#perhaps that is the hour of finest creations being born

[mi---amor]

nutritionally enriching hubsalt

[fugandhi]

Candlestick of God

by Adam Kenichi Wekarski

As one who has been completely fascinated by the actual reality of Nuclear Warfare (since my childhood), I have always found the creation of the Atomic Bomb to be the most important moment in all of human history (with exception of the actual beginning & origin of humanity & all of existence itself).

Christopher Nolan’s perfect film, “Oppenheimer”, is a significantly honorable & highly-sophisticated masterpiece that provides a cinematic insight into the individuals who were instrumental in the real life happenings of the theoretical design, creation, and eventual utilization of atomic power (as a means to an end) in one of the most defining moments in all of history. 

Julius Robert Oppenheimer (portrayed Perfectly by Cillian Murphy in his finest performance) is the main focus of Nolan’s awe-inspiring cinematic achievement. Often considered to be “The Father of The Atomic Bomb”, J. Robert Oppenheimer (known commonly among his peers, family, and friends simply as, “Robert” and/or “Oppie”) was born in a Jewish household in New York City, New York, U.S.A. on April 22nd, 1904. 

Born of a painter (Ella Oppenheimer/Mother) & textile importer (Julius Seligmann Oppenheimer/Father, respectively), J. Robert Oppenheimer is portrayed in the beginning of Nolan’s work as one who has an inherent appreciation for the beauty of artwork (in a somewhat subtle manner), showcased in a rather pensive moment in the beginning of the film (a moment slightly reminiscent of the end of the museum sequence in the American classic, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”; perhaps a deliberate cinematic nod). While the initial years of Oppenheimer’s life are not the main focus of this picture (Written & Directed Perfectly by Christopher Nolan), the film itself is based off a biographical book entitled, “American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer” (a monumental literary undertaking in it’s own right; championed by Martin J. Sherwin & Kai Bird, respectively).

Although the book is based on Oppenheimer’s life’s work (among other things), the film is a three-hour-epic which tells a tale of various meanings: 

Firstly, the life of J. Robert Oppenheimer, which picks up in this film at the time of his initial years of his scientific legacy, as a student at The University of Cambridge (in Cambridge, England). In his academic years, Oppenheimer was not regarded with favor on the behalf of his scientific community. He had humbling beginnings in the scientific field, regardless of his inherent genius (which he would continue to enthrall himself in his own time). A particularly disturbing, yet accurate, moment in the film occurs when Oppenheimer actually attempts to poison his own instructor due to his considerable dissatisfaction of his experiences at Cambridge (without spoiling the story, this obviously does not come to fruition).

What does come to fruition, however, is the continual movement of subatomic & atomic particles working within the inner-structure of the mind (and overall being) of one J. Robert Oppenheimer (while he continues his pursuit of higher learning & his genuine love for all things astrophysical & theoretical science). Christopher Nolan’s film has a perfect ability of providing a visual interpretation of various scientific theories (whether it be conceptual or experimental) all-the-while providing a visual display of the deeply conflicted characterization of Oppenheimer himself throughout the entirety of his journey (via Murphy’s award-worthy performance). The cinematography of the film Oppenheimer is absolutely perfect (showcasing the undeniable superiority of film versus digital photography). The beauty of the picture is matched by moments of visceral intimacy (going in and out of focus at times with confidence) as well as larger-than-life & monumentally jaw-dropping imagery (especially during “The Trinity Test”). The musical score composed by Ludwig Göransson is a true work of genius as it creates an experimental (and highly profound & meaningful) atmosphere that helps shape the cinematic world within the film “Oppenheimer.” Göransson’s score is a refreshingly beautiful balance of symphonic & orchestral instrumentation while incorporating a tasteful implementation of electronic & synthetic instrumentation to balance the overall structure of the film. As Oppenheimer’s innermost thoughts & flashes of brilliance are scattered across the picture throughout the entirety of the story (with visual flair & editing mystique in a nonlinear method, indicative of Nolan’s directorial style), the musical score accommodates the plot & picture perfectly with a sincerely divine grace & power.

While speaking on power, the notion of atomic & nuclear power is the driving undercurrent of the film’s main protagonist as the story unfolds. As the theoretical possibilities are literally astronomical within the understanding of Oppenheimer’s significantly educated mind (as he displays a fascination for existence at cosmological proportions) - the threat of nuclear weapons being constructed and crafted by the dark forces of Fascism (by Hitler & The Nazis) halfway across the world is the other driving undercurrent of the film’s plot and main characters (all of whom, in real life, did actually place their lives on the line for the sake of our world). The known reality that the Nazis of Germany & Austria (of old) had already devised their own plan to have the ultimate weapon to command their own will over the will of others (as their invasion of Poland was merely a first step in their agenda) was not far from Oppenheimer’s mind as well as the many key individuals of whom had not only shared time with him in his life, but had become spiritual warriors of the cause to stop (once and for all) the unGodly atrocities birthed from the minds of actual evil in Nazi-era Germany.

Key individuals had indeed entered Oppenheimer’s life; individuals like Isidor Rabi (portrayed gracefully by David Krumholtz in his finest performance on screen to date), Ernest Lawrence (portrayed very impressively by Josh Hartnett in his finest performance yet), Lewis Strauss (portrayed masterfully by one Robert Downey, Jr. in his greatest performance since “Chaplin”), Jean Tatlock (portrayed strongly by Florence Pugh in a highly provocative & deeply off-putting performance), Leslie Groves (portrayed incredibly by Matt Damon in my favorite on-screen performance by him since “Good Will Hunting”), Katherine “Kitty” Harris (who would later become Katherine “Kitty” Oppenheimer in real life and in the film; portrayed Perfectly by Emily Blunt in one of my favorite performances in the entire film), as well as many, many other key individuals who played significant roles in the organization of the atomic bomb in order to end what had become known worldwide as “The Axis of Evil” in [accurate] historical documentation.

The countless individuals who shall remain in the history books as having been directly associated with the formation of the U.S. Military effort (not to mention Canada and The United Kingdom, respectively) to create the Atomic Bomb are represented with dignified refinement in Christopher Nolan’s masterwork, “Oppenheimer.” The ensemble cast is enormous, and no one single performance can be understated by any other performance. Every performer on camera honorably captures an accurate portrayal of the manner of which these real life individuals had lived (granted with a dramatic tone mostly reminiscent in any major motion picture’s cinematic retelling of any major historical world event to connect an overall thought to anyone of whom views the picture).

In addition to the enormous ensemble cast is the enormous production design of the film. It’s particularly astounding to observe how Oppenheimer had become involved in the most important government protocol known to modern society, and then had the most important responsibility of practically producing a space within the nation to run highly-classified government operatives & lead numerous scientists (of both men and women) to create something that had never been physically manifested before by anyone. Cillian Murphy’s charming on-screen dynamics with his peers & colleagues (even among some of the most fascinating & completely serious situations; i.e. The personal politics becoming an element of interference & conflict even among the very people who worked as a team to construct the nuclear solution to the atomic problem; the complete classification of his work due to the priority of the U.S. Military; the priority of national security; his overall personal relationships while putting a new team of scientists together to perform the most massive scientific undertaking in a race against evil) - is just as organic as it is compelling to observe on film.

The reality of Oppenheimer’s associations with the Communist Party (as well as his own family members and friends) are presented very clearly throughout the entire film. Regardless of the numerous verbal warnings from fellow scientists such as Ernest Lawrence to keep politics outside of the laboratory (due to Oppenheimer’s rather open and highly vocal political opinions in favor for the Communist ideals with an intensely pro-worker stance), Oppenheimer continued to struggle to find the balance between his own personal convictions & morals as an individual as well as working within the functioning realm of national loyalty & honorable servitude. As the film continues into the development of Oppenheimer’s leadership as an instructor for his own students (which continues to increase in numbers), he eventually calls upon the brightest and most capable minds within his field to join the cause of stopping the world from being totally annihilated by the forces of darkness (as the Nazi army had continued to murder & genocide countless innocent lives in Europe on a daily basis and intended on dominating the world by total violence & mass genocide).

With a newly formed team and his continued work alongside Leslie Groves (a true man of the cause; a decorated Engineer of the U.S. Military who did his service to his country with much Pride & Honor) to build a physical location to perform what would later be referred to as “The Manhattan Project” (which was a perfect recreation in terms of production design of the classified military operation in Los Alamos, New Mexico, U.S.A.), Oppenheimer’s vision had come to fruition in the most tangible form (with the relentlessness of Groves throughout the entirety of the nuclear arms race). After the painstaking search for the perfect team to create the most destructive force known to humankind was completed (even with a briefly elusive encounter between Oppenheimer & Albert Einstein [portrayed by Tom Conti with awe-inspiring perfection & grace] in the beginning of the film when Strauss extends an invitation to Oppenheimer), the increase of scientific gravitas becomes ever more present with each scene in the film and each additional scientist of whom helps construct “the weapon to end all wars.” With each additional individual who presents more & more ideas to the table (so-to-speak) on how to successfully achieve the most effective scientific results (during an intimate look inside the American think-tank that constructed the weaponization of atomic power), the collaborative efforts put forth by the men and women who built the atomic bomb was frequently rife with conflict & tremendous disagreement due to the meeting of massive minds (often harboring massive ideas & massive egos to boot). 

The potential security threat that Oppenheimer’s Communist ties initially raised had been dissolved by Leslie Groves due to his concrete belief in Oppenheimer’s intellectual abilities as a Scientist. This clear confidence, regardless of personal reservations, is what prompts Robert Oppenheimer’s brother, Frank Oppenheimer (portrayed respectably by Dylan Arnold) to join the highly classified government operation to defeat the Nazis in the race for atomic power (regardless of his clear ties with the Communist Party). The cause had become greater than us all as our personal politics and personal reservations regarding who did [or did not] pose a potential security threat to our nation had been placed as a postponed priority during a race against time (and an actual race against evil). Just as it has always been (in regards to the most important moments in human history), desperate times called for desperate measures. This is the compelling beauty of the unified cooperation & sincere teamwork that had actually happened in real life with real human beings who truly did save the world from the further influence of the destructive forces of darkness (and our absolute end as an overall existence). Regardless of differing political ideologies, many individuals came together for the common cause to stop the world from succumbing to the most sinister darkness ever known to be (by collectively constructing a proverbial candlestick of God to bring forth from the heavens the ultimate force of light).

Secondly, “Oppenheimer” is a picture about the tragic betrayal & political persecution of J. Robert Oppenheimer despite his awe-inspiring commitment & loyalty to The United States of America as a government and as a nation (as well as the entirety of humanity and existence on Earth). The second act of this three-act work of art is primarily focused around the McCarthy-era “Red Scare” that occurred in America that followed the aftermath of the end of World War II in the following decade. The Red Scare had essentially been a witch-hunt in contemporary America for anyone who was a Communist, held affiliations with the Communist Party, or was suspected of having potential connections and/or ties with any individual(s) or organization(s) associated or in some way, shape, or form, and/or of having any relations with Communism as a whole (very reminiscent of another important socio-political picture focused on the era of McCarthyism in America entitled, “Good Night and Good Luck”). 

Regardless of Oppenheimer’s complete commitment & sincere dedication to the cause of our great nation, he was still held under a severe amount of scrutiny and political punishment for his past associations with the Communist Party. In addition to a public hearing which had placed his entire scientific credibility & honor as a man under an unnecessary humiliation that attempted to destroy his life, family, and career - He also faced a significant amount of antagonistic questioning on a daily basis regarding a tapestry of arbitrary & meaningless questions that were implemented more severely & viciously with each passing day in order to further diminish, attack, and otherwise destroy his character (regardless of him & his family’s sacrifice for the greater good).

The second act is duplicitous in the sense that it’s nonlinear in it’s presentation (similar to the earlier work by Nolan, “Memento”). Act two is primarily in black & white, a clear indication of the nature of the duality of Oppenheimer’s scientific & humanitarian achievement in that he was once an exciting figure full of potential in the first act (with a sense of hope & color & adventure), and now the second act has him facing questions (in a stark contrast to act one) regarding his own character and his associations (in addition to the very achievement he was called upon in order to save the world from total annihilation, by the very people who asked for his help). The second act happens simultaneously with the first act which is a stroke of genius in the direction, writing, and overall production quality of the film. Without revealing too much in order to preserve the quality of the picture, the second act is a complete torment on Oppenheimer’s character and his actions and overall judgment calls (as the man responsible for having a scientific team working for the U.S. Military & U.S. Government that actually had Russian spies and double-agents infiltrating classified U.S. intelligence during The Manhattan Project and The Trinity Test). The truly unfortunate reality is that Oppenheimer, while being a genius who worked alongside many, many brilliant & wise individuals, still managed to succumb to the double-cross of individuals of whom were trusted with the highest security clearances in our own U.S. Government (while covertly operating within the means of international political subversion & government espionage).

While I will not indulge further into the premise regarding the socio-political plot-related themes of the film, I will indeed acknowledge the Kubrickian fashion in which Nolan has immersed his direction in this particular film (in all of it’s 70mm glory). Without spoiling the story for anyone; there is one scene during Oppenheimer’s questioning where the film provides a visual representation of how deeply each question had cut Oppenheimer as a person (and character). What would seem to be a completely gratuitous sex scene during Oppenheimer’s questioning (courtesy of Florence Pugh & Cillian Murphy, both in a highly artistic light), is actually an astonishing symbolic gesture that showcases the real suffering that was not only endured by Julius Oppenheimer (having been known for his illicit affairs), but also his wife, Katherine, during one of the worst times in Oppenheimer and his family’s life (which fed into Kitty’s alcoholism despite her own intellect & genius in real life). The questions of Oppenheimer’s commitment to our country, and to the greatest cause in the world, and the questioning of his personal affairs in order to smear his good name was discovered to be a deliberate method of private interest (facilitated by an individual later revealed in the film).

Oppenheimer’s credibility & worthiness had been completely tested, challenged, and disgraced regardless of the fact that he utilized his intellect (and the intellect of countless individuals in his immediate life that had all worked together) in order to bring an end to the forces of darkness by using the most powerful form of light: Atomic Power. 

Thirdly, Christopher Nolan’s monumental cinematic achievement is, symbolically-speaking, about the Greek tragedy of the Titan known as Prometheus (originally based off of Hesiod’s ancient mythological poetry, “Theogony”; as well as the 5th Century [B.C.] epic trilogy written by Aeschylus, “Prometheia”; a trilogy of tragedy consisting of “Prōmetheús Desmótēs” (a.k.a. “Prometheus Bound”), “Promētheus Lyomenos” (a.k.a. “Prometheus Unbound”), and “Promētheús Pyrphóros” (a.k.a. “Prometheus The Bringer of Fire”). In the calculated words of Oppenheimer, himself, as he identifies with the paradigm of which confined Prometheus before him, “…I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds…” (taken from Eastern Philosophical Sanskrit spiritual text; quoting Vishnu of the Hindu faith; Bhagavad Gita, approximately 4th Century BCE). As Oppenheimer’s ability to “bring fire” to humanity (a cinematic similarity of the mythological tragedy of Prometheus), having stolen fire from Zeus and having given it to Humanity (in addition to civilization & science & knowledge from the heavens), the mythological being’s tale had become an obvious parallel to Oppenheimer in his actual waking life (when he was indeed alive on this earth and did aim to wield the power of the universal light). Regardless of Oppenheimer’s world-changing achievement (and the further harm it would prevent on a mass level), he was still able to intellectually determine his own profound understanding of the bloodshed & death that would be the result of his scientific creation (despite the necessity to stop the seemingly unstoppable armies of Germany & Japan at the time). Oppenheimer, like Prometheus before him, had successfully managed to reach for the stars and pull the light down from the heavens, and bring it to humanity on earth in order to prevent Zeus from completely obliterating and destroying humanity as a whole.

In Nolan’s masterpiece, as Prometheus had learned the ability to seize the power of fire could indeed be harnessed from the heavens, Oppenheimer had learned the ability to seize the atomic power that could actually be harnessed from existence itself (as the molecular structure of all existence as we know it is indeed a physical result of atomic activity combined with spiritual energy [individually & collectively]) within an interaction between the tangible & intangible forces of cosmic energy & matter & waves of sound.

As in the tale of Prometheus, after having brought fire to earth from the heavens, the following punishment was the eternal torture & torment of Prometheus (condemned by Zeus). Prometheus was shackled to a boulder, as his immortal liver was eaten on a daily basis (having the ability to regenerate each day) by an Eagle (typically identified as the emblem of Zeus). In a contemporary context, an eagle also identifies as a symbol of State Power; Authority of The State; Government Power. Zeus, in Nolan’s cinematic interpretation, has a much more fascinating and complex representation via two different major political figures (both Adolf Hitler as well as President Truman; the inherent duality of state power). Without giving anything away - The brief cameo of President Truman (as he and Oppenheimer meet) is an encounter similar to that of when Peter Finch’s ‘Howard Beale’ meets Ned Beatty’s ‘Arthur Jensen’ in the film “Network” (albeit more brief). While Oppenheimer’s brilliance and complete concern over the social responsibility of striving for a world where we no longer need to use any such weapons in order to remain a functioning society - President Truman (portrayed masterfully by an actor who shall remain nameless to maintain the integrity of the picture) shows the true nature of the political world by declaring the contrary and asserting a further implementation of research & development to deter any further international threats (regardless of Oppenheimer’s clear concern of any government having such access to such extensive means of weaponized methods of power on the nuclear level).

It’s a truly fascinating & monumental statement to have applied the cinematic telling of one of the most important moments in human history while simultaneously bringing forth poetic symbolism of a Greek tragedy (utilizing the most powerful form of cinematic triplicity; particularly with the utilization of Einstein who plays more like a force of nature rather than a man). The third act of the film releases Oppenheimer from his proverbial rock of eternal torment in his own modern Tartarus, as he is released by the help of the every-day scientist, David Hill (portrayed perfectly in a minor, but completely effective role by Rami Malek). As Heracles before him, Hill’s presence sheds new light on an intriguing internal development within the scientific community which not only shows the duplicitous nature of the second act, but also the duplicitous nature of the individuals of whom had called upon Oppenheimer to help create the atomic bombs that would be dropped on the civilian cities of Hiroshima & Nagasaki, Japan (respectively). Rami Malek’s brief, but significantly important role in the film is the pivotal turning point that grants Oppenheimer, his family, and his associations (both past and current) freedom from previous prejudice & extreme ridicule (in a gratifying on-screen showdown that brings forth the most important message of the entire film).

Lastly, and most importantly, the overall message of Nolan’s masterpiece is about honoring the people who deliberately rise to the occasion in order to save the good grace of humanity & the sanctity of life as we know it (regardless of prior or potential political affiliation or one’s professional ego or private interest). The importance of speaking up on the behalf of the ones who do good in the world, and celebrating each achievement in order to propel the individual (and the collective) further into the future is essential in all industries (not just the scientific field). The ones who literally step forward to save & preserve the fate of humankind & our world (by intellect, spirit, or body) should be awarded for their good faith (not punished or tortured or removed by exclusion due to the absurdity of bureaucracy or envious competitors or kicked back into the world merely as paupers, or as the film refers, a “Lowly shoe salesmen”). 

In conclusion: The elusive moment between Einstein & Oppenheimer (which comes back around full circle from Act one through Act three) is a highly powerful moment on film that provides an insight into the purity of true genius & brilliance (more importantly & above all else: a wisdom that burns inside within the spirit of Oppenheimer as it had in Einstein; a candlestick of God’s light from within: All-Knowing, regardless of the tumultuous path ahead of the man that became known as “The Father of The Atomic Bomb”). The beauty of the film is not one individual’s achievement, but the collaborative achievement of the goodness of humanity as a species in order to stop the darkest evil known to humankind. It was one individual who lead a team of individuals (with unmeasurable personal & professional sacrifice on everyone’s behalf), a true human being alongside other noble human beings who did what was necessary to preserve the sanctity of life as we cherish it to be.  Considering the known reality that the relevance of an actual threat of nuclear warfare still exists in our modern time (approximately one century after the real atomic bomb had been created by the most important team of individuals who placed, not only country above party, but humanity above it all), perhaps Christopher Nolan’s cinematic echo of the past will allow us all to consider the priority of humanity’s future as we look towards a better time, not just for a certain few, but for ALL of us as an entire world (now & forever).

[catboyelimgarak]

A bit of what I have of a fic where Julian is transformed into a Cardassian for a top secret mission with Garak, and our dear tailor losing his mind at how gorgeous Cardassia!Julians is. All thanks to this lovely piece of fanart and idea by @starshiplamaupin

There may be changes to some small things here as I think of a decent small story, like changing Sisko to Kira for post-war, or fitting this somewhere during the war. Def will be quite Noir which I see as Garak’s genre type (the opposite of Julian’s spy genre). It’ll be awhile before more is written or decided on.

This had been a mistake. A grave, miscalculated mistake Garak only had himself to blame. All his planning had expected only one outcome for his doctor, yet Sisko seemed to have other ideas; it was always him who bent the rules of Garak’s games with intellect only a fellow Cardassian could hold. The captain was the variable to all of his plans, and he was proving once more to have been underestimated by one of the Obsidian Order’s finest.

“You look so good!” A giddy grin from Jadzia when she caressed a hardened cheek.

“I actually think it fits well, you definitely don’t look like the bastards I had to put up with back on Terok Nor.” Kira’s arms crossed, nodding as her dark eyes inspected.

It was Miles O’Brien who had spoken truth. “You’re mad to think this will work, or that you look nice.”

And for one of the scarce times since knowing the red-faced human, Garak agreed. Yet, he also felt that tight puff of indignance in his chest. The idea may have been ill-thought, but Julian was nothing less than gorgeous. He always was, smooth brown skin or not — the CMO held a beauty that transcended species. Eyes that — now with post-war experiences — drooped like a wiseman; a long face with sharp cheekbones; and an elongated neck that tempted the strongest of people (the most collected of the Obsidian Order), all of them translated perhaps too perfectly with scales adorning each centimeter on his tall form.

For all intent and purposes, Julian Bashir,  his dearest doctor, was now toting a Cardassian appearance like he had been born that way. A five hour process where the nurses oversaw the tearing, adding, and sewing of silky dark flesh. The break and mending of bones to deceive scanners into believing him of Cardassian flesh and blood. A tense five hours where life on the station went on as usual, but Garak was left forcing himself busy in his old shop with a closed sign up. As he mended a few threads in his own clothing, he thought of how Julian was being under needle and laser in Medbay, and had to stop when the image became too much. In the last two hours he realized he’d have to tend to new outfits for the doctor when he was out of surgery and a few inches broader with scales that needed certain fabrics so no agitation took place.

By the time Jadzia trotted to the store, knocking on the display window, Garak had finished a tunic; the creation had been filled with the sound of a rushed heartbeat and a heat in his cheeks as he pictured his doctor in it.  A point to the medbay and a grin, Jadzia took off once more — leaving him to abandon his work and do his best not to look like he was in a hurry.

And when the small crowd parted, there sat Julian Bashir: all grins and pretty scales glistening under the artificial light. And there went Garak’s breath, control and mind. Silence was all he knew, eyeing the doctor’s new grey form. His eyes had not changed in shape, rather they were enhanced, holding a lifetime of stories and secrets that’d attract many looks. The color of them had, though, now a honey-brown that laid in Cardassian genes, but dormant to the point of rarity. An overlook due to Bajorans working on him and no advice sought from the sole Cardassian on Deep Space Nine. It’d cause problems later on, but Garak’s mind had already thought of reasons for the outrageously good looking Cardassian with honey eyes and lanky form to exist and not be known anywhere on Cardassia.

He also thought of how he’d have to intimidate others from attempting seducing his doctor.

“Well, Garak? How do I look?” Julian jumped off the biobed and outstretched his arms as if to bring the tailor in.

It took a summable amount of strength to reply in a normal time. “It’s an improvement, all that lankiness put to use, if I am being honest. But poor decisions on aesthetics, which is only natural when a different species is sewing one up.” And he wouldn’t be xenophobic to say Bajorans, unwilling to stoop to the lows like Dukat, nor insult the people on the station who he embarrassingly (because he was an obsidian age for Guls��� sake!) owed much to. He had seen how they suffered, and he would not add to that even after what everyone had been through.

Still, that didn’t mean he could avoid hurting Julian’s feelings in either way. And oh, how enticing the reborn Julian looked as his honey-brown eyes fell and practically narrowed at him. The tired, deadpan, face exciting Garak — a promise, an opening, all for a heated argument. 

“Of course you’d criticize my nurses. It’s hard to make something when there is scarcely any reference or information on the model.” 

Valid points, but he wouldn't admit it. “And yet, none of them came to me: the sole Cardassian on the station.”

Julian rolled his eyes and shook his head that now bore inky-black locks, curly after laying on the biobed for hours. “I wonder why.”

Yes, this had been a mistake. A bad, unforeseen, hiccup in his plan to not only help Starfleet against rebel aliens, but to also gain alone time with the good doctor. Instead of Julian keeping to a ship orbiting a station where dozens of scientists of multiple species would be discussing a top-secret device, he was to now join Garak ship-side —  partaking in his espionage mission. What would have been a day at most would now be three, in which not only Romulans and Klingons and multiple other species would eye the now scaled doctor, but fellow Cardassians as well.

The aspect of having to watch leering eyes he knew so well look Julian up and down with thoughts of trailing their claws down his new pretty scutes (marking him with bites) sent a flush of hatred through him. A jealous anxiety he could identify as if it were a panic soon to happen hallowed his stomach. 

“If you’re done being an ass, I would like to put my new stomach to good use.” Julian stood beside Garak — still such a tall being compared to him.

“You can’t, doctor. It needs to settle before you try to eat like normal.” A nurse came close, handing over a PADD for his CMO to read.

Ocular ridges furrowing (still making that little u-shape between them where softer scales laid), Julian quickly scrolled over the contents. “Oh that’s just mean! If I wasn’t meant to eat after the surgery, why am I then so damned hungry?”

There was something to be said in reply, but Garak caught the empty spot where none came. Instead, the nurse turned away and put his attention to the computer connected to the biobed — pressing a button so a blue light sanitized it. “Liquids, and perhaps some crackers as long as you eat them slowly. Nothing with dairy either, but that’s because Cardassian physiology can’t tolerate it.”

“I’m lactose intolerant now?!”

Garak allowed himself a snicker, enjoying the wide eyes and open mouth he received from Julian. Poor boy didn't even know what Sisko had done to him. 

[moonbelt]

𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬 [ᴍ]

↳ classical mythology au | the story of icarus au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + smut + fluff

⇢ word count: 14,101 (this one’s a lil beast)

⇢ description: on the day of the summer solstice a piece of the sun crashes down to earth and perhaps it was fate that led him to you. 

⇢ warnings: handjobs, a bit of a size difference kink, small dom/sub undertones, butchering classical mythology to fit the plot. 

It felt like the world was burning at your feet.

That was understandable. It was the morning of the longest day of summer after all. But for the ground to be so hot that the heat speared through the soles of your work boots? That bit was new. You were quite sure your town was hitting an all-new high record for the hottest day of the year.

Even as you cooped yourself in your basement workshop, the sun still seemed to boil you to death. You could only imagine how awful it was outside. But you couldn't afford to stall on your invention. It was either now or never. You were a go big or go home type of person.

Today was the big day. The Summer Solstice. And even though you couldn't be bothered by your town's usual theatrics and a false sense of grandeur, this was the one event you loved. The one event in which you got to showcase your creations and earn a bucketload of exclusive offers from neighboring patrons that came to visit.

The longest day of summer was a huge festival. For one night you got to experience the finest things the world had to offer in your small, somewhat average life. And you loved it. For one day the townspeople put away their reservations towards you and your father and for one day, you allowed yourself to dream of flying away from this tightly-knit prison.

Forcing things into being from scraps and the dregs of society was something that gave you purpose. Something that in a tiny way puts you on the map. Fueled your somewhat childish dream of someday crawling your way out of this labyrinth-Esque settlement.

The first time you snuck into your father's workshop hadn't been by accident. Even though your father had cautioned you away from the basement because he was scared you'd interfere with his process or perhaps worse; injure yourself. But at nine years old there was only so much that could keep your mind from wandering away and the townsfolk weren't exactly forthcoming with letting their heirs and next of kins play with you.

Well, to be honest, most of them didn't welcome you at all. Not that you minded. Not that you cared. They called your father a genius to his face but a madman to his back. But that was fine too. There was a fine line between the two. You thought Little Tommy was quite literally the ugliest baby to be born in the whole wide world and when Little Tommy's mother did something you hated like shoo you away from the front of her bakery, you let her know exactly that.

So yeah, no hard feelings.

But your father's workshop had always felt like the hottest place on earth. If not for that fact that you'd been so utterly bored with schoolwork and the fantasy book you'd been able to sneak out of the library, you doubted you'd even have wanted to step foot in the dark, sweltering ass crack of hell. But if you were anything it was determined.

Some might call you stubborn. Some may even call it foolishness on your part. But you know that it was destiny. A reckoning. Fate. Maybe even a homecoming of sorts. Because in there you found your true passion. Something that tied you ephemerally to this world.

In that workshop, you saw your father create things that no one had ever dared or tried to before. But of course, he did. That was the whole reason they called him a madman by night.

In fact, you were quite certain that the townspeople revered and feared him at the same time. After all, there was still a rumor going 'round that he'd been the one to orchestrate and invent the quintessential labyrinth town you lived in. But that was a different story, one you didn't care to tell. And one you believed��— at the time — didn't affect you at all.

You've been wrong about many things. Your father had made it a point to let you know in every way of what you lacked and in what you failed in. But also in what you thrived. And building, no, inventing, came easily to you. Like you'd been born for it. More than destiny, more like preordained. You didn't have a choice, didn't even want one. And you'd been helpless to stop it.

But now the workshop was your life. You lived in it, breathed it and in a sense maybe you worshipped it. It gave you a sense of being after all. The whole town could isolate you, and that they did expertly, but they still hammered down your doorstep for your helpful creations that helped ease the way of life.

You both loved and loathed how much they depended on you but it was what it was. You tried not to let it bother you much anymore.

After numerous hours of grinding at your workstation, and perfecting your latest design, you climbed out of the heated workshop basement and welcomed the fresh breeze of the cool air outside.

You'd been working on a new device that would help speed up the process of washing your daily wear. At the moment the mechanics were quite frankly the best they could ever be, but you were tinkering with it for the utmost perfection for tonight. Hell, you'd already picked out an apt name for it: The Washy-Washer. Okay, yes, it did sound a bit silly, a bit ridiculous, but you weren't going to call it the hand-washer. You cringed solely at the thought.

But you needed a break. Your back was killing you and you were quite literally tired of washing all of your socks. Even if the machine did do most of it.

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the sun. It was calm and quiet in this part of town. The outskirts. But the sun was always loud. At least to you. It always felt as if the sun was trying to burn out your eyes and no matter how much you wanted to look away, you couldn't. It demanded your attention. And you gave it because what else could you do?

It wasn't like the sun was especially pretty, or particularly different than any other sun you'd seen in the last early twenty-something years of your life. But it wasn't like the sun was ugly either, so you didn't mind looking at it. Even if it did hurt your eyes.

And just like every other day, you raised a palm to the sky and imagined yourself grasping the burning sun in your hands. You imagined it would feel like a hot coal on your skin, a little bit reinvigorating but with a whole lot of pain. You wondered if it was a good thing that you thought you'd like that.

And like what had become your new normal, you daydreamed of creating wings like the birds you envied. Wings that could take you anywhere you wanted. Wings that could actually fly. The dream had been plaguing you for weeks like a disease. Visions of you donning on misshapen not-even-close-to-sturdy wings and just soaring. You weren't quite sure where you'd fly to. Maybe you'd just go until you were too tired to move.

"You are going to turn into a field of ash," the charismatic yet sarcastic voice of the town's resident homebody (and the only person that responded to your flyer looking for a housemate) yelled from inside the house.

You guess you were getting predictable these days. Too much staring at the sun and getting almost sunburnt and less of hiding in your workshop.

"The weather's trying to murder me out here," you grumbled as you pushed the creaky front door open and tapped the dirt from the bottom of your boots. "And that's how you treat me?"

Kyungsoo looked up from stirring the pot he had on the stove to shoot you an exasperated look. You had half the mind to tell him of how domestic he looked just to mess with him. "I'm preventing you from dying a sudden and painful death."

"I put a roof over your head."

"Well, I pay rent and I feed you."

It wasn't like you could you beat that. You couldn't cook for the life of you. When your father had been alive he had handled all the cooking for fear of you burning water. And when he'd married, his new wife Nau had taken over the role.

Nau was a nice woman. Although you thought sometimes that she treated you a bit too much like you were her biological daughter and not her extended family. It was fine though because at least she talked to you. Plus she told all her townie friends about the stuff you created. And she made a bomb fish-tail soup.

When your father died, she'd resorted to dropping off a weekly supply of cooked meals at your door. But with Kyungsoo around, the need had for it had practically stopped. And even though you would never tell her, Kyungsoo's cooking was way more phenomenal than hers. But you had manners, albeit a little rusty.

"You can't hold food over my head. That's just wrong." You made your way to the sink and washed the grime off your hands and face. "Plus, I gave you a friend discount when I fixed your calculator last week."

"True. But it is easy to get the friend discount when I’m your only friend," he easily replied as he moved and dumped two servings of what looked like and smelled like his signature fried rice.

You smiled to yourself. If only your dad could see you now. Making friends? Well, a friend. Singular. The town wasn't completely shitty. But Kyungsoo wasn't fond of the place either. You weren't exactly sure what caused him to uproot his life from the middle of the town where he was revered as a young chef-like god. But when he'd taken you up on your offer to be housemates to help reduce living costs six months ago, you can't say you minded.

He was a pretty easy going person and all he ever seemed to do was cook.

"So, are you still not going to have your own stall for the solstice?" You asked after you thanked him for the food and the two of you had retreated to the table set for two.

Kyungsoo shrugged, dropping his utensil to run a hand through his cropped short inky hair. "No cooking for large people ever again. They never appreciate it anyway. I'm going to be a normal person at the festival. You know, I hear the fireworks at the end are amazing."

They were. Your father used to be in charge of the mass production of them for the event. "Yeah. They're like big exploding balls of magic."

He smiled ruefully. "Can't wait."

The two of you finished your food in silence and by the time you were done you were already back to absently dreaming about wings and flying. It was abnormal the way you were fixated on it. Building wings won't be easy, heck if they were even remotely doable someone would've done it already. But it felt like an itch on your skin. Almost like you had to at least try.

Perhaps when the party was over you'd dive headfirst into it and start researching how you would even go about it. It wasn't like you had the arm strength to keep flapping your arms like a crazed person through the damn sky.

If Kyungsoo noticed your lack of speaking, he didn't mention it. And when you'd finished washing the dishes and placing them to dry. You turned to find him sifting through a handful of mail on the table. He'd been getting a ton of letters from former customers that begged him to come back and reopen his restaurant. He promptly discarded them in the bin immediately after.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"You'd just ask me anyway, regardless of my answer."

True. But you like you'd said 'manners.' "You ever think about flying?"

He peered up from the littered papers. "Thinking about inventing some kind of flying death trap?"

"Hah hah hah. Jokes on you when I actually do it." You scoffed at him. Did he think you couldn't do it? You'd show him. You weren't sure how but you would. "You'd beg me to make one for you to fly out of this hellhole too."

"Well, when you put it like that I can't, in good conscience, discourage you from it. Even though I know it's a very bad idea."

"A bad idea? Nay, I say. It's the best I've ever had!"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at your boastful demeanor. "Where would you even fly to?"

You didn't even have to think about it. "The sun."

You'd get up close and personal with the beast that beat down on your skin day in day out. It'd hurt like hell, you knew that. But you didn't care. You weren't planning on kissing the sun or anything. Just somewhere close to it. Maybe it'd cure you off your dreams of having your body floating in a bright, hellish landscape.

Maybe flying close enough to the sun just once would be enough. You'd come back down. It'd be the greatest achievement of your whole life. Your magnum opus. You weren't trying to die but there was a whole world up there that was calling out to you like a siren at sea. And you were going to fly. You swore on it.

Even if it meant you crash-landed from space back to earth.

The Summer Solstice celebrations had already been in full swing for a few hours by the time you and Kyungsoo made it to the heart of the town. The festivals were never all that lavish or even truly a feat of major grandiose but more of a holiday to the small community. The neighboring towns visited annually and it made good to the vineyards when everyone was drunk around the bonfire with golden and russet marigolds braided into their hairs.

Colorful streamers were erected around the sides of the cobblestone roads, the sun was on the precipice of setting with the sky marred in a beautiful match of blue, orange and purple. You watched as little kids you didn’t know and old people you did flocked round in queues at various booths marveling at the creative food options.

You stopped by numerous stalls and stands that piqued your interest. Maybe it was because it was the solstice that made all the snacks taste even more heavenly than normal. Or maybe the bolstering heat had finally fried your head.

You were having fun hauling the Washy-Washer around and having people ask you what the hell it was. You’d packed a bountiful amount of socks for the demonstrations.

And when you walked away with a cold snack in your hand and a customer swearing from here to the moon that they’ll be at the shop tomorrow to pick up an order; a burst of pride swelled in your chest. Big enough for you to join in on the crowd’s summer singing. A while after you’d finished your word-of-mouth promotion, you even sold the very one you’d brought out with you.

Kyungsoo and you watched as hundreds of fellow young adult townsfolk flooded the streets decked out head to toe with the most glitzy, sheer and barely covering cloths available. It was hot and it was a festival, so no one particularly cared.

But you guess you stuck out like a sore thumb in your practical shorts and thin tank. But you weren’t part of the show so it didn’t really matter. Plus the outfits of the solstice attendees were so bizarre that you dressing a tad normal wasn’t cause for alarm. And you guessed Kyungsoo was having fun because he was running his mouth talking about the essence and the umami of a popsicle… He was learned like that.

Pushing through the crowds, you made the most of the festival. It was a bright thing. With paper lanterns floating around and above. People didn’t make an effort to seek you out in conversation but you cracked enough jokes with your friend to forget about that. Later on, Kyungsoo had been rightfully cornered by his old friends and you had given him your permission to go forth and get ultimately wasted. You promised him that you’d get drunk telepathically as well. He’d laughed.

By the time you had made it to the bonfire in the middle of the Town Square, you almost felt as if you were like everyone else. Paying for overpriced solstice marketed booze, your body felt like you were soaring. Free. You got close enough that you felt the flames of the bonfire licking and dancing across your skin and it was almost ironic how homely you felt with it.

And like year after year, the solstice let everyone shed their inhibitions. But just as the night was getting even wilder, you knew it was time for you to head back home. You could tell when you weren’t wanted. And You were pushing it without Kyungsoo by your side. People thought you were a bit mad like your father.

You won’t lie. He had been dedicated to his craft and defied the world at every turn. But he had also been a little insane. Perhaps that was where you got your stubbornness bordering on self-destruction.

You were already busy crocking up ways in which you’d start building your wings on your way back home. It was going to be a long journey to get something even manageable but you’d do it. The closer you got to your house, the less of the bustling town you heard. It was almost as if the bright festival didn’t reach your part of town. Like you were hidden in the ultimate cloak of darkness.

But that was fine. Because one day you’d have wings. One day you’d fly out of here like a bat out of hell.

And just as a droopy smile made its way to your face there came a blinding light followed by a loud and resounding thud. It shook the very core of the earth, all the way up to the enamel of your teeth.

You could swear that the sheer brightness of the light alone burnt your retinas clean off. Before you could even process what was going on, your body felt like it was incinerating from the inside. It was so hot around you that you weren’t just sweating profusely, you were melting. There was no other word for it. You clawed at your arms in a bid to do something, anything, but the mass of slick sweat on it caused your palms to slip and slip.

God, you were going to burn to death. You were screaming before you realized it. It felt like the sun was right next to you. Instead of you flying to it, it had come right down to you. And you were going to go out in a cloud of ashy dust.

But just as quickly as the heat had flamed your skin, it was gone. Leaving only the stinging sensation of your skin and tears cooling on top of your cheekbones. The cool night air caressed your skin like a salve and you whimpered a little.

What in the burning hell was that?

You were afraid. You squeezed your eyes and hugged your body. You hadn’t even realized that you had fallen to your knees. To make matters worse, your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that it overpowered all the weak sobs from falling from your lips.

Gods, you absolutely did not want to open your eyes to whatever was out there. You’d rather run blindly all the way back home.

Maybe you were cursed? Your father had told you that the gods’ anger and wrath were fickle things. Easy to provoke and swift to enact. But what on earth could you have done to deserve it? Ah, maybe if you could just open your eyes a little bit. A tiny fraction. Practically minuscule. You won’t even notice.

But when you finally managed to peel your eyelids open, you were confronted with someone kneeling right in front of you. His frame was so big that it dwarfed you and made you feel even smaller. It was undeniable that this person right in front of you wasn’t from around here. You’d never met him, never even seen him before. You’d know if you had. He had a kind of face people got mesmerized by and subsequently spent years trying to recreate it in all their art or died trying. Dramatic shit like that.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he said, his voice breathless and airy like wind and yet deep and soul bending like rock.

Huh, funny how just as you were finally catching your bearings, the hair on your arms decided to prickle to prim attention like he was inspecting them.

“Yeah?” That’s all you got? A yeah? Gods, someone throw you in a hole. You cleared your throat as you turned your gaze anywhere but his face. “Well, I swear I don’t usually burst out crying on the street like a madwoman.”

“No, no. That would be my fault.” Now that captured your attention with vice-like intensity. “I didn’t anticipate just how much heat I would give off when I reached down. Humans are sensitive. I’m very sorry if I hurt you. It is my first time on land. I’ll do better next time,” he sounded remorseful but your face scrunched up more as his words registered.

Huh. Maybe your hearing was off because what did he mean by literally anything he’d just said… Firstly, him? Hurt you? Sure he was as big as your bed frame back home and yeah, you’d never met him before. And of course, you were wary of strangers but him? He looked like he could barely hurt the ground he walked on. Squinting your eyes at him, you scrutinized his all-white attire.

Frankly, he looked like a prince. With the way, he held himself up with a dignity that just screamed regality. And even his knee that was on the ground didn’t appear to have a single stain on the white slacks. There was no royal court in your town but from the books you’d read, you imagined he was what they dressed like. With pearly white rings adorning his fingers and a tiny strip of an embellished white gold band wrapped around his tanned forehead that was framed by his blondish almost white hair.

You swiped the back of your index finger above your top lip to remove the sweat that had built up there. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He smiled, a wild thing it was because it felt like the sun was beaming straight out from his teeth. Gods, how white were those things? Did he bleach them?

“It depends. If I don’t do anything stupid while I’m here I’m sure Father would allow me to come back. He allows my siblings to fly down all the time.” He sounded almost petulant at the fact and then like he was talking to himself, his voice quieted but perhaps he’d never practiced whispering before because his voice was still way above hearing range. “But I’m sure even they have never almost charred a human down to nothing.”

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” You barely understood what was going on as is, but he was right in front of you. Like he’d been born out of the heat.

His eyes fluttered from the top of your head to your shaking hands to your knees now scuffed from the ground. “Felt what?”

“Oh, you know the blazing inferno that just swept through here.”

“Ha, I do not know of what you speak of.”

“I’m a lot of things… dumb isn’t one of them.” You forced yourself to ignore the stinging in your knees as you rose to your full height. He did the same. “Now, I don’t know what you are and I don’t really care but, did one of the gods send you? I hear Zeus can be a bit of a bitch.”

You were right about one thing, this man towered over you for sure. You always thought you were kind of tall, but he would need to lift you by your armpits to even be on the same eye level. You didn’t know how to feel about that but you weren’t scared.

“No one sends me except Father. Sometimes it is necessary. Like now,” he said not even remotely disturbed by your accusations. “I do not speak ill of Zeus but he can be, how you say bitch but respectfully?”

You gawked at him with half the mind to laugh. Actually, you were pretty sure a few giggles escaped your lips. You? Giggling? This night was only getting trickier and weirder. You blamed the booze. It was the only reasonable culprit in all this. Surely, this man did not just ask you for a more polite version of such a nasty word.

“You’re a funny one.” You tried and failed to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Or perhaps humans are just easily entertained,” he replied but he was smiling as well. He angled his head and peered around the dark road, almost like he was expecting to see something extraordinary burst out. “I thought tonight is the first day of estival? That is why I chose today to come down.”

“Oh, you mean the solstice festival?” You followed his gaze around the steep and vanishing road behind you. “If you still want to catch the end of it, you’d have to walk a long way deeper.”

There wasn’t much to look at down these parts of town. A scrap metal yard was located a few miles to your right behind another valley. But there was a good number of brick houses milling about. Not everyone could afford to live in the affluent and bustling heart of the town and not everyone even wanted to. Your house was about ten more minutes away but you couldn’t see it from here.

You wondered what this very strange man thought of when he looked around the land especially when the lanterns that outlined the street were few in between and flickering like their lives were one breath away from being completely snuffed out.

He turned his gaze back to you and you felt as his eyes commanded your body to attention. For some reason, he seemed a bit sad. “I see.”

“Well, if you run you could probably still make it. If that’s the reason you came into town then you shouldn’t miss it. The fireworks go on for most of the night. You can see them from here but it’s always better up close.”

“You will not go?” He asked, his head cocking to the side.

You grinned. “Nope. I’ve got to sleep the alcohol out. Tomorrow I start on my magnum opus.”

You weren’t sure if he quite understood what you meant but he nodded his head all the same. And it was then you really realized that even though the night was dark and the lanterns were dim, he seemed to glow. His skin alone appeared to shimmer and bleed light. And although it wasn’t bright enough to burn, it felt to you like he was blazing.

He didn’t say anything in response and when you started to feel the trickle of awkwardness slip down your spine you swiveled your eyes to the side. “I’ll just get going now.”

Quickly, you pivoted on your heel and began the stroll to your house. It wasn’t like you needed to know this mystery man. And you could chock the burning episode your body experienced earlier to the alcohol messing up with your system. Yeah, that was it. Of course, it was! If after a night of fitful rest it came again, then and only then would you make a big deal out of it.

You hummed to yourself on your way back and for some inane reason, you had a bit more pep in your step. Like your talk with the mystery man invigorated you or something. But that couldn’t be true, you’d only just met him and you didn’t even know his name.

Hah, you felt like you could start on your wings project right this second. A clear mind and non-intoxicated emotions be damned. You’d already started preliminary sketches of how you wanted it to look like. Soon, you were going to head out to the scrap yard and sift for materials. Hopefully, you found things good enough.

You were in a good mood. One of the bests since your father died last spring. Your father had been your only companion for a long time. And he’d been your everything. Your role model, your shining light. The one that believed in you more than you believed in yourself. And although you’d admit, he had fueled your stubbornness to the point of annoyance, but he’d been your best friend.

And today, almost a year and a half later it felt like you were finally releasing a breath you’d held in for so long.

But you must have been crazy out of tune with the outside world because you did not realize that there was a second silhouette following closely behind you. It wasn’t until you’d fished your copy of the house keys from your pockets and had already begun the act of shoving them into the keyhole that the presence behind dawned on you.

You flipped around, ready to claw the person’s eyes out with your bare hands if it got down to that only to meet the same brown eyes you’d just left down at the crossroads.

It appeared that this man was getting more tangled with you than you’d anticipated.

“Did you get lost or something?” You sighed as you relaxed your stance a tad. The sleepy part of drinking was quickly catching up to you. “This is really far from the festivities.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice. And then scanned your old mismatched, creaky door that you’d sworn you’d get changed after your father had died but procrastination got even the best of you. He didn’t seem repulsed by it but you thought it contrasted too deeply against his pristine white clothes. Was it possible for the wood to scuff his fitted embroidered mantle? He stuck out so much in front of your house but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“The first person we meet on land is our fatum. I stay with you till I find what I was sent for.” He said in lieu of an explanation. He poked a finger into the sliver of space between his neck and his collared shirt and pulled the garment nervously. “At least that’s what Father and the rest of my brothers said.”

Fatum? You weren’t quite sure what that word meant. But you remembered that he’d spoken about this mission he’d been sent here for. You wondered if he was like you in a way. Perhaps he only had his father and his siblings. Maybe this was his first time leaving his village?

Sure, his sentences were a bit weird and it sounded like you and him were on way two different pages. Because what did any of that have to do with you? You had yet to leave the town. That was probably why you were obsessed with the notion of flying over. But he didn’t look poor or desolate. If anything, he looked like a king surveying over his subjects.

“I still don’t get what you mean by any of that but okay, let’s say I believe you. What were you sent for?”

He cocked his head to the side innocently. “I do not know.”

Gods, you were getting a headache. You suddenly wished you hadn’t partaken in some of the indulgences of the night. Alcohol was definitely not helping your situation right now. You weren’t drunk per se but you could already feel a truck of nausea knocking on your door.

“Then how would you know when you’ve found what you were sent over here for?” Never mind the fact that you couldn’t babysit this man you’d never met. You were going to be super busy fulfilling orders and building wings. “Plus normal people don’t just let random strangers follow them around. I don’t even know your name! Some might even call this stalking.”

“I have many names,” he slid his index finger away from bruising the collar of his shirt, ignoring your first question. “But you may call me Chanyeol. And I will not stalk you for I do not really know what that is.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Truly.”

“Okay then, Chanyeol. How long are you in town for? And just so you know, I still don’t buy whatever it is your selling.”

“I will be here ’til the end of summer.” Looking you up and down like he suddenly questioned your sanity, he added. “I am not selling anything.”

Odd. This man was very odd. But you had no idea why his oddness was causing the corners of your lips to tilt upwards. Maybe it was because of how serious yet endearing he looked. Or maybe the heat did fry your brain and all your sense of self-preservation and reasoning.

“Is this about the house-sharing offer I put up in the community board?” You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms across your chest. “That was months ago and I already found someone. I’m sure if you ask someone else they’ll let you room and board with them if you’re willing to pay rent.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

You swore on your left boot that you saw a ghost of a smirk dance across his lips. “Would you let me stay with you if I pay rent?”

Hah. You couldn’t tell if the booze was making everything funnier or what. But he really was funny, this Chanyeol. And dazzling. You would’ve thought he was a living, breathing star.

“Maybe.”

And like you were in a trance, you watched as he reached up to his forehead and carefully unclasped the white jeweled crown-like headband. He held it out to you like you’d even know it’s worth. You stretched out a palm and he dropped it gently. The lingering heat from his body slithered up the skin of your arm.

Chanyeol beamed at you as if he’d just solved all the problems. “Would that be enough?”

To be honest, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you carried a human gem to a currency calculator in your head. But when you looked at the band closely, you could tell that the gems were at least real. And the gold wasn’t fake either. Maybe you’d take it downtown and get it looked at. Maybe.

Wait, you couldn’t possibly be considering his offer, could you? And what were you going to tell Kyungsoo? That you just upped and got a new housemate on a whim? Plus no one in town even knew him. Or at least you didn’t. You could handle yourself in a fight but you wouldn’t be able able to do anything if he killed you in your sleep.

Gah, you were tired.

“May I ask what Fatum goes by?” Chanyeol was still smiling. Almost like that was his default setting. You wondered if he truly was happy about all this.

Fatum this. Fatum that. What the ever-loving hell did Fatum even mean?

“You mean what’s my name?” You turned back to your front door and kicked it open. After you’d told him, you let him enter your home. “My name is not Fatum.”

Chanyeol’s tall and lithe body made the space inside your home feel that much smaller. In fact, he seemed to make everything next to him appear to shrink. But he looked around your old house like it was a thing of beauty. You were beginning to doubt if he saw the things you saw. Your house wasn’t ugly by any means but it had definitely seen better days.

“Okay, [y/n],” he conceded but you could hear the barely thought Fatum at the end.

Shaking your head you pointed at the longest couch you had that was placed right in front of the window. “You sleep there tonight.”

He nodded and you didn’t wait around to see if he settled in nicely or not. You weren’t going to think about this weird night any more than necessary. Instead, you were going to go pass out and tomorrow you would kick him out. It left an awful taste in your mouth to leave him stranded and abandoned outside in a foreign town. But that was the extent of your generosity.

And it was with great effort that you decided to not crawl up the stairs to where your room was situated. It took, even more, to not fall on your face. Gods, you swore you’d never drink again.

Tomorrow you would hand him his, clearly expensive, headband back and ask him to leave your mundane life in peace.

But there was a thought nagging and poking you incessantly in the back of your mind. That there was something about him that was tied to you. And the just the fact that you’d already accepted his price meant something you couldn’t yet fathom. Like you’d sold your soul to an unknown.

That night you dreamt of flying like you always did. Soaring and nimbly twisting through an orange and purple-hued sky. It was beautiful. But then you’d reach a point where no matter how many times you pushed yourself upwards, your body kept falling. The wind pressure feeling like crushing boulders on your neck as you struggled. Over and over again.

That night you dreamt that the wings you hadn’t even built yet had already broke.

You woke up with a scratchy throat and a light strum in your bones.

Last night felt more like a personal hallucination than reality. There was no way you’d allowed this Chanyeol person to stay in your house. Your brain didn’t even let you dive into dissecting the meanings of his words yesterday.

He was so freaking weird, you thought to yourself as you stifled a yawn and sat up on your tiny bed. Your hair was a mess since you’d been so out of it that you’d forgotten to braid it in for the night. So that meant you spent a good half an hour teasing the strands out of its convoluted mess. It was a torrid and teary affair.

By the time you’d washed up and gotten ready for the day it was already close to noon. You doubted Kyungsoo would’ve come hone already which meant you had to go down and scavenge for something to eat before you headed down to the scrap yard.

Today was going to be great.

Whistling to yourself mindlessly, you took the stairs two at a time. But when you jumped the last step and landed at the foot of the staircase you belatedly realized that two voices were coming from the kitchen. But that couldn’t be right.

Feeling like you were an intruder in your own home, you gingerly crept closer to the open door that led to Kyungsoo’s claimed area only to see the man you’d told yourself was a hallucination and your housemate. And to make matters even more bizarre, Kyungsoo didn’t look like he was even a tiny bit disturbed by his prescience. What?

“If you’re going to stand there and pretend like you can’t see us, breakfast for you goes straight to the dogs.” Kyungsoo was the first to pierce through your confusion.

You stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as you stared at Chanyeol like he was wrong to be here. You pointed a finger at him. “You.”

The piece of bread that he was about to stuff in his mouth hung idly from his fingers. It bothered you how at home he looked at your house. And now that you looked at him from the glow of the midday sun, he didn’t look as princely as he had last night. What with his white garments traded for a very comfortable blueish loose pants and a baggy shirt. You wondered where the hell he got a change of clothes from.

Chanyeol’s spine went ramrod straight in the dining chair. “Me.”

Your left eye twitched. “You can’t stay here.”

“I-”

“Sure he can,” Kyungsoo interrupted from his seat at the table. “He says you took his rent for three months.”

You gawked at Chanyeol and you almost threw yourself across the table when you noticed how smug his smile looked. This couldn’t be happening. You didn’t even have an extra room.

“I can stay on the couch. I don’t mind,” Chanyeol replied.

You must have posed your question out loud. Gods, you were going insane. And since when did Kyungsoo side with random strangers over you?

“He’s not random.” Kyungsoo didn’t look up from his food as he pointed to the plate he’d fixed for you on the counter. “And you can’t kick him out. You were complaining last month about being short on money. Maybe you should use him. No offense, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol nodded and you almost threw your shoe at the side of his head. “No worries, Land Brother.”

Land brother… yeah, maybe you shouldn’t think too much about all this. ‘Cause the more you tried to rationalize it, the more bizarre the whole situation got. If Kyungsoo was okay with him, maybe he truly was harmless? It was true that you were running low on funds. So many things in the house needed repairs and repairs cost a pretty penny. Plus, he was okay with the shitty couch. He couldn’t be that bad, could he?

Muttering to yourself, you grabbed the plate of eggs and toast. You hated eggs but you could never bring yourself to seem ungrateful. So, you dumped your butt into the third chair and begrudgingly had your first meal of the day.

Chanyeol looked eagerly from you and Kyungsoo and when you couldn’t take it anymore you barked out a “What?”

He cleared his throat. “What do we do we do today, [y/n],” he said your name carefully like it was something delicate.

You scrunched your nose at him. “We do nothing. I, on the other hand, will be going scrapping.”

“Scrapping?” He titled his head to the side. He did that a lot. Like you were the confusing one.

“I’m searching for materials I will need to create a set of wings.” You forced the last bit of eggs into your mouth and swallowed without breathing. “You can do whatever you want.”

You finished the rest of your food in record time before thanking Kyungsoo. Chanyeol thanked him as well. You adjusted the buckles of your overalls. Chanyeol retied the laces of his stretchy pants that you still wondered where they’d come from. You stuck your socked feet into your boots that you’d placed next to the front door. Chanyeol gracefully wore his white shoes from last night.

You pretended he wasn’t right next to you but it was impossible with how broad he was. His height alone blocked the sunlight and cast a shadow upon you. But he was smiling so eagerly like a puppy that was being let out for the first time.

Pushing through the front door, you allowed him to catch up with you. Reluctantly at first, you began pointing out your neighbors’ houses and the few things about your side of town that you thought were interesting enough. But every time you peered you at him for his reaction, he looked amazed. And soon enough, you got into your role as a self-appointed tour guide.

“Over there’s the Old Well. I fell into it when I was a kid and it hurt but it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t afraid of the water or anything. My father got me out pretty quick too.”

A few of the townspeople had stopped to stare at Chanyeol but you were beginning to understand that he didn’t understand his effect on people. Maybe he was used to it, but you weren’t. The feeling of many eyes leering at you made you feel off.

“You only have your father. Like me.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you want to fly?” He halted his steps and although you were the one in the lead, you complied. “This magnum opus of yours. Does it have to do with your father?”

You laughed. “’ Course not. I’m doing this because I want to. Actually, it’s more like a calling. I feel like I can’t rest until I’ve done this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his palm and laid it on your head. It didn’t feel weird. It felt more comforting and soft than anything. You didn’t breathe. “You and I, we’re more alike than you think.”

“H-how so?” You stammered.

Chanyeol leaned in closer and even though you were already holding your breath, you seized up completely. “Yesterday you asked me how I would know what I was sent for, correct?” He did not wait for an answer. “My mission is like a calling. I feel it and I am helpless to stop it. So, I follow it.”

You understood that. That was the one cryptic thing he’d said in hours that you fully understood. You did not dwell on the implications of that. You were too busy staring at his lips. It looked like clouds and when he smiled, sun rays shine through the gap between them.

He pulled his fingers away from your hair and you almost begged him to put it back. What the hell was wrong with you? You were going mad. Chanyeol clasped his arms behind him and tilted his head to the sky and you watched, mesmerized. Even in regular clothes, doing the most normal of things, he appeared almost godlike.

“You can help,” you found yourself saying. “I need all the help I can get anyway.”

His head snapped to you at a dizzying speed. “I accept.”

Time stood still once you’d made this pact with him. You didn’t hear the birds chirping, you didn’t feel the breeze swaying around the two of you as you stood in the eye of a hurricane. Just his eyes on you. Your eyes on him. Nothing else seemed to matter. And that sense of falling vibrated deep in your bones like a warning.

You did not heed. You did not run or cower. For some reason, you embraced it.

It was unprecedented the way Chanyeol slid into your life like a missing piece you didn't know you were missing.

And it was funny how his presence no longer bothered you because he was everywhere. When you woke up in the mornings and hauled ass downstairs. He was right beside you as you delivered Washy-Washer orders. Most of the time he did all the heavy-lifting of materials you found while scrapping. He truly was everywhere.

The only thing that bothered you was how easy it was with him.

Sometimes you found yourself going throughout the whole day preparing for a singular joke just to simply see your best smile of the day grace his face. He laughed at every and anything, granted. But you felt pride when his loud, deep laughs turned into guffaws that shook through his body. The kind of laughter that made him clap his hands together like a seal.

Chanyeol was thoughtful in a way you’d never experienced before. He was always on your side and you couldn't understand why. Or rather, you’d begun to tell yourself that it didn't matter. Because the more you were around him you realized that you didn't particularly mind.

He didn't mind being in the ass crack of hell, AKA your workshop. And to be honest, you thought that was his favorite place in the entire house. But he was always complaining about having to wear a shirt. And not because it was so hot he wanted to shed his skin. It felt like it was the other way around. Like he fed off the heat.

So, it came as no surprise to you when one month in he walked into your workshop shirtless as the day he was born. You almost smashed your finger with the hammer you held.

“No, get out,” you barely managed to speak. “You have to wear a shirt in here.”

“Says who?” These days he was smugger, bolder, and clearly did not care if you spontaneously erupted in a nosebleed.

You struggled to find apt words as you looked everywhere but his damned face. He was way too beautiful for his own good. And careless about it too. You didn't have the most prolific experiences with the opposite sex. None of them really were all that attractive to you.

But Chanyeol. O gods, Chanyeol. It was like he’d brazenly stepped into the starring role in all your fantasies. His chest resembled the washboard you’d previously used to wash your clothes. And by every will of your body, you wanted to lick it. Ah, you were going insane. He was making you insane.

“No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you.” You threw the hammer down and pretended like the haphazard clump of wood and made feathers was phenomenal work compared to the godlike creature you refused to look at.

You could feel his insolent smirk from a mile away. “Come on. You should do it with me.”

“You want me to get naked?” Gods, you were killing yourself here.

He placed a veiny hand on his waist and chided you. “Well, I meant shirtless but I won’t stop you. You can do whatever you want, I won’t mind.”

Please, you were about to commune with the dead at this rate. 

Your whole body was on fire. This wasn't the first exchange like this between the two of you. It was getting more and more unbearable. You were going to kick him out of the house before you dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment.

Chanyeol moved closer to you and you swore his body heat was making you dizzy. He used the tip of his finger to lift your face and when your gazes connected, he let go. You still felt the sizzling pad of his finger on your chin.

“You know, I’ve learned a lot of things while on land,” his voice slithered up and down your spine like a wandering serpent. “You like when I’m shirtless. That’s why I continue to do it.”

You’d also learned that Chanyeol was straightforward like that. He didn't beat around the bush much and you wholeheartedly believed that he could not feel embarrassment. Or anger. He was his own filtered bubble.

“Your face never lies, [y/n],” he laughed like the tempter he was.

You glared at him. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“Never.” He replied instantaneously as he tried to suppress his snicker. He utterly failed.

Hah. This was a very fine line he was dancing on. You didn't think. You crossed it.

“Yeah?” Your voice was getting huskier. You unhooked the buckles of your overalls and let the top of it fall like one big petal around your waist. “You mean if I take this off right now, you won't mind?”

You needed him to call you crazy. You’d never been forward with anyone before. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you were coming off as sexy or demented. There was a thin line between the two. But Chanyeol gulped, visibly. His Adam's apple bobbled with the action. And there was that unknown feeling again. You wanted to bite it. Actually, no. You wanted to bite all of him.

You had no idea where this day was leading but you thanked foresight for the fact that you hadn't been welding today. Not that you ever thought about doing anything secondary in your workshop. But you didn't want to accidentally burn your ass when you threw your inhibitions out of the window.

“If you take it off, I would try not to mind,” he sighed out. All of a sudden, his breath was fanning your forehead, like oxygen to a flame. “And I would fail, miserably.”

“You should mind then. You should mind a lot.”

And like that was your sign to go, one of his hands slipped around the back of your neck and cradled it. “You know I’ve been reading.” He applied enough pressure to bring your face closer to him until your lips were a breath away. “I think I like you a lot more than I know what to do with. You… you feel like home.”

“What?” You said into the silence.

“A star. You feel like the star at the center of my universe.”

“Like the sun?”

He did not answer. And even though your temperature was raging like an inferno, when his lips landed on yours it felt like a calm before the storm.

It took a millisecond to register before your body was pushing into him. Hot desire dancing alongside your veins like an essential need. He was breathing fire into your body. And you were burning spectacularly.

He groaned and you swore the sound alone woke up every nerve ending in your body like a spell. You demanded more. No, you needed it. So you took it. And he gave it to you. He accepted you like it was only natural. Your tongue dived in callously. His tongue was pliant, weak against yours. There was nothing reserved about the way you kissed him. All those lingering looks as the two of you worked side by side. That yearning ache that had dug a hole in your stomach. He’d felt it too. He kissed you back like a man that wanted to engrave his very being into your soul.

“I really like you,” he said as the two of you caught your breaths. Your bodies were so close. So close that when he jutted out his hips, his hardened cock flattened against you like an iron rod. “And I need to know if you like me too because I believe I’m going insane without knowing.”

Sucking in a long breath, you bring your lips back to him and kiss him again. Impossibly deeper now. You hooked an arm around his neck and pushed his body even closer. You did not care anymore. You had no say over your body. It was a monster that acted on its own accord. It ground against him like it was trying to weld the two of you together.

You didn't say this often but, fuck.

Maybe you were a fool. You wanted to ask him a load of things. What did he like about you? Wasn’t he scared? Where did he even come from? Wasn't this all moving too fast? What if he regrets meeting you later on? What was going on? But looking into his eyes it felt like there was only one thing you could say.

“I like you too. Gods, I like you.”

A slow grin lit across his face and it quieted your demons even more. You decided then and there you’d go anywhere it took to bring that smile on his face. Always. It did something to your chest that made it impossible for you to not smile at him like he was a star. The star. The baddest of them all: the sun.

“As I said: I’ve been reading,” his voice a low beat in your chest as his fingers gripped your waist and clenched. You needed out of these clothes. Now. “I want you.”

Then he was going to have you. Every single part of you.

It’s embarrassing fast how the two of you rushed back into the main house. Bursting through like a dam at full capacity with his hands roaming all over you as you kissed. You were floating and you were pretty sure your eyes were dilated to all hell. The inside of the house was a fast blur as you clasped his hand and led him up the stairs to your room.

It wasn't the first time he’d ever been inside but your room was small. Made for one. Chanyeol made your room look like a hermit’s hole. But that didn't matter. Because as soon as you kicked the door shut, your clothes were flying off your body in between kisses that struck your body bolts of lightning. And before you knew it, your back was slammed into the mattress.

Goosebumps pierced through your skin as his fingers came in touch with your naked skin. The sexual tension between the two of you was going to suffocate you but. You. Did. Not. Care. You were suddenly very thankful for your father’s ex-wife, Nau, and how she’d embarrassingly taught you about contraceptives. You’d been steadily taking a local one to help with your period pains. Thank fuck for that.

With a knee on the bed, Chanyeol’s fingers trailed a path from your thighs to your hips to rest like a featherlike band at your ribcage. Your heart wanted to jump out and devour him.

You reached up and undid the piece of string holding his loose pants to his waist with one hand. The other hand was too busy wandering around his chest. Fuck, you moaned louder than you thought possible when his forehead fell against yours. Chanyeol was burning up. Like you but exponentially.

His head shifted into the crook of your shoulder as you began to pump him softly and he groaned so deep that it ricocheted off the walls and it felt like the whole room shook. “Gods, I’m going to die.” His words were accentuated by one of his hands tentatively brushing against your breasts and like he couldn't help it, he splayed his whole fists against them and squeezed.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back,” you said darkly. “You’re not allowed to die.”

Chanyeol smirked slyly down at you. “An honor it would be if I died for you though.”

And then he lowered his head and sucked one of nipples and rolled the bud between his teeth. You didn't think. You couldn't. Your back arched off the bed like a bow ready to release and he didn't stop. He teased one of your breasts with his mouth as he worked the other with his nimble fingers and then he switched. You weren’t going to let him die for you for he was killing you already.

You wanted to cry when he released your bruised tip from his lips but that was nothing compared to the hand teasingly made its way to your clit and ghosted around almost as if to check if you were wet. You were dripping. It wouldn't shock you if you found out you soaked the bed.

Slowly, his hands retracted from your body and gripped the headboard of your bed so hard you saw the veins in his arms bulge and you swore you heard the wood splinter at his fingers just as he pushed into you. He thrust so deep into you that your eyes closed on impulse and you had to hold your breath.

Fuck, you were being split. He was big. Longer and girthier than you’d expected. Gods, you were going to die. His thrusts were slow. Painstakingly. You couldn't breathe. You couldn’t think. You were falling apart on his dick.

“Open your eyes, fatum,” he demanded and you complied without hesitation. “Look at me.”

You thought he was going to go slow for a bit longer as you caught your breath in pants but just as you were getting used to his pace; he hooked one hand across your hip and flexed. He pulled out, shattering fragments of your very soul with him before he slammed back into you with rougher, deeper, and more possessive strokes. He did not move any faster but his rhythm choked you. The force of him broke you down and demanded you submit. And you did, gladly. Without question. You needed him to breathe you like air. You wanted his lips around your whole body all at once. You needed him to not stop. You were on the verge of going cross-eyed with how hard he was fucking you.

His kisses were like savage beasts as he pushed into you. You clasped your legs around his waist and dug him deeper. You could hear yourself whimpering but that couldn't be you. Since when did you whimper? 

“Fuck, fuck, Chanyeol.” You sounded like you were praying.

Chanyeol invaded you like an asteroid crashing and yet it felt like you were receiving a gift.

And then his fingers found your core once more and you saw stars dancing in the moonlight as you cried around him. Your whole body trembling from the impact. And like you undid something in him, his whole body tightened as he leaned forward and swallowed your cries with his lips, groaning as he released inside you.

He collapsed on top of you and for a moment you breathed in his intensity. In the silence, there was only the two of you with hearts pounding and mouths panting.

Your stomach caved in when he finally made a move to pull himself out of you. You couldn't even begin to explain the feeling that sparked and ignited in your chest. You’d always believed that sex was just sex. But this was different. Chanyeol pulled you deep into his chest and held you there like you were a piece of his heart.

You didn't realize teardrops had slipped past the corner of your eyes until Chanyeol turned your face to him frantically.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He was so concerned it almost made you want to cry even harder.

“Nothing.” That was the problem.

Maybe you had finally crossed the bridge but somewhere you felt that this, whatever this was with Chanyeol wouldn't last. It felt like you were at the starting and breaking point of everything. You had no idea what you meant and you didn't want to tell him anything.

You wanted to be next to him until you couldn't be anymore. That was all you could do anyway.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You repeated.

“Yeah?” He laughed into your forehead as he leaned into your forehead and kissed it softly.

Yeah.

The three months Chanyeol spent with you felt like three years and then some.

It was almost funny how much time the two of you spent outside in the sun because he absolutely hated being inside. And even though your bed was the tiniest thing, somehow the two of you made it work because he no longer slept on the couch.

But then the end of his stay was rapidly approaching and you weren't exactly sure how to bring up the dilemma that had been poisoning your tongue for weeks. Was he going to just leave you? Did he need to go back home? Couldn't you leave with him? You wanted to leave this hole of a town anyway. Sure you would miss Kyungsoo and Nau but you would send them a carrier pigeon or something. If Chanyeol said the word, you would go anywhere.

However, he wasn't saying anything. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d told you that he was only supposed to stay here till the end of summer.

As the two of you tested out your fifth set of redone and recalibrated wings at the large expanse behind your house, you decided to just let it out.

“The last day of summer is soon. Would your father still need you?” Now, why did you sound like a textbook? Gods, this was awkward. Why were you even bringing it up when he didn’t? What were you? A masochist?

Chanyeol stopped helping you fasten the body of the wings to your torso. You couldn't put a finger to the emotions flickering across his face. There were so many of them. For the first time, you saw that he was in turmoil.

“You can tell me anything,” You said, turning your body so you could place a hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He sucked in his lower lip for a moment before he expelled a long breath. And like he usually did, he fixed his eyes up at the sun. But the sun never seemed to hurt him the same way it did you. “I know it’s just…”

“Come on. I’m here in my wings and you still won’t tell me? What if I fly away from you forever?” You meant for it to be a joke. In fact, you’d already pictured the smile that would grace his beautiful face but you were met with restrained anger.

“Don’t say that,” he spat the words out.

Wait, what? Had you said something wrong? What? This was the first time you’d ever seen Chanyeol angry. You never even knew he had the range. But he looked like what you’d said set him off. He looked furious with his eyebrows drawn so close to the center of his face that it resembled one white block. And if you didn't know any better, you’d say it looked like he was angry… at himself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You squeezed his shoulder even tighter as if to remind him that you were there.

Chanyeol’s breathing came out hard but it wasn't from physical exertion. You had no idea what you were supposed to do. “You can’t joke about that. I…” words seemed to fail him because his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes tightly. “What if I leave you? You know I’m not from around here. What if I leave to a place I can’t come back from? What if I’m never able to come down here again? What if — ”

He cut himself off abruptly and shrugged off your hand. Something ugly and vile twisted in your belly.

“We can go together?” You proposed even though it felt like your gut was being shredded. “If you can't come back here, I’ll just come with you. I can build stuff anywhere. It doesn't have to be here.”

Sorrow. That was the look that washed over Chanyeol’s face like a dark cloud. You couldn't understand what was going on but you were trying to. Where you not allowed where he was from? Maybe it was like a gendered village? That was okay, you could hide or something… You weren't exactly sure what you would do but you were smart. You’d find something. Anything.

“You can’t come.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you would die, [y/n],” He didn’t, couldn't, look at you. “If you follow me back. You won’t be able to make it because you would die. You can’t die for me. I will not allow it.” His resolve was strong and cutting but he would not look at you. 

Your words. He was throwing your words back at you but… “Where is your home, Chanyeol?” You asked the one question you should have asked the first day you met him. Gods, you were so stupid!

“You.”

Funny, a simple word was like a knife being stabbed into your heart. Emotions bubbled up to your lips, so many that you thought you were suffocating. Your heart was begging you to just stop. Ignorance was bliss. Whatever Chanyeol was, it was not peace.

“Where is your home?” You weren't screaming but it felt like your throat was parched and scrubbed raw.

And when he finally looked up from the ground, you thought for the last time that he was a prince. No, a King.

He did not speak but he lifted a hand that you had numerous memories of fitting yours into the sky and pointed to the glaring sun. And you did not understand but you immediately knew and you hated it. And at this very moment in time, you hated him. You wanted to push him and pull him closer to you at the same time.

You looked up at the sun and you had half the heart to spit at it.

“Please tell me I did not fall in love with a piece of the sun.” Your bottom lip quivered and you hated that too. “You’re human. You don’t belong to the gods. I know you, Chanyeol. You're not… you can’t be from there.”

You were holding in your tears like they were the end of the world. To you it was. You won't cry. You dared not to. This wasn't happening. Crying made it real. Crying meant your heart was breaking right unto the sandy floor under your feet in your very own backyard. On your turf.

From your gaze at the ground, you saw as Chanyeol’s bare feet scuffled away from you till he was a good seven feet away. What was up with this stupid distance?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was no way he was crying but was that a hitch you heard in his voice? You raised your head to check and you almost laughed.

The two of you were way too alike for your own good.

There he was; standing prickly straight as he sucked in his breath so much that his chest brazenly prodded his loose shirt. And you couldn't hate him. Not when he was struggling through the same thing as you. He was the only one that understood and he was doing his best to not fall apart in front of you. And you didn’t even need to see them to know that he was holding back his emotions with an iron fist that was cracking.

“Don't apologize. You didn’t lie to me. You were honest. I just didn't understand. You said some very weird things but that was you. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I thought it didn't.”

“But if I go Father…” he tore his gaze to the side but quickly brought it back to you. “I don’t know what he would do. Gods’ are a bit bitchy, you know?” He smiled half wry, half in irony.

You let out a sound in between a cry and a laugh. “That’s fine. We’ll work it out. We’ll — ”

You never got to complete your sentence. Like a novel that did not have an ending, you watched as, in the bright light of noon, Chanyeol was struck with a bolt of light so bright that you had to close your eyes for a second and throw your hands up blindly. The heat was scorching even from this distance. And when you opened your eyes as fast as you possibly could, you realized that the light was from him.

It was then that you understood everything.

Chanyeol was the sun. Not a part of it. Not a piece. It was his being. His core. His very sense of self.

But why did he look so terrified?

“What’s going on?” You screamed at him as he maniacally clawed at his skin like he was on fire. But the sun could not burn, could it?

“I do not know!” He looked at you and his terror became your own.

Something was wrong. Something was happening and you didn't know how to stop it. You wanted to hug him but when you made a move to him, he screamed raw bloody for you to not take a single step. You were in between a rock and a fiery place.

“You can’t come next to me, [y/n].” He was in pain. You felt in from the curl of your hair to the leather of your boots. “I can't control what’s going on. But I’m okay. I don’t know what’s wrong but I’ll be okay, yeah?”

Chanyeol was combusting. He was burning out right in front of you and he wanted you to stand still? Fuck that. Fuck everything. You loved him. You would do anything. You were going to hold him down to this world even if you had to give up your hands that you loved so much.

However, all of a sudden Chanyeol tilted his head and you swore you saw the moment he communicated with whoever was above because he looked furious for one second, and the very next he shot you a calming smile. Like you mattered. Like he was trying to placate you in all this.

You were running before you couldn't think about it. 

And your hand was reaching out to him with every breath you had and just as your fingers clutched the fabric of his blazing shirt, you felt the warmth he released close around you. It cradled you through your pain. It felt safe. It felt like you were dying. It felt like forever.

Instantly, there was a loud boom, a bang and then the hottest rush of air that blew past you like a caress.

Your palm was burned. His love burned. You were wailing at the world. You hated everything. You loved him so much. Your palm was bleeding. GODS, EVERYTHING HURT. Make it stop, you were begging. Please. I’d do anything Please. The pain was making you scream like a bitch.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to die. You wanted to be reborn. But the world did not give second chances. You were going to pry it out with your scorned hand and strangle your chance out. You were going to beat your destiny with a stick. You vowed it. As you cried out in pain, you promised that you would break every rule. You won't wait. You’ll fly.

Kyungsoo was the one to find you.

Passed out, dehydrated and bruised in more ways than one. But you were a phoenix that was born out of the ashes.

You knew a part of you was gone as Chanyeol was taken from you. Your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were unfeeling and the very next an overwhelming sense of rage inflamed your body. You wanted to burn the very ground you walked on. You rummaged through your room until you found the tiny piece of him you had left. His white gold headband. You made Kyungsoo tie it ‘round your head and you never took it off.

It did not help that your palm took longer than three weeks to heal. It was an ugly scar. But it reminded you of him so, when you slept at night, you gritted through the pain and the memories and held the palm close to your chest. Right over your heart. It was fitting.

And by the time your palm had healed enough, it felt like you’d aged a thousand years. Kyungsoo could not understand what was going on and you refused to talk. If you told him, he would only discourage you. And you would truly lose your mind if someone told you what you could and could not do.

But your friend was right there. He never left. Even when you were mean, he still hoped that one day he won't need to drop food outside of your bedroom door because you would not come downstairs. How where you supposed to sit at that table and not see the ghost of Chanyeol falling over the chair as he laughed like a bear?

Maybe someday you would get better. Today was not that day.

For the first time in ages, you walked into your workshop and inhaled. It was time to work.

You built and rebuilt your wings from scratch. The wooden ones never got off the ground, not even for a second. The metal one almost sawed off your arm completely but you never gave up. You were restless and you couldn’t sleep. When you slept you saw him and your hand burning. You were plagued by it. It hurt, so you did not do it anymore. Sleep only came when you were exhauseted.

The hybrid wings weren’t beautiful. A mismatch of wood and alloy. But when you jumped off the roof of the tiny shed at the back of the house. You flew. Or maybe the right word is floated. You floated for a good thirty seconds before you landed painfully on bloody knees.

“Fuck,” you spat.

Your knees hurt but it took your mind away from the present. You had to come up with something fast, You had to do something before you ran out of gas, before you burned out. 

Perhaps that is why from the dregs of your mind you remembered something your father had done when you were younger.

When you were nine, you stepped into your father’s workshop for the first time. It was hot as if the middle of the earth was right there in the basement. And when you walked in, after banal arguments about safety with your father, he let you watch him as he created the greatest thing known to man.

Your father had been creating wings.

He’d never completed it and you’d been so young that it didn’t matter to you that he never did. But now as you rush back down the steps into your basement, you wonder if maybe this is fate. Maybe fate wasn't something spontaneous but rather a series of unfortunate events that we only hoped ended in less pain.

You pushed open the back door within the basement that led to your father’s workshop. You hadn't set foot in here since he’d died. It smelled like him. You wondered if he was watching you right now. You wondered if he thought you were a bit too stupid.

It took a while to find it beneath the layers of dust and junk but when you found it, you sighed in relief. It wasn't made from metal or wood or even a combination from the two. But wax. The frame of the left-wing was nonexistent while the right-wing looked like it had melted. None of that registered and that was how it became your new project.

“You need to eat,” Kyungsoo said as he brought a plate of sandwiches out to you.

Days had passed since you’d started working on the wings and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Not happy but somewhere in between. You’d poured blood and sweat into molding the wax into the right frame and meticulously preserving the feathers.

You picked one of the sandwiches and bit into it. These days you hated working inside. “Thank you.”

“You'd tell me if you were doing something risky, right?” Kyungsoo eyed the wax suspiciously.

Shrugging, you stuffed the rest of the bread in your mouth. You couldn't give him the answer he wanted so you pretended not to hear. You knew he was angry and you knew it wasn't fair. But you were angrier. Kyungsoo didn't understand. You were going to fly. You had to. You fucking had to get up there.

It took longer than you wanted but when you were done, your wings were perfect.

They looked perfect and you just knew that it wasn't going to let you down. It wasn't going to break. Wax wasn't like wood after all. You were drunk on the feeling of sunshine. It felt like for the first time in months you could breathe. You did not wait for another day.

It was already the middle of Fall. The sun was out but it wouldn't be there for much longer. Sunset was fast approaching.

You climbed up the roof of the shed with the new set of wings attached tightly to your back. You wondered if Chanyeol was looking down at you right now. You wondered if he could see. You hoped he did. You stood on the ledge of the roof and let the wind build and rest before you took a breath.

You prayed and then you jumped.

And like in your dreams, you flew. And it was glorious. It was like the wings were your very arms. Your body — your invention — defied physics, defied the very aspects of anatomy. But you were flying through cloud nine at breakneck speed. You were gliding and nimbly twisting through a bright orange sky. It was so beautiful. You had tears in your eyes.

The wind whipped your face painfully as you pushed your wings up and up and then some more. You couldn't hear anything and to be quite honest, you could not see anything either.

You followed the blinding light in front of you like an addict. You wondered if the townsfolk down below could see you. You didn't care.

You kept flying, even when you got tired. Even when your arms begged you to stop because any more and they would break, you pushed. You pushed yourself until you entered a wave of encompassing heat that instantly reminded of you that day. You were so close. Your heart felt like a match in your chest and as the temperature rose, it struck and lit.

In your drunkenness, you swore you saw Chanyeol. He was right there and you were going to reach him. Tears were falling out of your eyes without pause. You’d been reborn not as a phoenix but as a river.

And just as your body felt the pressures of being burnt alive you suddenly felt nothing. Like you were nothing but a speck in the universe. You were nothing and everything at the same time. You were not sure how long you spent in the state but the next thing you knew, you were falling.

No, plummeting. You were being thrown back to earth in a ball of fire.

You were screaming. Your wings were on fire and… the wax was melting. You’d come so close and you still couldn't make it. Your dream was sifting through your empty hands. You couldn't believe it. You were falling so fast that soon enough all you saw around you was crisped air and shattered reality.

Your body was burned. Physically and mentally. Your soul was leaving your body and you knew that you won't survive this. Who could? You were going to die screaming.

It must have been a second before your body engraved itself into the dirt when you felt hot hands cradle your battered body. You were weak and you were tired but he was like a siren. He called and you answered. You fought and he appeared.

It must have been fate that you had been the first one he’d met. He was your bright and warm star.

“You idiot,” he cried as boiling tears landed like rain on your dried, desert-like face. “I was coming to you. I was coming. I was coming. I was coming.” He held you into his chest, injuries and all be damned, as he cried.

If you could smile you would but it hurt just to wheeze. “Because you love me?”

“More than anything. More than anyone.”

And you loved him back. Love was not guaranteed at all, you knew that, but he was the reflection of your soul. He had a part of you wrapped around his heart like a vice. You won't let go. You tied him ephemerally to this world and he connected you to the largest star of them all. You could feel his soul like it was a breathing thing.

“Then I go wherever you go.”

He pulled you away from his body and through your slitted eyes, you saw the most beautiful man. The man who wore the sun like a coat. The man who reminded you of gods and how weak mortals were next to them. You’d flown into the flames and he was here.

“No, I need you to understand.” Chanyeol’s lips were moving in a way that told you he was serious. But it dawned on you then that in his arms, the burns did not hurt. It was like licks on your skin. “You are the greatest star of my universe. You are all of it.”

You understood. “And I would fall again and again. It’s all or nothing with you, Chanyeol. Do you understand?”

Maybe he did because he hooked his face into your shoulder and let out a laugh. It was rusty. He hadn't laughed in ages but it felt right. His soul had fallen down to earth first, and he had come right after. He had been searching for you for a long time, for such a long time that he had forgotten. To him, you were like the vast space beyond the sun.

You’d flown to him, even if it killed you. Nothing else mattered after that.

“You. I came down for you. I was sent to you. I am sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to reach back down.”

At first, you did not know what the hell he was talking about. Several minutes passed before you did. And that was when you grinned as tears poured from your eyes.

He finally knew.

a/n: ahh if you made it down here, thank you. im so happy you read this and i hope you enjoyed it, and yes i cried while i wrote this. i have been wanting to do this since i listened to Zayn’s 2018 Icarus Falls album. and i hope i actually did my imagination justice. pls dont hesitate to tell me what you think! :)

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2020 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

[rosesareviolentlyread]

WIJ Day 3: Love

WOO the first actual prompt is here. This is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. So this is meant to be an introduction to Pastor John/The Reverend, who is my first attempt at an intimate whumper. Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for inspiring the Reverend with Bram, def check out all her stuff if you haven’t

CW: religious whump, creepy whumper, whumper who doesn’t think they’re a whumper, kinda abusive relationship vibes, drugging, taking advantage of someone’s emotional state

John sits, listening to the record player in the corner crackle with the sounds of a congregation’s singing. His students tease him for being a ‘hipster’, but there’s something satisfying about their amateur voices, captured imperfectly, naturally, using a technology that reminds him of pottery, or weaving. Sound pressed into something physical, ethereality brought to his fingertips, his ears, across time. 

It’s a pleasant evening all around. John savors every detail as he takes a sip of scotch - a gift from a colleague in Edinburgh - settling into the thick leather chair by the fireplace, just musing in his mind while he waits for the brownies to be done. Perhaps he should grade, or write a lecture, or work on his sermon. But these moments in time, of being in his body, of feeling fire in his throat as sparks flick out as his toes, these are God’s moments, moments of perfect creation and harmony. 

But still, he isn’t bothered by the knock on his door, despite the late hour. The students know his door is always open. He’s become used to them coming to his couch after a late temptation, or perhaps a lapse in their faith. Perhaps just a personal dilemma. The community too, though they typically take the ‘door unlocked’ policy as is. 

No, the timidness of the youngest in his flock always brings a smile. It seems no matter how many departmental or congregational dinners he hosts, how many times they come knocking, they always knock. It is part of their youth, not cemented in their beliefs, in knowing that God will provide. So he provides, until they can become sure, can understand how a trinity of a different kind, God, his Son, and their Pastor, will be there for them. They are lambs, learning to stand on their own legs, which is why this is his favorite place to shepherd. 

“Coming!” He calls out, setting the glass carefully on a coaster before opening the thick door to the cottage. It takes a few blinks to clear his eyes from the rush of cold air that assaults them. The weather always seems to surprise him, just one of many things in this beautiful world. 

But what doesn’t necessarily surprise him is to see, red-rimmed eyes, a flushed tear-tracked face delicately wrought in its complexion, set upon a lithe frame that hides immense strength, an immense spirit that positively glows normally with ash-blonde hair and bright gray-blue eyes. Faith. A sense of calm comes over him, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days. 

“Oh, my girl, I was hoping you’d come by” Before she can get a word out, John wraps strong arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Immediately he feels the telltale shake of her shoulders, small hands gripping the back of his sweater tightly, a damp spot right near his heart growing. 

Yes, John expected this. For how long, he isn’t entirely sure. Perhaps, always. Perhaps, because somewhere in him, he knew God had bigger plans for them both.

Faith had been a special student to him, from her first year intro course in the Theology department. A bright girl, a good girl, who believed with her heart and soul in Jesus’ saving grace for even the most dastardly of sinners. He hadn’t recognized it well at the time, but even he had fallen prey to the negativity within the church, the ones who said Supernaturals were truly the devil incarnate, incapable of being saved. 

But Faith, she took it upon herself to prove them all wrong. She’d been hesitant to propose her thesis to him, as her advisor. A piece to study the beliefs and communities of Supernaturals locally, from a theological and sociological perspective, in order to understand how those beliefs might be reconciled with modern Christianity. A piece that would allow for the Evangelical church she came from to see the same possibility of salvation she did. To choose love. 

“It’s alright, shhh. Why don’t you come in? The brownies for tomorrow’s potluck are almost done. I’ll put on some tea, dandelion right?” Gently, he pried her away from him, thumbing tears as she sniffled away the last of her outburst. 

“Thank you, Reverend. I just...I didn’t know where else to go. Yet.” The downcast of her eyes nearly breaks his heart at the cruelty of this world. For his fellow Christians had chosen to hate, to cast her out of their flock, after she bared her thesis, her work, no matter how unfinished. All because of what she was. 

Peter 1 4:8 comes to his mind: Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.

So what if she was truly born Fae, a natural sinner of the largest proportions. Does her desire to be saved, to save others, to feel Jesus’ healing light not garner love in them? 

Her desire, her faith, does in John’s chest, a warm feeling better than the finest scotch as he gently leads her to couch, leaving her with some tissues to compose herself. 

The moment feels so right the longer he’s in it. The brownie timer goes off right as he enters the kitchen, and he pulls them out. Perfect. He leaves them to cool as he flicks on the kettle, fingers moving through his vast collection for just the right blend. Dandelion, reminiscent of shortbread cookies, Faith’s favorite. They’ve shared so many cups over late night thesis meetings, church group meetings, dinner meetings that the box has only one left. Pulling out the last packet, he tucks away in his mind to buy more boxes. 

They’ll go through a lot he imagines, in the next few months. It’s easy to prepare, like a moment meant to be, as he lets the tea steep, adds two spoonfuls of sugar, and drops in the pills, stirring until they dissolve evenly. 

He brings it all out, tea, brownies, to the couch, where she’s already claimed a throw. It’s good, he thinks, that she already feels at home here. It’ll be easier that way. 

“Thank you,” her hands grip the warm mug, breathing in the steam, and he watches attentively as she takes a sip. “It’s been...I was scared. That you’d turn me away too” 

“My dear, you have never had anything but love for Jesus and God in your heart. Why would I believe something like this would change that?”

Of course he had been worried, in the beginning of her thesis, that she would be swayed. That they would convince her with their wicked tongues, guile her with magic and false miracles, false idols. Yes, now that he looks back, perhaps he did see it all coming. No, she hadn’t been swayed. 

But she’d swayed him. To believe in the possibility of truly saving those damned souls. So much that he’d begun his own research, his own plans, prepared for the possibility. And now, it appeared God’s plan was working perfectly, dropping her right on his doorstep on the eve of her transformation between worlds, an apostle for a new era

“Everyone else seems to think that, that this is wrong. How though? How can being who I am, the person God made me, be wrong?” Her voice is quiet in the night, barely above the crackling fire in its hoarseness, tinged still with tears. 

“He does nothing wrong. He made you this way for a reason, so that you may show others. Think of it, your work, is this not His plan?” John tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, to remain calm, collected. Gentle. Yes, he must be gentle, to do this in love for the Lord. 

She pauses, sipping more. “I...I don’t know. I just, I need some time, I think. I was walking to the bus stop when I passed your house and thought...I don’t know. I guess I hoped there’d be something I could come back to, when I was ready” Her eyes stare into the surface of the tea, growing distant. Tired. It’s working fast, he knows, likely due to her exhaustion from the past few days. 

“It’s alright to not know. The Bible does not have all the answers, but it leads us to where we need to find them. Perhaps that’s why you came here. Why don’t you get some rest, stay here tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance for you to find your way.” 

“Thank you, Reverend. That..that sounds nice. You’re right, I need to-o-o-o” the sentence is interrupted by a yawn and he chuckles. 

“It sounds like the only thing you need right now is a good night’s rest. Come on, I promise this couch may be old, but she’ll service you well. She’s saved me from several late night grading sessions” Taking the tea, he lets her settle down, and grabs a quilt from the closet - a gift from an older parishioner - and tucks it around her. 

“Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a busy day” she mumbles something slurred, incomprehensible under the effect of the drug. Still, he sits and waits, gently petting the silky hair until her breathing fully evens out, deepens into a rhythm that could be a lullaby to itself in his ears. 

So beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. Truly, this is his and her purpose: to show that the souls of the supernatural can be saved through Jesus’ light. 

It is with that thought that he picks up the limp bundle of girl, and carries her down into the basement.

Tags: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly(let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for this series)

[imagine-what-would-happen]

Since the Beginning (Ben Solo Fan Fiction Part 5)

Hey everyone! Short little chapter but I’m really satisfied with how it turned out! I hope you are too! Enjoy! Let me know if any of you want to be tagged on further installments!

Words: 1.8k+

Warning: Swearing.

Tags: @bensoloslover​

Link to Part 4

Link to Part 6

Link to Masterlist

Ben wasn’t quite sure what time it was. The shed was relatively small and dark - musty most of all, he saw quite a few spare robotic pieces laying around. It was the graveyard of the metallic. He carefully eased his way around the piles and heaps of dormant AIs, trying not to damage any. He fe like a dancer making his way around nearly on his tip toes in the dark, staggering back and forth to get to the right spot to sit and begin. He had himself cornered and looked upon the severed parts of once living droids. It was obvious to Ben that the Resistance didn’t have a proper droid mechanic, or else all of these poor souls wouldn’t be left for dead.

Ben was one of the few people he knew in his life who believed that droids were alive. Perhaps not in the same ways as many different species he knew, but nevertheless with all the different forms of life in the galaxy, why should the metallic forms be considered less than? Ben had come across plenty of biological life forms in his life time that were less alive than androids were when up and running.

 For just a moment Ben let himself imagine. He imagined that he didn’t have Force abilities, his parents were nobodies, that maybe, just maybe his destiny wasn’t drawn out for him since before he was born. Ever since he was a child he had more or less of an understanding that there were expectations thrust upon him that weren’t for other children. He often fantasized of being a mechanic, or a doctor, or superhero.

Ben had learned quickly that Jedi were not heroes. They were self proclaimed that was for sure, but they were not true heroes. They always stated that they knew best, that they would know what to do, or know someone’s heart - deep down. It was all horse-shit. They were stubborn accusers who couldn’t think without their master’s help, guiding them towards whatever agenda was in store. It made Ben sick to think that he was so close to becoming one of them.

In Ben’s fantasies now, he would have helped the Resistance because it was the right thing to do.

He knew these people were fighting for freedom, for love, for everything they wanted out of life that was good. Ben knew that more than anyone. Thats exactly why he could never tell Leia off. How do you tell someone to stop doing the right thing and instead pay attention to you? To put you above everything else?

 He would have been the Resistance’s droid mechanic, very simple, he would have friends here, he would have a place to call home, he would have something to fight for, not just something to fight against.

He was letting his fantasies get the best of him while his hands did what they did best, running over the cold metal, the plastic wiring. Tools were scattered around him as if a hurricane had come and gone several times over. Light from above him waved back and forth, at first irritating but soon it was a rhythm he could fall behind. Fairly soon after he had entered the dark shed he found a flashlight and made it into a make shift lamp hanging from the ceiling, tying it all the way up on the ceiling using the Force, an old nail, and some spare useless wires. He had rid his long sleeve from his body after beginning his work and stayed in just a tank top, brushing his locks back every now and then. As concentration became more and more fervent within him he began to sweat just slightly, there was a severe lack of air flowing through the shed. But Ben refused to keep the doors open. He refused to let the others see what he was doing, at on point or another, among all the broken pieces the shed became a safe space for him. 

He enjoyed being in the shed, the feeling of bringing something back to life was one he would not soon forget. It was so easy to break things, to kill, to feel that snap within your grasp. With a flick of his wrist, a memory overpowering all his senses, and emotion taking all control of his body - letting him only be a passenger in what was the firey rage he was known for, upon he Supremacy. It was the type of power that made others bow before you, to cower and shiver with fear from your mere glance at them. That was what he had become.

It was another thing entirely to bring something to life, help it on its way, to have the patience and understanding it needed. To have the love that it craved. It was beauty at its finest, at its purest. If there was one thing he lacked greatly in his life, it was beauty. Ben didn’t care for the stupid standards of beauty different planets set out for some strange reason. As cliche as it was, he cared about small beauties such as the ones he found in this shed; such as the one he lacked from his mother, as a child.

For the first time in, well he didn’t know how long, Ben smiled when the first droid’s eyes lit up brightly, illuminating the majority of the shed - the biggest and cheesiest smile he could. It felt good, it was a high he craved so desperately. Slowly he began helping the droid with taking steps, adjusting its hinges, rewiring, polishing them to remove the possibility of mold. After the first one was computing everything nicely Ben began on the next one and so on. He lost himself in the life illuminating around him. 

After several more hours Ben’s laughter erupted from him as he spoke to a few of the robots who could communicate with him easily enough, even the ones that beeped. He had relative ease reprogramming the level one and two droids, they made up the majority of the bots who were abandoned here. “Really? What was it like?” He asked the level three he was hovering over, trying his best to be as gentle as possible while rewiring and screwing parts in. 

“It was quite frightening in fact, Master Solo” The droid responded, “I was sure when my system shut down that I would never wake again.” It stated simply.

Ben let a hint of a painful smile show.

“Have I offended you somehow, Master Solo?” The droid proceeded to inquire.

“No... Sorry.” He sniffled slightly, shaking his head and tried pressing a bright smile, he then broke slightly. “I just... I haven’t had anyone call me that in a while without being sarcastic.” He bit his lip and tried to refocus his attention on the bot’s mechanics.

The sheds’ grey doors creaked open, Ben raised his arm to cover his eyes from the light outside, it was no longer day, but instead what seemed to be the makings of evening, the light from several bonfires was the bother. “Yes?” He questioned, not quite being able to make out who was standing before him. 

“People were taking bets, you know.” Leia began, “Some that you had run away to the other side of the planet, others that you had managed to find a shuttle to take you out of here. Others believed you were actually trying to do good somewhere in the camp and everyone should mind their damn business.” She walked in, examining all the bots who were doing the same to her, their eyes all glowing intensely. “You have your grandfather’s hands...” She whispered as she looked upon the droid below Ben. 

“What did you bet on?” He looked at her, having finally adjusted to the new incoming light.

“Lets just say I owe a few pilots and Y/N quite a few credits.” She smirked and picked up a wrench, turning it in her hand, admiring the gleam. 

Ben wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or not... It didn’t matter to him, he knew what he was doing, and he enjoyed it. He felt proud for once, something others could look upon and understand that he was able to do more than just kill. He was more than just what the light or dark sides were... he wanted people to know that.

“So, what are you doing here then?” His eyes following her every movement, he wasn’t quite sure why but he felt almost protective over the droids, before her. He knew she wouldn’t intentionally hurt them for any reason... but still, he had to bite his lip from saying anything.

“Checking on you.” She pulled over a small crate and sat upon it, resting her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands together, looking on at her son. “Why did you want to go on that mission today, Ben?”.

He wasn’t sure what to say. What kind of answer was she expecting to hear from him? “I...” He bit his lip, at a lost for words.

Leia sighed, “Ben, I know you care deeply for Y/N”. There was a pause as he searched his mother’s eyes, trying to predict what she was getting at. “This is the Resistance, we’re fighting a war.” She stood. “If all you’re doing here is pinning after her, trying to get on with your romantic agenda then I can have you on the next flight out of here.” She watched him. “We need fighters, people who believe in our cause. If you’re not here for that you might as well leave.” She stated harshly and walked out, the door shutting with a thud - leaving Ben alone with his creations.

Ben finished his repairs on the final droid and eventually opened both doors to let all the droids out, some stumbling slightly, adjusting to the terrain, others rolling into the camp. He smiled softly and watched them go on to their assignments they were last doing from memory.

Breathing in the soft smell of the camp fires, Ben made his way over to a little dinner area he had noticed earlier. Eyes followed him as he walked in, ignoring them as best as he could Ben picked up a tray and made his way over to the line. It was no secret that several people had quieted down and made uncertain and shifty eyes at him. They didn’t trust him. They didn’t have to. He would soon leave, he would be gone from their lives. 

He made his way up the line up, getting the small amounts of food and making his way to a seat. Alone. Yet again, his mother had made it more than evident that the Resistance was to come before her son. Was he really so unredeemable as to not even deserve love or compassion from his own mother? Was it even worth staying to try to prove her wrong, prove everyone wrong? He would be staying simply out of spite. Ben wanted to create a home, have a family around him, he didn’t want that to start off with spite in his heart.

He was back where he started, wanting to get off this god forsaken planet but not wanting to leave without Y/N.

[hcs-on-the-loose]

Oooooo- I just saw your post of the reversal AU with the demon slayers and demon moons and now I’m wondering if you could do one for Rengoku and Iguro?

Ask and ye shall receive anon

ANYWAY YEET LETS DO SOME FOR SPICYBOI AND SNEKSON (i'm so sorry Obanai's is kinda short i know nothing abt him omf) [some spoilers ahead yeethaw]

Kyojuro Rengoku - Upper Moon 5

A demon with an affinity for fire is a rare one-- fire is kin to the accursed majesty of the sun and no one wanted to incur Muzan's ire. And yet, amongst his numbered favored is a demon who wears the element like a crown.

For a demon, Kyojuro shines the light of a demigod. He is all tawny skin and handsome human features, his hair replaced with scarlet-and-gold eagle's feathers, also scattered over the rest of his body. His hands and feet end in cruel raptor's talons however, and his eyes are uncanny in their avian focus. There is a constant mantle of flame on Kyojuro, always the scent of ash and burnt fat.

He is proud and reckless and utterly obsessive. He wants nothing more than to use his power to protect those comrades weaker than him; it is the only reason he remains as Upper Moon 5 despite every opportunity given for him to usurp higher positions-- he believes that he remains the gateway that protects those Moons of lower stature.

Kyojuro holds humanity in a pitying light, the same way you could hold pity for cows and pigs. They are intelligent livestock to be cared for and protected until the time has come for the demons to fulfill their purpose and the humans theirs. Kyojuro finds humans a passing, endearing amusement that he has no problem killing.

To harm a Moon of lower position is to draw Kyojuro's wrath. Beware of his Blood Demon Art-- when he turns the battlefield into a sea of flame, when he commands the spirit of fire itself and the inferno twists itself into the shape of beasts. An Infernal Deluge, he would call it. One of his finest techniques.

The fires that Kyojuro creates will only ever be of a darker shade though, and is unable to produce brighter colors than red and dark orange. It doesn't matter to either him or his master; so long as Kyojuro uses those abilities to kill and devour humans, then there would be no bloodshed between Muzan and Kyojuro.

As a human, Kyojuro had been born as the eldest son to a family of renowned Demon Slayers. Originally trained to become the next Flame Pillar of the Corps, Kyojuro took to training well despite his ailing mother's declining health and his father's increasing alcoholism, which only worsened with his mother's death.

The night Kyojuro abandoned his sword was the night he lost nearly everything. After being named Flame Pillar, Kyojuro came home to his younger brother Senjuro and his father Shinjuro missing. Frantic and desperate to find his father and brother, worrying about a demon attack, he instead found his father standing over Senjuro's lifeless body with bottle in hand. In a drunken rage without Kyojuro to calm him, Shinjuro had struck Senjuro in the head.

As a former Pillar, Shinjuro still retained his strength. A small boy could have never survived such a blow. When Kyojuro came home, he was greeted by a shocked, listless father. His lifeless little brother. Kyojuro was young then-- no one so young could be expected to hold back such a potent mix of horrible emotions. When Kyojuro came to himself, he had a sword in hand, aflame not only with the sun-kissed color of his nichirin but the blood of his father.

The demon lord was one of the first to hear tidings of this tragedy, whispered to him by underlings who smelled the blood of Pillars being spilled. That is how Muzan found him, standing over the bodies of both father and brother, repeating only one thing: "I was born strong to protect the weak..." Muzan had always wanted a demon made from a Slayer, anyhow. Especially one who so shone like a dying sun...

The human Kyojuro will never toss away his sword. It is what he had earned through the trials, the one that saved his life many times. An extension of self and honor. The demon Kyojuro had consumed it, bathed it in flame until the metal ran in silver streams, never to protect again.

He retains no memory of his human life save for his mother's parting words. He serves Muzan out of an almost-parental devotion, believing it his duty even in demonhood to stand by what little he remembered back when he had been mortal and weak. It was Muzan who had given him great power-- power that he used to watch over his comrades.

When Muzan tells him to find the Infinity Train, Kyojuro listens. When Muzan tells him that there was a Slayer there whose brutality knew no bounds, who slaughtered a Lower Moon, Kyojuro's wings come alive with flame. He arrives then, so close to dawn, an avenging eagle cloaked in his mantle of fire. The Pillar present is a little more than a whelp with stripes inked all over his rough face. He will be a great pleasure to burn.

Obanai Iguro - Upper Moon 9

There are those who mock the demon who holds the rung of Upper Moon 9. Why hold such a position with pride at all, if you will be the weakest of Muzan's special chosen? It makes more than one Slayer underestimate Obanai when they encounter him, fragile-looking and pale, almost like some killable garden snake.

Underestimation is a mistake. These fools end up in the belly of the beast sooner or later, churned up alive in a snake's slow, slow digestion. Obanai himself is a lethargic demon, never truly moving from his underground lair unless he is summoned by his lord and master or unless the Upper Moon who holds love dear does so.

If he had been a loner and cruel and suspicious as a human, Obanai is even moreso now. He is fast still, but prefers the coolness of his lairs, prefers it when Slayers think him weak and come to him-- only to be swallowed without mercy or discretion. He keeps them alive sometimes, tucked beneath muscled coils. They do not always survive; Obanai eats them all the same.

Usually it is his upper body that is seen, a slim thing that a human Obanai would also possess. He has a wrapping around his mouth, his odd eyes, his black hair. Instead of skin it is scales that cover him, pale as the moon and sharp as stone. Then he rises, rises, rises-- and the rest of him is ten, fifteen feet long, a gargantuan serpent's body. Sinewy, lithe, powerful. Distantly, you can hear a rattle.

His eyes are sharp like a cat's, cold and reptilian. His number is written the same way, in peaked lines resembling the slits scything across his pupils. They glow from the gloom of his lairs almost curiously. A final warning.

His fangs hold venom that isn't like the devilish creations of the butterfly Upper Moon, but is a simple paralytic agent that renders prey frozen and fully conscious of what is about to happen for the next six hours. Obanai has no problem with constriction, but if he is fast enough to pierce many with his fangs...

His Blood Demon Art is a wonder of nature. Brood of Naga he calls it, sardonically, but willingly calls upon his blood to bring out hundreds of snakes-- all white, all loyal to Obanai, all venomous. All very much willing to bite or trap. Its true power lies in Obanai's ability to merge these creatures together, another beast in his likeness, one or more to fight.

Of all the Upper Moons in Muzan'a collection, Obanai has the most nebulous of origins. Nobody truly knows where he had come from. But he had come to Muzan, bitter and alone, or had Muzan come to him? He was a boy who covered his lower face. Was he deformed? Ugly? Had he some secret reason for his mask? Is that why he became a demon?

Was it because he was weak, perhaps? A small, thin body that Slayers would laugh at-- why hold a sword at all if you have no muscle on you? But Obanai was quick and clever, even before then.

Did he already love a certain demon already? Did he love her so much that he was willing to let a demon lord twist his shape into something monstrous just so he could share her blood? They say if you say Mitsuri Kanroji's name in front of Obanai he will go absolutely berserk.

Perhaps it was love. Perhaps it wasn't. Maybe it was all of them? Power and blood and beauty to win Love's heart. Obanai is a quiet demon who will never tell the other Upper Moons anything. And he never will, not unless it is she who asks.

[celestialholz]

A Good Day To Die

Hello, dear Qcard squad - happy slightly belated Tapestry Day! <3 I’m SO SORRY this is a little late, though for once it’s absolutely not my fault! I’m visiting some family up in northern England, and there’s been a hell of a storm that’s outed several power lines locally - they’ve only just reconnected this morning, so I’m finally able to pop this up as my laptop now has some charge! I shall be reblogging all your lovely contributions with commentary tags today too. <3

Let me tell you a quick story before the actual one though, friends, of a girl on a Saturday afternoon playthrough of TNG for the first time, about six years ago now; already a huge fan obviously because we’re in series six, already very much in love with Q and the indomitable captain, but I’d wondered here and there: why was Jean-Luc so special? Sure, he was clever and wonderfully diplomatic, even a bit nuanced, and a nice change of pace from Kirk, who I also loved - but where did this spark come from? Why was he a rebel sometimes, when he seemed to play so much by the book most of the time?

... And then we get to this. A fascinating premise right from the word go of an immediately deceased/critically injured Picard, going into the fascination of a void space, a god cloaked in white with his usual wondrous enigma, and what’s always been to me the single finest piece of character exploration in the whole of the Trek canon. It’s intelligent, deeply amusing, philosophical, psychological, fascinating... we watch this man fall apart and rebuild and learn his lessons, and all the while we have this gorgeous chemistry, this blatant and beautiful homosexual coding, between our two stars, with Q’s ambiguous motives and goddamn, I was enchanted. 

... Honestly, it’s my favourite fucking TV hour of all time, and it’s my pleasure to finally celebrate its anniversary properly. My great thanks to @q-card​ for taking my idea and running wild with it, you marvellous being you. <333

I’d planned to make something much grander and mad for this accordingly, but... well, you know how it is. Very long week, depression... eurgh. So instead, please accept something a fair bit shorter but no less lovely: a parable of ancient Egyptian culture, a delicious dose of angst and love, and the promise of forever from a man who really can’t understand the meaning of the word, but wants nothing more than to offer it anyway. Set during STP, and I for one think this would be a lovely way to end it all...

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

It’s fitting, Jean-Luc, he thinks serenely as he disengages the autopilot with a pang of adrenaline, a silent resignation, stoicism etched into his weathered features. Everything has its time, dear man, and you’ve had more than most.

There’s no real other method of death he’d have been content with, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s explosions, fireworks, heat, when he’s too old for any of it physically, when he’s exhausted mentally, but can still lay claim to the most youthful and adventurous spirits, the very soul of a captain; it’s plunging into a supernova at sub-warp to take out the rejuvenated Borg fleet in the resultant fire, beings he abhors so profoundly, is still so very haunted by all these years later, still has nightmares of his time amongst their number.

The protests of his newfound crew echo through his mind, the panic of five minutes prior naturally fresh; a simple plan, ultimately, forged days after he’d discovered their real enemy. Emergency transport, patterns already established, ready for the simple verbal command of a destination within reach; his friends enveloped, incapable of escape without the certainty of scattering to atoms, horror absolute.

“Admiral, you can’t be fucking serious - ”

“This cannot be how our quest ends! I will never forgive you!”

“... No, no, I know that look - JL, you can’t , you bastard - !”

“They took you once, Captain; we’ve won, dammit! There is no need to prove it further!”

He shivers with their regrets, jaw setting in defiance of his actions - it isn’t about proving anything, and he’d imagined Seven of all people would know that good and well. It’s about setting the universe to rights, ensuring continued prosperity from a species who deserve simply to be left in peace, who had been through more than enough to last them multiple lifetimes... to perhaps finally repaying a fraction of the debt he owed to the dead, the assimilated, of Wolf 359. It will never absolve him; nothing ever could.

But he can ensure it never has to happen again - not to him, not to another living soul in this quadrant. This is their last stand, and he will eradicate them. He isn’t a threat, of course - why would he be, in his tiny vessel?

Resistance is not, and never has been, futile, he acknowledges coldly, teeth beared in disgust. You wanted me to lead you, didn’t you? Allow me to make it so.

“Warning: recommend immediate retreat. Heat shields at thirty-one percent integrity; collision course with Elphoric Supernova in three minutes, thirty seconds.”

“Computer,” he announces frostily, “cease warnings.”

“With respect, my dearest admiral, perhaps you’d do well to pay attention.”

His mechanical heart skips several beats in the same moment, frenzy racing up his spine in anger, anticipation, anguish -

He hasn’t seen the speaker in four years, but he’ll turn up for the last three and a half minutes?

The flash claims his vision, the signature ping resounds, and the air falls immediately silent as he stares at eyes that read eternity and burn solely for him.

“Would you mind explaining what the hell you’re doing?”

He takes a full ten seconds of his remaining few minutes to simply absorb his husband’s presence, the faint lines that crease his forehead, the unspoken despair and the silent love and the carvings of exhaustion, and it’s as though something snaps once more back into place in his soul; as though he’s finally returned home after a solid millennia of travelling, embraced instantly by recalled warmth and comfort and precious, precious familiarity.

... Perhaps he ought to be less furious.

“... War’s over then, I take it?” His voice cracks through the stagnant bridge, and for the briefest of moments, he forgets entirely that he’s voluntarily crashing to his own destruction.

Q’s gaze flickers, stricken, and he regards his spouse with disbelief, crouching before him.

“Hardly the moment.” He curls fingers around shaking ones, squeezes tightly. “Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes -”

“Four years,” Picard intones, hollow, charcoal eyes ablaze. “Four, dammit.”

Q winces, digs finely manicured nails gently into aged skin with sorrow. “Bit difficult to keep track when the universe is falling apart, though I thought my dearly espoused was rather above the ultimate display of tragic hubris.”

“This isn’t arrogance,” Picard snaps in response, suddenly furious.

The god raises a brow, turns from him for a moment to consult the cosmos; he analyses the situation quietly, eyes falling shut before they wrench open in horror.

“... Oh,” he realises aloud, returning a pitying gaze to his husband. “Well, I was planning to take you for dinner, celebrate our reunion, but... it had to the Borg, of course. It was going to be magnificent, you know. All candles, oysters, Risan teal whiskey - imagine you’ve grown a little weary of the family vintage by now -”

Picard’s internal chronometer, borne of years of starship clockwork efficiency, ticks over to ninety seconds, and he’s kissing him with desperation, with the misery of parting, the anxiety of war, the coldness of a universe where no one else can ever quite understand -

It’s brief because it has to be, given the circumstances, but it’s no less intense for it, shot through on both sides with passion and need and loss and reestablished harmony; they break eventually, slipping back to rest foreheads together, and Q is breathless with pain as he whispers.

“My universe has already shattered once, Jean-Luc.”

Picard blinks against the tears that threaten, the anguish that engulfs him at the very thought.

“It’s the Borg, Q,” he explains simply, voice woven with apology.

“... And it doesn’t count for anything that I could click them to dust, I imagine, stop them threatening anyone ever again?”

He smiles warmly, bitterness rich - not at an entity who has been trying to save his people, he could never be angry at that. He’s trying to do the same, isn’t he? Always has. 

No, life is merely unfair, and it has to end eventually. 

“‘Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it,’” he quotes gently, and a rasp of a sob trips from Q’s tongue.

“Stupid, noble, self-sacrificing idiot,” he breathes, thumb running over the wedding ring unconsciously. “The shen ring, Jean-Luc; you’ve always admired the ancients. The symbol of eternal protection.”

A single tear slips down his cheek, a stammered exhale follows, and he locks eyes to his in true dread. “Please, darling - tell me we can still go for dinner.”

Everything in creation drowns in silence, even as the console roars at him that he’s thirty seconds from death; nothing matters but his words, his long-spoken promise - that his husband absolutely comprehends them.

“I’d be offended we didn’t, frankly,” he whispers. “Haven’t seen you in years, we’re rather overdue a catch-up.”

He kisses his brow tenderly, physically feels the permanence of the relief that bursts through the god; he has to make sure, nevertheless.

“Perhaps tomorrow, we could watch the meteor shower on Tansid VI.” He softly pulls Q’s thumb back to the wedding ring, to the tangibility of what it offers, the vow it proclaims, and runs his own preciously across it. “Croissants. Champagne. Different region, different grapes - I’m not quite bored of that one yet.”

“And the day after?” Q’s voice cracks, brittle as sand.

“Oh, moons of Tanothry Prime, I imagine. Driver’s choice. Though I’d quite enjoy a trip to the Magellanic Clouds, perhaps in a few centuries.”

Another sob, profound this time, raises, stuttered, from his immortal spouse.

“I reserve the right to make it hurt less.”

“Oh, please do, my love. My Thoth.”

Q stifles a laugh, so wondrously enamoured. “The Egyptian god of the dead, of magic and wisdom.”

“‘As for Thoth, he crosses the sky in my presence; I pass safely.’“

“Yes, you do,” the deity vows, adoration warming the severity of his features. “Nothing will ever have to hurt you again, darling.”

It’s a strange experience, dying without fear. He’d been so certain, so determined, but so very afraid.

“Ten seconds to impact,” the computer chimes, emotionless.

“I have a dog,” Picard tells his husband, eyes falling closed. “You wouldn’t much like his name.”

Q smiles tightly, clings to him.

“I do hope it isn’t mine,” he replies dryly, and the human chuckles as the ship ignites around them.

“Oh, it’s so much worse.” He beams tenderly at him, braces for impact. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Yeah,” Q breathes, caressing his ring, and together they burn.

[alexwinfield-blog1]

There’s a ‘Price’ to pay for meme trolling.

There is no doubt that the social media world are lovers for a good ol’ meme. Need a conversation starter? A witty reply? Or cheering up on a gloomy day? A meme will guarantee you a laugh. However, what constitutes a well-curated, humorous meme? Well, as we all know, humour is subjective. What you and I find funny will differ, of course. But what criteria needs to be met in order for a meme to go viral? What do the creators of memes set out to achieve when sharing them online? Most importantly, is there a line to be crossed? At what point can we agree that a meme no longer has a shared meaning?

I want to look closely at the memes created online targeting Harvey Price, but firstly, let’s get to grips with what we mean by a ‘meme’. Dawkins (2006) describes the practice of ‘memeing’ to involve “participating in the creation or distribution of a powerful, original idea”. He also proposes that a meme is a “unit of cultural transmission”, an idea or collective conscience that a community share. We share this culture like we share genetic characteristics. Like “biological organisms evolve based on the natural selection of genes, cultures evolve based on the natural selection of memes”. Despite what this wishy-washy, too-poetic-to-be-true analysis may suggest, memes speak volumes about the humour and beliefs within society. Remember these?

With the relationship between the image the caption having no etymological meaning, the caption of a meme can be chopped and changed depending on the intention of the creator. Examples which spring to mind are “Cash me Outside” and the compilations of Arthur memes, in which the captions are often quite predictable. Nonetheless, the meaning of a meme is not always required to be clear and linear. Most of the time they are abstract and nonlinear, in fact. Above all, the most important function of a meme is to depict ‘coolness’.

Virality and Memes: the good, the bad but mostly the ugly.

Kim Kardashian, or more specifically her career, is a perfect example of how virality can change a life for the better. All thanks to a leaked sex tape in 2007. You can guarantee that this certainly wasn’t one of her finest, most glamorous moments, but I’m sure she’s never looked back. This scandalous footage landed her a career of fame. And now? Over a decade later we spend our lives Keeping Up With The Kardashians. Most recently, with her half-sister Kylie Jenner competing with an egg to get the most liked photo of all time on Instagram, and her step-father Bruce Jenner’s latest transition in becoming Caitlyn, there is no doubt that this family are familiar with being the centre of media attention. With what seemed to be the world going crazy over an egg, this was an attempt, an extremely successful attempt, to promote mental health, specifically how the pressures of social media can make us ‘crack’. Harmless virality, right? What may have once been perceived to be attacks on the Kardashian family, have ultimately led these stars up a path of wealth and success. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t see roaring headline complaints about them loathing this lavish lifestyle?

But it isn’t always this rosy…

What is the first thing that comes to your head when you think of a troll?

This one?

What about this one?

Or perhaps this one?

Both through her own career as a supermodel and TV presenter, and since the birth of her son in 2002, Katie Price has experienced, first hand, the ugly truth of virality, specifically in the form of trolling. Tweets, memes, death threats, you name it, attacking her son for the colour of his skin as well as his disabilities.  Unlike the Kardashians, Harvey is blissfully unaware of the extremes to which he is taunted daily online. But why do we live in a world which allows people to get away with such disgusting behaviour? On a mission, not only to protect Harvey from this online abuse, but anyone who has ever been subject to trolling, in 2017, she started a petition. This eventually received over 200,000 signatures in a bid to make online trolling illegal. Despite her best efforts at exposing these trolls herself, she discovered there to be little, if any, law enforcement in place to protect victims such as Harvey. Being what Goldhaber (1997) describes to be a “star”, fortunately, she was equipped with the tools to attract mass media attention about the issue of online trolling, to which she appeared on many day time TV programmes informing people about ‘Harvey’s Law’.

In spite of her good intentions, it was no shock that trolls not only continued to fire hate filled tweets about Harvey, but curate memes mocking things he has said on TV appearances, as well as taking content Katie had uploaded to her own social media of Harvey as inspiration. 

Any mum would agree that just because she’s in the public eye, it should not mean that she should be deterred from posting photos of her children on social media to protect them from being targeted by trolls. 

A clip which many may be familiar with is their appearance on Loose Women, in which he swears on live TV. Although trolls immediately took to photoshop to mock this display of innocence, many could argue that this is part of the viscous cycle of attention economy (Goldhaber, 1997). In order for trolls to give Harvey attention, they need a source to retrieve it from. Contrary to her pledge to protect Harvey from the doom and gloom of social media that we all know and love, she was recently slammed for ‘baiting trolls’ (The Sun, 2019) by setting Harvey up with his own Instagram account. Is this ultimately an invitation for trolls to attack him? Does it provide trolls with the ‘new’ and ‘original’ content they so desperately desire? What do we think, is she now responsible for the trolling Harvey will now be exposed to online?

 A more recent adaptation of memes, known as GiFs, has also been a platform explored by trolls in order to attack Harvey further. During my research into this topic, from simply typing into my search engine “Harvey Price”, this result appeared…

As if memes weren’t exhilarating enough to fulfil the trolls in their cyber-attacks, GiFs of Harvey can now be generated through this site, ultimately allowing people to express themselves in online conversation through indirectly mocking Harvey. But to them it’s nothing serious. Just a passing comment. What angers me the most about this GiF generator is the use of the term “popular”, suggesting that people visiting this site will have access to nothing but the best GiFs - what the trolls would label to be most successful in terms of their virality. First and full most, who is spending their time designing these websites, and secondly, are they proud? Are they THAT disconnected from their emotions that they don’t view this young man as a human being?

But do these memes live up to the definition of ‘memeing’ proposed by Dawkins (2006)?

Are they powerful?

Definitely not.

But perhaps in one way? They’re powerful for delivering the message that no matter what your race, your sexual orientation, your disabilities or your religion, there will always be people in the world who disagree or are opposed to it. Sure, trolls can hide behind their twitter username, but can they hide from their own insecurities? This is important to consider. What is the need for them to create this content? For how long is it funny? A day? A couple of hours?

Are they original?

Most certainly not. If anything, they lack originality. Well, put it this way, I can’t hear anyone applauding these creators for their outstanding pieces of work…

Is it cool?

You must be joking?

The creators of this content might have themselves fooled that they are some- what inspirational to the rest of the nation, or that they’re admired by their fellow meme-ers for their hardcore memeing. But the rest of the nation? The decent human beings of the nation? Disgraceful. Unintelligent. Bullies. A valuable point to be made here is that creators of memes believe they’re in a superior position to those they are ‘memeing’ about, hence why when these memes are shared and distributed online, they appear ‘funny’ to those who perceive Harvey as inferior to them.

And this is why we can’t have nice things…

Phillips (2015) argues that essentially, trolls “are the reason we can’t have nice things online”. He suggests that the online space is meant to be a community where people can feel safe in sharing their thoughts; through tweeting, or sharing snapshots of their life via Instagram. It appears that sadly, this is no longer the case. Trolls are “born and embedded” within dominant institutions. As a result, the saddest, and most frustrating thing of all about meme trolling, is that as long as trolls have the community to support them, and until social media platforms build stronger, much more stable networks which block out these trolls, there will be no end to trolling. This “unapologetically racist humour and legitimate corporate punditry” will only seize to exist online if the threat of the law was to stand between the troll and the ‘send’ button. Why, in those “golden years” between 2008-2011 in which the trolling subculture became “crystalized”, did establishers of these social networks make a stand for this unwanted behaviour? Why is a mother, regardless of whether she’s famous or simply just the mum next door, forced to make a pledge for this internet craze to be wiped from our screens?

How can we make a difference?

It is important to not turn a blind eye to this kind of behaviour online. Although it may not directly affect you, there will always be someone else is in the firing line. Avoid retweeting, sharing and even posting content online which may later come back to bite you. As someone who has been a present, and an active user of social media since my early teens, during this time, I was extremely naïve to the content online. I’m sure there have been posts which I would look back on now and think how my online presence has changed. My humour has changed. What I like and post about has definitely changed, but most of all, social media as a 20-year-old seems a much scarier place to be than when I was 13. Do you agree?

References:

Phillips, W. (2015). This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things: Mapping the Relationship Between Online Trolling and Mainstream Culture. Massachusetts: MIT Press.

Dawkins, R. (2006). The Selfish Gene. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Gibb, J. (2019, January 28). Katie Price accused of ‘baiting’ trolls. Retrieved from: https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/8300554/katie-price-accused-of-baiting-trolls-by-giving-son-harvey-his-own-instagram-account-and-failing-to-protect-him/

[mrpotatobrown]

73. DREAMS come true

3... 2... 1... Blast Off! And the drawing’s Done. I’m most of all happy with how fast I doodled it out using Microsoft’s free ‘Notebook’ drawing/writing software on my Tablet, and that’s truly down to the app’s accessibility. Could I have used more powerful sketching software? Yes. Would it have resulted in a better drawing? Probably. But trying to juggle layers in Sketchbook or fight with the insufferable clunkiness of Photoshop is just something I don’t enjoy facing, and so I’ll stick to my quick simple doodles. And I’m happy with that.

Because making it all result oriented can sometimes destroy the enjoyment of the process, (not that I’m saying a result isn’t important, rather the journey is equally crucial) and I openly admit that I sketch away on Notebook because I enjoy it for many of the same reasons I adore writing: It’s the fastest way to get my ideas down.

Throughout my entire childhood, my imagination was fast and fickle, Ideas rushing in faster than I could output them, which resulted in a short attention span on any projects that took longer than, well, a sit-down. And so when a tool pops up that allows me to get ideas down faster, which potentially cuts out that “Photoshop” middleman, it ALWAYS draws my attention, especially if it yields the same high-end results.

But, as a filmmaker who wants to dabble in music, Game design and anything and everything, these tools seldom pop up. Sure, everything’s most certainly become more user-friendly, especially with such game engines like ‘Unity’ and ‘Unreal 4′ now becoming freely accessible, cutting out a lot of Dev. time/hurdles. But these advancements have never articulated in the form of tools that make animating, game design, music and everything in-between feel as intuitive as the sketch I did above on my Tablet or the essay I’m plonking out on my keyboard as we speak (or read). 

Until recently, most notably announcements of an upcoming Tool made at the last Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3).

But let us jump back a moment for there’s an origin to this great new tool; an earlier iteration that’s celebrating it’s Ten-year anniversary right now, a birthday I’m personally celebrating with the way it changed games/creativity forever. I know that sounds hyperbole, but trust me when I say this comes from the most Sincere place in my heart, a heart that yearned throughout my entire childhood as I stuck together simple stick men levels in Alien Hominid (Ps2, 2004) or laid out cookie cutter racetracks in RC Revenge Pro (Ps2, 2000) for the game I speak of next brought that childlike wonder back into my heart. I’m speaking of the warm, fuzzy, ambitious and very successful:

Released Ten years ago by Media Molecule (also known as Mm), a small team compiled of such visionaries like Alex Evans and Mark Healy which was founded in 2006*, their first outing on Ps3 from a distance looks like a simple fabric styled platformer. But sown (excuse the pun) deep into the fabric (sorry) of its very roots were creative ideas that grew larger than life.

* 2006 also being the year they released ‘Rag Doll Kung Fu’ which was the first third-party game to be distributed on Steam. Their progressive thinking was there from the start.  

The articulation of these ideologies can be best expressed through Mark Healy’s early foray into game development when he programmed titles for the Commodore 64 (Console, 1982, also known as C64). The C64 was the Guinness Record champion for most units sold at 10-17 million units, a record laid to rest with future consoles such as PS2 hitting over 155 Million. Yet, in recent interviews, Mark has spoken of those open source tools that allowed him to create with relative ease, and how as future consoles rolled out into people's homes which ended up selling more and more with each passing generation, that accessibility to create was lost. I mention the word ‘accessibility’ like a broken record because that’s the very word Media Molecule seem to have as their unofficial modus operandi. It’s their very soul!

And it was this very soul that was poured into their 2008 juggernaut, Little Big Planet (Also known as LBP), which was teased far earlier than it’s release (to my impatient frustration); I saw the announcement perhaps a year before, the game post-phoned, but I had a taste of the potential and it was the only thing my heart called out for every day leading up to its release*. Finally, a game that gave me the tools to make my very own games. 

* This part was actually true. Extreme? Sure, but I was stuck on an Farm growing up so it was the light in my tunnel.

The Puzzle Platformer’s official slogan was “Play, Create, Share”, basically boiling down to a Gaming Youtube with the tools ready built in. Here’s a cute 10-year-old trailer that best expressed this warm fun collaborative charm and it’s progressive stance on creativity (as well as one of the funkiest Game soundtracks from recent memory). You could make levels with ease, publish, get “views” (in this case, plays) and “likes” (expressed through Hearts) and then surf Mm’s servers to play other's creations. The first worry expressed by Critic’s was that no one would want to make levels, but Youtube as a creative platform was already the monolith of proof that this was not the case; people wanted creative output, and once the game was released with Metacritic scores averaging around 95% the Game sold well and the coMmunity was born.

The creative tools were easy to grasp but hard to master, the layers of ways to utilise them for more complicated contraptions and professionally polished levels took time to learn; fumbling around to mediocre results might draw you to the conclusion that quality couldn’t be obtained, but Mm cleverly put those anxieties to rest by including a campaign that was built exclusively with those very same tools. You had no excuse apart from “lack of practice”, and this pushed the coMmunity to make all kinds of contraptions from Mm’s physics-based engine, including someone building a fully functioning Calculator (the Creator even allowing you to fly around Jet-pack style to see how complicated the mechanisms were; turns out, very). 

LBP 2 built on that success, implementing a new refined tool called ‘Logic’ (among other improvements) which was an array of different microchips with simple functions that could be wired together to essentially ‘code’ objects to do your bidding. It was deceptively simple and never bogged down the ease that was at the heart of LBP’s Creative tool-set. The step up between games showed up past ‘peak’ coMmunity created inventions (namely the previously mentioned calculator) as bare-bones in what you could achieve with this new instalment.

I poured hours into these games, playing every LBP sequel; the future iterations were handled well by Sumo Digital (LBP 3) and Tarsier Studios, Double Eleven and XDev (LBP Vita). Mm also produced the Bafta-winning Vita/Ps4 Tearaway which I’m part way through now, enjoying endlessly in an attempt to fill the void till their next highly anticipated game.

For once again they’ve teased a pipeline title which the public await with bated breath; their next instalment in their Creative franchise (and the very reason I’m writing this article) doesn’t just build on their previous efforts of community-based tools but fully realises them. They finally made what I and many others have always wanted, a Gaming engine with the ease of drawing; a level creator that’s as simple as me typing on this keyboard; the true Youtube of gaming:

I love the LBP franchise a whole lot (still play it now), but whatever I built always felt a construct of ‘LBP’; the most approachable expressive tools I’ve ever used still restricted by the 2.5D realm of Sackboy’s recognisably cloth based world, and while you could creatively open up the borders to reveal new perspectives and ways to make games there was always the nagging feeling that you weren’t truly making YOUR game, you were making a game for Mm. This wasn’t their fault, and it’s not like you could point at any other accessible tool to exemplify these faults, because Mm was leading the charge, and still are. But this upcoming release of their new title aptly named Dreams (Beta 2018, full release TBA) shows with ease that Mm doesn’t just continue to lead this push forward, but are doing so with such an extent as to potentially shake up the gaming industry; for you truly are now making YOUR game.

Strong words are easily backed up with results I’ll show further down, but the final hurdle on their next instalment’s success isn’t just the quality or function of the final output (which Mm shows with confidence on their near-weekly streams and collaborations with other gaming developers via Twitch/Youtube) but with how the market will react to it, or if they even will react at all considering a relatively quiet reception in the wake of AAA games like Red Dead 2 and other heavyweights.

But before we discuss that further, speaking of a game like this with mere words doesn’t really do Dreams justice. I’ve watched nearly every video they’ve released across this last year so here are, in my opinion, the videos that best exemplify what their upcoming game/tool has to offer:

Trailer (TGA 2017 Trailer), which is the shortest of the bunch, quickly highlighting the general feel and look of Dreams.

Game Informer’s playthrough of campaign levels, which is fantastically demoed by Veteran Mm founder and C64 programmer Mark Healey.

A run through of fun bite-sized levels made by their team, showing off the astounding variety and how each level flows into the next like a Youtube playlist. 

And should you choose to watch only one of these videos, choose this next one; Game Informer’s Rapid-Fire Q sesh (with other Mm Founder Alex Evans), which isn’t just informative but should also be commended as creative and engaging journalism at it’s finest, running at the speed of a scripted TomSka Sketch* (It should be noted that Game Informer has been hitting it out of the park over the last month with their fun and insightful cover of Dreams).

* ’TomSka’: a popular Youtuber, famous for the ASDF Cartoon sketches and his fast and frentic comedic sketches. He’s done much, and with such a consistently recognisable style and tone across all projects it could be argued he’s an auteur, which excites me greatly that Youtube can own such a phrase and that ‘auteur’ could also translate to the users on Dreams (the platform I indulgently want to be referenced coining the term ‘Youtube of Gaming’. I’ll stop saying it when everyone else starts.)

TL;DR to sum up those clips: Dream’s works. Not just in regards to it building on LBP in every conceivable way (especially in being fully 3 dimensional) but also being easier to use, with motion controls utilised to essentially free-mould the level around you, and the jump between creative and playing being even more seamless; I was previously going to link three individual videos, title-ing them ‘PLAY’, ‘CREATE’ and ‘SHARE’ respectively, knowing there are such videos that focus on each aspect out there (shown at this year’s E3), but the Videos linked above demonstrate far clearer how the boundaries between those three different worlds are getting harder and harder to define; less “Play, create, share” and more “placrehare”... which isn’t as catchy but you get the idea.

Above: Picture of the Mm Team taken by Game Informer during their visit.

Everything about this game covers all aspects of game creation, even in terms of building a CV the defines your best skills (Animator, Modeler, Musician etc.) and then allowing you to allocate different roles to different creators (if you so wish). Objects/characters/music/levels etc. can be shared and remixed, creating a library of never-ending stock objects which either help fill in your weaknesses or set up a foundation to build on. Everything is built around a coMmunity which is so heartwarming considering an industry which, much like the film industry, is very clicky and “who you know”.

To prove how Mm appose this, and help highlight their deep-set sincerity, online creators from some of the finest levels on LBP were later hired by Mm to work in their company on future projects based on how well they grasped the tools. Mm recognised them for their talents and allowed these artists to flourish, artists who may have never broken into their dream profession without that much-needed step up.

This harks back to that phrase I’m trying to coin: “A Youtube of Gaming”. Film-making has gotten far more approachable over the last 10 years with equipment becoming progressively more affordable and every PC/MAC coming pre-loaded with editing software. The ability to share with ease online has helped many Video creators land roles in the industry or even create their own*.

* Youtube channels FreddieW (now named Rocketjump) and Corridor Digital (founded by Niko and Sam) springing to mind; their effects driven action/comedic shorts is what made many even consider film-making as an option (they even put out free tutorials/BTS) and their channels frequently collaborate with each other, other channels and even known names (Smosh, Key and Peele, and Jimmy Kimmel to name a few).

And so this is what makes Dreams so special; a chance to lower down the industries’ impenetrable defences and highlight player’s hidden talents with a tool that’s grown beyond ‘making levels for Mm’s games’ and matured (while retaining its essential charm) into a fully fledged game engine*.

* Many of you might think I’m counting eggs before they’ve hatched; understandable, but even if the game came out as a mere shadow of it’s intentions (which at this lately developed stage I doubt considering their showcases), the idea is already there. With VR and motion controls improving across all platforms there will doubtlessly be an imitator who can pick up where they left, improving from their failures. Failures I believe unlikely due to Mm’s track record of achievement and future support (they’re very involved with their CoMmunity, hence why I’ve placed a Mm in every use of the word CoMmunity (not my idea btw, Mm do this themselves)).

But more importantly than this future engine’s apparent depth is it’s accessibility, which cleans the slate of any straight up coding (LBP’s ’Logic’ is still there in spirit), rubs away clunky creation and puts all the tools under one roof with a platform to share and collaborate on. An infinite world of infinite creations that you can join your friends to play, Sofa sharing or online, streaming through playlists or creating, new content or remixed, in infinite combinations with infinite flexibility with an accessibility that has been unheard of until this game/engine.

Above: Front Cover Mm did for Game Informer’s November issue, which was created entirely within Dreams.

Which brings me to why I’m writing this article. I’m not writing extensively of the tools you can use, I’m linking other journalists’ work and mostly speaking of Mm’s past and what their new game could mean; so what’s the function of this? Well, as mentioned earlier, their success on something so CoMmunity led will be based on how the CoMmunity utilise it, which first and foremost means they need a CoMmunity to start with. And as also mentioned earlier, I think the reception for this game is relatively quiet compared to larger AAA games; this feels wrong to me in so many ways, as Dreams with the right support could literally shake up the gaming industry and influx a new wave of creative talent, showcasing an entourage of new ideas; a French New Wave of Games but, well, British (at least in origin). And I want this to be heard. I’m writing this article because I want to support them, in an attempt to build awareness. Because I want them to succeed. For their success will change so much in so many innovative ways.

When I saw all this beautiful creative potential oozing from their E3 trailers earlier this year something inside me changed. It wasn’t a new feeling, not at all, rather a familiar one; one I missed. It was that childlike wonder I had so long ago; that awe and glee when I watched the announcement trailer for LBP; the many days I sat scribbling and doodling on the floor as a child in those long stretched out Summer holidays; those 3 hour long GCSE English Language exams where I would write out whatever story popped into my head (honestly, only exam I ever enjoyed). Those are some of the happiest days of my life: pure unchained creativity with seamless tools.

Finally, those days are returning. Finally, I can be a child once more. And hopefully, so can you <3

[mcdougallunitedinpride]

Talk to Me (Christmas Sermon)

Talk to Me

Christmas Sermon

by Gary Simpson

John 1:1-14 (KJV)  In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  The same was in the beginning with God.  All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.  In him was life; and the life was the light of men.  And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.  The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.  He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.

That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.  He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.  He came unto his own, and his own received him not.  But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:  Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.  And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

Bible commentator MacGregor, who wrote the Moffatt Bible Commentary on the book of John comments, “No book in the New Testament has provoked conclusions more diverse than” John’s Gospel.(1)  Because I like to search for meaningful applications, not controversy, there are parts of the Gospel of John that I like to avoid, because of the controversy that can come with them.  The lectionary schedule, however, does not always let us run away from what is uncomfortable and I think that is generally a good thing.  We need to get comfortable with what makes us uncomfortable.  Perhaps, that is part of what Christmas means.  We learn to be comfortable with family, friends and acquaintances, including those who make us uncomfortable.

The book of John is believed to be the last Gospel written.(2)  By the time John was written, the young Christian church had second and third generation believers.  John’s Gospel provides more information about Jesus, probably in an attempt to deal with apostasy.(3)  The unifying purpose of the Gospel appears to be encouraging people to believe that Jesus is the Son, who came from God.(4)

The term word or logos had a special meaning to Jewish people and to Greeks.  Plato considered logos to refer to the “divine mind.”(5)  From about 400 to 500 years before Christ, a Greek Philosopher Heraclitus believed that the Logos of God dwelling in people is what gave people a sense of right and wrong. From his perspective, “The Logos was nothing less than the mind of God controlling the world and everyone in it.”(6)  John’s message is that in Jesus the Logos, the “illuminating, controlling, sustaining mind of God”, came to earth.(7)

There is a meaning in Greek that gives a slightly different sense.  In Greek, we are told, “‘The Word was born flesh.’”(8)

The incarnate word of God or the logos of God shows two insights into John’s theology:

• John believed Jesus was the culmination of the redemption of humanity.

• John thought Jesus was eternal and existed before creation.(9)

Anglican priest, Mund Thompson notes, “‘the word became flesh and pitched his tent among us’.  In the Hebrew Scriptures, as the children of Israel were in the desert, “God travelled with them”.(10)  As in the wilderness, “in Jesus God pitches his tent amidst our tents and travels with us as we journey through life. God gets involved in our mess.”(11) The old respected Bible commentator, Matthew Henry, comments that Jesus “did not dwell among us as in a palace, but as in a tent”, that Jesus dwelt with us in common circumstances, such as “shepherds that dwell in tents”.(12)  I find it interesting that Matthew Henry said Christ dwelt with us like shepherds.  A passage in Genesis tells us that the Egyptians considered shepherds to be an abomination.(13)  The Egyptians viewed shepherds with contempt and disdain and basically ridiculed shepherds.(14)  In many respects, the Messiah took upon Himself the contempt, disdain and hatred experienced by members of oppressed minority groups, because, in part, as a Jewish man, He was a member of a minority group in the Roman Empire.

In this section of John Chapter 1, we see some foreshadowing of what will take place in Jesus' ministry.  To a person who was not familiar with Jesus, this is a hint that later in the Gospel people will reject Jesus' ministry, that Jesus will be rejected by His own people.

This sounds like a rather ugly verse to be considering at Christmas.  Jesus is rejected by His family.  We are supposed to be celebrating Jesus' birth, with the exciting expectation of peace and joy.  And the Gospel of John comes along and throws ice cold water on our celebration by letting us know that the eternal Jesus, the creator of the world and the creator of life, will be well received by some people, but his very own people will reject Him.

Good news, life impacting messages do not need to be long dissertations.  The core of the good news can be said in fifteen words.  The Word became a human being and, full of grace and truth, lived among us (NLT).  Those are fifteen words that changed lives and impacted the history of the world.  Compare that with some of the famous and influential speeches given in the last two hundred years.  My computer program gives me the following word counts:

Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address - about 270 words.

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech - about 1,600 words.

Lyndon Johnson’s “The American Promise” speech - about 3,700 words.

Winston Churchill’s “This was Their Finest Hour” speech - about 4,400 words.

The Gospel of John summarizes social justice, human dreams, a promise and the hour of spiritual liberation in just 15 words.

Paul Decker tells an interesting story in a sermon that he gave.  He says a man found a new physician for his 90 year-old mother, because her family doctor died.  The physician examined his mother, turning to the son, he proceeded to discuss the mother’s health.  I wish I was as brave as this 90 year-old lady.  She interrupted the doctor, asking, “Doctor, do you do crossword puzzles?”

The physician responded, “Yes.”

She followed with a second question.  “Do you do them with pencil or pen?”

The physician answered, “With a pencil.”

She responded, “I do mine with a pen, so you can talk to me.”(15)

I am going to take Paul Decerk’s story in a direction that he did not take.

After Moses leads the children of Israel out of slavery in Egypt, the law is given to the children of Israel at Sinai.  According to the narrative in Deuteronomy, God engraved, with God’s finger, the commandments on stone.(16)  The Word was made stone and we got the law.  Those stone tablets, containing the 10 commandments, are meaningful, but for many the words on stone were hard and cold and did not adequately show the love of God.  At Bethlehem, the Word was made flesh and we got grace. In John’s Christmas story, the Word was made flesh, was made into a warm human body in Jesus.  In the Christmas story, God is not aloof. The incarnate God does not talk to another, while ignoring us.  Christ walked with humanity, lived with humanity, worked with humanity and talked to humanity.

At Bethlehem, the Word was made flesh and grace abounded.  For many people, we are the only Bible they will read. To them, we are the Word of God surrounded by human flesh, the Word made warm, compassionate and caring.  The Christmas story challenges us to, in a small way, be like the living Word.  We do that when we empower family, friends, colleagues, and the oppressed and impoverished by walking with them and talking with them, instead of just talking about them.  So in the spirit of a 90 year-old lady and in the Spirit of God, respect, honor, love and empower people - talk to people.

End Notes

(1)G.H.C. MacGregor.  The Moffatt New Testament Commentary:  The Gospel of John. (Seattle:  SOURCE Digital Pub., 2018, First published in 1929), ebook.

(2)Kenneth L. Barker and John R. Kohlenberger, III, eds.  NIV Bible Commentary: Vol 2:  New Testament.  (Grand Rapids, Michigan:  Zondervan Pub., 1994), 290.

(3)Barker and Kohlenberger, III. (1994), 290.

(4)Barker and Kohlenberger, III. (1994), 292.

(5)Quest Study Bible (Grand Rapids, Michigan:  Zondervan Pub. House, 1994), 1466.

(6)William Barclay.  The New Daily Study Bible:  The Gospel of John.  Vol. 1  (Edinburgh:  Andrew Press, 2001), ebook.

(7)Barclay. (2001), ebook.

(8)J. Vernon McGee.  Thru the Bible with J. Vernon McGee.  (Pasadena, California:  Thru the Bible Radio, 1998), ebook.

(9)Lane T. Dennis, et. al., eds.  ESV Study Bible.  (Wheaton, Illinois:  Crossway, 2008), 2019.

(10)Mund Cargill Thompson.  “Slapped in the Face with Love.”  Sermon Central. 24 Dec 2017, 13 Dec 2018. <https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/slapped-in-the-face-with-love-fr-mund-cargill-thompson-sermon-on-christmas-227395?ref=SermonSerps>.

(11)Thompson.  (2017). <https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/slapped-in-the-face-with-love-fr-mund-cargill-thompson-sermon-on-christmas-227395?ref=SermonSerps>.

(12)Matthew Henry.  “Matthew Henry Commentary on the Whole Bible (Complete).” Bible Study Tools.  n.d., 17 Dec 2018. <https://www.biblestudytools.com/commentaries/matthew-henry-complete/john/1.html>.

(13)Genesis 46:34.

(14)Henry.  <https://www.biblestudytools.com/commentaries/matthew-henry-complete/genesis/46.html>.

(15)Paul Decker.  “What Did He Say?” Sermon Central.  18 Jun 2002, 14 Dec 2018.

<https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/what-did-he-say-paul-decker-sermon-on-divinity-of-christ-47672?ref=SermonSerps>.

(16)Deuteronomy 9:10 (KJV) And the Lord delivered unto me two tables of stone written with the finger of God; and on them was written according to all the words, which the Lord spake with you in the mount out of the midst of the fire in the day of the assembly.

[thebestintoronto]

Toronto - A Multicultural Treasure - Canada, February 2019

Welcome to Toronto, the most multiculturally diverse city on the planet, where more than 180 languages are spoken on a daily basis. A popular adage describes the city as "New York City run by the Swiss," and it's true—you can find world-class theater, underground tunnels, shopping and restaurants, the sidewalks are clean and the people are friendly. It's estimated that over half of Toronto's residents were born outside Canada and despite its complex makeup, Torontonians generally get along extremely well. When the weather is fine, Toronto is a blast: a vibrant, big-time city abuzz with activity. Some of the world's finest restaurants are found here, alongside happening bars and clubs and eclectic festivals. Yes, winter in Toronto can be a real drag, with things getting messy on the congested highways and crowded public transit system. But come here with patience, an open mind and even during frigid days and bone-chilling nights, you're bound to have a great time. There is a fresh international buzz about this city. Perhaps it's the influx of flush new residents from across the globe; or was it the Pan-Am Games that shone a spotlight on Toronto? Either way, this is a city that is waking up to its own greatness.

A little bit of history:

When Europeans first arrived at the site of present-day Toronto, the vicinity was inhabited by the Iroquois, who had displaced the Wyandot (Huron) people, occupants of the region for centuries. The name Toronto is likely derived from the Iroquoian word tkaronto, meaning "place where trees stand in the water". This refers to the northern end of what is now Lake Simcoe, where the Huron had planted tree saplings to corral fish. In the 1660s, the Iroquois established two villages within what is today Toronto. By 1701, the Mississauga had displaced the Iroquois, who abandoned the Toronto area at the end of the Beaver Wars, with most returning to their base in present-day New York. In the 17th century, the area was a crucial for travel, with the Humber and Rouge rivers providing a shortcut to the upper Great Lakes. These routes together were known as the Toronto Passage.

As a major destination for immigrants to Canada, the city grew rapidly through the remainder of the 19th century. The first significant wave of immigrants were Irish, fleeing the Great Irish Famine -the vast majority were Catholic. By 1851, the Irish-born population had become the largest single ethnic group in the city. For brief periods, Toronto was twice the capital of the united Province of Canada: first from 1849 to 1852, following unrest in Montreal, and later 1856 to 1858. After this date, Quebec was designated as the capital until 1866 (one year before Canadian Confederation). Since then, the capital of Canada has remained Ottawa, Ontario. Toronto became the capital of the province of Ontario after its official creation in 1867.

Following WWII, refugees from war-torn Europe and Chinese job-seekers arrived. Toronto's population grew to more than one million in 1951, when large-scale suburbanization began and doubled to two million by 1971. Following the elimination of racially based immigration policies by the late 1960s, Toronto became a destination for immigrants from all parts of the world. By the 1980s, Toronto had surpassed Montreal as Canada's most populous city and chief economic hub.

As is my usual practice, I’m taking up “residence” in a Hilton property – this time it’s the Doubletree on Chestnut Street in downtown. My red-eye flights via Detroit had me touching down at Pearson International by 10:30am, temperature was just 13f with a wind chill of -17f, heavy overcast skies and thick snowflakes beginning to float down to add to the existing accumulation on the runways. To say it was cold would be a vast understatement – my breath was a stream of white mist as I walked up the gangway from the plane into the terminal, shivering all the way. My arranged transfer to the hotel was via Jayride Shuttles, an excellent shuttle company I have used in the past. They are significantly cheaper than most transfer services to the city (I paid $35 USD for a one-way trip) and it can all be done online via their website. By noon I was checking into the Doubletree right in the heart of the entertainment center of Toronto – a 26-story building and my home-away-from-home for the next couple of weeks is on the 24th floor, overlooking the city center ice skating rink. A small room by my usual standards but very cozy, with a bay window affording sweeping views of the streets far below. The Wifi signal is always strong and stable and of course, numerous American/Canadian television channels to satisfy even me! After the redeye flights and having been awake for more than 39 hours, I was more than ready for a hot shower and a long afternoon nap – I can unpack and get settled in later.

My first morning in Toronto and I awoke to a fresh layer of snow blanketing the immediate area and glistening in the bright morning sunlight. Skaters are already zooming around the rink, wrapped up like Goodyear Tire Men from head to foot in thick coats, scarves, hats and gloves. Temperature was -9c with a wind chill of -13c…. that called for hot coffee and lots of it. After the standard hotel buffet breakfast (or “brekkie” as it’s known in Canada), I stopped by the front desk to collect a city street map and some sightseeing literature – now I’m ready to plan my 2-week stay. Thankfully I picked an ideal location to use as a base of operations – I’m in easy walking distance from just about everything and even though it means braving these crazy temps, I’m ready to take on the challenge of Toronto’s outdoors. I have my winter coat (only one I own), gloves, umbrella and even a scarf – only missing the requisite fur hat…..you can now refer to me as Nannoka of the North, bring on the blizzard…. LOL.

Just as I was debating whether to go out for dinner or eat in, the fire alarm went off in my room – so loud, it startled me out of a half doze. Then came an announcement that the fire department was its way to check out the problem. This lasted for almost 25 minutes with the alarm shrieking constantly, only halted temporarily when an updated announcement was made by hotel staff. Finally it was determined to be a false alarm and things seemed to return to normal – yeah right. By this time, I had made the decision to eat in so made my way to the elevators. Turns out when the alarm was triggered the elevators automatically stopped, and until a serviceman arrived to release them, they were not moving. I had a choice: either go hungry or hike down 24 flights of back service stairs……no contest, I’m headed for the lobby on the ankle express (aka hiking). If I hadn’t been hungry earlier, I had definitely worked up an appetite when I reached the ground floor. See how much fun can be had while traveling the globe…. certainly boggles the mind at times.

Hemispheres Restaurant and Bistro is the inhouse eatery on the lobby floor. Having opted to eat here this evening, I was pleasantly surprised at the menu options. I selected the pea soup puree with wasabi cream which, in spite of its name, tasted way better than it sounds. My entrée was a fantastic Bistro burger with smoked gouda cheese accompanied by sweet potato fries – a really fantastic dinner. Considering I was dining in a hotel restaurant the resulting $27 USD bill was reasonable, and the food was excellent. Thank all the gods on high the elevators had been released for service by this time, and I didn’t have to hike UP 24 flights – that was NOT on my list of things to do this evening!

In spite of my clothing preparations, my sightseeing plans went to hell in a hand basket when I opened the drapes the next morning to see light snow falling. That wouldn’t normally have stopped me, but what I heard on the local weather newscast did. The City had issued a severe cold temperature warning, along with a major storm announcement moving into the area tomorrow morning, along with a prediction for heavy snowfall, ice pellets, freezing rain and mercury readings I don’t even want to think about. Sand trucks are being readied for the upcoming blizzard, so being outside and exploring is out of the question for a day or so…. I’ll use this time to finalize upcoming trips and watch the snow drifts get higher and higher outside my windows.

I’m looking at the blizzard right now – make that a “whiteout” – swirling outside my windows….I awoke a couple of hours ago to relative calm and low temps. Promptly at 7:30am the predicted winter storm rolled into Toronto and it has been hell on wheels ever since. The order to close all city schools went out very early; except for the subway, city transportation is at a standstill; the airport has cancelled multiple flights, government employees are working from home, and yet there are people on the street walking their dogs! The winds are howling, blowing the snow in all directions building drifts against every available wall, and I have a front-row seat for all this excitement – how cool is that?

Unfortunately I missed one of the city’s most popular events by just one day…..Winterlicious, created by the city and held from January 25 to February 4. It featured delectable three-course prix fixe menus at nearly 200 participating restaurants and an eclectic culinary event series city-wide. Bad logistical planning on my part.

However I am in time and in town for another spectacular event: the Toronto Light Festival, now in its third year. Approximately 750,000 lights are used to create a magical experience that sees the area’s 50+ Victorian-era buildings surrounded by light sculptures and dazzling canopies. Here I’m on a new visual journey and imaginative cerebral adventure, designed to entertain and inspire. The Festival transforms this neighborhood into one of the largest open-air galleries in the world, lighting up the long winter nights with distinctive works from both local and international light artists. Formerly the home of Gooderham and Worts, which was once the largest distiller in the world, it is now a designed National Historic Site. A free event which runs thru March 2nd is located in the Distillery Historic District. This entire complex is a romantic, creative and pedestrian-only village, lined with cobblestone streets and endless galleries, restaurants, cafes and shopping boutiques.

Winter here offers something else for free, ice skating at the Evergreen Brick Works. The Don Valley Brick Works (aka the Evergreen Brick Works) is a former quarry and industrial site which operated for nearly 100 years, providing bricks used to construct many well-known Toronto landmarks. Since the closure of the original factory, the quarry has been converted into a city park which includes a series of naturalized ponds, while the buildings have been restored and opened as an environmentally-focused community and cultural center by Evergreen, a national charity dedicated to restoring nature in urban environments. The outdoor rink weaves thru snow-covered gardens under exposed beams of the old brick factory roof and is considered one of the most picturesque skating rinks in Toronto. Bring your own skates or rent a pair for $5 (USD $3.74). Open 10am-5pm Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays from December to March, with Winter Wednesdays from 5:30 to 9:30pm thru February 20th. These hours are always weather-dependent. My days on ice are long gone – I’m thankful to stand upright and walk without assistance these days - but it will be a great photo op and an interesting evening while I’m here, not to mention a chance to hoist a couple of hot buttered-rum toddies!

The most iconic (and definitely most visible) landmark in Toronto as to be the CN Tower measuring some 1,815’ high, making it the tallest structure in the western hemisphere. Located at 290 Bremner Boulevard, it provides numerous options for scoping out city views from three observation decks, with my favorite being the glass floor elevator watching the street get further and further away as you ride higher – certainly not for the faint hearted! The Skyped Observation Platform is the place to see Niagara and New York state on a clear day and for a really special meal, book a table at 360 Restaurant. This revolving eatery dishes up signature Canadian cuisine with a seasonally changing menu. Don’t even think of coming here without your camera – it’s the ultimate photo opportunity.

Known as the Castle on the Hill, Casa Loma took three years and $3.5M ($2.6M USD) to build. It’s owner, Sir Henry Pellatt, filled Casa Loma with priceless artwork from Canada and around the world. It stood as a monument to its creator – it surpassed any private home in North America and was once the largest private residence in Canada. With soaring battlements and secret passageways, it paid homage to the castles and knights of days gone by, and to this day it remains one of the only true castles on the North American continent. This grand estate features secret tunnels and doors, as well as colorfully lush gardens and very ornate details, like the family coat of arms on the library ceiling. Case Loma is also home to a historic-themed series of theatrical escape rooms, where guests can choose from 4 different games. Located at 1 Austin Terrace, you can find times, tickets and more information at escapecasealoma.com.

For the foodies in the crowd, St. Lawrence Market should be on your “must see” list when in town. Named by National Geographic Magazine as one of the world’s top food markets, it dates back to 1845 and features more than 120 vendors selling all manner of fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, fish, cheese and baked goods. No, you don’t have to be shopping for a rack of lamb to justify a visit: the market is also home to a variety of takeout food stalls. It is made up of three major markets: Farmer’s Market only open on Saturdays 5am to 3pm; Antiques Market only open on Sundays 5am to 5pm; and the main South Market open Tuesdays-Thursdays 8am to 6pm, Fridays 8am to 7pm, Saturdays 5am to 5pm and closed on Sundays. A big plus is the Market Gallery located on the second floor of the South Market. It’s home to rotating exhibits that chronicle Toronto’s unique history via photographs, maps, paintings and more. Located at 92-95 Front Street East, just a couple of blocks from the Distillery.

And of course you can’t visit Canada and not visit the Hockey Hall of Fame (Canadians LIVE for this game). Located at Brookfield Place, 30 Yonge Street in downtown, it’s Toronto’s tribute to the national obsession featuring memorabilia, displays and interactive games. Fans are invited to do their own play-by-play commentary on classic games in the TSN/RDS broadcast zone, tour a replica of the Canadiens dressing room, or test their skill and block shots from some of the game’s greatest shooters. Visitors can also have a photo op with the game’s ultimate hardware: the Stanley Cup. There’s a new permanent exhibit here - The Mask - which chronicles the evolution of goalie masks as a means of protection and self-expression. Currently there are 90 masks on display.

Toronto boasts some of the best museums, including The Royal Ontario, Museum of Illusions, Gardiner Museum, Gibson House, Aga Khan, Museum of Contemporary Art and others. It also has numerous shopping centers and malls, the best known being the CF Toronto Easton Centre located downtown at 20 Yonge Street. One of the busiest malls in North America, it offers more than 250 shops, services and restaurants under its roof. An elevated pedestrian bridge over Queen Street connects to the flagship Hudson’s Bay department store and Saks Fifth Avenue across the street. Not being a shopaholic in even the vaguest sense of the word, you won’t find me anywhere near a mall 99% of the time, but this place is worth a visit if only to gawp with stunned reactions, at the price tags on the haute couture at design houses such as Balmain, Dior, Givenchy, Rodarte and Jason Wu (a favorite of Michelle Obama). Do people really buy stuff with that many numbers after the dollar sign? Evidently they do – enough to give both me and my credit card heart attacks.

Just 90 miles south of Toronto across Lake Ontario is a natural wonder of the world - Niagara Falls. I have visited it previously in summer and winter seasons many years ago – I think the most dramatic of all is right now, slap in the middle of February and during one of the coldest winters we have experienced in decades. During my sightseeing planning session on day one, I found a fantastic combo deal online via City Sightseeing Tours which, for a grand total of just under $80 USD, gets me not only my favorite HOHO 2-day unlimited-use bus ticket to explore Toronto, but also a full day tour to the Falls. I’m booked for Valentine’s Day and expecting it to be a frozen winter wonderland from start to finish.

The tour coach arrived some 20 minutes late, due to rush hour traffic and the ever-present construction sites, but finally around 10am all 35 tourists were onboard, and we made our way out of the city. It’s about an hour and a half drive to reach the Falls, paralleling Lake Ontario and passing thru the towns of Mississauga and Hamilton. The weather was holding well, and the sun actually made an appearance just before we reached Niagara. Yes, it was a winter wonderland with the thundering Falls throwing mist hundreds of feet into the air, much of which falls as frozen rain on surrounding rocks and embankments. This frozen mist builds up layer upon layer on virtually any available surface, until the entire area becomes a surreal landscape of sparkling snow, blue/white ice, and when accompanied by the most brilliant turquoise green water of the rushing Niagara River…..well, this place is simply stunning. The verdant green color of the water is a byproduct of the estimated 60 tons every minute of dissolved salts and "rock flour" (very finely ground rock) generated by the erosive force of the river itself. It’s something to see in summer time, but nothing compares with being here in the dead of winter. Niagara Falls is the collective name for three waterfalls (Horseshoe Falls, American Falls, and Bridal Veil Falls) that straddle the international border between the Canadian province of Ontario and the US state of New York, forming the southern end of the Niagara Gorge. The American Falls usually appear to be more “frozen” than the Horseshoe Falls because they only receive about 7% of the Niagara River flow. With less water cascading over these Falls, there is a greater opportunity for ice buildup. Superlatives are not in short supply here: the cumulative output of the falls is the highest of any falls in the world, with Horseshoe Falls being the most powerful on the North American continent. In the dawn of the automotive age, Niagara Falls was the top honeymoon and summer vacation destination and even though it no longer has that claim to fame, it still attracts millions of tourists every year.

There has only been one occurrence where the flow of Niagara Falls has been stopped due to a freeze-up which actually happened on March 29, 1848. After an extremely cold winter, the thick ice of Lake Erie began to break up during a duration of warm weather. Followed by a strong eastward wind, this caused the ice to form in the mouth of the Niagara River which then caused a blockage of water from flowing down towards the Horseshoe Falls. When water comes crashing down over the Falls into the rocks below, it causes it to turn solid and form what is known as “The Ice Bridge” connecting the American side to the Canadian Side. Many years ago, the Ice Bridge was a popular tourist attraction as visitors would gather on the bridge and admire the beauty that the cold winter weather had created. Both Canadian and American visitors would gather to walk on the bridge, where they could enjoy fresh food and beverages as some entrepreneurs set up concession stands during these cold times. That was all until an unfortunate disaster occurred on February 4, 1912 when the bridge broke off and caused three people to drift down the river to their death. Ever since this incident occurred, walking on the Ice Bridge is forbidden. For the majority of winters the Falls are known to partially freeze, although the Falls never entirely freeze-up on the waterfall or in the Niagara River. Notable years for the Falls displaying this icing up are 1885, 1902, 1906, 1911, 1932, 1936, 2014, and 2017. The illusion of the falls freezing completely is due to the outer part of the falls creating a buildup of ice, but underneath that outer shell, the water is continuously flowing down the Falls at a constant rate.

I had a couple of hours to explore, take photographs and grab a bowl of hot spicy chili for lunch at a nearby restaurant. It was too cold to spend a lot of time out of doors, but I had a great viewing spot from the second floor of the restaurant building and was able to take some stunning pictures. From here it’s a short drive to our next stop, Niagara-on-the-Lake, and there’s something about this town that makes you want to linger. The heritage district here is made for walking, with its boutique shops, cast-iron planters and horse-drawn carriages transporting riders to another time and place. It’s Victorian-era 19th century is charm personified, and you could easily transplant the entire town and set it down anywhere in New England, where it would blend in perfectly. Located at the point where the Niagara River flows into Lake Ontario, it is the only town in Canada with a Lord Mayor. The permanent population is about 18,000 residents.

Besides the obvious attraction of Niagara Falls, there are many other distinct historic sites in the area that educate tourists about the significance that the region served in shaping Canada to what it is today. The War of 1812 was a turning point in Niagara Falls history, when the fledgling United States army fought British Loyalists for the new lands that would become Canada. From Fort Erie to Niagara-on-the-Lake, it’s possible to visit the past, carefully restored and recreated. At Old Fort Erie, authentically dressed guides in 1812 period costume, recreate life in this former British garrison, including daily musket demonstrations and the annual Siege of Old Fort Erie Re-enactment. Fort Erie was also an entry point for freedom-seeking black slaves escaping persecution in the U.S. The point of entry into Canada from Buffalo, was known as “The Crossing” and is the start of the Freedom Trail - part of the Underground Railroad. There are innumerable stops for those interested in the history of the area, including Brock’s Monument, a tribute to the British General who lost his life at the Battle of Queenston in 1812.The Daredevil Exhibit at the IMAX theatre showcases real artifacts from daredevils that survived the plunge, and along with the all the stories to go with how each daredevil attempted the treacherous stunt of plummeting down the Falls. The Museum is where visitors can explore the history that changed a nation with real artifacts, images, videos and interactive experiences designed to deliver full exposure to historic events in the region. The Niagara Falls Gallery provides visitors with an opportunity to experience the history of the iconic Falls from the geological creation of the Falls to the daredevils that tested the ferocious capability of nature.

Our final stop before heading back to Toronto, was at the Niagara College Teaching Distillery located in the heart of Niagara’s wine country - its claim to fame is producing ice wine. It takes 4 times as many frozen grapes to produce it compared to regular wines and is sweet enough to make you gag…..not my idea of wine drinking at all, but it is an acquired taste. 40 students each year are selected for the college course and are taught everything from A to Z about making wine. Graduation from this college gives students multiple employment opportunities, especially in the hospitality industries.

During my stay in Toronto, the weather pendulum has swung from one extreme to the other. I have seen sunlight, snow blizzards, ice storms and ferocious winds, sometimes all in one day! Temperatures have rarely risen above freezing and are usually well below that but surprisingly, I have enjoyed the craziness of it all. This is a great town to explore, even if I’ve had to negotiate snow drifts on the sidewalks, handle ice pellets bouncing off my umbrella, and figure out where I am when caught in a “whiteout” …..such is life for a road warrior.

The post “ Toronto - A Multicultural Treasure - Canada, February 2019 “ was originally seen on Travel Blog

Intravenous Hydration Clinic Toronto Ontario - Dr. Amauri Wellness Centre - Dr. Amauri Caversan

[religioused]

Talk to Me

Talk to Me

Christmas Sermon

by Gary Simpson

John 1:1-14 (KJV)  In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  The same was in the beginning with God.  All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.  In him was life; and the life was the light of men.  And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.  The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.  He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.

That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.  He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.  He came unto his own, and his own received him not.  But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:  Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.  And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

Bible commentator MacGregor, who wrote the Moffatt Bible Commentary on the book of John comments, “No book in the New Testament has provoked conclusions more diverse than” John’s Gospel.(1)  Because I like to search for meaningful applications, not controversy, there are parts of the Gospel of John that I like to avoid, because of the controversy that can come with them.  The lectionary schedule, however, does not always let us run away from what is uncomfortable and I think that is generally a good thing.  We need to get comfortable with what makes us uncomfortable.  Perhaps, that is part of what Christmas means.  We learn to be comfortable with family, friends and acquaintances, including those who make us uncomfortable.

The book of John is believed to be the last Gospel written.(2)  By the time John was written, the young Christian church had second and third generation believers.  John’s Gospel provides more information about Jesus, probably in an attempt to deal with apostasy.(3)  The unifying purpose of the Gospel appears to be encouraging people to believe that Jesus is the Son, who came from God.(4)

The term word or logos had a special meaning to Jewish people and to Greeks.  Plato considered logos to refer to the “divine mind.”(5)  From about 400 to 500 years before Christ, a Greek Philosopher Heraclitus believed that the Logos of God dwelling in people is what gave people a sense of right and wrong.  From his perspective, “The Logos was nothing less than the mind of God controlling the world and everyone in it.”(6)  John’s message is that in Jesus the Logos, the “illuminating, controlling, sustaining mind of God”, came to earth.(7)

There is a meaning in Greek that gives a slightly different sense.  In Greek, we are told, “‘The Word was born flesh.’”(8)

The incarnate word of God or the logos of God shows two insights into John’s theology:

• John believed Jesus was the culmination of the redemption of humanity.

• John thought Jesus was eternal and existed before creation.(9)

Anglican priest, Mund Thompson notes, “‘the word became flesh and pitched his tent among us’.  In the Hebrew Scriptures, as the children of Israel were in the desert, “God travelled with them”.(10)  As in the wilderness, “in Jesus God pitches his tent amidst our tents and travels with us as we journey through life. God gets involved in our mess.”(11)  The old respected Bible commentator, Matthew Henry, comments that Jesus “did not dwell among us as in a palace, but as in a tent”, that Jesus dwelt with us in common circumstances, such as “shepherds that dwell in tents”.(12)  I find it interesting that Matthew Henry said Christ dwelt with us like shepherds.  A passage in Genesis tells us that the Egyptians considered shepherds to be an abomination.(13)  The Egyptians viewed shepherds with contempt and disdain and basically ridiculed shepherds.(14)  In many respects, the Messiah took upon Himself the contempt, disdain and hatred experienced by members of oppressed minority groups, because, in part, as a Jewish man, He was a member of a minority group in the Roman Empire.

In this section of John Chapter 1, we see some foreshadowing of what will take place in Jesus' ministry.  To a person who was not familiar with Jesus, this is a hint that later in the Gospel people will reject Jesus' ministry, that Jesus will be rejected by His own people.

This sounds like a rather ugly verse to be considering at Christmas.  Jesus is rejected by His family.  We are supposed to be celebrating Jesus' birth, with the exciting expectation of peace and joy.  And the Gospel of John comes along and throws ice cold water on our celebration by letting us know that the eternal Jesus, the creator of the world and the creator of life, will be well received by some people, but his very own people will reject Him.

Good news, life impacting messages do not need to be long dissertations.  The core of the good news can be said in fifteen words.  The Word became a human being and, full of grace and truth, lived among us (NLT).  Those are fifteen words that changed lives and impacted the history of the world.  Compare that with some of the famous and influential speeches given in the last two hundred years.  My computer program gives me the following word counts:

Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address - about 270 words.

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech - about 1,600 words.

Lyndon Johnson’s “The American Promise” speech - about 3,700 words.

Winston Churchill’s “This was Their Finest Hour” speech - about 4,400 words.

The Gospel of John summarizes social justice, human dreams, a promise and the hour of spiritual liberation in just 15 words.

Paul Decker tells an interesting story in a sermon that he gave.  He says a man found a new physician for his 90 year-old mother, because her family doctor died.  The physician examined his mother, turning to the son, he proceeded to discuss the mother’s health.  I wish I was as brave as this 90 year-old lady.  She interrupted the doctor, asking, “Doctor, do you do crossword puzzles?”

The physician responded, “Yes.”

She followed with a second question.  “Do you do them with pencil or pen?”

The physician answered, “With a pencil.”

She responded, “I do mine with a pen, so you can talk to me.”(15)

I am going to take Paul Decerk’s story in a direction that he did not take.

After Moses leads the children of Israel out of slavery in Egypt, the law is given to the children of Israel at Sinai.  According to the narrative in Deuteronomy, God engraved, with God’s finger, the commandments on stone.(16)  The Word was made stone and we got the law.  Those stone tablets, containing the 10 commandments, are meaningful, but for many the words on stone were hard and cold and did not adequately show the love of God.  At Bethlehem, the Word was made flesh and we got grace.  In John’s Christmas story, the Word was made flesh, was made into a warm human body in Jesus.  In the Christmas story, God is not aloof.  The incarnate God does not talk to another, while ignoring us.  Christ walked with humanity, lived with humanity, worked with humanity and talked to humanity.

At Bethlehem, the Word was made flesh and grace abounded.  For many people, we are the only Bible they will read.  To them, we are the Word of God surrounded by human flesh, the Word made warm, compassionate and caring.  The Christmas story challenges us to, in a small way, be like the living Word.  We do that when we empower family, friends, colleagues, and the oppressed and impoverished by walking with them and talking with them, instead of just talking about them.  So in the spirit of a 90 year-old lady and in the Spirit of God, respect, honor, love and empower people - talk to people.

End Notes

(1)G.H.C. MacGregor.  The Moffatt New Testament Commentary:  The Gospel of John.  (Seattle:  SOURCE Digital Pub., 2018, First published in 1929), ebook.

(2)Kenneth L. Barker and John R. Kohlenberger, III, eds.  NIV Bible Commentary:  Vol 2:  New Testament.  (Grand Rapids, Michigan:  Zondervan Pub., 1994), 290.

(3)Barker and Kohlenberger, III. (1994), 290.

(4)Barker and Kohlenberger, III. (1994), 292.

(5)Quest Study Bible (Grand Rapids, Michigan:  Zondervan Pub. House, 1994), 1466.

(6)William Barclay.  The New Daily Study Bible:  The Gospel of John.  Vol. 1  (Edinburgh:  Andrew Press, 2001), ebook.

(7)Barclay. (2001), ebook.

(8)J. Vernon McGee.  Thru the Bible with J. Vernon McGee.  (Pasadena, California:  Thru the Bible Radio, 1998), ebook.

(9)Lane T. Dennis, et. al., eds.  ESV Study Bible.  (Wheaton, Illinois:  Crossway, 2008), 2019.

(10)Mund Cargill Thompson.  “Slapped in the Face with Love.”  Sermon Central.  24 Dec 2017, 13 Dec 2018.  <https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/slapped-in-the-face-with-love-fr-mund-cargill-thompson-sermon-on-christmas-227395?ref=SermonSerps>.

(11)Thompson.  (2017).  <https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/slapped-in-the-face-with-love-fr-mund-cargill-thompson-sermon-on-christmas-227395?ref=SermonSerps>.

(12)Matthew Henry.  “Matthew Henry Commentary on the Whole Bible (Complete).”  Bible Study Tools.  n.d., 17 Dec 2018.  <https://www.biblestudytools.com/commentaries/matthew-henry-complete/john/1.html>.

(13)Genesis 46:34.

(14)Henry.  <https://www.biblestudytools.com/commentaries/matthew-henry-complete/genesis/46.html>.

(15)Paul Decker.  “What Did He Say?” Sermon Central.  18 Jun 2002, 14 Dec 2018.

<https://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/what-did-he-say-paul-decker-sermon-on-divinity-of-christ-47672?ref=SermonSerps>.

(16)Deuteronomy 9:10 (KJV) And the Lord delivered unto me two tables of stone written with the finger of God; and on them was written according to all the words, which the Lord spake with you in the mount out of the midst of the fire in the day of the assembly.

[sisterofshahrazad]

Fury of the Leviathan

Call me Isaac, for Isaac is the only name I wish etched upon my grave. I speak only of such morbid things for one reason, and one reason only: that, upon finishing my hurried scrawling upon these pages, I fully intend to imbibe the last of the arsenic the apothecary of this shantytown has most mercifully provided to me- for one shilling, no less, and descend into the tender embrace of death, my only refuge from…it. As such, to whomever may find this parchment, please consider it my final testament to this blasphemous world of the living.

It was (rather, is) the year of Our Lord 1668 that the Charm had first found itself at the crux of my life. It must be understood that at this time, I had been captain of a brig many men would soon give any of their finest possessions- material or organic, to be given a minute in it’s quarters in solitude. She was known only as the Virgin, a name bequeathed upon her by my father, who I had remained punctilious to for the sole purpose of extracting as much satisfaction and enlightenment from the seas as he had. On a warm evening in July, (or, was it August? I can not seem to surely recall), I seemed to have reached that patriarchal zenith. Aided solely by my command, my crew of some 100 hearty men had swept through a small savage village on the island coast of Gambia, with as much ease as one might wipe a spot of blood off the ground with a handkerchief- bedecking the hold with at least fifty slaves, some furs that might have had some value to their name, and a vast assortment of various trinkets and talismans- most comprised neigh entirely out of precious metals and stones. If I had known the contents of one-

a small, weathered wooden box adorned with occult runes and a small, iron lock, nestled at the bottom of the hastily made heap, I would have set ablaze our entire supply of powder, burned the ashes of what was left, then ascended to the nearest crow’s nest, only to hurl my person into the water below, to spare any primitive human mind of it’s horrors.

The small quest to open it had been resolved in nearly half an hour. Though not in any way a land loving man would consider orthodox. First came the obvious occasion to search for a key, however, despite stripping most of the savages to loincloths, and rigorous perusing of the mound by our strongest two, it soon became apparent that no such object could easily be located. Second came the- shall I say, more direct strategy, involving several grunts, kicks, slashes, and even the occasional pistol round, yet, all to no avail: if the lock was truly iron born, then there was no less than a god protecting it. It was close to late evening when we all had realized the most plausible solution to the conundrum was most likely exclusively known to the savages and thus, begrudgingly tasked our five familiar with their tongue to interrogate. Most surprisingly, it was quite early on, perhaps the thirtieth interviewed, that our woes seemed at an end. With the most ominous and, rather hilarious of visages, it was one of the elders who had, upon glancing at the container muttered words strange even to my interpreter: Ishiquius, Laquieda, Kalaqishtaar! On our next attempt to render the lock free, it had obliged, and we inquired no more.

When one has come to live as long as I have on the open sea, a rather basic realization springs forth: that, as much as man has attempted, since the creation of his first vessel, to reign the forces of Neptune, we, as mere furless apes, are a relatively novel occurrence, while the sea is much older. Such a sentiment comes to him quite easily on the high seas, with great mother Azure’s arms outstretched, embracing the most ancient of crags and synthetic of masts in equal measure. However, I uphold to this hour that that vague, fleeting sentiment felt by all of us that night, could not have reached a more abrupt and terrifying peak than when our eyes first met that sacrilegious charm. Upon the slightest glance, an appraiser might have thought it rather valuable, what with it’s ornate curvature, a geometry so sacred that even great Pythagoras would have trembled to behold. So…devilishly natural were the carvings that our resident man with a penchant for ivory (yes, whale’s ivory, that was it!), was baffled at how such elaborate runic structures, progressively winding to its center, could have been fashioned by savage hands with no more than the primitive bronze chisels we had found on some of Them that night. Even more eerie was the large, clear crystal that glistened blood crimson in the sunset at center, and (I swear that it was no madness I speak of), some sort of grimace? No, I’m sure of it: a smile, a beaming, demonic smile that sent the more pious of my nerves into a sudden jolt. Even so, the drive of a man to preserve his dignity most often takes precedence over even his most seasoned instincts: amidst the occasional murmur from the back, I knew that this was a pivotal moment in the whole venture: either close the box, and let the tendrils of the sea decide it’s fate, or behold the heathenish rune as an act of bravery, and, of greater importance, dominance. I suppose in a final moment of desperation not to seem a fool, I chose the latter option, and snatched it, with closed eyes and gritted teeth, from it’s domicile.

To say that what transpired next is impossible to put to pen would be a greater one of my sins; even moments before death, I am still a frank man, and will forever recount my thoughts. Upon holding it, one felt less the cold parchedness one would expect from being buried in the sands of an uncivilized people for generations, but, rather a warm humidity, pulsating as a human heart- my heart, would. When I inhaled, it expanded, and the slightest shred of my being seemed instantaneously attached to it. So impervious was this strange bond to any voice of reason within me that, in attempting to release it in pure disgust, those teeth on its edges felt seared into my flesh, never to loosen. I strained to exclaim, yet the beating only came faster. Faster, faster, until the hellish friction of each crest replaced any chill that was to be expected from the trough, till, suddenly, a cessation. I opened my eyes yet again, but by then I had already drifted far away from the sane world, and only oceans of madness took it’s place. What had once been a gargantuan ship had been reduced to less than a schooner (a spearing vessel, could you imagine!), and the clear blue below me had shifted to a crimson as vividly bloodlike as the crystal I’d seen before me no more than a few moments ago. In a frantic bid to abscond from the delusion, I searched in desperation for an armament-anything, anything at all with enough sharpness to part my flesh, and force me awake from the lunacy; any fate was preferable to tumbling into the gory mass beneath my feet. As if formed purely by my own accord, a harpoon materialized, precariously positioned close to my right arm, and teetering as I rose to my feet, seized it. This was it, my escape! Taking it in both hands, I barely felt the cold steel against my chest, so near to salvation, when the vortex ensued. Thrust to every direction conceivable in a

sudden tempestuous roar, yet still somehow anchored to the tenuous solidity beneath, it was then that it breached the surface. The leviathan, larger than cities, larger than man, larger than life, death, hope, despair, and all the seas, older than the seas it called dominion, needed only to raise it’s head to do it’s worst. In the final moment before impact, the last iota of time before His boned mass made contact with me- the only other living organism in this world, I caught a glimpse of his visage. That same smile I had seen before, at the outer rim of the charm, was the same one that now greeted me at it’s bloodied, cavernous maw.

The others swear that I was comatose for near two hours on the deck that night. If it were of some verity, then I suppose I must be the mad one, for that trauma lasted no more than two minutes, yet I still hold dear the notion that I am the sanest of them all. The leviathan is calling to me again now, and I am not of any certainty that this elixir will release me soon enough. The window, yes, the window will prove satisfactory for this endeavor. For you, I will be truthful enough if you are a curious or mystic type: any attempt to recover the charm now, consider it fruitless, for I let it loose to the harbors long before I came to write this, ha! However, if you do still wish to find redemption in my ramblings, do but one thing: never tell anyone that hell is made of the fire of mountains; for, as you know by now, it never was, no, it had forever been at the depths of the sea…the sea…

[raymieestell-blog]

You could possibly have now questioned as 1 on the most important segments of your present-day enjoyment marketplace: Video online games are actually developed and developed to the current working day wherever they may have consolidated in the daily lives of individuals and their people.

Chances are you'll have currently puzzled as 1 on the greatest segments on the present-day enjoyment sector: Movie online games have been made and evolved to the present working day the place they have consolidated inside the day-to-day lives of folks and their households.

During the past yr, this market place has moved all-around ninety billion dollars across the planet, in keeping with facts from your consulting business PwC. In Brazil, facts from your Brazilian Affiliation of Electronic Game Developers (Abragames) show that this is a sector with greater than 61 million consumers and moves close to 900 million reais for each year.

But, how was the start and advancement of the extraordinary field? This really is what we are gonna respond to on this little journey as a result of time, demonstrating how the entire world, society, and video game titles have developed with each other over the years.

1958: The war business also desires a happy Hour: Immediately after Entire world War II, the world was divided into two opposing sides. US liberal capitalism as well as iron curtain with the Soviet Union. Such a division has set the entire world on the war footing and technological progress has proved a robust weapon to generally be always one step forward on the enemy.

The Personal computers, which in the time had been superpowered machines, intended to unlock the armed service insider secrets of both equally sides. They finished (even if involuntarily), delivering a huge evolution, owing towards the large sums invested during the progress of new technologies during the environment for a full.

Picture_Ociloscópio_tennis for tho_1958_EUA Within 1 of this military services labs a fantastic revolution occurred, but it surely was no new weapon or some terrific key discovered. An American physicist named William Higinbotham determined that he needed to enjoy a recreation of tennis, but given that he did not have balls, rackets and far fewer an accessible tennis court, he chose to get it done on one particular of the oscilloscopes in his laboratory.

The main digital recreation during the planet, Tennis for 2, was born. On an oscilloscope, versions in ripples designed the simulation of a game of tennis about the display from the apparatus and managing by means of modest oscillators, which resembled the joysticks, the variations established a recreation of tennis.

1961: A "curse" is thrown upon the Earth: Steve Russel, an MIT scientist, a person with the world's main know-how study centers inside the sixties, had a person with the greatest (full-size and technologies) desktops of your time, the PDP-1.

The big personal computer was in a position to put in writing a couple of terms and perform some intricate mathematical calculations, but it's certainly remembered as acquiring been the birthplace with the to start with shooter within the historical past of online video games.

In the midst with the Cold War as well as Americans' dread that at any place the Soviets would start some nuclear weapon from house, it produced the game Spacewar! obtain floor.

It had been the primary game to generally be dispersed, as all PDP-1s had a duplicate with the match, which unfold the area fight for US universities and certainly encouraged lots of youthful scientists on the 1960s.

The achievements was so good, that the creator himself states that: "From that minute I launched the online video game curse on humanity."

THE POPULARIZATION: BARS, Properties And more Creative imagination ...

1972 to 1975: Video game titles get there at homes and pubs: With the late sixties, televisions were being now the nice merchandise of any American citizen's house. And while using the US entry in to the Vietnam War, the strongest visuals on the war arrived to your general public screen, the very first being fully recorded by images and information stories.

This made the Television "lifeless and comprehensive and unfortunate," but a man named Ralph Baer, ??a German engineer, a naturalized American, wished to halt it. He produced the initial console which was distributed during the entire world, the Magnavox Odissey.

Image_Pong_Atari_1972-75_EUA The Magnavox was the very first to connect to televisions and promised a new technique for entertaining for households. The console launched some online games that afterwards would encourage other models, amongst them Atari, while using the well-known recreation Pong, that even generated a judicial dispute with the patent of your recreation.

The sport was the 1st to be marketed in pub-ready devices for bars and pubs, therefore inaugurating the era of arcades.

In 1975, Sears, a US corporation that marketed sporting merchandise, started out for making Pong equipment obtainable, giving the place to begin of the business enterprise that will produce a lot of money from there.

1978: Room invaders have found style: The very first film during the Star Wars saga was released in 1977 and George Lucas' enormous production hit rocked the box business and hearts of the community.

Embarking on this wave and driven by Japan's post-World War II technological advancement, Japanese inventor Tomohiro Nishikado released one on the finest hits of every one of the periods, Place Invaders. The game was highlighted by compact alien ships descending in the direction of the Earth as well as participant needed to ruin them, to guard our planet. House Invaders was a tremendous good results both in Japan as well as in the US and Western Europe, being the initial video game to open the global movie sport business, building tens of millions of pounds for its producers and distributors. 1980: The Atari revenue accomplishment as well as renowned "little face": Atari launched in 1980 a product for that homes that would be the main the main common console, the Atari 2600. The console sold about thirty million units and picked up more than 100 million pounds, only along with the sale of cartridges. The Atari 2600 arrived in Brazil at the conclude of 1983, staying a success of income until 1986. The Atari 2600 marked period, being right now a relic to the fans from the videogames and put the American mark from the well-liked domain. The best-selling Atari match was Pacman (Come-come), the initial to impersonate a personality as being the protagonist from the activity. The yellow circle which has a mouth didn't want to get rid of any one, just consume, try to eat, take in ... It had been developed with the Japanese woman viewers by its creator and "father" Toru Iwatani, but quickly became a phenomenon for all genders. 1981: Nintendo Involves the planet Market place: Nintendo, which entered the online video activity industry in Japan after almost crashing from the nineteen sixties, produced arcades with relative accomplishment during the Asian country but did not market over and above the island. Then, seeking on the gigantic American market, the corporate launched its subsidiary, Nintendo America. After a couple initial failures, the organization kicked off together with the creation of Japanese designer Shigeru Miyamoto, Donkey Kong. The sport released two on the game's most legendary people of all time, the gorilla Donkey Kong plus the plumber Mario. Revenue skyrocketed and also the match was a single with the most important business successes of all time. 1985 to 1987: A Soviet merchandise invades the world and the consoles acquire new lifestyle: Betting around the survival on the personal consoles in opposition towards the arcades, Nintendo went towards Atari, who began to eliminate its consoles with the sector, and released a completely new product during the perception that this will be the longer term with the market. The Nintendo Entertainment Technique, or popularly NES, was launched by Nintendo in 1985, and all consoles currently came using a variation on the video game Mario Bros., which brought video game stories to your new amount, extra elaborate, extensive and with differentiated scenarios for each period. A different terrific success in the console came in 1987 together with the recreation in the very same creator of Mario and Donkey Kong, Shigeru Miyamoto, Legend of Zelda, the very first match with the phase RPG to be successful during the current market. However in 1985, a Soviet products invaded the global market, but it was not an excellent weapon or industrial product, though the recreation Tetris, designed by the Russian Alexey Pajitnov. The sport was the primary major Soviet export product or service in Western Europe and also the Usa. A curiosity about Tetris is always that because within the USSR the intellectual house of all creations belonged towards the authorities, all earnings with the sale in the merchandise went towards the Soviet Condition right until its dissolution in 1991 after which to your Russian govt until eventually 1996 , when at last its creator bought monetary recognition for that sport. ...  THE CONSOLIDATION: Personal computers, SONY, MICROSOFT. Creativeness AND CIVIL WAR ... nineteen nineties: Laptop Game titles as well as the Playstation Revolution: The 1990s were marked because of the widespread sale of personal computers to normal people today. At the time restricted into the wonderful researchers or perhaps the big organizations, desktops now arrived to people's homes, and collectively they carried the game titles. A single of the initial huge hits of this new system was Doom, released in 1993, kicking off the era of first-person shooter video games. An additional major marketplace revolution occurred in 1995 with the start of Sony's PlayStation, a corporation which was Nintendo's lover while in the online video match marketplace. PlayStation revolutionizes the industry by adding game titles with amazing graphics for your time, with elaborate soundtracks and three-dimensional vision. The console offered more than 100 million units and replaced Sony, once the achievements from the Walkman, from the entire world electronics market. After the September 11, 2001 attacks, the movie sport field has adopted the entertainment industry by way of wars and conflicts, specially during the Middle East. A person in the greatest names on this segment could be the Connect with of Duty collection, which was unveiled in 2003 and it has bought all around 250 million copies in the last thirteen several years. The tales of the video games started to be a lot more elaborate, remembering movies, only this time the spectator was also protagonist with the tale, which set in convergence the industries of cinema and video online games. Huge kinds goods like GTA and Resident Evil captivated an more mature audience and grew up taking part in video video games back again. In 2005, big Microsoft launched the Xbox to compete with the Sony PlayStation and since then the 2 models have already been competing for your community, in what on earth is called "Video War". The amount of players grows every year, together with the graphic innovations of game titles and consoles. Online video online games are surely part of people's each day lives and they are an important component of knowledge the social and technological advancement of the entire world over the past six a long time.

Have a excellent time  ww2

[vrheadsets]

Meet The Invisible Hours Characters Ahead of the October Launch

Earlier this week saw Tequila Works confirm a price and release date for its upcoming murder-mystery experience The Invisible Hours. As with any good whodunnit, uncovering the interwoven stories of each of the characters becomes highly important so the studio has released full character bios to help players get under the skin of each one.

Inspired by classic murder mysteries, like Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None as well as Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige, the experience takes ideas from immersive theater mixing it with the real-life rivalry between Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla and some fictional spin.

So who’s involved and what could their motives be? Checkout the full bios to start sleuthing, ready for when The Invisible Hours launches on 10th October for Oculus Rift, HTC Vive and PlayStation VR. As further details are released VRFocus will keep you updated.

FULL CHARACTER BIOS NIKOLA TESLA – The Victim “The scientist’s dream is to know the result before the experiment.”  World famous inventor, futurist and arch rival of Thomas Edison. Until a few months ago, Tesla was a flamboyant socialite – regularly seen charming potential investors at the finest restaurants in the city. And then suddenly, he cut ties with everyone. He stopped taking visitors, and fired his long-time assistant, Flora White. He became a recluse overnight, never leaving the workshop in his mansion, and no one knows why. Soon after, Tesla advertised for a new assistant – with one strange condition: they must be blind. Oliver Swan was the only applicant. Tesla hired him immediately. Whatever Tesla was working on, he didn’t want to risk letting anyone see it.

GUSTAF GUSTAV – The Detective “A real detective doesn’t make mistakes.”  Once known as the inspiration for the mystery novel “The Detective So Good They Named Him Twice”, these days this renowned Swedish Investigator is unemployed, bankrupt and alcoholic. He retired from police work in disgrace after an infamous killer convinced Gustaf of his innocence – whereupon Gustaf released him from custody. The killer went on to murder nine more people before he was finally recaptured. Gustaf is haunted by his mistake, and has vowed never to make it again. No matter what.

FLORA WHITE – Tesla’s Ex-Assistant “How did the murderer know Tesla’s gun was empty?” Flora has never been more alone: her husband only recently died at war, and when Tesla suddenly removed himself from public life, he immediately fired his assistant – Flora – much to her confusion. As a result, she has fallen on hard times, and has returned to Tesla’s island to beg for her job back. She doesn’t belong in this nest of snakes, but she is desperate.

THOMAS EDISON – Rival Inventor “I am the father of modern age.” Self-proclaimed genius Thomas Edison is already known as the “Wizard of Menlo Park” thanks to his latest creation: the Phonograph. But what his adoring public don’t know is that Edison stole the idea. Desperate to hide his crime, he travelled to the island when Tesla implied he was aware of Edison’s wrongdoings. Could Edison have murdered Tesla to hide the truth?

AUGUSTUS VANDERBERG – Wealthy Layabout “Never has a man been worth so much, and achieved so little”  Son and heir to the richest family in England, the Vanderbergs, Augustus has never had to work a day in his life. He loves women, booze, and any pleasure he can get his hands on. And yet, he is quietly tortured by his need to impress his stoic father, Marcus Vanderberg – a legendary British engineer and railroad magnate. Augustus once had an older brother who drowned when they were children. His father still mourns “the better son”. Perhaps Augustus’ interest in Tesla is part of an effort to finally impress his father?

OLIVER SWAN – The Blind Butler “Everything in this house is a matter of discretion.” Once a slave in Zanzibar, Swan escaped to the United States where he finds himself as an ‘indentured servant’ – perhaps not much of a change after all; made especially painful since he abandoned his young son to get there. Swan was born blind, making him the strange but ideal candidate to become Tesla’s new assistant. After all, what Tesla wanted most was to “keep his secrets safe from prying eyes”. Did Swan learn something about Tesla that could have motivated him to commit murder?

VICTOR MUNDY – Ex-Convict & Murderer  “People lie because they’re afraid. And I ain’t afraid of nothin'” Mundy is a murderer. Twenty six years ago, he killed his wife in cold blood when he found her sleeping with another man. He was convicted thanks to the testimony of his own young daughter Mary. In all the years he spent incarcerated, he became obsessed with taking revenge against his daughter. Mundy is a man of strange contrast: a vicious killer, yet also a God-fearing art lover. Killing is easy to a man like him. But why would he murder Tesla?

SARAH BERNHARDT –Actress & Celebrity –  “If you don’t have secrets, you’re terribly dull.” World-famous stage actress and member of the Comédie-Française in Paris. Bernhardt is one of the biggest celebrities of the age. She made her fame on the stages of France in the early 1870s, and was soon in demand in Europe and the Americas. She has developed a reputation as a serious dramatic actress, earning the nickname “The Divine Sarah”, and was the first woman in history to play Hamlet on film. For years, she has been dogged by rumours that she is secretly a high class courtesan, but she doesn’t care. Being mixed up in a murder investigation is quite a thrill to her – could she have killed Tesla just to make life a little less boring?

from VRFocus http://ift.tt/2eMY3VA