#themselves to be superior over other people. may fancy themselves as gods of a new world. but this perfect image he’s created. this cold and

[arklay]

hi i found another song last night for the clown pair and i will never emotionally recover from this

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Pazienza e Perseveranza

*

Prima Parte: Veneziano

Everything had been so much simpler in the beginning. When you were young, you saw the world through tinted lenses; everything was dreamy and romantic.

Your ignorance was the epitome of peace and contentment. You never wanted for much else, as there was not much known to you beyond your small bubble. Moments were fleeting, your memories hazed to the point you could no longer discern your longing for the old days from the sanguine reality you knew.

That first love- innocent as a daisy and as pure as the first light shower at the end of a long autumn's day- was nothing more than a fuzzy feeling; you're reminded of a peach- it was sweet, soft, his lips were as gentle as a flower petal- Then your eyes are ripped open; the world is cold and bitter. Your first love marches off to a war he doesn't believe in. Your guardian is a tyrant, holding you captive solely for your resources. Your family is divided, physically kept away from each other as the world is terrified of your retribution. Together, you would be unstoppable, but separated you are weak.

You're a pitiful waste of your grandfather's name- -or so they would like to tell you. Your guardian has been an excellent teacher; there is more than one way to fight, and as inspiring as your eldest brother's passion is to destroy everything in his path until he is free, you have been perfecting the art of patience. When branching off on one's own, one must always be able to maneuver themselves through the complex policies of the modern age.

You know that in order to be successful, you will need to win over some powerful allies before you start setting your plans in motion.

There are several options you consider for your seductions-

There is the figurehead of Enlightenment, still bitter since his latest emperor was condemned to isolation, still teeming with a simmering anger that his conquests on the continent were all but for naught.

There is the seafarer, the Imperialist who has claimed so many as his own, concealing his thirst for power and control under a guise of refinement and industry.

There are others you could consider, former enemies and distant powers. You ponder allies who share the same household, seek out faces sharing your thirst for freedom in dining halls and cafes.

Your search is almost fruitless; very few seem keen on challenging your guardian’s foothold.

But there is hope.

Your guardian does possess one particularly begrudging ally, a soldier who commands one of the most impressive militaries you have beheld, a strategist who bears a mind sharper than a boning blade. He tolerates your guardian, though he continues to habour a bitter resentment for the rich, arrogant aristocrat. It’s not uncommon for the two to find points of contention, disputing constantly over taxes, borders, and composers.

With the right amount of charm and a suggestive push, you’re certain that you will win his favor and, much more importantly, his undying support.

But for now, you will continue to feign obliviousness, ignorant in terms of policy and economy, unskilled in the art of manipulating others to your needs. By the time you're finished, your guardian will be begging you to move out already. But for now, patience. If they continue to underestimate you, they’ll eventually give you everything you want. Pazienza è una virtù.

Seconda Parte: Seborga

The world often forgot you. Your eldest brother, despite the lies he fed himself, would always be the favored child. He was the heir, the real pride and joy of your grandfather's legacy.

You were the youngest, invisible to your parents, your grandparents, to the invaders who called themselves your friends. Gradually, you became more at ease with being overlooked. You were free to do as you wished, free to pursue any interests that struck your fancy.

Very few paid you any mind, letting you wander the empire as you wished, conducting your life in whatever manner you desired. While still required to attend formal events and make appearances at your guardian’s table at least once a fortnight, you were able to slip away seemingly unnoticed, providing you with a supreme advantage.

Reconnaissance soon became your greatest strength.

Rare was it for others to question you intentions, many doting on your seemingly insatiable curiosity. They often forgot you were one-third of a fallen empire, that you were just as valuable a player in this game as your brothers. You were often ignored by the outside world, your guardian swiping you up in the same storm with which he claimed your brothers- only to forget you in the next moment. You were just another mouth to feed, another insignificant face at his table. But those other unnamed faces sympathized with you. They too were often overlooked for their more talented siblings, for their beautiful cousins, for their parents' legacies. You find solidarity in the other unnamed, find allies in those who you had once viewed as enemies.

Often, they spoke of unifying against your common foe, working under a single banner for their freedom, for their own identities.

You could commiserate with the northerners; their culture and language were different than your own, but the rallying cry carried the same spirit as your own people.

Often, you wondered why you were overlooked; surely someone would have paid you more notice after the first insurrection. But for those few brief moments of rebelliousness, you were soon ignored yet again, falling back into obscurity after only a few brief months. Perhaps you need to adopt some of the fiery passion your eldest brother carries, or maybe you should learn how to display the calm compliance your elder brother exhibits.

The simple truth is that you will never understand either of them; neither seems to be making any progress at breaking free of this gilded imprisonment.

Both are pitiful at this game; one is too obvious, getting caught and reprimanded before he has a chance to put any of his plans into action. The other acts as if he is not interested in fighting for their freedom, attending parties and operas with your guardian like some love-struck puppy. Once in a while however, your elder brother catches your eyes and offers a small smile just for you. You don’t fully understand the wink that accompanied his grin, but you find yourself eased at the brilliant clarity in his caramel eyes, comforted by the confidence he shows for that brief instant. The mannerisms are dropped again almost immediately, the persona of a fool once again shrouding your companion. You wonder if you had imagined the whole exchange. Perhaps you are alone in this hell.

But you have your allies now, a legion of the forgotten ready to take back their identities, now indivisible under one flag.

You envy their optimism and passion; you finally accept that your family has abandoned you.

The eldest is a rebellious fool, dragged away to a land of beautiful beaches and pleasant rains. The second is an ignoramus, trailing on the coattails of the monster that had landed you all in this predicament to begin with. You are alone. You are insignificant to the kings, the emperors, the princes that stroll these gilded palace halls. In a landscape of snow and ice, you are no longer intimidated by the smiles that hide equally frozen hearts and intentions. You keep a warm smile on your face, knowing that your invisibility will make escape easier. The world forgets you exist. And that's why, when you receive a coded message from the eldest, with a detailed route to escape and save their home, you can't repress your smile.

The next day, when you see the scarcely repressed glee on your elder brother's face, the subtle nod he offers you, and the knowing glance towards the soldier he has been courting, you feel your breath catch in your understanding.

The world had forgotten you.

But your family? Famiglia non dimentica mai.

Terza Parte: Romano

Nothing in this world ever really changes.

You would never admit to your weaknesses, would never accept the conditions of your circumstances without putting up some kind of fight.

Your guardian's superiors have longed to abandon you for eons now, ready to shed off the cumbersome rebel who refused to fully cooperate with his circumstances. But your guardian is as stubborn as you; he refuses to throw you to the wolves.

You knew he was aware of your intentions.

You knew he was risking his own neck to protect you.

You knew he considered you his own kin.

Your younger brothers had it easier.

While their guardian gave them gilded chambers and elegant galas, he would always ensure that you felt the true weight of his control.

While equal in prestige and power to the aristocrat, there were still things that your former conquistador could not protect you from, your people's suffering a constant presence weighing on your mind.

You found ways to distract yourself, learning to appreciate the contentment that comes in the simplicity of an isolated existence. Most days, it would just be you and your guardian in the fields, spending weeks at a time with only each other as company.

The isolation gives you a crippling disadvantage, any news of the outside world coming only with the envoys sent by his leaders, the gravity of your circumstance hidden in the coded drawings sent by your younger brother.

His messages reveal his plans, speak of his and the youngest’s ongoing search for alliances among the other “guests” at their guardian’s estate. They ask you for any advice, beg to be included in your next rebellion.

Their persistence reminds you once again of the cunning involved in sending you so far abroad, the strategic planning that went into giving you away.

There are few allies to be made in the countryside, your isolation on this God-forsaken peninsula part of a scheme to crush your spirits.

You think his pompous, bespectacled lordliness should have made that clear to the former pirate snoring under a tree; you hadn't been this much at ease since before Nonno had left.

Your carefree caretaker is delighted that you are more focused on your studies, begins discussing strategy and warfare and policy with you late into the evenings. At first, you wonder if he may perhaps be the most oblivious oaf on the continent, but as his explanations grow more detailed and certain, you learn that he is also greatly at odds with your enemy.

He plays a fool incredibly well, feigning ignorance whenever visiting dignitaries make mention of the revolts in a distant territory, laughing off concerns of politicians whenever attending to duties in the capital.

You never fully confide in him; the situation is too precarious to place faith in anyone save for your brothers. But you trust him to have your back, providing whatever distractions you need to conceal your frequent visits back home.

He never explicitly gave you his blessing, but somewhere between the lessons on strategy, the hours spent training you how to overcome your muscle spasms to hold a firearm steady, and the weeks of rigorous analysis of dozens of philosophers and politicians- You know your mentor is unwavering in his loyalty.

You hold fast to the latest letter from your brothers; an unexpected ally wants to meet with you, a northerner who is weary of the empire's hegemony. You have hope; he once helped a rebellious farmer from a distant shore earn his freedom; perhaps he could do the same for you.

You only have your hope, an ancient rifle, and the knowledge that your brothers are both depending on you.

As the eldest, it is your duty to protect them. To free them. To give them the best life possible.

You know the storm ahead will be devastating.

You know you are facing a foe far more fearsome than any you've faced upon the sea.

But you are determined. You are resilient. You will persevere. You are your grandfather's legacy. L'Italia risorgerà di nuovo.

*

[information for translations and historical context available here]

[militant-holy-knight]

American Founder and second U.S. president John Adams once extolled his era. Some called it The Age of Reason. It was a time in which people were beginning to know more about their world than they ever had before. Knowledge was increasing at an exponential rate, and this filled the air with excitement. The Old World – Christendom, led by the Catholic Church – was on its way out. The Enlightenment was well underway to shape the West forever. Adams, a Unitarian, was greatly pleased that men would be able to lead their lives and their own society on the basis of their own conscience.

He then less than halfway joked that, just maybe, something bad might arise from the movement of his day:

“The world grows more enlightened. Knowledge is more equally diffused. Newspapers, magazines, and circulating libraries have made mankind wiser. Titles and distinctions, ranks and orders, parade and ceremony, are all going out of fashion. This is roundly and frequently asserted in the streets, and sometimes on theatres of higher rank. Some truth there is in it; and if the opportunity were temperately improved, to the reformation of abuses, the rectification of errors, and the dissipation of pernicious prejudices, a great advantage it might be. But, on the other hand, false inferences may be drawn from it, which may make mankind wish for the age of dragons, giants, and fairies.”

Indeed, a great many false inferences were drawn from the Enlightenment. This period in history, which shaped America herself, started a downward spiral for the West that appears to have no end. Adams was right. In spite of himself and everything he achieved for the United States, times have definitely grown darker, and the cause for our empire’s downfall can be traced to its own blueprints.

As a result, the people in our day have a great need for escape. Over two centuries later, men find themselves at odds in a hateful world ruled by principalities and powers that are insurmountable. The people have been force-fed “the progress of civilization.” So now there are vast entertainment industries that produce escapist literature, film, music, and games to help people flee from the madness of their overlords. Over the centuries, they’ve carried the label of Romantics, Decadents, Symbolists, Counter-Culturists – they all run from the oppressive boot that shoves them onward to a destiny they didn’t ask for. They seek to escape from forced rationalism into something mystical.

Our Imaginations Must Be Free, Not Trapped

The mind can tolerate a wasteland for only so long. Men require a pilgrimage and retreat. Otherwise, one settles for vice and debasement. Experiencing wonder is necessary for a mature mind. It is not enough to be raised in a plain fashion, learning good moral habits to live by as if it’s all a simple matter of hygiene. Becoming a lawyer for “what’s good and what’s bad” does not securely instill the Faith in children, who, above all, are in the business of make-believe. No, we must leave the districts and subdivisions gerrymandered in our brains. We must fly above the rooftops from our suburban bobo communities. We’ve got to run for our lives into something fresh, new, and perhaps even dangerous:

“At first they had passed through hobbit-lands, a wide respectable country inhabited by decent folk, with good roads, an inn or two, and now and then a dwarf or a farmer ambling by on business. Then they came to lands where people spoke strangely, and sang songs Bilbo had never heard before. Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse. Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees. On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people. Everything seemed gloomy, for the weather that day had taken a nasty turn. Mostly it had been as good as May can be, can be, even in merry tales, but now it was cold and wet. In the Lone-lands they had been obliged to camp when they could, but at least it had been dry.”

–From The Hobbit

Perhaps it is true that people are considered respectable when they “never have adventures or do anything unexpected.” Maybe it is true that the majority of people value someone who never breaks a taboo and can be counted on to be consistent and predictable. And, after all, even Puritan-loving John Adams will tell you that obscure men are hardly ever honored. Conformity and monotony are what the world tells you it wants. But this mode of dry, uninspiring, Dudley-Do-Right, unimaginative thinking is like planting seeds in depleted soil:

“[T]he seminal ideas of Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, St. Thomas, only properly grow in an imaginative ground saturated with fables, fairy tales, stories, rhymes, romances, adventures–the thousand good books of Grimm, Andersen, Stevenson, Dickens, Scott, Dumas and the rest. Western tradition, taking all that was the best of the Greco-Roman world into itself, has given us a culture in which the Faith properly grows; and since the conversion of Constantine that culture has become Christian. It is the seedbed of intelligence and will, the ground for all studies in the arts and sciences, including theology, without which they are inhumane and destructive. The brutal athlete and the aesthetic fop suffer vices opposed to the virtues of what Newman called the “gentleman.” Anyone working in any art or science, whether “pure” or “practical,” will discover he has made a quantum leap when he gets even a small amount of cultural ground under him; he will grow like an undernourished plant suddenly fertilized and watered.”

–Ryan Topping, Renewing the Mind

There has been a war against fantasy, a war against wonder. And yet, those who wonder and philosophize are superior to those who despair cluelessly. And only someone who does not know everything has the capability to wonder. Therefore, what better place is there to explore than fantasy? The realm of fantasy is a place accessible to all, and as it is ever changing, we can never hope to know everything about it. The Land of Faerie, as Tolkien called it, transports and uplifts us. It renews us. It waters the soil of our minds, and it serves as a much needed respite from the godless demands of the world.

Fantasy’s Ultimate Effect

John Adams ridiculed imagination. He joked that Shakespeare could have been an electioneering agent. In his view, “superstition, prejudices, passions, fancies, and senses” were weaknesses to be manipulated, preventing you from ever having what he considered liberty. Adams believed that fantastical thinking was forced upon the West in order to control the people. This is all a grievous error. “For God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

It is the imagination that enables us to survive in today’s wicked world. We have a sense of wonder that rationalists like Adams cannot understand. This sense of wonder is what prepares us for understanding the wider world and what it means. The vast majority of people who fall away from the Faith or refuse to consider it lack wonder. As a result, you have a large portion of people in the West who fall into hedonism. They try to numb their own senses as they struggle to follow the crowd – as though they were swimming among a school of fish.

“Fantasy, horror, and science fiction, apart from allowing an author to comment on things in a way he normally could not in mainstream writing (so much of which is garbage anyway) – it breeds a sense of wonder. And ladies and gentlemen, if you do not have a sense of wonder, you cannot really understand the Catholic faith. You’ll just be ‘Oh well, the bread and wine turn into the body and blood of Christ.’ You may actually believe that, but if you don’t have a sense of wonder?

“Listen, ladies and gentlemen, what is more amazing? The idea that with a wand I could wave, everything would start dancing around the room? Or that Christ Himself comes down onto the altar and becomes bread and wine that we are able to receive into ourselves? Which is more wondrous?

“If I already have a sense of wonder, then I can look at this incredible gift that God has given us. And the fact [is] that every single Mass that has ever been, or ever will be, or is being said at this moment across the globe is one with every other – and with the Crucifixion, and with the Last Supper. That’s astonishing. That’s absolutely amazing. And I have a sense of wonder that prepared me for that – to make it go from a mere set of things I learned in school and home to being a living reality that dominates my life. …

“[U]nless we approach our faith with that wondrous quality, it will grow old and tired. That is not a fault of the Faith. That’s our fault.”

–Charles Coulombe, “Off the Menu,” July 16, 2018

Being good “to be good” is not enough. John Adams thought so, but his Puritanical sensibility was mistaken. Man lives his life on a quest. He is not meant to run from his imagination and all that is mystical. He is meant to explore with awe and curiosity. His heart is meant to be lifted, not shackled.

A strange and exciting land lies before man when it comes to fantasy. We go to that place because it presages the Land Beyond we all hope to emigrate to, Heaven itself. “And Jesus calling unto him a little child, set him in the midst of them, and said: Amen I say to you, unless you be converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:2-3).

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in: Salik (Initiate)

A salik (initiate) is a traveler who follows a way to a goal and makes efforts to meet with God. The way of traveling differs according to the capacity, abilities and gifts with which each individual has been favored. Some are extraordinarily attracted and taken by God Himself to the ranks of loving and being loved by God and being pleased with Him and His being pleased with them, without having to observe some of the rules that must be observed during journeying. Such are mentioned as those who are attracted by God. They can reach, through the blessings of the Prophet’s Ascension, in a few minutes, hours or days the states and stations that others can reach after many periods of suffering, and become purified of carnal dirt. Their hearts are refined in the shortest way possible and, reaching their Beloved and Desired One at a speed that is not possible through other efforts, they are able to feel all the spiritual pleasures of being favored with His company. They have reached the horizon of “a perfect human being,” which is regarded as the point where the outward and inward have been united.

These perfect ones, who are attracted by God toward Him, are the hidden treasures of the Divine mysteries, the centers on which the lights of the Divine Knowledge and Existence are focused, and those who offer the water of life to believers for the health of their spiritual life, a water with which they will quench their thirst for eternity. They revive dead hearts with their speeches, open blind eyes with their glance and attentions, and cure the spiritual wounds of those who are in their aura. They live intoxicated with ever new gifts and favors, and cause those around them to experience the most dazzling of observations. With their seeing directed by their insight, and their speaking dependent on their hearts, they are enraptured with the colors and lines which pertain to Him, and which they see in everything they look at, and they scatter pearls and coral whenever they open their mouths to speak. Since they are dazzled and enchanted by even a half-seeing of Him, those who do not know them think that they are insane or intoxicated. Ruhi of Baghdad describes their state very well:

Do not think that we are intoxicated with the wine of the grape;

We are among the intoxicated from eternity in the past.

If some temporarily go into ecstasies with the initial signs of Him, they immediately come to their senses because of their nature, and they take refuge in wakefulness and self-possession, continuing on their way to meeting God in wakefulness. There is nothing in their feelings, thoughts or acts which causes people confusion; nor are there utterances of pride incompatible with the rules of Shari'a, nor any affectations, nor relaxed behavior. They advance toward being pleased with Him and His being pleased with them in reliance on Him in the atmosphere of The eye did not swerve, nor did it stray(53:17).

Some others complete their spiritual journey by observing its heavenly rules, reaching the horizon of attraction toward God with the support of Divine help and feeling as if their will-power has been connected to a sacred center of attraction. They continue their future life connected to that center in the manner of those who have let themselves go in the current. You can find in such people, who have taken off toward nothingness and carnal non-existence, neither anxieties, worries, nor grief. They are occupied with the Eternal Friend, they feel His intimacy, and live free from uneasiness and troubles because of the peace they find in His presence. The following verses of Niyazi Misri indicate this horizon in one respect:

Having renounced the worldly worries,

And taken off to carnal non-existence;

Zealously flying without ceasing,

I call, “O Friend, O Friend!”

There are still some others who constantly make an effort, from the beginning to the end, and, without expecting any return, sincerely fulfill their duties of servanthood. They neither feel attraction nor are attracted toward God, nor do they display any affectations, nor have any superiority or inferiority complexes or fancies and fantasies. They show great will-power and patience, observing even the least important rules of devotion without any show and being extraordinarily steadfast in His way. They prefer living an Islamic life over wonder-working and pleasures, and never adopt Paradise and what lies beyond it as a goal of their devotion. Regarding believing and devotion as the greatest blessing of the Lord, they live in thankfulness for such gifts in utmost humility and modesty. With his particular style, Mawlana Jalal al-Din al-Rumi describes being favored with this blessing as follows:

Happiness has come and held us by the skirt,

And set up our tent in the heaven.

Yesterday the Beloved asked me:

“How do you do with this unfaithful world?”

I answered: “How can one be who,

Has seen the fortune of the fortunate state?

Thanks that I have found in the bottom of my teeth

The sugar that Egypt cannot see even in her dreams.”

The first thing an initiate must do is to turn to God in repentance and contrition, in determination to emigrate to what God is pleased with from what He is not, to what He asks us to do from what He does not, and to a life in the heart and the spirit from a carnal life. So long as their efforts are supported by such a high degree of refinement of the carnal self, purification of heart, and good morals, initiates feel that they change both inwardly and outwardly while their horizons become gradually enlightened. To the extent of their sincerity and purity of intention, they begin to present an example of straightforwardness in acting, with the mechanism of their consciousness becoming gradually radiant. With belief developing into conviction, and conviction deepening with increasing knowledge of God, and knowledge of God being transformed into love, and love growing into burning passion, and passion ending in constant wonder, a human being, who has been created of dust, of wet clay, becomes the focus of attention for the inhabitants of the heavens. Those dwelling in the pure realm of the Divine dominion regard it an honor to follow the example of such humans. Whoever turns to them for guidance intends to be guided to the truth, and whoever holds fast to them intends to grasp a strong rope.

This “greatest copy and pattern of creation”, who has become a source of radiance in the inner depth of his or her self, turns into a center of Divine gifts and a storeroom of favors, becomes a blessed one who offers everyone the water of life. Each of the different mansions which such a traveler passes through during the journey upward is called a “state,” and the relatively stable point to which his or her abilities develop, and which we may describe as the “arch of perfections” of a traveler, is called a “station.” “The gifts and radiance of everyone is in proportion to his or her capacity.”

Every traveler to the Truth ends the journey at a certain peak and observes all the worlds, materially and spiritually, from this summit or pinnacle. The final point which every traveler reaches according to his or her capacity is the peak particular to that individual, and therefore each peak is of a relative height. The highest, the only real peak, which separates the mortal from the Eternal or the contingent from the absolutely necessary, which is mentioned in the Qur'an in “or nearer” in the statement a distance between the strings of two bows adjacent each other or even less (53:9), which describes the nearness of God’s Messenger to God, is the one belonging to the master of creation, upon him be the most perfect of blessings. All other heights are defined, in comparison with one another, with such expressions as “lower” or higher" or “greater” or “less” and belong to those whom God has made near to Him, and the godly are relative and in proportion to the capacity-capital of everyone and the Divine gifts with which they are favored.

When the initiates step on their individual horizon of perfection and make their heart into a polished mirror to the sacred Divine gifts, that heart becomes familiar with the Divine look and the breezes of Divine inspiration, and they begin to feel and view creation differently, according to the individual’s level. They burn with the excitement of demonstrating to others what each sees and feels.

Those initiates always think of Him and mention Him as “The One to be worshipped is He-God”, breathing the truth of “The One to be sought is He-God”, pondering their inner world and the outer world, respiring with “The One to be known is He-God” and relating everything to the truth of the Divine Being around the axis of Names and Attributes, developing their belief, first based on acceptance without seeing what is believed in, into a conviction based on a seeing by the heart, supported by a state of spiritual pleasures. They experience verbal and physical devotion with such delight that it is as if they have entered Paradise and been favored with a vision of God. Haqani says:

What behoves an initiate is to proclaim: We worship but God alone.

They hold back from everything which they think is not approvable in His sight, and think of Him only. They reflect deeply on a profound understanding of the fields that He allows.

Initiates who have come to the end of their journey think only of Him, consider Him, know and concentrate on Him with His of “He.” They consider and concentrate on Him because of Him and because they must do so, and they consider all else than Him-whether relating to this world or the next-only in accordance with and in proportion to His permission. For one who has focused on Him only and considers all else save Him because of Him, the only thing to be sought and desired is He and His good pleasure. Let us listen to Mawlana once more:

O you who are seeking the world; you are like a day laborer in this world;

And you, lover of Paradise, are also far distant from truth.

O you, who are unaware of the truth and pleased with the two worlds,

You are excused, for you have not felt the pleasure of suffering for the Beloved’ sake.

In short, initiates who have determined their goal well and who are aware of the horizon where they are, leave both their bodies and souls, with which others are most concerned, on the bench where corpses are washed for burial, and scatter all their capital of being before the door of their heart. Freed from all concerns of everything save Him that may keep them from their way, they turn to their heart and try to understand its voice. They put their eyes and ears under the command of their insight, they plunge into the pure world of metaphysical considerations. It sometimes occurs that they can transcend space in one attempt, and make their voices heard by the inhabitants of heavens in another.

This point, where the heart turns completely to the invisible speaker in it, is like a launch pad from which initiates can rise to the door of eternity in one leap. A step forward, with their head and feet having met at the same point, the heroes of ascension (to God) and descent (to return to being amidst the people) become like a ring. In such state, where the “bird of petition” should be sent to God, lips and voice fall silent, and only the warm sounds of the heart are heard. The head bends itself down to lean ever increasingly on the heart, and whispers to itself: Worship your Lord until certainty comes to you (by death) (15:99).

O God! I ask You for Your love and the love for him who loves You, and for the deeds which will cause me to get near to You.

O God, bestow Your blessings and peace on Your beloved one and the Messenger, Mustafa, and on his family and Companions, who were appreciative and faithful.

[omi-ohmyimagination]

Newspaper girl

Themes: Historical AU (kind of), Mature, Smut, Romance, Optional Bias x Female Reader

Word count: ~9,2k

Description:  With all the drinking and fun at night one can forget what really matters. Even if you don't want to admit it, you got lost, too. But maybe a mysterious man who came to town one day can bring you happiness again.

OMI’s note: I'm know you've waited long time for this, so without further ado, here's my new baby. The research I did wasn't enough, I guess and I can't really put it under "1930s" tag but overall I'm still satisfied with the whole story.

A strong smell of cigarettes made you hold your breath for a second in surprise. Every corner of a bar was filled with thick, gray smoke. However, it seemed not to bother anyone inside. Sounds of conversations, laughter and loud jazzy music spread around the room, summoning new people in. People hungry for fun and simple, frivolous acts of entertainment.

It was hard to move between the sea of sweaty bodies. You brushed over someone's figure and before the man had a chance to say something, you murmured quick sorry and moved as far as possible. You weren't there to start any kind of argument with a drunk bastard who was probably cheating on his “beloved” wife in that exact moment. You wanted to see an argument or maybe even fight today, that was true, but you prefered not to be the one responsible for its happening nor take part in it.

As soon as you reached the counter, you waved your hand to a bartender and sneaked to stairs hidden behind him. You were one of the few people who had an access to a balcony, the calmest place in the bar, and you thanked the god for your connections because looking from a far at people was a lot simpler. And definitely more safer.

Your heels slid across a red carpet spreaded on the wooden stairs, creating almost no sound. Your hand landed on a cold metal of a rail. Shivers ran through your fingers. As you reached the balcony, whole new scenery unfurled in front of you – creamy walls, heavy curtains and men dressed in expensive suits. Women, both in fancy dresses and a little too exposing attires, accompanied them, laughing at every unfunny joke just so they would look like they are more open than they in fact were. The only thing similar, maybe even exactly the same, was the amount of smoke flowing in the air.

You moved to the only free table across the balcony, where a richly looking piece of paper with your nickname written on it was laid. Some of the people you walked past by greeted you politely, probably hoping that they wouldn't become your next target. Their heads turned from time to time to watch what you were doing, whispering in an uncomfortable manner. They were visibly stressed because of your person, and you were sure that they wished that their night full of questionable types of fun wouldn't be disturbed. After all, no one wanted to read about themselves in an article in the biggest newspaper in town.

As soon as you sat down a waitress appeared, bringing you your usual order – café. You spent so much time at Pearl surrounded by drunkards who had offered you drinks many times that you were amazed by the fact you didn't become one of them. You've never drank much and people seemed surprised by this.

You looked around – people relaxed a bit after their initial fear, they get back to drinking and laughing. It was always like this, they knew that without anything interesting from their side, they wouldn't appear in the article. You didn't care about boring stuff. Who would like to read about it anyway?

You were about to lean over the rail when someone sat beside you.

“Hunting again?”

“It's not hunting, mister Li, it's work.”

The man took a sip of his drink and laughed loudly. “Work, you say? I wouldn't call it like that.”

“You know I don't care, right?”

“Of course. But...” Sounds of surprised gasps from below interrupted him. You glanced down and noticed young man dressed in richly looking clothes heading from door to the counter. His moves were full of confidence and he didn't even spare a glance at shocked people around him.

You stared at him with growing curiosity. He was definitely not from town, your first though was that he was visiting someone but you dropped that immediately. He wouldn't have been there alone.

With dissatisfaction you took a look at people in the bar. Similar to you they were interested in the man however, they seemed... intimidated, scared perhaps. You leaned over the rail a bit more, trying to hear what they were talking about but the music was too loud. However, people at the balcony started chatting with each other, not caring that you were near.

“Do you know who is this?”

“Not at all and I'm not sure if I want to know.”

“Me too, he makes me... uncomfortable? He didn't even looked at us and I feel like I don't belong here.”

“I thought I was the only one.”

“He's handsome.”

Everyone went silent for a moment. “But he's also weirdly scary. I'm embarrassed and I don't understand why.”

You glanced at the stranger once again and locked eyes with him. Shivers ran down your spine but you couldn't stop staring at him. It felt like you were doing something forbidden. Smirk appeared at his lips and he nodded. You automatically did the same but as soon as you've realized that, you turned your gaze the other way. Your cheeks became hot.

Out of nowhere mister Li showed up besides you.

“It seems like you're the prey now,” he laughed, looking downstairs.

“And you're the idiot who thinks I care about his poor attempt at flirting with me.”

He squeezed the glass he was holding. The vein on his forehead became prominent as he got more red. “I hope that you will finally regret everything you did,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“I already regret a lot.”

Saturday, 20th of May

Unexpected, but strangely oh-so-welcomed, guest in Pearl

Surprised gasps that left mouths of a few women at the bar announced his arrival. Every head turned in a direction where he stood, every person situated at the balcony leaned over the rail. No one knew what was happening but one thing was sure at that very moment – the “newspaper girl” that terrified them with her ability to see and remember everything was not on their mind anymore that night. Maybe even next nights too.

“He” is their main attraction from now on.

The mysterious man dressed in fitted, white polo shirt and trousers in the deepest black color you could imagine drew everyone's attention. His identity is still unknown for all guests in Pearl, even our omniscient “newspaper girl” has no idea who the handsome guy is.

But not only his appearance raised voices at the bar. His attitude was more than fascinating. You could say that he was oozing with confidence and something like superiority. He made you feel like you truly did not belong to that high-class of people enjoying their nights accompanied by alcohol and girls in skimpy clothes. You may think that this privilege – yes, privilege arising from your social status – is what you deserve, what world prepared just for you but that man proved us wrong in a matter of second. He is the true “child of the universe” whether you like it or not.

Truly interesting persona.

He sparked a debate among guests in Pearl which was not really something they wanted to think about that Friday night. It was supposed to be their fun time not time to worry about their positions. He made them anxious and it seemed that they did not like that.

However, curiosity is bigger than fear.

So, will you come to see that man?

Will you suppress that awful feeling of panic inside you?

“Newspaper girl” is definitely going to monitor the situation for all of you. Especially for those who are too scared.

V.

You put the newspaper back on the table and reached for a cup filled with strong, black café. The liquid slid down your throat and bitter taste of it made you sighed with content. You looked around with smile full of pride, enjoying the scenery before your eyes – every person at the restaurant had their own copy of the newspaper and with flushed cheeks they discussed the article. It was amazing how event as simple as that one – someone new appearing in town – could spark so much emotions. Was it because of the beauty of the stranger or his attitude? You were yet to find an answer to this.

“Can I have a moment of your time, miss?” You glanced up at small middle-aged woman with question written all over your face. You nodded, encouraging her to speak. “You're newspaper girl, right?”

“Yes. How can I help you?”

She sat on the chair beside you and grabbed your hand. “Oh, can you pass my message to the author of that article? I was at Pearl yesterday and that text is so accurate! Those feelings... it was so weird! I couldn't understand why I felt that way and they came with logical explanation. I enjoyed it so much!”

You laughed half proud and half uncomfortable. “No problem, I will tell them this.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” She stood up and was ready to go back to her own table, when she turned around and said, “And thank you, of course. Without you there wouldn't be any material for those articles.”

Taking praises wasn't something you were good at. You enjoyed the fact that people liked all your texts but prefered to look at their happiness and excitement instead of hearing their declarations of love. You weren't able to count how many times they expressed their desire to meet V, there was even a case where one man wanted to proposed to her. Funny, taking into consideration the fact that no one really knew if V was actually a woman. They were so clueless. Sometimes you envied them, you wished to be as oblivious as they were.

You reached for the cup once again and noticed that someone sat on the other side of the table where just a seconds before the woman was situated. You glanced up and coughed dramatically when you realized who you were looking at.

The mysterious man from Pearl.

His eyes scanned you attentively and sly smirk stretched his lips shortly after. He was truly intimidating, making you feel more uncomfortable than you were yesterday. He seemed to be aware of this, what's more, he was clearly enjoying it.

“So you're the one who wrote that article about me.” His voice was unexpectedly smooth, honey-like sweet and coated in a mystery. He took out a pack of cigarettes from a pocket of his jacket, lit one and drew on it deeply. White smoke danced around him gracefully.

You tilted your head to the side and looked suggestively at the box with cigarettes laid on the table. Your companion laughed and offered you one. He extended his hand and lit it up. “Well mister, you are mistaken. I'm just an informant.”

“Are you saying that there is someone else behind it?” For the fist time he looked confused. Just a little bit confused but still.

“Exactly, I just provide information. Some says that I'm Pearl's eyes and ears and there might be something to this.”

He clearly tried to figure out whether you were lying or not. However, your face was like a blank canvas, you couldn't give yourself away.

Truly interesting man, definitely a lot more intelligent than people around you.

“And who is it exactly?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I would like to meet that person and talk to them a bit. I'm simply interested.”

You laughed genuinely entertained. “You're not the only person with such wish. Sadly, it's not possible. V doesn't want to reveal her identity.”

“How about you? Do you want to tell me your name,” he asked suddenly, surprising you.

“My... name?”

“Yes, everyone has name after all. Mine, if you want to know, is B/N.”

“Okay B/N, nice to meet you. Although, I didn't need that information. But if you insist, you can address me as newspaper girl.”

He frowned now clearly bewildered. “People in this town really love secrets, huh?”

“You're not from here then.” It was more like a statement rather than question.

“No, I'm here for business purposes. And I don't know why but I feel like I'm going to have a hard week.”

“Oh, I'm sure of it. You're the biggest attraction for them and I'm ready to report all of your moves,” you said with a smile. It sounded bad, you yourself knew it, but that was sad reality – someone's life and privacy was your money.

“Should I make it easier for you? I didn't plan to go to Pearl tonight but now I may consider it.”

You stood up with a smirk, finished your coffee and came closer to him. Your hand landed on his shoulder. “See you later then.”

You slowly sipped your drink, spinning a pen in your hand. You were obviously waiting for B/N. Just like every other person at Pearl. Everyone was sitting at the edge of their chairs, looking with hope at the door. Even though he made them uncomfortable their curiosity was too strong. He was like a drug – you knew you shouldn't play with them yet if you tried them they pulled you to them again. The atmosphere was drastically different than during any other nights and it wasn't hard to see it. Music was forgotten, no one really wanted to dance at time like this, there were no laughs, no conversations in raised voices, only whispers and anticipation.

You, however, was awaiting events that were near. You didn't need to question whether B/N would come or not, you knew he would. You kind of challenged him and he seemed like someone who wouldn't like to lose. No matter what.

Sudden commotion downstairs made you leaned over the rail. As soon as you glanced at the entrance your eyes met with his. You smirked pleased with how predictable he was. In response he chuckled, shaking his head. He definitely understood that his decision wasn't really his, that he lost at the moment when he proposed to come to Pearl.

Or maybe that was his plan from the beginning and you were the one that lost to him?

You followed his every move with sharp eye, and you were not the only one to do this. Everyone's attention was set on him. Just as if he didn't care – which was probably true – B/N sat beside the counter and ordered a drink. He was looking at you full of interest, it was almost like his eyes were glued to you. It was annoying and uncomfortable.

In the corner of your eye you noticed that one of dancers was approaching B/N. She was swaying her hips and didn't even try to hide the fact that she adjusted her boobs in the fitted dress. She sat beside him and put her hand on his thigh. You leaned against the rail with satisfaction. People of town didn't disappoint you once again.

B/N looked at her with slight disgust. “How can I help you?” His voice was muffled by sounds of music but this time you were able to understand the words more clearly.

“You can help me in many various ways,” she said in flirty tone. B/N glanced at you and rolled his eyes. You giggled, not even trying to look serious.

“Such as?”

“Maybe drink first?”

“Why do you think I will do this?”

She blinked a few times confused. “What?”

“I asked...”

“I heard your question but I don't understand it.” She moved her hand back.

“It's not really that surprising, to be honest.” You choked completely stunned. He was shameless to the core.

The girl stood up and slapped B/N. Silence filled the bar. “You jerk,” she screamed and ran out. B/N massaged his cheek, finished his drink and headed to the exit.

Sunday, 21st of May

Was it really necessary?

Yesterday will be remembered by every Pearl's guest. Especially by our young and beautiful dancer, Luna. Judging by her sudden leave, that night did not turn out how she wanted.

But let me start from the beginning.

The anticipation of his arrival was so strong that you could have felt it on your skin. Everyone was looking at the entrance with shaky hands.

Excitation and stress.

Curiosity and fear.

Truly amazing impact.

When he finally arrived the atmosphere became even more suffocating. No one knew what to expect. And what happened shortly after he appeared was definitely the last thing they could have thought about.

Poor girl. She just wanted to have some fun with handsome stranger. However, he wasn't interested. Well, that is a huge understatement. He humiliated her in front of everyone and a slap he received in exchange was deserved.

Such a lack of moral spine.

Does he really feel so superior to us?

Was that harsh comment necessary?

And the most important, what will be the consequences?

V.

“I can't believe he turned out to be such a scumbag.” A girl on the nearest bench closed the newspaper and throw it beside her. She turned to her friend and crossed her legs. “Handsome men are the worst.”

“Well... he didn't lie,” said the other one in a mocking tone. They looked at each other and burst into laughter almost immediately. Your brows raised slightly in disbelieve. So after all, people didn't have any sympathy for that girl. You felt bad for her, no matter what she was like he didn't have any right to talk to her like that. Was he always like this? Good question.

You raised your head and enjoyed sun that warmed your skin. Wind blew your hair all over your face and you put them behind the ear annoyed. It was hot, too hot for your liking but it was better to be outside than sit alone closed in four walls.

“So we meet once again. I might think that it's destiny.” You opened your eyes and saw B/N in front of you. You laughed at his comment.

“You're not good at thinking, huh? Just as Luna, right?”

“And who's Luna,” he asked, sitting next to you. You moved away from him a little bit.

“The girl from yesterday. The one you made fun of.”

“Oh.” He scratched his neck somewhat troubled. “I don't... well, I don't like such pushy girls. I'm not gonna go to bed with someone whose name I don't even know.”

“You didn't give her a chance to introduce herself,” you pointed out.

“That's because I wasn't interested at her.”

“You have such high standards?”

“I don't know, you tell me. If I'm interested in you, does it mean that I have high standards?”

You blinked a few times confused. Did you hear that correctly? His mouth stretched in playful smile that also reached his eyes, making them shine prettily in morning sun.

“Are you... flirting with me?”

“Of course I do,” he laughed and leaned closer to you, “Should I stop?”

You felt your cheeks getting hotter with every second. His eyes were glued to you, as if he was searching for an answer, which he probably found in the redness of your face. With satisfaction he straightened up and looked at the sky.

“Can I ask you something?” He glanced at you. You nodded your head, unable to say anything. “Does V leave any parts of information you give her?”

You raised your eyebrows even more baffled than before. “What do you mean?”

“There's a huge part of yesterday's event missing in her new article. She didn't mention anything about the fact that I was too occupied looking at you to care about that girl Luna. And that's pretty important thing, in my opinion. Did she miss that part or it was you who thought that it wasn't necessary?”

You looked at his sly smirk and madness in you started to deepen. He knew the answer already, he just wanted you to admit to omitting this information. And you weren't satisfy with this, you didn't want to play his game even though it was kind of tempting. You stood up. “She probably decided that it has nothing to do with your rudeness. Now, sorry but I have other things to do.”

You were already few meters away from him when you heard his voice, “Can you have a drink with me tonight?”

You turned around and answered in the most playful tone, “I don't drink at work.”

When you entered Pearl, B/N was already situated at the bar with a glass full of brown liquid in hand. He glanced at you and smile spreaded across his lips. He raised an arm slightly and waved, inviting you to join him. You shook your head and went upstairs, trying to ignore all the looks that people gave you. It must have been pretty interesting for them – handsome stranger that was the hottest news in town being friendly with dangerous informant. They probably didn't understand that situation at all and it made them even more curious. Which, in the process, made you person of interest again.

You sat at your usual table and scratched your neck uncomfortable. Did he not understand the situation he put you in? Or did he not care about it? You weren't supposed to be a part of news you reported, that was your golden rule. However, because of his weird interest in you that rule was shattered into pieces.

You took a big sip of a café that the waitress brought you and tried to calm yourself down.

“Do you know him personally, Miss,” a man situated at the next table asked you. His eyes scanned your face from behind the curtain of cigarette's smoke.

“No, not really. I know as such as all of you here,” you answered with polite smile.

“It looks differently to me.”

“Well, what can I say? Who knows what's inside his head.”

That was exactly what you were scared of – people became intrigued. It annoyed you, that was true, but you could have handle it. Your only hope was that your true identity would stay secret.

“Where the fuck is that piece of shit?!” A man's scream echoed through the bar. Just as everybody else you peaked behind the rail and noticed a muscular man at the entrance and Luna hidden behind him. “Where is he?” The girl pointed at B/N with victorious smile and leaned on the door. When the guy came closer you recognized him as Luna's brother, Yoon, and you already knew what was about to happen. Without a second thought, you walked downstairs and stopped near the counter. “Who do you think you are?”

“I could ask you the same question.” B/N put his glass down and stood up.

“Aren't you too cocky? Don't you know why I'm here?”

“To kick my ass, I assume. But if I were you, I would take care of my sister first.”

Complete silence filled the space. It was almost like people around them stopped breathing.

“What does it even mean?” A vein on his neck was pulsating furiously.

“So you're telling me you're okay with your sister sleeping around with random men?”

Luna's brother didn't say a word. His fist met B/N's face with such impact that he second one almost lost his balance. Shocked scream left your mouth and you met eyes with B/N. He smirked at you and caressed his red cheek.

Before you registered what was happening, B/N hit him back. Yoon tripped over a chair and landed on the floor. The guy cursed under his nose and stood up as fast as he could. “You're worse than I thought.”

“It's not even half of what I'm capable of.” You shuddered at the tone of B/N's voice. It was ice-cold, hard and scary. It was almost like he became a totally different person out of nowhere. He came closer to Luna's brother and whispered through clenched teeth, “Do you want to go out of here on your own legs?”

“You're quite sure of your strength, huh?”

“Try me. And I promise you, you will regret this.”

Just a few minutes ago you reminded yourself that you would never be a part of something like this, yet your feet carried you between two men. You didn't think about it at all, you couldn't even understand what you were doing.

You put your hand on B/N's chest and pushed him a bit. They both looked at you confused. “If you really want to kill each other, maybe you should take it somewhere else. Besides,” you turned to B/N, “don't be such a jerk, and you, you should take care of your sister better. We all know what she's doing behind your back."

Luna appeared behind her brother and pulled him towards her. “Let's go.”

“What are they talking about?”

“It doesn't matter, Yoon. It's bullshit.” You laughed genuinely entertained. “Can we talk about it at home?”

“Oh, we will.” He grabbed her by the arm and almost dragged her out of the bar.

You followed them with your eyes and finally released the air you held. Why did you do it? What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? You put yourself in a centre of people's attention.

Out of nowhere you felt hot breath on your ear. “Are you worried about me?”

Just then you realised that your hand was still on B/N's chest, and that he was a lot closer than you previously thought. You froze, unable to breathe again. You glanced behind you and swallowed loudly. His eyes were set on your lips which where unexpectedly and dangerously close to his. His smell surrounded you like a fine mist of rain. Your heart speeded up.

Without looking behind, you ran out of the bar.

Monday, 22nd of May

What a surprise!

Knowing how hot-blooded Luna's brother, Yoon, is, we probably all expected some kind of intense situation. And indeed it happened. However, the situation was much more interesting, to say the least.

Luna's absence after previous night was a sign. When she finally appeared at Pearl, she was accompanied by furious Yoon who was shouting from the top of his lungs. As soon as noticed his target, fists flew around meeting the soft skin on both men's faces.

It was highly anticipated. Some thought it was deserved, some that Luna's behaviour led to this and she was the one to be blamed in the first place. What is more, her brother seemed to not know how his precious little sister acts on a daily basis. Maybe he should care about her more.

The atmosphere inside the bar was heavy. Even worse than nights' before. Cold, scary but thrilling.

How would events played out, if our dear “newspaper girl” didn't step in between fighting men? Would blood be spilled?

We will never know since someone lost their patience and acted like a fool.

That surprise was not necessary.

Maybe I should remind her to stay in the line? After all, it was not supposed to be about her.

V.

Head of an older man peaked from behind the opened newspaper that he held in his hands. “Y/N, I love you.”

“Okay, boss,” you laughed, sitting comfortably in the chair. “What have I done to deserve such confession?”

“What? Are you serious? Those articles are the best. People are fighting for every new copy of this paper,” he waved it in front of your face, “and it's all because of you, my precious child!”

“I would say it's thanks to B/N but I'm fine with your reasoning, too.”

Mr. Han looked at the text one more time, then put it down and folded his hands under his chin. “I must say that today's piece is especially clever. You're basically making joke of yourself. Is it because you don't want to be seen as a part of this?”

“How do you know me so well, Mr. Han?” Your laugh echoed through his office once again.

He shook his head with a warm smile on lips. “You need to know that it worked. All of editors were quite concerned about newspaper girl. It seems that they don't like the idea of V being mad at you. However, I have a one question.”

“Yes,” you asked when he didn't say anything more.

“Why did you do it? Why did you stop them?”

The smile fell off your lips. “I... I can't really explain it. I don't know.”

“I heard a bit more about yesterday's night and maybe I have some theory. But I'm sure you will figure out soon what I meant.” Your puzzled expression made him burst in laugh with such power that his desk jumped a little. You wanted to ask what he heard exactly but a knock on the door stopped you. “Come in.”

“Boss, can I take Y/N already? You can't keep her here all day,” one of your colleagues, Mina, whined, leaning on the door frame.

“Sure, I think we finished talking.”

As soon as you stood up, Mina grabbed your hand and dragged you out of Mr. Han's office. Her blonde hair smacked your face but she didn't even notice it. She led you to one of the rooms and pushed you on the chair. “I have a few things to show you, my dear, but firstly, is she really mad at you?”

You took a deep breath, trying to act as if you were sad. “Yeah, she scolded me quite badly. Now I see that it wasn't the best idea to stop them and, if something like this happen one more time, I won't do this again. I don't want to see her so mad once more.”

“Oh my god, why the hell did you do this?”

“Well... would you like to look at people fighting and do nothing about it? I know news like that are valuable but come on, I still have some humanity in me,” you answered, knowing that you try to convince yourself more than her actually. You wished that that was the reason behind your stupid behaviour.

“Too bad V can't understand this. Okay, let's leave it. Instead, look what I found about our handsome stranger,” she squealed, handing you a newspaper. “It's a magazine from my friend. She bought it abroad because that guy on the photo was hot and turned out that it's him.”

You looked at the first page and your heart skipped a bit. There he was, with perfectly styled hair, in richly looking black suit, and his face. Oh lord, cold, heavenly sculpted face with piercing gaze that made you clenched your legs unconsciously. You couldn't focus of anything besides his eyes. Why he made you feel things that you've never experienced? It was similar to yesterday's situation – you were scared but also weirdly turned on by that fear.

You glanced at the text under the photo, trying to ignore the burning feeling in your mouth.

“B/F/N is a young businessman who took our market by surprise. Not only he is extremely handsome and popular with women but also has head on his shoulders. And it is not just any type of head – B/N knows what he is doing. He quickly became one of the richest in country just by knowing in what he should invest. It seems that he is not here to play games, he came to take all money that he can. And weirdly we are not mad at him. Let us see what else he has up in his sleeve.”

“So he's a businessman, huh,” you murmured, looking at Mina again.

“Yep, my friend said that he was quite huge there. And there were a lot of rumours about him.”

“For example,” you asked genuinely interested. More information about B/N meant more peace of mind for you.

“He's known for having... a lot women in a short time span. You know, typical casanova. She heard that he even slept with a married woman which then led to her murder.”

“That's actually...,” you started but Mina interrupted you.

“I know what you're thinking but listen, people also said that he's... violent, to put it simply. There were rumours about him hiring some individuals to beat and... kill his rivals. And wait, I'm not telling you this so you can pass it to V but I want you to be careful around him. I heard that you both act friendly with each other and I assumed that you should know that.”

You blinked a few times. Shock spread through your body and you scratched your cheek. So he wasn't joking yesterday? Was he ready to do something serious to Yoon? Did you actually saved him?

You wished that those information would ease your fear but now? You were even more scared.

And annoyingly intrigued.

You were drinking second cup of cafe and trying hard not to smashed it across the bar. B/N didn't come yet and it seemed that he wouldn't come at all. You were probably the only person inside Pearl not satisfied with this. You were boiling with anger and you weren't exactly sure why.

The only thing you were sure about was the fact that you wanted to see him.

On the other hand, people at Pearl were celebrating. They were finally free, they were able to do everything without thinking how B/N would react.

For the first time in a few days music, laughter and dances ruled over the whole area.

You stood up and left the bar.

Tuesday, 23rd of May

Back to old days?

Last night was like a breath of fresh air for most of the guests in Pearl. They were finally able to play, fool around and drink to the maximum. They were full of life and joy, carefree with light hearts.

Why?

Because B/N did not show up.

You may be wondering why that happened.

Personally, I have my guesses and I will gladly share them with you.

Maybe his face was not in the best condition and his pride could have been hurt.

Or he did not want to be punched again.

Or maybe, just maybe, he is done with our town and all those people looking at him all the time with mixed feelings and expectations.

Will we see him again?

Who knows?

V.

“Yerim, I think I'm crazy,” you said, playing with a bottle of her  perfume.

“Why?” She fixed her hair then stood up and headed to a rack with beautiful dresses. She picked the most revealing one in a bright red color and started to put in on.

“You read my article, right?” She nodded without looking at you. “I was writing it and I broke... around three pencils? I was mad as fuck. And it's all because of B/N. I wanted to see him yesterday, check if he was all right and he didn't come.”

“Are you into him?”

“I wouldn't...” Yerim glanced at you with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, probably... And the fact that he's also interested in my is not helping.”

Yerim sat down and took stockings out of the drawer. “So what are waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed deeply. “Don't play dumb. You both look like you want to fuck each other, so what's the problem? Besides, I think I've heard that he's going back to his country around Friday so even if you end up in bed together, you won't see him anymore after that.”

“I don't know, Yerim.”

“You have nothing to lose, sweety. And I feel like you need some... relaxation,” she smiled innocently, fixing her dress. “Do I look good?”

You looked carefully at her. “You do, as always.”

“Thank you. Back to the previous topic, think about it. In my opinion, you need some fun. And he's ready to help you. Is there anything stopping you? No. So go for it.”

“Maybe you're right.” You stood up and followed her through long corridor leading to the main hall of Pearl. Her heels clicked on a wooden floor in an even pattern and her hair bounced with every step. She looked great even from behind.

As soon as you entered the bar, you ran into someone. You looked up and met B/N's eyes. His hand found its way around your waist somehow and you didn't move.

“Hey, nice to see you again” he said with a smile.

Even though you heard him, your brain didn't register what exactly he said. Your eyes scanned his face and bruise that was on it. It covered part of his cheek and jaw, and started to change color to slightly bluish. You reached out your hand and brushed his skin with care.

“Does it hurt?” Your fingers traced the outline of the bruise, weirdly fascinated by its pattern.

“Not really.”

You put a little bit of pressure to your touch. B/N hissed in pain. “How about now?”

He smirked, pulling you closer to him. “Are you enjoying it?”

“You said that, not me. Come, if I remember correctly, you sort of promised to buy me a drink.” You turned around with a smile and tugged him behind you. When you reached the bar, you pushed him on to the chair and sat against him. You crossed your legs, touching his knee with yours in the process.

That whole situation was probably highly interesting for all guests in Pearl – you, someone who always watched them silently from the corner with curious eyes, were sitting with your target and sipping drink with him. Probably most of them thought that it was some kind of a plan which would grant you thrilling information for V's article. The truth was... you didn't know what you were doing. You just wanted to spend some time with him, enjoy his presence and relax a bit.

“I thought you don't drink at work,” he said finally, looking at you with curiosity. “Is it a trap or something?”

You leaned forward. “Well, no but let them think that's the case.”

“So why are doing this?”

“Maybe I'm kind of fascinated and I want to know you better.”

“I like that answer.” B/N took a sip of his whiskey and poked you with his feet. “Are you curious about something specific?”

You placed your hand near his knee and pretended to think about his question for a minute. “I am but I'm not sure if it's a good idea to even ask about those things.”

“I see that rumours about me reached this town, too. You can be sure that I'm not going to hurt you or fuck you. Unless you want me to,” he said with a smirk.

You choked on the drink, shocked but still amazed. “Are you telling me that those were true?”

“You're ignoring the last part of what I said.”

“Same with you. About what you've said... we can talk about it later.”

“The fact that you're considering it is enough for me. And answering your question, some of them are true but I'm not gonna tell you which one.” He kept quiet for a while, swirling his drink in the glass. “How about you, newspaper girl? Are you finally willing to tell me your name?”

You blinked a few times. You forgot that you never told him your name which made you burst in laugh. People looked in you direction but you ignored them. “Y/N.”

“Y/N.” The way your name left his mouth made you shudder. It sounded weirdly appealing. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Ow, cheesy. Do other women fall for it?”

He laughed again. The sound was so pleasing that smile appeared on your lips, too. Even though his words were nothing but danger, he seemed cute.

“How did you become the newspaper girl?”

You took a deep breath and focused your gaze on the brown liquid in your hand. “My friend got me into this. I always loved watching people since I'm not that good with them myself. And I remember a lot of details. Details people normally don't even see. She needed someone who would give her information, someone who would be her eyes and ears. And that's exactly who I became.”

“So that's all happened because of V.”

“No, not her. She's... not my friend. I've started working with V around a year ago when Sohee left the country with her husband.”

“It seems like you're not on good terms with V.” His eyes were focused on you with so much intensity that you turned your head the other way, scared that he would sense something.

“She doesn't care about people's emotions. She loves the drama and I'm tired of it, to be honest.” That wasn't really a lie. You indeed felt overwhelmed with everything and the only person you could have blamed was you yourself. After so many years of invading people's privacy for entertainment of others you finally became exhausted. Despite your undeniable success, you weren't happy anymore. “Sometimes I wish I could leave everything and start a new life but they will never forget who I was.”

“Maybe you should leave this town?”

“And where I will go, huh?”

“I can help you if you want.” B/N's finger traced circles on your hand. His touch was warm and soothing. You closed your eyes. “You don't need to stay here.”

“Your offers are very tempting, B/N.”

His hand travelled higher, up to your elbow and he pressed on one of your veins. “Yet you're not convinced to them. Should I try something else?”

“Like what for example?”

B/N leaned closer to you. His face was so close that you felt his breath on your skin. Your heart skipped a beat and you were unable to move. When he opened his lips they almost touched yours. “What if I kiss you right now?”

The sound of laugh from your right reminded you where were you. You moved back, almost falling down from your chair. People's eyes were focused on both of you. Their sly smiles made you sick. You stood up.

“It's time for me. Thanks for the drink. And for your propositions. I will think about them.”

“Wait.” He grabbed your wrist. “Do you really need to go?”

You glanced at him with sadness. You wanted to stay, you did but you were so uncomfortable that breathing became too hard. “I'm sorry.”

Wednesday, 24th of May

Do not forget your place

B/N's charming aura enchanted every person in town. No one was able to resist it, it seems. Even our “newspaper girl” became his victim. What a joke!

If you think that I have thrilling news for you, you are wrong. She was useless yesterday, and if it was not for someone else's kindness I would not know what happened last night.

And what exactly happened? They both were so deep into conversation that they did not notice how much people laughed at “newspaper girl”. Oh and they did. It was almost like they forgot that they were not alone.

Such a stupid child.

You probably want to hear more but I have nothing to tell you.

Maybe I should find a new informer?

V.

When you entered Pearl there were only few people inside. It was early morning and that was the first time you've ever been there so early. You ordered a drink from a confused bartender and drank it at once.

That whole situation was so hilarious – you made fun of yourself in the new article, and even though you were ready to leave, you still did it because of your fear of people finding out V's true identity. You were indeed stupid. All this time everything was fine, you felt satisfied and proud of your work, and then B/N appeared and ruined everything. He shattered your believes into pieces.

Moreover, he made you feel things you've never felt before. He pulled you to himself like a magnet. He was dangerous, that was undeniable, but it was also so arousing. Everytime you though about him your mind became clouded, heart sped up and heat blew inside you. You wanted him and you were ready to admit to it.

You laughed, finishing another glass of whiskey.

“What's so funny?” You turned around and locked eyes with B/N.

“Me,” you said, standing up. You put your hand on his chest and looked up at his lips. They were so tempting. “Are your offers still valid?”

He pulled you close to him. “Even more than yesterday.”

The way to B/N's hotel room was like a way through a fog, you didn't remember how you got there but it wasn't important. You only cared about the feeling of his arms around your waist, his persistent lips on yours and overpowering sensation between your legs. When he pushed you on the wall, breath left your lungs suddenly. You didn't even have a chance to take another one because his mouth were back on yours in a matter of seconds. He was rough, close to violent but it was more than arousing. His tangled in your hair fingers pulled you even closer to his hot body. You felt dizzy, white dots played under your eyelids from the lack of oxygen. You pressed at his chest, trying to free yourself, and he backed off a little. You gasped for air as if you were drowning and that was your last chance to take a breath.

He leaned closer and licked your lips, leaving trace of drool on them. “You still taste like whiskey.”

You grabbed him by the belt and turned him so that he was pressed to the wall now. Your fingers sneaked under the hem of his shirt and scratched his abdomen. He growled lowly, pulling your hair once again and kissed you with the same power as before. Your teeth clashed and you unconsciously digged your nails into the soft skin on his body. Your tongues danced together in perfect synchronization, and every touch left tingling feeling.

You didn't even noticed when he guided you to the bed until you softly landed on top of it. Your hand slipped from under his shirt and moved past his growing erection. He shuddered under your touch, making you clench your thighs together in response.

You wanted him, you wanted him as fast as possible.

As if he read your mind, or rather because he felt the same way, he took off his shirt almost ripping it in the process. Your fingers grabbed his belt in rush in an unsuccessful attempt to undo it. He laughed, looking at you, and took your hand in his.

“What,” you whined, glancing up.

“Maybe we should slow down?”

“But I want you.” Your voice was unexpectedly innocent even though your words weren't. B/N groaned and pulled you up. You were pressed to his naked chest and the only thing you wished for was to get rid of that damn dress. You pushed one sleeve down your shoulder, trying to signal that you want him to take it off for you. He helped you with a smirk plastered across his lips, and when you were left in only panties and stockings his grin disappeared. His eyes were full of hunger and he licked his dry lips. He didn't move even the slightest, captivated by the sight of you in front of him.

Impatiently, you shortly palmed his cock, taking in how veins on his neck pulsated aggressively. But you backed off soon after, sit down and took off your underwear, spreading your legs to the side. The speed in which he dropped to his knees made you blinked in amusement.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, coming closer to your core. His breath on your folds was hot and icy-cold at the same time. When he finally licked you, your head flew back and moan left your parted lips. His tongue danced skillfully on you, making you squirm in pleasure. He put his hand on your stomach in an attempt to steady you but you slapped it. He laughed with mouth still pressed to you. The vibration made you squeeze your legs around him.

“B/N...” you whined with shaky voice. “It feels so good but... please... fuck me already.”

He hummed, made a few more licks and stood up. He took off his trousers and underwear while looking directly into your eyes. You bit down on your lips strongly when you glanced at his hard, reddened cock.

“Move up a bit,” he ordered you, kneeling between your legs. He stopped his moves just as he was about to enter you. One of his arms was laid near your head, other was placed on your hip. His breath tickled your ear. “Do you really want it?”

You smacked his shoulder, wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer so that the tip of his erection brushed over you. Loud moan left your lips at the same time when he growled directly into your ear. “Does this count as an answer,” you asked between erratic breaths. You felt on your skin how his lips stretched in a smile, and before you were able to grabbed his arm for support, he slammed into you with so much strength that you screamed. “Oh god.”

His thrusts were steady but powerful, his every move made you arch your back in pleasure. He grabbed your hair and linked your mouth in a sloppy kiss yet that didn't stop you from moaning. It was hard to breath, your eyes were tearing up and legs started giving up. As they slowly slid from his sweaty body, he caught one of them and pinned it to his side. You broke the kiss to catch some air and in that moment B/N hit the sweet spot inside you, making you cry in ecstasy. Your nails digged into the skin on his back, certainly breaking it. He hissed in pain and put even more force into his movements.

You were losing it. Your mouth was dry, every sound you made hurt you but you were unable to stop moaning and screaming his name. Your body was hot and sticky, and your head was spinning. The feeling that built up in your abdomen was ready to unravel and you couldn't wait for it. With the remaining bits of strength you wrapped your legs around him again and pressed your heels into his butt.

“Harder.” You voice was hoarse and almost inaudible. B/N looked at your tired face with soft gaze and planted a kiss on your temple. His hand travelled to your clit and started rubbing it in a fast pace. Your breath got stuck in your throat and sudden wave of heat spreaded through your body. Your legs gave up, falling on the bed. Tears ran down your face, mixing with sweat. String of incomprehensible words left your lips when white dots clouded your vision.

B/N's moves became unsteady and clumsy. He chased his high with closed eyes, and even though everything hurt you from overstimulation, you didn't stop him. After a few more rough thrusts he came, falling on you with a loud groan.

You both lay down like that for some time, trying to catch your breath. Finally, he rolled on the side but still kept his hand on your stomach. “That was... fucking nice,” he said.

You looked at him. “Just nice, huh?”

His laugh warmed your heart. “Fucking nice, sweetheart. It's been a while since I've had such an amazing sex.”

“Yeah, same.”

Silence fell around you but in no way it was uncomfortable. It was that nice kind of silence where only your breaths could have been heard. You closed your eyes, suddenly unable to keep them open.

“Hey,” he spoken up, “what about my second offer? Are you ready to leave writing for newspaper and come with me?”

You sat up, shocked. “How...?”

He followed your moves and gently pushed loose strands of hair from your face. “From the beginning it was weird for me. It felt that the more you became interested in me, the less information you gave to people. And V, according to what you said, loves the drama. If she had another informer the last time why he didn't give her any insight in what was happening earlier?”

“Shit.” Heat rushed to your cheeks and you were sure that they became red. You tried to cover yourself but B/N pulled you to his chest, laughing loudly.

“You're cute.” His fingers were tracing circles on your shoulders. “So what about that other offer?”

You looked at him with sweet smile. “When are we leaving?”

Thursday, 25th of May

Nothing lasts forever

Hello, dear citizens. Unfortunately, this is the last article in that section. And it will not be your usual text. Below we are inserting a letter from “newspaper girl” or V, if you wish.

Editorial team

* Where should I start?

Should I tell you my real identity?

Should I reveal that “newspaper girl” and V are the same person?

Should I make you aware of the fact that you all are so naive and clueless?

By now you probably know this.

You think of yourself so high and mighty yet a girl like me fooled you. And it didn't happen once! I was deceiving you for almost a year. As soon as I wrote my first article you became so scared of me. It was weird but funny at the same time.

All you ever wanted was hot news, you've never really cared about people behind those stories. Neither do I.

But it changed at some point and I became sick of you.

I'm leaving this town and I won't come back ever again.

You need to find another attraction.

Goodbye.

Newspaper Girl or V. or Y/N

(however you want to remember me) *

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 22-28

“You have to think this through,” he added. I appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t much left to think about at this point. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister,” I told him. Dead or alive, shackled or escaped: I would find her, no matter what I had to do.

title: pro patria (22-28/?) stuff that happens: Althea begins her investigation of Falcon Company's loss.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Captain Tervelan, Sergeant Bigsby; Logan Thackeray, others; Althea & Deborah, Althea & Logan, Bigsby & Deborah chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21

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TWENTY-TWO 1 Another lieutenant felt the need to inform me, “I expected someone … more impressive.” “Impressive?” I repeated, nettled despite my best intentions. “In what way?” “Well,” he said, “bigger, maybe—definitely taller.” I scowled. Both lieutenants had a good few inches on me, as did Faren and Anise, while Logan had to bend his head down every time he spoke to me. I did not appreciate the reminder. 2 “And with rays of light shooting out from your head,” he added, and I immediately calmed. An idiot, clearly. “Sorry to disappoint,” I said. Making my way across the courtyard and up the stairs without further interruption, I eyed Captain Tervelan. He was an average-sized man with a thin, worn, sharp-featured face, like a skritt’s. Maybe that was unfair to the skritt, since the face seemed designed around a sneer—but, I reminded myself, people couldn’t help how they looked. “You must be the hero Thackeray warned me about,” said Tervelan. 3 Warned? I felt sure that Logan would have said nothing of the kind. Maybe this ass could help how he looked. But he’d been Deborah’s commander, so I stayed silent and expressionless. “He says you’re investigating the Falcons—that true?” “Yes,” I replied evenly, “Captain Thackeray said you’d help me. Have you heard anything about centaurs taking prisoners?” 4 A flicker of … not sympathy, but something other than contempt, crossed his face. But it vanished as soon as it appeared. Tervelan only scoffed, not even bothering to muffle the sound. “Thackeray’s been swaddled in the royal court for too long,” he said. “He’s forgotten how rough it is out here. You’ve wasted a trip.” I would decide that. 5 “Falcon Company is long gone,” Tervelan went on, shaking his head. “May Grenth have mercy on their souls. Go home, kid.” Kid? I thought incredulously. I’d never particularly embraced my title, but I was the hero of Shaemoor; I was, at the very least, an adventurer who’d won battles throughout Queensdale, without a scratch to show for it. Tervelan said, “You’re in over—” And below us, one of the lieutenants hollered, “Centaurs!” 6 “Get the monks inside! To arms!” Of course those godsdamned centaurs would complicate my only chance of discovering what they’d done to Deborah—to all of Falcon Company. Tervelan received the news impassively. “C’mon, hero,” he said. “You’re about to learn what it’s like outside the city gates.” Apparently none of them understood basic geography. 7 I raced ahead of Tervelan towards the gate; despite his superior size, he made no attempt to pass by, instead running a little behind me. Maybe he was a coward as well as an ass. Either way, we all managed to hold our ground, even though the centaurs had somehow acquired rifles, forcing us to constantly dodge and run out of the way. At last, a much larger centaur galloped into the fray, and Tervelan grabbed my arm. “That’s their leader,” he hissed. “Let’s see what he wants.” Death and destruction, I would have said, but the centaur swept us all with a look of utter disdain, and shouted— “Bring out the hero!”

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1) Logan had to bend his head down every time he spoke to me: an exaggeration, but not by much; this is Althea with Logan.  

2) a thin, worn, sharp-featured face, like a skritt’s: skritt are an acquisitive, rat-like species.

------------------------------------------------------------- TWENTY-THREE 1 Even for a centaur, this one thought highly of himself. “I am Hruud the Reaver,” he bellowed, “pillager of human lands! I will kill any human who claims to be stronger than I!” I looked at his heavy frame, muscled in both legs and chest, and made no such claim. Why bother? I was neither tall nor muscular, even for a human; I had the strength for running between waypoints, and dodging and casting spells in battle, and that was about it. But I didn’t need strength to win. 2 “Let me see this great hero of Shaemoor I’ve heard has come to die beneath my hooves!” He swept another disdainful glance over us, clearly not realizing I was his enemy. I wouldn’t have expected him to recognize me, or any centaur to recognize me, but if he’d heard about my presence so soon, one of them must have been able to identify me on sight—unless— “I wonder how he found out you were here,” muttered Tervelan, echoing my own thoughts. “That’s unfortunate.” Unfortunate was one word for it. With a curl of his lip, he said, “You can sneak out the back, if you like.” 3 I ignored that, except to add it to the list of reasons I disliked him. “I challenge you, Hero of Shaemoor!” yelled Hruud. “Reveal yourself!” With a sigh, I stepped forward. Unless he turned out to be a good deal cleverer than he looked, I’d defeated dozens just like him. This was nothing but a waste of my time and the Seraph’s. Really, who had told him about me? 4 Deciding that I might as well get it over with, I sprang into battle. Tervelan called after me, “Make it a good fight! I better see some fancy moves!” I cared far more about the lives of the innocent people here than putting on a show. But if he wanted one, he’d get it; with a slash of my hand, I duplicated myself into clones, two distracting Hruud by dancing around his blows, while the rest of us concentrated our power into beams of magic, shot straight at his chest. Much more reassuringly, the abbey’s priests and priestesses cried out prayers for me. “Balthazar is with you!” 5 “Slay this vermin!” shouted another abbey brother, while the centaurs at Hruud’s back chorused cheers and insults. “That’s no Seraph!” one of them called out, laughing. “None of Tervelan’s soldiers are brave enough to face our champion!” Right, so now I’d gotten more respect from Tervelan’s enemies than Tervelan himself—and since when did centaurs call humans by name? Regardless, Balthazar plainly was on my side; Hruud never landed a hit on me, and the moment I exploded my clones turned out to be precisely the right one, the flash of light dazing him long enough for me to build more, and grind him down further, while he struggled to lift his weapon. Behind us, a woman—a sister of the abbey—raised her voice. “In the name of all Six Gods, tear his wretched heart out!” 6 I didn’t quite tear his heart out, but I did irradiate his body with aether until his heart stopped beating. Hruud collapsed in a tangle of hooves and limbs, his soldiers fleeing into a barely-organized retreat. That was good enough for the residents of the monastery, who burst into excited chatter as soon as they found themselves safe. I breezed past Tervelan and his lieutenants to reach out my hand to Sister Melea, the woman I’d heard in the battle. “Kormir bless you,” she said, tracing a flickering hexagon above my palm. I’d only meant to clasp her hand in gratitude, or perhaps slight apology, not to demand a blessing: least of all one from Kormir herself. But if Kormir and Balthazar both guided my steps, surely that meant I was on the right path—didn’t it? 7 “I’m fortunate,” I assured Melea. “Balthazar was watching over me—I just couldn’t let them hurt the monks.” “Your courage is inspiring,” she replied, her eyes bright. “I’m going to name one of our beers after your deeds. What should we call it?” I glanced over at Tervelan, and smiled. “Hero’s Hops,” I said.

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1) exploded my clones: this is less violent than it sounds like; clones are illusionary duplicates of yourself that will attack your enemies but can be voluntarily shattered for various effects, not ... uh, actual people.

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TWENTY-FOUR 1 “Not bad for a city scab,” said Captain Tervelan. To my satisfaction, the dismissive words didn’t quite conceal an unsettled expression. He shook it off, tone dropping to something like civility. “I’m beginning to think you’re as competent as they say you are. So tell me—what are your plans?” I set my jaw, the euphoria of battle receding into the frustration I’d felt before. “I plan to find out what happened to Falcon Company.” 2 Tervelan shook his head, a thin and unconvincing layer of sympathy lying over his voice. “What happened to the Screaming Falcons was a tragedy, but this is a fool’s errand.” Turning sharply on his heel, he gestured for me to follow him back up the stairs, to the higher levels where Seraph stood guard. When we were alone, his gaze shifted to the sight beyond the monastery’s walls: the thick forest and hills, and paths carved through both by humans and centaurs alike. At last, he said, “I can’t spare good soldiers for a personal vendetta; I need them to handle these centaurs.” Personal vendetta? That could only mean Deborah—and that could only mean that he knew who I really was. 3 My dismay must have shown in my expression. Tervelan gave a low chuckle. “Your name isn’t a secret, Lady Althea. Neither is your face.” “My face,” I said blankly. Any number of people hadn’t known me until I spoke to them, or until some third party pointed me out. “Even the centaurs recognized you,” said Tervelan, “when you came here and put us all in danger.” 4 “I—” “And Sergeant Fairchild was fond of her family,” he added, silencing anything else I might have said. “She carried a miniature of you all with her—perhaps you recall? We never found it, afterwards.” Abruptly, I did remember: years ago, an Asura mechanic had shown up in Divinity’s Reach, making pictures with some boxy contraption, and my father had paid exorbitantly for a little picture of all four of us. Deborah had taken it when she joined the Seraph; though I was much younger in the picture, perhaps fourteen, I might well be recognizable to a close eye. I didn’t doubt that Captain Tervelan had a close eye. 5 “Let me help,” I urged him, unable to think of any better solution. “If we get done quickly, maybe your soldiers can help me afterward.” If Kormir and Balthazar really guided me, it would happen. Tervelan studied the landscape for another moment. Then he jerked back so abruptly that he nearly hit me. “Fine,” he said. “Rendezvous with my squad at the centaur camp over the hill.” 6 That seemed almost too easy. “You take out the herd, and we’ll see,” he said, fixing me with a cold stare. “No promises, though, hero. My duty here comes first.” “I’ll do it,” I promised, sparing a silent prayer to the gods. “Don’t worry, captain. I’ll be back soon.” 7 I talked to Tervelan once more before I left; he just brusquely told me to get to the centaur camp. In what passed for reassurance with him, he added, “My soldiers are waiting for you.” However, I found no such thing. Instead, a single soldier skulked nearby, one who stared in obvious horror as I approached. “You’re my back-up?” he hissed. “Has the captain lost his mind? I expected an entire squad!” TWENTY-FIVE 1 “Stinking centaurs—can’t ever kill enough of them,” he muttered to himself. Then he stuck out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Bigsby.” I nodded. “And I’m—” “The hero of Shaemoor,” said Bigsby. “We heard you’d be coming.” 2 I couldn’t tell what he thought about it. Without a pause, he went on, “Where are the others? Captain Tervelan said he was sending a unit to help me with the assault on the centaur camp.” “That’s what he told me, too,” I said tightly. Gods, I was an idiot. Oh, this wasn’t proof; I could think of half a dozen benign explanations. But I didn’t believe any of them. 3 Bigsby looked unsure, either of me or Tervelan. “I’m not sure two of us can do this by ourselves,” he said. “Maybe we should go back to the monastery?” I set my jaw. Idiot or not, I hadn’t come this far to turn back now—and I’d had worse fights. “I have to do this,” I insisted. “I need information about my sister, and he’s got it.” 4 Bigsby caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You’re Althea Fairchild?” he exclaimed. Odd. My name evidently had meaning for him beyond the simple fact of its existence, yet he hadn’t realized that it belonged to the hero of Shaemoor, even though Tervelan had said people knew— Oh, of course Tervelan had lied about literally everything. Bigsby lowered his voice even as he seized my hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “I should have recognized you!” 5 I couldn’t think why he should have recognized me, or how he might have done it; I certainly had no memory of meeting him. In fairness, I met a lot of people. “You look just like your sister,” he explained. I blinked at him, genuinely taken aback. Nobody had ever said such a thing to me; Deborah was blonde and round-faced, her frame leaner and considerably shorter than mine—we used to joke that it was a miracle they’d found a uniform small enough for her. Bigsby gestured vaguely at the upper half of his face. “Around the eyes,” he said. 6 That was fair, I supposed; our eyes did have the same shape and colour, but nobody else had ever paid attention to that little resemblance. “She was a damn good soldier,” said Bigsby, voice choked. “But you know that.” I focused back on him, vastly more interested in Deborah’s career than her appearance. “You knew my sister?” “Yes,” he answered, “I was stationed here a few months before … well, you know.” I was not going to cry. 7 Bigsby closed his eyes for a lingering moment, taking regular, deep breaths until his voice evened out. “She helped me figure out how to be a good Seraph.” That sounded like Debs: as different as we were, she’d always done her best to guide me, from wrapping her fingers around my tiny hands as I took my first steps to explaining our legacy as Ascalonians as she turned from the luxuries of our manors and the Ministry. “That’s why you’re here, right?” he pressed. “Because of the rumours?” Wait, what? I could only echo, “Rumours?” TWENTY-SIX 1 “What rumours?” I demanded, not even trying for caution. I couldn’t, not after so long, when I’d come so far. Bigsby seemed nearly as eager. “Nobody ever knew how the centaurs found out the Falcons’ patrol route,” he said. “There’ve always been questions about why the company was sent out alone.” I’d never thought of that; until Shaemoor, I didn’t know enough to consider it odd. But now I did. 2 “Nothing official, though,” Bigsby added quickly. “Just beer talk.” It’d have to be, wouldn’t it? I turned my gaze to a tree just behind him, forcing down my creeping fears and suspicions. In the moment, none of those helped us. “If I clean out these centaurs,” I said, “maybe Captain Tervelan will tell me what really happened.” At this point, it seemed a slim maybe—but I had to try. 3 “If this is for Debs,” Bigsby said, then broke off and cleared his throat. “If this is for Debs, I’d be a mighty poor friend to leave you here alone. I guess I’m in it, too.” I clapped his shoulder, smiling. He’d never fought alongside me, even in practice, never acquired any first-hand knowledge at all; he wouldn’t know anything from Deborah, either, since I couldn’t have beaten a training dummy back then. He was walking into a fight he doubted we could win for Deborah, for their friendship. Whether she lived or not, I was glad she’d had a friend like him. 4 We snuck into the camp without much difficulty, found it empty, and started methodically destroying supplies. If they were near enough to respond, we’d get them herded into the cave; if they weren’t, well, they’d have a lot less equipment. It was a fairly easy fight, in truth. I’d taken on worse ones, and usually by myself. With Bigsby, there was hardly any trouble at all; despite wasting energy on hollering insults, he turned out to be a good man to have at my back. Nothing like Logan or Anise, of course, but competent and efficient. And when I saw the cages, I needed someone at my back. 5 After dodging around the last centaur’s spear and slicing its head off, Bigsby stopped to catch his breath. He pointed at one of the cages. “You might find prisoners’ belongings inside that cage near the tent. Check it out; I’ll cover you.” I darted towards the cage, forcing myself to be cautious with the battered and decayed belongings scattered around the cage. It didn’t look like the centaurs had ever bothered to investigate them, just tossed them aside like trash. It was just like them—and lucky for us. 6 Beneath quite a lot of genuine trash, and a tattered and stained cloak, I found it: something better than either of us could have dreamed of. It was a soldier’s journal, emblazoned with a falcon. I carefully opened it, paging through depressingly mundane entries, until they came to an abrupt stop halfway through. On the right-hand page, someone had scrawled out Survivors, following the title with a list of names. Perhaps twelve or fifteen. I scanned downwards, telling myself that I was counting, determining our losses at the time— My hand closed over the chain at my collar, twisting until my fingers chilled, but I kept going. 7 Lann Black, Corp Val Gayan, Sgt Deborah Fairchild, Sgt— Deborah. Deborah! She was alive, or had been. But it was possible as it had never been before. Of course I’d never sensed her spirit at the grave, or anywhere else; even as we strained for some connection, she might very well have drawn breath. Drawn breath in slave pens, but—alive! TWENTY-SEVEN 1 On the left-hand page, the unknown soldier had scratched out in fading ink: Set up for centaur attack. Must have been Tervelan. Don’t know why. I drew a sharp breath. It didn’t come as a surprise; not really. But proof was something else—proof that a captain of the Seraph, one of Logan’s equals, had betrayed his command and his queen beyond anything Zamon might have imagined. Betrayal really could come from anywhere. 2 I shoved the little journal into my pouch, making my way back to Bigsby. We seemed to have cleaned out the entire den; at least, we neither saw nor heard any hint of anyone else, though he stayed on guard as he looked at the bodies in wonder. Shakily, he said, “The only reason I followed you in there was because you’re you.” I managed a faint smile. “I didn’t even think we’d survive, but you were great! Hey, what did you find?” I told him about the journal and the list of survivors. 3 Bigsby’s face lit up, then darkened into a puzzled frown. “I thought Captain Tervelan said there were no survivors.” Glancing around at the bloody bodies, shattered equipment, and cages, I clenched my jaw. Under my skin, my whole body seemed to be twitching. “Tervelan may be lying to cover his tracks,” I said, and finished telling him about the final entry. His eyes went wide, his mouth open; he looked like a slapped child. “I … I don’t know what to think.” 4 “Tervelan, a traitor?” Bigsby said doubtfully. Then his eyes widened still further. “You don’t think he sent us out here alone to die, do you?” I very definitely thought so, and had suspected it before. I just nodded, trying to approximate reluctance. In a quiet voice, he said, “He hasn’t been happy with me lately.” So Tervelan had deliberately selected Bigsby as an acceptable sacrifice for trapping me, or worse, found it a convenient opportunity to eliminate a sergeant he disliked—either way, he was utter scum. 5 “It’s a distinct possibility,” I said, keeping my tone firm. “But don’t worry, Bigsby—we’ll get to the bottom of this together.” He took a deep breath (which he looked like he’d needed) and burst out, “By all the gods, these animals will pay!” “The centaurs will get theirs in time,” I promised. Deliberately, I relaxed my fists, softened my voice. “Now, I need to have a little talk with Captain Tervelan.” Bigsby looked alarmed all over again. 6 I couldn’t actually confront Tervelan at the monastery, it turned out; Bigsby told me that Tervelan had left to wipe out a small group of ettins before they became a large one, though he would return shortly. “He didn’t mention any ettins to me—that’s funny,” I said. “The man’s sounding shadier and shadier.” And I really wouldn’t have thought there was much shade left to add. Bigsby all but vibrated with anxiety. “What are you going to do?” 7 “You have to think this through,” he added. I appreciated the concern, but there wasn’t much left to think about at this point. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister,” I told him. Dead or alive, shackled or escaped: I would find her, no matter what I had to do. Bigsby, rather than being intimidated, seemed to find this sympathetic and reasonable. He gave a brisk nod. “All right.” TWENTY-EIGHT 1 “The way I see it,” said Bigsby, “you have two options.” I waited for him to finish, though more as a matter of form. There was exactly one option: surrounding Tervelan in clones and putting our swords at his throat until he talked—and if he thought to escape, we’d encase him in aether. “Tell your friend, Captain Thackeray, what we suspect,” Bigsby went on, “but then Tervelan might get away.” I faltered; I’d forgotten about Logan’s role in this, as captain and as friend. In the few months we’d known each other, he’d somehow become the closest thing I had to an older sibling, with Deborah gone and Faren perpetually adolescent. She might not be gone after all; soon I might be able to count myself a little sister in blood as well as name; but still, I couldn’t leave him out of it. 2 Bigsby said, “Or we could confront Tervelan directly—without backup.” Uh, no. We could beat him in a fair fight, but this was Tervelan; it wouldn’t be fair, and I didn’t mean to get Bigsby killed (or maybe even myself) after all this. And I was here on Logan’s behalf, even if I had license to follow my own objectives and represent him however I liked. He needed to know that a traitor walked among the Seraph, ready to throw away the lives of the men and women under his command. He particularly needed to know it was a captain, one he knew and had trusted, if he was to protect the queen and Kryta. “I have to tell Captain Thackeray what’s going on out here,” I said. 3 Duty aside, I’d seen the monastery bristling with Tervelan’s soldiers and the grateful clerics they protected. It’d be good to have Logan at my side when I confronted Tervelan. And I didn’t even need to manufacture an explanation for leaving; Tervelan’s sudden ettin-hunt, though undoubtedly meant to protect himself, had bought us time. “I’ll be waiting,” said Bigsby, holding out his hand. He paused. “Deborah was a good soldier. I guess it runs in your family.” 4 I smiled, truly gratified, and shook the offered hand. “Thanks, Bigsby,” I told him. “You’re a good soldier.” After a hesitation, I added, “My sister taught you well.” Bigsby chewed on his lip, eyes so bright that I knew he must be just holding off tears. Well, I understood dignity. I shook his hand one last time, said my last farewell, cast my signet, and took off running for the nearest waypoint. 5 I had barely stumbled out of the palace waypoint and paid my fees when I took up running again, heedless of the glances I received from fellow nobles (along with anyone who happened to be in my path). Without hesitation, I banged on the door to Seraph Headquarters. Thankfully, the guard recognized me on sight and escorted me to Logan without difficulty. Everything, I thought, was so much easier in Divinity’s Reach. “Althea?” he said, his glance little short of astonished. I could feel my entire face flushed with all my running about, and my clothes had to be sweaty and perhaps even dirty. For once, I didn’t care. 6 I quickly pulled him aside, which was to say, I tugged at his armour and he followed along, looking concerned. “What—” “Captain,” I said urgently, “I’m afraid I have bad news. Tervelan is a traitor; he sent me into centaur territory, promising back-up, but then he never actually sent anyone. He meant for us to die there.” Logan’s eyes widened. “That’s outrageous!” 7 It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might doubt me; I was still collecting myself when he went on, “He’s a Seraph captain.” A little uncertainly, Logan added, “You’re sure it wasn’t just a misunderstanding?” “I’m sure,” I said, reassured, and told him what I had found. “Tervelan didn’t want me investigating these deaths, to the point where he nearly got me killed—I know he’s hiding something, captain.” Logan stared down at me, searching my face. Then, his usual resolve returned to his own face, and he clasped my shoulder. “All right.”

[astrognossienne]

aquarius: a rich conspectus

*zodiac sign of  Aquarius, Heures de Nôtre Dame (use of Troyes and Sens): manuscript, circa 1470

Aquarians are the rebels without a cause. They often are open minded, but only when it suits them. They love thinking differently and often subscribe to progressive views, often getting stuck in said “progressive views”. They’re stubborn, and this stubbornness is a double-edged sword; it can sustain them or destroy them. They’re very aware, and as they see things wrong with the way the structure functions, they seek to make corrections. It is interesting that prior to the discovery of Uranus, Saturn ruled both Capricorn and Aquarius. To some extent, the structured order and boundaries of Saturn were carried over and maintained in Aquarius. Uranus, as the ruler of Aquarius, is the challenger to all that has been established. That’s why the way they go about challenging the establishment rubs a lot of people the wrong way. What they are often too stubborn and impatient to understand is that the new society they so passionately want just might not be any better than the old. If the demand for change is based on avenging mistakes rather than actually solving the problem, they actually risk total destruction of order. 

They like to think they are independent but the actuality is that they are very dependent on others. Their mental energy is always going and needs people to bounce off of, and they can't maneuver in life without first seeing how others move. It's as if they need to be inspired on how to execute tasks. Then after observing folks and getting an idea, they develop their own logic or understanding about strategies they've witnessed and speak on it as if they are all-knowing gurus. They are indeed intelligent, but the road to their aha moment comes from the works of others. They pride themselves on being original and often think themselves as such, but the reality is that they’re copycats. They are not original in anything they say or do. They're real, but in a fake way. They are detached, and they live in an emotional ivory tower which can make them have not so good experiences with other people. As such, they figure they’d rather walk away “emotionless” than be high strung like everyone else (except perhaps Taurus).

As quiet as it’s kept, Aquarians have really big hearts, they just don’t wear it on their sleeves like their sister sign Leo. Also like their sister sign Leo, they like to be thought of as special and tend to show off and gain attention, but unlike Leo, it’ll be more verbal/mental than anything else, often saying inappropriate and/or subversive things. When it comes to dealing with people, they either weed you out at the beginning or they take a while to break it off and then cut you cold. On the whole, they’re generally very understanding and the evolved ones take criticism really well. The rest don’t and when they don’t agree with someone they immediately accuse them of lying. The reason why Aquarians do this is because they dislike people acting like they know them and generalize them based on a few encounters they had with a few low-functioning Aquarians. Like Geminis and evolved Cancers, they don’t take at all well to small minded people who judge them on only the unevolved ones that other people encountered in life and it drives them completely nuts. Aquarius, more than any other sign, absolutely hates it when people think they know them but they really don't (since they fancy themselves as “unknowable” and special).

As popular as Aquarians are, people will always be there to feed their superiority/God complex, but as soon as those people remind them that they benefit more from it than they do, they’re gone; they may be light and airy, but they’re heavy fixed signs and fixed signs hate to be bested or taken advantage of. A lot of people have problems with Aquarians due to their own sensitivity; Aquarius is a sign that doesn't do needy people very well. They’re rebels, not followers so if you are looking for someone that's going to follow your lead and tell you how great you are, don’t deal with an Aquarius (or a Capricorn, for that matter). They are big picture people. As a fixed sign, if they feel that they are dealing with a person that wants a pat on the back for small successes but that person is an otherwise all around trash person, an Aquarius is going to see the total person and deal with them accordingly. As air signs, they’re scattered and absentminded. Or more nicely put, their minds are wired to move faster than their bodies. They don't live in the moment. There is a spontaneous mental quality to these people. Before they began the intended task, their minds have moved on to something else. That's why some of their speech patterns seem off, seemingly forgetting what they’re trying to say mid sentence, because their minds have already moved on to the next sentence. Or conversely, Aquarius can listen politely for hours and continue on their way as though they hadn't heard a word you said.

Aquarian individuals are basically impersonal and humanitarian in their outlook. They espouse the idea of the greatest good to the greatest number. They are looking for rules to insure a new Utopia. In this process, individuality may be sacrificed, but never theirs. As their own version of God, they take the broad view from the mountaintop and often miss the individual's worth except as s/he fits into that broad picture. Any individual which threatens an Aquarian’s grand Utopian dream of the future must be controlled and molded to fit. Aquarian individuals are restless and bored with the ordinary and the present. If they even bother to look to the past, it’s only to build the future. They are not satisfied with the way things are. They want things to be better. Uranus, a higher octave of Mercury, which wants the same things, only on a grander scale. They are often eccentric and strange in their behaviour. They are “strange” mainly because they don't want toxic people abusing their loyalty and trust in the long run, nor do they like to get all up in drama that they don't like to be in and feel like they have wasted their time. Aquarians try to get to know people first before they become friends or lovers...that's how they are.

They have this Leo shadow side that makes their ego magnified. For instance, any opinion that doesn't agree with theirs is wrong.  People literally have to prove their opinion to them. They seem to read nonverbal cues and social niceties wrong by other signs...but they don't read body language wrong. They understand things fine, but they play dumb and annoy others for their own amusement. Air signs in general like to mind fuck people when they're bored. It's actually quite amusing to witness, especially when they do it to people they can't stand. Also, like their shadow sign Leo, they have an armour that they use to hide their latent sensitivity; with Leos it’s emotional and with Aquas it’s mental. Aquarius is a sign associated with electrical storms and sudden flashes of insight. As such, Aquarians like to push others’ buttons; they test people’s limits to see if they can be their friends or not. Once this phase is over they can be good people and act like an older sibling in the sense that if other people are mean to that same person the Aquarius was being mean to, the Aquarius will stand up for that person. They do the mean test to everyone, the wise thing is to not take it personally. 

As open-minded as they are, they're hard to manipulate; many try and don’t succeed, later realizing that they were beaten at their own game instead. Most Aquarians have a lot of friends. People trust them but they don't trust other people. They can have several associates but if some fall off the grid, they will move on unbothered. Don’t be fooled, they can be cool with a lot of people, They are cordial most of the time. That does not equate to trust or friendship. They know they are different. Their mind may be scattered, but it is also strong, and as such, they just don’t care about people's opinions on them all that much. They’re simply unbothered, and if people find them weird, well tough shit, because they ain't changing themselves for anyone. They can be the world saviours or the rebels. But always they seem to be far out in front, beckoning to the crowd.

previous tea: capricorn

[wisdomrays]

The Carnal Soul, Satan, and Those who Straddle the Fence

QUESTION: The Qur’an relates the example of an unfortunate man whom God made well-informed of His signs and Revelations, but the man cast them aside, and Satan overtook him. He then became of those who went astray, following his carnal desires and Satan (al-A’raf 7:175). What are the reasons that cause one to go astray so gravely while trying to walk on the righteous path?

ANSWER: The foremost reason for such deviations is forgetting the fact that this life is a testing ground and everything, at every moment, is a component of that test. Those who go astray forget this fact and fall for the deceptions of the carnal soul and Satan. Indeed, man is always faced with both the internal mechanism of the carnal soul and Satan who can never be known when, where and how he will approach and play new tricks on him. These two archenemies usually approach us with a friendly face and try to misguide us by making right seem wrong and vice versa. One needs to always be alert against these tricks. Otherwise, a momentary heedlessness can take one to deceptions that are difficult or even impossible to overcome. In terms of their appeal to our carnal soul and physicality, you can see the temptations of this world as tools of illusion used by Satan, the relentless deceiver. At unexpected moments he makes certain things seem unpredictably very inviting. However, those things that are seemingly pleasant may have disastrous consequences as pointed out in the verse (which means): “It may well be that you dislike a thing but it is good for you, and it may well be that you like a thing but it is bad for you. God knows, and you do not know” (al-Baqarah 2:216). In other words, poisonous honey that you initially enjoy might soon trouble your stomach severely. In the same way, there are certain things people face that they seem bitter and bothersome outwardly, but by putting up with their trouble you can take wing to felicity. For example, Satan wants to make a river in front of your home appear to you as a deep and sinister torrent. However, when you evaluate the issue with sound reason, common sense, and a pure heart and thus gain insight into the issue, this helps to purify you. You see that the river that you feared does not even reach your ankle and furthermore has a purifying quality. As Satan tries to get you into negativities by his illusion, he tries to avert you from doing good by his positive-illusion on the other hand. As the Qur’an states, he is the one that deceives and embellishes; he decks the ugly sins to be appealing.

The watcher

Satan, the archenemy of humanity, relentlessly watches for our weak moments, figuring out the best time to attack. He takes advantage of weaknesses such as lust, fear, comfort, love for position, or seeking benefit, and topples a person over when he finds the chance.

The Qur’an describes Satan’s grudge against humanity: “Now that You have allowed me to rebel and go astray, I will surely lie in wait for them on Your Straight Path (to lure them from it). Then I will come upon them from before them and from behind them, and from their right and from their left. And You will not find most of them thankful” (al-A’raf 7:16–17). Other verses also describe this unappeasable enemy (translated as): “Then (I swear) by Your Glory, I will certainly cause them all to rebel and go astray” (as-Sa’d 38:82). Taking into consideration these and other verses in the Qur’an, we can say that what lies behind all of people’s misguidance, transgressions, rebellion against God, and heedless indulgences are the goadings and whisperings of Satan.

Who suffices with what is in hand is a deceived one

Undoubtedly, what befalls us in the face of such a relentless enemy is not standing somewhere in the middle but adopting a resolved stance and verifying all the values one believes in with reasoning, judgment, and following the established principles in the Qur’an and Sunnah. That is, one needs to have sound faith and due reliance on God in order to be saved from Satan’s evil: “Surely he has no power over those who believe and put their trust in their Lord” (an-Nahl 16:99). It is not possible to be saved from Satan and his traps for those who may content themselves only with the acculturation they received from the environment in which they grew up without deepening their faith through reflection and investigation or trying to internalize the values they believe in.

The situation of a person straddling the fence

As mentioned in the question, the Qur’an gives the example of a person who does not adopt a clear position with respect to faith and following Divine commands: “Tell them (based on Our Revelation) the story of him whom We made well-informed of Our signs and Revelations, but he cast them off, and Satan overtook him, and he became of those (followers of Satan) who rebel (against God’s way) and go astray” (al-A’raf 7:175).

The Qur’an relates this story to teach us a lesson. That man witnessed manifest signs and had evident works of wonders—to guide him to truth, which would make him see and hear correctly, which would guide his heart to wisdom, but he ignored all this and left everything behind. So it seems this poor man, in spite of being granted certain blessings, failed to define a clear position and take a sound stance; he could not save himself straddling the fence. In other words, although he lived in a suitable environment for practicing faith, he failed to ingrain in himself the truths he had learned from the culture he was raised in. That poor man did not show any personal effort to verify what he inherited, did not ponder it, nor try to rebuild the world of his feelings, thoughts, and beliefs by giving his willpower its due; ultimately, he became a loser. According to the statements of some interpreters of the Qur’an, his knowing the Ism al-Azam (greatest Divine Name) and Divine secrets did not do him any good; he did not make them an integral part of his character or nature, and thus they did not belong to him. In this respect, if people do not restore the thoughts they inherit from their ancestry and have an unshakeable faith by verifying and internalizing every piece of the information they possess, then Satan can cast doubts and hesitations into them, polluting their hearts and minds.

Talk of the beloved all the time

The verse continues by stating, “If We had willed (to impede the way he chose by his free will), We could indeed have lifted him (towards the heaven of perfections enabled by faith) through those signs and Revelations, but (by his own free choice) he clung to the earth and followed his desires” (al-A’raf 7:176). That is, he was taken by comfort, physicality, fame, imitation, praises, fancies, and desires, and thus forgot that the bestowals he enjoyed essentially belong to God. When he became oblivious of this fact, God left him to oblivion. The verse then states (translated as): “So (in his being surrendered to greed), his likeness is that of a dog: if you move to drive it away, it pants with its tongue lolling out (still hoping to be fed more), or if you leave it, it pants with its tongue lolling out” (al-A’raf 7:176). And a few verses later, the situation of such people is described as: “They are like cattle (following only their instincts)—rather, even more astray” (al-A’raf 7:179). Due to their carnal, animalistic desires, they fall down to a status lower than the lowliest creatures.

Humanity is indeed honored with the best pattern of creation, as candidates for exaltedness. Although human essence is potentially even superior to angels, their downfall does not take them to ground zero but to a deep pit much lower than that. That is, a man who has become a slave to his desires and fancies, he cannot even keep the level of an ordinary man but falls to a level below animals. While describing the situation of such a person—owing to the gravity of the matter—the style of the Word of God changes here significantly and the conduct of the person in question is likened to animal behavior. To conclude, if a person is not walking determinedly, not improving his abilities to comply with the needs of walking on this righteous path, and lacking the resolution for constant self-renewal, if he is not upholding the truth of the

Prophetic statement, “Renew your faith by La ilaha illa’llah,” it is always possible for him to be stopped by one of these obstacles. In order to overcome all of these obstacles and reach their target, individuals must concentrate their powers on retaining their faith; they should build insurmountable walls around it and continuously feed their heart and spirit with good, righteous deeds and attending religious talks.

[buzzdixonwriter]

White American Evangelical Christians And Their Tribal God

Someone asked me what Christians were afraid of, and as a practicing Christian I said, “Based on our behavior, the thing we fear most is living a Christ-like life.”

Now, this is true for all of us who profess to follow Jesus -- not a one of us claims we’ve got it right, and those among us who come closest would be the first to loudly proclaim they are miserable failures at it and have to work even harder.

But by the same measure there are some who fall far, far short but -- as is always the case -- think they’re living exactly the sort of life God wants ‘em to live.  

The Dunning-Kruger effect describes them to a T:  People mistakenly thinking they are better than they are.

To quote Charles Bukowski: “The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.”

Before that, Bertrand Russell said:  “The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wise people so full of doubts.” 

Socrates is quoted even earlier:  “I am wiser than this man, for neither of us appears to know anything great and good; but he fancies he knows something, although he knows nothing; whereas I, as I do not know anything, so I do not fancy I do. In this trifling particular, then, I appear to be wiser than he, because I do not fancy I know what I do not know.”

The main circuit running through the spine of white American evangelical Christianity is white supremacy.

Not all white American evangelical Christians are hateful, hurtful bigots -- far too many are, but not all.

But it’s impossible to think of any who don’t believe deep in their heart of hearts that the country wouldn’t be a better place if only white people were running it, or that the world wouldn’t improve if they started aping America.

They will allow a token few a place on the podium or at the table, but the white folks want to be in charge and they want to make all the decisions, such as who gets to live where, who can go to what schools, how fairly laws shall be enforced, etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Most of them aren’t bad people and they’ll send money to foreign missionaries and they’ll even tolerate the family member who marries outside their race, but…

…they want to be on top of the societal heap.

While the earliest white settlers to North America brought their own prejudices with them, truth be told it was the absentee landlords and local gentry who most ardently promulgated white supremacy.

Most whites coming to North America from the British Isles were scraped from the bottom of his majesty’s debtor’s prisons and work farms, or religious bigots who lost a civil war and sought new territory where they could exercise their prejudices freely.

While the French and Dutch colonial traders tried to deal fairly with the native people, Anglo and Scots-Irish colonists regarded them as untrustworthy savages who should be driven as far away from “civilized” (read white) society as possible.

The big cash crops of North America could only be grown in what we now refer to as the American South, in a climate that killed off Anglo and Scots-Irish colonials at a prodigious rate.

Since whites could not work the plantations economically, the owners imported enslaved labor from Africa. To soothe the resentments of poor whites, the plantation owners encouraged feelings of white supremacy: “I may be poor, but at least I ain’t black!”

To one degree or another that poison pill has stayed stuck in the back of America’s throat ever since.

As America became an independent nation, the plantation owners sought to expand their political and economic power over the rest of the country.

That meant expanding westward -- and driving out or eradicating the native people who fled there.

It meant coming up with justifications for this genocide.

It meant coming up with justifications for enslaving African-Americans, and not merely enslaving them but guaranteeing that even if they somehow obtained freedom, they would never be equal in status to the poorest whites.

White American evangelical Christians bristle when they’re accused of clinging to their guns and god for comfort, but truth be told they bristle because they know it is true.

When abolitionists began making headway in American politics -- and make no mistake, these were not starry-eyed egalitarians but merely less hateful white supremacists – the rich plantation owners first resisted by sponsoring professors and pastors who pushed white supremacy:  The professors proclaiming Darwin proved whites were more highly evolved, and hence superior to blacks; the pastors preaching that the Bible ordained whites should rule over blacks (and while they were at it, men over women as well).

It was a false gospel as anyone who actually bothered to read the Beatitudes could see, but it was a comforting false gospel, telling downtrodden poor whites and anxious middle class whites who feared a loss of status that they were better, they were superior to the black and the red and the brown and the yellow.

They fought -- and lost.

And even while losing conjured up a new false gospel, the myth of the lost cause.

And while that myth took root in the American South, it soon spread its insidious tendrils throughout the nation, tell poor and working class and middle class whites that an evil, overreaching federal government had forced the war of the just, peace loving lily white South for its own insidious reasons.

And doors were slammed in the faces of African-Americans and Latin Americans and native Americans and the immigrants arriving from the east to build our railroads and dig our mines.

As time marched on, it became impossible to hold back demands for justice among the poor of any color, and among the oppressed non-whites in particular.

The rich white oligarchy changed tactics but not strategy.

They attacked labor unions in order to keep whites and blacks from banding together for their common economic and social good.

They attacked all forms of social programs, promoting fundamentalist religious beliefs that said the churches should be the center point for charity and good works in the community.

The churches went along with this, of course; the rich doled their money out wisely.

Despite their efforts, the rapidly changing world forced itself into white complacency.

Minorities and women began moving into the workplace in large numbers.

Civil rights were spreading slowly but surely.

Again the rich attacked progressive ideas, branding them as “socialist” or “communist” and using the boogey-man of Marx’ anti-religious sentiment to tell white evangelical America that they would be deprived of their churches, deprived of their status, deprived of their privilege as white people if the government was allowed to continue its civil rights programs.

And again, the churches responded by attacking progressive ideals and reinforcing white prejudices.

But they couldn’t keep non-whites and women from demanding and obtaining their basic civil rights.

Kinda hard to deny ‘em when they’re written into the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

(And once again, no illusions here; the founding fathers thought those rights would only apply to white men such as themselves who owned property, but they had enough integrity to leave the back door unlatched so others in the future could come in and share the bounty.)

As minorities and women and gays began moving into the public sphere, white evangelical Christians began moving out.

Oh, they had their reasons, they cited Bible chapter and verse, but they cherry-picked their verses, ignoring the repeated calls for Christians to love one another without judgment, to be generous to a fault to those in need, to shun wealth and prestige and be servants of the down trodden (who in most cases had been down trodden by those very evangelicals).

White American evangelicals retreated from the public sphere.   “Our kids ain’t going to school with no *****!  We’ll send ‘em to a Christian school -- hell, we’ll homeschool ‘em!”

And bit by bit, step by step they created a separate white culture…

…but in doing so they needed to abandon the Christianity of Jesus and embrace a new god.

That god -- ‘scuse me, idol -- they constructed to worship is a false-god, a god cast in their own image: Petty.  Ugly. Limited.  Stupid.

Tribal.  

A god who rewards his chosen with wealth and power and prestige over others

A god who effective bars others from joining his chosen

A god who wages war on those opposed to him 

A god who packs prisons

A god who blocks hospital doors

A god who shuns the desperate

A god who starves the destitute

A god who turns orphanages into slave labor camps

A god who requires no real repentance

A god who demands incessant worship and affirmation

A god who lets his followers off scot free, but inflicts harsh judgment on others

A god indistinguishable from a cruel, capricious, vindictive abusive father

…a god, in other words, just like them.

Small wonder they worship Donald Trump so blindly.

There is a book that is almost never read in America today, a book that pretty well defines the kind of person who is a white American evangelical Christian:  Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis

It isn’t exactly banned, but they sure don’t teach it.

It’s a pretty damning indictment of white American evangelical Christians.

Lewis thought he was writing about the bourgeoisie and in truth he was.

It’s just that in this country, bourgeoisie = white American evangelical Christian.

Babbitt should be our new prophetic work, a book warning us about what we have become, reminding us that there is a better way, but it’s not the way found through mindless consumerism and hucksterism.

Babbitt is the white American evangelical Christian god exposed as a naked emperor.

Small wonder many white American evangelical Christians shun the Bible and embrace ///Atlas Shrugged/// as their new holy book.

You cannot serve both Christ and Ayn Rand.

     © Buzz Dixon

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Rocking-Horse Winner

D.H. Lawrence (1926)

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: “She is such a good mother. She adores her children.” Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each other’s eyes.

There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighbourhood.

Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went into town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialised. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother said: “I will see if I can’t make something.” But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll’s house, a voice would start whispering: “There must be more money! There must be more money!” And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other’s eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. “There must be more money! There must be more money!”

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: “There must be more money!”

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: “We are breathing!” in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

“Mother,” said the boy Paul one day, “why don’t we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle’s, or else a taxi?”

“Because we’re the poor members of the family,” said the mother.

“But why are we, mother?”

“Well – I suppose,” she said slowly and bitterly, “it’s because your father has no luck.”

The boy was silent for some time.

“Is luck money, mother?” he asked, rather timidly.

“No, Paul. Not quite. It’s what causes you to have money.”

“Oh!” said Paul vaguely. “I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money.”

“Filthy lucre does mean money,” said the mother. “But it’s lucre, not luck.”

“Oh!” said the boy. “Then what is luck, mother?”

“It’s what causes you to have money. If you’re lucky you have money. That’s why it’s better to be born lucky than rich. If you’re rich, you may lose your money. But if you’re lucky, you will always get more money.”

“Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?”

“Very unlucky, I should say,” she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Nobody ever knows why one person is lucky and another unlucky.”

“Don’t they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?”

“Perhaps God. But He never tells.”

“He ought to, then. And are’nt you lucky either, mother?”

“I can’t be, it I married an unlucky husband.”

“But by yourself, aren’t you?”

“I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed.”

“Why?”

“Well – never mind! Perhaps I’m not really,” she said.

The child looked at her to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

“Well, anyhow,” he said stoutly, “I’m a lucky person.”

“Why?” said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

He stared at her. He didn’t even know why he had said it.

“God told me,” he asserted, brazening it out.

“I hope He did, dear!”, she said, again with a laugh, but rather bitter.

“He did, mother!”

“Excellent!” said the mother, using one of her husband’s exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. This angered him somewhere, and made him want to compel her attention.

He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to ‘luck’. Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When he had ridden to the end of his mad little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

“Now!” he would silently command the snorting steed. “Now take me to where there is luck! Now take me!”

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there.

“You’ll break your horse, Paul!” said the nurse.

“He’s always riding like that! I wish he’d leave off!” said his elder sister Joan.

But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow, he was growing beyond her.

One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

“Hallo, you young jockey! Riding a winner?” said his uncle.

“Aren’t you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You’re not a very little boy any longer, you know,” said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop and slid down.

“Well, I got there!” he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

“Where did you get to?” asked his mother.

“Where I wanted to go,” he flared back at her.

“That’s right, son!” said Uncle Oscar. “Don’t you stop till you get there. What’s the horse’s name?”

“He doesn’t have a name,” said the boy.

“Get’s on without all right?” asked the uncle.

“Well, he has different names. He was called Sansovino last week.”

“Sansovino, eh? Won the Ascot. How did you know this name?”

“He always talks about horse-races with Bassett,” said Joan.

The uncle was delighted to find that his small nephew was posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell, whose batman he had been, was a perfect blade of the ‘turf’. He lived in the racing events, and the small boy lived with him.

Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

“Master Paul comes and asks me, so I can’t do more than tell him, sir,” said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were speaking of religious matters.

“And does he ever put anything on a horse he fancies?”

“Well – I don’t want to give him away – he’s a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself? He sort of takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps he’d feel I was giving him away, sir, if you don’t mind.

Bassett was serious as a church.

The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car.

“Say, Paul, old man, do you ever put anything on a horse?” the uncle asked.

The boy watched the handsome man closely.

“Why, do you think I oughtn’t to?” he parried.

“Not a bit of it! I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln.”

The car sped on into the country, going down to Uncle Oscar’s place in Hampshire.

“Honour bright?” said the nephew.

“Honour bright, son!” said the uncle.

“Well, then, Daffodil.”

“Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. What about Mirza?”

“I only know the winner,” said the boy. “That’s Daffodil.”

“Daffodil, eh?”

There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.

“Uncle!”

“Yes, son?”

“You won’t let it go any further, will you? I promised Bassett.”

“Bassett be damned, old man! What’s he got to do with it?”

“We’re partners. We’ve been partners from the first. Uncle, he lent me my first five shillings, which I lost. I promised him, honour bright, it was only between me and him; only you gave me that ten-shilling note I started winning with, so I thought you were lucky. You won’t let it go any further, will you?”

The boy gazed at his uncle from those big, hot, blue eyes, set rather close together. The uncle stirred and laughed uneasily.

“Right you are, son! I’ll keep your tip private. How much are you putting on him?”

“All except twenty pounds,” said the boy. “I keep that in reserve.”

The uncle thought it a good joke.

“You keep twenty pounds in reserve, do you, you young romancer? What are you betting, then?”

“I’m betting three hundred,” said the boy gravely. “But it’s between you and me, Uncle Oscar! Honour bright?”

“It’s between you and me all right, you young Nat Gould,” he said, laughing. “But where’s your three hundred?”

“Bassett keeps it for me. We’re partner’s.”

“You are, are you! And what is Bassett putting on Daffodil?”

“He won’t go quite as high as I do, I expect. Perhaps he’ll go a hundred and fifty.”

“What, pennies?” laughed the uncle.

“Pounds,” said the child, with a surprised look at his uncle. “Bassett keeps a bigger reserve than I do.”

Between wonder and amusement Uncle Oscar was silent. He pursued the matter no further, but he determined to take his nephew with him to the Lincoln races.

“Now, son,” he said, “I’m putting twenty on Mirza, and I’ll put five on for you on any horse you fancy. What’s your pick?”

“Daffodil, uncle.”

“No, not the fiver on Daffodil!”

“I should if it was my own fiver,” said the child.

“Good! Good! Right you are! A fiver for me and a fiver for you on Daffodil.”

The child had never been to a race-meeting before, and his eyes were blue fire. He pursed his mouth tight and watched. A Frenchman just in front had put his money on Lancelot. Wild with excitement, he flayed his arms up and down, yelling “Lancelot!, Lancelot!” in his French accent.

Daffodil came in first, Lancelot second, Mirza third. The child, flushed and with eyes blazing, was curiously serene. His uncle brought him four five-pound notes, four to one.

“What am I to do with these?” he cried, waving them before the boys eyes.

“I suppose we’ll talk to Bassett,” said the boy. “I expect I have fifteen hundred now; and twenty in reserve; and this twenty.”

His uncle studied him for some moments.

“Look here, son!” he said. “You’re not serious about Bassett and that fifteen hundred, are you?”

“Yes, I am. But it’s between you and me, uncle. Honour bright?”

“Honour bright all right, son! But I must talk to Bassett.”

“If you’d like to be a partner, uncle, with Bassett and me, we could all be partners. Only, you’d have to promise, honour bright, uncle, not to let it go beyond us three. Bassett and I are lucky, and you must be lucky, because it was your ten shillings I started winning with …”

Uncle Oscar took both Bassett and Paul into Richmond Park for an afternoon, and there they talked.

“It’s like this, you see, sir,” Bassett said. “Master Paul would get me talking about racing events, spinning yarns, you know, sir. And he was always keen on knowing if I’d made or if I’d lost. It’s about a year since, now, that I put five shillings on Blush of Dawn for him: and we lost. Then the luck turned, with that ten shillings he had from you: that we put on Singhalese. And since that time, it’s been pretty steady, all things considering. What do you say, Master Paul?”

“We’re all right when we’re sure,” said Paul. “It’s when we’re not quite sure that we go down.”

“Oh, but we’re careful then,” said Bassett.

“But when are you sure?” smiled Uncle Oscar.

“It’s Master Paul, sir,” said Bassett in a secret, religious voice. “It’s as if he had it from heaven. Like Daffodil, now, for the Lincoln. That was as sure as eggs.”

“Did you put anything on Daffodil?” asked Oscar Cresswell.

“Yes, sir, I made my bit.”

“And my nephew?”

Bassett was obstinately silent, looking at Paul.

“I made twelve hundred, didn’t I, Bassett? I told uncle I was putting three hundred on Daffodil.”

“That’s right,” said Bassett, nodding.

“But where’s the money?” asked the uncle.

“I keep it safe locked up, sir. Master Paul he can have it any minute he likes to ask for it.”

“What, fifteen hundred pounds?”

“And twenty! And forty, that is, with the twenty he made on the course.”

“It’s amazing!” said the uncle.

“If Master Paul offers you to be partners, sir, I would, if I were you: if you’ll excuse me,” said Bassett.

Oscar Cresswell thought about it.

“I’ll see the money,” he said.

They drove home again, and, sure enough, Bassett came round to the garden-house with fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pounds reserve was left with Joe Glee, in the Turf Commission deposit.

“You see, it’s all right, uncle, when I’m sure! Then we go strong, for all we’re worth, don’t we, Bassett?”

“We do that, Master Paul.”

“And when are you sure?” said the uncle, laughing.

“Oh, well, sometimes I’m absolutely sure, like about Daffodil,” said the boy; “and sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I haven’t even an idea, have I, Bassett? Then we’re careful, because we mostly go down.”

“You do, do you! And when you’re sure, like about Daffodil, what makes you sure, sonny?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” said the boy uneasily. “I’m sure, you know, uncle; that’s all.”

“It’s as if he had it from heaven, sir,” Bassett reiterated.

“I should say so!” said the uncle.

But he became a partner. And when the Leger was coming on Paul was ‘sure’ about Lively Spark, which was a quite inconsiderable horse. The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse, Bassett went for five hundred, and Oscar Cresswell two hundred. Lively Spark came in first, and the betting had been ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

“You see,” he said. “I was absolutely sure of him.”

Even Oscar Cresswell had cleared two thousand.

“Look here, son,” he said, “this sort of thing makes me nervous.”

“It needn’t, uncle! Perhaps I shan’t be sure again for a long time.”

“But what are you going to do with your money?” asked the uncle.

“Of course,” said the boy, “I started it for mother. She said she had no luck, because father is unlucky, so I thought if I was lucky, it might stop whispering.”

“What might stop whispering?”

“Our house. I hate our house for whispering.”

“What does it whisper?”

“Why – why” – the boy fidgeted – “why, I don’t know. But it’s always short of money, you know, uncle.”

“I know it, son, I know it.”

“You know people send mother writs, don’t you, uncle?”

“I’m afraid I do,” said the uncle.

“And then the house whispers, like people laughing at you behind your back. It’s awful, that is! I thought if I was lucky -“

“You might stop it,” added the uncle.

The boy watched him with big blue eyes, that had an uncanny cold fire in them, and he said never a word.

“Well, then!” said the uncle. “What are we doing?”

“I shouldn’t like mother to know I was lucky,” said the boy.

“Why not, son?”

“She’d stop me.”

“I don’t think she would.”

“Oh!” – and the boy writhed in an odd way – “I don’t want her to know, uncle.”

“All right, son! We’ll manage it without her knowing.”

They managed it very easily. Paul, at the other’s suggestion, handed over five thousand pounds to his uncle, who deposited it with the family lawyer, who was then to inform Paul’s mother that a relative had put five thousand pounds into his hands, which sum was to be paid out a thousand pounds at a time, on the mother’s birthday, for the next five years.

“So she’ll have a birthday present of a thousand pounds for five successive years,” said Uncle Oscar. “I hope it won’t make it all the harder for her later.”

Paul’s mother had her birthday in November. The house had been ‘whispering’ worse than ever lately, and, even in spite of his luck, Paul could not bear up against it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter, telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

When there were no visitors, Paul now took his meals with his parents, as he was beyond the nursery control. His mother went into town nearly every day. She had discovered that she had an odd knack of sketching furs and dress materials, so she worked secretly in the studio of a friend who was the chief ‘artist’ for the leading drapers. She drew the figures of ladies in furs and ladies in silk and sequins for the newspaper advertisements. This young woman artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul’s mother only made several hundreds, and she was again dissatisfied. She so wanted to be first in something, and she did not succeed, even in making sketches for drapery advertisements.

She was down to breakfast on the morning of her birthday. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the lawyer’s letter. As his mother read it, her face hardened and became more expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came on her mouth. She hid the letter under the pile of others, and said not a word about it.

“Didn’t you have anything nice in the post for your birthday, mother?” said Paul.

“Quite moderately nice,” she said, her voice cold and hard and absent.

She went away to town without saying more.

But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar appeared. He said Paul’s mother had had a long interview with the lawyer, asking if the whole five thousand could not be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

“What do you think, uncle?” said the boy.

“I leave it to you, son.”

“Oh, let her have it, then! We can get some more with the other,” said the boy.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, laddie!” said Uncle Oscar.

“But I’m sure to know for the Grand National; or the Lincolnshire; or else the Derby. I’m sure to know for one of them,” said Paul.

So Uncle Oscar signed the agreement, and Paul’s mother touched the whole five thousand. Then something very curious happened. The voices in the house suddenly went mad, like a chorus of frogs on a spring evening. There were certain new furnishings, and Paul had a tutor. He was really going to Eton, his father’s school, in the following autumn. There were flowers in the winter, and a blossoming of the luxury Paul’s mother had been used to. And yet the voices in the house, behind the sprays of mimosa and almond-blossom, and from under the piles of iridescent cushions, simply trilled and screamed in a sort of ecstasy: “There must be more money! Oh-h-h; there must be more money. Oh, now, now-w! Now-w-w – there must be more money! – more than ever! More than ever!”

It frightened Paul terribly. He studied away at his Latin and Greek with his tutor. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National had gone by: he had not ‘known’, and had lost a hundred pounds. Summer was at hand. He was in agony for the Lincoln. But even for the Lincoln he didn’t ‘know’, and he lost fifty pounds. He became wild-eyed and strange, as if something were going to explode in him.

“Let it alone, son! Don’t you bother about it!” urged Uncle Oscar. But it was as if the boy couldn’t really hear what his uncle was saying.

“I’ve got to know for the Derby! I’ve got to know for the Derby!” the child reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.

His mother noticed how overwrought he was.

“You’d better go to the seaside. Wouldn’t you like to go now to the seaside, instead of waiting? I think you’d better,” she said, looking down at him anxiously, her heart curiously heavy because of him.

But the child lifted his uncanny blue eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly go before the Derby, mother!” he said. “I couldn’t possibly!”

“Why not?” she said, her voice becoming heavy when she was opposed. “Why not? You can still go from the seaside to see the Derby with your Uncle Oscar, if that that’s what you wish. No need for you to wait here. Besides, I think you care too much about these races. It’s a bad sign. My family has been a gambling family, and you won’t know till you grow up how much damage it has done. But it has done damage. I shall have to send Bassett away, and ask Uncle Oscar not to talk racing to you, unless you promise to be reasonable about it: go away to the seaside and forget it. You’re all nerves!”

“I’ll do what you like, mother, so long as you don’t send me away till after the Derby,” the boy said.

“Send you away from where? Just from this house?”

“Yes,” he said, gazing at her.

“Why, you curious child, what makes you care about this house so much, suddenly? I never knew you loved it.”

He gazed at her without speaking. He had a secret within a secret, something he had not divulged, even to Bassett or to his Uncle Oscar.

But his mother, after standing undecided and a little bit sullen for some moments, said: “Very well, then! Don’t go to the seaside till after the Derby, if you don’t wish it. But promise me you won’t think so much about horse-racing and events as you call them!”

“Oh no,” said the boy casually. “I won’t think much about them, mother. You needn’t worry. I wouldn’t worry, mother, if I were you.”

“If you were me and I were you,” said his mother, “I wonder what we should do!”

“But you know you needn’t worry, mother, don’t you?” the boy repeated.

“I should be awfully glad to know it,” she said wearily.

“Oh, well, you can, you know. I mean, you ought to know you needn’t worry,” he insisted.

“Ought I? Then I’ll see about it,” she said.

Paul’s secret of secrets was his wooden horse, that which had no name. Since he was emancipated from a nurse and a nursery-governess, he had had his rocking-horse removed to his own bedroom at the top of the house.

“Surely you’re too big for a rocking-horse!” his mother had remonstrated.

“Well, you see, mother, till I can have a real horse, I like to have some sort of animal about,” had been his quaint answer.

“Do you feel he keeps you company?” she laughed.

“Oh yes! He’s very good, he always keeps me company, when I’m there,” said Paul.

So the horse, rather shabby, stood in an arrested prance in the boy’s bedroom.

The Derby was drawing near, and the boy grew more and more tense. He hardly heard what was spoken to him, he was very frail, and his eyes were really uncanny. His mother had sudden strange seizures of uneasiness about him. Sometimes, for half an hour, she would feel a sudden anxiety about him that was almost anguish. She wanted to rush to him at once, and know he was safe.

Two nights before the Derby, she was at a big party in town, when one of her rushes of anxiety about her boy, her first-born, gripped her heart till she could hardly speak. She fought with the feeling, might and main, for she believed in common sense. But it was too strong. She had to leave the dance and go downstairs to telephone to the country. The children’s nursery-governess was terribly surprised and startled at being rung up in the night.

“Are the children all right, Miss Wilmot?”

“Oh yes, they are quite all right.”

“Master Paul? Is he all right?”

“He went to bed as right as a trivet. Shall I run up and look at him?”

“No,” said Paul’s mother reluctantly. “No! Don’t trouble. It’s all right. Don’t sit up. We shall be home fairly soon.” She did not want her son’s privacy intruded upon.

“Very good,” said the governess.

It was about one o’clock when Paul’s mother and father drove up to their house. All was still. Paul’s mother went to her room and slipped off her white fur cloak. She had told her maid not to wait up for her. She heard her husband downstairs, mixing a whisky and soda.

And then, because of the strange anxiety at her heart, she stole upstairs to her son’s room. Noiselessly she went along the upper corridor. Was there a faint noise? What was it?

She stood, with arrested muscles, outside his door, listening. There was a strange, heavy, and yet not loud noise. Her heart stood still. It was a soundless noise, yet rushing and powerful. Something huge, in violent, hushed motion. What was it? What in God’s name was it? She ought to know. She felt that she knew the noise. She knew what it was.

Yet she could not place it. She couldn’t say what it was. And on and on it went, like a madness.

Softly, frozen with anxiety and fear, she turned the door-handle.

The room was dark. Yet in the space near the window, she heard and saw something plunging to and fro. She gazed in fear and amazement.

Then suddenly she switched on the light, and saw her son, in his green pyjamas, madly surging on the rocking-horse. The blaze of light suddenly lit him up, as he urged the wooden horse, and lit her up, as she stood, blonde, in her dress of pale green and crystal, in the doorway.

“Paul!” she cried. “Whatever are you doing?”

“It’s Malabar!” he screamed in a powerful, strange voice. “It’s Malabar!”

His eyes blazed at her for one strange and senseless second, as he ceased urging his wooden horse. Then he fell with a crash to the ground, and she, all her tormented motherhood flooding upon her, rushed to gather him up.

But he was unconscious, and unconscious he remained, with some brain-fever. He talked and tossed, and his mother sat stonily by his side.

“Malabar! It’s Malabar! Bassett, Bassett, I know! It’s Malabar!”

So the child cried, trying to get up and urge the rocking-horse that gave him his inspiration.

“What does he mean by Malabar?” asked the heart-frozen mother.

“I don’t know,” said the father stonily.

“What does he mean by Malabar?” she asked her brother Oscar.

“It’s one of the horses running for the Derby,” was the answer.

And, in spite of himself, Oscar Cresswell spoke to Bassett, and himself put a thousand on Malabar: at fourteen to one.

The third day of the illness was critical: they were waiting for a change. The boy, with his rather long, curly hair, was tossing ceaselessly on the pillow. He neither slept nor regained consciousness, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat, feeling her heart had gone, turned actually into a stone.

In the evening Oscar Cresswell did not come, but Bassett sent a message, saying could he come up for one moment, just one moment? Paul’s mother was very angry at the intrusion, but on second thoughts she agreed. The boy was the same. Perhaps Bassett might bring him to consciousness.

The gardener, a shortish fellow with a little brown moustache and sharp little brown eyes, tiptoed into the room, touched his imaginary cap to Paul’s mother, and stole to the bedside, staring with glittering, smallish eyes at the tossing, dying child.

“Master Paul!” he whispered. “Master Paul! Malabar came in first all right, a clean win. I did as you told me. You’ve made over seventy thousand pounds, you have; you’ve got over eighty thousand. Malabar came in all right, Master Paul.”

“Malabar! Malabar! Did I say Malabar, mother? Did I say Malabar? Do you think I’m lucky, mother? I knew Malabar, didn’t I? Over eighty thousand pounds! I call that lucky, don’t you, mother? Over eighty thousand pounds! I knew, didn’t I know I knew? Malabar came in all right. If I ride my horse till I’m sure, then I tell you, Bassett, you can go as high as you like. Did you go for all you were worth, Bassett?”

“I went a thousand on it, Master Paul.”

“I never told you, mother, that if I can ride my horse, and get there, then I’m absolutely sure – oh, absolutely! Mother, did I ever tell you? I am lucky!”

“No, you never did,” said his mother.

But the boy died in the night.

And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother’s voice saying to her, “My God, Hester, you’re eighty-odd thousand to the good, and a poor devil of a son to the bad. But, poor devil, poor devil, he’s best gone out of a life where he rides his rocking-horse to find a winner.”

[aostormborn-blog]

Quotes of Westworld

Quotes from Westworld: The show Westworld is full of quotes with deeper meanings for both the show and the real world. Looking at most of these quotes and thinking of them provide viewers of the show with much to think of with regards to the mortality of robots.

These violent delights have violent ends

-- various This is quote is from the Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet.On the surface, this quote is exactly what it sounds like. The violent delights that are undertaken by the guests of the park will result in violent ends for that guest. As with most things, however, there is something hidden deeper under that surface. The first time we hear this quote in Westworld is an utterance to it from Dolores' father to Dolores. This quote then 'activates' Dolores. The phrase is a trigger for the host. Dolores' father in a former iteration of Westworld was an English professor specializing in Shakespeare, which is the reason he was able to say the phrase from memory. Dolores says it to Maeve, which then activates her. It is said to Bernard, who is then activated. Why does this phrase have so much influence over the hosts? It was most likely something created by non other than Arnold himself. Upon closer analysis of the tablets in the show, it shows that this phrase is set to activate the 'Wyatt' storyline, which you should watch the show to find out more about.

We can't define consciousness because consciousness does not exist. Humans fancy that there's something special about the way we perceive the world, and yet we live in loops as tight and as closed as the hosts do, seldom questioning our choices, content, for the most part, to be told what to do next.

--Dr. Ford Dr. Ford and Arnold often found themselves wondering whether or not it was possible to create consciousness. Dr. Ford took notice of the behaviour of the hosts and noticed how humanlike they were. Dr. Ford is trying to say that humans see themselves as a superior species for being able to reason and think and follow their own paths, but upon closer inspection, the life of a human is really not too different from the life of a host. The hosts go through their 'loops', repeating very similar actions on a daily basis with slight variations. Humans often have the same daily loops and then have some slight variations in their life. They are the product of their environment. Which they am I referring to there? The ambiguity is all that matters in this case.

Evolution forged the entirety of sentient life this planet using only one tool...the mistake.

--Dr. Ford There is an update wreaking havoc on the hosts that was caused by a few lines of reverie code added in by Dr. Ford. Bernard does not want to tell Ford that what he wrote was a mistake, but Ford interjects with just that. Ford tells Bernard that he should not be so scared of calling it a mistakes as mistakes can cause beautiful things to happen. An introductory level biology class will tell anyone that DNA errors are what have accumulated over time to create the sentient life we have on earth. Everything living thing on this planet is a result of DNA replication having mistakes occur in it. So a little mistake here and there is nothing to be ashamed of as it can create something amazing.

They say that great beasts once roamed this world, as big as mountains. Yet all that's left of them is bone and amber. Time undoes even the mightiest of creatures. Just look at what it's done to you. One day you will perish. You will lie with the rest of your kind in the dirt. Your dreams forgotten, your horrors effaced. Your bones will turn to sand. And upon that sand a new god will walk. One that will never die. Because this world doesn't belong to you or the people who came before. It belongs to someone who has yet to come.

--Dolores This quote is uttered in the season finale and Dolores has just found out some major news about her history when confronted by the Man in Black. The Man in Black is a human who believes that he has power over the hosts, but the hosts are really just growing into their potential. Dolores tells the Man in Black that although the reign of humans has been long, so once were the reign of dinosaurs and other prehistoric animals. The strongest animal may think it has permanent domain over its realm, but history tells us otherwise. Humans may not know it yet, but their reign may be about to end and a new overlord is coming to take control of the former domain of man.

Doesn't look like anything to me

--Dolores --Clementine --Bernard This is a very interesting quote in the context of the show. The hosts are programmed to ignore certain things such as guests alluding to the real world or guests questioning them about their mortality. If they are presented with an image that may alter their view on reality, they simply say the above phrase. The first time it is stated is when Dolores looks at a picture of William's fiance/Logan's sister that is presented to her by her father Peter Abernathy. It is said a couple of times by various hosts, including Clementine when presented with drawings of the park technicians by Maeve. The most important time it is said is in a reveal of the true nature of one of the characters when checking on something. When this character says this phrase, it immediatley tells us all we need to know and confirms what many had suspected from the beginning.

You think I'm scared of death? I've done it a million times. I'm fucking great at it. How many times have you died?

--Maeve Mallay Maeve becomes a somewhat threatening force halfway through the season. Maeve discovers the true nature of the park quite early on and learns of what makes her her. The more she knows about how the hosts and park operate, the more leverage she has against people. Once she is able to keep her memories, she discovers that she can hurt herself an infinite amount of times and still come back, waking up in the same place she had the previous day. This had been her loop for well over a decade. When threatened by one of the lab technicians, Maeve pulls a knife on him and deals this quote, showing that she knows that she has infinite lives while this person has only one chance. Nothing he can threaten will hurt her because she will just come back, more knowledgeable and prepared than ever before.

An old friend once told me something that gave me great comfort. Something he read. Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin never died. They simply became their music.

--Dr. Ford Dr. Ford is telling Bernard about how the greats are not truly dead, they live on through their art. Ford is likely dropping hints or stating that once he is gone, he will live on through the hosts. This could have a few meanings. Many believe that Ford may be saying that he has found a way to transfer consciousness to a host and that he will be immortal or he could simply be saying his legacy will live on through the hosts.

For fuck's sake you are not one of us

--Maeve Mallay This quote is a little more jovial than the previous ones. After some hosts discover the truth about themselves, one of the techs begins checking on himself to see whether or not he is a host and Maeve says this to him.

You can't play God without being acquainted with the devil.

--Dr. Ford Ford has some demons of his own. He has been playing God in his personal world, having the ability to control every host and every environmental factor in it. Once it is discovered that he in fact does some things that he knows to be detrimental, he points out that to truly be a God, one must also know the devil that is his opposition.

Well, if you can't tell, does it matter?

--Angela When William first steps into his Westworld fitting room, he is approached by Angela, who offers to let him do whatever he wanted. Uncomfortable with the proposition, Williams asks Angela if she is real and she replies with this. She has a good point in that what difference is it if you do not know? In a way, she is also referring to the mortality of the hosts themselves. Many look at the hosts as simply robots programmed to do whatever they are told, but with the level of sophistication that they have and their lifelike nature, humans are unable to distinguish between them and other humans. If they cannot tell the difference between the two, why treat one worse than the other? What makes a human more conscious than a host? While Angela may not know it, there is a deeper meaning in this statement on the way the hosts are treated.

Consciousness isn’t a journey upward, but a journey inward. Not a pyramid, but a maze.

--Arnold Arnold had been looking for the true nature of consciousness for years at this point. This discovery is a breakthrough for him. He discovers that the hosts need to look within themselves and need to be bootstrapped in order to achieve consciousness. He coins this as the maze and this is where all of the maze related content originates.

[amongushq]

Hello friends of all sizes and shapes! Admin Fleur here with an important message I hope you will all take the time to read. I included tl;dr’s after each important section, so just jump to those if you don’t have the stamina for this long-winded explanation and ‘booster shot’ about GODMODDING, an issue we have encountered often enough lately to warrant this post. Hopefully it will answer questions you may have and give useful pointers !

NB: It is strongly recommended that you read this post and give it a like. If you hit that heart-shaped button, we’ll assume you understand and agree with what’s under the cut, which means we will use the eyes emoji on you if you mess up. If you do godmod and haven’t liked the post, we will link you to it so you can be up to date with our expectations. Not liking the post will only save you once, though, so better check out the  ( less than 1.5k words )  monster below !

First of all, what exactly is godmodding ?

We are all familiar with the half of it that’s forcing actions, thoughts, or anything else on someone else’s character, therefore stealing their agency from them. It could be describing said character getting hit by yours and the consequences of that hit, it could be implying a specific action or reaction that you wish they’d have to something your own character did. If you suppose someone’s OC cannot do a backflip and include that in your reply when they are actually a gymnastics prodigy, that was godmodding as well.

The other side of godmodding we don’t think about as much puts emphasis on the word god: your character is the smartest, fastest, strongest, no hit will ever land, no one will ever take them by surprise. In addition, they will never be caught with a wrong opinion or making any mistake, ever, because they are amazing and everyone loves them. Except, most likely not.

tl;dr: godmodding is writing your rp partner’s character in their place, be it their actions, backstory, abilities, or thoughts. It is also making your own character into some sort of Achilles minus the weak heel: compare to Mary Sue and Gary Stu.

Why does it have such a bad rep in the rp community ?

It becomes frustrating for the other player because, most of the time, godmodding does not play in their favour, making their OC look weaker, dumber, and generally less than they are supposed to be. If your character implied something about the other that is entirely wrong, the other player will have to disprove that claim in their next reblog, and your thread will quickly become a ‘[NAME] 101′, which no one is interested in. If this happens too often, they might even feel like not writing against you anymore, which is the opposite of what we’re here for ! It also gives them a bad image of you, like you haven’t taken any interest in their character whatsoever and just want to further yours, which may come across as selfish or rude – nothing good either way.

As for the superior character shebang, well... It does sound like bad writing. Of course your character can have talents, even excel in a couple areas, but no one is that perfect. Invincible characters are often attributed to beginners or younger writers who still have a lot to learn, so you are expected to discard that bad habit or those character traits over time. If you aren’t new to the scene but still write overpowered characters who can do no wrong, you will most likely attract people with the same kind of OCs, as those with more balanced characters may not trust you to be fair in your interactions. And if two or more perfect characters meet, it’s bound to become bothersome as they’ll always deliver perfect hits but never land a single blow, or all threads could become an intellectual pissing contest. Either way: tiring, and not the most fun for you.

tl;dr: people will assume you’re not dedicated, not interested in real and meaningful interactions, and unwilling to give your character building one hundred percent of your abilities. Which... ouch.

How do I avoid coming off as godmodding ?

Luckily, fixing that mistake is as easy as falling for it! You only need to keep in mind that whatever you write about the other mun’s character, there has to be some sort of emergency exit they can use if you’ve been incorrect in your assumption. Therefore, your character hasn’t heard someone throw an insult at them, they either think they’ve heard one, or they heard one but are wondering if it was meant for them. In the same way, they won’t throw a punch right on the other’s nose or scare them and make them jump out of their own skin, but aim that punch at B’s nose and silently make their approach, hoping to elicit this or that kind of reaction.

It’s a good idea to talk to the other mun and plot before replying to/writing starters: you can make sure they know your muse wouldn’t be fooled by sweet words, they can let you know their OC is a master at sounding honest when they’re not. So what? Your own character has good gut instinct when it comes to others: stalemate, your child can shine through at perceiving some ill intent coming from theirs, who in turn still manages to confuse yours !

Reading the bio page or app of the character you want to write against is always a good idea, as well as any headcanons they might have. Coming to someone already knowing the bases of their OC will definitely break the ice and minimise the impact of accidental godmodding in the future! It will also avoid you thinking they would react favourably to your stranger of an OC offering them flowers at random on the street, when character B is said to be distrustful and was noted to have an allergy to pollen.

As for overpowering your own character, try character stat charts! This one right >here< is very good, and you can add other points as you see fit. As you fill it in, you have a visual representation of their skills, which is really helpful in figuring out when too much is too much. Ideally, when combining all scores, you would fall somewhere between 40-60% Additionally you can try to figure out their pros and cons in pairs: they are great at guessing what people want to hear. Does that make them people-pleasers? Do they have trouble asserting themselves then if it means going against what they think would be the ideal answer? And at the same time, wouldn’t that make them the ideal friend to confide in with a heavy heart? As long as you have balance, your character can be a genius fighter — all that matters is that they are weak somewhere else.

tl;dr: when you assume something about a character who’s not yours, make sure to write it that way: it’s a wild guess, not a certainty. Never land a hit if you’re not ready for reciprocity. Communicate with others, read bios/apps! Give your character weaknesses to balance out their strengths. Sympathy points come from their failures, not their successes !

I’ve been godmodded. What do I do?

Let them know. Honestly, a lot of that happens because the offending party was in a rush, impatient, or not properly focused. It’s very rare that someone would purposefully demean your character or overplay theirs, so a simple message telling them where they went wrong should do it! You could even use the occasion to tell them more about your character so to hopefully avoid later mistakes. Understanding the ratio of power at play will help the both of you write a much better interaction where both characters are depicted correctly.

Now, if you notice that someone is a repeat offender, even though you’ve politely asked them several times to be careful, it’s time to let us know so we can take the necessary striking measures.

tl;dr: tell them about it. If they keep it up, tell us about it.

Is godmodding ever okay ?

It can be! We’ve all had the misfortune of suddenly being kidnapped for a family dinner out at the last minute in the middle of a back-and-forth group thread, and the general response to that is generally to have the character fall asleep or leave the scene momentarily. At other times though, you can trust your writing partners enough to throw a hasty ‘just godmod my kid, it’s fine !’ before being lost to the internet for fancy salad and a towering, organic burger. That way, your character isn’t suddenly wiped out from an event, and it will be easier for you to get back into the swing of things once you’re home again — all the while knowing your precious child is in good hands.

There’s also the possibility of you and one or several close friends being as at ease with each other’s characters as you are with your own, so you can have a guess at an immediate reaction (gasping, huffing, frowning, etc) they would have and be right about it. This is mostly at your and your friends’ discretion.

Honorable mention: assuming a character is stepping inside a place there need to be, or walking along with yours as they are heading somewhere together, is generally accepted. So it’s okay to have your character A slip inside a room then close the door after B got in as well, or keep talking to B as they start walking towards their destination.

tl;dr: if you’ve got express permission or an action was already implied in a previous reply, go for it !

And that concludes this PSA! If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, either flick us an ask or contact me (fleur) on Discord! I’m the croissant emoji, because I’m witty and hilarious.

[a-woman-apart]

Do It or Be Undone

Today was actually a really productive day, even though I ended up sleeping until noon. I went out in the rain and picked up groceries. When I got home, the charger that I ordered for my laptop was waiting on my doorstep. I was a little miffed that he/she just left it there and didn’t drop it off for me in the office, but I got there in time before it was stolen, so “all’s well that ends well.” Getting the laptop charger meant that I could continue to do my course work from home, instead of having to go to the library. I ended up actually getting a lot of stuff done today.

Of course, the ideal is getting to the point where I don’t judge my self-worth solely on what I am able to accomplish in a day, and where I can be alone with myself without freaking out. At least, that is what I learned from YouTuber Rafael Elliassen in one of his videos. According to Rafael, the lowest state of being is where our thoughts and feelings are dominated by what others think of us. A somewhat higher tier is the stage we are at where we are self-motivated and base our self-worth on our actions and accomplishments. The ideal state to be in is where neither others’ opinions of us nor our achievements are the source of our self-worth. We are at peace with ourselves and can function fully within that peace. He didn’t say so, but I’m starting to wonder if getting to that place- and staying there- is really possible for anyone except the elite few. I also wonder how far we can realistically be removed from basing our self-esteem on our productivity, given the success-driven, individualistic society we live in.

In one of my other posts, I kind of alluded to my spiritual struggles by saying that I “don’t have a god” or something of that nature. That may have been an over-simplification of the situation, but it partially describes it. The god that I pray to isn’t this high and exalted being with ultimate power, so given my background, it makes it difficult to rationalize continued prayer. I pray to center myself and to find peace, but maybe all of the things that I did accomplish were really done by me on my own, without the influence of a higher power. If this is the case, it becomes difficult to tell what benefit having a higher power at all is to my life.

In psychology, I learned about the benefits of having an internal locus of control, or a belief that things in your life are primarily under your control (and therefore your responsibility). An external locus, which some religions tend to promote, focuses on outside forces having the greater influence on our lives (e.g. “the devil was hard at work today”, or, “she always causes me to mess up”). People with an internal locus of control tend to be happier, because they feel that there are things they can do themselves to alleviate their suffering or solve their problems.

Remember, “With great power comes great responsibility.” It’s easy to blame things on God or the devil, and that removes a lot of your personal responsibility. Partially as a result of this misunderstanding, pastors often feel the need to qualify that “leaving it in God’s hands” does not always mean that you do absolutely nothing about the problem. You are to continue to do the right thing, but you are to shift your focus onto visualizing positive outcomes.

I tend to associate people who undergo extraordinary personal transformations- like my dad- as having been influenced positively by a higher power. Also, there are times when “things just seem to work out” and it really seems too good to be a coincidence. Nonreligious people do have a term for this, and it is called a “synchronicity”, which is a fancy term for when things seem to work together in amazing ways to bring about a positive conclusion. For example, if you were to walk into a restaurant and run into a friend you were thinking about earlier, then that would be thought to be a synchronicity. If that friend that you had been thinking about had been in trouble, and you seeing them helped them tremendously, then that is thought to be even stronger evidence of a synchronicity. It is said that “the universe” just worked in your favor.

Really though, blaming good things on “the universe” is just a New-Age-y form of worshiping something greater than yourself, and it still doesn’t serve to explain away human suffering. Also, we come into the awkward place of holding people responsible for not doing vague things to improve their status in life, such as not working properly with “the law of attraction” or “not having faith” or whichever shoe fits. These superstitions still serve to remove people from an internal locus of control to an external locus, and diminishes their important sense of personal power.

Of course, there are benefits to being religious. People who practice faith and prayer often make speedier recoveries from illness and surgery than nonbelieving patients. Spiritual practice often leads to increased fulfillment in life, as well as a sense of community with other practicing members. An important thing to recognize though, is that people of various religions experienced these positive effects, indicating that there is no one religion that is superior to or more beneficial than all of the others. In my case, however, religion was toxic and I was not able to recover from it without abandoning my faith completely, but I do not seek to disparage religion or faith as a rule.

Maybe though, just having a healthy enough spirit of optimism is good enough for increased success in life. You can have hope without basing that hope on God or a belief in “the universe.” You can have hope in yourself. You can trust in friends and family. Atheists are still capable of living joyful, fulfilled lives. Being religious isn’t the only way to be happy or have a purpose, even though some religious people may insist that it is, by saying things like, “everyone has a God-shaped hole in their heart.” Others talk about reaching the end of themselves and finally “surrendering to a higher power.”

I don’t know about you, but I think I might skip that whole step and move on to something else. I do not know what “something else” will be. Maybe I will move fully into deism, to the belief that something created us and then pretty much left the world to spin on its own. Either way, it really isn’t important to label it. I used to think that things really changed when people prayed, but so much of that is really exaggeration and confirmation bias. Books like Bad Faith tell stories of people who prayed for their children, forgoing medical care, and the children died. There is an entire story about a Christian science school in Philadelphia that became the source of a measles outbreak because the adults refused- on religious grounds- to vaccinate the children. These stories are ignored, in favors of books on phenomenon like the Azusa Street Revival in which supposedly limbs were growing back from nothing and deaf and blind people were recovering. Yet when we try to repeat these miracles, the results are often pitiful.

My point is, that “miracles” are not grounds for belief for me anymore. They’re not provable and they are not repeatable. There is nothing miraculous that can be proven to have really happened that does not have a natural explanation. Even drastic changes in human behavior might not be miraculous; they could easily fit within the scope of what we can come to expect from the human experience. We are capable of so much more than we think that we are, and maybe that will be the grounds for my new “faith”.

I remember when I wrote about three things to believe in: human resiliency, the power of love, and the freedom of choice. These are still things that I hold dear to my heart. I am getting to the point where certainty in the existence of god- at least as he/she/it is often portrayed- is waning for me. This is a very scary place for me to be, because I always thought that I would believe in God until my dying breath. Now I’m just not so sure anymore. I’m just going to follow the road, wherever it takes me. That includes working hard in work and school, cultivating relationships, and staying as close as possible with my family. Also, maybe learning to let loose and have fun every now and again. I’m sure that God wouldn’t mind.

[thefanandthecritic]

10 Songs that I wish were talked about more - Part 1

Hello. Why yes, it has been a while. Full-time work will do that to a man. Unfortunately, it looks like my schedule is going to remain horrifically inconsistent for the foreseeable future, as teaching’s erratic work schedule means I cannot guarantee my time. I have noticed, though, that the twelve of you who follow me have not ditched. Thank you a million times for that. As a peace-offering, I have decided to put together something light and fluffy, and it doesn’t get lighter and fluffier than a listicle. Thus, we are here.

A few provisos and quid pro quos:

1. I am going to state upfront that I have used two entries for one band on this list. Yes, it bothers some people, but they are my absolute favourite band and one song would not cut it.

2. It is entirely rock music. If fans of any other genre were getting hopeful, then I apologise, but I cannot satisfy you today.

Other than that, enjoy it. I love these songs and wanted to give them their due. Please comment entries you would love to have on here.

10. If These Trees Could Talk - Barren Lands of the Modern Dinosaur

If These Trees Could Talk are a band that really somehow should be much more respected in the post rock sphere than they are. Their latest album, “The Bones of a Dying World”, is a thunderous post metal colossus that impresses so much with its immense climaxes and stunningly beautiful interludes that it is almost required listening for those who want to know what metal would be like without the hit or miss vocals.

The album prior to that, however, features one of my absolute favourite post rock tracks: Barren Lands of the Modern Dinosaur. What begins as a soothing drifter of a song with delicate melodic lead guitars and a lumbering, deliberate bass-line slowly builds itself over the course of about 2 to 3 minutes before letting its guitars and drums growl with all the menace of the terrible lizards themselves. This song is a fantastically constructed piece of music. Why this song is not spoken about in post rock circles, I will never know, but I want to carry its banner for as long as I can. Find this on iTunes, buy it from the band’s website, stream it below, just do something to hear it. It’s worth every second.

P.S. This song has such a clever title. Seriously. It looks like gibberish at first, but if you think about it, it makes a heck of a lot of sense. What were the Dinosaurs? The dominant species which ruled the earth in their time. What happened to them? They became extinct. So that would mean that the “modern dinosaur” is the whatever rules the earth now as the dominant species. It also means that the “modern dinosaur” will one day be extinct. Think about it. Not so dumb, now, is it?

9. Brand New - Jesus Christ

I have never really been much of a fan of Brand New. I can respect their viciously raw, earnest approach for what it is, but my ears just cannot handle the wall of sound that they are so known for. This song is the one exception to this. Holy damn-diddly-skritt, this song is a doggone masterpiece. I’ve spoken in a previous review about how this song’s atmosphere is so soothing and serene that it transports me to a pastoral orchard in the mountains, and that perception hasn’t changed.

Every time this song comes on, I can smell the early-morning mist trickling down through the trees, and I can hear the leaves whisper in a light breath of wind. It is staggeringly beautiful in how well it handles its melody, but that isn’t the only part of the song that works. The lyrics are incredible, mapping out a man’s existential fears as he holds a one-way conversation with the titular son of God. He debates his misgivings with Christian doctrine, but ultimately admits how flawed of a person he is, and resigns himself to whatever fate comes of being himself in one of the most emotionally resonant pieces of writing I have ever heard in rock music. To cap it all off, it has one of the best closing lines in rock history. Find this song. Listen to it when you’re in a pensieve mood, and you may find yourself drifting off to that orchard, too.

8. Blink 182 - Rollercoaster

Blink-182 are still one of my favourite bands. I have such a weakness for their brand of catchy pop-punk that I should probably be on chronic medication for it. Even if you don’t know about them, you’ve probably heard “All the Small Things” enough times to want to drive a nail-gun through your skull, but there is so much more to this band than that song. The rest of Enema of the State (the unfortunate name of the album that All the Small Things comes from) is a fun, cheeky, if a little crass romp through a teenager’s world; The self-titled record is a masterclass in hard-edged pop-punk viscera; Neighborhoods is a highly underrated exploration of melancholy, and Take Off Your Pants and Jacket is a riot of stellar hooks and cheekiness. If you found that monster hit single to be a grating mess of a thing, then there is something in the band’s discography that should offer you a panacea.

It is off of Take of Your Pants that this entry comes. You’ve no doubt heard of “First Date” or “Stay Together for the Kids”, and I’ve heard many people say that “Reckless Abandon” is their favourite off of the album, but why in god’s name does nobody talk about “Rollercoaster”? This song is so infectious that if it were a baseball, everyone would catch it. It is made of one of the most joyous hooks Blink ever crafted and the lyrics do an infinitely superior job to “First Date” of capturing the awkwardness of teenage romance. Where “First Date” was all about the goofiness of not knowing what to do on a date, “Rollercoaster” is about the nightmare of feelings that happens before you even pick up the phone, something that relates to most any teen out there. And even if the band’s use of the metaphor of “love is a rollercoaster” is a bit on the stale side of cliche, when Tom de Longe lays down that riff, you won’t care, because you’ll be having too much fun.

[Friendly warning: Foul Language inbound]

7. Paramore - Careful

Paramore’s Brand New Eyes is a good album. To be more specific, a good album with a great song. If your immediate response was, “Hell yeah, ‘Ignorance’ is my jam,” then you and I are going to be exchanging words. Not that I have anything in particular against that song. It deserved to be the hit that it was. It is not, however, the band firing on all cylinders.

The song where that IS the case would be “Careful”. I’d go as far as to say that after “Careful” explodes Brand New Eyes into life, the album never really recaptures that level of hard-edged pop-punk glory, and for that reason, I’ve always had an issue listening to the album all the way through. If you’re looking for something to pump your blood on a slow day, then look no further than Josh Faro’s shrieking lead riff and brother Zach’s pelting drums for your thrills. Hayley Williams delivers the goods on vocals as per usual, and Bassist Jeremy Davis keeps pace with everyone else brilliantly, providing an under-appreciated layer of complexity underneath all the flash of the rest of the band. Take a listen to this song if you want to know why people go gaga over this band.

6. Jimmy Eat World - Clarity

I couldn’t go for too long without my favourite band making it on here. Jimmy Eat World at one point were inescapable during the early 2000s, when Bleed American was on every radio and in every teen movie. An entire generation lived their lives forever haunted by the phrase, “Hey! Don’t write yourself off yet”, but the tragedy of that album is that it’s the one everybody knows despite it not being remotely close to the band’s best work (fight me on that if you want). That title goes to the band’s magnum opus, “Clarity”.

Now heralded as one of the greatest album’s of the 90s, “Clarity” was a disappointment to fans and the record label initially, and was over-shadowed by its successor’s monstrous popularity. If you find the time to listen to it, however, you’ll be greeted by an absolutely breath-taking meld of alt-rock and punk, with some of the most ambitious production of any album to date. Each and every song on the album is an example of the band’s excellent and diverse song-writing skills, but it’s the title track that’s going to get my vote today. “Clarity” is an explosive and potent piece of pop-punk that pushes lead vocalist Jim Adkins to his absolute limit. The energy of the song constantly ratchets up all the way through until the final minute, in which Adkins unleashes the best vocal moment of his career, holding a terrific note for nearly ten seconds straight… twice in a row, all the while landing a simple but killer solo that swirls around him in a spectacular musical moment. Give this album a shake, but if you only want one song to sample, this is it. Or “For Me This Is Heaven”. Or “Lucky Denver Mint.” Or “Just Watch the Fireworks”. Any of those, really. The album’s great. Listen to it.

So ends part one. If these tickled your fancy, stick around for when part two arrives in the next couple of days.

[littlegreenpuppy]

Fuck You Linda

AO3 LINK

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin Rating: Teen Words: ~3500 Summary: Do you hate suburbia? With its homeowners associations? And its rows upon rows of identical, two-story houses? And all those stereotypical families who are the very definition of White People™? And the minivans? So do Eren and Levi. Throwing a simple dinner party has never been so painful.

“I can’t believe I have to pretend to be nice to these people,” Eren complained, throwing down the plates as gently as he could.

Levi rolled his eyes, setting the other side of the table. “You don’t even know them,” he said, trying to play devil’s advocate. “They may be better than you think. Besides, this whole dinner party was your idea.”

“It’s not a party!” Eren stressed. “I’m just trying to make sure they don’t have anything to use against me. I know their type, and they hold the worst grudges and remember everything . If I don’t make up for missing that stupid ‘gathering’ of theirs because of work, then they’ll make the rest of your temporary reassignment terrible for me! They probably think I was too busy cheating on you to go or something!” The doorbell rang. “Oh god, that’s them…”

Levi chuckled and kissed Eren on the cheek. “I’ll finish setting up, if you want to greet them.”

Eren whimpered.

Linda and David were the first to show up. It was a dinner party, so of course Linda had to show up first. Grinning, she held her famous blueberry cobbler in her arms. Sure, Levi had said that his husband didn’t want them to trouble themselves with bringing something, but she couldn’t help it. After all, cooking all that food by himself? Surely Levi’s husband couldn’t have been able to make everything. He only had to cook for the two of them, whereas Linda always cooked for at least four.

Soon enough, the door opened, and Linda’s grin faltered.

The man who answered the door was so… young. He had jeans on and a button up shirt and messy, ruffled hair. But her senses came back to her quickly. He must be the help.

“Hello!” she chimed. “I’m Linda, and this is my husband David. We’re here for the dinner party.”

The helper smiled and held out his hand. “Oh, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Eren, Levi’s husband.”

Linda had to control her feelings, but her eyes still widened. This was Levi’s husband? The man who spends too much time at the ‘office’? Him?

“O-Oh? Oh! Yes. Nice to meet you too.” She accepted the offered hand, feeling like she was in a dream. “So you’re the infamous husband?”

“Infamous?” Eren laughed nervously. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that… He hasn’t been making up stories about me has he? Because I can play that game too.”

Linda laughed nervously back. “Only good things.” Eren led them inside, and she held up the cobbler. “So where can I put this?”

“You…?” Eren stared at the dish for a moment, then realization dawned on him. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! I said you didn’t have to!”

Linda’s laugh became less and less nervous. “Oh, I know, I know.” She waved off Eren’s objections. “But I just couldn’t help myself. I’m kind of the, heh, chef of the group.” Linda grinned guiltily. “I just love to cook! And I used organic blueberries and made the crust entirely gluten free!”

Linda handed the dish to Eren, who took it reluctantly. “Well… I suppose options for dessert are always nice,” he murmured.

“Oh? You made dessert, too?” Linda laughed on the inside. It was probably just a store bought cake or cookies.

“Yeah.” Eren shrugged and gave a half smile. “It’s not exactly my strong suit, but I made a couple different ones since I didn’t know what you all liked.” He headed over to the kitchen, which was too large to miss, and Linda and David followed.

“Well, I’m excited to see what you have,” Linda pretended to be actually excited, “and can’t wait for dinner to be over so I can see!”

Eren half smiled again, and looked almost relieved at the doorbell.

“Oh, that would be the other guests,” and Eren was gone a second later.

Linda looked around in the kitchen, noting the professional equipment and how it was much larger than she first thought. Poor kid probably had no idea what to do with most of it.

“You really shouldn’t show off so much in front of new friends,” David laughed, though he hardly meant it. It wasn’t his wife’s fault that she was simply a fantastic cook.

Linda raised an eyebrow, amused. “It’s not like I could have predicted my strong suit was his weakness.”

They both shared a quick laugh, then went to go see who else was there.

Karen and Michael showed up next with Susan and John. Carpooling, of course. What with Karen’s minivan. And shortly after, Mary, James, Deborah, and Robert arrived as well. Soon enough, greetings had been made, hushed comments between Linda and her friends about Eren had been exchanged, and then they were all seated around a wonderfully set table.

At least Eren could get that right.

They all settled in, Levi at the head of the table with Eren on his left and Linda on his left. Right across from Eren. And if she looked closely enough, she could see the hints of disdain on Eren’s face. He clearly didn’t want to be here, and she could only assume he’d rather be back at the ‘office’.

‘ Well, deal with it, honey ,’ she thought delightedly. ‘ If you didn’t want to be stuck to Levi, you shouldn’t have married him .’ Though he probably did it for the money Levi had. And from the looks of their fancy little townhouse, Levi had a lot of it. Gold digger.

“I think I’m about ready to eat, don’t you?” Michael prodded with a smile.

Levi shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “Sure. We were just waiting until you were all settled in. Eren?”

Eren gave a forced smile, and headed off into the kitchen with Levi following. Linda watched him go, disgusted. How could Levi stay with someone like that?

When they came back, their arms were full of covered yet clearly steaming serving platters and bowls. They strategically placed the platters around the table and pulled off the lids, Eren explaining as they went.

“I didn’t know what you all liked, so I made an… interesting mix of dishes. I’ve got red duck curry, a tabouli salad with poached pear and gorgonzola, grilled portabella mushrooms with artichoke polenta, whole lemon basil sea bass, paella, and gigot d’agneau pleureur which is… just kind of a fancy way of saying lamb roasted over potatoes.”

A rare smile from Levi appeared. “I thought something smelled good in there,” he said, sitting back down.

Eren gave a short chuckle and half grin. “It also just so happens to be my husband’s favorite dish,” he admitted.

The group stared wide eyed and open mouthed at the spread prepared for them. Linda most of all. She quickly shook off the shock. This was clearly just Eren trying hard to impress them. No doubt he’d spent hours upon hours with eyes glued to recipe pages he’d found on the internet in hopes of seeming superior. The effort was admirable, but he really should have stuck to something he knows rather than tread in her territory. Still, the dishes may look good, but it was the taste that mattered.

They started piling the food on their plates.

Linda eyed the food carefully, her plate giving off some of the best smells she’d ever known. But it couldn’t be that good. So she took a bite.

Anger.

Anger and envy were the first emotions she felt as the food melted in her mouth, the flavors spreading across every inch of her tongue. Each moment after revealed new and complicated flavors that complimented each other so well, it was as if the ingredients were soul mates meeting for the first time.

And the soft moans around the table meant everyone else was tasting the same thing…

Compliments were thrown, and Linda could see the tiniest bit of a genuine smile cross Eren’s face. He was no stranger to praise. So Linda waited, and once the praise had died down, she made her move.

“So, Eren,” Linda began. “Where did you find the recipes for all this?” Probably from some generic online recipe website.

“Oh, yes! I must know. This is absolutely amazing!” God, Mary, stop being so damn friendly. Linda was trying to tear down the cheater chef wannabe sitting across from her!

Eren paused, thinking long and hard about the question. “Um… I… don’t remember.” He seemed honestly confused. “Half of the dishes I just whipped up and the other half I’ve been making for so long they just come naturally to me. The only one I know I have the recipe for is the gigot d’agneau pleureur, but I don’t know where it is.”

How convenient.

Linda kept her smile, though. “Well, perhaps you remember the website you got it from? Or the book? I always get my recipes off of organicliving.com.” Now that was a recipe website.

“Oh, no.” Eren shook his head. “I didn’t get it online. I got it from a family friend. A chef in France.”

“France?” Linda barely managed to squeak out. This cheating twerp was friends with chefs in France? This kid probably just got out of college and he was traveling to fucking France to the point where he has friends there? No… no it was probably a pen pal thing… The internet can make anything possible.

“Oh, you’ve been?” Susan gushed. She’d go on about anything for years so long as it had something to do with France. Or rather, Paris specifically. “Was it for your honeymoon? John and I went for ours. Paris! So lovely! I wish I could live there forever…”

“Trust me,” Levi scoffed. “It gets old very quickly. And go for our honeymoon ? There’s no way. Too close to family.”

Linda wasn’t expecting Levi to comment, but his words only seemed to make it worse. “You have family in France?” Of course, her beef wasn’t with Levi, but if Levi had lived in France, then that made the possibility of Eren having friends there more plausible without pen pals…

Levi hummed, mildly shocked. “Oh… did I never mention that? I grew up there. Valence. Up until college at least. I would have attended college here, but I wanted to get out and explore the world outside of France.”

Eren smiled as his gaze focused on Levi. That genuine smile he’d had during the shower of praise. “And his mother was close friends with a chef who’d always come over on special occasions and make gigot d’agneau pleureur, so during one of our trips there, he gave me the recipe so I could make it for Levi.” Eren shrugged like his story was the most natural in the world.

Levi leaned back in his seat, amused. “You know, he said he’d never seen anyone with the ability to make it like him… until you showed up.”

Deep breaths, Linda… Deep breaths. French people were conceited anyway. He probably only said that to make Eren feel better. And sure, the dinner was delicious, but she just had to wait until dessert. There was no way he could beat her at dessert! And with how long it must have taken to make dinner, he would have never had time to make dessert too. The store bought cake theory still held.

Although… She could try one more thing…

“So, is any of this organic? Everyone here practically breaths organic.” And if they found out that anything here wasn’t…

“Not sure.” Eren pursed his lips in thought. “There’s a farmer’s market right down the street from us, so I just get my stuff from there. If the food is organic, they don’t call it that. Probably didn’t want to waste the money on an expensive label.”

Mary and Karen both gasped. “You have a farmer’s market around here?”

“It’s literally just around the corner.” Eren made a generic hand gesture. “I know most of the vendors there too, and they’re all really nice.”

“Oh, we should go to the farmer’s market more,” Mary exclaimed. “Organic is nice and all, but only when dealing with big corporate companies. The best food is locally grown.”

Great. Now all Linda had done was make Eren a savior for small businesses in their eyes. And friends with the vendors? Probably just to get free food all the time…

Thankfully, regular conversation ensued, with the mindless chatter giving Linda time to recollect herself. She listened intently, hoping for something to help her, but the closest thing she had was Deborah giving a comment here and there about how their house wouldn’t uphold the Homeowner’s Association standard. Hardly ammo that she could use. But her chance soon came as John asked Susan about how she was liking the dinner.

“It is good food, but there’s this one place right near the neighborhood that literally has the best curry I’ve ever had in my life!” Susan may go on and on about France, but Linda could truly count on her to help. Even if she wasn’t doing it for Linda. “They have actual Indian people there, so you know it’s authentic.”

Eren nodded, but his furrowed brows gave him away.

A blow had been made, so now Linda could kick him while he was down.

“So, Eren, how old are you?” she asked. Seeing the slight nods of her female friends, all of whom were eager to see the cheater fall, Linda’s confidence grew. “I mean… you look so young.”

There.

Eren’s brow twitched. Linda could see his shoulders tense and the hand grasping his fork clenched rightly. Struck a nerve, huh?

“I’m 26.” Eren’s voice strained.

“Wow! That’s quite the age difference there, isn’t it?” Linda kept her sarcasm to herself, but from Eren’s reaction, he could tell.

“What are you talking about?” Levi interjected, confused as ever. “I’m only 34. It’s hardly a ten year difference.”

“Still…” Linda wouldn’t relent. “Eight years. You’re both in such different stages of your life. That doesn’t affect you? I mean… I feel like someone so young would rather not be tied down so soon and would rather… explore.”

Eren was taking deep breaths. “What are you…?” But he knew exactly what she meant.

Linda leaned forward, resting her chin on the back of her hand delicately. “Or is the stability what you’re looking for?”

Eren took a deep breath and-

“Eren,” Levi suddenly cut in. “I hate to do this, but before I forget, could you go up to our room and get the book on France I have? After hearing about Susan’s trip, I figured she’d like to look at it.”

Anything Eren had been going to say were swallowed up, and he left without another word. Linda sat proudly in her seat. The other women murmured to each other while the men picked at the food remaining on their plates. They were completely unaffected by the events, as they were used to their wives tearing others down. Their wives were simply competitive, is what they would say.

“Is there a reason why you’re hounding my husband?” Levi asked Linda, keeping his voice fairly low and completely calm.

Linda smiled. “I’m simply curious,” she explained. “I’ve heard more than one story about age differences in relationships. And considering all the time he spends at the office…” She hoped the slight stress she put on office would give Levi the hint he needed, but alas…

Levi met Linda’s eyes, cold and serious. “I appreciate the thought, but how about you leave my relationship between me and Eren. Now lay off .”

A shiver ran down her spine, and something told her she never wanted to see Levi actually angry. But… he didn’t understand… Levi didn’t understand that Eren was cheating on him. Still, Linda nodded.

“Good, now…” Levi stopped. “Wait… did you say office?”

But Linda couldn’t respond as Eren came back down, still looking a bit put off but surprisingly happier.

“I put the book by the door for you,” he told Susan, who nearly exploded in her seat. “There are some pictures taped in there that we took ourselves.” Eren turned to the rest of the table, a bright smile on his face. “So who’s ready for dessert?”

Sometime in the conversation, the food had been all but demolished. So the table cheered their agreement, and Eren left to grab the food. Linda settled in her seat as she waited to see what he had. The image of a store bought cake seared into her mind. He would not beat her here.

At least that’s what she thought.

“So, like I said earlier, I wasn’t sure what you all would like, so I made a few different dishes. I have napoleons, also called mille feuille. More French. I’ve got mocha buttercream macarons, chocolate pate a bombes with a raspberry ganache, a red velvet and vanilla crush torte with a buttercream spread, and homemade baklava. A family recipe. Oh, and… Linda brought a blueberry cobbler.”

Linda could have cried.

The table gathered their share, and melted all over again.

“Oh, Eren!” Karen cried through a mouthful of dessert. “Where did you learn all of these recipes?”

Eren paused again, curious and confused. “You mean Levi didn’t tell you?”

“Apparently not.” Levi shrugged. “Because they seem to be under the impression that you work at an office.”

After hearing that, Eren met Linda’s eyes, smiling smugly.

“Oh… well, I went to school for culinary arts, you see. And now I’m the executive chef at a restaurant I co-own downtown.”

‘ Now I’m the executive chef of a restaurant I own. Oh look at me. I’m Eren and I’m so perfect and amazing. ’ Linda wanted to leave.

“Wow… really? Which one?” Stop talking Karen. If you even knew how many calories this stuff had in it…

“St. Maria’s.”

“No!” For a moment, Linda didn’t realize that had come from her. Thankfully, Deborah spoke right after.

“You’re kidding!” Deborah gasped. “I love that place! It’s been winning awards ever since it opened! And it’s topped the To Dine list on every local magazine for the past two years!”

Eren smiled fondly. “Yeah, but unfortunately, I tend to work late into the night because of it. And it’s the reason why I couldn’t join you that first night.”

“Well if this is what we get when you miss, you should work those nights more often!” Karen. Stop.

Eren’s smile widened, and while to everyone else it might’ve looked genuine, Linda knew something was coming. “I’m grateful everyone likes it. And my restaurant. It’s certainly given me quite a bit of my own stability .”

There it was.

The words shot like daggers straight at Linda. She glanced over at Levi, hoping he’d send Eren away again, but he simply sipped on his drink as if Eren wasn’t even talking.

“And to think…” the grin on Eren’s face was infuriating “…I’m only 26.”

Linda was silent the rest of the night. It was only when they were safely in the confines of their car that David thought it okay to confront her.

“The food wasn’t all that great-”

“The food was amazing and you know it.” Linda was bitter, but she could admit that. Albeit bitterly.

“So he can cook,” David scoffed. “You can too! His dishes were just fancier.”

“They were exotic . Ugh!” Linda’s hands clenched her hair, wanting to rip it out. “How stuck up is he? He probably thinks we’re all heathens because we eat things like roasted chicken and simple spaghetti.”

“He’s just used to cooking fancy,” David trying to rationalize, “thanks to that restaurant of his.”

“That’s the number one place to dine in this city! And it’s only been open four years! Which means… which means he opened his first ridiculously successful restaurant at only 22!” The night just kept getting worse and worse for her. Linda’s friends would never want her cooking for them again! Not as long as Eren existed…

“You know what,” David said. “Let’s let him have it. Because he can be taught for centuries the ways of the kitchen,” a smirk, “but we both know who owns the grill in this town.”

Slowly, the smile began returning to Linda. She began feeling better. “You do.”

Because it was so true.

“And he can add whatever crazy ingredients to his food, but nothing beats a good old fashioned barbecue.”

The grin kept growing. “Your burgers and hot dogs are the best.”

“And in a few weeks…” David laughed. “I’ll put him to the test.”

A test he’d surely fail! That fancy college degree in the kitchen was useless in the rugged outdoors. Oh sweet, sweet revenge.

“I love you so much…”

[seanbsworld]

A Short Scene: “Meat”

Setting:      A dining room, somewhat fancy.

Characters:   George – A man in his 50’s. Charming without depth.

                      Alexis – A woman in her 30’s. A genuine flake.

Tone:         Absurdist, ironic, melodramatic, dark.

Dialogue:     Rhythmic and repetitive like a pop song or echo chamber.

At Rise:      George and Alexis sit at a dinner table facing each other. The table is set, but the food has not been served yet. They drink wine and talk.

Alexis: It’s just awful.

George: Yes. It is.

Alexis: I mean...

George: I know, I know. It’s, it’s--

Alexis: It’s awful!

George: Well, yes, but--

Alexis: I mean, the look on his face, and that poor girl, and all the blood...

George: Horrific.

Alexis: It’s just... the worst.

George: Yes, but what can you do? What can you do?

Alexis: I don’t know. Does anyone know? I mean--

George: What can you do? I feel helpless. Somewhat.

Alexis: Me too. So helpless. They need to change the gun laws.

George: Yes. Absolutely. If there ever was a time--

Alexis: I mean those images are seared into my brain. That poor girl, all that blood, and their families... I just can’t.

George: The whole town must be devastated.

Alexis: The whole country! And they showed it on TV. I can’t believe they showed it on TV. Not even cable! Regular TV.

George: I had to look away, briefly.

Alexis: It’s just...

A long pause.

Alexis: ... unspeakable.

George: If there ever was a time when we could all agree about the gun laws--

Alexis: It couldn’t be clearer... I don’t even watch the news anymore. It’s too depressing. I mean, what’s happening to this country?

George: Well, the media makes it seem worse than it actually is. This is still the greatest country in the world. It’s the media and all the little snowflakes that are--

Alexis: Oh, I know! They act like the world is burning.

George: They don’t realize how good they have it. This is still the greatest country. I mean, if this was China...

Alexis: Seriously.

George: It’s their right to protest and march, I understand that, but give it a rest. Do they really think they’re going to change anything? What’re they thinking?

Alexis: Seriously, if this was China or Russia... And they’re so entitled.

George: Yes! They expect everything to just be handed to them. Where did they learn that behavior? Why do they act like that? I mean, I used to be like that, back in college, but come on, right?

Alexis: Well... they’re probably just reacting to what the previous generation stood for. They’re cynics laced with optimism. Their irony is sincere...

George: (slightly annoyed) Wow. How perceptive...

Alexis: Full disclosure: I’m technically a snowflake, but--

George: Ah. That explains so much.

Alexis: (playfully) No it doesn’t, shut up! But, admittedly, it’s difficult to defend us sometimes. I’ve had to unfollow so many friends off Facebook. Just so much negativity. I’m over it... so when’s dinner going to be ready? I’m famished.

George: Soon, soon. You’re going to love it. Oh, speaking of famines, have you heard in Africa--

Alexis: George! How can you be so glib?

George: (laughing) What, what? I’m creating ironic distance. It’s the only way I can process what’s happening there. It’s really tragic.

Alexis: You’re such a--

George: What?

Alexis: (flirtatiously) You’re so bad.

George: I know, I know. I’m the worst! But the situation in, uh, uh--

Alexis: Africa.

George: Right. The situation really has become dire. I mean, millions of, of--

Alexis: Africans.

George: People! These poor people, and children, on the brink of starvation. They’re like skeletons, walking around, eyes bulging out, flies eating their skin... It’s staggering the lack of motivation among the world’s governments to provide aid. Why don’t we help out? Why don’t we do more?

Alexis: I know.

George: I mean, if we all just got together and focused... But we don’t have any real leaders. Where are they? Where are the leaders?

Alexis: I don’t know.

George: There’s too many problems in the world. It’s--

Alexis: Overwhelming.

George: Not overwhelming. It’s just... you know?

Alexis: It’s like standing in an elevator full of people and not knowing who smells bad.

George: Uh, well--

Alexis: We really need to do more, though. I feel so bad when I throw out food. But at least we’re not like ancient Rome. They would stuff themselves silly then throw it all up just so they could eat more.

George: Actually, that’s not true. The Romans never binged and purged.

Alexis: Yes they did. They had “vomitoriums”.

George: That’s a common misperception. “Vomitoriums” were large passages that allowed amphitheater crowds to exit quickly, sort of spewing them out.

Alexis: Oh. I feel so stupid. This whole time I thought, because of the name--

George: It’s okay to be wrong, Alexis. People make that mistake all the time.

Alexis: (defensively) I know it’s okay to be wrong, George--

George: Okay, okay, relax--

Alexis: I’m just explaining, because of the name.

George: Your generation is so sensitive.

Alexis: No we’re not, shut up! Just because I’m explaining myself doesn’t mean--

George: Bunch of little snowflakes...

Alexis: You better watch yourself mister. Charm will only get you so far.

George: I’ll be careful.

Alexis: (playfully) Seriously, I’ll organize a march so fast... You know, we may not even have snow for much longer, the world the way it is. They say fifteen of the hottest years on record have occurred since the millennium. Can you believe that?

George: (sincerely) I know, I know. They say we’re already past the point of no return. Even if everyone went green tomorrow, we’re still screwed. The sea levels will rise. Florida will be underwater in a hundred years. Florida!

Alexis: I can’t believe it. No more Miami Beach. No more palm trees...

George: Actually, palms aren’t trees at all. It’s technically grass.

Alexis: (very annoyed) Another “common misperception”, I guess... Is dinner ready yet?

George: I’ll go check.

Alexis: Good idea.

George leaves.

Alexis stands up and walks to the other side of the table. She smells the chair where George was sitting, taking in big whiffs. Then she clears her throat loudly before returning to her seat.

George returns. He sits down.

Alexis: (flustered) Is it ready yet, dinner? I feel like I’ve been waiting forever.

George: It’s cooling, just a few more minutes. As they say, “Patience is a cliché”...

Alexis: What?

George: Nothing... Are you okay?

Alexis: (readjusting) Of course. Yes. Just hungry... So, are you going to tell me what’s for dinner? You’re being so mysterious.

George: You’re going to love it. It’s a delicacy, very hard to come by these days. But it does have...

Alexis: What?

George: It has meat in it.

Alexis: George... you know I’m a vegan.

George: Just hear me out.

Alexis: You know I’m a vegan, George.

George: You said you were a “practical vegan”.

Alexis: But I’ve been really bad lately. I’m trying to get back on the wagon. I really shouldn’t.

George: This is a delicacy, very hard to come by. And with the world the way it is, who knows if I can even get more of it.

Alexis: You make it sound like it’s endangered.

George: No, in fact, it’s overpopulated. It’s just the world, the way it is--

Alexis: I can’t. Eating meat is wrong and it really isn’t healthy. The leading killer in the country is heart disease. I mean, the idea of eating flesh? Eating a thing that once had a heartbeat?

George: Plants are alive. Everything we eat was once alive. If you want to survive, you have to kill... Just try a little bit, a tiny nibble. The meat is fair trade, free range, no chemicals, completely organic--

Alexis: Non-GMO?

George: All that shit. Just try a little bit.

Alexis: You’re such a bad influence, George.

George: Don’t pretend like you don’t like it.

Alexis: I can’t eat meat, I’m sorry. I hate disappointing you, but I have to commit to something. It’s not just my health--factory farms have a huge environmental impact as well. All the water the animals require and all the, you know, excrement they produce...

George: Are you not going to eat?

Alexis: I’m not going to eat the meat.

George: But the meat is the meal. If you don’t want to eat the meat, you may as well not eat at all.

Alexis: Fine. I won’t eat then.

George: Why are you acting like this?

Alexis: Why are you asking me to compromise my beliefs?

George: Your beliefs are based on practicality.

Alexis: George, I have to commit to something, otherwise I’ll never figure stuff out.

George: You have to commit tonight?

Alexis: If I don’t, I’ll just keep on, untethered, drifting off into the ether.

George: Oh my God--you really are a little snowflake, aren’t you?

Alexis: (very annoyed) What’s the big fucking deal, George?

A pause. The tension makes George laugh.

George: Come on, are you really not going to eat?

Alexis: You knew I was a vegan.

George: Honestly, I thought you were just telling people that to feel superior.

Alexis: Is that how you think of me?

George: I do it, too. Everyone does. I mean, who really gives a shit about Africa?

Alexis: I’m a good person. I care about things.

George: I know.

Alexis: I volunteer. I donate. I didn’t vote in the last election because, obviously, but other things...

George: I know, I know. Look, Alexis, you’re a great person. You inspire me. Truly. I just think you’ll really enjoy this meat. It’s a delicacy. This opportunity doesn’t comes around every day.

Alexis: I want to eat the meal, but I don’t want the meat.

George: It’s pointless without the meat. It’s like not fucking on Prom night.

Alexis: That’s a little aggressive.

George: Does that frighten you, aggression?

Alexis: When it’s sitting across the table.

George laughs.

A pause.

George: Alexis, you’re not a bad person if you eat a little meat. Honestly, it would be wasteful if you didn’t eat. It’s already cooked.

Alexis: No, George.

George: Alright. If that’s your decision, I respect that... A little misguided, but still respectable... I think you’ll regret it later, but I respect it...

Alexis: Just curious, um, what kind of meat is it? I mean, if it’s so amazing.

George: No, no, you’re committed to changing the world. I can’t possibly divulge--

Alexis: Oh, come on. What is it? Don’t tease me, George.

George: No, no, you have beliefs. I’m not going to ask you to compromise yourself.

Alexis: George, don’t tease me. Please, please, please, please tell me. What kind of delicacy...

George responds with body language and facial gestures.

Alexis: Is it... George, is it what I think it is?

George gestures again.

Alexis: Is it what I think it is, George? Huh Georgie? Please tell me. Is it...

George gestures again.

Alexis: It is? George, really!? No! Holy fuck! How did you, where did you--

George: It wasn’t easy, the world the way it is.

Alexis: Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. Have you cooked it before? What does it taste like?

George: The natives say it’s best rare, all the nutrients and antioxidants get burned up if you cook it too long. Also, we have to eat it with our hands.

Alexis: Is that a thing?

George: Yes, it’s a thing... Just try a little bit. If you don’t like it, just get drunk and watch me eat...

Alexis: Maybe a bite or two, just to say I’ve tried it...

George: Is that a yes?

Alexis: Are you sure it was ethically-sourced?

George: That’s what the guy said.

George checks his watch.

George: I’ll go grab it. Wait, before you decide...

George leaves.

Alexis stands up again. She stretches and loosens up her body and neck. She cracks her knuckles and loudly clears her throat again. Then she sits back down.

George returns with a plate of indistinguishable meat. He places it in the middle of the table. He grabs a carving knife.

George: Shall I cut you a slice?

Alexis: It does smell good.

George: I’ll cut you a slice.

Alexis: I didn’t say yes.

George: I’ll cut you a slice, just in case.

George carves up the meat. It is extremely bloody and splashes on the table. He puts a slice on two plates. He takes one to Alexis then returns to his chair with the other plate.

George digs in. He eats with his hands and moans with pleasure.

George: Wow, oh, wow, so fucking good!

Alexis: Relax, George.

George: You have to try this. Oh my God, wow! Seriously, you have to fucking try this.

Alexis: It can’t be that good.

George: So many interesting textures. Fibrous, yet tender, like a mango. Fuck, damn, wow!

Alexis: (embarrassed) You’re acting like you’re about to come.

George: Oh Alexis, if only you knew...

Alexis inspects the meat a little closer. She smells it.

Alexis: Well, I wouldn’t want to waste food. And the world, the way it is...

George: You won’t regret it.

George is nearly finished with his slice. He’s dripping with blood.

Alexis: Eating meat is still wrong. I’m not admitting to anything...

Alexis eats the meat. George attempts to wipe the blood off with a napkin.

Alexis: Jesus Christ! It’s so fucking good! Wow, I wasn’t, that’s unexpected.

She continues to eat, becoming more and more sloppy and piggish. Blood runs from her mouth down her throat.

George becomes distracted by her appetite.

George: (shocked) Christ, Jesus, you don’t have to eat so fast. Take a breath...

Alexis: Oh! So juicy...

Alexis continues to devour the meat, splashing blood everywhere.

George: (disgusted) That’s not very attractive. Maybe try a napkin...

Alexis eats and eats. When she’s done, she licks her plate clean. She’s covered in blood.

A pause.

Both characters examine the table, all the blood, and then each other.

Alexis: I’m a mess.

George: It’s hard to look at you, to be honest.

Alexis: So full, so unsatisfied. I want more, but I’m so full... but I want more...

George: Well... you know what we could do?

George gestures. Alexis responds with curious approval.

George: I’ll get the Ipecac.

 End scene.