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raidbossmadi · 4 years

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People Like Us Chapter 4

4.Leaving Eden

Previous Chapter: Here

When the twins had mentioned sending a crew to pick her up the following morning what Sloane hadn’t been expecting was that they’d send their own personal bodyguard along with what appeared to be two high ranking cultists, judging by the robes they wore obscuring their faces and making them seem that much more mysterious.

“Sloane, I presume.” The taller of the two hooded figures asked after a good few minutes of Sloane staring at them from her doorway.

“Uh...yeah, yeah that’s me. Sorry, I guess I was expecting something a little less conspicuous?” She found herself having a hard time stringing together words. Mostly because she was rather stunned at just how big the man in her yard was. She had seen the man known as Mouthpiece in the twins videos but only ever beside Tyreen or by himself and Tyreen by virtue of being short like Sloane made everyone look huge in comparison, but no he was just huge generally.

“I think you will find with the twin gods most things are very conspicuous,child.” The hooded figure offered a hand to take one of her bags, and Sloane handed it over.

“So I know the big guy over there is Mouthpiece but who are you two?” Sloane asked picking up the last of her bags and letting Persephone hop onto her shoulder.

“I am High Priestess Jaxon and my compatriot, High Priest Helios. We are the shepherds of the Twin Gods devoted and we are blessed to serve you as well, sister.”

It was easy to forget the religious aspect of the Children of the Vault as an outsider especially given that Tyreen and Troy’s presentation didn’t scream of holy or divine leanings, they dressed and acted like normal people.

As they made it to the spaceport Sloane felt a bit of anxiousness settle into the pit of her stomach. She had never been to space, was getting in a spaceship scary? She hoped it was just like getting in a car that just happened to fly and could travel at lightspeed.

“Come along, the God-Queen will not be pleased with us if we run behind schedule.” Helios said giving her a nudge as she had slowed down her pace.

“Right, sorry. It’s just a lot to process.” She gave a nervous smile but made sure to keep up with her entourage as they approached the loading deck for the dropship. It was small and compact and at first she wasn’t entirely sure all four of them would fit in it.

Sloane filed in sitting down between the two priests before Mouthpiece ducked in and proved that yes they could in fact all fit. She pulled down the seat belt, secured Persphone in her lap, and dug her nails into the armrest of the chair as the door to the cabin clicked shut.

A holographic image of the ship above them flickered into existence in the center of the pod. Jaxon reached over and put in a series of inputs before the words ‘clear for reentry’ appeared over the ship and the pod engines began humming as they warmed up.

“It’ll be over before you know it.” Sloane reassured herself quietly as the pod pitched upward and rumbled. She closed her eyes reigning in the desire to scream as the fear that they would burn up in the atmosphere hit her. After what felt like a long time the pod jostled to a stop the engines dying back down.

The doors gave a pneumatic hiss as they opened to a red tinted room, and Sloane shook off the dazed feeling that overtook her as she rose then followed the entourage out of the pod. They had stepped out into a large engineering bay, a klaxon blaring as the red light flashed again and Sloane watched as a large mechanism picked up the dropship and slid it into a storage compartment beside many others.

“Clearance please!” A woman in engineer’s coveralls declared as she approached the group.

“For fucksake Lydia, who else is going to be dragging around Mouthpiece and the Twin God’s new favored.” Jaxon hissed yet nonetheless pulled an ID card from her robe.

“Just doing my job Jaxon, I’ll send word to the God-Queen you’ve made it back, she should be in the Cathedral.” Lydia remarked.

The Priestess made a disapproving noise as they walked past. “Mouthpiece, take Sloane’s bags to the Twin God’s quarters. We will deliver her to the God-Queen.”

Outside of the engineering bay the ship opened up to large spacious hallways that reminded Sloane more of a city street than a hall. Though she supposed the Calypso’s flagship was meant to be a floating town. There was signage that pointed to where food and living spaces were located as well as the ship's medical bay. She had worried that the ship would feel claustrophobic so she was glad that fear had been dispelled quickly, though it was apparent that the ship was in a period of downtime as the halls were sparsely populated save for a few people that appeared to be lower ranking members of the twins clergy.

They came to a large set of double doors spray painted with ‘Like, Follow, and Obey’ across the top along with the inverted vault symbol that was the CoV’s calling card. Jaxon and Helios pushed the doors open then gestured for Sloane to come in.

“The God-Queen is expecting you.”

Sloane walked into the chamber and heard the doors click shut behind her. The lights in the room were dim but she could make out rows of pews forming aisles that she stood in the center of, the main source of illumination was a spot light over a dais at the end of the room. Perched on the dais where two thrones, though for the moment only one was occupied. Tyreen has never looked more the part of God-Queen in the time that Sloane had been around her, her ice blue eyes trained on the other siren as Sloane made her way to the base of the dais.

“Well look who made it.” Tyreen rose from her seat a smirk creeping up her face. “I hope you found the priest escort welcoming.”

Sloane watched as Tyreen walked down the steps towards her, her gait still smooth and predatory. “I did, and I’m pretty impressed with what I’ve seen of the ship so far too.”

“Thanks, you should let Troy know. This ship is his baby, and I don’t think he gets enough credit for it.” Tyreen was standing in front of her now, ice blue eyes locked on hers. “So, you’ve decided to join the Children of the Vault, to pledge yourself to Troy and I in return for freedom. Now there’s some rules that come with joining our family, I think you’ll find they’re all very fair. I am a just God after all.”

Sloane swallowed nervously, though she knew Tyreen wasn’t about to hurt her; this was her stage, she was entirely in control of the situation.

“Here’s the deal, we can’t have you appearing as a threat to our reign or anything like that. So the narrative Troy’s spinning is that you’re our Siren, a stray we took in out of the kindness of our hearts, you belong to us. We’ll say you’re blessing to tip the scales in our favor, after all one more Siren on my side means one less Siren for the Crimson Raiders to have access to. ”

“Ok, so what does belonging to you entail? Am I going to have to humiliate myself by walking around completely nude do I? Cos I am super not about doing that.”

“What? No, you’ll get looked after by Troy and I,have all your needs attended to, just one tiiiiny little catch.” Tyreen reached into her pocket and pulled out a leather collar not unlike the one she was wearing right now and spun it idly on her finger. “You belong to us so I’m keeping you in arms reach. ”

Oddly enough Tyreen seemed nervous as she tried to assure Sloane that there was nothing sketchy going on here. Though her assurances did make Sloane feel better about it all, after all who wouldn’t want two of the most powerful people in the universe to spoil them and not expect anything but loyalty in return.

“ I’ll do what you and Troy want, be whatever you want me to be,I promise.” Sloane teased, sticking her tongue out at the last bit.

“ Like you have a choice now anyway right?” Tyreen gave a small smirk before she reached around Sloane’s neck and affixed the collar around it. “Not too tight?”

Sloane shook her head as she adjusted to the feel of it around her neck. Granted she had known that joining the Calypso’s was likely to come with some sort of price she just hadn’t expected anything like this.

“Cool, now I think you’ll agree, it’s been a bit of a hectic day. Probably more so for you than myself, so why don’t we head up to my room and get some sleep?” Tyreen suggested, a small yawn punctuated the end of her sentence.

“I’m sleeping with you? Like you aren’t worried I’ll try to kill you?” Sloane asked, a bit surprised by this, especially given how tight the twins security had been so far.

“Yeah of course you’re sleeping with me, it’s how you socialize someone into feeling comfortable around you right? Besides honey, if you try anything I’ll just turn you into another statue for my collection.” There was a loneliness that flashed in Tyreen’s eyes that made her words seem like an empty threat, she didn’t want to do that, not really. “Troy will want a word with you too, but he’s already turned in for the night and it’s best not to bother him.”

Tyreen motioned for Sloane to follow and lead her behind the thrones where a door stood at the back of the dias leading to a stairway. At the top they came out to a more homely looking part of the ship and walked toward a hallway with a hand scanner at the door.

“We’ll get your biometrics added to the system in the morning, I don’t expect you to go anywhere without one of us for a while but it saves me the trouble.” Tyreen said as the double doors slid open revealing a small wing of the ship. There were four doors, two on each side of the hallway, each emblazoned with a symbol in the center of the door. The two on the left had a game controller and flower, while the right had Troy’s dual skulls and snake emblem and the last had a skull wearing a crown. Tyreen approached this door and again placed her hand on the scanner.

“C’mon in.”

Sloane walked into the room, which lit up as Tyreen walked in it was a fairly neat room with a small living and kitchenette in the main area, there was a desk in one corner of the room that seemed to be Tyreen’s brainstorming station as papers were all over it and the wall behind it. Next to the desk was a door that was currently ajar and Sloane could see that it was the bedroom, she followed Tyreen in and discovered that her bags were waiting for her in a neat stack at the foot of a bed that was easily big enough to fit three people. Tyreen walked into the connected bathroom pajamas in hand, Sloane used the opportunity to dig through her bags for her own trading places with the God-Queen and then getting settled in the bed.

She was a little nervous given that she had never shared a bed in any context before now. But as she climbed under the covers the warmth of the bed was enough to quiet any reservations she might have plus the bed was so large that Tyreen might as well not even be in it. It wasn’t long before Tyreen’s slow even breathing filled the Sloane needed as her eyes began to flutter shut marking the close of the first day of her new life.

#People Like Us #Troy Calypso #Tyreen Calypso #borderlands 3 #Sloane the Siren #My Writing #My HCs

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insertdisc5 · 5 years

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homestuck epilogues stuff

thoughts about the homestuck epilogues, as in, spoilers and theories and things ive noticed by reading it over twice and talking with friend @kravicle while they were reading

this is just a list of theories me and krav came up with ok. also stuff u might not pick up in only one read? we’re just spitballing here

MEAT AND CANDY TEREZI ARE PROBABLY ONE AND THE SAME

> just didnt see proof they weren't the same lmao, we only get john+terezi's messages from both timelines and she could have gotten messages from both meat!john and candy!john

>time is fucked on her end also so (shrugs)

>(terezi meeting meat!john) "something else is different about him. different, somehow, from how she thought he’d be when she imagined they’d next meet. under all the gore, he smells... too fresh."

>TEREZI: HMMM

TEREZI: YOU SM3LL OLD3R

TEREZI: BUT NOT 4S OLD 4S 1 THOUGHT YOUD B3

JOHN: what does that mean?

TEREZI: DONT WORRY 4BOUT 1T

>"In multiple realities, all [John] wanted for her was this. To be home safe, with all their friends. And now that she’s here, she’s lost."

> (meeting Meat!roxy) "Terezi’s head is filled with stories about a different version of Roxy—the polar opposite of the one standing in front of her."

DIRK’S PLAN PART 1 (free will)

>maybe plans to get Actual Free Will thru ultimate godhood??? also explains why he feels okay with removing free will from his friends- for him, this isnt real free will anyway?

>(dirk talking about kanaya) "What WAS she thinking? What are any of us thinking, really? Who’s doing the thinking, and who’s having the thoughts?

The more you study the question, the more it seems all concrete forms of accountability go up in smoke. Her original thoughts were never that important, and the significance of the idea that she was the one authoring them was always a bit overrated. My mission is to someday clear this all up for everyone. Remove the ambiguity, suck the mud out of the water. It’ll be a lot better that way, trust me."

>to old callie, dirk's plan "[john’s] ultimate sacrifice was made to put the missing keystone in place and avert the supreme dissipation of all that shall be considered to hold truth, relevance, and essentiality."

>although narrator callie thinks this world has some sort of actual free will. says "[john should kiss terezi etc]. it’s wrong to contradict one’s true thoughts and feelings. irrational. unbecoming of an existence governed by free will."

>his plan to give everyone/ultimate gods “free will” will end up destroying canon????

DIRK’S PLAN PART 2 (complacency of the learned, ultimate self)

>complacency of the learned, 12 people attaining ultimate knowledge (=ultimate self), and turning "either insane or evil"

> (candy ending, rose’s POV) "The thoughts in her powerful brain race. What will they name the planet? How long will it take for the ship to arrive? Once the new race has established an advanced enough civilization thousands of years from now, who will the lucky kids be? The ones who get the chance to play what will arguably be the most important session in the history of Sburb?"

>finding more people to attain ultimate godhood???

>dirk asks terezi to come with him and rose at the end of meat, along with john's body (implied that she did accept-callie!jade points and dave thinks she points both to dirk+rose and john+terezi, callie doesnt prove him otherwise)

>dirk wants 12 ultimate gods for each aspect????

>"If your perception expands beyond the meat sack of your body, then are you really an individual anymore? Why shouldn’t we become gods? Why shouldn’t we become one God."

- (callie speaking) "[John] is simply being barred from ignoring his true thoughts. even without the aid of a juju, he is fortunate enough to be blessed with the only true form of divinity. to be released from the prison of nonsensical inhibitions which so often psychologically hobble the more primitive forms of life."

>callie is probably an ultimate god, terezi should be?? with rem8mb8r?

DIRK’S NARRATOR STUFF

>dirk probably doesnt know hes in a story/that he has an audience (us) "How can I respect a fucking pronoun when nobody can even hear me?”

>does dirk control people by using you-ness? using 2nd person to control, 3rd person to narrate?

>”JADE: and where there is an identity, there can also be an agenda.”

CANDY TIMELINE STUFF

>part of the black hole, a utopia, place removed from reality/canon in some way??? WEIRDO DREAM BUBBLE????

>cut off from canon in some way- dirk and rose cant get to ultimate godhood anymore, john cant use retcon powers

>candy!john mentions multiple times he doesnt think of him and his friends as "real"

>sky in candy!timeline described as more vibrant (VS pre-sburb being described as muted)

>candy!karkat talking to sollux and probably being foreshadowing without knowing: “KARKAT: I THOUGHT THAT YOU TWO LITERALLY DIDN’T EXIST ANYMORE! KARKAT: OR AT THE VERY LEAST WERE TRAPPED IN A DEAD UNIVERSE PERPETUALLY COLLAPSING INTO ITS OWN ASSHOLE.”

>CALLIOPE: we’re all going to be very, very happy. I trUly believe that. ^u^

>ROSE: Oh Kanaya, you’re right.

ROSE: We are going to be so astonishingly happy!

>ROXY: omg

ROXY: were gonna be SO freakin happy!

>Dirk in Meat: "Cherubs are fuckin’ weird, I’ll totally concede. Still not sure what makes them tick. What they idealize, what they really want. It all comes across to me as a little cloying. Perfection to them is a sweetness beyond comprehension. Sugar so potent it’s poison to us. To our bodies, to our souls. Like the place she was operating from was a realm of self-construction. A bubble of pure, phantasmal confection."

>end of meat!callie can see into candy!timeline ROXY: they stay home all day with the blinds drawn paintin some weird ass shit on the walls

TEREZI: WH4T?

ROXY: its not as bad as it sounds i promise

ROXY: some of it is like

ROXY: weird and violent??

ROXY: like lotsa nasty purple blood and um

ROXY: nudity????

TEREZI: >:?

ROXY: yeah yikes

ROXY: but MOST of it is cute stuff like... various combos of all of us being happy and gettin married and shit

>obama’s here. god i need a minute

>dirk told gamzee something???

“DAVE: wheres dirk

GAMZEE: tHeRe’S nO nEeD tO wOrRy AbOuT hIm. :o)

GAMZEE: YoU’rE gOnNa GeT wHaT’s BeSt FoR yOu. He ToLd Me ThAt, AnD i’M gOnNa MaKe SuRe HiS wIsH mAkEs LiKe A mOtHeRfUcKiNg MiRaClE aNd GeTs TrUe.

[...]

GAMZEE: YoU dOn’T gOt AnY nEeD tO gO aNd CoNcErN yOuRsElF wItH hIs MoRtAl FlEsH bOdY oUt HeRe In ThIs CaNdYcAnE wHiRlPoOl BeYoNd ThE iNfInItE bLaCk WiNk Of ThE wIcKeD sInGuLaRiTy, My NiNjA.

GAMZEE: a SaCk Of MeAt AnD bOnEs In OnE lIfE oR tHe NeXt Is OnLy A mEaNs To ThE fInAl ToTaLiTy ThAt WiLl DaMn AnD rAiSe Us AlL iN bRiLlIaNt ApOtHeOsIs.

GAMZEE: In ThE oNe TrUe LiFe We AlL fLoW fRoM tHe OnE tRuE pEn,

GAMZEE: aNd EvErY hEaD rOlLs DoWn ThE pAtH tO tHe OnE tRuE hAnD.”

> dirk before killing himself: “ It is the very last moment of narratively consequential action that will happen in this whole, barren world. “

OTHER STUFF

> dirk teaching men about "combat, philosophy, life, love." (jake, dave, obama, not said explicitly but also probably gamzee????) what is UP with that

>gamzee also wanting to teach kid tavros about combat philosophy life love, “to behave the way a mentor does”

>re: john “Your complete lack of remarkability, specific motivation, drive, opinion on where to direct your own fate—these deficiencies are exactly what made you so useful, so susceptible to being endowed with the you-ness I’ve borrowed to satisfy my purposes.”

>at the end of meat, callie in jade's body in candy timeline kills lord english and gets big powers or whatever. cherub stuff

>terezi gets a text at the end of Meat, we dont know from whom (candy!(vriska)?)

>john left letters for everyone in Meat but no one’s found them yet?

>snapchats were probably before the split

>this whole post makes both me and krav sound like we’re been talking about this for 24 hours straight (we did)

#homestuck #upd8 #homestuck epilogue #homestuck epilogues #maybe this will help someone whos better at writing down stuff lmao #our brains hurt #DONT @ ME I DONT WANNA THINK ABOUT THE EPILOGUE ANYMORE #but yes i did love the epilogues thank u #this also isnt art im sorry

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vurde · 5 years

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What Nipsey Taught Me...

Serving as both the opening and title track of his last album, Victory Lap reflects the beauty of knowing and standing firm in your greatness.

Life is a Marathon

Proclaiming without hesitation, with the words “I’m prolific, so gifted, I’m gonna be the type that’s gonna go get it. No kidding,” reminds you the listener, that his album is the culmination of a lot of hard work and necessary confidence in self. Seeds planted for more than a decade by Hussle, with his latest, reflecting all the fruit born beforehand. So what is one to gain from that?

From making his rounds on the mixtape circuit to changing the game with his albums Crenshaw & Mailbox Money where he laid claim to what he knew he was worth, Nipsey taught me that no one is going to claim it for you until you do. As he did for so many, he showed me that our greatness starts from within. You must go in and tap into, and it’s a necessity because many things surrounding us, deters us from grasping it and instead, holding on to things familiar and comfortable, even if it’s not reflective of your highest potential.

You Have to Stay Dedicated

With lyrics so vivid like “This ain’t entertainment, it’s for n****s on the slave ship, these songs just the spirituals I swam against them waves with, ended up on shore, to they amazement,” One can’t help but think about what he is saying.

When listening to the song Dedication, I find myself dissecting each cadence and word in his verses. Feeling every ounce of the truth, spoken by Hussle. His knowledge, recall of experiences and lessons learned, continually serving as a playbook of many for those on their modern-day slave ship.

Instantly feeling the urge to fall deeper into his words giving a spiritual cleansing like the power of those that led many of our ancestors to the freedom he speaks on — his words serving as a blueprint for our survivals manual. Meant to help you learn how to get over the landmines life can throw at us.

Sometimes getting us off track of connecting with our north star, the purpose Nipsey often spoke of, that serves as our reason for existence. Each of us dedicated to our path, being triumphant against our own set of waves, often turbulent and unpredictive. But as Nipsey once stated, “I’m about seeing long-term, seeing a vision, understanding nothing worthwhile happens overnight, and just sticking to your script long enough to make something real happen.” Providing this necessary reminder at times when I find myself wanting to throw in the towel and go to what’s familiar.

His lyrics about dedication, self-awareness, culture, loyalty, love of self & thy neighbor, and living a purposeful life, resonated with so many.

Live a Purposeful Life

His impact is evident in the effect he had on so many — someone who was a Movement, not just a Man.

Reflecting a movement towards finding your purpose and using it to the utmost to be able to uplift both yourself and those around you. With verses like “Spoke some things into the universe and it appeared,” Hussle sheds light on the power of manifestation and as our elders say, speaking things into existence. He expressed his truth, made it happen and ensured that part of his legacy reflected his dedication to helping his community.

Nipsey later shares his sentiments that we all must find our purpose or if not “we’re wasting air.” Having no cut cards, Hussle speaking plainly that we are here to serve some purpose. A purpose that we must all seek.

Despite how easy it is to want to take the blue pill and remain in our usual cocoon of comfort, simply put, if it’s not feeding your soul, speaking to your spirit, you’re wasting your time on earth. Now, this isn’t meaning that everyone’s purpose is to start a business, become a hip-hop artist and become the next multi-millionaire, it speaks to something a lot simpler than that. See purpose is having an intention behind your action.

Don’t be afraid to jump off the deep end, even without a life jacket

I often find myself reflecting on life after hearing the aforementioned verse. Are my steps purposeful? Doing a constant check-in on whether I’m walking in alignment with that purpose and in what ways am I still out of alignment towards that purpose.

See this album came out during a time when I began wrestling with those two questions. Am I leading a purposeful life? Am I in alignment with that purpose. As I hit a point of absolute burnout from my then-work as an HR Director, recognizing that although I was relatively young and nearly 15 years junior to my peers, the work I was doing at that time no longer fed my spirit nor many of the gifts I knew I was denying by remaining in both an environment that left me comfortably uncomfortable.

Nipsey’s verses were serving as the perfect soundtrack during my times of ideating of days where I was finally walking in closer alignment with my purpose. The more I connected with people also sharing their interest in walking more towards the light and gift they felt inside, my burning desire to determine if I could connect intentional living practices, food, and overall self-care wellness practices to help guide those of us wanting to take a pause from the daily rat race and tap intentionally into their divine spirit.

As one who spent years, getting and even living a firsthand glimpse of people who choose to dim their light for the sake of being comfortable in the status quo, I learned that every frustrating moment and hardship I faced was a blessing. For it served as a type of intel and insight meant for me to help solve a problem all too familiar and accepted.

It’s amazing how the universe will shift things for you when you become more confident going towards that light.

Run Your Own Race

As he reminds us in Blue Laces 2, “You can have it all; it’s all about your race.” The latter verse serves as a gentle nudge to remember that life truly is a marathon, not a sprint that we all must run at our own God-given pace. As the old saying is “what is for you, is for you.” Remaining anchored in that fact is one albeit, at times hard to not get deterred from that reality, one must fight hard as hell to stay self-aware and grateful for their journey, every present moment of it.

Even the rough patches, the valley’s, it is all perfectly designed for you. Sometimes finding purpose and gratitude in those moments, helps with also helping us connect with the inner power we have to shift things as Nipsey would often talk about, making a shift in the positive energy we want to give out in the universe.

All the greatness and magnificent magic that you possess from within and may desire is attainable; you have to decide to show up and get into the race. Researchers like Brene Brown categorize this as “Stepping into the Arena.” As she notes in many of her talks, it is those who decide to step into the arena who bravely declare regardless of what others may think, that they will live life on their terms and reflect the talents given to them from the creator in a way that is of service to all. She also talks about how many of us aren’t willing to step into the arena, and in exchange decide to remain on the sidelines, serving as bystanders on the road of life, at times becoming naysayers towards those choosing to step into the arena.

The Point of It All

In his final track, I felt that Nipsey shed light on the fact that We are all God personified in human form. One day, we will sit at the right hand of God. Until that day, until our last breath, we are to use every bit of our magic, our joy to glorify both his name but also to breathe vibrant life into our communities.

Whether raising your children, leading your team at work, or hustling to get your business off the ground, whatever it is, do it in a way that is tackling and speaks directly to having a lasting impact on your community. From his lyrics, Nipsey wasn’t mum to share his inner visions and divine knowledge of what our earthly existence personifies.

This thing we call life is far more significant than the existence we usually attach to it. I find myself reflecting on this the more I age, life happens, and the transition of prolific lights like Nipsey who seem to move on just a moment too soon.

Times like these make you take a moment to sit back to ask about life’s purpose. Even if we can’t quite grasp it in the here and now, there will be a time where your dope self in your human form will no longer be. As anchored in the sentiments received from LA comrade Kendrick song “Sing About Me/Dying of Thirst,” one can’t help but reflect on are you living a life that has had an impact on someone other than yourself. For those are the people who generations sing of for decades.

Who do you inspire?

Do you serve as a place of inspiration for your children, nephews, nieces, colleagues, husband, wife, partner, parents or self? Not sure? That’s ok. But begin to ask yourself that.

Reflect on whether the energy you’re putting out is positive and reflecting love for yourself and those around you. If the answer is no, begin to unravel what brings you joy. What things don’t. I’m finding that when you have the courage to slowly but surely reveal more of yourself and the pure love that I feel resides in all of us, this is when you begin to find yourself as an inspiration to both yourself and others. Even in moments when you’re not even feeling as if you are. Nipsey reflected the power of how we all are attracted to people who boldly decide to reflect so much love and light to live as their authentic self and reflect that to their community and serve as a beacon for others.

Nipsey led the type of purposeful life that, even amid the sorrow and pain we currently feel, I find joy in the fact that he left his creative genius in the form of motivational spirituals. Each album serving as a hymnal of triumph in music form of what is like being a black person, particularly a black man in America. Each available for us to connect to, as another essential survival guide to boldly jump off the deep end and swim against those waves.

Giving a nod to Jay- & Beyoncé upon the release of their album the Carters, last summer Hussle posted on IG that “The Highest Human Act is to Inspire.” I couldn’t agree with that statement more.

In his lifetime he personified this unselfish human act by inspiring many generations now and many more to come.

Rise in Power King Nipsey.

#purpose #legacy #nipsey hussle

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la-vita-in-arancione · 5 years

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Killer Queen: Chapter 7 - Bohemian Rhapsody

Summary: Arabella Ruth White is the fifth member of the Marauders. And life at Hogwarts certainly isn’t easy. Especially when you have alcohol, relationships, unhealthy music obsessions, a fake stage persona, weird ass friends with weird ass problems and actual school all thrown into the equation. (This story is also on Wattpad and AO3 of the same name. I will always update on Wattpad first.)

A/N: Sorry I didn’t post last week even though I said I would. Half term ended up being busier than planned. We are now up to date with the Watttpad version of this story so that’s something! Enjoy!

Warning(s): swearing, mention of babies because that might be triggering for some people

Word Count: 2.6k+

Taglist: @missqueeniewrites

Ask to be on my taglist!

I don't often receive owl mail. I just don't. No idea why. My darling bastards of siblings can never be bothered to write to me, claiming that if they send me loads of letters then we'll have nothing to talk about when I get home. Which is fair enough. Even if it does seem a bit rude. But oh well. What are you going to do?

The only good thing about it, however, was that when I did get owl mail, it was always about something important. Some of my favourite letters have been from Rhea telling me that she never intended to speak to Luke ever again, only for her to reverse this statement only one day later; one from Mum telling me that the lady who owned the chippy on the pier had had a baby; and one from Luke telling me that said baby had shat on the carpet of his bedroom and that he now had to share with Rhea.

So, going by this logic, every letter I will ever get while at Hogwarts is guaranteed to be either important, amusing or both. This means it's worth my time. I reminded myself of this when I acquired my first letter of the year on a misty Friday morning which just so happened to be Halloween. As it was a Friday, I was naturally exhausted after the long week we had had (our OWLs must have been catching up with me). This was why I felt the need to remind myself that I absolutely had to read this letter. It could remodel my entire life my life for all I knew. The untidy bordering on illegible handwriting on the envelope clearly told me it was from Mum. I ripped it open and not one but two things were inside: a short letter from Mum and a small parcel which was the unmistakable size and shape of a single vinyl record.

Hello Ruth,

I actually apparated to just outside the school gates to owl this to you as it couldn't wait any longer. This morning Queen released a new single and you'll find it enclosed in the envelope. It's called Bohemian Rhapsody and the B-side is called I'm In Love With My Car. God knows what inspires them to make these songs. Steve from the record shop down the road says both songs are superb and that you'll like them if not love them. No news as to when the album is coming yet.

I hope everything's been going alright at school. How is the "project" going? Please tell me you've started by now, it's not fair on Remus to keep him waiting for this long. Sorry for not owling you sooner but to be honest, nothing much has happened in the two months you've been gone. The only thing really worth noting is that someone tried to shoplift some things from the shop so I threw a bucket and spade at them. They haven't come back since.

Luke and Rhea send their love of course, not that they would ever admit it in the presence of the other. Trixie from next door also asked me to check up on you as she hadn't seen you much all summer. I can't wait for Christmas so you can come back, thankfully it's only less than a couple of months. I'm slowly losing my mind without anyone else here to have an intelligent conversation with.

Love you lots,

Mum xxx

Fuck yes, Mum.

She is an actual savage and I love that so much. Only she would get away with throwing kids toys at thieves. Sounds like he deserved it though. What kind of crackhead would assume they could steal from my mum and get away with it. I made a promise to myself to reply to her after lessons had ended for the day.

But on a more important note. Queen released a new single.

Two new songs.

Holy shitting fuckity fuck on a crumpet.

FINALLY NEW MATERIAL.

AFTER A FUCKING YEAR.

YES.

The gods must have been smiling at me that day for this was a glory that not even Clotho could have foreseen. I unwrapped the record, more carefully this time as to not scratch it, and, true to Steve's word, there was the vinyl: Bohemian Rhapsody. Whatever the fuck that meant. Sounded pretty epic though.

"Are you OK Ruth?" Remus asked, mock concern lacing his voice. He'd given up on trying to teach us how to stay alive years ago, now he merely observed and occasionally saved our lives. Honestly, bless that boy. However, it wasn't until he had asked this question that I realised this wasn't the first time the boys had tried to get my attention since I received the letter.

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic, darling. Never been better," I grinned.

"Now here's the thing, I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not," Peter chuckled, causing me to lightly whack him around the back of the head.

"No, you bloody wanker, I am genuinely joyful."

"Well that's new," Sirius muttered, earning him also a small smack. I would never properly hit any of my friends unless they had absolutely betrayed me. Which was unlikely.

"What's so good about this letter then?" James asked earnestly, just a tad confused.

I smirked at him, "If you come and bunk this lesson with me then you'll find out."

So that's how the boys and I ended up in the Room of Requirement, listening to Queen's latest song, instead of being in Divination.

At some point during my first year, I found out about the Room of Requirement when I overheard a conversation between some 7th years. Upon discovering this, I promptly went to the room's location, wishing for a space for music. A bit vague, I must admit, but at the time, I had merely been searching for a place to keep my record player and vinyls. The room itself was not as plain as I first visualized. Many wooden, modest-sized crates and boxes filled to the brim with my records were scattered around - more of an organised mess than you might expect. Each crate was dedicated to a certain artist who I loved: Queen, Elton John, David Bowie, The Beatles, etc. My scarlet, black and gold record player sat proudly on top of a dark oak cupboard that existed for purely decorative purposes. A grand piano stood on the other side of the spacious room next to a throne of sorts that I felt was necessary to have. A crimson, old-fashioned sofa was positioned at the back of the room with an identical ivory one opposite it. Fairy lights were tangled in just about everything in the room, adding to the general aesthetic rather than any form of assistance. If anything, it was more of a nuisance but I would never sacrifice the atmosphere it presented.

The boys plonked themselves on the leather sofas as I crouched down, carefully placed the record on the turntable and adjusted the speed from the usual 33 RPM to the 45 setting. I put the needle on the rim of the record and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the speakers. I loved to have them right next to my ears whenever I listened to a record for the first time. Especially when it came to Queen – it didn't escape my attention that the sound often went from one speaker to the other. I closed my eyes softly when I heard the familiar crackle that always made me grin like an idiot. There was something about focusing on just my hearing and giving my other senses break. That was how music was supposed to be – for your ears.

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

The strong harmonies rang throughout the room, almost echoing.

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality

Open your eyes

Look up to the skies and see

The piano started to creep in, gradually getting louder as the song progressed.

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy

Freddie's effortlessly recognisable voice sung alone for a moment, only for the harmonies to make a comeback.

Because I'm easy come, easy go

Little high, little low

The lyrics filled both of my ears, left then right. It was so stereotypically Queen; it was like their seal, their stamp, their trademark that said 'Yeah, we did that'.

Anyway, the wind blows

Doesn't really matter to me, to me

The repetitive notes of the piano and John's wonderful bass sound played alone for a couple of bars.

Mama, just killed a man

Put a gun against his head

Pulled my trigger, now he's dead

Somewhat taken aback by the dark turn the lyrics had taken, I felt goosebumps up and down my arms as a reaction to the melancholic feel of the song.

Mama, life had just begun

But now I've gone and thrown it all away

The song as a whole rose to a crescendo. I could hear the emotion and passion in Freddie's voice – it was almost ethereal.

Mama, ooh, ooh

Didn't mean to make you cry

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow

Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

The volume suddenly decreased. Roger's drumming became more prominent in this verse.

Too late, my time has come

Sends shivers down my spine

Body's aching all the time

Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

Mama, ooh (anyway the wind blows) I don't want to die

I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all

The lyrics got darker if that was even possible. The clear, sharp sound of Brian's guitar solo filled every inch of the room. After about half a minute of glorious guitar, all of the instruments were cut short by quiet, staccato piano chords.

I see a little silhouette of a man

Scaramouch, Scaramouch will you do the fandango

I wasn't exactly expecting a full-on choir that was truly just Freddie, Roger and Brian's voices on top of each other, over and over again. I dreaded to imagine how long that must have taken to record.

Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me

Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo,

Galileo Figaro magnifico

The 'Galileo's made me giggle: how the fuck could Roger sing higher than me? I understand that I'm an alto but he's a bloke!

But I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

He's just a poor boy from a poor family

Spare him his life from this monstrosity

Easy come easy go will you let me go

Bismillah, no we will not let you go, let him go

Bismillah, we will not let you go, let him go

Bismillah, we will not let you go, let me go

A tiny smile crept its way onto my face at hearing 'Bismillah'. It was a word that I had heard Dorcas say on numerous occasions.

Will not let you go, let me go (never)

Never let you go, let me go

Never let me go, ooh

No, no, no, no, no, no, no

Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me

For me, for me

Roger's ridiculously high voice filled my ears once again, even higher-pitched this time around. Louder, more rock-orientated music blasted out of the speakers of the record player. I couldn't help but bang my head along to it. It was like being hypnotised; you couldn't control your movements.

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye

So you think you can love me and leave me to die

Oh baby, can't do this to me baby

Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

The song quietened down again, not unlike how it had been at the beginning.

Ooh yeah, ooh yeah nothing really matters

Anyone can see nothing really matters

Nothing really matters to me

Anyway, the wind blows

The last line was barely audible but fortunately, I could make out Freddie's voice from my spot next to the speakers. When I finally opened my eyes again, I could see the boys had been straining to hear it. A gong sounded throughout the room, marking the end of the song.

I glanced at the boys, wanting to observe their reactions to the near enough six-minute masterpiece we had just had the privilege of hearing.

"That was definitely worth missing Divination for," Remus chuckled and honestly, that was the best I could have ever hoped for. We spent the next 20 minutes gushing about the song and listening to it again about 2 or 3 times. Only after this did we realise that we hadn't yet listened to the B-side: I'm In Love With My Car. Unsurprisingly, it was written and sung by Roger and was indeed about him being in love with his car. Not quite sure what I was expecting if I'm honest. It turned out to actually be a brilliant song and the boys and I had a blast rocking out to it.

Suddenly I had an epiphany. That absolutely, completely, positively could not wait a moment longer.

So naturally, I had to tell the boys.

"Guys, guys, guys!" I exclaimed, everyone turning their heads to stare at me like they were a clan of meerkats, "Remember our Halloween prank tonight at dinner? Change of plan."

**********

The rest of the day was a fairly normal affair. I could hardly concentrate because my mind was buzzing with thoughts about Queen and our prank tonight. Nothing out of the ordinary then.

By the time dinner came around, the excitement was radiating off us in waves. Somehow, this was the first prank we had done all year, which was certainly saying something. Just as Dumbledore stood up from his seat to give one if his famed speeches, I tapped on the table to signify the start of the prank. Peter took his cue and murmured a charm, making all of the candles suddenly blow out and plunging the Great Hall into darkness. Hushed whispers from confused students were suddenly silenced by the sound of a microphone whistling. This meant Remus had executed his part of the plan, now it was time for James's. Being the best at Transfiguration out of all of us, his job was to transform the metal torches at the tops of the walls into various different instruments - guitars, basses, drums, pianos, gongs, wind chimes, etc. Now for my part. I charmed all of the floating pumpkins in the hall so they would sing. Which song you ask? Bohemian Rhapsody, of course, my dears. I smiled when the familiar voices of Queen echoed all around the Great Hall. Once the acapella part of the song was over, Sirius charmed the newly made instruments so they would play their respective parts when needed. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing: even in the darkness, I could make out some facial expressions that could only be described as a mixture of confusion, annoyance, glee and defeat.

The song seemed to be over before it had even begun, which was a shame. Everyone applauded as we reversed the spells and Dumbledore actually congratulated us in his speech! McGonagall, however, reprimanded us and gave us detentions for disrupting the dinner or some bullshit like that. I personally believed she secretly loved the prank. Maybe the eye roll suggested this as she trooped back to the teacher's table. Or maybe I had imagined it.

Who even knows any more?

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sleepymarmot · 5 years

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ESO: MW - Main quest + Ald’ruhn

*starts the Ald'ruhn part of the main quest* *hurriedly tries to remember anything about Chodala except I had his axe and it gave me some stat bonus. unless it's a different Chodala, which isn't likely*

Sorry, how did you pronounce "Nerevarine"? "Nere-VE-ryn"?? Where's the "e" coming from? Excuse me while I ignore this and continue to say "Nere-va-REEN" in my head

please don't say "Make Morrowind great again"

Uhh so what I can put together at this point is that Chodala was the Ashlander thief and this staff belongs to the Clavicus Vile worshippers. Funny how this Prince's area is similar to the actual Moon-and-Star ring, which gives bonuses to persuasion. Before I remembered the previous section's plot, I thought he got the ring!

Oh right, I have Chodala's letter to the Red Exiles in my inventory as a quest item. The thief wasn't Chodala himself but a random Red Exile he gave this task. Strange, he employs Red Exiles to retrieve the staff and then tries to impress other Red Exiles with it?

I can't believe an Ashlander guard just charged me the bounty from trespassing on Redoran territory to fetch an item this same group of Ashlanders asked for!

"The Urshilaku salute you, n'wah" the use of this word sure has changed huh

"Vehk, Sotha Sil and the Mad Wife" excuse me what kind of sexism is this????

The introductions to the tribes were appreciated, but I still can't decide which one Issurani is from. I didn't want to go with Urshilaku, but the book said most Ashlander mages are from there, and she's definitely interested in lore etc - but from what the tribe representative said, they mostly care about the Nerevarine prophecies specifically, and this character isn't about that. Zainab are completely out. Erabenimsun might be the best fit...

Oh, I didn't realize that the "Investigate Ald'ruhn" quest was already over, and was confused why there were no main quest markers in the camp lol

Uhhh so let me get this fucking straight, the Ashlanders believed that it was their combined effort that defeated Skar, except it was the achievement of some proto-House Dunmer, who was then killed by the ~dishonorable~ Ashlanders and forgotten, and so it is good and just that the Vestige now has to prompt House Redoran to "re"claim Ald'ruhn??? Excuse me, how much Hating Natives And Justifying Imperialism juice have the writers been drinking??

I just realized what felt wrong... Where are these Ashlanders' slaves? There wasn't a single one in sight. Is ZOS pretending that Ashlanders do not practice slavery and just blame it on Telvanni and Dres?

"[Sotha Sil] desperately sought to understand the power he and his companions attained" Uh, isn't this supposed to be top secret? Why does Barilzar a) know this is an arcane matter and not divine and transcendent, b) casually mention it to someone he just met?

"[Sotha Sil] had a tool that he used to drain away minute bits of his divine energy to store and study. He could extract it and return it as he saw fit." And how does this differ from the Blessing Stones that seemed to be pretty common?

Oh let me guess, was this tool stolen from the Clockwork City by an agent of Nocturnal?

I thought the Shrine of Azura near Barilzar's tower was the humble beginning of the Holamayan Monastery, but I missed that it already exists further north along the coast. Can never tell with ESO's tendency to downsize things... Apparently the shrine existed in Morrowind too and was the base for the Azura’s Star quests, which I never knew because I hate exploration and daedric quests lol

I totally misinterpreted what the staff was and didn't even realize it until the archcanon put it together for me, haha

Lol did he put the couch here just in case someone magically drains his divine power and he has to sit down?

It's a good thing I've unlocked the Walley of the Wind wayshrine already. From there it was just retracing my steps... I remember how in Morrowind I wandered forever and came upon the Cavern when I was about to give up. Shouldn't only the Nerevarine be able to enter, though?

Ok, but nothing that the other Incarnates told me actually helped... All that proves is that he's more likely to become another Failed Incarnate instead of a successful one. And here we return to the problem I had with TESIII: this Shrodinger's Nerevarine thing makes no sense, either you are someone's reincarnation or not, case closed!

Honestly, this self-plagiarism becomes more and more grating. What, you couldn't come up with an original story set on Vvardenfell?

Well, at least I can buy Morrowind furniture from Rolis now...

Oh, I didn't realize that characters from various Morrowind location quests would appear at the end of the main quest. I guess I missed out on some dialogue, but it's not a big loss.

me @ Barilzar at the beginning of the questline: “Aw sweetie :(” by the end: “Yeah, I get how his hirelings felt”

About the main quest: "I expected nothing and I'm still disappointed". Well, a bit. It’s lacking in scope, depth and originality.

Geographically, the structure of the quest is weak: instead of taking you across the zone, it keeps sending you to the same few places.

ESO's tendency to make everything mundane reaches its peak: divinity is just glowing juice you can put in a jar!

Vivec is a completely flat character with no character arc or glimpse of interiority, and even the surface personality is not here not there: pompous enough to make him look like a fraud and a buffoon who doesn't deserve the worship, but not enough to be comical in either endearing or satirical way. When I met Vivec in Morrowind, I thought "Did he actually write that esoteric stuff himself, or was it just attributed to him?" When I met him in ESO, it was more like "Yeah, he wrote it himself but he just bullshitted it all for the likes".

I’ve already complained about this, but why did they feel the need to make this quest about the Nerevarine and Vivec’s loss of powers... It wasn’t going to be more deep or interesting than the story of TESIII, it didn’t give any particular insight on these topics - it’s just some very weird kind of fanservice.

#eso #blah blah blah

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redditnosleep · 7 years

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Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

by NeonTempo

Sorry I’ve not been in touch guys. It’s been a busy month. However, I’m pleased to announce that, as of yesterday night, I’ve finally touched down in Phoenix, Arizona.

I’m posting this log from my first American hotel room, which offers a gorgeous view of both the state hospital and a local prison. Auspicious times.

Drop me a line if you’re in the city or if you have any information at all.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 15/02/2017

As the darkness closes in, I find myself dragged deeper and deeper into the depths of my own subconscious, until I sink through the back of my mind into an indescribable place. A featureless, directionless, timeless void that exists at the weakest point of life.

I can feel myself drifting away, surrendered to an almost imperceptible tide, carried slowly but inexorably from the world.

The rest of the night unfolds in fleeting snapshots.

I briefly feel my body lift up from the ground, gravity pulling at my limbs as I’m conveyed through the forest.

An unknowable stretch of time later, I feel a distinct burning sensation to my right. In the world I currently inhabit, only an echo of the pain reaches me, but I can tell that it was once substantial. Unable to divine its purpose, I let the sensation fade away, before descending once more into the placid darkness.

When my eyes finally work themselves open, the sun is beginning to rise. Without an ounce of strength left in my body, all I can do is peer through my eyelashes, taking in the vague scene before me.

I’m in the back of the Wrangler, propped up against a soft pillar of luggage. There's somebody kneeling beside me, tugging at my right shoulder. When I try to address them, I discover that my voice has withered to a spectral whisper, so frail that it hardly exists at all.

AS: … Rob…

Hearing my voice, the figure shuffles round and kneels before me, staring into my eyes as they slowly regain their focus.

ROB: You just lay back Miss Sharma, I just finished patchin’ you up but I gotta make sure it’s good work.

AS: Wh… what happened to you?

ROB: Denise had me at gunpoint, had to act like I was all but dead. When she into the forest, I got free, took the med kit into the trees, fixed myself up a little. I was comin’ to help when I heard this awful noise. Went to check it out... that’s when I found you.

AS:... Is the engine running?

ROB: Wanted to warm up the place for you. You were in shock, and since the battery don’t run down anymore I thought-

AS: No I mean… how? The key, it got-

ROB: You think I’d risk gettin’ out this far with only one copy of my car key?

Rob seems almost insulted, and thinking back to everything I’ve learned about him over the course of this trip, I can see why he might be. Even in my weakened state I can’t help but laugh; though it admittedly comes out as stilted wheezing, diffusing quietly into the air.

AS: No that’s… that’s actually very “you”. I think Bluejay would’ve appreciated that information last night.

ROB: Yeah well, she didn’t ask.

AS: … I’m glad you made it Rob.

ROB: Glad you made it too. They build’em tough down in London.

I rest my head back against the luggage.

AS: I’m from Bristol.

ROB: Of course… yeah of course that’s… sorry…

Rob tries to recover his smile, but it slips quickly from his grasp. In its absence, his features cringe into sudden, uncontrollable sadness.

ROB: Miss Sharma I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!

Rob Guthard’s weathered face bursts into a heaving mess of tears. He repeats those two words as he lumbers towards me, throwing his arms around my waist and resting his head on my left shoulder. My hand feels like lead as I raise it up and brush it against his hair, holding him against me.

As the man continues to sob, I let my head roll slowly to the right, observing the damage to my arm. Last night, lost in the muddled throes of shock, the harm had been unquantifiable, the details drowned out by the encompassing haze of severe blood loss and a blaring, primal alarm which had forced me to move without questioning why. Now that I’m on the other side, bathed in the quiet warmth of the Wrangler, I’m able to fully assess the extent of my injury.

Everything below my right elbow is gone.

It feels almost like a dream. My upper arm is practically unblemished, save for a few dark bruises from last night’s fall, yet it descends an impossibly short distance before ending in a blunt, surreal stump. The wound itself is hidden from view, swaddled in fresh white bandages.

I can’t seem to figure out how I should feel and, consequently, I don’t seem to feel anything.

AS: It’s ok Rob. It’s ok.

ROB: I never… I never meant for any of this to-

AS: I know… I know.

Rob pulls back, his eyes still watering.

ROB: I’ll take you home, ok? I’ll find somewhere to turn around and we’ll get you home.

I can tell Rob’s offer is genuine, and to be honest I’m a little surprised. I still remember our verbal agreement, forged at the mouth of the tunnel; that he would not be turning his car around until he reached the road’s end. I never expected he’d be the one to renege on the deal.

I’m aware this could be my best chance to leave it all behind; to flee from the horrors of the road, before they take even more of me. I know the way back. I know that it leads to safety, to family, to blessed normality. However, as an insidious voice in the back of my mind quietly notes, it doesn’t lead to answers.

AS:... I’m still game if you are.

Rob sends me a heartbroken smile, which I would return if I had the strength. In that moment, a sombre understanding develops between us. An understanding that after everything we’ve seen, everything that’s happened, we’re both still choosing the secrets of the road. The decision reveals something about us, exposing a driving force behind our actions that negates our concern for survival, and overshadows the imagined protests of our loved ones.

It’s a decision only two broken people would make.

Rob spends the morning packing up the Wrangler, giving me time to rest. The fact that he’s walking around at all is remarkable, let alone conducting his usual routine at his usual pace. As I begin to feel life crawl slowly back into my veins, I wonder whether the strange force that has sustained us both, as well as the Wrangler’s fuel tank, could also have a mild restorative effect. The notion should bring me comfort; instead it makes me feel like a lobster in a tank.

A few hours later, Rob carries me out of the car, letting me rest in the doorframe. In front of me lie three mounds of dirt, raised slightly from the surrounding earth. Two are headed by crosses, formed from knotted sticks bound tightly together. The grave on the far left lies bare, bereft of any religious affiliation.

AS: Is that… Bluejay’s? Without the cross?

ROB: Didn’t think she’d want one.

AS: She wouldn’t have done that for you, you know.

ROB: Good thing I ain’t her then. I buried what I can, but that was some state she was in. Did the child kill her?

Rob goes to throw a foldable spade into the back of the car. For a brief moment, I consider letting his statement go unanswered.

AS: No, it didn’t… I did.

Rob immediately marches back round, his brow furrowed in confusion.

AS: I hid a C4 charge in my satchel. When she took the bag I… well…

I gesture to the bare grave. Rob looks as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

ROB: Where did you-

AS: From your son’s car.

I watch as my quiet assertion strikes Rob’s ears, as its meaning burrows through his consciousness, its implications contorting his features into a look of shame and damning revelation.

I can tell from his reaction that I’ve got it right.

We haven’t had a chance to speak since I learned his son’s name. That piece of information formed the crucial thread, stringing together the strange and seemingly incongruent discoveries I’d encountered on the road. Earlier in the week I may have been worried to confront him with this information, but things are different now. We’ve come too far, we’ve been through too much and, if he’s truly ferrying me somewhere with malicious intent, I’m powerless to stop him anyway.

I raise a weak hand towards him; a quiet request for assistance.

AS: I think it’s time we had a second interview.

Following a tense and guilty silence, Rob simply nods and helps me into the passenger seat.

ROB: It wasn’t military. It was commercial.

The Wrangler continues to crawl through the forest. I’ve stayed quiet for almost half an hour, letting Rob formulate a response in his own words, and in his own time.

AS: Commercial?

ROB: Yeah, explosive charges for controlled demolition. Bobby was in the business, had his own firm.

AS: You must’ve been proud.

ROB: Yeah… yeah he built that place up from nothin’. Tourin’ his office was one of the best days of my life.

AS: So… how did he end up out here?

Rob grows quiet, reluctantly accepting that he’ll have to start from the beginning.

ROB: … Bobby was a smart kid… smarter than I ever was. He coulda run the farm at 15 but, country life didn’t take. Instead he moved away to Phoenix, picked up a college degree, got himself a steady career.

AS: A steady career? That’s pretty rebellious for a Guthard.

ROB: Hah… well we were pretty different people… didn’t always get along. I was still a courier in those days, always jettin’ off somewhere new. ‘Course I went to Japan, stayed there a while. Then…

AS: Aokigahara.

ROB: That’s right. Changed everythin’. Came home after five years with a new hobby. Bobby didn’t care for the stories but... his ma had died sudden while I was away; we both wanted to start over, be in each other’s lives more so... he came with me to the Pacific North West, trackin’ down Sasquatch. Creature didn’t show, but Bobby had a good time campin’ so he kept joinin’ me. Before long he was doin’ the research himself, organisin’ trips, pickin’ up rumours of strange stuff all across the country.

AS: Sounds like a nice time for you both.

ROB: It was.

AS: So… was it Bobby who discovered the Left/Right Game?

ROB: … He called me up one day, outta the blue. This was about three years ago. Said he’d found a set of rules; said we should try out. To be honest, I thought our trippin’ days were over; I was back in Alabama and he was startin’ up a family of his own, but suddenly he’s tellin’ me to meet him in Phoenix so, of course I went along.

AS: And this time, you both realised it was real.

ROB: Bobby knew as soon as we reached the tunnel. He passed that way every day, knew it wasn’t supposed to be there but… there it was. He said that was the most amazing thing he ever saw. We charted it over the next year, whenever we could get the time together, but we moved slow, mapped the place out, turned back on the regular. It took us a while before we got the courage to stay on the road overnight, both of us were terrified the tunnel would disappear or somethin’.

I can tell Rob is replaying the events in his head. The reminiscence almost makes him smile.

ROB: Bobby’s wife was a real doll. Used to work in his office. Kindest girl I ever met, funny too. There was a decade between’em but you could tell they were good for each other. He shared everything with her, including the road. In fact, once Bobby got a little more secure with the rules, they started to map it together…explorin’ their own little world.

After a brief pause, Rob’s expression sinks slightly; the reminiscence is growing darker.

ROB: Few months go by, I’m hearin’ from Bobby a little less but, I expected that. Then one evenin’ I get a call from the hospital, tellin’ me my boy had walked into some ER in Phoenix.

AS: Was he ok?

ROB: No. He was in a bad way. Leg all busted up, delirious, askin’ for Marjorie. They found her bag in his car but... she was nowhere to be found.

AS: Bobby lost her on the road.

ROB: Yeah, that’s right.

AS: On our second night here, after we lost Ace, you told me the road had never hurt anyone before.

ROB: Well, that wasn’t a lie at least. It wasn’t the road that got’em.

AS: … What do you mean?

ROB: They made it to the forest. None of us had got that far before but… this time they pushed a little further than usual.

AS: Do you know why?

ROB: They were gonna have a kid. Marjorie was almost due… wasn’t travellin’ so well. I think they knew they wouldn’t be hittin’ the road for a while. It was like a uh… like a last hurrah I guess.

AS: But only Bobby came back?

ROB: They explored the woods till nightfall. When Bobby said they had to turn back… Marjorie didn’t want to. He never told me why, never told me what happened. By the end of that trip, Marjorie was still out there and he was in a hospital bed.

Rob takes a moment to collect himself, to put the facts in order. The trees are starting to grow thin, sunlight bursting through the widening gaps in the canopy. It looks like we’re nearing the forest’s end.

ROB: Bobby took a month or so to recover. Boy was desperate to get his wife back, and of course he’d become a suspect in her disappearance. Needless to say the first thing he did was head onto the road to find Marjorie.

AS: But he didn’t.

ROB: Nope… No he found her. Just uh… a little sooner than he thought.

I take a moment to process Rob’s implication. Suddenly I feel a stone drop in my stomach.

AS: She was on the 34th turn.

Rob nods solemnly.

ROB: Wasn’t the woman he knew of course. Stood there all day, just mumblin’ about the road. Didn’t even recognise him. I remember he called me up right after he first saw her there, his heart breakin’. He tried almost every day from then on, always stoppin’ at that turn. He’d yell, he’d plead, he’d bring pictures and gifts but… she never responded. Don’t know if it was really her but, whatever was on that corner, it belonged to the road.

ROB: Bobby lost somethin’ of himself on that corner. After a while, his fascination with the game turned sour, turned to hate. He thought the road was somethin’ evil, that it had no place linking into our world.

ROB: I was checkin’ up on him at that point, every few days or so. One weekend he said he was doin’ better, even said he’d been in to work. I thought maybe things were turnin’ round but... then he went quiet; didn’t pick up his phone for three days. I had my place in Phoenix by that point, and a spare key to his house. That’s where I found the note; tellin’ me he’d gone back through. One last bid to find his wife… and if he couldn’t bring her back well-

AS: He was going to destroy the tunnel.

ROB: Cut the road off from the world. I played the game in Phoenix, Chicago, a few different places, but that one tunnel is what links you to the road. I looked around his garage, found the box for a phone, lot of electronics all over the place… pretty clear what he’d done. So I jump in my car.

We pass out of the forest, onto a long narrow road. In the distance, I can see our route winding up a towering wall of sandstone, disappearing into a set of rolling mountains.

ROB: He passed me on his way back, just before I hit Jubilation. Thunderin’ down the road at full speed, drivin’ like crazy. That’s when I knew he hadn’t found her… that he was goin’ to take out the tunnel, end the game once and for all.

AS: But he never got that far.

ROB: I tried to talk to him. Called his cell, tried the radio frequencies, there was a number on the sim card documentation that he had, god help me I even messaged him on that one. In the end it was just me and him, racin’ back to Phoenix. He was faster than me but I was drivin’ better. After few bad corners I caught up...

AS: You ran him off the road.

Rob stares out at the faraway ridges, his hands grasping the steering wheel.

ROB: Cell service don’t work through the tunnel. He knew that. He was either goin’ to blow it up on this side… or while he was in there.

AS: So you were trying to save him or save yourself?

ROB: Neither. I was tryin’ to save the road... Say what you want about this place Miss Sharma, but it’s a doorway out of everythin’ we ever known. It’s the road out of… out of reality. It may be the most significant frontier we ever cross and that’s… part of me knew, that was too important for one man to take away.

For the second time today, Rob battles back tears, and for the second time, he fails. They roll silently down his cheek as he continues on.

ROB: He was more injured than I thought. He’d hurt himself bad before he reached me, that’s why he was headed to the tunnel so quick. He wanted to destroy it while he still could.

ROB: The road had taken almost everythin’ from him, and then I took the rest… I denied him his hope, took away his chance to leave the world on his own terms. In the end he didn’t even seem angry… he just asked after Marjorie. Asked me why she did it, why she left. I laid him to rest there, visited the place often but… I never had a good answer for him. That’s when I started preppin’ the next run.

AS: So you posted his logs online, and pretended to discover them.

ROB: Thought people would ask less questions that way.

AS: And where did we all fit in to this? Why did you bring us here with you?

ROB: I guess… I thought it was time the world knew. Didn’t want all this to end up an old man’s secret. Honest to God, if I knew the road was gonna… I swear I never woulda brought you here.

Rob’s features tighten, all his shame and guilt rising to the fore. I can’t say it isn’t deserved. Despite his intentions, despite his penitence, the man had blinded himself to clear dangers, hurt those closest to him and, on a road where secrets had killed so many, he’d kept the most significant one of all.

Well, perhaps not the most significant.

AS: You didn’t bring us here Rob.

Rob turns to me, confused.

AS: I met someone in the forest last night, a figure, just like the one you saw in Japan, “looked like static you see on a TV screen” … I think it was you Rob. I think I saw you and I think that… all those years ago…

In my current state, the mechanics of the event, and their stunning implications, lie beyond my explanatory capacity. In the end, I just raise my lost right arm, and wait for Rob to make the connection.

A moment later the car screeches to a halt.

Rob stares straight ahead, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. I’m aware that beneath his stone-set features, every square inch of grey matter is fighting to process the fresh revelation. If it’s true that, in those quiet woods, I somehow reached across the decades to a young Rob Guthard, then it changes everything. The twisting narratives that led us to this point, Rob’s burgeoning obsession, his son’s tragic fate, they all took root in that single moment. More than a decade prior to my own birth, I’d placed us on the path which would lead me to his door.

As chaotic as the road often seems, that moment in the forest hints at something deeper, something intentional.

Rob steps out of the car for a while, before wordlessly climbing back in and firing up the Wrangler. From that point on we continue as two silent passengers, lost in thought, disappearing into the sandstone mountains.

We travel across the thin mountain road for the next two hours, a wall of crooked rock hemming us in. When we pass onto the other side, and the outcrop falls away, the landscape below us has changed completely, and we’re treated to a strange and breath-taking sight.

The Wrangler is traversing the cliffs above a vast, flat desert; a tundra of vibrant orange stretching as far as the eye can see. I can just make out the road, cutting a meandering path through the sand far below us. At the centre of this otherwise featureless expanse, a collection of monolithic structures, towering columns of glass and metal, rise from the ground, connected by a web of long perpendicular streets.

AS: There’s a city… there’s a city on the road.

Rob keeps his eyes forward. Despite the epic majesty of the cityscape below us. I can tell that his mind is elsewhere, that he’s still digesting the contents of our interview. In the end, I think it best to leave him alone with his thoughts.

We stay on the mountain for another twenty minutes, before finally winding down to the desert floor. The space ahead of us is two-tone; the sharp saffron of the desert and the deep blue sky, separated by a thin, even horizon. The only objects that cross this perfect boundary, are the hulking grey towers of the city, rising from the sand, and bursting through into the heavens.

We snake along the desert road, the city looming ever larger as we make our tentative approach toward the border. There’s an eerie contrast to the threshold as we cross it; the cupreous glow of the sand switches to grey, the scorching heat instantly cools, and perhaps most notably, what little sound there was is negated entirely. As we delve down an empty, perfectly maintained throughway, I realise that I can’t hear anything at all except for the Wrangler’s steady rumblings.

AS: It’s quiet.

ROB: That’s fine by me.

AS: Who do you think built this place?

ROB: I don’t know. Maybe whatever brought us here. Could be that no one built it… maybe it just is.

I wonder if he’s right. It’s hard to think such a place would exist for any practical purpose. The city looks off somehow, as if it was built from conjecture, by an architect who had only heard of cities through poorly translated rumour. All the broad features are present, skyscrapers, lampposts, window cleaning platforms, but nothing deeper. It’s an empty shell. An ornament in the middle of the desert.

As we turn down the next few roads, I stare up at the monolithic structures, each one standing at least a hundred stories tall. My eyes track back down the countless strata of dark windows, as I contemplate what it might be like to live in such a place.

When I reach the ground floor, I’m presented with my answer.

There’s a young man standing at the ground floor window, his hand resting against the glass. He’s wearing a dark grey suit, and a look of almost mesmeric shock. His mouth open, his hands shaking, his unblinking eyes staring past us as the Wrangler rolls by.

My eyes quickly track back up the skyscraper’s glass facade, scrutinising each row of windows in turn. I’d naively hoped the buildings would be empty, that this place would be nothing more than a colossal ghost town. Now that I know otherwise, each pane of glass feels like a dark pool of water; still on the surface, but with sinister potential lurking within its depths.

A few seconds later, more of them arrive. There aren’t many at first; just a few scattered figures stepping up to their windows, pressing themselves against to the glass. However, like a light sprinkling of rain that erupts into a downpour, the frequency of their arrival quickly doubles, then triples, until not a single space lies unoccupied. The Wrangler shrinks, subject to the scrutiny of countless individuals, on every floor, in every window, all of them clad in the same monochromatic formalwear and staring down at us like the emissaries of a grand tribunal. As the Wrangler passes by, they continue to stare straight ahead, though it’s clear they’re aware of our presence.

AS: Rob. Rob there’s-

ROB: I see’em.

Rob puts his foot down, shedding the weight of a thousand pairs of eyes as he leaves the building behind. As the final column of windows slips by us, I glance back, hoping to see them return to the depths of the building. Instead, in those last few moments, I witness their collective demeanour fracture into a desperate frenzy, their mouths opening in a silent scream as they slam their fists against the glass.

Turning back around, I stare into the buildings that currently flank our vehicle. The figures have already arrived at the windows, and their calm is already fading.

AS: Rob, we need to go faster.

ROB: I’m on it.

The Wrangler growls with renewed ferocity as Rob plants his foot onto the gas. We lurch towards the next corner, accelerating down the road as Rob scans for any hidden turns. I achingly shift in my seat, keeping an eye on the scene developing in our wake.

Shards of broken window begin to rain onto the asphalt. Watching the shattered pieces tumble through the air, it’s apparent that the quiet in this city isn’t simply due to a lack of activity. The torrent of splintered glass is completely silent, even as it crashes against the impervious ground.

Nothing in this city makes a noise. Nothing except us.

The thunderous engine of the Wrangler has never sounded so loud.

Looking up, I witness hundreds of hands gripping the shattered window frames, unable to turn myself away as thousands of polished black shoes step over the threshold. The figures stream out from every floor, forming an incomprehensible deluge of humanity.

The first wave strikes the ground, with more and more landing against them; a heap of tangled figures struggling to separate themselves. Much like the residents of Jubilation, and everyone else we’ve encountered on the road, they appear impervious to the fatal harm such an act should impart. Those that landed on their feet hardly even stop, turning towards us, and sprinting after the Wrangler. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the writhing mass to resolve itself, its constituent individuals joining the frantic stampede, their chaotic charge and desperate screams bereft of any perceivable sound.

Even in the midst of the frenzied pursuit, as a foreboding shower of glass falls from every building we pass, the world outside remains silent; the chaos made even more incomprehensible framed against the ungodly stillness in which it takes place.

Rob screeches around the corner, drifting onto a long and open street. The roadway ahead is flanked by skyscrapers disappearing to a narrow vanishing point. As we race down this next stretch of road towards a large intersection, the ever growing mob bursts onto the street behind us, taking the corner with supreme coordination and continuing tirelessly in our direction.

A split second later, I’m struck by an abrupt and pervasive idea. It feels unlike any thought I’ve ever had before, less of a notion, and more a prescient hybrid of intuition and de ja vu, as if the course of action we must take is obvious to me, despite my not knowing why.

I force my voice above a grating whisper.

AS: Rob. We need to drop something behind us… something loud.

ROB: What’re you thinkin’?

AS: I uh… you just have to trust me ok? We still have most of the plastic explosive could you-

ROB: Nah, if you took out the blasting cap I ain’t got time to make a new one.

Rob’s glances into the rear view, then back to the road. I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.

ROB: But that the only explosive on-board. Think you can drive?

AS: I guess we can find out.

The car thunders across the tarmac as I clumsily grasp the wheel, shifting myself over and working my foot onto the accelerator. Rob lifts himself away and climbs past me into the back of the Wrangler. In my weak state, every shuddering motion makes my bones rattle. With each subsequent gearshift, I’m forced to take my remaining hand off the wheel and reach across to the stick. The effort is precarious and awkward, my aching limbs puppeteered by will power and adrenaline, every passing second a battle to maintain control.

The windows up ahead are starting to fracture. The noise of the Wrangler is carrying, and the entire city is starting to pre-empt our arrival. Behind me, I can hear the ripping of duct tape, the tearing of fabric and the clattering of falling luggage. I’m not sure what’s taking place behind me. I just have to trust that Rob has a plan.

I hear the back door swing open just before we reach the intersection, a metallic scraping along the Wrangler’s floor, and a pained grunt from Rob as he throws something onto the road behind us.

Reaching the crossroads, I slide my hand along the wheel and twist it sharply to the right. As the car lurches round, and onto the next road, I feel my heart sink dramatically. We’ve been overtaken. The windows ahead of us are shattered, the front doors lay broken on the street, and the building’s desperate inhabitants are rushing towards us, blocking off our only means of escape.

I slam my foot onto the break, and the Wrangler shudders to a halt, the engine stalling and cutting out. The streets are now spilling over, an overwhelming swarm converging on our position from four directions. I look back to Rob, and he meets my gaze, his eyes brimming with dismayed finality.

An explosion shudders through the air behind us. I look out the back window to see a shattered jerry can, one of Rob’s now superfluous fuel reserves, its dark green shell violently compromised, its contents spilled out across the road and cast alight. Now that the engine isn’t running, the echo of the blast and roar of the primal, balletic flame fills the afternoon air.

The trajectory of the maddened crowd changes instantaneously, the silent Wrangler has fallen from their collective attention, as they refocus onto the smouldering flames. Those up ahead continue to rush past us, streaming around the Wrangler as they scramble to the spilled pool of gasoline, digging their hands into the blaze, grasping hopelessly at the fire.

Delicately, careful not to make a single shred of noise, I climb out of the driver’s seat, joining Rob in the back of the Wrangler.

He addresses me in a confused whisper.

ROB: Why don’t they care about us? What are they doing?

AS: … It’s the sound. They want it for themselves.

I don’t how I’m so sure, but I know that it’s the case. The jerry can creaks and screams as the city dwellers tear it into smaller and smaller pieces, frantically examining every jagged scrap. With each passing second, as the fire dies down, the crowd grows increasingly distressed, as if a precious commodity is slipping through their fingers.

AS: They don’t understand it. They’ll pull it apart trying to figure it out and they’ll never get any closer… and then it’ll be quiet again.

ROB: Where you gettin’ this from?

AS: I don’t know, just a uh… just a feeling.

ROB: Well... pretty sure they woulda pulled us apart too. I’d say we’re pretty lucky.

AS: Hah, yeah… pretty lucky.

As the last of the gasoline is eaten up, and the fire dies away, the city dwellers remain in the streets. Devoid of their momentary sense of purpose, their prize vanishing into the ether, the crowd’s desperation fades into a hushed despondency. I watch them as they pass by, countless faces wracked with sorrow, their aimless shuffling forming a lonesome sea, a grayscale ocean that spans the desolate city.

The Wrangler is now adrift in the centre of that ocean. It’s clear that any attempt to start the engine would bring the entire city down on us, reigniting their futile hope, causing them to tear through the car, and anything inside it.

For the foreseeable future, we’re completely stranded.

ROB: Don’t worry about it, ok?

AS: I don’t think they’re going to leave Rob.

ROB: They’ll leave.

AS: Ok… and what then? They’ll still be everywhere.

ROB: Hey, we’re a smart pair. We’ll think of somethin’.

In the eerie, pervasive calm that surrounds us, I sit myself down next to Rob and lean back against the wall, with nothing else to do but wait for our situation to change. After watching the figures outside for over an hour, the only thing that’s different is a strange needling sensation that feels like it’s emanating from now absent forearm.

AS: My uh… my arm hurts… how’s that possible-

ROB: Don’t worry that’s uh… it’s called Phantom Limb. You got some sensation right? Like you still got somethin’ there? A lotta people get that after amputations. Here…

Rob reaches into his medical kit and retracts a blue jar of tablets. Twisting off the cap, he shakes two pills free.

ROB: You’re gonna need these for the pain.

I stare at the tablets for a moment, before collecting them from his open palm. He passes me his canteen and I swallow them down in two weak gulps.

AS: You have a lot of experience with amputations?

ROB: … More than you’d think.

My brow furrows. Though I’d meant my remark as a passing jibe, Rob’s response rings with a strange sincerity. It takes me a moment to realise why that is.

AS: I forgot... you were drafted. You never talked about it.

ROB: Been thinkin’ about it a lot though. Bunch of strangers brought together under false pretences, told that we were servin’ a grand purpose by some old liar. Guess it’s interestin’ how time repeats itself. Now that I think about it, he drove a Jeep too.

AS: Rob… I told you, you didn’t bring us here-

ROB: That don’t change nuthin’. Don’t change what I did… to you, to Bobby, to any of ‘em. Maybe you were there in the forest but I was the one who started this, the one who kept askin’ what was at the end of the road.

AS: What do you think is at the end Rob?

ROB: Startin to think that ain’t for me to know. I been movin’ from place to place so long, seen everyone else settle down. Far as I can see, the end of the road is just wherever you decide to stop.

I rest my head on Rob’s shoulder. He gently places his arm around me. It isn’t long before medication starts to take effect, quietly overtaking my already weakened constitution. The pain subsides, dulled along with the rest of my senses. The sun is still streaming through the windshield as my eyes begin to drift shut.

I watch the figures pass the window, my eyelids getting weaker.

AS: I don’t want this to be the end Rob.

ROB: I know Miss Sharma, I know.

The last thing I see before I fall into a dreamless artificial sleep, is Rob Guthard’s hand reaching for the rifle.

When my eyes work themselves open, the sun is beginning to set.

I’ve been moved. As my vision adjusts, it becomes clear that I’m still in the Wrangler. My head resting against a pile of fresh clothes, a soft travel blanket laid across me.

I glance around to find that Rob’s nowhere to be seen.

Momentarily forgetting the situation outside the car, I attempt to call out for him. The syllable catches in my throat as a shambling figure passes by the window, wringing its hands in despair and casting a long shadow through the car.

With a renewed sense of caution, I slide the blanket to one side, and slowly make my way to the up front.

The cabin is similarly empty, except for a single scrap of paper, torn from my notebook. It lies on the driver’s seat, a small object hidden within the fold. When I open it, I find my headphones and five neatly written words:

“Channel One To All Cars”

My hand starts to shake as I rest the note on the dashboard, slowly climbing through and placing myself gently into the driver’s seat. My heart in my throat, I insert the headphones into the jack of the CB radio, take a single, quivering breath in, and press the first button.

AS: Rob?

ROB: I’m uh… I’m sorry Miss Sharma.

AS: Rob, where are you?

ROB: Down the road a little. Got myself to one of the rooftops. I know I always hated cities but, once you’re above it, the view’s really somethin’.

AS: Come back Rob. Come back... please.

ROB: I wish I could. I do. But we both know those things ain’t leavin. And you need the car to get where ever you gotta go so… best I can do is make some ruckus, draw’em outta your way.

I rest my head against the steering wheel, bracing myself against the weight of his words.

AS: I can’t do this without you.

ROB: I don’t think that’s true Miss Sharma. I think whatever’s on this road… it wants you to make it all the way. All I was meant to do was bring you this far. Now you don’t have to listen to it, you can turn around and head home… but either way only one of us is drivin’ outta here. So I guess the only question left is... which way d’you wanna go?

AS: Well… are you ahead of me or behind me?

ROB: I can be anywhere. It’s your choice Miss Sharma.

In the wake of Rob’s words, in the shadow of the decision, I’m cast into silence; not because the choice is hard, but because I’m ashamed that it’s so easy. It was made the moment I first stepped into the Wrangler, and renewed in every perplexing moment since. The need to know, to comprehend, to uncover the truth has been with me all my life, but I never knew its roots ran so deep, that it would endure so ardently when everything else, everyone else, had been stripped away.

I stare into the rear view mirror, seeing myself for the very first time, and I have to admit I’m scared.

AS: Stay where you are Rob.

ROB: Hah… ok Miss Sharma… you ready?

AS: … Yeah. I’m ready.

ROB: Alright then… suppose it’s about time this thing did some good.

The shot explodes through the radio, before a faint booming echo reaches me on the quiet city air.

Its effect on the city dwellers is immediate. Their collective melancholy shatters in an instant, replaced by a renewed fixation. Before I know it, the disparate crowd unites once more into a stampeding horde, rushing past the windows of the Wrangler and back down the road towards the source of the noise.

ROB: They on their way?

As the last of the city dwellers disappear behind me, I run my hand across the steering wheel, and down to the ignition.

AS: Yeah… yeah they’re on their way.

ROB: Ok then... what’re you waitin’ for?

With a fateful twist of the key, the Wrangler roars back to life. The wheels kick against the asphalt, transporting me through the streets of the city. As I barrel away from the intersection, I see a small contingent of pursuers rushing around the corner behind me.

Rob fires the rifle again, maintaining the attention of the majority. The stragglers fall away in my rear view mirror, losing ground against the Wrangler.

I take the first left, then the next possible right, then another left, a few minutes later I eventually find myself on the last stretch of road, leading me back into the vast and empty desert.

ROB: So, you gonna make it?

AS: Yeah, I’m gonna make it.

ROB: Good. That’s good. Miss Sharma, if uh… if you find Marjorie, if you get a chance to let me know… well it’s more than I deserve but-.

AS: Of course… of course I will.

ROB: I appreciate that. Ok, they’re gonna be here soon so… I’m gonna go radio silent for a while. If I call, you’ll know I made it out. If I don’t call… you just assume I made it out, ok?

AS: Please tell me you’re going to be alright, Rob.

ROB: … It’s been a real honour drivin’ with you Miss Sharma.

The sound of a final shot reverberates through the radio, its echo drowned out by the roaring engine of the Wrangler. The world shifts around me as I burst out of the city, and back onto the desert road.

The way ahead is laden with immense possibility, yet as I disappear into the vastness of the desert, I can only think of what I’ve left behind. Rob J Guthard had his flaws, marked by loss, driven by obsession, his good intentions often paving the way to tragedy and heartbreak.

As the tears begin to roll down my cheeks, I decide to remember him differently; as a valued friend, a good man and, above all else, a great story.

No matter how you tell it.

#creepy #horror story #series #left right game series #author: NeonTempo

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rebaobsessivelywrites · 6 years

Text

The Profiler in the Therapist (ch 7)

You can find this entire fic here on AO3.

Fandom: Bones (TV) and Criminal Minds (TV)

Entire Fic Description:

Dr. Lance Sweets is no longer the innocent eager psychologist he was a little over a year and a half ago. His time as a prodigy profiler at the BAU was a blessing. His time in a serial killer's basement was not.

Now, scarred but healed, Sweets is 'retired' to calmer job in the FBI as a therapist. As he helps others, he helps himself. But... is it enough? What will he do when one of his most fascinating (unwilling) patients asks for help on a case? How will his new team take his past as his secrets slowly start to come out?

Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, past torture, panic attacks, PTSD, serial killers

Chapter word count: 3,521

Chapter warnings: panic attack, grief, guilt, implied past torture

Summary: The inevitable aftershocks catch Sweets by surprise. (AKA I'm mean to him and give him a very ugly panic attack.)

Please read the fic! First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

It took Sweets nearly a week to realize it was real life.

That may sound strange, especially since he had practically attached himself to Hotch (and thus Jack and Jessica) at the hip, but some part of him just refused to acknowledge it was real. Some part of him refused to acknowledge that he had almost lost an almost-father, and that Jack had lost his mother.

Some part of him refused to acknowledge that Foyet was dead.

Oh, he wanted Foyet dead—don’t get him wrong. He was relieved the sadistic killer was gone for good, but it didn’t feel real. Sweets drifted through his life, helping Hotch and Jessica with Jack, aiding all three of them with their grief, performing his typical responsibilities at work… but it was all, well, hazy.

It had been a blur since Emily had called him with the horrible news—a blur of pain, of tears, of black clothing and piles of strangers’ gifts in Hotch’s living room. The fear and hope and numbness all blurred together until he couldn’t really tell them apart: he was terrified and relieved and guilty and content and unsettled and… everything at once and nothing at all.

He was everything because it was complicated; he was nothing because it was too complicated.

Somehow, he managed to ignore it for a week. He ignored the prickling behind his eyes that would appear out of the blue when he was alone in his office or watching Jack play with his father. He ignored the sick roiling in his stomach when he encouraged stories about Hayley or when he flipped back in his notes on a patient and came across that date. He ignored the smile he couldn’t hold back around Jack—wonderful Jack with his bright eyes and sad smiles and too-intelligent words. He ignored how he got light headed when he stood up too fast or sat still for too long, or how he watched his clock and phone just that much more carefully during the day, or how he looked forward to his time with the family.

He ignored the sharp stabbing pain just beneath his heart, the tightness around his chest, the something in his throat… But, if you try to stop a river, the dam will eventually overflow.

And sometimes, it breaks.

For Sweets it happened on the quiet Sunday morning the week following the funeral. Rossi had, like usual, stuffed him with good Italian cooking the previous night, so his morning started off slowly. He got up, drank juice in lieu of breakfast, and wandered to his couch, picking up a book on the way. He curled up in the low golden-red sunlight, and started reading.

He read the first page.

Then, he read it again.

And again.

After the fifth repetition or so, he found himself just sitting there in a fugue, staring at some imaginary point in the distance beyond the words on the page. It was almost like he was attempting to divine some hidden message in the granulation of the page, like some bastardized tea leaf reading.

He wasn’t even sure what the book was about.

It was there, staring at nothing and everything, that Sweets came to a few conclusions. For starters, he felt pretty much nothing. He had already known this, of course, just like he already knew he was feeling a chaotic bit of everything mixed together in an impossible collage that just sort of canceled itself out. Rather, he now noticed he felt pretty much nothing in a conscious manner because it finally struck him as odd. He was functioning fine— extraordinarily so, in fact— but it was more like an out-of-body experience where his body just kept doing what it always did without him.

His second observation was that that was quite unsettling and he should probably do something about it.

From there, some vague thought about using PTSD coping methods to help led to another distant observation: he had not experienced a panic attack since Gormogon bombed Booth and Brennan.

That prompted relief and, strangely, amusement, followed swiftly by a crippling sensation of guilt.

After that, things became a great deal fuzzier for a few seconds. When it passed, he found himself on the floor in front of his couch, his coffee table on its side, and his juice thrown in a splattered orange halo on the coarse white rug with the cup still trundling away across the room. He was gasping desperately for breath, grappling weakly with the soft fabric behind him and immeasurably thankful for his book—which was wedged in a beautifully grounding and uncomfortable way between his back and the wooden base of his mysteriously vacated furniture.

As he hyperventilated, he forced himself to first observe his physical surroundings—cataloguing each sensation—before turning his attention inward; before attempting to put a name to everything he was feeling.

Most of it was fear and desperation, but that was normal for his panic attacks. Also normal, or at least not unexpected, was the faint non-existent sense of pain and horror and blood—but he pushed it away as well. It bore no relevance to the greater issue, at least not this time.

Even after he worked past that, fear was still the easiest to identify. He was terrified of being so numb, and he was terrified of the future. Of… something like Foyet happening again. Of Jack losing his father, the team losing a leader, of he himself losing a friend and mentor. (Of losing anyone ever again.)

After that, he was relieved. He was so very thankful Hotch and Jack were ok, and that they, and Jessica, were letting him in to help. He was relieved he could help.

But…he was guilty he was relieved. And he was guilty he hadn’t done anything earlier. That he couldn’t have. But even worse… he was guilty he had never really known Hayley. He was guilty he couldn’t grieve with the broken family he had come to love.

Love. He loved them. He loved them almost as much as he had loved his parents, and it almost hurt. See, he had loved Hotch as a father for quite some time, but Jessica had swiftly wormed her way into his heart and Jack had outright stolen it from under his nose. Every moment he spent with them was precious and that was terrifying and exhilarating and so very comfortable. Like a cozy blanket and a cup of hot chocolate in the middle of a raging blizzard.

And despite it all, the ups and downs and happiness and doubts, despite the confliction and numbness, he was more content in his routine and his purpose than since before he was— before…

Damn it.

Before he was taken.

Before he was abducted from a job and team he loved and thrown into a horrible twisted hell, completely at the mercy of a faceless maniac who tore him apart until there was nothing left. Until he was broken and scattered beyond repair.

He had gotten better, yes. With the help of his team, his family, he pieced himself back into a shape that vaguely resembled who he had been before. It hadn’t been the same, though. He loved his old team and he loved his new job, but he hadn’t been fully content, not really.

Not until Hayley died.

And that unsettled him.

What did it say about who he was? How could he possibly be ok with this? Hotch’s wife, Jack’s mother, Jessica’s sister, was dead. Gone, forever, at the hands of a man who stalked and hunted, even in death. How could Lance accept the gift his life had become when it had been given to him by a murderer?

The numbness was gone, shocked from his system by his attack, which soon faded as well. He could breathe freely once more, and with his new found breath, he found himself clutching painfully at his hair for a horribly long moment before shooting to his feet. Driven by a restless energy, he paced aimlessly and frantically around his apartment, tracking sticky orange juice wherever he went. He’s not sure how long he paced, but as his energy dwindled he attempted to occupy his attention in other ways—to avoid the swirling mess of emotions thrashing about in his mind.

He found himself staring vacantly out his window, tossing about on his bed, blinking in the fluorescent light of the fridge, examining the pixels in TV ads… He found himself doing everything that qualified as nothing until even that was too much. When he wore himself down to the figurative bone, he collapsed onto the couch, huddled into a ball, clutched his knees, and sobbed. He sobbed at nothing and everything, powerfully and pointlessly, like his life depended on it.

And in that moment, for all he knew, maybe it did.

It was later, although Lance had no idea how much later, when he was startled from his exhausted tear-filled half-asleep state by a firm pounding on the door.

“Lance?” a concerned voice called, deep and a little hoarse, “Are you in there?”

Blinking in confusion, Sweets lifted his head and surveyed his apartment, which looked like the victim of a small orange-flavored hurricane, rubbing absently at the too-tight skin beneath his eyes.

“Lance?” the voice filtered through his door, accompanied by another round of pounding, even more desperate than before.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled towards the door. “Yeah?” he called back, attempting to sound sleepy and confused (which was true), but it manifested as an utterly pathetic croak.

The resultant sigh of relief was so loud he heard it through the door. A second later, said block of wood shifted as though someone was leaning their weight against it. “Are you alright?” the man on the other side asked, a little more calmly.

Sweets blinked a little dumbly at the door when the owner of the voice finally clicked in his mind. “Hotch?” he asked in confusion, staring at the door from a scarce two feet away, “I thought you were taking Jack to the museum.” It’s Sunday, right?

“I did,” the father replied, sounding a little strained, “Lance, are you ok?”

Lance felt like his head was full of cotton. He blinked at the door. “Yeah?” It came out as a question. He was alright. Right?

“Spencer called,” Aaron continued, “He said you haven’t been answering your phone.”

“My phone?” he murmured a little dumbly to himself.

“Sweets, let me in,” the agent demanded.

On autopilot, Sweets did just that. He mechanically undid the locks and swung the door open, revealing a slightly disheveled Hotch with a deep furrow between his eyebrows. It was quite the feat to see so much emotion displayed openly on the stoic man’s face. Upon seeing Sweets, his face became even more expressive, eyes widening slightly in surprise and mouth tilting in concern. He reached out and clasped the younger man on the shoulder almost absently as his gaze slid past him to the apartment beyond.

Still rather fuzzy and confused, Sweets turned to look as well. He was surprised to note the diming evening sun filtering through the window. Where had the day gone? A moment later, observing the toppled coffee table, it all came rushing back—the numbness, the panic attack, the confliction, the crying…

Shit.

His PTSD had gotten the better of him and Aaron—the last person who should have to deal with his crap right now—was here to see the aftermath.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Hotch stated drily. Lance whipped back to find a slight frown on his face as he eyed him (and his pajamas) in concern. He squeezed Sweets’ shoulder, “We’re going to fix that, and then you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

Sweets squirmed away from him and opened his mouth. Hotch turned to shut the door and Sweets stood there a little dumbly until Hotch turned back with that horribly concerned face still firmly in place.

“I’m fine,” he murmured quietly and far less convincingly than he had intended.

Hotch gave him his stony version of a wry look.

“I’m fine, really,” he protested. It fell flat again, and he shifted slightly before adding guiltily, “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Hotch narrowed his eyes slightly (which was Hotch for ‘slightly pissed off’) before placing a hand at Sweets’ back and literally pushing him into the kitchen. “I get to decide what I should and shouldn’t have to deal with,” he said firmly from behind Sweets’ left ear.

Sweets knew immediately from that tone that this was not a battle he could win. Thus, as he was firmly placed into a kitchen chair, he resigned himself to the inevitable and watched his friend dig through his fridge.

Ten minutes later, Aaron was ushering a sufficiently fed Lance back into the living room and onto the couch. He swiftly followed suit, settling beside his former teammate and fixing him with a pointed look.

Ten minutes after that, Sweets was sobbing, trying to explain the chaotic mess of emotions he hadn’t even known he had been bottling up. Profilers were far too good at extracting information when they wanted to.

“Lance,” Aaron murmured in an impossibly soft voice he had only ever heard directed at Jack, “That is not true. Foyet is not responsible for anything except taking Hayley away. You are responsible for keeping me and my family from falling apart.”

“But,” he gasped between one sob and the next, “I should’ve—”

“If I hear that word from you one more time…” Hotch interrupted with enough venom that Lance looked at him in shock, sobbing momentarily paused. The older man hefted a sigh and rubbed at his forehead, “I swear, Lance… do you not listen to any of your own advice? I distinctly remember having this conversation in reverse only a few days ago.”

Sweets found himself simply staring at his friend in some indistinct combination of confusion and disbelief. Hotch shook his head in exasperation.

“There is nothing different you could have possibly done; there’s no way you could have even known. If I’m not to blame for Hayley’s death, then you certainly aren’t,” Aaron’s voice practically dripped with conviction. “What was it you told me a few days ago? ‘All we can do is remember, move forward, and make the most of what we have.’”

Sweets shook his head helplessly. Hotch just didn’t get it; he didn’t understand why he felt so helpless, why he wanted to, irrationally, burst into tears again. Lance sighed, “I didn’t even know Hayley, Hotch.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, “But you have helped her stay alive in the hearts of those who did.”

Sweets couldn’t help smiling, albeit bittersweet, at the powerful emotion in the father’s voice. It was warm and welcoming. It was why he had volunteered to help with the family so much—to hear that he was making a difference. It was the same reason he was a therapist. He wanted to help.

Lance pulled himself together and directed the slightly watery smile at Hotch, murmuring “I’m glad I’ve been able to help.” He attempted to convey his message in a way that would convince the agent to let the topic go. Aaron didn’t need to deal with his PTSD; Sweets was aiding them, not the other way around.

Hotch, however, was not fooled. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the therapist and gripped him by the shoulder, forcing Lance to look at him. His gaze was piercing and evaluating. In fact, it was the same expression he always wore when attempting to figure out a particularly tricky unsub. “But…” he prompted, leaving no room for circumvention.

Lance felt his will power crumble under his mentor’s piercing gaze and shut his eyes tightly. He took a deep breath and attempted to explain once more. “It’s like I’ve been taking advantage of her death to get closer to you and Jack and Jessica. If she hadn’t died—”

“You may never have gotten to know them,” Hotch finished, giving his former teammate’s shoulder a soft squeeze. Sweets met his eyes as he gave a slight wry smile, “But you’ve been family to me for a while now, Lance, and it was our— their —choice to let you in. You’ve done more for us than you realize.”

Sweets opened his mouth, but Hotch cut him off and continued, “And don’t say you shouldn’t be having these problems because you didn’t know her and can’t grieve. That may be true, but you are too close to this—to close to us—to treat this like your typical therapy session. You and the team almost lost me and we have lost you before.” Lance flinched a bit at the reference to his abduction, and Aaron paused to squeeze his shoulder again in comfort. “Everything about this is much more personal than the scenarios you help with in your office. Right?”

Reluctantly, Lance nodded his agreement. His face was dry of all tears by now, and although he was still and emotional mess, the warm weight of Hotch’s hand on his shoulder was helping more than he could say. With every word his mentor spoke, his guilt and confliction faded just the tiniest bit.

Aaron let out a gusty sigh, quirking his lips into a tired smile, “I may not be qualified, and I admit I don’t quite understand, but I can tell you that anything and everything you’re feeling is fine. The good and the bad.” He stopped, squeezing Sweets’ shoulder again in emphasis, before letting go and giving him a stern look. “At least, it’s fine if” a hit of humor crept into his tone, “you promise to not pull away. Jack is far too attached to his Uncle Lance already.”

A smile—a real smile—crept across his face at that. Sweets could admit that he was far too attached to Jack as well; he truly enjoyed every little outing he spent with the intelligent boy, although his favorites were when it was just the two of them. That had started to happen more towards the end of the week as Hotch prepared to start working again and Jessica worked ahead so she’d be more available when her brother-in-law would inevitably get called away. There were some benefits to being a writer, apparently.

Hotch gave him a warm look and Sweets realized with a slight jolt that he felt almost normal again. The reminder of Jack needing him had pushed the last of the overwhelming emotion aside, leaving him drained both emotionally and physically, but calm all the same.

For a minute they sat in companionable silence. Then, Aaron leaned forward and grabbed the side of the coffee table, pulling it back onto its feet.

That drew Lance’s attention to the orange juice covered floor, causing him to let out a quiet groan. That’s going to be a pain to clean up, he muttered to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hotch give him an amused look, with his lips tilted up and eyes crinkled.

“I can get started on helping you clean,” he offered, voice heavy with amusement.

Sweets couldn’t help but give him a slightly incredulous look, “You don’t have to—”

“You should call Reid,” Hotch interrupted, giving him a slight smile, “He was very concerned when you didn’t answer for your weekly debate.”

Lance felt his eyes widen comically, and a strange mix of guilt and warmth rushed through him. “Crap,” he muttered with feeling, “I can’t believe I…”

Hotch reached over and gave him a pat on the back. “You were indisposed,” he told his friend in his typical dry manner, “It happens. Now you’re a little better and you can call him back.”

“Yeah,” Sweets nodded absently in agreement, already standing to look around the room for his phone.

Aaron stood as well, heading towards the cleaning closet. As he passed Sweets he added sagely, “Just make sure you tell him to call Garcia off while you’re at it.” They shared a look of amusement at that, but after a moment—when Hotch had moved on—Lance found he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to laugh or cry at the thought anymore. Hell, he was almost used to that already.

But, he mused, staring at the phone presently situated in his hand, it’s a little better than it was. I’m better than I was. This PTSD shit sucks, but I can handle it.

On autopilot his hands dialed a familiar number and he raised the ringing piece of technology to his ear. It rang twice before there was a click and Spencer’s voice exploded through the speaker, “Lance! Are you okay? I tried calling you earlier but you weren’t answering so I called Hotch….”

Yes, he could handle this. He could handle the panic attacks and emotional incompetency and everything that came with it. He did, after all, have an incredible family who loved him—scars and all.

#reba's fanfic #profiler in the therapist #tag more later

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humblesweetpotato · 4 years

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Walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called. (Also titled no vocations are "secular")

It is commonplace to describe our work secular. But i guess i carry a very different view on this.

I don't believe that work is secular because God has called each and every one of mankind, particularly His children, to an area of service in this world. Work was ordained before the fall of man in Genesis. And through the area of service we are provided for materially and spiritually.

Income is provided, rather than earned

Provided for because we don't actually earn our own keep. Yes there is definitely a principle where we work in order to get something to feed ourselves. After all, the ant gathereth her food. But how much we get is divine provision.

The ant could plan and use all the abilities that hath been given to it to find food. But how much it ultimately can gather is not within her control. It can only do it's best to get to point X. It may find that 1 only one grain of rice has dropped from the table. Or it could find 3.

The hotel owner in 2019 could have opened a hotel in NYC expecting huge crowds in 2020 because economy has grown well (at least on paper) in 2019, expecting 3 grains of rice. But actual economic conditions are out of an individual's control. Come 2020 and coronavirus virus happened and none of the plans came to fruition. Therefore he found less than one grain of rice.

Ok come closer to the Bible let's speak of farming -- the most traditional of all jobs. He could till the grounds, but he knows that weather conditions are out of his control. If it's too wet or too dry crops wouldn't be optimal. But if it's just right crops would be optimal. He could spray pesticides but if a new strain of pests emerged he would still get suboptimal number of grains of rice.

Back to businesses. A sells umbrella and B sells sunglasses. Both are dependent on conditions beyond their control. On rainy days A gets 3 grains of rice while B gets 1; vice versa on sunny days.

Now to an investor who diligently studies the markets and economy and makes investments. If he invests in tourism expecting it to be grow in the near future and all of a sudden there's a pandemic and behold the tourism doesn't make money the investor makes losses. If he invests in a mask manufacturer instead he makes a gain. Back when he made the investment he probably didn't expect a pandemic (Black Swan event).

Long time ago i heard of a phrase called 天时地利人和. It means that all the uncontrollable factors come together to bring about a fruitful event. And then i thought about it -- this is just another term for God's will. God sovereignly ordered all the events beyond our control to bring about our current situation.

Who's in control of the vibration of every atom in this world? -- God. By Him all things consist. He holds the world together.

By this train of thought, our income, how much the economic conditions are willing to pay us, are determined and provided by God Himself.

But i guess that only explains why i think that income is God's provision and not earned per se by us; it doesn't explain why i think that work is not secular.

Why work is not secular

So i mentioned earlier that God has appointed an area of service for each and every one of us.

We are given talents to serve others. And our talents are part of what determines our area of service. The opportunities and talents we have are sovereignly given by God as well.

There are some called to be farmers, to till the land and offer food for the community. Some called to be doctors to offer medical skills to the community. Some called to be teachers to offer education to the community. Some called to be cooks, construction workers, cleaners, bankers, admin clerks, money managers, accountants, drivers, innkeepers... the list goes on. The list includes fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, grandparents. Each of these vocations (including family roles) is given an opportunity x talent to bless the community with. God blesses His people, frequently through other people as well.

Technically this community would work in original barter trading as well. Ideally God's community would share their resources for free. Like in Acts when the people were saved and the church first formed, the people pooled their possessions together and distributed to those who needed accordingly. So farmers and cooks would share their food, doctors share their medical knowledge. The community would still function.

But instead economic conditions have called for goods and services to be provided in exchange for money to facilitate a greater and faster economic/capital flow. It's more practical. And these economic conditions (through demand and supply and scarcity -- factors uncontrollable except by God) would determine the quantum of money that would be accorded to each vocation.

Therefore, every vocation is a divine calling for us to serve and bless others with. Rather than the purpose of simply earning our own keep and feeding ourselves. Each of us are given a unique opportunity x talent such that God can put us in our current positions (i.e. 天时地利人和，带来了我们的今天）.

The calling to be an employer/employee is just as much as we are called to be fathers/mothers/children/husbands/wives. It's just as much as christians are called to be pastors/missionaries/teachers/musicians/doorkeepers/helps etc in the church context. Our work at work is to be taken as seriously as the work we are called to do in church and vice versa (the former for ppl who think that church work is more important than work work; the latter for ppl who think that work work is more important than church work haha).

Every task God gives to us is to be accorded with the same level of prayer and seriousness and preparation.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest. - Ecclesiastes 9:10

And every task includes even volunteer work, the help we offer our friends and family.

We therefore ought to seek God's will prayerfully as we think about taking up employment and other tasks, especially those that will take up a lot of time (whether we will have sufficient time x energy x resources to see them through to the end responsibly and accountably).

Maybe the following argument is clearer in supporting that work is not secular, where the Bible says that work is to be done as unto the Lord:

Ephesians 6:5-8 KJV

[5] Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ; [6] Not with eyeservice, as menpleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart; [7] With good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men: [8] Knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free.

P.S. Note that not all professions are vocations that God has called us to. Some exist because of man's sinful demand for sin. I believe that includes a large part of the entertainment industry today.

Praying for your work/business/vocation

Some people mentioned to me that it's strange to pray for secular businesses or investments.

But i just thought that if farmers used to pray for rain, maybe it would make sense for an investor to pray for provision through all these uncontrollable weather and economic conditions as well. And for other professions accordingly. Perhaps to bear in mind to pray for daily bread, and not out of covetousness.

And to conclude...

Haha i wrote this in hope that the work that God has called us to can be viewed higher than how it is commonly seen today. It's not "secular", and our lives ought not to be compartmentalised. That's why God's Word is fully applicable to the workplace.

A side note on "compromise" by christian leaders in politics

Perhaps some might wonder if it makes sense for a christian in the government to legalise things like prostitution or casinos.

Hmm my stand is this:

King Solomon asked God for wisdom to judge his people

And God said to Solomon, Because this was in thine heart, and thou hast not asked riches, wealth, or honour, nor the life of thine enemies, neither yet hast asked long life; but hast asked wisdom and knowledge for thyself, that thou mayest judge my people, over whom I have made thee king - 2 Chron 1:11

The Bible also said be wise as serpents. And God also gave the people over to their sin when they insisted in it and refused to repent.

So I guess in ruling over sinful people, one can only make the best possible option when people are unrepentant and continue in their sins. And the best option in this case is to legalise and regulate. (maybe this is how we arrived at today's film rating system.)

Nevertheless, the christian leader still makes his/her stand clear on moral ethics so that his people will know the testimony their leader bears.

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bravenewworldvehnan-blog · 7 years

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First Fanfic DA:I

Ok...so here it is: The Inquisitor trying to come to terms with her role in the impending doom...comments etc welcome! Special thanks to @solverne and @cullywullycurlywurly for helping me with a core question :)

The Inquisitor retreats to The Crossroads for a little existential crisis...

Genevive smiled as the peaceful silence of The Crossroads washed over her. It had taken some cajoling to get Morrigan to activate the eluvian and let her go through it alone. Although she had succeeded in this, she could not deter Morrigan from standing guard on the other side. She took in the trees that looked like large vine-hugged transparent planets on stems, and drew comfort from the mist that milled between mirrors and the statues that were dotted about the courtyard. The silence was the best. She had just wanted a few minutes to gather herself; Josephine, Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana - they were all so supportive and ready to jump at a moment's notice - but they weren't Inquisitor, they weren't the Herald of Andraste. Maker. Am I the Herald of Andraste? She could barely distinguish what she believed anymore.

When she, Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra had returned from The Fade a few days ago, she had thought that she had all the answers to this supposed divine anointing that had befallen her; but now...she wasn't so sure. Could one person be so blessed with "happy" coincidences that it seemed they were divinely chosen? She knew the decisions she made were her own, directed by her own conscience - but even she had to marvel that she was still alive to make them. Dorian was always so good at being glib in the face of the epic nature of what they were doing, that she never stopped to realise that what he was actually doing was pointing out how insane this all was. They fell through and walked in THE FADE - The Actual Fade. She hadn't even had time to process that part before Solas made some sort of "Oooo! I have never seen this side of The Fade before, isn't it sinister, but also pretty in its ghoulishness" comment. She really should stop spending so much time with Dorian...she loved Solas, but sometimes his enthusiasm for the Fade was a little unbearable.

The memories had come back to her, been wedged in where they were once wrenched out, and she had felt a strange reassurance that what she had inadvertently been marked to do had purpose. Whether it was divine was beyond her, but that it had to be done was not a question: Face Corypheus and win. She couldn't even say or die trying. With her dead, the tenuous alliances that The Inquisition had formed could not stand against him. She knew this from the way that some of her companions viewed each other, and feared that the bickering amongst themselves would eclipse their greater purpose. For what was an Inquisitor or Herald but the finely polished blade that gave direction and focus to a cause?

Just as she was about to lose herself in a labyrinthine musing she heard the tell-tale sound of a body passing through the barrier of an eluvian. It was odd. It didn't come from behind her, and as far as she knew, The Inquisition was in possession of the only active eluvian in Thedas at present. She crouched behind the large paw of a wolf statue that seemed to be surveying the landscape with a look of remorse and responsibility. Moronically she had left her bow at Skyhold, but on Morrigan's insistence she had accepted the dagger that she was examining as a precaution. She fingered the guilded, jewel-encrusted hilt and hoped that the blade's damage was as impressive as its gaudy handle. Andraste. She should've been more careful. How stupid she had been to assume she could disappear off the world stage for a few minutes of peace. Now there she was, hunched behind a statue, bowless because of her own idiocy, and probably about to be flanked by some or other darkspawn that had magically wandered somewhere they shouldn't - yup. That sounded like her life.

She flattened her back against the wolf's heel so that she could crane her neck around to peer in the general direction of the pop, but her eyes were only greeted with dark and cracked eluvians, and swirling mist. Maybe she'd just imagined it? Her nerves were thrumming through her body, the feeling so familiar, that she had to pause and wonder whether she hadn't just created the sound because she was finally relaxing and not in a space where darkspawn lurked around every corner. She had heard tales of Templars who had been at Kirkwall who still jerk from their beds at night to attack unsuspecting inanimate objects. Maybe this was the beginning of that for her. Maybe she was losing it, maybe the anchor was changing her.

As though it knew she was thinking about it, it suddenly, angrily, flared in her hand. She yelped, dropped the dagger, and cradled her left hand as it seared with the now familiar, but increasingly intense, discomfort that felt as though her nerves had suddenly grown teeth and wanted out. This can't be happening. Can it? Not here. Still clutching her now dimly glowing, but glowing nevertheless, hand she looked up to determine where the rift was. What met her gaze was unexpected: an ethereal form hovered under the tear, but it wasn't hostile. In fact, it hardly noticed her at all. It was looking around The Crossroads like a woman searching for her matching earring before a party. This was definitely strange behaviour. She remembered the way the Spirit of Wisdom had looked at Solas when it begged him to kill it - in that moment, as in this one - the monstrous looked more human than monstrous.

She wasn't quite certain when she had decided to start walking towards it, but she found herself leaving the safety of the wolf statue, emerging in front of the spectre. Her fingers twitched towards the dagger, now in her belt, but it was her voice she used to catch its attention.

"Hello?" she said tentatively, wondering whether the spirit would even speak the common tongue. "Aneth ara, Inquisitor." The form replied.

"Do I know you?" She asked, taken aback by the social greeting.

"Not exactly, but I have been watching you." The Spirit stated simply.

"Um, excuse me? What do you mean watching me?" Genevive's momentary relaxation was replaced with confusion and a tautness in her solar plexus, the last thing she needed was more complications.

"When you dream." The Spirit replied matter of factly. "You are important, so you are seen."

"Am I dreaming now?"

"No, you are here." The Spirit confirmed. "I had hoped that you would come to this place in solitude. The veil is thin here so it is easier to manifest."

"I don't mean to be rude...but what are you doing here?"

"I have watched you move against Corypheus." The Spirit said shimmering as it spoke. "If he finds this place, he will destroy everything." Genevive looked at The Spirit, wondering why it was telling her something she already knew. "You see how easy it is for me to tear The Veil here; he will rend it asunder. There will be no stopping him. Even though The Veil has not always existed, it cannot come down now."

Genevive's eyes widened, The Veil had not always existed? She knew The Maker had put it there, but it had existed for all of human memory. "The Veil can come down entirely? I thought Corypheus would only punch a hole through to The Fade? I thought The Maker created it?"

"So many thoughts, lost to time, that become truths."

Genevive didn't even pretend to understand what that meant, but pressed on. "So you're saying that if Corypheus gains access to this place, he will not only physically walk into The Fade, but he will rip apart The Veil, thus tearing down the barriers leaving both sides to bleed into each other?"

Sadness shrouded The Spirit's amorphous features as its voice quivered. "Yes. Demons shall overrun this world. Many shall perish, but magic shall return. It will be landmark; a shift back to what was."

"You mean like before The Veil?"

"Yes, no barriers, all interacting together. After the initial chaos."

Genevive was not sure whether The Spirit longed for The Veil to come down or was asking her to make sure it stayed up. "Why are you telling me this? "

"With Corypheus at the helm, it cannot be what was. It will usher in a new Dark Age. The Age of Dragons will be over, and he will hold dominion over us all. You must stop him."

"No, really?" The sarcasm bubbled out of her before she could think, The Spirit looked slightly confused, she breathed a steadying breath as all the fears she had come here to escape flashed through her mind again. "I am going to do my best, more I cannot do."

"I know this already." The Spirit confirmed. "I came only to give you more information. I know you take Corypheus' threat seriously, I see the worry cloud your mind. I only wanted to show you that your worry is justified and how much truly is at stake."

"Gee, thanks." She didn't know how to feel about anything that was happening. She could see The Spirit was starting to disapprove of her wanton use of sarcasm.

"Go to the Arbor Wilds and stop him." It seemed as though it was waiting for her to have another acerbic retort - she bit back the 'lovely spot for a holiday' that was hovering at the edge of her tongue.The Spirit held Genevive's gaze for quite some time. "Stop him before we are all slaves to his will." With that final edict it slipped back into the Fade, leaving Genevive standing slightly agape below an open tear. She was leaving this place with her head more full of noise than when she arrived, that was for sure.

Processing this shouldn't take this long. The Spirit hadn't really told her anything she didn't know, with the exception that Corypheus would tear The Veil down. As in gone. She knew if he prevailed he'd bring hell to them in a hand-basket, but the idea of everything in existence bowing to a crazed magister had not taken full shape until just now. Something else was bothering her. The Spirit had said The Veil shouldn't come down now: as though it was inevitable that it would come down. She really hoped that would be after her lifetime, because if she still had to navigate that aftermath, she'd probably become as crazed as Corypheus.

Before she could lose herself too far down the noise spiral that that train of thought was causing, she heard the unmistakable pop of a demon crossing the tear. Andraste. She really should've closed it before she let her mind wander. She made short work of the demon by plunging the jewel-encrusted dagger into its newly formed sternum, and then, while it did the imitation of a startled guppy, she quickly mended the tear. The tear popped out of existence just as the dagger fell to the floor, no longer held in midair by the fibrous tendrils that made up the demon. She took one last look at the now peaceful again Crossroads, and stepped back through the eluvian to Skyhold.

"Illuminating respite, Inquisitor?" Came Morrigan's velvety voice as she stepped through.

Genevieve looked at her, debating whether to tell her what had transpired. "Quiet and beautiful. Just what I needed." She smiled, "Thank you for standing guard...and for the loan." She said handing the jewel encrusted dagger back. "It may need a little polishing."

#dragon age #fanfic #dragon age fanfic #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquistor #eluvians #corypheus #morrigan

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swordsandparasols · 7 years

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Rebel, Saimdang, and the romanticization of class and nobility in sageuks

At this point, it’s actually a little sad that Saimdang: Light’s Diary and Rebel: Thief Who Stole the People are airing at the same time. Mind you, it’s not because one is easily one of the most hyped sageuks in years and isn’t performing well, while the other seems to have just been thrown out there as an afterthought and is pulling in good ratings, as well as better critical and popular response, it’s the content and themes. Personally speaking, I spent almost 2 years impatiently waiting for Saimdang, and was pretty sure it was going to be the best sageuk of the year when it did come out, something that I thought would hold true after watching the first two episodes. In contrast, Rebel was barely on my radar, and on my “watch now” list instead of “watch if people say good things while it airs” primarily because I liked Hwang Jin-Young’s previous sageuk (and only previous writing credit aside from a special) King’s Daughter Soo Baek Hyang. Halfway through their runs,Saimdang was moved to “I really like it but it could be better” status (with a lot of anger for how SBS execs screwed the show and LYA over, and now they’re taking their screwups out on the show, but I’m not going to dwell on that today) while Rebel has become the sageuk I just can’t see another sageuk surpassing it for a while. (Particularly since they all seem to at least partly center around the tropes and worldview that Rebel critiques.)

This requires some background. Saimdang and Dae Jang Geum, aka, one of the most iconic sageuks ever that also served to help solidify Lee Young Ae’s iconic status, take place at roughly the same time. This is something SBS is very aware of, and while it doesn’t have the endless DJG references we probably would have had if the show had aired on MBC, it very much tried t rely on DJG nostalgia to sell the show, and the sageuk plotline in Saimdang has much more in common with sageuks of a dozen years ago in terms of characterization, tone and pacing than anything from this decade. Unfortunately, people came for Lee Young Ae in a sageuk from this decade, not the first half of the last decade.

Now the ACTUAL background begins DJG is largely known in western fandom for helping in to make sageuks far more female-centric, and for helping to establish the basic formula that most of the popular and/or commercially successful “long and stuffy” sageuks have sageuks have followed since. The rest of this is partially hearsay, as I’m going by what others have told me about pre-DJG sageuks, as DJF is the second oldest I’ve seen. The oldest is Damo, a show that is less iconic than DJG, and that essentially created the formula for the genre that we consider to be fusion sageuks. (Depending on who you ask, DJG and it’s predecessor, Heo Joon, are also fusion sageuks, but they’re an entirely different kind of fusion sageuks and Damo and its successors.) Like DJG, Damo centered around a female lead in a plot that would typically feature a male lead. Both shows are also known for taking the focus away from the throneroom. DJG is still a palace intrigue drama, while Damo steps away from the palace completely, focusing instead on police officers investigating a rebellion, though it does check in with the palace intrigue. But in stepping away from the throneroom and inner palace intrigues, both did something most sageuks avoided: they tackled the issue of class. Both shows featured a heroine of noble birth-Chae Ok, the heroine of Damo was a young noblewoman who became a slave as a child after her father was accused of treason, while Jang Geum’s parents both went into hiding as commoners before she was born, though for different reasons. From what I’ve been told, prior to these two, the main audience for sageuks was middle aged men, and because of this, the focus was almost exclusively on war and palace politics, usually featuring, well, middleaged men. Then, in 2003, there was suddenly a spurt of several successful series featuring female leads. They certainly weren’t the first to do so, it just worked out so that there was a concentration of several at once. Part of what made DJG and Damo stand out was that they were meant to appeal to a wider audience, had higher production values, sweeping (and very different) romances, and broader plots (I mean it wasn’t JUST “maybe our ratings will go up if we try to appeal to women,” but that was certainly a part of it). But they also stood out because the positioning of their heroines-one being made a slave and the other growing up as a commoner-meant that these stories weren’t only about the nobility. The servant class in the city featured heavily in DJG, while rural commoners and their perspective of civil unrest and the nobility featured heavily in Damo. Of course, ultimately, both heroines and their love interests WERE of the nobility, but the door to including the perspectives of other classes was open, and most sageuks since then have taken advantage of that door being open.

Many (I want to say “most” but it kind of hovers in middle ground, I think) will have the protagonist spend part of their life as either a commoner or a poor noble. The protagonist of noble birth who lives as a commoner comes in 2 main varieties: they were born in secret in one way or another, and only find out they have noble (or royal) blood much later in life, after establishing themselves one way or another, or they live as a noble or royal as a child, but are forced to live as commoners or slaves for many of their formative ears before reclaiming their true status. On a similar note, protagonists who actually are commoners with no noble or royal blood are considered exceptional. They’re special, they’re…NOT LIKE OTHER COMMONERS. But there’s also the flipside. The flipside is that all the corrupt and scheming politicians, the cruel masters are treated as individuals. Their social status may have contributed to their corruption an cruelty, but only in that the individual would have been that way anyway, they just happen to have more power, and they re many good and kind masters, and well meaning politicians, That the class system itself was a problem, that there was a social order that told people they were inherently better than others by birth, was not a consideration.

Shows have tackled this mindset over the years (Maids and Chuno come to mind for sageuks I’ve seen that try to push the standard approach, re: class, a bit), but none have fully committed to taking it on until now. Except that Saimdang is not the show that did so. Saimdang takes the same approach as it’s predecessor-and most sageuks in between-of romanticizing the nobility while also tackling the plights of the lower classes. But what was revolutionary 14 years ago is not revolutionary now. And then we have Rebel. One of the very first things Rebel does is completely obliterate any idea that Gil Dong has noble blood, in a flashforward at the beginning where King Yeonsangun confronts Gil Dong.

Yeonsangun: “I will ask you clearly. Answer me honestly. I heard you are a descendant of the demolished royal family of Goryeo. Is that right? I heard your anger comes from having a father of the noble class and a mother who is a maid. Is this correct? Then what is it? Who on earth are you?” (Gil Dong is shaking his head in amused contempt throughout this.)

Gil Dong: “I am not a descendant of the royal family from Goryeo. Nor am I a son of a minister, or from a poor noble family. I am only a son of my father. My father, a servant over generations, Amogae.”

Yeonsangun: *outraged, disbelieving laughter* “That’s impossible. It’s impossible that someone like you could’ve been born to such a lowly man.”

Gil Dong: “You were born to the master of this country. How did you turn out to be such a lowly man?”

Ok, first of all, THE BURN THERE, GIL DONG! THE BURN. I can only assume that the camera pans out and away so fast after that so that we don’t see Yeonsangun burst into flames from that one.

HOWEVER, while we didn’t know it when the episode aired 3 months ago, this scene is essential to the world view of Rebel. Because ever “noble” sageuk origin was just shot down, and the idea of the “special” commoner isn’t far behind it. And Yeonsangun NEEDS Gil Dong to have that origin. His worldview cannot allow for a “common” person to have more sway than him. Gil Dong doesn’t simply violate his person worldview, his very existence violates the established social order and divine superiority of birth, something that we come to full force for Yeonsangun at the beginning of the latest episode, and something that is beginning to consume him.

Of course, Rebel relies in part of a prophecy of a “mighty child” (Gil Dong) a child born with superhuman strength and healing powers, destined both to become a general and to suffer great losses if he does not control himself. However, it is not Gil Dong’s power that makes him special, it what he does with it. Gil Dong’s power is not what makes him special or what makes him a hero, but it is part of what makes him able to DO something. The “Mighty Child” is born of necessity, not because some random kid won the genetic lottery. (The “Mighty Child” status is also considered to be a curse, not a blessing.) We’re also given a second mighty Child as a counterbalance, and the second mighty child-of equally low birth and with possibly an even more tragic background-flounders because he can’t even manage to properly misuse his powers, much less achieve the Mighty Child’s destiny. I’ve said plenty about my feelings re: The Mighty Child(ren) in previous tumblr posts and will probably make even more posts focused on that aspect in the future, so I won’t dwell on that now.

Moving on from The Mighty Child: Rebel takes the stance that the class system isn’t simply a case of advantage and disadvantage with good ad bad people, but rather, the class system itself is an ideology, and that ideology is the enemy. It isn’t that there are bad apples (and remember, the point of the whole “bad apple” thing is that if there’s a bad apple among your apples, you need to just toss them all and get new apples, not that you just take out the one bad apple and assume all the others that came from the same place are perfect just because you can’t see their problems on the outside) it is that there cannot be good and there is no justice in a system that holds that one group of people is inherently superior to another, and you cannot expect the people who benefit from that system to help find justice in it. When Gil Dong’s father, Amogae, kills his master, Lord Jo to avenge his murdered wife, the widowed Lady Jo only hates Amogae in part because of her murdered husband. What she truly hates Amogae for, the reason she wants him destroyed, the crime she can never forgive, is that Amogae is an abomination that has violated the natural order.

THAT is the true villain of Rebel. The class system itself, the social order that tells one person that they are inherently superior to another by birth, that the higher your class is, the more the world exists to serve you, is the villain, and Lady Jo, her allies, and Yeonsangun are the manifestations of a corrupt and unjust system. This is something that we and the characters grow slowly more and more aware of, until it’s brutally driven home in episodes 21 and 22, and all illusions and any semblance of romanticizing nobility or royalty are ripped away and ruthlessly destroyed in the most devastating fashion. (Not to mention graphically violent, particularly for network TV standards.) Hwajung touched on this idea a bit with it’s ultimate assessment that it is impossible to be a good person and to be king, no matter how much you might want to both, and so there needs to be an opposing force to keep the king in check, but it does not more than touch on the idea, and very much has the typical sageuk romanticization of nobility and royalty.

In the most recent episode, Gil Dong has an exchange with the shaman who pops up every now and then about why oppressed people don’t fight back, and this is her analysis:

Shaman: “They are scared because they don’t know what it is like. All of them…have neither fought nor been victorious in anything in their entire lives. They are only used to running away, losing, and being cheated. They don’t know what it means to fight, or to win.”

She goes on to tell Gil Dong and his men that they can stand up and want to take on the king (the ultimate manifestation of the corruption of the class system) because they have been fighting. Their life experiences have given them the worldview that things can change. She started the speech and I was bracing myself for a NOT LIKE OTHER COMMONERS speech, and instead I got “dude their life experiences royally suck and tell them they can’t expect anything good.” There are only two things that set Gil Dong apart from other commoners: His strength, and the fact that his father was an “abomination” who violated the divinely designated social order. The latter, the rejection of class and the ideology that accompanies it, is the more important of the two, while the former is part of what gives him the ability to do something about it.

It’s from this approach and viewpoint-that the class system is an ideology, and that consuming ideology is the true villain-is the focal point for the many other themes of the show, most notably the conjunction of nature and nurture, the difference between the law and justice, and the endless complementary and opposing mirroring of characters against each other. Everything springs from that.

So, going back to the first sentence. over on SBS, Saimdang is ably doing the same thing Dae Jang Geum did 14 years ago without updating itself for the modern audience (with SBS execs sulking because they somehow managed to make a guaranteed cash cow not be a cash cow and punishing the show and LYA for it-it’s going to be a while before I’m over this) or attempting to expand on the ideas in DJG, while being set in largely the same time period as DJG, with the same core political event (Jungjong’s political coup and overthrowing of Yeonsangun) providing much of the political background impetus for the show. Mean while, over on MBC, the same station that DJG aired on 14 years ago, Rebel is airing on different nights but mostly over the same time period as Saimdang, is set one generation before Saimdang and will most like end with the same political coup, or with the beginnings of it taking root, and is critiquing and deconstructing the approaches to class that Saimdang takes while taking a progressive and revolutionary-for-sageuks stance on class, nobility, and royalty.

It will be interesting to watch this years sageuks after this. All the ones that are coming out look to be focused on royalty and palace conflict, and Rebel’s success has been largely word-of-mouth, a lot of which has been about hit’s approach to class and the fact that none of the protagonists, possibly excepting Eom (who isn’t from a common family, but is from a pretty low ranked noble one), are from the noble class. So. pretty much, all the upcoming sageuks are relying on things that this one is achieving acclaim for rejecting. If nothing else, I’ll be an adjustment for fans of Rebel to go back to “normal” sageuks.

Note: I understand that Six Flying Dragons does tackle similar ideas, but (a) I haven’t seen it yet and (B) it DOES end with the main character becoming the first king of Joseon, so obviously it doesn’t commit itself to the degree that Rebel does.

#rebel hong gil dong #saimdang light's diary #sageuk #rebel thief who stole the people #saimdang the herstory #saimdang #damo #this is 2631 words and took me 2.5 hours #ouch #will i stop being mad at sbs enough to watch their upcoming shows that i'm interested in?#time will tell

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jetom3 · 3 years

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Waste not want not

The chanting stuttered to a halt as the candles flared unnaturally high before extinguishing themselves entirely. The pall of lightning flecked smoke slowly cleared from the middle of the nonsensical squiggles of the circle.

I stared at the figure who knelt amidst the wreckage of what had once been my living room.

She was petite, tiny even, a child at first glance. Olive skin and roughly hacked, dark hair. Grey dress matching her grey eyes, which seemed to try and blend into the background even as I watched. Only the wings sprouting from her back suggested that this could be something divine. They were distinct, heavy, almost forcing her to bow beneath their weight.

“You… don’t look like the god of vengeance to me…” Her eyes snapped up, and for a second they were certainly not grey. I blinked, and she quirked a tired smile in my direction. “For the record, I prefer Goddess of Retribution.” It was said in the same tone I had used on customers a thousand times. The one which told you that this was an argument she had been through over a hundred times that morning alone, and knew would go through a thousand more since ‘the customer was always right’.

I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as I responded. “Is there a difference.” “Well, ‘vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord’.” The mocking air quotes she made almost caused me to snort despite the situation. “Also, retribution means that you are delivering a reasoned response of harsh justice for a wrong done unto you. So, you can feel a bit better about yourself when this is all over.” “I see…” “No, you don’t, but that’s ok. Most of your kind don’t, at least not until much later.” The look she gave me might have been reassuring from anybody else, but on the face of this child who was not a child, it was frankly patronising.

“Now, before we go any further, would you mind?” I stared at her blankly. “Letting me out of the circle?” “Oh, right.” I scuffed out some of the chalk lines with my toe, leaving a smear of white on my sock. The girl seemed to draw in a deep breath, standing up taller with a twitch of her wings. Her outline snapped into focus.

“Marvellous. Where were we? Oh yes, as this is clearly your first time, I want to ask one thing before we get going. Are you sure about this?” For a moment I felt the instinctual urge to curl up as those grey eyes fixed completely onto me. When I spoke, my voice was far quieter than I had intended. “What other option do I have?” “Let it go?” it was said with a shrug, an airy wave of her tiny hand. The rage bubbled up in my throat. “Oh yes- forgive and forget and pretend that it never happened.” Her head tilted to one side. “Forgive, yes, forget, never. I mean, what is the point in forgetting? All it would do is let a pattern of behaviour be established when you aren’t looking. So no, don’t forget. But for all I am the Goddess of Retribution, I feel I should suggest the alternative option.”

I stared at her, unblinking, as everything ran through my mind’s eye. Each word, each action, each betrayal. I won’t lie, I was a little uncertain. Summoning an ancient god had almost been the after thought of a sleep over’s memory.

I remembered the way he had smirked at me. I raised my chin and refused to break first.

She huffed in what sounded like amusement. “Well, if you are so set on this, I guess we better get started.” She stepped towards me, beyond the scattered chalk lines, a candle breaking beneath her heel. The wings on her back slowly stretched and spread, covering my small apartment until all that I could see were feathers which may have hidden constellations in their darkness. “Wait, what are you doing?” “I am giving you my blessing.” She reached for me with hands which no longer seemed small. “I am claiming your endeavour.” They rested on either side of my face, and the cold of her palms made my skin blister and burn. “I am granting you the power to fulfil your desire.” Her lips pressed against mine in a searing explosion of cold fury and hungry want. The universe burned away, leaving only that point of connection.

“Don’t you dare waste it.”

The next time I saw her there had been no candles, no circles, no butchered attempts at dead languages. One minute I was sitting on a bench by the play park, the next she was there at my side. I knew it was her. She was taller, matching my height, with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail which bounced on her shoulders. Her eyes could have been grey, but they were hidden by her sunglasses. The grey hoodie had a print of black wings on the back, which might once have been picked out in rhinestones. It could only have been her.

“How goes the plan?” her breath smelled of artificial strawberry, and I tried not to stare at the gum rolling between her teeth. “Good, or at least good enough for now.” I shrugged a little, the afternoon sun making me lethargic. It seemed somewhat bizarre really, to be sat on a park bench, watching my nephews play, whilst discussing my progress with the Goddess of Retribution. I idly wondered if she had another name.

“I see.” She quirked her head to the side, like a confused cat. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and check in really.” Her tone was obviously fake, and I raised one eyebrow. It was almost déjà vu. She grinned a little, seeming embarrassed. “Also, it may have become part of my contract that I have to. What can I say? Red tape is a fundamental part of all levels of dimensional existence. So, just to tick off the forms as it were: is this course of retribution still the one which you want to pursue?”

She sounded like a telemarketer, the personal embodiment of the terms and conditions page of a website. The ones which are never read but only agreed to in order to reach what you were really after. I paused for a moment and thought.

The sound of my nephew’s laughter was riding on the warm breeze. For all that the food in our picnic had seemed to have a strange after taste, almost burned, it had been a perfect day. I was… content… possibly happy. Too bad I knew now that such things would never last. I breathed in deeply, and all I could smell was fake berries.

“Yes.” I didn’t look at her as I spoke, instead keeping my gaze fixed on the playground. “Fantastic. Ooh, I love the way you said that. So authoritative.” There was laughter in her tone, as carefree as any child.

I felt the pressure on my shoulder as she leaned closer, one delicate hand reaching to gently touch my face. Her palm was cool against my cheek. She pressed her lips to mine, and I gasped a little at the gentle tenderness she was displaying. There was sun in my eyes, the air was heavy with the scent of cut grass and the sound of children laughing. All I could taste was burnt strawberries.

“Remember: don’t waste it.”

At our next meeting it took me far too long to realise that she was there. I was in my apartment again, following the groove which I had worn into the carpet from all my pacing. Running a hand through my hair for the millionth time, I snarled in irritation as my nails caught on all the tangles.

“Hello, my dear. And how are we today?” her tone might have been cautious; it might have been mocking. I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that she was back. She was there, perched on the back of my sofa in a grey shirt and dark jeans. Her wings idly unfurled to cover my kitchen. “I’m so close, so close.” I was almost keening. It had been so long since I had seen her, and things had not been particularly easy. “And yet so far?”

I almost didn’t hear her, turning back to my pacing. I was pointedly not looking at the far wall of the room, where pictures and articles and threads were half tacked in a parody of every police drama I had watched. Her eyes burned into the back of my head each time I pivoted. I didn’t even know if they were still grey.

“What if you just decided to stop there? Declare that this is enough. I must admit to being impressed at how much you have accomplished. You humans are far more creative than any eldritch creature would ever hope to dream of.” The tone was cajoling, the words soothing. It felt like I was back at school, being offered the commiseration prize for the effort given not being up to standard. I hated it.

“No. Not now. Not yet. Too close. Too close to stop. Took everything from me.” My words were mumbled, blurring into each other. “Hmm, oh yes, of course.” I knew without looking that her head would be tilted as she watched. Where did she get off on pretending to care? “In that case, I will ask again: is this-“

I launched myself across the room, faster than I would have thought possible. Our lips crashed together with a desperation which seemed to amuse her. The rage was back as I drew the kiss deeper. This time I was claiming everything she would give me. I would take her blessing and her claim and all the power that she could ever hold.

When we finally broke apart, I was panting, and she was stunned. One small hand came up almost of its own volition to touch her mouth. Her eyes weren’t grey. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t waste it.”

The next time I was in too much agony to notice her entrance. I was curled on my bedroom floor, face pressed into the carpet as I tried in vain to reach my shoulder blades. They burned, itched, felt as if liquid fire was cracking through my bones.

“Aah, you poor child. There, there, the pain will ease in a while.” Her hand was warm against my face, drawing my eyes up to hers as she knelt before me. Her eyes were grey, and so much more. “What have you done to me?” it was a gasped choke, the words fighting their way from my throat. I couldn’t hold her stare, whimpering instead as I hunched further.

“What have I done to you? Nothing. Or at least nothing which you did not plead for. So beautifully I might add. Such determination and fire.” Gone was any softened tone, leaving only a mix of patronising anticipation. “You gave this to me. Every time we-“ “All I gave you was my words. My blessing. All I did was condone your actions.” Her voice was hard as granite, more ancient than civilisation. “You humans- that is all you ever really need. You hold equal amounts of potential, but only fully unleash it when you can pretend it is not you doing so.”

I looked up once again. I could have cut myself on that blade of a smile.

“What is happening to me?” it was a whisper, half bitten off as the pain in my back spiked. It felt like something was tearing its way free. “Nothing bad. Oh no my darling, nothing to be feared. You are simply becoming.” “Becoming what?!” there were feathers drifting around the room, and for some reason I didn’t think that they were hers. “Exactly what you have set your mind to be. You are becoming Vengeance. After all, that is all that has defined you for oh so long. Consider this your metamorphosis. Let’s be honest- it is no fair for those you meet if the outside does not reflect that within.” She sounded so reasonable. “I never wanted this.” “Don’t lie. Of course you did. It could never have happened otherwise.” “I didn’t know.” “I did warn you.”

She leaned in close, so close that I could smell the ash and iron on her breath. “You’re beautiful. You will be so much more.”

I couldn’t find the air to scream.

“I know you won’t waste it.”

#my wrting #writblr #short story #mythology #random #wrote this based on a weird idea and it kind of grew...#i don't know #revenge #retribution #w/w #let me know what you think #:)

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johnchiarello · 4 years

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https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/reformation_12.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/overview-ofphilosophy-thales-andthe-pre.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/romans-links-1-2019.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/colossians-links-2019.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/corinthians-links-4-2019.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/ephesians-links.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/acts-links.html

https://corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com/p/galatians-links.html

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NOTE- Every so often some of my sites think I am Spam- or a Bot- I am not. My name is John Chiarello and I post original content [all videos and text are by me]. I do share my past posts from my other sites- but it is not spam- Thank you- John.

[TODAY’S POST BEGINS HERE]

Ok- let me do a little teaching- maybe finish it tonight.

Christianity is not simply ‘made up stories’ from some bible.

No- the history of Western Thought- Philosophy- ideas- all of the various World Views are imbedded with God- our concepts of God- and ask the ultimate question ‘where did all this come from- and why are we here’.

We usually trace the beginning of Ancient Philosophy to the 6th century BCE.

A thinker by the name of Thales sought to find ways to describe natural phenomena without the use of Greek Mythology.

Even though Philosophy deals with Metaphysics [things beyond the natural- physical realm- Physics] yet Thales wanted to find explanations for existence- without leaning on Myth.

He is considered a ‘Pre Socratic’ thinker [before Socrates] and espoused an idea that water was the key source of all things.

These guys were looking for a singular thing to explain stuff.

Sometimes referred to as a unified theory- the same thing that Einstein was seeking to find some 2 Millennia later.

So- Thales surmised that water was the key thing.

There are various ideas of why he came to this conclusion- but one reason might have been the idea of motion.

Many Geek thinkers were looking for the source of motion- where did it come from?

And to the natural eye- if you observe the ocean- rivers- etc. – there does seem to be no cause for the moving of water- so to these guys it seemed like water itself was the source- motion came from water.

Now- there were other religions who taught a sort of idea along these lines.

Some pagan religions said that the ‘god’s’ moved upon the water- and life came that way.

If you read the Christian account of creation in Genesis- you will notice that God did move upon the waters- and the account in Genesis does indeed say that he brought forth life from the water.

Thales came from for Miletus- in Asia Minor.

He was famous for the prediction of a Solar Eclipse that occurred on May 28th– 585 BCE.

The earliest account of this is found in the writings of Herodotus.

Thales is considered one of the 7 sages of the time.

Christianity was born at a time where Greek thought/ideas were a big part of society.

We do find the early apostles using the language/ideas of the Greek philosophers when describing the reality of Christ.

The apostle John refers to Christ as THE LOGOS- The word Logos- is a Greek word for ‘word’.

Jesus is called ‘the word of God’.

Now- the Greek thinkers were in fact seeking for the Logos- they used this term to describe the ultimate answer to all tings.

They were on a search for some Divine principle that could explain things.

So- the writers of the New Testament were in a way saying ‘look- we have found the Logos- the thing that you guys are looking for- it is Christ- the Divine Logos’.

We also see the apostle Paul debating with the Greek thinkers in the city of Athens [the seat of Geek philosophy- the city/state where Socrates was forced to drink cyanide].

In Acts chapter 17 he is preaching to these guys on Mar’s Hill- he says ‘In him we live AND MOVE and have our being’.

Now- today as we read this- we don’t get the full import of what he was doing.

But- to the Greek mind- the source of motion was a big thing.

Paul was a smart guy- and he was saying ‘in him we move’ showing that yes- the ‘source of motion’ [Thales water] is not found in the natural world [Physics] but the source comes from the Metaphysical world [God].

He also says ‘when I was walking thru your town- I saw one of your altars- to the unknown god’.

At the time many believed in a Pantheon of gods- and to cover their bases- they had an altar for any god they might have missed- smart thinking!

So Paul says ‘him I declare unto you’.

Notice how Paul was able to debate- converse with them- and at the end actually use their own ideas- to present the gospel.

In this chapter- Acts 17- we read of the only 2 groups of philosophers mentioned in the bible.

The Epicureans and the Stoics.

The Epicureans were an early form of what we call Hedonism today- the idea that pleasure is the principle purpose of man.

The Stoics believed in ‘stoicism’ that man should have no emotional response to pain or pleasure- that’s why we call people today ‘Stoics’- when they seem to not be moved by anything.

Ok- that’s it for now- might make some comments tonight- but I’m getting ready to fly out soon- and trying to wind down before I leave.

If I don’t write tonight- I’ll talk again when in North Bergen- God bless you all.

1Corinthians 1:18 For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.

1Corinthians 1:19 For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.

1Corinthians 1:20 Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?

1Corinthians 1:21 For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe.

1Corinthians 1:22 For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom:

1Corinthians 1:23 But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness;

1Corinthians 1:24 But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.

1Corinthians 1:25 Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

1Corinthians 1:26 For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called:

1Corinthians 1:27 But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty;

1Corinthians 1:28 And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are:

1Corinthians 1:29 That no flesh should glory in his presence.

1Corinthians 1:30 But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption:

1Corinthians 1:31 That, according as it is written, He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.

1Corinthians 2:1 And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God.

1Corinthians 2:2 For I determined not to know any thing among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified.

1Corinthians 2:3 And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling.

1Corinthians 2:4 And my speech and my preaching was not with enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power:

1Corinthians 2:5 That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God.

1Corinthians 2:6 Howbeit we speak wisdom among them that are perfect: yet not the wisdom of this world, nor of the princes of this world, that come to nought:

1Corinthians 2:7 But we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, even the hidden wisdom, which God ordained before the world unto our glory:

1Corinthians 2:8 Which none of the princes of this world knew: for had they known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory.

1Corinthians 2:13 Which things also we speak, not in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth.

See? Paul the apostle had the intellectual capacity to engage with the best of them- but he knew that the core issue- was sin. That is those who reject Christianity on the basis of ‘it’s a religion of foolishness’- in reality- even if you win the intellectual argument- yet for the most part people will still not believe. In the end it is always a matter of true repentance- being honest with ourselves- and others. So- Paul didn’t rely on the ‘wisdom of men’ but the power of the Cross. When needed- he would ‘use it’ [men’s wisdom- Acts 17- Mars Hill] but he closed his argument by declaring Christ.

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blkwidowsweb · 5 years

Text

A DJ Committed to Service... Nick Non-Stop

The Word “Service” is often used by DJs in the industry as a description of what they give to their audiences. Nick Nicholson (DJ Nick Nonstop) is a DJ, Producer and Sound Engineer who delivers service not only to his audiences but to his community. He is the owner and CEO of WeJam DJ Academy, an organization committed to educating and training youth, particularly in underserved communities about the art of DJing. HE is also a managing partner of ACE Chicago Events. Nick has over 30 years of experience as a DJ, producer and sound engineer. Nick has performed for every type of event, plays every genre of music and has catered to various demographic groups locally, nationally and abroad. As a producer, he teamed up with SRO Records to create, produce and distribute the “original” Jack My Body© Co-created and produced the Original House Nation© (never released). Joined Trax Records to produce Fantasy© (#1 on London charts). Aside from being a seasoned DJ and producer, Nick is a former educator and holds a Master’s Degree in Education from Loyola University. Nick is passionate about DJing and is eager to share his knowledge and experiences with aspiring DJs of any age.

I had a chance to talk with DJ Nick Non-Stop about his career, his passion for sharing his knowledge with the youth, his love of the craft and playing the Hyde Park Brew Fest this year.

Black Widow: I’m so happy to be speaking with you today. Tell me a little bit about how you were introduced to house music.

Nick Non-Stop: I started in the early 80s. I attended Mendel High School. That was around 1983 so that was my introduction to house music. I was attending the Bi-Level parties and listening to the Hot Mix five on the radio. I was mesmerized by this continuous flow of music. It was the beat and the rhythms of house music that really drew me in.

Black Widow: What made you want to learn how to DJ?

Nick Non-Stop: Kevin “Kip” Jones introduced me to DJing. He lived around the corner from me. He would play music in his basement. He had two turntables and a mixer and I remember just wanting to learn how to do it. He’s the one who showed me the way and actually let me touch the turntables and play on wax. That was around 1983/1984. My love for it just grew from there.

Black Widow: Now you were a DJ at Mendel and the Bi-Level too right?

Nick Non-stop: Yes! It was four of us. We had a group called M&M and On and On. We were all in the same class. It was myself, DJ Diego, Mark Raspberry, Mark Eldridge, and Del Ireland. Kirk Townsend used to host the Mendel parties and promote it. He was the one who really gave us a chance. We were in the basement but it didn’t matter because we were playing at Mendel! LOL! We eventually made our way to the main floor. I remember it vividly because Chip E was performing one of his songs live. We opened up for him and it was huge. That was our big shot around 1984/1985.

Black Widow: So would you consider that your 1st professional gig?

Nick Non-Stop: I would say yes. I was so nervous!

Black Widow: I heard the place would be jam packed so the pressure was definitely on!!!

Nick Non-Stop: OMG yes! There were no bars, no flat screens on the walls, you just came and danced all night!

Black Widow: So if the music was bad, that was all on you guys!!! [LAUGHTER]

Nick Non-Stop: [LAUGHTER] Yup! That was all on us.

Black Widow: So when did you know that DJing was something more than a hobby?

Nick Non-Stop: When I started to get requests from friends to come and DJ parties it got real. I didn’t plan on it becoming a business but it evolved into a full grown business. Honestly, I just really enjoyed it…30 years later…I still enjoy it. I still do a lot of events, mostly private. I love to see people have fun. Music is one of those things that makes people happy. As a DJ, you are orchestrating that. You control the mood, the emotions and the room. You can make a room or kill a room based on the music you play. I see DJing as a service. You are helping to contribute to an overall experience at an event and I love providing that service.

Black Widow: When did producing and creating music come into play?

Nick Non-Stop: Around 1984/1985, playing around in the basement, we had no idea we would make an impression around the world. We (Steve Simmons, DJ Diego, Ray Thompson and I) created the original version of “House Nation”. We were just playing around with a drum machine and sampler. That was in 1985. It was simple track with a drum beat and bassline. The line “housenation” is my sample voice. My guy, Steve had another sample that we layered on top of it. It was great. We were kids, just 16/17 and we didn’t know copyright laws and stuff like that. We were just having fun. We put the songs on cassette tapes and gave it to a few friends. The next thing you know, I’m sitting in my car listening to the Hot Mix 5 on the radio and I hear a version of my song! I was like WHOA!!! Someone stole my song…that was a gut shot! Then right after that, I heard, “Jack My Body”, which was another song we did. We got burned twice because we didn’t know about copyright laws and the music business. It’s a cutthroat business. People will steal your materials, your brand…

Black Widow:...your concepts, flyers, even your pictures!! Nothing is off limits anymore!!

Nick Non-Stop: Yeah!! Especialy if you don’t protect it. I know you know about it! [LAUGHTER] You know I don’t speak on who it was but they were notorious for stealing music. It is what it is but people know the original from the imitation. 30 plus years later my songs are still moving crowds. We did those in 1985 and people are still rocking to it, so I’m ok with it. I really do believe had my song not been stolen, I don’t think a lot of things that exist in my life right now.

Black Widow: Really? How So?

Nick Non-Stop: Had I just taken this song and went with it, I would have taken an entirely different path. I’m blessed with a beautiful wife and 3 beautiful kids and I don’t think I would have that had the song not been stolen, so it’s all good. Things happen for a reason.

Black Widow: I totally understand. There’s a reason I’m an artist at this stage of my life. It wouldn’t have happened years ago for sure!

Nick Non-Stop: I believe in divine intervention so I’m ok. It was never about the money, it was about making and creating a hot track and moving crowds with it and its still doing that.

Black Widow: Talk about a crash course in the music business at a young age!!! It’s a hard lesson to learn but I bet you know copyright laws now!!! [LAUGHTER]

Nick Non-Stop: Oh man…you betta believe it! [Laughter] I promise you it will never happen again!

Black Widow: You know it’s a constant fight. It’s hard enough to make money nowadays with streaming and such and artists are constantly fighting to create and make money but have to deal with theft and bootlegging that adds another nuisance to it when all you really want to do is create. It’s still happening today, it’s just being done differently and that’s unfortunate. I really wish people would stop supporting it too. Theft isn’t a compliment.

Nick Non-Stop: Yup, so you get it…you understand! I agree too!!! It’s not a compliment, it’s a slap in the face.

Black Widow: So obviously in your 30 year career life happens, you finish college, you get married, etc. How did DJing continue to be a force in your life as you were growing up?

Nick Non-Stop: It was a hobby that evolved into a mobile DJ business. When I went to college, I didn’t have a job. DJing was my job. I did a lot of the campus parties for different organizations. I was the campus DJ. There were a lot of parties and events going on so kept me busy and kept a little money in my pocket. I haven’t stopped. I guess that’s where my name comes from [laughter]. It’s been non-stop for 30 years. I’m constantly working.

Black Widow: What’s been the formula to work consistently these past 30 years?

Nick Non-Stop: I’ve established a lot of repeat customers. I still have people from my NIU college days who contact me. I’ve DJ’d their weddings, kids parties, etc. It’s a good feeling. I just really enjoy it and I’m not going to stop. When people ask me to DJ their event, if I’m free, I do it because I just love it so much. It’s a side business but it’s a legitimate business.

Black Widow: You started your mobile DJ business fairly young as a teenager. What were some of the lessons you had to learn to become a business man?

Nick Non-Stop: I didn’t get my degree in business. I had to maintain my accounting books, lead follow-up, marketing, promoting, engaging with customers; these were all things I had to figure out on my own and I really had to learn how to do it respectfully. As a DJ, you are selling a service. You have to sell yourself, what you are offering to people and give them peace of mind that you are going to do a good job, especially with special events like weddings and corporate events. Those are those high paying gigs and you gotta step up. You have to be a professional, you have to have consultations, draw up contracts, execute the day of. You have to dress a certain way. It’s not something you can just go out and do. It’s a lot behind it. I always say, if I go buy an airplane it doesn’t necessarily make me a pilot. The same applies with DJing. You can’t just go out and buy equipment, some music, and slap DJ in front of your name. You have to work this thing, it’s a business. It’s an art form, a craft. Quite honestly, DJing isn’t work. It’s fun. The work is negotiating deals, carrying equipment, setup and breakdown. DJing is the fun part.

Black Widow: Has the way you brand your business changed over the years, especially with social media?

Nick Non-Stop: Social media is one of the better mediums to use because your reach is farther. I leverage those heavily. I still have my database of clients that consider me their “family” DJ. That’s honestly my best resource. When you have repeat business they also pass the word along and the referral is key!! Word of mouth goes a long way and people don’t refer anything that was bad so if you provide a quality service you will get repeat customers and referrals. It’s no secret to this.

Black Widow: You don’t just DJ in clubs and parties; you do quite a lot of corporate events and private events. Do you consider yourself a “commercial” DJ? There’s always a debate especially in the house scene, that if you do these types of events, if you are on the radio, etc., you are considered commercial. Do you get that at all?

Nick Non-Stop: [LAUGHTER] I’ll be honest. I don’t know and I don’t care. I truly don’t. I’m not here to prove anything to anyone. I’ve already established a brand with “WeJam”. My name, my experience and my rep hasn’t been tainted. I can play at the lounge, the club, someone’s basement or backyard, a wedding, your corporate event or even…the Brew Fest. I’ve put in my work and I’m not here to please other DJs. What I am trying to do is to pave a way. There’s so much work out here, there’s not enough DJs!!!

“ don’t care if people think I’m commercial or corporate. You need to find out what I’m doing and how you can do it too!”

Nick Non-Stop: It’s all about relationships. You can’t just sit around and wait for someone to ask you to DJ. You gotta get out there and hunt it down. You gotta get out there, send some emails, and knock on some doors…show up at the event. If you want to play at a club or event, go to it…patronize it. Introduce yourself to the owner, manager or promoter.

Black Widow: Basic networking 101! [Laughter]

Nick Non-Stop: Yeah! You gotta work this! I’ve worked my ass off over my career doing just that; building relationships, networking, and providing quality service. That’s what it comes down to and I stay versatile.

Black Widow: When did the idea for WeJam Academy come?

Nick Non-Stop: That was about 6 or 7 years ago I had the idea for an academy. I really thought it would be great to teach people, especially kids, the art of DJing. I procrastinated for 5 years until one day, I was playing an event. I was the opening DJ and the DJ who came to play after me didn’t know how to set up his laptop to use his controller. It was then I realized there is an opportunity to train and teach others. Friends of mine would ask me about DJing, and I also had my own kids who wanted to learn. One day I sat down and wrote it all down and said I can do this. The academy officially became a business 2 years ago and it’s been going really good. We’ve trained over 100 students. We have classes for kids and young adults in Homewood and south loop.

Black Widow: The academy does more than teach DJing, what else do you teach?

Nick Non-Stop: We teach Beat matching, the fundamentals, the history of DJing, how to set up your equipment, using digital equipment and the business of DJing, so if they want to set up their own mobile DJ Business, they have the tools to get started.

Black Widow: That’s awesome!

Nick Non-Stop: I have kids right now, 9 year old Air1, and 12 year old, DJ X2 who both have their own businesses. They played the Unity picnic this past weekend and killed it but those are my students and they are out here making money with mobile DJ business. I’m so proud of these young men. That’s our future. I’m getting older and other DJS are getting older.

“I don’t know my shelf life as a DJ. We really need to start training up the next generation”

Black Widow: I love that you add the business component to your training. I help DJs and artists now with marketing and branding and you’d be surprised at how many don’t have professional photos, a media/press kit or A basic website. I tell creatives all the time, your brand cannot be housed on social media. You need subscribers and a mailing list.

Nick Non-Stop: Absolutely!! You hit it right on the head. The kids are starting off with the right blueprint to present themselves in a manner where they do get hired. Even my daughters are out here working; doing birthday and graduation parties. That was my vision. That’s what I always wanted. I wanted a team of young adult DJs that can do those young adult parties!

Black Widow: The vision of bringing young people into this culture and teaching them the art is extraordinary. I think that’s so wonderful for so many reasons. You are giving them a skill and an outlet to express themselves.

Nick Non-Stop: That’s the goal and the vision. I would like to see every household have a household DJ, someone they can call on for events.

Black Widow: That’s how we grew up. You always had someone who knew music, who could work the record player at the family get together or BBQ and so on…

Nick Non-Stop: Exactly! You know? Why not?

Black Widow: So you are playing this weekend at the Hyde Park Brew Fest. How did that come about?

Nick Non-Stop: I’m so excited about it because I was there last year and it was amazing. I live in Hyde Park and the energy was just epic! I was there last year and said to myself, either I’m going to play or one of my girls will be there next year. I claimed it. When I got the call asking me to play, my jaw dropped.

Black Widow: You spoke it into existence!

Nick Non-Stop: I did!!! I play on Sunday at 3pm and that lineup is just crazy!! I’m so honored, humbled and I don’t take it for granted. I’m going to show up and show out! I have one hour and I’m going in!!!

Black Widow: I’ll be there both days covering it. I can’t wait. It’s such a great time! I loved what I saw, it was so dope! It’s just one of those feel good events with great energy and positivity.

Nick Non-Stop: I can’t wait. I’m really looking forward to this. I want to give an experience and take people on a musical journey. I think people are going to like my set. I’m going in hard and I’m going to perform!!!

Black Widow: What are some of your future plans for this year?

Nick Non-Stop: This year, I want to expand the academy. I have a non for profit arm of the academy and this summer we are taking 20 kids and for 8 weeks, they will be part of a DJ apprentice program. We are going to teach them the art of DJing and how to start a mobile DJ business. We are looking for funding now so we can get them equipment now. They will shadow other DJs at events too.

Black Widow: That’s awesome!! I love this idea so much! You are not just teaching but giving them a trade.

Nick Non-Stop: Yup, I even gave those bucket boys my card! I told them; call me if you want to make some real music and real money! [Laughter]

Black Widow: Yes!!! That’s what they need…a trade!

Nick Non-Stop: I want to expand this model and the non for profit side of it. I’m working on finding grant money and get more youth through the program, get them equipment and put them out there to work!

Black Widow: Hopefully get sponsorships from these companies that make the DJ equipment! Whatever I can do to help, let me know. I think it’s a beautiful way to take your gift and give back!

Nick Non-Stop: That’s my hope. It’s all about service. That’s all I want to do is give back. When I see other people enjoy this art, it warms my heart. This job can be very rewarding.

Black Widow: I think about so many DJs who say the art of DJing kept them off the streets. With the times we are in, I think it’s so important to give kids an alternative and it may not be learning the violin and piano, it may be DJing and taking the music they love and spin it and turn it into a skill and business that they can use. It’s a beautiful way of paying it forward.

Nick Non-Stop: Yup...that’s my goal!

Black Widow: Nick, thank you so much for speaking with me. I really enjoyed it.

Nick Non-Stop: I truly appreciate it and enjoyed it.

You can catch Nick Non-Stop at the Hyde Park Brew Fest this weekend!!!

Until Next Time, See ya on a dance floor!

-Black Widow

You can find more information on Nick Nonstop at the following websites and on social media:

http://www.wejamdjacademy.com

http://www.acechicagoevents.com

https://www.mixcloud.com/nick-nicholson4/

https://soundcloud.com/djnicknonstop

IG: #wejamdjacademy

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