#sometimes the daily drawings were a bit tiring and my inspiration was lacking

[citrusandstars]

spamtober [DAY 31] PIPISWEEN

The final spamtober day has come. It was sooo much fun and I'm so glad that I decided to join in and draw again. It made me realize how much I actually missed drawing. So I hope I will find time to draw even without daily prompts.

I hope you guys liked my silly spamtober art :D

[quinn-tessence]

Nocturne for a Clown

Part 1

In this frightening, destabilizing global pandemic, we all seek comfort. I found mine in Arthur, and I know many of you did too. This community has given me so much, I cannot express my gratitude enough. So here's something I can give back. A Nocturne for our beloved Clown, who still inspires us to this day, and will probably never stop. 🤡🖤

Summary: you stumble into an intriguing neighbor, a tragic, beautiful party clown named Carnival with jade eyes and cocoa hair. His meekness around you gets under your skin enough to lead you unconsciously into his path by accident.

Length: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of mental illness, alcohol use, nudity, playful flirting and light fluff. Pre smut intro, this is going places… 🤭🤡❤

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You should have taken more bags, you could barely hold all these groceries as you opened the door to let yourself inside your block of flats. You greeted granny Mabel picking up her mail but swiftly turned your attention to the closing door of the elevator.

‘Wait, hold the lift, please!’

In your haste to catch the ride, a foot was lodged on the door, sliding it back open to let you in. Careful not to spill all the veggies on the floor, your attention fell onto the man sharing the ride with you only as he asked what floor you were going to.

‘5th please, thank you for holding the door'

‘Sure'

The lift shook in its slow ascent, your heart would have skipped a beat had it not been a part of your daily routine to feel that bump in your bones. His hair is really nice, the length and the curls around the edges. Hm. You couldn't help looking at him, he was all of your visual field after all, so you scrutinized, as you’d often do. He’d politely turned sideways, avoiding to keep his back to you, but you couldn't see his face clearly in the dim yellow light. He wasn't much taller than you, his complexion quite slim and fragile looking, his back slouched as if carrying the heaviest weight on his shoulders. Gotham made that easy, grey and gloomy by day even during good weather, a pile of construction and buildings with no defined identity, enough to fit all from the scourge to the wealthy.

‘This building's awful, isn't it?’ an uncharacteristic curiosity made you try out some small talk in the hopes you'd get a better glimpse.

You knew too few people in this building, and you were far from chatty in elevators with strangers. Usually. He looked so old fashioned wearing that shirt and the linen vest, but the ochre of his jacket heightened the cocoa brown of his hair, yellow light reflecting off the edges delicately. He was cute, in an oddly endearing sort of way. A pair of basil green eyes turned to your as he bit the bait, the sly grin cutting through his cheek a stark contradiction to everything else about him, the scar on his upper lip a peculiarity that only furthered your intrigue. There was a deep well of sadness in his eyes, overbearing, bone chilling. It prickled your skin as you noticed it, but the gaze under his eyelids was piercing. That unnerving feeling the striking contrast brought, you couldn't shake it off.

The joy ride on strings stopped just as your cheeks started to fluster. You bid him good night as you walked out, your awareness over your morning overuse of perfume now as acute as ever.

‘Hey!’ he shouted in a shy, husky voice as you stepped out.

You turned to him one last time to see him mimicking a gun shot to the head as a rather late comical attempt to reply to your earlier remark. Unconventional, yes, but not a sort of humor you didn't enjoy. The fact that you just couldn't make him out drew a puzzled smile on your face as the elevator door closed.

Hm. What was that? you wandered as you had one foot in stirring curiosity, the other guiding you to your door as if by reflex. You'd lived here for months already, yet you hadn't seen him before. He was quite handsome in an outlandish sort of way, you would not have let that go unnoticed had you seen him before.

Months had passed, yet you still had storing boxes around your living room. Your stay should have just been temporary, yet you'd started decorating it with your own sketches and it had suddenly become your home, your sanctuary, your oasis to recharge you after long days at the office close by. You'd stumbled into this place by accident while looking for a cozy place to stay, but you found no reason to leave it behind. Your own art gallery, with bright lights flooding the windows throughout the day that allowed you to paint during weekends without your eyes squinting, your safe space.

Not today though, your feet were sore and your arms hurt from carrying those groceries. All you wanted was a glass of white wine and an excessive bag of popcorn while you watched the Murray show, but you picked up Dostoyevsky to delve again into the question of the perfect murder while you waited. This book you could never grow tired of, and it rattled you to devour chapter after chapter, accompanying a tormented soul on a journey of falling into madness, its universe a silent revolt and escape from the reality of Gotham you'd craved deep down without ever voicing.

‘We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, that begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.' Hm. Go figure.

The deafening silence in the room would soon be filled by your own comments at the starting show, Murray’s humor making you roll your eyes at his lack of self awareness, quite versed he was in ridiculing one person or another. A comedy show, yes, but sometimes he would take it a bit too far even for your inappropriate taste in humor.

A few hours and half a bottle of wine later, the sweet taste of the wine still lingered on your lips, flooding your murky mind to a familiar place of solitary self indulgence. Not long after shutting your eyes, a recent memory took shape at the back of your eyelids, and you felt an irrational urge to trace a sketch of him. You were too tired to start drawing at this hour. Your fingers would be of much better use tracing those lines you were curious to feel off his own fingertips. You hadn't indulged yourself in a while, but the thought of this bewitching man flashing in the most vulgar parts of your mind soon changed that. Maybe you were blatantly objectifying your neighbor… but only a little… You'd been so busy with the new job, the long hours exhausting, the absence of a soul to keep you company a nuisance you'd learned to bury in piles of work. But the urges only amplified the more you'd stifle and ignore them, demanding to be satiated. So you gave into yourself, into him, into the sweet, intoxicating effect of your favorite wine, into the memory of the piercing green eyes that had you whimper in silence.

Something about him was out of place. You’d seen him from afar and he looked defenseless. But as you came closer, you could feel yourself swallow hard as you waited for his gaze to look to your direction. Odd, wasn't it? He hadn't said much, but the tension in the elevator had penetrated your bones to late night reminiscence. Something was not right about him, an 'I should be afraid, instead it turns me on' vibe to him had taken you right to the edge.

The next day you bumped into him after work at the corner store, he was buying cigarettes and a chocolate bar. With that level of nutrition, no wonder he was so feeble, yet there was something about him that had kept you up at night. You'd already developed a weakness for him, but that stifled your reaction instead of filling you with courage. He smiled shyly and walked out the door, his eyes counting his slouched steps. Shit. Next time.

One particular evening you noticed two blue diamonds peering meticulously through the store shelves, the greasepaint on the man's face rendering him almost unrecognizable lest for his unmistakable skinny complexion and beautiful cocoa hair. Your freight of clowns had shaped your life since childhood, yet that terror had somehow melted instantly at the sight of his jade eyes underneath the white blue makeup. He'd shied away as you noticed him, stealing a smile that got your feet walking into an opposite reaction, trying to hide your pleasant surprise at his creepy, endearing stares. You wondered if that was his job, it would be absurd to just walk around in a clown costume, stalking women. Not to mention, horrifying and nightmare inducing, as even you would have felt until a moment ago if it hadn't been him wearing the clown costume.

Fumbling around the store, shying behind the counters as you paid for your groceries, you couldn't resist glancing at him one more time. You'd missed your chance before and you regretted it. All it took was to reach for one item from the isle he was hiding in, even if you had no use for it. Startling him was the last of your intentions, so you mimicked his behavior peering at him through the shelves, perhaps that would open him up to you. As you both walked in the same direction towards the corridor, he stopped shy in his tracks, eyes now as big as the clown shoes on his feet, scanning the floors, anxiously facing the inevitable.

‘Hi there. I've seen you around, haven't I?'

You'd planned on being more casual in your approach, yet the tone of your voice evoked a warm intimacy built over nights of having him wander purposefully in the depths of your fantasies. The clown costume should have helped alienate that feeling, instead it only burned deeper. The youthful innocence draped across his face contrasted strikingly with the furrows in his forehead betraying his age. He couldn't be younger than 35 at least, yet the spark of his almond shaped eyes took 15 years off his complexion. He cleared his throat before being able to speak.

‘Hi! Yes, we met in the elevator last week. I didn't think you'd recognize me in my work outfit.’

‘I thought that was you. You could frighten ladies if you keep peering at them while wearing a clown costume, you know? Not a lot of good press on them in the past years’

A nervous chuckle escaped his throat, he couldn't have missed that connection himself but he seemed caught red handed.

‘Well I haven't even pulled my gun yet. I was waiting for the store to clear out a bit before I robbed the place and kidnapped you'

There was that dark humor, but damn him for making you smile like a teenager.

‘A clown with a gun and a plan, not at all frightening. You're funny! Pass me that pasta sauce, would you?’

He quickly reached for the item on his counter and reached over it to hand it to you. The gawkiness in his hasty moves was proof enough he wasn't used to being approached by women, you were sure his cheeks were as flaming red under the white makeup as the flower pinned to his colorful checkered blazer. You shook your head and pointed at the end of the counter, your feet moving in the direction where you wanted him. He followed shyly, dragging his oversized clown shoes.

As he handed you the item, you thanked him kindly and immediately put it back up on the shelf. His gaze fell to his feet again, surely flustered by the subtext of your action. Yet within a split of a second, his eyes pierced back at yours and you'd forgotten all words.

‘Why don't I walk you home instead? I'll keep the gun and kidnapping for another occasion. Let me help you with those' he reached for your groceries, his proximity to you feeding the fire. You gladly agreed and walked the couple blocks with him, curious of his day job and adoring the purr of his soothing voice, it tore you up every time you heard it falter. His suit and makeup should have kept you a mile away, yet he seemed to be the most welcome companion to comfort you through your biggest irrational fear. As you reached the apartment complex sooner than you'd wished, he stopped and let out a complicit chuckle.

‘I… seem to have forgotten to do my own groceries, I’ll have to go back now, somehow I got distracted…’

‘And I thought you were there just to kidnap me.’ You just couldn't help continuing his apropos, hoping deep down he'd actually do it. ‘Thank you for walking me home, that was sweet of you'

‘You're very welcome. I'm Arthur, by the way, or Carnival if you prefer the party clown'

‘Nice to meet you, Arthur. I'm Y/N.’

‘Y/N…’ the sound of your name off his lips jolted you shamelessly to the point where you needed to take that step back, and yet you didn't. ‘I'll see you around?’

The smile on his painted face a ray of sunshine in an otherwise wretched day. Carnival, you cheekily thought to yourself, never had you wanted to experience one as badly as you did seeing him light up a cigarette and inhale it wantonly almost halfway through, walking back a few steps, then turning and making his way back to the store.

Days at work had flown by rapidly in your constant distraction with a lingering image of a colorful clown. Not even the new guy everyone was talking about could catch your attention, even if your girlfriends kept mentioning a stunning pair of black eyes and a charming swagger. Had he been a smoker, you'd perhaps get a glimpse of him during your breaks, at least. The Fridays hardly ever felt like the weekend, and this one made you want to smash some bones, your own sorrows bubbling up inside you, like a mint candy in a bottle of Cola. You were more of an indoors cat, but your really couldn't pass on a 3rd invitation for a night out, your buddies would think you were willfully ditching them. Fine I'll go! Just one drink though.

Mixing gin and tequila hadn't been up there among your smartest choices. You should have stopped after the 3rd shot, but you hadn't had so much fun in months. Hah! I feel dizzy. But this feels good, your thoughts pieces of a puzzle you were too drunk to make out. As your feet moved out of the taxi and into the cold early morning air, you were finally back home. You must have remembered to pay the fare otherwise the cabby would have chased you down. You drifted in your scrambled thoughts as your feet walked out of reflex, your mind miles away, preoccupied with a certain pair of turquoise eyes. Perhaps you had a propensity for dark hues, but those had always just been mere dust in front of green shades. I’m not in my own mind anymore… I’m in someone else's... And I’m touching myself, I’m licking my lips, the tip of my tongue grazes over the scar on my upper lip, the heat of my breath comes from within a boiling body, my skin sizzles. I hum and I moan and I... hah, fuck, I think I just broke my heel, I’m so fekkin drunk. You dragged yourself to the elevator, your mind desperately hoping you were managing to keep yourself composed so the sweet old doorman wouldn't judge you as a drunken failure in life.

Why did you do this to yourself? And can you just not redirect all your remaining fluids to where they're not required before you're at least in your bed? Fuck, I can't... you'd been pushing the elevator button for a minute before you growled a tad too loud at the drunken realization you’d have to climb all 5 storeys in this wretched state you'd put yourself into.

Fine, just get your sorry ass up before you make a fool of yourself clowning around. Just one more and you're there. Fumbling for your keys in your bag, you leaned on the door and, to your surprise and annoyance, it opened. What the fuck, was I drunk before I left my apartment? How could I have forgotten to lock the damn door?

You felt sick to your stomach, you couldn't walk to the bed. You hadn't drunk so much for over a year, you’d forgotten how useless you were in this state. The couch would do for tonight. You almost dropped yourself to the floor, the couch not in the same position as you'd left it, but who cared. I'm never drinking again, you thought as you coiled around the pillow, a shoe dropping on the floor while the other hung half way. It smelled of cigarettes, most probably from your clothes.

A familiar enticing aftertaste of alcohol clawed its way out once again, you should have known this was coming. You wished he'd be there so you could release yourself to him, as frail as he was he'd surely handle you gently, and mmm wouldn't that feel sweet. The alcohol had just been a low end substitute to bury your frustrations and aches. Hah, even if he was here, you'd be useless. But that didn't stop you from dozing off to the thought of his gentle fingers strolling down your neck to your breasts, drawing circles on your waist before goin... down lo...

There was too much light in the room, as drunk as you’d been you’d forgotten to draw the curtains. You couldn't open your eyes, the headache was throbbing, so you rubbed your temples and turned your led limbs from the aching position you'd landed on as the most shameful drunk in this city.

Your mind thought you could take opening your eyes, and as you did you felt the alcohol pressuring your Adam's apple, a deep breath a flimsy stronghold to keep everything down. A deep breath that turned swiftly to a high pitched shriek at the sight of this man walking towards you dripping water off his naked body, a towel being rubbed onto his hair with both hands. You shrieked as you fell to the floor, hitting yourself against an unfamiliar coffee table, flagons of pills spilling all over it.

Oh shit, you heard him say as he hid behind the wall, peering at you but quieting his anxiety the more he looked.

'What are you... Y/N, you're in the wrong apartment! Shit, I need to put something on'

Oh god what had you done?? A sous chef could have mistaken you for a lobster and thrown you in a bucket of boiling water, you’d surely been simmering in that since the realization of how much of an idiot you were at walking into his apartment, of all damn places.

‘Oh my god, I am SO SORRY, I had a few too many drinks with my friends and I must have... I surely have climbed too many storeys to my place. I'll be out of your hair, I am so sorry!!!’ He'd been hopping throughout your dreams for the past weeks, you'd seen him naked so many times before, but not once in the flesh. You were flustered at the brazen realization of how far off you'd been as you fantasized about him bare before you. It was nerve wrecking, you wished you could just disintegrate into a million atoms and let the ground swallow you whole.

He chuckled as he returned in a half clothed state, clearly having shortened the process just to catch you before you shut the door behind you.

‘Yeah, the elevator was out of order yesterday. Hey, it's ok. You just really scared me, I wasn't expecting to find you on my couch, you know? You're... welcome to... stay a bit longer if you want. You look like you've had a rough night, I could whip out some breakfast and get you back on your feet. If you wish…’

He'd whipped out more than you'd thought he would a couple minutes ago, thank you very much for the extra sleepless nights.

‘Oh my god, no, I couldn't take advantage of you like that, I just slept on your couch uninvited, I am so horrible. Please excuse me, and thank you for not calling the cops on me.’

He'd smiled at you in the elevator before your heels had started flaming for him a few weeks back, but this was different. His whole face had lit up, his eyes sparkling as if emerald and jade had caught a reflection of the sun, his crooked tooth a tantalizing new discovery, especially as the scar on his lip etched itself deeper into your psyche. You were in his house, after all, where else would he feel most comfortable if not in his private, intimate home, one that you'd shamefully invaded and found him completely naked and wet.

‘They're on their way actually, I’m just stalling before they show up to escort you from my property.’

You chuckled as you held your temple, you must have been a disgusting mess, your makeup all smudged, on your face a decrepit layer of last nights overindulgence, and yet he made you laugh.

‘You're funny, Arthur... I'll take care of that myself, tell them it was a false alarm...’

As you opened the door to remove yourself from this torrent of shame, his voice stopped you in the doorstep.

‘Hey, you wanna… grab a coffee later tonight? It might help with that hangover’

‘You really want to go out after all this?’

‘Yeah!’ his eyebrow twitched in reflex, startling you at its sudden air of impertinence. You couldn't tell if your limbs had mellowed from alcohol, or his facial expressivity had been the melting catalyst. ‘Pajama night, I'll take you to the best Donut diner in town. 9 PM?’

You really wished you could process everything clearly, but he wasn't making it easier at all. ‘Alright then, pajama night it is!’

‘Great! Are you sure I can't help you to your place?’

‘Sorry to ask, what floor is this?’

‘6th.’

‘Oh, I’m right downstairs, maybe going down a flight of stairs will shake off this horrid hangover. Thanks again for... hosting me I guess, nice to see you again, Arthur. I'll see you later!’

You waved at him more in a futile attempt to cover your face as you stepped back out of that bubble of shame, feeling soaked to the bone. The droplets on his skin, he'd just gotten out of the shower, that routine gesture to slick back his hair, that wide morning gaze were mere special mentions as you went down the stairs, one other morning factor keeping your mind fully flustered as you unlocked your own front door this time.

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Thank you for reading this far! 🤡🖤

A special thank you to a few wonderful people who inspire me daily ❤❤❤

@littlebird92 @life-or-something-like-lt @ralugraphics @jokers-puddin-pop @arthurfleckownsmysoul @bustafatclownnut @jokers-doll @rommies @bananabreaddough @paperorigami @ransomguest49 @daydreamhustler @arthurjokersgirl @lesbianearrings @arthurflecc @iartsometimes @arthurflecksgirl @forever-fleck @sweet-nothings04 @wuika @mollyxlyla-rosex @impulsiveclown @jokerlicious @jokergirl10491 @jokeconic @ajokeformur-ray @shaw-2000 @softyash @arthurflecc

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

You Asked, I Told

Spoilers up to Chapter 37 of Baghdad Waltz

Hi everyone,

I’m so very sorry for being so late with getting Chapter 38 out. Writing that Spent Brass put a delay in everything, though it was really crucial to get it posted before this next chapter.

This has been a really tough chapter to get right for me. I’ve gone back to the drawing board more than once for a couple scenes. I’m not sure when it will be out, but I’m working on it daily and making some good progress. Thank you for sending me your words of encouragement and letting me know you’re thinking of me! I’m thinking of you too and know you’re really looking forward to more. It will be a doozy, in terms of content, so I hope it’s worth the wait.

In horrifying news, BW is turning THREE YEARS OLD on March 13th. Kill me. (But not before I finish this fucking thing.)

In the meantime, here are some answers to some Asks-------

Thank you so much for the very kind words. I’m so pleased that this story checks off so many of your boxes, and I’m relieved to know that the structure and methods I’ve chosen for storytelling have lent to a balanced narrative where you can appreciate both of these characters. I figure people don’t have to like each character equally, or at all. I just really want their choices make sense, for each character to have a distinct psychology, to have each action and reaction be believable, even if it is infuriating or illogical (it can still fall within the character’s internal logic, based on their own worldview). And I am so honored that this fic can serve as some inspiration for your own. God knows I have mine I go to on the reg when my stuff sucks and I can’t string two words together to save my life.

This is a deceptively silly question, I think (because I can’t keep anything simple). Working out together would be a nice little nostalgic throwback, wouldn’t it? I sometimes pop back to earlier chapters when they were in Baghdad and think about those times with a wistful smile. I think about the way they related, the way they looked, the relative lack of complications in their lives, and it’s such a profound departure from the way things are now.

Steve obviously has kept up his gym going with Matt. We’ve also seen that working out for him is about more than just being swole and hawt; it’s about control and regulating his emotions. And for Bucky, working out used to be a way of maintaining peak fitness for his career, which was one of the ways that he evaluated his self-esteem. If he was fit, he had value. Also, if he was fit, he was sexy, and we know that sexual capability is also one of the primary currencies he uses to determine his self-worth. He also used the construction of his physique as a way to develop his masculinity, the correct form of [gay] masculinity, rather than being a twink or a sissy. This was always a struggle against Bucky’s natural slim body composition, which has become his default again now that he’s been out of the military.

Now Bucky faces a couple of hurdles to exercise, whether he would do it for health or for building his physique. He has the challenges brought about by his many injuries - compromised grip in his left hand due to his massive forearm injuries and inconsistent rehabilitation efforts, ongoing pain in his right foot and a continued limp from that, significant back and hip pain due to very heavy load bearing and overcompensation from his foot injury. This would make it challenging for him to engage in any intense fitness program. What he really needs is to go back to physical therapy, and probably occupational therapy as well, but last time didn’t go so hot last time.

Even if he didn’t have to contend with his injuries, Bucky is at a bit of a crossroads in terms of how much energy he wants to put into rebuilding and maintaining his ideal physical self, which seems to be based on some prototype he picked up long ago (more on that in a future chapter). No chest hair, no body fat, muscles, a perfectly shaved asshole at all times… But he’s not 21 anymore. He has a boyfriend now. And even though he’d probably love to go to the gym to shoulder in on Steve’s time with Matt, I wonder if he would want to go for himself anymore. I wonder if going with Steve would be intimidating or make him feel pressured to fall back into his old patterns. Because now at least he has the excuse that he can’t lift heavy, that he can’t run, so he might as well not even try. But if he could, it would be interesting to see where his path would go as a 31-year-old man.

See? You thought it would be a simple “Yeah, there’re totes gonna go to the gym together, chapter 41, stay tuned!” or “No, probs not, I don’t think he’s much of a gym goer anymore.” Alas. I give no simple answers. This is why you have to wait 5 months for a BW chapter.

This is a good observation. Bucky loves himself a good drunk pizza. He also watches a lot of food-related TV when he drinks. Bucky has had to think a lot about food for various reasons. One is building muscle and physique when his body is telling him NO I WILL NOT. One is not eating so that he can get drunk faster. One is eating the right kind of diet so that he can have anal sex without having to worry about digestive issues (constipation, feeling too full, not being ‘ready,’ too much or too little shitting), which is a thing he would take seriously a hardcore bottom. I see things like pizza as a comfort food, family food, something Winnie would get for them every Friday night after they moved to New York. It’s a very emotional food for him, but he knows it’s “bad” for all of the aforementioned reasons, because it will make you fat and slow your buzz and stuff up your colon, so he might be most inclined to eat it when deep in a bender and doesn’t give a shit about those other things. Because Bucky not only drinks to forget and manage intense emotions, but he drinks also to just relax the relentless march of self-perpetuated, often absurd rules about what and who he is and what he can and should do. So yes, Bucky has some disordered eating, most of it functional, though a lot of his lack of eating recently is likely anxiety-related and/or stomach illness-related.

Another excellent observation. For those who might need a refresher, since this was in chapter 36:

The morning after Bucky shows up at Steve’s drunk and they have sex and many revelations are made about drinking during their relationship, Bucky gets honest about what happened the day before. He tells Steve:  “I had my interview. It— I really don’t know how it went. I was so out of it. I’ve been so fucked up these past couple weeks. Just— it’s been bad. Really bad.” He tells the story of what happened at Scott’s. Steve asks why Bucky didn’t tell him he was struggling, and Bucky says that he didn’t want to get into it. Steve shifts in to talking about whether they should get back together.

I think there are a couple things here I could say. Yes, Bucky saying that he’s struggling is an example of some unusually straight-forward honesty that’s also a personal risk for himself. That’s a real measure of progress! But while I think this honesty is something that’s pretty new, the fact that he’s in a bad place mentally is not new information to Steve. I think back to the chapter before, after Bucky’s PT appointment with Luke, where he was clearly very distraught and having an extremely difficult time. Steve couldn’t get him to say what was happening then, but it was clear that it was something very major.  So I don’t think this really felt to him like a major revelation, like Bucky’s really been holding it all together perfectly while imploding on the inside. I think this observation was more like, why didn’t you just TELL me you were struggling rather than having to have me wonder and then get wasted and come here drunk? Steve has a long history of asking Bucky if he’s okay and getting the brushoff. He’s probably starting to get tired of always asking and getting shot down.

Another part of your question is also very valid - is this the right time to get into a relationship??  Haha. Ha. Well, nobody said these two were good at making relationship decisions. But on a more serious note, Bucky having struggles is not only not new information for this month, it’s not new information for their relationship. Bucky has always had a secret life of pain that Steve has had to wonder about, ask about, beg to be let into, and he probably figures that one of the best ways he can affect change is if they’re in a romantic relationship. It will let him get close, give him some leverage, etc. So although it might come off as callous, Bucky’s struggles are the rule rather than the exception, and Steve probably figures he needs to get this relationship locked down so that he can get them into therapy and much-needed help.

Of course, there’s plenty of dramatic irony here, right? Steve doesn’t know what we know, which is that what Bucky is struggling with here is the REALLY BIG STUFF. He probably just thinks it’s his usual stuff. So. We’ll see where that goes. Bucky is going to maintain this illusion for as long as he possibly can.

Yes, @pitchforkcentral86​ and I had several conversations about whether Bucky should have an animal. It’s a common trope in fic, and a joyful one to read. (Omg, I didn’t know about Alpine until now and I am thrilled!) And yes, service dogs, emotional support animals, therapy animals, pets, they can all be very healing, can provide meaning and purpose, and can also help to structure the lives of people who feel destabilized in various ways.

However, I have held back on giving Bucky an animal because a) his aforementioned history with animals, and b) I’m not sure if that’s what he needs at this point in his journey. I do really think Bucky has some sort of healing that needs to take place around animals. He loves animals. He loves nature and is a true soft boy (TM) who has been deeply hurt by his experiences. It was very inconsistent with his values to do the things he did, see the things he saw, and it’s so painful that he doesn’t know how to reconcile it.

But he’s in such a precarious place now emotionally, with such low resources, and he can barely even share the smallest pieces himself with other humans. People are a lot more complicated, yes, but animals are a lot of responsibility. He would be so hard on himself if he didn’t do a good job, if he didn’t react well to his animal companion, etc. And I think it would probably be more bang for his buck to devote that energy to trying to increasing his emotional intimacy with his partner or his sponsor or other important humans in his life who are asking for his trust. He could GO BACK TO THERAPY EVEN.  

I do think something that would potentially be helpful and pretty low resource cost is to have a therapy animal in his life, like something he could go periodically, a therapy dog at the VA or something he could visit and pet once in a while. It would be a good start.

But that’s just my thinking for this character specifically. I think service/emotional support/therapy animals are wonderful and can create incredible bridges for people to improving their quality of life.

Well, that’s all for now! I will continue plugging away at BW and will get it to you as soon as I can. Thank you, as ever, for your patience! And thank you for the wonderful Asks <3 <3 <3

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg | nae sarang

Pairing: m.yoongi x f.reader 

Genre: angst + small fluff? 

Length: 2.0k 

A/N: I went a little bit overboard with this, I’m sorry but I’ve always wanted to write a scenario like this because I love reading them too! Anyway, I hope you like it! Happy Reading! 

Prompts: 

“I’m pregnant”

“Get rid of it!”

Never before had you felt so sick to your stomach. This wasn’t meant to happen, you were actively taking the pill daily so this couldn’t have happened. 

Did you miss a day by mistake? 

Thoroughly shifting through your memories only had the opposite effect. Instead of your memories becoming clearer, all the days and the times you took your daily pill blurred into each other until you could no longer comprehend which day was which and you were beginning to lose trust in whether the memory of taking a pill was reliable. Releasing a shaky sign, you took a sharp intake of breath as you forced yourself to face the truth. 

“What’s done is done…” you shakily whisper, staring down at the six positive pregnancy tests sitting atop the bathroom countertop, “I just-…I just have to tell him now and hope that all goes well,”

You hope to god that he’s supportive but, if not, then you’re more than willing to take on this child on your own. They will be your first child and, although you’re not married, 23 and currently switching between odd jobs, you know that with a determined mindset, you can achieve anything. 

“Y-Yoongi?” you whisper into the phone, voice weak and small. 

“This better be important (Y/N), I need to finish this composition urgently and I can’t afford to waste any more time,” he grumbles in the husky voice that would usually have your knees quaking and melting you into a flustered puddle on the floor, however, the cold tone behind his words were enough to send a dangerous chill down your spine. 

“I-It is important, I promise,” you breath shakily, trying to calm your nerves down.

“What is it then?” he demands, voice still cold and void of any concern for you despite the obvious apprehension dripping from your words over the phone. Somehow, this injects some courage in you and, wanting to draw some emotion from him with your next statement, you speak in the most confident voice you’ve ever spoken in ever since the beginning of this conversation. 

“I’m pregnant”

In spite of your sudden spike of confidence for that one second, the long silence that followed had your heart racing and your nerves pinching themselves all over again. 

“Where are you right now?” he finally says, voice hardened and still cold. 

“A-at your apartment…”

“Stay put, I’m coming over right now,” his intentions gave you some ounce of hope for a better consequence to your dire circumstance; if he was willing to see you, then he surely wants to support you, right? You desperately held onto that hope, even though he hung up even before you were able to utter a polite goodbye. There was no exchange of ‘I love you’s, no sweet farewells, just the flat tone of the line ending. 

Still, you held onto that single, thin thread of hope; it was all you had. 

“Get rid of it!” was the first sentence you hear out of his mouth as soon as he walks through the door and all you can feel is your heart dropping through your stomach and below the floor, you were standing on, knees shaky. He usually had that effect on you, shaking your knees and usually having your heart fluttering out of your chest but his ultimatum had you losing yourself to the tears that were quick to accumulate behind your delicate lashes. 

“B-but…”

“But nothing! I don’t want a child right now,” his hair was ruffled and the bags under his eyes were prominent, sending your heart into an ache of sympathy. You were always such a burden to him and now you were putting more weight onto his shoulders. 

“Yoongi, please let's talk this out. I-I know that your career is important but surely I’m just as important right?” you were begging him with your eyes, body and words, desperate for a consolation that can only be given by him - the man you have devoted three years of your life to, the man you had planned your future with, the man who had your entire heart. 

He couldn’t face you. His fists were clenched at his sides as his head turned to away from you, unable to look you in the eye. This shattered your heart. He had dropped your precious heart onto the floorboards and let it shatter before you. His unwillingness to help, let alone comfort you in your time of need, shattered your world and all the fantasies of your future shared with him. 

“I’ll go pack my things…”

This had his eyes widening and finally turning his face to you, “You can’t seriously be thinking about having this baby!” he tried to be the voice of reason. 

“I am and I will,” you cried, finally standing on your own two feet despite the heartbreaking tears spilling over your lashes, “with or without you!” he couldn’t stand seeing you in tears but was speechless at your selfless conclusion for the situation, “I thought that at least you’d support me through this since you came all the way here to talk it out face to face.”

“I thought that, at least, you deserved a personal talk rather than one over the phone for something like this!”

“Well thank you for your courtesy,” you finished packing “but you can have it back because I’ll be leaving now,” your weak sniffle didn’t relieve the unease in his heart. All he could do was stand frozen as you walked past him, slipping through his fingers slowly. 

Why couldn’t he reach out to you? 

Why isn’t he stopping you? 

As soon as he heard the slam of the door, he flinched and finally released the shaky sigh that he didn’t know he was holding. That wasn’t his main focus, however, because he had been able to admit to his lack of action with shameful reasoning. 

He was a coward. 

Maybe he subconsciously thought this was for the best. He was very well aware of his neglect of your despite you being the perfect lover; bringing him lunch when you knew he had holed himself up in his studio, constantly giving him love and affection through your actions rather than words because the both of you value the strength of deeds over talk. He didn’t deserve you but to know that you were pregnant with his child and unwilling to get rid of it, his heart was going crazy.

Would you be able to handle it? He hopes you would let it go, he knows you’re smarter than that

It’s been around a year since the day you parted with Yoongi and three months since you’ve had your baby boy. Many times during your nine months of pregnancy, you questioned yourself: would you be a good enough mother alone? Were you overestimating yourself? Was Yoongi right? However, as soon as you went into your ultrasound and looked at the picture the surgery had printed for you, you would always smile to yourself. It was for him. You were doing this for your first baby boy. He would be the perfect amalgamation of you and the man you loved for three years, going on four because you never stopped loving him.

Yoongi had been with you through the good and the bad and you’re sure that if it weren’t for his job, he would be by your side right now, gazing over your shoulder as he cooed at your dozing baby - the embodiment of your love or the love you once shared, now a love you carried by yourself and will continue to carry forever. Hence why you named your son ‘Yeongbae’, meaning long, perpetual, eternal and forever but also cultivate; you will raise him up to be a person you'll be proud to call your son, Yoongi too if he ever gets the chance to meet him. 

“I hope one day you don’t hate me for not being strong enough to fight for your father to stay by my side…” you whispered, blinking back tears as you pressed your precious boy further into your chest, “with luck, you’ll see that my love for you alongside my love for your father will be enough,”

You had planned to take Yeongbae out in his stroller for just below an hour today as it was such good weather outside; the sun was shining but there was also a gentle breeze that whispered good fortune into the air. There was a good mix of sun and cloud, which excited you. 

“Today is going to be a perfect day for a stroll, Yeongbae, I promise,” you whisper as you slip him into an appropriate attire, a layer thicker than yours so that it's not enough to leave him cold or too hot, “Are you ready to go to the park, nae Sarang?” you coo when he reaches his arms up with a cry of excitement. He was worth it. You didn’t need Yoongi but you wish he could see how adorable and sweet looking his son came out, almost identical to him in facial shape, lips and attitude - sometimes cute, sometimes grumpy, sometimes a mix of both (your favourite). However, he’s been able to inherit your eyes and affinity for good music because he’s always bobbing his head or communicating some form of enjoyment when you put his father’s music on. Just because you were no longer going out with Yoongi, didn’t mean you no longer supported his career or the boys, you were still an avid fan because you know how hardworking they all are (especially Yoongi) and you find motivation and inspiration in them. The only difference now was that you had already lived the fantasy of dating one of them. 

“Are you enjoying the sun, nae Sarang?” he heard your familiar voice, almost cringing at the ache it brought his heart. So many times he had illusions of your voice floating through the air and teasing his ears. This wasn’t fair, how could you still have such a substantial influence on his mood without physically being beside him or-

Yoongi has to do a double-take as soon as he lays his tired eyes on you - the love of his life - pulling a baby out of the stroll as you flash it that beautiful smile of yours before cradling it in your arms, talking animatedly about anything and everything under the sun. He remembers reading somewhere that consistently speaking to a baby will better their vocabulary once they know how to speak and encourage them to speak sooner than most other babies. 

All he could do was stare on at the beautiful sight before him. It was so enchanting that his heart gave an achy shudder at the image. You were practically glowing brighter than the sun as you stared down at your child, his little hand curled around your pointer finger as you continued to talk: “the colour of the sky is blue but it can change depending on the time of day, don’t you know?” he finds himself chuckling at your odd but endearing way of speech, he’s sure that your son will quickly pick it up and, although he once made fun of you for it just for the laughs, he wouldn’t complain if his son was able to inherit such an endearing trait from you. 

As if you could sense his entire focus on you, you look up, only to stop mid-chatter, successfully drawing a whine of curiosity from your son. 

“Yoongi…”

There were tears in his eyes as soon as the two of you made eye contact and the moment after, he was also able to lock eyes with his sweet baby boy. He was perfect, a perfect combination of your beauty and his own that only paled compared to yours. He was the perfect combination of the woman that gave him everything and, in turn, was given (and still had) his heart with the man that regrettably lost his entire world and love. 

masterlist

[artcritique]

I have a problem I want art as a future career but from the way I draw,it doesn't work l..I draw almost daily for 3 months and then give up for a long while (3-5 months) it really stresses me out and discouraged me multiple times,I need to improve but for some reason I feel like I don't want to draw again How do I fix this problem?my motivation dies out quickly. I want to improve and draw again . Do people face this problem or it's just me?

First off, I can tell you that there are lots of people who face this problem, you’re not alone on this one. Even some of the mods have gone through months (or even years) of impasse. Generally speaking, this happens due to other interests suddenly becoming more important than drawing. Both Mod Pepper and I didn’t draw for two whole years when we were 15-ish. She stopped because she was playing the bass, I stopped because I was playing League of Legends a lot.

Sometimes, it also has to do with your mood and lifestyle. Unhealthy sleep schedules don’t seem like a big deal at first but they affect your mood and motivation so much. Sometimes it has to do with school/college draining your energy, but I’ll assume the problem here isn’t just lack of time, but actual motivation.

The first question you should ask yourself is, what’s preventing me to draw everyday? Lacking motivation is the main cause, but what else are you doing with your free time that’s preventing you from being bored and draw? Do you have another hobby (it can even be watching videos on youtube)? Do you spend a lot of time scrolling social networks? Use some of that time to draw. Put on an alarm and draw two hours everyday, unplug your router, make sure you don’t have any distractions (aside from music if it helps you) and just draw. Make it become routine. It’s gonna be hard at first but not only it’ll be less tiring after a while, but you’ll also improve very fast. Personally speaking, I decided to take art seriously when I was 17. For two years, I drew 4-5 hours everyday (when possible) and improved way more than I did in these last 3 years. Speaking of which,

The first question you should ask yourself is, am I taking art seriously? I mean, you say you want to draw as a career, but are you sure? Do you quit for months because you feel like you’re not good enough and nothing comes out as you’d like? “Talent” is real but it just makes a rough 1% of someone’s skills, every good artist struggled for years drawing consistently and with a goal in mind (instead of just drawing mindlessly. We could add a lot of paragraphs on this but it’s already covered in the asks I’ll link) and if you really want to do art as a career, that’s what you must do.

This answer was a bit general, but we wrote some other stuff about inspiration and motivation if you’re interested. (x) (x)

-Mod Tofu

[isotuan]

I love you not. (Jimin x Reader Series)

Prologue: Lilacs

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 3,457

Summary: “...you knew that you could never deny, despite how much you’d tried, that you’d always thought of Park Jimin as more than both he and you had labeled it all those years... Friends.”

Notes: This story was inspired by a prompt from a master prompt list and can be seen as the very first line here. Credit to that list, one of which I cannot re-find for God’s sake. This took me a while and was left in drafts for a while, but I’ve decided to finally post this. I haven’t been writing much and I’ve gone to shit due to the lack of practice :( Hope this one isn’t that shitty... So enjoy!

“Can I tell my parents that I’m at your house, just in case they get suspicious?”

“Isn’t that what you always do?”

Jimin’s laugh echoed loudly from the other end of the line. 

“True, true,” he admitted. “They trust you more than they trust me, Y/N-ah.”

“I can see why they would do that,” you sat leaned up against the window and watch as the sun cast its last golden rays before sinking into the skyline. 

“Are you saying I’m not trustworthy?”

“I’m not saying that you’re not not-trustworthy.”

“Well as the person that has kept all your secrets for as long as both of us can remember,” he breathed. “I am extremely offended.”

“Whatever, Jimin,” you sang into the receiver. “Just go have fun tonight.”

“Fine, fine,” he spoke with an exhale. “I will have fun, Miss ‘it’s-Friday-night-and-I’m-going-to-stay-in.” 

You let out a small chuckle, “That’s me.”

Jimin laughed as well, you could just imagine the grin he had plastered on his face that moment. Long seconds passed, comfortable silence filled the line, only the low static buzzing through the earpiece.

“Well,” Jimin began after a while. “I guess I’ll get going now. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

“Love you, Y/N.”

“Same here.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You removed your phone from the side of your face, knowing well that Jimin had already hung up by then. You sat still in your spot for a while, staring off into the fading sky. Even if the call had ended a long time ago, you still very much felt your heart race as if you have just run a mile. 

Having felt the same damned feeling for seventeen years straight, you would think that you have come used to it by then. But as you had always proved yourself wrong, you knew that you could never deny, despite how much you’d tried, that you’d always thought of Park Jimin as more than both he and you had labeled it all those years.

Friends.

Your mothers were college best friends which, you could say, predestined the seventeen years of friendship you and Jimin had. It started from the first breath the each one of you took, quite literally because the two of you shared the same birthday. Despite being born the same day, you and Park Jimin had the complete opposites of personalities. He was outgoing and you were shy. Though someway, somehow you and he ended up complimenting each other perfectly.

Every single moment of your childhood was spent with this wacky boy next door, who used sticks as swords and threw marbles as a sport (and had a pet tree named ‘Max,’ but Jimin still won’t admit that). You remembered watching cartoons at his house every day after school and raiding the local convenience store with the coins Jimin saved up from under the couch.

 Jimin was incredibly adventurous even at such a young age, he was always infatuated by the world around him, and he wanted to know everything about it. He dragged to you to all the place you'd never been and the two of you explored, having the times of your lives. Sometimes tiring, sometimes dangerous, but you could guarantee that all of it was very much worth the sweat and tears. Because Jimin showed you the beauty of the world and how to appreciate it. Though the one thing he taught you specifically was the little charms nature had to offer.

Flowers.

Yes, flowers, believe it or not. 

Along with adventuring all across town, Jimin spent the majority of his youth flipping through this flower encyclopedia he ended up borrowing from the library. He was soon able to recognize every flower he came across and their meaning. He often took you day and night to the park where he sat for hours pointing out each type of bloom there, attempting to relay his knowledge of the blooms. And you sat there next to him listening to his every word, that was until you fell asleep listening to him recollecting the “Gardenia” or “Carnation” for about the twelfth time. 

It was to the point where you knew flowers by heart and, honestly, you couldn't really complain. 

You had a blast with your best friend and couldn't imagine spending your time any other way but him. You loved Jimin and he loved you. It wasn't until seventh that you realized that your meaning to love may have been different from his.

Jimin ran into your room one day and he could not stop talking about… 

Minah. 

You remember the moment you heard her name that there was a strange pang inside you. The sick feeling bubbling inside of you grew with each second Jimin spent telling you just how head over heels he was for her.  It was Jimin’s first crush. Ironically enough, it crushed your little heart into pieces as well. You found yourself crying at night, not knowing what exactly you were crying. That was… Until you pieced everything together and that moment you finally realized that—

You’d fallen in love with Park Jimin.

And you’d fallen hard.

The summer of eighth grade, Jimin moved away. His father got a job offer halfway across town, and to make his commute a bit smaller, the Park family decided to move halfway across town as well. And that meant that you and he would be attending different high schools and more importantly that meant your best friend was not going to be a knock away anymore. It was a blur, you hadn't quite processed what was happening until Jimin held you tight as he promised that “things will stay the same, and if you need anything, I’m not a knock away but I’ll always be a call away.” 

And you believed him....

But promises were meant to be broken.

And it all began with the fact that—

Jimin became popular. 

He was smart, charming, funny, and charismatic, it was no surprise everyone loved him. You would see his Instagram flooded with likes, comments, and followers. You'd see pictures of him surrounded by people you have no idea of doing all things you'd never thought of doing. Snapchats of him drinking and partying and even hooking up with girls became a norm. As well as Jimin absence. From daily calls to weekly calls to monthly at most. By the end of freshman year, it was as if Jimin had completely disappeared from your life, despite his consistent presence on social media. 

What was puzzling was that for the few times you two would talk or meet up, he would be the same kind, caring, loving, Park Jimin you always knew. He’d take you out to new places and the two of you would talk for hours upon hours about anything and everything. 

For the few times you two would talk or meet up everything would seem the same again. As if nothing ever happened.

And—

—It was like falling in love with that stupid dork all over again.

Until you click on his story to see him shotgunning a beer and just wonder if you had just imagined the whole damn thing. 

You were close to Jimin.

Yet—

You were still so far...

You snapped out of your little day dream, or rather an actual dream as you came the realize the sun had already set a long time ago when your phone blared out your ringtone.

You answered the call. “Hello?” 

“Y/N!” A familiar voice bellowed from the other side. 

“Hi, Mrs. Park,” you grinned. 

“Please, ‘Mrs. Park?’ Isn’t that too old?” She teased. “I’m practically you second mother, you know.”

“You are, you are. My bad,” you chuckled. 

She laughed. “How’ve you been, Y/N?” 

“Great, you?”

“Lovely, honey. I’m glad to hear that. Now,” she went straight into the point. “Is my Jiminie there with you?

You took a second to look around your empty room.

“He is.”

“Good, good,” she sighed in relief. “I’m happy you two are still close. He goes over quite often.”

“He does.”

“I miss you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

Jimin’s pout flashed across the screen of your computer and you laughed in response.

“I think you’re being heartless,” Jimin frowned.

“When am I not?” 

“True,” he noted.

You looked over at your nightstand, at the digital clock that read 12:46 am. Jimin called you earlier that night, it had only been a week or so since you last talked to Jimin then, you thought it was strange considering it would usually take up to month, but you brushed it off. You listened to him talk for hours as you sketched mindlessly into an old history notebook.

“We should meet up this weekend,” Jimin spoke after a moment of silence.

“Why so suddenly?” You raised your head up to look at the screen. Jimin laid on his bed, his blonde head of hair in his palm as he leaned on his elbow, his eyes lazy as he stared into the webcam.  

“‘Suddenly?’ What do you mean by that?” He quirked a brow.

“When we hang out it's usually planned two weeks ahead of time because Mr. Popular here always has his schedule packed,” you pointed your pencil at him.

“No, I don’t,” Jimin scrunched his nose.

You rolled your eyes.  You directed your attention back to your drawing, adding a few finishing touches, “here, tell me what you think.”

“You’re done?”

You hummed as you chewed at your bottom lips. One last stroke and you held up the spiral notebook to the webcam.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think my lips are that big,” you heard him say and you let out a gasp.

“Ungrateful,” you sneered and slammed the notebook down onto your desk.

Jimin laughed loudly, his eyes turning into beautiful crescents, “I’m kidding.”

You huffed, “You’re mean.”

“When am I not?” He grinned, “Your drawings are magnificent, Y/N.”

“Now you’re being extra,” you puffed your cheeks. You took one last look at you drawing of Jimin before closing the notebook and placing it onto a stack of miscellaneous papers and books. You tucked your legs into your chin and stared at the seemingly still screen, his face had disappeared into the corner of the screen, only his back moved the slightest bit with his steady breathing.

“I have something important to tell you,” Jimin spoke, his voice suddenly an octave lower and his face coming into view once again. 

You narrowed your brows, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he half sighed. “Just want to tell you something.”

“You can't tell me it now?” 

Jimin pressed his lips together, “I want to tell you this in person.”

...

“Okay,” you said. “That’s fine.”

“Is Sunday night alright?” 

“You know me, I’m always free,” you gave a soft smile.

Jimin returned the gesture, “Thank you.”

You tilted your head, “For what?”

“For being there for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. 

“Thank you, too, then.”

“For what?”

For being you.

“For buying me coffee this Sunday.”

Jimin chuckled, “Alright. Sunday night coffee run it is.”

“It’s late, you should go to bed,” you murmured.

“It's one in morning," Jimin rolled his eyes. 

"That's exactly my point," you said.

"You’re such a grandma, I swear,” Jimin rolled his eyes once more. He waves into the webcam, “Bye, Y/N. Love ya.”

“Bye.”

The call ended up with a tone, Jimin’s profile picture filled the screen, below it, his username and call time that read: 4 hours 36 minutes. 

You stayed in your spot for a while, in a mild daze. It was the feeling again. Every fucking time, you told yourself. 

With a whopping seventeen years of experience and four of professional work, you were good at hiding your emotions when it came to Park Jimin. When in front of him, you can be unreadable. But, hell, does your heart want to explode. But you’d learned to be immune to Park Jimin, mainly because you knew well that it was your friendship at stake. You would never let something as stupid as a crush ruin something so valuable. 

That was why you’ve never told him you love him. Even if he said it to you in a friendly manner. You were afraid he’ll catch onto you then. 

That once you say it, it would sound too real.

Those damned words:

“I love you, too.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________

“I can’t believe you’re getting an Americano at 8 pm.”

“Watch me,” you turned to the barista with a smile. “One Americano please.”

“Hot tea, please,” Jimin leaned in over your shoulder, his chest gracing your back. The barista punched your orders into the machine and Jimin reached into his jean pockets before handing the lady his card. 

“You won’t be able to sleep,” Jimin looked down at you.

You turned back to face the boy, “The night is young, Jimin.”

He cracked a smile and repeated, “The night is young.”

After getting your drink, the two of you walked out of the cafe and onto the busy streets of the city. It was getting chilly as the night falls, you’d forgotten how cold it would be. 

“You alright?” Jimin asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”

“You’re literally shaking right now,” Jimin laughed and shook his head.

“I didn’t realize it would be this cold, okay?” You huffed and stuffed your hands deeper into your jeans pockets. The iced Americano was definitely a bad idea.

“Do you want my jacket?” You heard Jimin say and found yourself almost tripping on his words.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” you said and tried hugging yourself.

“Suite yourself,” Jimin murmured.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he grinned cheekily.

You rolled your eyes, “That’s not good.”

“What? Surprises are supposed to be good!”

“Not from you, it’s not,” you huffed. 

“Just come on,” suddenly you felt an arm wrapped around your shoulder, warmth surrounding your freezing body. 

You looked up the boy. The light from the setting sun illuminated Jimin in every perfect way possible, he was glistening against the golden rays. and you just wondered how someone can be this beautiful. You took a second to let the image in front of you sink in. Jimin looked out as he sipped on his tea quietly.

“I’m holding on just in case you run away,” he eventually spoke. “I know you don’t like surprises but,” he paused for a second, “this is really important to me and I want to go some place where I feel secure.” 

You stared at him for a bit, “Okay.”

“Plus,” Jimin looked down at you. “Didn’t you say you were cold?”

You smiled, “I did.”

Walking with Jimin beside you was nothing but old news, you could barely count how many times this had happened. Though this time, things felt different. It was something in the air that you felt, something warm, comfortable, and—familiar. Something you couldn't exactly grasp at, however. You quickly brushed the feeling aside.

“The park?”

The two of you stood in front of the grand metal arch decorated with vines that crept up its rusting edges. You and Jimin exchanged looks.

“It’s the park.”

You walked in together along the path, the feeling of nostalgia rushing well into you. The place looked the same, despite the rest of the town that underwent a massive modern renovation over the past decade, they didn’t lay a finger on the local neighborhood park. And you were glad they didn’t. 

Jimin led you to the play structure. It, like the rest of the park, remained the same, the slide too steep and the swings too squeaky. Though with the chipped paint, broken wooden planks, and rusting chains, you couldn’t help but to realize just how long it had been. 

The two of you sat silently on the set of swings, the chains creaked with each movement. 

It was all too familiar.

Off to the side of the gravel lot, something caught your eye. A lilac bush stood tall amongst the greenery of the park with its ravishing pastel purple color, swaying with the gentle breeze of the night. This was the park’s greatest characteristic, that despite its age, the plant life continued to be preserved. The trees lush and the area adorned with an assortment of blossoms. 

Of course, this was one of the two reasons you visited this place so often. The other was—

“Hey, Jimin?” He met your eyes. 

“Do you like still like flowers?”

Eight years ago...

“Lilacs.”

“Lie-lags.”

“No,” Jimin huffed. “Lilacs.”

“Li-lacs,’ you sounded. 

“Yeah, yeah!” The boy’s grin spread from ear to ear.  “You know what they mean?”

You shook your head. Jimin pointed to the bloom in front of him as the two of you crouched under a large bush of lilacs, an array of purple surrounded you and him.

“The book says they symbolize youthful innocence and confidence,” Jimin graced his fingertips along its petals.

Jimin chuckled lowly and turned away, “It’s been so long. I don’t think I can remember anything about them at this point.”

It was all too familiar.

Yet—

It was all too different.

“That’s too bad,” you said quietly and stared off into the pond that sat a couple of meters away from the playground. The moon had emerged and the white reflection danced around in the water. The roar of crickets grew louder within the trees. Glowing specs of fireflies bounced around in the bushes, the beautiful sight matched the stars that emerged in the darkening sky almost perfectly. "I want to talk to you about something,” you turned to Jimin who had his eyes locked on the gravel he was kicking beneath his feet. 

“What’s ‘something?��”

Jimin breathed. “Something that means a lot to me. And—” he looked up, “And since you’re a person that means a lot to me, I wanted to tell you this.”

You felt your heart skip a beat before beginning to pound against your chest violently the moment his words sank into you. It was ridiculous how quick Park Jimin affected you. Your grip tightened on the chain your hands.

You would be lying to yourself if you said what Jimin was about to tell you hadn’t been bothering you one bit. Jimin told you everything, that’s the truth, but he had never arranged a meeting just to tell you something after he moved away—that was, until now. It was usually over the phone or video call, it was never something like this. And it scared you a bit come to think of it. 

Jimin had always been a loving person and he was not afraid to show you a lot of it. You’d grown to be used to his care-bear of a personality, but you couldn't help but to just notice how he had been extra,  as one can only say, “friendly” lately. And that scared you as well. 

As much as you didn't want to overthink little things as such... You couldn't help but think of the possibilities these two combinations could mean... 

Don’t, Y/N.

It's ’probably not what you think. 

“I’ve kept this to myself for a while,” his eyes dropped to the ground, his hands started to fidget with the hem of his shirt. “To be honest, I’m scared to tell you this.”

Don’t, Y/N.

“But it’s you after all.”

It’s probably not what you think. 

“So I think it’s time for me to get it out of my chest.”

Your heart had to be beating hundred a minute at that point. As much as you taught yourself to not react to Park Jimin, this moment just seemed too surreal. You were glad the night has fallen, or else he would most definitely catch the bright red color creeping onto your cheeks.

“Y/N...”

Don’t, Y/N.

“Y/N, I l—”

It’s probably not what you think.

...

“The purple ones are different though,” Jimin spoke. “They symbolize first love.”

“‘First love?’” You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

Jimin stayed silent as he pondered, then shrugged.

“...I don’t know.”

...

“I lost my virginity.”

[aurelliocheek]

The Making of Frostpunk: Interview with 11 bit studios

Dress warmly for our story about an extraordinary game.

Frostpunk is world’s first society ­survival game. Developed and ­published by 11 bit studios, the ­Polish makers of the fantastic This War of Mine, ­Frostpunk was released 2018 for PC and 2019 for consoles. Gamers around the world celebrated Frostpunk for its outstanding atmosphere, great steampunk look, and addictive build-up sim gameplay with moral choices to be made that sometimes make the player’s throat closed. A few days ago 11 bit studios released the new DLC The Last Autumn, a big expansion with a prequel scenario, new technology trees and resources, new buildings and a lots more. For our cover story a few developers wrote excellent articles about the unusual genre mix, the social aspects and the outstanding art design. In addition, Development & Art ­Director Przemyslaw Marszal, Development & Design ­Director Michal Drozdowski and Partnership Manager Pawel Miechowski took the time for a ­detailed interview. Let’s start with this!

Making Games: This War of Mine was a great success and instantly placed you on the international map of game developers. Instead of repeating the success with This War of Mine 2, you chose a completely different game and a completely new story instead. Isn’t that a bit crazy? Przemyslaw Marszal: It might seem like this when looking from a distance. But ­doing it the other way – making This War of Mine 2 right away would be much crazier. Why? Because, after the first one we were very ­tired. Especially tired emotionally. This game required so much attention to ­war-­related details, so much of this emotional understanding that it was just too much near the end of the development cycle. So sure – we felt that This War of Mine put us on the map in a very good spot to do a sequel. But at the same time, we felt we needed a change, and this feeling gained the upper hand. So we looked for the next topic. The one that, we thought at the ­beginning, could be less dramatic, less serious and harsh. The one that will let us think more about its core gameplay ­systems or its art style. That’s how we came up with an idea of steampunk city-builder. Yet, after about eight months of development, we started to understand that we just can’t do a game without a message, without a meaningful root that will be something we want to tell about. That’s how Frostpunk was born – a game about society adaptation in survival times. One more thing is crucial. Probably right now, I can say This War of Mine was an artistic statement touching the problems of civilians struggle during wartime. And in this sense, it was sort of a complete statement from us. We told what we wanted to tell regarding this particular problem and we felt that at that moment there was nothing meaningful we wanted to add to it.

How big has your team grown after This War of Mine? Przemyslaw Marszal: Just after the game release, not that much as I recall. But during the years after it started to change. This War of Mine was done by about 20 developers internally and Frostpunk during the next few years scaled the core team to around 45 people, but we also grew in other departments. Right now, we’re capable of doing three separate games with three separate teams. Before The Final Cut edition of This War of Mine, which released ­November last year, we still had a team ­doing working only on this project. We’re still be patching and tweaking the game, but most of those people moved to the new project. The second team is responsible for Frostpunk, and third the unannounced Project 8 game. We also have a publishing team, working on third-party titles, ­business ­development, and marketing teams or our own internal QA guys, because we also test in-house the games we’re publishing like Moonlighter or ­Children of Morta. All this accounts for about 125 people right now, but we still growing and moving into a new office in a building we bought in whole, probably in March.

What inspired you to do Frostpunk? Are you fans of the movies Snowpiercer or The Day After Tomorrow? Or did the infamous “year without summer” inspire you? Michał Drozdowski: I remember when we tried to figure out with Przemek on how to proceed after making our first prototype called Industrial. It was very economical, it was a steampunk-ish city-builder proto, so sort of what we liked it to be, but it lacked a lot in terms of motivation, message, and overall vision. What was quite intriguing is that each of us separately came with a very similar vision of a frost fighting society survival game at some point. My head was full of images of very strong-hearted men. Those people you could once find in a situation where nature is the ultimate obstacle and worst nightmare – people like sailors, mountaineers, whale hunters, oil-platform workers. It was mostly about this vision of those hardened people fighting for survival. Another question then will be how the frost and winter came in and took the rule? Well, we used to have pretty strong winters in Poland, and we know something about really cold weather. But winter seemed to be a great enemy, especially combined with the power of heat would have in that situation and a steam technology used to generate it. As you mentioned those movie titles – they were known to us, and particularly Snowpiercer is one hell of a movie. We all love it both for its world as well as being a very compact and metaphorical ­approach to society.

What was the initial idea behind Frostpunk‘s art direction? Przemyslaw Marszal: When we start ­prototyping a new project, we often ask ourselves: what we would like to hear from a player looking at a finished game? How would we like him to describe what he sees? So we set up a list of adjectives that we imagine would suit best that kind of description. And then try to think about how we could achieve that. What steps we need to take to get that kind of feeling from the players. For Frostpunk these adjectives were: cold, city, steampunk, seriously looking, with living society, victorian, looking like AAA game. Getting everything that working right at once in the actual game is like solving a puzzle. And coming to that result involves a lot of research, drawing and conceptualizing things. In general, a lot of trial and error processes. Plus there is one other ingredient – uniqueness. So the graphic not only must convey all the associations we want but also has its own unexpected and exciting bits. Bits like round circular ice hole with a huge generator in the centre or radial laid city.

Talking about the development process: What problems did you encounter in general and how did you deal with them? Michal Drozdowski: From my perspective, the biggest problems came up with a growing team. We doubled the size compared to our peak during This War of Mine production, and I think we were not fully aware of the consequences of this sudden growth. The problem that arose was communication. In previous smaller teams, we were used to having a lot of short daily conversations that made the game vision spread naturally across all team members. Keeping a healthy amount of design ­documents and a few occasional meetings was enough to make sure people understand what is happening and why it is happening. When the team sized changed dramatically, we realized that these measures were not enough. Some people still lacked knowledge about some important elements of the vision of the project or its creative directions. We had to make sure that we have a better communication ­process on our side. One that is more targeted at supplying the team with all the crucial information. Taking into account that saying something once, or having it written in a document rarely ensures that the subject can be considered as a ­piece of well-spread information.

Which design decisions would you have made differently in retrospect? Michal Drozdowski: I really don’t like to look into the past with that kind of ­approach. I think that every game we make is defined not only by the design itself but by the team and the time at which it was made. Because during that time we over­came many obstacles and made many hard decisions. There is always a great number of ideas or even partial design that ‘didn’t make it’ into the game for various reasons. But even if they did not appear in the game, there was a reason that something more important took their place. There is a time we feel the game is ready and complete. Of course, it can then evolve and change, which is great, but that first version, I consider it a closed chapter.

Which feature of the game are you particularly proud of? Michal Drozdowski: I tried to rephrase that question in my mind and ask myself that the whole time I spent working on Frostpunk. And there is one definitive answer – the team we build-up for this project. I mention it not only to give them credits for their skills, passion, and willpower but to stress that sometimes building a great team might be even harder than crafting a great game. In the end, it’s those people who make the vision change into a game you could release. Getting back to more particular features, I’m most proud of our narrative solutions. We were able to deliver a mix of systemic and emergent narrative mechanics combined with a more classical approach to storytelling. Finally, we got a game where each action and decision matters and adds both to the grand story of the player’s journey and the message we wanted to deliver.

What you can consider as the biggest thing the art department achieved during Frostpunk production? Przemyslaw Marszal: I must highlight two things. First, it is awesome when a lot of people that see a Frostpunk screen know immediately that this is Frostpunk. This uniqueness allowing for distilling this game in a split second from a lot of other games. A uniqueness that is clear to describe but also has its rules and magic. And the second thing – we really worked hard to connect art with gameplay in a lot of fields. I believe that we achieved this level of immersion in which gameplay and art are working as one entity, and deliver a bond absorbing players into one precisely defined mood during their play.

How satisfied are you with the reviews, the feedback from the community and the sales? Pawel Miechowski: Complaining is a national sport in Poland, so I should start with a set of complaints, but the reality is that the reception was fantastic and we have nothing to complain about. A massive part of the reviews was underlining the game’s original approach to the setting, gameplay, and its maturity. There were some 6s and 7s here and there, but we’re fully aware that this happens each time. We can’t just please every gamer out there because we are not making games for everyone but for a precisely chosen type of gamer. We know who our audience is. And the majority of the audience gave us great feedback, first with fantastically positive acclaim, and then by providing us tips and hints on how to improve Frostpunk further and develop expansions such as the Endless Mode. The only problem we had was that the first paid expansion – The Rifts – was a small one, is like an appetizer before the big one – The Last Autumn – and we didn’t communicate that clearly to the community. So the reception of The Rifts was not as good as we’d want, but then we communicated precisely what is our plan and now The Last Autumn is out with great acclaim from the players. And when it comes to sales – the game paid off in just two days after the ­release and it was more than four years ­development process so the financial ­success was fantastic. Sometime last year the game crossed 1.5 million copies sold and is still selling very well.

How did you finance the development? Pawel Miechowski: Initially, the game was called Industrial, and the funding of the ­prototype was granted by the Creative ­Europe program. After it was made, we knew there was a huge potential, and we’ve decided to invest our resources into the game. It was roughly three million ­Euros of our funds, spent on the development in over three years during which, in the course of numerous iterations, the game morphed from Industrial into Frostpunk.

The (lack of) state support for the games ­industry is a much-discussed topic in Germany. Tell us about the situation in Poland? Pawel Miechowski: I’ve heard now there is a big program in Germany to support kick-starting studios and prototypes of the games, so I’d like to congratulate the German industry for making this discussion to happen. In Poland, things changed in a good direction over the last years. We also got nothing special six or seven years ago except some small grants for exhibiting at international shows. Now there are dedicated programs for R&D, programs for supporting exhibiting at the shows so practically every indie studio that has at least the will and some own funds can participate in shows like gamescom, PAX or ChinaJoy. From time to time there are programs to kickstart prototype development but those are not big ones. All in all the state support is solid. However, there are always things to improve, like the higher game development education-oriented things. There’s a lot to do in this field.

Was it difficult to port Frostpunk to the consoles? Why did it take so long? Pawel Miechowski: We did what we’ve ­aimed for and made Frostpunk play on those platforms like a natively ­developed console experience. To achieve that our team redesigned the UI and control scheme from scratch. The whole system went through five iterations during the ­development process and nailing it right, and getting the right game performance on consoles, was more important for us than finishing the game earlier. The decision about the delay was the right one from today’s perspective. The game is doing really well on this sort-of uncharted market for strategy games because we think this genre on consoles is still a bit of a blue ocean. There aren’t many of them, and we believe Frostpunk: Console Edition could be seen as a benchmark for those, especially in terms of the player-friendly interface. Also, we get a great amount of support both from Microsoft on Xbox and Sony on PlayStation, so we feel they see there is space for the games like ours.

With your publishing program, you support in some way other indie studios. ­Please tell us about that. Pawel Miechowski: We have a special philosophy of creation that can be underlined as meaningful entertainment. Games that leave a mark in the player’s minds, make them think about them even when thy not playing it. At some point, we’ve come to the conclusion that there are indie games out there who share the same philosophy and it would be great to create an eco­system of devs making those games with an extra mark, like ourselves. These devs need help on the market to succeed and this is where we come in with our know-how and resources. Primarily, we are a development studio, so we know exactly what the developer needs. We have the experience because we’ve been in the trenches, so to speak. Starting the role of the publisher and creating this ecosystem for the devs was a natural business direction. 11 bit studios can provide everything a developer needs – funds, marketing, QA. But we need to fall in love with your game. It has to ignite a spark that we truly understand. We’re a picky publisher but we consider it our mission. And when you look at the ­latest release like Moonlighter or Children of Morta, this proves we’re doing it the right way. Proof for that is the way those games were reviewed, the feedback from the community, how they performed sales-wise and how many awards they won.

In a nutshell: What are the three most important rules that an indie studio should follow? Przemyslaw Marszal: I think it’s hard to say if we are still indie devs. But looking back – what helped us a lot was, in the first place, understanding where in our ideas the value for players lay. And why players were not only paying for our games but more importantly also giving us the time to dive into our fantasies. Being brave and looking for our own way, trying to find this unique personality of the studio was the second thing. And thirdly, having an awesome, honest and friendly team that understands the goals of 11bit Studios as a company and treating them as there were theirs own. Michal Drozdowski: I’ll add something from the design point of view. The first thing is knowing what you want to achieve. All great games have a good strong focus – a few things that are critical for them and at which they aim to be the best. This focus is crucial to make further decisions during development. Having a very clear vision of the game you’re making, keeping consistency during design, production and finally, sales are the key aspects in delivering an outstanding experience to the players. This may sound as being a bit obvious, but it’s actually one of the hardest aspects. Be able to judge what are the very things that shape the personality of your game and treat all the remaining ones just as a nice to have. During prototyping or developing new features, you may easily find yourself straying from the path, so make sure to cross-check several times during the project that your main vision is still your goal.

What comes next from 11 bit studios? Przemyslaw Marszal: You know we just can’t tell. Yet what we can guarantee that whatever we do we want it to be a huge challenge for us. We won’t settle, we will push ourselves to achieve new experiences, emotions, messages, and craft more meaningfulness into our games. We will struggle while doing it, swearing and cursing on our ambitious decisions. Yet in the end, we will be satisfied and we hope players will be too.

Przemyslaw Marszal Development & Art Director

Art director and co-founder of 11 bit studios. He’s responsible for the art direction of all company titles, as well as managing development teams together with Michal. With almost 20 years of experience in game development and many games shipped under his belt, he always tries to work on titles never imagined before.

  Michal Drozdowski Development & Design Director

He is a creative director and a co-founder of 11 bit studios. He’s responsible for the game design, recently for Frostpunk and all company titles as well as leading, supervising and managing studio’s internal and external design teams. He’s designing gameplay in games for about 20 years now.

  Pawel Miechowski Partnership Manager

Working in game development since the late 90s. In the early 2000s landed in Metropolis Software and worked there as a writer and PR manager. Later in CD Projekt Group and from 2010 at 11 bit studios, initially as a writer and PR guy and now working as a partnerships manager.

The post The Making of Frostpunk: Interview with 11 bit studios appeared first on Making Games.

The Making of Frostpunk: Interview with 11 bit studios published first on https://leolarsonblog.tumblr.com/

[crazedlunatik]

It’s weird.

That is my answer when people ask me how things are going. I know this is not the answer they want but that’s what I give. Because my emotions are in constant flux. One moment I’m fine, strolling along the ocean with my wife. The next moment I am nearly panicking because Walmart is a hell of a lot more crowded then I expected. So the answer truly changes depending on where I am, who I’m with, and what I am reading. I think this is okay though. I think this should be expected, after all, the virus news keeps changing every hour or so. It’s hard to keep up, so I am not really going to bother talking much about the virus itself. I am just going to talk about life as it is now.

The Day to Day

The days have gotten pretty repetitive and only vary a little each day. I will walk you through a typical day.

8 AM – I get up and start working on something. Sometimes grading, sometimes lessons, sometimes drawing or painting, and sometimes on an online course that I signed up for.

10 AM – Carter wakes up. He snuggles for a few minutes then demands food. I give him bread or maybe an orange. We play for a while. Around this time Michelle’s father emerges from his room and starts making breakfast.

11 AM Michelle starts making awake noises and her dad tells her food is ready. Carter and his grandpa eat. Sometimes Michelle joins. And sometimes Michelle makes something special for me when she does.

12 PM I get ready for my online class while Michelle’s dad takes Carter out to play. Michelle gets set to watch a video for fun or for a test she will take when they let the world resume.

1 PM I meet with my kids digitally. One group from 1 to 1:30 and another group from 1:30  to 2. After that is over, I get the next day’s video explanations ready and make tweaks to assignments based on where my students are that day.

3 or 4 PM Michelle and I go for a walk. We usually do some grocery shopping along the way and occasionally reunite with Carter and play in the sand.

5 PM We usually head to SeaWorld and then stop for a tasty freshly-made bread treat before walking into Ole grocery store. Every two days or so Michelle buys bananas and I buy bread. We pick up other random things we need or want to try and then we head home.

6 or 7 PM When we get home one of us starts to cook (usually Michelle) and then Carter emerges grumpily from his nap. We get him happily walking around and then we eat.

10 PM We start getting ready for bed. We sleep. Then the day starts all over again.

The only difference on the weekend seems to be the lack of my class meeting.

The Fight Against Boredom

I have played in the sand pits a lot with Carter this month. I dig and create mountains for him to destroy. It’s great fun but he eventually gets tired. So I have looked for other things to keep me entertained. I have done a lot of crosswords, more then I want. I also signed up for a course on Coursera. It was about modern art and it was a fun break from the norm. It did not inspire me to make art sadly but it did get me to join a lot of other courses. One of them is a creative writing course and I have had to create 55-word stories a couple times. Check them out here: https://wp.me/ptBAL-1e and https://wp.me/ptBAL-1f

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Masks, Masks, Everywhere! (Except for purchase)

When I first moved to Shenzhen 5 years ago I was surprised to see people wearing masks. It was a little bit creepy and I didn’t really understand it. The Japanese urban legend of kuchisake onna did not help me feel at ease around mask wearers. Not that I expected that urban legend to play out in real life but it used to cross my mind when I saw the occasional mask being worn. As I continued to live here, I got used to seeing masks on people everywhere I went. I soon began to understand the reason behind it and as I learned more I stopped paying a lot of attention to it. Masks were worn for a variety of reasons before it became mandatory to wear them when you go out. You might wear them because you were feeling a little sick. You might wear one because it was cold and flu season and you wanted to protect yourself from others who may be sick and not wearing a mask. You might wear one because the pollution levels were high or it was allergy season. There are a lot of reasons to wear a mask if you think about it. The reasons can be for both your benefit and the benefit of others.

We are wearing our masks every day at this point because it is mandated by the government. Except for Carter. Carter still won’t let us put one on him. He fights it the entire time. I get lectured occasionally by security guards and old ladies. This is interesting because their government said young children should not wear them because there is a risk of suffocation. So here I am being given the third degree over something that they shouldn’t be hassling me over. I have to work pretty hard at not getting annoyed with them.

The thing about the masks is that they really aren’t designed for you to walk around in them all the time. They are designed to be worn by people in a healthcare environment that are dealing with sick people. So, as we all rush out to stock up on masks, the people that need them, doctors and nurses, are facing shortages. I am not sure what to say about that, I have no suggestions to offset this. It just is a crappy situation.

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Temperature Checks

As we come out of our apartment complex we submit to a temperature check. Then when you head to Wal-Mart you get checked again. If you went to Ole to shop you get checked when entering the complex it’s part of and then again as you enter the grocery store. When you come back to the apartment complex you get checked again. I know my temperature is normal but I am beginning to wonder if I will develop some kind of cancer from all these infrared temperature checks I submit too.

The first few times it is a nerve-wracking experience to get your temperature checked. Hoping that it comes up in the acceptable range. It didn’t matter that you felt healthy, you still had a worry in the back of your head. After about a week, though, you just stop and let them check and then walk off no longer paying attention to the number or if they seem concerned (they don’t, you’re fine).

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That School Life

I have been working my behind off since school went online. I always thought it would be a cakewalk but the reality is that it is far harder than working in my classroom. I think to a certain extent it’s because my students are either in 1st or 2nd grade. This is not an age where kids excel at independent work. In fact, it’s an age where after 30 seconds of independent work they want your attention again. They need to show you things and hear your feedback. They want approval and they generally just want to know you are listening. How do you handle that through a computer? Well, one thing I have been doing the past 3 weeks is getting online with them daily. I actually have found that it is my favorite part of the workday. I get to see them and get interrupted by them. I get to tell them the same thing over and over again. But for once, it isn’t really bothering me. I can finally see that they are trying the best they can in a very weird situation. I also can feel better for a while because I know the kids I saw that day are healthy and safe.

As I write about my resilient students, I began to realize I also need to say a word or two about the parents. It has been hard on them. They are spending money to send their kids to our school to get an education in English. English is a language a lot of them don’t speak and if they do it usually isn’t at the level they need to help with our assignments. Some parents are trying to help while they are also working full time on top of it. So they have been frustrated at times, which is understandable. I hope they know we appreciate them and their efforts. It is weird but I feel like I am closer to these kids and their families because of the situation. Still, I think every single person in this situation is looking forward to the school buildings reopening and for us all to return safely to a more normal form of education.

The question is when will that happen? When this started I was dismayed by the February 16th return announcement. I felt battered by the March 2nd push back. Then the March 23rd date felt devastating. The thing is that the date is still uncertain. It’s merely the planned date, as were the dates that came before it. Recently Hong Kong, our neighbor, announced an April 20th date for return and we are all holding our breath hoping it’s just them. We want our students safe and we understand that is why this keeps happening but we also know we are most effective, as teachers, in a face to face classroom environment. We want to do our jobs at the best level and for that, we want to be back in our physical classrooms. So each delay is not being celebrated by the teachers, students or parents. Covid, covid, go away, we want to go to school today.

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Stuck by Staying

When we were told the return date was moved to March 23rd they also told us that our spring break had changed. It had been originally set for early April but it was moving to March 2-6. The reason it moved was to maximize our face to face instruction time. The reason they gave made sense but I felt robbed by the decision. I knew it meant a week of being home like I already am. I also knew my dream of having my dad here for it and traveling China one last time together was a no go. There are flights to places in China but the sightseeing spots are closed down. So you can go but you aren’t guaranteed to have a good time. We also happen to be in one of the higher infection number areas and are not necessarily free from quarantine restrictions traveling within the country.

Getting away from China was a popular thing in January. At least until they made it hard to go anywhere from China. Flights have disappeared and the ones left are pretty terrible time-wise (how do you feel about a 30 hour travel time to the US?) A lot of places are closed to anyone who has been in China within the last 14 days and a lot of places that will let you in have a quarantine period in place when you get there. Then there is still that pesky issue about me not wanting to travel with hundreds of other people in a confined space. The only difference between this week and every other week this month is I won’t have to make videos, school content, or any online meetings.

The World is the Problem

As I am writing this the cases in other countries is rising. It makes me wonder how well they will handle the issue. There has been a lot of criticism of what China did and is doing. I do not know enough to tell you if they could have done better or not. The thing is, the new infections are dropping here and the cured people are increasing. I think that leaving here at this point is opening yourself up to more risk.

Co-Workers

A nice chunk of us stayed here for various reasons. We created WeChat groups and had each other’s backs. Sharing information, tips, and some laughs. I really feel like those that went through this experience with me helped me keep it together. So I feel grateful for what they have done and what they continue to do.

Even more of my co-workers left China. Some had left for Chinese New Year and decided to stay out until things got under control. Some people left as ports to Hong Kong started closing. A few went to the US but some stayed out there as nomads. I watched people that are usually pretty good travelers struggle with the nomadic life while trying to teach at the same time. Making and running online lessons is hard. Most have ended up going somewhere they call home besides China. They are waiting for this to end still so they can come home and resume life. I am glad they decided to go home because I think ultimately you need a stable place to run lessons. It’s hard to be stable and running things from a hotel.

Until next time, stay healthy.

Michael

PS. This post took me 10 days to write. I hope you like it and if you do, feel free to share.

The Ongoing COVID Crisis It's weird. That is my answer when people ask me how things are going. I know this is not the answer they want but that's what I give.

[nancygduarteus]

The People Who Eat the Same Meal Every Day

Vern Loomis, a retired structural draftsman in West Bloomfield, Michigan, had a standard office lunch: a peanut-butter sandwich, with various fruit, vegetable, and dessert accompaniments. He ate this, he estimates, nearly every workday for about 25 years.

His meal underwent slight modifications over time—jelly was added to the sandwich in the final five or so years—but its foundation remained the same. The meal was easy to prepare, cheap, and tasty. “And if you happen to be eating at your desk … it was something that was not too drippy,” he told me, so long as one applied the jelly a bit conservatively.

Last year, Loomis retired from his job but not his lunch, which he still eats three or four days a week (now with sliced bananas instead of jelly). “I never stopped liking it,” he says. “I still do.”

Loomis may be uncommonly dedicated to his lunchtime ritual, but many share his proclivity for routine. One of the few existing surveys of people’s eating habits estimated that about 17 percent of British people had eaten the same lunch every day for two years; another indicated that a third of Brits ate the same lunch daily. But it’s hard to say for sure how common this really is, since these surveys tend to have been conducted by food purveyors, who might be inclined to exaggerate the ruts that diners are stuck in (and then try to sell them a way out). Still, loyalists who stick to a single meal for months or years—they are out there.

[Read: The problems home cooking can’t solve]

Some of them are public figures whose monotonous diets have been revealed in interviews—they are college-football coaches, fitness-chain CEOs, TV personalities, fashion designers, dead philosophers, Anderson Cooper. Depending on the context, eating the same thing every day can come off as a moderately charming quirk, an indictment of one’s lack of creativity, or a signal of professional focus and drive.

Whatever the symbolism, these people’s behavior is not doing them harm. Marion Nestle, a professor of nutrition and food studies at New York University and the author of several books about nutrition and the food industry, says the consequences of eating the same lunch every day depend on the contents of that lunch and of the day’s other meals. “If your daily lunch contains a variety of healthful foods,” she says, “relax and enjoy it.”

So there is nothing wrong with this habit. In fact, there are many things right with it. I spoke with about half a dozen people who, at one time or another, have eaten the same thing for lunch every day. Together, their stories form a defense of a practice that is often written off as uninspired.

Many of the people I talked with emphasized the stress-reducing benefits of eating the same thing each day. Amanda Respers, a 32-year-old software developer in Newport News, Virginia, once ate a variation on the same home-brought salad (a lettuce, a protein, and a dressing) at work for about a year. She liked the simplicity of the formula, but the streak ended when she and her now-husband, who has more of an appetite for variety, moved in together six years ago. Would she still be eating the salad every day if she hadn’t met him? “Oh heck yeah,” she told me. “It would’ve saved so much time.”

Sharilyn Neidhardt, a photo editor in New York City, once found solace in regularity. About a decade ago, she switched jobs, and her new one stressed her out. “There were phones ringing constantly and there were people yelling all the time,” she recalls. One thing that Neidhardt found soothed her and gave her a measure of control over her day: She picked up a spicy noodle dish called tantanmen from the same ramen restaurant every lunch break. She did this for “a minimum of six months,” after which she got tired of the meal (and its cost) and, perhaps more important, settled into the new job.

Eating the same thing over and over can also simplify the decisions people make about what they put into their bodies. Currie Lee, a 28-year-old resident of Los Angeles who works in retail, has some food allergies, and keeping her lunch unchanged “makes it easy” to eat around them. For about six months, at her previous job, she brought overnight oats every day; her current go-to is a turkey sandwich with hummus, avocado, arugula, and cheese, on gluten-free bread.

Lee’s eating habits are not just a function of her allergies, though. She likes that eating the same thing makes grocery shopping simpler, brings consistency to her sometimes chaotic schedule, and made it less likely she’d spend the money at the “$12-salad place” near her previous office. Besides, she really likes the things she brings. “I’m not eating, like, a PB&J every day,” she says. “I try to make it taste good and interesting.” (I did not tell Vern Loomis what Lee apparently thinks of his lunch.)

Chloe Cota, a computer engineer in New York City, does not have as strict a lunchtime regimen as others described in this story, but she has noticed that when her company brings in catered lunch, she always picks a salad when it’s available. She came to think of this default selection as reducing her “cognitive overhead”—a way of not expending mental energy on something that wasn’t a high priority for her.

“Lunch variety doesn't really matter to me,” she says. “I would be perfectly happy to eat the same Caesar salad or peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich every day.” Similarly, she has devised a standard “work uniform” (one of her many pairs of black leggings, plus a T-shirt), which helps streamline her morning routine. She says she took inspiration from tech moguls such as Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg, who essentially automated their own daily attire decisions in the name of reducing cognitive overhead.

The salad station, Cota says, is also an opportunity for her to practice “mindful eating,” something she started doing as part of her recovery from an eating disorder she developed in high school. She says it helps to know that the foods available to her in that moment are ones she knows she likes, which “short-circuits that whole negative space in my brain where I might get back into those disordered behaviors.”

For some people, the repetition in their daily food preparation is in the meals they make for other people. Ambreia Meadows-Fernandez, a 26-year-old writer in Cheyenne, Wyoming, cooks the same meal—“a meat and rice,” sometimes with some vegetables—for her 3-year-old son most nights of the week. “It made it simple in a way that there was less stress about what to give him,” she says. He usually gets a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for lunch, and doesn’t seem to mind the lack of variety.

Of course, most people around the world who eat the same thing every day aren’t doing so voluntarily. “I would say most people most of the time have little choice in their staple,” says Paul Freedman, a historian at Yale and the author of Ten Restaurants That Changed America. “If they live in a rice culture, they will have rice for every meal; ditto potatoes.” The cooking fat used—say, butter or ghee—generally remains the same as well.

The variety, Freedman says, usually comes from “relishes,” the food-anthropology term for flavor-adding ingredients such as spices, vegetables, and modest amounts of meat (like bacon). “This staple + fat + relish combination is what dominated eating in traditional peasant cultures,” he wrote in an email.

When I asked Krishnendu Ray, a food-studies scholar at NYU, about dietary variety, he said: “Newness or difference from the norm is a very urban, almost postmodern, quest. It is recent. It is class-based.” So, when accounting for the totality of human experience, it is the variety-seekers—not the same-lunchers—who are the unusual ones.

I should reveal that my interest in this subject is not purely philosophical. Nearly every workday for the past five or so years, sometime during the 1 o’clock hour, I have assembled a more or less identical plate of food: Bean-and-cheese soft tacos (topped with greens, salt, pepper, and hot sauce), with baby carrots, tempeh, and some fruit on the side. And almost invariably, I see the same colleague in our communal kitchen, who asks with delight, “Joe, what are you having for lunch today?” The types of bean and cheese rotate, as does the fruit—which depends on the season—but I do not inform my co-worker of these variations when I laugh off her very clever and funny question.

The people I talked with recounted similar experiences of having co-workers harmlessly joke about their meals, like “How was that sandwich today, Vern? Did you use crunchy or plain?” Currie Lee’s former colleagues, aware that she adored horses, found her regular meal particularly amusing, saying things like “Oh, there’s Currie with her oats.”

Lee thought these comments were just regular workplace small talk. But perhaps there is more to them, and eating the same thing each day reveals something deeper about who people are, or at least perceived to be. Amanda Respers, the yearlong eater of salads, says that “we bring a little bit of home when we eat lunch at work,” and naturally people’s outside-of-work identities are a subject of interest. What does eating the same thing each day say, then? “No offense, but it gives the impression that you’re a little bit boring,” she says.

Personally, I think Respers is on to something, though I’d draw a slightly different conclusion. The daily rituals of office life are characterized by their monotony and roteness, and bringing a different lunch each day is a sunny, inspired attempt to combat all the repetition. I do genuinely appreciate the optimism of those attempts. But in my mind, eating the same thing for lunch each day represents a sober reckoning with the fundamental sameness of office life. It seems like an honest admission that life will have some drudgery in it—so accept that and find joy elsewhere instead of forcing a little bit of novelty into a Tupperware and dragging it along on your commute.

But I am probably overthinking this. Ultimately, I am partial to Vern Loomis’s analysis of what prompted his co-workers to poke fun at his peanut-butter sandwich: “Maybe [they did so] just out of good humor, or maybe guilt that they’re not eating as healthy—that they’re eating a greasy burger or something—or going out and spending $15 for a lunch when mine only cost 80 cents.”

“Jealousy,” he concluded. “I think it’s jealousy.”

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2019/03/eating-the-same-thing-lunch-meal/584347/?utm_source=feed

[ionecoffman]

The People Who Eat the Same Meal Every Day

Vern Loomis, a retired structural draftsman in West Bloomfield, Michigan, had a standard office lunch: a peanut-butter sandwich, with various fruit, vegetable, and dessert accompaniments. He ate this, he estimates, nearly every workday for about 25 years.

His meal underwent slight modifications over time—jelly was added to the sandwich in the final five or so years—but its foundation remained the same. The meal was easy to prepare, cheap, and tasty. “And if you happen to be eating at your desk … it was something that was not too drippy,” he told me, so long as one applied the jelly a bit conservatively.

Last year, Loomis retired from his job but not his lunch, which he still eats three or four days a week (now with sliced bananas instead of jelly). “I never stopped liking it,” he says. “I still do.”

Loomis may be uncommonly dedicated to his lunchtime ritual, but many share his proclivity for routine. One of the few existing surveys of people’s eating habits estimated that about 17 percent of British people had eaten the same lunch every day for two years; another indicated that a third of Brits ate the same lunch daily. But it’s hard to say for sure how common this really is, since these surveys tend to have been conducted by food purveyors, who might be inclined to exaggerate the ruts that diners are stuck in (and then try to sell them a way out). Still, loyalists who stick to a single meal for months or years—they are out there.

[Read: The problems home cooking can’t solve]

Some of them are public figures whose monotonous diets have been revealed in interviews—they are college-football coaches, fitness-chain CEOs, TV personalities, fashion designers, dead philosophers, Anderson Cooper. Depending on the context, eating the same thing every day can come off as a moderately charming quirk, an indictment of one’s lack of creativity, or a signal of professional focus and drive.

Whatever the symbolism, these people’s behavior is not doing them harm. Marion Nestle, a professor of nutrition and food studies at New York University and the author of several books about nutrition and the food industry, says the consequences of eating the same lunch every day depend on the contents of that lunch and of the day’s other meals. “If your daily lunch contains a variety of healthful foods,” she says, “relax and enjoy it.”

So there is nothing wrong with this habit. In fact, there are many things right with it. I spoke with about half a dozen people who, at one time or another, have eaten the same thing for lunch every day. Together, their stories form a defense of a practice that is often written off as uninspired.

Many of the people I talked with emphasized the stress-reducing benefits of eating the same thing each day. Amanda Respers, a 32-year-old software developer in Newport News, Virginia, once ate a variation on the same home-brought salad (a lettuce, a protein, and a dressing) at work for about a year. She liked the simplicity of the formula, but the streak ended when she and her now-husband, who has more of an appetite for variety, moved in together six years ago. Would she still be eating the salad every day if she hadn’t met him? “Oh heck yeah,” she told me. “It would’ve saved so much time.”

Sharilyn Neidhardt, a photo editor in New York City, once found solace in regularity. About a decade ago, she switched jobs, and her new one stressed her out. “There were phones ringing constantly and there were people yelling all the time,” she recalls. One thing that Neidhardt found soothed her and gave her a measure of control over her day: She picked up a spicy noodle dish called tantanmen from the same ramen restaurant every lunch break. She did this for “a minimum of six months,” after which she got tired of the meal (and its cost) and, perhaps more important, settled into the new job.

Eating the same thing over and over can also simplify the decisions people make about what they put into their bodies. Currie Lee, a 28-year-old resident of Los Angeles who works in retail, has some food allergies, and keeping her lunch unchanged “makes it easy” to eat around them. For about six months, at her previous job, she brought overnight oats every day; her current go-to is a turkey sandwich with hummus, avocado, arugula, and cheese, on gluten-free bread.

Lee’s eating habits are not just a function of her allergies, though. She likes that eating the same thing makes grocery shopping simpler, brings consistency to her sometimes chaotic schedule, and made it less likely she’d spend the money at the “$12-salad place” near her previous office. Besides, she really likes the things she brings. “I’m not eating, like, a PB&J every day,” she says. “I try to make it taste good and interesting.” (I did not tell Vern Loomis what Lee apparently thinks of his lunch.)

Chloe Cota, a computer engineer in New York City, does not have as strict a lunchtime regimen as others described in this story, but she has noticed that when her company brings in catered lunch, she always picks a salad when it’s available. She came to think of this default selection as reducing her “cognitive overhead”—a way of not expending mental energy on something that wasn’t a high priority for her.

“Lunch variety doesn't really matter to me,” she says. “I would be perfectly happy to eat the same Caesar salad or peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich every day.” Similarly, she has devised a standard “work uniform” (one of her many pairs of black leggings, plus a T-shirt), which helps streamline her morning routine. She says she took inspiration from tech moguls such as Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg, who essentially automated their own daily attire decisions in the name of reducing cognitive overhead.

The salad station, Cota says, is also an opportunity for her to practice “mindful eating,” something she started doing as part of her recovery from an eating disorder she developed in high school. She says it helps to know that the foods available to her in that moment are ones she knows she likes, which “short-circuits that whole negative space in my brain where I might get back into those disordered behaviors.”

For some people, the repetition in their daily food preparation is in the meals they make for other people. Ambreia Meadows-Fernandez, a 26-year-old writer in Cheyenne, Wyoming, cooks the same meal—“a meat and rice,” sometimes with some vegetables—for her 3-year-old son most nights of the week. “It made it simple in a way that there was less stress about what to give him,” she says. He usually gets a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for lunch, and doesn’t seem to mind the lack of variety.

Of course, most people around the world who eat the same thing every day aren’t doing so voluntarily. “I would say most people most of the time have little choice in their staple,” says Paul Freedman, a historian at Yale and the author of Ten Restaurants That Changed America. “If they live in a rice culture, they will have rice for every meal; ditto potatoes.” The cooking fat used—say, butter or ghee—generally remains the same as well.

The variety, Freedman says, usually comes from “relishes,” the food-anthropology term for flavor-adding ingredients such as spices, vegetables, and modest amounts of meat (like bacon). “This staple + fat + relish combination is what dominated eating in traditional peasant cultures,” he wrote in an email.

When I asked Krishnendu Ray, a food-studies scholar at NYU, about dietary variety, he said: “Newness or difference from the norm is a very urban, almost postmodern, quest. It is recent. It is class-based.” So, when accounting for the totality of human experience, it is the variety-seekers—not the same-lunchers—who are the unusual ones.

I should reveal that my interest in this subject is not purely philosophical. Nearly every workday for the past five or so years, sometime during the 1 o’clock hour, I have assembled a more or less identical plate of food: Bean-and-cheese soft tacos (topped with greens, salt, pepper, and hot sauce), with baby carrots, tempeh, and some fruit on the side. And almost invariably, I see the same colleague in our communal kitchen, who asks with delight, “Joe, what are you having for lunch today?” The types of bean and cheese rotate, as does the fruit—which depends on the season—but I do not inform my co-worker of these variations when I laugh off her very clever and funny question.

The people I talked with recounted similar experiences of having co-workers harmlessly joke about their meals, like “How was that sandwich today, Vern? Did you use crunchy or plain?” Currie Lee’s former colleagues, aware that she adored horses, found her regular meal particularly amusing, saying things like “Oh, there’s Currie with her oats.”

Lee thought these comments were just regular workplace small talk. But perhaps there is more to them, and eating the same thing each day reveals something deeper about who people are, or at least perceived to be. Amanda Respers, the yearlong eater of salads, says that “we bring a little bit of home when we eat lunch at work,” and naturally people’s outside-of-work identities are a subject of interest. What does eating the same thing each day say, then? “No offense, but it gives the impression that you’re a little bit boring,” she says.

Personally, I think Respers is on to something, though I’d draw a slightly different conclusion. The daily rituals of office life are characterized by their monotony and roteness, and bringing a different lunch each day is a sunny, inspired attempt to combat all the repetition. I do genuinely appreciate the optimism of those attempts. But in my mind, eating the same thing for lunch each day represents a sober reckoning with the fundamental sameness of office life. It seems like an honest admission that life will have some drudgery in it—so accept that and find joy elsewhere instead of forcing a little bit of novelty into a Tupperware and dragging it along on your commute.

But I am probably overthinking this. Ultimately, I am partial to Vern Loomis’s analysis of what prompted his co-workers to poke fun at his peanut-butter sandwich: “Maybe [they did so] just out of good humor, or maybe guilt that they’re not eating as healthy—that they’re eating a greasy burger or something—or going out and spending $15 for a lunch when mine only cost 80 cents.”

“Jealousy,” he concluded. “I think it’s jealousy.”

Article source here:The Atlantic

[firstumcschenectady]

“How to Love God” based on Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-19 and Matthew 22:34-40

Sometimes things are complicated, things like trying to build the kin-dom of God for example.  This feels especially complicated when trying to hold together awareness of many people, with many different needs, and may varied experiences of oppression.  When Rev. Dr. Traci West was here talking about “Grace and Race” she reminded us that when we look at things intersectionally, the same people can be both oppressed and oppressor, in different roles or realities they live. Actually, it is more that we are all both, which we have to keep in mind while also trying to get clear on how the systems work that create and enforce the oppressions, so that we can be part of changing them.

Sometimes things are really complicated, like when we try to identify the driving forces that are important in building a more just society, and when we look at how deeply embedded how intricate the forces that keep the status quo in place are.  Sometimes things are really complicated, like when we try to imagine a world without hungry people, and then we think about all the changes that would require.

And then, in the midst of all the complications, come the simplest and clearest commandments of the Bible. They can easily be remembered. They leave minimal space for interpretation,  and there isn't any wiggle room in them.  Love God, and love your neighbor.  Follow up question: who is my neighbor is easily answered: everyone.  Done

The commandments offer a very simple explanation of the sort of love that God wants from us: to love God the way God wants to be loved is to love God's people.  Its all very simple.

Yet, every one of us who has tried to live these commandments knows they get very complicated to live out, very quickly.  How is it that something so simple and understandable is also so very difficult?

Thanks goodness for Leviticus (things you might not have expected to hear - ever).  As it is written in the New Interpreter's Bible, “Leviticus 19 is one of the grand chapters of the whole book of Leviticus.  In American Reform Judaism it is one of the most quoted and most often read chapters, especially since it is assigned as the Torah reading for Yom Kippur afternoon in that tradition.”1 If you are not familiar with Yom Kippur, it is the Holiest day in the Jewish tradition, and is focused on atonement and repentance. The Yom Kippur prayer of atonement is so vast and inclusive that I find it exceptionally healing, by the time it is over it truly feels as if the slate of past wrongdoings is wiped clean and we can start anew.  

The part of the chapter that we are focusing on today reflects on what it means to love one's neighbor, and the commandments it contains seem to clarify what tends to go wrong!  By noticing how people are instructed to do right, we can see what has gone wrong too frequently.  

The first part of the set of instructions are about how to care for people who live in poverty, and they are consistent with other passages in the Torah.  As one commentator puts it, this set of instructions

“seeks to help poor people by legislating that the three chief products of agriculture – the grain, the product of the vine, and the fruit of the trees, are not to be harvested entirely; some is to be left for poor people to glean.  … the Lord is the ultimate owner of everything; thus the land is a gift from the Lord.  If the landowners are only stewards of the land and all that it produces, there is no reason to be selfish and stingy. … Disadvantaged persons have a right to harvest the edges of the fields; they are not to depend on voluntary gifts alone.”2

In modern terms, I wonder if the comparison is to be made to welfare, and other assistance that comes through the Department of Social Services.  The comparison isn't perfect, gleaning the field was seen as a human right, however it does compare well to the idea that there needs to be a way to provide for the basic needs of life for all people, and that on top of those very basic needs there will be need for further support.  (Please note the video on Sustain and the idea that those who are getting help from DSS are still struggling to access basic necessities of life.)

That idea that all that is, is God's, and that we are to use it appropriately is one of the most humbling ideas in our faith.  Do we do it?  How well?  What would God have us be doing with our resources that we aren't doing?  How have things gotten to where they are?  

The second bit of instruction deals with truth; there are commands not to steal, not to deal falsely, not to lie, and not to swear falsely in the name of God.  Apparently these are also common issues in all of humanity, the temptation to take what isn't ours or tell untruths for our own benefit.  Their inclusion in this passage is notable though: to seek a benefit from an untruth means taking that benefit from someone else. It is not to act as we would wish others would act towards us.  

The third set of instructions seems to focus on balancing power.  In particular the instructions are against fraud and against stealing. Then comes yet another instruction that seems to be timeless: “you shall not keep for yourself the wages of a laborer until morning.” Laborers were usually living day to day, using the labor of the day to buy the day's bread.  By keeping it for just a bit longer, the person who didn't pay on time would be keeping a person from their daily food.  This has compassion for the poorest workers.  Finally, the instructions condemn taking advantage of a person's disability (and I'd expect this expands to any weakness).  Specially it says not to speak harshly to a deaf person nor attempt to trip a blind person. In summation, this part of loving our neighbors as ourselves seems to be about not taking advantage of anyone just because we can.  

The fourth part of this set of instructions worries about “just judgements” and in particular the availability of justice to people who are poor.  This is practically an obsession of the Torah.  It is as if there is something inherent in human nature that biases people toward partiality, towards giving the rich and powerful more wealth and more power while taking it away from the impoverished and disempowered.  I don't much like thinking about humanity that way, but I can't see any other reason why the Bible would spend SO much effort trying to correct for it. Furthermore, I suppose, that when dealing with justice in combination with wealth and power, any human could come face to face with a self-preservation instinct.  A wealthy person who is displeased might be capable of significant harm.  Perhaps it is just self-preservation that makes it possible that all justice systems need constant reminders and corrections to ensure that justice serves the poor and the wealthy equally well.  It is distributing however, that the issues that exist today in our nation's justice system are neither new nor unique, but reflect a problem with humanity itself.  That may mean it is will be quite reticent to correction. #Schooltoprisionpipeline #privateprisons

The final set of instructions about neighborliness in Leviticus 19 is a bit surprising.  It explicitly states that to love your neighbor means you can't hate them.  That may be a lot harder than it sounds. It also says that you have to call them to account when their behavior isn't loving.  That's definitely harder than it sounds. Then we're told not to seek revenge AND not to hold grudges.  Then this part of the passage seamlessly draws itself to a conclusion, the one we already knew was coming, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”  

One thing seems true, the last few millennia haven't seen much change in human behavior.  The explicit instructions in Leviticus about what loving our neighbors looks like hold up well to the test of time.

So what do we do with these easy to understand, difficult to enact commandments?  We could discuss further instruction, but that hasn't yet proven productive.  We could offer inspiring stories, but I think that's been done enough.  I wonder if our time is better spent considering what holds us back from loving our neighbors, and what we might do to overcome those barriers.

Now, this list is just my best guesses (I'm a little sad we don't' have a sermon talk-back so I can hear what you'd add or remove), the things that make it hard for us to love our neighbors:  fear of our own deaths (“existential anxiety”) and an instinct toward self preservation, combined with believing in the myth of scarcity; in-group thinking and fear of others; and finally a lack of love for ourselves.  (If the commandment is to love our neighbors AS ourselves, it implies we are also supposed to be good at loving ourselves!)  That isn't a terribly extensive list, I was attempting to be as clear like the commandments themselves ;)

If you are willing to take a homework assignment, I'd encourage you to spend some time considering if the list above feels true in your experience, and then to consider what things make you more susceptible to those challenges to loving our neighbors and which make it easier for you to overcome them and love your neighbors well. The answers to those questions are pretty important, especially if we're all willing to work on them.

For me, there are two key pieces to overcoming those challenges, two things that help me truly love our neighbors.  The first is quiet time to soak in God's love and hear my own inner voice, and the second is having opportunities to learn about the world and to connect with people – especially those whose lives have been radically different from mine.  To start at the beginning for this, when I'm tired, or drained, or anxious, I'm not very loving – including to myself.  While sleep and also good food matter, the key to keeping myself from getting drained is taking time for my spiritual well-being.  For me, at my best, this means an HOUR a day spent in contemplative prayer, although the particular form of the prayer isn't consistent.  When I stop all the doing and just listen – both to God and myself – I'm more centered, more loving, more focused, and waaaaaaaaaay less anxious.

At the same time, one of the great dangers of trying to “Love our neighbors as ourselves” is misunderstanding what love looks like for a particular person or group of people.  If I don't understand the problem, and if I don't take the time to listen to the one(s) struggling, then the love I try to share may end up doing more harm. Also, I really like learning, connecting, and trying to understand the world and its people.

What guides you?  What helps you be more loving?  I know some of you need forests, others need music, others need exercise – and for many of you, I don't know!  If you do know what you need to be more loving the next question is: are you DOING it?  I think God would appreciate it if we spent our time doing the things that help us be more loving toward our neighbors, in fact, I think that's how we best love God. Amen

1Walter C. Kaiser, “Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections on Leviticus” in The New Interpreter's Bible Volume One , Leander E. Keck, editorial board convener (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994) p. 1131.

2Kaiser, 1133.

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

October 29, 2017

[sporlederart]

Northern Territory Part III: The Mighty Uluru

Uluru is a magical place, one of Australia’s most iconic landmarks. It is a place that is steeped in tradition and one that has a highly significant spiritual meaning in Aboriginal life. It’s also a place that is shrouded in modern day political contrasts and confusions.  To climb the rock, or not climb the rock?  To take a picture, or not take a picture?  A holy site or simply a big rock? These were questions with which I was faced and didn’t quite understand until my final moments at Uluru. It was a moment, where after days of forcing imagery and wanting to experience something surreal, I realized that it simply wasn’t going to happen. It was just then, only after letting my guard down, did the rock finally speak to me and allow me to experience a moment in time that will be engraved into my mind for as long as I live. 

I rolled into Yulara, the small tourist town outside of Uluru, and set up camp at the Desert Garden Voyages, which was to be my base camp for my final five days in the Northern Territory. Five days is a long time on a photographic journey and I was sure I had an eternity to get just the images I was hoping to get. Where I had lacked in preparation in other areas, I had made up for it here in researching the photographing of Uluru. I knew the locations and interesting angles that I wanted to shoot from (thanks Google Earth) and all the times of the sunrises and sunsets. Now it was simply a matter of getting out there and making it happen, which turned out  to be a lot more difficult than I initially thought. I got tested, I hit a wall and ultimately, on the last day I threw in the towel. Little did I know that the decision to stop trying to force something out of Uluru and to simply enjoy its presence, was going to be one of the best choices I’ve ever made. 

For my final days in the Northern Territory, I had a great itinerary made up of exciting and inspiring events daily. At the sound of silence dinner, I sipped on great Australian wines and dined behind the shadow of Uluru. I enjoyed camel treks at sunset while staring off at the silhouette of Kata Tjuta as the sky glowed orange behind it, and enjoyed an outdoor BBQ at the Outback Pioneer Bar. I experienced all of this at one of the world’s most beautiful places, but there was still something missing. I had a desire to connect at a different level with this place and it was proving to be quite difficult. 

Essentially, most of the people at Uluru are tourists. There is a small Aboriginal town within the park called Mutitjulu, but it requires a special permit to enter the town. Everywhere you look there is another jumbo bus arriving, hauling hoards of tourists off to another site for their packaged deals. Every morning, thousands of people line up along a marked rope and snap away to capture the fabled sunrise. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong- but I was hoping for a slightly more personalized experience. I was expecting something a little more moving.  

Expectations and preconceived notions were motivating my actions during the first few days at Uluru. When I travel to these far off places, I put extreme pressure on myself to get the best photos and videos there are. Other photographers may work years at perfecting their craft, patiently waiting for the right light, and the perfect moment when everything comes together. Yet I unrealistically hope that I will be lucky enough to take the best photo that has ever been taken of that location on the one day of my life that I am there. It should be postcard perfect, no questions asked. I know how to be patient, but when things don’t work out and I know my flight home is in a few days, and I have not gotten what I came to get, I start to get grumpy, impatient and downright irritated.

That’s what started happening towards the end of my trip. For my few days at Uluru, I was fortunate enough to have been given a media pass which gave me special access to areas not open to the public. I was sure I would get great photos, but it was not to be the case, for the following reasons. 

Uluru is a very spiritual place for all Aboriginal people, but particularly to the Pitjantnanara people, who are the traditional owners of the site. Aboriginal people believe very strongly in respect and show their respect through avoidance practices. It is out of respect that you do not make eye contact with one another, or mention the name of a deceased family member, or take pictures of sacred spiritual sites. This is a belief that I completely respect and did not want to offend anyone during my time as a guest at Uluru. It was also a belief that was a bit difficult for me as a photographer, considering the fact that my sole purpose was to photograph and write about my journey through the Outback.

I was given one of the three media passes granted per month and was also assigned a media ranger who followed my every move while I was in the park. It was the ranger’s job to make sure that I did not take any photographs or video of sacred sites in accordance with the Anangu people’s guidelines. Again, I completely respect this, but what I found difficult was suddenly being told what I could and could not shoot after 25 days of complete photographic freedom on the road. Standing in a predetermined spot, shoulder to shoulder with a few hundred tourists all snapping the same shot, is not exactly my thing. Because of my “Media Pass”, I was told that I couldn’t take a picture, while the 500 tourists next to me were snapping away. I was caught up in my own expectations of what Uluru was “supposed” to be, and the images I should have been capturing. 
That attitude continued for another two days, and the poor ranger who was assigned to me must have thought I was the most irritable jerk in the world. The next day, the weather began to turn and when the sky became a flat gray, I knew I was done.
 On my final day, after waking up and seeing another day of gray sky and rain, I made the conscious decision that I was over it. I had been moving around non stop for 25 days, shooting close to a thousand photographs a day, and it was time for me to simply ENJOY THE PLACE!  Uluru and I had been butting heads since the moment I arrived. Every expectation that I had about the place had not come to fruition, and I was tired of trying to force it. 

This “No-photo” mentality came as quite a surprise to the second media ranger I met on the afternoon of my final day. She was going to escort me around the park to a few locations where I had not been. When we got out of the car and started walking, she was a little caught off guard by my answer when she asked - “It’s a little bit of a walk to the spot. Do you want to grab your camera before we go?” 
“Nah, I don’t think so. I think I’ll leave it in the car.” I responded. 

That was met with raised eyebrows. Here I was, with the same media pass that Oprah and her film crew (the size of a small town) had when they visited, and I was telling her that I really didn’t feel like bringing my camera. 

Truth be told, I didn’t feel like bringing it. We began talking about this, and I started opening up about how I thought I had just been pushing things for the last few days. I wanted to just try and experience the place, without taking from it. I wanted to smell it and breathe it without trying to capture its beauty. I didn’t want to be weighed down with all these lenses and equipment.  I wanted to be light, to finally try and connect with Uluru before I left. To just take a few mental pictures of the places, and hell, it was raining anyway so there wasn’t much that could be done photowise. 

That’s when she told me about the Anangu’s (the local Aboriginal people) belief that to truly understand and appreciate Uluru, you had to sit and listen to it. You had to listen to what the land has to say, to feel it and let it talk to you. We made our way along the Mala walk in the rain, drawing in the smell of the eucalyptus leaves which, thanks to the rain, where giving off a strong aroma. The path which had people on it when we began our walk, slowly began to empty. She told me about some of the ancient beliefs at the Kantju Gorge, and about the old spirituality of the place. Then we stopped, we listened and breathed. I’m not sure how long we were there, but it felt like a while. It had literally been the first time I had stopped moving in a month. Definitely the first time I had been without a camera. I sat and tried to imagine people living and moving about this water hole thousands of years ago. Long before the Renaissance, long before biblical times, long before anything, people had been coming to this place. They came to hunt, to drink, to rest and to practice their beliefs. Just because there is not an altar, statue, shrine or any man made entity, doesn’t mean that this isn’t a holy site. In those minutes that I stood there in silence and listened to the wind sway through the trees, I really felt its spirituality.  

After some minutes there, I felt a shift in the weather. From what had been a brisk, blustery wind bringing rain for the better portion of the day, it shifted suddenly to a slightly warmer breeze. There was no longer an edge to this wind, and I noticed that it changed directions. It was this shift of the weather is what got me and the ranger to start talking again. We decided to head back to the car and as we walked we discussed how nice it is to slow down sometimes, like we just had.  

Once again, a conversation came back to the east vs. west topic. She told me about the notion of sitting and listening and how it simply doesn’t apply to the western world. 

“Imagine going to a dinner party, where you ran into some old friends. Those friends said, Scott... How have you been? What have you been up to man?” and you responded with, “ I’ve been good, I’ve just been, ah, sitting and listening a lot.”
”Sitting and listening? Can you imagine their response? It would be as if you were speaking another language.”

It’s true, we often only measure accomplishments and success on material achievements-  what do we physically have to show for what we’ve been doing? If you don’t have money, or a beautiful home and other possessions, well.... then you’re not doing much. 

As we discussed this and made our way to the car, I noticed that on the horizon there was a little gap, a small slice of blue sky.  I have a slight sunset addiction. I love them, I’m fortunate to live close to the beach at home and watch the sunset over the ocean just about every night. After many years of watching sunsets, I know what it takes for the sun to get underneath the clouds and light up the entire sky. 

I told the ranger that we should head back up to a hill with a good viewpoint of Uluru for sunset. As if the mighty rock was orchestrating the entire thing, we strolled, without a hurry in the world, then drove super slow up to the spot, got my camera and sauntered our way up to the viewing point. 

The synchronicity of the moment was almost spooky. Just as we got to the top of the hill, the sun peeked its head out from underneath the clouds and hit the side of Uluru with all of its might. Uluru was wet from the rain, giving it almost a velvetlike texture, but once the light hit it, the rock popped with the brightest color of red I had ever seen. For about 5 minutes, there was a natural light show that was simply surreal. Right at the end of the sunset, I heard the ranger yell out- “Scott! Scott! Do you see that? Look... above it, it’s a rainbow!” 

When she yelled my name, I immediately looked back in the direction of Uluru and there coming directly out of the center was a faint rainbow. Over the course of the next minute, the rainbow got brighter and brighter. It was a strange little rainbow- it didn’t have the full spectrum of color that you normally see, but it looked like a stream of red paint being poured over the top of the rock. 

There I stood, in awe, watching this unreal sight. I was so excited that I could have jumped out of my skin. The ranger told me that in the six years working at the park she had never seen a rainbow like that over Uluru. It was a magical moment. 

As fast as it came, it went away and left the few of us standing atop that hill buzzing. We looked around, smiling, straight-up stoked on what had just happened. Shit like that doesn’t take place everyday. I even high-fived an English dude that was standing near us. 

As we walked back down towards the car to bid our farewells, the ranger made a comment that struck me deeply. She said that by sitting and listening to Uluru, I had given a chance for my heart to finally catch up with my body. It was so true that Uluru and I been locking horns for a few days.  I thought I could simply roll into town and capture something beautiful without taking the time to connect with the place. In this place that has been the spiritual heart of a people’s culture for thousands of years, I had the audacity to think that in three days I could show up and start taking from it without getting to know it. What I do know now is that for a brief moment in time I decided not to force things and instead to sit and listen to the beauty that is Uluru, and in return Uluru gave back to me. 

That was the way that I ended my two weeks in the Outback. After hearing many people talk about the power of the land in the Outback, I finally felt it too. It’s a beautiful place on this earth, a spiritual place. It can simply be a tourist destination if you want it to be, a place to snap a few pics, take a camel trek, enjoy a delicious dinner and some beautiful bush walks. But if you want to strip it all back, see past the facade and feel the place, it’s there... all you have to do is sit and listen to it.

Sincerely,

Scott