#this mail issue just barely scratches the surface of the issues

[noys-boise]

hello hi hm do you mayhaps have any howard the duck fun facts that movie Fasinated me

you have activated my autism from over a year ago so Brace Yourself because this is straight up going to be a history lesson in. duck comic/movie

i think I'm just going to tell you the full history of Howard as a character. yeah sorry.

so Howard was created kind of as a joke in 1974 in a marvel comic series called Adventure into fear written by Steve Gerber. he didn't intend on using this smoking, swearing, slightly off donald duck parody of a character very much and just killed him off like an issue after introducting him but people really didn't like that. like REALLY didn't like that. they sent in dead ducks to marvel through mail as protest I'm Not even joking!

so Gerber brought Howard back in the Giant-sized Man-thing series. this is where the lore of him falling to earth from space and landing in Cleveland started. he was sort of having these solo adventures where he fought first a frog man and then a vampire cow (Bessie the hellcow my beloved!!! i love her!!) and also went to jail that was a whole thing. but basically the whole experience left him miserable and suicidal. cut to his solo comic run starting in 1976. Howard the duck comics officially start and it's with Howard contemplating suicide and he gets really close to comitting before he meets Beverly and they go through this little adventure together to escape a financial wizard and fucking Spider-man shows up?? it's a whole thing, Howard ends up moving in with Bev instead of killing himself by the end

I'm not going to explain the whole original Howard comic run I'll just say it's a wild ride that includes Howard running for president (he received actual real life write in votes!!) then having a mental breakdown after fighting a canadian beaver man and bonding with some random neurodivergent girl he met on a bus after fighting with his nemesis the kidney lady again, Beverly being forced to marry a man who calls himself doctor bong and wears a bell on his head then divorcing him after cloning him and threatening to sue for child neglect (Gerber admitted that the drug reference was fully unintentional which is really funny to me), Howard punching a homophobe in the face and etc this is barely scratching the surface.

there's also issue #16 which is infamous for being right before a very big story arc and not having anything to do with the plot because Gerber missed his deadline again and he decided to just. write an essay on deadlines instead. yeah so basically he was too neurodivergent for this and I'm not just saying that he legitimately was neurodivergent he got fired from marvel for missing too many deadlines eventually.

that is when things got.. interesting with Howard. the original run wasn't finished at all yet so they kind of had to get other people to finish it but it didn't really work anymore and then they even made a black and white htd magazine which wasn't very popular but my personal hot take is that I'm a big fan of it actually.

there's also the lawsuit where Disney caught up that this guy looks dangerously similar to donald duck so their solutions was to just.. force Howard to wear pants. well that's an oversimplification they made more rules for how he has to look but the pants thing is objectively the funniest. also this happened back when Gerber was writing Howard he just refused to comfort to these rules so instead they got implemented during the magazine in a pretty iconic storyline imo. anyways the point is there's a lot of insanity around this.

and then the movie. i already mentioned that George Lucas was a big fan of the original comics and wanted to adapt it to a movie but instead of doing it himself he asked his friends Willard Hyuck and Gloria Katz to direct it and while he produced it. except as i also already mentioned said friends knew nothing about the comics and i.. don't think they ever really read them?

there were also a lot of things they wanted to do but couldn't like they originally wanted it to be animated but didn't have the budget, they originally got Robin Williams to voice Howard but he gave up because he found the role too limiting (and I'm honestly glad for that because i wouldn't have ever gotten into htd if it wasn't for Chip Howard) and the fact that they were pretty limited by the studio they were working with into some plot beats. it was kind of just a disaster all around with a lot of creative differences and technical limitations all over the place.

also as i said Robin Williams was supposed to voice Howard originally and they had to replace him really last minute and didn't really know what to do until one of the producers decided to watch a musical called Merrily we roll along starring Chip Zien and asked him if he's interested in being in this movie, telling him he sounds like a duck. which is probably not exactly what you want to hear after performing in a musical but he took the role anyways.

and btw despite everything regarding the production, everyone involved really expected this to be a hit and then it just.. wasn't. like at all. like it's one of the most notorious flop movies today for all the wrong reasons. like there's a lot of valid criticisms one could make about the plot and stuff but I think people just choose to focus on the interspecies part a lot which is upsetting to me. but yeah most of the actors went on to just straight up deny they were in this movie. not Chip and Lea though, they own it proudly which makes me happy

i could also rant a lot more about later Howard adaptations because there's even more insane lore there but i think this is already long enough for now, I'll maybe get back to that later

[nsk96]

Everyone is probably asleep and ain't gonna see this, so I'mma rant real quick.

I'm fed up with my dad's shit honestly. He hid my driver's license from me. My driver's license expired in February and because of school being hectic, I forgot to renew it. I renewed it on April 11, literally two weeks ago (and got charged extra for being late), and it was being sent to me through the mail. It said it would arrive in 7-10 days (but usually takes way less).

We keep all our mail in one basket, and my dad is usually the one who collects the mail from the mailbox when he gets home or stops by the house during his lunch time (which he tries to do without us knowing sometimes but that's a story for another time).

I've checked that basket every day since I ordered my license. I guess he didn't know that. My stupid self asked him if he saw any mail for me from the DMV, and he said no. I told him what happened with the expiration and he made a huge emphasis on how the police can impound my vehicle for driving with an expired license, and I'll be forced to call someone to get a ride to where I need to go.

My gut instinct told me that he would try to hide the mail from me, but I went against that instinct thinking that he would take this serious issue well...serious since he's the one that would face the financial ramifications? But then again, he has proven time and time again that he has no problem hurting himself if it meant making life hell for my mom and I. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to call the police on me, himself to report that I had an expired license on me.

He has hidden mail from me in the past. Some time ago, I was expecting a package from amazon: a One Punch Man manga volume I had gotten a good deal on. Well the package was delivered but I didn't know for sure yet but knew it had to have arrived because of the expected arrival date. I asked my dad if he saw my package and he said "what package?" He literally seemed like he did not know what I was talking about...until right after, I went to check the delivery status. Turned out it was delivered and the delivery person even uploaded a picture. I went back and told him it was delivered during the daytime the day before, while it was bright out. He asked "how do you know it was bright out?" I said, "because they uploaded a picture." Then and only then did he say, "well I picked up a package this morning from the front patio and put it into my truck" (it was the weekend. There was no reason for him to put it in his truck because he doesn't work on weekends). I didn't know it was yours." Whenever we receive a package, checking the name on it is always the first thing he does. He had the intention of hiding the package from me, probably to open it to see what I received.

Anyways, back to the driver's license. Today he called me out from my room and told me he found my driver's license. He asked "you didn't check the basket?". It was then confirmed that he did in fact hide it from me because I checked that basket everyday and literally checked it yesterday evening as well (Saturday). I sorted through that mail, one by one, each day. I looked over at the basket after I was handed my mail, and all the mail that was there, was the same mail I had looked through all week.

For two weeks, I was stressed out about not having my new license, when they said it would be here in 10 days for the latest (which we know it shouldn't actually be that long because I've received mail all the way from Tallahassee in less time than that with all the delays the post office was facing).

He just wanted to watch me squirm. I shouldn't be surprised by now but, it's sometimes hard to believe that a parent who you thought was your ally throughout your childhood, was just using you as a tool to hurt your mom, and now that you're no longer useful to him because you're now aware of his antics, he's doing to you what he does to your mother.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: writing this chapter was so much fun but reading it was a train wreck so you’ll just have to find out yourself whether it’s actually good or not. hurt/comfort ahead

***

Most of Nesta’s days lately are spent holed up in her basement apartment, either studying for her finals or preparing for her move—which means that whenever Cassian wants to see her, she has to haul ass all the way to the cabin to make time for him.

Like now, on the morning of her birthday, as she stands in her pajamas and slippers in the middle of Cassian’s home gym. Staring at the reason behind his urgent phone call telling her to come over.

“It’s a pole,” she says dumbly.

“Happy birthday,” he says, looking proud of himself. “Consider it an incentive to move in faster, okay?”

“It’s a pole,” she repeats. Tall and gleaming, it stands in front of the wall of mirrors away from most of the workout equipment. “You installed a pole?”

The gift itself isn’t that surprising—Cassian could afford an entire pole dancing studio if he wanted to. What surprises her is that it’s installed here, in Cassian’s personal space. The gym is to Cassian what the reading nook is to Nesta, if not even more sacred. Nesta rarely enters it, but now… he’s extending a blatant invitation into his space.

“I know you already take classes with Gwyn and Emerie,” Cassian is saying, “but you haven’t gotten to go in a while because of school and work, so I thought it would be easier for you if I brought the dance studio over here.” He scratches his head, and Nesta’s eyes drift to the silver watch on his wrist. “You never told me you used to dance. I found out from Feyre, and she sent me videos of your old ballet recitals.”

“Did she?”

Cassian nods along. “You were good. You’re still good now, which is why you should wipe that look off your face and thank me for your gift.”

Nesta is sure she looks stupefied, but she doesn’t do anything to rein it in. She has so many thoughts, and she can only think of saying, “I don’t want to practice in front of you.”

“You don’t have to,” Cassian promises. “Other than early mornings, maybe evenings, the gym will be empty for you.”

Okay. “You—” Nesta starts, “You’re really okay with this?”

Cassian’s face drops in confusion. “Okay with what?” He looks at the pole and back at Nesta. “Do you not like it?”

“Are you okay with giving me part of the gym? Where are you going to go if you want to be alone?” She chews on her lip.

Cassian laughs. “Why would I want to be alone?”

Nesta shrugs. “I need it at least once a week. I figured everyone else was the same way.” Her alone spot in the cabin is her former bedroom from the first time she lived here. Cassian knows not to enter that room, and on days when she spends time in there he simply waits until she comes out. Nesta assumed the gym was close to being something like that for Cassian.

Realization crosses Cassian’s face. “Oh, you mean like your ‘special room’?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Nesta snipes. “I told you I don’t use it for masturbating.”

He comes over and swings a heavy arm around her shoulder. “Babe, if I wanted to be alone I wouldn’t stay in the house. I’d run the trails in the woods behind the cabin.”

“Really?” Her brows furrow. She didn’t know that.

“Look, am I gonna have to return the pole or not?” Cassian says, exasperated.

Nesta stares at him closely, and upon finding no other catch to his gift, she flings her arms around his torso. “I love it,” she declares into his chest. “I love it so much.”

His body tenses in surprise at her uncharacteristic outburst, but then she feels his strong arms wrapping around her too. “In that case, have I earned myself a private show?” he teases.

“I’ll give you so many private shows,” Nesta promises. At least, once she completes her 2L and has the time to learn how to use the pole. “Emerie and Gwyn are going to be so jealous,” she hums pridefully.

Cassian chuckles deeply, and the sound rumbles through his chest where Nesta’s head rests.

They stay holding each other in silence like that for a while, mostly because it’s too early for unnecessary conversing. When Nesta finally speaks up, it’s to say, “Did you really have to call me over at eight a.m. for this, though?”

“It’s your birthday.” Cassian strokes the hair away from her neck. “Don’t even think about sleeping,” he warns. “We’re spending the whole day together. Your sisters mailed gifts, and Gwyn and Emerie are coming over at noon.”

That works for her.

***

The week after her birthday, Nesta drops her resignation letter onto Rhysand’s desk with a heavy smack.

He looks up from the envelope to her. “What’s this?”

“I’m quitting,” she announces without flourish. “Thank you for the experience. Let’s never do it again.”

“But—you got paid more than anyone else in an assistant position ever would. And you weren’t too bad at your job for a student. What went wrong?” He picks up the letter as if he can’t believe his eyes.

Nesta’s stare is a deadpan one. “Let me guess: you thought I would take your free paychecks, use my connections to move up your nepotism ladder, and end up working at Night Court comfortably for the rest of my life?”

Rhysand sits back in his chair and raises a brow at Nesta. “This is a family business,” he says smoothly. “I thought you wanted to be part of the family?”

How funny of him. “I’m good,” she answers simply.

“You came all the way here to tell me this?” Here being Velaris, which gleams through the wall of windows behind Rhysand’s desk.

“I’m not here to see you,” Nesta says, the implication being left in the air. “I’m just stopping by.” Giving a short nod, she turns on her heel to leave.

“If you ever go looking for another job,” Rhysand calls after her, “tell me if you need a recommendation. I can get you into any position at any business.”

She pauses at the door and looks over her shoulder at Rhysand. “I already have recommendations. And a job.” Her summer clerkship at the local family law firm won’t pay a third of what she made here at Night Court, but it’s good enough for now. Combined with what she’s saved up so far, she’ll get through her final year of law school without issue.

At Rhysand’s surprised face, she takes her cue to leave.

Nesta didn’t intend on going all the way to personally meet the CEO to quit, but since Cassian has been in Velaris the whole weekend for work, she thought it would be nice to surprise Cassian with a visit and cut her ties with Night Court Inc. at the same time.

Night Court’s headquarters are huge, with the skyscraper easily being one of the tallest buildings in the city. Nesta nearly gets lost trying to find her way out of Rhysand’s offices.

When she finally spots the steel doors of the elevator, they’re about to slide shut on her. “Hold the door!” she calls out, kicking into a jog. An arm pushes out at the last second to stop the doors from closing, and Nesta slides into the elevator with a sigh of relief. The doors close after her, and she turns to thank the only other person in the elevator.

The man is already looking at her in surprise—surprise which slowly turns into a shark-like smile. “Nesta?”

Nesta’s blood goes cold. He can’t be.

“Remember me?” He points at himself, still grinning. “Keith? Keith O’Connell?”

She tries to swallow but her mouth is dry. “Yeah, I remember,” she gets out.

She remembers everyone she knew from college. She especially remembers Tomas’s closest friends.

Nesta realizes Keith is saying something to her. “What floor?” he asks.

“Uh…” Where was she going again? She can’t remember. She spits out a random number and lets Keith press the button.

Nesta turns her gaze to the flashing numbers above the doors, watching them go down and down. Why are there so many damn floors?

“Didn’t think I’d see you around here,” he goes on, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “Let me guess, you’re an intern?”

Nesta keeps her eyes glued to the floor numbers. “No.”

“Ah,” he hums. “Don’t tell me you’re still chasing that lawyer dream?”

When Nesta doesn’t respond, she finds five fingers on her jaw turning her face toward Keith’s.

She jerks out of his grip, indignant rage bubbling to the surface—rage that is almost immediately suppressed by dread and fear. She’s so small right now; she can’t remember how to be big and loud.

Keith grins, taking a step closer. “What’s wrong? I just asked a question.”

Her back bumps into the wall. She barely feels it. She might as well be back in the living room of her college apartment, sitting on the arm of the couch while Tomas makes snide remarks about her to Keith O’Connell and his other friends. She’s not allowed to leave, because then she’ll be the one who can’t take a joke.

Keith frowns disappointedly at the ground, as if he found a shiny toy just to discover that it doesn’t do any tricks. Now he’s bored. “Damn,” he says. “When you’re not busy being Tom’s bitch, I guess you’re just a bitch.”

Nesta wishes she could be a bitch right now. She wishes she could fight back. “What are you doing, Keith?”

He tilts his head at her. “I’m catching up with you. You got a boyfriend?” His beady eyes slide down her form, leaving a slimy feeling in their wake.

When her lips stay pressed in a firm line, he grabs her arm and laughs. “Come on, why’re you being so weird?” He shakes her by the elbow. “I won’t tell anyone if you do have a boyfriend, promise.”

Nesta hears a ding, and the elevator doors slide open. She doesn’t know whether it’s her floor or Keith’s floor, but she doesn’t care—she’s the first to pull away from him and make an exit. “See you,” she blurts before speedwalking out of the elevator.

Why the fuck did she say “see you”? She doesn’t want to see him ever again. He doesn’t deserve to see her ever again.

Behind her, she hears Keith chuckle again. “I’ll tell Tomas you said hi,” he calls after her.

***

Cassian finds Nesta huddled under a desk.

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he spotted her hurrying out of the elevator on the eighteenth floor of Night Court’s headquarters, but soon enough he realized that yes, that was Nesta’s coat and Nesta’s hair. She was supposed to be back home studying for her first two finals, but instead she was here looking like she was going to be sick.

He was about to follow her when his eyes slid to the man that had gotten off the elevator after her. He didn’t like how O’Connell was staring after Nesta.

“We’re old college friends,” O’Connell shrugged dismissively when Cassian approached him. “I was just saying hi.”

Nesta doesn’t have any friends from college.

Which leads Cassian to a dim, abandoned meeting room, one that would seem fully empty if it wasn't for the sound of strained breathing coming from under the only desk.

He approaches the desk slowly, his worn sneakers coming into Nesta’s line of sight. Pushing the rolling chair away, he crouches down to get a better look at her.

Tinny music comes out of her earbuds, loud enough to drown out any other sounds. She stares past Cassian like she can’t even see him, and the hollowed out look in her eyes terrifies him for a moment. When she blinks, tears spill over onto her cheeks.

“Nes?” Carefully, Cassian reaches out to touch one of her earbuds. After a second of hesitation, he pulls it out and lets it fall.

Nesta sniffles once, then finally turns her teary gaze to Cassian. Her eyes widen a little bit as she croaks, “How did you find me?”

“I followed you. What are you doing here, baby?”

“Um—” Her voice cracks, and she swipes away her tears with the sleeve of her coat. She clears her throat and says, “I came to surprise you.”

“And how’d you end up under here?” Cassian pulls Nesta’s hand away from her face before the scratchy wool can redden her face further. Makeup is smudged around her eyes, and he tries to soothe the sensitive skin there with his thumbs.

Nesta’s other earbud drops out of her ear while he fusses, leaving her with nothing to listen to.

Cassian is quietly, studiously tucking stray hairs back into Nesta’s bun when she confesses, “I was weak.”

“How?” Concern pinches Cassian’s brow. “By crying in front of me?”

“I was completely helpless,” she goes on, her voice numb. “And I didn’t know how not to be that way. I hated it, it’s so stupid.” She tears up again. “I’m not supposed to be that stupid.”

“Tell me what happened,” Cassian demands. He can’t pretend to be patient anymore.

Nesta presses her lips together and stares down at her shoes. Nothing Cassian can think of can prepare him for when she says, “I ran into a friend of my ex.”

So that’s who he is. A frightening calmness settles over Cassian. “O’Connell?” he asks, though he already knows.

Nesta looks up. “You know him?”

He tightens his jaw but nods. “Move over.” Ducking his head, Cassian crawls under the desk to join Nesta. He has to hunch over in half to fit, but Nesta doesn’t seem to mind.

He has to give it to her—it’s not a bad hiding spot.

“What did he say to you?” He tries to sound steady, undisturbed.

“He didn’t need to say anything,” Nesta answers. “I lost my spine with one look from him. He had me under his thumb.”

“I see.” Cassian has made peace with the fact that Tomas Mandray has long since moved away, that he’ll never be able to track the shithead down and make him suffer. What he didn’t know, however, is that Mandray left his friends behind.

“Were you hurt?” is his next question. “Did he touch you?” Cassian doesn’t know what he’ll do if Nesta says yes, but he has to ask anyway.

“I’m not hurt,” she assures him. But her hands rub over her upper arms like she can feel the ghost of a touch there.

“I see,” he repeats. He watches her for a bit longer before stating, “You’re not stupid.”

Nesta’s huff is amused. “Thank you.”

“And don’t spend too much time thinking about O’Connell,” he mutters, nudging her knee with his. “I’ll get rid of him for good.” That is a promise that Cassian is happy to keep.

Nesta looks alarmed. “Like…murder him?”

Cassian laughs. “No, not like that. But you’ll never see him again, so I hope you’ve said what you needed to say to him.”

Nesta thinks for a moment, then nods. “That sounds good. I don’t have anything to say to him.” She inhales a deep breath. “I think I feel better now.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Cassian holds out a hand to her. “You wanna get out of here?”

She takes his hand and he helps her out from under the desk.

Nesta apparently booked a hotel room in Velaris to surprise Cassian with, but they both agree on the way to the parking lot that they’ve had enough of the city. Cassian chooses to leave his truck behind for Rhys to take care of, and he offers to drive Nesta’s car while she rests.

The ride home is long and quiet.

Nesta sits in silence with her earbuds in, her head leaning against the car window and one of her hands in Cassian’s. He drives with his free hand, sneaking glances over at her every so often just to make sure she really is okay.

It enrages him that someone from Nesta’s past found their way into her place of work. What if he and O’Connell weren’t working in Velaris this weekend, and Nesta bumped into O’Connell in the middle of town instead? It could have tainted any sense of safety she has with the small city she calls home.

Cassian has no plans on telling her that O’Connell is the team leader for the Milan project, or that he rents a small place on the outskirts of their town. Because soon enough neither of those things will be true, and there’s no use in unnecessarily worrying her.

He absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the back of Nesta’s hand.

When they finally pull up to the cabin, Nesta picks her head up from the window to look around. Spotting the other black car parked in the driveway, she makes a sound of disappointment. “Az is home.”

“We can stay in the car if you like,” Cassian offers. He’s in no rush to go inside and face other people, either.

Nesta pulls her heels off, bending over to rub her stockinged feet. “Maybe just for a little while.”

Cassian unbuckles his seatbelt, gesturing for Nesta to put her feet in his lap.

She obliges, looking too tired to refuse him. Cassian runs his hands up her legs and under her skirt, finding the waistband of her sheer black tights and tugging.

“What are you doing?” She jerks under his hands, eyes wide. “The car’s too small for this.”

He narrows his gaze at her. “Chill, horndog. I’m just making you comfortable.” He pulls the tights the rest of the way down her legs and off, freeing her skin.

Nesta gives a little sigh of relief at the feeling of air on her bare skin. She rubs her hands over her thighs in wonder, drawing Cassian’s gaze.

He meets her eyes, and she slowly curls her legs off his lap, tucking them underneath herself instead.

Elated to have Nesta’s undivided attention after two hours of silence, he leans over and slips his hand around her jaw, pulling her in for a kiss.

Her inhale is soft, surprised, before she relaxes against his mouth. Cassian kisses her once, twice, hoping it’ll remind her that she’s safe at his side. That nothing can make her weak.

He’s slow to pull away, and he opens his eyes to find that Nesta’s are still closed, her lips still parted. He stifles a smile and whispers, “I think we should head inside.”

“Mm-hm,” she nods eagerly.

They exit the car, Cassian carrying Nesta’s shoes and tights in one hand and Nesta running over to him barefoot.

He leaves little pecks along her jaw and neck as they enter the cabin, taking extra time to find any moles or beauty marks. She’s about to turn in his arms to face him when they both take notice of Azriel sitting in the living room. Cardboard boxes surround him, and he’s filling them up with books.

Cassian drops Nesta’s heels and tights onto the floor, bringing Az’s attention to him.

“Hey, bro,” Cassian says warily. “What are you doing?”

“Moving out,” Az answers.

Nesta chokes on a laugh. When no one laughs with her, her face drops. “You’re serious?”

Cassian thinks the same thing.

“I’m going back to Velaris,” Az shrugs, dropping some trinkets into a box. “I’m ready to face Elain. I’m taking accountability.” He says it like it’s the simplest decision ever, like he’s talking about bringing an umbrella to a picnic.

“Are you sure about this?” Cassian asks. Just a while ago his brother was terrified at the idea of entering a ten mile radius of Velaris.

“I’m packing, aren’t I?” Az says dryly.

“You’re packing our things,” Cassian points out.

Nesta gasps when she notices. “Hey, those are my books!” She hurries over to snatch one out of Azriel’s hand.

Azriel snatches it back with a dark look. “What goes in the box, stays in the box.”

Cassian sputters in disbelief, looking around at the scene before him. “I mean—can we ask what brought this on?”

“Maybe I did some self-reflection. Or maybe I finally got sick of you and Nesta hooking up while I’m in the same room, like you were about to do now.” Az shrugs, pulling out a roll of packing tape and tearing off a strip with his teeth. “Don’t act like you’re going to miss me,” he continues as he tapes one of the boxes shut. “You two have been waiting for this day for months, and I’m finally granting your wishes.”

Cassian and Nesta share a look, and Cassian says hesitantly, “This isn’t… a breakdown or something, right?”

Azriel narrows his hazel eyes at Cassian.

“Okay, okay.” Cassian holds his hands up in defense. He pulls his hoodie over his head and off in one swift movement and goes over to the couch to help his brother pack. He still doesn’t know what brought on this sudden change of heart, but he knows Az won’t tell unless he wants to.

Nesta remains standing where she is, confounded, before dropping down next to an open box and rifling through it. “I want compensation for anything of mine you’re taking,” she demands, pulling out various paperbacks one by one.

“So like a dime for every three trash porns,” Cassian tells Az.

“I’m upcharging,” Nesta says. Her hand stops rummaging through the box, and she pulls out a framed photo instead of a book. She turns her steely eyes to Azriel. “You can’t have this one.”

It’s a candid picture of Cassian, Nesta, and Azriel on the ski lodge trip. Cassian remembers the moment it was taken with vividness, because it was one of the rare moments on that vacation where all three of them were smiling at the same time.

“Emerie took this,” Nesta continues, “and she’s my friend, so by extent it’s mine.”

Az smiles politely at her. “You’re right, you should keep it,” he says. “You’re too ugly in that photo for me to take it.”

Nesta sneers back, but gets up to reset the photo on the fireplace mantle.

A day or two later, Cassian notices that the ski lodge picture is gone, frame and all. He sighs to himself and hopes Nesta won’t notice.

***

a/n: it’s official less than five parts left!! cassian’s revenge scene is gonna be hotter than every smut scene combined

tagging: @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook a favor: @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99

[jaskiersvalley]

I absolutely love your writing!! It's so very enjoyable and your au's are absolutely delightful. I just thought you should know.

Thank you so much, Nonnie! AUs are something I really enjoy and to hear that others find them fun makes me so very happy. As a little thank you, here’s another AU feat Kaer Morhen Radio and a Jaskier driving an 18 wheeler.

Life was a lonely one on the road. There were many acquaintances and other drivers Jaskier had a passing friendship with, Valdo Marx had the annoying habit of having similar routes to him - they did say mimicry was the highest form of compliment. Alas, nobody was a steady presence in Jaskier’s life. Well, nobody who was aware of him. Though there was the Kaer Morhen Radio family. They were the closest Jaskier had to everyday friends, as sad as that sounded.

“Good morning fuckheads.” Such a declaration could only mean it was 6am and Lambert had taken over. Instinctively, Jaskier was smiling as he sat up with a yawn. Most radio stations liked to gently rouse listeners with swelling music that got more up beat as the day went on. Not Kaer Morhen Radio. They had Lambert as their morning DJ, there to wake sensitive ears in more and more creative ways. He had become known for his unique way to wake listeners up; from bringing in pots to bang to trying to imitate the mating call of a moose at full volume. The only thing listeners loved more than Lambert being a general prick was his flirtation with Aiden who did weather and traffic announcements.

“And, in those four famous words: and now, the weather,” Lambert announced gleefully. After a long moment of silence, he snickered. “We shall have to give Aiden a moment to climb out from under the desk and rinse his mouth. In the mean time, here’s a banger.”

The banger, Jaskier was surprised to find, was quite literally a recording of someone (possibly Lambert) attempting to play drums (badly) on some kitchen pots. By the time the piece reached its rather boisterous end, it seemed that Aiden was no longer preoccupied.

“The weather today-” Jaskier tuned Aiden’s words out in favour of figuring out whether he was messing around or whether he really did sound so husky and gravelly thanks to having his throat fucked. It was quite the conundrum and Jaskier spent the start of his morning drive wondering how many complaints Lambert and Aiden will get now. Their record was 36 for the game of “identify that noise” wherein they stuck their fingers in various containers and made them squelch. To that day, nobody knew whether the last one really was, in Lambert’s words, “Aiden’s well used hole and my come”.

Afternoons were much more peaceful. Eskel took over at 2pm and he was laid back, played soothing music and gave the impression of being a very calm and reliable member of society. Jaskier always maintained it was an impression because, among all the chat, Eskel would sometimes drop a strange little fact that made him do a double take or two.

“This next song,” Eskel had once said, “was written while under the influence of cocaine.” It was a reasonable enough fact to share, Jaskier had been listening while stuck in a traffic jam along a motorway. “How they managed to write it though, I have no idea. Cocaine is terrible for your focus, I could barely scratch an itch before being distracted by something else. So kudos to the writers for creating a whole song while off their face.”

Which was something Jaskier had never thought Eskel would know anything about. He always seemed to demure, the solid rock of Kaer Morhen Radio. He balanced out Yennefer’s news updates perfectly. It was probably why Jaskier liked him so much, now that he thought of it. The surface innocence mixed in with hints of a very colourful life lived beneath the steady exterior. Well, hints other than the incident where Eskel somehow managed to not turn his microphone off and had a conversation about going to a rave with someone who worked at the radio station. Nobody knew the man’s name and his answers were half muffled but listeners swore they heard him suggest something along the lines of a collar and leash - which Eskel had hummed in agreement to, sounding all too happy. When questioned, Eskel resolutely refused to name the mystery man but conceded that there had been a rave. Jury was out whether Eskel had grumbled about being ‘in ecstasy’ or ‘on ecstasy’ for it. And there was definitely a picture of floating around the internet of him in a collar at what definitely looked like an underground rave.

The real reason Jaskier listened to Kaer Morhen Radio was the late night DJ. 10pm on the dot, Eskel would flick the switch and a prerecorded intro played, announcing that it was Late Late Nights with Geralt. Between 10pm and 6am, Geralt manned the station. The only reason Jaskier knew his name was because of the intro. Otherwise the man was silent other than a few hums between songs. Sometimes, presumably when he knocked something over, there would be a growled “fuck” that listeners lived for.

As little as Geralt said, Jaskier was in love. The music was eclectic and death metal could be followed up by electro swing or grime. There was to way to predict just what Geralt would play next, he didn’t take requests, didn’t talk to his listeners. But, somehow, he still drew them in. Jaskier had made the mistake of looking Geralt up online and swooned a little at the few pictures available. It seemed Geralt was an elusive man, somehow managing to turn away from cameras with an uncanny ability. Though a few pictures did exist of Lambert and Eskel on either side of him, quite literally holding him down for a photo.

Truthfully, Geralt was one of the main reasons Jaskier chose to do overnight hauls. Not only did they pay better, he also had Geralt’s nonverbal grunts and hmms to look forward to. He was well aware that it was an infatuation and nothing more. He’d never met Geralt before, Geralt wasn’t even aware of his existence. So, really, Jaskier could daydream all he wanted but had no intention of doing anything more.

Except, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. Geralt had such range in his musical taste, maybe he would like what Jaskier wrote. It was a rare night off and Jaskier was well into the bottle with Valdo when they got talking, egging each other on about who was the better musician. It ended with Jaskier drunkenly posting a CD of his music to Kaer Morhen Radio, addressed for Geralt. When he woke up in the morning, on the floor next to his couch which was occupied by Valdo, Jaskier groaned.

Thankfully, there was never a mention or even a single note of his music in the next week. Slowly, Jaskier relaxed, only a little disappointed that his music hadn’t even been acknowledged by Geralt. He almost had a heart attack when eight days later, Lambert came on air with a mad cackle.

“Morning fuckheads!” Lambert sounded more cheery than ever before. “You’ll never guess what I found. Geralt has been hoarding new music. Good music. Said it was for him. Well, I have decided he cannot hold this back from us. If you’re listening, Jaskier, your note was hilarious. I hope your hangover was worth it. Thanks for the CD!”

There was a growl that sounded like Geralt storming into the booth but the microphone was cut and Jaskier’s song started playing. Jaskier almost crashed his truck in shock. Especially when Lambert declared it so good, they would play it again and, sure enough, the song went back to the beginning to play twice in a row.

If it had just been Lambert, Jaskier would have quietly died of shame, accepting that he was being mocked. But Eskel got in on it too. That afternoon he introduced Jaskier’s song with the promise that management were looking into getting in touch with him about the music. Even worse, a listener even requested the song later that evening. Jaskier was both in heaven and hell at the same time. That night, Geralt didn’t play his song and Jaskier was only a little disappointed.

His phone rang the next day.

“Good afternoon, my name is Vesemir, I’m calling from Kaer Morhen Radio. May I speak to Jaskier?”

Jaskier promptly choked. He got an invitation to the studio. It was a good seven days of driving away and Jaskier searched for a contract that would take him across the continent. While he drove, he got a bit braver and started e-mailing the radio station on his breaks.

His written request for songs were acknowledged by a hum and the song coming on next. When he asked Geralt for a shout out, he got obnoxious pop music playing instead. So Jaskier asked for two hums if Geralt wanted to meet and three if he didn’t. Thus, there was a “fuck” on air and the Beauty and the Beast theme song started playing. It was safe to say Jaskier didn’t understand it but he wasn’t deterred.

By the time Jaskier got into town and made his delivery, it was almost 6am. There was no time he had been specifically invited for and he ended up approaching the building at the same time Lambert showed up with Aiden and three large cups of coffee in hand.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “I’m here to see Vesemir.”

“Bit early for that.”

“He never gave me a time so I figured an early start would be appreciated.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but Jaskier kind of wanted to meet Geralt who would be finishing up soon.

For some bizarre reason, Jaskier was led into the radio studio, no questions asked. Surely it was a security issue but then again, Jaskier checked out Lambert and Aiden, they would no doubt be able to handle any issues. Then there was Geralt, stepping out of the booth, Lambert’s intro queued up. He froze when he spotted Jaskier and, curiously, glanced away, seemingly all shy. The curious response was explained away all too soon. There, on the wall, was Jaskier’s CD and a polaroid of him and Valdo, helpfully labeled “The Talent” with an arrow to Jaskier and “The Fake” pointing at Valdo.

“You here for Vesemir?” Geralt asked eventually, sipping at one of the cups Lambert had brought.

“Amongst other things,” Jaskier replied.

“He won’t be here until 10. Why don’t we go grab breakfast while you wait?”

Aiden wolf whistled at that and Lambert whooped, arms in the air.

“My dear fuckheads,” he purred into the microphone, “we have a date between our local cryptid and our mystery siren. Please wish them luck.”

It turned out that, in person, Geralt was a bit more talkative than on air. And Jaskier helped fill any silence without any problems. He ended up being later than planned to meet Vesemir and Tissaia who had a very handsome cheque for him for playing his music and also his phone number with the promise of passing it on to some connections who had expressed an interest in his music.

Never before had Jaskier thought he would thank Valdo Marx for anything. But, one drinking session with him had landed Jaskier with not only a contract with a record label but also a boyfriend. With his first pay, Jaskier send Valdo the biggest bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

[all-might-can-smash-me]

The Truth

Toshinori Yagi/All Might x Reader

Summary: you and the number one hero hit it off as you begin your new job as a nurse beside Recovery Girl...but the Kamino incident unveils the truth about your boyfriend

Sorry for typos

Masterlist

You could remember how nervous you were as you paced around your apartment. A fingernail was currently being crushed between your teeth, a slight shake throughout your whole body as you waited....and waited.....finally the sound of the mail slot clinking and the mail hitting the floor grabbed your attention, your body soon thrown to the ground, hands attack the envelope that held U.A. high school emblem on it, hands already ripping the paper envelope impatiently. Though as you were trying to unfold the letter within, a disc plopped down onto the ground, a hologram now displayed before you

“Hello! We are pleased to tell you that your request for a position as one of our nurses has been accepted! We look forward to you joining our U.A. family this semester.” Spoke out the calm voice of Principal Nezu, the hologram soon shutting off, leaving you to sit there, shock evident upon your face as you stared off into space, those words bouncing around within your skull until finally you let a happy squeal, hands unfolding the paper within your hands to read the information listed for you. This was really happening, your first job and at your Alma mater too. It was a dream come true as you ran to your fridge, a magnet already holding down the reminders for you on the reflective metal surface. The first day of work however only set your body in a mess of jitters as you looked to yourself in the mirror, adjusting your Hero costume as you looked at your reflection.

Your quirk was a healing quirk, your hands were like a clock, it could speed up the healing process of wounds and injuries, but your quirk only worked on broken bones, cuts, scrapes, and bruises. When it came to diseases and such, it was useless and if the injury you were trying to heal was too bad, sometimes they couldn’t heal all the way or heal at all. Your quirk was still valuable and U.A. was pleased to see you apply for a position, especially Recovery Girl.

With a quick sigh you seemed everything perfect as you grabbed your bag, rushing out of your apartment, door locked behind your with a quick twist of your keys before you rushed to the streets below, taking a bus to U.A. which fun enough, U.A. students were chatting and talking away on the bus around you. Though just as you thought your nerves were cooled off....they were awakened as you stood before the gates of U.A. taking in a nervous gulp before stepping through the huge entrance, making your way up those steps. It felt like you were once again a little fish in a big sea on your first day of high school, but you had to remind yourself that you were now a school nurse. You maneuvered your way through the familiar U.A. campus, finally entering the nurses office where you couldn’t help but let a grin crawl onto your face as your sight landed upon Recovery Girl.

“Look at you!” Came out her voice, you leaning down to except her hug she offered to you. “It seems like yesterday you could only heal a single scratch, but now? Oh how skilled you’ve become! You are going to be a good asset to this school.” She gushed out as she sat down upon a stool, you setting aside your things before sitting down yourself. Recovery Girl to you was like your campus mother, she guided you, instructed you, taught you everything you knew throughout your years at U.A. With her, you wouldn’t be sitting there with your dream job. Though your conversation was interrupted as a door opened.

“Recovery Girl, I have some papers for Midoriya...” All Might had begun to boom out, though his voice trailed off as his eyes landed on you who only stared back with silence. It had totally slipped your mind that the number 1 Hero was also a new member of this years faculty and staff. “Recovery Girl, who is this” he said as he closed the door, hands going to straighten out the penstripe suit he wore, that iconic grin upon his face. You probably would have been excited upon meeting him.....but you weren’t really the kind of ‘SMASH! PUNCH! POW!’ Hero lover, you know? Your idol was Recovery Girl growing up, that’s who you always aspired to be.

“This is my second in command around here.” She said with a little laugh as she glanced to you, giving a loving pat to your leg. “She was a former student here as well, now she’s here to help me heal all these kids that keep breaking their bones....” she said with a raised brow to All Might, but he was alright offering you a bow, you standing up to return it.

“Hello Miss! It is very nice to meet you! I hope to see you around campus this year!” He said with a laugh before turning around, beginning to head back to the door, but froze before rushing back, handing the papers he was originally there to hand over before exiting the nurses office, you now seated back down.

After that, you seemed to run into the number 1 Hero everywhere. In the hallways, the nurses office, the teachers lounge, the cafeteria, training grounds, everything. He would stop to talk to you, tell you corny jokes and try to make small talk, but you were always quick to leave because you were busy, you did however let him sit with you at the teacher’s area in the cafeteria to eat with you, but he was always quick to leave then though. Finally he asked for your phone number, which you gave him because why not? You did enjoy his company and little conversations. Well he always texted you good morning, always checked up on you, and always closed off the day with a goodnight. It was nice to wake up and go to sleep with those little meaningful text messages from him.

But then he asked you out on a date.....which you declined at first. It destroyed him, but you had pointed out that it would probably be hard to even have a normal dinner date because he was...well....All Might. So then he asked you again, but instead of going to a restaurant, he would cook something at his house, which then you accepted. After you accepted, thats when it set in. You, out all people, were going on a date with All Might. THE All Might, it was all exhilarating to think about, especially when after school on a Friday you were getting dressed for your little house dinner date with All Might. You slipped on a simple dress, but the bare minimum of makeup on and placed on a pair of heels before making way to his home, where you now stood at the door, giving a knock, but before you could hit your knuckle upon the door a second time, the door was flung open, revealing the massive hero before you. The date went well actually, his jokes making you laugh, stories told and shared, memories of high school.

The relationship continued on the down low, he would come to your house or you would go to his....but there was one issue. He never stayed for long. Heck! It had been months and he still hadn’t even hinted at wanting to stay the night....he always left quickly after a few hours. You didn’t mind though....it’s just....sometimes you just wanted him to lift you up and sweep you away to your room, the door to be closed shut to the outside world.

Then the Kamino incident happened. You were recruited along with Recovery Girl to be on the sidelines if one of the heroes got seriously injured and needed someone to patch them up quickly. You could vividly remember clutching onto Recovery Girl’s hand, another holding onto a handkerchief she had handed you to wipe away your worried tears as you watched All Might begin his fight with All for One, her hand comfortingly rubbing your lower back as she watched on with you, the media and civilians all in shock and screaming as the number one hero stepped in. Though suddenly....a man took All Might’s place. Tall and lanky, those eyes sucken in, the hero costume now huge and hanging off of his body. He continued on though, finally defeating his nemesis, the media pushing past you and Recovery Girl to get their shots, civilians cheering on All Might befor ehim, despite lacking his iconic appearance. You didn’t even get a chance to even get a better look of him before he was rushed off to the hospital, you and Recovery Girl being beckoned into a car to be brought there too to begin healing the injuries of the heroes that fought.

You found yourself nervously standing before All Might’s hospital room door, hand shakily and hesitantly reaching for the door handle, but it was already being tugged open, an old man standing before you who had bandages wrapped around his head, you knew though that it was Gran Torino that stood before you.

“Oh uh.....you must be the girlfriend.” He said as he sucked in a breath through his teeth, casting a glance over his shoulder before looking back up to you. “Go easy on him alright? Or at least heal him first? Or I can give him an ass whooping for lying to you if you want, it’s Ok to tell me sweetheart.” He spoke out, you only giving a shy smile before nodding your head.

“No, that won’t be necessary, but I will admit that there is a lot we are going to have to....discuss...” you spoke out quietly as you stepped out of his way, he only giving a shake of his head as he stepped past you.

“Here’s my card, in case you change your mind.” He spoke before reaching a hand up to hand you the piece of card stock, which you only gave a soft laugh before grabbing it, shoving it into the pocket of your hero costume before finally stepping in, door being softly shut behind you. You couldn’t find the strength to look at him before grabbing the chart that was placed at the end of the hospital bed, fingers flipping through it and scanning over the information before placing it back.

“I....I’m sorry...” soon whispered out the voice of the man who sat on the bed, you finally looking up to him, tears already pricking at your eyes as tugged a chair of to the side of his bed, hands already hovering over a small area of his body, beginning to activate your quirk on the little injuries on his body. “I was afraid to tell you....I was afraid that you wouldn’t think of me the same, you know? To know that the symbol of peace is just some...guy” he said with a sigh as he finally looked up and to your face, though your face only scrunched you, twitching as you tried to hold back the tears that wanted to flow. You wanted to say something, anything, but the strength wasn’t there as you finally lifted your eyes to look into his. A pained look stretched upon his face upon seeing those tears well up in your eyes.

“So months of dating and me sharing everything about myself and pouring my heart and soul to you wasn’t enough to trust me?” You whispered out, a single blink finally letting those tears roll down your face as you brought your hands up to your face to wipe away your tears quickly. “And just some guy....you should really listen to yourself..” you said with a little shake of your head as you bit your lip. “To me your everything and I watched you fight in a situation where you could have died...you could have died without me even knowing the real you.” You pointed out, which he only guiltily looked away, a sigh escaping his mouth. Though you only took in a deep breath before getting up “Your right arm will need more time to heal on its own, but I managed to heal your other arm.” You whispered out, already turning to step out.

“My name is Toshinori Yagi.” Soon piped up his voice, hating the fact he couldn’t just reach out and grab you and pull you back. “I was originally quirkless but I received my quirk One for All” he continued on, you slowly turning around to look at him. “I always cooked those soups because well...my stomach is fucked.” He continued on, you now facing him with your arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “And I love you to the moon and back....I was such a dork in my puffed form trying to get you to like me and get your number....” he said as he let his face cringe at the memories. “I wanted to tell you but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He whispered out as he look to the bandages around his arms, though you stepped to the side of his bed, sitting back down again. You hesitantly reached a hand to caress the side of his gaunt face, Toshinori letting a sigh as he leaned into your touch that he was all too familiar with....but it felt like for the first time he was actually feeling it. “I could never really....do much because I had a time limit on using my form...” he continued on as those blue eyes stared into yours, that guilty look still upon his facial features.

“Toshinori....it may sadden me that you felt like you couldn’t open up about this side of you to me, but know this...I am so relieved that you still here in front of me.” You whispered out as a few more tears rolled down your face as you leaned forward, a gentle kiss being pressed to his cheek. “Now get some rest...Toshinori Yagi...” you said, smiling at his real name rolling off your tongue for the first time “I’ll be right here if you need anything.....” and with that you leaned back into your chair, a soft smile now upon your face as you wiped away the stragglers of tears upon your face.

[dailyaudiobible]

08/31/2021 DAB Transcript

Job 37:1-39:30, 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:10, Psalm 44:9-26, Proverbs 22:13

Today is the 31st day of August, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible, I’m Brian, it is great to be here with you today, today and every day. But today cause that’s the day we’re in for starters, we can’t be in another day, currently. I suppose we could be listening to a different day but it wouldn’t be today and today is today and today is the 31st of August. And I hope I'm ready for all of this, this month ending and getting ready for a new month. I was shocked at how quickly August flew by but here we are, last day of August and we will be continuing our journey through the book of Job, we will be concluding the book of Job tomorrow as we begin a new month and so were getting down to it now. So, we are, just by way of reminder, in the middle of Elihu's discourse. So, we've listened to Job converse with three of his friends, friends throughout this book. And then Elihu, he steps forward and starts talking and essentially says I'm younger and so I was letting the wisdom speak first but there’s not a lot of wisdom here and I have plenty to say and so it's my turn and that's what we’re listening to his Elihu offering just Job straight in his reasoning. And so, let's get to it, we’re reading from the New International Version, Job 37, 38 and 39 today.

Commentary:

Okay, so we, we have to talk about Job today because Job got what he wanted. He wanted, he wanted to find God and he did and God has shown up. So, let’s just look back because tomorrow we will be finishing the book of Job, God will continue his discussion tomorrow as we reach our conclusion of this book, but, we remember when we began Job right at the very beginning, Job had a day like no other in which he lost everything, he lost his children to death, his livestock, his shepherds were attacked and killed in pillaged, the livestock was taken, generally everything that Job cared about was taken from him in a day and we watched Job as he's getting the news and when the news is fully delivered, he stands up and tears his robe as an active, deep sorrow and pain-and-suffering, and he falls down and worships God. It's a riveting scene. He has this posture of the Lord gave me everything I have. The Lord has taken it away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. It's riveting. Job reaches a place where even his own life is like curse God and die. So, that's how bad things have gotten for Job and yet Job doesn't understand why. He doesn't believe he's done anything wrong and he does believe that the tragedy the things that have come upon him are at the hand of the Lord. Just thinking, I mean the bitterness that's available in that when everything is destroyed and you don't know why but instead of cursing God and dying right, instead of going into that bitterness Job uses his energy to hold onto his innocence, to hold onto his integrity, and so he will not speak ill of God in any way, will not sin in any way. He believes he is righteous and innocent before God and all of this and what is happening to him is not just or at least in any kind of way that he can understand it to be just. So, it's not too long before some of his friends show up, three of them. They see him from afar and they see just how wasted away he is and they arrive and they sit down with him and they sit with him in silence for a week. This is called Shiva, sitting Shiva, this is sitting with someone in their grief, not there to fix it, not there to give them promised scriptures over and over, just to offer presence, to acknowledge the pain, to be there and it, to simply offer our presence, not our words, and that's what they're doing. They sit with them for a week until he starts talking, that’s what they’re waiting for. And, he starts talking and he discusses how he wishes he had never been born, how on the night he was conceived that that would've been just blacked out. How he would've just died when he was born, how he would not how to face this. And, then he begins to talk about his innocence and he begins to talk about finding God. And, his friends all respond. And, we read through all of that, they all respond. It's all rational, it all makes sense. It's all in defense of God because Job is essentially saying what God is doing to me isn’t just, I don't understand it. I haven't done anything wrong. They spend the bulk of the book trying to convince him that that's not possible, that he has indeed somewhere somehow done something wrong and they eventually begin to go after him because of the things that he is saying, as if his pride is the issue. Actually, Job's friends sound a whole lot like the kind of things that we say to people when we find them in suffering and it ends up to be a full-blown argument because Job gets mad that they keep trying to insinuate that somehow, he isn't innocent and then they get mad because he's insinuating that he is sinless and righteous and what is happening to him, this judgment that’s happening to him, is unjust. That's not a grid that they can fit the equation into which is the point. When bad things happen to good people, it's hard to find the answers. And, this book wrestles with that fact and in part it does a good job of showing us that we, with all of the wisdom that we have in all of our understanding of God, that we might think that we have and all of the things that we say to people, we really don't fully understand what we’re talking about when we’re talking about the most high God. In fact, it's not that we don't kind of don’t fully understand, it’s that we barely have scratched the surface. We are talking about the most high God, Creator of all things far and away beyond our capacity in every respect. So, in the end, what Job wants is God. What he wants is an audience with God. He's prepared his case. He believes that if God gave him answers, he would then have the answers that he's looking for. He doesn't want answers from his friends. He doesn't want human answers. He feels like everything that his friends are telling him he already knows, he’s already analyzed all that, they're not wiser than he is. They can only offer human wisdom, and he needs God. And then the last person Elihu, the younger one steps forward with his opinions which he offers and we've listened to those opinions over the last couple of days and then God shows up today, “Brace yourself like a man. I have some questions of my own. You’ve been asking a lot of questions. I have some questions and you're going to answer them.” I mean come on, that would scare me to death. Even reading it, it's like can you, I mean on the one hand, God, like how do you get your mind around that God has shown up in some sort of tangible, understandable way and is speaking overwhelming, but what He is speaking is very directly aimed at the fact that for all Job's questions, God is about to reveal that Job nor his friends know pretty much anything about anything. And then God begins to ask these giant, God sized questions, which is what will what we been reading today. And will continue until tomorrow. Let's remember that Job had a case prepared, he knew what he was going to say to God, he just didn't know where to find God but he knew what he would say. And then God comes to Job. So, finally Job's gonna get to say what he needed to say and we’ll listen to what that is, as we conclude the book of Job tomorrow.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word every bit of it, all of the stories, all of the people, all of the time the passes, all of the different changes in the world that we can see, as customs and clothing change but people don't. So, as we move toward the conclusion of Job, we invite Your Holy Spirit fully and all of our questions and may we watch Job tomorrow and learn quite a bit. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian, I love you and I'll be waiting for you here, tomorrow.

Prayer and Encouragements:

Hello dear saints, my name is Mercy. I’ve been listening to DAB for many years. I’m calling for prayer. I have nine children, they’re all grown, 22 grandchildren so far. What I’m calling for prayer for is that we had a crushing blow that rocked our family. I would mostly probably actually describe it as more like a train wreck. My husband of 43 years, who everyone thought was a model Christian became evident that he was a pedophile. He took advantage of some of our little ones which cause severe damage and shattered the face of some. Please pray, he’s in prison now. But please pray for the healing of hearts and souls in my children and my grandchildren. I’m doing well, I’m surrounded by a network of Godly friends and family who carry me but please pray for my children. When you pray, pray for Mercy’s Children. Thanks, DABers, love you.

Hey guys it’s Sparky from Texas. I’m gonna try and get through this these are happy tears. I was listening to Dr. John and Jen's call here on the 26th and it just broke me down in tears hearing the praise reports. I know, I know not everything gets fixed and God doesn't fix everything but it just, it’s mind blowing to me how God is still healing and still moving lives and I just, I’d like to pray a minute. Father we thank You for your grace and we thank You that You that you're not gone, Your not dead Father. You’re reaching into these people's lives, You’re reaching in my family's life. And, Father, You're so real and when I hear these praise reports Father, it’s just, it’s so much to take on just the joy and the grace and Your love. Father, be with those that you don't decide to heal and let them know that that's Your plan Father. Lord, I just thank you so much for Your grace. I thank you for everybody on this. Father, we just appreciate You, we love You and just stay with us, help those who need, help us to show those who need your faith. Father, we thank You so much for Your son, Christ, it’s in that son’s name we pray. Amen. Love you guys, I pray for everyone of you. Praise God for praise reports. Have a great day.

Hello, my Daily Audio Bible brothers and sisters, my DAB family. This is Yolanda. After listening virtually every day, sometimes twice a day and lifting up my DABers prayers since 2012 I am moved to call in for the first time. Today I come to you on behalf of my dear, dear friend Birdie. Birdie is a mother of a sweet toddler. She is 37 weeks pregnant and is quite suddenly suffering from COVID pneumonia with fluid around her heart. Her mother and husband are frantic with worry, and caring for their toddler, well, unable to be with her in hospital while she faces labor and delivery, possibly a C-section without them. DABers, please join me as I fervently left Birdie and her sweet baby up in my prayers asking for complete healing for her and a healthy vaginal delivery for her sweet baby. Lord, please give Birdie peace during this time of intense trial, intense pain and sickness. Lord, please give the doctors and nurses, the knowledge and medicine to bring her to full recovery. In Jesus holy and precious name, I pray. Amen.

Hi DAB family this is God’s Life Speaker. While I was praying with my husband this morning as were struggling with our 21-year-old and he, he is depressed. However, he is seeking help for praise God for that. It dawned on us that there’s been some judgment that we've put on, on him, that is not fair. That's the judgment that we use against him, that will be used on us so, this morning we repented. As parents and children of God, and you know, it's the self-evaluation; we want things and people in our lives to look better, look right, fix themselves, yet, are we examining ourselves? Are we walking in a manner worthy of our calling? Are we imitators of Christ? Are we the peacemakers? Because God sees and God hears, He knows our thoughts, He knows what’s going on. He knows our heart aches too and I feel, as someone who likes to speak God's word out into the atmosphere and change it and bring glory to God, I can get pretty low about what I’m seeing in my kids. And it hurts because we want them to be glorifying God and working towards that perfection that He calls us to. Yet, they are in training, even if they’re 21, they’re still in training and we are the ones that need to set that example so we needed to do some repenting this morning, some encouraging each other and spiritual gifts right. So, I asked that we would do that all. I’m praying for each one of your children and grandchildren and us ourselves in the name of Jesus, Amen.

Hey, everyone I just thought I would ring in and update you on how I'm going. It's Margo here, missionary in Liberia. I have made it back to Australia for, we’re back here for a few weeks for my son’s wedding which is amazing because Australia has some very strict rules around travel. And so, getting back into the country actually was quite a miracle and in fact, even leaving the country again is a miracle and we already have our permit to leave in a few weeks’ time to go back. So, I thank the Lord for His help and His hand has been upon us. And I want to thank everyone for their prayers. I rung in a few weeks or maybe a couple of months ago and I was in a really bad way. And, I have noticed that I’ve really picked up. And I have really felt His comfort and His peace much more in my life. All the things that are out of my control, I’ve been much more able to leave them in His hands. And I’m so, so grateful for His comfort. I’m so grateful for your prayers. It’s…I should have rung in sooner. So, we’re in Australia for a few weeks and then heading back and you know, continue to pray for us. It’s not an easy calling we have, mind you, no one has an easy calling. So, I’m just grateful for this community, grateful for the prayers that we pray all for each other. And, God bless you all. Love you. Bye.

[whiskeyworen]

Aspect IV: Of Inspiration and Communication

Inside Vigil Keep, weeks before “Bound By Blood”

"Soldier Sonnya Danae; Package for you." The delivery person looked at his clipboard tiredly, before turning it around with a quill in hand for her. "Sign here please."

"I wasn't expecting any packages." Sonnya pointed out, scrawling her name in Asuran swirls on the line. It didn't matter that the form was written in Krytan; names are names. Besides, she'd seen people just scribble nonsense on the line before.

The delivery person shrugged slowly, and handed her a brown paper wrapped parcel. "I just deliver'm, miss."

As he turned to walk away, Sonnya retreated to her quarters, closing the door and locking it. She barely realized she'd done it; her attention was entirely on the mysterious package in her hand.

She sat down at her desk, placing the package on the table top, just...staring at it. Who could have sent it? There was an address on it from somewhere in Lion's Arch, but that might not mean anything; as long as you put an address from Lion's Arch, no one would bother looking it up. It might not even exist.

"Well, time to find out what's in this thing." Sonnya declared, and ripped the package open. Her eyebrow rose slightly as she pulled out the small, hand-sized comm device. It kind of looked like the standard Pact communicator that unit leaders and commanders had, but it was almost half the size.

The structure and layout were different as well. Instead of an On and Off button being the only keys, there was an entire set of number keys, some symbols she didn't recognize, and a few adjustment dials. Embedded into the top left corner appearred to be a micro-golemite eye. "....the hell?... why would a communicator need to see? Is it a golem or something?" She mumbled quietly, turning the device over in her hands. Satisfied there were no other secrets to it, she flicked the 'On' switch. She expected to hear one or another commander somewhere, talking to their companions; Pact comms were always open to anyone who had a comm, so the idea of private conversations was kind of an illusion.

Instead, there was silence. After a few seconds, the micro-golemite eye raised from its alcove, did a quick scan of everything in front of it (including Sonnya) and settled back into its groove. While the eye turned off, apparently the device finally activated. "Hello? Is this one Sonnya Danae I am speaking to?"

Sonnya waited for the no-doubt dozens of confused responses from others in the commnet, before realizing none were coming. So she hesitantly replied. "Uh, yes. This is Sonnya here. I received this comm unit in the mail?"

"Yes! Then it worked as I had planned! I am very pleased to make your acquaintance!" The voice on the comm was quite enthusiastic, but crystal clear. "I was unsure how to properly reach you, and this seemed most appropriate. I regret we cannot meet in person, but I am...on task in Elona at the moment."

Sonnya gave the comm an odd look. "Oh...kay?... Sorry, but I'm honestly surprised no one else has broken in to ask how I'm comming, or who you are? There's no way everyone turned their comms off."

"Oh, this comm is on a secure channel." The voice replied brightly. "Sadly, Pact comms are pretty basic. They are designed to be used as a single network, with everyone connected. I do not believe any research was ever done into solitary, private commlinks. At least, not until my Father suggested it and the rest of the crew figured it out. I helped of course."

"I'm...sorry, but I'm still really confused." She scratched her ear, placing the comm down on the table top. "So the comm is on its own, private line or something? The only people who can talk and hear are you and me?"

"Unless we cut someone into the signal, or they cut themselves in somehow, yes." There was a thoughtful pause in the line. "Of course, they would have to decrypt about a hundred and forty-four thousand lines of code to even FIND the signal. There's a lot of radio, ley, and Mist spectrum to work with. If we cut them in manually though, it would be a simple matter of dialing their number, provided we knew it, into the comm and then pressing the little button that looks like three dots connected by lines."

"I saw that, but didn't know what it was." Sonnya admitted, before shaking her head. "Wait wait. Okay. Hang on... WHY are we even talking? Why did you send a comm to me?"

"Oh! Right! I was so pleased with having made contact, that I placed the reason for it in the back of my memory!" Sonnya was pretty sure that the person on the other side of the comm was clapping their hands, though she couldn't hear the sound. "I wished to speak to you about the construction of your wonderful powered-armor suit, and your integration of technical devices into your biological structure!"

Her jaw dropped. No one knew, apart from the Warmaster, knew anything about her implants, or her suit. No one...except maybe Tenna. If Tenna even knew. "How... I mean, what makes you think I have anything like that? I don't know what you're talking about."

The person on the other end laughed pleasantly. "Oh please. There were recordings from all angles in the battle against that Shatterer. The Charr Legions were recording because they wanted to see the result of their new weapons. The Priory was recording for archives' sake, and the Order of Whispers and the Vigil were recording for references for future battles! Your little stunt might not be explainable to them, but I assure you, I understand exactly what was going on."

"You...have me at a disadvantage then." Sonnya frowned, crossing her arms. "My...implants won't work with anyone else. I only ever designed them to work with me."

"Oh do not worry about that. I am not interested in that. Not really." There was a smile in the voice. "I am planning something that requires... let us call it a very fine integration of biological and mechanical components. I wished to pick your brain, as it were, for ideas on how to smooth out some of the issues I have encountered in my simulations. Basically, I want you to double-check my ideas, and make sure I have not done something foolish or impossible."

"So, you don't want to steal my tech or anything like that? You just want to ask questions on how to improve your own? Your own tech that is similar to mine, but less refined?"

"Precisely."

"...Well, what did you have in mind then?"

***

Several hours later

"... so the circuitry integrates with the implants directly via surface-to-surface interface." Sonnya explained. "I can't give you the specifications of the implants themselves, but based on the ideas you've thrown at me, this should allow for a faster information rate and a tighter connection."

"I see! Thank you for the insight." The voice on the comm acknowledged. "I believe you're right. While I have no intention of using your implants, or trying to extrapolate them based on available information, I do believe I can manage to decrease reaction times by half at least, and muscle-load by a factor of five! I am sure if I work at it a little more, I can coax even more out. My investigation into magitech-neuromuscular modification is still rudimentary, but I'll soon have a few prototypes to test out."

"Glad to be of service." Sonnya smiled. She took a sip of beer from the bottle she'd gotten from her personal cooler. "Do you have any ideas on what you'll do with it all? I mean, you weren't looking to make a suit at all it seems. Or rather, the powered armor suit is almost a secondary item to whatever you're making."

"Publically, when it all is arranged, I will be setting up the sale of fully-working, personally customized prosethetics. The market will be for those individuals who, through birth or injury, are suffering from lack of limbs. I understand there's a similar market in Rata Sum, but it is small because everything is based off Golem-limb construction. Which, if you ask me, Golems are remarkably...brutish."

Sonnya shrugged. "True. But the refinements in magic circuits and power systems is making them more powerful and intelligent by the day. Shape doesn't really mean much, does it? Just look at that golem that kid in Dragon's Watch had. What was her name again?..."

"Taimi." The voice supplied reluctantly. "And yes, her Scruffy models are aesthetically pleasing, and very unique with their ability to be a conveyence AND a powered mecha suit, as well as a fully functioning autonomous golem...but they are still not the angle I am going for."

That brought a frown to the guardian's face. "I still don't know what you mean. The only other examples of golem-type things I know of are like, the Exalted, which AREN'T golems but kinda look like them, the Jade Constructs which are closer to Elementals in nature... and the Watchwork nightmares."

"Oh yes... the Watchworks. I know them well." The comm replied quietly and cryptically. "Very interesting designs, those."

"Scarlet was a maniac." Sonnya said flatly, frowning before draining her beer. "Her Watchwork creations made Steam creatures look tame by comparison. And we still have to wipe out infestations of THOSE in Lornar's Pass every year! They just keep making more of themselves!"

There was a pause, a silence over the comm. Then, "...Perhaps I should investigate how they replicate? If I can figure it out, it might come in handy for self-repairing prosthetics."

"Be my guest. Just don't come crying to me when a Steam Brain zaps you with lightning for coming too close." She laughed. She could still remember seeing Priory researchers bounding across the ice, backsides singed while an angry Steam Brain chased them, lightning arcing from its central eye, while the entire time it swore at them in machine-language. She assumed it was swearing of course. Wouldn't you, if some know-it-alls tried to shove a stick in your ear? Or whatever a Steam Brain has?

"Duly noted. Thank you again, Miss Sonnya."

"Well, it was my pleasure. It's not often I can talk shop with anyone." Sadly truer than Sonnya would like to admit; most soldiers in the Vigil were more concerned with using things rather than making things.

"....In that case, allow me to make you an offer." There was a nervous note in the voice's tone. Sonnya had the impression that, had someone been present, they would have been talking behind a cupped hand, afraid someone would hear. "In a week's time, my ship will dock in Lion's Arch at airdock 42 in the Aerodrome. If you show up, say, around noon, I will let you see the secret project I have been working on. The one that your information has come in quite handy in its completion."

A clandestine meeting at a secured, out-of-the-way airdock? Sonnya had flown on ships from the Aerodrome before, and remembered how it was laid out; Dock 42 was the furthest out, on the backside of the Aerodrome, facing Bloodtide Coast. It was so far out that merchants refused to park ships there because it would take so long and was so complicated to get things on board. Why would anyone willingly park there? "Uh, sure... A week from now, noon, Lion's Arch, Dock 42. Sure thing."

"Excellent. Perhaps when you see it, you will be able to offer a more hands-on, practical examination. You might see some things that need improvement from the prototype to a production model."

"Alright. Sounds fine to me!"

"Good, good. I must go now. Needs of the ship are building up on my task-list. I need to focus on that for a while."

Sonnya picked up the comm, surprised and a little worried. "Wait, before you sign-off or whatever... When I get to your ship, which ship am I actually looking for? And who should I tell them invited me?"

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, a smiling, almost devious tone to it. "... The ship is called the Forsaken Aspect. You just need to ask to see Alice."

A chuckle rolled from the comm. "I assure you, the person you meet at the dock will know exactly who you need to see, and why. Just trust me."

"Okay... Well, I will see you then... Alice?"

"See you then, Sonnya."

[hillywooddestiel]

The Retreat- Chapter 14

Characters: CEO!Bucky x reader

Warnings: angst, stalker issues, some almost smut

Word count: 1.7k

Series description: Y/N Y/L/N: determined business woman, sought after by most businesses, creative visionary for advertising. She has it all. Or so she thinks. Life has a way of kicking you sideways when you least expect it, want it or are in anyway prepared for it. Numerous times. How can Y/N remain from cracking under the pressure when her career isn’t the only thing on the line and everything isn’t all that it seems?

A/N: Hey! It’s me, I’m back! Sort of. Long time no see. Uni is taking up so much of my time but I will be on here for summer at least. I’ve actually finished this series, i just need to post it so that’s a steady upload you can expect. I’m trying to write chapters for my other series and stuff but I am struggling a little right now. Maybe I’ll do some drabble asks or something to ease back into things. So yeah, the hiatus is semi-over and I am trying. Enjoy xx Series Masterlist    Marvel Masterlist

Story:

“Look alive! Barnes is on his way.” Maria warns me as she passes my office door though it's no warning to me. After an entire weekend spent alone in my apartment, aside from going to get a new phone and the two minutes the pizza delivery girl spent at my door, I'm feeling a little better. Not great but, I'm crying less so that's a plus, right? Nothing else happened over the weekend. No calls, no mail, no threatening sky writing- nothing! Maybe the phone call was a fluke and I overreacted. A girl can dream.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Barnes stands just inside my door, looking at me expectantly. I get up from my chair and move towards the door to close it.

“Of course.” The second the handle clicks shut, his whole demeanour changes to that of someone more relaxed and happy.

“I've been calling you all weekend! Why didn't you answer?” He holds my arms gently and looks into my eyes.

“I'm sorry, I broke my phone and had to get a new one.”

“Oh… well I'm glad you're okay.” He lowers his head and connects out lips in a sweet kiss, “Are you feeling better?”

“Mhm. In fact, I was thinking we could have dinner again. Tonight.” I suggest, finding myself lost in him.

“Sounds good.” Bucky kisses me again, his hands beginning to explore my waist and my back. He swipes his tongue across my lower lip before making the kiss deeper, casting his spell over me once again. It's a good thing that he's the one to pull back for air because I don't think that's something I could do. “I know a really good steakhouse. They have live music and I know the owner.”

“Actually… can we have dinner at your place? I just… I don't want people thinking anything weird is going on.”

“So, we're going to sneak around?” Bucky asks a little confused with a hint of sarcasm.

“Not sneaking around, keeping things private. Plus there are other perks to being in your apartment…” I add with a sultry voice, pressing myself closer to his chest.

“Oh there are? What kind of perks?” He teases, his fingers fiddling with the hem of my blouse.

“Well there's one that springs to mind…” I pull him into a kiss by the lapels, the intensity growing rapidly. Just as I'm getting into the groove, my intercom beeps from my desk.

“Y/N, Sam's here to see you.” Wanda says plainly, obviously having been warned of my visitor (normally she would be a lot more chirpy or come into my office to tell me in person). Bucky and I break apart with a sigh, straightening our appearances.

“So my place after work. I'll pick you up from your office.”

“Okay, I'll see you later.”

As promised, Bucky picks me up from my floor after everyone else has left and we take a cab to his apartment. The view is just as beautiful as the last time I was here and is greatly improved by homemade meatballs and wine. I make sure to sit far back from the windows this time though.

“So what did you do?”

“I got the hell out of there! Apparently it was some huge dream of this frat kid to have one and the only way two girls would come to his place was if he told them he needed tutoring.”

“What did he think was gonna happen?”

“I don't even know. So what's your craziest college experience.” I ask, thoroughly intrigued by what the great Bucky Barnes got up to in college when he wasn't doing business.

“Well there was this one girl that asked me for tutoring but I think it too was just a long plan to get in my pants.” he snarks.

“Busted!” I hold up my hands, avoiding spilling any wine, and laugh.

“In all seriousness though, I didn't really do much crazy shit in college.”

“Nerd! I bet if I asked Steve he'd be able to tell me all kinds of stories.”

“You wouldn't dare.” his smile drops immediately.

“Aha! So there is something, do tell.” I sit back in my seat- this should be good.

“Fine… in my freshman year, I applied to join a frat house. As a part of the initiation we were taken to the woods and left to survive the night with nothing.”

“That's it?” That's disappointing, I wanted something juicy.

“No, we were literally left with nothing. At all.” He cocks a brow and the penny finally drops.

“Oh! You mean…”

“Mhm. I got a rash from poison ivy in places it should not be possible to get a rash.” Bucky readjusts himself in his seat at the mere memory.

Dinner finished with and the plates long since discarded in the sink, Bucky pulls me into his lap with a mischievous grin. The heat from his body and his close proximity sends a tingle throughout my body.

“I believe we were in the middle of something earlier…”

“In the office? That was a while ago, you'll have to remind me…” I play dumb for a moment, leaning in to kiss Bucky's lips. His hands run along my thighs, lifting my legs around him so as to easily lift and carry me to the bedroom. I fiddle with the top three buttons on his shirt as we go.

“Y/N/N…” Bucky moans as I kiss his neck, pulling at his shirt now to the point that the stitches start to pull. He drops me the rest of the way onto the bed and I bounce on the mattress with a look of shock (well wouldn't you be?). To my surprise and slight dismay, he grabs the sides of his half open shirt and rips it off sending the buttons flying across the floor with a clatter- it was such a nice shirt. Then again, it's probably just water off a duck's back for him to buy a new one.

Clothes are discarded slowly as we move against each other for friction, intent on making slow, lazy love to each other. Bucky leaves kisses down my exposed collarbone, his stubble marking me with scratches. I tilt my head ever so slightly to the side allowing him more access to the sensitive skin. It's just as Bucky finally manages to unclasp my bra that I hear the distinct jingle of keys and the door open and close.

“Bucky, you in?”

“Is that Steve?” I whisper, my hands tightening around his biceps. He looks to me with a slight look of fear, lifting a finger to his lips.

“Buck? You okay?” Steve asks again.

“Just a minute Steve!”

“What are you doing?!” I hiss, hurriedly redressing myself in whatever I can find which happens to be my pencil skirt, one of Bucky's t-shirts, a navy blazer and no shoes.

“I'll distract Steve, you go out the front.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely. Do you want him to see you?” I shake my head as Bucky ushers me towards the door, “Didn't think so.”

“Fine… Wait what about my shoes?” I look down, wiggling my bare toes.

“I'll call you a cab, just wait in the lobby.” He places a kiss on my lips before pushing me out of the bedroom and behind the island in the kitchen just in time.

“Bucky… what are you doing?” Steve queries, referring to his lack of a shirt and trousers. Rather awkwardly, Bucky leans onto the island with his elbow in an attempt to look casual.

“I'm… just… I'm cleaning.” He grabs the nearest item and starts wiping the surface in circular motions- my blouse!

“That's a shirt.”

“Yep… it is.”

“Is there someone else here?”

“Nope no nobody no.”

“Right… I need to talk to you anyway.” Okay I really should go while he's distracted. Slowly and, most importantly, quietly, I slide along the floor towards the front door and wait until Steve's back is turned to slip out. Shit, my bag! I can't go back in. Fuck, I'm gonna have to leave it and come back. I hope he's called a cab.

Barnes did call me a cab after all so I wasn't left stranded in the lobby of a fancy apartment block looking like some crazy fashion blogger who was trying a look and failing. So that's a plus, right? Once back at my block, I awkwardly enter past my neighbours, barefoot and hoping not to be seen. The man who lives across the hall from me, Phil, is just coming back from work himself. He smiles at me as normal, turning into more of a stifled chuckle when he looks down to my feet. Note to self: get a pedicure next time you want to travel across the city without shoes. The elevator ride is quiet, save for the usual small talk and the whir of the mechanisms. At the top I let Phil get out first. Thank God I leave a spare key hidden in the plant pot next to my door or I don't know what I would do.

“Um… Y/N?” Phil stops still in the hallway outside my door.

“Yeah?” I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the nervousness of his voice. I nearly scream when I see what's concerning him. The word 'Slut’ is spray painted in bright red capitals across my front door, the paint dripping down the wall like blood. “Oh my god…”

“You been having problems with those kids from 7b again? I can talk to Marjorie again if you are.”

“Uh not recently…” this has to be my stalker again, “Those damn kids.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Can I- can I borrow your phone?” Phil seems to buy it despite my nervous laugh and hands over his cell.

“Sure” I key in Wanda's number from memory, hoping that I'm not disturbing anything.

“... Hello?”

“Hey, Wanda, it's me… Y/N. Are you busy?”

“No, what's up?”

“I… need a place to crash. It's a long story and I'll tell you all of it. Please.”

“Of course! Do you need picking up from somewhere?”

“My place.”

“I'm on my way.”

[wack-ashimself]

Having the two closest friends to me suffer from depression, to the point both of them have said they want to kill themselves or die, is not making me any happier.

I don't care how selfish this sounds but what is the point of being friends with people who are ALWAYS sad? And leech off of your happiness? Because I've had to deal with my own issues all of my life, got through most of them, now I got to help everybody through theirs? Don't get me wrong I'm here to be your friend. I'm here to help. I want to help. But I've been literally friends with both of them and almost the entire time they've been depressed. One of them DECADES. There's nothing I can say or do. And neither will go to therapy which is what they both really need. They just want to hop themselves up on distractions and drugs. I don't blame them. It's more affordable and easier. But it doesn't get the job done. I think the reason I'm ranting right now is because I can't tell them this because it will just make them more depressed* and I have no one to tell... I don't care that I have friends with issues. Everybody has issues. I do care that they define themselves by their issues, bring me down with them, and never try to fix those issues. That's just selfish. It's why one of my friends I told them I am not your entertainment box. I'm not here to make you always happy and satisfied. Not your prostitue. Because if that's the truth and that's what friendships do, you sure as hell are not being my entertainment box. The world sucks, everybody has some level of depression, but it doesn't mean you get to use it as an excuse to be a s***** person all the time. Maybe you're sad cuz you're a s***** person?

* it's so bad that if they ever read this I'm pretty sure one of them would at least contemplate suicide. How do you emotionally and spiritually handle two different friends like that? And one friend is actually pretty cool. She just had a s***** life. Like seriously one of the worst lives you can imagine. The other friend is just undependable and selfish. He's the one who brings me down the most. I mean he said he would mail me something over a year ago and he just got around to finding it. A small item took a year to find. That's how bad he is. Then he'll lie so he won't have to have an uncomfortable conversation. Says he's not the same person he was two decades ago while doing the same things he did two decades ago. Ironically hilarious to me. He's so proud of how much he changed when he's barely scratched the surface. He was a piece of s*** now he's a smaller piece of s***. Still a piece of s***. Let me put it this way. My sister would rather me invite a complete stranger than him to her wedding because he bugs her that much. Originally I actually stuck up for him. Now I understand why she's doing it.

[simomonsiwritings]

POLLUTED SUNSETS | Simone Monsi, interview by Sara Benaglia and Mauro Zanchi

☞ This is the translation of an extended version of the interview Tramonti inquinati by Sara Benaglia and Mauro Zanchi, first published on La Balena Bianca (May 20th, 2019) and included in Metafotografia. Dentro e oltre il medium nell’arte contemporanea, exhibition catalogue, Skinnerboox, Jesi 2019 (Italian only). Courtesy the authors. Translated by Elena D’Angelo and Andrea Williamson. 📲 Read it on Tumblr !

MZ+SB: What do you mean when you use the word “photography” and what, for you, is an image? SM: Wow, this is a question that definitely takes us towards complex scenarios! What I can tell you is that I have always understood and appreciated photography because of its peculiar adherence to “reality”. And similarly, speaking of the term “image”, I cannot easily think of a univocal interpretation, but I am certainly interested in the relationship that images have with “truth”.

MZ+SB: Photography is also limited by its medium, which ties its production to a “classic” rectangular shape. How do you deal with this mandatory two-dimensionality? SM: Honestly, it has been years since I have thought of photography as a rectangular shape… My first visual memories are connected to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon series, which aired on Italia1 (an Italian commercial television channel) at the beginning of the Nineties. Many other such visual memories followed. This is to say how much the two-dimensional approach to images influenced my way of “seeing”. When I think about it, I feel like today I still interpret my everyday reality through a two-dimensional lens. I do not think about two-dimensionality as a limit; it is my horizon, and the horizon is just an apparent limit.

MZ+SB: What do you mean by “relationship with truth”? I mean, in which sense can truth be produced in a “rectangular” way? SM: I often think about a quote that goes: “The image of the event is the event itself.” Think about 9/11 for instance – it seems impossible not to remember the iconic images portraying that day without reading them in the way they have been narrated by the media. And yet those same images can come to document different events if we analyze them through a different narration, or even more so, with no sound. I feel like this is the reason why alternative theories have so many followers. And this relationship is precisely what interests me – the one between images and the narration that is tied to them, and the way in which the same image can be a testimony to different truths, depending on the level of attention we give to them. I feel like we live in a world where the production of images is the basis for creating truth.

MZ+SB: You studied in England, right? What is the relationship between your work and English culture? SM: Correct, I attended the MFA in Fine Art at Goldsmiths after graduating from a BA in History of Art in Italy. During my two years in London, I barely scratched the surface of English culture. If we speak more specifically about my work though, I think that it could be positioned within a certain aesthetic movement of Western contemporary art, in which the author’s view is associated with a fairly synthetic formalization. This political view, despite being sublimated by the aesthetic of the work, still leaves many readable traces of itself. I’m thinking about Jeremy Deller, for example…

MZ+SB: Political views and images that produce reality… why sunsets? SM: My interest in photographs of sunsets took shape during my first year of college in London. It came from an intuition by anthropologist Michael Taussig, who refers to the “magic hour”: that moment during twilight when sunlight is naturally soft and warm; a moment particularly appreciated in photography. For Taussig, “magic hour” is a visual metaphor for humankind’s current moment of passage from an era in which human activities were in balance with the planet’s natural resources, towards the Anthropocene – a new geological era in which anthropogenic processes modify the biosphere to an irreversible point, and in which the very survival of humanity is threatened. However, because of its gravity, Taussig also sees this exceptional moment of “almost no return” as a chance for humanity to redeem itself; and a hoping for decisions that would shift human activities towards a necessary environmental sustainability. This hope would seem well placed, considering the immense popularity of hashtags such as #sunset, #sunsetlove and #sunsetporn on Instagram. As I was beginning to systematically collect images of sunsets, however, I had the feeling that they had become remarkably more “red” over the past few years. And I am not referring to the many Instagram filters that enhance color saturation. I am speaking of the actual sunset – the one we can see with our very own eyes, everyday. So, through a bit of research, it was not hard to figure out that the metal particulates in pollution and fumes from motor vehicles tend to reflect shades that go from pink, to orange, to red, when hit by sunlight. For me, this highlighted the fact that the most intensely colored sunsets – and possibly the most exciting ones – actually reveal a very high level of atmospheric pollution. This is how sunset photographs on social media became a defining element in many of my works. A visually appealing and emotionally engaging element that can be used as an entryway to a deeper debate on the realness of an image – one capable of unveiling the fragile balance between aesthetic beauty and the poisoning of the biosphere.

MZ+SB: There is an interesting story behind your work Can’t Wait For The Weather To Get Warmer (2018). Could you tell us about that? SM: Can’t Wait For The Weather To Get Warmer (2018) consists of six iPhone-sized fine art prints displayed on a steel structure, and is part of the discourse on sunset colors being indicators of atmospheric pollution. Looking through my collection of sunset photos taken from Instagram and Tumblr, I selected images that presented a common pattern in the shapes of clouds. Certain cloud formations are thought to be caused by the interaction of atmospheric water with electromagnetic fields (see clouds that form parallel and evenly spaced stripes…) I used these photographs as backgrounds for Instagram Stories advertising the fictional low-cost airline LF, which invites users to promptly book their flights, in order to increase temperatures as soon as possible! Although the name of the airline is fictional, the quotes are from a recent marketing campaign of an actual low-cost airline. This obviously caught my attention, considering that the metal particulate from fuels (not only from cars, but also airplanes) is known to have a strong impact on the greenhouse effect and therefore on global warming. So, was it a naïve marketing campaign or a reckless one? What we do know for sure is that the dispersion of such particulate matter in the atmosphere is not only causing rising temperatures, but also adds to the propagation of electromagnetic waves… and this is just the entrance to the “rabbit hole”.

MZ+SB: Would you consider your photography an “artificial photography” or a “natural photography”? Luigi Ghirri defined the two categories as follows: “The first, ‘artificial photography’, finds its place in a chain-like cultural production, forever repeating itself, trying to avoid stereotypes and is therefore reproduction. The second one enforces a suspension – a stop in the chain of reproduction, which is similar to the different moments of the natural gaze and its interaction with the outside world”. SM: My photography is found and borrowed. It is the photograph of a photograph, which reached me without me wanting it. It is like unwanted mail. I see the homepage of my Instagram profile just like a mailbox filled with unwanted letters. I believe that conceptually my photography was born with the supermarket flyers that are left in mailboxes. I think of it as a “natural photography” of an “artificial photography” raised to the power. 

MZ+SB: Penelope Umbrico’s Suns from Flickr (2006) is a work which seems to resonate with your research. What is the relationship between production and the aesthetic of access? SM: I think Suns from Flickr is a great “appropriation work” where the artist’s action is fulfilled through the gathering and re-presentation of images. However, I have the feeling that on the internet, an eternity has passed since 2006… Today, the standard on our social media dashboards is to be immersed in infinite sequences of images grouped by type. They are the omnipresent background of our personal visual “echo chambers”… In my practice, in fact, I perceive the act of collecting images as a starting point for the creation of a background that later turns into a sort of skin for various “bodies” (two-dimensional and three-dimensional). Or these backgrounds could be experienced through visual filters, like digital interfaces, and associated to written texts. Twelve years ago, Penelope Umbrico was reflecting on the proliferation of online image archives; considering them to be a constantly developing collective action of unprecedented size. I think that today, the next step in analysing this phenomenon, would be to explore the psychological effects of this collective action on prosumers. Is such collective action implying the direct creation of a collective psychological situation? And if so, what rules does it follow? In the specific case of my use of sunset images, my intention is to take part in a collective psychological situation of appreciating twilight from a purely aesthetic point of view, which then becomes an attempt to systematically liberate twilight’s potential to convey issues of atmospheric pollution.

MZ+SB: The studio or art setting can remove everyday, banal materials from a purely domestic context. How do you choose the materials used in your work and why? What is the relationship between your materials and “domestic” consumption? SM: The materials I use in my works are often mass-produced and of common use. However, I do not use only physical materials, but also digital ones, like the Instagram interface, for example. So if we take into consideration this kind of “material” as well, there is no real selection – they naturally enter into my artistic practice thanks to their massive presence in everyday life. I am interested in the content gatherers and interfaces through which we can consult them- visual grids with which we sift through and understand online content. The need for a studio as a neutral environment comes exactly from the necessity to take out of context those elements whose formal characteristics could not be fully appreciate if they remained immersed in the visual chaos of our daily lives. A urinal in a museum becomes a uterus, doesn’t it? In the same way, a smile drawn on a balloon and left on the studio floor becomes a digital avatar filled with frustration and ready to burst. In this way, the relationship of the material (also thought of as an object) to its domestic environment is transformed by the artist’s action, so that the object’s hidden formal and evocative potentials are unveiled.

MZ+SB: What happens to a “warning” when it enters an artwork? I am thinking about the images of pink pollution. What happens in the art context when an image is shown in order to expose a problem or to highlight an emergency? SM: In my case, it doesn’t happen much, if at all. Honestly, I don’t see people worrying that much. Actually, I don’t see them worrying at all. Don’t get me wrong though – I don’t feel like our tendency to alienate ourselves from our problems, shun responsibilities, and make blind decisions, is related to a lack of compassion. Instead, I think alienation overpowers compassion because, even though everyone is tragically worried about the fate of humankind (both in spiritual and material terms), we are paralyzed by feelings of impotence and the apparent lack of possible alternatives. Obviously, I hope to plant a small seed of doubt within every person that comes into contact with my work; encouraging them to question why certain topics are taboo within general debate. I hope that one day, all those “seeds” will come together and move towards a common critical awareness. However, I often feel that most of the public isn’t even familiar with the grammar or language they would need to understand such a critique. The exchange of information is very slow, and most of the time is spent introducing basic concepts of a discourse that has potential to unfold in more complex ways. Despite finding it ever more difficult to trust my contemporary peers- something that causes me such intense pain that I have no words to describe it – I take comfort in the idea that within two generations, someone who may be wondering why the world evolved in the way it did, will be able to find documentation of my thoughts through my works. Finally seen in perspective, the works will be fully decoded. This way one day, when new gas and oil deposits are made accessible by melting that annoying layer of ice covering the poles, and when telepathy via Elon Musk’s Neuralink is fully implemented, someone will come across a testimony that helps them to reflect on these changes and their technological foundations. They will see that these foundations were put in place during an era of mass distraction and spiritual annihilation. It is a testimony to the idea that innovation (not only technological) is not a neutral force, but follows certain directions and objectives defined by superior and convergent interests.

MZ+SB: We are interested in investigating the relationship between the photographic medium and the artist’s creation of intimate space. In some way, could this relationship be understood as having a sculptural dimension, or a further space for consciousness? For you, is photography a sculpture (metaphysical and ultradimensional)? SM: Yes, your definition sounds appropriate to me: photography is a “sculptural dimension of consciousness”. A quick reflection gives me the feeling that my photographic images come from an intimate place that I would call “generative visual consciousness”. This is like a sort of process that draws images from the archive of my visual memory, and then filters and re-models their content into new images. However, your question also reminds me of another thought that I have been cultivating for a while, in which my actions and role as an artist are to be a sculptor of thoughts… In other words, I sense that an aspect of my artistic practice tends towards sculpting thoughts (other people’s? Yes, but also my own). Seen through this lens, photography certainly has a sculptural dimension for me: it is through images that I produce and sculpt thoughts. A metaphysical sculpture but not yet ultradimensional.

MZ+SB: Let’s imagine the idea of “beyond-photography”: an intimate structure that overcomes conceptual and ideological limitations, lying behind/inside/beyond photography. Who do you imagine transports or moves photography towards its beyond- using more than one medium at a time? This time-changing passage would investigate what photography was not able to show or summon by itself. How do you place yourself in relation to this new phase or possibility? SM: Well, if you ask me to imagine, I will let my imagination go. Forgive me, but from now on my reasoning might not be fully linear. First of all, I think of Mark Zuckerberg. There are public talks from a few years ago in which he said that Facebook’s final goal would be to enable telepathy between its users. I don’t know if we should forget about photography as a static image, but what I am thinking about is a photograph produced by binary-code impulses on a neural level. Concerning this, I have been imagining shooting images into people’s heads – projecting images into their minds – and in this sense, sculpting their thoughts. A while back, I heard someone saying that after WWII – I think it was in the US – there were experiments done with electromagnetic machines that allowed a person to learn a foreign language in their sleep. I honestly think this is quite an interesting rabbit hole to get into!

MZ+SB: What could be the operational-conceptual relationships and possible developments between photography and telepathy? SM: Well, I would bet my two cents on the following hypothesis: Since the atmosphere is full of metallic nanoparticles from motor vehicle exhaust, of which we breathe huge quantities that sediment over decades between the apex of the nasal septum and the cerebral cortex, it is possible that we could become transceivers of electricity – since metal is conductive. And if you consider thoughts as exchanges of electrical impulses between neurons, the telepathic scenario begins to take shape… In an environment filled with highly electrically conductive metal particulates, it would be possible to propagate and receive electromagnetic impulses directly from one cerebral cortex to another. At that point, perhaps photography will become outdated. However, if I think carefully about it, I feel like photography would survive through a shift onto a different support, as has happened before. Such a support could be made of neurons this time. I am thinking of “neural screenshots” which could be produced without the need for an external device. Our brains will be the new smartphones.

MZ+SB: What do you think of authorship concerning human-machine relationships? SM: If we look at this issue from the perspective of bio-tech systems, in which we may be capable of integrating image-producing devices within our bodies, the matter of machine authorship would be marginal. We would again be fully “human” (although slightly evolved, “augmented”). However, this is actually a debate that I have always considered rather boring. At this moment in history, when everyone seems to be part of a flock that thinks and does the same thing, the debate on authorship becomes quite uninteresting. In a world where people behave as if they were pre-programmed machines, I would provoke that I rather prefer machine authorship (assuming such a thing exists) to human authorship. At least it would have its own elements of originality, in a certain way…

MZ+SB: In an age of overproduction of images and artworks on social media and in general, how can an artist work with visual saturation in a constructive way? (Take for example Photography in Abundance by Erik Kessels, who in 2011, poured one and a half million photographs in the rooms of the FOAM museum in Amsterdam within 24 hours.) Is this surplus of images, in which we could easily drown, actually smoke in our eyes, hiding something that is purposefully hidden and kept out of sight? SM: Firstly, I believe artists should channel their energies towards making the public aware of the current situation – showing how the contemporary overabundance of images is neither natural, nor neutral. Our behaviour comes from a specific social model based on consumerism, which produces desire for products through images. I think a difference can be made by attaching useful content onto images.  Useful for what, though? This is where the social role of the artist comes into play – creating devices (objects and other things) that are not functional, but that help an individual’s spiritual growth.  And it is exactly one’s spiritual essence that suffers the most from the visual (and therefore emotional and mental) overcrowding; that is overwhelmed and kept “out of sight”. Let’s think for a second about the four fundamental units that make up our being: physical body, emotions, mind and spirit. Now think about how many times you happen to talk with other people of the first three, and how many times you talk about the last one. Bingo.

MZ+SB: Do you believe that the contemporary iconic flood is a consequence of capitalism? SM: I am sure of it. We have become the marketing managers of ourselves. Work and private life have melted together – fully turning us into emotional workers. But I do not feel that the daily non-stop self-branding activity is a marketing strategy only for one’s followers. Rather, it is marketing targeted towards ourselves. This flood of images follows a merely materialistic logic, producing an enormous emotional racket that makes us forget that our real essence belongs to another registry. On this matter, there is a sentence that I always like to recall: “Inner silence is the door to infinity”.

MZ+SB: Do you think a possible alternative for this time of iconic metastasis could be to step back from the creation of more images? SM: Yes, within the general debate, this is one of the possible solutions that has been considered. However, I think we should not stop creating. I would prefer to both produce less images, and to produce images with a much more refined quality. On top of this, I think that our own particular feeling of drowning (in images) is not dissimilar to that felt by all humans throughout time. Perhaps what really counts as the real and ultimate filter is time – selecting the images that will last and those that will be erased from future memory. The real question then, is not whether, or how, to change the world by creating (or not creating) images, but why we perceive this iconic metastasis as a condition of unease?

MZ+SB: Speed prevails over the decisive moment, quickness over refinement, transitory becoming over essential durability. Superficial immersion in the mediasphere prevails over the capacity to draw deeply from the archetypes of a universal memory. What new scenarios could be opened up by beyond-photography? SM: You are reminding me of this quote: “Shakti, see all space as if already absorbed in your own head in the brilliance.” This is the 60th of 112 ways, gathered in the text “Finding the center”, that Shiva enunciates when Devi questions him about the nature of divine reality and how to fully experience it. The scenario I aspire to, the ideal to pursue, is not material. The change of register is spiritual, towards what you call universal memory.

MZ+SB: Charlie Brooker, the creator of the British tv show Black Mirror, imagines scenarios and characters of a future reality, which presents issues related to current events and the challenges of new technologies. Various episodes include: machines that let you re-watch in real time past moments from your private life; relive memories; transfer an individual memory that is about to die onto a giant hard disk; transfer someone’s consciousness into another person’s brain; bring a loved one back to life, and many other things. A possible future outcome for photography has not been investigated. If Brooker had asked you to get involved in the writing of an episode on photography, how would you imagine a camera? SM: If they don’t have an episode on photography, it might be because the medium as we now know it, will become obsolete within the very near future. If we think about photography as it is normally conceived – namely, not as an artistic medium – I would say that the episode suggesting a possibility to re-watch past events through a memory implant represents a rather plausible technological outcome of our present. If so, I think we could say that the matter of documenting past events has been addressed rather satisfactorily by the series. What I imagine personally, would closely resemble that vision. It would be a whole different matter if we were to talk about photography as an artistic medium. In that case, it would be a matter of addressing the evolution of all artistic forms that have to do with vision, and the fruition or production and dissemination of images at large. It depends on how we want to imagine it. I like to think that everything will flow in front of our eyes, meaning “inside our eyes”. Screens will be contact lenses; membranes applied directly to our corneas. The next camera could be the blink of an eye. Click. Save picture? Yes. Archive it in the Cloud.

MZ+SB: What effect do you think the act of placing yourself in a collective psychological situation, has had on those experiencing your work? Have you had any feedback in relation to the rising awareness of pollution? According to your experience, are people who populate the contemporary art world (and who therefore feel at ease in the society of spectacle) merely interested in aesthetic and conceptual matters of ideas and intuitions- or have they actively moved something on a social and political level? SM: We don’t have to rush. The scale we use to measure the time it will take to implement certain changes is not the same as the one with which we measure our lives. Changes today are imperceptible, but within two generations we will understand everything better. I am committed to moving a tiny grain of sand everyday. And I can assure you, I see the grains are moving.

[nayladoodles]

Hamilton Angst Promt #1 (from my other account)

👻= Death

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, USE OF TERM CREOLE BASTARD also mentions of non consensual sex, SELF HARM and SELF HATRED.

IF THESE THINGS TRIGGER YOU PLEASE AVOID THIS.

Non Canon version of the Reynolds Affair where Hamilton is actually a loyal husband and refuses the affair but maria won't listen. When he runs out of money a fake pamphlet is published with a forged signature. Everyone detests Alexander and he becomes depressed.

All Characters belong to Lin Manuel Miranda except Madilton (ship name but hey), Cattivo and Simon. (who are all senators).

     Alexander's POV:

My hand shook as I hastily scrawled my speech for the debate later this afternoon; I don't wish to have all of the angry eyes boring into my back again but alas I am required to attend. As the hours passed I had managed to push the negative thoughts to the back of my mind praying to god that those dark thoughts would not plague me again until after the debate. Once my speech was written I returned to my previous task of preparing the original pamphlet about the Reynolds Affair. I refused her, I did NOT consent to it yet....everyone blindly believes I willingly cheated on Eliza. A man can only take so much hatred before he cracks and I have long since buckled beneath the anger and hatred. My children yelled they'd rather be without me, my wife won't let me explain and my friends are unresponsive. I just want the truth to be told so I can finally escape this personal hell of mine. As I finished fixing the last few smeared letters my office door swung open, "Hamilton." I felt the temperature drop slightly and saw Senator Madilton and his two fellow senators blocking the doorway,"If it is not a dire issue please leave me to my work." I said carefully hiding the pamphlet beneath mt speech. "Hamilton all you do is work." Senator Simon said. "You should rest." I narrowed my eyes, "Don't act like you suddenly care." I spat angrily trying to force the burning tears to hold their position behind my eyes. "Such harsh words." Cattivo purrs. "Leave me be!" I said getting upset not in the mood to deal with their scorn.

  "You think that the truth will save you Hamilton? You think you can escape what is already published?" Madilton said coming closer. "I cannot undo what YOU have done no, but I can tell America what REALLY happened... the parts of that affair that you left out." I spat back tears starting to escape down my cheeks. "Look at you crying over nothing! What did Washington see in you?"

I gripped my sleeves my own insecurities rising to the surface once again. "Your wife doesn't want you and neither does your family or your friends. face it you're alone." I trembled shutting my eyes tightly as tears dripped off of my chin. 6 months of endless emotional torture, of endless glares and angry whispers as I walk the streets. "Just leave me be please." I said brokenly. "What authority do you have to make a such a request?" Cattivo jeered. "This is my office." I replied. "You don't sound so certain of that." Simon leered. "Regardless you need to join us for the debate. Do dry your tears Hamilton, you look pitiful." Madilton and the other two left me there to scramble for my speech and follow them to the Congress floor.

"Why is Hamilton here?" "That creole bastard has no place in this room after what he has done." "No one needs his loud opinions anyhow." Washington called order, "Hamilton you first." I read my speech pausing and stuttering as the senators whispered angrily among themselves. I finished my speech and waited for a response, "Jefferson, Madison if you please." Washington said and I sat listening to them both not bothering to correct them as my own dark thought consumed me. The debate faded into the background and their words sounded far away; I truly am alone. I felt tears burn in my eyes as the horrid memories of the past 6 months came to haunt me. Eliza burning all of the love letters that took me hours to write and send, my son and daughter screaming that I'm not their father anymore, being slapped by Angelica…

"What no witty response Hamilton?" Jefferson said.I slowly came back to the present and looked away from him not saying a word.

"Y'all managed to break him?" Jefferson said. "Own up to your infidelity and stop crying about it Hamilton." Simon spat. "Yes and while you're at it leave your position!" Another senator shouted. "We don't need you or your financial systems." I curled into myself tears burning in the corners of my eyes. "That is enough!" Washington spat, "We do NOT bring personal matters onto the Congress floor." I trembled clenching the armrests of my chair tightly my knuckles going white. "Now. Does anyone have anything to say in regards to either side of the argument?" Washington asked. "Hamilton is wrong." Madilton called. "Why so?" Washington pressed. "He can never be correct." Washington sighed rubbing his temples. "If none of you have anything backed by logic about why my secretary is wrong be silent." "But sir-" Madilton said. "Silence." Washington said coldly. I tried to recompose myself but all I could hear was the jeering of the senators. "Hamilton?" Jefferson said. "Son?" Washington's voice echoed slightly. "D-don't call me son..." I replied my head throbbing as tears began to once again slide down my cheeks. "Alexander!" Burr shouted as I gripped the chair tighter. I faintly heard Washington call recess not realizing two hours had passed. I stood mumbling excuse me ignoring the concerned calls of my fellow politicians and father figure. I cannot take another day of this...

I briskly walked to my office pushing the papers off my desk grasping the pamphlet after signing it properly. I walked to the publisher and handed him the money I'd saved saying, "Run it for tomorrow please." He nods and I smile for the first time in months. I go back to the white house sitting in my office pulling out the broken quill I'd hidden earlier in the week. I unbuttoned my cuffs sliding my sleeves up staring at the scars. "What does Washington see in me..?" I whispered pressing the sharp edge of the quill shaft against my arm and slicing the skin watching blood rush to the surface of the cut. I scratched my arms more, "I am useless, loudmouth bother...not worthy of this position...I don’t deserve my wife....or family..." I stopped after five lines were cut on each arm and grabbed the black rag I had to clean myself up not bothering with lunch. Trembling I wrapped my arms and returned to the floor for the remaining hour of the meeting.

Burr caught my shoulder as I walked in, "Alexander?" His tone held barely restrained worry. "I'm fine Aaron." I lied sitting back down. The session ended earlier than usual on account of myself and Jefferson agreeing for a change. As soon as we were dismissed I excused myself wanting to prepare for tomorrow. I went to my office pulling the farewell letters to my friends and father figure. I had already mailed John's and that for my friends in France making sure it would reach them with haste and Burr's awaits him at the front desk of the hotel he was staying in during the summit. I left the letters for Jefferson, Madison and Washington on the desks in their offices. I walked back to my own office going to my bookshelf and pulling a hollowed encyclopedia from 1700. I pulled out the money I'd stashed away from Madeline and Michael to help them return home to their mother and father on Nevis. The money was tied away with a knot only the native island people could untie and the rope is much too thick to cut. I smiled satisfied with my farewell and flagged down a carriage to take me home as I refuse to give the scathing senators the satisfaction.

I arrive home long after my family has gone to bed and quietly slip upstairs to Philip's room. I smile at my son whispering that he'll blow everyone away someday before kissing his forehead watching him smile. I visited Angie next brushing her shirt from her face and kissing her forehead whispering that she will always be my precious flower princess. I tiptoe to Angelica's room and sit beside her, "I know you won't forgive me but know that I respect you so much for sacrificing your happiness for Eliza." I smiled and kissed her cheek gently slipping to my bedroom last. I saw Eliza asleep her eyes red telling me she's been crying. I gently stroke her cheek careful not to wake her up and whisper, "I don't deserve you Eliza...I..I never felt that I earned your heart. Please take good care of yourself and the children. I wish I would have listened to your pleas Betsy. I love you." I pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before slipping back to my study. I pulled the rope necklace from the closet standing on my chair to string it over the exposed eve and trying it off. I climbed down carefully picking up the farewell letters for my wife, sister-in-law and children before climbing back onto my chair pulling to rope around my neck. High ceilings...I never thought I'd be so grateful for them. I paused my feet at the edge of the chair. I laughed softly, "Why am I hesitating..?"

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply feeling tears spring to my eyes as memories came flooding back: The bar where I met my friends on my first night in New York, humiliating Seabury and making the Brit cry while my friends cheered, pulling a prank on Burr while drunk and regretting it later, the accidental kiss that Laurens and I shared during the winter in Valley Forge due to me slipping on ice, becoming Washington's right hand man, meeting Eliza at the ball in 1780...god we were both helpless, writing her letters and asking Peggy for advice also Laf and Hercules laughing at my flustered nature, marrying Eliza and then discovering she is pregnant, winning the war and meeting Philip, becoming Secretary of Treasury, Angie being born, Madison, Jefferson, Burr and I becoming a political quartet that shares lunch at a tiny diner...finding out what Jefferson does in Monticello...that was a fun trip...the engagement of my two best friends... their wedding will be grand I'm sure.

 I open my eyes tears running down my cheeks and see that it is getting light out wondering how long I was reminiscing. As the sun peeks over the horizon I smile the good memories warming my broken heart. I think of the good times for a short while longer my smile widening. I take a deep breath and quiet fills my mind for the first time in years. I hear the birds singing and whisper of the breeze outside. I take one last breath reveling in the serenity and then I let myself fall watching the world slowly fade away the letters still clenched in my fist.

Third Person:

Philip woke up when the sun filtered into his bedroom through the gap in the curtains; he swore he heard his father last night but his daddy is in DC for the summit why would he come home? The 10 year old slipped out of bed walking to check on his sister who was also awake. "I had a dream about daddy..." Angie yawned. "me too" Pip said. "Maybe daddy came home?" Angie said hopefully. "I miss him" Pip hugs his sister because he misses their daddy too. "Let's check his study you know how mama feels about them sharing a bed." Angie nods and they run to the study pushing the door open.

Angelica is woken with a start when a loud scream echoes from the study where her brother in law usually hides refusing to come out unless the house is asleep. She jumps out of bed hurrying down the hall tying her robe. She walks in looking at her niece and nephew, "What is all the fuss-" The words die when she looks up following the children's horrified gazes. her brother in law hangs from the ceiling his neck broken at an odd angle a serene smile on his face and tears drying on his cheeks. "Oh dear God..." She pulls the children to her feeling them shaking and crying into her robe. She then notices the letters poking from his fist carefully pulling them out. She tears open the one addressed to her feeling tears sliding down her cheeks as she reads it

My dearest Angelica,

I cannot apologize enough not that it will repair the damage done but I want you to know this: I respect you so much for being a strong woman willing to sacrifice her happiness for her sister's. Thank you for introducing me to Eliza all those years ago. Thank you for trying to reason with this stubborn fool and I deeply regret that our last months together were spent in pain. I hope that someday you will forgive me for being a fool and putting my work first. I always hated living off of others even though one summer would have done me no damage. I will always admire you Angelica, never forget your promise to make Jefferson include women in American rights. Stay strong and keep fighting. take care of Betsy and the kids for me.

with love and regret

A.Hamilton

She wept bitterly for never seeing how much pain he was in. She handed the letters addressed to Pip and Angie to them before shooing them back to their rooms. Using the chair she pulled him down from the noose and threw the wretched rope necklace across the room; she sat beside him her tears falling onto his cooling flesh. "Y-You are forgiven." She walked out and sank against the wall her body shaking with sobs. Eliza finds her this way when she wakes up. "Angelica what ails you so early in the morning?" Eliza looks at her trembling sister concerned. "Oh B-Betsy...." Angelica sobs. "What is it?" Eliza asks so Angelica leads her inside the study watching her eyes go wide. "N-No he can’t b-be..." Angelica nods another sob escaping her as she shakily points to the knotted rope. "Alexander...my poor Alexander..." Eliza sinks to her knees beside her dead husband tears falling onto his face. "He left this for you..." Angelica hands her the golden sealed envelope from the desk. They open it and what they find causes fresh tears to rush down their cheeks. Alexander left a copy of the original pamphlet, money for Pip to further his education and the sweetest letter of apology and farewell Eliza ever read. She grasped his cold hands, " Y-you are always forgiven d-darling..." She wept resting her head on his chest realizing he had come to say goodbye last night, the kiss was not a dream.

In France Hercules was in tears when Lafayette and his grandmother returned from the bakery. "Hercules what ails you mon chou?" he handed the letter to his fiance words escaping his grasp. Laf's eyes widened, "N-non?" Hercules nods showing him the money that had been enclosed for their wedding. "God why!? He h-had so much to live f-for..." Laf sank to his knees sobbing Hercules joining him on the floor holding him as they wept.

In South Carolina John had just returned for the evening when a letter was pressed into his palm by his sister who was crying. he saw the seal wondering why she was so upset. "J-John that's a death s-seal... it means the sender is going to commit suicide. M-my friend sent me a similar letter last year." "Death seal?!" John tore open the letter a small sum of money falling onto his lap along with a locket. he stared at the items for a moment before unfolding the letter with shaking hands.

  My dearest Laurens,

I wish the best in your adventure to recruit your regiment. I know you will do well and prove the worth of we people of color. I wish I could have kissed you farewell one last time like that once in Valley Forge. I enjoyed it too much and that feeling still lingers as I write this. I wish you a happy wedding with Martha Manning. She truly is perfect for you. I wish you good life and prosperity. I wish i had the courage to give you this locket sooner...and the money is for your men. The bells and whistles we jokingly discussed months ago. I bid thee adieu dearest.

With love and flourish

A. Hamilton

Laurens wept as he opened the heart shaped locket finding a small music box inside that played his favorite tune. It was engraved ' To my dearest John'

"He'll be here he's j-just..." Jefferson's voice cracked. "He's gone Thomas. I know Alexander would not do this if he were not serious." Burr said tears sliding down his cheeks. "J-Jesus Christ..." Madison sunk onto the couch trembling Thomas sinking down beside him as the trio wept.

Washington re-read the letter from Alexander several times until tears blocked his vision, "Why...son…? There was so m-much more you could have done for this country…"

The next day the original pamphlet appeared on every doorstep across America along with the news that the Secretary of Treasury had committed suicide early the previous morning. The nation was silent as the people realized that the poor man never deserved the harsh treatment. The Reynolds were arrested and jailed for life and the senators had oddly vanished. Madeline and Michael wept the hardest realizing they could finally go home but it felt hollow because the man who gave them the chance was not here to be thanked. The nation mourned the loss of Alexander Hamilton. The one man that proved beyond the shadow of doubt that even orphan immigrants can make a difference.

[haechanniechannie]

Dont you think people are giving up too soon? And just because of William returning?

Honestly, anon, I’m surprised so many people stuck the season out this long.

I think it’s hard for Julie bc she has to wrap up all the characters’ stories suddenly given it’s the last season. And yes, people are obviously upset about William coming back because many don’t like him and feel that his and Noora’s issues should not be the focus yet again seeing how they had the longest season (episode & episode length wise) and for the most part seemed to have unofficial closure.

And yes, we all know it’s the e-mail coming back into play as the last bit of drama Sana has to deal with, so it’ll technically still involve her. Julie rewrites the show based on how fans respond to it. So while there’s only two episodes left, I seriously doubt it’ll cover all of the following:

 Even’s suicide attempt/reconnecting with his friends

The balloon squad learning about Even’s bipolar disorder

Vilde having an alcoholic mother

Vilde and Magnus’ relationship being set-up as something very cringey with her just not really feeling it to suddenly very much in love and seeming to stick it out

Suddenly portrayed Isak as some boyfriend who gets drunk & jealous by his bf talking to someone else to the point of getting physically violent

Checking in with Eva at all considering she was also a former main (we know how Noora and Isak are but not her, not really)

Sana talking things out with her friends/calling out moments of their microagresssions and Islamophobia

Sana being listened to and understood about Islamophobia by non-Muslims

And yes this is Sana’s season and yes it’s understandable that not everyone’s issues will get covered. But then why introduce them? Why have the boys fight if it was never going to turn into anything? Why constantly portray Sana as the bad guy, only to have everything suddenly resolved within a few clips but with no one ever apologizing to her? Why make it seem like Even was going to get seriously hurt and have the constant question floating of when he’ll talk to Sana or the boys or finally speak for himself about his past?

The point is she made too many plot twists, had too much conflict, too many clips that revolved around nothing only to close the season by focusing on the couple that people were least concerned about.

This is not Even’s season. This is not Noora’s season. This is not Vilde’s season. This is not Isak’s season. This is not the balloon squad’s season. This is Sana’s season. But Julie decided to introduce issues concerning all of them and resolved either none or did so off screen, leaving Noora as the only one to have her issues once again presented for the audience.

It is insulting to the mentally ill community who had to watch suicide become click bait and especially insulting to the Muslim community who in the end barely saw the surface scratched when it came to issues they deal with. 

We still have two episodes left (and I’ll admit I’m hopeful for the rest) but the damage is done for most of it.

[hamiltrash2097-blog]

👻 Alexander Hamilton

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, USE OF TERM CREOLE BASTARD also mentions of non consensual sex, SELF HARM and SELF HATRED.

IF THESE THINGS TRIGGER YOU PLEASE AVOID THIS POST.

Non Canon version of the Reynolds Affair where Hamilton is actually a loyal husband and refuses the affair but maria won’t listen. When he runs out of money a fake pamphlet is published with a forged signature. Everyone detests Alexander and he becomes depressed.

All Characters belong to Lin Manuel Miranda except Madilton (ship name but hey), Cattivo and Simon. (who are all senators).

Alexander’s POV

My hand shook as I hastily scrawled my speech for the debate later this afternoon; I don’t wish to have all of  the angry eyes boring into my back again but alas I am required to attend. As the hours passed I had managed to push the negative thoughts to the back of my mind praying to god that those dark thoughts would not plague me again until after the debate. Once my speech was written I returned to my previous task of preparing the original pamphlet about the Reynolds Affair. I refused her, I did NOT consent to it yet….everyone blindly believes I willingly cheated on Eliza. A man can only take so much hatred before he cracks and I have long since buckled beneath the anger and hatred. My children yelled they’d rather be without me, my wife won’t let me explain and my friends are unresponsive.  I just want the truth to be told so I can finally escape this personal hell of mine. As I finished fixing the last few smeared letters my office door swung open, “Hamilton.” I felt the temperature drop slightly and saw Senator Madilton and his two fellow senators blocking the doorway,”If it is not a dire issue please leave me to my work.” I said carefully hiding the pamphlet beneath mt speech. “Hamilton all you do is work.” Senator Simon said. “You should rest.” I narrowed my eyes, “Don’t act like you suddenly care.” I spat angrily trying to force the burning tears to hold their position behind my eyes. “Such harsh words.” Cattivo purrs. “Leave me be!” I said getting upset not in the mood to deal with their scorn.

“You think that the truth will save you Hamilton? You think you can escape what is already published?” Madilton said coming closer. “I cannot undo what YOU have done no, but I can tell America what REALLY happened… the parts of that affair that you left out.” I spat back tears starting to escape down my cheeks. “Look at you crying over nothing! What did Washington see in you?” I gripped my sleeves my own insecurities rising to the surface once again. “Your wife doesn’t want you and neither does your family or your friends. face it you’re alone.” I trembled shutting my eyes tightly as tears dripped off of my chin. 6 months of endless emotional torture, of endless glares and angry whispers as I walk the streets. “Just leave me be please.” I said brokenly. “What authority do you have to make a such a request?” Cattivo jeered. “This is my office.” I replied. “You don’t sound so certain of that.” Simon leered. “Regardless you need to join us for the debate. Do dry your tears Hamilton, you look pitiful.” Madilton and the other two left me there to scramble for my speech and follow them to the Congress floor.

“Why is Hamilton here?” “That creole bastard has no place in this room after what he has done.” “No one needs his loud opinions anyhow.” Washington called order, “Hamilton you first.” I read my speech pausing and stuttering as the senators whispered angrily among themselves. I finished my speech and waited for a response, “Jefferson, Madison if you please.” Washington said and I sat listening to them both not bothering to correct them as my own dark thoughts consumed me. The debate faded into the background and their words sounded far away; I truly am alone. I felt  tears burn in my eyes  as the horrid memories of the past 6 months came to haunt me. Eliza burning all of the love letters that took me hours to write and send, my son and daughter screaming that I’m not their father anymore, being slapped by Angelica… “What no witty response Hamilton?” Jefferson said.I slowly came back to the present and looked away from him not saying a word. 

“Y’all managed to break him?” Jefferson said. “Own up to your infidelity and stop crying about it Hamilton.” Simon spat. “Yes and while you’re at it leave your position!” Another senator shouted. “We don’t need you or your financial systems.” I curled into myself tears burning in the corners of my eyes. “That is enough!” Washington spat, “We do NOT bring personal matters into this Congress room.” I trembled clenching the arm rests of my chair tightly my knuckles going white. “Now. Does anyone have anything to say in regards to either side of the argument?” Washington asked. “Hamilton is wrong.” Madilton called. “Why so?” Washington pressed. “He can never be correct.” Washington sighed rubbing his temples. “If none of you have anything backed by logic about why my secretary is wrong be silent.” “But sir-” Madilton said. “Silence.” Washington said coldly. I tried to recompose myself but all I could hear was the jeering of the senators. “Hamilton?” Jefferson said. “Son?” Washington’s voice echoed slightly. “D-don’t call me son…” I replied my head throbbing as tears began to once again slide down my cheeks. “Alexander!” Burr shouted as I gripped the chair tighter. I faintly heard Washington call recess not realizing two hours had passed. I stood mumbling excuse me ignoring the concerned calls of my fellow politicians  and father figure.  I mentally cannot take another day of this! 

I briskly walked to my office  pushing the papers off my desk grasping the pamphlet after signing it properly. I walked to the publisher and handed him the money I’d saved saying, “Run it for tomorrow please.” He nods and I smile for the first time in months. I go back to the white house sitting in my office pulling out the broken quill I’d hidden earlier in the week. I unbuttoned my cuffs sliding my sleeves up staring at the scars. “What does Washington see in me..?” I whispered pressing the sharp edge of the quill shaft against my arm and slicing the skin watching blood rush to the surface of the cut. I scratched my arms more, “I am useless, loudmouth bother…not worthy of this position…I don't deserve my wife….or family…” I stopped after five lines were cut on each arm and grabbed the black rag I had to clean myself up not bothering with lunch. Trembling I wrapped my arms and returned to the floor for the remaining hour of the meeting. 

Burr caught my shoulder as I walked in, “Alexander?” His tone held barely restrained worry. “I’m fine Aaron.” I lied sitting back down. The session ended earlier than usual on account of myself and Jefferson agreeing for a change. As soon as we were dismissed I excused myself wanting to prepare for tomorrow. I went to my office pulling the farewell letters to my friends and father figure. I had already mailed John’s and that for my friends in France making sure it would reach them with haste and Burr’s awaits him at the front desk of the hotel he was staying in during the summit. I left the letters for Jefferson, Madison and Washington on the desks in their offices. I walked back to my own office going to my bookshelf and pulling a hollowed encyclopedia from 1700. I pulled out the money I’d stashed away from Madeline and Micheal to help them return home to their mother and father on Nevis. The money was tied away with a knot only the native island people could untie and the rope is much to thick to cut. I smiled satisfied with my farewell and flagged down a carriage to take me home as I refuse to give the scathing senators the satisfaction. 

I arrive home long after my family has gone to bed and quietly slip upstairs to Philip’s room. I smile at my son whispering that he’ll blow everyone away someday before kissing his forehead watching him smile. I visited Angie next brushing her shirt from her face and kissing her forehead whispering that she will always be my precious flower princess. I tiptoe to Angelica’s room and sit beside her, “I know you won’t forgive me but know that I respect you so much for sacrificing your happiness for Eliza.” I smiled and kissed her cheek gently slipping to my bedroom last. I saw Eliza asleep her eyes red telling me she’s been crying. I gently stroke her cheek careful not to wake her up and whisper, “I don’t deserve you Eliza…I..I never felt that I earned your heart. Please take good care of yourself and the children. I wish I would have listened to your pleas Betsy. I love you.” I pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before slipping back to my study. I pulled the rope necklace from the closet standing on my chair to  string it over the exposed eve and trying it off. I climbed down carefully picking up the farewell letters for my wife, sister-in-law and children before climbing back onto my chair pulling to rope around my neck. High ceilings…I never thought I’d be so grateful for them. I paused my feet at the edge of the chair. I laughed softly, “Why am I hesitating..?” 

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply feeling tears spring to my eyes as memories came flooding back: The bar where I met my friends on my first night in New York, humiliating Seabury and making the Brit cry while my friends cheered, pulling a prank on Burr while drunk and regretting it later, the accidental kiss that Laurens and I shared during the winter in Valley Forge due to me slipping on ice, becoming Washington’s right hand man, meeting Eliza at the ball in 1780…god  we were both helpless, writing her letters and asking Peggy for advice also Laf and Hercules laughing at my flustered nature, marrying Eliza and then discovering she is pregnant, winning the war and meeting Philip, becoming Secretary of Treasury, Angie being born, Jefferson, Madison,Burr and I becoming a political quartet that shares lunch at a tiny diner…finding out what Jefferson does in Monticello…that was a fun trip…the engagement of my two best friends… their wedding will be grand I’m sure. 

I open my eyes tears running down my cheeks and see that it is getting light out  wondering how long I was reminiscing.  As the sun peaks over the horizon I smile the good memories warming my broken heart. I think of the good times for a short while longer my smile widening. I take a deep breath and quiet fills my mind for the first time in years. I hear the birds singing and whisper of the breeze outside. I take one last breath reveling in the serenity and then I let myself fall  watching the world slowly fade away the letters still clenched in my fist. 

Third Person: 

Philip woke up when the sun filtered into his bedroom through the gap in the curtains; he swore he heard his father last night but his daddy is in DC for the summit why would he come home? The 10 year old slipped out of bed walking to check on his sister who was also awake. “I had a dream about daddy…” Angie yawned. “Me too” Pip said. “Maybe daddy came home?” Angie said hopefully. “I miss him” Pip hugs his sister because he misses their daddy too. “Let’s check his study you know how mama feels about them sharing a bed.” Angie nods and they run to the study pushing the door open.

Angelica is woken  with a start when a loud scream echoes from the study where her brother in law usually hides refusing to come out unless the house is asleep. She jumps out of bed hurrying down the hall tying her robe. She walks in looking at her niece and nephew, “What is all the fuss-” The words die when she looks up following the children’s horrified gazes.  Her brother in law  hangs from the ceiling his neck broken at an odd angle a serene smile on his face and tears drying on his cheeks. “Oh dear G-GOD…” She pulls the children to her feeling them shaking and crying into her robe. She then notices the letters poking from his fist carefully pulling them out. She tears open the one addressed to her feeling tears sliding down her cheeks as she reads it

My dearest Angelica,

I cannot apologize enough not that it will repair the damage done but I want you to know this: I respect you so much for being a strong woman willing to sacrifice her happiness for her sister’s. Thank you for introducing me to Eliza all those years ago. Thank you for trying to reason with this stubborn fool and I deeply regret that our last months together were spent in pain. I hope that someday you will forgive me for being a fool and putting my work first. I always hated living off of others even though one summer would have done me no damage. I will always admire you Angelica, never forget your promise to make Jefferson include women in American rights. Stay strong and keep fighting. take care of Betsy and the kids for me. 

with love and regret A.Hamilton

She wept bitterly for never seeing how much pain he was in. She handed the letters addressed to Pip and Angie to them before shooing them back to their rooms. Using the chair she pulled him down from the noose and threw the wretched rope  necklace across the room; she sat beside him her tears falling onto his cooling flesh. “Y-You are forgiven.”  She walked out and sank against the wall her body shaking with sobs. Eliza finds her this way when she wakes up. “Angelica what ails you so early in the morning?” Eliza looks at her trembling sister concerned. “Oh B-Betsy….” Angelica sobs. “What is it?” Eliza asks so Angelica leads her inside the study watching her eyes go wide. “N-No he isn’t!” Angelica nods another sob escaping her as she shakily points to the knotted rope. “OH my GOD!” Eliza sinks to her knees beside her dead husband tears falling onto his face. “Here” Angelica hands her the golden sealed envelope fro the desk. They open it and what they find causes fresh tears to rush down their cheeks. Alexander left a copy of the original pamphlet, money for Pip to further his education and the sweetest letter of apology and farewell Eliza ever read. She grasped his cold hands, “ Alexander!” She wept resting her head on his chest realizing he had come to say goodbye last night, the kiss was not a dream.  

In France Hercules was in tears when Lafayette and his grandmother returned from the bakery. “Hercules what ails you mon chou?” he handed the letter to his fiance words escaping his grasp. Laf’s eyes widened, “N-non” Hercules nods showing him the money that had been enclosed for their wedding. “God why!” Laf sank to his knees sobbing Hercules joining him as they cried together.

In South Carolina John had just returned for the evening when a letter was pressed into his palm by his sister who was crying. he saw the seal  wondering why she was so upset. “J-John that’s a death s-seal. It means the sender is going to commit suicide. M-my friend sent me a similar letter last year.” “D-death seal?” John tore open the letter a small sum of money falling onto his lap along with a locket. he stared at them before unfolding the letter with shaking hands. 

My dearest Laurens,

I wish the best in your adventure to recruit your regiment. I know you will do well and prove the worth of we people of color. I wish I could have kissed you farewell one last time like that once in Valley Forge. I enjoyed it too much and that feeling still lingers as I write this. I wish you a happy wedding with Martha Manning. She truly is perfect for you. I wish you good life and prosperity. I wish i had the courage to give you this locket sooner…and the money is for your men. The bells and whistles we jokingly discussed months ago.  I bid thee adieu dearest.

With love and flourish A. Hamilton

Laurens wept as he opened the  heart shaped locket finding a small music box inside that played his favorite tune. It was engraved ‘ To my dearest John’ 

“He’ll be here he’s j-just…” Jefferson’s voice cracked. “He’s gone Thomas. I know Alexander would not do this if he were not serious.” Burr said tears sliding down his cheeks. “J-Jesus Christ…” Madison sunk onto the couch trembling Thomas falling beside him as the trio wept. 

Washington re-read the letter from Alexander several times until tears blocked his vision, “Why…son…you…you had so much left you could have done…” 

The next day the original pamphlet appeared on every doorstep across America along with the news that the Secretary of Treasury had committed suicide early the previous morning. The nation was silent as the people realized that the poor man never deserved the harsh treatment. The Reynolds were arrested and jailed for life and the senators had oddly vanished. Madeline and Micheal wept the hardest realizing they could finally go home but it felt hollow because the man who gave them the chance was not here to be thanked. The nation mourned the loss of Alexander Hamilton. The one man that  proved beyond the shadow of doubt that even orphan immigrants can make a difference.

[sammgreer]

PREY - Review

How fitting for a game about issues of identity to have borrowed the name belonging to a completely unrelated game. There's barely even a passing wink to 3D Realm's daft shooter. Ah well.

What Prey is instead is a modern successor to System Shock but with heaps of novel ideas layered atop a familiar centre. It's also not too dissimilar from Arkane's Dishonored, albeit without the stealth focus. Whilst I think I prefer Dishonored overall (I'm a big stealth fan) I think Prey has a chance at being considered the best immersive sim around. What Prey has over them all is coherence. The game is a network of related systems, all interactive, fleshing out a single location.

Talos IV in this case, a corporate owned space station orbiting the moon in an alternate reality where the Kennedy space program took off due to first contact with a strange alien species. The station is the real star of the show. It is a completely intricate location where every staff member is  accounted for and every area has a logical contribution to the station's purpose. What a treat it is to not only be set loose on an intricate, dense location but one that fits together so completely. Whilst it never manages to be outright striking like the iconic Rapture, it still looks distinct; the decor offering a stylish retro themed alternative to the usual dull, gun metal grey corridors. And the score is a refreshingly stylish affair with the twang of an electric guitar cutting through the air instead of the bassy drone that seems the default for so much science fiction.

You play as Morgan Yu (who can be male or female depending on player choice), youngest child of the family owned Transtar corporation who run the station. Along with your eldest brother you're left stranded on the station, to deal with an alien menace. Worse, you've no memory of the last few months. Neuromods, the station's latest invention, allows anyone to acquire any recorded skill in seconds but it comes with a hefty price. Removing them resets the user's memory to just before they were installed. As a result you're left to pick up the pieces. Various characters will claim to be acting in your best interests but its up to you to pay attention if you want to decipher what's really going on and who to trust. There's a pleasant Philip. K. Dick vibe to it all, this oppressive paranoia dripping over everything. Even though it dulls over the game's many hours, it makes for an intriguing start. Beyond this beginning, what occurs is largely up to you and the game will react accordingly to every action you take. No matter what you do, you can reach a conclusion. Save the other survivors, leave them or even kill them if you somehow decide that's a good idea. Chase down secrets, discover what was really going on aboard the station and in your own past. Talos IV is so open to exploration, with dozens of connecting routes through every area. It's the density of details that impressed me the most. Looking for a specific crew member? Check the ship's roster which gives a location (in real time) for every single employee. Found a locked room? Hit a touch screen with foam darts through a vent in the roof to unlock the door.

Those examples are just scratching the surface and the further into the game you go, the more systems are made available, allowing you to exert more control within the established rules of the game world. I won't spoil the later secrets because discovery is so much of what makes Prey a joy to play. Even if I tried however there's almost no way I could spoil someone's experience with the game. There are so many approaches and options you will almost certainly have a distinctly different experience from me. Importantly, the game gives you plenty of reasons to try out these options. Part of that is narrative, with a moral element likely to factor into how you choose to approach a situation, chasing a particular outcome in the story. Other times its through design, with the game's admittedly steep difficulty pushing you towards finding alternative solutions or seeking new tools.

Enemies themselves are perhaps the least interesting area of the game. The much talked about mimics are, whilst somewhat tedious to actually fight, a neat idea. Able to imitate any object within the game world, you have to pay attention at all times to avoid ambushes. The novelty does wear off of course but by the time it does, the game offers you a device to identify them more easily, one of many instances where the game stays a step ahead of itself. The game's other foes feel relatively bog standard though. Phantoms are the main type and whilst they can have various properties that require unique counters, they're largely predictable. A few late game enemy types have their own twists, forcing you well outside your comfort zone but there's a long stretch of the game before they show up. All the enemies work well and they have that rare quality of feeling distinctly alien but few of them have much personality or leave a lasting impression.

What they all do pretty well is make you use the full extent of your arsenal. The devices you amass over its many hours are composed largely of "tools" with unique functions rather than dozens of guns. The GLOO gun for instance shoots a hardening foam which can be used to encase enemies, slowing them down, block doors or can even be used to create platforms to climb on. Then there's the abilities you unlock throughout, opening up an even greater array of approaches. Which does include, yes, the ability to turn into a coffee cup. Which has more uses than you might imagine.

The point is, the more you play the more creative you can be. A challenge you found daunting in the early hours or an obstacle that seemed impassable can be returned to, conquered with what you've acquired. It's the satisfaction of being given problems you can figure out your own solutions to that makes Prey feel so special. It puts its immersive sim competition like the new Deus Ex games to shame, with a depth and level of freedom that honestly felt a little dizzying at the start. I'm so used to endless waypoints, checkpoints and hand holding that absolute freedom can be overwhelming. It's also perfectly possible to overlook important information, fail to discover a helpful item or weapon. Nothing that will stop you being able to progress but can certainly make exploration all the more difficult.

It is exciting though and remains so as you see the effects of your choices throughout the game. Being one, interwoven location rather than broken up into distinct levels like Dishonored means your actions ripple through Talos IV much more organically. Events, both story-driven and player driven, develop nicely and lead to those “oh yeah...” moments as you bump into a result some hours down the line.

The story itself isn't the game's best feature. Your conflict with your brother is handled smartly, with their relationship fleshed out in the details rather than exposition but it does fail to deliver emotional punch, a real missed opportunity. A shame cause the game's characters are all pretty well written, with distinct, believable personalities from dozens of NPCs (with an admirable number of LGBT characters, including Female-Morgan). They even come with some great little sub-quests, offering some of the game's most emotionally satisfying moments. Prey uses e-mails and audio logs like a dozen games before it but sprinkles them carefully. Not to mention most only offer hints of important details, instead of a character having a monologue about their ideologies. You have to pay attention, read between the lines and that means I engaged with the information offered instead of passively absorbing exposition. With a deft hand and constant trickle of details the story and world managed to hold my attention.

All of which sadly leads to a predictable though fairly enjoyable climax (of the two major variations of conclusion, one is much more satisfying to play through than the other) but one followed by an utterly limp, rushed ending. Nothing that spoils the rest of the game but certainly a disappointment after all the world building and care given to make your choices up to that point feel meaningful. There is an after credits sequence that offers an audacious twist to events but it doesn't do much to salvage the ending.

Nonetheless, for almost its entire run time I found Prey an absolute delight. There's much that's derivative in it, System Shock remains the most obvious influence but Prey has more style and a far better interface than that game ever did. Mainly though, these are ideas we seldom see or see done this well, so what's borrowed never really felt like a negative. What's more is for every familiar trope, there's a unique idea at work. Each could serve as the premise of a game all unto themselves. Instead they're here together, in this incredibly detailed sandbox. A flawed one admittedly but Prey still manages to be one of the most coherent and inventive games in years.

[holmesoverture]

In Sherlock’s Room, Part Two

Part One Be Here

Title: In Sherlock’s Room Rating (for this half): PG Total Word Count: 6431 Pairing: bi Watson/ace trans Holmes Universe: Modern AU of the original canon Summary: Holmes solves a case in his jammies.  Watson does laundry and makes ravioli.

TW for this half: very vaguely implied past acephobia; another mention of past acephobia (probably past transphobia also) which is immediately followed by petty revenge

Editing was tedious work.  My editor, for all his many redeeming qualities, invariably failed to appreciate the flowery endings to my tales and insisted I cut them off far earlier than I should have preferred.

“People read your stories for two reasons,” he once told me after nearly a half-hour of increasingly stormy debate on the subject; “the mystery, and the solution to the mystery.  No one cares what happens to you once the crook is sitting in a jail cell.  You can spend the night giving each other gob-jobs for all anyone cares.  Oh, I’ve said something funny now, have I?”

The bundles of fan mail I received every week inquiring as to whether I was single and whether Holmes was any good at finding hidden sausages made me question his judgment, but I was paid very handsomely for my work.  I could afford to assume that he had been made editor for a reason.

My efforts to curtail the offending epilogues on my own proved futile and so I had given up altogether, allowing my fingers to stretch the story for as long as they pleased, knowing that my editor would cut it all anyway while cursing my name. I was well into an appallingly purple passage in which Holmes and I compare the seasonal changes of the leaves to the arc of the average criminal’s career when Holmes burst in, catching the door before it could slam into the wall.

“Ceromancy!” he cried.

“Gesundheit,” I said.

“Kommst du mit, Naseweis.”

One did not need to speak German to understand what he wanted.  I followed him back to his room.  He had turned on some music since I left, a whiplash-inducing blend of classical pieces and Eurovision finalists.  Several new items had taken up residence on his desk.  His laptop now sat amongst the clutter rather than on his bed, along with a large, overly fragrant lavender candle, either borrowed or stolen from Mrs Hudson, and a bowl of water with a vaguely egg-shaped bit of hardened wax floating in its centre.

“I take it this is somehow connected with cera… ciril—”

“Ceromancy.  It is the art of divining the future via wax images in water.  One of the methods involves adding certain ingredients to the water, including seeds of the cuminum cyminum, which Mrs Mulvehill reports smelling in her wife’s vehicle on more than one occasion, and sprigs of ruta graveolens, a toxic herb that can cause blisters.”

I recalled the neatly torn note in the package that had started Holmes’ day, in which Mrs Mulvehill remarked upon the blisters on her wife’s hand.

“Further,” Holmes continued, “this particular set of instructions involves tying two candles together with a red ribbon.”

He spun the laptop so I could see the screen, though I hardly needed to look to know what would be there: the photograph of the red ribbon tied to the rearview mirror.

“That looks about long enough to bind a pair of candles, does it not?” said he.

I thought it strange that a woman should drive five hours one way every weekend simply to have her fortune told, and said so to Holmes.

“I have not yet finished examining all of the evidence.  There may very well be another explanation for these clues that will become apparent once I reach the end of my investigation.”

“So there is still a chance that Polly Mulvehill is seeing another woman?”

“Unfortunately for our client, yes.”

He lifted a hand to swipe to the next photograph, then gave it a second thought and turned to me instead.

“Why do people do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Cheat.  Polly Mulvehill has a perfectly devoted and intelligent wife, but that wasn’t enough for her.  She still felt the need to fill her time and, presumably, various other things with someone else, all in pursuit of a few sweaty, sticky moments on a flat surface. What can possibly be so thrilling about sex that it drives people to betray those closest to them?  It can’t be any better than a concert at the Barbican, and I wouldn’t cheat on you for a box seat.”

That hadn’t ever been a concern of mine, but it was nice to know.

“Sex is pleasurable for a lot of people,” I said, “and for some, it confers a certain status that concert tickets don’t.  It makes them feel powerful, attractive, special, even loved—”

“That hardly justifies cheating.”

“Of course it doesn’t.  I suppose some people never learned the same sort of self-control that you have with regard to box seats.”

He laughed at the jab and began setting up his chemical apparatus as the delicate dénouement of Gluck’s Melodie ceded to the gravelly bombast of Lordi’s Hard Rock Hallelujah.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked.

“I must test the dirt samples sent to me by Mrs Mulvehill to determine if there is anything distinctive about them.  The definitive answer to the question of how Polly Mulvehill has been spending her weekends may well be lurking in one of these test tubes.”

He muttered a few more disparaging comments about unfaithful spouses before returning to work.  I sat on the edge of Holmes’ bed and ran a finger along a seam in his blanket.  It had some peculiar stains that I would have to remember to ask about, to make sure he wasn’t slowly poisoning himself in his sleep.  Not for the first time, I was grateful that we had elected to retain separate bedrooms even after starting our relationship.

At that time it had been almost a decade since I last slept with someone.  Her name was Allie, or something like it.  She was tall and dark and sarcastic and just barely passable in the bedroom.  I suppose it was the lingering memory of her mediocrity that helped reinforce the idea of there being more important elements than sex in a romantic relationship when Holmes wrote me the first of what would become an entire drawerful of love letters.  He made it clear from the very start that he could offer me every sort of intimacy except that one, but that does not make our relationship in any way less.  Maybe it’s the fact that I will never have the chance to confront this issue in my published works that compels me to be perfectly clear about it here: we are lovers, in every sense of the word except that one upon which our society places the most importance.

Well, I suppose I shouldn’t judge others for their ignorance.  I held a similar view in a past life.  “Experience of women on three continents” was, despite what my editor prefers to believe, not an exaggeration.  Nor is it an exaggeration to say I have never once regretted abandoning my old ways.  Who wouldn’t give up sex for love?

Perhaps not Polly Mulvehill.  Or perhaps she really did learn her lesson and would agree with me after all.  It seems to me such an obvious decision, but on those infrequent occasions when I have attempted to explain our relationship to an outsider, I am almost inevitably met with disbelief at best.  Mrs Hudson took it in her stride, bless her, but Lestrade got very confused when I responded to his barely veiled innuendos with the truth. I am slightly ashamed and very satisfied to say that I went for the jugular almost immediately.

“If your wife got sick and wasn’t able to have sex with you anymore, or if her hormones change as she gets older and her libido drops, which does happen by the way, would you walk out on her just because she wasn’t giving you any?”

“Of course not!”  To Lestrade’s credit, he looked scandalised at the very suggestion.  “She’s my wife, the mother of my children—”

“It’s the same with us.  Well, not exactly the same.  Obviously, there are some differences in our lines of reasoning, but my point is that you love your partner more than you love sex and so do I.  That is, I love my partner more than I love sex, not your partner.  You know what I meant,” I said, irritated, when he started laughing.

“You’re much more eloquent as a writer than as an orator,” he replied, but he bought me a pint as an apology and we never spoke on the matter again.

I suppose I could have laughed along with his jokes instead of lecturing him on asexuality, but I should have felt guilty allowing him to continue operating under the assumption that Holmes and I were doing it.  The mere idea of engaging in such activities makes Holmes so terribly uncomfortable.  Having to endure ribald ragging, no matter how good-natured, from the one police inspector he respects could only end unpleasantly for both parties.

Feeling suddenly maudlin, I moved my bad leg so it rested fully on the stained blanket, leaned back against the headboard, and watched as Holmes went about his work.  His hands, despite appearing ill-fittingly large on his slender wrists, always managed to look graceful when engaged in one of his chemical experiments.  But I suppose everyone looks more themselves when they are doing what they are best at.

I believe I drifted off a bit after that, lulled into a contented daze by the rhythm of clinking glass and the scratch of pencil on notebook paper.  I began to come out of my trance when he came out of his.  He tried and failed to control a smile.  A few scribbles later and he gave up all pretense of dignified detachment, jumping in place and clapping, sending the pencil clattering into the dustbin beside his desk.  That was alright.  He preferred to keep his writing implements in there anyway.

With but a short moment of warning he swept me into his arms, then released me and tugged me towards his desk before I had the chance to hug him back.

“This is far better than I could have hoped for!  What a splendid case this has turned out to be!”

“Such excitement for a bit of dirt,” I remarked.

“No mere ‘bit of dirt’ is this.  Have a look at the results of the soil analysis I ran.”

I did as he asked.  Even with my limited understanding of soil composition, I knew at once what had brought the light to his grey eyes.

“Iridium?”

“Yes.  It is exceedingly rare on Earth but much more common in meteorites.”

“I know what it is.  I just didn’t think you would, given your extreme disinterest in astronomy.”

“I looked it up,” Holmes said, witheringly.  Then, perking up, he added, “I suspect the sample in Polly Mulvehill’s boot came from such a meteorite, or perhaps from an object that was found within the iridium anomaly.”

“You did say she works at a museum.”

“She volunteers as a tour guide.  I rather doubt she has the authority to take archaeological treasures home with her.”

“So you’re saying—”

“Museums are a study in contrasts, my dear Watson.  In their exhibition rooms, they are well-organized, often beautifully laid out bastions of knowledge dedicated to preserving the past into the future.  However, safely shielded from the public eye is invariably an overcrowded and poorly catalogued backroom littered with valuables that could be missing for months or years before anyone noticed.  Why, I stole this very spoon from the British Museum over a decade ago and still they’re none the wiser!”

“Holmes!”

“Oh, come now, Boswell.  This is a soup spoon from my mother’s flatware collection.  Do you really think so little of me?”

“On the contrary, I think highly enough of you that I expect you could abscond with the British Museum’s entire collection of Egyptian antiquities and return them to Egypt before the guard could leave his chair.  Why do you have your mother’s soup spoon?”

Holmes abruptly stopped preening at my inquiry.

“After my last visit to Sussex, you asked why I was in such a strop and I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Yes?”

“She kept asking when you and I would give her grandchildren.  I should have run out at once and arranged for a hysterectomy if Mycroft hadn’t been there to stop me.  Instead I took her soup spoon.  Are you very angry with me?”

“Not with you, no.”  But the next time I was misfortunate enough to encounter Mrs Holmes, I thought I might distract her long enough for Holmes to make off with the rest of her flatware, and possibly a vase or two.  I did not tell him the specifics of my thoughts, instead running a careful hand through the tangles in his hair.  He was much more appreciative of such gestures when not occupied by a case.  Had I attempted to demonstrate any form of affection prior to the discovery of the iridium, he should have pulled back and shook his head, putting a stop to my ministrations.  Now, he not only permitted the display, he encouraged it, throwing back his head with a contented sigh.  He grasped my free hand with both of his, enjoying the light scratch of my callouses across his own, eyes closed so he could focus on the sensation.

At length he straightened in his chair and looked around, as if in search of something.

“I believe we have gotten rather off the subject,” he said.  He crowed with victory when he made visual confirmation of his laptop teetering precariously on the edge of his desk, where it had been shoved to make room for the chemistry equipment.  “I must get in touch with Mrs Mulvehill—Mrs Evelyn Mulvehill, that is—and alert her to the happy news.”

“I would hardly call the fact that her wife is stealing from her place of employment happy news, Holmes.”

“Perhaps not to you or I, but to a woman bracing herself for the news that her beloved has yet again been unfaithful, it may well be the highlight of her day.”

I never saw Evelyn Mulvehill’s response to the longwinded email Holmes sent containing his deductions, but Holmes informed me it was cordial and grateful and would I please stop scribbling in my notebook?  He had just learned the most wonderful new waltz that I was sure to love if only I’d pay it the attention it (and he) deserved.

We did not hear from the Mulvehills for nearly a fortnight.  At that time, as a harsh rain assaulted the streets and the rooftops of London, Holmes thrust an open envelope, sent from Kendal, Cumbria, under my nose.  Along with her cheque came a letter from our former client, thanking Holmes for his help and informing us of the full meaning behind the clues he had deciphered for her.  Evelyn confronted her wife about the matter the moment she returned from work on the day of Holmes’ revelation.  Polly, to her credit, admitted to the scheme at once, but the story which followed her confession was one that neither of us could have expected.

Polly Mulvehill loved her museum and the history it saved and displayed, but the longer she worked there, the more she realised how dependent it was upon artifacts illegally obtained when Britain was at her most imperialistic. What right did any museum, even the one she held so near and dear, have to keep such items?  She made then a vow to smuggle what she could out of the museum and back to the lands from which they had been taken.

She sought out a fence, a man based in Aberdeen who was very superstitious and insisted upon consulting a friend who specialised in divination, including ceromancy, before each and every step of their exchange.  At least twice, to Polly’s intense displeasure, the fence interpreted the candle drippings negatively and refused to accept the goods, forcing Polly to return with the stolen artifacts to Kendal until the following week.  Still, the trouble was worth it, Polly Mulvehill insisted, for the fence was just as devoted to repatriation as she and would do most anything, so long as the candles gave their blessing, to bring the haughty English down a peg. Upon receipt of the stolen items, the fence made his escape on a flight from Aberdeen International Airport, which Polly only made the mistake of booking a hotel next to once, compared with the eleven times she had travelled to Aberdeen on her self-imposed mission. One was also the number of times she made the mistake of handling the herbs which the fortune teller used to predict their chances of success.

Evelyn was so awestruck by her wife’s courage and integrity that she quit her accounting job and started an organisation dedicated to negotiating the legal return of all stolen artifacts to their countries of origin.  It is an organisation the Mulvehills run to this very day.  The missive ended with a plea veiled as a compliment, stating that Evelyn Mulvehill knew Holmes to be a gentleman of the utmost discretion, and that she trusted him to breathe not a word of her wife’s rashness to the authorities.  The final item enclosed in the envelope was a familiar, stout red ribbon.  Holmes smiled when I held up the ribbon and requested I put the note into the fire.

“Another mystery over and done with,” said he, snapping the blinds shut against the sight of the driving storm.  “Will you be writing up this case for your eager public?”

“I doubt it.  I spent more time folding your laundry than doing anything related to the case. Perhaps I could end it with a big car chase through Aberdeen between us and the superstitious fence.  Maybe throw in the Mulvehills for good measure.”

Holmes chuckled around the empty pipe in his teeth.

“It is no more or less ludicrous than anything else you have written,” he said.

I chose to interpret this remark in a positive light.

Were this a polished and published work rather than a hastily scribbled collection of remembrances in a shabby moleskin notebook, my editor should have ended the account with my destroying the evidence of Polly Mulvehill’s crimes and her wife’s complicity.  It is just as well.  Holmes is, despite the great fame I have inadvertently thrust upon him, an intensely private man.  I doubt he would appreciate the whole of the English-speaking world reading about how we sat together on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, he kneading the pain from my bad leg with a practiced hand, I reading selections from the story I had been editing and taking note of the parts he disapproved of.  He certainly wouldn’t want anyone else knowing about how our light bickering over whether or not I was allowed to describe him as gentle ended in several minutes of kissing that served my argument rather better than his.  And, most of all, he would recoil at the slightest possibility of strangers spying after the fact as he pulled out his laptop and helped me work out plans for a weeklong holiday in Cumbria.

[dailyaudiobible]

08/31/2019 DAB Transcript

Job 37:1-39:30, 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:10, Psalms 44:9-26, Proverbs 22:13

Today is the 31st day of August. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I’m Brian. It's great to be here with you. Wow. Last day of the week, last day of the month, like everything's coming together as we prepare to move into the next season. And, yeah, looking forward to tonight at the family reunion here in the rolling hills of Tennessee. So, yeah, a good ending to a good month. I hope it's been good for you. What territory we have covered in the month of August and that we will continue to carry forward as we move into September. We’re reading from the book of Jon and we’ve got a little bit more…a little bit more to go. We've been reading from the New International Version this week. Today, Job, chapter 37 through 39. And just by way of reminder, you know, Job's been talking to his friends, his friends have been talking to Job. We know all that. And there's this Elihu, this other voice comes into the mix, a younger man whose been sitting and waiting and he's talking now. What Job wanted all along was to talk to God. Today when Elihu gets done God's gonna show up and God has some things to say of his own. And, so, let’s dive in. Job, chapter 37.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for another week that You have brought us through and we thank You for another month that You have brought us through. And even as we begin to close the chapter on this month and this week, we hear Your voice and the book of Job. All of the questioning, all of the advice, and then You have shown up with…with impossible questions that simply reveal we do not in any way know anywhere near all that we think that we know, and we have barely scratched the surface when it comes to knowing You. And yet, this is our desire, to know You, as Paul said, in spirit and in truth. This is our desire and we acknowledge that we, in our own strength, in our own minds we are only capable of so much and that is through a glass darkly, that is scratching the surface. And yet by Your Holy Spirit we can be led into all truth. This is what You've offered us, this is what You've given to us. And, so, we simply need to follow. Come, Holy Spirit, lead us into all truth we pray. In the name of Jesus we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, and it’s where you find out what’s going on around here.

And man, tonight or actually this afternoon into night, into this evening we’ll be at the family reunion here in the rolling hills of Tennessee. So, we’re looking forward to that, looking forward to seeing everyone and praying safe travels over everyone who’s coming into the Nashville area today. We are eager and looking forward to shaking hands and hugging necks and telling stories and being together and making acquaintances and rekindling friendships and all of the things that happen when we come together as a community. So, looking forward to that.

Here's a little bit of an announcement on the apps. We released a major update a couple days ago and we’ve been talking about that and immediately we were able to see a couple of little things that needed to be fixed. Those of you who experienced some checkbox issues and stuff like that…like…it’s really interesting because you can test and test and test but until you get something into the wild when thousands of people are starting to hit the system that you…you know…there’s like no way. And, so, we saw a couple of things there and the team worked very, very diligently to create what's called a hot fix. So, there’s a little update, just update again and those issues will go away as well as a couple of other issues. Those of you who are Android users should be experiencing…ahh…for the first time really stable performance. And, so, we can see that because we used to see crash logs, you know, like over a thousand crashes a day that have gone down to just about zero. So, we are making massive steps forward. And this checkbox issue…this has been such a frustrating issue since the get go. And what we've done is put a pretty big fix in place, but the next major update that we do, that will eliminate that problem forever. Like, that will be a thing of the past to the point that no matter what you do, no matter where you do it, it's in the cloud. So, it’ll  will be responsive no matter where you are. We were playing with it the other day where I had two different browsers up and I could like check the box of “listened” and it would immediately check…I mean…it happens no matter where you are. So, that's cool but that's…that's close. We’re close to…like…that’s the next phase. But anyway, I think we got the bugs mostly worked out, the little bugs the kind of revealed themselves once we had lots of people in the system. So, there's a new little update. Update and you'll be fine.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. And I say every day, a humble word of gratitude and I think I always will because I…that's what my heart is…humble gratitude that we can even be here, that this community even exists, that the Lord would allow us to share planet Earth at this point in history. That we could all be together around the world doing this, that's humbling. The technology involved in doing this, like the effort in doing this is significant. And, so, I have humble gratitude that we do it together. It's that this is a community and that what we've done we've done together. So, I thank you for your partnership as we prepare to move into the month of September. So, there's a link on the homepage, at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that's your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment you can press the red “hot line” button that’s sitting right next to the give button in the upper right-hand corner of the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press that button and start talking or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello DAB family, guess you? Terry the Trucker. Today’s our first day back in the truck. All has went well. Have not been nervous or scared. Maybe slightly, a couple percent, but I’ve gotta say it’s been a blessed day. It really has. Forgot to start my stopwatch so I’m gonna make this short and sweet. I just want to say thank you to everybody for all the prayers and the support over the last year and I know God’s got me. What will be will be because it will be his will. I want all of you to know that I continue to pray for each and every one of you and I hope to see you at the family reunion. I’ve got a truck I get a pickup in North Carolina. So, all I gotta do is get this one back to Texas by Friday, get reloaded, and head that way. So, y’all have a blessed week.

Hey, good morning brothers and sisters of the Daily Audio Bible it’s Tuesday, August 27th and I heard some fantastic calls today and I just want to lift up Wendy. Your voice is beautiful by the way. And I want to lift up the guy that works in the UPS in Columbia South Carolina the brother and I want to lift up the sister who’s having stomach problems. And I was just so moved by the last caller, the sister who has been clean from meth for nine days. Way to go! And I’m just praying over all of you and everyone else that calls in too. Father in Jesus’ name I lift up Your beloved children to You Lord God because You are able to do anything and there is nothing too hard for You. God with You all things are possible, and You have all power and You are able to heal and set free. You know what they need father God as we call out and lift them up father God. Please protect them, comfort them, give them exactly what they need as they cry out for You and we cry out for them. In Jesus’ mighty and precious name we pray. Amen.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family, this is Truly Thankful Taylor from the Dallas Fort Worth Metroplex in Texas. I’m so excited. This is my first time calling apart from the Christmas card last year and I’ve been part of the Daily Audio Bible family, listening for about eight years now. I’ve been so encouraged through the years. I first want to say thank you to Brian Jill, Ben, China, Max, Ezekiel and the rest of the Hardin family as well as all the background individuals who consistently pour into this ministry and make it possible for us to listen daily and to be a part of this amazing family. I just wanted to reach out to some of my fellow people who have been a part for a long time. Joe the Protector, you’ve been on my heart lately. Praying for you, your daughter, and your granddaughter. Margo from Australia, my heart leaps every time I hear you call in. Know that you are consistently being prayed for throughout the week. Praying especially for your health lately. Love you my sweet sister and so many of you that are so thankful in calling. Annette, I’m praying for you. Just know you are loved, and your heart, it just brings so much joy to me as I hear you. Pastor Gene, His Little Cherry, Blind Tony, Victoria Soldier, and so many others of you I don’t have time to mention right now. But just know that I love you, I’m praying for you. For those of you that are new to this ministry and new this body, I just want to encourage you to continue to press in and seek the Lord. He is so faithful and will reveal Himself to you. God’s word does not return void. And just for those of you who have been on this journey a long time, I want to encourage you to keep going. It says in Philippians 3:14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize, which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. You can do it and you can through the power of Jesus Christ who gives you strength. So, bless you everyone. I love you my family. Talk to you soon. Truly Thankful Taylor. Bye for now.

Hi DAB family I wanted to call in with a confession and then a prayer request. I’ve been praying for healing of several different relations...broken relationships in my life for the last several months and recently I have been tempted and also have given into the temptation of really trying to manipulate those relationships and taking them into my own hands to try and heal those relationships, which is not something that I can do on my own. So, the Bible says that if we confess our sins to one another and then the Lord will be faithful in forgiving no sense. So, I confess to you that I have been trying to take these things into my own hands and manipulating and telling some…some untruths for trying to repair those relationships. I ask that you would just, join me in prayer with regards to that and for the healing of those relationships. I still want those relationships to be healed in my life and those friendships and relationships to be restored. So, thank you so much for this amazing podcast. It has really made a huge impact on my life and thank you all for being such an amazing community, all the prayer warriors and I will talk to you soon.

Hi Daily Audio Bible, one of our own is suffering with brain cancer right now and I would like him to be lifted up in prayer. His name is Oli and this voyage began, ironically, less than two weeks ago and he’s already incapacitated to the point of not being able to walk. So, please lift Oli up in prayer and his beautiful wife Jessica. They have 11 children and all the prayer that can be used to bring forth God’s kingdom here on earth through this tragedy would be appreciated. And, of course, they need answers and we aren’t giving up on the miracle for a complete healing. Thank you, Daily Audio Bible.