter with Carlos is splashes of color, and TK craves more.

"Come here," he whispers as he lays back on the bed. Carlos follows his request and covers TK with his strong body. As Carlos finishes undressing them and touches TK precisely the way he likes, pulling moan after moan out of him, TK starts to see the bits of color, and by the time Carlos sinks into him, robbing him of breath everything is in technicolor for the first time in a long time.

TK wakes up warm, delightfully achy and with a strong arm thrown over his hip. He smiles, taking his time to open his eyes as he feels Carlos’ solid frame against his back, his breath warming TK’s neck as he sleeps with his face tucked into the crook of TK’s shoulder.

“Mr. Whiskers is up the tree again.”

TK opens is eyes at the soft voice, finding Lisbeth Reyes standing by his side of the bed, watching him calmly.

“Hi,” he says hesitantly, not knowing how the little girl is going to react to finding him in her father's bed.

“Hi, TK,” she greets him back. “Mr. Whiskers went up the tree, but I didn’t call 9-1-1 or my madrina this time.”

“That’s progress,” Carlos says, his words muffled against TK’s neck. He lifts his head, and TK turns his face, catching the adorably sleepy look on his face. “Morning, baby girl.”

Lisbeth smiles at her dad as she says good morning.

“I’m hungry, daddy,” she says just as TK’s own stomach grumbles, making Carlos smile.

“Seems you’re not the only one,” he teases, making Lisbeth giggle as she looks back at TK. “We have tamales from last night.”

Lisbeth’s eyes light up at the comment. “Yes! Tamales for breakfast!”

TK laughs softly at the little girl’s excitement, the weirdness of her finding him there, dissipating since it seemed he was the only one being weird about it.

“Go watch cartoons baby,” Carlos tells his daughter as he sits up, he takes a moment to rub his eyes, and TK doesn’t understand how someone can be so hot and so adorable at the same time. “We’ll get Mr. Whiskers down and heat up the tamales.”

Lisbeth nods, leaving them alone once more. In the distance, TK can hear the TV on. He watches as Carlos gets up, slipping on a pair of sweats and an Austin police t-shirt.

“She didn’t even blink to me being here,” TK questions as he sits up on the bed.

Carlos looks over at him with a small frown on his face. “I told her you would probably be here when she came home.”

TK looks up at Carlos, not sure what surprises him more, the fact that Carlos told his daughter about them or that he knew that TK would be here in the morning. “You did?”

Carlos tilts his head to the side, studying him, before coming over to sit down next to TK on the bed. He takes TK’s hand in his, lifting it to his mouth to press a small kiss to the back of it.

“I don’t hide things from my daughter,” Carlos starts with a look on his face that has TK holding his breath, his heart rate ticking up the longer Carlos watches him. “Especially the things that matter.”

“And I matter?” he can’t help but ask, hopeful.

Carlos smiles, leaning in to kiss him. “What do you think?” he whispers against TK’s mouth before giving him another kiss.

TK sighs into it, wrapping his arms around Carlos’s neck, holding him close, while Carlos’ hands go up and down TK’s back stroking him.

“Daddy! TK! Hurry up!”

TK smiles into the kiss. “I’ll get the cat, you get the food ready. You two keep bragging about these tamales, I expect them to be amazing.”

Carlos grins as he stands up. “Prepare to have your life changed forever,” Carlos promises as he leaves the room, and TK thinks as he slips into his pants and shirt – Yeah, he’s ready for that.

#911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tk x carlos #my writing

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nerianasims · 4 years ago

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Billboards #1 1972

Under the cut.

Don McLean – “American Pie” -- January 15, 1972

I grew up without having a clue what McLean was supposedly singing about, so I figured it was some weird fantasy thing. Maybe he meant it to be deadly serious, maybe not. He's always refused to explain it, which is the smart move. I find it fun like a big Broadway song.

Al Green – “Let’s Stay Together” -- February 12, 1972

I'm always predisposed to love soul music. And this is Al Green, singing a heartfelt song to his love that they should stay together forever, through everything. "Loving you whether, whether/ Times are good or bad, happy or sad." It sounds like marriage vows. Great song.

Nilsson – “Without You” -- February 19, 1972

I have to be in a particular kind of mood to enjoy this song. Cheerful enough not to mind pure, unadulterated soft cheese. Sort of the emotional equivalent of eating cream cheese plain. Nilsson sounds like he truly means it, which is what saves the song. It is fun to belt out the chorus along with him.

Neil Young – “Heart Of Gold” -- March 18, 1972

Okay but so why do you deserve a heart of gold? You've been searching and not found one, but maybe if you did things to draw someone with a heart of gold to you, it wouldn't be so hard. Yeah, the narrator of this song annoys me. To be honest, Neil Young's voice kinda does too. It's one of the rare songs where I prefer the instrumental parts to the sung parts. The harmonica's great. Actually I think I might prefer this song if it were entirely instrumental, because it is pretty. Otherwise, meh.

America – “A Horse With No Name” -- March 25, 1972

The subculture you're in is more important to your life than whatever bigger culture it happens to exist within. And in the 90s, my subculture loved Wally Pleasant, the local East Lansing comedy folk singer. On his album "Songs About Stuff," there's a song called "Lost Weekend Las Vegas." He takes off from a Michigan winter to Las Vegas. There, he meets a "real nice showgirl," and in a conversation with her, he brings up "A Horse With No Name." "You know that song/ By Neil Young/ She said you're wrong/ Neil Young didn't sing that song." I can never hear "A Horse With No Name" without thinking of "Lost Weekend Las Vegas."

Wally Pleasant at one point sings, "I've had about enough of this crazy stupid trip." I kinda feel like that silly humor song has more to say about life than "A Horse With No Name." But "A Horse With No Name" sure sounds good.

Roberta Flack – “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” -- April 15, 1972

Roberta Flack is an amazing singer, and this is a good love song. But I don't like it. It's too drawn out and slow. It was originally about twice as fast, and that doesn't surprise me. When a song doesn't seem to have any type of beat, it can give me a headache, and this one does.

The Chi-Lites – “Oh Girl” -- May 27, 1972

Doing this list, I have come to realize how much I like the harmonica. I always knew I liked it, but never knew before that it's in my top tier of instruments, like the alto flute and cello. The harmonica in this song laments even better than the singer, Eugene Record, who is great. As for the lyrics, the singer has cheated, and it's pretty strongly hinted that peer pressure to be macho had a lot to do with it. "All my friends call me a fool/ They say let the woman take care of you/ So I try to be hip and think like the crowd/ But even the crowd can't help me now." He needs new friends. He's completely helpless, emotionally, without his "girl," and now he's gone and screwed everything up, and he knows it. A beautiful song with much more to say than about just one relationship.

The Staple Singers – “I’ll Take You There” -- June 3, 1972

This is a gospel/funk song about heaven. It's musically good, but so repetitive I can only handle about a minute of it.

Sammy Davis Jr. – “The Candy Man” -- June 10, 1972

So this is a thing that happened. "The Candy Man" is a song from the Gene Wilder Willy Wonka movie, which bugs me in the ways it changes the book's plot, though I still like it. The song should never have been a hit, let alone a #1 hit, let alone one sung by Sammy Davis Jr. He sounds embarrassed singing it, and I'm embarrassed listening to it. Sammy Davis Jr. deserved multiple #1 hits -- he was the best singer of The Rat Pack -- but not this one. It's depressing that this is what he got.

Neil Diamond – “Song Sung Blue” -- July 1, 1972

I don't like Neil Diamond. I don't particularly dislike Neil Diamond either. To me, Neil Diamond exists when I am reminded of his existence and then flickers out as soon as I am no longer forced to think of him. This song sounds like a nursery rhyme. Subject: Everyone gets sad sometimes and sings the blues. There are good songs about that. This is not one of them.

Bill Withers – “Lean On Me” -- July 8, 1972

This is one of them. Not just good, but great. The melody is simple, as is the concept. But it keeps building and building. Truly great.

Gilbert O’Sullivan – “Alone Again (Naturally)” -- July 29, 1972

Well this song is weird. It's jaunty, though it is in minor key. And it's about how the narrator was stood up at the altar and plans to kill himself. And how also his mother was destroyed when his father died. And how his mother died too. And now he's "alone again, naturally." I don't like it at all. It needs to be different musically, and even then I wouldn't like something this wildly depressing.

Looking Glass – “Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl)” -- August 26, 1972

A lot of sailors want Brandy, but she's in love with a man whose only true love is the sea and that's why she turns them all down. That's her excuse, anyway. I think she wants to be a sailor like the guy, and she understands not wanting to settle down because she doesn't want to either. It's a fun song to sing along to.

Three Dog Night – “Black & White” -- September 16, 1972

It's a song about racial harmony. It's simplistic, but that's okay, it's a pop song. I wish it weren't so musically simplistic.

Mac Davis – “Baby, Don’t Get Hooked On Me” -- September 23, 1972

The narrator is telling "you" that he can tell you're falling in love with him, and that you shouldn't. A guy did this with me once. Turned out he was actually falling in love with me and was projecting or something. So that's how I see this song. Except the song is worse, because it's incredibly annoying musically, with a weird beat and strange gaps. Also it's smarmy.

Michael Jackson – “Ben” -- October 14, 1972

Michael Jackson was only 14 when he sang this song, so I'm not going to get into it deeply. It's a friendship song to a killer rat in a horror movie, though so... that's a thing.

Chuck Berry – “My Ding-A-Ling” -- October 21, 1972

It's a 46-year old man pretending to be a little kid singing about his own dick. I can't begin to comprehend why it was a hit, or why it was even a thing in the first place. Yech. Moving on.

Johnny Nash – “I Can See Clearly Now” -- November 4, 1972

In the song, the narrator still has problems, but he can see how to solve them, finally. It's sort of reggae-ish, but very lightly. It's a great, optimistic song.

The Temptations – “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone” -- December 2, 1972

This song takes a bit to get going, but I don't mind at all. The music and instruments keep changing up, and the great bassline propels it all. It builds up the tension in a great way. Then, finally, a Temptation starts, "It was the third of September." I'm not to that point listening to the song yet, and I didn't look it up. But I know this song. It's in my blood. It's unflinching. "Never heard nothing but bad things about him." The song doesn't try to pretend to any uplifting or hopeful message. But it feels so good. That's the blues, whatever genre it's slotted into.

Helen Reddy – “I Am Woman” -- December 9, 1972

"I am woman, hear me roar." She's not roaring. She's meowing maybe. Maybe if Reddy had sung the song with more power, people would have been scared by it. I like the lyrics, which are sadly still very relevant, though we have come far. But the music belongs with some peppy love ballad.

Billy Paul – “Me And Mrs. Jones” -- December 16, 1972

Oh god I love this song. Billy Paul's a jazz singer, and uses his voice like an instrument. And he gets every drop of sadness out of the song without melodrama. He's not self-pitying, and while he's heartbroken, he's still thoughtful. It's a beautiful song about an adult going through being a cheater. For someone with a conscience, "going through" is the right term. This guy's not sleeping around carelessly. "We both know that it's wrong." He fell deeply in love with someone else. It happens. The song is beautiful and heartbreaking and I adore it.

BEST OF 1972: "Papa Was A Rollin' Stone" by The Temptations WORST OF 1972: "My Ding-A-Ling" by Chuck Berry

#billboard number ones

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dccomicsnews · 5 years ago

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Review: CATWOMAN 80TH ANNIVERSARY 100-PAGE SUPER SPECTACULAR

[Editor’s Note: This review may contain spoilers]

Writers: Paul Dini, Ann Nocenti, Tom King, Jeff Parker, Liam Sharp, Mindy Newell, Chuck Dixon, Will Pfeifer, Ram V, Ed Brubaker

Artists: Emanuela Lupacchino, Mick Gray, Robson Rocha, Daniel Henriques, Mikel Janin, Jonathan Case, Liam Sharp, Lee Garbett, Kelley Jones, Danny Miki, Pia Guerra, Fernando Blanco, Cameron Stewart

Colours: Laura Allred, Alejandro Sanchez, Jordie Bellaire, Jonathan Chase, Liam Sharp, Alex Sinclair, Steve Oliff, John Kalisz, FCO Plascencia, Cameron Stewart

Letters: Wes Abbott, Saida Temofonte, Clayton Cowles, Jonathan Chase, Tom Napolitano, Tom Orzechowski, Steve Wands, Gabriela Downie, Cameron Stewart

Reviewed By: Derek McNeil

Summary

Catwoman 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular: Our gal Catwoman is turning 80 next year (and looking very good, if we meow say), and DC is celebrating with nothing less than with a huge soiree, invite only, packed with creators who mean the most to her and to whom she means the most! Stories featured in this 100-page spectacular include a tail-sorry, tale-that takes place at the end of the Brubaker/Stewart Catwoman run, in honor of artist Darwyn Cooke. Plus, Catwoman is caught by an exotic cat collector, runs into a wannabe thief trying to prove himself as her apprentice, encounters a mystery involving memorabilia from alternate continuities, and of course some Bat/Cat fun.

Positives

In Scott Snyder’s final issue of Justice League, the League set off on an epic battle to “give reckoning to every story, every event throughout history. The ones you know… and the ones you do not”. The implication seems to be that all iterations of DCU continuity through the matters. Everything matters.

This Catwoman 80th Anniversary exemplifies that theme beautifully, presenting us with stories with various different versions of Catwoman as she’s been presented through her history. The current canon version of Catwoman appears, as does the dominatrix prostitute version from Batman: Year One. Even the Catwoman as played by Julie Newmar in the 1966 Batman TV show appears. If you included the pin-ups scattered throughout the issue, just about every version of Catwoman is represented.

As often happens with an anthology book, the stories are not all equal in quality. However, there are no clunkers. Each is at least an entertaining read. However, a few of the stories stick out as especially good ones.

Positives Cont.

“Little Bird” by Mindy Newell and Lee Garbett is a touching story. Years ago, one of Selina’s foster mothers wanted to pass on a Mezuzah onto Selina some day. When Selina sees that it is now on display, Selina makes sure it is returned to its rightful owner. This story shows that even Frank Miller’s street-hardened version of Catwoman has a tender side. She has some treasure pleasant memories in her childhood, even if it was mostly terrible.

Another interesting story by Will Pfeifer and Pia Guerra places a disoriented Selina at a mysterious Bat-Con. This is an odd comic convention where the characters themselves appear to sign autographs or hold panels where fans can directly question them.

There are even some moments of “leaning on the fourth wall” that refer to the Catwoman 80th Anniversary special itself. The special’s cover is visible in one panel as a poster. Also, the “current story line” is referred to as “the one that ends in a couple of pages?”. And it even refers to Tom King’s story in the special when a fan mentions, “I hear she gets pregnant again. And this time the dad is you know who”.

Positives Cont.

Speaking of which, “Helena” by Tom King and Mikel Janin is the real gem of the issue. King’s Batman Annual #2 from 2017 showed vignettes from the romance between the Bat and the Cat over the years, even into the future. However, this story focuses in on their daughter, starting with the discovery of Selena’s pregnancy.

This story show Selena struggling with impending motherhood. Like a cat, Selena is a free spirit and hates to be tied down. However, she feels that a child will do exactly that. However, anyone who knows cats, will also know how strong the maternal instinct is. Selena comes to accept her daughter, happily accepting her new role as a mother.

In an epilogue set after Bruce’s death, Selena is telling her grown daughter that she takes after her father. It’s a touching story of how Selena overcomes her uncertainty and comes to treasure her baby daughter. This sweet tale makes me eager to read Tom King’s upcoming Batman/Catwoman maxi-series.

Negatives

In my review for The Flash #750, I voiced some concern about the overuse of the decade variant covers. These covers are truly beautiful to behold, but it is pretty unfair to completionist fans to do this with a book that already has a hefty cover price. And if you want a full set of covers, that’s ten times the cost.

It was bad enough to do this once a month for several months in a row. But now, thanks to the recent upheavals in DC’s release schedule, the Catwoman, Joker, and Green Lantern anniversary specials are all coming out in a single month. I suppose I should be glad that at least DC isn’t bringing them all out on the same week. But please, DC, could you put a moratorium on these decade variants for a few months? My wallet needs time to recover from the beating it’s receiving this month.

#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

1940s Cover

1950s Cover

1960s Cover

1970s Cover

1980s Cover

1990s Cover

2000s Cover

2010s Cover

Verdict

The Catwoman 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular is a fine collection of Catwoman stories. This special revisits many eras’ interpretations of the character, bringing them back to life, proving that ever story does indeed matter.

Review: Catwoman 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular Review: CATWOMAN 80TH ANNIVERSARY 100-PAGE SUPER SPECTACULAR Writers: Paul Dini, Ann Nocenti, Tom King…

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find-the-eyes · 6 years ago

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I’ll Try Anything Once: Chapter 19 (Part 2)

The buzzing of a distant cell phone stirred Alex from his sleep. Alex fumbled around for it in the still-dark room. He went into the hallway, not wanting to wake Nick, or Steckrübe, who would start meowing when either resident of the flat would make the slightest movement. “Just because it’s 7 AM over there…” he grumbled, flipping his phone open.

“Hello, Alexander.”

“Hi,” Alex said softly, sleep still heavily clinging to him.

“Are you alright?” his mother asked. “You sound exhausted.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s 5 AM on a Wednesday...”

Alex’s mother ignored him. “Has your father told you the news yet?”

“About?”

“The Bulgarian prime minister was assassinated yesterday.” His mother delivered the news in a collected tone.

“Sucks for him.” Alex yawned, stretching his limbs a bit.

“Alex, we need you to come with us to the funeral.”

Alex sighed and glanced back inside the room through the ajar door, where Nick was still peacefully asleep. “Can’t you get one of my siblings to go?”

“No. We want you to come,” his mother said sternly. Alex closed his eyes in annoyance. He knew that tone well. It was the tone his mother would use when she wouldn’t take no as an answer.

“Well, when is it?” Alex sighed, placing a hand on his hip.

“Sunday.”

Alex saw Nick twitch in his sleep, obviously disturbed by the lack of Alex’s presence next to him. “Can I bring a plus one?”

“To a funeral?!”

“My girlfriend,” Alex quickly blurted out. He regretted his lie almost immediately.

“Oh! Well, in that case…” Alex could hear the smile in his mother's voice. He rolled his eyes.

“Okay. I’ll buy the plane tickets once it’s not five in the morning here.”

“I’m sorry for waking you up...” Alex could hear his mother’s apologetic tone. He softened up again.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Alex glanced back at Nick again, waiting to join him. “I have to go. I have class this morning.”

“Alright, dear. Call me when you've booked the flight. Love you.”

“Love you,” Alex mumbled back, closing his phone and placing it on the nightstand. He flopped back onto the bed, facing Nick. Nick's eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” Nick said quietly, gazing up at Alex. “Who was that?”

Alex pulled up the blanket. “That was my mum. She wants me to come to Greece.”

Nick nodded. He felt a gnawing pain in his stomach as his brain began to race, thinking about Alex leaving him to fend for himself. He bit his tongue and tried to appear as calm as possible. “When?”

“Well, we have to be there on Saturday.”

“... We?” Nick felt relieved, but still confused nonetheless.

“I haven’t told her you’re coming yet.” Alex bit his lip as he tried to think of a way out of the lie he had conjured up out of panic. Damn it, it was too early for this.

“Oh…” Nick was still confused. “Can we bring…” Nick scooped Steckrübe, who was slumbering beside him, closer.

“I was thinking we could leave him with Bob and Paul.” Nick clutched Steckrübe a bit tighter. “He’s friends with Alvy, remember? I’m sure he’ll have a great time.” Alex tried to reassure Nick, rubbing Nick’s upper arm for good measure. Nick loosened his grip on the cat, who sagged lazily into his owner’s embrace.

“Alright…” Nick said quietly.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” It was still dark out, and Alex wanted a few more hours of rest before having to deal with his family again.

Nick said nothing and nestled himself against Alex’s welcoming arms as they both started to drift back to sleep.

Alex called his mother again a few hours later as Nick was eating breakfast at the kitchen table.

“So, I emailed my professors to let them know that I’ll be away, and I booked the flight.”

“That’s great!” Alex’s mother replied.

Alex ran his free hand through his hair. “There’s a little problem, though…”

“What is it?”

“My girlfriend just told me she can’t come.” He started to tell the lie he had conjured up in his head earlier that morning before the call. If he played his cards right, he might be able to bring Nick with him.

“So just you, then?” His mother sounded a bit disappointed.

“Well, I’ve already bought her a ticket…”

Alex’s mother was silent on the other end.

“Can I bring my flatmate?” Alex asked quickly.

“Flatmate?” His mother’s surprised voice echoed out from the other end.

“Yeah, uh, he’s in school with me and we split rent.” Alex’s lie snowballed.

“Well… I didn’t think you’d need to split rent, of all people...”

“He’s my friend. It’s good to have friends.”

“Fine. He’s allowed to come. Just make sure he’s on his best behavior.” The hint of annoyance was still there, but Alex ignored it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s really sweet. You’ll love him.” Alex shot Nick a quick smile. Nick smiled vaguely and ate another spoonful of cereal.

“I believe you. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

“Same here,” Alex lied again, though only partially this time.

Alex shut his phone after saying goodbye and sat across from Nick at the table. Steckrübe joined them shortly after, meowing for some human food. Nick gave him a piece of cereal and patted his head gently. Alex always appreciated how cautiously Nick cared for the cat. It seemed he loved him more than anything, and Alex could understand why Nick didn’t want to leave him, even for just a few days.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Alex said to Nick as he poured a bowl of cereal for himself.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. From there we’re headed to Sofia, Bulgaria, and then...”

“So soon…” Nick looked down at Steckrübe, his anxiety starting to gnaw at him.

“You can always stay with Paul and Bob if you want,” Alex suggested, seeing Nick’s reaction.

Nick shook his head. “I want to go.” I want to be with you.

“Alright,” Alex smiled. “We can drop the cat off at Bob and Paul’s place tonight. I’ll let them know.”

Nick made his way to the couch and held Steckrübe in his lap after he finished his breakfast. Alex felt bad for separating them, but he already knew how his parents would react if he brought his flatmate and his cat to their house. Alex already knew that his parents thought he was a crazy art kid, but he didn’t want them to hate him. He had to put on his best ‘diplomat’s son’ personality and had to teach Nick how to do the same.

“I’ve told you about my family, yeah?” Alex called into the living room as he cleaned up the cereal from the kitchen table.

Nick shrugged. Even if Alex had told him, the information was now lost somewhere in his head.

“Well, my dad’s a diplomat and my mum’s really uptight about it.”

“Oh?”

Alex came into the room. “Yeah. So basically every time there’s some sort of government event going on over there, I have to be there. Lots of fancy parties and meetings that won’t mean anything in a month or two.”

Nick nodded, still paying attention as he patted Steckrübe.

“They don’t like that I’m in art school. In Glasgow. Living with you.”

Nick tensed up and looked down. Was Alex… ashamed of living with him?

Alex noticed Nick’s anxiety. “No! Well, not you specifically. Just that I’m living with someone. They think I’m somehow above that. Really, though, we all need someone to be around, yeah?” Alex sat down on the couch next to Nick and put his arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. Steckrübe curled up in a ball on his lap.

“Are you going to class today?”

“I was planning on it…” Nick said quietly.

“I can walk you there if you want.”

Nick nodded and gave Alex a small smile.

That evening, Nick put Steckrübe into his favorite reusable grocery bag and slung it onto his left arm. He nearly toppled over. “Heavy…” he giggled and balanced himself out. Alex opened the door of the flat and they began to make their way to Bob and Paul’s flat. As they walked, Alex glanced over at Nick occasionally, admiring him. Nick was so focused on carrying Steck that he didn’t even notice. As they rounded the corner onto the street where Paul and Bob lived, Nick stopped short. Alex got several steps ahead before he noticed, and when he turned around, he saw Nick crouching down, admiring something sparkly on the ground. Nick picked it up and examined it, then smiled and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. Alex frowned, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

They resumed their walk. Nick eventually took Steckrübe out of the bag and held him. Bob and Paul’s flat was only a few blocks away, and they made it there relatively quickly.

Bob welcomed them into the flat, where Alvy immediately ran over to Nick and Steckrübe and led them to the living room. They sat on the floor playing with Alvy’s toys as Alex talked to Bob and Paul.

“Anything important we should know about the cat?” Paul asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“He’s friendly, I guess. Nick loves him.” Alex glanced out at Nick, who was still playing with Alvy and Steckrübe on the floor in the living room.

“Is everything… alright? From last night?”

“He hasn’t mentioned it. I think he accepted your apology.” Alex looked over at Nick again and said softly, “I don’t think he wants to go on this trip. He’ll miss the cat too much.”

“Well, if you’re worried about leaving him in the flat, he could always stay with us.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t want to do that,” Alex said, shaking his head. “He already said he’s coming with me.”

“Alright…” Paul nodded.

Alvy led Nick and Steckrübe back into the kitchen a few moments later.

“Are you ready to go?” Alex asked Nick.

Nick nodded in response, handing Steckrübe to Bob. Steckrübe wiggled in Bob’s arms and meowed at him.

“Let’s get packing then. See you guys on… Wednesday? We’re coming back on Wednesday night.”

“See you then!” Bob let Nick pat Steckrübe one last time before he left the flat.

After Alex and Nick said their goodbyes, Bob shut the door and flopped down on the couch with Steckrübe. “And now we have his stupid cat!” Bob sighed.

“What?” Paul asked incredulously.

Bob continued as though he hadn’t heard Paul. “And he gets to go on a fancy trip with Alex!”

“Bob…” Paul sat beside him. “You shouldn’t be jealous…”

Alvy jumped onto the couch and laid his head on Bob’s lap. Bob put Steckrübe down and Alvy hopped up and followed him into the bedroom, where Steckrübe was investigating his temporary home. Bob sighed. “I know. I know I shouldn’t be.”

“You have me right here…” Paul smiled and leaned in towards Bob.

Bob was still pouting, but as he looked over to Paul he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips and the way his heart start beating faster. Paul was quite close to him, so close that if Bob wanted to try, he could count his myriad of freckles.

“We can have our fun too,” Paul said when Bob didn’t respond to his advances.

“How?” Bob asked, genuinely curious. As happy as he was that Paul was being very friendly to him these days, he couldn’t help the jealousy in his gut at the sight of Alex and Nick walking away together.

Paul hummed before he answered, his face lighting up. “You could do your homework!”

“You...you want me to do my homework?”

Paul’s expression turned bashful as he realized how weird his suggestion was. He scratched the back of his head and giggled. “Oh, I meant...you do your homework. Yes. And I can watch again...?”

Bob raised his eyebrows.

“I-I mean, I really liked what we did the other day...” Paul said, fidgeting. “I’d love to do it again... If you don’t mind.”

“Oh...oh! Of course,” Bob answered. He was amazed how Paul could easily turn his mood upside down. “I have to do a presentation about Asian arts. I hope you’re interested in woodcut prints.”

Paul grinned. “You could tell me about taxes and I’d still be interested.”

Bob simply laughed and pulled his laptop off the coffee table. He could get used to this.

#illtryanythingonce #allfanfic #franz ferdinand

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irvinenewshq · 2 years ago

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Hail Matt Smith Attractive Evil Crimes Home of the Dragon Hottie

Screenshot: HBO Within the court docket of io9 I too am responsible of discovering Daemon Targaryen himself, Matt Smith, surprisingly engaging. For me it occurred someplace between Final Evening in Soho and his dancing sequence in Morbius. Possibly there have been hints of it in The Crown however by no means actually occurred to me when he was the Eleventh Doctor in Physician Who. Good-looking and earnest, sure. Hottie? Not till he entered his villain period. Screenshot: HBO Certain, it’s distressing for Home of the Dragon govt producer and author Sarah Hess that Smith has turn into the web’s boyfriend for causes wholly totally different than throughout his Physician Who period. She instructed the Hollywood Reporter, “Not that Matt isn’t extremely charismatic and great, and he’s unimaginable within the position. However Daemon himself… I don’t need him to be my boyfriend! I’m a little bit baffled how they’re all, ‘Oh, daddy!’ And I’m similar to: ‘Actually?’ How—in what method—was he companion, father or brother—to anyone? You bought me. He ain’t Paul Rudd.” Respectfully, we disagree. Smith might ultimately be on the highway to win sexiest man alive (a title Rudd’s received), regardless of no matter different atrocities Daemon is about to commit. The sheer shock of Smith turning heel appears to be actually doing it for audiences—much more particularly, the method by which his performing prowess took his dark-haired main man seems and shifted right into a dementedly charming white-haired prince, who needs to be by all counts irredeemable. He killed his spouse however by the point he singlehandedly slayed a military and Crabfeeder all of us however forgot. Screenshot: HBO G/O Media might get a fee And but he’s what web slang calls a “Babygirl Meow Meow” to repair (not critically, I hope). Smith has gone from a goody-goody, fish-fingers-and-custard-consuming time-touring hero with a TARDIS to a finger-chopping maniac who stomps by human custard for his household’s title on a dragon. The one competitors he’s received is fellow catastrophe bi Lestat from Interview with the Vampire. Excuse the cringe, however he’s BAE-mon Targaryen now. He’s so dangerous it’s sick and we are able to’t get sufficient of it. Screenshot: HBO Home of the Dragon airs Sunday on HBO and streams on HBO Max. Need extra io9 information? Take a look at when to anticipate the most recent Marvel and Star Wars releases, what’s subsequent for the DC Universe on movie and TV, and the whole lot you must learn about Home of the Dragon and Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Energy. Originally published at Irvine News HQ

#Irvine News HQ

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queennicoleinboots · 3 years ago

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Doing Bear Business As Summer Love in Summer 2021 (Joebear POV)

I growled with authority and was eating a grilled chicken wrap with avocado ranch sauce. I wore a crown that Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing and my wife honored me with. Xara, my beautiful wife, walked in the woods naked.

She was..... sexxxxxaaaayyyy!! Look at dat butt.

Zombies were walking behind her and checking out her butt.

I wasn't having that, so I stood up and pointed my butt in their general direction. I broke wind, and they disintregrated. My ass is the answer to the zombie apocalypse.

I AM the ONLY bear allowed to make love to her temple for now on. She is my wife, and I am her husband, which means protector.

I shall always protect my wife from stupid bullshit.

"Bae Whuhh!!!!" she shouted. "Join me."

"JOIN US, BAE WHUHHH!!!" more zombies shouted as they appeared in the swamp.

Xara and the zombies then danced to seriously spicy salsa music.

Lord, give me strength! Mexico has come to the swamp. Ugggghhhhh!!!! America is fucked. It has been bought and sold by China, but why Mexican music and Mexican zombies right now? My fat ass was not ready to dance to seriously spicy salsa. My back and my legs hurt. I was taking a shit that thwarted the zombies. Even flies thought it was stank.

Our young black and white cat named Miss Oreo came storming into the swamp. She always had energy. Kissy, our female orange cat, followed Miss Oreo. Garfield's soul left his body to be with the Father seven months ago. Kissy, Xara, and I still miss him more than words can describe.

Macrula screamed and brought more humidity upon us. A wall of rain fell from the sky. I guess he knew our pain, too. Angels sense things.

"Hoowoo Bae Whuhh you sexy!" Xara said. At that moment, she started her period. She had swamp vagina. She needed business more than ever. "BAE WHUHH!!! I NEED BUSINESS BAEWHUHH!!!" She was also crying because she missed Garfield. I will provide business when my sadness subsides. I love my wife, but I need to continue to mourn the loss of my boy.

"Kissy! Kissy!" I called in a low melodic voice. "I need you, Kissy Kissy."

Kissy ran over here to lay with me. My eyes glossed over, and my vision turned watery. I couldn't see, so I closed my eyes and cried.

I called, "Bae! Come lay with me!" My voice was shaky.

Xara laid with me. A barbeque chicken pizza, a chicken and ranch pizza, and a tomato pizza with tomato sauce fell out of the sky. She and I ate off those pizzas together. We were hungry again.

Count Macula, Jr. walked over to us while he was eating pizza. He was still a forever young white cub. Apparently, he was also in a freezer. I think he lives there.

The Apparently Kid from YouTube yelled "APPARENTLY" before the remaining cast of PeeWee Herman shouted while wearing zombie masks. Apparently, a mask doesn't protect you from a zombie virus. They still recommend masks at grocery stores. I still recommend them to shove their recommendations and fake news and fake narratives up their asses.

A YouTube ad was shown on one of the trees in the swamp. DarthSydePhineas's voice boomed, "COMING SOON, A STORY THAT WILL CALM YOUR NERVES, WAKE YOUR BRAIN, AND HIT YOU WITH AN AIRTHROW. DISNEY'S NEW SEQUEL: COUNT MACULA, JR. WALKS FORWARD IN THE MOUNTAINS OF TRANSYLVANIA TO DISCOVER THAT HIS FAMILY WAS KIDNAPPED BY A CLAN OF CATS. HIS FRIENDS STRUGGLE TO GIVE HIM TIPS, SO HE TRIES TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH PAYPAL. DOES HE EVER PAY THE RANSOM TO GET HIS FAMILY BACK FROM THE CATS? ONLY THE CAT LEADER, GOJITENKS A.K.A DE OF SEAN HE OF SEAN KNOWS." DarthSydePhineas then laughed his trademark laugh.

I growled vehemently at the screen. "How stupid. Why can't they use Square, Zelle, or Venmo like other businesses do? Dumbass cats. So not with the times."

Kissy meowed at the screen in agreement before she laid between my wife and me.

The video shows the white-font title, "COUNT MACULA, JR. WALKS FORWARD AND BREAKS PAYPAL" and a 2D white vampiric cub wearing glasses, black pants and white long-sleeved button-down shirt with black suspenders walking forward on a dark gray background for nine seconds.

DarthSydePhineas continued, "COMING TO A THEATRE NEAR YOU ON AUGUST 20. You can only enter the theatre if you have received the Coronavirus vaccine." He cleared his throat like he always does in every video. "AND I GOT FULLY VACCINATED." He cackled again.

The ad stopped playing.

"The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story. The Cat Intelligence Association knows my life story." Count Macula, Jr. said in his high-pitched Southern accent as he sat down and ate his pizza. "I still didn't take the vaccine. I'm not fucking going to take the vaccine, so I am not making a dime off of it. They're a bunch of crooks in the Beast system. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this. They will go to Hell for this."

Peter was also eating pizza, but he was also watching the cartoon movie, Animal Farm, based on the novel by George Orwell. His eyes were wide as they stared at the monitor in a large oak tree.

Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing and Megara were also eating pizza. They had three female cubs. He sang opera as entertainment for dinner. I sang with him because my body was ready.

Paul the Goat rode Hollywood while they both ate pizza and floated in mid-air. They were jabbed and made their choice. Xara tried to tell them...

Kissy then ate Xara's pizza crust and meowed as though she were a wind-up toy. It was the longest and most beautiful meow I had ever heard. She was something. She was beautiful.

Miss Oreo ate a few pieces of chicken from a pizza and quickly meowed to give an extra musical quality to Kissy's already operatic wind-up toy meow. She then crawled on Xara's legs.

Macrula descended from Chronistica with a sense of urgency. He looked like a black and red bullet coming down at the swamp.

Count Macula, Jr. blinked as he looked at him and took a bite of his pizza. "Apparently we have entered Heaven. This pizza tastes like Heaven. Excuse me. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call to make. I have a cub call fo make," he spoke before he growled a great cub growl nine times.

Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing did some vocal exercises before he, too, joined in bear chorus.

I growled in bear chorus before Miss Oreo stole another bite of pizza from me. "OREO, lay down!" I growled at her. Miss Oreo stared at me before she continued to chew. That girl made us crazy sometimes. She needed an ass-beating.

Paul the Goat bleated before Hollywood neighed loudly.

Peter turned away from the scene with the small pig shifting his eyes rapidly, and he started to bleat before he looked up at Macrula and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

Macrula spoke with vigor, "I am Macrula, a dark angel with regrets, angel wings of redemption, and have traveled across many planes of existence. A cat called upon me. What shall she have me do?"

I have a boner. I could not describe how much I wanted to pull Xara's long brown straight hair and use it as a handle to yank her pussy back and forth on my cock. DAAYUMN!!!!!

Kissy looked at Miss Oreo. Miss Oreo looked at Kissy. They were confused cats.

Macrula spoke again, "I heard a cat that sounded like a wind-up toy."

Kissy looked at him and meowed again. "Sorry about that. I was excited about pizza crust. When I eat pizza crust, I'm in heaven. Thank you for coming."

"I added the high notes," Miss Oreo said.

"You are most welcome, cat of great beauty," he said. Yes, Kissy was a beautiful cat.

Miss Oreo screamed at him.

"CATS of great beauty. CATS! CATS! CATS! Excuse me. What shall you have me do for you?" Macrula asked.

"Well, we are having a great swamp party, despite the fact that the swaaaamp is completely dissemated," Kissy said as she meowed.

Miss Oreo meowed in agreement.

Pauno, a Greek God with green eyes and black curly-hair and Artemis, the alleged Greek Goddess of nature, hunting, chastity, and childbirth also wandered in the swamp. They also were eating pizza.

Kissy farted a loud and stinky fart. She blew serious ass.

Peter looked back at Kissy with a look of shock as he leaned away from her. "Oooof! What did she eat?" he mumbled and shrugged as he stared back at the monitor intently.

"Peter?!" Artemis said as she sat near him to watch the movie with him. "I didn't know you liked Animal Farm! It's one of my favorite dystopian movies ever." She ate another bite of pizza.

Peter looked over to Artemis before he spoke, "It seems appropriate. After all, we are living in dystopian times. Communism is becoming a thing." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I don't even recognize this country anymore."

The swamp bubbled up before a woman with long red hair like Jessica Rabbit in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" started crawling from the large puddle in the middle of said swamp. She was covered in mud and leaves. She looked familiar. She looked like a mud-covered Poison Ivy from the DC Comics. She then went over and hugged Peter around his waist. At least she defied the social distancing laws that were in place by Biden's rule.

Of course we all know that Biden isn't actually the one in charge. He answers to the Illuminati, a bunch of Reptilian elites who rule the world under Satan's law.

"Hey, Peter," the Poison Ivy cosplayer in mud said as she kissed the left side of Peter's neck.

Peter smiled and put his long fingers around those of the woman. "Oh hey, Jessica. Why the hell did you emerge from the mud?"

I then growled a great bear growl with force before announcing, "That's great, Jessica Rabbit! Now if you excuse me, I need to lick ass." I jumped up and mauled Xara before putting my head in her ass.

"BAE WHUHH!!!!" Xara shouted as she shook her divine booty and did the backfat dance in front of everyone. She was bleeding like a stuffed pig. Xara's ass is the best form of meat. All it needs is bear white sauce with extra honey, if you know what I mean.

I growled in her rear end before I stuffed my tongue deep into her ass and started to lick as though it were a honey hive. Her chocolate was dee-dee-deelicious. Lucky Charms had nothing on this.

Macrula laughed a hearty laugh before he addressed Kissy and Miss Oreo. "I am not going to lick your cat asses if that's what you are implying."

I hope not. Please don't lick cat asses. That's disturbing.

Kissy looked at Macrula in confusion before she meowed again. "No. I definitely did not call you for that. I simply meowed out of enjoying pizza crust," she said.

"You would do that?" Miss Oreo asked with her head cocked to the side.

We went down the swamp drain in a clockwise direction because we were in North America. No one is going to lick cat ass.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

There were pictures of Xara all around this mansion. I was in some of the photos. Other photos had late Oreo, Sr., late Garfield, Kissy, and Miss Oreo. There was one photo that all of us together. That's strange. Oreo, Sr. passed away before Miss Oreo was born.

At that moment, I realized I wasn't in reality. I was located in Xara's mind. And I was floating. I heard echoing voices in the distant saying "BaeWhuhh."

"Baebae!" I shouted quickly. My penis was as hard as a diamond. Then the head of my penis turned into a diamond with a slit in it. I burped.

Our cats and four other people were floating with me.

Jessica Rabbit, an actual white rabbit with red flowing hair on top of her head was in Xara's mind with me.

"Where are we?" she asked me.

"In my wife's mind," I said as I started to rub my diamond head against the wall of Xara's brain. I growled like the King Bear I was. My growl echoed throughout her head. It felt so good. I growled louder, and the world started to shake.

....

I heard DarthSydePhineas shout, "HE RAGEQUIT!" before he cackled again.

"Oh you're so good, Phil," I said sarcastically with a chuckle. My diamond head exploded and popped off of my penis. I heard it clank at the bottom of Xara's intestine. That felt nice! My honey spurted.

Chun Li was flying and making noises as she was kicking in the air.

"Where am I going?!" Jessica Rabbit called loudly as she got caught in the river of my bear juice.

"I don't I don't know," I called. "Isn't that stupid? I'm sorry, bae, but it's stupid. Hahahuehue. Random upside down kick? That's so stupid." I then laughed like the Chinaman on the pranking soundboard. "DarthSydePhineas actually makes me hurt."

A large female angel with white wings, straight brown hair, and blue eyes flew around and was drinking my flowing bear juice. Xara was floating with me and beating my bear butt. There was another angelic woman who had red hair, green eyes, and a few freckles on her face.

"Excuse me. I am going to be expelled in 30 seconds. I have a therapy appointment in Xara's bottom. Do you mind, sir?" Jessica Rabbit asked.

I flew to the top of Xara's mind, but my eyes remained on Jessica Rabbit. Xara farted loudly. The sound of that tuba made my ears bleed.

"Owwwww! My ears!" I shouted. I sighed. "Oh my!!!"

Xara pooped loudly and expelled Jessica Rabbit into the toilet that she was sitting on.

"May I have ice cream with cinnamon and grapes?" I asked. I discovered that I was allergic to chocolate a few months ago. It causes my gout to flare up. That sucks because chocolate is one of my favorite foods. And I have an underlying kidney issue, so I can't have too much salt or potassium. I have to be careful.

Xara then manifested a bowl of vanilla ice cream with cinnamon and grapes and gave it to me. Kissy and Miss Oreo were licking from a fountain of ice cream that flowed in the middle of Xara's brain.

"There isn't enough ice cream to satisfy me!" I shouted with a bear growl.

Xara then formed a mountain of ice cream that cosumed me. And then I consumed the ice cream.

"You grab the ice cream and take the ice cream if you want it," Xara said. "BaeBaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Baeabaaaaaaaaaeeee heyheyheyhey!!!"

Truer words have never been spoken.

"Thank you," I said as I shot cum in her mouth.

Xara held me in an embrace of tree vines that came from the walls of her mind. She wrapped them around my legs, groin, and chest. He bounced me around.

Miss Oreo laid next to her before she put her ass near Xara's hand. Xara beat that cat's ass. Miss Oreo was growling a song of pleasure to the rhythm of Xara's beats. Kissy floated on Xara's head and tried to eat my ice cream again.

I floated down to Xara's asshole and growled loudly as my tongue licked wonders inside of her anus. "I am the easiest person to get along with. I'm a passionate bear. I love you," I said.

"Ooh hoo Bae!!!!!" Xara shouted in excitement. "You are wonderful. I love you, too, beast."

"I love you," I said.

Macrula and the redheaded angel with green eyes sang and danced to an angelic duet of Michael Jackson and Whitney Spleen's "The Way You Make Me Feel" to celebrate our love.

Macrula shouted, "Go on girl!" as he instantly changed into a purple suit with a forest green shirt and a lavender tie, a black top hat, and black dress shoes.

The redheaded angel and the brunette angel transformed into women with straw hats with ribbon around the base, sundresses down to their knees, and high heels.

The redhead's hat had a red ribbon. She wore a red dress with yellow flowers on it and red high heels.

The brunette's hat had a blue ribbon. She wore a pale blue dress with bright purple flowers and blue high heels.

Macrula started singing, "Hey pretty baby with the high heels on

You give me fever

Like I've never, ever known

You're just a product of loveliness

I like the groove of your walk,

Your talk, your dress

I feel your fever

From miles around

I'll pick you up in my car

And we'll paint the town

Just kiss me baby

And tell me twice

That you're the one for me."

Xara, Macrula, the redhead, the brunette, and I were transferred to Chronistica, a place with warped clocks similar to those depicted in Salvador Dali's paintings, clouds, and blue skies.

Macrula continued to sing. "THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL!" He then summoned a cane.

The redheaded and brunette summoned their canes and began to sing and dance, "The Way You Make Me Feel!"

Macrula then sang again, "You really turn me on!"

Disco lights shown down at the three angels.

The brunette and redhead started to line dance and sing, "You really turn me on!".

"You really knock me off my feet!" Macrula sang before the women pulled his legs with the canes and literally knocked him off his feet.

Xara and I chuckled. Xara beat me in rhythm to the song as it played.

"You knock me off my feet!" the brunette and redhead sang as Macrula dragged their legs down and literally knocked them off their feet.

Macrula got up and sang, "My lonely days are gone!"

The women got up and sang, "My lonely days are gone."

They stood up straight before they started tap dancing with their canes and spinning around.

"I like the feeling you're giving me," the redhead sang as she looked at Macrula.

"Just hold me baby, and I'm in ecstasy," the brunette said as she grabbed Macrula.

The redhead whacked the brunette. Xara whacked me.

Then Macrula stepped out of the line and sang, "Oh I'll be workin' from nine to five.

To buy you things to keep you by my side."

The redhead sang, "I never felt so in love before. Just promise baby, you'll love me forevermore."

Macrula and the redhead sang, "I swear I'm keepin' you satisfied. 'Cause you're the one for me! The way you make me feel!"

The redhead, brunette, and Macrula sang, "The way you make me feel!" They all started their dance with their canes.

Macrula sang as he danced with his cane, "You really turn me good.'"

The redheaded angel sang as she danced near Macrula, "You really turn me on!"

Then a bunch of women wearing straw hats with assorted color ribbons, assorted knee-length sundresses, and assorted colored high heels sang, "You knock me offa my feet now Baby!"

Music played for a second before they sang again, "You knock me off of my feet!"

They swayed their hips, planted their feet firmly on the large cloud between them, and tapped their canes on either side of their feet.

"My lonely days are gone," Macrula sang as he did a dramatic jump in the air and then tap danced with his cane.

"My lonely days are gone," the brunette and redhead sang as they tap danced with their canes on either side of him.

Music played while they danced a jig with their canes.

"Go on girl!" Macrula sang. He sang a few angelic notes before he repeated. "Go on girl!" He sang a series of soprano notes. "Go on girl!"

Music played for a moment while they danced again.

"I never felt so in love before!" the brown-haired angel sang.

"Promise baby, you'll love me forevermore!" the redheaded angel sang.

"I swear I'm keepin' you satisfied," all three angels sang. "'Cause you're the one for me!"

The females in the background sang, "The way you make me feel!".

"The way you make me feel!" Macrula sang loudly.

"You really turn me on," the females sang.

"You really turn me on," Macrula sang.

"You really knock me off of my feet now baby!" they all sang. "You knock me off of my feet!"

"My lonely days are gone!" the females sang.

"My lonely days are gone!" Macrula sang before he said, "Ain't nobody's business. Ain't nobody's business. "

The females sang, "The way you make me feel!"

I then jumped in and started dancing and singing, "Ain't nobody's business, Ain't nobody's business but Mine and my baby."

The females sang, "You really turn me on!"

Macrula sang, "You knock me off of my feet Oh Baby!"

I sang, "My lonely days are gone!" I then growled like the bear I was a few times and danced with the tap dancers with poles.

Macrula then took over the song and sang, "Give it to me, give me some time!"

"The way you make me feel!" the females sang.

"Come on be my girl, I want to be with mine," Macrula sang.

"You really turn me on," the females sang.

"Ain't nobody's business," Macrula sang.

"You knock me off of my feet!" the females sang.

"Ain't nobody's business but mine and my baby's," Macrula sang before he looked intently at the redhead. "Go on, girl! Yoowwwl!!!"

"My lonely days are gone," the redhead sang as she stared back at Macrula.

"Hee hee! Aaow! Chika, chika Chika, chika, chika! Go on girl!, Hee hee!" Macrula sang as he jerked his body back and forth and took one step forward with his cane and one step back with his cane.

"The way you make me feel," the females sang.

"Ee hee hee!" Macrula chanted.

"You really turn me on... you knock me off of my feet... my lonely days are gone!" the females sang before we were abruptly gone from Chronistica.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

On Peachtree Boulevard in Atlanta, GA, the beginning of Count Vanilla's "Ice Cream Baby" song played in the background. (It sounded like Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby" and "Under Pressure" by David Bowie and Queen.)

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Count Vanilla, the vampyric snow white cub formerly known as Count Macula, Jr. asked dramatically as he froze and was wearing an off-white bandana over his forehead, baggy khakis pants, blue and white high-top Converse shoes, and an off-white cotton collared shirt with a pocket on the left side of his chest.

Bruce Ice, formerly known as Bruce the Ace of Brake-fixing, Bruce Ace, and Agent A-B A-B, was dancing on the boulevard and wearing a blue bandana over his forehead, baggy blue jeans, a baggy blue and silver Tye Dye shirt, and pale blue high-top Converse shoes. He yelled, "Yo V.I.P! Let's kick it! Count Vanilla, let's go!" He then kicked a Mackerel across the boulevard.

Music continued, and Count Vanilla started rapping between beats of the music, "Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby. Ice cream, baby."

Then I jumped on the scene with my purple banana, white shirt, baggy black shorts, and black and green New Balance shoes before I rapped when the song in the background temporarily changed to "I'm Rich" by Jeezy, "I don't give a fuck, I'm rich bitch here! Three cars and a truck, I'm rich bitch here! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!"

Macrula and Bruce Ice started busting up laughing. Macrula was still wearing his purple suit with a green shirt and lavender tie, black dress shoes, and a black top hat.

"That's the wrong song, but I like it. I wish we were rapping that one," Bruce Ice said.

"Why can't we? "Ice Cream Baby" is so overplayed and boring. I heard it all throughout my childhood. Why can't we rap about being rich bears if we're going to be full-on ignorant?" I asked.

Count Vanilla said flatly. "I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich. I don't know the words to that song, nor am I rich."

"Okay. Do you know "I'm Broke" by Xara Si?" I asked.

"Yes!" Count Vanilla said. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." My kind of bear!

Peter then walked over to us with a bigass brown curly afro from the 1970s that extended a foot high, a yellow headband, a white baggy shirt, purple basketball shorts, and white and brown tennis shoes. "That's my favorite song from Xara Si," he said with his trademark loud laugh.

"The song depicts most people's financial situation very accurately," Jessica Rabbit said. She wore a gray business suit with a white shirt, red tie, and sparkly red high-heeled shoes.

"I think Xara Si is about to rap it for us. She's aggravated about her bills," Peter said flatly. I just noticed that he was not wearing glasses.

My wife then walked over to us with her short legs as she wore her sunglasses as a headband, a baggy blue shirt with bleach stains on it, baggy blue jeans, and black high-top Converses.

She rapped the following:

"'I don't give a fuck, I'm broke, bitch here!

I'm eating ramen and a plum, I'm broke, bitch here.

Hit the bank an' rob it up.

I don't give a fuck, I'm broke, bitch here!

I'm eating ramen and a plum, I'm broke, bitch here.

Hit the bank an' rob it up."

Then she growled this lyric, "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!"

Then she continued to rap:

"Chillin' in the fridge but my ass ain't eatin'. I'm eating vanilla ice cream, so I'm still losin'.

Crackers thick with it, ain't shit you can tell 'em 6:45 mean it's quarter to 7

Lookin' like actin' oughta be a part of the Old Timers

Black on burgundy, slush, he got the fake bedliner Short ass hit the bank, and he eatin' up everything.

Like the way her debt hang down to her derriere (YUCK!)

And Campy what the fuck name needed Young broke stale cracker, and yeah I'm shittarded. And I'm nothin' like them other gals I'm pure shit, bitch, you can't tell me otherwise.

I don't give a fuck, I'm broke, bitch here!

I'm eating ramen and a plum, I'm broke bitch here.

Hit the bank an' rob it up.

So whatchu laughin' at teapot? I don't see shit funny I wasn't rappin' bout it cat, I was really gettin' in debt I was really on the streets, I was really gettin' changed I was really stackin' big bills, I really drove a Ram And that's Lemon, teapot Campin ELL, straight cleaner, teapot rapid streaks on the dumpster, it was so gross had outta state thug when I was 17. A young teacup that was way lame I had shit life when I was in middle school Ay, 'cause if you buyin' they sell Look I ain't exaggerating cat, I ain't lyin'

I don't give a fuck, I'm broke, bitch, here!

I'm eating ramen and a plum, I'm broke, bitch here!

Hit the bank an' rob it up.

Ay, they say the crackers from the box.

If the teapots from the kettle how she live so bad? And I hate the way she sits there. Spent so much paper just to go to school (Ugh!) You told me time is wasted. Dropped seventy on the student loan bill, time is wasted I heard she never had a chance. And if she never had a chance, why she try so hard? See her throwin' ones off in the damn dumpster But ain't never seen that bitch off on Facebook Ads. She must've played in the Magic Shop 'Cause she standing there, draped in all that despair.

I don't give a fuck, I'm broke, bitch here!

I'm eating ramen and a plum, I'm broke, bitch here!

Hit the bank an' rob it up."

I sighed as I stared at her. "That song was depressing. Now I want ice cream!!!!" I shouted.

"Yes Bae Whuhhhh!!! Ice Cream Friday!!!!" Xara shouted. "I'm always hungry."

"I love ice cream, but you know what I hate?" Count Vanilla asked.

"What? Crackers?" Xara asked as she smirked and saw the last mothball fly out of her wallet. Damn she fuckin' broke.

"Haha Yes, but you know what I hate more than crackers?" Count Vanilla asked.

"What?" Xara asked.

A torrential downpour of rain fell down on us unexpectedly.

The brown-haired angel spoke as a matter-of-factly, "You shouldn't have disrespected the famous snack known as a cracker. That offends the completely fake idea of white privilege. Get the fuck out of here. We gonna get tea and crackers? We gonna get tea and crackers! Xara, your rap was depressing and true at the same time. Are you really that pathetic? Are you really that pathetic? Do you see God's love? Do you see God's love?! That's what's gonna carry us. Not money. God is here, you idiot. You see him shine in the sky! Christina, Ultimate Angel of Light, help me show her the way. Amen. Praise God. GO SING, COUNT. BLESS YOU!!!"

"Radiated Refried Beans!" Count Vanilla rapped with the same melody as Xara Si rapped a minute ago. "Radiated Refried Beans! Radiated Refried Beans! Radiated Refried Beans! Radiated Refried Beans Radiated Refried Beans! Radiated Refried Beans! Radiated Refried Beans! Radiated Refried Beans!"

"Oh yes! Recreational Radiated Refried Beans!" Xara shouted.

The brown and red-haired angels and I sang songs of yesterday to each other. We had great voices.

"I'm speechless!" I continued. "My finances. Broke. Count Vanilla is ice. GOOD SONG, Christina. You. Glow. Bright light."

Xara and Macrula just burst out laughing with joy. They love when angels sing. I was rejoicing in the Word of the Lord.

Everyone surrendered to His will. This is Coming to Christ in 2021. Best thing ever. I felt whole again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Bruce Ice, Count Vanilla, and I growled loudly in excitement. The trees in the forest on the Green Planet shook from the energy we were exerting with our growls. We were bears.

"You all have problems. Would you all like to make appointments?" Jessica Rabbit asked as she flew down to us with her large white wings.

Peter snorted as he folded his arms across his muscular chest.

"Would you like to explain what happened?" Jessica Rabbit asked.

"No!" Peter shouted.

"Peter is ignorant. Can we have gyros to deal with the stress? Maybe radiated refried beans as a side dish if possible," Artemis, the alleged Greek Goddess of Nature, Hunting, Chasity, and Childbirth said.

"Love 'em," Pauno said. "I shall make gyros rain from the sky!" He threw lightning bolts in the air. The only thing that happened was that Pauno made tzakiki sauce. "What the fuck?"

Macrula sniffed the air. His nose curled back in disgust. "Yeah. I don't know what happened! It must be the damn war near Greece causing the interference in food magic," he said as he scratched his chin that had a red beard on it.

Bruce Ice, Count Vanilla, and I growled angrily like cubs. I added an offensive word to SJWs to the end of my long series of growls.

Paul the Goat made a series of bleats in disgust. Hollywood charged away with Paul the Goat on his back. Both of them neighed in frustration. The swamp golem hobbled after them.

Pauno growled angrily as well because he was looking forward to gyros.

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woodworkingpastor · 4 years ago

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Resurrection! -- Luke 24:1-12 -- Easter -- April 4, 2021

Please pray with me:

O God, who for our redemption gave your only-begotten Son to the death of the cross, and by his glorious resurrection delivered us from the power of our enemy: Grant us so to die daily to sin, that we may evermore live with him in the joy of his resurrection; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

News that demands a response

In a recent article in The New Yorker, Kathryn Schulz tells the following story about good news:

One of the most amazing things I have ever witnessed involved an otherwise unprepossessing house cat named Billy. This was some years ago, shortly after I had moved into a little rental house in the Hudson Valley. Billy, a big, bad-tempered old tomcat, belonged to the previous tenant, a guy by the name of Phil. Phil adored that cat, and the cat—improbably, given his otherwise unenthusiastic feelings about humanity—returned the favor.

On the day Phil vacated the house, he wrestled an irate Billy into a cat carrier, loaded him into a moving van, and headed toward his new apartment in Brooklyn. Thirty minutes down the interstate, in the middle of a drenching rainstorm, the cat somehow clawed his way out of the carrier. Phil pulled over to the shoulder but found that, from the driver’s seat, he could neither coax nor drag the cat back into captivity. Moving carefully, he got out of the van, walked around to the other side, and opened the door a gingerly two inches—whereupon Billy shot out, streaked unscathed across two lanes of seventy-mile-per-hour traffic, and disappeared into the wide, overgrown median. After nearly an hour in the pouring rain trying to make his own way to the other side, Phil gave up and, heartbroken, continued onward to his newly diminished home.

Some weeks later, at a little before seven in the morning, I woke up to a banging at my door. Braced for an emergency, I rushed downstairs. The house had double-glass doors flanked by picture windows, which together gave out onto almost the entire yard, but I could see no one. I was standing there, sleep-addled and confused, when up onto his hind legs and into my line of vision popped an extremely scrawny and filthy gray cat.

I gaped. Then I opened the door and asked the cat, idiotically, “Are you Billy?” He paced, distraught, and meowed at the door. I retreated inside and returned with a bowl each of food and water, but he ignored them and banged again at the door. Flummoxed, I took a picture and texted it to my landlord with much the same question I had asked the cat: “Is this Billy?”

Ninety minutes later, Phil showed up at my door. The cat, who had been pacing continuously, took one look and leaped into Phil’s arms—literally hurled himself the several feet necessary to be bundled into his owner’s chest. Phil, a six-foot tall bartender of the rather tough variety, promptly started to cry. After a few minutes of mutual adoration, the purring cat hopped down, devoured the food I had put out two hours earlier, lay down in a sunny patch of grass by the door, and embarked on an elaborate bath.

Responding to the Gospel

The New Testament word gospel is like many other theologically important words we encounter in the Bible, in that it’s not inherently a religious term. As a verb, gospel simply means “to proclaim good news.” It’s the kind of thing that a messenger would relay from the battlefield to the king, bringing news of a favorable turn in battle, or even of victory itself. In this sense, the landlord in our story proclaimed a type of gospel to Phil when he called and said, “Billy has come home.”

But gospel is not just any news, it is the kind of news that demands a response. Hearing the gospel places a demand on our lives. How will we respond? What will we do differently—what changes will we make—now that we’ve heard this good news? Is “good news” really good if it doesn’t elicit a change from deep within us? How would you have felt about my story if Phil had just told Kathryn, “I’ve moved on; since Billy obviously wants to be there, just keep him”? It’s not a bad ending, but it is significantly less satisfying.

The report of the first Easter morning begins with a report of the longest sabbath ever:

On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment (Luke 23:56b).

Having been witnesses to Jesus’ death, all the women could do was rest and mourn. They were left to process their complicated thoughts and dashed hopes, and wrestle with the fact that their desire to be in a place where everything is in order and and everything is right—essentially to be in a place they could call home—was apparently not meant to be.

The Sabbath is intended as a day of remembering. And we would do well to remember that the people of Jesus’ day had expectations of what Jesus would do, expectations that his death seems to have ruined. The people who surrounded Jesus—his disciples, the women who travelled with him and financially supported his ministry, even his opponents—had an expectation of what God would do in their lives. We’re not all that different: in our day, we want God to bless our efforts, to help us in times of difficulty, to work in people and events for a particular outcome.

The expectations of those we read about in the Bible were a bit different from ours: they expected that God would return to his people, defeat their enemies (which meant the Roman government), renew His covenant with them and dwell with them in a restored temple. People had gotten their hopes up that Jesus was that person who would be king; some expected Jesus to lead an insurrection or command an army, and Jerusalem would once again be a place of importance and power. When Jesus talked about the Kingdom of God—even when he taught the disciples to pray, “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” this is the kind of thing they were expecting: the Kingdom of God would be revealed as a political kingdom on earth, with a real king in a real temple commanding real armies and fighting real battles against real enemies.

There was a reason why the people expected this; it’s because there had been a kingdom once before, a kingdom the people had lost. In the Old Testament—amidst all the stories of the Hebrew people and judges and prophets and kings, amidst all the stories we tell our children in Bible School and the stories whose violence and gore make us wonder why they’re in the Bible at all; even amidst all the rules and regulations and building plans for the things the people would need to properly worship God—amidst all of this are two stories that describe times when the people turned away from God in significant ways. And the problem the people of Jesus’ day had that led to their misunderstanding was that they’d picked the wrong problem for Jesus to fix.

In 1 Samuel 8 we read of the time when God’s people recognized they were facing a great difficulty. Samuel—the faithful prophet and judge of the people—was getting old and his sons were corrupt. The people rightly recognize that the path they are on is a dead end, so they ask Samuel to appoint a king to lead them. Samuel objects to this plan; God is to be their king. But God does something surprising: he tells Samuel to go ahead and appoint a king anyway. If they would rather be led by an earthly ruler and not God himself, then fine.

But in choosing a king the people had turned away from God; it proved to be their first step to exile in Babylon. Eventually Israel is defeated by a foreign nation, the temple and city wall are destroyed, and the nation’s leaders are taken into captivity to live in Babylon as punishment for their unfaithfulness. It is a great oversimplification to compare them to Billy the cat bolting out of Phil’s moving van to head out on their own, but that’s essentially what the people did. Life with Phil—even in the new place—would have worked out. But Billy had different ideas, and so do we. God’s people ended up in exile—separated from their home, the place God intended them to flourish—and their life was never the same.

It’s understandable why the people thought Jesus would fix this problem for them. But it was still the wrong problem. The ultimate issue wasn’t that the life they were living wasn’t working out like they had hoped. The problem was that they were in exile from their Creator. The real story they needed to remember is found in Genesis 3 where Adam and Eve turn away from God because they have come to believe they know better how to live their lives than God does. And lest we think that Adam and Eve is just an old relic of a story—a kind of fable that we can take or leave—this basic problem would be repeated by the Apostle Paul just a few years after Jesus’ death:

All have turned aside, together they have become worthless; there is no one who shows kindness, there is not even one (Romans 3:12).

The people of Jesus day looked out at the world around them and were saying, “what we see doesn’t make sense. We should have our own king and rule the world in the name of God.” But the reason Jesus left his Father’s side to be born and walk among us was because God was saying, “the reason your world doesn’t make sense is because your relationship with me is broken. If we fix that, then everything else can be put right.”

Jesus gave us all kinds of clues that his mission on earth was to put things to rights—to put the world back together in the way God intended. So we see Jesus travelling around healing the sick, raising the dead, challenging people to repent, and telling stories about the so-called wrong kind of people doing the right things and being validated by Jesus. Outsiders were becoming insiders in God’s family.

And so when Mary Magadalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women encounter the angel at Jesus’ tomb, their response to this good news—this Gospel—is to become the first preachers in the history of Christianity! They run back to the apostles and tell them good news: what we thought was the end of the story is really only the middle of the story. There is more to come because Jesus has defeated the ultimate enemy; Jesus has defeated death. Our broken relationship with God can now be restored. Sins can be forgiven. We can learn what it means to properly love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; from that we can learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Anglican scholar N.T. Wright describes the benefits of being put back in right relationship with God this way:

All those who believe in Jesus, rescued by his cross and resurrection and enlivened by his Spirit, are part of the new family. This was and is central, not peripheral. The church was the original multicultural project, with Jesus as its only point of identity. It was known…as a worship-based, spiritually renewed, multi-ethnic, polychrome, mutually supportive, outward-facing, culturally creative, chastity-celebrating, socially responsible fictive kinship group, gender-blind in leadership, generous to the poor and courageous in speaking up for the voiceless.

This is the meaning of Easter and what life in Christ points to: sins have been forgiven, relationships with God and one another can be restored, and we now can participate with God in putting the world to rights.

But the news still requires a response. Even with the challenges of our present times—quite obviously represented by the fact that we have gathered outdoors for worship instead of in our beautiful and comfortable sanctuary—we live in something of a paradise where we can get along quite well without God. Why do we need God when we have decent jobs that provide for our basic needs and so much more; where comforts are only a click on Amazon.com away; where we can be constantly entertained with the latest TV program, sporting event, or concert; and where by and large most of the challenges that make life dangerous rarely, if ever, touch us? Furthermore, there are so many who will reduce Christianity to the notion of “praying a prayer so you can go to Heaven when you die,” and pretty much do whatever else you want until that day comes.

Still, the story comes down to our expectations of Jesus. Is he the center of your life, the hub around which everything rotates? Is he somewhere on the periphery—something akin to an app on our smartphones that delivers something we need every so often? Might Jesus be out of sight and out of mind?

How will you respond to the good news? Does Jesus’ invitation to be made right with God and then join in with the rest of God’s family in cooperating with God to put the world to rights demand a response in you? Are you ready to find your way back home into the loving arms of your Creator?

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