#truth reinvigorates creates makes whole

[magpie-trove]

Fantasy series where the powers are based on truth and lies

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

‘Black Sails’ Star Luke Arnold Is Creating A Graphic Novel With A Strong Creative Compass

Though he’s had a long run as a working actor, Australian born Black Sails and INXS: Never Tear Us Apart star Luke Arnold says he’s always been a writer. He says that’s related to his favorite part of acting – figuring out the strategy for the performance more than the performance itself.

For Arnold, getting into the space to create is vital. Drama school was followed by the start of his on-screen career, but while he was still writing, he felt a truth that will resonate with many aspiring creators: “For so long you’re so desperate for a paycheck and for something to happen in your career that for so long as a young actor, it’s hard to really focus on something [else],” he says while recounting the process of trying to find time to write in between auditions and jobs.

Arnold is talking with us as he readies the launch of a Kickstarter campaign around a new, high concept graphic novel that he-co-wrote with Chris “Doc” Wyatt. The story plays with shifting realities, twisting truths, and anti-science ideas. It sound expansive and timely, deploying multiple heavy-hitter artists (including Bill Sienkiewicz, Glenn Fabry, Jason Howard, Vince Locke, Brendan McCarthy, Andrea Mutti, and M.K. Perker) in collaboration with The Lab Press. This follows his three novels with a fourth on the way.

Arnold’s writing work is the result of a careful balance that grants him the time to carve out dedicated space to write, doing it in a way that seems to not just impact the work but also reinvigorate him when a new acting role comes along. That balance has come from having worked steadily and from legit financial planning.

“I do put time aside and I know I’ve got to make the acting money last through that time. And make sure there’s enough, all the rent and bills and everything are covered while the money isn’t pouring in the same way it does when you’re on an acting job that gives you a check every week,” says Arnold.

Working in this fashion gives Arnold the ability to not be pushed into bad creative decisions by necessity, accountable to his audience more than to the business side of things. It’s a luxury, to be sure, but one that he is happy to lean into with focus and humbleness (believe me, Arnold gets how lucky he is to be able to put one career down for a moment to pick up another, mentioning it more than once).

“If you start spending so much that now you have to make all your decisions based on finances, you start making the wrong decisions, you start taking jobs you don’t want to take.” says Arnold.

The desire to chase a kind of purity with the creative process extends beyond planning and striving for dedicated time. It also factors into how he chose to pursue this specific process, turning to Kickstarter.

“It takes so many barriers away, because so much in publishing and getting books out can be about this whole network of agents and publishers to the booksellers, to the bookstores, to the people in the bookstores recommending it to readers. And that can be such a great pipeline of people, but it can also limit what people have access to,” Arnold says. “Kickstarter is a very level playing field and very creator driven. So it’s a perfect place for this whole journey to start.”

While Arnold also lauds Kickstarter’s creative community and other benefits, he acknowledges the advantage his name recognition brings, though we both agree that it may, at times, be overstated.

“I think that the’ve got to be careful how I say this. I’m sure when I get opportunities like this, some part of it is that I have have a profile from a TV show. But I think it often gets overestimated, this idea of how much of an audience will follow you between different fields and different mediums,” he says, before I co-sign the thought by reminding that there is a big difference between following someone and giving them a credit card number.

At the end of the day, while some may click because of Arnold’s run on Black Sails (the pirate epic is about to hit Netflix in full), the idea for Essentials has to win them over. It’s why we’re talking with him, to be honest. And so, to end off and share info on the Kickstarter, let’s have him make that sales pitch in his own words.

“Essentials follows Harris Pax, who was the one scientist who foresaw this inter-dimensional collision happening where our dimension collided with another. Now objective reality has become untethered. And people’s subjective realities are becoming real, the way they see the world, their fears, beliefs, ideas are manifesting around them. This was a kind-of COVID baby. This was an idea that we were forming in 2020. A lot of it is dealing with that idea of what the hell do you do when everyone is in their own little world. And we can no longer agree on some basic facts, science, the world we’re in, and how hard is it to do what Harris tries to do, which is to go into these subjective realities and try and convince the person inside that they need to come back to the real world.”

You can check out the Kickstarter for Essentials on April 17.

Source: Uproxx

[aminiatureworld]

Reanimate

Characters: Ganyu, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,930

Warnings: Character death, violence

Premise: There is something cruel in the sudden death of a loved one, especially one who should’ve gone on so much longer. And yet perhaps that is not the cruelest twist of fate. Perhaps death is sometimes a small mercy.

In which the reader returns as a member of the Abyss.

Author’s Note: I decided to give archons ichor-like blood just because. Also sorry I did my best to be ruthless, I hope I didn’t get too carried away

Ganyu

In all the thousands of years of her existence Ganyu had never received the answer to the question of her humanity. Which pieces of her were adeptal and which were mortal? It was a foolish question perhaps, but something that had haunted her, almost as much as you.

She’d received a sort of answer one day, though not one given but rather one snatched away. It was a little time after your passing, when Ganyu still couldn’t discern the nightmares of her sleep from the memories of her waking moments. She was laying up on the peak of Mount Hulao, wondering why the sun should be shining up in the sky, when the familiar lilt of Cloud Retainer’s voice traveled up to her ears. There had been more adepti frequenting her abode than usual, all peering over the mountain, making sure their ward did not drown herself in sorrow. Ganyu didn’t know who Cloud Retainer was talking to now, but her words were as clear as ever.

“Poor darling, she was born with the heart of a human after all.”

At the time Ganyu had felt almost affronted, as if some great wrong had been laid at her feet. Yet even as there had been anger there was also curiosity. What did it mean then, to have a human heart? Perhaps there was weakness in it, but it seemed there was also privilege. For even as she curled around herself, bleeding out from some invisible wound, she could still picture your smiling face, and the happiness she’d gleaned from it.

Now this picture swam in her head once more, floating in stark contrast to the image now in front of her.

You had returned, how in Teyvat had you returned? Ganyu knew the ways of the world, knew that half-adepti could be killed. Had she not experienced proof of this when you’d died? Had the demon which stood upon your corpse, laughing at the blood coating his hands, not shown Ganyu that even those blessed with immortal age could not escape the wrath of the world? How could you be standing here in front of her now then, as alive as you’d been those thousands of years before?

Though perhaps you weren’t alive, perhaps this was simply a trick of the Abyss. For there was no light in your eyes, no flicker of recognition in regards to the person you’d once pledged your soul too. Ganyu was bewildered, glancing this way and that at the heralds surrounding you. “What have you done to them?” She pleaded, voice barely audible. “What monster did you create?”

And yet she couldn’t bring herself to harm you, to take up her weapon as she had done so many times before. If the Abyss was tricking her than the likeness was impressive. Your attack patterns were familiar, an old dance that Ganyu had learned so long ago. You stabbed this way and that, as if Ganyu was being attacked by a needle rather than a sword. And yet she still could remember the dance, and had only a scratch on her arm. She’d always chastised you that your form was too artistic.

“Why don’t you remember me?” She now turned to you, ignoring the Heralds which lay frozen upon the ground, having no qualms in their destruction. You narrowed your eyes in response to her callings, seeming as mute to her entreaties as you had been to your name. Did you even remember it?

Ganyu jumped back as you once more aimed to stab her. Unfortunately it seemed as if you had learned somewhat from this fight, or perhaps just retained the memory of the sparring the two of you had often shared. Stretching out from your lowered position you rammed your back into Ganyu, causing her to topple to the floor. Flames coated your sword, which you now pointed at the pinned half-adeptus. Ganyu’s eyes widened, as panic truly began to run through her. Once more she called out to you.

“Stop.”

“What?” Ganyu watched as your arm faltered and your face contorted itself into a frown. You narrowed your eyes, breath coming faster now.

“Stop saying that name!”

“But it is yours.”

“It is the name given to me by a liar. It is the name of a weakling.”

“It is the name of the person I love.” Ganyu knew she should be running, should be taking advantage of your weakness. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to pull herself away, desperate in the hope you might return to her.

“That person died thousands of years ago.”

“And yet they’re standing right in front of me.”

“Thanks to those who the gods would destroy. Thanks to those who understand the true nature of this world.”

“And what is that?” Ganyu felt her voice falter, shocked by the venom in your words.

“Cruelty. The cruelty of the gods. They betray humanity, betray that which they’re sworn to protect. They’re nothing but fickle creatures, no more than beasts. The only thing they truly love is their own superiority.”

“You’re wrong. You know you’re wrong. You… you love the gods.”

“How could I love such monsters? You’re deluding yourself. Deluding yourself as you always did. You were always too soft… Ganyu.”

As if reinvigorated you took a deep breath. Taking a few steps forward you loomed over Ganyu. She couldn’t help but notice your eyes, how glassy they seemed to be. For a moment she was so seized by them she barely registered the sword raised above her head.

Yet the practice which had led her out of the darkness of your death now refused to let you take her life. Rolling over Ganyu jolted as your blade came crashing down into the stone right next to her ear. Running back towards the exist of the lair in which she’d found herself Ganyu foundered one last time.

“Come with me. There are so many who miss you. Cloud Retainer and Moon Carver and Madame Ping. Come back with me. We can go see the statue they’ve created of Skybracer for the Lantern Rite, I know how much you liked the festival.”

“I’d rather die again than be a traitor to humanity. You’re part human yourself. And yet you bow and scrape at the feet of tyrants.”

“And aren’t you also part adeptus?” Ganyu felt tears pooling at the corners of their eyes, their salty warmth stinging her frigid skin. “I wish you’d taken my hand.”

“And I wish you and the rest of the traitors would just die!”

“So be it.”

Ganyu tried not to remember the scream that pierced your throat as your leg buckled, tried not to think of the blood that pooled where her arrow had lodged itself at the top of your knee, droplets landing in icy circles on the barren ground where she herself had just been lying. Instead she ran, ran out of the domain, ran away from the person who had once brought her such joy.

The moon outside was a smiling crescent, its light casting a cold shade on the trees around her. The stars which seemed so far away were now hunters, she was their prey. She plunged through the scraggly forest, desperate to reach the safety of Jueyun Karst. The sky seemed to be burning away, or perhaps swallowing up the world. Finally a familiar mountain ridge was spotted, and Ganyu let out a cry of relief. She was halfway to the top when the darkness descended and the night swallowed her whole.

 Ganyu dreamed. Or perhaps she did not dream. Perhaps she simply remembered. The wind rustled her hair, and the faint sound of a flute echoed in the air. She lay on your lap now, smiling sleepily as you recounted some odd experience, expression one of soft, sedate joy.

“I’d never truly met a pilgrim before. They were quite unlike what I expected. The poor man, he nearly fell over in his attempt to bow as low as he possibly could. I told him that there was no need, that I wasn’t important enough for that, but then he only seemed surprised when I talked. Perhaps he expected some divine wisdom, although according to you I might only be able to offer him a somewhat incomprehensible account of the Archon War, since my mother saw approximately half of it.”

“Still, you must have made him very happy.” Ganyu smiled up at you as you twisted your expression into one of exaggerated solemness.

“Perhaps you are right. For what are we but being to give our souls to the happiness of humanity? Although I must admit that I have already pledged mine elsewhere.”

“And where might that be?”

“How silly of you to ask Ganyu! Honestly, you’re becoming quite forgetful. Why, it’s right there, in your heart.”

“Y-you shouldn’t say that.” Ganyu stammered, a familiar blush dusting soft warmth over the bridge of her nose. You merely laughed, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. Your lips tasted of lazy summer sun, and Ganyu found all embarrassment replaced with a sense of utter contentment.

“Why not? It’s the truth. And it will always be the truth.”

“Even when you and I have turned into enemies?” This surely was no longer a memory.

“Even then. For in my heart you will never be anything but my beloved. And don’t you forget it.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What a foolish thing to say Ganyu. Of course you know! You always will.”

“I… I love you.”

“I love you too. Always.”

When she awoke the half-adeptus gave herself up to the small luxury of crying. She knew that she couldn’t stay here, knew that there was work to be done, the work she’d promised to the people of Liyue. Yet even as she told herself to get up Ganyu continued to cry, to sob as if in great pain.

For indeed what is more painful than the sudden, utter shattering of one’s heart?

 Zhongli

Throughout the millennia of his existence, throughout all the changes that had been wrought on the former geo archon, Zhongli could feel at least a little bit grateful to time.

Time had been kind to the archon, for it had let him retain all those things that mattered. He could still recall the soft tones of Guizhong, the excitement as she explained some new contraption; he could recall the way that the familiar tones of a flute once echoed throughout the canyons of Liyue, the call of an adeptus who was still young and untethered to the sins of others; and, if he focused but for a moment, he could still recall the look of surprise on your face, the exclamations of protest, and the soft smile that brightened your expression as you finally reached out to take the glaze lily from him.

How he missed you, you his most perfect half. It seemed so long ago, and yet so painfully close, the day you two had met. You were a minor deity, formed for the benefit of humanity, made incarnate by the prayers of those early inhabitants of Liyue who could not simply lock their doors to keep the dangers of the world out. You had been an odd deity, the combination both of hope and suffering; the longing for peace combined with the knowledge that such a thing was unlikely.

“It’s very odd, being a deity born of human hope.” You’d commented once. You’d joined Zhongli to look out upon the sunset, climbing a mountain that would one day be dwarfed by the pillars that would spring up after the last of the Archon War.

“I should not see why it would be any different than any other deity. After all, we all live to give to humanity in some way.” You’d shook your head at his response.

“Zhongli, you weren’t made from humanity. Even if the people of Liyue foundered, even if they moved or lost faith in you or no longer needed a geo archon, you would live on. We who are born from humanity, we will fade if we are forgotten, if human prayers no longer reach us.”

“I doubt there will be a scarcity of the need for hope anytime soon. Alas the dangers of the world are not yet gone.”

“Perhaps not, but one day humans will be able to fight and hope for themselves. And then who knows where we lesser deities will be.”

Your odd conversation had worried Zhongli at the time. Not because he truly believed that you would disappear, no he had too much faith for that, or perhaps too much love. No, it was the way you had said it, as if you had resigned yourself to some terrible fate. He’d held you closer for the next few days, as if to remind you that you indeed existed, as if to assure himself that he would not have to lose another person who he held within his heart.

The death of Havria had been a shock, but Zhongli could tell you were more shaken than he was. For some time, the amount Zhongli could never calculate, you had said little, withdrawing into yourself. Old shadows had reared their ugly heads again, and now you seem at their mercy, drowning in your own self-imposed prophecy.

“My love, do not fear your own disappearance. You are not like Havria, you have no one who might betray you.”

“It’s not that Zhongli. It’s… it’s just the reminder of how fickle humans are.” You sighed, eyes fixed not on the archon sitting in front of you but on some unseen horizon. “Gods are fickle, they always have been. But that’s what you expect, and you cannot hold it against them. Humans on the other hand, humans are supposed to be static, even as they grow their faith is seen as assured. It’s… uncomfortable, a reminder that such an assumption has no real basis except one of hubris. Who else might fall at the hands of those they protected.”

“Not you. I could not imagine them harming you. You are their incarnation of hope after all, of the human will to survive. And no human can live without the will to survive. Besides my love, last I checked you had rejected the chance at a domain.”

“And leave you? Of course I did.” Your tone was indulgent, but the smile that passed your face was distracted. “I hope that I won’t meet death in such a way. I thought to be forgotten was the cruelest fate, but perhaps it’s not; perhaps the cruelest fate is to be betrayed by the ones you love. How much Havria must’ve suffered in her final moments.”

“But you will not meet either of those fates my love, I promise it.”

 Zhongli had ended up being right, as neither of those paths were to be the one you walked. The one placed in front of you was perhaps one you would’ve approved of, though Zhongli could never truly bring himself to accept that. When the Qingce had threatened the quiet settlements which grew out of the harbor you’d come to the aid of humanity. In a manner that felt much too passive in Zhongli’s mind you met your fate. What was the emotion of your final moments? Zhongli could never find it in him to delve into that question. He could barely find it in himself to think of you at first, drowning his sorrows in the blood he spilt to ensure the continuation of Liyue, and then in the millennia of his rule afterwards. Even his tears had seemed distant, as if they were wetting the face of another person, someone very far away and very different than he was.

 There were reports of a disturbance in the Guili Plains, of the agitation of Ruin Guards, and of whispers of the Abyss. Zhongli realized that it was no longer his duty to look into such things, that his resignation of the post of Geo Archon also relieved him of the duties of scouting the plains of Liyue for such dangers. Yet just because the stipulations of a contract have shifted does not mean the contract no longer exists. Zhongli’s duty to protect Liyue remained. He was not perhaps a deity from humanity, but he was destined to protect it nonetheless.

The domain that he’d managed to find was oppressing, the atmosphere tense. It made Zhongli think of older times, though not so long ago. It made him think of a razed city after the smoke had cleared, though this location was sure to be crawling with enemies. A pity there were no allies to fight alongside him now.

And yet you had somehow managed to follow him here, somehow managed to appear once more, after a millennia of buried loss. Upon entering the chamber in which you stood Zhongli could do nothing but stop in his tracks. You had appeared. Somehow, despite your death, despite the years, despite the fact that you’d never known the Abyss in your long ago existence, you were now here. Zhongli felt dazed, mind clouded, limbs made of stone. He made no effort to move, not when your eyes lit up in grim, impersonal recognition; not when an all too familiar claymore appeared in yours hands, not when you lunged forward and geo-infused steel slammed into his shoulder.

Zhongli knew something was wrong, knew that he must’ve made a mistake a some point in his long, drawn out existence. Whatever it was he couldn’t piece it together, could barely continue to stare at you as your weapon battered him over and over again. Blood was sticking to his gloves, his shoulder, his neck; small golden trickles opening up every time you swung your claymore. He knew he should fight back, knew that this wasn’t truly you, could not be truly you. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to fight back, to harm even an illusion of the person he once loved.

Eventually he found himself slumped against a wall, eyes still gazing up at you in mute entreaty. He hadn’t tried to call for you yet, hadn’t yet attempted to break the spell washed over you. The words stuck in his throat, those lovely words that belonged to you. He could not fight and he could not call out. Instead he sat there, frozen, heart beating erratically as he tried to find the ground beneath him.

“You’re a surprisingly abysmal fighter, Morax.” The voice was yours but the words weren’t; you would never call him such a thing. Perhaps it was that which finally enabled him to speak.

“And you have changed in a millennia”

“I learned of your treachery, of the crimes you committed when I was gone. Of the people you slaughtered.”

“I do not know what spell they cast to bring you back in such a state, but you cannot believe what you have been told. My love, since when did you mindless follow the rules of others?”

“Mindlessly?” You barked out a laugh, though it sounded almost like a cry to Zhongli’s ears. “The only time I mindlessly followed someone was when I was with you. You tricked me, you lied to me. You pretended to care, only to betray my existence the moment I was gone. Morax, the god of Liyue. What sort of god slaughters people for attempting to create a civilization just as he once did?”

“You were not there for the life of Khaenri’ah. You do not know what took place.”

“I doubt I needed to be there to understand the facts. You betrayed humanity Morax. Do you not deserve to pay for such a crime?”

“Zhongli.”

“What?”

“You used to refer to me as Zhongli.” At that moment the ex-archon pulled himself up. Standing up he managed a smile, though inside he felt as if he were fracturing. “If your anger must be removed in such a way, so be it. Take it all out on me. But, when your rage has finally been spent, please come back to the light. This place, it is too dark for you.”

“My rage can only be quenched in death.”

“So be it.”

Zhongli was not sure how long you hacked away at him, claymore swinging in a wide arc as the future scars which Zhongli would wear multiplied. His clothes were in shreds at this point, his coat barely clinging on to the semblance of what it was made to be. The metal which he wore was stained a rusty golden color, and his shirt was now damp with blood and sweat.

Perhaps this was his rightful punishment, the result of having ruled Liyue too long, having grown too old. Perhaps you truly did hate him now, having somehow reincarnated into a being of pure wrath. Perhaps he’d somehow meet his end here, and perhaps then you would be waiting for him, you and all the ones he’d lost, restored to your former selves.

And yet another part of him knew that he was tethered to his contract, to the promise to protect the citizens who now bustled about, enjoying their newfound freedom. And that part of him knew that this could not truly be you. Even if the Abyss had managed to coax your body and soul from the other side they’d only managed to bring back a shadow. A shadow could never replace you, for it knew none of you complexities. It could only haunt those around it, in hope to be paid the same amount of attention.

It was this knowledge that allowed him to fight back, even as he willed himself not to hurt you. Claymore met polearm, and the ground seemed to shake around the both of you. If any other members of the Abyss had managed to rouse themselves within this time they were almost assuredly crawling away, for surely the structure would fall at any moment. But Zhongli cared not for this fact; the walls could crumble around the two of you for all he cared. There was nothing else in the world, only you, the weapon in his hand, and the contract in his heart.

Finally you began to falter, the energy you’d contain slowly draining away. Slowly Zhongli began to regain the upper hand, beating you back into the edges of the abode. Finally at one point you slipped, and Zhongli found himself kneeling over you, polearm planted into the ground, barely grazing your cheek.

“If you have truly been brought back to life, then I beg you not to throw such a thing away on the revenge of those who never knew you.”

“I won’t listen to your disgusting lies any longer!”

“You loved me once, do you not remember that?”

“How could anyone truly love a tyrant?”

Zhongli sighed, but his hands were trembling violently. He knew it wasn’t you, that it could not truly be you. And if it was, then Zhongli was ready to pay the price in suffering.

Contracts were the most sacred concept of Liyue. One must abide by them, whether it benefits them personally or not. Though he was no longer Liyue’s god, Zhongli was no less tied to those promises he’d made. This was his price, the price of power and influence, the price of his continued existence.

“When time has run its course and the world of the gods comes crashing down, I will see you again.”

He did not expect your blood to run red.

[lankonleafs]

Do We Believe Mike Babcock on His Side of the Marner Work Ethic Story?

I’m sure we all remember when this story originally broke but I will quickly give everyone a refresher. Shortly after Mike Babcock was fired as the head coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs reports came out that in Mitch Marner’s rookie season Babcock made the rookie write a list of his teammates ranking them from hardest working to those that didn’t have a strong work ethic, Marner being a rookie didn’t know if this was normal so he obliged. The story goes that once Marner had the list completed Babcock showed the rest of the team to try to prove a point. The original story can be read here 

https://torontosun.com/sports/hockey/reinvigorated-leafs-eager-to-keep-pushing-forward-with-keefe-at-helm  

Let’s fast forward to today’s news courtesy of Pierre LeBrun from The Athletic. Do we really believe Mike Babcock or is this him manipulating the media (once again) to make himself look better? The fact that the guy decided that he suddenly wants to be a NBC Sports analyst says to me that he is chomping at the bit to get back behind the bench. Babcock claims that he did indeed ask Mitch to make the list but only showed Tyler Bozak and he “made a huge mistake” as soon as he did it. He says he offered to come clean to the team right away to Marner and Marner declined. He says that he did not show the entire team like the original report suggested. 

Here’s my take: I think that there is a little truth to both stories. I obviously think that Babcock made Marner create the list but I don’t think he realized showing Bozak right away was a mistake. There have been claims from numerous ex-players that Babcock was always playing mind games and I think this was another one. I think that he was playing mind games with Marner to try to show him who the real boss was. I also think that Babcock was trying to send a message to Bozak (and probably some other vets) that he might need to work harder. 

No matter what the real truth is, the fact that Babcock 100% made a rookie rank his teammates this way is such a bullshit move by Babcock. I’m not sure what he was thinking in getting him to do this. As a coach you’re supposed to be there for your guys and I don’t think this is the way to treat a young kid that might not know any better. What was the end goal? Even if he’s telling the truth that he offered to come clean what was Mitch supposed to do? Let Babcock come clean to the team and explain that he made Marner rank his teammates? if Babcock did that the whole room would turn on Marner.. Babcock not only put himself in a terrible spot but he put his superstar rookie in a terrible spot too.  

We’ll probably never hear what Tyler Bozak’s side of the story is on this but I am very curious to know what his truth is. Did Babcock show Bozak in a one on one meeting like Babcock claims? Or was it the original story and he showed the whole team? No matter what the real truth is it was and is a shitty situation that should have never happened in the first place. I’m curious to see if Babcock’s new truth will lead him behind an NHL bench in the near future or if there is enough bad blood in the NHL for him to never get another crack at it. Personally, I think he’ll get another shot. The NHL is notorious for being the ‘old boys club’ and that isn’t going to change anytime soon. 

[iknowmyworth]

No more holding my breath

overthinking every step.

No more spending whole days

holding back,

wondering what they will say.

Something new is stirring inside of me.

And this is where

I take the leap.

I'm kind of afraid,

but here I go anyway.

I let the Light in.

No more hiding.

I will open up the door

and let the sun sweep the floor.

Shadows broken,

I'm broken open.

No more hiding away:

It's time to be seen by the Light.

It's time to grow wild in the Light.

One of the hardest things in life is to allow yourself to be seen. It's hard to be vulnerable and share your true emotions and say the things that your heart has been longing to say. Whether you're sharing publicly or even opening up to a friend or family member - perhaps you have felt that feeling of your heart racing, as you finally get the courage to say what you've been trying to say for so long.

Maybe you have felt a lump in your throat, before you gave the speech. Or before you said, “I love you.” Perhaps it's hard to press publish, because the inner critic is so loud in your mind, to the point that you fear the other critics that will join in it mocking you, making fun of you, making you think less of yourself.

You wonder who might scroll through social media and misunderstand or judge something that you've shared. There are 1 million reasons to stay in the shadows. But there is a reason to come into the Light.

When you choose to step forth, whatever that looks like in your life, you are giving someone else courage to do the same. When you say I love you, you open up the door for that other person to be honest about their feelings. And even if that answer is not what you want it to be, at least now you know the truth. At least now the truth isn't hiding behind nuances, and being afraid to speak openly and honestly.

Stepping into the Light is a hard place to be. And at the same time, when you see the sunflower bend its back so that its natural internal rhythms can follow the sun, you will be reminded that being in the Light is necessary for growth.

One of my favorite movie scenes of all time actually comes from the Pixar film Toy Story 4. There's a moment when the character Bo Peep is encouraging another character to literally step into the Light. And what she says to the character is to step out of the shadows and into the light - but not too much. And what I love about that line is that she gave permission for this character to step forward, but in a way that they were able to in that moment, because they were coming from a place of having been broken. They were coming from a place of being afraid to put themselves out there again because they had been hurt.

So this is where grace comes in. You are allowed to inch into the Light. If you have been thinking about sharing your story, you don't have to start with everything that has ever happened in your life since childhood. You can share about your newfound love of iPhone photography and how you have been learning to use what you have to create something beautiful. You can talk about the different recipes that you're trying and how you're enjoying working with these ingredients and learning about them.

I think a lot of times when we think about telling our story and coming into the light and not hiding in the shadows, we think that we have to immediately jump into the deep end. We forget that we are allowed to dip our toes in the shallow end. We forget that before we rode a bike with two wheels, we had two extra wheels on the side to train us and prepare us to balance ourselves. So wherever it is in your life that you have been afraid or hesitant or reluctant or doubtful about saying what you've been wanting to say or about stepping forward with courage, take heart. Breathe deep and remember that this takes time. It takes a lifetime and that is absolutely okay. What matters is that you remember: you are not meant to hide away. Open up the door, let the sunlight sweep the floor, and let Light find you, again and again and again.

Word of the Day: Refresh (v): give new strength or energy to; reinvigorate (Oxford Languages)

Journal: Where do you see light breaking into your life right now?

Affirmation: I will step forward in the things to come with courage, knowing the light will find me.

[ucflibrary]

Poetry is the expression of human experience.

It is the               voice                         when finding ourselves                         past and future identities.

Poems are a universal noise bringing truth from silence on our lived experiences in               race,                       gender,                                    sexuality,                                                    ethnicity,                                                                   religion,                                                                                 health,                                                                                            and family.

These verses, in whichever form they take, are the hopes,                         dreams,                                      rage,                                              and tears that move our lives.

UCF Libraries is proud to raise up other voices as part of the largest literary celebration in the world.

We have gathered suggestions to feature 16 books of poetry that are currently in the UCF collection. These works represent the wide range of favorite poets for our faculty and staff. To compliment the works featured on the 2021 list, an additional 200 poetry books grace the shelves of our Featured Display next to the Research & Information Desk on the main floor of the John C. Hitt Library.

Click on the Keep reading link to see the full list of titles and descriptions.

A Nail the Evening Hangs On by Monica Sok In her debut collection, Monica Sok uses poetry to reshape a family’s memory about the Khmer Rouge regime―memory that is both real and imagined―according to a child of refugees. Driven by myth-making and fables, the poems examine the inheritance of the genocide and the profound struggles of searing grief and PTSD. Though the landscape of Cambodia is always present, it is the liminal space, the in-betweenness of diaspora, in which younger generations must reconcile their history and create new rituals. Sok seeks to reclaim the Cambodian narrative with tenderness and an imagination that moves towards wholeness and possibility. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisition and Collection Services

 Buzzing Hemisphere = Rumor Hemisferico by Urayoan Noel In this expansive collection, we hear the noise of cities such as New York, San Juan, and São Paulo abuzz with flickering bodies and the rush of vernaculars as untranslatable as the murmur in the Spanish rumor. Oscillating between baroque textuality and vernacular performance, Noel’s bilingual poems experiment with eccentric self-translation, often blurring the line between original and translation as a way to question language hierarchies and allow for translingual experiences. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 Collected Poems in English by Joseph Brodsky One of the greatest and grandest advocates of the literary vocation, Joseph Brodsky truly lived his life as a poet, and for it earned eighteen months in an Arctic labor camp, expulsion from his native country, and the Nobel Prize in Literature. Such were one man's wages. Here, collected for the first time, are all the poems he published in English, from his earliest collaborations with Derek Walcott, Richard Wilbur, Howard Moss, and Anthony Hecht to the moving farewell poems he wrote near the end of his life. Suggested by Tatyana Leonova, Acquisition and Collection Services

 Crush by Richard Siken This work, selected as the 2004 winner of the Yale Younger Poets prize, is a powerful collection of poems driven by obsession and love. Siken writes with ferocity, and his reader hurtles unstoppably with him. His poetry is confessional, gay, savage, and charged with violent eroticism. In the world of American poetry, Siken's voice is striking. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

 Different Hours by Stephen Dunn The mysteries of Eros and Thanatos, the stubborn endurance of mind and body in the face of diminishment--these are the undercurrents of Stephen Dunn's eleventh volume. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

 Honeyfish by Lauren K. Alleyne The collection begins and ends with poems that memorialize and mourn the deaths of African Americans who have died at police hands, though to call them poems of protest would simplify their exploration of what life means in relation to death. It is a collection whose architecture works to make each poem, beautiful in their singular grace, add up to much more than the sum of their individual parts. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 How We Became Human: new and selected poems by Joy Harjo This collection gathers poems from throughout Joy Harjo's twenty-eight-year career, beginning in 1973 in the age marked by the takeover at Wounded Knee and the rejuvenation of indigenous cultures in the world through poetry and music. This work explores its title question in poems of sustaining grace. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 Legacy: women poets of the Harlem Renaissance by Nikki Grimes For centuries, accomplished women--of all races--have fallen out of the historical records. The same is true for gifted, prolific, women poets of the Harlem Renaissance who are little known, especially as compared to their male counterparts. In this poetry collection, bestselling author Nikki Grimes uses "The Golden Shovel" poetic method to create wholly original poems based on the works of these groundbreaking women-and to introduce readers to their work. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 New Poets of Native Nations edited by Heid E. Erdrich Erdrich gathers poets of diverse ages, styles, languages, and tribal affiliations to present the extraordinary range and power of new Native poetry. These selected twenty-one poets whose first books were published after the year 2000 highlight the exciting works coming up after Joy Harjo and Sherman Alexie. Collected here are poems of great breadth―long narratives, political outcries, experimental works, and traditional lyrics―and the result is an essential anthology of some of the best poets writing now. Suggested by Dawn Tripp, Research & Information Services

 Oceanic by Aimee Nezhukumatathil With inquisitive flair, Aimee Nezhukumatathil creates a thorough registry of the earth’s wonderful and terrible magic. In her fourth collection of poetry, she studies forms of love as diverse and abundant as the ocean itself. She brings to life a father penguin, a C-section scar, and the Niagara Falls with a powerful force of reverence for life and living things. With an encyclopedic range of subjects and unmatched sincerity, it speaks to each reader as a cooperative part of the earth, an extraordinary neighborhood to which we all belong. Suggested by Christina Wray, Student Learning & Engagement

 Owed by Joshua Bennett Bennett's new collection is a book with celebration at its center. Its primary concern is how we might mend the relationship between ourselves and the people, spaces, and objects we have been taught to think of as insignificant, as fundamentally unworthy of study, reflection, attention, or care. Spanning the spectrum of genre and form--from elegy and ode to origin myth--these poems elaborate an aesthetics of repair. What's more, they ask that we turn to the songs and sites of the historically denigrated so that we might uncover a new way of being in the world together, one wherein we can truthfully reckon with the brutality of the past and thus imagine the possibilities of our shared, unpredictable present, anew. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisition and Collection Services

 Phantom Noise by Brian Turner Brian Turner deftly illuminates existence as both easily extinguishable and ultimately enduring. These prophetic, osmotic poems wage a daily battle for normalcy, seeking structure in the quotidian while grappling with the absence of forgetting. Suggested by Katy Miller, Student Learning & Engagement

 Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz This is an anthem of desire against erasure. Natalie Diaz’s brilliant second collection demands that every body carried in its pages―bodies of language, land, rivers, suffering brothers, enemies, and lovers―be touched and held as beloveds. Through these poems, the wounds inflicted by America onto an indigenous people are allowed to bloom pleasure and tenderness. In this new lyrical landscape, the bodies of indigenous, Latinx, black, and brown women are simultaneously the body politic and the body ecstatic. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisition and Collection Services

 The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes edited by Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel Here, for the first time, are all the poems that Langston Hughes published during his lifetime, arranged in the general order in which he wrote them. Lyrical and pungent, passionate and polemical, the result is a treasure of a book, the essential collection of a poet whose words have entered our common language. Suggested by Susan MacDuffee, Acquisition and Collection Services

The Heart Aroused: poetry and the preservation of soul in corporate America by David Whyte David Whyte brings his unique perspective as poet and consultant to the workplace, showing readers how fulfilling work can be when they face their fears and follow their dreams. Going beneath the surface concerns about products and profits, organization and order, Whyte addresses the needs of the heart and soul, and the fears and desires that many workers keep hidden. At a time when corporations are calling on employees for more creativity, dedication, and adaptability, and workers are trying desperately to balance home and work, this revised edition is the essential guide to reinvigorating the soul. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

 The Secret Powers of Naming by Sara Littlecrow-Russell Sara Littlecrow-Russell’s style emerges from the ancient and sacred tradition of storytelling, where legends were told not just to entertain, but to teach and, if necessary, to discipline. The power of the storyteller is the power of naming, to establish a relationship, a connection, and a sense of meaning. A name is both a bequest and a burden. Each of the poems in this collection is, in essence, a naming ritual. Sharply, energetically, and always provocatively, these poems name uncomfortable moments, complex emotions, and sudden, often wryly humorous realizations. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

[carolinesiede]

Reflecting on 2020

The strangest thing about 2020 was how familiar much of it felt: Working from home, extended periods of isolation, weeks and months blending together. To a much lesser degree, those are things I experience each year as a freelancer. And while I suspect it will take awhile before the full extent of the trauma we’ve all lived through this year fully sets in, right now I’m mostly focused on gratitude. I’m grateful for the health of my loved ones. Grateful I already had a work-from-home routine to maintain during the pandemic. And grateful that I was able to quarantine with my family for much of the year—which had its challenges but also its rewards too.

In my 2019 year-end post I wrote about feeling like my career was finally on an upward trajectory after several years of plateauing. This year obviously offered some new wrinkles in that regard. I made significantly less money and felt familiar fears about how sustainable this career actually is. But having less work also gave me more time to focus on the actual craft of writing. I feel like I reached a new level in terms of voice, clarity, and the ability to self-edit. I'm the sort of person who constantly (arguably, obsessively) strives to be better, and it’s rewarding to feel like that hard work is finally slowly starting to pay off.

In addition to devoting my quarantine time to mastering a favorite curry recipe, getting really into the Enneagram, finally learning to French braid hair, and rewatching all of New Girl, I also had some really cool opportunities scattered throughout the year. I interviewed John Barrowman about his surprise return to Doctor Who, which felt like a real milestone for me. I also contributed to the Los Angeles Times’ list of TV shows to binge-watch during quarantine, which appeared both online and in print. And thanks to everything going virtual this year, I was able to attend a press panel for the fifth season of This Is Us, which is the sort of thing I’m not usually able to do as a Chicago-based critic. 

My career is always a juggling act between film and TV, and this year made me appreciate how valuable it is to be able to move seamlessly between both worlds. I took on new TV assignments covering the first season of Stargirl and the second season of The Umbrella Academy, both of which were a blast to write about. And while I didn’t watch quite as many films as I did in my insane catch-up year last year, I did fill in some more major blindspots. I also contributed to The A.V. Club’s list of the best films of 2000 and shared my own ballot over on Letterboxd. Oh, and I set up a Letterboxd this year too!

Elsewhere, I made my debut on Bustle and The Takeout, and ended the year with a Polygon article about “Kind Movies” that pretty much sums up my entire ethos on storytelling. I was also named a Top Critic by Rotten Tomatoes, which was a real honor. But the pride and joy of my career remains my rom-com column, When Romance Met Comedy. I devoted a whopping 49,000 words to analyzing 25 different romantic comedies this year. And I’m really pleased with how the column has grown and with the positive feedback I’ve received.

I have to admit, I sometimes worry that year-end highlight reels like this one can make my life seem easy or glamorous in a way that doesn’t reflect what it’s like to actually live through it. I'm tremendously lucky to get to do what I do, but I also struggle a lot—both with the logistics of this career and with bigger questions about what value it brings to the world. My goal is to approach 2021 with a greater sense of intentionality. I want to be more thoughtful in my career choices, more purposeful in how I use social media, and more active in my activism and politics. I’d also like to do 20 push-ups a day everyday for the whole year, but we’ll see how long that resolution actually lasts.

Finally, on a sadder note, one other defining experience of the year was the loss of my dear internet friend Seb Patrick, who I’ve known for years through the Cinematic Universe podcast. Seb created a wonderfully positive nerd space online, and was a big part of my early quarantine experience thanks to the Avengers watchalongs I did with the CU gang in the spring. I’m so grateful for all the fun pop culture chats we got to have throughout the years, several of which are linked below. Seb is tremendously missed, and there’s a fund for his family here.

As we head into 2021, I’ll leave you with wishes for a Happy New Year and a roundup of all the major writing and podcasts I did in 2020. If you enjoyed my work, you can support me on Kofi or PayPal. Or you can just share some of your favorite pieces with your friends! That really means a lot.

My 15 favorite films of 2020

My 15 favorite TV shows of 2020

Op-eds, Features, and Interviews

Women Pioneered The Film Industry 100 Years Ago. Why Aren’t We Talking About Them? [Bustle]

2020 is the year of the Kind Movie — and it couldn’t have come at a better time [Polygon]

Make a grocery store game plan for stress-free shopping [The Takeout]

What’s Going On: A primer on the call to defund the police [Medium]

Doctor Who’s John Barrowman on the return of Captain Jack Harkness [The A.V. Club]

Episodic TV Coverage

Doctor Who S12

This Is Us S4 and S5

Supergirl S5

Stargirl S1

The Umbrella Academy S2

The Crown S4

NBC’s Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch Musical!

When Romance Met Comedy

Is The Ugly Truth the worst romantic comedy ever made?

Working Girl’s message is timeless, even if the hair and the shoulder pads aren’t

You’ve Got Mail and the power of the written (well, typed) word

Love & Basketball was a romantic slam dunk

How did My Big Fat Greek Wedding make so much money?

America eased into the ’60s with the bedroom comedies of Doris Day and Rock Hudson

I can’t stop watching Made Of Honor

Notting Hill brought two rom-com titans together

It’s time to rediscover one of Denzel Washington’s loveliest and most under-seen romances

Something’s Gotta Give is the ultimate quarantine rom-com

20 years ago, But I’m A Cheerleader reclaimed camp for queer women

On its 60th anniversary, Billy Wilder’s The Apartment looks like an indictment of toxic masculinity

The Wedding Planner made rom-com stars out of Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey

After 25 years, Clueless is still our cleverest Jane Austen adaptation

William Shakespeare invented every romantic comedy trope we love today

Edward Norton made his directorial debut by walking a priest, a rabbi, and a Dharma into a Y2K rom-com

The forgotten 1970s romantic comedy that raged against our broken, racist system

His Girl Friday redefined the screwball comedy at 240 words per minute

Before Wonder Woman soared into theaters, the hacky My Super Ex-Girlfriend plummeted to Earth

Dirty Dancing spoke its conscience with its hips

The rise of Practical Magic as a spooky season classic

In a dire decade for the genre, Queen Latifah became a new kind of rom-com star

Years before Elsa and Anna, Tangled reinvigorated the Disney princess tradition

Palm Springs is the definitive 2020 rom-com

Celebrate Christmas with the subversive 1940s rom-com that turned gender roles on their head

The A.V. Club Film & TV Reviews

Netflix’s To All The Boys sequel charms, though not quite as much as the original

The Photograph only occasionally snaps into focus

Jane Austen's Emma gets an oddball, sumptuous, and smart new adaptation

Pete Davidson delivers small-time charms in Big Time Adolescence

Council Of Dads crams a season of schmaltzy storytelling into its premiere

In Belgravia, Downton Abbey’s creator emulates Dickens to limited success

Netflix’s Love Wedding Repeat adds some cringe to the rom-com

Netflix takes another shot at Cyrano de Bergerac with queer love triangle The Half Of It

We Are Freestyle Love Supreme is a feel-good origin story for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first troupe

Sara Bareilles’ melodic Apple TV+ series Little Voice is still finding itself

Netflix’s sexist rom-com sensation gets a minor upgrade in The Kissing Booth 2

With Howard, Disney+ movingly honors the lyricist who gave the Little Mermaid her voice

The Broken Hearts Gallery tries to find catharsis in heartbreak

Netflix’s ghostly musical series Julie And The Phantoms hits some charming tween high notes

After We Collided slides toward R-rated camp—but not far enough

Holidate is a bawdy start to Netflix’s holiday rom-com slate

Kristen Stewart celebrates the Happiest Season in a pioneering queer Christmas rom-com

Isla Fisher gets her own Enchanted in the Disney Plus fairy tale Godmothered

Podcast Appearances

Debating Doctor Who: “Orphan 55”

It Pod To Be You: The Wedding Singer

Reality Bomb: Defending Doctor Who’s “Closing Time”

The Televerse: Spotlight on Doctor Who Season 12

You Should See The Other Guy: The Ugly Truth

Only Stupid Answers: Stargirl’s season finale

Motherfoclóir: Ireland and the Hollywood Rom-Com

Called in to Nerdette’s Clueless retrospective episode

Cinematic Universe Appearances

Cinematic Universe: Superman IV: The Quest For Peace

Cinematic Universe: Birds of Prey

Cinematic Universe: Infinity War watchalong

Cinematic Universe: Endgame watchalong

Cinematic Universe: Terminator 2

Cinematic Universe: Josie and the Pussycats

Cinematic Universe: The Cuppies 2020 (Cuppies of Cuppies)

And here are similar year-end wrap-ups I did in 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, and 2013.

[superhusbands-are-my-life]

godless, not faithless

(hello hello! welcome to the story where nat is a bro and there’s a lot of pining and in denial tony! i’m a lil rusty so forgive me if this doesn’t seem to flow or something doesn’t make sense. @starkrogerrs and i were feeling just a tad under the weather, so i decided to write a lil fluff to try and make things a little brighter! hope you enjoy!!!)

Yes, when it comes to self-destructive tendencies, no one is better at it than Anthony Edward Stark. Frankly, it might as well have been his middle name or another alias, like the Invincible Iron Man.

Yes, he thinks, his gaze trained on the backside of a certain blond man punching away at a reinforced sandbag. When it comes to self-destructive tendencies, he is absolutely the number one man to go to.

He watches. It’s all he ever does anymore.

He watches as the man subjected to his gaze remains oblivious to it, solid thumps resounding each time his taped hands make contact with the bag. He watches as he ducks his head low, azure eyes focused intently on one thing and one thing only, intense, unrelenting, and rapid. His hair gleams in the light, like spun gold, and Tony wonders quietly if it’s really fair for someone to be so… Perfect.

Strong brows furrow in concentration, his full lips as soft and as colored as pink rose petals that part as he breathes in and out, his broad shoulders hunched and chest heaving. He clenches his teeth, showing a chiseled jawline that would make Adonis weep. He moves faster, almost a blur, pushing, straining, and Tony knows that he won’t stop until he’s at the brink of breaking.

It’s moments like these that Tony is in awe. Steve Rogers is a force to be reckoned with, unstoppable and unending. He is, simply put, a force of nature.

When Steve finally stops, he’s breathing even harder, leaning forward with his eyes closed, hands on either side of the punching bag to support himself, sweat soaking his shirt and causing the thin fabric to stick to his body. Tony’s eyes flicker down from his nose to his chin, down the line of his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. His throat is probably dry after that rapid session. His eyes move on to sweep over Steve's collarbone over to the strong shoulders, tracing over the curve of his biceps and muscled forearms to large hands. Steve has an artist's hands. Steady and poised, his fingers are long and slender. It always catches Tony off guard.

His waist is a lot more trim than people think. For a brief moment, Tony wonders how Steve would feel—rolling muscle under pale skin—against his hands. He banishes the thought. Steve is a coiled spring, full of smooth power and sinuous grace. His hips are wider than one would suspect, with prominent hipbones peeking out just above the hem of low-slung sweats and Tony wants to dip his tongue along the creases of them. He isn’t sure he’s seen anyone with an ass as glorious as Steve’s, and he wonders again if it’s legal to be so perfect.

Steve has long legs. The first time he had noticed was when he watched him outrun Sam and Rhodey one day, laughter bright in his eyes and lips. His thighs are filled out, and it’s no wonder that every bit of his body is hard and muscled. The peak of human perfection, like Aphrodite herself has blessed him. There’s no other way to put it. He’s like… He’s like Apollo. Tony starts for a moment at his own mind but then smiles ruefully at how true that it.

The god of the sun and light. The god of medicine, and healing. The god of pestilence and plague. The god of prophecy and truth. Every time he smiles or laughs, it makes him feel warm like the sun has dappled itself over his skin. Sometimes, it’s more than he can take, especially when his smiles or laughs are directed towards Tony, and suddenly, things aren’t so dreary anymore. Those times, it makes something inside Tony swell so much he can’t breathe for a long moment or two, heat ravaging his body to the point where it was almost painful. The god of light and the sun.

There are times when they make contact. Perhaps a warm hand on his arm or his shoulder, fingertips brushing against each other, sometimes, palm against palm when they share a rare high-five. Other times, it’s when Tony’s trying to take measurements to tailor his suit to him perfectly. It makes Tony feel as if… As if he’s not as broken a man as he is. It makes him feel whole.

They haven’t touched much but for very brief instances in a while, not since… Not since that one day in the lab when his body had complained of his constant activity and lack of sleep that he’d been ignoring. He’d taken Steve’s hand and trailed his fingers down his forearm to his hand, trying to think nothing of it, inspecting his fingers for his gloves, murmuring numbers and calculations to himself in a low voice that Steve had mistaken for something Tony had wanted him to know and had bent down closer to listen because Tony had been hunched lower than usual. Tony had looked up at exactly the wrong (or right) moment and their lips had almost met, a mere inch apart, eyes meeting and holding. Steve’s hand had been suddenly very warm in his own, the mesmerizing blue of his eyes drawing Tony in deep. He’d never stood a chance.

Warmth had spread through his entire body, and suddenly, it had been like he was taking a breath after a long time underwater. Steve had breathed out softly, reaching his hand up to brush over Tony’s cheek. The contact had shot an electric current through Tony and he jumped, the spell broken, letting Steve’s arm go in an instant and drawing back, something akin to panic rising from deep within. Steve had jumped away as well, an emotion flickering over his face and eyes too fast for Tony to process after seeing the expression on Tony’s face. He’d schooled his expression to something placid and had smiled, saying that Tony should get more sleep, and then, he’d been gone. After he’d left, a mere ten minutes later, Tony had suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion unlike any other that he’d felt, and so, he’d slept, sprawled over the couch, though the last flitting thoughts in his mind had been of how close Steve had been and how warm and electrifying his touch had been. He’d awoken to his headache gone, reinvigorated and more inspired than he had been in a while. The god of medicine and healing.

More memories arise. He remembers when they had fought together in the Battle of New York and every other battle that they’d faced, fighting against challenge after challenge, and Steve? Steve had moved with a grace and ferocity that Tony had never seen before, sweeping through enemies without pause, his shield creating magnificent arcs that felled their opponent left and right, always returning. He fought seamlessly and without rest. In battle, it had been so easy to read Steve, and when he had approached him, Tony had known exactly what to do each time. No words had to be exchanged and they had moved on, their actions like a deadly dance that had been choreographed beforehand perfectly. The god of plague and pestilence.

Tony breaks away from his thoughts only when his leg is nudged, causing him to jump in surprise, his eyes tearing away from Steve before he comes face to face with a red-headed assassin. Natasha. He lets out a cough and the woman rolls her eyes, sitting down across from him. How long has he been staring at Steve? He’s lost track of time. Damn. He swallows and slumps down a bit into his chair as Natasha fixes her piercing gaze on him. He feels her slowly picking away at his very being as if she can see right through him and read his thoughts. He looks away from her wordlessly to rid himself of the feeling of his skin prickling, but looking away doesn’t do much for him. It still remains.

It’s silent. Steve is still oblivious, or so it seems from the brief glance Tony gave before looking away. He’s pounding away at the punching bag. Natasha’s sharp eyes catch it. There’s a long, heavy silence, and then she sighs. She speaks first.

“This isn’t healthy, Tony.”

Tony’s first instinct rises. He retorts back. “What is?”

She fixes him with her pointed gaze once more, but this time, Tony doesn’t back down, meeting her eyes defiantly. She seems to cut through his feint in less than a second, speaking slowly.

“You know what I mean, Tony.” She says carefully, then she taps the side of her mouth.

His hands immediately snap up, alarm ringing in his head, was he drooling-? When his hand touches nothing, he notices the small smile on her lips. He scowls hard enough to scare the fur off a cat, but Natasha only takes it in stride and brushes it aside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says slowly, and after a moment, she raises a brow. It’s all Tony can do to keep from saying more to defend his honor, lips pressing into a thin line. They lock eyes again. Tony wavers. He looks away.

“It’s- It’s not like that.” He mumbles, and Natasha’s gaze softens. He can feel the prickling lessening, that’s the only way that he knows that it has. He takes a deep breath and looks up again, meeting her eyes. A silent conversation ensues.

It really isn’t like that. Yes, sure, Steve is… He’s beautiful, there isn’t any other word to describe him. Inside and out. He’s kind, generous, humorous, and caring. He has an edge that no one expects, and he’s a lot more sarcastic and deadpan than he lets on in public. He’s not- He’s not perfect, no one is, Tony knows this. He’s stubborn, stubborn enough to go toe to toe with Tony himself, he’s strong, so very strong, but sometimes- Sometimes during sleepless nights when Steve sits silently in the kitchen, staring with a scarily blank expression at the countertop, Tony slips down. He’s only going down for himself. He needs chamomile tea, even if he despises the taste of it. It’s only convenient that he knows Steve likes his chamomile tea with a bit of honey. It’s only a coincidence when he can’t sleep and JARVIS informs him that Steve has been in the kitchen for 30 minutes, still as stone.

No, it doesn’t make his heart ache with an indecipherable emotion when Tony one day meanders into the kitchen with no purpose after starting awake for the third time that night and paces a bit, where he finds Steve already there with a cup of chamomile tea and honey, another cup of black tea with a splash of milk and three cubes of sugar waiting for Tony across from him. Damn JARVIS. He must’ve told Steve when he’d asked why Tony had always grimaced sipping chamomile tea.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony purposefully searches out things that he thinks will make Steve laugh or smile, finding him little snippets of the past after hearing him murmur a soft complaint that he wishes he had an older radio. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony finds an old radio and repurposes it to function as it would have back in the old days but much better, and it finds its way quietly settled next to the bedside table of Steve’s room. It doesn’t mean anything like that.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when he finds films that Steve’s missed and watches with him when they both have time. He’s just helping him catch up, and it doesn’t mean anything like that when his heart skips a beat when Steve laughs softly every time Tony shows him some new Disney film and he ends up singing the part of Dr. Facilier from The Princess and the Frog. It’s not anything like that when he makes random Disney references from the movies they’ve watched that Steve immediately gets at the breakfast table, making him grin or chuckle while the others look at them like they’re insane. That’s okay. He doesn’t mind being a little insane if it makes Steve smile.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony comes to the surface from the lab and finds Steve spread over the couch, eyes shut and serene, unable to stop from smiling before he searches out a soft blanket and returns with it to cover Steve before going back to what his initial task is. It doesn’t mean anything like that when he sees Steve after an especially hard battle that pushes him further into a slump that Tony has come to recognize to be the overwhelming realization that things have changed so much and that the years have moved on without him, and it causes a tightness in Tony’s chest that he just can’t seem to relieve. It doesn’t mean anything like that when he goes up to the top floor where he just knows Steve is, drawing or just sitting, hidden away in a corner.

Tony usually has a couple of sandwiches and water, because he knows that Steve has come directly here without eating or cleaning, and after all that activity, he’s bound to be hungry and thirsty. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Steve looks up with his glassy blue eyes, Tony stays, sitting next to him without a word. Sometimes, they talk. They talk about anything and everything. Sometimes, Steve tells him what’s bothering him, other times, he doesn’t. Tony doesn’t push, but he nudges and coaxes when he feels he needs to, and after a while, Steve leans in to brush their shoulders together, and when he cracks a feeble joke about how this has become a usual occurrence, Tony knows that he’s going to be okay. Other times, Tony leaves the plate of food and water and leaves him be because Steve doesn’t look up when he comes in, and that means he just needs some peace before he bounces back.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when at charity galas or parties, Tony has to come and rescue him from whatever fox decides to attempt to seduce him. It’s a bit funny to watch, but something strange in him twinges every time he sees someone by Steve’s side, arm hooked with his. He does take strange relish in the way that Steve often frantically looks around, polite as he is, in an attempt to look for Tony so he has an excuse to politely decline whoever is vying for his attention. He attempts subtlety, but Tony knows he’s looking for him because the instant their eyes meet, Steve’s shoulders slump slightly in relief, and by then, Tony is chuckling and inserting himself smoothly into the conversation, defusing it and stealing Steve away with all kinds of excuses. The twinging in his chest dissipates only after a while when every time he turns or moves, Steve is always a foot or two behind him, moving when he moves, like magnets, for the last half of the event. It still doesn’t mean anything like that.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Steve comes down to the lab with sketchbook in hand, and for some reason, joins Tony and sits on the couch sketching and drawing whatever comes to his mind. It’s a comfortable silence and Tony often just falls into that mechanics of whatever he’s working on, and sometimes, he switches playlists to songs that he knows that Steve enjoys. He doesn’t mind it, though it’s a bit annoying when the music becomes stuck in his head and repeats sometimes. It isn’t like that at all when Tony feels his heart give a pang when he looks up to see Steve dozing, and when he gets closer, he sees the subject of his drawing has been him. It doesn’t mean anything like that, so he just closes Steve’s sketchpad and adjusts him carefully into a more comfortable position before Tony returns to his work.

It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony comes down to the gym with Steve when he looks more worn down than usual and ends up going a couple of rounds with him, which usually ends with him flat on his back, slick with sweat, and panting while Steve has forgotten all about what was bugging him, grinning as he pins him down. He leans in close and tells Tony to concede, and Tony only gasps out a no before going completely limp and causing Steve some alarm, his guard down and grip loosening- And then Tony strikes. He suddenly throws his weight upwards and derails Steve, and even though he ends up getting pinned again, he holds his own wrestling and grappling for purchase with Steve for around two minutes and he’s damn proud of it. He tells him as much and Steve laughs as Tony sighs and concedes Steve's victory. It doesn’t mean anything like that when Tony’s heart seems to be pounding even faster than before when they’d been giving it their all to dethrone each other.

He’s just being a good friend. What anyone would do. He cares for Steve. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything at all that his throat seems to convulse and something twists painfully in his chest as he claims silently to just be a good friend. His and Natasha's “conversation” has only lasted perhaps a minute or so at most, however, it feels like it’s been hours, and Tony has to swallow to get rid of the rubbery feeling in his throat. Natasha just looks at him. She’s frowning. He just stares back at her.

Why is she frowning? He suddenly feels like he’s on the brink of something, at the very edge, and with the slightest bit of a nudge, he’ll fall off and into a deep, deep abyss he knows that he’ll perhaps never drag himself out of. Something tightens in his chest even more as he continues to watch Natasha, whose gaze has gone from exasperated to amused. She knows something he doesn’t know. Tony tenses. He’s teetering. He suddenly isn’t sure if he wants to know. Natasha looks away from him for the first time since she’s taken a seat across from him.

“Tony…”

His name sounds delicate on her tongue, suddenly. It feels as if he is on a very, very thin sheet of ice, already cracking and breaking, and the weight of his name is only causing it to break faster and faster. His fingers tighten, curling into his pants, holding his breath. He only has a moment to think helplessly that there is no going back from this before Natasha nudges him.

“You already know.”

Things fall apart around him. In a moment or two, everything just collapses. He falls through the ice. He is pushed off the cliff. He knows exactly what she’s talking about. Who is he kidding? Everything just… Slides into place. Tony is centered. He knows, he knows, and he’s always known. Natasha knows exactly when everything clicks, a small smile appearing on her lips.

He swallows.

Tony groans, letting himself drop, his face burying into his arm. Natasha gives a soft laugh and he knows that she’s laughing at him. “It’s not funny.” He murmurs thickly, his heart squeezing painfully but fluttering simultaneously. He’d been in denial long enough. He’d hoped to remain in that state, but damn. Natasha never lets things go his way.

“It is. You should do something about it.”

The smirk in her voice is obvious. He huffs. He turns his head to look at Steve who’s oblivious to his careening and desperate demise. He’s just tilting his head back, towel around his neck, gulping water down, and every nerve in Tony’s body seems to tighten.

Apollo, the god of prophecy and truth.

The god of prophecy had told him that he’d fall in love since the moment that he’d seen Steve smile. The god of truth tells him now that he is in love every time his heart dances when he even sees a glimpse of him. He sighs. He’s too old for this.

Yes, Tony is as destructive as he gets, letting himself fall in love with Steve.

The tale of Icarus plays in his mind as he watches Steve. Icarus, the man who coveted what he could not have and vyed for the love of a god. The mortal who loved the sun and flew too close and fell to his doom. Just then, Steve turns his head to meet his eyes, smiling brightly and gives him a little wave, and suddenly, Tony can’t breathe. It’s only when Steve turns to nod to Natasha that he drags in a shaky breath.

Well, he thinks, I’ll happily be Icarus for this Apollo.

Tony is godless, but he is not faithless.

Of course, later, he finds out, he is not Icarus who plummets to earth with the words "just once" on his lips. Later, he finds out that they can craft their own tale of Apollo and Icarus when Steve asks him to go for dinner and kisses him sweetly when he answers with a breathy yes.

Tony is godless, but Steve is his faith.

[calloftheancestors]

Let Us Become Modern Noahs

Leigh J McCloskey

“I wrote this in 2004 during earlier traumatic times and upheavals and its theme, “Let Us Become Modern Noahs,” has become a type of inner mantra for me. The first quote are the closing lines of this strangely prophetic poem and sum up why I have felt and feel the way I do about cultivating a mental, even philosophical approach to our challenging times of continuing collective traumas and growing concerns. As a storyteller and artist I know what heals us most is a sense of personal meaning and that there is some deeper purpose behind our human struggle than merely more struggles. Joseph Campbell wrote,”The artists of every generation must reinvigorate the myths.” To this I say aye. And now I add, let’s set sail.”

* I suggest reading Let Us Become Modern Noahs out loud so it resonates in your body.

Let us become modern Noahs

The great flood of information and reckless inhumanity opens

like a sacred seal letting loose the plague of dread, fear and war.

Let us build our arks with philosophy

Let our seed gathering begin with each new world that is worthy

Of being shared with generations to come

Let us plant for time yet to unfold and humanity yet to awaken

That which reflects the majesty

And creative might of this remarkable poetic species

Known as human

Let the stars awaken

And allow Love’s imagination to heal this mercantile world

Let us draw forth from infinite streams of probable worlds ideas that liberate

And love that embraces us in sensual union with our greater truth

Our bodies are formed of that greater truth

They are philosophical arks

Of infinite capacity and multi-dimensional reality

From universes of sub-atomic entities

To galaxies and stars of ancient light

We form reciprocal patterns of consciousness

Ever building upon infinite rhythms of ideation

And symphonies of knowing

It is time to gather the yes into our arks

To gather that which emancipates love

And frees the heart to soar

We are of timeless resource and emerge from depths beyond all knowing

We arise now

We form seeds now

We create arks now

Our arks gather within their bounds that which makes a pattern

And resource of worthy humanity

Let us be noble again

Let our sense of wonder revive

Let our self worth give no energy or thought

To that which is vulgar to life and personal integrity

We must begin embodying these things

While never judging others

We do not have that right

II

The whole world is ourself

We can only change it by changing our world

And this world is the only one we truly know

All others reflect only our assumptions and doubts

Therefore be humble

And do not accuse

We are one being, like cells in a great body

All change that is true is grown, it is cultivated

All patterns of being and consciousness begin as seed

All seed patterns initiate an ark of inspiration

And grow from energies of infinite generation

All arks and seed patterns bind with whatever source idea they are planted

We are called upon to plant our garden wisely

And with generation

To plant our seed for future worlds

And times yet to be

We are to create our arks as an act of sacred knowing

The sacred reveals itself as yes

As life, as wonder and awe

We find birth into time through the camouflage of the body

As innocence and celebration of origin

We are here because we have willed ourselves

To experience the incomprehensible beauty

Of being consciousness within human form

We are the human form divine

And our true self the radiant natural world

We are universes once again

We are the twinkle of delight

That makes stars sparkle

When angels smile at night

Let us weave wonder into our stories

Of who we are and why we are here

Let us become artists of consciousness

And remember ourselves from across multidimensional worlds of time

And infinite identity within the dreaming mind

Let us remember that those who seek meaning

Awaken innate artistry of consciousness

Those that deny meaning bring forth death

Let us to life attend

And with exuberance rise as infinite individual arks

And seed patterns of excellence

III

We are riding upon mythic currents

Swelling from depths beyond ancient times

Surviving the flooding murk of days

Surrounding the present dark

We Noahs are the coming dawn

And our arks the coming light

Let us become modern Noahs

Leigh J. McCloskey

September, 2004

[artemisegeria]

The Fabric of Our Lives

A/N: Today is the two year anniversary of my writing Scarlet Vision fanfiction, so I wrote a fic celebrating their second wedding anniversary. Rated G, no warnings.

“What’s the theme,” a large yawn that she unsuccessfully tried to cover escaped her, “of this year’s present again?” Wanda’s eyes closed as she sank further into the couch cushions. She had been getting fatigued much more quickly over the last eight weeks. Vision had been pressing her to see Doctor Cho or another medical professional, but she insisted her tiredness was simply a result of their active lifestyle.

Vision smiled at her. He had to admit that he found her extremely cute when she was so relaxed. They had decided last year before their first anniversary to follow the traditional order of anniversary gifts. Well, it had been Vision’s idea, and Wanda had gone along with it. “Cotton. This versatile material represents both comfort and strength. Like threads of cotton woven together, so too will our marriage become more interconnected in time.”*

Vision had already started to create Wanda’s anniversary gift. He had rented a

“Right. Cotton. Interconnected. Got it.” She didn’t even bother to stifle the next yawn.

Vision smiled indulgently at her. “Would you like a foot rub, my love?”

“Yes, please.” He lifted her feet into his lap, pressing his thumb into the arch. Within minutes she was snoring. Vision shifted to carry her into their bedroom. When he settled beside her, he set to thinking about what he could give her that fit his theme.

***

Wanda had finally taken Vision’s advice to see a doctor. She was sitting in their room, clutching the results of the tests they had ordered.

Pregnant.

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Apparently not.

She read the results for what felt like the millionth time. She and Vision had discussed having children, the possibility of adoption, what their life would look like if they chose to bring children into it. They had been certain that they would have to seek out artificial insemination if Wanda wanted to become pregnant.

Now all their speculation was proven worthless. She was pregnant with Vision’s baby, no matter how unlikely it seemed. As the reality sunk in, Wanda let herself feel the happiness of this gift. Being parents was something both she and Vision wanted, but she hadn’t yet let herself feel the full extent of how much she wanted it. She didn’t want Vision to feel guilty for the difficulties they might have in conceiving.

When she felt the edge of Vision’s mind returning, she shut down their connection, walling her mind off carefully. She needed a little more time to get used to the idea before she told him. She quickly put the paper away in her nightstand drawer. Vision entered the room with a soft smile on his face, which she gladly returned.

But when he felt the wall in her mind, his mouth puckered in confusion. She patted his knee and smiled at him to reassure him. “I can’t have you guess what I’m giving you for our anniversary.” She felt a pinprick of guilt, but justified that she would tell him the truth soon enough.

“Ah. Then I shan’t pry.”

“Movie?” she asked, to distract him and herself.

“That sounds lovely.” They selected a light-hearted comedy on Netflix and cuddled up together. Wanda found herself focusing more on the feeling of Vision’s heartbeat beneath her ear than the ridiculous plot on screen. She smoothed her hand up and down the material of his pajama shirt, needing to touch him to remind herself that this was her life.

As always, with or without their mental link, Vision sensed her need for comfort. He swept her hair to the side, first rubbing her neck before moving his hands down the length of her back, kneading and massaging. She melted further into his body.

Before she knew it, the room had darkened, and she noticed that Vision had turned off the movie. The covers were pulled up firmly around her chin and Vision was still awake with a book in hand.

She struggled to sit up. When she finally managed it, she kissed Vision on the cheek. “Good night.” She didn’t like to go to sleep without wishing him well for the evening.

“Sleep well, Wanda.” She relaxed back against the pillows, content in the knowledge that her growing family was safe and together.

***

Vision traveled to the apartment he had rented to hide his project. The tapestry stood as he had left it several days previously, still only half completed on the loom. He eyed it critically. It did not look as he had envisioned it. But he supposed he would have to wait to see the finished product.

He continued his weaving. He focused entirely on his project. The rest of the world became immaterial as he poured all his love for Wanda into his work. Hours passed as he wove the threads into a seamless whole, hoping to make them as strong as the bonds that held their marriage together.

It was dark when he finished that day’s portion. He took a leisurely flight back to the mansion. The breeze of the cool night air reinvigorated him after a day of stillness.

Wanda was already asleep by the time he returned. He tucked her in carefully and lay down next to her. She stirred, reaching across the bed for his hand. Vision drew her hand to his lips. “I am back, Wanda. Sweet dreams.”

She murmured something that he could not decipher before relaxing again. He settled one arm around her as he transitioned into his resting mode to keep her company.

***

Wanda gradually got used to the idea of her pregnancy. At least it gave her an idea of what to give Vision for their anniversary. She placed the order with a week to spare before their date night. She had planned last year’s anniversary, so it was Vision’s turn this time. And he was not giving her any hints. Any time she angled for hints, he simply smiled at her and said that she would find out on the night.

So, she went about her days, trying to conceal her anticipation of the revelation she was about to make and her curiosity about the date. All while trying not to act too different than usual. When she received the notification that her items had arrived, she rushed down to the guard station. The mail had not yet been sorted, but the agent on duty was one she was friendly with. She helped Wanda find her package, and she hid it in an unused room in the mansion.

Then, she went down to one of the training rooms to burn off some of her anxiety. She was mindful of not expending too much energy because fatigue still plagued her, but she would not have minded an excuse to take a nap.

Later that evening, she asked Vision to read to her. He chose one of her favorite fairy tales. She imagined him reading to the babies and smiled to herself. She let the smooth, rich sound of his voice carry her away. As had happened many times recently, she found herself snug in bed a while later. Vision was lightly stroking a hand through her hair, and she sank into him.

***

Vision bade farewell to Wanda early in the morning on the day before their anniversary. He had wished to finish his project before then, but a last-minute mission had derailed his plans somewhat. He was grateful that he had put a cushion in his schedule, just in case.

He had only to clean up the edges of the tapestry before presenting it to Wanda. His wife. He was still taken aback by that fact. She had chosen to share her life with him, and he would always be grateful for that.

After finishing the tapestry, Vision carefully rolled it up and tied it neatly with a ribbon, placing it in a cylindrical poster container. He hoped Wanda would like it. He hoped he would not needlessly open old wounds.

***

Wanda couldn’t help fidgeting as she sat through another meeting. She appreciated that Carol and Sam’s meetings were faster than Steve’s, but she needed to get away to finish wrapping her anniversary present. Not to mention to keep some distance between her and Vision, lest she give away the secret early.

She fled as soon as the meeting was over. She had experimented with wrapping the presents separately and having Vision open a number of bags and boxes. But in the end, she decided that she could not bear his usual calm approach to opening so many packages. She was already tying herself up in knots imagining his reaction.

***

Vision watched Wanda eating the meal he had prepared with pride. They were sitting on a blanket on the floor of his rented apartment. She was devouring the lasagna he had prepared with relish and had barely stopped to say a word. When she finally looked up, she was blushing slightly. “That was really good, Vizh.”

Wanda eventually offered him a bite, but he declined. He was eager to have her open his present. Wanda finished her meal in a few more minutes. “I am glad you enjoyed it. Are you ready for dessert?”

“Dessert or dessert?” She wiggled her eyebrows on the last word.

“The former.” Her pout enchanted him, as always.

“Fine.”

He removed the chocolate-covered strawberries from the cooler he had brought for their makeshift picnic. When she saw them, Wanda immediately forgot her faux annoyance. She ate one strawberry with the same enthusiasm that she had eaten her entrée. A piece of chocolate stuck to the side of her mouth, and Vision gently wiped away with his thumb. “Another?” She nodded. Vision selected one, pressing it to her lips. He licked the juice off his fingers when she was done.

Wanda was staring at him dreamily, but she clapped her hands together. “Okay. Present time.”

“May I go first, Wanda?” He had waited long enough to present this to her.

“Sure.” She looked oddly relieved at his request, but Vision was more concerned about the reception of his own gift.

“Just one moment.” He phased through the other room and pulled out the cylinder. When he presented it to Wanda, she seemed perplexed.

“What is this?”

Vision held back a smile and struggled to maintain a flat tone. “I believe the general theory behind gifts is that the recipient opens the gift to discover what is inside.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” She tossed a wadded up napkin at him. Vision let it bounce off him harmlessly. She pulled the top out of the cardboard tube and turned it upside down to let the tapestry out. She pulled on the string that was holding together. The tapestry unrolled and Wanda stared at it. She was utterly still, enough to make Vision fear he had misstepped.

Vision gazed at his handiwork over Wanda’s shoulder. It showed their wedding as it would have been in an ideal world. The entire team was present at Clint’s farm. Natasha and Pietro were standing with Wanda. Her parents were sitting in the front row. Vision had not wanted to cause pain, but he thought she deserved a taste of what their wedding should have been.

Wanda’s wide smile and tear-filled eyes when she finally turned from the picture reassured him. “How long did this take you?” Her voice was still shaky with unshed tears.

“Roughly six weeks.”

“Thank you.” She slid closer to him, leaning into his chest. “This is amazing.”

He stroked his hands through her hair and relaxed into their embrace. He almost forgot about his present when Wanda slowly pulled away from him. “Let me get yours.” She levitated a medium-sized box from her bag over to him.

Wanda’s tears faded away. Vision noticed a new pitch of excitement in her. Her hands were shaking, and her powers fizzed more wildly around her wrists, spreading up her arms. Her energy was infectious. Vision abandoned his usual careful unwrapping and tore through the paper covering the box.

The first item he uncovered was a miniscule item of clothing. He gingerly unfolded it. The front read, “Marco…” The next onesie read, “Polo…” Vision was smart; he knew the likely meaning of this present, but his mind shut down at this new information. He simply pressed forward with the next items in the box.

Vision pulled out the next set. One read, “copy;” one read, “paste.” The final set bore the declarations: “Yes, we’re twins.” and “No, we’re not identical.” Beneath those were two matching adult-size shirts. The top line read, “Overachiever.” Below that was an image of four tiny feet and below that, it said, “I never do anything halfway.”

When he reached the end of the clothing, he sat still. Dumbstruck was too small a word for what he was feeling. He was also struck blind and deaf. His neural processing all but stopped for a few moments.

Soon he distantly realized that Wanda was clutching his hands. “Vizh. Please say something.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“With twins.”

“Uh-huh.”

Wanda was still staring at him pleadingly. Something about her worry allowed Vision to regain functionality. A smile that he could not contain broke out on his face as he slid his hands up her arms. When he reached her back, he pulled her toward him and leaned back so that Wanda was resting on top of him.

She giggled into his neck as he gently nibbled her earlobe and pressed kisses to her cheek and jaw and neck. Joy spilled out of him in a laugh as well. He was chuckling into her shoulder for many long moments.

When they both finally calmed down, Vision cradled Wanda’s face in his hands to draw her gaze to his. Her expression had settled into a bright smile that was at odds with the tears pouring from her eyes. She reached down to wipe the tears from his own cheeks. “We’re really having two babies?”

“We really are, Vizh.”

“This is the best present that I have ever received.”

“Me, too. I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but I needed a little time.”

“And that is the true reason you’ve been shutting me out?”

“Yeah.” Their eyes met for an endless moment. Vision would remember this for the rest of his existence.

The moment broke when they collapsed into giddy, overjoyed laughter again. Vision wrapped his arms tightly around her. Their little family was growing. Their marriage held more than enough love to nourish a baby. It was only appropriate that their love and marriage would bring two children into the world.

Together, they would weave their love together into a fabric that would never be torn apart.

*The previous two sentences were taken from a search result on google because I really liked the wording and thought it sounded like something Vision might say. Available here: https://www.thespruce.com/traditional-second-year-anniversary-gifts-cotton-2301868.

[ares-golden-ram]

So I wrote something on Hedy’s past and what ultimately brought her to Earth, it’s also on AO3 if anyone wants to read it from there here’s the link! I have proof read it so many times I can’t even understand if it makes sense anymore so please feel free to point out any mistakes! 

The // sign at the end of specific sentences represents a time skip!

THE RIGHTEOUS (THE HIEROPHANT/STRENGTH)

I notice her the moment I walk through the golden doors of the Royal Hall, the corridor is completely empty except for us and I subconsciously hold my breath. I freeze in the presence of the right hand woman of the Monarch because despite this being a place of passage it feels like I've intruded a very private moment. The knight is facing a stained glass window depicting a flaming sun rising before a barren ground, she fits perfectly in the illustration as the daylight hits her metal body making it glisten in golden accents. I can't bring myself to talk, I've never seen the android on the battlefield but I've heard the stories, listened to every single retelling of her feats, one wrong word and I'm done for. She turns around and all I can do is stare, she's not as big as other war bots, the model of her screen is older but sturdier and on it her expression is ever-changing, the pixels reforming every so often to display what she feels. She's frowning, the line that is her mouth forms waves every time she speaks and right now her soft humming creates constant soft ripples, she's holding her sword in a tight, clawed grip. Her stance relaxes and a soft jingling sound catches my attention as she sheathes back the weapon. Electronic Escort Droids don't have antennas, those things are useless for such technologically advanced forms, yet she wears one, both ends are fused in her casing and in it a small number of silver specks can be seen, embedded in the wiring. Spoils of war, or even better, trophies. Sword shards, tips of modified arrows, bullets...and they say EED aren't vain. In her defense the whole planet sees her as the symbol of hope, the bringer of future harmony and peace, having a fake halo just means she fully embraces her role as The Guardian as everyone seemed to call her since she started to rank up in the military.

"Are you going to stare a bit longer? I have places to be you know".

I realize my mistake but my mouth is dry and I can't think of some reasonable justification, another moment passes and just when I start to wonder if she'll draw her sword again the sound of her laughter fills the hall, clear and sharp, like coins falling to the ground one after the other.

"Please, forgive me but this joke never gets old!" She says as she touches her chest, mimicking the organic gesture of needing air. "I'm aware of the moniker civilians have given me but please, call me Dee" she extends a claw in a very careful manner trying to look as harmless as possible, "I'd love to stay and chat but our Monarch awaits us".

ENLIGHTENMENT (THE HANGED MAN/THE TOWER)

The moment we are deployed on the battlefield I know what I must do, the few soldiers I took with me are my first objective, less than a dozen but they're the only ones I was able to recognize after their secret meeting. How could they betray our Monarch? He's a strict ruler but just and compassionate, he doesn't want this war any more than anyone else yet they accuse him, dirty his name while carrying his banner. I'll keep him safe, I'll kill the traitors and move on, the unlucky bastards should have been more careful. I unsheathe my sword, the only companion I can always seem to trust lately, and I get to work. //

She begs me, crying and screaming for absolution, she didn't know any better. I sink next to her, carefully fixing her hair behind her ear, the organic ones are always too easy to kill, too emotional.

"Why?" I ask, she's not a threat anymore and I need to know what could ever justify their treason.

"They talk! We...we spoke to one of them, Tix wounded one with a poison arrow but the venom was taking too long. He begged to be killed but we were too shocked to do anything".

"Nonsense, the Belkaith don't speak. And they sure as hell don't implore for mercy, the only thing they'd ever talk about if they could would be war and violence".

"I know it's insane but that's the truth, we were fooled! I ask you to read this, please-"

I strike her as soon as she reaches for her pocket, I don't have time for the blabbering of a scared traitor but unexpectedly she still moves, trying to save a few papers from either getting soaked in her own blood or catching fire thanks to my sword.

"I'm sorry". That's what she tells me as her eyes go blank, the papers fall gently to the ground and I extract my weapon from her body, the flames go out as soon as I sheathe it back in the scabbard.

I pick up the letter and instantly recognize the Monarch's hand writing, the fancy lettering and short sentences compose a threat. I recognize a few more names the letter is addressed to other than the ones of the soldiers I just killed, I guess his majesty knew of their treachery already, maybe I should have talked to him before attacking them.

Something's off, the more I read the less it all makes sense, the writing becomes more sharp towards the end of the page, sloppy as if he was in a hurry...or scared. I read the letter over and over again until it's imprinted in my code and all I can do is stare at the page, my mind completely blank.

I get up, store the letter in one of the pockets on my belt and start walking towards the sound of blasters and screaming, like a ship following a siren's song. //

I finally reach the heart of the battle and as I pull out my sword everyone stops. I turn around to check what caused the abrupt change and there, slowly lowering through the sky his ship appears, radiating a soft glowing white light. The first thing that comes to my mind is home, how many times did I sigh of relief spotting his vessel after a strenuous battle? Now that feeling travels all the way from my heart to my stomach and then to my limbs like fire following gasoline trails.

"My dearest, please come on board I believe we need to talk"

His voice sounds so comforting, so much so that for a moment I'm tempted to say yes, to climb inside and be saved from this nightmare, I want to hear him say it's all a misunderstanding, I must have gotten it all wrong! Except for the fact that he is here and that alone confirms the very awful truth.

There are so many questions swirling through my mind: Why? Who else is in on this? Does everyone know? Am I the only one who was fooled? I served by his side for years fighting for our people, how could he do this to me?.

If he's a monster then what am I?.

A blinding rage possesses me, the flames engulfing my sword creep higher and higher, my vision blurs with tears, I can't trust my voice right now so I do the next best thing to make him and everyone else understand. I raise my sword in his direction then turn it towards me and with a sharp motion I slice my antennas, severing the halo on my head. I cut down my puppet strings.

It doesn't hurt, the anger makes it all feel numb, the only thing I'm aware of right now is that I'm surrounded, enemies on every side and the only way I can leave alive is by fighting them until I can't and then fight some more. The message has been understood loud and clear, he doesn't waste a moment and immediately gives the order to kill me, the Belkaith yell in their ancient guttural monosyllabic sounds that I was too presumptuous and stupid to identify as a language and resume their assault as if the order was given to them, my companions don't touch me, they're baffled by the situation, shocked by the Monarch's words. I can't hesitate, can't repay them with the same kindness, the spell breaks as my first attack pierces the armor of a fellow soldier and everyone tightens the grip on their weapons.

"Traitor!".

"The Guardian has forsaken us!". //

My sword is in pieces, the legendary Maramakula is destroyed, the head of the sea serpent that was engraved in the handle is just a few steps away from me, I was a fool to think that I could face them all.

"What good is a knight without his sword?"

"And without a king!" they laugh, so easily turned against the one they idolized just a few hours before, I can't blame them. All of a sudden the same feeling of when I saw the royal ship washes over me like fire burning my every circuit. I cling to it this time, feel it rage in my heart and soon enough it feels like a volcano is about to erupt inside of me.

"What the fuck is she doing?"

"How am I supposed to know? She's disarmed anyway stop wo-" He doesn't finish the sentence, can't really, not when right in front of him the grass burns and the blood from the corpses of fallen enemies and fellow soldiers alike starts bubbling.

My whole left arm is on fire, the deepest red I've ever seen dances around my limb with a life of its own. With a reinvigorated spirit I rise from the barren ground, the sun shines its blinding golden light on my armor.

"Good thing I'm not a knight anymore, then" That's the last thing I remember before the overwhelming strength of this new power swallows me whole.

METANOIA (THE CHARIOT/TEMPERANCE)

I wake up in the little shelter I built in the last few months I've been stranded on this new planet, I have no idea what its name is but I've never seen so much green in a single place. I grab a clean pair of shorts and put them on, slowly make my way to the kitchen where I down a cold cup of oil, I'll never get used to the taste. Today I need to go to the stream and wash my clothes, then I'll get back to the fields, I've been trying to plant almost anything I could get my hands on in the meadow near the shipwreck but nothing seems to take. //

I'm still unsure of this whole 'clothes' concept, I'm not organic, I don't really need them but for some reason seeing me bare makes the villagers feel uneasy, so I humor them most of the time and only take them off when I need to do some heavy work, they're too constricting for my taste. As I'm hoeing the soil I can't stop looking at the ruins of my ship, barely visible from behind the thick foliage of the nearby trees, sometimes I think how unhealthy it must be to see the reminder of a failed past life every day yet somehow I always end up here, staring at this horrible monument perfectly depicting my foolishness, my anger, my mistakes.

The sun is going down, painting the barren field in reds and oranges, the colors softly shimmer on my body and the warmth of it all makes me recoil as the haunting memory of someone else, someone I no longer want to remember, tries to surface. I fall to the ground trying to make myself as tiny as possible, folding in on myself, I want to escape from this place I want to run away from it all once more. And then I see it, between the tears clogging my vision, a small sprout trying its hardest to grow between the cracks of the unwelcoming soil. The symbolism is clear, almost like a cruel joke from the universe itself, so I laugh like I haven't in years.

[i-rise-above-it]

Lust for Lister

I’ve been trying to figure out for the past week what about Gentleman Jack really gets my gears grinding, pun intended. Suranne Jones is absolutely stunning as Anne Lister. I am fawning over this fictional character, and the actress in everything she does. She’s absolutely endearing in all of her interviews, and she possesses more characteristics of Anne’s character than she gives herself credit for. This woman says she is really quite shy in real life, and that could totally be possible (I’m generally very shy too, unless at work, and I have to be a social extrovert). I found myself emulating aspects of this character today at work, and it felt incredible. If anything, I truly, madly feel that this character is only going to help boost the lesbian community. Our morale, our self-confidence (either as a top or a bottom, or both because lezbehonest, it switches rather frequently anyways)… As a married woman, I sometimes feel guilty about this crush because it came on so suddenly and strongly. And I’ve had to slow my roll and reflect on what it is about this actress and character that have so completely enraptured me.

I feel that part of my obsession at this point is the sheer fact that we’ve never experienced this level of representation on any show, including the L Word. As groundbreaking of a show as it was, too often than not, Ilene Chaiken took it down these tropey trails that marginalized our community, and for what? Ratings? F*ck that. Sally Wainwright has given us a character, and a world that is so beautiful, and tender, and complicated, and everything that is lesbian that I ever hoped for and never knew I needed in a tv show. I believe that the reason I’m so enamored with this show and the actress is because of the dedication given to bringing this true story to life. 20 years in the making is nothing to snuff at. The L Word was the ground breaking that we needed in order for Sally to have a foundation upon which to build Gentleman Jack.

I have never felt such a pull to a character in my entire life. Granted, The L Word caught my attention and inspired me in many ways while dealing with my sexuality and my coming out in college, but It didn’t speak to me on the level that this show does. I truly, honestly feel it’s the difference between fact and fiction. The fact is that Anne Lister is a real person who existed and lived her truth as honestly and forthcoming as possible for the time in which she lived.

What an inspiration. What an incredible “idol” to look up to. What a way to reinvigorate my “lust” for life. So many amazing things are happening because of this show, within myself, and hopefully within the community as a whole. If I ever had a chance to write the actresses, and the writer to thank them for giving me this platform, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It would be a miracle to meet these women in real life and truly, honestly thank them for the work they’ve dedicated to creating this world for us to be lost in, and to find so much of ourselves in too.

This show is everything we need in a world where we’re to feel unheard, and unseen (especially given our political climate in the U.S.), and it couldn’t have come at any better of a time. I really hope that this show can inspire this generation to live our truth, and not let anyone get in the way of our progress, and our place in the world. We deserve to be here, we deserve to be heard, and by golly if a woman in 1800’s England can do it, so can we, now, wherever we are in the world. Sorry for my ramblings, I’ve just needed to put pen to paper so to speak and conscious stream what’s been going through my head. Thanks for listening (reading).

[bloodbreadandtarot]

New Year Tarot Spread, 2019

Last year’s spread. Yes, a lot of it came to pass and it was awful, but we’re here.

Card 1: The previous year in summary The Moon

Illusion, fear, anxiety, subconscious, intuition

The Moon represents your fears and illusions and often comes out when you are projecting fear into your present and your future, based on your past experiences. You may have a painful memory that caused emotional distress, and rather than dealing with the emotions you pushed them down deep into your subconscious. Now, these emotions are making a reappearance, and you may find yourself under their influence on a conscious or subconscious level.

Card 2: What you have learned from the past year

The Wheel of Fortune

Good luck, karma, life cycles, destiny, a turning point

The Wheel of Fortune reminds you that the wheel is always turning and life is in a state of constant change. If you’re going through a difficult time rest assured that it will get better from here. Good luck and good fortune will make their return in time.

The Wheel of Fortune is also known as the wheel of karma and reminds you that ‘what goes around comes around.’ Be a kind and loving person to others, and they’ll be kind and loving to you. 

The Wheel of Fortune card asks you to be optimistic and have faith that the Universe will take care of your situation in the best way possible.

Card 3: What you aspire to in the next twelve months The Sun Reversed (I got this same card in this placement last year with a different deck, holy shit)

Happiness, joy, illumination, triumph delayed.

The Sun reversed can mean you are struggling to see the bright side of life. You may have experienced setbacks that damaged your enthusiasm and optimism and perhaps led you to question whether you can achieve what you set out to do. You may feel depressed or left out and are no longer enjoying what you are doing. Your direction and path ahead may appear clouded or distorted.

Nonetheless, the Sun is never a negative card, so this is only temporary. The obstacles you see can be easily removed if you put your mind to it. It may just take a bit more effort than usual.

Card 4: What empowers you in reaching your aspirations Eight of Wands Reversed

Delays, frustration, resisting change, internal alignment.

The Eight of Wands reversed suggests that you are charging ahead with an idea or plan, but you need to slow down and consider your next steps before continuing. You may be missing something in your haste and prone to making mistakes or poor decisions. Or, you may be rushing into things without a clear plan of where you are heading, instead investing time into insignificant tasks. Be careful of the ‘bright shiny object syndrome’ where, just as you get started on implementing one idea, another one comes to mind, and you quickly switch your focus. On the other hand, the reversed Eight of Wands may be a sign that you are aligning your resources so that you can actively pursue your goal. You are getting your life in order – physical health, emotional well-being, energy levels or spirituality – so that you are in a good position to move forward with your plans.

Card 5: What may stand in the way of reaching your aspirations Justice Reversed

Unfairness, lack of accountability, dishonesty

When Justice appears reversed, she asks if you if you are truly being honest with yourself about an area that seems to be out of balance. The root cause might be a lack of honesty or clarity concerning the issue confronting you. It takes courage to be honest with yourself. This is especially true when you are attached to a certain outcome. To get things back into harmonious equilibrium you must embrace and accept truth. Your truth can be found in your heart. It is far beneath your anxieties. It resides in a peaceful place, apart from emotion and attachments to outcomes.

Card 6: Your relationships and emotions in the coming year The Emperor Reversed

Domination, excessive control, lack of discipline, inflexibility.

The reversed Emperor calls on you to assess your relationship with power, control, authority, responsibility and discipline. Are you expressing too much or too little of these elements in your life right now? Are they working for you or against you?

Seek to find a solution where you lead from a place of personal power and enable others to do the same. 

Sometimes, the reversed Emperor asks you to stand up to authority. You may feel fed up with an overbearing boss or a hierarchical organisation and feel compelled to enter a more flexible and adaptive environment. You are sick of having to always work within the confines of a particular structure or way of doing things, and you want to break free from it.

Card 7: Your career, work, and finances Ace of Wands

Inspiration, new opportunities, growth, potential.

As an Ace, the Ace of Wands brings you pure potential, this time in the spiritual, energetic realm. Ideas are flowing to you easily and effortlessly. You feel motivated and inspired to pursue a new path. And you are open to receive new opportunities that are in alignment with you. A whole new world of possibility is opening up for you.

The Ace of Wands offers you encouragement to follow your heart and live your passion. If you are feeling a strong calling towards a new project or path, but are questioning whether it will work or not, then this card gives you a gentle nudge to follow your passion.

Card 8: Your health and well-being The Lovers

Love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices.

In this card, there is a balance of energy. When two people come together, they are stronger than one.

Use this balancing energy and the love of the people around you to guide you as you make decisions about your health.

You won’t be any good to anyone if you are unhealthy, ill, or in pain. You must take care of yourself, but you don’t have to go it alone. Ask for help and find a committed partner to support you as you make these life changes.

Card 9: Your spiritual energy and inner fulfillment Ace of Pentacles Reversed

Scarcity, deficiency, instability, insecurity.

The Ace of Pentacles reversed can indicate that you may be allowing fears of scarcity or not having what you need influence your behaviour and causing you to act in a stingy and greedy manner. You may have more resources leaving your life than you have coming in when it appears.

It can also indicate that the loss of the security of a previous relationship may be leaving you feeling vulnerable and anxious.

In a spiritual context, the Ace of Pentacle reversed indicates that you may be missing opportunities for spiritual growth or that focus on material matter may be delaying your spiritual development or sending you off course on your spiritual path. Try to refocus on your true spiritual self rather than focusing on material possession or wealth.

Card 10: What you most need to focus on for the year ahead The Devil Reversed

Releasing limiting beliefs, exploring dark thoughts, detachment

The reversed Devil calls on you to confront your inner fears and anxieties to free yourself from the chains that bind you to your limiting beliefs and unhealthy attachments. Eliminate those things you know are harmful to you and your inner psyche. It may be about creating a healthier diet, watching less television, quitting smoking, spending more time with your loved ones, or focusing more on your goals. Take this opportunity to bring about positive change in your life by staying focused on the ultimate goal of freedom.

The Devil reversed can also appear when you are going into your deepest, darkest places – whether or not you are ready. When you take this path consciously, you do so with strength, confidence and courage. You seek to understand your innermost shadows so you can either release them or integrate them into your life in a more constructive way. When you do it unconsciously, or with resistance, it can be very confronting as you may begin to realise you are very different from who you thought you were. You may enter a period of anxiety or depression, or experiencing dark thoughts you struggle to understand. If this resonates, then please seek out a trained therapist to help you work through this time.

Card 11: What will be your most important lesson in the coming year Page of Pentacles Reversed

Lack of progress, procrastination, learn from failure

When the Page of Pentacles card appears reversed, it may point to your lack of focus. There is a possibility that you are being distracted with lots of things. Try to borrow the talents of this page and focus your mind before moving on the next thing.

It may also indicate that you need to give yourself a break to refresh your mind. With regards to work, the Page of Pentacles reversed may signify that you are currently feeling overwhelmed due to the heavy demands in your workplace. Remember that it is always better to ask for assistance and complete the work rather than to try to finish it all by yourself and end up failing to do so.

Card 12: Overall, where are you headed in the next twelve months Nine of Swords Reversed

Inner strength, self-doubt, low energy, raw emotion.

If you have recently experienced a setback, you may be vulnerable and lacking in self-confidence. Know that your core strength will always be with you and now is as good a time as any to reconnect with this power. In fact, you may hold more strength and resilience than you give yourself credit for – so, be kind to yourself. You can also reinvigorate your self-assurance and self-esteem by collecting evidence from your past that proves you have what it takes to succeed and overcome these temporary challenges.

2019′s reading almost seems more intimidating than 2018, which I didn’t think was possible. 2018 was a rough year for me, but if the cards are to be believed again it doesn’t exactly look like smooth sailing ahead for this upcoming year, either.

My plans for the year:

I took a break from school, and I did not move out of Texas (yet). I hope to achieve some of the goals I put on hold last year. I’m content with my job now, but I still see it as a stepping stone for my future ambitions. My friends are still talking about moving to Denver, but we’ll see about that.

I want to finish my thesis.

I want to maintain the healthy connections I have and continue to nourish them.

I am happy with my job, and I’m happy with where I live, but if a good opportunity presents itself, I want to be brave enough to pursue it.

[kxkuko]

Allhallows2k18theme - Costume design

Pokemon used:

Isolde - Arbok ♀

Height 11'06" (3,5 meters) 

Attacks:

▸Acid ▸Screech ▸Glare ▸Bite

Tut - Golbat ♂

Height 5'03" (1,6 meters)

Attacks:

▸Whirlwind ▸Toxic ▸Haze ▸Bite

Author’s note: Agatha’s height is somewhere around 4’8 ft tall (1,42 meters). The attacks were taken out of their Gen 1 games movepools.

Outfit reference

Stage music: Pre-determined

Agatha felt so reinvigorated knowing exactly what she would be working on- truth be said she was ecstatic to put those on herself.

 The entire thing could be summed up in one word: vintage.

 Despite this being her very first time in anything like it, Agatha doesn’t show any signs of or even hints of nervousness. She has a very clear mind, and a goal to achieve.

 The way people looked at her. From the everyday people around her, the colleagues of her college to even her opponents at the pokemon League- they all made the same exact face of pure horror. That is exactly what she is going for; bring those faces back in the audience one more time.

 Agatha strutted her way towards the designated table at her slow pace, while one hand held onto her cane the other seemed to be carrying a sketchbook of sorts, alongside with a small purse. The elderly woman is more than confident in her work; she can see all the materials just waiting for her- the promised Ditto alongside with the unknown creature by its side.

 That insect looking creature standing by the pink shapeshifting pokemon’s side, it must be the creature called Leavanny. They were a surprise to her- not by itself, (seeing how she had been explained how things were meant to go); rather she wasn’t quite sure what that pokemon truly looked like.

 They were a lot taller than she imagined it to be. It isn’t like that bug looking pokemon would spark any interest on the ones she had brought alongside herself on stage, meaning no one is getting hurt this time around. Once the table was in her reach Agatha placed her belongings on the table.

 The elderly woman gave a nod at her pokemon, which stood by her side and whistles at them to stand still in order to wait for their next orders. Tut was wrapped up by his wings Isolde stood by their side motionless, both poison types had their blank empty eyes on the woman and only her. Agatha faced away from them, now her attention was on her table- there seemed to have just about everything she needed for her work. Well- almost everything really, as expected she wouldn’t be getting the real Ninetales fur.

 A shame really. Instead, she will have to use that synthetic generic fur, times like these made the former elite member to wish she were back in her youth’s era.

 No time to mope about it, the first pokemon she will be working on is Isolde. She pulled up close to herself the notebook, and went straight to the page that had the rough sketch of the serpent creature. The elderly woman already knew precisely her pokemons’ measurements, Ditto will simply be her mannequin as such Agatha casted a glare at the pink blob creature. “Ditto would you be so kind to take the appearance of a short Arbok for me?” she asked the creature while picking it up and placing it on the floor. The pokemon firstly took a good look at Isolde, then TRANSFORMED into one of its kind however it was just about Agatha’s height much smaller in comparison to the real deal.

 Isolde didn’t react to the other pokemon- in fact they seemed to be completely out of itself, as if they were completely unaware of its surroundings. “Leavanny get me the fur please.” She ordered and the bug type quickly walked up to her, while holding the roll with its leaf blades out for her. The elderly woman would pull on the fur, the first thing to be created would be the Arbok’s abbe as such she circled the transformed Ditto- holding one end in its front and meeting it on the other side. Isolde’s hood was a lot larger; with a simple mathematical equation done in the back of her mind, she took a pin from the small cushion on the table and precisely pinpointed the amount needed for that clothing article. Time to move on to the next step on the abbe’s creation, a chain will be holding the piece together- after all she wants the creepy mark in its hood to stay as visible as possible. “That will do Ditto.” Agatha said, allowing the pokemon to morph back to its original form “Now cut this right here Leavanny, and put the roll back on the table.” She pointed the exact place for the bug, while the insect SLASHED the piece out of the roll and followed the woman’s orders; Agatha started to rummage through the materials provided to her. It didn’t take long for her to find what she looked for, the golden single chain- its length was the exact one she needed as well. Lastly, she picked up two golden buttons, alongside with the sewing kit provided to her. Before the elderly woman could start assembling the abbe, she reached out for her purse- as expected for someone of her age her sight no longer was the greatest especially for things so close to her face. First, she got the line through the needle, sewed the buttons on the fur- and connected both ends with the golden chain. The piece in itself still was too long to be seen as a proper abbe.

 That is when she faced Isolde with what seemed to be of sorts- a friendly smile; it wasn’t in anyway less creepier simply because it was on her. Agatha spread the whole thing apart, holding it out in front of the motionless Arbok. “My darling, would you be as kindly as to lend me a hand here?” While the way shorter woman referred to the Arbok, she would spring back to life in order to listen to her command. Isolde’s mouth opened widely- at first it seemed like she hadn’t listened to her mistress, but look and behold- ACID started to leak from its mouth, every droplet would land on the fabric. Holes would start to form on it; she stayed like that for what felt like 2 minutes or so- then all of the sudden Isolde landed a BITE onto it ripping the unnecessary length out of the abbe. Whatever she had in her mouth had been torn about into nothing but shreds, the venom was still leaking out of her and some of it had landed on the floor. The abbe was done, thanks to the corrosive venom and the fangs- it didn’t have a straight line to its back. Agatha placed the clothing article aside, the final touch on the Arbok would come in the form of a pearls collar- which would be placed around its tail. They were obviously fake, the ideal kind for something that would be put on a pokemon. The woman reached out for Isolde’s tail and placed it on the table, she made sure to shoo both Leavanny and Ditto- the last thing Agatha would want is for the serpent to be startled. She quickly reached out for the reel of pearls chain (she just needed to cincture the beast’s rear), and in a matter of a minute Agatha assembled the prop- releasing Isolde’s tail right afterwards.

 “Grab me a chair and bring it over there Leavanny, quick!” Agatha ordered while pointing a finger at a spot by the Arbok’s side. The bug type seemed confused at first- they even let out a nervous chirpping, but soon enough they found the chair sitting by the table’s side- they quickly ran towards the woman who had the abbe in her hands. The chair was placed in the correct spot “Stand still” the former elite member said, as she had to put aside her walking cane in order to hold onto the pokemon and get onto the chair. Now she could easily place the abbe on the back of Isolde’s hood, which had perfectly fitted- it may look a bit tight on the pokemon but it was clear that they could move, and didn’t show any sign of discomfort.

 Agatha now had to work on Tut. “Hopefully my arthritis will be nice to me tonight.” She joked now looking at her Golbat, who still was hugging himself with the wings- having barely moved besides the breathing motion. The woman walked towards the table now looking for the body paint provided to her, the white color is all that she needs for him (by then Isolde had slithered back to the table- returning to her stationary form). Her gaze now fell upon the Ditto, while she took the paintbrush “Ditto stand still in front of Tut, and transform into them!” the former elite member ordered, as she watched the pink blob creature make its way towards the bat pokemon. Upon shapeshifting into him, Tut’s wings spread open widely revealing the mouth with the four fangs in full display- they also shared the Arbok’s empty gaze. The woman signaled for the Leavanny to bring the chair over, now on top of it Agatha started the drawing on the left- wing. At first they may seem like random white lines, some are straight others come off curly- or even crooked eventually the drawing became clear.

 Obviously, she still had to do the same thing on the other side’s wing, but the outcome would clearly be a pair of eyes with lines that simulated spiders’ webs. The dark purple was the perfect shade, so the lines stood out the most on the pokemon. Slowly but surely Agatha would work on the Golbat, using the Leavanny as a support for herself every time her legs felt weak. She was very close to run out of the color, thankfully she managed to get the whole thing. While getting off the chair with Leavanny’s help, Agatha took a quick look over at the timer. “Ditto stay like that, don’t transform back we must keep Tut’s wings like that so the paint will dry up a lot faster.” Agatha said to the disguised pokemon.

 It appears she will have to hurry up and get her dress done- she can even see a few empty tables from the corner of her eye. The paint was thrown aside, a napkin had been pulled out from her purse in order to clean her hands off. The elite member walked over to her sketchbook, and flipped a few pages until getting to her outfit’s design. The woman stretched her arms and snapping her fists’ joints in the process. “Leavanny, with me.” She said- the first dress her hands landed on was quickly grabbed and thrown onto the mannequin, it was a long dinner in the wine color. Agatha reached out for the pins and needles; there was no time to waste- the measurements were no brainer to her. As such she immediately started to pinpoint exactly where Leavanny would first work on. “Isolde. Get the velvet for me, give it to Leavanny.” The Arbok sprung back to life, as it slithered away to look for what her mistress had asked for “I need you to cut this much for me of the velvet fabric, as well as to get rid of the sleeves.” The former elite member shot a gaze upon the insect, while indicating it on her arms and pointing it exactly where the bug type is meant to do its magic. Agatha quickly faced away from the dress so she could work on the props.

 The first one was a black fascinator, the hat’s base had been provided to her. All that she needed to add to it was the fake red Pidgeot’s feather by sewing it there, once the feather seemed firm enough on the piece- it was time to move onto the next one. It was time to work on an abbe for herself, she reached out for the roll of fur- despite it seemed like she was being careless by the way she handled the fabric, it was evident how much experience the woman carried under her belt. The abbe was quite huge- especially for Agatha’s body, it was meant to cover her majority of her torso- at last Leavanny was done with its previous task “Now sew all of these together!” The former elite member ordered, as she whistled at her Arbok to come over “Now darling, use your fangs on the skirt. Don’t you dare to go anyway upwards.” Isolde nodded, her mouth opened widely before her countless rounds of BITES on the dress started. Agatha didn’t look away from her pokemon not even for a second, once she was satisfied with the torn out result there was a snap of her fingers- prompting the serpent to cease and slither away. By then Leavanny had finished sewing the abbe and gloves together.

 “Perfect.” The woman muttered- she was getting close to the end. Obviously she doesn’t have the time to get all fancy with her make up, as such a foundation alongside with an eyeshadow and a lipstick are more than enough for her. It was time to get dressed up and head straight to the stage.

As Agatha moved around her dress’ skirt would be dragged on the floor, the walking pace was quite slow making sure she wouldn’t end up tripping on her own masterpiece. The woman was all by herself when she made it to the center of the stage, at least for now. Her left hand held one of the pokeballs, the second one was located right on the cane’s handle. It seemed as though her cane hadn’t been altered in the slightest, after all the whole piece resembled a twisted branch of a dead tree.

 The former elite member waited for the music to start playing with an unfazed expression, her gaze was glued to the crowd. She was back at being people’s attentions – how much she had missed that sensation, as soon as the music started to be played a wide grin had formed on her face- it was one that displayed her teeth. The pokeball in her hand was tossed up in the air, while the one in her cane’s handle had its button pressed releasing both beasts onto the stage.

 Tut still was wrapped up in his wings and in the air when he was completely free of the ball’s restrains, before the Golbat landed on the floor its wings spread open widely allowing them to land on the floor gracefully all the while showcasing the painting in his wings. Isolde on the other hand had essentially slithered out of the pokeball, heading towards the other pokemon. “Good night everybody!” Agatha directed her word at the people watching her, one arm waved at them before she spinned in place “We hope you are all having a lovely night! Isolde darling, why don’t you give them a taste?”

 The serpent creature remained motionless for a moment, as if they hadn’t heard her mistress- her white soulless eyes only contributed to that idea. Only to jolt towards the crowd at a very high, she was SCREECHING at the humans- in a very high pitched tone as well. The jaw opened as much as it could, revealing the fangs and the ACID that already was inside of the creature’s mouth. Just when she was about to leap off at the people, Agatha snapped her fingers- making the creature to stop dead in place. ACID was visibly leaking from her mouth, some of it even falling on the floor just beneath her. They were so close to the people, this way they could not only see the outfit they had on themselves- but the infamous face found on her hood.

 A chortle left the elderly woman, as she snapped once again her fingers. The Arbok’s mouth loudly shut itself, before slithering her way back to the elderly woman. “I hope everyone is still here with us tonight.” Agatha said, still chuckling loudly.

 There was a clap of her hands, followed by Tut taking off from the land and started to shroud the stage with HAZE, a dark fog had formed- making visibility near impossible. One that the former elite member and the Arbok had walked into, the music was approaching its end- so did the stage’s presentation. Inside of the dark cloud, Isolde coiled herself around the woman keeping her underneath her hood. The Golbat then flew out of the dark cloud, and proceeded to flap his wings in a very high pace- creating a WHIRLWIND. A gust of wind so powerful, that the HAZE had been spread over the floor- dissipating it in the process and revealing his mistress standing in its very center, while being protected from the wind by Isolde.

 The flying type quickly descended- not landing on the floor, instead they were at the perfect height for Agatha to take one of his paws and shoot one final glare at the crowd as the music came to its end. Surprisingly the hood did effectively serve as some kind of umbrella to her, meaning Agatha’s hair still seemed to be in place- in fact the outfit was intact. The former elite member then bowed forward in response to the applauses, whereas her pokemon kept staring at the others around them with their blank gaze.

 Now, it was all up to the judges.

[orbemnews]

Janet Yellen just proved markets can't handle the truth The details: At an event hosted by The Atlantic, Yellen, an economist who previously led the Federal Reserve, indicated that the central bank may need to hike interest rates to prevent prices from rising too quickly. “It may be that interest rates will have to rise somewhat to make sure that our economy doesn’t overheat,” Yellen said. Her comments rippled through markets, feeding a selloff in tech stocks that could take a beating when rates rise. She later clarified that she wasn’t predicting or making any recommendations to the Fed, whose independence she respects, and does not expect inflation to be a persistent, major issue. “I don’t think there’s going to be an inflationary problem, but if there is, the Fed can be counted on to address [it],” Yellen said later Tuesday at The Wall Street Journal’s CEO Council Summit. Step back: The content of what Yellen said wasn’t revolutionary. The US economy is on track to stage a full recovery from the pandemic this year as demand bounces back and the employment situation improves. As the economy strengthens, the Federal Reserve will eventually have to raise rates, which can’t stay at rock bottom levels indefinitely. “Markets were unhappy at this statement of the blindingly obvious,” said Paul Donovan, chief economist of UBS Global Wealth Management. “Rates will clearly rise in the future.” But investors remain on edge about when, exactly, that will happen — especially with valuations of assets like stocks looking extremely rich and vulnerable to a pullback. Most Federal Reserve officials think the central bank won’t move away from super-low interest rates until after 2023. At the same time, signs of price pressures in different parts of the economy are growing. See here: Bottlenecks following the pandemic are causing all kind of problems in supply chains that could lead to higher prices. Carmaker Stellantis (FCAU) said Wednesday that the computer chip shortage roiling the auto industry is getting worse. Meanwhile, the price of commodities is climbing, with the Bloomberg Commodity Spot Index, which tracks 23 raw materials, hitting its highest level since 2011. In a survey of manufacturers from the Institute for Supply Management released earlier this week, suppliers complained of rising prices, as well as limited availability of parts and materials that were making it difficult to meet the burst of demand. “The current electronics/semiconductor shortage is having tremendous impacts on lead times and pricing,” one respondent said. “Additionally, there appears to be a general inflation of prices across most, if not all, supply lines.” Big picture: Whether investors want it to or not, post-Covid inflation has arrived. What matters is whether higher prices are transient, as Yellen forecasts, or turn out to have staying power. “The question is not whether there will be some inflation this year, but whether it will represent ‘overheating’ of the economy as a whole,” J. Bradford DeLong, a professor of economics at the University of California at Berkeley, wrote in a column published Tuesday. Wall Street is ready to end the era of Zoom meetings Fed up with remote work, Wall Street’s bosses are preparing to bring employees back to the office on a large scale — moves that could reinvigorate the US financial center after more than a year of pandemic life. The latest: Most Goldman Sachs (GS) workers will be back in lower Manhattan by mid-June, according to a memo sent to staff on Tuesday. “We are focused on progressing on our journey to gradually bring our people back together again, where it is safe to do so, and are now in a position to activate the next steps in our return to office strategy,” CEO David Solomon, President John Waldron and CFO Stephen Scherr wrote. The executives said they “continue to be encouraged by the rollout of vaccines” in many areas and the “effectiveness of the health and safety protocols we have put in place.” Speaking at the Wall Street Journal’s CEO Council Summit, JPMorgan Chase (JPM) CEO Jamie Dimon said he’s sick of remote working, which hurts corporate culture and makes it difficult to compete for clients. Last week, the bank announced it will open its US offices to all employees on May 17, subject to a 50% occupancy cap. “We want people back at work and my view is some time in September, October, it will look just like it did before,” Dimon said. “Yes, people don’t like commuting, but so what?” That said: Some fixtures of the pre-pandemic financial world aren’t ever coming back. CME Group announced Tuesday that it won’t reopen physical trading pits that were closed in Chicago last March due to Covid-19. Once iconic hubs for trading commodities like soybeans, such locations have been made superfluous by electronic trading — and after staying empty for many months, they may be on their way out for good. Ethereum’s 27-year-old creator is now a billionaire Vitalik Buterin, a 27-year-old Russian-Canadian programmer, created ethereum in 2013 when he was 19 years old. Now, as the cryptocurrency skyrockets, his net worth is soaring. Buterin holds about 333,500 ether in his public wallet, my CNN Business colleague Alexis Benveniste reports. Multiply that by the $3,500 record high it hit on Tuesday, and you get more than $1.1 billion. Not bad. What we know: Buterin co-founded Bitcoin Magazine, a publication that covers bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies, in 2012. In 2014, he was selected to be part of the Thiel Fellowship, a two-year program created by billionaire Peter Thiel that “gives $100,000 to young people who want to build new things instead of sitting in a classroom.” But Buterin keeps a fairly low profile. He isn’t super active on social media — even though he boasts 1.4 million Twitter followers. Big picture: Ethereum is down from recent highs on Wednesday, but is still trading at more than $3,300. It’s surged more than 350% since the start of 2021. Part of the digital coin’s success can be credited to the fact that it’s the cryptocurrency of choice for purchasing many non-fungible tokens, or NFTs — digital artwork and other collectibles that are transformed into one-of-a-kind, verifiable assets that are easy to trade on the blockchain. But questions remain about whether NFTs are a game changer, or just a passing fad. Up next Dine Brands (DIN), General Motors (GM), Hilton (HLT), New York Times (NYT) and Scott’s Miracle-Gro (SMG) report results before US markets open. Booking Holdings, Etsy (ETSY), MetLife (MET), PayPal (PYPL), Rocket Companies and Uber (UBER) follow after the close. Also today: The ADP private employment report for April arrives at 8:15 a.m. ET. The ISM Non-Manufacturing Index, an important read of the US services sector, follows at 10 a.m. ET. Coming tomorrow: Earnings from Anheuser-Busch InBev (BUD), ArcelorMittal (AMSYF), Moderna (MRNA) and Volkswagen (VLKAF). Source link Orbem News #handle #investing #Janet #Markets #Premarketstocks:JanetYellenjustprovedmarketscan'thandlethetruth-CNN #proved #truth #Yellen

[aion-rsa]

Batman: What Miracle Molly and the Unsanity Collective Mean for the Future of Gotham

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The Dark Knight is on the verge of losing Gotham, according to writer James Tynion IV, who is kicking off his second year on Batman with his most ambitious story yet, one that is as much the epic tale of an entire city as it is an intimate look at its heroes.

Gotham is changing rapidly, rebuilding itself in the wake of the Joker War, and several factions, including the mysterious transhumanist gang known as the Unsanity Collective, are vying for control of the city. Lurking in the shadows of this new war for the soul of Gotham are the Scarecrow and a shady tech mogul named Simon Saint, who has a plan to replace vigilantes with a “peacekeeping” force he is calling the Magistrate. To top it all off, the people of Gotham are losing faith in Batman. Can the Dark Knight get the city back on his side?

In May’s Batman #108, Bruce goes undercover as Matches Malone to infiltrate the Unsanity Collective, and learns just how quickly Gotham is slipping from his grasp. Central to the issue is new character Miracle Molly, the genius engineer behind the gang’s mind- and body-altering tech designed to create the perfect soldiers for the Collective’s mission. Molly isn’t your typical cackling villain anxious to trade blows with the Bat, though. Instead, she wants to pitch him the Collective’s vision for Gotham City.

“The reason [Batman] puts on the costume is because criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot. And one of the big things that Miracle Molly says to him in this issue is that it’s not just the criminals. Everyone in Gotham is a superstitious and cowardly lot. Society kind of pushes us into that position,” Tynion tells Den of Geek over Zoom. “The idea of the Unsanity Collective is that they erase part of their memories so they can let go of the traumas of their past, let go of who society wanted them to be, and they’re able to rebuild themselves from scratch as these new people.”

It’s this “heart-to-heart” between Batman and Miracle Molly that forms the crux of the issue, and lays the foundation for this year’s story arc as a whole. In Batman #108, readers get a much better look at the storytelling tapestry Tynion and artist Jorge Jimenez are weaving in “The Cowardly Lot,” which tackles some very hefty subject matter, including what Batman’s mission means to a younger generation of Gothamites who are understandably cynical about authority figures.

In fact, at the core of “The Cowardly Lot” is Tynion’s desire to write to younger generations of comic book readers who are looking for Batman stories that reflect them and the world they live in.

“I didn’t want to write a comic book that’s necessarily for me right now,” explains Tynion, who is 33. “I’m trying to write the [types of] comics that got me really excited when I was 15. That was something that I wanted to tap into. And the truth is that the teenagers are growing up. Generation Z, they don’t believe that society works because society hasn’t proved to them that it actually works.”

Is Batman really the hero Gotham needs right now? Things have hardly gotten any better for the citizens of Gotham since the Dark Knight began his war on crime. When it’s not the Joker terrorizing the city, it’s Bane, it’s Deathstroke, it’s Poison Ivy, it’s the Riddler. You could hardly blame someone growing up in all of that chaos for seeking out alternative solutions beyond the Bat.

“Batman doesn’t necessarily mean something good to the young people who are coming of age in the city,” Tynion says. “How does Batman actually inspire this generation that isn’t so sure what it believes in?”

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Further complicating matters is the newly-elected mayor, Christopher Nakano, who wants to rid the city of masks, starting with the Bat Family. Earlier this year, in DC’s flash-forward event Future State, we got a glimpse at the mayor’s potential legacy: the Gotham of the future becomes a dystopian surveillance state where Batman is “dead” and his remaining associates are being hunted down by the Magistrate. While DC billed these stories as “possible futures” for our heroes, Batman #108 certainly begins to set the wheels in motion toward this dark reality.

And then there’s Scarecrow, who has “his ideas about how fear can help the city evolve,” according to Tynion. Silently stalking all of the major players in the story, the classic villain has yet to unveil his master plan but he sure looks creepier than ever thanks to a new design by Jimenez. Teased as the arc’s big bad, Scarecrow is the wild card in the tug of war for Gotham, and he’s planning something very big.

The odds are stacked against him, but Tynion says all of these challenges are reinvigorating for a Batman who’s a bit older and now further along in his crime-fighting career than we’re used to. He no longer has Alfred by his side, he’s lost the fortune that allowed him to build his high-tech gadgets and vehicles, and he doesn’t fully understand all of the new threats knocking at Gotham’s door. But he’s more excited about being Batman than ever before.

“He’s questioning how to actually make people believe in the mission of Batman and believe that the city can be fixed. That was what he faced when he first came to Gotham,” Tynion says. “Gotham was so corrupt that no one believed that it could ever become uncorrupt. And it took a tremendous amount of work to make it uncorrupt. And now that system’s collapsing again, because all systems collapse. Now he has to teach this new generation that you have to hold desperately on to all of these things. Society doesn’t just fix itself and then stay fixed forever. It’s a constant battle.”

The Dark Knight will continue that battle in Batman #108, which is out on May 4. While you wait, check out a few preview pages from the issue:

The post Batman: What Miracle Molly and the Unsanity Collective Mean for the Future of Gotham appeared first on Den of Geek.

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