#sit down read some eyewitness

[fisherrprince]

give him one of these bad boys

[v-era-18]

Red Licorice

Chapter 10: Old Tapes and Melted Ice Cream

Scream - Soundtrack - School's Out - By The Last Hard Men -

“Everyone is a suspect until proven innocent. (Y/n), don't let your mind be fogged by a dream that might not be reality.”- Randy Meeks 

10

Today Randy Meeks was officially (Y/n)’s hero. Not only did she get to hang out with him in the Blockbuster listening to him rant about the sucky horror movies he had to recommend to the elderly, but he had also treated her to ice cream. She was currently sitting on the counter watching the boy work at a steady pace moving the cart filled with old movie tapes in every direction to fill up the counters. There was a rush crowd recently much to her dismay. The murders and attacks from the past three days have led people in a frenzy to grasp anything in regards to scary movies or horror possible. She was especially surprised with the many students she had seen this evening tonight as well. 

It wasn't too long ago school was let out early due to the alleged attack of Sidney yet again in the girls bathroom on the second floor. Upon hearing this she did grow in hysterics for her friend, but was glad there were enough eyewitnesses in the courtyard to determine her innocence. After that fight with Gale she had every right to look guilty in every way possible, but many of the students did agree that Weathers went too far with publishing a dead girl's diary and providing it to the press without a warrant. The icing on the cake was Gale being arrested not too long after (Y/n) had assaulted her, apparently Autumn had called the police and said the reporter was causing the students emotional distress and wanted her removed. 

It was funny, she had always thought the girl had hated her to some degree but it turns out she had the wrong idea about Jonah and her. They saw each other as brother and sister; there were no romantic feelings in sight. It took the girl losing Casey for the other to see it. 

So much has happened over the past few days and it was all weighing down on her shoulders heavily. It really did feel good to let off some steam in the light of things. Like eating butterscotch ice cream. The last time she had some was last summer with Stu—.

Oh right. Stu.

The girl was still having a hard time coming to terms with what was said in Casey’s dairy. Even if he was drunk and rambling as he had said, what would provoke him to even think such a thing or especially say it out loud in confidence. And the fact when it was published for the entire town to know his first instinct was to keep it from her instead of just apologizing. (Y/n) can deal with a lot of things concerning her best friends, but this hit the nail on the head. She honestly didn't know how or if it was possible to forgive Stu after this. 

She loved him, wanted him. But she wasn't going to let him come back into her life that easily. That boy was going to have to crawl to get to the finish line of her forgiveness. 

She looked up to see Randy helping another group of girls with their selection, one of them was laughing a bit too loud for whatever the boy said to cause such a sound. (Y/n) frowned, licking the ice cream with her eyes glinting with a foreign emotion. It wasn't but a minute before the boy looked over seeing the way she was staring at them, and man it left chills down his spine. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Randy cut the customer off, “Is there anything else you need, I-its really busy and I and to get back to-,” He looked back over to (Y/n), paying attention to how her tongue took a long lick again of her ice cream before plump lips closed over in smooth motions. He gulped nervously, “Someone.”

The girls followed his line of gaze, seeing the Afro haired girl reading from one of the movie tapes in the pile on the front counter. They just so happened to see the girl with her ice cream as well making their skin crawl with envy. 

The brunette that was flirting with Randy frowned, “Isn’t she busy enough with trying to come to terms with her and Stu Machers new relationship?” 

The boy wiped his head over to the girl in shock. 

“She has Stu Macher already. I heard that their relationship was a long time coming sort of thing and that Tatum and Casey simply got in the way.” 

Her other friend nodded in agreement, “there are speculation that is Casey had confessed sooner that they would’ve been-”

“Is there anything else you need?” Randy’s voice was short and curt this time. 

He of course couldn’t yell or tell them to shut their damn mouths, but boy was he not going to let them have the satisfaction of making fun of his friend. The girl didn’t deserve the backlash and rumors that were being caused by that Dairy, and he was sure if Casey knew about what would happen after her death the girl wouldn’t have trusted her secrets to the words on the page.  

The girls huffed, snatching the tape he recommended out of his hands before quickly leaving to their own devices at the other end of the store.

It was a good thing he recommended a shitty horror flick. What's the point of watching horror if you didn't want it ‘too scary’. The point was to feel the thrill of jumping back in your seat, the adrenalin of not knowing that it was going to be you next, or the person beside you munching on popcorn. 

“What's up with them?” (Y/n) asked smoothly. 

Randy placed the cart beside her with a grimace on his face, “Just some girls who don't have manners.” 

The girl cocked her head to the side, not seeming convinced, “ Just some girls? One seemed really interested in whatever jokes you had to offer her a few minutes ago. I'm sorry but I refuse to believe her hyena laughs were real.”

  The boy snorted at the girl's tone, “Keep that up and I'll start believing that you're jealous (N/n).” 

The girl bit her lips nervously, “What if I am?” 

(Y/n) watched as Randy paused his action with stacking the tapes on the cart. Her heart thumped widely in agitation in response. Shit. She really wasn't thinking when the question presented itself.  Was it being too forward? Maybe being at work wasn't the space to-. 

The girl's thoughts were cut off from a hand being placed along her thigh. Looking up the girl could see the boy's face flushed in red, however his eyes swirled with an emotion she so craved notoriously. 

“Well to answer your question,” The male smoothly took the girl's ice cream from her hand before giving a quick long lick on the left side-eyes never leaving hers, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

(Y/n) quickly closed her thigh together to get the thrum of her area to cease, that look the male had given her sent her hormones into overdrive. 

“Randy do you—” 

The girl's question was cut off with the sound of the store's bell going off at the front. Looking over the two teens' hearts stopped in shock from Stu Macher and Billy Loomis making their way inside the store. Randy scowled slightly, not in the mood to deal with two males whose heads were too big for their own doing. 

“Won’t cha look at that. Devil spawns knockin at my door,” Randy sneered. 

(Y/n) pursed her lips anxiously before taking a sloppy lick of her ice cream. It was a shame, things were going so well so far between her and Randy. Did Stu and Billy just have to pop up now? 

The two watched as the boys made conversations here and there with a few people, probably discussing what went on in the courtyard this morning. Seeing them so carfree sent chills down her spine. How could they possibly laugh and joke around at a time like this? One was exposed for affairs with a victim and the other was accused of being a murderer. Seemed like a time to lay low rather than to draw attention to one’s self. 

“Now that's in poor taste,” Randy huffed in agitation. 

“What's not?” (Y/n) asked. The male pointed off in the two directions, specifically the horror genre. Her eyes narrowed in on Billy who was now being flirted with by two girls, making something within her stir haphazardly. It didn't feel right. 

“If you were a suspect in a senseless bloodbath, would you be standing in the horror section?” 

“Randy we've been over this,” The girl shivered slightly, “I was there with the killer ....the bathroom was down the hall from Sid's room. Directly contradicting the theory of him being the killer, it was a misunderstanding.” 

Meeks looked over at the girl as if she had grown two heads, “Are you serious? He's got killer written all over his forehead! Are you forgetting his paper last year on how ‘Micheal Myers Could've Gotten Away With It?’” 

The girl nodded in remembrance. She was there helping the boy with the paper last spring, apparently he wanted to leave the teacher frustrated and intrigued with his paper and needed help. Billy was known for being bad at English so he relied heavily on (Y/n) for her feedback. She was there reading back to back on the first details of getting rid of body parts to planting evidence on unsuspecting victims. She asked him to tone it down-for obvious reasons. 

“Yes I remember, I was the one who proofread the entire thing.” Randy scoffed in response, making the girl tense slightly, “ Okay D, if he really attacked us that night then why did the police let him go?” 

“Because, obviously they don't watch enough horror movies,” Randy starts to make his way to reshelf some of the tapes making the girl hop off the counter to follow, “This is standard horror movie stuff. PROM NIGHT revisited.” 

(Y/n) thought about the movie for a moment. It was true, the simplest things can lead to a murder, but she couldn't help but ask, “Why would he want to kill his own girlfriend?”  

Randy laughed lightly looking at the girl sincerely. He honestly didn't wanna head down this road with the conversation about her childhood friend- especially after everything that happened this morning. But he couldn't sit there and let her intelligence be thwarted over guys who thought more with their dick than their own brain. “You know there's always the simplest bullshit (N/n). Especially when it comes to murdering your girlfriend. You know that's the beauty of it all, Simplicity. If it's too complicated you lose your target audience.” 

The girl pursed her lips taking it in, “So what would be Billy’s reason.” 

Meeks paused mouth open before closing it, looking away. His stomach was in knots, he didn't want to say what he actually thought at the moment. 

“What? What were you about to say?” 

“Maybe…”

“Maybe?” 

The male sighed, “Maybe Sidney wouldn't have sex with him.” 

(Y/n) turned her nose in distaste. “Randy what the fuck-”

“I'm not shaming Sid, (Y/n)! I'm not! That would be shaming you as well for being virgins, but when you look at the way he's been acting not to mention the rumors about him cheating on her. I mean come on! You know he hasn't been really faithful!” 

The girl leaned against the cart, her eyes glazed over, “No I didn't, I guess I really don't know either of them after all.”

Randy hesitated for a moment before placing his hand on (Y/n)’s cheek wiping the tear away before it could roll down her soft skin. “Listen (N/n), I mean it when I say that the world isn't perfect. And you can't blame yourself when people start acting differently either. “ He sat down an old tape before using his other hand to place it on the other side, he was cradling her face now. “Everyone is a suspect until proven innocent. (Y/n), don't let your mind be fogged by a dream that might not be reality”.She couldn't help her cheeks warming up from the intense gaze the boy was giving her, and for a moment her heart accelerated when she saw a flash of blonde with a huge pink smile. He was warm, warm like Casey. 

“Randy I—” 

“What are you two dorks doing?” 

Randy and (Y/n) gasped and separated from their position at the voice. Stu looked at the two with a clear strained smile upon his face.

The girl's cheeks heated upon seeing Stu stand there leaning against one of the shelves filled with movies. His eyes were scanning her face looking for reactions. But she didn't give him any, he simply did not deserve the satisfaction of a simple glance from her. The memory of Casey’s diary was still burning in her consciousness, and it was so hard to overlook the male in front of her and everything he did during the summer behind her back. 

To her, that strike to the back of his head simply wasn't enough. He needed to hurt like she was hurting at the current moment. 

“Having a moment,” Randy confessed, rolling his eyes, “Something you clearly interrupted.” 

Stu snapped his eyes towards his friend, “Oh really now?”

“Yes, now what do you want? Haven't you done enough today?” 

Macher looked back at (Y/n) taking her in. She was currently pretending to look at the movie tapes on the cart finishing off the icecream cone in hand. It was a sight he rarely got to see anymore with her enjoying sweet treats-and here she was, only the dork beside him was the one who gave it to her in the first place. A bitter swell started at the bottom of his stomach. He should've been treating her out to ice cream—but that bitch Casey had to go and mess everything up. 

Billy’s plan had backfired on him. He was supposed to be asking her to the party now, but how could he get over what he had just seen occur? They were about to fucking kiss from christ sake. His precious kissing someone he thought of being a good friend. Keyword , thought. 

“Came over to ask you guys something about this afternoon, but you guys are now acting like me and Billy shot your dog.” 

“Well maybe it's because our own friend has a murderer written across his forehead lollygagging in the horror section with two girls-while his girlfriend is freaking terrified of him.” Randy snorted. 

A look of disbelief ran across Stus face, “What? It was just a misunderstanding. He didn't do anything.” 

“You're such a little lap dog!” He retorted, “You really want to believe anything that comes out of that killer's mouth?” 

“Oh-kay,” Stu mocked, waving his hands around. 

“You know, I honestly don't think it's Billy. “Stu muttered watching how (Y/n) shifted back and forth on her feet. “You know, I think it's her dad. Why can't they find her pops, man?” 

“Because he's probably dead. His body will come popping out in the last reel somewhere! eyes gouged out, fingers cut off, teeths knocked out! See, the police are always off track with this shit. Come on, man!  Just like I told (N/n), if the police had watched PROM NIGHT they'd save time.” Randy huffed pushing the cart in another direction, “ There's a formula to it- a very simple one. Everybody’s a suspect!”

(Y/n) neared the two boys slowly taking in the crowd watching them overhearing the conversation., It was getting heated a little two fast for her liking. “Would you two keep it down...we're attracting unwanted attention.”

Randy nodded, cheeks a bit red before continuing-a lot softer this time, “I’m telling you, the dads a red herring. It's Billy. There's too many positions —the father, the principal, the town derelict..”

“Which is you.” Stu smiled. 

 Randy rolled his eyes, “The point is, while they're off investigating a dead end, Billy who has been written off as a suspect is busy planning his next hunting expedition.” 

(Y/n) puffed out her cheeks thinking for a moment recalling the actions of the killer that night, the one memory that she couldn't shake was the bathroom incident. Billy had never made any moves on her before-it would add up to her. “It wouldn't make sense from my experience D…..in the bathroom..” 

Meeks noticed the change of tone looking back over to the girl, “What do you mean?” He searched her face for a moment before the gears started to turn. “(Y/n)...is there something about the case you didn't tell the police?” 

The girl bit her lip hard looking anywhere other than the boy's eyes for the moment. She could feel Stus eyes on her, just yesterday she told the boys about lying to the police about what the killer did to her. They're her childhood friends so it was a lot easier. But could she really tell Randy about what happened?

“(Y/n),” Randy whispered gently, “Did you lie-”

“Buzz off,” Stu stepped in between them, glaring at Randy slightly, “She obviously doesn't want to talk about it.” 

(Y/n)’s eyes widened slightly at Stu’s protection, she almost expected the male to throw her underneath the bus from how she was treating him. But here he was, stepping forward and telling Randy to let go of the possibility she lied to the police about what happened in the bathroom with the killer. A part of her was fearful of how Randy would look at her after-hell she was still concerned if Billy and Stu were being truthful with no judgment being tossed her way. Afterall, so many secrets have been brought to light the past few days. How much could she really take?

Randy stiffed slightly, shifting wide eyes back and forth between the two of them letting it sink in. The male felt a bit guilty from how his tone sounded a bit ago, he didn't mean to come off as judgy. He was only looking out for her best interest.  

Meeks held up his hands, giving the best soft look he could muster in the girls direction, “Hey. No judgment here. If you weren't ready to say anything then dont. But I will say that we can't run away from something that can put a possible serial killer behind bars.” 

“How do we know that you're not the killer?”

Randy’s body shook before turning around into Stu seeing Billy laying against one of the carts  he was previously working on. Of course Billy was listening in on the conversation closely from afar and only decided now to jump in. Meeks had taken it too far by questioning his girl about that night. What right did he have to know? Afterall, Stu wouldn't want a trip down memory lane with the mistake he had made with her. 

“Oh…, hi Billy.” Randy shifted uncomfortably. Even if the awkward boy showed to be uncomfortable, the two other males could tell he was still pissed at them from this morning. 

“Maybe your movie freaked mind lost its reality button?” Billy suggested coily, “Huh? Huh, ever think of that?”

Randy laughed, shaking it off, “You're absolutely right. I'm the first to admit it! if this were a scary movie, I would be the prime suspect.”

Stu cocked his head to the side, curious, “What would be your motive?” 

Randy looked behind Stu to (Y/n) again who was gently directing two girls to the other side of the store towards the rom-com or history section he couldn't tell. Maybe he would have nailed it on the head if he wasn't so distracted . Her jeans lowered on her waist a bit more, showing a bit of the black lace peeking out subtly. She finished the last of the sweet treat of a cone, giving a wave goodbye to the girls as they headed off in the direction. A slow smile etched its way onto his face. 

“Its nineteen ninety five-motives are incidental,but,” He licked his lips as the girl pulled up her jeans-the lace disappearing underneath, “I promise my goal wouldn't have been to kill Sid, or Casey , or Steve-” He looked back at Stu and Billy whose eyes seemed to darken from the moment his eyes shifted over, “It would be to take revenge on whoever did her wrong.”

Stu suddenly became red in the face, forgetting where he was he was quick to step forward-.

“I'm Back! Is there something you guys really need?” (Y/n) chirped from behind.

Randy watched Stu’s expression carefully. The taller male taking a deep breath-rolling his shoulders back-exhaling then putting on his playboy award winning smile. To the average eye they wouldn't have noticed the pissed off expression a second ago, But Meeks saw it. And boy did he want to fucking run. 

What the honest fuck was that?

Stu turned around to the girl, taking a movie tape from one of the shelves and messing with the spin to distract himself from the previous threat Randy had given him. “Well (N/n) in honor of school being let out early due to the killer on school grounds-” 

“In honor-?”

“I'm throwing a good ole get together at my place this afternoon.” His eye twitched as her eyes shifted over to Randy instead of completely focusing on him. He would have to fix that later. Patience, Patience was the key right now. “I need two horror fanatics great at movies to set the mood….and you and Randy are perfect for the job.” 

“What?” Randy squeaked.

Billy chuckled behind the boy amused with his fear, “What's the matter? Can't handle the thought of being around so many girls at once.” The male shifted his attention back over to (Y/n) hoping to get a rise out of her about Randy. She couldn't possibly think that Meeks was just the perfect one of the group. It was taking everything out of him to not simply throw it in her face that he liked Sidney first and simply moved on once Billy started dating her. He knew she couldn't handle it, that's why he refrained from saying anything about it, but the way her eyes shifted to in a familiar way he was too quick to catch-every bit of patience and sympathy started leaving him. 

She was fucking jealous of the though of females around fucking Randy Meeks. When did they fucking miss this obstacle so clearly?

“He won't have to worry about that.” (Y/n) chirped lightly, she smiled at Randy placing her hands on her hips, “So what time are you picking me up?”

Randy blink, once twice, then cocked his head to the side, “What?” 

She giggled, likening his nervous reaction, “What time are you picking me up? I need time to get ready, just give me an easement so I can get everything ready.”   

Randy went to answer only for his left arm to be gripped tightly out of view. It honestly fucking hurt and would be likely to bruise from the overwhelming pressure and force. He knew why Billy was doing this, he wanted him to reject her. To let one of them drive her to Macher place instead. But unfortunately for Billy, Randy was sick and tired of their mind games and them getting whatever they wanted.

“Be ready by seven. I'll close up shop here and pick you up shortly after,” He smiled through the grip tightening, “Do I have to greet Miss Gia?”

“No, she'll be at work by then!” The boys watched as the girl gathered her backpack by the front counter before heading to the exit of the shop, “I'll see you at seven, don't be late! And don't forget the horror movie we discussed earlier!”

“Of course! I won't!” 

With that the girl left out of the Blockbuster quickly and headed home. 

Once he was sure the girl was fully down the block, Randy yanked his arm out of Billy’s hold. 

“What the actual fuck is your problem?” Randy hissed, “Both of you?” 

Billy simply rolled his eyes, cracking his neck, “I don't know what you're talking about?”

Randy rolled up his arm displaying the red mark that was most definitely doing to bruise his pale skin. He couldn't believe Loomis had that much strength within him to have a grip that tight on his arm. And what mental capacity gave that psychopath the green light to even place hands on him in a public place no less. 

“You were trying to stop me from taking (Y/n) to the party,” Randy accused, “If you wanted her so badly you would've just just asked her out instead of going out with Sid-.” 

The boy cut off once more being yanked forward by his sweatshirt and held still under a venomous glare. Billy smiled at him ruefully taking in the fearful expression as if he could eat it alive through everything he did. It was moments like this that he really revel in the power being feared could give. 

Stu leaned on Randy's shoulder taking in the sight of his boyfriends dominance taking effect, hopefully this time Randy would finally get the message. 

“Dont get so fucking cocky with me!” Billy spat, “We’re letting you have this one thing with her-but if you push it we won't be apologizing for what happens next.”

“Huh?” Randy shuddered, “I don't understand. You have Sid? What does it matter to me or (Y/n)?” 

Stu scoffed, losing the goofy persona for a second, “It dosen’t fucking matter. It's more important that you listen carefully instead. You're picking her up from her house and bringing her to mine. No debtors, no longing glances, and most definitely no touching like whatever the fuck you were two were doing earlier.” 

“We see or hear that any of that-things will get ugly. Do we make ourselves clear?” Billy snarled. The other male was slow to respond making Loomis shake him in place once more, “I said, ‘do we make ourselves clear?’”

“Yeah, Yeah, got it.” Randy uttered solemnly.

Billy smiled, smacking the boy on the face two times, pleased. “Good Kid.”

[schraubd]

Glass House Cleaning

Anecdotally, the Israeli attack on WFK humanitarian aid workers delivering food in Gaza appears to be a tipping point for some people. On some of the (ostensibly) liberal Zionist forums I frequent, I saw people who just last week were arguing that the entire concept of "proportionality" shouldn't constrain Israel's military response now are shocked and appalled, and they aren't buying Israeli excuses about "maybe we thought a Hamas operative was in the area." Query why this event triggered the shift, but change is change. The JTA has a story on the reaction of various Jewish institutions to the strike. It breaks down pretty much exactly as you'd expect: the liberals being clear-eyed in condemning the killing, the leftists condemning the killing and situating as part of the broader allegation of Israeli genocide, the centrists expressing sadness for the deaths while obscuring responsibility. And then there's ZOA: Morton Klein, the president of the right-wing Zionist Organization of America, said that he did not know about the incident before being informed of it by JTA on Tuesday in the early afternoon. He said, “Now that you’ve made me aware of it, obviously I’m devastated that totally innocent people trying to do humanitarian work have lost their lives, I’m sure unintentionally.” He also said the ultimate responsibility for the aid workers’ death belongs to Hamas. “I blame Hamas. Every single fatality is blamed on Hamas for launching this war,” Klein said. “In any war you’ll have deaths of civilians that are unintentional. In a war, mistakes are made, targets are missed. if one takes the position that one doesn’t go to war if any innocents will be killed, you won’t go to war and Hamas tyrants will win.” I happened to read this right at the same time as I read Bret Stephens' latest column on "the appalling tactics of the 'free Palestine' movement." The thesis of his article is that "the mark of a morally serious movement lies in its determination to weed out its worst members and stamp out its worst ideas"; among his examples of the worst members/worst ideas was the infamous statement by a coalition of Harvard student groups, immediately after October 7, which held "the Israeli regime entirely responsible for all unfolding violence." One notices, of course, that this is exactly -- exactly -- the formulation that Mort Klein adopted vis-a-vis Israel killing the WFK workers: "I blame Hamas. Every single fatality is blamed on Hamas for launching this war." So one might ask if this "member" of the pro-Israel will be weeded out, and if his ideas will be stamped out. As someone who has watched repeated endeavors try and fail to hold ZOA accountable, I can tell you the answer: they're not. Stephens isn't wrong, exactly, when highlighting some of the repellant extremism that sits largely unchallenged in the pro-Palestine movement. But if the mark of a morally serious movement is its determination to weed out one's worst members and worst ideas, the pro-Israel movement is sitting in a terribly fragile glass house. The Israeli attack on humanitarian aid workers is about more than just the seven innocents Israel killed. It is another boulder on the scale of evidence which overwhelmingly suggests that -- "most moral army in the world" protests notwithstanding -- Israel's orientation towards innocent life in this conflict has been one of cavalier indifference at best, malicious destruction at worst. Protestations that "war is hell" and "don't second-guess the generals" are ringing increasingly hollow as against the near-uniform conclusion of media, eyewitness accounts, NGOs, international observers -- you name it. Some may be biased (but then, so are Israeli government figures and their apologists). But people are entitled to draw conclusions from the reality before their eyes. (Oh, and you should read the op-ed Jose Andres published simultaneously in the New York Times and Yedioth Ahronoth). via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/Uvsl8oY

[twig-tea]

Under the Oak Tree: How Do I Talk About This Show?

The Vietnamese musical BL Under the Oak Tree ended today (after a delay from last week for political reasons that affected all Vietnamese shows).

The music in this show is great. Full disclosure I am coming at it from a place of liking Vietnamese OSTs and Musicals, so I was definitely primed to enjoy it. But they do a great job underscoring the big moments with appropriate music, including very fun villain songs. You can get a taste of the music style in this teaser:

The story is...a rollercoaster lol This show has a lot going on. We go from cute high school romance to gang threats to parental trauma to forced outings and life-ruining betrayals to a timeskip and a twist and an ending that could be read as either very dark or a happy ending, depending on your preference.

My biggest critique is that the romantic relationship is not actually the core of the story; it's actually the protagonist and his friend who betrays him that are the core of the plot, especially in the last few episodes. That relationship gets worked on, but the core romance is just kind of treated as an afterthought.

That being said, there is a lot I loved about this too. There's a Lord of the Rings fantasy sequence that is fantastic, and there's a really interesting exploration of revenge and how satisfying it is (or isn't) that I found fun to watch play out. I also really loved that these were gay characters from jump (neither Dang nor Khanh really wrestled with their attraction to the other), and these actors can kiss.

Also just to say Vuong Huy did a great job, but it was sooooo nice to see some of the familiar faces again, especially in episodes 8-10! I love Duc Duy, Duy Lam, Gia Huy, and KaiBie, who have all been in several Vietnamese BLs before (Duy Lam and Gia Huy have costarred before in shows like Beef, Cupcakes, and Him, Duc Duy has played opposite Ba Vinh in The Most Peaceful Place, and KaiBie has been around since Hey! First Love, just to name a few highlights from their CVs).

If this sounds intriguing to you, Under the Oak Tree is 10 episodes, 30-40 mins each, on YouTube.

Discussion of my thoughts on the ending after the cut!

Ok, so MAJOR spoilers ahead.

Under the Oak Tree takes place mostly in 2011, but then there's a 15 year timeskip in episode 8. We find out over the course of episodes 8-10 that in 2011, after Linh betrays Khanh by lying that she saw him steal money from the band, Khanh's mother dies from shock at hearing him confess to the crime (in order to prevent Dang from being punished for defending him even in the face of Linh's eyewitness evidence). Khanh leaves Dang and the small town of Da Lat for the big city, remaking himself and his life. He runs into Linh, who has since married Dang, and pretends to befriend her and let bygones be bygones so that he can infiltrate her company and set her up to be ruined. As the final piece de resistance for his betrayal, he kisses Dang, and Linh falls down the stairs in shock and ends up in a coma.

This is the part where I think opinions will differ. Linh ends up in a kind of limbo, in which she has to either agree to go to hell and be tortured, or sit and watch her own memories over and over, unable to change them. She spends a lot of time unwilling to admit that she did anything wrong, but sitting and watching herself over and over seems to get to her and she comes to terms with the fact that she's caused terrible pain.

Khanh goes to see her in her coma, and yells at her that this is too easy, she needs to live so that she can be tortured knowing what she's done. We then get a sequence from Linh's perspective in which Khanh visits her in limbo and they reconcile and go back in time together to fix the past.

This is the part that could be read as dark if you're me lol. On it's surface, the show essentially wrote fix-it fic for itself; Linh never betrays Khanh, so his mother doesn't die, he doesn't move away, and he never leaves Dang. We leave Dang and Khanh happy and together and on the road to becoming musicians to fulfill their dreams as a team, with Linh owning a coffee shop seeming pretty content. But at the end Linh asks whether this is all real, or all in her mind, and Khanh replies that maybe her memories of the other future are what are all in her mind. It's left a little ambiguous.

That being said, the show also was careful to say that we cannot actually go back and fix the past. So the read that this happy ending is all in Linh's head while she's in a coma is a dark but realistic one.

I also need to talk about Dang and Khanh. In the present/future, Dang and Khanh are arguably not actually in love anymore; they're both too resentful of everything that's come before. This is the part that feels unreconciled to me; while Khanh and Linh got to work through their issues, Dang and Khanh never get to have that conversation, because in the revised past, Dang doesn't share the memories of the future that Khanh and Linh have, so he doesn't know who he hand Khanh became in this other timeline. He says explicitly that he believes no matter what, they'll always love each other and never leave one another; but we know that's not quite true. The smile that Khanh gives him after that speech seems a little sad to me.

I would have loved a little more time for Khanh and Dang to reconcile; for Dang to more fully own his part in not supporting Khanh in the face of his friends ruining Khanh's life, and in marrying Linh even after her betrayal, instead of going to find Kanh or at the least staying true to himself. And I would have loved Khanh to own up to giving up on Dang when things were difficult (to be fair to him, things were extremely difficult--this is another instance of a poor character in love with a rich character whose life gets ruined because of that relationship, while the rich character's life stays essentially the same), and making his life about revenge at any cost to anyone, including Dang, rather than just living for his own future happiness. With all of that hanging over them, it's hard to believe in their forever, even if the new timeline is real and not a coma dream.

Anyway! I really did have a lot of fun watching the show and the wild swings of emotional turns; I also feel like I understated how much I really love these songs. This show won't be for everyone, it's hard to recommend as a blanket statement, but to save you scrolling back up: if this sounds intriguing to you, it's 10 episodes, 30-40 mins each, on YouTube!

[thoughtfulfangirling]

Indecent Exposure

Property: Gargoyles Characters: Goliath x Elisa Words: 3,634 Fics are for fun, so no I do not edit these or rework them. At least right now. My focus is just trying to write again despite very little motivation. This also means writing every silly little self indulgent scenario I'm inspired to contemplate. And that's what this was! Let's say that this is maybe between the first and second season? Still early on but not like, early early on. XD

The only light on in Elisa's apartment at this moment seemed to be a lamp in her bedroom. Goliath made his way to the slanted glass, to-ceiling windows outside that room of her place. He had asked once about human dwellings and found they varied greatly in size based on a number of different factors. The place she lived seemed quite small to him, but he was to understand that for the location and setup of this apartment, it was actually quite nice. Windows like this definitely did seem pretty rare, at least for spaces designated for dwellings. But, it was awfully convenient for his clan to have a place to land outside and large windows to enter through.

He tapped on the window before sliding it open in the way she had shown him. "Elisa?" He called, as he dropped into the room with the light on. He didn't immediately see her. He did hear some sort of fan running from behind a door connected to the bedroom that he knew did not lead to her living room. That was fine, as he was in no hurry. It seemed likely she was at home as there was light coming from under that door and light on in her room. 

Goliath turned his attention to the lamp, for it seemed to sit upon a bedside stand with a glass of water, a watch, some smaller items he didn't recognize, a piece of cloth that seemed to run in a circle, and a book. He picked this last item up: "Eyewitness Testimony: Civil and Criminal." It had several authors listed. He flipped it open and found that her bookmark wasn't very far into the book. Either it was a new book, or it hadn't caught her interest. He made sure the bookmark was firmly in place before flipping the pages to the start and beginning to read.

Goliath was just finishing the introduction to the novel when he heard a 'click.' He looked up from his reading to address Elisa, but words died on his lips as she emerged in the doorway.

She was mostly silhouette, given the light behind her was much brighter than that of the lamp in this corner of the room, which was opposite the door, but there was enough light for faint details to reveal that the figure in the doorway was naked, head bent to one side, a long piece of fabric being worked around the hair draped to Elisa's side.

Goliath's wings flew up as, startled, he made to block her from his view, knowing he had managed to violate her privacy. The lamp crashed into the wall as his wings opened and he turned away. He heard a startled cry behind him, but he didn't turn toward it, knowing what more he could see if he did. Instead he focused on recovering the lamp, half fallen between the corner of the room and the nightstand, looking like it may already be broken, but the light was still on. 

Goliath kept his wings partially raised, as much as the space would allow, to be a clear visual indicator that he was not looking her way as he fumbled the lamp back into place and began scooping up some of the smaller items from the stand that had been knocked down by the shifting of the lamp.

"Goliath?!" Elisa's voice was breathless and startled.

"I'm sorry!" Goliath said, closing his eyes and bracing his hand against the opposite wall. He looked up in exasperation and noted that parts of the windows, that didn't have the glare of the lamp and the room beyond, reflected the rest of the room. He dropped his eyes immediately, feeling a little dizzy. "I called out to you when I came in, but... I realize now you must not have heard me over that fan." 

He thought he heard a slight, breathless chuckle before he heard Elisa say, "You gave me quite a scare there. I wasn't expecting anyone obviously. Lucky I didn't have my gun with me; I was ready to shoot." And this laugh sounded more natural.

He heard her shuffling around, some drawers opening and closing. Needing to know what was happening behind him caused him to lift his eyes to the reflections in the window without thinking. Elisa's back was to him now, and the cloth hung loosely around her, covering her lower half but showing most of her back. He couldn't make out what she was doing except that she was hunched over slightly like she was looking down. He lowered his eyes again. He hadn't meant to look. It was a difficult instinct to fight, not keeping an eye on movement behind him. 

Goliath cleared his throat. "I should leave." But he didn't move immediately. To leave would mean to go back through the window and for the moment, that was where her reflection still was. 

"Goliath, it's fine. Just give me a moment; I'm almost decent."

"Decent?" He asked, for he saw nothing about her actions that would deem her indecent. He was the one who had intruded. 

"Covered up." She said in that way she did when she was explaining how a word was used colloquially without going into a long explanation. "There." She said, and he lifted his eyes to her reflection. It was even harder to make out fine details there than it had been when she was silhouetted by the room behind her previously, but it did seem she was wearing something at least. 

"You don't mind if I turn around then?" He clarified.

She laughed as she assured him it was safe-another odd phrasing, but he believed he caught her meaning well enough not to question. 

He turned around, and it seemed she had resumed the activity she had been doing as she came out of the room and rubbing down her hair with the cloth. She now had clothes on, but somehow he still felt like he was intruding. He'd never seen her in so little. Humans seemed to put a lot of importance on covering up their bodies, but she did not seem uncomfortable in the black, somewhat reflective shorts that seemed... well quite short. And the top, while covering her torso, only seemed to cling to her by little more than strings, with the neck looping low enough to reveal cleavage. And the way the fabric laid on her body seemed different as well.

"I was taking a shower. Between the water and the fan, it's hard to hear much outside of the bathroom." Elisa explained, finishing on the ends of her hair with the cloth. As she did so, she stepped back into the bathroom for a moment. "It's odd, I've never thought to ask you all about showering. You guys function like... well, like you're not magic. But I think you must be." As she emerged from the bathroom, she was without the piece of fabric she'd been using before and was using a much smaller piece that appeared the same fabric as her clothes to push back her hair from falling into her face. He'd seen similar hair pieces on women before, but they usually seemed to stop behind the ears and be of a rigid material. 

"What do you mean?" Goliath asked, though he found himself distracted now by something of a very different nature. Another thing he had noticed about human females was that their breasts, while very similar in relative size and shape to female gargoyles, seemed to have a different property. They didn't... move the same. There was a rigidity to them. But suddenly Elisa's were moving like those of gargoyle women.

"I haven't heard any mention of needing a shower or a bath from you guys since you've been in the clock tower. I think the sun must refresh you over night. That seems awfully handy." She stopped as she reached the other side of her bed, and as he opened his mouth to reply to her assertion, he found himself stopping at the expression she gave him. He realized, with sudden intense embarrassment, that she had caught his gaze. He searched her face for discomfort as he tried to figure out what to say. He couldn't read the expression. Discomfort is not how he'd describe it. Much of it was amusement, but he did see some color on her cheeks which he thought probably did mean he was making her uncomfortable. 

He looked down at her nightstand as an excuse to look away and noticed the book. He touched it. "Light reading before bed?" 

Elisa sat down on the corner of her bed, leaving space between them. 

"I try to keep learning." She said with a shrug. "You know Goliath, if you have any questions for me, I am always happy to answer what I can." 

This caused him to look at her again. She was offering to him to address what had just happened but leaving him with an out. He didn't know why he was so embarrassed all of a sudden. Curiosity was natural, and there was a lot he didn't know. Elisa had always offered to fill in gaps where she could. In his previous world, it did not matter much what he did not know of humans or their ways. But now, if they were to survive in this world, humans were all they had for their communities, if they were to have any outside of their small group. 

He gave a nod and turned more toward her, fighting off his discomfort at broaching topics that seemed taboo. "The clothes you are wearing." He started, but found he wasn't even sure what the question was he was trying to ask, or how to ask it. This was not embarrassment, just a lack in knowledge about human norms. 

"My pajama's." Elisa offered with a nod. 

"Pajamas?" Goliath questioned. This felt like a route that would get him answers.

"They're clothes we wear to bed. Well, that's normally how it's thought of, but honestly, many of us wear pajamas as soon as we get home. They're the most comfortable things we wear." She gave a wry grin. "If we decide to wear anything at all. Many people don't wear anything to go to sleep."

Which begged the question, if he had not interrupted her, would she have gone to sleep as he found her? Had she put these on for his sake? And if so, had she done so for his comfort or hers? He ignored these questions for the ones more relevant to interactions with humans more generally.

"So modesty rules do not apply in the home." It was a question, but he made it a statement to demonstrate that he was starting to understand, and that the conversation was going in the direction of providing answers to the things he was curious about. 

Elisa gave a shrug, which with new revelations, did make Goliath uncomfortable. He tended to see the differences between gargoyles and humans more than he noticed their similarities, which did not seem to be the case for all of his clan. One of the more distinguishing differences to him when interacting with the women, was this oddness about the breasts. It wasn't like he ever stared. It's just a thing he noticed once, and then they meant nothing more to him than the color of one's hair or width of their shoulders. But suddenly the similarities stood out to Goliath as he acutely felt how long it had been since he had looked upon a woman he found appealing in a more sensual manner. He could never deny his attraction to Demona, but now seeing her brought so many painful feelings that there was no room for something as simple as attraction.

As he wrangled with these thoughts, Elisa had explained the various settings and modes of dress common among humans. He was able to gather peripherally that he had always encountered Elisa when she was dressed for work or a practical night out and about. That pajamas, or PJs as she'd started to refer to them, were one of the most casual of attires humans wore, and the degree of how revealing they run tended to depend on the relationships they had with the people they lived with, if any. 

It made a certain amount of sense to him. He had just assumed humans were much more modest than gargoyles, and he would have to consider this new information. It certainly made some things he saw often on the streets make much more sense. 

"Something I said seems to have made you uncomfortable." Elisa suddenly said, and Goliath realized that as she finished an explanation, they had lapsed into silence. 

Goliath looked back at her and saw an expression of concern. "No. Not at all. I am merely... thinking. I am seeing that I have made many assumptions without realizing. I... understood less than I realized."

"Is that upsetting?" Elisa asked, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. It was a casual movement, but something about the movement or her posture belied a sudden discomfort she hadn't had earlier.

"No. Certainly not." Goliath replied, shaking his hand. He looked about the room. He had the urge suddenly to not seem to take up so much space, but his choices seemed to be to sit on the floor or on the bed, and after everything she had just said about homes and bedrooms and sleeping being the most intimate locations, he felt to sit on the bed might make her further uncomfortable. "I am more concerned, after what I learned, about your comfort. Does it... is it upsetting for you that I am here rather than your living room? That I saw you earlier naked?" 

Elisa laughed, and that tension she'd had a moment ago seemed to ease. Her uplifted legs moved to a crossed position, and she leaned forward. "What would you do if it did?" There was a playful note to the statement that suggested she was not, but humor sometimes masked that which made us most uncomfortable.

"Well, I could certainly leave immediately. Perhaps that is what I should have done right away. I... don't know about the other, but if there is anything I could do that would... ease any discomfort, I would hear it." 

Elisa chuckled at that, and Goliath found himself once again diverting his gaze. He found himself desperate to know what had changed about Elisa that she... moved different all of a sudden, but he had already stumbled into crashing into various sensitive topics. Though it was a relief at how remarkable Elisa was taking it. He wondered how grossly he had overestimated human modesty practices. 

"What?" Elisa asked, her tone serious again. "Something keeps making you uncomfortable. Is it too strange seeing me like this? I can put on more clothes if I've managed to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps I’ve assumed too much about a lack of modesty among Gargoyles based on the attire I've seen?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice, but also a hint of frustration.

"No." Goliath assured her. "We do of course cover sensitive flesh, but it is mostly out of comfort than modesty."

"Then it's to see a human naked?" Elisa asked, and again there was something in her tone he couldn't quite interpret. "You have such an appreciation for the arts that I assumed you would have at least seen nakedness in art and photography."

"I have. Yes." He interrupted. "It's none of those things." He sighed. "I apologize. You have done nothing wrong. I am the intruder here. You are not making me uncomfortable. I simply find that I am confused, but I do not need to understand everything."

"Goliath, where else are you going to find answers to your questions? I don't know everything, but it's not like you can ask your books a question and get an answer. I at least could ask a librarian and find books for you. Look. I promise, I'll tell you if you ask me a question I don't want to answer, but you have a right to understand this world you live in, and I've offered to do what I can to help you. If I don't want to answer myself, if it makes me uncomfortable, I can try to find books on the topic for you." 

Goliath sighed and readjusted his wings, uncomfortable. Elisa pushed some hair that had fallen over her shoulder back. She made to tuck it behind her ear, a gesture he'd seen from her often, but of course the piece in her hair already held the hair back from her ears. 

"I don't know how to ask about it without questioning you... you're," He gestured helplessly at her chest and then jerked his hand back, realizing how brusque that must appear. It was embarrassing, but a relief when Elisa let out a burst of laughter at the gesture. 

"Boobs? You want to know about boobs? Goliath, gargoyle women also have them. Or at least Demona does. Weren't you and Demona intimate before she went... well, you know." She shook her head in a manner that suggested she meant to say Demona was crazy. 

Goliath shook his head as if to clear it. "Gargoyle women yes, they do have breasts. But they... move differently than yours. Or, I thought they did." He felt a bit light headed. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, but yet he found he was desperate to understand.

Elisa tilted her head and gave him a confused look. "I'm not sure I follow. I can't say I've noticed anything notably different, though of course I haven't seen Demona's naked breasts. Is that what you mean? You have referenced your kind lay eggs, perhaps gargoyle women don't have nipples?" Her voice was pure curiosity, but after a beat, he saw color rise in her cheeks again. He was actually comforted by the sight. He realized that part of his uneasiness was how much more composed Elisa had been than himself through all this, when it seemed to him their roles should be reversed. 

"They have nipples." He assured her. "But when a gargoyle woman walks, her breasts move with the movement. When she laughs, they move. It's not something that seemed to happen with human women, only..."

Elisa had made a sound of understanding. "Mine have" she finished for him. She got up and walked to the set of drawers along the far wall from her bed. She pulled something off the top and tossed it to him. It appeared to be a top designed for a woman, only it looked like it was intended only to cover the breasts. He looked at it for a moment, then looked at Elisa again and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

"Typically before leaving home, we put one of these on. It's called a bra. It keeps our breasts in place. It can get uncomfortable to do a lot of physical activity without something holding the girls in place. It also prevents our nipples from being visible through our clothes." She gave a shrug. "For some reason, it's considered inappropriate to let them be seen in public." 

"But your men have nipples." Goliath commented on the discrepancy while setting the bra aside. 

"Yeah. It's pretty dumb." Elisa said, returning back to the bed and sitting back down, this time one leg crossed under her. She gave a sudden laugh and shook her head. "All this time, and you thought our boobs were just stiff." Goliath gave her an embarrassed look, and she shook her head in response. "No it makes sense! How would you know? It's crazy how seamlessly you all have become such a normal part of my life that I forget how strange sometimes mine must be to you."

Finally, Goliath sat on the bed. It bowed a bit under his weight, but seemed to hold fine. The tension finally had seemed to evaporate enough that it didn't seem like an invasive gesture anymore. "It has been a learning curve." He admitted. "And I can only thank you for your candor. I think even among gargoyle women, to ask them about their bodies as I did yours would not have been very welcome."

Elisa just smiled at him then shook her head. "I suppose you dropped in just for the peak show then?" 

"What? Oh no! I came to see if you wouldn't want to meet us in the park tomorrow. Lexington has finished another project and wants to show us. And I believe Broadway wants to ask you to track down some movie or other that he wants to see."

Elisa smiled. "I'll be there at dusk when you all wake up tomorrow. I have a pretty busy night coming up with some stake-outs we have to do, though I'd love to see what Lex has gotten up to. But I can check in with you all and see what movies Broadway's heard about now. 

Goliath nodded and stood back up. "We will be pleased to see you. Next time I drop in, I will make sure to announce myself clearer and wait for you in your living room." 

Elisa chucked and nodded. "Have a good night Goliath.” 

Goliath gave her a smile and a short bow before bidding her a good night as well and taking his leave. 

He supposed there was a lot he should consider now and think on, but as he took to the night sky, he found he didn't particularly care to keep contemplating on what he'd learned. It was good to know, but it was just enough that he did. 

[londondungeon2]

SOMETHING I AINT GONNA FINISH BUT

ITS 7562 words so i at least have to share some of it; main is @rel124c41 if u want to read finished hazbin works lmao, this'll be the only non-twst thing on londondungeon, i just want it out of my computer so badly

tags: nudity, blood and gore, referenced torture, pining and yearning, imp servants, hc on what alastor's radioshow might be like, and unfinished *jazz hands*

“You did not need to do that.”

The Radio Demon’s broadcast tower sits like a knife plunged into the Earth. A spindly warning to the Pride Ring that something was looming always, far up above but no less dangerous. Annoyed, you risk the odious climb and challenge The Radio Demon with those words. 

The expanse of his shoulders deflect the interruption quite well. He neither flinches or turns at your voice. Steadfast in his broadcast, the reaction that lets you know he heard you is a flick of his left ear tufts. His voice does not waver. Alastor speaks devote into the vintage pyle microphone head:

“- wish our dear librarian the best with removing the basilisk out of the children book section of her bookshop. Remember! Do not look it in the eyes, lest you value that your organs are inside your skin. 

“Now, the Postmaster would like to extend a proper thank you to everyone who participated in yesterday’s Blood Drive. Blood drives are an essential part in the mailing process. Through the genetic makeup of your blood, the Postmaster will be able to send you articles tailored to your taste. Today, a deep voice sludged out of the mailbox in front lawn of the post office, crying ‘Blood, feed me more blood, BLOOD!’ and then end up coughing out some thick black liquid, one eyewitness says. The Postmaster looks forward to another successful Blood Drive. Please consider giving us your blood! He says!

“Now listeners, it appears that I have a guest in the studio.” You straighten up at Alastor’s words. He is still facing his machines. Mentally, you prepare. A handful of times you have been leashed into his broadcasts because you visited him at an inconvenient time. This time you will put your foot down as you have an important matter to discuss.

“So, here is an early sample of the symphony your dear Radio Demon has been constructing. Let us indulge in music together! I leave you with these parting words: If at first you do not succeed, look around and find out who is trying to sabotage you with telepathic interference. It is someone you knOW.” 

His voice distorts in his last sentence. A few dials on his desk jolt back and forth in pain. Around him, a red fog spins for a moment then dissipates with the last of his words, before he clicks a button.

The symphony … good, that is what you were looking to discuss. It is what prompted the words: you did not need to do that. You step closer, folding annoyed arms, as Alastor rotates his chair to face you. A symphony is by definition an elaborate musical composition and Alastor’s orchestra meets that definition, though in an entirely sick way.

You know you are clear to talk when Alastor sends you a wide, welcoming smile. You fly into it: “What you did was completely unnecessary and insulting. Do you think me impuissant? I expect an apology, not a gloat. Alastor –”

“Come now. I was only acting in an amicable way.”

“It was out of line. It was demeaning to my image.”

“It was a gift,” Alastor says, eyes imploring you to understand despite the permanent stain of a smile on his face. You bristle at that and glare over his shoulder at the playing symphony.

In the arms of an elongated shadow, almost a romantic pose, lays a dead body. The dead body once had a name but it is void with its death. Though it still heavily holds the resemblance of the person’s name despite the gore massacring it. 

Alastor’s shadowman plucks at the cello strings embedded in the jam pink throat. Her feather bridal robe is stained in gore, spilling over the studio floor in wet clumps. Her crown is gone and her legs are bent in unnatural directions. The bridge of a cello sits stabbed into her ribcage. When certain strings are plucked, a different reverbing scream sings from them – the C chord is a fearful scream, the D chord is a wet teary scream, the G chord is an angered cry, and the A chord is a begging please. Glassy jade eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling, snail-trails of mascara streaking down. She is not the first demon you had seen Alastor butcher into an instrument but her presence still pricks at you, causing anger and indignity. 

“What a gift,” you deadpan. 

“Don’t look so wary. She is not worth your time.” Alastor’s shadowman plucks a lengthy D chord, reminding you of the presence of mascara on her gaunt face. “Truthfully, I do not understand the hostility I am being subjected to.” If Alastor ever cried, it would be crocodile tears.

“It is not that she is dead that is causing me strife. It is because you killed her.”

“I would have killed her anyway!”

Your eyes narrow and sneer at Alastor’s jovial exclamation. Jovial as if those words would erase all your shimmering anger. “Yet, you killed her when she was in the midst of threatening me. Do you not see the problem with that?”

“Not particularly!”

Finding your anger to be mounting up, you release frustration through your fists. Leather gloves on your hand whine with the force. “Young people like you never do.” You find a floating speck of dust in the corner by the antler coat-rack to glare at. “It is meaningless having conversations sometimes.”

The grin on Alastor’s face wilts at your eyes’ motions, never leaving though. He is unsure why that sentence hit him so hard. He placates, “I am sure that this one incident is not going to do the damage you think it will. There might be some rumors, yes. Some bull sessions but nothing that should cause you worry, I assure!”  

You ruminate on that. The Radio Demon has been going after strong, minacious Overlords since his manifestation. This could be overlooked rather easily; or, it could be scrutinized to death until they point at you, declaring you under contract with the Radio Demon. You never make contracts.

A beautifully haunting cry of please I’m sorry aaaaah plays in the studio and you almost judge that Alastor is using his monstrous instrument to actually apologize to you. It is as close to guilt you will get from Alastor. With a sigh, you relent.

“Make sure if you are going after Overlords, it is not the one I am trifling with.”

“Ab-so-lutely dearie! A slip up on my part! Now, I do believe this musical number has gone on quite long enough.” You nod your agreement at the double meaning. As long as he heeds your words, you two are quite done talking for the day. You make a move to leave and a single red claw rises in a ‘one second please’ motion. “Though, I do have quite interesting news to report for today. I would not mind an extra ear in the studio.”

Suspicious eyes narrow, the orange eyelashes of yours tightening down. Your interludes often cause him to scheme up something, and you already have one foot rotated towards the trap-door to escape that scheme. “I’m sure that I can hear it all on my radio at home.”

“But, (Name), this is where the magic happens! The piece de resistance of radio broadcasting! I urge you to join me.” 

“Alastor.”

“I would be most honored.” He even slides a few inches on the couch to make room for you. His shadowman manifests an inky black bow, wisps of dark magic curling and congealing into a solid tool. With a presenter flourish, the shadow runs it across four ivory strings. A harmonizing AAAAHHH and EEEEEEEE and  AAAAAAA and PLEASEEEEE billows up in the studio. “Most honored,” he repeats through the discordance of that one long, screeching note.

What do you have to do today? A trip to the market to restock the refrigerator or  a visit to the tailor? The answers to those are: no and no. Alastor’s grin grows as he watches you, all his yellow teeth on display, as you struggle to find an excuse to leave. It is really important that you restock on that blend of tea that a guest of yours liked in case he dropped in unexpectedly – ugh, who were you kidding?

“I’m not here to participate; I will listen and nothing more,” you say, squeezing yourself onto the couch. Your posture is impeccable and you fold gloved hands in your lap with sophistication. “Nothing more.”

With the expression of a cat who got the cream, Alastor turns back to his broadcast station. His fingers piano across his mechanical instruments, changing frequencies with flips of switches and pushes of buttons. Technology is such a headache for you that you wilt away from watching him. 

The shadowman finishes his performance as Alastor finishes with his soundboard. In a passive motion, the last notes of the symphony dies and the throat of a previous Overlord grows as quiet as a cemetery. Alastor … does not pick up the paper on his desk. 

Before you can process that, he is speaking animatedly into his cane, “Dear listeners, I would like to announce a very special guest who will be joining me on our broadcast. Hell’s Beldam, an apostate to God, your favorite Overlord, (Name).” You glare as he holds out his cane to you, silently urging you to say hello to his listeners. 

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The first time you ate meat that came from a more intelligent source of flank, it was to appease Rosie. You still remember how she held your trembling wrist, tender like a mother, and guided a fork of a prime cut a human’s tendon joint to your quivering mouth. Soft, gentle words whispered to you: if you wish to survive, you must adopt a paleolithic diet and attitude, love. You have a much steadier hand now as your fork and knife glide through the maroon filet.

“-- and we should have a delivery for that sweet girl in the next week or so. Franklin, you tell her that I want her eating but the most wrinkled brains and most youthful muscles during her pregnancy. None of that cheap stuff for that sweet thing. And I know her husband can foot the bill. Now, there’s an idea … feet … where’s my?” 

Lifting a forkful to your lips, you watch as Rosie twirls around in the open doorway. She pats her hips twice, frustrated and glancing around her bedroom. You were once surprised that Rosie conducted meetings in her personal chambers – just a testimony to how friendly the Overlord is. Finding her notepad, she starts to scribble on it and return to the doorway.

All you watch now is the plumes of pink and black feathers on her hat as they sway with her animated motions. “Franklin! Franklin! How does pinkie toes wrapped in crescent rolls; a rendition on pigs-in-a-blanket! Franklin? Franklin!” You startle when the Overlord takes her fist and pounds it on her door. “Franklin, please, tell those girls to turn down the radio!”

She turns to you, apologetic in her gestures. “Those sweet girls. I thought they would tire of it after the first quinquennial but they’re still going strong with it.”

You smile warmly, still chewing on your previous bite. Those girls were very devoted in their attendance to The Radio Demon’s broadcasts. Gathered amorously around the radio in the parlor, you amusedly watched their shuffling bodies push close to the radio wires, blushing prettily behind delicately painted fans, before you went up to Rosie’s. Once, a brave girl aged about fifteen gave you her fan – a scene of carnations and butterflies painted on it – and politely asked you to get a signature from The Radio Demon on it. When you returned it, you swear stars lit up her eyes.

You go in for another bite as Rosie turns back to peeking her head outside the door. She listens for either Franklin’s voice or the decreasing volume of the radio. Still Alastor’s voice stays strong, sultry and theatrical, as if he is personally standing in the downstairs parlor talking to everyone. 

“Christ on a cross,” Rosie curses, a delicate hand touching her cheek in surrender. She steps back into the room, scribbling away and closes the door behind her, allowing you two privacy. “Now, do not get me wrong, (Name), that young gentleman is charming but to have all my best girls acting so cockeyed. It’s tiring.”

Rosie finishes with penning her meal idea and sets it on her dresser. A white curl of hair is tucked behind her ear and a sigh escapes her. You offer up your condolences, “Maybe you just have to wait for the decade instead of the quinquennial to pass. I’ve seen those girls switch fancies like a woman with her shoes.”

At least this time you get a small chuckle instead of such despondent looks or sounds. Regaining herself, her teeth make an appearance, springing up into a flashy smile. In a look of thoughtfulness, she puts a finger on her chin. “Perhaps you are right. Though, can we say the same for you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you defend, knowing exactly what she means. This is the exact situation you were hoping to avoid until that cursed man had to swoop in where he was not wanted.

“All I am saying is that Alastor’s voice is not the only voice that I’ve been hearing in my emporium. Speaking of which,” Rosie pulls a letter from her pocket. “Helen wants to know if you can deliver this to Alastor. Little lady has been bitten by the love-bug like an implanting tick! I believe he struck up a conversation with her at the tailor.”

You gracefully take the love letter. The plain white letter has Radio Demon written on its front in elegant scripture and … oh, that is a nice touch … and is fixed together with a wax stamp of a buck’s head with golden antler. Green and gold are a refined color combination. “If I run into him, he will surely receive it.” With a snap, a flame runs itself up the love letter, consuming it and vomiting it out on the desk you have at home. 

“If I run into him, they say,” Rosie repeats with a giggle. She takes her seat and folds her hands over her lap. “I will then assure Helen that her letter will see Alastor within the week.”

“Climb off it.”

“Oh I most definitely will not!”

“Rosie.” 

“You know that you are the only living and willing guest that has ever spoken on his broadcasts. Though, I’m not too sure if the screams he has playing in his ether are living or not. Certainly not willing though!”

“I am not so willing either. I come to discuss business, he pulls me into his broadcast. I go to get a bite from the street, there he is with his microphone.”

“Oh so the shoe is on the other foot. He is smitten with you?”

“No one is smitten with anyone.”

Rosie remains unconvinced. “Dear, you know love is my speciality! If you ever need a listening ear or some advice, you just tell Rosie and I’ll –”

You try to burn harshness out of your throat, truly you do. Despite your best efforts, the words that you say next are coated in hostility wrongfully aimed at the cannibal. “It’s not love. It will never be love. Especially not with me.” 

That finally snaps Rosie out of her teasing. Her warmthful attitude is watered down and a fretful hand rises over to her black lips. Uncomfortable, you try to shrink away from those regretful eyes. You pick up another bite you had cut off the filet, chewing furiously. Rosie tries not to make it obvious but it is fruitless. Her eyes conveniently fall down to the sight of your plate, the space where your hands sit and thus, in addition, to your ungloved digits, your wedding band. The inscription is on the inside of the band, never revealed to any Overlord or Sinner, the words sweetly engraved: Two bodies, one heart. 

“(Name), I’m sorry.”

You swallow. The raw regret in her voice feels like a high-pitched whining frequency in your ear, causing you to wilt. You fold your hands over one another, hiding your wedding band from sight. Orange eyelashes flicker with all the insects and bugs of emotion crawling over your skin. “Can we simply turn matters of discussion towards what I came here for?”

“Of course,” Rosie breathes out. She picks up the folder on the table, leaving her own plate untouched for the time being. A bit of rustling and fluttering distracts you. “Here … and here.” Rosie sets down the papers.

“The population of Cannibal Town is 2254. Since the last monthly visit of yours, only three people have died. Leroy D., Ruth T., and Mieszko M. – Leroy was eaten by his wife, Ruth ate a bad spleen and she got food poisoning, and Mieszko got killed in the crossfire of a turf war. We welcomed one new Sinner about a week ago. This gentleman named Wayne, from California, was a serial cannibal. He actually has this funny –” Rosie wilts under your look. She admends her previous gossip by continuing, “Ahem, and this is the population of Cannibal Town as of now. 2254. No less and no more.”

“No strange sightings or break-ins?”

“None for this month.” 

“No rumors of anything suspicious?”

“Not for what you are looking for, dear,” Rosie says apologetic. 

“No one has seen anything out of the ordinary? No unfamiliar persons at all,” you press.

Rosie only gives you a gloomy shake of her head. Forlorn, you rest your forehead onto the hand resting on your knee, a sigh escaping you like stubborn smoke. You actually have to take a moment to yourself, crawling away into the realm of your mind.

With Extermination coming so close … You two were two separate bodies but joined in your hearts … If anyone knew he was alive, it would be you. Yet, despite that connection that twines you together, you have not been able to locate him. His second pulse rested in your ribcage, a bit weak but still there. Rosie moves to put a hand to your shoulder as she sees you slip into a cavern of dark thoughts but stops when she remembers that you hate being touched. You have to find him. 

“Thank you, Rosie.” You open one eye, ignoring the fullness of your waterline, and give her a sad smile. Her hand hovers but never lands. “I appreciate that you do this for me.”

“No worries, (Name). Cannibal Town is close knit after all. I promise if I see anything, you will be alerted first.”

It is a foolish but friendly effort of her to try and quench the fire in your eternal, damned soul.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The heartbeat of soft pittering rain joins the consonant voice on the radio. Your umbrella (material eaten like a leaf under the consumption of a caterpillar) sits by the doorway, leaking the residue of acid rain onto your carpet. You hear another noise too: the steady flow of a turned on faucet. One of your servants is already washing the cherries in preparation. Shredding your ebon cloak, you venture into a home that is intruded by an uninvited guest you cannot ask to leave.

At least turn on the lights, if you invite yourself in, you think. You raise a finger up, sparking the flames inside lanterns as you go. Like fireflies awoke, they stirred in your presence. You enter the parlor when he is dramatically sitting in the shadows. A thespian until death and beyond.

On the radio, surprisingly in harmony with the acid rain pounding outside, the voice of thespian narrates: “Road crews have shut down all streets in all directions due to an ongoing turf war. So if you are looking to go anywhere, do NOT.”

You have another dramatic thespian to deal with though, separate from the Radio Demon. A finger of yours points skyward and a spark leaps off it, the three-tiered rings of candles on the chandelier stirring to life. You fix him with a vexed look, eyes narrowing. 

You close the heavy doors behind you. Trapping him in there with you. Trapping you in there with him.

“So, we just come in uninvited now, Zestial?”

Zestial ignores you. He takes a loud sip of his tea, his four neon green eyes focused on the radio. His legs are elegantly folded and he looks as deadly as a weapon left unattended in the house of an alcoholic. His presence is perfumed with the scent of nightmares. 

The Overlord has already set up his chess board, his side black and your white. Some residues of souls trapped in the pieces cause them to shift from an eggshell to an ivory white or from violet-black to charcoal. The rooks are particularly restless it seems, their imprisoned souls leaking through the pointed tips of their pieces and shaking on the board. 

On the radio, Alastor animatedly speaks, his voice almost cracking boy-like in his enthusiasm.

“He is good for thou,” Zestial says, nodding towards where the radio sits above your empty fireplace. 

“I have indulged in this subject one too many times this month. Not again.” 

To you, he is not good for you. He is a dog playing around in the forest of wolves, ignorant of the biological differences. He is going to get a reality check of one these days and find himself making a deal that will metamorphosis into his own hands being shackled. Just like Husk. 

You shift when the door of the parlor is knocked upon. You know that you told your servants to always obey the whims of a guest, but you always like to be there to medicate between the three volatile imp brothers and Zestial. “Enter.” You are relieved to see it is Lucius who opens the door, bowl of water-dotted fruit in hand. 

“Master.” The oldest of the three brothers bows deeply at the pleasurable sight of you. You can pick up the tiniest hint of relief in his voice too. He extends the bowl out of you, “I have the cherries that Sir Zestial has asked for.”

“Thank y–”

“The boy can deliver it to thee himself.” 

You snatch up the bowl before Lucius can even register the words. If you were a porcupine, quills would most certainly be raised. Austerity paints your voice.

“You are dismissed. Tell Agnar and Mars to go to their bedrooms and set up a light novel for me.” You two break apart as you turn back to Zestial, glaring. As soon as the door is closed, you say, “You know that a hair harmed on them is the equivalent of you attacking and threatening me.”

“There was no such thing.” Zestail sets down his saucer of tea. You eye it, wondering which one of the imps had to serve him. You mourn not coming home sooner as Zestial picks a cherry out of the bowl you set down. Taking a seat, you listen to his amends, “Thou employs a capable collective.”

“They’re not for sale.”

“Not a collective thee would seek company in.” You eye the board silently. “I believe we hast started out on the wrong foot. The Angelic Extermination is encroaching.”

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

Corinthians 6:18.

Flee from sexual immorality. 

After years and years and years, the night was still vivid in your head. The names and faces of your parents had dissolved through the sieve of time, irrelevant. You kept that night’s memory tight to you, shielding it away from the assault of time, remembering and remembering, reliving and reliving it so you would never forget it. Cauterizing a thousand images of that night into yourself until it was all you knew and breathed: the feel of him inside as you took him against his will, the softness of her as you forced a knife up and up into her womb, the warmth of blood as you offered yourself to whatever deity would listen to the bleats of a lamb, begging for their justice. 

All other sins a person commits are outside the body, 

You knew blood intimately. Squished juices of it flowed down your inner thighs. You collapsed into your mother’s arms, trembling and worrying over what the apple-red liquid meant, until you were taught this experience was an experience all women knew. You learned the taste of blood. In dizzying motions, it swam like a tadpole in your mouth until you spit on the kitchen floor, mouth dripping with it and apologies. You felt the satisfaction that came from drawing blood from someone else. In and out his stomach. In and out her vulva. The liquor of life spilling out, you knew it intimately. 

But whoever sins sexually,

Lucius prepares the light novel. He cleans the tools and tightens the straps. When you eventually descend after your meeting with Ziestal, he offers you a baselard, a short sword, first. The weight of it is tangible in your hand, reliable and non-slippery like memories or blood. You may have been cursed with a putrid body but she got dealt worse.

Sins against their own body.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

“A love letter to keep you warm during Extermination,” you smile, offering up the letter to Alastor. 

You two collide at the butcher shop, famished for a bite. Relenting to his whims, you let Alastor excitedly point out his favorites for this week’s selection, the shark teeth in his mouth moving a mile a minute. You even let him tip up your chin to hand feed you his concoction of summer sausage, honey pineapple mustard, and farmhouse cheddar slices. If he has a tail he is hiding, it must have wagged fast at your praises over his food combination. With both of your baskets full, you two left the butcher shop, your youngest servant following. Then, you presented him with Helen’s love letter.  

His red eyes widen considerably. Behind the both of you, your servant is having a similar reaction, staring like he is a blind man gifted sight. A buzz of static drips into the space between you and Alastor, his gloved hand dipping down to collect the letter. 

“How kind of you, (Name). I suppose all is forgiven?”

“For the matters of the Overlord? Yes. I can put that behind us as long as there is not a repeat of events.”

“Good. I would hate to disrupt the delicate balance we have,” Alastor mutters. He is starting to observe the letter, checking its front and back. The gold and green wax seal is very classy, nice touch, (Name). Though, your hand must have cramped at the end because the front does not look like your handwriting. Also Radio Demon? Why not Alastor? “We have to tread so carefully in our waltz.”

You laugh at his words, making the demon wilt. Alastor? Careful? He was completely without any tact and his fake humanitarianism was like an ill-fitting suit with buttons bursting at the seams. You see right through him. He was a man excited and overjoyed with his eternity, hungering for it. Between laughter, hand up to cover your smile slightly, you say, “Oh yes, of course. We have to be very careful.” 

Alastor sours at your words. He had meant to sound poetic, not comedic. 

He puts his thumb over the edge of the envelope, letting shadows consume it and leave it on the couch in his radio tower. He is a bit anxious about what you wrote to him. Fixing his suit, he admonishes, “We should always be cautious in a world such as this. Ah, just at midnight, we will have a rainstorm of death approaching us!” Alastor gestures a hand out to the red pentagram in the sky.

“Yet, I assume you will be out in it, broadcasting?”

“Rain or shine, I go where entertainment is, dear!”

“Like a moth to fire.” Not entirely cautious despite your previous statement, you think fondly.

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“Precisely!” His yellow teeth are whet in his snarling black gums. “Why, I am a bit mournful to not be up there as the Cold War goes on – why, that would have been quite a broadcast! I just read in the papers that those brave men upstairs have tested this thermonuclear device about a few thousands miles off the coast of Hawaii. A workshop of bombs made by idle hands – how novel!”

“Do you think the Soviet Union will fire first?”

“One can never be too sure with these things. It is a dime throw!” Alastor materializes a dime, weaving it between his ebony hands and red claws. “Heads or tails?”

“To what?” You watch the dime in his hand (...)

“Why, to see if we will survive this Extermination and live to greet 1951?”

That seems to sober you up considerably. (...)

“As they say, beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”

“I taught you that phrase when I introduced the two of you.”

“My apologies. As the Belam says, beware,” you whack him on the shoulder and both of you share a laugh. (...)

THIS SECTION WILL CONTINUE SMOOTHLY

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

“Helloooo! Anybody home?”

The fire enveloping the Belam’s house raises itself up like the fingers of a child, pitching to reach the out-of-reach candy on the top shelf. Relentless and acrimonious, it burns in a glowing wave of white and amber, a warning to not come close. Alastor challenges the roaring fire with those words, arms crossed behind his back and his imprisonment of cheer present on his lips.

Ignoring or ignorant of his presence, the fire does not stir beyond its usual waving and billowing pattern. It continues to chew on the mansion exterior, from the window trims to the roof gable to foundation. Alastor had anticipated – or more correctly, was looking forward to – some reaction, perhaps a forceful flare of flames as it grew in size. The fire continues, devoted in the motions of burning, not wavering into less or more strength. 

Somberly, Alastor removes a hand off his cane. Exuding droplets of your door knocker climb down the wood like snot. It is still slightly usable. Alastor wraps his hand around the soft ring of metal hanging from the lion’s mouth. He lifts it up. Slippery metal indents to his hand’s shape and, as he goes to knock again, the door is suddenly opened.  

Startling a bit, he is quick to flick the liquid metal off his gloves, wanting to be presentable. Alastor grins wider as the innards of your humble home are revealed to him. Is he getting further than Zestial did, he wonders with excitement. 

The first sign that anything is amiss after the Extermination is the wound on Zestial’s face.

Ah. Perhaps not, he thinks as he locks eyes with one of your imp servants, brows creasing. 

Alastor tries to rack his mind, smile strained. He has been in your lovely presence many times. With you often comes a shadow. However, the shadow has three variations without easily identifiable features such as diverse horn shapes. All your lousy, low class company shared the horns of a hebridean sheep – an obnoxious, gross shape. Which one is this? With his height, he might be –

Before Alastor can guess, the imp speaks. He has his arms crossed over his chest, glaring up at the taller demon. “The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.” 

Oh, it is the one who does not like him! Lucius! 

Cheerful at his gained knowledge, Alastor says boisterously, “Now now, dear chump, that is no way to send away unwanted company! Why, I elect for a much firmer tact!” A black gloved hand wraps around Lucius’s arm, squeezing above the elbow. 

“By using physical strength, we notice a change in power dynamic. Then, we should work on your voice. The Master is NOT–” Alastor’s voice drops into a dark static octave, “receiving guests at this time. Emphasize, young man; it is the key to conversing as I have found in my time as a radio host. The most powerful instrument we have is our voice! And, to respond to your statement (because conversing clearly is key too!), I would say –”

Alastor suddenly pulls, causing Lucius to stumble as his palm is inches away from the porch’s foundation. Alastor uses that praised emphasis in a non-verbal way, gaining a few inches in height. His lanky body stretches unnaturally, the corners of his mouth grossly inching up. “I am coming in, no matter what your Master says, you fucking, insignificant IMP.”

Letting Lucius drop to the ground, Alastor laughs and steps in, having fun. He takes the hand that was behind his back and brings it to his front, smiling at his cane. Finger on the pulse point of the pyle microphone, the Radio Demon calls over his shoulder, “Firm tact next time!” Now will that little stunt bring you out or will he need to do more?

“Where is your Master, Lucius?” Alastor asks breezily into the heat radiating off the burning walls. As he walks, he sends glances around the mansion. 

His luxurious stroll grinds to a halt when the cool touch of a weapon hits his nape. If pouting were a possibility, his lips would be pulled into the most childish frustrated pout. Lean body twisting, he sends a glance over his shoulder to see Lucius holding a gun to his throat. 

“Exactly what I was talking about! Firmer tact!”

Alastor’s tone is like a father proud that his son has adopted the correct baseball swing after numerous failed attempts. Lucius’s eyes narrow into a glare, amber sclera shining brightly and rivaling the glow of the fire eating your mansion’s walls. He hisses out his previous statement (“The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.”) as his tail whips up and down wrathfully.

The collective you keep is quite cute. He is still trying to unearthing how these three fearless, loyal brothers fell into your unfriendly hands. The oldest is especially fond of you; Alastor has wondered if you noticed the crush Lucius harbors towards you. If he takes a bite out of the ill-tasting imp, will that lure you into the opening?

“Now, Lucius,” the gun presses deeper into Alastor’s fourth cervical bone, “I think it is the right time to stop acting like I am unwanted company. You yourself have seen how your Belam looks at me.”

The gun is fired.

When a weapon is fired, a change of moods is often a natural following event. These said moods can turn even volatile when someone has previous history with being at the receiving end of a gun. 

THIS SECTION IS UNFINISHED AND WILL NOT READ SMOOTHLY

The ‘X’ stamped on the center of Alastor’s forehead glows a vicious crimson. (...)

“They’re in the parlor,” Agnar interrupts. If the Radio Demon has not been burnt out, then it must be that some part of you wants to meet with him. He might not understand it but he is not enveloped in a cloud of envy like his older brother, thus he can see it perfectly and clearly. “The door is unlocked.”

Alastor turns, red sclera returning with a blink. His eyes upturn and a pleased grin tugs his features into something with a centimeter less malice than it held before. “Good dog,” Alastor says, and taps the head of his cane on Agnar’s shoulder. 

THIS SECTION WILL CONTINUE SMOOTHLY

Alastor brushes past Lucius with a sycophant grin, static laugh track bouncing off him along the way.  Well, it is an ideal turn of events that he does not have to harm one of your imp servants to get you to come out. The palpable glare bruising on his back tickles Alastor as his everlasting static feedback laughs and laughs.

He sends a few amused glances to the walls. Melting iron cascades down overheated lanterns and portrait frames hold nebulous black mouths in them. Perhaps, you heard it all. He did not know the extension of what you could do – were you engulfing this entire place or was there a physical form or mental consciousness in the parlor as your imp said? Wasting no time, he pushes open the entrance to that very room, thrilled to see what could possibly lie beyond.

The design is quite modern from what Alastor can make out in the covering curtains of fire you had thrown throughout your house. There is still that outdated chandelier from whatever time period he has yet to figure out. It now hangs down instead of up like congealing stalactites of silver. 

His eyes draw down to the long table surrounded by one chesterfield couch and a twin set of club chairs. Blackened and concave like melted sugar. The back of the chesterfield blocks the fireplace which roars loudly. Alastor takes a moment to notice the radio above the crashing riptide of fire that your inglenook churns with. Melted, unfortunately. His eyes squint in displeasure. You lay nude and supine on the ground.

He knocks fruitlessly on the parlor door, announcing a presence already known. You do not glance away from the downturned blades of a chandelier liquefying into a reverse mirror of itself. Alastor steps in and you do not stir. 

Come now, (Name), do not be such a bore. The Radio Demon steps into the room. 

“Now, they say the best medicine is laughter! Though, that was snipped from a Proverb and we are, delightfully, trapped in Hell. Sooo,” Alastor sits on the table, crossing legs and holding his cane in folded hands “So I think the next best medicine is a bit of crying! Thus, may I suggest a night on the town, terrorizing the screams and tears out of Sinners and Overlords alike?”

You glance at Alastor, especially since he is holding out his cane’s head to you, waiting for a reply. The energy to muster up a glare or any form of reply is popping and crackling around the two of you. Thus, you stare silent at the theatrical man. 

“Hello,” Alastor brings the cane to his teeth. “Is this thing on?” He taps it with a claw, pops of static thumping with each delicate hit. “No, I think I’m good! Excellent! (Name)!” 

And with a sudden jerk, he spreads his legs and leans his body forward towards you, face hovering over yours. His teeth hang over you like a crescent moon, glowing. “If you would give me the pleasure, I would like to conduct an interview with Hell’s Beldam. Have you seen them around by chance?” 

“…”

“Come now, dear. I am a radio host, not a comedian. And as a radio host, I rely on the conversations that I can have with my audience!” 

Slightly dejected with your blank staring, he sends a scrutinizing gaze over your nude body. People change upon entering Hell. You were no different from him. An unknown being had taken the worst parts of your death and made them prominent in your physical form. 

There is still an outline of where you end and the flame circling the house begins. One of your hands rests on your ribcage between the large globes of your breasts; the other with the wedding band lies across your forehead. Absent of a nose or a moving mouth, blank white eyes highlighted by orange eyelashes reveal the most expressions you can give. Your form is thin, the black of your ribcage is seen under the roaring fire that is your skin. Between your legs lies a thick, inhuman phallus and vulva – both separate human genitals. Your legs are shapely and curvy in that perfect feminine allure. 

He is still unsure of what circumstance led to this being your physical form. The wedding band is currently the most intriguing part of you. He had no idea you were married. Mystery enshrouds even what your crimes could have possibly been in the living world –

“Radio Demon, what do you live for?” Your voice sounds like the crunching and popping of a thousand branches. It is distorted like you are trying to speak over a campfire that has grown too tall and too wide. 

“Why! Entertainment, of course!” He spins back to a sitting position, crossing his legs and perfecting his posture. “I live for the Shakespearen entertainment of a stage! Divertissement, as the French say! Why I became an Overlord just for the very notion to be more entertained!”

“I live for revenge.”

[torillatavataan]

Home video shows apprehensive Putin in sweatpants – Yle publishes images from secret trip to Finland

Dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt, blue Adidas sweatpants, and sporting unkempt hair, he looks drab and non-descript. After playing ping pong in casual attire, Putin doesn’t look any more impressive when he sits down for a festive dinner – a far cry from the macho, dictatorial image that Putin has since hewn for himself.

In the video, the usually reserved Putin's self-control sometimes falters. In the heat of a ping pong match, Putin even emits a rare laugh.

Putin, who is famously paranoid about his privacy, only releases videos that bolster his own authority. However, in the clips from the early 1990s, Putin was not able to control what was filmed or how he is portrayed. The video also reveals how small Putin is.

According to an eyewitness, it was important that the guests would catch fish, even though Putin had not yet begun to burnish his image by posing with impressive catches as he later would as president.

”They were really into fishing. They tried with a rod and reel but we had nets out to be sure to catch some fish. They didn't get anything with a fishing rod or a reel.”

Putin, seen playing ping-pong in Raseborg with untidy hair and loose sweatpants, has since sought to improve his image through the unlimited resources at his disposal. The end result is a grotesque reversal of the aims.

Now, at nearly 71, Putin has reportedly tried to rejuvenate himself with cosmetic surgery and Botox injections to smooth facial wrinkles, resulting in a swollen, rounded face.

Read full article by Yle, reblog to embarrass Putin

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Hook Man

Previous Chapter / First Chapter / Next Chapter

Dean and I were sitting at a table at an outdoor café while Sam was on the payphone nearby. Dean was working on a laptop while I was drinking my coffee then Sam walks back over to us. "Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis." I said to him. "Bite me." Sam said as he sits down. I stick my tongue out at him and he shakes his head but I see he is smiling.

"So, anything?" Dean asked Sam. Sam shakes his head and said. "I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe’s fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations."

"Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found." Dean said and Sam looks down, disappointed. I frown then patted his arm and he nods, appreciatevly, to me. "Check this out." Dean said then he shows us an article on the computer about a guy's death.

"It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here." He said and we read the article.

“The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road.” I read. "Keep reading." Dean said and I look over the article. “Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.” I read then raise an eyebrow at Dean.

"Could be something interesting." Dean said, shrugging.

"Or it could be nothing at all. One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man." Sam said, slightly annoyed. "But what if it is? Dad would check it out." Dean said and Sam looks at his brother then at me.

****

Later, we pull up to a fraternity then get out of the car as some frat brothers look at us confused but some of them look at me, their eyes roaming over me. I look at the boys and smiled at them and wink, flirtatiously, at them. I look over back at Sam and Dean, who I noticed narrowing his eyes at the frat boys.

"One more time, why are we here?" Sam asked Dean. "Victim lived here." Dean said as we walk up to some guys fixing a car. 

"Nice wheels." Dean said and they look at him strangely. "We’re your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay." Dean said as he gestures between him and Sam then he grins. 

"Who are you?" One of the boys asked him. "We’re your new roommates." Dean said then smiles. "And what about you, sweetheart?" One of the boys asked me.

"I'm a transfer as well. But I'm just hanging around these two as they're my friends back in Ohio." I replied to them as Dean walks up to one of the boys, who was holding up a brush and paint.

"Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today." The boy said.

"He’s the artist. Things he can do with a brush." Dean said as he points at Sam, who looks mortified. But he takes the brush and can as Dean sits on a chair and picks up a magazine.

"So....Murph. Is it true?" I asked him as I walk up to the guy. "What?" He said, shocked. "We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week." I said and he looks down. "Yeah." He said, sadly.

"What happened?" Dean asked him. "They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy." Murph replied.

"Rich....he was with somebody?" Sam asked as he continues to paint his back. "Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen." Murph said.

"Who’s Lori Sorensen?" Dean asked then looks over at Sam. "You missed a spot. Just down there on the back." He said while Sam looks at him, annoyed. Dean grins and I rolled my eyes as I turn to Murph.

"Lori’s a freshman. She’s a local. Super hot. And get this: she’s a reverend’s daughter." Murph said and I shake my head. "You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?" Dean asked the boy.

****

Later, we pull up to the church and enter the inside of the building. We go and sit down and a girl, which I assume is Lori, stares at Sam, and he smiles weakly at her. "So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children." The preacher said and everyone bows their head in prayer, including me and Sam, except Dean. I elbow him, and Dean, noticing everyone else, does the same.

After the service, the boys and I make our way over to Lori. "Are you Lori?" I asked her. "Yeah." She said as she looks between the three of us. "My name is (y/n). This is Sam and his brother brother, Dean." I introduced as I gesture towards the boys. "Hi." The boys said as Dean waves at her.

"We just transferred here to the university." Sam said and she nods. "I saw you inside." She said. "We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and..." Sam started to say but Dean talks over her.

"We wanted to say how sorry we were." Dean said. "I kind of know what you’re going through. I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget." Sam said and Lori nods slightly as the Reverend walks up to us.

"Dad, um, this is (y/n), Sam and Dean. They’re new students." Lori introduced and Dean shakes the reverend’s hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon." Dean said. "Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message." He said and Dean chuckles.

"Listen, uh, we’re new in town, actually." Dean said and leads the Reverend away from Sam, Lori and I. "And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group." He said before they leave then Sam and I turn to Lori.

"Tell us, Lori. What are the police saying?" Sam asked her as we walk with her. "Well, they don’t have a lot to go on. I think they blame me for that." She said.

"What do you mean?" I asked her. "My story. I was so scared, I guess I was seeing things." She said and we stop walking. "That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real." Sam said and him and Lori look at each other for a few seconds then she starts to explain it to us.

****

"So you guys believe her?" Dean asked us as we come up to the library. "I do." Sam said. "Yeah, I think she’s hot, too." Dean said and I roll my eyes. "No, man, there’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car." I said to him, slightly annoyed.

"Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—" Dean said and I nod as Sam said. "Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend."

"That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man." Dean said and I shrug. "Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began." I said to him. "Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?" Dean asked.

"Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?" Sam suggested.

****

Later, we were at a table in the library when the librarian places a few big boxes in front of us. "Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851." She said as Dean blows some dust off a box and coughs. "Thanks." He said to her. "Ok." She said and she walks away.

"So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?" Dean asked Sam. "Welcome to higher education." Sam said and we begin reading.

****

"Hey, check this out. 1862." I said, hours after looking through the books. "A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh." I read to them and Dean looks at another page. 

"Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook." He said and Sam points to another page.

"Look where all this happened." He said and Dean and I read it.

"9 Mile Road." Dean and I said in unison.

"Same place where the frat boy was killed." Sam said and I smiled and patted his shoulder as Dean looks at him, impressed. "Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out." Dean said and we gather all the research and we leave.

****

We drive up to 9 Mile Road and get out of the car. Dean opens the trunk and hands Sam and I a rifle. "Here you go." He said. "If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good." Sam said. "Yeah, rock salt." Dean said and he hands it to us.

"Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent." Sam said as Dean takes out a coil of rope and shuts the trunk. "Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down." I said and we start walking towards the trees.

"That’s pretty good. You guys, Dad and Mr (l/n) think of this?" Sam asked us. "I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius." Dean said and I roll my eyes when we hear noises among the trees and stop walking. Sam raises his gun and looks around.

"Over there. Over there." I whispered and the boys aim their guns and cocks it. A figure comes out from behind the trees but it is a sheriff. "Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head." He ordered us.

"W-w-wait, okay, okay!" Dean shouts.

"Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!" The officer orders again and we get down. "Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!" The officer said and we lay down. "They had the guns!" Dean shouts and I look over at Dean. "Oh gee, thanks for throwing us under the bus." I grumble towards him.

[gallavichthings]

Writer’s Spotlight - Mhunter10

Be honest, y’all thought I had abandoned this series, didn’t you? But I hadn’t! In fact, this interview was done a long time ago, but posting was delayed for several reasons. It’s finally here though, and I’m very excited for you to read this one, because the writer we’re spotlighting today is a fandom veteran and one of our most prolific writers. Enter: Malenah, aka @mhunter10​!

GT: Ok, first of all, I've got to say, I'm so happy you agreed to talk to me! I missed you! How have you been?

M: Been up and down and dealing with some stuff, but I think I'm okay. I definitely miss writing.

GT: And we miss your writing. Is that why you stopped for a while, life just got in the way?

M: Yes, but also the fandom and show wasn't fun anymore. Tumblr policies got annoying and people weren't finding my stuff....people actively stealing my work and reposting without asking.

GT: Oh, that sucks. 😔 When did you join the fandom? And what made you want to? What was it about Shameless (or Gallavich) that captivated you?

M: Oof maybe 2013ish? 2015ish? Whenever Shameless first season was on. I actually didn't even have Showtime, I would literally sit on Tumblr and wait for someone to recap the episode or link a bootleg clip. I've always been into good queer stories as a queer, and Cam and Noel's dynamic was interesting and the sort of cute that makes you squeal like a little girl. 

GT: They've always had a lot of chemistry. Did you start writing fics right away? What made you want to start?

M: I was actually writing for another fandom/couple for a while way before Shameless. For Gallavich I was mainly just making headcanons that sometimes turned into drabbles. Eventually I wrote longer fics and started posting to AO3. I'd respond to someone else's headcanon or idea with a short fic.

GT: A lot of people still do that nowadays. That was one of my favorite things about your fics, actually, the fact that most of them were short and I could get my quick Gallavich fix without compromising my lack of a long attention span. 😅

M: Haha I was the queen of the drabble.

GT: What fandom were you writing for before, if you don't mind me asking? Was it the first you wrote fics for?

M: A soap opera called As the World Turns😅. I was writing fic when it was still airing new episodes in the middle of the day on CBS. I wrote for Luke and Noah and the fics are archived somewhere on the internet forever.

GT: Was it also the first fandom you read fics for?

M: I think so? Lol that sounds right. I also wrote some fics for Eyewitness, the US version.

GT: Let me backtrack, because we went straight into your experience with fandom, but I want to also know a bit about you. Please tell us a bit about yourself. 

M: Oh Haha well I'm 30. Black, bi, live in Maryland. Have a bachelor's and currently getting my master's. Write, paint, sculpt, collect, read, work… mostly work. Work work work. Fall is my favorite season. Libra. Currently have 8 tattoos. Live with my partner, 3 years together. Umm...I've got arthritis and hip dysplasia so lol....anyone wanting to murder me now has everything they need to know and opportunity.

GT: Hahahaha That was very in-depth, indeed! What's your masters about?

M: Organizational Sciences.

GT: I don't know what that is, but it feels like something I should study. 😅 What is it? And do you already work in that field or are branching out?

M: It's akin to industrial psychology...basically, how workplaces work and how to improve the work environment. Definitely has a lot of intangible skills everyone should have an understanding of if you work. It's very meta sometimes lol. Leadership, communications, change management, negotiation, etc.

GT: Oh, that's interesting! You mention you also paint and sculpt? Talk about a well-rounded artist! What got you into those?

M: I've just always been artsy fartsy crafty.....schmafty. Fun fact: walked out of my pottery class first day cuz the professor rubbed me the wrong way....took ballet instead. I'm mostly a painter but I have a lot of little things I've made out of clay just for fun.

GT: Like what? 

M: Mostly small food 😆. I paint whatever. I was an instructor for about 2 years.

GT: If you feel comfortable, could you maybe share a pic or two?

GT: They're all beautiful, but the one with the blue-haired woman is GORGEOUS! 😍

GT: Let's talk about Shameless. Do you have a favorite season and/or episode? 

M: Yikes, I honestly don't remember much but definitely before the whole show went off the rails. I think 1-4 are standouts, maybe 5 or 6. I only really stayed for Gallavich. 

GT: I feel you, I actually stopped watching after S5.

M: Trevor was the worst.

GT: Why do you say that?

M: Not the actor ,obviously, but the whole storyline was not done right at all, imo. The whole jesus stuff was stupid. Frank continuing to live was stupid. All the stupid and inconsistent decisions compounded into me not giving a shit anymore.

GT: Did you actually watch all the seasons? Because I myself skipped S6 to S9. What did you think of the ending?

M: The ending I saw was the wedding stuff, but I haven't watched anything after.

GT: Do you intend to or will you just consider the wedding the end and that's it? Either way, what did you think of the wedding? Or the fact that there was one. The early-seasons fan in me was in shock it even happened. Once Mickey came back for 9x06, I figured that was as good as it was going to ever get.

M: I knew they would do it. They baited us, kept us on the hook and reeled us back in with the Gallavich crap. I thought the wedding was fine, didn't understand half the people there. Oh wait I also watched some of the stuff with them in the apartment and trying to adjust to that which was actually pretty interesting. I didn't really keep up after that, just saw some gifs here and there. I think they had sex in an ambulance with a dead person? I don't really understand why they have to keep doing illegal stuff. I refuse to believe Fiona would not even show up or call or check in, but I understand why Emmy wanted to cut full ties with the show

GT: I agree, I never understood why not have Fiona keep in touch, or just have one of them mentioned she called. But it's the same thing they did with Mickey at the end of season 5. Instead of cutting Noel from the show, but still having Mickey be somewhat present through mentions, they decided he'd be arrested AND Ian would break up with him. And then they mentioned things about him that weren't true. That made no sense at all. How would you have written their ending if you got to choose?

M: I've written their ending lol; just a short fic reimagining the day after the wedding. I liked the apartment stuff. I would've written them trying to find Mandy eventually leaving the show due to a positive sign she wanted to reconnect. They need to leave the Southside. But during their search, Mickey goes to school. Maybe some shenanigans ensue, but ultimately he does well enough to graduate. I'd see Ian writing a book.

GT: Ian writing a book? That's something I never thought of. A biography or fiction?

M: Maybe a memoir.

GT: What about other moments of the show? If you could change one thing the show did with them, what would it be? 

M: Everything. Anything I ever had an issue with, I usually turned into some sort of fic in retaliation. I did a fic rewriting their meeting at the docks, and also one where Ian finds Mickey in Mexico. I did one of when Ian came home from the hospital and Mickey is taking care of him, but ends up helping Fiona with some chores. 

GT: Ok, but if you could only choose one? Sophie's choice, I know. Well, reverse Sophie's choice. 😅

M: Idk I'd redo all the stuff with Yevgeny and not make Mickey forget all about him.

GT: Great point. Just one more thing that doesn't make sense in this show. Ok, now let's talk fanfiction. What kind of fics do you write the most? I mean, I know you're the drabble queen, but what else?

M: My fics range from absolute crack fucking with the readers, to gut wrenching, to smut, to whatever passion project I think 2 people will read. I've written some lengthy stuff. Two wips I'm ashamed to admit I forgot where I was going with them as the reason I haven't updated them are White Coats and, by far my most popular fic, The Sugar Daddy. I also have several series going with trans Mickey, fratboy Mickey, geek Mickey, etc.

GT: I can relate, I also have a WIP I don't know how to continue. I have the plot planned, but... I don't quite know how to get there. Do you have a personal favorite among your fics, one that you were especially proud to write?

M: Definitely The Sugar Daddy, but they're all my babies to some extent, even the less popular and early ones. I liked writing pregnant Mickey. And I like some of my fantasy spins, like Mickey meeting Santa lol, and Ian in Oz.

GT: If you had to rewrite a fic you wrote, which one would you choose and how would you change it?

M: I have over 400 fics so I know I myself am forgetting a lot of them lol.

GT: I have way less and I forget mine too, so I can only imagine. 😁

M: When I come across an oldy it's always fun to read it with fresh eyes haha. I don't think I would rewrite any.

GT:  No regrets, huh?

M: Pretty much.

GT: Fair enough. Now, you said it yourself, you have A LOT of fics out there. Where do you get your ideas from?

M: I tend to write in a zone so whatever I put out there is what I wanted out there in the moment. I have an idea and just go with it and see how it comes together

GT: You said you write in a zone. How do you get in that zone? (asking for a friend)

M: I've had somewhere I just could not figure out how to get it out of my head in a way that makes sense so those just never see the light of day or they find their way magically into something else. It's probably an undiagnosed adhd thing but I hit a groove and can keep going as long as I'm excited. That excitement is generated by how much I think what I've written is going to make people shit their pants. I have a fic titled Ian Snaps Mickey's Neck. 

GT: Lol that sounds like a good motivator. So I'm assuming you don't plan your fics much?

M: Not like pages and pages of details before I even begin, but I know major points and how I want to lead up to some of them. That's not to say I'm not just winging it most of the time. Sometimes I'll come up with something better or different based on reactions if it's a multichap. Prompts are a little tricky sometimes cuz the person is expecting the thing so you need to do the thing. 

GT: What about research? Do you do any before or during writing?

M: A little if I want to make sure I'm saying something correctly, either words or phrases. Places sometimes, or if I want to actually describe something specific. For example, in the Sugar Daddy I have a few links to items Ian gets Mickey just to add to the visuals but I'm not expecting everyone reading to care enough about the minutiae of how much it costs to take a bus in Chicago. I stick with what's relevant and if I think people will get the point without me turning in a research paper. 

GT: Do you have a preference for writing from Ian's or Mickey's pov?

M: No preference just whatever the story calls for [whose pov do I write more, it's definitely Mickey].

GT: Do you write other characters aside from Ian and Mickey?

M: I've written a couple fics that include other Shameless characters and definitely some original characters. 

GT: Which Shameless characters do you write more often? Do you write fics just about them or only include them in your Gallavich fics?

M: Ian and Mickey for sure, others as needed for the story but I know I've done a fic from Debbie's perspective a long time ago? Or Carl....

GT: You mentioned you sometimes include OCs. How do you create them? Do you base them on real people?

M: No, definitely not. I mean, if there is any originality in an original character anymore ie. typical archetypes. I at least try to make them their own character and not just an npc.

GT: You write a good deal of mpreg, a trope that a lot of people don't like. What attracts you to it?

M: Hahaha a good deal? I wrote 2 at the most. To me it's just another way of writing something. I've read some weird shit that I definitely would never write myself.

GT: Really? It was more in my mind. 😅 What are some tropes you enjoy writing?

M: I like writing scenarios that actually happen to me sometimes. Makes things feel more real. I guess I subscribe to the usual angsty stuff. But I genuinely like writing fun and sweet, sexy and loving, intimate.

GT: Is there anything you think you could never write?

M: Incest, child stuff, dom/sub, animals.

GT: Do your preferences apply when reading as well? What kind of things do you enjoy reading about?

M: Haha I've stumbled into some fics where I'm not sure if the subject or the writing turned me off more.

GT: Like what? What makes you quickly hit the back button?

M: If it's great writing, I might skip around some bits. Otherwise yeah, I'm not reading anything that I'd have to announce to a room at gunpoint. But that's for my own peace, some things just should not be written.

GT: One more thing, out of curiosity: where does your url come from? I get the M from your name, but why hunter10?

M:  It's my last name and birth month and username for everything because I'm a basic and terrible person 😆.

GT: What are you currently reading?

M: The one where Ian is the reading tutor and has a cat, Paragraphs by @palepinkgoat​. I also like their other stuff and am always extremely jealous, feel free to mention that haha.  Jealous and supportive, but still… lol. And I really do want to finish The Sugar Daddy but for now I'm going to get back into writing slowly with updating some of my series. Before that I was reading Deaf Group by @thevioletjones​, another fav. Unfortunately a lot of my list is orphaned, deleted or no updates since 2015.

GT: Yeah, a lot of people left the fandom around the time, which is sad, but understandable. I understand orphaning your fics, and of course shit happens, so abandoned WIPs are normal, but I don't get the reasoning behind just deleting something you created, unless you later realized it was in poor taste. But well, to each their own. Ok, so I was going to ask you about your plans for more, but you've already said you want to finish The Sugar Daddy. Any other plans? 

M: No other plans really. I always think I'm going to write this idea I've had but I'm not skilled enough to do it

GT: And finally, leave a message for those reading this interview, please.

M: Ehh....hi,this is Malenah and you're watching Disney channel.

Idk. Be careful, be safe, be aware of your surroundings. I love you.

Drink some water and keep going.

[dawnedon]

"Readings are definitely increasing in this direction. I think we may have a lead." The glowing screen of the device illuminated Oliver's face through the early morning fog. Fellow researchers soon looked up from their own handhelds. Some moved in his direction, confirming the spike in their own readings, and it wasn't long before they began murmuring amongst themselves.

The machinery was Oliver's invention - something that had catapulted him ahead in the scientific world. It was a device to pick up distortional anomalies, that which came from the Distortion World itself. All eyes were on him with this invention, and his blossoming reputation studying Sinnoh's creation legends.

The group had packed light, each bringing a backpack of various items - notebooks, plenty of pens and pencils, cameras, containers for samples - most of them weren't really sure what they were going to do should they make an encounter with the parallel realm; including Oliver. He had brought a camera of his own, which hung comfortably around his neck, finding that visual documentation would be most important to him.

Photographs of the Distortion World were something that didn't exist. Documentation on the subject overall was extremely rare, and only a handful of eyewitness accounts of anomalies existed as far back as record keeping began. Oliver being so close to one of his major goals had his heart racing, and with each step he took at the head of the group, the readings from the radar grew more and more intense.

"We should be upon it in about five meters," he informs, "stick together. The fog shouldn't interfere beyond making it harder to see." Cedar trees flanked either sides of them, the forest of trees holding an eerie silence. There was no wind, no sounds of pokemon - it was dead quiet in Sinnoh's wilderness.

Each step was agonizing its own way as they marched ahead towards the unknown. The temperature, while already cold, had grown even colder now. Somehow, the fog seemed even thicker than before, and the area grew darker and darker - what little light there was seemed to evaporate, almost.

They were upon it now. The device was so frantic, Oliver almost expected it to stop functioning altogether. Midnight eyes peered down at the screen for a moment. "Professor Hara-" the voice of one of his colleagues was all he heard, before a feeling of weightlessness took over. The sudden shift was nauseating, as was the rapidly shifting scene before him. Darkness clouded the edges of his vision, blurring colors, lights, and sounds overwhelming his senses momentarily.

And then, he would land with a hard thud on his back.

Oliver blinked once, then twice, clearing away any lingering blurriness in his vision. A swirling, purple sky was what greeted him first. Then, he'd see large floating platforms overhead, dotting the sky like clouds. Waterfalls flowed not just down, but upwards, sideways, and even diagonal.

He scrambled to sit up, eyes darting in all directions for another second longer, before refocusing on his colleagues. "Is everyone okay?" With various noises of affirmation from the rest of the group, it wasn't long before Oliver pushed himself into a standing position. He moved to help others up, all while taking in the Distortion World.

The gravity of the platform they were on was almost that of earth, if only a bit lighter. He found he could jump in place a little, and hang suspended in the air a fraction longer than normal. Other platforms caught his eye, with some hanging upside down, while others hung sideways. Did gravity function the same on those as well? Did they keep one righted constantly, despite the differing orientations?

He grabbed for his camera, wasting no time in snapping several pictures. Though expensive, he had made sure to purchase one of the largest SD cards on the market. Running out of storage space would have been beyond devastating for the young professor - the only thing worse would have been coming back empty handed overall.

The others were also marveling at the otherworldly sights of the realm. Some went on to take photos of their own, while a few had gone off to the side to take samplings of the plants. Spindly trees, and crystalline flowers that somehow survived in spite of the harsh conditions. There wasn't any sunlight, nor did it seem any precipitation was readily available - and yet, they still grew.

Crystals hung suspended in the air, and Oliver found himself taking photos of those as well. The crystals were something he had knowledge about, thanks to various texts he had pieced together. They were the key back to their own world, showcasing various images of earth. 'One way mirrors' was how he always described it. A way to see into earth from the Distortion World, though there was no way to see here from earth. How lonely had that been for this realms one inhabitant, Giratina, he had always wondered. To continually see the world on the other side, passing by without a care without her. To see how close freedom was, yet being shackled and bound to this world.

There was an undeniable buzz in the group as they continued to document this realm. They talked among themselves, hypotheses and theories already being born in conversation. Oliver continued to take photographs, contemplating descending further into the Distortion World. Before he did so, he would take a moment to look through the dozens of photos he took.

As his thumb moved over the arrows, the images on the screen made his heart sink. They... were blurry? That couldn't be right. Each and every one was blurry - not a single one appeared to be right. Oliver double checked his lens, making sure the dial was properly tuned. It definitely was; he had taken photos out in the field not long ago, and he hadn't touched or messed with anything on this lens. His brows knit together as he lowered the camera slightly, before lifting it to take another picture, this time of the group.

The photo of them was perfectly clear, but the surrounding background of the Distortion World was blurred. Immediately, Oliver made his way over to his colleagues. "This is strange," he has the photos up still to show them, "none of my pictures are coming through. Is there some kind of interference here?" One of the other professors with a camera also checked through their photos, looking as equally as puzzled as Oliver had.

"Mine look the same too," they confirmed, "before we had come out here, I checked my lens and all settings on my camera to make sure it was good. See - I had taken some test photos earlier that were perfect," they cycle back to their older photos, showcasing the cedar forest in the fog - a perfectly clear photograph.

Before Oliver could say anything else, a crashing sound from deep within the Distortion World reverberated upwards. The platform they stood on rumbled, shaking with aftershocks. There was a sudden chill within his heart, ice traveling through his veins. Inexplicably, cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

He lifted his hands slightly as they began to shake, and he would soon see that all the hands on his watch were rapidly advancing through the seconds, minutes, and hours. Oliver could feel his mind racing right with his heart. There was another crash - this one was closer. The skies above them, a lighter purple before, were now much, much darker. Calm waterfalls now became rushing torrents, the noise drowning out all other senses. The glowing pools were now dim, and the flowers steadily lost their petals. Mirrored blooms fell to the hard ground, the small tinkling noise nearly lost among the cacophony of the falls.

Giratina was here. And they were not welcome.

"We need to get out of here! Now!" Oliver shouted, eyes darting in panic. The crystals that hung in the air seemed farther than before. He knew they were much closer. Giratina, or the realm itself, was closing off their chances to escape. There was no time to waste as Oliver began to run. Another ear-grating crash erupted from behind them, screeching as one of the larger platforms exploded into a shower of rock and debris.

The roar from the ghostly dragon cut through all other noise in the Distortion World - she was here, and she was enraged.

Those that had pokemon on them were unable to send them out in time. Oliver looked over his shoulder in time to see pointed spikes turning two of his colleagues into nothing more than red mist. Their bags and devices fell to the ground, before the current of Giratina's movement sent them over the edge and to the depths below.

A group of seven, now down to five with such a simple movement.

One of the researchers pace slowed from a sprint, to a jog, then to a walk, and then... to nothing. Their legs simply stopped carrying them forward, eyes wide with fear. Death itself loomed over them soon, overshadowing them entirely. A deep red energy exploded from Giratina without her so much as lifting a tendril, and before anyone could react, the researcher was gone in the blink of an eye. The large platform they were under also disappeared instantaneously - the rest of the team was fortunate to dive to a neighboring landmass before they fell to their deaths.

The power of a goddess was unfathomable and incomprehensible, Oliver was quickly learning. Though his legs were shaking, he still managed to push himself up and scramble ahead. A fear so raw had never pervaded his mind in such a way. He, an ant, was up against infinity. His mouth was dry as screams echoed out behind him. Wet noises of blood and viscera peppering the ground reached his ears. Despite his best judgement telling him otherwise, he still cast a glance over his shoulder.

It was carnage. And now, it was just him left alone with Giratina.

The crystals- The crystals. They were his only way out. He made a frantic beeline to the nearest one he saw, ducking in time to avoid being decapitated by a large, gnarly spike. His desperation made him crawl, fingernails breaking on the ground through the effort he exerted.

It depicted a mountain peak on the other side, with deep blue skies. Somewhere in the wilderness, he assumed, but he should be able to call for help from there. A scream tore through his throat involuntarily as pain shot through his side - one of Giratina's spikes tore through his skin like paper, red beginning to bloom through his lab coat.

"Y̶͔̅ǫ̴̈ü̵͍'̵̰̇r̴͎͂ê̵̯ ̴͕͝n̷̞̾o̴̳͗ţ̵̊ ̴͈̕g̸̱̅o̴̱͋i̴̙̋ǹ̷̼g̵̩̍ ̸͇͝A̷̞̎N̵̤͘Y̵̯͗W̵̖̄H̷͓́Ȇ̵͙R̵̝̆Ë̵ͅ.̴͜͝"

His hand pressed over the wound, blood pooling through his fingers. A whimper of pain left his throat, but the insanity and desperation to leave overshadowed it all. After nearly tripping over his own feet pushing himself up one final time, he took a final leap through the crystal.

Oliver landed hard on the ground once he passed through, crushing his camera and knocking the wind out of himself. He coughed and spluttered, gasping for air as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Finally, with Oliver regaining his bearings, he would slowly rise to his feet. His wound beat in time with his heart, and he moved his hand back over it to keep pressure applied. Though he was in the wilderness, he should be able to get help still - and he needed to get it fast.

As he reached into his bag for his cellular device, thankful that his belongings survived the encounter, he found himself pausing as he beheld the sky. There... were three suns. Oliver whirled around, and behind them in the sky appeared to be a moon, with a smaller moon orbiting it.

The mountain ahead of him - of which he had only seen the peak of in the crystal - was so large it breached the atmosphere. The rocky crag that made up the range was a deep blue, almost black, color; unlike any mountain range on earth.

There was the tiniest laughs that left him, before he collapsed back onto the ground. Pinpricks of needles washed over his body as realization overcame him.

He had not made it back to earth.

The crystals didn't just show earth like he had assumed - they showed other places in the entire universe. The Distortion World wasn't just a mirror to earth, but to the universe as a whole. The Distortion World could exist without earth, but not without the universe. What a stunning, and shattering knowledge. If only he had realized it before this. If only he could share this discovery with his peers... and with his young daughter, too.

Dawn was always fascinated with his field of study, and the capacity she showed to learn - at least, when the subject interested her - never failed to put a smile on his face. Not just as a scientist, but as a father, too. Seeing how her personality and interests had developed as she grew older was his favorite part of being a parent.

Tears soon filled his eyes as another realization dawned on him. He wouldn't ever be returning home. He had lost his device in the panic earlier, and he was on an unknown planet, an unknown distance from earth. No one was coming for him. No one would know what happened to him. No one would be able to tell his daughter, and his wife, the truth.

Oliver wouldn't get to see Dawn grow up. He wouldn't get to see where her ambition led her, see her chase her dreams, share his research and his knowledge with her.

If he would have known this was the outcome, he would have just let Giratina kill him. It would have been a mercy compared to this - this planet was inhabitable given the presence of oxygen, but there were no signs of life.

He didn't move his hand to wipe the tears. Instead, he laid on his side. Tears dampened the ground beneath him, midnight eyes looking over the towering mountain ahead.

'Dawn... Ayako... What are you two doing right now? Is it morning there? Are you starting your days? Will... Will you notice when I don't come back?' He wondered to himself.

Blood continued to pool out of his wound, and Oliver slowly removed his hand from it. He felt tired - his eyes felt so, so heavy now.

'I'm sorry to you both. I hope these words can reach you, even if you're so far away.'

The three suns slowly set behind the mountain, hiding themselves away. The sky, soon alight and smoldering with all shades of color, was the last thing he would behold.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Saturday, July 1, 2023

July 1st_June 18

St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco the Wonderworker (movable holiday on Saturday closest to June 19th).

SAINT JOHN OF SHANGAÏ AND SAN FRANCISCO (1966)

In honor of the June 2nd feast of the great hierarch, ascetic, and wonderworker, John Maximovich of Shangaï and San Francisco,  we let Archpriest Peter Perekrestov, an eyewitness of the opening of St John’s coffin on October 12th, 1993, recounts the event.

Vladika John passed away in 1966 while visiting Seattle with the wonder-working Kursk Root Icon of the Mother of God. After the service, he went to his cell and was found reposed before the icon. The funeral was held in San Francisco, but not immediately, because it took a long time for all the bishops to assemble. Metropolitan Laurus (then Igumen Laurus) and Archbishop Averky (Taushev) traveled for three days by car from Jordanville - almost three thousand miles. Although Vladika John's body had not been embalmed, it showed no signs of decay before or after the funeral. San Francisco's Board of Supervisors had given the Holy Virgin Cathedral parish council special permission to bury the Archbishop within the city confines, under the church building. We used to have a storage room in the basement. This room was transformed into the sepulcher where Vladika John's remains were laid to rest.

People went to his tomb before the glorification, as with Blessed Xenia in St. Petersburg. Initially, they prayed for Vladika John, but then they started praying to him, leaving him their lists of names. And numerous miracles occurred. The veneration of Saint John and the process of his glorification began as a grassroots movement and was not one directed from above. His reverence was growing rapidly, and thus the question of his canonization arose relatively soon. However, it was a great miracle that a decision regarding his canonization was made.

At that time, the head of our Russian Church Abroad was Metropolitan Vitaly (Ustinov), and it is no secret that he had not been favorably disposed toward Archbishop John. As a result, Vladika Vitaly was less popular in San Francisco. Nevertheless, Archbishop Anthony (Medvedev), the ruling hierarch of the Western American Diocese, told me after returning from the Synod meeting in September 1993: "You won't believe what just happened. At the Synod meeting, I suggested that materials for the possible glorification of Archbishop John be collected, and Metropolitan Vitaly unexpectedly said: 'Let's glorify him'!"

After this turn of events, it was decided to uncover Vladika John's remains. Archbishop Anthony invited Archbishop Laurus, to whom he was very close and trusted, and several priests, including an archimandrite who used to be Archbishop John's leading acolyte. The keeper of the sepulcher was also invited.

For some reason, there are particular days when every single detail is remembered. Father Alexander Schmemann reflects on this in his diaries. We can forget details of very important days: our wedding or ordination days, but some days and moments are always remembered. We recall every fact: the weather and the color of people's clothing. For example, although I served with Archbishop Anthony (Medvedev) for twenty years, I remember only certain moments well. I can close my eyes and feel him sitting nearby, see him separating his Panagia and Cross on his chest, and clearly see his facial expression. In the same way, I remember the day when holy Vladika John's relics were opened: It was like a small Pascha.

Most of us have never opened a coffin after twenty-five years after the burial. From a human perspective, I felt trepidation and some reluctance before St. John's remains opened. I was a young priest and honestly couldn't say I felt too comfortable around dead bodies. At about 9:00 p.m., we went down to the sepulcher and began serving a Panikhida. Our wives and children knew about this. Although Vladika Anthony asked us to keep this a secret, we convinced him we could not keep this a secret from our wives. They would ask where we were going at that hour. Vladika Anthony then gave us his permission to tell them.

They were waiting for us at home with great anxiety. Several days before the opening of the relics, a small delegation had gone down to the sepulcher to investigate things. The board consisted of three clergymen, one of them being a carpenter. The casket was in an aboveground concrete sarcophagus. The delegation needed to know in advance how the extremely heavy cover of the coffin would be removed. Because of their efforts, when we went to open the remains, we knew what needed to be done. Two-by-fours, a crowbar, sheets, and other items had been prepared. We lifted the cover of the sarcophagus and saw a corroded metal casket under it. The coffin was covered by a bishop's mantle, which had been put there on the day of Archbishop John's funeral. The mantle was intact. Then the coffin was raised slightly with ropes, but it started to collapse because it had completely rusted through in many places. So we put the two-by-fours under the casket to support it. The next step was to open the casket lid.

The key to the lid had been kept by one hieromonk for more than twenty-five years. He approached the casket and solemnly put the key into the keyhole, but the lid would not open. It has rusted through, and the lock did not work. Then our protodeacon got down to business and tried to force open the lid with a crowbar. He was a very strong Russian and weighed around 375 pounds. However, Archbishop Anthony disapproved of such use of brutal force, believing it is not proper and pious to open the lid in such a manner, so he stopped the protodeacon, crossed himself, closed his eyes, and started reading the 50th Psalm.

I would like to step back momentarily and recall the events that led to this. When my wife and I were deciding whether or not to move to San Francisco, she was quite hesitant because we would be living very far from family. In the Russian Church Abroad, we do not have such a strict policy regarding clergy assignments and transfers as in Russia. Usually, a bishop will propose, and the priest can either agree or refuse. The quandary is that many of our priests have secular jobs, and not everyone can leave his job because not every parish can provide its clergy with a decent salary. So we went to San Francisco for a "scouting" trip. I had more superficial reasons for moving there. I thought of the grand cathedral, the numerous youth, the large Russian population, and the active parish school. But my wife was a bit skeptical about those things. We saw the city, got to meet some of the clergy, and, right before our departure, were invited by Vladika Anthony to his residence. Archbishop Anthony lived alone. He did not have a cell attendant or a driver. He usually used the city buses and always carried a briefcase with him. He even put his food purchases in that leather briefcase when he went shopping. The Archbishop greeted us at the door, sat us down, and started cooking everything himself. When the food was ready, he faced the icon corner and said the Lord's Prayer. My wife later remarked that she had never seen anyone reading "Our Father" in such a way. Vladika Anthony was not simply reading a prayer; he stood before the living God, addressing Him. There was no formal element in his prayer. When we left Archbishop Anthony's quarters, I asked my wife: "Well, Lena, what do you think?" she replied: "With a bishop like that, one can live and serve anywhere." That was the deciding factor for us regarding our move to California

This same bishop was praying during the opening of St. John's relics. Vladika Anthony completed Psalm 50, took the lid, and quickly opened it. I believe we could not open the lid from the beginning because God wanted the relics to be uncovered by Archbishop Anthony, a man of high spiritual life and purity. The lid opened, and we glimpsed at St. John's vestments. Initially, they were white but now had become green. It seemed they were moldy. We then touched the vestments, which fell apart in our hands because of decomposition. When a priest is buried, his face is covered with an aer: the one used to wrap the Holy Gifts at the Liturgy. Such an aer was covering St. John's face. Archbishop Anthony crossed himself and raised the aer covering Vladika John's face. This was the moment when I saw Archbishop John's face for the first time. His face and body were intact - incorrupt - and we were looking at true relics.

Vladika Anthony appointed me as the photographer for this event. I was taking pictures with a film camera (this was in 1993). I ran out of the film and rushed home. All the lights were on in our apartment-it was like the Pascha. Although it was around midnight, my wife was waiting for me. I began saying loudly: "He is incorrupt! His relics are incorrupt!" I then grabbed some film and ran back to the sepulcher. Matushka started to phone others to share our joy. When I returned to the sepulcher, a sick boy was brought to the relics who was the son of one of our diocesan priests. Archbishop Anthony gave his blessing for the boy to touch the relics. And the boy was healed. Now he is entirely healthy, much taller than I, and plays college rugby. A wooden casket had been prepared in advance to replace the metal one that had rusted away. We placed the relics in the wooden coffin, closed it, and left the sepulcher praising God.

The preparations for the glorification were moving ahead quickly. New vestments were being sewn for St. John. We opened the relics again in several months to wash them and vest Vladika, but we needed to figure out how to do this. No reference book had detailed instructions on cleaning and preparing relics before a glorification service. Archbishop Anthony was searching all his books. He found some historical data on canonizations, including how St. Theodosy of Chernigov and St. Ioasaph of Belgorod were glorified by the Russian Orthodox Church. He also found some articles in the publication of The Church Herald and other old periodicals. There was some information there, but we had to figure out most things ourselves. In Russia, perestroika had only just begun, and the opening of relics was not yet widespread. There was nobody to ask. We washed St. John's relics using water, oil, and rosewater. Initially, his skin seemed light in color, almost white, but it turned a rather dark amber color after it was washed. I combed out his hair and beard (I even found several hairs in the comb afterward). We changed his vestments and left him in the sepulcher until 1994, when he was glorified on the day of his repose, July 2

St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco was glorified as follows: First, the relics were brought from the sepulcher to the cathedral proper and placed in the center of the church. A Panikhida was then served, the last one for Archbishop John. At the end of the Panikhida, an icon of St. John, wrapped in a cloth, was laid upon the closed reliquary. The Panikhida finished with the words: "May God bless and give him rest, and by his holy prayers have mercy on us." After the Panikhida, the All-Night Vigil began, at which the stichera (verses) to the new saint were sung. During the litya, when a list of saints is remembered, St. John was mentioned for the first time: "Our father among the saint's John, Archbishop of Shanghai and San Francisco the Wonderworker, whose glorification is presently taking place, and all the saints..." That Vigil was unforgettable!

Saturday, July 1st, 2023. St Jon's relics has been brought out of its shrine and sits in the middle of the church from Thursday to Saturday 

During the polyeleos, the Metropolitan came up to the reliquary, untied the icon of St. John on top of it, and two tall priests raised it on high so the faithful could see it. Afterward, the reliquary lid was lifted, and everyone could see St. John's relics. Immediately, all present did a full prostration, and the numerous clergy sang the Magnification to the new saint.

The glorification service was beautiful and genuinely conciliar, with the participation of numerous faithful. It was also one of the most important spiritual events in my life. And I will not cease to remark that our generation is highly blessed. Not one generation has received as many mercies from God as we have: We have not experienced wars and witnessed the rebirth of church life in Russia and the glorification of the New Martyrs and St. John. In addition to these blessings, we have seen and taken part in a tremendous and unprecedented miracle: the unification of the two parts of the Russian Church!

Archpriest Peter Perekrestov is currently archpriest of the Holy Virgin Cathedral “Joy of All Sorrows” of San Francisco, where St John Maximovich of Shanghaï and San Francisco reposes.

Source: Orthodox Christianity

PHILIPPIANS 2:5-11 

5 Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus, 6 who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, 7 but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself. He became obedient to the point of death, even at the end of the cross. 9 Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, 10 that at the name of Jesus, every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, 11 and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

LUKE 10:38-42; 11:27-28 

38 Now it happened as they went that He entered a certain village, and a confident woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house. 39 And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus' feet and heard His word. 40 But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, "Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me." 41 And Jesus answered and said to her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. 42 But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her. 27 And it happened, as He spoke these things, that a certain woman from the crowd raised her voice and said to Him, "Blessed is the womb that bore You, and the breasts which nursed You!" 28 But He said, "More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it!"

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the weekend!

Wow! Here we are again: Friday! Where did that week go? No, seriously, where did that week go?

I don’t know if you’ve seen that unbelievable story about a recent party at Buckingham Palace and a rather insensitive guest. The late Queen's lady-in-waiting Lady Susan Hussey has apologised and resigned after she repeatedly asked a black British charity boss where she was "really" from. Ngozi Fulani, a charity founder, was questioned about her background at the charity event at the palace on Tuesday. Ms. Fulani, said she was "totally stunned" by Prince William's godmother's comments. An eyewitness to the conversation, Mandu Reid, told BBC News that Lady Hussey's questions had been "offensive, racist and unwelcoming". The leader of the Women's Equality Party said she had felt a "sense of incredulity" about the exchange in which Ms Fulani was interrogated about where she was from, even though she had already explained she was born and lived in the UK. Ms. Fulani was at a reception at Buckingham Palace on Tuesday representing the London-based charity Sistah Space, which supports women of African and Caribbean heritage across the UK who have faced domestic and sexual abuse. Afterwards, Ms. Fulani described on Twitter how the royal aide moved her hair aside to see her name badge, and then challenged her to explain where she was from. Moved her hair aside? You crazy? I can see we’re going to have to give some white people lessons on how to talk to black people. See? Meghan was right! She said the palace was racist!

So glad to see more people on public transport wearing face masks. It’s good to know that some people care about my well-being.

Today is the start of my marking period. The door to my study will be closed for the next two weeks. If you knock on it, you’d better have a good reason. I’m only coming out for special occasions. Next Thursday I’ve got two parties to attend, so I will make sure I have a productive day!

Health-wise: I haven’t felt this spunky in ages! Yesterday, there were people passing me in jumpers, hats, scarves and gloves. I was out there in a T-shirt and my Harrington! My current regime is: Irish Moss, Wellman 50+ and echinacea, washed down with a fruit smoothie. I’ve also come off coffee and I’m just drinking green tea. I only have one cup of coffee with my evening meal. I make sure I get a good night’s sleep, so my energy levels are very good. Over the Christmas period, I plan to do some good walking, I will look even fitter than ever, so I can’t be held accountable for the lusty, insatiable women I come into contact with!

My Weskify Wrapped data has thrown up a lot of interesting stats. I listen to a very wide range of music, some of it very obscure. As I don’t have a Spotify profile, my data is compiled from assorted radio shows, my iTunes library and a random selection of websites. George Clinton once wrote a song about repetitious music called ‘Loopzilla’. The lyrics read, “Like ‘Planet Rock’, we just don’t stop, we’re gonna drive you nuts.” I need to be stimulated so, when I’m listening to music, the genre, mood and tempo always keep changing.

Hope you can join me tomorrow at 1.00 p.m. for ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’. The first part of Letter K (Part One). Executive producer: Garry Cooper.

Have a fabulous and funky Friday! I love you all. You’re probably thinking, “You don’t even know me!” but, if people can hate for no reason, why can’t I love?

[alinajohsblog]

18th September, 2023: The mind explained

Today I watched two episodes of ”the mind explained” on netflix. To add some more challenge to the task I watched the episodes without subtitles. The task was to find difficult words and phrases and translate them. The other task was to write down keywords and write a summary of the episode. 

Why did I do this? Well, I think it was a good way to start working with ”academic texts”. I had to pick out the most important parts of the content and write a summary. I had to concentrate on both listening and writing down keywords, to make the writing of the summary easier. Furthermore, the people spoke with different accents, so I really had to pay attention to understand what they were saying. 

I think this task was a good ”introduction” to the other tasks I’m going to do during this course.  It was a good way to practice listening comprehension, writing and I learned a lot about mindfulness and memory, which I can use in the future as a teacher. 

Mindfulness

The first episode of the series ”The mind explained”, was about mindfulness. Mindfulness could be explained as intentional control of the brain activity. By practicing mindfulness, you practice the quality of paying attention. 

Mindfulness and meditation are not the same thing. There are many different types of meditation, sort of like there are different types of sports. In my understanding, mindfulness is a type of meditation, and the Sathipathana is the original mindfulness. In Sathipathana you bring awareness to what the brain actually is doing and observe the reactions in your mind. 

By practicing mindfulness, you train your mind to make it healthier. Mindfulness can help, and ease the symptoms of for example stress, depression and anxiety. 

In the episode they showed prisoners doing mindfulness practices in jail. This helped the prisoners, since it made them more in control of how they respond in different situations.  

There was only one totally new word for me in this episode, and that was the word ”rumination”. The meaning of rumination is ”a cycle of negative thinking”. The swedish translation to rumination is ”att grubbla”. 

I think this episode was very interesting, since I think mindfulness is something you could use in classrooms to decrease stress and anxiety. You could for example start or end the school day by doing mindfulness exercises. 

Memory

This episode was hard to follow, since it was very scientific. I did not have a hard time with the language itself, but the content was hard to understand since I have only read five courses of biology. However, the episode was really interesting. 

In the beginning of the episode there is a woman talking about her memories from the day of the 9/11 attacks. These memories are not correct at all, and she wonders how she can remember it so wrongly. She remembers sitting in class, in front of a window with a view over the sea/lake/water. She remembers seeing smoke. The classroom she was in however, didn’t have windows on the seaside, and the smoke had blown in another direction, making it impossible that she could have seen the smoke. 

We actually don’t even remember our most significant memories 100% correct.  The reason for this is that our episodic memories are flexible. This means that there are gaps in our memories, that we fill in with knowledge of  ”how it could have been”.  It is also very easy to manipulate the brain into filling in these gaps with specific information. In for example eyewitness identification, we can boost the eyewitness confidence, and convince them to think that they’ve seen something they actually haven’t – ”contaminate” the memory.

Why do we remember things wrong? Why does the brain work like that? Well, the reason for this is that the past & the future are linked in the brain. This is because of that the same parts of the brain handle the memories and the imagination. The reason we forget parts of our memories, and fill the gaps with something else – is so that we can think and sort of predict the future, or what could happen in the future. The brain weaves together parts of the past with thoughts of the future, to create – yourself. 

Some people have a better memory then others. For example, the girl in the episode got ten minutes to remember 500 numbers, which she did. People like this don’t have bigger brains and are not necessarily smarter than the ”average” person. They just handle a lot of different methods and strategies of remembering. The girl in the video for example changed the number combinations into letter combinations, which from she created words which she then combined to a story. 

Hours of work: 2

[aspenmissing]

𝙷𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝙼𝚊𝚗 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

Sam is on a payphone, and Y/N and Dean are sitting at a table outside the café.

"Alright, thank you for your time." He hangs up and walks back to the table where Dean is working on the laptop, and Y/N is drinking her milkshake, looking at the screen.

"Your, uh, half-caf, a double vanilla latte is gettin' cold over here, Francis."

"Bite me." Sam sits down.

"So, anything?" Y/N asks. Sam shakes his head.

"I had 'em check the FBI's Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe's fitting Dad's description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations."

"Sam, I'm tellin' ya, I don't think Dad wants to be found." Sam looks disappointed. "Check this out." Dean shows Sam and Y/N an article on the computer. "It's a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It's only about a hundred miles from here.

"The mutilated body was found near the victim's car, parked on 9 Mile Road," Sam reads.

"Keep reading."

"Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible."

"Could there be something interesting?" Y/N says.

"Or it could be nothing at all. One freaked-out witness who didn't see anything? That doesn't mean it's the invisible man," Sam says.

"But what if it is? Dad would check it out."

==

Y/N pulls up at the fraternity, and the three get out of the car. The frat brothers are confused.

"Once more time, why are we here?" Sam asks.

"The victim lived here," Dean replies. They walk up to some guys fixing a car.

"Nice wheels." They look at Y/N strangely. She then points to Sam and Dean with her thumbs. "These two are your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We're new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay." She grins. "Sadly, not me, though, boys, already set up shop somewhere else."

==

Sam, Y/N, and Dean walk up to a doorway to see a shirtless frat boy in yellow shorts and painting his face and body purple. The three knocked on the door.

"Who are you?"

"We're your new roommates." Dean smiles and walks over to the boy. He points back to Y/N. "Not her, of course; sorry to break your hopes there." The boy holds the brush and paint can out to Y/N.

"Do me a favour? Get my back. Big game today." He looks at me sweetly. She points to Sam.

"He's the artist. Things he can do with a brush." Sam, mortified, takes the brush and cans. Dean sits on a chair and picks up a magazine. Y/N looks around.

"So... Murphy. Is it true?" Dean says.

"What?"

"We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week."

"Yeah," Murph replies sadly.

"What happened?" Y/N asks.

"They're saying something psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter is passing through. Rich was a good guy."

"Rich was with somebody?"

"Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen."

"Who's Lori Sorensen?" Y/N asks.

"You missed a spot. Just down there, on the back." Dean says, looking at Sam, who looks annoyed while Dean grins. Y/N smacks Dean's arm.

"Lori's a freshman. She's a local. Super-hot. And get this: she's a reverend's daughter."

"You wouldn't happen to know which church, would you?"

==

"Our hearts go out to the family of a young man who perished. And my personal prayers of thanks go out as well, because I believe he died trying to protect my daughter. And now, as time heals all our wounds, we should reflect on what this tragedy means. To us, as a church." Sam, Dean, and Y/N enter, and the door slams. The congregation goes silent and turns to look at them. "As a community, and as a family, The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings." The three sit down. A young female stares at Sam, and he smiles weakly at her. "So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children." Everybody bows their heads in prayer, except Dean. Sam elbows him, and Dean, noticing everyone else, does the same.

==

Sam, Y/N, and Dean walk up to the young girl, who had stared at Sam.

"Are you Lori?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," she replies.

"My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean. And my sister, Y/N." The twins wave.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"We just transferred here to the university."

"I saw you inside," she says.

"We don't want to bother you. We just heard about what happened, and"

"We wanted to say how sorry we were," Dean says, Y/N nodding.

"I kind of know what you're going through. I-I saw someone get hurt once. It's something you don't forget." Lori nods slightly as the reverend walks up to them.

"Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and Y/N. They're new students." Dean shakes the reverend's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon."

"Thank you very much. It's so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord's message." Y/N chuckles.

"Listen, uh, we're new to town, actually." She and Dean led the reverend away from Sam and Lori. "And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group."

==

They walk into the library, then walk down one of the sections and stop.

"Do you believe her?" Dean asks.

"I do," Y/N replies.

"Yeah, I think she's hot, too."

"No, man, there's something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. I found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car."

"Wait, is the body suspended? That sounds like the"

"Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend."

"That's one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don't think that we're dealing with the Hook Man," Y/N says.

"Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began."

"Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches, the tyre punctures, and the invisible killer?"

"Well, maybe the Hook Man isn't a man at all. What if it's some kind of spirit?"

==

The three are sitting at a table in the library. The librarian places a few big boxes in front of them.

"Thanks," Dean says.

"Ok," the librarian says and walks away.

"So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?" Y/N says, sighing.

"Welcome to higher education." They begin to read.

==

Hours later, Dean and Sam are still reading. Y/N, on the other hand, had crossed her arms on the table and fallen asleep.

"Hey, check this out," Sam says. Dean shakes Y/N's arm, causing her to wake up. The two then go over to Sam, who's reading a book. "A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. It looks like he was so angry over the red-light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, some of the deceased were found in their beds, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh." Dean looks at another page.

"Get this, the murder weapon? It looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook?" Y/N points to another page.

"Look where all this happened." Dean reads it.

"9 Mile Road."

"Same place where the frat boy was killed." Sam adds.

"Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let's check it out," Dean says as Sam gathers all the research and they leave."

==

Dean, Sam, and Y/N drive up 9 Mile Road and get out of the car. Dean opens the trunk and hands Y/N a rifle.

"Here you go."

"If it is a spirit, buckshot won't do much good."

"Yeah, rock salt," Y/N says.

"Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent." Dean takes out a coil of rope and shuts the trunk.

"Yeah. It won't kill them. But it'll slow 'em down," Y/N says as they start walking towards the trees.

"That's pretty good. You, Dean, and Dad, think of this."

"No, just Dean and Dad," Y/N says.

"I told you. You don't have to be a college graduate to be a genius," Dean replies. They hear noises among the trees and stop walking. Y/N raises her gun and looks around.

"Over there. Over there," Dean whispers. Y/N aims the gun and cocks it. A figure comes out from behind the trees. It's a sheriff.

"Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head."

"W-w-wait, okay, okay!"

"Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!" They get down. "Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!"

"She had the gun!" They lay down.

"Gee! Thanks a lot, Dean!"

==

Sam, Dean, and Y/N are leaving the sheriff's department.

"Save your asses! I talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock," Dean says.

"But how?" Sam asks.

"I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you."

"What about the shotgun?" Y/N asks.

"I said that you were hunting ghosts, and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank," Dean replies.

"And he believed you?" Sam asks.

"Well, you look like a dumbass pledge, and Y/N looks like someone who would do it anyway." Seconds later, several sheriffs run out of the building and speed away in police cars. Sam, Dean, and Y/N exchange a look.

==

Lori is wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the back of a parked ambulance. Sam, Dean, and Y/N drive by and look at her.

"I just want to take her home."

"I understand that, Reverend. But Lori's now connected to two murders, and I can't ignore that."

"Listen to me. Arrest her now, or let me take her home." The sheriff thinks about it for a second.

"Make sure she's available for questioning."

"Thank you." He walks over to Lori. "Sweetheart, are you ready to go home?" She stands up and starts walking with him. Dean, Sam, and Y/N park their car on another street. They get out and walk around to the back of Lori's sorority.

"Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road," Sam says.

"Maybe he's not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it's about something else," Y/N says. Two sorority girls come out the side entrance of the building, but they don't see Sam, Y/N, and Dean. Sam and Dean lean against the side of the house next to some bushes to hide. "Dude, sorority girls! Think we'll see a naked pillow fight?" Dean and Y/N turn around and see Sam trying to climb onto the balcony of the house. Dean helps him up and then climbs up himself, followed by Y/N. Once they are up there, they sneak into Lori's window. Dean seems to fall on top of Sam by getting in the window.

"Oh, sorry!" Then Y/N comes in, falling on top of the two.

"Ow~"

"Be quiet," Sam says.

"You be quiet!"

"You be quiet!" Y/N puts her hands over their mouths.

"Shut up. Someone's coming." She shoves the two into Lori's walk-in closet just as a sheriff enters. Minutes later, Sam opens the door slightly and sees another sheriff leaving the bedroom. Sam waits until the sheriff goes downstairs and then opens the closet door. Once in Lori's bedroom, Sam, Dean, and Y/N see the writing on the wall.

"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light? That's right out of the legend," Sam says.

"Yeah, that's classic Hook Man all right," Y/N says, scrunching her nose. "It's a spirit."

"Yeah, I've never smelled ozone this strong before," Dean says, moving over to the window. "Hey, come here." Dean walks over to Sam and Y/N. Sam points to the cross symbol beneath the writing. "Does that look familiar to you?"

==

Dean, Sam, and Y/N are sitting by the car looking at a picture of the cross symbol that they found during their research.

"It's the same symbol. It seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns," Sam says.

"All right, let's find the dude's grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down."

"After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave," Sam reads. The three look annoyed.

"Super," Dean says.

"Ok. So, we know it's Jacob Karns. But we still don't know where he'll manifest next. Or why."

"I'll take a wild guess about why. I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this." They get in the car.

==

A while later, the three are at a college party. Dean and Y/N walk up to Sam.

"Hey."

"Man, you've been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!" Dean says this as he winks and smiles at a passing girl.

"If I knew it was this cool, then I would have left for college a long time ago," Y/N says while looking at a boy up and down, smiling.

"This wasn't my experience."

"Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A's." Sam nods.

"What a geek! Alright, you do your homework." Y/N asks.

"Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something," Sam says, unravelling a piece of paper.

"1932. A clergyman was arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage," Dean reads.

"There's a pattern here. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then he found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out—get this—with a sharp instrument."

"What's the connection to Lori?" Y/N asks.

"A man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?" Dean and Y/N suddenly understand. "Except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he's just trying to save his only daughter."

"Reverend Sorensen. You think he's summoning the spirit?"

"Maybe. Or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?" Sam says.

"Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend's repressed emotions and feeds off them, yeah, okay."

"Without the reverent ever even knowing it."

"Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight." Sam nods.

"What about you two?" Sam asks. Dean looks at an attractive blond smiling at him by the pool table.

"We're going to go see if we can find that unmarked grave," Y/N replies. Dean looks at the blond again, shakes his head in disappointment, and walks away, followed by Y/N.

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 3 * PART 4 * BOOK 55 2 Peter 2:9 – 3:18 - Part 2 We’d just like to thank you for joining with us in this taping as hopefully we’ll finish II Peter in this one and be ready for I John in our next taping when we begin book number 56. We hope you like this classroom effect. We’ve had more than one letter that said, "I almost feel like I’m back in college again sitting in a classroom." And that’s all we want to do is just simply teach the Book and hopefully make it understandable so that folks can study it on their own. Okay, let’s pick up where we left off in II Peter chapter 3 and we’re down there at verse 14. II Peter 3:14a "Wherefore,.…" Because of all that we know from the Word of God is going to happen and nothing is going to stop it. We don’t claim to know when, but it is coming, II Peter 3:14a "Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye look for such things, (in other words, the end of time and the whole operation of this planet and the human race, the human experience is going to come to an end) be diligent…." In other words, don’t take these things haphazardly. Be serious about it. God is real. God is genuine. He’s Sovereign. He’s in control. And His Word is true. You know, I think that’s what people are finding out – the more you study this Book, the more you realize that it is the Word of God. The meticulous way it’s been put together. It’s just impossible for mortal men to have done the things that are evident when you study the Scripture. People who scoff at the Scripture are usually people who have never studied it. They have never come to realize the little intricacies that are so evident for those of us who do study - and so this is what Peter is telling his folks - "be diligent." Because, like he said back in chapter 1 in this same book, "we’re not following cunningly devised fables." Yeah, turn back with me a minute because that says it so well. Still in II Peter but back to chapter 1 verse 16. Just remind yourself of this constantly. II Peter 1:16a "For we have not followed cunningly devised fables,.…" These aren’t just campfire stories, and legends. These are not things that have been concocted by men’s ideas. II Peter 1:16b "…when we made known unto you the power and the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty." Peter is speaking from first hand experience. All right, now come back to where we just were in chapter 3. And so he says, again: II Peter 3:14b "...be diligent that ye may be found of him in peace,.…" Now that’s the joy of the believer that we have peace with God. We don’t have to worry about the life to come because we know that we’re already His. II Peter 3:14c "…without spot, and blameless." Well, now we can’t gain that by our own endeavor, so again it goes back to what the Scriptures tell us that we’re "washed by that shed blood of Christ. We’re declared forgiven." And we have nothing against us. We’re blameless. Now that word rings a bell. Come back with me to I Corinthians chapter 1, and this is a verse that some people don’t like. It rubs them wrong and I can’t help that. We stand on what the Book says. Remember the Corinthians were the most carnal of any of the congregations that Paul had established. They were babes in Christ. They had a lot of problems. A lot of people today would say they weren’t even Christians, but that’s not what the Book says. I Corinthians 1:4-6 "I thank my God always on your behalf, for the grace of God which is given you (to these Corinthians) by Jesus Christ; 5. That in everything ye are enriched by him, in all utterance, (every word they spoke reflected their new life in Christ) and in all knowledge; 6. Even as the testimony of Christ was confirmed in you:" In other words, they came out of their pagan background; their lives were transformed, and they became testimonies of God’s saving grace. Now verse 7. I Corinthians 1:7 "So that ye come behind in no gift; (everything that was potentially

there was for them to enjoy) waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ:" Remember when we taught the introduction in the book of James? Even Paul and his followers thought that the Body of Christ would be Raptured before the Tribulation would begin, and it still will be. I Corinthians 1:8 "Who shall also confirm (or make everything absolute) you unto the end, (He’s never going to let go of you. Why?) that ye may be blameless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ." In other words, the true believer. Even though we may fail from day to day, yet, when the Lord comes and if we’re suddenly alive and remain and are translated, we will never stand before the Lord with sin to confess. "We’re going to be blameless" – automatically! And that isn’t license for loose living. No way, shape, or form! But we are in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ - when we’re translated into His presence, we will be immediately "blameless.’" Now we’re still going to come before the Lord for the judgment of reward for what we’ve done in our bodies - but we are never going to have to shake in our boots before the Lord, having sin to deal with. That will be automatically cleansed and removed. All right, back to II Peter now then, verse 15. Now here are verses that some of you probably think I run into the ground, but when I saw these verses several years ago, I thought, "This is what I’ve been looking for!" Because a lot of people get on my case for making too much of Paul and his writings. They’re going to follow Peter because, after all, Peter spent three years with Jesus. Peter understood everything that He said and did, so they think, "I’ll follow Peter, not Paul." (Although by inspiration Paul wrote to us several times that we were to be followers of him.) And I know people don’t like that, but that’s what the Word proclaims. But, here we have that same Peter, admonishing even his Jewish followers that, if they want true salvation (that is, I think he’s speaking in terms of days to come, and without really knowing himself how much time he has left to instruct them. And he didn’t realize that all these things are not going to be culminated. The Spirit knew that we were going to go on into a 2,000-year period of grace, so with that in mind, the Spirit must have inspired Peter to tell his people that, for salvation) go to Paul’s writings. II Peter 3:15a "And account (or understand) that the longsuffering (the patience) of our Lord is salvation;.…" Now we’ve stressed this before. From Genesis, especially chapter 3, when Adam and Eve have fallen - all the way from Genesis clear through to the end of the human experience, the whole heart of God is the salvation of the human being." Like we saw in our last program, God’s not willing that any should perish. Well, if He didn’t want them to perish, what did He want them to have? Salvation! And salvation is saved from eternal doom, but also saved unto a life of service and love for the Creator, for the Savior - however you want to refer to Him. All right, so Peter now, writing to Jewish believers, is reminding them that: II Peter 3:15b "…even as our beloved brother Paul.…" Now just stop and think a minute. That took some doing - come back with me to Galatians chapter 2 - another portion that we use so often. But again, most people will have nothing to do with it, because it shows so explicitly the difference between Peter’s ministry and Paul’s. Peter was an apostle of Israel along with the Eleven. Paul is the apostle of the Gentiles, totally separated; and never can you mix the two all together. Keep them separated, and this Bible is as plain and easy to understand as anything can be. All right, so in Galatians chapter 2: Galatians 2:9a "And when James, Cephas, (Peter) and John…." Now, it’s amazing, that’s not the way we normally speak of them, is it? Normally it’s Peter, James and John. But here it’s James and Peter and John – so James is in the place of superiority now. And these guys: Galatians 2:9b "…who seemed to be pillars,….

" What does that mean? Well they weren’t what they thought they were. Now back in the early days of the Jerusalem church, back there in Acts chapters 2, 3, 4 and 5; they were pillars of the Jerusalem church. Everything rested on those twelve men as they were proclaiming the Good News to the Jews, that Jesus the Christ was the Messiah, Whom you killed, but God raised from the dead. All right, so they were the kingpins. In fact, it says so plainly that when these Jews (even Barnabas who had land on the island of Cyprus, sold it. What’s he do with the proceeds? Brought it and laid it at the feet of the apostles) were the ones that were in control of everything. They were the ones that were preaching the Gospel of the Kingdom. They were the ones administering that common kitty out of which these Jewish believers got whatever they needed, and no one lacked. And so they were the pillars of the Jerusalem church. But now you see, when we get to about 51 AD, which is about 30-some years after Pentecost, Paul, by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, tells us that "they seemed to be pillars." They weren’t, But they thought they were. Well, why weren’t they? Because the whole Jewish program is falling apart because of Israel’s unbelief; and they’re not coming to believe in Jesus as the Messiah. Instead, they’re turning more and more to unbelief - and even in Paul’s own experience - twice in the book of Acts when he tried to appeal to the Jewish people and they rebelled against him, what did he say? "From henceforth we go to the Gentiles." Remember when Paul got to Rome, and he called for the Jewish leadership of Rome, and they came to where he was under house arrest and, again, he pleaded to them on the basis of Who Jesus Christ really was and how they had rejected it? "But they believed him not." And so in Acts 28:28, what does Paul say? Acts 28:28 "Be it known therefore unto you, that the salvation of God is sent unto the Gentiles, and that they will hear it." All right, so as Israel is continuing to reject Christ’s Kingdom and His authority as their Messiah, it’s all falling apart. Falling through the cracks is the way I always explain it. But the Twelve don’t know it yet. And so the Twelve were no longer the pillars that they had been. There was nothing there to "pillar" and that’s why Paul uses that. Now continuing on with verse 9 in Galatians: Galatians 2:9b "…who seemed to be pillars, perceived (or understood) the grace that was given unto me, they gave to me and Barnabas the right hands of fellowship; (A gentleman’s agreement. And here was the agreement) that we should go unto the heathen, (Gentiles) and they unto the circumcision." (Israel) Now that’s as plain as language can make it. Paul and Barnabas were designated to be the apostles of the Gentiles. Peter and the Eleven are the apostles of Israel. We’ll stay with the Jew; you go to the Gentile. Gentleman’s agreement. And like I’ve said over and over, what kind of a cad would Peter have been if he’d turned right around after a gentleman’s agreement and started ministering to Gentiles? He would have gone against his own word. But he didn’t. There is nothing in Scripture to indicate that Peter ever went into a ministry with the Gentiles. He stayed with Israel. All right, now let’s come on down into the Scriptures here in Galatians. So, this counsel ends on a good note and Paul and Barnabas go back, merrily on their way, to their Gentile ministry, and Peter and the Eleven are going to continue there with Israel in Jerusalem. Remember their salvation messages - Peter’s to the Jews was that believing that Jesus was the Son of God, their Messiah, repentance and water baptism. Paul’s salvation message to us Gentiles is believe in your heart that Jesus died for your sins, was buried and rose again, as we see in I Corinthians 15:1-4. That may not seem all that much different, but for us today, Paul tells us in Galatians chapter 1, it’s the difference between Heaven and Hell. Okay, now verse 11.

Galatians 2:11 "But when Peter was come to Antioch, (sometime later, years later I think - and he came visiting up at Antioch as a representative of the Jewish church in Jerusalem, Paul says) I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed." I think he had to jump on a soapbox to do it, but Peter was eyeball to eyeball with Paul, and Paul was upset. Now we’re pretty confident that Paul had a temper of sorts. He could get real upset and here was one of those times. He was upset with Peter to no end and, "I withstood him to the face because he was to be blamed." He was at fault. Verse 12, and here’s why. Galatians 2:12 "For before that certain came from James, (that is when Peter was visiting up here at Antioch with this Gentile congregation. But while he’s there, some Jews come down from Jerusalem, from the Jerusalem church. And so he says) he did eat with the Gentiles: but when they were come, he withdrew and separated himself, fearing them which were of the circumcision." (the Jews) Peter had now come to realize that Paul’s converts were just as much in God’s fold as any Jew could be, and so he ate with the Gentiles. But, when these Jews came from Jerusalem, Peter (bless his heart, and you know what you have to think of? The little maid at the fire when Jesus was on trial. Peter must have been a big guy but he must have had a weak will because you see as soon as these people came from Jerusalem, Peter) chickened out. He should have just dug his heels in and said, "Listen, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t eat with these believing Gentiles." But he chickened out, and because of those men from Jerusalem, "he withdrew and separated himself, fearing them which were the Jews." In other words Peter was fearing them who were of the circumcision. Peter was human, wasn’t he? He was afraid of what these Jews would take back to Jerusalem. And what would they take back? I can hear them now. "Do you know what Peter is doing? He’s back eating with Gentiles again. He’s back in those ham sandwiches, just like he was when he was up at Cornelius’ house." Acts 11:1-3 "And the apostles, and brethren that were in Judaea heard that the Gentiles had also received the word of God. 2. And when Peter was come up to Jerusalem, they that were of the circumcision contended with him, 3. Saying, Thou wentest in to men uncircumcised, and didst eat with them." Well, the same thing here. Same thing all over again. and Peter chickens out. He should have just stood up and said, "Look, we’re all believers, we’re all serving the same Christ."But he didn’t. "And so he feared those who were of the circumcision" from the Jerusalem church. Now verse 13. Galatians 2:13,14a "And the other Jews (who were converts and members of Paul’s and Barnabas’ Antioch congregation,) dissembled likewise with him; (in other words, they pulled out with Peter. And now this is the one that’s hard to believe.) insomuch that (even) Barnabas (who was back in that first counsel meeting when him and Paul shook hands with Peter, James, and John, to keep separate, Gentiles and the Jews, ) also was carried away with their dissimulation. (or their false ideas) 14a. But (Paul writes) when I saw that they walked not uprightly according to the truth of the gospel,.…" What’s he referring to? Well, part and parcel of Paul’s Gospel of grace is that there is no difference. A Jew is just as much in need of salvation as a Gentile. And when he becomes a believer, he’s just as much a member of the Body of Christ as a Gentile. And so that’s what Paul is saying. They didn’t walk uprightly according to the truth of the Gospel. And so he said: Galatians 2:14b "…I said unto Peter before them all, (an open public rebuke and it must have been humiliating) If thou, being a Jew, livest after the manner of Gentiles, and not as do the Jews, why compellest thou the Gentiles to live as do the Jews?" Now that’s almost a double-talk there, but what you’ve got is: "Now Peter, you’re a Jew and you’ve been eating with these Gentiles.

And you’ve been recognizing that there really is no difference. Now, if that’s the case, why do you now all of a sudden compel the Gentiles to live as the Jews?" And that came up in that counsel back here, ahead of all this where they agreed that Paul and Barnabas would go to the Gentiles. So anyway, here Peter has been publicly rebuked by the little Apostle Paul - and I think Paul was a little short fellow. And now, look what he says - and here’s why I have to admire Peter, how he can come right back in Christian love and oversight of what Paul had done years back, and now, by inspiration remember, the Holy Spirit prompts him to write this: II Peter 3:15b "…even as our beloved brother Paul also according to the wisdom given unto him hath written unto you;" Now, he’s talking to Jews, and there’s only one portion of Scripture that Paul wrote to Jews and what would that be? The book of Hebrews. And so, from this, I’m quite adamant that Paul wrote Hebrews. And it was directed to Jews who were having a hard time coming out of Judaism and stepping into this Gospel of Grace. All right, but don’t stop there. Now verse 16... and not just in Hebrews: II Peter 3:16a "As also in all his epistles, (Romans through Philemon) speaking in them of these things;.... (what things? Salvation. As we started Hebrews a couple of years ago, what was the first thing I said? You won’t find the plan of salvation in Hebrews. There’s not a Roman Road in Hebrews. It’s not in there. You won’t find the plan of salvation laid out in Acts. You won’t find it laid out in these little Jewish epistles. It’s not in there. And if you want the plan of salvation for us in the Age of Grace, you’ve got to find it between Romans 1:1 and the last verse of Philemon and it’s in there over and over and over, how that Jesus died for our sins, was buried, and rose again. And Peter is reminding us that if you want salvation in this Age of Grace, you go to Paul’s epistles. That’s Peter speaking. Now, if I could just get some of these people that jump all over me for making too much of Paul to read this, and realize that Peter made just as much of Paul as I do. Peter says, "if you want true salvation, you go to Paul’s epistles," and I say the same thing. If you want to know the real Christian walk in this Age of Grace, you go to Paul’s epistles. If you want to know the end of the Church on this earth, you go to Paul’s epistles; it’s the only place you’ll find it. All right, and so he says: II Peter 3:16a "As also in all his epistles, speaking in them of these things; (here goes the heart of Peter again) in which (in Paul’s epistles) are some things hard to be understood,.…" How could a man with Peter’s experience - with Peter’s walk with the Lord, with Peter’s clout in the church at Jerusalem - tell the whole world that he had problems understanding some of Paul’s writings? Quite an admission wasn’t it? I think he was so steeped in that legalism of Judaism that he just simply had a hard time dropping some of that stuff and stepping into Paul’s Gospel of Grace because it’s not easy departing from the Jewish way. That’s the problem with most people today. They cannot drop some of that "works religion" and take these things by faith-plus-nothing that Paul shares with us. It rubs against the grain and Peter admits it by the inspiration of the Spirit. All right, but now reading on: II Peter 3:16b "…which they that are unlearned and unstable wrest, (the scoffers again, the false teachers - if they use Paul’s stuff, at all, they’re going to twist it all out of shape) as they do also the other scriptures, unto their own destruction." Now the amazing thing I pick up on in that statement is, "...the other scriptures...." What is Peter putting on Paul’s epistles? The stamp of inspiration. It’s just as much Scripture as what Moses wrote. What Paul writes is just as much the Word of God as what the prophets wrote. It’s just as much the Word of God as what Peter wrote or what Jesus said. Or anybody else. It’s all Scripture, according to Scripture.

All right, and so they’ve twisted these things, "even as they do also the other scriptures." Not just Paul’s, but they twist all of them to their own destruction. All right, now I hope I’ve made my point that Peter admonishes the people today to go to Paul’s epistles; whereas most of Christendom says, go to Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and Acts. Evidently, that’s what they tell them because that’s where all the preaching is. But Peter doesn’t do that. Peter says, "You go to Paul’s epistles, for, in them, is where we know we can find eternal life!" All right, now then, one more verse. Verse 17. II Peter 3:17a "Ye therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye also, being led away with the error of the wicked,…" Now he comes right back to those false teachers that we’ve talked about earlier. Don’t fall into the error of the wicked and thereby: II Peter 3:17b-18 "…fall from your own stedfastness. 18. But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To him be glory both now and for ever. Amen."

[qqueenofhades]

What are your fav random (could be significant or insignificant) premodern historical facts, one for each continent?

Well, I don't know for sure about my FAVORITE favorites, but these are some people/events that I find interesting. We'll skip Europe just because I'm always for more focus on the global premodern world, and for studying ancient and medieval Africa, Asia, America, Oceania, etc. more closely. Too many people still think that "the medieval world' was only confined to Europe, which is.... yeah, not true. Also, I picked two facts for each region, just because.

The Americas

The huge settlement of Cahokia, which sits just outside modern-day St. Louis, is just one of many flourishing pre-Columbian metropolises where Native Americans lived in large, advanced cities. Native culture and civilization in the Americas is also much, much older than you probably think.

A fifteenth-century Aztec king, Nezahualcóyotl, wrote one of my favorite lines of existential philosophy ever, mulling on the question of whether humans had souls and if there was life after death: Do flowers go down to the realm of the dead? The simplicity and poignancy is hard to forget, especially since it comes from a member of a world and a culture scoured totally out of existence by the conquering, colonizing Spaniards.

The Middle East and Central Asia

One of the oldest named individuals in history is the 23rd-century-BC Sumerian priestess, princess, and poet Enheduanna. Obviously she is much older than even antiquity, but I still think it's cool that we have a record of a woman that far in the past.

Ibn Sina/Avicenna, the 9th/10th century Islamic polymath, lived in Bukhara and Samarkand, in modern-day Uzbekistan. My favorite anecdote about him, aside from the fact that he is believed to have written almost 500 books (only half of which, alas, survive), is that one day, he bought a copy of Aristotle's Metaphysics and read it forty times in a row, after which he still didn't understand it. He was deeply disgruntled, until he found an annotated commentary edition that explained it (he was very happy about this). So next time you read a classic and don't get it, please know that one of the smartest men who has ever lived also used the SparkNotes.

Eastern Asia

One of the world's very first novels, at least we know of, was written by a 11th-century Japanese imperial handmaiden, Lady Murasaki Shikibu. It's called The Tale of Genji, and you can get a free English translation if you want to read it. The internet, man!

The 14th/15th century Chinese admiral and adventurer Zheng He made seven legendary treasure-hunting voyages across the world, rather like the fictional Sinbad. He was also originally born to a Muslim family, since Islam has had a long presence in China.

Africa

The 14th-century king of the Empire of Mali, Mansa Musa, was probably the richest man who ever lived. He spent so much gold on his 1324 hajj to Mecca that he inadvertently crashed the Egyptian economy. He was also a patron of the intellectual capital and center of learning in the city of Timbuktu, which held one of the finest collections of manuscripts and scholars in Africa.

The 16th/17th century Angolan queen Nzinga of Ndongo and Matamba is likewise a total badass who ruled for almost 40 years, fought Portuguese colonizers (and won), and is likewise someone that more people should know about.

Oceania

The aboriginal culture of Australia is SO FUCKING OLD, and its history is preserved largely through the exact memorization and recital of detailed oral traditions for thousands of years, that we actually have accurate eyewitness accounts of the end of the Ice Age, meteor strikes, the rise of ancient sea levels, and more. If you don't think that is unbelievably mind-blowing amazing, I have no idea what to tell you.

Likewise, incredibly sophisticated Polynesian navigation enabled the construction of flourishing ancient Pacific societies connected across oftentimes thousands of miles of open ocean, passed down in part by oral tradition and part by techniques such as stellar navigation, study of wave patterns, bird migrations, and other cues from the natural world. They traveled everywhere in their double-hulled canoes, including possibly as far as Antarctica and to their indigenous brethren in the Americas.