#Caine isn’t paying attention

[daydreaming-robot]

A new teaser for the Amazing Digital Circus on YouTube. Which shows the Ferris wheel going out of control lol

Pomni and Ragatha holding on for dear life while Kinger is just chilling

[froggibus]

Valentine's Day HCs - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, platonic! Damian Wayne

Includes: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas and platonic! Damian Wayne

Summary: how your fave batfam member would treat you on valentine's day

CW: gn! reader, some are a little ooc cause its my first time writing them, fluff and sweetness all around, dames is strictly platonic!!!

another part to my valentine's hcs!! if you guys enjoyed this, consider checking out some of the other ones!

Valentine's 2023 Masterlist

————

Bruce Wayne:

probably one of the only nights you can actually convince him to take a break and pay attention to you

(read: Alfred would ground him for weeks if he forgot to do something nice for you)

leaves you a big gift box on your bed stuffed with fancy tissue paper and a little card 

it just says ‘wear me’ and when you unwrap it it’s a super formal outfit 

Bruce doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you until he shows up at your house in one of his cars, holding a dozen roses 

he ends up taking you to his private airstrip in Gotham 

he flies you to Monaco and takes you to a restaurant you always wanted to try!! 

and since you’re away from Gotham, the press isn’t even bothering you

after dinner, he takes you to a nice speakeasy for drinks and dessert 

he even turns his phone off so that he can focus on you 100%

you guys stay the night in a penthouse suite above Monaco 

“I know I don’t always have a lot of time for you, but I hope you know that I do really love you.”

Dick Grayson:

this man is CHEESY I’m sorry 

like he goes all out and he’s not even embarrassed about it 

probably asks you to be his Valentine in like a cute promposal-esque way

he’s somewhere between between Bruce and Jason on Valentine’s plans 

like he doesn’t want to go all out to all these fancy places, but he doesn’t want to just do a date at home 

so he ends up taking you ice skating!! 

(unrelated but I HC him as a really good figure skater)

holds your hands the whole time and does like some cutesy couples skate 

also he definitely shows off what a good skater he is and does some cool gymnastics moves 

after skating, you guys go through a walk through the park 

he takes you to get some yummy street food and hot chocolate too 

“Thanks for always sticking out the good and the bad with me, y/n. Whenever you’re with me, I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do.”

Jason Todd:

I feel like this man is secretly super romantic 

he doesn’t really like big crowds and don’t even get him started at fancy restaurants where the portion is way too small 

also he’s a big softie so he probably plans something super intimate for you guys

picks up a copy of his favourite book and annotates his favorite passages 

and writes little stories and things he loves about you in the margins 

he invites you over to his place to cook dinner for you

has a playlist of your favorite music playing while he cooks

definitely something super yummy and comforting!! 

he gives you the book after dinner while he waits for dessert to be done

you guys eat dessert and cuddle on the couch and talk about books and movies 

he would definitely dance with you in the living room too!

like cute dorky dancing where you stand on his feet and just kinda sway around the room 

“I’m pretty sure you know how I feel about people, but y/n? You make me think not everyone is so bad.”

Tim Drake:

he is definitely the type to not care about Valentine’s Day 

anytime someone brings it up he has to go on this tangent about how it’s not a real holiday 

however, if his partner cares about it, he can put his own feelings behind him and suck it up for the day

definitely stays up for several days trying to plan out a perfect for you guys

but since he’s so tired he ends up sleeping in past when he’s supposed to pick you up :((

you don’t mind tho because Tim sleeping is a gift in itself lmfao 

he scrambles to get ready and picks you up not much later than he was supposed to 

he takes you to a super cute video game cafe 

you guys get some yummy drinks and cute little heart shaped cookies and snacks 

and then you guys hop on the computers to play some games!! 

he probably plays some fun little coop games with you so that you can actually spend quality time together 

takes you home and you guys just relax on the couch and watch tv 

(Tim definitely watches Criminal Minds and relates a little too much to Spencer Reid)

“I know I said I don’t really care about Valentines and honestly I don’t but I know you do and I know it’s not a lot but I just really wanted to give you the date you deserve.”

Stephanie Brown:

this is HER holiday 

like it might as well be St Steph Day

she has MAJOR plans for the two of you

and she definitely asks you to her Valentine with this cute little homemade Valentine she made just for you

she brings her camera with new film because she’s going to take so many pictures!! 

probably coordinates her outfit to yours just so you guys look all cute and matching

she takes you to a light dinner first, probably like sushi or ramen or something 

and then you guys go to a special Valentines concert in the park!! 

of course Steph knows all the songs and all the choreography 

she dances all goofy and tries to get you to dance with her too! 

sends you copies of all the pictures she takes after and posts them on her Instagram with a cute caption like

“Best Valentine’s Date Ever!! y/n truly is the loml !”

Cassandra Cain: 

she’s probably never celebrated Valentines before

just never did as a kid and then never had any interest as an adult 

but you seem so excited about it that she wants to try 

she definitely goes to Steph and Barbara for advice on what to do for you

and of course her girls have her back!! 

she’s really shy when she asks you, but she decides to go the simple route and straight up asks 

she’s so relieved when you say yes!! 

she gets you a potted plant instead of flowers cause she doesn’t really get the point of getting you something that’ll die soon 

she packs you guys a really nice picnic and the two of you go for a hike by her favorite spot 

there’s a really nice waterfall up there and some dry rocks where she spreads out a picnic blanket 

the two of you snack on the food she brought and just chat 

you’re honestly really touched that she was thinking about you this Valentine’s Day and wanted to do something special for you 

“I know it’s not much, but it’s my first time celebrating and I really wanted to do something nice for you.”

Duke Thomas:

he’s super nervous to be celebrating your first valentines together

and knowing him he just has to make it perfect 

he’s probably had his dinner reservation for like a month at least 

picks up a bouquet of your favourite flowers too (bonus points cause he gets them from a local florist instead of a supermarket) 

spends hours and hours picking out the perfect outfit too

probably calls Steph and asks for her advice on his outfit, cologne, his gift for you etc. 

is at your house ready to pick you up super early 

waits as long as you need to get ready and his jaw DROPS when he sees you 

all flustered and shy and stumbles over his words while he tries to compliment you!!

he definitely relaxes a little on the way to the restaurant

by the time you’re eating, you guys are making easy conversation and by dessert he’s holding your hands across the table <3

insists you guys go for a walk after dinner to look at the stars !!

“so, how did I do? did I nail it?”

Damian Wayne:

he is a complete stranger to the concept of Valentines 

And much like Tim he simply does not care 

however his teacher makes them make little mail boxes in school and teaches them about the history of the holiday 

and he gets a bit of a heavy heart realizing this is something normal kids do and he just really wants to fit in even if he’ll never admit 

which is what leads him to you the day before Valentine’s Day 

and of course you can’t say no to him because he’s being vulnerable with you and he’s just so fragile :((

that’s how you end up taking him to the craft store to pick up foam and ribbons and glitter glue and stickers 

the two of you sit down at the table and get to work making cute little heart shaped valentines for all of his classmates 

he probably handwrites a message on each of them individually 

things like “I tolerate you” and “you’re not the stupidest person in our class”

the spirit is there lol 

Steph and Dick definitely join in and help you guys make them at some point 

and Alfred makes sure you guys have snacks and drinks the whole time 

at school the next day he’s so nervous to give them out but when he gets his first ever Valentine he’s so happy !!

and when he gets home you’re waiting there with the rest of the family with more Valentine’s for him!! 

pretends he doesn’t care but he’s smiling and blushing and hides them in a shoebox in his closet

he looks at them whenever he’s sad :((

“As stupid as Valentines are, thank you, y/n, for helping me join in this year”

pretends he doesn’t care but he’s smiling and blushing and hides them in a shoebox in his closet

[pyporapy]

Hey Jay :) give me a rundown of your OCs >:)

This has been sitting in my askbox for a while and I forgor to reply sorry Birby 😭🙏

Anyway!!! Let me give you the shortest possible rundown of my ocs as I try not to die in the process:

This is Grisha. He’s a bitch and can see dead people but it’s not a good thing. Chronically ill because of the dead people thing and has Some Issues regarding religion. Suffers of the godforsaken combination of “too many trust issues” x “very desperate for human connection”. God’s little chew toy and very painfully aware of it

This is Felix. He tries to be cool but is actually just some guy (and a kinda lame one at that but in a good way, at least). Has some deep-seated issues regarding himself and his sense of identity after years of pretending to be someone he isn’t for people that were never all that worth it but surely this won’t ever come back to bite him in the ass at some point. Neither will the fact he keeps running away from the past. Very emotionally congested but acts like he’s alright and chilling. Loves his daughter and is a true doñita at heart. Also he’s half ecuadorian which is important to mention to Me, an ecuadorian

This is Laura. She’s as close as we get to the only normal person in the cast but if anything she’s just the Least fucked up one. Constantly stressed and an overachiever. Enough caffeine in her blood to kill a horse. She does a good job at making people respect her but also she’s a girlfailure at heart. Not nearly enough social skills which is why her best friend is the only other guy in the office who doesn’t have friends either. Needs a hug and a nap but is too proud to ask for any of those. Doesn’t believe in the supernatural at all so she feels like everyone around her is pulling an incredibly elaborate prank to which she doesn’t get the punchline

This is Viktoria. She’s a bodyguard and a trained assassin since childhood. Feels incredibly disconnected from her emotions due to this that when they hit her on like a random tuesday at 3 AM she doesn’t know what to do. Feels more like a tool than a person and is so used to people not actually paying attention to her as a human being that when someone does she’s too awkward to keep the interaction going. Can and will kill you but she just wants to retire at this point. Tough and terrifying but also kinda lame but she’s allowed to be. As a treat

This is Cain. He’s a priest but he doesn’t actually believe in God, at least not in the orthodox way. Only reason he has the job is that they found him outside the church like a kitten in a wet box and decided to take him in, and the only reason he keeps the job is that somehow he’s good enough at it that more people join the church. A huge asshole so people either genuinely like having him around or just put up with him. Can also see dead people but it’s not nearly as catastrophic as Grisha’s case. Also incapable of forming healthy connections with people but that’s a problem he refuses to unpack

This is Gabrijel. He’s a millionaire and a model and a celebrity and a philantropist and a cult leader but the public is unaware of only one (1) of those things, and you can probably guess which one. Manipulative and cunning and overall a pretty terrible guy but charismatic enough for people to think there’s nothing wrong with him. Completely derranged but composed enough….until he Isn’t. Viktoria can’t stand him and anyone that works directly under him doesn’t like him but he’s too pretty to be bothered I suppose. Wants to bring literal Hell onto the world bc he thinks he’s Jesus or something bigger. Wouldn’t want him to haunt the narrative or anything, that would suck

The very general plot is that a bunch of people are being murdered. Grisha and Laura investigate it. Felix gets involved because he knew one of the victims and has mysteriously large amounts of information. Gabrijel is responsible for it and it’s all linked to his evil plan(TM). He first tasks Viktoria with killing them but Viktoria is done with his shit so she acts as a double agent for him and for Laura so she can Maybe get a day of peace in her life for once. Everything goes to shit at some point but I can talk abt it later since I feel like this is already too convoluted(?). And Cain is just There for the drama of it all ig

That’s it ty for asking and sorry for taking so long avdhebfhej hopefully I will share some more canon stuff here or on instagram instead of silly things 🙏 they haven’t left my head in over six years and I might start making it everyone’s problem I’m afraid

[problematticheals75]

APPRECIATION POST

—

We have a friend, and we appreciate her very much. Times have been hard for both of us mentally, I think it’s fair to say it like that (we know each other IRL), however this isn’t a mental health post, this is to promote some things that she does + also a thank you for her to being such an incredible being to our whole system as a whole.

She’s got an AU which is about Adamsapple! It’s a custom made AU including canon and non canon characters from HH (I assume so, at least) and I think it’s only fair you show your love if you’re into HH and or HB, like how we are (partly from her as well, thank you for that Ruffled) and I think her ideas, her drawings on art are so imaginative for it, like it’s got us quite interested (Healy and me were really on the ball, it was quite immediate) and I think that the headcanons, the way the characters interact are definitely linked in well with the canon, despite us not seeing much of the new Hazbin. Now that’s called real talent and examine skill bc I probably wouldn’t be that attentive, using the shows as further help for lore or canon, so like.. a lot of damn work went to this, and this is why, again.. I write this on her behalf so she can get more attention/boosts for her creative ideas and her love for character development and arcs!

Personally we got invested in the characters and I really saw the slight interest points in which some of our alters could relate, for example with her OC Caine, having a band with a few bandmates, which sated toward our musical alters (myself as James Marriott introject, Healy, Bedford, Hann, Matty and Jago) as well! Although that’s just a hc that was meant to build her imagination, this kinda stuff helps us to involve more into it, feeling like we could at least offer a contribution or to even spread the word like we’re doing rn!

Also I really can’t stress enough how I personally adore the fact that she keeps the canon characters such as Vaggie, Charlie, Lucifer, with their traits from what’s in the show/episodes. We found that loads of series like that with people making AU’s tend to drift away from the integrity of the canon and waver off, but not Ruffled, she bloody knows how to just keep it real, keep it investing just like the show itself. I really love that about this starting AU. Just, although it’s a starting point.. it feels like maybe with enough pushing, enough drive and motivations, I personally know it could go far. We personally will push this out there for people to note what hard work and talents may pay off to do. Of course that’s not to say anyone else who does this is far from talented or far from skilled, this is just to show that we want our friend to go far with her work, and with how she puts pen to paper. We’ve seen her work, we’ve known first hand that she’d either become a great artist, or a great writer. And look, from what we say.. yes she’s pulled both off right here in this moment in time.

Valuing people for their talents or perhaps interests lays important to us. We want Ruffled to feel on cloud nine, knowing that she’s got friends backing her up and knowing people should see how incredible her work lays out, no matter how absurd it may look or sound on paper or in words.. it’ll probably mean that the lore has a raw purpose, because I feel mildly complex lore quite entertaining.. and again another skill she’s acing at!

Enough of our ramble now.. but I want everyone to know you go far. I want them to see your immaculate work, your skills.. I want you to prosper, even if sometimes we can’t always show that to you. We think you’re important, skilled, clever, kind, and you always never fail to make an introject alter missing a friend in source feel as if they’ve got a friend they’ve missed (for example, you’re like Ross Macdonald to the 1975 boys in system) and I find that special as you’re like Will to my James. Whatever happens, we don’t fade apart okay, we stick together. And if people hate on your work, oh boy well come out all guns a bloody blazing.. they just haven’t seen the raw talent that we see in school every day and the attentive literate ability to which you have, sometimes more than us or even our academic alter Bedford, (/lh, just joking here). Just, ah.. everything about you as a whole is like a manifold of different knowings, it’s almost like a story to find more on. Like we say, the art you produce, incredible. The writing, the headcanon concepts, the way you just think up these somewhat wild and perhaps a little zany ideas but to see them come alive as something as like a full fledged story it really is a natural talent which you seemed to just have right there in your genes. Again, it’s amazing to be friends with someone that’s so innovative in many ways, it’s like seeing an alternate us but with perhaps deeper meaning. I appreciate you for being that.

[GO CHECK OUT HER BLOG! @ruffled-wings ]

(again our friend is very talented, cool, funny all that cool stuff. she may start showing her writing like how we’re doing with our fixation on The 1975, and I would love to see her writing up on here personally! Go show our mate the love that she deserves 🫶]

- written by James, Healy, George(The 1975) and Hann (on behalf of everyone in our system though, of course! you’re like family to us <3/p)

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Hi! Can I request Alois, our Ciel, real Ciel and Sebastian, with a s/o who makes music as a form of coping please? The music being similar to the likes of Ethel Cain, Flower Face, Nicole Dollanganger, especially in terms of themes. Thank you!

bwaaah thank u for giving me some new artists to listen to~

I have only listened to a couple songs, but I'm a sucker for dark music with pretty voices

I also had fun making up some lyrics for the S/O's songs, so I hope I did ok!! <3

Ooh. Haunting and gorgeous… one of his very favorite combinations! It’s not really his fault that he’s drawn to it all. He’s got his own issues to cope with, various traumas, and he can find comfort in the things his S/O writes about, like they find comfort in those things. Maybe the two of them aren’t exactly the same, but if he can curl up inside this music and feel not so alone, he thinks something about it must be helping them to heal, too. He’ll happily spend nights with his head on their chest, singing along quietly to the songs of theirs which most find their way to his mind in a constant loop. “Here in the garden, shall I stay? / Or will I grow wings so I can fly away? / There’s not a place / that could ever erase / the stains on my soul that have yet to fade to grey…”

Oh, dear, how very complicated his darling is. How did he never notice what a creative mind they hid behind that pretty face? That’s fine. He’s more than happy to give their music his full appreciation, now that he’s managed to hear some of it. He also has a penchant for looking at their first drafts and jotted-down ideas… he’s actually very good at picking out the parts that hit him in the most delightfully painful way. Then he’s happy to help them build the rest of the song around those focal points, if they’d have his company in this process. It’s certainly an exercise in imagination, sitting at the piano with them and feeding off their energy. It’s almost relaxing. “Knock, knock / do you know who’s there? / the dead don’t talk / but I don’t care / cold and pale / my lips still speak / I’ll tell the tale / I’ll show them what you did to me.”

… Quite disturbing, if you ask him. Quite. He doesn’t presume to know the full extent of whatever they’ve gone through, but his sweetheart is free to do as they please. If it helps them, then by all means, he isn’t going to demand they stop or try to hide it from him just because it isn’t something he would do. A part of him is interested in it; the things he’s been through are things he avoids thinking about at all. Dwelling on them long enough to write songs about his feelings in regard to his past would drive him insane. It’s different for them? Perhaps once those things are out of their head, it’s some kind of healing. If it works for his S/O, then more power to them. He doesn’t go near their process, nor does he try to write any himself. That said, he does catch himself singing under his breath occasionally, small parts of their songs which are a gentle balm to his heart. “But you’re in the corner crying / nobody knows your heart, do they? / And sometimes it feels like you’re dying / keep your head above water, water / maybe being baptized won’t feel like drowning one day.”

Ah, now… what a dark, beautiful little soul he has on his hands. He knew from the start that his beloved had a twisted and delicious energy, but he didn’t plumb the depths of it until he began to pay more attention to the things they write. They have been through the worst life has to offer, it seems, and he’s only appealing to his true demonic nature when that makes him all the more attracted to them. Although he keeps his composure around others, he shows a marked curiosity in their work whilst in private with them. They’ll show him as much as he wants to see, won’t they? He can pick out favorite pieces, and the ones which sound as if they hurt most will earn them a kiss from him. He wants to be close to their troubled heart — he does, however, very much want to make sure it doesn’t grow ever more troubled. Should it please them and be a comfort, he’ll even sing their music as he holds them in his arms. “Blacker than black / I cannot see through the dark / did I ever have a heart? / Oh, did I ever have a heart? / Was it taken from me / and you called it setting me free? / So come let me do the same for you / let me set you free, too.”

[harryleatherfit]

Upper East Side || A.U || Frankie Morales

Chapter 10: Hands

Chapter Playlist

Family Tree- Ethel Cain

Novacane- Frank Ocean

Butterscotch Goddamn- Fischerspooner

words: 5481

warnings: alcohol consumption, thigh riding, being held back?? orgasm, mentions of blood (fake tho) mentions of abusive parents, soft!dom frankie

pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader || Slowburn x Teacher Student x Soulmates

authors note: kinda a filler, but smut no worries. leading up to my favorite chapters i promise. had a few requests for one shots so working on those too!

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

Frankie +POV

It was a night at the bar for him and the boys. One of their last free nights before it was time for the show. They were all exhausted from teaching during the day, to working on the set at night. He stayed with Benny and you for your lesson, to fortunately have a night of his life that he’ll never forget, but he was exhausted. The set for the Broadway theater had to be perfect. So many people were coming, and the school was going to be the talk of many social media outlets, newspaper columns, and this would bring in so much money for the spring musical.

Ultimately, he wanted this to all be over and to spend time with you. He wanted to put everything aside and swish you away for a vacation, or to go away and be around people that wouldn’t know you both. This feeling was eating him alive, he needed to be alone tonight with you, but you had previously told him you were sleeping early tonight to save your energy for the weekend, and the boys wanted to pull him away for a few drinks.

“Hello, Earth to Fish.” Pope waved his hand. “What’s up with you man?”

“Nothing, I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” He tells the bartender. It was 10ish, the night life at this specific bar was more older. Jazz was playing, attracting an older crowd. The guys ordered their drinks and food, making small talk about the show.

“Nah I know what this is about, it’s about that girl isn’t it?” Ironhead states. His girl.

He caught Frankie in a daze, “What?” He was already daydreaming about you. Longing for your soft heartfelt touch.

“You know who I’m fucking talking about, don’t play dumb with us man.”

He chuckles, “What can I say, this is different.” He sips his drink.

“You’re happier,” Refly adds.

“I haven’t had these many heart palpitations in a long time. She’s gonna kill me.” Frankie scratches his head, he didn't want to give too much away, but they all already knew about you. They had to pluck it out of him when he was drunk on poker night.

“About damn time dude.” Pope cheers, “Get this man more drinks he’s fuckinnnn pussy whipped! Had to find out the hard way you brought in Timothee for her, and that’s he’s comin tomorrow too? I feel betrayed.” He gasps.

“Calm down, calm down. It’s complicated, we can’t be screamin it to the world.” He hushes Pope down.

“How? You posted her, it's everywhere man.” Ironhead pips.

He’s thought about this a million times, talked it over with you a billion, “I just feel bad, being her teacher. I don’t want her to ever think I have some ulterior motive with her, or her to think I’m usin her. I mean we’ve talked about it before, and we know the risks of doing this. But I won’t lie and say that I’m not scared. She’s scared. If we’re open to the public this could ruin the both of us, and we’ll be looked at differently.” He gulps the last of the drink, “I mean when I told you guys, you all didn’t give me shit which I was surprised you didn’t clown me at first but-.”

“Fish, we saw how you reacted when we went to UNCSA to see her perform. Remember that night, after he hugged her and she didn’t even pay any attention to him? He practically cried like a little baby.” Redfly deadpanned, “I mean we could all see her talent from that stage. You were just the old grump that wanted her to jump your bones.” Abruptly bursting into laughter Ironhead and Pope clapped Redfly on the back.

“Very fucking funny man.” Frankie grumbles. He rips his hand around his glass cup, thinking about what you were doing right now, he hasn’t seen you since your voice lesson.

The first time he saw you was at your last performance of Cabaret. He couldn’t believe your performance, the way you fit Sally so well. Blowing the whole crowd away, the makeup on your face shimmered in the magnetic lighting, the costume flowing with the curve of your legs. Every miniscule facial expression is meticulously made up in your head. He could feel your character soaking in everyone's life, walking out of the show changed. A star. The next night, the whole team was tasked to go to your music recital, and your voice made people cry. Your emotion in singing was mood altering. This night reminded him of his childhood, how badly he wanted to let his creative brain flow but was inevitably allowed to. He had an older brother that would get under his skin, and parents that would eventually throw him out. Events in his life he wouldnt change, but still broke his soul nonetheless. He understood exactly what it was like to be a foreigner to your blood family, and seeing you shake from your mom took him back to when he was a little boy. He craved a love that would devour his body eternally at such a young age, he never thought he would find it. Because of this, he had to get to know you somehow. Once he knew everyone finalized for you and Laylah to come, he vowed to himself that he had to learn to be close to you, and find a way to protect you from evil New York, no matter what happened between you two.

Ultimately, being with you has changed him, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to scare you, but he wants more with you, he wants more for you.

“It happens, and that’s okay. We’ll help you figure this out. Benny, have you got any wise words of yours?” Redfly asks.

Frankie knew this wasn’t an easy topic for him, you being his star student. Of course you were the star student, they all fucking knew that. Emails from every agency asking about you, asking when you’d be done with college and ready to have your acting reel done. Ready to come to Hollywood and work with the real dogs. But, Benny was being the quietest of them all, he was happy for Frankie and you, not letting you know he knows, but this was a serious matter. Benny would be the one to help you for the rest of the year to make sure you would get a good part in the musical, as well getting booked after college.

It was his job to make sure the world sees your talent, as well as hears how well you sound. From a teacher's perspective he didn’t fully agree with it all, of course it would be a scandal, a teacher with a student. But as a long time friend with Frankie, he understood. He knew his life, knew what he has gone through and observes that this is the happiest Frankie has ever been.

“Well you flustered her, the entire lesson. She was trying really fucking hard to not be unfocused, but you do something to her that distracts her.”

Frankie frowned, he didn’t want to distract you, he didn’t want to hurt you in any way. He didn't want to be in the way of anything for you.

“I mean they’re practically fucking teenagers, if you all were there you would’ve felt the energy, they couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other.” He laughs, how Benny had no idea what had happened after her voice lesson, and leading up to it, “I’m happy for you Fish, and I support you guys every step of the way, I will always be here to help with Media, or anything that comes out. I will use my power in this fucked world. We all will, right?” Benny gets nods from the guys, “See we’re all here to help you, just be careful with her. Don’t fucking break her. You saw how fragile she is. She’s strong but one wrong kick coming from the wrong person.” Referencing your mom and Nina, “Then she can bring the world down with her. She’s emotional, but she’ll turn that emotion into her craft. We literally saw it in her audition, so this can’t be some one night stand shit.” One night stand enrages Frankie. You were definitely not some one night stand.

“She isn’t some one night stand Benny. Can’t fuckin believe you’d think that.”

“Hey, don’t fuckin talk to me like that. Or you aren’t allowed in her lessons anymore.” He snarls back at Frankie, “All I’m saying, we’ve seen you spiral after being with someone. Okay? This, whatever this is with her, is fucking precious and if you break it, if you fuck it up, and this ruins her career, you have to live with that.”

The air was stagnant with the boys, heavy and thick. Words said in the air to make Frankie overthink, was he in the way of your life? Was he gonna ruin you?

“I think I’m in love with her.” But, he could never truly say this to you, “I am gonna ask her to be my girl after the first show. I think it’s time, I want to take things slow with her.”

“Well congrats Fish, first step to finally settlin down.” Pope assures, ordering another round of drinks.

--------

Last rehearsal before opening night, the longest night of them all. Earlier in the week, it was the first dress rehearsal and there was magic in the air. Getting to work with the full set and props on Broadway, feeling the lights on your skin. Makeup sponged into your pores. Costumes sewed to your body, it was all so surreal.

The sleep you had gotten the night before was rejuvenating enough for your body, at least enough for your head to properly perceive the next few days. You were excited and couldn’t wait to become someone else for a while, you had the opportunity to really wow an audience again.

Techies were called at 5PM, thirty minutes after the last class had ended for the day, and actors were called at 6, but you decided to take today as a rest day, per Ms. Royalce’s order. You hadn’t gotten to see Frankie all day, you hadn’t seen him since your voice lesson, but you decided to go in with Laylah for her call time so you could at least see him even though he was going to be outrageously busy.

After having your ID checked by the outside ushers of the theater, you were met with the authentic air. The air that you could live, breathe, eat and sleep for eternity. Tonight was your last night of freedom, tomorrow can’t be safe.

As you always have seen, Frankie was on a ladder fixing something on the stage, all the other professors/ directors fiddling with papers, making phone calls, and having their assistants book food for the night. Nina is nowhere to be found. A sigh of relief fell from your heart.

You came with Laylah early, always eager to see what each rehearsal has in store.

“Over here! The perfect people, get over here!” Ms Roylance shouts from the apron of the stage.

You and Laylah shake your heads, wondering where that could have come from, she was always a stressed woman but you make way.

Frankie looks down from the light he was fixing and as he immediately lays eyes on you, you see the giddy boy smile on his face as he rushes down the steps. The swell in your heart.

“My perfect star girl, are you excited?”

You chew your cheek, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t, I mean look at this.” You turn to all the empty seats that will be filled the very next night.

“I am so grateful you guys are here early. Laylah can you get her into her makeup right now, once you’re done coffee would have arrived by then so first dips for you both.”

“Hey I made the call to that company,” Mr. Miller objects, “I should get first dibs over them.” He pouts.

“You’ll drink about anything with caffeine in it man.” Frankie shakes his shoulders.

Their banter makes you happy, all of them being able to work together makes the performing arts world ten times better.

“Ok head off, go get all beautified.” Ms Roylace shoos you both away, “And hey Morales? Go with them to update them for the night.”

His face drops and you laugh under your breath, turning away with Laylah going to the dressing rooms where the makeup would be.

You make your way into the room, admiring all the signatures over the walls, the wigs on the shelves and beautiful products you would never have the money to buy. You sit in the chair and clean your face with a soothing toner, clawing your hair pack for Laylah.

Frankie walks in and you look at him through the mirror, smiling so hard you knew the crinkle from eyes would be permanent all night.

“Evenin ladies, I wanted to let you know that I called some people to watch the show tonight, we’ll have a little audience. Hope that doesn’t frighten you.”

“If I may ask,” Laylah inquires as she starts rubbing your face with moisturizer, “Who will be in this audience.”

“I wanted Timothee to come back with some of his co-stars from the French Dispatch to come.”

You immediately choke on your saliva, remembering why you met Timothee in the first place. You open your eyes to see his smirk.

“Any tips for tonight to impress our impending crowd, Mr Morales?” You tilt your head in his direction.

“Be yourself, you’ll dazzle them all. Don’t worry darlin.” He tangles his arms together, “Hey Laylah, put that gold glitter all over her collar bones, I think we should do that tonight. The blood with the glitter will react with her skin well.”

“I like your thinking,” Laylah rummages through the boxes, “I found it!” They cheer.

“Now grab a bowl, dump a spoon of glitter with liquid highlighter, and after set with hairspray on her chest. That’ll make it stay all night.”

As Laylah flicks the glitter over your collar bones, covering up most of your tattoos and spraying Lady Macbeth over your body, Frankie gazing over you. The glitter makes you a trophy. He was so soft, explaining everything to them.

You noticed how hard he was with his students, he had this front to him that was horrible to break. But once you got to work with him, got to know him and understand his tough love thought process, he was like that to make you work harder. You appreciate him so much. You were surprised how he never had children of his own, he knew parental parameters so well. His delicacy turned you on, in reality he was really touchable to everyone.

“All done.” They spink you towards Frankie, “It’s beautiful on you.”

He caught his breath, “Gorgeous.” And his eyes never leave you.

“I’m gonna continue her makeup if you don’t mind.” They smile at him and you smack yourself in the head, that was definitely awkward for Laylah. He gets up and leaves with no explanation.

They pause, “So you gonna tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“No comment.” You smirk.

“After tonight, you-me, The Bear, and you’re fucking tellin me what’s going on.” They shake their head

“Deal.”

----------

You were given your cue to walk on stage, it was your final dress rehearsal, you were in Lady Macbeth's gown and makeup, your hair was done and you were in more character than ever.

As soon as you were on the stage alone, you could feel the presence of these important people. You could see Timothee’s curly hair in your eyesight. When you walked up to the apron of the stage to deliver your first monologue you could feel the personality of Saoirse Ronan. You could feel the life of Wes Anderson in front of you, you can feel the scarcity of Adrien Brody. This was your only opportunity to impress- you can not fuck it up.

You move through your dialogue, making sure to slow down. As an actor, you have to anticipate, and live through the character vicariously.

Just as you had done during your audition, just like rehearsals, you dig through your mind of every piece of advice you had been given to complete this character. Before the show was set to start, you listened to rain. You listened to women screaming for their lives, shaking from the decibels resonating through your head.

You and Mattias moved through the stage carefully, and when it was time for your death monologue, you felt the strength to scream, you felt your throat viling up to convulse. You thought of your mom’s phone call. You thought of your father, the tone of voice he had with your mother. You felt the syrupy blood that was thrown on you before hand seeping through your clothes, all over your face. Dripping from your fingertips, your character wanted vengeance, she wanted a life. You wanted a life. Your scream filled the entire theater. You wanted it to hurt your throat, you liked the threading dull pain it felt in your throat. This wasn’t acting anymore, this was you purely on the stage. You weren’t mad that you didn’t save your throat, Mr. Miller can take it up with you for another day.

Finishing the end, you sleep walk off stage, ending your final collapse. Gasping, flinching for air. You could contort your body so easily in a character role, it almost freaked you out. Never realizing how inflicting pain on yourself for something, or at least acting like it, was memorable in your heart.

You get pulled off stage by a crew member, walking off to your dressing room to clean yourself up. Applauded on the way from the tech crew, you felt relieved that it was finally over. Your first real performance would be the next day.

You turned the corner and the, already smirking in the mirror. Frankie sitting in your chair.

“That was,” He rubs his chin, “That was different.” Looking at his heavy eyes, you both were tired.

You shrug, “It was.” The fake blood was seeping off your body, “I think I hurt my voice.”

“It felt too real, c’mere, come sit on my lap.” He leans back in the chair, “And lock the door.”

“Frankie, they’ll see the blood on you and what if they need you in the booth?” You shudder.

“They’ll fuckin survive, I wanna be with my girl and I’m wearing black clothes.”

He reaches his arms out, pulling you in close. The dress you were wearing was beyond thick at the bottom.“You never cease to amaze me, they all couldn’t stop talking about you.”

You sit on his thighs, he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ears, heart beating faster than ever, “How do you know?” You ask, head falling underneath his chin.

“I sat with them for your scenes, I left the crew in the booth. They should have it down by now anyway. That Anderson man was shocked how loud you can scream.”

“You’re saying that to make me feel better.” You laugh.

“No beautiful, they all couldn't take their eyes off you. You upstage Mattias a lot in your scenes and they couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful you are.” He hums.

“Liar,” You shut your eyes, inhaling his usual intoxicating scent. The room was small enough that being there for minutes you could only smell him. He starts to kiss your neck, getting the blood all over his face.

“Frankie, we need to go before we get caught,” You start to shove him off, “ or before bows.”He pulls you back down immediately, “We have time, I promise.”

He wraps his arms around you, lacing his hands on the bodice of your dress.

“You look perfect in this, the fabric and beading of it is so intricate.” He traces the middle seam of the bodice, moving up all the way to your chest, loosening the ties to the corset top.

“Frankie, what do you think you’re doing? It took three people to get me into this.”

“Let me make you feel good, I know you’re tired sweet girl, always workin so hard.” You straighten up against him, he always knew how to sugar coat your brain.

“Bring the dress over your head, let me see you.” You do as he says, lifting off his lap, moving the tulle and silk layers away from your legs up to your head. He grabs it over your head throwin it on the floor, leaving you in your basics that practically looked like lingerie. You had on sheer black tights that showed your tattoos, and your basics couldn't leave much to the imagination. You were glad you hadn’t worn rags underneath this, you were lucky that no fake blood got on any of it either.

“Wearin this for me?” He mutters, “Who knew that basics underneath a costume could be so promiscuous, huh?” He kisses your arm, trailing back up to your neck, almost whimpering when he leaves your skin to breathe.

“I have much more to wear for you, Frankie.” You breathe.

His mind goes blank, getting to see you in such delicate clothing that you liked was a world phenomena. “Well, I have a surprise for you after the show tomorrow.” He coos, “Been waiting to show you for a while.”

“You can’t tell me now?” You close your eyes, leaning back behind his head. His hands lingering near your lower stomach. What does a suprise mean to him?

“That would ruin all the fun, sweetheart.” He purrs. He was being so soft with you, taking care of you after such a long week of working. You squirm against him, of course heat was growing beneath you. You could feel the padded fabric enclosing your pussy go damp. If you lifted yourself off of his leg, there would be a pool beneath you. Frankie has this power over you that couldn’t be controlled. You noticed today he was wearing tighter jeans than usual, his bulge being so prominent that nothing could hide it.

“Keep movin darlin, I can feel that soaked pussy pulsating on my leg.”

“You want me to- you want me to keep rubbing-?” You mumble.

“Don’t be embarrassed, pretty girl, use my leg. Move those hips back and forth on my thigh and get yourself off.”

Your brain short circuits and before you can do anything, his fingers pull your nipples, delicately circling them. He watches you tick, back almost giving out.

You start to move up and down, bracing your hands on his knee for stability. You couldn’t get enough friction, the padding of your underwear keeping you away from him. You drag a hand to your clothed cunt, pulling aside your underwear, exposing yourself on his thick muscle. Feeling his body hug you, you clamp down on him. Your clit flutters against the perfect spot on his jeans.

“Dirty girl, pussy out in the open. That’s my girl. Keep rubbin, keep fuckin soakin my leg.”

The bulge of his quad muscle working against your core had you shrieking. He wraps a hand around your mouth.

“You can’t be loud honey, and that voice needs to rest. Think you can be quiet for me?”

“Nh- Frankie- feel’s good. Your leg is so- so thick.” Your gasps are muffled by his hand, your eyes crossing from the pleasure. The weight of his hand on your face makes you crack.

“That’s right pretty girl, rub on my leg like it’s my cock. So beautiful when you’re gettin yourself off on me. I can watch this all my life baby.” He brushes his face into your hair. Sweat was building all over your body, you were beyond flushed, and you were getting goosebumps on how this orgasm felt too different.

It felt slower, but the anticipation of it all was driving you fucking crazy. His hand covering your mouth, and his arm holding you down felt like gold. Your orgasm hitting you so painfully that if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve screamed your head off, convulsing from the rippling of your muscles intermixing with his.

You could breathe perfectly through your nose, chest heaving but never forgetting how good this felt for you. You fall back into him, laying limp.

“Baby, was that too much? You’re silent-was I holding you down too tight, can you breathe-” He rushes.

“Can I breathe? Frankie that was amazing. Your so fucking strong, I needed you to hold me back, “ You weave your hands through his hair, “So fucking strong, fuck.”

You thought of him, fucking you. You riding him and him pulling you down onto you. You craved that moment. You were beyond blissed out.

“Just tie me down and fuck me already Frankie.” You relish.

“You’d like that, huh?”

You nod seductively, you’re fucking ready to do anything with him.

“Jesus girl, that mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.” He laughs.

"Let it, wanna do everything with you.” You crash your lips with his, you mean every word. Your heart swells when you're around him now.

You get up from his lap, shakily looking for the clothes you came to the theater with. You look into the mirror, the blood smeared all over your neck. Frankie laughs that he has it all over his face from kissing you.

You check your phone, it was 20 minutes after your death scene, bows.

“Frankie, bows are any minute!” You panic

He finds the closest wipes, rubbing the blood off. The only noticeable stain on him now was on his jeans. Nobody could possibly know, right?

You open your door slowly, checking to see if the coast is clear for you both to walk out. You pull his arm with you, quickly rushing out of the dressing area.

You guys get back to the stage, holding hands with him in the dark, leading you off. You hurry to get to your spot in the line, taking bow with your castmates, channeling the biggest smile in your face. Squeezing Mattias’s hand, the perfect duo on stage.

A row of accomplished faces in front of you steer into roars, all your worries run away. Your standing ovation from them was minutes.

The lights go back to normal and everyone's hugging each other. After so long working on this show, everything is paying off.

Timothee runs up the stairs to the stage giddishly, weaving through the cast, to come up and hug you. You gasp, you can’t believe that he remembers who you are.

“I mean I saw you in that monologue, but fuck man,” He prods, “You’re amazing. Frankie was right.”

You smile stupidly, uncanny that he knows you because of Frankie. “None of you had to come, I mean this is too much.” Timothee hugs Mattias and you two feel like children at Disney World.

“Man they wanted to, I said I was going to see a friend of mines show,” He whispers under hsi breath, “That his girl is gonna be on broadway you asshole- on fucking broadway,” He yells, “And they all wanted to tag along after a long day of filming and dealing with busy people.”

You can see all of them talking to Frankie in the corner, bracing yourself as they move closer to you in a group, slightly hiding behind Mattias.

“And this is your Macbeth and Lady Macbeth.” Frankie introduces you.

You all shake hands and exchange names, butterflies killing your stomach.

“I just wanted to say, thank you all for coming to see the show, this is more than I could have ever dreamt of.” You blurt.

Wes not saying much, smiling and partially shy.

“Please, this was a delight to see. Up and coming talent is the most important.” Saoirse hugs you, her Irish accent so thick.

Adrien pats Frankie on the shoulder, “We knew this man made a perfect set, but you actors are gonna put us out of jobs.” He says, such a hot man. You couldn’t breath with all this talent and beautiful people around you.

“Where you both from?” Adrien asks.

“I'm from the Bronx and she’s from North Carolina.” Mattias points at you.

“Ah, the Carolinas. Like it there?” He asks.

“It was alright, treated me well. Not much to do but it’s pretty.” It was such a pretty state.

“We had to go film there for a scene in a museum, it was a scene for Timothee. Have you been to the art museum?” Wes pipes up, surprised that he was even talking to you.

“Yes I have!” You nod, “I think that’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.”

“Wait til you go to Europe, your mind will explode.” Timothee adds.

You think about it, “If I may ask, was there anything that you all saw that I, or we both could work on?”

“No, don’t change anything. This is beautiful. Beautifully casted. You both work so well together, and the dialogue is magnificent. And you, I mean that scream blew all our eardrums out.” Saoirse says.

TImothee and Adrien agree.

“I would, “ Wes moves closer to you both, “Shake your legs, and breathe. Look at me.” You and Mattias do as the strange man says, “ How do you feel, exactly every word in your head.”

“Scared and nervous to be around people like you, my hearts gonna burst and my words could slur and strew together.” Mattias spits.

Frankie coughs.

“And you?” Wes turns.

You nod fast, motioning to everything Mattias said.

“That’s the thing. It doesn’t matter if there's people like us in the crowd. We are ordinary people in the crowd. We are nobodies. You two are the stars of the show, so feel like it.” His funky smile shows.

The stress falls off your shoulder in an instant, feeling Mattias’s relief.

“Everythings gonna be okay, you two. Nothing to worry about.” Frankie pulls you and Mattias in for a hug. Hand falling to your lower back.

------

You made it back to your suite, Hannah and Rose already asleep, but Laylah not failing to go through her word with a self care night.

She bombards you when you walk through the door, “What's going on with you and Mr. Morales? Why was he being so awkward? You have to tell me please please please…”

“Get off me.” You giggle, “They can't hear this.”

They settle on their bed, handing you a sheet mask and a cup of lemon tea.

“You pinky swear, I mean Laylah this can end both of us, if I tell you. You can’t tell anyone. No one, not even the boy you were with.”

“I promise with my life, I will never tell anyone.” Crossing their fingers with yours.

“I don’t know just that night at the club, he was there with all the other teachers, and he saw me. I went to the bathroom and things just started to happen..”

“No need for the details,” They shake you, “ But what the actual fuck! So the eyes at the beginning of the year were real!”

“They were real… that picture he posted, the one you guys were talking about in the group chat was me.”

“No fucking way, what the fuck.” She whispers

“Trust me I know, I didn’t know what to say, and he just did it and I had to act dumb in the group chat.”

“You fucking bitch, the whole time it was you and you knew!”

“I know I’m a criminal, I can’t help it,” Sipping on your tea, “But it’s all so new you know. We’ve both been so busy with everything and trying to stay away from the public together and yeah, all so new.”

“Andd…”

“And what?”

“Are you guys dating? Fucking?”

“No, and not yet. I mean we're monogamous, we're only seeing each other right now but it's all so risky and we graduate in less than a year, wherever I go he can’t follow me. I’m happy with where we’re both at right now. And imagine people find out Laylah, I would never be casted again and he’d be fired. It would look like I’m fucking my way to the top when I’m not.” You huff, the whole situation works you up.

“You’re smart, do not let this get in the way of loving him. The way he was staring at you today. They way he said he’d check on you in the booth a couple weeks ago, he’s in it deep.”

“God I’d hope so.” You fucking hope so.

——-

previous || next

[saga-project]

He hated this. Cain hated being sick. He hated that he'd shown his deepest, darkest fears to people who would inevitably take advantage of that. He hated that he was a snotty, coughing mess right now, with his head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton and his limbs throbbing and his stomach completely unable to handle all but the most basic of solid foods.

Most importantly, he hated the little orange one (Mikey you imbecile Mikey) who was now doing his best impression of a mother hen on him, grinning menacingly every time Cain tried to sneak out of his sick bed and just go elsewhere. Feeding him snacks despite his protests that he didn't need food. Bundling him up in blankets and giving him medicine per the blue one's instructions and...generally being kind to him. Acting like this wasn't all just some ruse that was going to come slamming down on top of him at the soonest opportunity.

Cain had finally had enough. As the orange one bustled around him again, tucking at the blankets, he slapped at his hand, scowling even as the little box turtle gave an offended squawk. “Stop. Stop being so nice to me. Why are you being so nice. What do you want from me?”

The orange one (Mikey) gave him a confused look then, his brow furrowing. "Nothing! I just want you to.....feel at home here. 'S all. And stop trying to get up and move around when you're sick, dummy."

Oh, wasn't that a riot. “This isn’t my home. If it ever was.” The projection of himself had reminded him of that. Telling him that he was standing in the desecrated grave of someone else's life. Telling him that he was a cuckoo in the nest. A fraud. A replacement for someone better than him.

Little orange didn't seem to be paying attention, though. “—and I want you to feel like. Well. I just missed having a brother. Or, well. Another brother. So I want you to feel like you can be—“

And Cain saw red. He positively saw red.

He surged to his feet before he could stop himself, swaying dangerously but by some miracle managing to keep himself upright as he bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “You want me to be your brother?! What….what a laugh that is. I bet your brother didn’t have all these issues, did he? I bet you weren’t this naive around him!”

Orange (Mikey Mikey MIKEY) flinched away from him then, his voice shaking slightly even as he still stood tall. “I’m not being….I just wanna make you feel at home, you’re hurting and-“

“I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER. This is me. Can you still love this?” Cain was pressing the release switches for his prosthetics before he could stop himself, flinging them aside and letting the orange one stare at the jagged, ugly scars where they normally sat. He stared, his nostrils flaring, hoping against all hope that Mikey would react with fear and disgust. That he'd call him a monster. Turn away from him forever. Something. Anything. But Mikey was just looking at him sadly instead, like he understood, and that just made Cain's anger spike all the more. “Look at me. LOOK at me! You’re honestly telling me you can be kind to someone who looks like this?”

Orange looked down for a moment, twiddling his thumbs. And then he looked up at Cain with such conviction that it made the softshell flinch backwards slightly, his words small but resolute. “….yeah. I can. Because you’re still worth caring about.”

Retorts danced on the tip of his tongue, for a moment. Violent words or actions that he wanted to carry out. And then he withered. Standing up that suddenly had not done wonders for his throbbing muscles, after all, and Cain didn't have the energy required to try summoning up a counterpoint to an argument that had so effectively taken the wind out of his sails. Not when his head felt like it was trapped in a hydraulic press. He simply sagged back into the blankets on the bed, huddling in on himself. “Shut up. Just….I. Why are you…..I’m just. I don’t know what you…..I can’t under…..why won’t you just. Why are you so stubborn. Why haven’t you just. I don’t know. Decided I’m a lost cause?”

“I’m not gonna give up on someone when they’re hurting," the orange one proclaimed, beginning to tuck the blankets back around Cain again. "‘M not that kinda person.”

“But you’re so…..nice. And I’m just…..I don’t. I don’t deserve to…..I can’t be who you think I…..I….” Damn it, why was forming words so hard all of a sudden. It was just one simple sentence, and yet he was tripping over it like a newborn giraffe.

“I just wanna help you not hurt so much, Don--I mean. Cain. And maybe I’m going about it the wrong way, but I’m. You know. A kid. But you don’t need to change. 'M sorry if we're making you feel like that, that's not cool 'f us. You’re still my big brother and I still—“

He couldn't let Mikey finish that sentence. He couldn't hear the words I still love you escaping from this stranger's mouth. Cain cut in then, his voice soft. "....but I've been a real jerk."

"Okay. Well. I accept your apology."

"....I didn't apologize."

"I'm gonna accept it anyway. No take backsies."

Cain rolled his eyes, but the gesture was somehow more affectionate than he had been planning. "I just....don't want to burden you with-"

"Stoppit before I Doctor Delicate Touch you again. You're not a burden, okay? I'm okay with helping you."

"....If you say so."

"I do say so and if you disagree I'm taking your kneecaps. Out of love!"

"....that is not remotely-"

"Now just chill and let me make you some nice soup, dummy," the orange one said, finishing tucking the blankets around Cain before pulling away. "And you better actually take your Emergen-C pills this time or I'm getting Raph to sit on you until you do."

"I knew that was coming, you heathen." Cain sniffled slightly, pulling the blankets up over his nose. "Fine. Your cooking is the only example of such a skillset that's passable in this household." He looked over at the tiny squeal of delight a moment later, frowning sternly. "Stop that or I take it back."

"I didn't say anything." Orange's face was the picture of innocence, yet Cain could somehow tell that he was lying out his ass. Sighing, Cain rolled over to face the wall, only to falter once the little one's voice reached his ears again. "Oh. And Don?"

"Don't call me that."

"Right. Cain. I still love you, okay? Scars 'n all. Now stay put until I get the soup!" Orange skipped away, humming, and Cain waited until he was out of earshot before huffing slightly in amusement, turning to pull the blankets back over himself again.

At least when he was alone, no one could see his tail wagging behind him slightly, or catch his good eye tearing up.

It had....it had been a long time since anyone had spoken of his scars without calling them ugly before. Or seen him as anything other than a weapon. And even though Cain was still determined to see himself that way, he....couldn't deny that it felt. Nice.

Some chain deep inside of him was splintering, just the tiniest bit. The walls he'd built around his heart to keep himself from ever getting hurt again were slowly starting to crumble.

Maybe he could trust or---

Mikey.

Maybe he could trust. Mikey.

[rockislandadultreads]

LGBTQIA+ Pride Month: Fiction Recommendations

The Skin and Its Girl by Sarah Cypher

In a Pacific Northwest hospital far from the Rummani family’s ancestral home in Palestine, the heart of a stillborn baby begins to beat and her skin turns vibrantly, permanently cobalt blue. On the same day, the Rummanis’ centuries-old soap factory in Nablus is destroyed in an air strike. The family matriarch and keeper of their lore, Aunt Nuha, believes that the blue girl embodies their sacred history, harkening back to a time when the Rummanis were among the wealthiest soap-makers and their blue soap was a symbol of a legendary love.

Decades later, Betty returns to Aunt Nuha’s gravestone, faced with a difficult decision: Should she stay in the only country she’s ever known, or should she follow her heart and the woman she loves, perpetuating her family’s cycle of exile? Betty finds her answer in partially translated notebooks that reveal her aunt’s complex life and struggle with her own sexuality, which Nuha hid to help the family immigrate to the United States. But, as Betty soon discovers, her aunt hid much more than that.

The Old Place by Bobby Finger

Billington, Texas, is a place where nothing changes. Well, almost nothing. For the first time in nearly four decades, Mary Alice Roth is not getting ready for the first day of school at Billington High. A few months into her retirement—or, district mandated exile as she calls it—Mary Alice does not know how to fill her days. The annual picnic is coming up, but that isn’t nearly enough since the menu never changes and she had the roles mentally assigned weeks ago. At least there’s Ellie, who stops by each morning for coffee and whose reemergence in Mary Alice’s life is the one thing soothing the sting of retirement.

Mary Alice and Ellie were a pair since the day Ellie moved in next door. That they both were single mothers—Mary Alice widowed, Ellie divorced—with sons the same age was a pleasant coincidence, but they were forever linked when they lost the boys, one right after the other. Years later, the two are working their way back to a comfortable friendship. But when Mary Alice’s sister arrives on her doorstep with a staggering piece of news, it jeopardizes the careful shell she’s built around her life. The whole of her friendship with Ellie is put at risk, the fabric of a place as steadfast as Billington is questioned, and the unflappable, knotty fixture that is Mary Alice Roth might have to change after all.

Your Driver is Waiting by Priya Guns

Damani is tired. Her father just died on the job at a fast-food joint, and now she lives paycheck to paycheck in a basement, caring for her mom and driving for an app that is constantly cutting her take. The city is roiling in protests--everybody's in solidarity with somebody--but while she keeps hearing that they’re fighting for change on behalf of people like her, she literally can’t afford to pay attention.

Then she gives a ride to Jolene (five stars, obviously). Jolene seems like she could be the perfect girlfriend--attentive, attractive, an ally--and their chemistry is off the charts. Jolene’s done the reading, she goes to every protest, and she says all the right things. So maybe Damani can look past the one thing that's holding her back: she’s never dated anyone with money before, not to mention a white girl with money. But just as their romance intensifies and Damani finally lets her guard down, Jolene does something unforgivable, setting off an explosive chain of events.

The Secret Life of Albert Entwistle by Matt Cain

Every day, Albert Entwistle makes his way through the streets of his small English town, delivering letters and parcels and returning greetings with a quick wave and a “how do?” Everyone on his route knows Albert, or thinks they do—a man of quiet routines, content to live alone with his cat, Gracie.

Three months before his sixty-fifth birthday, Albert receives a letter from the Royal Mail thanking him for decades of service and stating that he is being forced into retirement. At once, Albert’s simple life unravels. Without the work that fills his days, what will he do? He has no friends, family, or hobbies—just a past he never speaks of, and a lost love that fills him with regret. And so, rather than continue his lonely existence, Albert forms a brave plan to start truly living, to be honest about who he is . . . and to find George, the man with whom he spent one perfect spring and summer long ago.

One painful yet exhilarating step at a time, Albert begins searching for George and revealing his story to those around him. As he does, something extraordinary happens. Albert finds unlikely allies, new friends, and the courage to help others—even as he seeks the happiness he’s always denied himself.

[red-riding-wood]

Verum Vindictae - IV

Chpt. I, Masterlist, Chpt. V coming soon? hopefully?

Pairing: Marcus x OC (Josephine "Jo" Carlisle)

Fandom: John Wick (2014)

Summary: Bound by a blood oath she made fourteen years ago, Jo is desperately trying to escape a world she used to dream of when she is tasked with killing the infamous "Baba Yaga" and must face the truth of her past as everything she has ever known unravels around her.

WARNINGS: violence, language, sexual references, eventual explicit sexual content

This story is part of my Willem Dafoe Challenge.

Taglist: @glitter-and-gasoline, @giona45-5, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @emilynightshade89, @wretched-mischief

4:01, October 22nd

John was only half-paying attention to me as I talked; the rest of his attention lied on the bulletproof vest and jet-black suit that he fitted around himself, and the weapons that he cleaned and chambered and holstered.

I’d only exchanged brief words with him at his wife’s funeral. This was our first proper conversation in five years, and he wouldn’t even look at me. Marcus was definitely right; he was buried deep in a mission. And when he did glance at me, I knew that look in his eye, that ember that brewed in the dark of his hard-set gaze. This was more than a mission. This was vengeance – something I knew of all too well.

“John, you’re not listening to me,” I pleaded with him, shards of glass crunching beneath my boot as I took a step forward, and they sent a shudder through me. A quick dart of his eyes shot to me, and were then back to checking the sights of his P30L.

“Revenge isn’t worth it,” I told him, my tone softening, my voice coming out almost strangled, twisted by my own memories.

“This is personal, Jo,” he snapped, that ember in his eyes flashing and his brows knitting, but he didn’t stop busying himself. “That dog wasn’t just like that stray cat you took in once. That dog was the only semblance of hope that I’d felt since Helen’s death.” He jammed a mag so forcefully into a CA-415 that the click seemed nearly as deafening as if the gun had fired.

“John,” I said, an intensity now to my shaky tone. “I know. Trust me. I know.” A tear pricked my eye, and I swallowed, my hands beginning to tremble.

Fingers trembling around the cold metal of my gun, stomach twisting with something cruel, head light, heart beating like something vicious through each vein. Bloodied glass everywhere, crackling beneath my boots, splintering like a fractured soul. Dark red on the wall, red so dark it might’ve been wine – might’ve been, if it weren’t for the body bag that wide eyes stared down at.

Each heartbeat struck my own numbed corpse, and I focused my attention on steadying my feet beneath me.

“You did well,” Cain said, fingers clasping over my shoulder, grounding me but not easing me, and I blinked.

John paused. Finally, he paused. And he looked at me, really looked at me this time. I couldn’t quite decipher the enigma of his gaze, but that ember had at least dampened if only slightly, veiled in a veneer of sadness, maybe even regret. If it was for me or for him, I couldn’t have been sure. But past that, there was an understanding, one that pierced my own soul so deep that it spoke a thousand words in his silence. John was like that. He communicated far more with his eyes and movements and subtle nuances than any of the languages he’d learned.

“I know,” he said, at last.

But that was the last thing he said before the veneer vanished over brown-black eyes, and that ember sparked back to life.

And he told me, while fitting extra mags into his pocketed vest, “I have to do this, Jo. And you’re staying out of it.”

My heart plummeted into a gut that stirred hellfire. “Like hell I will!” I argued. “You want revenge? Fine. Maybe I can’t stop you. Maybe I can’t convince you. But the entire city is after you, John. And you want me to sit back and watch?”

John folded the cuffs of his suit, straightened his collar, and looked me dead in the eye. “Yes.”

My nostrils flared with ire and my heart twisted with fear, and I followed him as he headed for the door, trying to ignore the way the glass crunched under my boots.

“You still think I’m that little girl you helped clean her slippers, don’t you?” I demanded as he twisted the knob. “You still think, after all these years of me taking care of my own, of living this life you kept me from, that I’m not capable of this?”

He didn’t open the door, but he remained quiet, back to me.

“You’ve never given me a chance!” My words were equal parts fury and desperation. “It’s always been like this.”

“I’m old enough now to make my own decisions,” I told him.

“You are. But I’m not letting you in this life,” he said, firm, irritatingly unwavering in his decision.

“Why not? You trained me to fight when we were younger – you know what I can do.”

“It’s not safe, Josephine!” he snapped, his seldom-lost composure cracking at its seams, his chest heaving as he threw his hands down on the dining table, my abandoned water glass trembling against the wood. The use of my proper name lingered in the air between us; he never called me that. It was like I was being talked down to by that awful woman from the Ruska Room.

“I know that!” I protested. “I know that the world of assassins isn’t a nice, cushy job where the worst thing you have to fear is your boss finding out you steal pens from work. But that’s the point. I don’t want that life. I want your life. I want to be something.”

John shook his head, strands of dusky hair falling in front of his face, obscuring his already-unreadable expression. “You wouldn’t know what you’d be getting yourself into, Jo. You want to be something?” His gaze met mine again, head tipping back. “This isn’t the life for that.”

I would never be good enough. No matter what I did, what I said, I would always live in his shadow, would always be protected by him as if I were still that little girl in the Ruska Room with a limp in her gait and blood stains on her slippers.

I scowled, and stepped forward; he lifted his hands from the table at the proximity, staring down at me in what I could only describe as exasperation.

“Easy for you to say, ‘Baba Yaga’,” I hissed past the rock in my throat, and later I would think of how petty I’d sounded, how I should’ve listened to him, but in that moment I didn’t care. I could feel only the explosive fuses of rage, the bitter ache of envy. And so with that, I stalked off to my room.

That was the last argument we had before I would seek out Cain’s help.

John’s eyes glittered now with something morose, something that made that envy and that hot-blooded rage subside just a little bit, made him appear more affectionate than controlling, more of a brother than that horrid woman from the Ruska Room he had once called a mother.

“You’re all I have left,” he told me, voice almost weak – a quality I had scarcely ever heard from John.

I swallowed, trying to set aside my anger as a bit of hope began to trickle in past its venomous talons. As much as I wanted to prove myself, the thought of going back to a life of normalcy with John, to be free of Cain, to not be haunted by every set of eyes that flashed in fear before they became void, dead… it was that desire that came from a pit in my soul far darker, that came from a smothered light. Fading. Tired, as Marcus had once put it.

“Then let’s go,” I said, my tone matching his in its quiet desperation. “Let’s walk away from this – all of this. Maybe we can leave it behind. For good.”

His brows pinched together ever-so-slightly, and he studied me, as if I were as stranger to him.

Was he becoming suspicious of the secret I’d kept from him for so long?

Or was he thinking of when our roles had been reversed, and he was the one pleading with me to retire?

The September air was biting, yet fresh, new; I inhaled deep as it buffeted my face where we stood at the edge of the East River, the towering suspensions of the Manhattan Bridge looming above me.

“Her name’s Helen.” John leaned over the railing, arms clasped over the metal bars, looking out at the way the sun dappled the surface of the river.

I nodded, my heart pricking with something bittersweet. I said nothing.

“Viggo’s giving me a task. Just one task, and then I’m done.” I could feel his gaze on me now, but I didn’t dare meet it, didn’t want to see my yearning to be free reflected in his. “We can be out, Jo.”

My heart clenched in my chest; my breathing became shallow, and the weight of my burden sank into my throat, where it knotted and seemed to choke me.

“I can’t,” I told him, my voice nearly swallowed by the next gust of wind that wisped my hair across the sun, caging me in a swirl of black.

I wished so badly that I could. I wanted to tell him that he was right, that he’d been right all along. I wanted more than anything to never have to fire another bullet or watch another man die.

But I was bound by my marker, bound by a blood oath I’d made nine years ago when I’d been a stupid, reckless girl.

And I’d never told him about it. I couldn’t. Because then he’d know the truth. Then he’d know everything.

“It’s not that simple,” John told me, and what was perhaps worse than seeing that yearning in his eyes was the absence of it; he didn’t want out, not anymore.  

“Why not?”  I pleaded. “If I’m all you have left, John, why isn’t it?”

John, I wanted to say, What’s happened to you?

“Jo,” he said, “Stay out of it.”

And then he was leaving, swinging open the door, and that light deep in my soul became black, black as the suit of the back that was turned to me, black as the wretched envy and ire that grew like vines within me.

He didn’t even look at me as he shut the door behind us. He just carried on.

“You’re not keeping me safe, John!” I screeched down the hall. My chest heaved with fervor and my hands trembled more violently. “Involve me or not, I’m still in this life, same as you!”

If only I could tell him that I was no better off, that in an indeterminate yet surely swift matter of time I would be executed for rejecting my marker – that was if Cain didn’t kill me himself. Helping keep my brother safe, or perhaps set him on the right path before he did something he would forever regret, was all I could do. I would’ve given anything to go back in time and take his advice when he’d tried to do the same.

“John?” I called out, softer; he was at the end of the hall now.

He slowed. He stopped. His head turned so that he could glimpse me from the peripheral of one eye. It was not the look of a man who wanted to listen, or to stay. It was the look of man hell-bent on one thing: revenge.  

I clenched my hands into loose fists to try and mask their trembling, inhaled sharply to try and steady my breath. And on my exhale, I said, sister to brother, killer to killer,

“It’s not worth it.”

---

4:51

I swished back another shot of tequila, and nodded to the bartender; she poured another glass, the shamrock lighting of the Continental bar tinging the clear liquid with a glow of magic.

Though I expected Winston or Charon or even one of the lowly security guards to tap me on the shoulder at any moment, to tell me to come with them, to put a bullet between my eyes, I couldn’t spend my time wallowing in my misery without a little alcohol to dampen the pain. It was like magic, in a way; everything was slower, softer, less acute. The world seemed to exist around me rather than I in it, the world moving of its own accord when I’d swing my head one way or look another. But no matter how fuzzy and light my head felt, it wasn’t enough to completely drown out the events of the night.

My brain seemed to want to fixate on John’s refusal to let me help, perhaps because I was sitting here, useless, getting shit-faced drunk when I could’ve been protecting him from the whopping two-mil bounty on his head.

If they asked, I couldn’t tell someone how many drinks I had, but I could recount each and every time he’d told me that I should stay out of this life. Each and every time I knew what he was really thinking, that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t strong enough. That I would’ve made a better ballerina.

I scowled as I thrust down another empty shot glass, my attempts to align them perpendicular with the rest growing sloppier. That, or the world had submerged, and my vision was swimming.

I reached for the next shot poured, but the world skewed, and my shoulder was knocked back, my ass nearly falling from the stool. I snapped my arm out to clasp around a brawny arm; I felt like I was moving through quicksand, but he was lumbering slowly enough that I made purchase.

“What the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” I growled, blinking to try and bring the man’s features into focus. There was a familiarity to them that I couldn’t quite pin down.

The man had stopped, and he glared back at me, yanking his forearm from my grip. “I’m not going to be told what to do from some drunk bitch who can’t sit straight,” he snapped. “Watch where you’re going, ‘cause you nearly fell off your fucking stool.”

“Hey. Cut it out, you two,” The bartender said. “Remember the rules.”

Everyone’s words were sharper, clearer, quicker than mine, because when I spoke, mine nearly came out in a slur. “That’s a fucking lie,” I said to the man, though half of my brain was still trying to figure out where I’d seen his face before, why there was a certain repugnance behind the familiarity than of most others here.

“Is it?” he countered. “Get up and try to stand.”

“If I’m getting up, it’s to acquaint your teeth with my fist.”

“Go ahead.” He leaned in real close, so that I could see the flash of fear in his eye – faint, fleeting, but there. My brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Everything else about him – the way he invaded my space, the harsh tone with which he spoke – seemed all so cocky.

And then I recognized him. I’d seen him at least a couple times before, though I’d never spoken to him directly. He was one of Cain’s men.

I hauled myself from the stool and stood, knees weak. White knuckles gripped the edge of the bar to steady myself, but I was sure that my glare was enough to burn holes through his smug face.

“Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask that you two settle your nerves.” A smooth yet firm voice joined the mix. Security.

I sneered, and spat, “Settle down? I’m not a fucking dog.”

The security guard parted his mouth to reply, but Cain’s man beat him to it, and hissed in my ear, “Really? Because you seem to do as you’re told an awful lot.”

I lunged forward, but one of the guards caught my arm where it had extended into a punch, and yanked both behind my back.

I struggled for only a moment before conceding, shame heating my cheeks.

“I’m going to have to ask that if there is any altercation, it is to be taken outside,” the security guard told me.

I looked back at that smug fucking bastard, and I said, “Fine.”

Though I knew that outside, it was fair game to beat me up, kill me, make me disappear, at least this way I’d be going out swinging.

The man smiled.

We were led by three guards outside. One had to link his arm through mine to lead me down the stoop; I nearly plummeted as I reached the first step. Once we were off Continental grounds, they bid us goodnight, and disappeared behind doors that seemed to tremble with a portent weight once shut.

Chest heaving, my balance off-kilter, the world swayed gently to one side before I’d catch myself, striking a boot out to root myself to the concrete.

The man approached; I bristled, squaring my shoulders, but he merely reached an arm out. “Do you need help walking, Miss Carlisle?” he asked me, a repulsively smug coating over his polite words.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, though as I stepped from the curb, a brilliant flash of twin lights struck my face, and a car horn blared into the night. I stumbled back, nearly tripping over the sidewalk. My cheeks felt hot. I did my best to ignore my company, swung a reeling head both ways, and then crossed the street.

The man pressed close, so that I could hear him as he said, “Cain demands your presence, Miss.”

“So that’s what that was all about.” I sneered. All of Cain’s men were puppets, actors more than they were henchmen. “You can tell Cain to shove that marker up his ass. I’m not killing John.”

“Miss…” As we came to the edge of the nearby alleyway, the man turned, broad shoulders nearly barricading my exit. “I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

My gaze roved across him, assessing him, but details were still hazy, and information was being fed to my clouded brain too slowly.

“You’re gonna kill me?” My chest panted out a heavy breath.

He hesitated. And then, “Not kill you, Miss. I’m taking you back, one way or another.”

“You’re kidnapping me?” My brows shot up, and I chuffed out a laugh into the eerie silence of the alleyway.

“I will not ask again, Miss,” he said, and rolled his sleeves up.

I took one slow step back, though I couldn’t have been sure how slow. Everything I did seemed sluggish, cumbersome. Everything around me seemed to be moving too fast.

A row of knuckles ploughed into the space just between my ribs and gut, and I doubled over, fingers instinctively reaching to where I’d been struck even though the alcohol seemed to numb it to a dull throb, and in doing so, they grazed the hilt of one of my knives.

I threw my weight forward, swiping the blade out towards the man’s throat, but it merely grazed him, dotting his flesh with a bead of crimson. A vice-like grip caught my wrist, and I brought my leg up to kick, but he shoved me against the wall of the alley. My shoulder-blade connected with the brick, my arm twisting inward, and the knife clattered to the concrete.

My free hand extended in an attempt to hit his vagus nerve, but before I could, both wrists were forced together. A boot landed against my knee, and I buckled, my shoulder sliding down each cleft of the wall and my head lurching forward, hair streaking across my vision.

But my moment of helplessness did not last; the pressure released from my wrists, and a heavy grunt and a sharp snap sounded from my aggressor.

I tossed my hair back, my skull jolting violently upward, and I nearly fell, backing into the wall and tracing the clefts of the brick with my fingertips as the world stilled, and in its frame stood a man in all black, the barrel of his Glock pointed at the back of my aggressor’s skull – who now lay with a misshapen arm across the ground.

John.

Certain he was no longer conscious, John holstered his gun and cast a glance behind him, where a car passed by on the street.

Rage bubbled up inside of me, and ran as hot as the adrenaline and alcohol in my blood.

“No, no,” I mumbled, shaking my head, as I staggered forward. “You don’t let me help you, you’re not helping me.”

John fixed me with an unreadable look. “Jo,” he said, calmly – too calmly. “Go back inside. I’ll take care of him.”

“The hell you will,” I hissed. My fingers trembled as they reached for my holster, but John didn’t flinch. With my Glock in my hand, I squinted, the pavement blurring around the sights. As I pulled the trigger, cerise burst from the henchman’s skull in a little firework of gore. I was too inebriated to even feel my gut twist.

“Get out of here,” I snapped at John, fumbling for a bit as I fitted my gun back in my holster and gave my overcoat a fluff, tugging the fabric taught with more aggression than it deserved. “I can handle myself.”

“This wasn’t a bar fight, was it?” John asked, his gaze darting from the body back to me.

Shame poured in hot and fast, my brain muddling, and I swallowed a knot in my throat. He must have followed me out here thinking I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself. And maybe he was right. I’d nearly been taken out by some lackey, made myself look like some helpless girl. I could only imagine what he was thinking.

She’s not strong enough. Not smart enough. Too reckless. Too weak.

What would he think if he knew why this man had attacked me? What would he think of Cain, of my marker, of what I had kept a secret for so long?

That was what twisted my gut – churned it, and I took a step back. My pride was already bruised. The thought of telling him the truth made me sick.

“It’s nothing,” I said.     

John sighed, and said, “Jo, please come inside.” He extended a hand out to help me, which I scowled at, and stepped back a few more paces.

“I don’t need your help,” I snapped, and finally turned, stalking away on wobbling legs. I used the wall of the alley to help steady myself, and listened past the roar of blood in my ears to know if he was following. But all I heard the chime of a phone, and something about a dinner reservation.

I was sobbing, which made my head lighter; the world started spinning too much to carry on at my pace, and so I collapsed, and it rocketed skyward. My limbs seemed to flop against each other, and I peeled my jacket from my body, skin burning hot as it brushed the cold bricks.

My eyelids fluttered. The world flashed, then faded, in and out… dimming with each pulse. A ragged breath fanned across a knee I brought to my chest to provide a support for a skull that now felt ridiculously heavy. My cheek dug into the jut of the bone, darkness swathing my surroundings, and then the back of my head was dragging against the wall, because as I’d succumbed to my fatigue, it felt as if it were about to roll away.

I slid my leg out and let my head rest against the wall, vision darkening again. My world was a haze; and from that haze appeared denim-clad legs and a rifle case that bobbed along with the man’s gait.

I groaned, and muttered weakly, “Can I not catch a break?”

The case was set beside me, and weathered but gentle hands brushed along the bare of my arms, raising goosebumps and sending a tingle along my nerves that pulled my lips into a lazy smile. Past the faint stench of urine and garbage of the alley I detected a subtle hint of cologne, and I glimpsed a faded brown jacket, a sharp jawline, chapped lips parting to utter something to me.

“Can you stand up?” Lightly grated baritones met my ears, and his hands pulled my coat around limp arms.

“Marcus?” I breathed, trying at first to shake off my coat but conceding when I realized his grip was firm and he was more sober than me.

“Come on, Jo.” His voice was low, yet honeyed. Gentler than it had been on the rooftop. “Work with me.”

“Marcus…” I repeated, the name almost spoken like a whine, and the familiarity of his scent and voice drew me closer to him, as I found myself suddenly craving his closeness and his warmth despite my flesh still burning hot. The alley around us was shockingly cold in contrast.

“I’m here,” he said.

My chest was still wracked by faint heaves as I collapsed forward, sobbing into a soft turtleneck, clutching him by the fabric of his jacket as if he were the only thing left living in this world.

I hadn’t realized until now just how goddamn alone I was.

A hand tentatively rested itself along the small of my back, and he tried guiding me upwards, but I kept falling back, head lolling over his shoulder as I fought off sleep.

I’d started babbling, muttering things into fabric damp with my tears. “Talked with John… he doesn’t… he doesn’t think I can help… told me to stay out of – “ My words were shattered by a hiccup, and then promptly resumed. “ – out of things.”

A sigh dragged across my ear, and I shivered against his hot breath. I could’ve melted into him.

“Josephine,” he said. “I’m trying to get you to my car.” Slender fingers prodded at my chin, tilting my head against the brick wall as gravity tugged my weight down. Rheumy eyelids peeled back to meet vibrant blue optics. “How many drinks have you had?” he asked.

I snorted, and chuffed out a laugh. “No fucking clue,” I said, and blinked, focusing on the eyes that studied me, my mouth hung slightly open and my own eyes half-lidded. I blinked again. Ice shattered around flecks of steel and indigo, woven into tiny yet startling hints of green.

“But I do know that your eyes are really pretty,” I breathed.

A coffee brow quirked at me, and he said, with the hint of a smirk, “So a lot, then.”

My laughter seemed to echo through the alley, and I winced, the sound overwhelming to me. It wasn’t as soothing as his voice or the sound of his heart as it had thrummed against my ear.

“Alright, let’s try this one more time,” he said, arm wrapping all the way around my back as he tried to encourage me upward.

“No, no…” I mumbled, eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the echo in the alley. I reached numbly for him, my fingers grasping the collar of his jacket and pulling him back down. “I’m not going anywhere. Stay… stay with me. Please.”

My eyes fluttered open to glimpse a look of defeat, his mouth twisting into a weaving line. Another sigh fanned my cheeks, and then he collapsed beside me, arm slipping from my back but his side solid against my own. I leaned into him, fingers landing weakly in the crook of his elbow and my head resting back on his shoulder.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked me, the rumble of his voice against my cheek sending another shiver through me.

“Yeah… an alley,” I muttered, and sobbed again. “I was attacked.”

His jaw shifted, brushing the hair from my cranium. A hot breath raked down my scalp.

“By who?” he asked.

My fingers tightened, grasping the fabric of his jacket as I pulled myself closer, trying to bury my face in the hem of his turtleneck. I wanted to disappear, sink into the dark of it, but at the same time, I ached to dispel the secrets that plagued my chest. In this moment, Marcus was a comfort, a light reignited in the black of my soul. I didn’t want to be swallowed by it anymore.

“Someone. Someone I know.” My words were strung together by fraying threads as lethargy crept along each limb, as my mind became deluged, bit by bit, in a haze. “Kind of. Cain. He knows Cain.” I sobbed, his turtleneck feeling damp now from my tears, something twisting cruelly in my gut, but something in my chest feeling lighter.

“This the same Cain who used to give John contracts?”

I sobbed for a few more moments, the convulsions of my diaphragm keeping me conscious, but barely. Half of my mind was slipping, down, down, into the dark.

“I owe him,” I finally choked out. “I owe him real bad. He’s got my marker. John doesn’t know. I never told him.”

“Why do you owe him, Jo?”

His questions were becoming increasingly more invasive, prying below layers that I had spent so long weaving over my heart, melding into impenetrable steel.

But my woe was stronger, splitting through each layer as if they were made of glass rather than steel.

A marker, flashed with the wink of silver and the crimson print of my thumb. A gun, still chambered, set across a table with hands soaked in a blood only I could see. A man dead, whose face I’d never seen, whose visage was nothing but a blackness pulled taut over a lifeless figure. My chest, empty, waiting for a satisfaction that would never come. My heart, heavy, with the weight of the crime I had done. My soul, caged, indebted to the cruel life I had won.

“I didn’t even kill him, Marcus,” I blabbered past tears and saliva, choking feebly on my words. “I didn’t even pull the trigger. But I signed his life off with my blood.”

“Who didn’t you kill? Cain?”

The steel had been pierced. The glass had shattered.       

“The man who started the fire, Marcus. The man who killed my family.”

[independentzaun]

۞

send me a "۞" and I'll introduce you to one of my other muses : Still accepting.

//Cassandra Cain AKA Orphan//

The incident had started off simply enough. Some woman who thought herself stronger than she was surrounded by a group of friends trying to intimidate a street vendor into giving them half of his goods. The vendor had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time as the people accosting him had decided to take advantage of a rather quiet moment on the street believing no one would interfere. Normally they likely would have been correct, and would have gotten what they wanted however this particular evening there were two problems with that. One was a particular slender woman watching silently from the side so drenched in shadows that despite being technically on the sidewalk she had yet to be noticed. The second was the Eye of Zaun himself, Silco, approaching not that anyone had any idea how that might effect things but it was a potential complication all the same.

As the group of thugs started to get rougher, and louder the woman in the shadows spoke offering one word. “Stop.” One of the thugs actually flinched from being startled, and frowned. “The fuck are you? And this isn’t any of your business! Fuck off before we decide to make you pay a fee for taking up space on our streets.” Hearing the response the woman stepped forward.

In that moment moving utterly silently she almost seemed like a shadow given physical form as the neon lights nearby glinted off of her. A hood up cast her face in darkness while her entire body was hidden by a black outfit. Pants that allowed her a wide range of movement, a hoodie that covered her torso making her look unremarkable at best along with a hint of a long sleeved shirt under it as well as gloves covering her hand that seemed to have hardened knuckles, shoes not at all regular as they were flexible and allowed her feet to curl and grip slightly at things if need be while climbing. Something about her stance gave the impression to one that knew what to look for of a dancer, but one whose most familiar “dance” was one of violence.

“Not, your...business...either..stop.” It was the last warning she’d give, and for a moment she glanced past the group of four thugs towards Silco. Her head tilted ever so slightly as though watching him, and trying to decide something. With her attention seemingly taken off of the thugs it’d be easy to expect the first attack directed at her with the typical lack of hesitation, and quickness expected in Zaun to hit. That expectation would be proven false quite quickly.

Hooded gaze still on Silco for a second the woman leaned to one side, and than dipped down before slamming a fist into the thug’s stomach making a loud gasp escape from him. What happened next was either a beautiful display of skillful violence, or utterly terrifying depending on ones viewpoint and position. That fist turned into an elbow at the man’s ribs, and that turn of her body to power the elbow brought her other fist up which hammered down into the side of his knee snapping it. Immediately he collapsed with a scream, and she slid past him with a hand casually pushing aside another thug’s knife twisting as she did so immediately breaking his wrist while a knee slammed up into his groin. Her foot slapped down against the ground, and spinning she tossed him over her hip taking advantage of the movement to dislocate his shoulder. She still did not stop moving.

With only two opponents left and the display she’d already offered it wasn’t surprising when the woman who’d been in charge pulled out a single shot pistol, and fired. What was surprising was that the hooded woman showed no fear at all, and as though reading her opponents mind slipped out of the way just before the shot went off ensuring it missed. Saving the other woman for last she went for the third thug, and with one quick punch to his head knocked him out sending him helpless to the ground. Movements never slowing she turned, and hurt the other woman who’d pulled out the pistol. Kidney punch that would most certainly have her pissing blood, ribs fractured, jaw broken as well as an ankle the “leader” of the thugs was quickly on the ground whimpering and pleading for mercy.

That was when the movement finally stopped. The dance was done, and there was nothing left to offer. Nothing left to say, or communicate. Neither through movement nor violence. The surprising thing however as the hooded woman stepped away quite obviously considering her work done was that each opponent was still left breathing, and alive. A rarity in Zaun particularly as it’d quite clearly been done on purpose. Moving towards, and than past Silco there was one soft comment murmured from under her hood.

“Best, hits, hurt.”

Not all weapons killed, but they might still be sharpened to a razors edge.

Cassandra Cain, also known as Orphan, did not kill.

She also did not loose.

[redux-iterum]

Lynx’s Struggle Through Survivors - Now a Double Feature

Because I was busy in December with Christmas, I had to move my review to January. So here we are, a review of both The Broken Path and The Endless Lake. Read the previous stuff if you haven’t already. Let’s get down to business.

The Broken Path

I like the idea of the naming ceremony, nothing else to comment on it, save for the fact we seem to have timeskipped… some time in the future. I wasn’t paying much attention to what season it was before the timeskip. It was a little jarring, but necessary, I’d gander.

Unrelated, Whine frickin sucks. I want to punt the little bastard into orbit.

Okay, about Alpha, he’s really really indecisive. I’m really torn on this. For one, the main plot of the book is Fiery recognizing Alpha’s been sucking as leader and challenging him, only to get captured by humans and die. For one, how has anyone in this deluded pack snapped out of their delusion to recognize their leader’s been sucking? For another, how has Alpha allowed his pack to make decisions without his input if he’s trying to keep an iron-tight grip on them? I don’t know, he seems like he’s supposed to be an intimidating leader who’s trapped a bunch of well-meaning individuals in his control, but it seems something isn’t adding up and I can’t quite articulate how it’s wrong.

I think Fiery would fit better in the role of “Leader of the Alpha Sucks Club” who would reach out to Lucky when he sees he’s getting the ire of their leader. Fiery only joined this pack because Moon insists Alpha is a good leader and is mostly here to one day usurp Alpha when the time comes. Mulch would be another member of the club, as much as he’s kind of a turdgoblin. Fiery might suspect Sweet (the sleeper agent) is secretly against Alpha, but he’s not sure and she’s doing her best to avoid Alpha’s suspicion. Lucky would be the first outsider dog to join, followed by Martha shortly after adopting Lick, Grunt, and Wiggle. Bella I think should join later on; she detests Alpha both personally and on principle, but she’s got a strong Cain instinct that deters her from allying with her brother. Moon would join the club after Fiery dies and Alpha practically celebrates that he’s keeping his position.

Terror’s so strange as a minor antagonist. The Fear-Dog is a stupid concept on principle, but the dog pantheon is narrow enough that you can’t easily add a new god into the lineup. The more gods there are in a pantheon, the easier it is to slide a new one into their ranks and have others go, “seems legit”. Regarding Terror’s pack, I’m surprised his entire pack doesn’t just look at each other and go, “Hey, there’s a bunch of us and only one of him, let’s get rid of this thorn in our paws.”

Anyway, our baby girl has a new name, Storm. Time for her to join Firestar and Dovewing in the “our names are glaringly obvious hints for our role in a prophecy” club.

The Endless Lake

I really don’t have a lot to say here. This just caused a lot more confusion than necessary and everything went by so quickly.

I really feel bad for Lucky. He’s trying so hard to help these dogs out and they’re so insistent that tradition is the way to go. Alpha was abusing his position as leader and there was barely anything anyone could do about it within the dogs’ code of honor. His situation with Sweet kind of makes me think of a reverse Fireheart and Sandstorm situation, where Sweet’s barely giving Lucky any benefit of the doubt and you wonder how he still pines for her.

So Alpha died, but not really. Why did he ally himself with the Fierce Dogs? It doesn’t seem at all in his character.

The condition of Sunshine’s pelt really made me wish there was a nice human in that lighthouse who could take her in and shave her pelt off. She’s really hit-or-miss for me, but I’d be satisfied with seeing her end up in the care of a loving human.

I’ve been giving Dullard real-time commentary as I read the book, and a thought that came to me was what if Lick/Storm and Grunt/Fang were pitbulls instead of dobermans? And the entire Fierce Pack were a conglomeration of dogs kept for dogfighting? Their version of dog religion would be incredibly warped, and their poor treatment would be the blame for their behavior. Fang could take the classically antagonistic role of the pitbull archetype while Storm would take the modern sympathetic role.

Before we get to it next book, I gotta wonder. What. Is. The Storm of Dogs. I don’t understand how a brawl between dogs would be the end of the world to the dogs’ eyes? It makes little sense. I can’t figure out how to effectively polish it.

Combining Lucky’s affinity with a crow (which interestingly didn’t appear in this book as far as I can recall) and his visions with the Storm of Dogs, I gotta wonder if he’d be some kind of chosen seer for a god of death (even more interestingly, if it was Earth herself that was his patron god).

So both of these books were slogs, I really want Storm of Dogs to… at least kind of be satisfying. A little. Just a bit. Please no one pull a Scourge and have someone else kill the villains anticlimactically.

[edharrisdaily]

Just This Guy: Ed Harris on Being in His Body and Relaxing Into the Moment

Actor Ed Harris talks about the masculinity on display in Get Away If You Can, being “the thinking woman’s sex symbol” and paying attention to your life.

The word “legend” gets bandied about to the point where it’s lost a bit of its meaning, but there are still some people who unquestionably fit that bill—and I, for one, consider Ed Harris legendary in the acting sphere. After working his way to star athlete in high school, the New Jersey native discovered his love for acting through local theater productions before moving to Los Angeles and graduating from the California Institute of the Arts.

His first feature film role was as “Pathology Resident #2” in Michael Crichton’s 1978 thriller Coma, but named roles were soon on the horizon. After breaking out as John Glenn in The Right Stuff five years later, Harris cemented himself as an instantly recognizable face for the next four decades.

Even a brief appearance in the opening scenes of this year’s biggest cinematic event, Top Gun: Maverick, makes a mark specifically because that’s not just anyone playing Rear Admiral Chester “Hammer” Cain, that‘s Ed fucking Harris. People have a certain way they expect a Harris character to be, and the four-time Oscar nominee is able to use that to his advantage both by playing into it and by subverting expectations when he chooses.

Search “Ed Harris” on Letterboxd reviews and you discover that there can never be enough Ed Harris, that the actor can make anything watchable. “When Ed Harris is on screen I think to myself ‘Yes’. When Ed Harris isn’t on screen I think to myself ‘No’,” writes Juhana. Important questions arise, like “Why don’t more people talk about Ed Harris?,” or a particularly troubling dilemma from Rachel, whose review of Enemy at the Gates queries, “Weirdly rooting for the Nazi villain played by Ed Harris. Why am I always wanting Ed Harris villains to succeed? The Truman Show? Westworld? Am I actually an Ed Harris stan?”

Yes, Rachel, we are all Ed Harris stans, because, as Mason insists, “the roles that Ed Harris plays can only be played by Ed Harris.” Even the most pessimistic of us can’t resist his charms, such as Todd, who states, “Kids suck. Teenagers suck. Adults suck. But Ed Harris, Ed Harris does not suck.” Perhaps it’s Ethan who best captures the feeling Harris gives us all, as his Snowpiercer review keeps it nice and simple: “Ed Harris!”

You’ve got to get out of your own f—king shit sometimes. A lot of people don’t.

—⁠Ed Harris

While more people certainly need to talk about Ed Harris, I recently had the chance to talk to Ed Harris, as he jumped on the line to discuss his latest feature, Get Away If You Can. Written and directed by Terrence Martin and Dominique Brun, the real-life married couple also star in the film as TJ and Domi, whose relationship might have hit a breaking point. They embark on an open-ocean sail to try and reignite their spark, while flashbacks show how they got to this point. Those include glimpses of their relationship with TJ’s father Alan (Ed Harris), an intimidating chauvinist who clashes hard with Domi’s progressive views of the world and insists his son must assert his dominance as a man in the marriage.

Harris chatted about that very nature of manliness, how his own relationship with that identity has shifted over the years, and the most interesting roles he has taken across his vast impressive career.

Terrence Martin talked about first meeting you at the Oscars some years back when he was a page. What’s been your impression of him and how did that initial meeting evolve into you eventually taking part in Get Away If You Can? Ed Harris: Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t really recall that first meeting. I imagine it’s because I haven’t been to the Oscars for quite a while. But yeah, he contacted me after that, about five years ago, and asked if I would take a look at the footage they’d shot, him and Domi. I looked at it and was really impressed with the fact that they even shot it because it was out on the open seas—off the coast of Chile, I believe.

He told me about the story and gave me the script, said he wanted me to play his father, and I was really impressed with their commitment—the fact that they had shot that footage maybe two years prior to that. They were just determined to make this film, and I knew that if I lent my name to it, it’d probably help a little bit in terms of them getting the funds to finish it. So I said, “Sure, I’ll do that.” I like TJ and I like Domi. I think they are very much in love and a really nice couple.

It’s clearly a passion project of theirs, something they’ve been pushing years to make happen. Is that drive something you found yourself relating to? I know it took you something like a decade to get your directing debut Pollock made. Yeah, very much so. The part that I played, it’s not a part that I would normally be excited about doing, and I was very willing to do it because it helped those guys finish their dream project. And I actually had a good time filming it, we got along great. I haven’t seen the finished project yet, but I’m looking forward to watching it.

A lot of your character’s presence is focused on that relationship with his son, and this pressure he’s putting on him to be “a real man.” Whenever I think of that notion of a man, I think about your former co-star Gene Hackman, who has such a manly presence but would often speak about how real men are ones who are not afraid of their femininity and their vulnerability. What does being a man mean to you? Most of all, I think it means paying attention to your life and not getting sucked into a kind of pressure that is put on a lot of American men to be macho, to be this, to be that. Life is not something that you figure out when you’re 25 years old. I’m 71 now and still learning—still trying to be a better person. I think any man or woman, their job is to keep going as a human being and expanding their mind, keeping your heart open and learning about yourself and the people you love, and being a tolerant, caring individual. We all have many sides to bounce through, and I know it’s important to not deny any of those sides that come.

Did becoming a father have an impact on your interpretation of that role? For sure. When [my daughter] Lily was born, it changed things. You wake up and the first person you think about is not yourself, which is nice, but what really helped out was Amy [Madigan]. I’ve been married to her for 39 years, come this November. When we were first together, I was not someone who knew what it meant to be open with your feelings. She used to say, “You got to talk to me, you got to tell me what's going on. How are you feeling?” I said, “What do you mean? Don’t you just know how I feel?” That was a lot for me, and it took a long time for me to really be able to be a true partner with her. You’ve got to get out of your own f—king shit sometimes. A lot of people don’t.

I was reading this interview where you were asked, “If you could give your younger self some advice, what would it be?” And your answer was basically to relax because you get a little bit too intense sometimes. How are you dealing with that intensity these days? Are you feeling more mellowed out? Not as an actor, but definitely as a human being, you know what I mean? The last couple jobs I’ve had—a couple of indie films, one with Lily Rabe and this thing I just finished with Kristen Stewart—I’ve been feeling very relaxed. Just within my body as an actor, I’ve been feeling really comfortable in front of the camera—very unconscious of the camera, and really just being able to see the way I’m working with myself. I always felt that way, but I’ve been feeling even more present lately. It’s good.

If I had a full head of hair, and had a full head of hair my entire life, I’d probably be a completely different person, to tell you the truth.

—⁠Ed Harris

You’ve said before that you don’t think you get the credit you deserve for being bald and playing parts in films meant for people with hair. Could you elaborate on that uniqueness of being a leading actor in Hollywood who’s unafraid to be bald in a world that often resists that natural evolution? Nowadays, it’s nothing. There’s all kinds of people that are playing major roles and starring roles that don’t have any hair or have shaved their head or whatever. 30 years ago I didn’t have hair, and I haven’t had hair on top of my head for quite a long time. I don’t necessarily need any credit for that. It was a fact. If I had a full head of hair, and had a full head of hair my entire life, I’d probably be a completely different person, to tell you the truth. My career probably would have benefited, but I don’t know that possible timeline because that’s not where I’m at. [Laughs] You should see me now, man. I got hair down the middle of my back. I got these extensions for this thing I just did, it’s a lot.

[Laughs] I’m looking forward to seeing that. I read an article that described you as “the thinking woman’s sex symbol,” which I can attest to because when I told my mom I was interviewing you she shrieked like I’ve never heard her shriek before and said she had chills because you’re a huge crush of hers. [Laughs] Wow!

So, Ed Harris, how does it feel to be the thinking woman’s sex symbol? I think it just means that I’ve been the most sensitive guy. I’m in touch with my own feelings, and I’m pretty aware of how other people are doing and feeling. I think I’m really insightful about where other people are coming from, and if that makes me a thinking woman’s whatever then I guess yeah, I don’t know.

When I read that, it made me think of your performance in The Lost Daughter, which is so gentle. You initially weren’t interested in that film, but it was your wife Amy who convinced you to take the part. What was your initial reluctance there and how did she manage to turn you around? I just didn’t find the man very interesting. I was like, “Oh, he’s just kind of there,” you know? And it was more about the film itself. When Amy read it, she said, “This is a great film. This is really about something, especially from a woman’s perspective.” So I read it again, trying to read it from a different perspective, and I got what she was saying. Then, when I was actually doing it, especially working with the people I was working with, it was really rewarding. When I was talking about feeling more relaxed, that film was a revelation to me in the sense that I did it very relaxed. I was just this guy, you know? He was just this fella.

One film that I’d be remiss not to bring up is The Truman Show, which is one of the most popular films on Letterboxd. Your involvement with it is really interesting, in that you came on late after they had already started filming, replacing Dennis Hopper in your role, and you really made it something special. Is that one you look back on fondly now, with that same reverence so many people have for it? I love working with Peter Weir because he’s very thorough. He has a vision and he pays attention to every little detail. When he asked me to do that, I only had a couple of days before I started filming. In a way, I was glad about this. I didn’t have a lot of time to tie myself up in knots about what I was going to try and prove. I just had to come up with an idea and work with Peter on it. And yeah, the film—I mean, talk about a pretty prescient film in terms of what’s happening today. I have fond memories of it, yeah. I didn’t really work with Jim [Carrey] one-on-one, but I got to know him a little bit. I like Jim a lot.

Similar to Get Away If You Can, that’s a film that’s very much about escape and despite its dark themes it’s turned into a big comfort film for a lot of people. Do you have any films that you return to time and time again when you’re looking for a retreat from the world? To be perfectly honest, no I don’t. Nothing comes to mind. Well, actually, one would be Ryan’s Daughter. There’s something about that movie. It’s always enchanted me, and it’s definitely soothing to my soul, watching that movie. I think a lot of it has to do with where it was shot. It’s just so beautiful, you know?

If watching films isn’t usually the go-to comfort activity for you, what is it that you like to do that helps you escape from it all and reconnect with the beauty of the world? I do enjoy being in nature. I enjoy manual labor. I’ve got a few acres where I live and there’s always something to do. I find that it’s very therapeutic for me to just work with my body, my hands, my legs, my head—figuring things out. It keeps you very much in the moment, and that’s helpful to me. I do have a tendency to get ahead of myself sometimes. It’s nice to just pull back and concentrate on what you’re doing at the moment.

Yeah, I’ve really been trying to push myself to be better about going and taking a walk outside for like an hour every day. Just getting away from screens. Yeah, and if you’re out there in nature, in the woods, and you just stand still for a while, all kinds of things start happening.

I wanted to bring up the Alex Cox film Walker, which just had a gorgeous new release from The Criterion Collection. It’s an incredible film, and reading through the backstory of it, that sounds like such a complicated shoot down in Nicaragua. Was the filming experience of that one as chaotic as it seems? I don’t know about chaotic, but it was a bit surreal on some level, I suppose. The Contra War was actually going on at that time. Nicaragua is still a very poor country, and here we were—we were getting help from the Sandinistas in terms of labor and lumber and all kinds of things. I have fond memories of that movie. It’s a crazy, wild movie but I was totally into it. I was totally into it, man, I was committed big time.

That’s my job; to find this character, play this character, and help this person’s vision come to life on the screen. I get excited to work with people that really want me to help them make their film come to life.

—⁠Ed Harris

It’s definitely one of those films that didn’t get the respect it deserved when it came out, but now people are starting to come back around to it and appreciate it a lot more. People didn’t quite get it at the time. Yeah, I think the anachronisms caught people up, for one thing. The story was actually pretty big news in 1855, but the Civil War came and people forgot about this guy who went down to Nicaragua and took over the country. I think it was at the request of Cornelius Vanderbilt, if I’m not mistaken, trying to connect the two oceans together down there in Nicaragua. But yeah, it didn’t help Alex’s career.

I haven’t talked to Alex in a while. I hope he’s still making movies. I know he made a couple things after that, but really Alex could be his own worst enemy. I think he alienated a lot of people because he had a certain attitude going on, and it was offensive at times. But I love to work with people that just have a vision and a strong thing working for them. Even if part of their brains are a little bit out there, I really like that.

I read that to help get into character, you led the entire cast through a ten-mile march through the countryside. I did, actually! And Miguel Sandoval and his wife were on that, and Miguel’s wife had been trying to get pregnant and she got pregnant soon after that. It opened up her whole body. It was hot, it was up and down on really dusty, dry hills. It was really scary. I remember that very well. Everybody was into it, they all followed me.

Would you say that’s the most intense thing you’ve done to prepare for a role? I don’t know, I spent so many years working on Pollock. That was probably the most involved that I ever was with any particular character in terms of really trying to inhabit the essence of someone. Walker’s up there with that though, I’ve got to say. I remember I lost a lot of weight. I was rationing myself to four Ritz crackers a day, among other stuff. There were certain things I was very disciplined about at that time. I met Marlee [Matlin] during that shoot. I learned ASL for a while. I have fond memories of working with her, she was something very special.

Is it true that on Pollock you had to be hospitalized for a bit due to the stress of working on it? After pre-production, yeah, which was really, really exhausting. I don’t remember how far we were into filming, but the scene I think when it’s his first show with Peggy Guggenheim and even in the shot you can see that I’m standing but I look like I’m about to fall over. I was just exhausted. I had to take a couple of days off. I totally ran out of gas.

When you’re taking on a project, how much of it is about finding the character you’re really excited about, and how much is about wanting to lend what you can bring to the overall film? Well, most of the time it’s about the character and who I’m going to be working with. And the script, of course. I mean, the script’s a bible and if the script doesn’t resonate with me, I’m not too interested. Then, when you talk to a director—whether it’s Agnieszka Holland or Peter Weir or Ron Howard or whoever it might be—directors who really have an intention and really have a specific vision about the movie and want you to help them realize that, I like that. That’s my job; to find this character, play this character, and help this person’s vision come to life on the screen. I get excited to work with people that really want me to help them make their film come to life.

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Whumptober 2021Day Twenty Five

AN- This is the last part of the price we pay for freedom series

trails of lightning

Wally’s head is pounding from the meta collar. Electricity runs through it in sporadic bursts, and it feels almost ironic that he’s getting shocked when usually he leaves trails of lightning behind him when he runs. He should be used to sparks but it still hurts. Nowhere near as bad as the night he got his powers but still, he’s not the biggest fan of getting electrocuted.

The bullet hole in his abdomen throbs, and he shifts around, trying to ease the ache. He had healed it enough to not bleed out by the time they got a meta collar on him, but he definitely need either medical attention or his healing back soon.

Cain Leftin is lounging on a comfortable looking couch, scrolling through his phone. He had called Aunt Iris earlier and made a deal with her for Wally’s safe return. Wally is pretty sure that Bats and GA can pay the ransom but he would prefer it if the bastard didn’t get any money.

Besides, the man has been taunting him this whole time and apparently his plan is to kill Aunt Iris when she gets here, take the millions and then sell Wally into the meta market anyways and double his cash. Cain is a bastard like that.

Wally knows that Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal would never let that happen and that Uncle Barry is definitely faster than a few measly bullets but he’s still scared for Aunt Iris. She’s like a second mom to him, especially because she understands his need to help in a way his own mom doesn’t. Aunt Iris has experience with Uncle Barry and Uncle Hal, and although she doesn’t like it, she knows why he does it. He doesn’t like to worry his mom but Aunt Iris always listens to him.

“That pretty aunt of yours will be here soon, Wally. How does it feel to know you will be the cause of her death?” Cain says, breaking Wally out of his thoughts. Wally rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond. Cain had seen dollar signs when he found out Wally’s identity, and hadn’t stopped to consider anything beyond them.

Such as the fact that Wally has been an active member of the Team for years and that he has backup in the form of the entire Justice League. And also yeah, the freaking Bat Clan. His and Dick’s relationship isn’t public knowledge but everyone knows that Kid Flash and Nightwing are friends. And Jason likes him too! Wally knows people, okay?

Footsteps echo as Aunt Iris comes into view. Wally hears a rustle above him and looks up as Cain greets his aunt. Connor and Dick wave at him and he grins. He knew they had a plan.

Connor floats down silently and brings his enhanced strength to bear as he snaps the stupid collar with ease. Wally inhales as power rushes through his vein, the Speed Force curling around him like a contented cat, sending electricity sparking off his skin. His wound heals completely and he grins.

Cain whirls around at the sound of the collar breaking and gapes in astonishment at Connor and Wally, sporting identical smirks. A red blur speeds through the room and when it dissipates, Aunt Iris is gone and the Flash and Green Lantern stand in her place.

“You good, kid?” Uncle Barry calls from across the room and Wally nods, stretching out his stiff limbs. The wound in his stomach is healing rapidly, slightly slower than normal, but disappearing fast all the same. He has his speed back too and now he feels like he could do anything. Well, maybe with some sleep and an energy bar first.

Faster than a normal human could blink, Cain pulls out a gun and fires it straight at Wally, who simply steps to the side and watches it arc slowly past. It blows a harmless hole in the wall behind them and Wally smiles.

Three hours ago, he was the wall and he ended up in a meta collar for his troubles. Now Cain is alone, with no henchmen as backup and there’s a group of pissed off heroes waiting to make his acquaintance.

Connor offers his shoulder and Wally slings an arm around him, letting the Kryptonian take his weight. God, he’s tired. His abdomen still hurts and his throat aches from the collar but the lingering pain is starting to dissipate as his healing goes to work.

They watch as Cain tries to shoot Uncle Barry, who simply flicks the bullet away at superspeed, before delivering a strong right hook that knocks Cain off his feet. The gangster falls to the ground unconscious and Uncle Hal makes a construct cell to bring him to the zetas.

Uncle Barry comes over to Wally and Connor, and Wally sinks gratefully into his arms. Uncle Barry swings Wally onto his back like he used to do when Wally was younger. Wally just lets his head drop down and closes his eyes.

There’s a blur of light and then they’re at a zeta booth. Uncle Barry keys in their codes and Wally drops down onto his own two feet for the trip. Dick and Aunt Iris are waiting outside the tube when they arrive on the Watchtower so Wally heads for them, accepting a short kiss from Dick and a long hug from Aunt Iris.

They herd him to the Medbay, Wally barely able to keep his eyes open as the side effects of the meta collar start to hit him properly. Midnite checks his wound, pronounces it mostly healed and orders Wally to get some rest and food. He’s also benched for a week. Go figure, but at least he gets to sleep. Which is probably the point, come to think of it.

They head back to the zeta tubes but are intercepted by Batman on the way. “Kid Flash. Cain Leftin is with Martian Manhunter now and Batgirl is getting to work on his computer. Your identity will be secured soon.” He says gruffly, and leaves before Wally has the chance to thank him.

The zetas drop them a few blocks from the West-Allen-Jordan household and Wally flops into his bed there as soon as he possibly can. Aunt Iris leaves a heaping plate and an assortment of snacks on the table beside him so he eats some of it to regain his strength before snuggling happily into bed with Dick. Aunt Iris had given them a stern look when Dick had gone into Wally’s bedroom and the door is cracked open, but Wally is way too tired for that.

He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

[2q5b]

TETZAVEH

By Ezra

February 20th, 2024

We are deep in the second book of the Torah, the book called Shmot. That doesn’t mean Exodus. It means “names.”

Why is the book called the book of names? On the surface, it’s a reference to its opening sentence:

 וְאֵ֗לֶּה שְׁמוֹת֙ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל הַבָּאִ֖ים מִצְרָ֑יְמָה אֵ֣ת יַעֲקֹ֔ב אִ֥ישׁ וּבֵית֖וֹ בָּֽאוּ׃

And these are the names of the children of Israel who came into Egypt, with Yaakov; every man came with his household.

The names listed are the literal children of Israel, the twelve brothers whose names became the names of the tribes of Israel. Every man came with his household. No sisters are listed by name, though there were sisters. Wives, children, no names for them. Just these twelve brothers.

The theme of names hangs over the whole book, but only if you are paying attention. And so does the theme of siblings. Names and siblings are of course ideas that are linked: who gives a name? Usually a parent, a different name for each child.

These twelve brothers had a terrifyingly fraught relationship. Joseph’s brothers nearly killed him. They hated him, partly for the special garment their father had made for Joseph and only Joseph. They tore it off of him, stripped him naked, threw him into a pit and sold him to slave traders. The end result was that they all ended up in Egypt, where their descendents were slaves.

In the second chapter of Shmot, we meet a family that contains three young siblings. In that chapter, we only hear about two of them, and they do not yet have names, nor does their mother. A woman, she is called. A son. His sister. Living in slavery, it’s as if they’ve been dehumanized beyond nameworthiness. And when the nameless mother puts her nameless son in a basket on the river in hopes that he might escape the government child-killers, the nameless sister makes sure that he isn’t harmed.

וַתֵּתַצַּ֥ב אֲחֹת֖וֹ מֵרָחֹ֑ק לְדֵעָ֕ה מַה־יֵּעָשֶׂ֖ה לֽוֹ׃

And his sister stood far off, to know what would be done to him.

Cain kills Abel. Ishmael is driven out of Abraham and Sarah’s home in favor of Isaac. Jacob outwits Eisav and Eisav plots to kill him. Joseph’s brothers sell him to slave traders. But Miriam looks out for her brother. She saves his life.

Miriam, Aaron and Moses grow up to be a trio of siblings working in beautiful cooperation to rescue their people from Egypt and lead a social and spiritual revolution. In the midrash, Moses and Aaron do this dance of humility and mutual encouragement, each ceding leadership to the other. Aaron, the older brother, is not jealous when he finds out Moses has been chosen by God to bring their people out of Egypt. He collaborates with him, he helps him speak to Pharaoh. And then Moses reciprocates that support. Here’s a bit from the Midrash Tanchuma:

Moses said to [Aaron], “The Holy Blessed One has told me to ordain you as high priest.” Aaron said to him, “You have labored on the tabernacle; should I be made high priest?” He said to him, “By your life, even though you are being made high priest, it is as if I were being made [high priest]; for just as you were glad for me in my greatness, so I am glad for you in your greatness.” 

-Midrash Tanchuma, Shemini 3

Our parasha consists of commandments given by God to Moses about how his brother Aaron, and Aaron’s sons, are to be dressed while they perform priestly rituals. The clothing is so fabulous, and so meticulously described, it can almost seem like God is rubbing it in Moses’ face. Why, after all, is Moses not the high priest with a dynasty of heirs? Numerous midrashim frame Aaron’s anointment as priest as a punishment for Moses’ initial attempt to refuse God’s call to prophecy. You didn’t want the hard job, now you don’t get the fancy job.

But Moses not only steps aside from the highest position of ritual authority, he himself does every physical preparation for Aaron to occupy that position. Moses lovingly returns the favor of his older brother’s steadfast support up to this point. The tenderness and positivity is almost overwhelming. It’s as if Cain, instead of killing him, had knitted Abel a sweater. 

וְעָשִׂ֥יתָ בִגְדֵי־קֹ֖דֶשׁ לְאַהֲרֹ֣ן אָחִ֑יךָ לְכָב֖וֹד וּלְתִפְאָֽרֶת׃

You are to make garments of holiness for Aharon your brother, for glory and for splendor.

-Shmot 28:2

Do not overlook this moment. The exile in Egypt began with a garment torn off in a jealous act of brotherly violence. Now those brothers’ descendents have come out of Egypt, and their leader is asked to create and dress his brother in a beautiful garment, in love and humility, as an indispensable part of their service of God.

Something is being healed in this relationship, something about what siblings can be to one another. The garment Jacob made for Joseph is called a k’tonet passim, often translated as an “ornamented tunic.” And now Moses makes a k’tonet for Aaron to wear. And how is it ornamented?

וְלָ֣קַחְתָּ֔ אֶת־שְׁתֵּ֖י אַבְנֵי־שֹׁ֑הַם וּפִתַּחְתָּ֣ עֲלֵיהֶ֔ם שְׁמ֖וֹת בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

שִׁשָּׁה֙ מִשְּׁמֹתָ֔ם עַ֖ל הָאֶ֣בֶן הָאֶחָ֑ת וְאֶת־שְׁמ֞וֹת הַשִּׁשָּׁ֧ה הַנּוֹתָרִ֛ים עַל־הָאֶ֥בֶן הַשֵּׁנִ֖ית כְּתוֹלְדֹתָֽם׃

And you shall take two shoham stones, and engrave on them the names of the children of Israel:

six of their names on one stone, and the other six names on the other stone, according to their birth.

-Shmot 28:9-10

Here they are again: shmot b’nei yisrael. The brothers who nearly killed each other, now listed in perfect equality on an ornamented tunic, made by one brother, worn by the other.

It’s all so positive and warm and fuzzy. Brothers, at last, have learned to cooperate.

So here’s the feminist buzzkill: What about sisters? What about Miriam, the oldest sibling among the leaders? What about Dinah, the daughter of Israel, not listed with the sons on the holy breastplate? Where the hell are they?

There are a lot of answers one could give. But in my heart, there are two: one short, one long.

The short answer is easy, it’s baked into all of us who live in a patriarchy built on countless generations of patriarchal norms: they’re women. They’re not there because they never are. They’re supposed to be invisible. They do the dirty work, they cook and clean and they raise the babies. They don’t have their name on a plaque, they don’t serve in public office. Out of sight out of mind.

The long answer does not deny the short answer, which accurately describes the past and present. But the long answer dares to include the future.

When I am most able to believe in the Torah as a divine document is when I can see it as laying out paths for us that we have not yet fully walked. We say in the Torah service every Shabbat, “d’racheiha darchei noam, v’chol netivoteha shalom.” Her ways, the Torah’s ways, are ways of pleasantness, and all of her paths are peace. It can be a hard thing to say when you have just finished reading a portion of a text steeped in ancient habits of misogyny and violence. But the emphasis, in my mind, is on ways, paths. The most transformative ideas in the Torah are the ones that can point us in a direction, that lay out a pathway to be walked in our time and in the future we face.

The progression from Cain and Abel to Miriam, Aaron and Moses, by way of Joseph and his siblings, show us a pathway from violence to cooperation, from scarcity to abundance, from male infighting to feminine leadership. The walking of this pathway is nowhere near finished in the Torah as written. But it has begun. We have moved from a garment violently torn off of a sibling to one lovingly wrapped around a sibling. We have moved from brothers who kill each other to a sister who leads her people in song. We notice that Miriam’s name means, literally, rebellion, and we know that the feminist rebellion of our era is in her name.

Aaron’s breastplate bears shmot bnei yisrael, the names of the children of Israel. Those brothers had a sister named Dinah, whose name is not included. The gap where women have been erased in our Torah feels like an insult, but it can also be an invitation. We can take the loudest silences as opportunities to speak.

The name Dinah means justice, but conjugated in the feminine. In the space where her name should have been, the unwritten future calls to us. In that space, I see visions of priests of all genders with feminine justice emblazoned on our holy garments. 

[juliusaugustus12]

“What do you think these Buddhists talk about all day?”

If I had to guess, I’d say Jesus?

“Please excuse him, he’s a touch cranky today.”

It’s not her turn to break the fourth wall, so please ignore her like usual.

“Why can’t we both do it at the same time?”

Two reasons: it’s hard for me to keep track of while writing whilst high; it’s not Cain.

“Touché.”

If you’re not paying attention, you could easily walk right past the Zen Buddhist Temple on Packard. But you shouldn’t. Stop in. Say hi. But if you can’t (for some reason) or you do miss it, they have a YouTube channel. Check it out.

“Are you still shorting religion or are we in a better mood now?”

The problem with religion isn’t religion. Or even God. It’s people. People ruin religion.

“Do you think these Buddhists are friends with the Presbyterians up the way?”

I don’t, but I don’t tell her that.

“Maybe they’re feuding. That would be fun!”

It would be. But a holy war in Ann Arbor is unlikely at this point.

“I wonder how the students decide which church to go to.”

They don’t, their parents do. I don’t say this, however, since she already knows it.

“Ann Arbor has changed. The students seem younger and less serious. Sheltered even. They’ve grown up in an era of peace and wealth and it shows on campus.”

My description of the student body would be far less generous. And still much better than my grading of the faculty.

“We still love it here though.”

We do.

“I just hope the University of Michigan hasn’t bought into its own hype.”

It has. I do tell her this.

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 3 * PART 1 * BOOK 56 Love Not The World I John 3:1-24 Every day somebody calls and says, "I just caught your program for the first time." Well, if you’re one of those, just remember we’re just a simple Bible study. We don’t claim to have all the answers, but we just pray that we can stay centered on the truth of Scripture, and rightly divide the Word of God – because that’s the secret of real Bible study, being able to see what actually applies to the Church Age we are living in even as I speak. We’re finding out many don’t have a clue that God chose the Apostle Paul to write the instructions and doctrine for this age we are living in today. I prefer to keep our study non-denominational because people will get so hung up on denominationalism that they get a closed mind to anything else. Well, what if their denomination is wrong? Ever think of that? What if your denomination isn’t exactly on the truth? Hey, you’re out of luck because I think God is absolute. I really do. I know we can’t judge hearts, but God’s Word is absolute and as we’ve stressed so often, you’re either on it or your missing it. And so we just try to help people see what the Book says. It’s not what I think nor what some denomination thinks, but what does the Word of God really say about it. And again, when I get to this place, I always have to thank our listeners for their letters, prayers, and financial help. My, the letters the last few days have just been so encouraging, and we find it hard to believe that the Lord is using us the way He is. Because (I think I’ve said it before on the program) for the longest time, I felt that if I had any ministry at all, it was to teach believers. But I never considered myself evangelical or a soul-winner per se, but oh my goodness, the numbers of people that are coming out of just total lostness! And what a testimony over and over, how their lives have been changed. Okay, that’s enough for introductions, and now let’s get right into our Bible study here in I John. chapter 3 and we’ll start right at verse 1. I John 3:1a "Behold,.…" Well the very first word, what does that word "behold" really tell you? Hey, wake up! Pay attention. We’ve got something important to say. I John 3:1a "Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us,.…" (as believers) Now again I always have to keep reminding people, these little epistles of James and Peter and John and Jude and on into Revelation are written primarily to what people? The Jews! The Nation of Israel. Now that doesn’t mean that we just close it up and say, "Well this isn’t for us," because all Scripture is profitable. Paul’s epistles of course are written to us. And that’s where we have to find our basic doctrines. But all the rest of Scripture still is applicable in one way or another. So even though John is addressing Jews here, you and I can revel in this just as much, that God has loved us so much: I John 3:1b "…that we should be called the sons (or the children) of God:.…" Now you see Paul uses that same language. Paul says that "we’re the children of God." That doesn’t make it all in the same kettle, not by any means, they are still on two different platforms – but, nevertheless, under the same God, and the Word of God is profitable. I John 3:1c "…therefore the world (around us) knoweth us not, because it knew him not." Now I’m sure that every one of you, if you really live and walk and practice your Christian life, once in a while will run up against somebody that thinks you’re a little bit odd. They think you’re out of it. There’s something wrong with you! Well, don’t be disheartened; it’s always been that way from day one. In fact I’ll probably go back to it sometime along in here, but just as soon as Abel was accepted of the Lord, how did Cain immediately begin to feel about him? Well, he hated him. Why? Because he was a righteous man and Cain wasn’t. That’s basically what it was. Well, it’s the same way here.

And you ought to see the letters we get about how when people in the Sunday School class realize that folks like you now have an understanding of Scripture that the quarterly hasn’t even come close to – they look down the row at them as though they’ve lost it, like they’re out of their cage. But that’s the way it’s always been, and I’m sure many of you have experienced that. And the Lord Himself was detested by the religious leaders of the Nation, because it just rankled them. All right, so the world doesn’t know who we really are, they don’t understand us, but they didn’t understand the Lord either. And they "knew him not." Now verse 2. John 3:2a "Beloved, now (right here in this life, not what we hope to be, but we know that we) are we the sons (or the children) of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be:.…" Now stop a minute. Do you realize that this Book tells us very, very little about our eternal state? You just can’t find much about what we’re going to be doing, or what we’re going to be active in, in eternity. Now we know it’s going to be glorious! It’s going to be beyond human comprehension. That’s as far as I can go. And see, even John says the same thing by the inspiration of the Spirit – we don’t know yet what it’s going to be like. But this much we can know. And this applies just as much to our looking for the Rapture of the Church as these Jews were to be looking for the Second Coming. Now remember, whenever you’re dealing with Israel, as John is; whenever you’re dealing with the Four Gospels, the early Acts, or in these Jewish epistles; whenever it refers to the next coming of Christ, it’s the Second Coming, not the Rapture. Because Israel has nothing to do with the Rapture of the Church. But they have everything to do with the Second Coming at the end of the Tribulation. All right, so John now is talking about the Second Coming. I John 3:2b "…but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is." Let’s come back to Acts chapter 1 where the Lord has just been with the Eleven – Judas is gone, Matthias isn’t in yet. So that’s why I use the number eleven. Back in Acts chapter 1, the Lord has been with the Eleven now for forty days. And it’s going to be ten days before the Holy Spirit comes down on Pentecost, so we’re on the Mount of Olives, at the end of the forty days. Acts 1:9-11 "And when he had spoken these things, (that is to the Eleven, up there on the Mount of Olives, no press of the crowds, just Jesus and the Eleven) while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight. 10. And while they looked stedfastly toward heaven as he went up, behold, two men stood by them in white apparel. (these two were angels) 11. Which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven." This same Jesus, just exactly as you have known Him now for the last forty days, after His resurrection, where He could be from one place to the next in a split second, where He could enter into a room without benefit of doors or windows, where He had fish and bread on the shore and He ate with them. He walked with them. He talked with them. He communicated with them. Now that same Jesus that they had been communicating with for these last forty days, this same Jesus which is "taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as you have seen him go into heaven." Now that’s the Second Coming, that’s not the Rapture. And so at the Second Coming He will return in that same physical resurrected body with which He walked forty days with the Eleven. All right now, I always like to tie the New with the Old. So now you come back to the Old Testament and you’ve got the same picture. Zechariah chapter 14. Zechariah, the next to the last book in your Old Testament. If you can’t find it, just find Matthew and go back to the left through Malachi and the next one is Zechariah.

Chapter 14, and of course the first three verses are the closing days of the Tribulation, the horrors of the wrath and the vexation, which will end up with verse 3. This will be when the Tribulation is drawing to a close. Zechariah 14:3 "Then shall the LORD go forth, and fight against those nations, as when he fought in the day of battle." Those nations have all gathered in the valley of Megiddo and every place else. In other words, He’s utterly going to destroy those armies gathered from around the world. Now verse 4, to culminate that reappearance from Heaven. Zechariah 14:4a "And his feet (see, physical. His physical feet) shall stand in that day (the day of His Second Coming) upon the mount of Olives, which is before Jerusalem on the east. And the mount of Olives shall cleave (or separate) in the midst thereof.…" And then you come on over to verse 9, and as he has now returned and is ready to set up that thousand-year reign. Zechariah 14:9a "And the LORD shall be king over (what?) all the earth:.…" Not just Israel. He’s going to be King of Kings and Lord of Lords over all the earth. See, now that’s the Second Coming. I guess I might as well stop at I Thessalonians, chapter 4, on our way back to I John. I always do this just for sake of comparison because much of Christendom has got it all mixed up. They do not know the difference between the Second Coming and the Rapture of the Church. I remember several years ago, Iris and I were attending a service and the speaker was starting out, we thought, with the Rapture. And then it wasn’t long and it was the Second Coming and then pretty soon you couldn’t tell the difference. Well, I wasn’t going to be critical and I wasn’t going to say a word. So we were a long ways down the road and as a rule we don’t chatter too much when I’m driving, but I had been silent for quite a while, and finally Iris looked up at me and she said, "He had it all mixed up, didn’t he?" Yeah, he did. The speaker couldn’t discern the Rapture (when the Church will silently be removed before the Tribulation begins) from the Second Coming at the end of the Tribulation. All right, but now here is where you can discern it. Anybody that can read can see the difference in language. I Thessalonians chapter 4 verse 16, and watch the difference in language. Now this is Paul with regard to the Body of Christ, the end of the Age of Grace, and he says. I Thessalonians 4:16-17 "For the Lord himself (same Lord as Zechariah spoke of, but in a different time element) shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: (that’s the resurrection of the Church Age believers remember) 17. Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord." See, at the Rapture, we’re not going to meet Him on the Mount of Olives, we’re going to be "caught up together with him in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air." Not on the Mount of Olives. Not in Jerusalem. Not on the earth. We’re going to be caught up to meet Him in the air. Now you know, that always reminds me of the story of the servant that went to find a bride (Rebekah) for Isaac. I can never separate that from our picture of the Rapture. I don’t know if it was intended to be typical that way but it certainly is for me. You remember the servant went to find the bride. And I always like to picture that as the Holy Spirit pulling out the believers today. And we’re forming the Body of Christ, day by day. All right, when finally the servant had determined who the bride was to be, he was bringing her back to the home tent of Abraham and Isaac, but before the caravan reaches Isaac’s tent, what has Isaac done? Well, he’s gone out to meet it. And so some place from the place where they consummated their marriage, some place between the home of the bride and the home of Isaac, they met. And then you know

the last verse of that chapter says that Isaac took Rebekah back to his tent and "he loved her." Now if that doesn’t bring tears to your eyes, I don’t know what can. But see, same way here. The Lord is going to come but we’re going to go up to meet Him! Just like Isaac left to meet his bride, we’re going to leave to meet the Lord in the air. And then, "So shall we ever be with the Lord." Now it could just as well say, like it does back in Genesis, "and so will we ever (what?) love Him." Love Him! Because, after all, He’s the God of love and we’re going to be part and parcel of that agape love. Okay, now let’s come back to I John again, chapter 3 and verse 2; that "When he shall appear" at His Second Coming – not the Rapture, but the Second Coming. That even for those Jews who I think, and again I don’t get dogmatic on some of my approaches to prophecy and so forth, but I think these Jews that are going to see Him at His Second Coming, will be that remnant of Israel out there in the wilderness that we see in Matthew 24:16. Now we’ve always taught that at the middle of the Tribulation there’s going to be that escaping remnant of Israel out into the mountains, and God’s going to protect them for three and a half years. Well, those are the Jews that I think are going to see Him coming in all the clouds of Glory and in a moment – that’s what I think the Scripture means when the it says, that "a nation will be born in a day." When those Jews out in the wilderness will see Him coming in the clouds of Glory, and they shall see Him as He is. Then every one of them will suddenly believe. But, John here is not talking about that group of Jews. He’s talking about these who are living and to whom he’s writing. Now you remember we’ve been stressing over the last many months of programs that in these little Jewish epistles of James, and Peter, and John, they were all expecting everything to happen in their lifetime. They were expecting the Tribulation to come and they were expecting to live through it until they would see the Second Coming of Christ and be able to go into the Kingdom. They had no idea that there would be a 2,000-year hiatus. And so John is writing in that same vein that they were to momentarily expect the horrors of the Tribulation and then the Second Coming. And they would "see him as he is." All right, now then verse 3, just as appropriate for us today as it was for the Jews to whom John is writing. I John 3:3a "And every man (now that’s a generic term. We’re including men and women, boys and girls) that hath this hope in him.…" The soon appearing of Christ. Now for the Jews, yes, it was going to be after the seven years of Tribulation but seven years isn’t long for a great event like this to happen and so they were to be looking for him and they were to: I John 3:3b "…purifieth himself, even as he is pure." What does that mean? Well they were to be so expectant for His return that they would have their spiritual house in order. Now you know I’ve given the illustration down through the years. Some of you will say, well I’m not that good of a housekeeper. Some of you are almost the other extreme. But, I think most of you ladies, when you know that company is coming, what do you do? Well you get your house ready to one extent or another. You’re going to have your house in an appropriate order for company. That’s why we appreciate people giving us five minutes! But, it’s just human nature that you want things in order when company comes. Well now, that’s how we’re to treat the Lord’s coming. He may come before we get out of here this afternoon. Is your spiritual house clean? Are you ready for Him? If not, you’d better be. Well, the Jews here were being told the same thing. His coming is not that far down the road. Get your spiritual house in order. Be ready for Him. And, as a consequence, it purifies our Christian walk. Now to come back into the whole concept of the Rapture. A lot of people today have got the idea that it doesn’t

really matter what they do because the Grace of God will cover it and God will be condescending enough. Will He? That’s no guarantee. And so it behooves every believer, every moment of every day to be ready. He may come before we’re out of here and you don’t want to be caught in a compromising situation. You don’t want to be caught in some place that’s dishonoring to the Lord. I’d hate to be. And so it’s a constant reminder to us as well as it was for these Jews and it had a purifying effect on their everyday life. Now we come to the sin situation as John’s going to deal with it. Now sin has been sin ever since the Garden of Eden, hasn’t it? Verse 4. I John 3:4 "Whosoever committeth sin transgresseth also the law: (now he’s talking about the Mosaic Law of course) for sin is the transgression of the law." All right, let’s go back and see how Paul approaches the very same thing. Come back to Romans chapter 3 where Paul deals with that aspect of the Law and here’s how he puts it. Let’s just come in at verse 19. Whether it’s Paul or whether it’s John, doesn’t make any difference. Not in this case because, you see, the Law is God’s standard for the human race and any transgression of it, God calls sin. Romans 3:19 "Now we know that what things soever the law saith, it saith to them who are under the law:.…" In other words, Israel was the only people on earth who were under the system of Law. I just about said ‘religion’ which, of course, would have been appropriate, but nevertheless. Only Israel was under the religious system of Law. But, the holiness of the Law, the omnipotence of the Law, if I may call it that because it’s God-given, didn’t stop at the borders of Israel, it went to the whole world. Even though they were not under the religious system of Law. Go on in the verse: Romans 3:19b "…that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become (not ready for heaven but what?) guilty before God." Because all the world is breaking God’s Law. And if they’re breaking it, they’re guilty and they’re what? They’re sinners. See how it all fits? All right, verse 20. Romans 3:20 "Therefore by the deeds of the law (or by keeping the commandments) there shall no flesh be justified in his sight: for by the law is the knowledge of sin." That’s all the Ten Commandments can do is show us our sin. Show us that we’re lawbreakers. See, that’s why I cannot see that the Ten Commandments have anything to do with the separation of church and state. I just can’t reconcile it. The Ten Commandments have actually nothing to do with "church." The Ten Commandments are God’s moral law, not just for Christians but for the whole human race. You take the Ten Commandments and they are just as valid to a Hindu as they are to a Moslem or anybody else. It’s the Law of the Sovereign God. It has nothing to do with church per se. The only place where the church comes in is that we can bring law-breaking sinners to a knowledge of salvation, but that’s not the Law’s role. The Law is just simply to show mankind God’s moral compass. That’s what it is. All right, let’s come back again to I John. Chapter 3 verse 5. I John 3:5 "And ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin." He was brought into the spotlight of history. "He was manifested to take away our sin." Now let me stop here a minute again. I don’t spend a lot of time in the Four Gospels precisely because that’s where most of you spend your time in Sunday School and Church. But really, if you stop to think, what was Jesus constantly confronting the Pharisees and the religious leaders with? Their sin. Over and over He would tell them, "you are still in your sins." That’s what they didn’t like. They didn’t like to be told that they were sinners, but they were. They were rotten sinners in spite of all their religion. And why? Because they were constantly breaking the Law. And when you break the Law you’re a sinner. It’s that simple. All right, back to our text, "he was manifested to take away man’s sin.

" That’s why He dealt with it constantly in His earthly ministry. And He could do that because "In him is no sin."Now you see, the blasphemers of our day, and they’re getting more and more numerous, are trying to tell us what? That He sinned like anybody else. No He did not! He did not sin. Not even a thought. Had He committed as much as one single sinful thought He could not have been that Lamb of God that took away the sins of the world because the Lamb had to be without blemish.