#you could kind of say god gave rock and roll to you qualifies too

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

i was about to say i'm surprised russ hasn't written a love song to songs/music itself, but he literally did that with the fire still burns

[qqueenofhades]

Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.

Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.

First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.

Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.

The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.

The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.

That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:

She may have changed her mind on things in the past.

Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.

OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.

Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.

Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all). 

The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.

As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:

America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.

Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.

There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.

Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.

This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.

This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!

As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.

I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.

So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.

[hilarioushilarity]

(not) lost in translation pt. 2

{I am a lying liar who lies, 2-3 days my ass. You can read Part 1 here.}

The second time Alexei meets Kent Parson is at the All Star weekend that season.

When Mama and Papa had flown back to Russia, Alexei had rapidly realised that he was effectively a thousand miles away from everything he had ever known, and that:

1) Nobody around him spoke Russian; and 2) He couldn't speak English.

Alexei hates English. With a passion. He's not stupid enough to tell anyone this particular fact, but he thinks it every time he sits down for his English classes and wrestles with prepositions and adverbs, or heaven forbid, attempts to conjugate a verb. Every rule had a million exceptions, so what was even the point of the rule? English as a language was just unfair, he had decided, and he tells Mama this over the phone one month in.

She is sympathetic, in her typical Spartan manner. "You'll learn," she tells him. "Practise for at least three hours every day."

Alexei is appalled. "Mama, when am I meant to get three hours of practice each day?"

"There is always time."

He honestly doesn't know what else he expected. "Okay Mama," he says, and then turns the conversation to how stupidly big portion sizes were in America. Criticising the diets of North Americans was always guaranteed to catch her attention.

To his dismay, his father just laughs at him.

"Papa." Alexei may or may not be whining.

"Your Mama told you to just find time, didn't she," he says, when he's finally stopped cackling for long enough to take a breath.

Alexei hangs up on him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Papa says, when he calls back a minute later. The wheezing laughs have stopped, which is a relief.

"Okay," Alexei says warily.

"I mean it." His father is abruptly serious. "I'm sorry for laughing, you're in a tough situation right now. English is not an easy language to learn." They both know that his father never truly gained fluency in it - never had the chance to need it.

"It's really hard, Papa." He doesn't think he's just talking about English anymore.

"Things worth doing usually are, Alyosha," his father says gently.

Alexei chews his lip. "I don't know if I'm doing anything right."

"Are you playing good hockey?" Papa asks.

"Yes, Papa."

"You aren't bullying anyone on the ice?"

"No -"

"Working hard? Doing your English lessons? Going to all your practices on time, practising anything your coach says you need to work on?"

"Yes -"

"Then you are doing it right. And I am proud of you."

His father's voice is warm, and it curls around Alexei. He suddenly, desperately, wishes he could hug his father tightly. "Okay Papa."

"Now go and practice your English," Papa says, and Alexei does.

So hockey is the only thing he has besides torturous English lessons, and he devotes himself to it. He racks up goals and assists every game, plays a clean defensive game, and keeps his stats glowing. English smalltalk remains his nemesis but he's getting there, one pleasantry at a time. Before he knows it, he's being invited to the All Stars Weekend. He dithers over the invite for a few days, until the head of Capitals PR eventually corners him on his way out of the locker rooms.

"You should go," LaRue tells him. "It's good for building up your fanbase." He continues to go on at depth about social media presences and ticket sales. Alexei dutifully nods his way through the lecture, and ends up promising to go just to escape.

For some unknown sin in this life or a past one, he is roomed with a D-man from the Aeros who talks loudly and snores louder than a chainsaw. Alexei realises this on the first night when he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as the red digits on the bedside clock tick over from 11 to 12, then 1. There's a snore once every three seconds, accompanied by whistling through some gap between teeth. Alexei kills half an hour searching up English sayings to describe snoring and deciding that his roommate "snores like a foghorn" before he finally gives up and rolls out of bed.

The hotel they've been put up in has an indoor gym and swimming pool. Alexei slings on a towel, sneaking out of the room before taking the lift down. On first glance, the gym is deserted, because any sane person is currently asleep. Alexei, running on no sleep, does not qualify.

Except, when he's halfway through his reps on the elliptical, a quiet voice behind him says: "Um. Hi, Alexei?"

Alexei turns around and comes face to face with Kent Parson.

What they are is nebulous at best. More than acquaintances - Kent Parson had talked to his Mama and Papa and his Mama had said Kent was a Very Nice Person. But less than friends, certainly. After the draft, Kent had gone west to the Aces and Alexei had gone east to the Capitals. He hasn't really kept track of Kent's career, but he would have to be under an actual rock to not know Kent is the only other rookie at the All Stars weekend and the NHL's current leading scorer.

"Hello," Alexei replies. There's a drop of sweat slowly rolling down his face and he's painfully aware that he probably stinks a little.  Meanwhile Kent Parson looks fresh as a daisy at one in the morning. The limits of his smalltalking abilities in English remain breathtakingly small despite the benefit of six months of English tutoring, so he kind of hopes Kent takes pity on his poor, sweaty form.

Kent does not. "It's been a while. Good to see you."

Goddamnit, they're smalltalking. "Good to see you, too."

Kent looks unbothered at the lack of scintillating conversation. He rolls onto the balls of his feet, fiddling with the strap of the duffel slung over his shoulder. "So uh. How's your mum?" he says, then immediately blanches. "Shit. I didn't mean - I just -"

"Good," Alexei says, mostly to put him out of his misery. "She good."

Kent looks earnest. "Oh, that's really good to hear." And then he seems to waver a bit.

"How is family?" Alexei says, when the silence stretches on. "They come visit after draft?"

"Ah yeah." Kent visibly brightens up. "They did! It was great, we had dinner and hung out a bit, and I gave my sister your mum's autograph - she's so cool by the way, but I bet you already knew that - I'd love to thank her again."

There are just - so many words. Alexei takes a few seconds to work through the sentence. "Glad to hear sister like. Maybe you see Mama again at game with Aces?"

"Definitely," Kent says, and Alexei's heard so many people say that over the past six months, but he thinks this time he could believe it. "So, uh. What's keeping you up?"

Only the loudest snorer on the entire American continent. "Roomie." Alexei searches for the words. "Snoring like foghorn."

Kent winces. "Jeez, I know what you mean. Did you try poking him to get him to roll over?"

"To scared to poke," Alexei admits. "Big guy."

"Who are you rooming with?"

"Winkler?"

"Fuck, yeah, he's a big dude. Better not poke him."

Alexei sighs. "Snore so loud - and whistle too. Like train." At Kent's blank look, he tries: "Choo choo?"

"Choo - oh god, you mean like a steam engine?"

Alexei pulls out his phone in answer. "How spell that? Steam engine?" He dutifully plugs in the letters Kent rattles off, and hits translate. "Oh. Yes. He steam engine."

"Heh," Kent says. "I double dog dare you to say that to him." He must catch the look of utter incomprehension on Alexei's face, because he quickly backtracks. "Not up with the slang yet? Sorry. I meant, you should tell him that."

"But why?" Alexei doesn't want to get punched.

"As a joke," Kent adds hastily. "It's funny, because we know it's stupid so we wouldn't do it."

English was just ridiculous. "Okay," Alexei tries. "Double dog dare you cycle on elliptical, see who faster."

"That's not..." Kent trails off. He smiles, then shakes his head. "That's not how it works. But we'll work on it," he assures Alexei, with a firm pat on his shoulder.

It's worlds away from the way the Caps' coach tends to roll his eyes heavenward when Alexei goes left when he should go right, or his English tutor, who is nice enough but is prone to banging her head against the table a little when Alexei fumbles the conjugation on a verb. "Not now," Alexei says. "Later?"

Kent checks his watch and he actually looks surprised, like the complete lack of other people didn't clue him in. "Wow, it's pretty late, isn't it?"

Unbelievable. "Why you up?"

"Got caught up practising."

Alexei sideeyes him. "Practising?"

Kent flushes a little. "Practising my stick handling. Shooting accuracy."

Alexei can't help but boggle at him. "You practising? At 1AM?"

"I couldn't sleep," Kent says, a little defensively.

"You crazy," Alexei decides, but there's a lot of fondness that must be apparent to even Kent, who looks less offended than he does a mildly grumpy, like the family cat when he accidentally stepped on her tail as a child. "But you wipe ice with everyone, so you champion crazy."

"Damn straight I'm the champion crazy," Kent says, planting his hands on his hips like a dork. "Yeah, laugh it up, I'll definitely be wiping the ice with you."

Alexei pretends to cower. "Okay, Kent Parson, I try best not cry on ice then."

"You will be bawling your eyes out," Kent says with promise, and then looks so affronted when Alexei just doubles over, breathless with laughter.

"I believe you," Alexei says to the ground, from where he's still bent over trying to catch his breath. "Cry many tears."

"You better," Kent says, but then he's laughing helplessly too, dropping his duffel. "Oh god, I really am champion crazy."

Alexei reaches over to pat him on the back. "Is okay, still like, even if Kent Parson practice hockey at one in morning."

"You don't think I'm too crazy?" Perhaps it's meant to be joking, but Alexei can't help but look up sharply.

"Never. You think Crosby best because he slack off?"

"I don't think he's ever stayed up until 1 because he was nervous about All Stars," Kent says, then bites his lip.

"You nervous?" Alexei asks. Kent hesitates. "Why you nervous?"

"I just - it's been a lot," Kent finally says. He's looking to the side, staring at the elliptical. Alexei waits, and Kent says in a rush: "I feel like I have to be the best, or - or else -"

"Not have to say what," Alexei says gently. "Not make you say."

Kent scowls. "It's stupid. Everyone's thinking it, they just don't say it. That I'm the second choice."

At the Draft, Alexei had known vaguely that Kent Parson and another boy called Jack Zimmermann had widely been slated to go first and second - in either order. It was true that every analyst had put the latter in first place, and that when Aces called Kent Parson's name there had been a slight pause in the audience's murmuring. Kent's smile had been strained as he left their table.

Alexei's stood across from Kent on the ice before. He's watched countless hours of tape of the Aces' play and by proxy, of Kent. Kent Parson on the ice is a force of nature, skating circles around defence and sinking pucks into the net as easy as breathing. And in his heart of hearts, he thinks the margin between first and second had been far smaller than most people thought.

But now, under the harsh gym lights that highlight the remaining softness of his jaw and the dark patches beneath his eyes, Alexei realises that Kent's still just a kid. Alexei's just a kid. They're both just teenagers. And there's very little of the player who had breezed past Alexei at the last Caps game with the Aces, or of the player who had mercilessly crushed their four game winning streak without batting an eye. Under the padding and past all the hype, Kent was far from the figure he cut on ice and as vulnerable as any other human.

"Even if people say second choice, what matter?" Alexei says. "You first. You here now. Play well. Maybe bit annoy on ice but not bully. And seem nice, polite to Mama. Thinking of sister even at draft. Get autograph for her. That matter. Not other people."

He hopes he hasn't overdone it - perhaps Kent wasn't looking for a heart-to-heart in the hotel gym at 1AM. But instead of taken aback Kent looks - a little watery.

"Why you cry?" Alexei is horrified.

"I'm not crying," Kent sniffs. "I'm not."

Alexei bites his tongue. "Uh okay." He politely looks away as Kent wipes his eyes.

"I'm not saying I can't cry," Kent begins, which Alexei takes as his cue that it's safe to look back at him. His eyes are just slightest bit red, and even that's only if you know what to look for.  “I just try not to cry in front of others.”

"Okay," Alexei says cautiously.

Kent takes a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Welcome," Alexei replies automatically, then says: "But. For what?"

Kent stares at him. "For - listening? For not being an asshole about the fact I'm still some nervy rookie?"

Christ. People thanked each other for things like that in America? "No need thank," Alexei says. Then, desperate to change the subject, he adds: "So we agree! No need for nervous! You real KVP."

"The what?"

"KVP." Alexei gestures. "I see on Twitter - they calling you 'the Real KVP'".

"That's not - " Kent splutters. "That's my name, Alexei."

Alexei tries not wince. "Oh. Oops, sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Kent brings out his phone, thumbing at something on the screen. He eventually holds out his phone, open to a websearch. "See? It's a joke on MVP. That's 'Most Valuable Player'."

"Oh," Alexei says again. "Make sense. Sometimes miss reference - thank you for explaining."

Kent stows away his phone, corners of his mouth twitching upwards again. "You've only been in the US for what, six months? Your English is great. If you put me in Russia I would probably just turn around and go back to the US."

"You miss good food then," Alexei tuts. "Russian food is best food."

"Hell no, I've seen what you guys count as soup. I'm not touching borscht with a ten-foot pole."

"Borscht is best soup!" Alexei tries to sound outraged.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that anything that pink should not be eaten."

Blasphemy. "You try pirozhki then? Small, baked -" He gropes around for the word, then gives up and calls up the translator app on his phone. "Dumpling."

"I've never had that," Kent says, but he at least looks intrigued. "What did you call it? Pay-roz-kay?"

His accent is actually appalling. "Pirozhki," Alexei corrects.

Kent frowns. "Poe-roz-ki?"

"Pirozhki"

"Poh-rosh-ki?"

Alexei nods in approval. "Good, sounds good."

"I like the sound of baked dumplings," Kent says. "Mm. Pirozkhi. I might go see if there's any places that do it in Vegas."

"Let me know if yes." Alexei nudges him. "I come try when Caps play Aces."

"You got it."

Alexei cuts off any further conversation with the embarrassingly loud yawn that escapes him then.

"Shit, it's like 1:30AM." Kent winces. "We have to get up at like 7 tomorrow - today? Holy crap we better go to sleep."

Alexei levers himself up, gathering his towel and bottle. "Hope not fall asleep on skates tomorrow."

"How about I check you if I see you dropping off," Kent suggests, then snickers at Alexei's raised eyebrow. "Bad idea?"

"Sure can check me?" Alexei makes a show of looking Kent up and down. He holds his index finger and thumb about ten centimetres apart. "So small."

"You asshole," Kent says, but he's laughing. "I'm not short, you're just a giant."

"If say so," Alexei shrugs. They start towards the elevator banks. "If help sleep at night."

"Fuck you, I sleep really well at night," Kent says petulantly. Alexei eyes the shadows beneath his eyes.

"I believe, I believe," he says instead with his best shit-eating grin. They get in the lift. "Okay, floor?"

Kent reaches over and pushes the button for 15. "You?"

"Twelve. Thank you." Kent nods, and they start moving up.

"So see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Yeah." Kent shoulders his duffel a little more firmly. "Be prepared to cry like a baby."

Alexei flaps his hands, just as the lift doors open on his floor. "Yeah, yeah, I cry so much."

The smile Kent gives him is small, but very real. "Good night Alexei."

"Good night," Alexei says, stepping out and turning to wave goodbye. The doors shut on Kent's smile, and Alexei stands there for a second, the airconditioning cool against his slightly sweaty neck.

"Hopefully not cry too much," he says to himself, before heading back to his room.

[starfxckersinc]

people frequently get asked about who’s influenced them as musicians, but are there artists out there that you’ve heard and your response is like “I never ever want to sound anything like this”

There are plenty because, though I’m pretty easy to please musically, I’m not very good as a genre person and I tend to cherrypick the best artists and then throw away the rest as imitators. For example, there’s plenty of punk bands that I think are just regurgitations of better/more interesting bands, and I’m always afraid that I’ll sound like them instead of clearly being influenced by bands that I like. For example, I would never attempt to write anything that sounded like The Sex Pistols, The Dead Boys, Flipper, The Dead Kennedys(whose politics I respect but whose music isn’t anything I haven’t heard before), etc., I don’t want to write anything that sounds like three washed out chords and a slimy masculine voice complaining wanting to kill himself or hating the government- I like both of those topics as songwriting topics(huge fan of The Stooges and Nirvana obviously) but there’s a particular ineffectiveness in the way those bands deliver them that just leaves me cold, and especially in the case of the Pistols, just kind of embarrasses me. You have to have some level of charm or originality when you say the same thing over again and the problem with a genre like punk is that you can easily bend its DIY no talent necessary charm into something that excuses laziness instead of encouraging ingenuity, therefore I only actually like a handful of bands that fall under the punk umbrella as opposed to every obscure Real Punk Band™️ that ever existed. I wouldn’t have done well on the Olympia scene lmao.

Also, there are plenty of artists I look up to who do shit musically that I would never want to repeat even if I like their work. I like Nick Cave a lot but let’s be honest, his ego is 90% of his music and he’s more of a writer than he is a songwriter. I understand he’s following in the footsteps of artists like Cohen and Dylan, and I think arguably even Tom Waits, but all three of those artists could respect when they were doing page-writing and when they were writing a song. Nick doesn’t seem to have that filter....And I’m not even opposed to doing spoken word songwriting myself, but once again, I’d want to do it more in the style of Harry Partch because that’s more interesting to me than like....Moody piano. He can make his own particular style work for him obvi but when that happens it’s because his emotion overrides his naturally deadpan tone, so something like Skeleton Tree is an honest to God masterpiece that I couldn’t touch in my lifetime, while The Boatman’s Call is painful to listen to unless it’s the right day. Regarding my own music I’m working the best I can to have an actual Singing Voice, because I think it’s easier to convey emotion if you’ve got more than three notes, and when I sing something and it sounds like Nick Cave I basically never want to sing again.

Iggy also does plenty of stuff I wouldn’t want to repeat- I think he’s a very passionate, excitable person without a whole lot of musical talent, so he does his best work when he has a musical force behind him that can actually give him a platform for his natural abilities(i.e., spontaneous lyric writing). However, when he doesn’t have a musical force to bounce himself off of he seems to be sort of stuck when it comes to what he’s able to accomplish. Despite him denying it I think he’s Very aware of his own image/what’s expected of him, and I think it’s a little bit hard for him to divorce himself from that, so in terms of ‘trying new things’ it takes him three albums to break into something interesting instead of someone like Bowie, where it was two at most ever in his career. Not a single good, well respected artist from the 70’s was able to handle the 80’s(because of how nasty and wealth-oriented they were, look at what mainstream rock music turned into) and Iggy gave it his best shot and got some decent work out of it- However there was a lot of backwash from that period that I wouldn’t ever want to sound like. This remains true throughout the 90’s as well, though once again there ARE some good songs, they come from him being able to break away from who Iggy Pop is supposed to be into what he wants as an artist. I that if I manage to have a career in music I would want to A) never have a solid image or expectation from a crowd and B) I would want to have a good enough grasp on music to be able to support myself without needing somebody behind me.

Beyond all of that analytical shit, there’s also bands that I just fucking hate, which I’m sure are more along the lines of the answer you expected instead of 3 paragraphs that took me an hour altogether.

THE MOST IRREDEEMABLE BANDS IN MUSIC HISTORY

- The New York Dolls. You know who likes the New York Dolls? People who like every single Cool Obscure Punk Band, and all of the hair metal icons who also don’t have anything original to say, any musical talent, or any creative power whatsoever. The New York Dolls paved the way for straight men in the 80’s to dress up in terrible drag and continue the grand rock n roll tradition of fucking pubescent girls. They are not glam rock and they barely qualify as punk. They’re proto glitter metal. The New York Dolls are not fun because they’re trashy, they’re just kind of sickening to be around.

- Dave Matthews Band

It’s a running joke in my household that I, and my drum prodigy brother(therefore placing him on a high enough pedestal to have musical opinions), hate this fucking band so much it’s unreal.

- The Rolling Stones

I don’t actually hate the Stones I just hate that I’m supposed to like them for doing essentially Rock, the cornflakes kind. They’re a late 60’s rock band. That’s all they are. They wrote You Can’t Always Get What You Want and it began my history with depression. Thanks Mick Jagger.

- The Melvins

Obviously bitter because they’re less popular than Nirvana despite pioneering the grunge genre, I’d be way more willing to hold them up as underappreciated geniuses if A) I found their music anymore interesting than any other early/proto grunge(I don’t because I’m not a cisgendered hegerosexual man), and B) Buzz Osbourne wasn’t so insufferable. I really can’t even judge them musicially because I just don’t like Buzz that much.

- The Smashing Pumpkins

The Smashing Pumpkins can actually write tunes and I’m actually very curious/eager myself to test out their version of dream pop(Less Mazzy Star, more My Bloody Valentine), but oh my God Billy Corgan’s singing voice. I mean, Billy Corgan himself, but holy shit. I know I ragged on Iggy and Nick but they’re tolerable as artists because they’ll openly admit to not being particularly good vocally(which I think Iggy is honestly too hard on himself for but that’s a different paragraph altogether). Billy Corgan can’t admit that he’s just not that talented, and I know Courtney praised him for writing hooks when everybody else was writing noise because the rich college kids didn’t have to worry about making money, and that’s fine, but once he started Making money he could’ve afforded to experiment more(and I’ve only heard the band’s first two albums but like. Oh Mellon Collie and the infinite hit factory) but I don’t think there was ever somebody willing to divorce themselves from the norm inside Billy Corgan. And obviously I hate him for being a fuckhead. So there’s that.

- The White Stripes

Meg White is cute and cool and has anxiety issues like mine but good lord I don’t like Jack White, and worse than him I don’t like their music. I don’t like the incredibly derivative ‘pop blues’ riffs, I don’t like their senseless half-worded lyrics, I don’t like their ‘we listened to the Stooges so we can play three notes forever and that’s valid creatively’ attitude. To be fair, I think that’s all more Jack than Meg, but however the chips fall I experience their music with slightly more interest than I experience a commercial.

Thank you for this ask!

[modreduscycle]

Sword in the Stone

I was going to break this up into two parts but didn’t so this one is a bit long.

Kay raised an eyebrow as he watched his brother eye the legendary stone, and the moss and vine-covered sword within. It was right below a window so the sunlight was always streaming down upon it. Maybe not in the absolute best shape, but the sword that decreed who was the rightful heir to the kingdom didn’t really need to be. “So… that’s the sword you’re going to get for me?”

“Sure, why not?” Arthur replied. “Not like beggars get to be choosers, Sir I-Forgot-My-Damned-Sword-and-Made-My-Squire-Get-Me-the-First-One-He-Could-Find.”

Kay covered his mouth with one hand, trying not to laugh. This was going to be good. “Tell you what, if you pull the sword out of the stone, I’ll give you my dinner tonight and anything I win from the tournament. If you can’t, I get your dinner and you have to do all my chores.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, suspicion on his 14-year-old face. He wasn’t stupid, there had to be a catch here. “...you also have to do my chores for a week if I win.”

Kay shrugged, not even trying to hide his shit-eating grin now. “Sure. Now get going.” A small crowd had gathered to see what was going on at this point. Apparently it was always funny to watch someone try to prove themselves the rightful king of Logres, try again, and again, and however long it took until they gave up. Kay could hear some of the onlookers placing bets on how many pulls it would take for the kid to give up. Knowing Arthur, it would probably be at least twenty.

With determination in his eyes, Arthur grasped the sword’s hilt, steadying himself by planting one foot firmly against the rock. The crowd murmured and a few people laughed. His nose scrunched up as he prepared to pull, then he yanked upward.

The sword slipped out.

The force of the pull unbalanced him and threw him to the ground, still holding the ancient sword in both hands. Vines wrapped around the blade stopped just at the point where the tip had been lodged into the rock, but the ones near the hilt suddenly grew and wrapped around his wrist, firmly attaching him to the blade. For at least five seconds, no one spoke, either because they weren’t sure what to say or their voice had been paralyzed by shock. Several thoughts went through Kay’s mind, but none made sense until his brain finally put together, ‘Oh sard.’ Then all hell broke loose.

“That’s our new king?”

“Uther’s heir’s returned!”

“Long live the king!”

“Sard Uther!”

“I don’t want a teenager to be king!”

“Shut up and obey the king!”

“Can I serve in your court, my liege?”

“Me too!”

“I say we kill him and let Lot be high king!”

“That’s treason!”

“So what? I’ll kill you, too!”

Arthur was still frozen, staring at the sword and the knights in shock, as if he just realized what had happened. Kay decided now was a good time to get going. He dashed to his brother and picked him up, slinging the apparent king over his shoulder and sprinting out of the church. It didn’t take long for the other knights to realize what had happened and they took off in hot pursuit, some to hail the king, some to kiss up, and some out for his blood.

In between heaving breaths, Kay shouted at Arthur, “A little warning that you were royalty would’ve been nice!”

“I didn’t know!” Arthur yelled back. “How could I have known?”

Kay skidded to slow down and rounded a corner, dashing for the woods. “I swear, I’m never bringing you to a tournament again!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin, standing unnaturally still with eyes the size of pint glasses. He was about ninety-percent certain this was somehow the wizard’s fault, but now wasn’t the time to stop and accuse. “Merlin, get Father!” Kay shouted before bolting away from the pursuing crowd.

…

Merlin watched them go, and only one thought went through his head. ‘I screwed this up so badly.’

He ran through the crowd of people who hadn’t yet realized the sword had been pulled from the sword, searching desperately for the foster father of the new fourteen-year-old king— oh dear God, he really had screwed this up. Arthur should’ve only been able to pull it out at sixteen or seventeen! Although… now that he thought about it… he did make the enchantment to respond to a teenaged Arthur… and thirteen was technically when someone became a teenager…

He really hated magic sometimes.

It took him a little less than five more minutes to find Ector, who was casually talking with a knight a ways away from all the chaos. He ran up and tapped Ector on the shoulder. “Um, Ector? We have a—”

“Give me a minute, Merlin,” Ector dismissed, looking annoyed at being interrupted.

“But—”

“Let me finish this conversation.”

Merlin shut up and nodded, waiting while Ector continued to talk and occasionally glancing over at the crowd chasing around the two boys, just to make sure they weren’t actively being slaughtered. At one point, he noticed Kay grab a handful of dust while stumbling and throw it in the face of the nearest knight. It made him a little proud. He watched them dash into the forest and lost sight of the two boys.

Eventually, Ector looked away from his conversation, apparently done with it. “Alright, so what’s going on?”

Bringing one hand up, Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. “Remember the sword in the stone?”

“Yeah, over in the church, why?” Ector raised one eyebrow.

Merlin shuffled in place. “I might’ve screwed up on the age requirement for pulling it out.”

Ector frantically shushed him, glancing over at the man he had just been talking to. “I thought that little caveat wasn’t common knowledge,” he hissed, gesturing around them to remind Merlin they weren’t alone.

“I don’t think it’s a big issue if people know about that anymore,” replied Merlin.

Ector paused, as if letting all the things Merlin said sink in. “...where is this going?”

Merlin jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Arthur pulled the sword out.”

Ector’s eyes widened so much Merlin could clearly see his tear ducts. “Goddamn it, Merlin!” He bolted off in the direction Merlin had indicated, grabbing the wizard’s hand and pulling him along. “That’s the kind of thing you interrupt me for!”

“You asked me to wait—”

Ector took in a long suffering, shuddering breath. “If you were anyone else, I’d think you were being a smartass and punch your teeth in. Come on, which direction did they go?”

“Forest, I think to hide,” Merlin replied, pointing at the last spot he had seen them. “Let’s try and stay away from the crowd, we don’t want to lead them right to their new king.”

Ector sprinted into the mass of trees then stopped and ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to figure out where to go next. “We should’ve told him sooner.”

“We thought we had a few more years,” Merlin gently reminded. He bit his lip and shook his head. “I regret that promise to Uther now more than ever.”

“Yeah, so do I!” Ector snapped. “This is not the way for Arthur to find out about everything!”

Merlin sighed. The clamor from the shouting crowd was getting to him, making it harder to think. “Where would they go?” he muttered.

The fey knight thought for a few seconds, then said, “I have a pretty good idea. Come on, follow me!”

…

Arthur pulled his knees up to his chest, sitting in the shadow of an outcropping by a river. He could still hear the thundering of footsteps in the distance and the rabble of voices, but they were faint. The lapping of the river against the bank almost drowned them out completely. Kay had his arm wrapped around his younger brother’s shoulders, pulling him close as they stared at the water in silence, one that was soon broken by Arthur’s soft question. “Why is this happening?”

Kay shrugged, picking up a stick and using it to push small pebbles into the water. “Well, you’re the last of the royal dynasty. Congratulations!”

“Not funny.”

“No, but accurate.” Kay brought up his hand and ruffled Arthur’s hair. “Look, I don’t know how that works either. I don’t know how the crown prince wound up living with a semi-retired knight in the middle of nowhere, or how we didn’t know it ahead of time. I don’t even know if this is some big mistake, but I know I’ll be by your side through this.”

Arthur sniffled. “Really?”

Kay rolled his eyes. “No shit. You’re my baby brother, plus my king now. I get a free pass to screw with royalty, why would I pass that up?”

With a snort, Arthur pushed him away. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yes, sir, your majesty,” Kay retorted in the most dramatic way possible, but it only made Arthur shudder.

“Please don’t call me that.” He ran a finger along the sword. The blade gleamed in the sunlight filtered through leaves and abruptly cut off by the shade of the outcrop. “I wish I never saw this thing.”

“Out of curiosity, why didn’t you realize what that thing was the second you saw it?” Kay asked.

“I didn’t realize it was the sword in the stone! I just thought—”

“What? That people randomly shove swords into rocks for safekeeping?” Kay retorted.

“You say it like it’s stupid.”

“It is, Wart.”

Arthur shook his head, everything that had happened in the past twenty minutes clanging around in his brain. “Couldn’t we say you pulled it out? You’re more qualified than I am to be a… to be a…”

“King?” Kay scoffed. “So many things wrong with that. One, the small crowd that clearly saw you pull it out while I stood back, watched, and laughed right up until the damned thing actually slid out. Two, that I, a red-haired, freckled boy was born to a brown-haired high king and blond high queen, both without freckles of any kind isn’t exactly believable. Three, you really think I’m qualified? Me? I’d start about fifty wars minimum by saying the wrong thing and pissing everyone off. I think I started some kind of a blood feud earlier today by doing just that!”

Arthur snorted. “That knight seemed really pissed with you.”

“He had it coming,” Kay dismissed.

With a sigh, Arthur flipped the sword over in his hand. “What I don’t understand is how I couldn’t have known. King Uther died when I was six, but I was living with you at the time, and never met him. No mysterious strangers would stop by, even Merlin only started coming after that, right?”

Kay furrowed his brow. “I think so… I can’t remember him before that.”

“So he just… ditched me?” Arthur kicked a rock. “From his reputation, that makes sense, but what about Queen Igraine?”

“That one’s a little weirder,” Kay agreed. “I doubt the “saint queen” would ever abandon her son completely. Father loved her for a reason.”

“Did Uther keep her from me?” Arthur asked softly. Kay opened his mouth to reply when they heard footsteps coming nearer. Arthur scooted back and Kay placed a protective arm across his brother’s chest.

“Arthur? Kay?”

Both sank with relief when they heard their father’s voice, calling softly for them. Arthur started to stand up, but Kay pushed him down and cautiously peeked out of their cover. He waved with one arm before sitting back down, still positioning himself in front of Arthur. Ector scrambled down the bank shortly after, followed by Merlin. Wordlessly, the two sat down next to Arthur, sheltering themselves with the cover of the outcrop.

“Did you know?” Arthur whispered, glancing at Ector with trepidation, his eyes shining from unshed tears.

Ector sighed and pulled Arthur into a hug, trying to still his shaking frame. “Yes, I knew. I always wanted to tell you, and Merlin and I were going to once you were a little older, but since someone—” Ector took a moment to glare at Merlin, “—screwed up on the age restriction for the sword, that’s obviously not going to happen.”

“So you just casually knew you were raising the crown prince and never said anything?” Kay demanded.

Ector gave him a deadpan look. “That’s kind of the point of raising the crown prince in secret.” He turned his gaze back to Arthur, his expression growing softer. “Your father’s enemies wanted to kill you, and he had a lot, both good and bad people.”

“You’re my father,” Arthur muttered, a little sulkily. “I never even met Uther.”

Merlin and Ector shared a look, Merlin looking incredibly guilty. Almost in unison, Arthur and Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Right?” Kay prompted.

“You are explaining this one,” Ector spat. His voice had a pang of accusation in it and his nose was scrunched up like when Kay or Arthur broke one of his rules.

One finger fidgeting with his hair, Merlin said, as if choosing his words carefully, “After your mother died, your father made me promise something I really didn’t want to.”

“Then why did you agree?” Kay snapped. “You were actually in a position to tell the high king to go screw himself!”

Merlin shook his head but Ector was the one who explained. “You picked your battles very carefully with Uther, and most of the time that meant you better be willing to die in order to argue with him. And after Igraine died, you just didn’t argue or disobey him.”

“He was also… very insistent on the promise,” Merlin added. “I understand why he wanted me to do it, but… it was…” He seemed to be thinking of the right word.

“Sarded up.” Everyone stopped to stare at Ector, Kay and Arthur’s mouths dropping open. Ector usually never swore in front of his kids. “What? It was.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Merlin acknowledged. He took a deep breath and twisted a strand of hair tightly around his index finger. “Uther and Igraine did visit you, but Uther made me erase your memories of it after he died.”

Arthur and Kay stared blankly at him for several moments. “I’m sorry, what?” Kay finally broke the silence, fury coating his words.

“He had his reasons—”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Kay, volume,” Ector admonished, pointing upward as if to remind him that they were currently hiding.

“And you let him?” Kay snapped. “You let him screw with our heads?”

Ector nodded, but he did look a little guilty and annoyed. “I would like to remind you of Uther’s reputation as a bloodthirsty lunatic. It was well earned.”

“But he was dead!”

“And both Merlin and I made a vow,” Ector retorted. “Besides, this wasn’t just about Uther being Uther. There was solid reasoning behind it, even if I didn’t agree with it.”

“Yeah, mind-wiping. I’d love to hear how that was a good thing,” Kay drawled, rolling his eyes.

Merlin stopped playing with his hair and let his hands fall lifelessly into his lap. “Uther lost his parents violently a few years younger than you did, Arthur. It affected him and his brother strongly, and not for the better. Aurelius had to grow up too fast and never let himself rest and Uther… well, he became obsessed with revenge and protecting whatever family he had. He didn’t want you to feel the same pain at that age.”

“There was also the factor of you wouldn’t intentionally give yourself away as Uther’s son or do anything reckless out of grief,” Ector added.

Arthur had remained silent, trying to process everything, while Kay fumed beside him. “Can you make me remember?”

Merlin nodded. “Would you like me to?” he asked softly. Kay nodded immediately while Arthur hesitated for a second before also agreeing. Merlin held out his hands, a soft violet glow surrounding them. He was still for a few seconds before snapping his fingers. Arthur’s eyes widened as all the memories came flooding back to him, then the tears started to fall. Ector pulled him into a hug just as Arthur collapsed against him, muffledly screaming into his shirt. Kay had himself better collected, but tears streamed down his face too, remembering his godmother at last. Merlin looked away as Kay closed himself off and Arthur sobbed into his father’s chest. They stayed there until the sun went down and the rabble faded away, awaiting with dread when they would have to face reality.

[ifyoucouldholdme]

Movie Nights with Trashmouth Chapter 3

Words: 1286 

Pairing: Bichie, Bill/Richie

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Even though he tried his best to overcome the mass of clutter he called his room, Richie knew this was too big a job for just one man.

“Bienvenue to Chateau du Awesome,” he attempted in his notorious French voice, but his stressed energy flattened any sound of enthusiasm. He shuffled through the one visible foot path he had managed to clear of dirty band tees and various albums and video games, ushering in a bewildered Beverly and Stan. Bev joined Richie in flopping on the lightly stained bedspread.

“You know, if there was any more junk on the floor, you might qualify as a legit hoarder,” she gently teased. The sulking mop beside her only muffled a weak groan in response. Stan planted himself in the doorway, surveying the chaos around them. “Richie,” he started with a worried grimace, “what’s going on? You didn’t say it was this serious.”

“Yeah,” Bev chuckled, “did you not make the cut to be on one of those ‘clean my house’ shows?” Richie listlessly threw a pillow at the side of her smirking face.

“You don’t get it, Bev,” Stan chided. “I’m not concerned that his room is a mess. This is actually the cleanest I may have ever seen it.” She crinkled her brow, dumbfounded. “Wait, it’s usually worse than this?” Another garbled sound from Richie served as confirmation. Stan waded through the mess to stand on his other side. “Really, Bev, when have you ever known Richie to clean up after himself?”

Richie lifted his head to level an unamused glare at his less than tactful best friend. “Gee Staniel, that makes me feel so much better. Ever thought about going into motivational speaking? Like going around to different schools, telling kids how to be only partially fucked up. You know, that kind of shit.”

“I’d make millions,” Stan deadpanned right back. He awkwardly patting his pile of tangled locks, believing it to be a more comforting gesture than it actually was. “Seriously though, why the sudden rush to clean up? Is your dad getting on your case about it again?”

Richie huffed and rolled off the bed. “No, it’s nothing. Now, are you gonna help me out or just sit there and psycho-therapize me?” Beverly and Stan shared an unconvinced look which Richie tried to ignore in favor of cramming a pile of sneakers under the bed. “Of course we’re going to help,” Stan reassured as he started collecting the multitude of CDs and vinyls into neat stacks. Bev deemed the crumb coated dishes and shredded candy wrappers as the higher priority.” She eyed Richie with the kind of stern glare that a worried mother gives her stubborn child. “But you will tell us what’s going on when we’re through.”

 The mood swiftly lifted over the next few hours. In between the organizing and the vacuuming, Stan managed to crack enough zingers to bring out Richie’s croak of a cackle. He said just enough to lift his friend’s spirits, no more. He had a reputation to maintain for being the serious one among the Losers after all. Beverly got a little distracted during their feel-good montage moment after they had cleared away all the clutter hiding an old record player on the forgotten desk in the corner. She slapped on an old Misfits album with a mischievous grin. As the music blared to life, she grabbed the boys and started dancing wildly, her auburn waves bouncing in rhythm. The song touched a soft spot within Richie, and soon he was thrashing his head along as well. Stan refused to move.

“Come on, Stanny my boy,” Richie gasped over the guitars, still violently jumping, “be a punk for once in your life!”

“Richie, you know good and well that I’m not going to—oh, what the hell.” Stan untucked his button-up and attempted what he thought of as headbanging. In reality, it looked more like an overenthusiastic orchestra conductor. The others cheered him on, nevertheless.

“That’s my boy!” Richie crooned. They continued their homegrown mosh pit in the newly spruced up space until the last song faded into the faint scratching of the needle. Exhausted from tidying and jamming, they collapsed onto the freshly laundered bed. Richie wrapped his arms around their shoulders and held them close to his heaving chest. His mind searched for the words to thank them for helping him today. Without them, the room would be a wreck and he would be in the midst of a minor meltdown. He wanted to express what they did for him, but he didn’t know how. Fortunately, there was no need. His friends knew perfectly well.

“Ok, Rich,” Stan sighed and wriggled out of the embrace. “We get it. We all love each other, but I don’t need to be buried in your sweaty armpit. Besides, I need to get going anyway. I’ve got a night class at six I shouldn’t be late to.”

Richie jolted upright almost throwing Beverly off the bed. “It’s almost six? Bill’s going to be here soon! Shit, I can’t let him see me all sweaty and nasty like this.” He raced to his cabinet, rifling for a towel and a fresh pair of underwear.

“Wait just a damn minute,” Beverly stopped him, her hair a tousled mess from the shove, “you’re freaking out about cleaning your room for Bill?” Stan’s face also creased in puzzlement at this information.

“What’s so special about Bill coming over? You’ve been friends for years. I hardy think your sweaty ass or messy room would change that.” He sniffed and faintly grimaced. “Although he might appreciate a deodorizer or something.”

“It’s…it’s not that Stan. I just…It just has to look nice, ok?” Richie couldn’t really explain everything he wanted to. Bill would be there in about twenty minutes, and he still needed to shower and make the popcorn and light some incense or a candle or some air freshener because God knows Stan was right, his room needed it and, shit, was he the smell or—

“Bill’s not a neat freak, Richie. You’ve seen his room. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to show him how to fold his laundry,” Stan derailed Richie’s spiraling anxieties. Thankfully, Bev placed a gently hand on Stan’s arm. “I think we should let Richie finish getting ready,” she hinted.

“But I don’t understand why Bill would—

“Stanley.” Her eyes, sweet yet stern, held him still. Stanley, his brow still knotted in a haze of confusion, reluctantly submitted to Bev’s suggestion.

“Sorry, Rich,” he murmured, “I’ll see you later, then. Have fun with Bill.” The boy gave Beverly one last unsure glance, then made his exit. Bev stayed behind long enough to gather Richie in a farewell embrace. His nerves still trembled with the looming anticipation of his date night coming ever nearer, but her warmth seeped into his veins, comforting him.

“Had fun today, Trashmouth. Next time we want to rock out, let’s do it without the cleaning part.”

“Yeah, sounds good, Marsh,” Richie muttered back. He wanted to let her know how much they had helped him that afternoon. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him. He wanted to, but all he could muster was a whispered, “Thank you.”

Beverly smiled that sunshine grin and lightly punched his shoulder. “Anytime, Sir Sweats-a-lot.” She left him with his thoughts, almost walking out the door before throwing a sultry smirk behind her. “And good luck with Bill tonight. Just remember to be safe and use protection.” With a knowing wink, she disappeared giggling down the hallway. Richie froze agape, towel in hand, utterly embarrassed as Bill’s ringtone began to sing from his pocket.

[takerfoxx]

She Ra: Princess of Power, Season 1 FINALE, First Impressions!

And it all came down to this.

You know, I noted earlier in this season that I really hoped that they stepped away from the formulaic plots and started to subvert our expectations a little. But now that I’ve watched the first season in its entirety, I can really appreciate what the writers pulled off.

First we got the first half of the season, which were entertaining but otherwise pretty standard episodes, where one could figure out the whole plot of each episode in the first few minutes and not be surprised by much. Like I said earlier, it got the job done, but that’s about it. All the appeal was watching the characters bounce off of each other.

However, that was just the set-up, a way to get us to like all these people and care about what happens to them. Because from Princess Prom onwards, they flipped the script and delivered wham episode after wham episode, giving us big moments, major game-changing exposition, major character reveals, and plenty of jaw-dropping twists. So by the time that the big fight for Brightmoon finally rolled around, the audience is now fully invested in the plot as much as we are in the characters and hanging onto every moment.

As such, even though the finale itself snaps back to standard formula, it...doesn’t feel like it.

I mean, it’s basically Helm’s Deep. Our heroes are cooped up in their castle/fortress, massive army is coming, no one is coming, have to prepare, army gets there, big fighties happen, showdown with rival, back and forth, bad guys get upper hand, darkest hour, suddenly HERE COMES THE CALVARY, they really were coming to save them all along, squad pose, and then kick ass with the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP!

We’ve seen it a gazillion times. I’ve seen it a gazillion times! And had I been watching this episode in vacuum, then sure, I’d find the jokes entertaining and been impressed by the fight choreography, but that’s about it.

But because I’ve been on this ride, because I’ve spent so much time with these characters and gotten fully invested in the plot, I felt every moment. I was on the edge of my seat during the whole She Ra/Catra battle, was biting my nails as Angella struggled to keep the Moonstone alive, was begging for Adora to get up when she had fallen to her knees, and straight up started cheering when the other princesses arrived. Sure, part of me was going, “Oh, of course. We know these tropes, so of course that’s what they’re going to do.” But that part was largely drowned out by the part going, “HOLY SHIT, IT’S MERMISTA! AND YAY, PERFUMA! AND OH MY GOD, FROSTA’S WITH THEM! GLIMMER’S HEALED, EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE OKAY!”

Basically what I’m saying is that sometimes it’s okay to go back to formula, because those things became formula for a reason. They work. They just require you to do the work and make them mean something.

Anyway, can we talk about that She Ra/Catra battle? Because damn, they both went all out! I mean, sure, She Ra didn’t have her sword, but Catra was unarmed as well, and she had She Ra on the ropes plenty of times! Hell, it could be argued that she kinda won until the cavalry arrived. That’s...not something I see often. I’m so used to the whole Team Rocket of the most persistent foe also constantly failing. But no, Catra has consistently gotten more dangerous with every episode. It’s like what she said to Hordak at the end: she has gotten closer to taking down Brightmoon than anyone, and she wiped out the Whispering Wood as well. Sure, getting the Princess Rebellion back together with the addition of Frosta was kind of an oopsie, but she also massively set Brightmoon back and took out their biggest line of defense. And Hordak recognizes that. Props to both of them for actually exhibiting good management skills. Like, an evil Overlord and a personal rival that actually know what they’re doing? What universe am I living in?

Okay, I gush about their competence a little too much, so let’s talk about another aspect that I’m...well, something I’ve been feeling a little divided on about Catra. See, I went in knowing that she was Adora’s former best friend and now her rival and that they have conflicting feelings about each other and that would lead to a redemption arc or whatever. But the more I watch this show the more I wonder: does Catra even want to be redeemed? Because she kind of seems all in on the whole Horde thing. Sure, she was hurt by Adora’s betrayal and clearly has some feelings toward her that she needs to sort out, but that hasn’t slowed her down much, and she hasn’t exactly shown any empathy toward...basically anyone. Even Scorpia and Entrapta, her most consistent companions, seem to come off as people she tolerates because of their usefulness. And given how she treats Kyle and the others, well...

What I’m saying I’m starting to see that cycle of abuse sending her down the path of becoming the new Shadow Weaver. I mean, maybe not as despicable, and definitely a lot more cunning, but even so. 

Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s awesome and I am probably invested in her story most of all, but it is going to take a whole lot of character development and moments of empathy for me to be able to buy a redemption arc. Hell, at this point I’d actually see Scorpia make that leap before Catra. At least with Scorpia you have a genuinely sweet girl that was just unfortunate enough to be born into a bad system and doesn’t seem to know better. I’m not getting that feeling of innate goodness from Catra, even with her abusive upbringing. 

It’s like I said in the past: sympathetic backstories only go so far, and shitty lives don’t excuse terrible behavior. Basically every Batman villain has some kind of terrible childhood, and they’re almost all monsters. So...basically I’m really curious to see how they pull this off. 

Okay, now that I got that off my chest, let’s tackle a few other points.

First, glad that Netossa and Spinnerella finally got to actually show up and do something! About freaking time too. And yeah, they were adorable together. I mean, given the people behind the show, it’s probably not an accident that a legitimate gay couple gets involved and the battle ends with the heroes washing away the evil with a giant freaking rainbow. FOR THE HONOR OF GAYSKULL!

Ahem.

Though speaking of which, I’ve been doing some thinking.

Okay, so Glimmer and Angella have the Moonstone, Scorpia had the Black Garnet until her family gave it to Hordak, Mermista has that big honkin’ pearl, Perfuma has the rock in the tree, Frosta has her giant Christmas tree ornament doo-dad, and I hear that there was a Fire Stone owned by a fire princess I guess who got corrupted or something? Also, Entrapta doesn’t have her own Runestone for some reason (though what happened to that First Ones disc she was repairing?)

So, uh, do Netossa and Spinnerella have their own Runestones, or are stoneless princesses like...some kind of lesser rank of princess, or how does the whole princessing thing work? Do you need an actual kingdom to qualify? I know they’re working with concept established in an 80′s toy commercial show aimed toward girls, so you can only do so much, but I’m curious!

Anyway, season two coming up. I basically watch these things when I’m on break at work, and my schedule’s going to be weird in the next few days, so things are going to get a little random.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 3X21 AND 3X22 - “Snow Drifts” AND “There’s No Place Like Home”

Watch what happens when Miss Swan tries to EMMA-ncipate herself from Storybrooke! 

Bwahahahahah!!!!

Anyways, let’s do the time warp agaiiiiiiiinn!

You better WATCH yourself because we’re going back to revisit the Season 3 finale below the cut! XD

I’m sorry this is so late! Super Smash Bros Ultimate kind of stole my life for a few weeks, but I’m back now!

Press Release

While Mary Margaret and David celebrate the naming of their son at a coronation in Granny’s Diner, Emma and Hook are pulled into Zelena’s time portal and find themselves in the Enchanted Forest of the past. But in their quest to discover a way back, they must be careful not to change ANYTHING or risk altering the lives of their friends and family – as well as their very own existence.

Main Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness

Past/Present/Everything (?) XD

“Back to the Future” is my all time favorite movie, so is it any surprise that I fucking love this two parter? No? Well, good! Now let’s talk about why!

Revisiting this finale really shows me just how many story and plot points were set up in those first few minutes in such a natural way. This is easily one of the tightest finales in the show’s history in that regard. The story and plot here is so well paced. Never does anything, even for a second feel off or poorly spoken or anything of the sort! It’s just good! The absolute best instance of this is the two Hooks scene. Like, that was just so fucking CRAFTY for how Killian and Emma organize and enact the plan to get Snow to work for him.

I like how the opening of the episode finally lays out all the cards: Emma’s decision to go back to New York is a selfish one. She plainly admits this and spells out why. It’s framed as a bad thing to do and the episode’s goal is to tackle that. It’s the heart of the episode and it’s incredibly effective thanks to those opening shots that show just how much pain Emma’s been in throughout her past.

Oh my fucking God, all of the actors are just amazing here! EVERYONE gets a great moment! I talk a ton about Emma and Jen, obviously, so let’s give a shoutout to the others! Robert Carlyle gets to put all of Rumple’s delicious character aspects on display, from Rumple’s silliness to Mr. Gold’s snarkiness to both of their more sympathetic sides. Lana gets some fucking delicious ham as we see her Season 1 Evil Queen come out! Josh pulls off the perfect mix between being everything that Prince Charming is supposed to be with a more modern snark that makes him human. The same goes for Ginny, though the placement of this episode has Snow showing off a more believably cynical side to the character, which she nails! Jared Gilmore performs a fantastic Henry, understanding though still always tugging at Emma to come and stay home. Emilie de Ravin’s heart and soul during the wedding scene is just so present, so much so that I just feel myself bursting out in tears throughout the whole scene. And Colin, who boy! Colin had to take on two versions of himself and every moment of that was just delicious!

”Lovely ball the other night.” ...Is this to say that there was a day break between Emma being caught by Regina’s guards and being put in her cell? It makes sense, but WOW! I never thought of it like that!

The execution scene. The fucking kills me. I know Snow’s alive, but I don't fucking care. I still feel every bit of that sense of dread and disgust as the fireball takes her. And how that affects Emma, she can barely speak and when even the possibility of Snow being alive comes to light, Emma’s immediately back to full energy! Emma’s love for Snow is such an effective driving force behind the solving of her conflict of finding home. The moment that choked me up this time was Emma shouting “you’re alive” to Snow right before hugging her. Just...and then we have to sit on the reaction when Snow doesn’t recognize her. It’s just too much.

And Emma’s revelation. I love how slow and emotional the moment gets to be as she tells Killian why she wants to stop running and how she values her mother and life in Storybrooke. It’s so heartbreaking and heartwarming in the same vein. It’s this gentle breakdown that understands that yes, Emma has been selfish, but she wants to do and be better for everyone, including herself. She wants to be like the rest of her family. She wants to be a part of something. And the smile on hers and Killian’s face as she comes to terms with that lesson...it’s just the best kind of payoff! And then the reunion, accompanied by that GORGEOUS melody as Emma finally remedies her behavior towards her parents. It’s one of the most beautiful moments in the entire show.

So let’s talk about Baby Neal briefly, or rather, his name. This is one of the most contentious points in the entire fandom. I...don’t love it (but don’t hate it), but only because Snow and Charming didn’t interact with Neal all that much. Had they had any meaningful time together, I think this naming would’ve been not only good, but great. Even still though, I don’t really care too much one way or the other. I’m one of those people who is completely fine with kids on this show being named after the dead. Maybe that’s because it’s the case in so much of the other media that I’ve seen throughout my life and apart of the Jewish culture I grew up with, but I don’t understand the fandom’s hangup with that reason for names. People are named after the dead. It’s not that big of a deal.

Insights - Stream of Consciousness

-Guys, that is just cruel and unusual punishment to make all of the kids stand outside and watch a kid get adopted right in front of them. I get they’re trying to be polite and inspire hope, but they’ve GOT to know that that’s difficult for the non adopted kids to watch! Like, the actual fuck?!

-Dammit. The cameraman who kept the shot on Emma as she sees a kid driving off with a new family fucking is an evil genius and fucking WRECKS me! *sobs into infinity*

-Do you think Lucy had a coronation ceremony?

-Potluck at Granny’s, huh? I don’t know if that’s good because you’re thrusting less work onto Granny or bad because you’re denying her the business.

-Okay, I know Emma’s running away from her problems and all, but that retort about Snow and David stalling for time was fucking hysterical! XD

-Robin, that is one luxurious spread! But why are you guys sitting on the floor?! Don’t you know that Regina’s a queen and a bit more refined? XD

-”I would’ve walked through hell to be with my Marian again.” ...Dammit. I really want a Robin/Marian Underworld fic.

-”That [vault] was only for the most dangerous and unstable magic.” Then that sounds like a GREAT place for the dagger! “And this doesn’t qualify?” “No.” YES!

-To tell you the truth, I guess when you factor in both Rumple’s sacrifice AND the fact that he’s scary powerful, it makes sense that Maurice would bless the marriage. Like, he’s still a shit person, but the decision makes sense. I do feel though like they just stuck him in so that there was one extra person at the wedding, but I’d honestly think Ruby would’ve been a more appropriate choice since she was closer to Belle and even helped out Rumple on occasion, especially since she was actually in the episode.

-The entire back-and-forth about the origins of Snowing is the greatest thing in the world! XD

-KATHRYN! My sweet cinnamon roll!!! You look so happy and you’re talking with Best Matriarch!!! <3

-Okay! The Captain Cobra moment here is so fucking underrated! Henry trusts Killian with his fucking storybook! Like, this book just gave him back his memories and Henry trusts Killian with it to help his mom! Just...YES PLEASE!!!!

-”Stubborn like her...all of our family.” To be fair, have you MET your family, David? That correction is pretty accurate.

-”She would curb any homicidal tendencies.” ...I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works, mate!

-I love RC’s “oh shit” face.

-...To tell you the truth, now that we know Zelena survived, that corrupted footage isn’t that far off the mark.

-”You defeated the bloody Wicked Witch. You defeated Pan.” ...You’re not fully on the mark, Killian, but I do agree that she had a big part in taking them down.

-I LOVE THIS FUCKING MIRROR LAKE!

-Lana! Lana! There’s so much beautiful ham here and I love you for it!!! This scene where she’s intimidating the villagers! Just...this is perfection!

-BOOBS! I mean...Emma’s EF attire looks great! ...BOOBS! <3

-I just LOVE Emma’s smile as she watches the set up for her parent’s first meeting. Like, I legit reared up because that smile alongside the Snowing theme just...it was fantastic.

-”It’s a miracle you two fall for each other.” I love that ‘da fuq, Emma’ look Killian gives Emma.

-I love that look Killian gives Emma when he says “me.”

-...Damn, Killian looks good funny encased in shadows.

-And then he has to say “privacy” in only the way Killian Jones can do.

-”Ooh confidence. I like it.” And I like your confidence. ...Damnit, OUAT men! Stop being so attractive!

-Regina just ROCKS her every entrance!

-”It’s all about the tumblers.” I spell it differently, but I feel you, man. XD

-I love the way Neal describes his past with Rumple. The tragedy of their separation comes from the fact that they loved each other so much, but Rumple couldn’t overcome his demons in a way that could help them stay together.

-I LOVE this Captain Charming scene. The bros are so supportive of one another, though David doesn’t fully grasp who Killian is to him!

-”Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up with them again.” ...That hurrrrts!

-Ruby is such a badass!!!

-”Hook!” How strange must this nickname be to everyone else in this room?! XD

-*Snow sneaks up on Regina* Oh SNOW you didn’t!!! XD

-Aww! I love that Red Snow hug!!!

-You know, I really like the design of the trolls and am sad that they weren’t used more often.

-”I’m devilishly handsome again.” Yes you are!

-Gee! Is that urn important?

-I love both Rumple and Emma’s reactions to Neal’s name. That subtle happiness, especially on Rumple’s face, is just so beautiful!

-So I have so many feelings on Killian ‘ditching his crew.’ I actually wrote an entire fic about it. BUT that having been said, I think the choice he made was the right one.

-Archie, they’re getting married, not going ice skating. Wear a fucking suit!

-I can’t get as swept up in the OQ tragedy because Roland says “mama” and that is too fucking cute!

-Okay, that reveal of Elsa was SO FUCKING WELL SHOT! I love the slow buildup to her reveal, from the icy blue liquid in the urn to the forming of her dress to the shape of her hair to the dismissal of the liquid and finally, to the reveal of her powers! What an EPIC intro! Best one ever! Now I know you’re upset about that, Regina, but you just have to *takes deep breath* LET IT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (And THAT’S how you close out a season!)

Arcs - How Are These Storylines Progressing?

Emma Accepting Home - So look, I love how every season touches upon another aspect of Emma’s acceptance of people into her life, but on some level, I do get how the fandom got sick of it after a certain point. I firmly believe that this was the best and ultimate moment of culmination of this aspect of Emma’s character. That’s not to say that I didn’t like it in other seasons. Fuck no, I loved it in other seasons, but this was the best handling of it. The idea of those Emma loves and their philosophies on home and family all come together in this beautifully blended way. Emma’s parents, Henry, Killian, Neal, and more all contribute to her outlook on her life in Storybrooke and how her walls can be detrimental. And seeing Emma realize that makes for such a beautiful journey.

Killian’s Redemption - “That man sitting there, you don’t know him. Just be careful.” I feel like this line speaks to Killian’s improvement. He doesn’t want someone he cares for to see how lousy he was. And Killian’s redemption really gets its proper payoff here. With many of his past wrongs righted, Killian is finally given appreciation for helping get Emma back to Storybrooke. I think there’s an added layer to “you traded your ship for me.” Basically, Emma has to press him unyieldingly in order to find this out, meaning that he was never going to tell her on his own. He was willing to give up his home and have the act go anonymous.

Regina’s Redemption - ….Fuck. So, I’ve gone on about how I loved Regina’s Redemption this season. That is completely true. And this is where we take a GIANT step back. I GET that Regina feels resentment towards Emma. In this episode, it’s even at an okay level. BUT, going forward, this gives way to perhaps my least favorite Regina arcs. Thankfully, it only lasts for five episodes and I like the handling of it in the first four...you know what? We’ll talk about it when we get there! Apart from that aspect, I felt like Regina had reached a good place here! Her character is becoming more concrete.

Rumple’s Redemption - This is one of those episodes where Rumple’s decision to hide the real dagger and the truth about Zelena’s death makes things really sticky. And don’t forget, I was on his side for her death, but now’s the time to come forward! Apart from this aspect of it, something not at all glossed over in the episode itself, Rumple is framed as good. His wedding is a moment of character payoff and the happiness he feels as he gets married and Snowing’s son is named after Neal feels earned in a lot of ways. And the weirdest thing is that that’s Rumple for you: Undeniable someone with a big heaping helping of darkness, but a fuckton of character in there too. Like, this doesn’t ruin the episode by any means, but it’s there and it’s weird.

Neal’s Death - “Home is the place when you leave, you just miss it.” I think it was a fantastic story element to make one of the most poignant and thematically present lines in the episode something Emma learned from Neal. Not only that, but even some more of Neal’s minor advice comes in handy, like how to unlock the prison cell!

Favorite Dynamic

Emma and Killian. ...Look I work hard not to incorporate too much shipping into the meatier parts of the review and I’ll keep the romance out of it, I promise. So just give me this one. Cool beans? Cool beans. But seriously, I do actually have completely non-shippy reasons to love this dynamic as it works in this episode. For a time travel story to really work, there needs to be at the heart of it characters who know what’s going on and can interact with one another. It’s the most important dynamic in the story and if they fucked it up, the rest of the tale would’ve fallen apart, but thankfully, with Emma and Killian together, the special thrived. Killian and Emma both bring something to the table. Emma brings that fresh face and serves as a focal point for the story. Her naivete of some of the fairy tale elements and personal relationship to the people from the past is what keeps the story going and engaging. And Killian in a lot of ways helps to keep her grounded. While he cares deeply for Emma, his existence is not the one on the line and his lack of a familial relationship allows for some space between him and the events. He gets to be the clear thinker when Emma panics and her guide since this is his world as well as the voice of reason. And in return, Emma gets to perform the cool stunts, save people, and stand up to the past version of the Evil Queen. She even gets to save Killian’s ass in the case of royal balls and keeping his past self distracted. Together, they get to bounce around ideas, make jokes, and share moments of revelations that other characters in this episode aren’t and can’t be privy to. These two characters come together and make for a good and balanced dynamic for that reason. Additionally, Jen and Colin’s chemistry allows for a balance between things being lighthearted and serious when they need to be. Whether you like them as a couple or not, I don’t think it can be denied that they are the reason for why the main story was as entertaining as it was.

Writer

We have four writers here, two per episodes. David Goodman and Robert Hull worked on “Snow Drifts” and Adam and Eddy wrote “There’s No Place Like Home.” And they all did so freakin’ well! You can tell how careful these guys were with most every writing decision ever made. They managed to rework a fantastic episode, “Snow Drifts,” while still keeping to the dignity of it at the same time. It gels so well into also being a family story and allowing for as many fun character interactions as possible.

Rating

Double Golden Apple! What more can I honestly say? It’s as close to perfect as OUAT can get for me!

Flip My Ship - The Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness”

CAPTAIN SWAN, MOFOS! - THERE IS A REASON THIS BEAUTIFUL EPISODE IS CALLED THE CS MOVIE BECAUSE HOT DAMN IT IS A CS MOVIE!!!!! As I said in the “Favorite Dynamics” section, Killian is a constant source of support for Emma. He knows that she belongs with her family, respects her ideas, and challenges her. And just, let’s get through the moments, okay?! Like, he goes through a time portal for her! “One of these days, I’m gonna stop chasing this woman.” The fuck you are, buddy. You’re chasing her for all eternity! And just, he’s got her. He keeps her sane as she freaks out. He helps her relax. And just...the LOOKS he gives her! Like, look at how they joke around when Emma changes clothes, those little flirty looks! XD And speaking up, how about that loosening up of the corset and “you and I both know I’m his type?” Because that kills me. It utterly kills me! Someone drag my soul out of the Underworld because that scene destroys me in the best way possible! And the dude gets jealous of Emma kissing his past self, so fucking jealous that he needs to take his-fucking-self out! XD AND NOW WE GET TO THE BALL! THE FUCKING BALL THAT OWNS MY ETERNAL ASS! First, look at those smiles as Killian compliments Emma. THEN look at how Emma covers for Killian like a mofo’in boss! FINALLY, THE DANCING. IMMORTALIZED IN THE BOOK FOR ALL TIME IS MY FAVORITE CS MOMENT! EMMA GETS TO PLAY PRINCESS AND FEEL LIKE A ROYAL. KILLIAN GETS TO TREAT HER TO SUCH AND TEACH HER HOW TO WALTZ. AND THEY”RE SMILING AND HAVING SO MUCH FUN. IT”S PERFECT! HONESTLY PERFECT! Okay, I’m semi-recovered from that. Now, I also LOVE how Emma holds that ring to Killian and it looks just SO much like she’s proposing! And THEN “I’d go to the end of the world for her. Or time.” Just...you need to stop loving Emma so much because my heart cannot take it! And notice Emma’s smile when she says “Hook.” Then, we get an interesting callback to the Neverland Arc. When Emma asks Killian about his brother, Killian’s unwilling to talk about it, but here, knowing she needs that, he tells her what she needs to know. AND “I always knew there was a little pirate in you Swan.” She’s certainly getting there! And just...I love how Killian’s both harsh and gentle with Emma as she has her moment of realization. And THEN, Emma, after being with Killian for most of basically two or three days, goes out to see him again because he’s all alone! Just...the confession about giving up The Jolly Roger for love. I love how Killian never intended to reveal this and how Emma knows the weight of that choice. It just makes the subsequent kiss so satisfying!

Rumbelle - Oh yeah...There are other couples in this episode too! XD Sorry, but yes, I ADORED the Rumbelle in this episode. Like, in the past, I love how Rumple gets so embarrassed by Belle thinking that he talked about her and how he dismissed her. It’s so cute! And now, that wedding! That wedding! Just...what can I say about these vows? They’re perfect. The editing allows them to encompass every other couple while the lines are still completely their own and work perfectly for Rumbelle as a couple. Rumbelle is every other couple at their best and worst, a mix of best and worst traits and I feel like this wedding is a celebration of that fact. On a funnier note, I love how Rumple and Belle didn’t even wait for the fucking “I do’s” and just went at each other with  a kiss!

Outlaw Queen - Robin and Regina’s office picnic is so adorable and honest and open and beautiful! Like, they put everything on the floor, emotionally speaking.

Robin/Marian - Talking about Marian is difficult when you know that she’s actually Zelena, but this episode allows for her mostly to be herself, allowing for an accurate take on her. And to tell you the truth, I like this couple in a lot of ways. I love how much Robin misses Marian and that while he has moved on from her death, still cares for her so deeply. And Marian adores Robin! As soon as she’s free, she basically says “fuck it” to the stipulations of her freedom in order to be with him and Roland. Their love for each other is such a subtle and prevalent thing!

Snowing - Okay, so before we get to the past, let me say that I LOVE all of the Snowing banter at Granny’s! You can just TELL that a couple’s truly great when they can just joke and bicker about how they met and they have that down in SPADES! And in the past, I love the care that went into re-making Snowing’s story, but in a way that was still true to the original version. Though Emma, Killian, and Rumple are pulling the strings, Snow and Charming’s love is so carefully made to be all their own doing and that was so important. And I love the mix of new and old content so much. The repetition of lines just shows how true Snow and Charming’s love really is! And honestly, there’s something so special about Snow and Charming’s daughter being the one to bring them together!

Golden Hook - ...There’s so much FOETP goodness in here. Just, those hate-filled looks in the forest, that suffocation, the quips about burying the hatchet! There has never been true hate in all the lands! <3 Also, when Emma asks about how Killian got his hook, Killian’s next response is to say that she knows “who he is.” This hook and it’s origins, Rumple, are who he is.

Swanfire - That amusement park date was too cute and I really love how Neal’s advice is something that sticks with Emma. It shows Emma’s nuance as a character, as she can accept good and bad things about Neal, even during periods of time where she hated him. And I legit fucking BAWLED when Emma was telling Rumple about how she loved Neal and how he was a hero. Like, just...don’t talk to me! That was too much!

-----

Again, I am SO sorry this review took so long and wasn’t as deep as some of my others! Super Smash Bros, guys. Fucking dangerous. There was more that I wanted to talk about in this episode, but I’d rather you get the review than spend any more time! Thanks, as always, to @daensarah and @watchingfairytales!!! Love you guys so much!!! Hopefully, I can get the Overview done within the next few days and then we can get to season 4!!!!

Season 3 Total (207/220)

Writer’s Scores: Adam and Eddy (59/60)* Kalinda Vazquez (34/40)* Andrew Chambliss (42/50)* Jane Espenson (28/30)* David Goodman (39/40)* Robert Hull (40/40)* Christine Boylan (20/20)* Daniel Thomsen (28/30)*

* Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Links to the rest of my rewatch will no longer be provided. They take posts with links outside of searches and I spend way too much time on these reviews to not give them that kind of exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they still can be found on my page under Operation Rewatch.

[nitaescence]

Limerence

moodboard by @heyitskatrina (she’s more active on her instagram account : @seokjinstudies ) Thank you again !! 

Pairing : Taehyung x OC

Genre : Birthday special!drabble | Fluff, suggestive smut

Word Count : 2.1k

Soundtrack : 🎶 

Limerence /ˈlɪmɪrəns/ (n) — the state of being deeply infatuated with another person resulting from romantic attraction and characterized by feelings of euphoria and the desire to have one's feelings reciprocated.

Everything was quiet, tranquil, peaceful.

In the stillness of the bedroom a sole ray of sunshine made its way in between the half-closed curtains straight to Taehyung's serene visage. The young man frowned, stirred and eventually turned around.

It took effort at first for him to open his eyes. He blinked once, twice, thrice. His sight was unfocused, blurry but in no time, the veil lifted, his surroundings became clearer.

Motionless an instant, he slowly emerged from his daze, watching her sleepy body — right next to him — heaving up and down calmly. A tired smile curled one corner of his lips as his gaze followed the pattern of the marks he had left on her; red and purple bruises scattered along her side and lower back, each of them detaining the breathy loving avowals he had taken care smothering in the skin.

Mechanically, his fingertips grazed them, barely brushing her — the same way he did whenever he contemplated paintings from up close.

Exquisite

He flinched for a second, feeling discomfort in his sore muscles when he stretched, attempting to close the small distance between them. Nuzzling himself against her cold bare back, he made up for the absence of blankets — having slid down in her sleep — the warmth emanating from him was comforting her every inch as he secured his arm around the curve of her waist.

He buried his nose in the crook of her shoulder, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The smell of her skin had always been his favorite, especially in the morning; kissing it felt like kissing a baby.

Soft, warm, naturally scented.

The previous night slowly came to his mind, replaying every moment, every second of it. He had made love to her in the sweetest way possible — passionately, urgently — and the longest he physically could. As exhausting and draining as it had been, he knew he would never feel satiated when it came to show her his love.

He gave his all to her and hers to him, spending every bit of energy into expressing their mutual feelings.

They had fallen in love, astonishingly and inevitably quickly — a pure, innocent and full of passion kind of love, the one which reminded of cherry trees blossoming in spring, the fresh flowery scent floating in the air along pinkish silky petals.

No one could give that kind of love, it only existed in movies.

Yet, they were one living proof and if this meant being the firsts to vouch for it, so be it.

By her sides, Taehyung felt unbreakable and vulnerable at once. She epitomized all he loved alongside her perfect imperfections that made her his everything and beyond. He could feel his heart thud audibly hard against his ribs and his breath getting stuck in his throat each time he would glance at her. There was and would never be no other being he would rather spend the rest of his existence with.

Ever

“Baby, wake up.”, the sound of his voice was low and husky, tinted with a flood of memories from last night. The very subtle shift beneath her lids noticed him she was awakening.

She tried to enjoy the last bits of drowsiness, which vanished the more he clung onto her and whispered hot air in her ear.

Prompted on his forearm, he observed her cute curled up figure and her dark hair sticking out everywhere on the plushy pillow. “You don't wanna wake up?”

She shook her head nuzzling further into him, his grin grew. “Wanna sleep some more?”

He playfully huffed after she nodded, shifting to rest his head in his palm, and began to poke her, “But I don't want you to stay asleep.” Gently nudging her, he pressed his arm onto her middle and she let him pull her body until she lain in a supine position.

“Five more minutes.” She frowned, pouting and keeping her head turned away from the dazzling daylight.

He slowly ran his nose up and down her cheek,“No... That's too long.” But she did not budge. “You'll wake up. Now.” She shook her head again. “Please?” Silence. “Why aren't you waking up?”

She whined, requesting him to cease talking altogether and he chuckled, enjoying her reaction to his teasing.

He stilled, then slowly dragged one of his fingertip down her neck, following the curve of her lifted breast, the crook of her waist, crossed her lower stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake and eventually tightened his grip on the protruding bone of her hip under the sheets. She turned her head around, eyes still closed.

Taehyung smiled at the new proximity, admiring her beautiful natural face right in front of him, biting his bottom lip, the faint pout still present in her features endearing him. “Sweetie, wake up.”

She remained as motionless as a carved statue but got surprised when she felt him kissing her on the juncture of her shoulder and upper chest; a quick, loving peck.

He saw the shift in her brows and could not resist the urge to kiss her again and again, all over the expanse of her neck, collarbones and chest. 

“What are you doing?” She slurred.

“Mm'loving you...” He lingered the kiss on her cheek, chuckling against the soft and round skin. She loved that sound —deep, pure — so near her; she smiled lightly. “I'll keep kissing you if you don't wake up.”

Alright then

“You won't wake up now, will you?” He pouted.

“Maybe you didn't kiss the right spot.” She muttered mildly.

He pondered her words but decided not to surrender and brushed her hair away from the side of her face. She flinched and frowned when she felt him blowing softly in her ear, groping around to make him stop.

He laughed and blew again, “wake up.”

“No.” She wanted to lie on her side but this time he did not remain immobile. He forced her gently to stay on her back, clicking his tongue when she kept her face away from him. He cupped her cheek and dipped lower to press his plump petals against her soft ones. Her eyes opened slowly.

He beamed, “‘morning Beautiful.” She grinned back and slowly stirred beneath him.

He was slow in his motions, delicately settling himself between her legs, smothering her body into the mattress and nibbling at the juncture of her neck and shoulders. “Or should I say, mrs. Kim. They work as synonyms.”

She giggled, her gaze flying directly to her right hand where the magnificent ring Taehyung had designed himself appeared shining in the sunlight — He had claimed, as he was putting it on her finger, delighted (and all quivering), that since he could not find anything matching her unique beauty and charm and because he considered her as out of this world, he thus needed to create something which could reach out to her etherealness and qualify for it.

It was quiet for a long moment, just the thud of her heart hammering against his warm chest, the broken rhythm of his ragged breathing, and the sound of his lips moving — it overwhelmed her with aching pleasure, she felt binds tightening around her heart the more she took in her new reality.

“Babe,” he mumbled against her wet skin, stroking his groin against her bare crotch.

She hummed, eyes already fluttering close.

That same hand crawled up to cup the side of his neck very lightly and it was difficult not to gaze back at the splendid diamond.

He leaned back and grabbed her hand to kiss her palm without breaking eye contact. She kept staring back dreamily and confessed her feelings for him — again — drawn into his gaze, bedazzled.

He took his time studying her face with the faintest of smiles, the tension slowly building. 

He raised his thumb to her lips and time stood still. All of his mouth was suddenly kissing her — hot, delicate, loving, almost reserved, then it turned bold, fierce, hungry, needy — wild gasps and muffled moans punctuating the intimate display of affection.

A muffled whimper escaped her and his hand tightened on the swell of her hip, locking their bodies the closest possible, clutching her to him. Her fingers wove in his hair, pressing his face even more into hers as the rush of hotness in her core burgeoned deliciously.

His fingers naturally knotted in her hair as well. Chills went down his spine. He was greedy, wanting to remember her every curves pressed against him as if she would vanish into thin air, swallowing each of her moans, consuming her all and it quickly became a struggle to hold himself back.

Warmth coursed her body; in her every nerves she could feel her love for him subsiding any rational part of herself, comforting her.

They soaked in each other's scent and touch, relishing in the soft embrace.

Their faces parted, providing new air in empty lungs but they stayed close, lips bruised red.

He rested his forehead against hers, his black locks tingling her, he delighted in the lovely pleasure stirring inside him, stiffening his length. When she lightly rocked her hips against him, his lips parted to let out a warm gasp. 

Their bodies stilled, their eyes opened. He looked down, addressing her his most ravishing smile — the one that never failed to weaken her legs and soften her heart — and as he very often found himself do, wondered to which God was he owing to deserve her and the love in her eyes.  

Light of my life

“You look perfect.”

“I just woke up.”

“Still breathtaking.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I mean it.” He frowned cutely, waited until she looked at him again, those beautiful and mysterious brown orbs of hers. “I don't think you'll ever really be aware just how important you are to me. To have you. Here. In my arms...”

“... I think I know.”

He suddenly pressed his face against her bosom, grunting,“I forgot almost everything I wanted to say to you...” she chuckled, remembering the stuttering mess he was after he surprised her when he knelt in front of her. His hands reaching out to her were shaking, words came out clumsily and hot rush blushed his sweaty face yet she got it all through his watery eyes. He may eternally regard that moment as incredibly awkward and far away from what he had initially planned but she would do it all over again just as it had happened — perfect, raw.  

He held his weight on his forearms again and observed her scrupulously. “I love you so much. I still can't believe you said 'yes'.”

“Because I feel just the same for you and even more... there was no other way.” She gently pressed her hands to his fluffy cheeks and leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose, “we belong together.”

“You're everything I dreamed you were. A wonderful being... full of kindness and... love.” he trailed in his smooth baritone voice, the last words dying on her lips before he kissed her longly.

Throughout the years, she had learned who he truly was, the man who had captured her heart and did not intend to free it anytime soon. She learned about his past and fears, his hopes and dreams, his ideals, his will to recreate the pattern he observed his parents live through. He was never afraid to admit it, he was a romantic, a stargazer who wished to love and be loved in return. He was everything she needed. 

Finding her was unexpected, eagerly awaited and there she was, in his embrace, his soon-to-be-wife and most probably the mother of his children, helping him shape the first fragments of his dearest aim in life.

Smoothly, gently, he combined their bodies in the innermost way and shaky exhales escaped their mouths.

His hand slid down and looked for hers, parted it from his waist where it was resting and moved her arm up, brushing the smooth skin to eventually lace their fingers together delicately above her head,“... I promise to have and to hold you... for better and for worse,” a melodious giggle escaped her but it did not interrupt him as he moved her second hand to join the other, intertwining it with his second as well, his already broad shoulders appearing even larger over her,  “for richer, for poorer.” 

A smile stretched his lips as he kept reciting the binding words punctuated with kisses along her neck. “In sickness and in health,” he froze and his lips grazed hers, his dark gaze starring at her. “... To lov-” She kissed him at once, slowly, longly. 

He finished whispering hot air against her parted mouth, the tip of his tongue poking out to lick her bottom lip, “to cherish. As long as we both shall live.” and ever so slowly began thrusting into her, his hands clutching hers strongly. “I love you.”

Forever

Masterlist

[incorrectdeceptionquotes]

A Bundle of Secrets Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Kay and Cameron pulled up to Fiona and Shawn’s apartment. As Kay turned off the car, she looked over to Cameron, “You okay?”

Cam looked to her, “Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s just... I’m about to see where my... sister had starting raising her daughter, I mean... this was Farrah’s first home. I just... I feel bad.”

“Well, hey, we don’t have to go in right away. Take all the time you need.” She said, placing a hand on his.

“No, no, let’s go. Maybe I can get a sense on how Fiona and Shawn want Farrah to be raised.” They both got out of Kay’s car and headed inside the building.

When they went into the lobby, they were greeted by the landlord, “Oh hey, you’re that FBI agent right?”

Kay nodded, “Kay Daniels.”

“Yeah, great. Did you figure out who killed Shawn and Fiona?”

“Not as of yet, why?”

“Look, they were good kids and I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt them especially since they had a kid for God’s sake.”

“Did you know them?” Cameron said, frowning.

“As well as any landlord knows their tenet. Who’s this guy?” The landlord asked.

“Cameron Black, unofficial FBI observer, magician, and Fiona’s brother.”

“Her brother?”

“Well, half-brother, if you wanna get technical. If you don’t mind, the best solved cases are the one that aren’t rushed.” Cameron said, “Which is their apartment?”

“Uh, third floor, apartment number three.”

“Thank you.” Cam said going up the stairs.

Kay sighed sympathetically at him, “Thank you sir.” She said to the landlord as she walked to catch up with Cameron. Once they got to the third floor, Kay opened the door and they went inside. The apartment had a pretty standard look to it but  it was the personal touches Shawn and Fiona had added that made people who entered feel like it was a home. Kay smiled at the photos of Shawn, Fiona and Farrah everywhere, she looked over at Cameron who had this unreadable expression but his eyes were glazed over, “Cameron?” He didn’t answer her, “Cam?” She asked again, hesitantly taking his hand in hers, “What’s wrong?”

Cam cleared his throat, “Uh, n-nothing. Nothing. It’s just... God, this was their home, this is where Farrah came home after she was born... this is... where they started their family.”

Kay gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hand, “Hey, take a look at this.” On the wall in front of them were three pictures, the one in the middle was of Fiona and Shawn in the hospital with a newborn Farrah. Not only could anyone see the happiness on their faces but they could see it in their eyes too despite their tired expressions. On the right was a picture of a kid Shawn, maybe ten years old, wearing a fancy school blazer, messy dark brown hair, giving a small smile but he wasn’t smiling with his eyes. On the left was clearly an old, slightly damaged picture of a young Fiona, probably not much older than nine or ten years old, her dark curly hair framing her little face making her blue eyes pop and wearing a clearly worn pink cardigan and green top. Fiona was giving a shy smile in the picture but her eyes had a certain sadness behind them. “She has your eyes.” Kay said, breaking the silence.

“Had. She had my eyes... she was beautiful wasn’t she?” He said smiling at the old photo.

Kay gave a sad smile, “Yeah... she really was. Farrah looks a lot like her.”

“You think?”

Kay nodded, “But she has her father’s eyes.”

“I really wish I had met her. I just wish if she had known that if Johnny and I had known, we would’ve taken her in. She was family... you know what’s really crappy?” Kay gave him a curious look, “We haven’t been that far from each other for the past two years or so... hell, we could’ve walked past each other on the street and I never even knew.”

“Hey...” Kay looked at him, “None of this is your fault, you know that right? Plus you’re doing everything you can for Farrah now. I’m betting that both Shawn and Fiona would be happy that they have someone like you looking after her.”

“Kay, what do I know about raising a kid? Am I even qualified to do that?”

“You’ve been doing a good job so far. Besides, you’re not in this alone, you have all of us. Y-you have me.”

Cameron smiled slightly, “I guess I do.” He squeezed her hand back, “You make this easier Kay.”

Kay felt a slight heat rush to her cheeks, she let go of his hand, “W-we should probably get to what we came here for.”

Cam turned and followed her, his widening as they entered the living room which had been turned to chaos, “You weren’t kidding when you said the place was ransacked.” He noticed the large dried blood stain in the carpet, “That’s... that’s Shawn’s blood isn’t it?”

Kay grimaced as did Cam, “Yes... it is.”

“What did his autopsy say?”

“He had gone up against someone right before he was killed, single gunshot to the head... just like Fiona but at a closer range.”

“I’m... I’m gonna look around” Cameron found Farrah’s nursery which, much like the living room had been ransacked and as Kay had mentioned before, even the crib had been broken. He could see even with the room having been turned upside down that so much love and attention had been given into creating the room. From the unicorn mobile to the multiple stuffed animals lined up on the little baby wardrobe to the cushioned rocking chair that seemed to match the broken crib, clearly Shawn and Fiona had been excited about becoming parents.

Cameron went over the next room to see that it was the master bedroom, it had also been tossed up, the only thing that Cam could see that hadn’t been broken or torn up that room was a photo in the corner of the broken mirror hanging on the wall. It was one of those photo booth photos. In the picture were a younger looking Shawn and Fiona, probably in the earlier stages of their relationships. Shawn’s hair was slightly more combed back than it was in more recent photos and while Fiona’s hair still had those dark curls that she must have gotten from her mother, it was in a messy braid. “Cam?” Kay called out as she entered the room, she saw him holding the photo. She didn’t know what to say so she just placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“They look so happy...”

She looked at the series of photo booth photos and gave a slight smile, “Yeah, they do...”

“I mean, just look at them. Look at Shawn’s face. That is the look of a man who completely head over heels in love. He loved her... he must have died thinking both she and Farrah got away or was he killed so fast that he didn’t have time to think about that at all?” Cameron shook his head, “Why? I mean what were they into? Who could possibly find it in themselves to hurt them, what could they have done?”

“I wish I could tell you right this second. We’ll figure it out...” Kay suddenly noticed something, “Cameron, take a look at this.” Cameron looked up to see what she had found...

Meanwhile back in the archive, Jordan was busy trying to keep Farrah busy as Johnny set up a high chair that Mike had brought over. Jordan was working on some of his tracks while holding Farrah up with one arm. He smiled as the music played then he looked at Farrah who was smiling and kicking her legs to the music, “You like the music?” He asked, not expecting any kind of response but he did get a laugh out of her, “You and I are gonna get along just fine.”

“Jordan?” Jonathan called from the kitchen, “There better not any foal language on that track. I don’t want the kid picking up any bad words.”

“She’s ten months old Johnny. She can barely talk.”

“She’s a smart kid, she could pick it up.” Jordan rolled his eyes, “I heard you rolling your eyes at me Jordan.”

“Well, don’t worry, everything’s family friendly here.” Jordan said. Just then Gunter walked by, “Oh hey Gunter. Wanna take the kid for a minute?”

“Oh geez, I don’t know.”

“Oh come on, she doesn’t bite-she’s harmless.”

Gunter sighed, “Alright.” He took Farrah, “Hello there girly.” Farrah looked at the older man with a curious expression, “You’re not going to much trouble are you?” Farrah just rested her head on his shoulder and relaxed in his arms, “Yeah, you’re not going to be trouble.”

“She’s pretty chill for a baby isn’t she?” Jordan smiled.

“Clearly does not take after me or Cam in that department.” Jonathan said as he entered the room holding a bottle of formula, “Which is probably for the best.” He chuckled, “So Gunter, you’re not scared of her anymore.”

“The child is no big deal.” Gunter said smiling down at Farrah, “But I will not be on diaper duty.”

Johnny rolled his eyes are he walked over to give Farrah her bottle. She grabbed it with both hands as she started to drink it, “Good thing she’s not picky.”

“Her parents were raising her right.”

Jonathan gave a sad smile, “I like to think that they really were.”

Back at Shawn and Fiona’s apartment, Kay had found some papers that had been hidden inside of the mirror, “Kay, what exactly does Shawn’s family do?”

Kay shook her head, “Well they were supposed to be just a family of high-powered lawyers, which is what our database tells us but this...”

“Changes everything.” Cameron finished.

“I mean, according to these papers, they run some sort of criminal organization? Did Shawn always know this or did he just find out and wanted to use this information against them o-or was it insurance of some kind?”

Cameron’s eyes widened, “Wait.” He remembered what Shawn’s mother had said when they went to interview them

“Both he and his wife, Fiona were killed two nights ago.”

“Th-that’s... that’s impossible, I know we have had our differences but... our son would have told us if he was married.”

“Oh my God...” Cameron looked to Kay, “Kay, Shawn was never the target. Fiona was and possibly by association, Farrah.”

Realization dawned on Kay, “They must have thought she knew or she knew and that meant she knew too much.”

“And to them... she was just some nobody that didn’t belong in their family. She had to be taken care of.”

“Only they didn’t know they’d be killing their son in the process.”

“Exactly, we have to get these back to the-” Cameron’s eyes suddenly fell to Kay’s chest, there was a red dot hovering on it, “Kay!” Just as he tackled her to the ground, a shot rang out breaking through the window and into the already broken mirror. He looked down at Kay who was unharmed; he brushed some hair out of her face, “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine” She said, gripping onto Cam’s upper arms, “What the hell was that?” She asked looking at the broken window.

Cameron looked down at her, glad that she was okay then up at the window in slight terror, “I-I don’t know...”

Do I even need to say dun, dun, dun this time? Hope you guys enjoyed it! I really hope it was worth the wait! I’d rather give you guys quality over quantity. What will happen next?

[x4f0wrcg-blog]

Working for Colonial Life Insurance?

Working for Colonial Life Insurance?

I was contacted by a manager at my local Colonial Life insurance office, and asked to come in for a job interview. The position would be for a sales representative. I didn t apply for this job, the employer got my info from a job site. The manager wouldn t explain the position over the phone, and just told me they could tell me more at the interview. I have a bachelor s degree and have almost completed my master s, so I don t want a job that I m overqualified for. Does anyone know how this company operates, and what type of position the sales reps have? I wouldn t mind being an insurance agent, with an office and benefits, but I don t want a job where I have to work from home, make cold calls, and receive a salary based solely on commission.

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare free quotes :CARINSURANCEQUOTESHQ.XYZ

SOURCES:

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[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 9

Fuck that. This woman owns me.

I grab my boxer briefs off the floor, using them to catch the mess as I force myself to slide my dick out of her. I could happily stay inside her forever. Get me a phone with a never-ending battery life and I could do my business right here, while I give her the business.

God, I’m a fucking pervert.

I lift Selena off the couch and into my arms. Her head lolls against my chest, and her arms hang limp.

“Baby, you okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Let’s get you in the bath and clean you up.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I chuckle at her languid response, and love that I’m the reason for it.

Settling her on the side of the tub, I flip on both faucets. Given that it’s the size of a small pool, it’ll take a while for it to fill. Without the insane water pressure I have, it would take an hour.

Crouching in front of her, I lift her chin and meet her still-dilated eyes. “You okay, babe? That was pretty intense.” She nods silently. “Give me the words.”

“I’m okay. I’m really, really . . . okay.”

I smile at her response and rest a hand on her thigh, not far from the pussy that has me by the balls.

“You want me to take the plug out?”

A pretty pink blush covers her face, and her gaze drops away from mine as she shakes her head.

“Is that a no?” Another silent nod. “Words, Selena.”

“No. I don’t want you to take it out yet,” she whispers to the floor.

My cock goes rock hard. Moments ago, I would have bet my jet that couldn’t happen this fast. I would have been wrong—and flying commercial.

“And why’s that?”

Her blush deepens when she replies, “Because I like it. And if I like that this much, I want to know what else I might . . . you know . . . like more. Which I’m assuming requires a little, um, prep? So yeah. That’s why.”

I feel her words in my dick and somewhere deep in my gut.

“Jesus Christ, Selena. You’re fucking amazing.”

I stand, scoop her back up, and settle us both in the partially filled tub. I keep her cradled in my arms, not wanting to let go of her yet. It’s like I’m worried that somehow she’ll slip away and I’ll lose her—and that’s not something I want to contemplate.

She leans her head against my chest, and I brush her hair away from her face so I can see her eyes. I don’t know what I’m hoping to see in them, but I know I need this connection as much as I think she does.

This is a novel feeling for me. Even with the few longer-term relationships I’ve had, I’ve never felt like this. I knew she was something special; I wouldn’t have done what I did and married her if I didn’t think so. But it was a crazy-ass stunt I cooked up on the spur of the moment, and I would have never guessed I’d start to feel like . . . this.

Whatever the hell this is.

I refuse to eat naked, and Justin’s narrowed gaze doesn’t change my mind.

And so instead, I’m wearing his T-shirt and sitting in the middle of his dining room table. It’s a very Sixteen Candles moment. I could swear I’m in the last scene, and I should be sitting on Jake Ryan’s table with Samantha’s birthday cake between us.

Except we don’t have a birthday cake between us—we have enough sushi for a party of five—and I’ve just lost another kind of virginity tonight, because I’ve never eaten raw fish before. I figured, what the hell, I’ve already done something way more off the wall, so why not? And I’m glad I did, because it was a-maz-ing.

I’m a total klutz with chopsticks, so I give up and pick up the piece of something Justin called a rainbow roll and dip it into soy sauce mixed with a small bump of wasabi. I hold my hand under it to catch the drips as I lift it to my mouth, already anticipating the symphony of flavors I’m about to unleash.

Justin’s smile is downright amused, but I don’t care. He might as well see how completely unsophisticated I still am in so many ways. At least he won’t expect to take me out to some fancy restaurant until I’ve had time to master chopsticks. It’s not like we used them to eat hot wings at the bowling alley.

I moan in delight as I savor the taste of the sushi I’ve just popped into my mouth. It’s so damn good, and I say so to Justin as soon as my mouth isn’t stuffed full.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“I can’t believe I never wanted to try it before. If I’d only known what I was missing . . .”

“I’m glad you’re open to trying new things, Selena.” His lips twitch into a less amused smile. “I can’t wait to see what we can conquer next.”

I lift my sweet tea, procured by Justin at my request, to take a sip. “It’ll have to wait until after the tour.” I note Justin’s frown and add, “You didn’t forget that, right?”

“No, but I forgot to tell the pilot.”

Oh, that’s not a good sign. “Maybe you should do that?”

He shoves a hand through his hair and slides off the table. I’m hoping he’s taking care of the situation, and in the meantime I watch the play of the muscles in his back, all the way down the waistband of his gym shorts, as he crosses the dining room and disappears into the kitchen. His voice carries, and I’m pleased to hear he’s making the call.

I pick up his half of the conversation.

“This is Karas. I’ll need the jet the day after tomorrow. Make sure it’s ready by four.”

“Good. Text me if anything comes up in preflight.”

“Thanks.”

I’m feeling the warm glow of contentment that he’s making sure I’m going to get back to Nashville early when he heads back into the dining room and climbs back onto the table. But not on his side. He settles himself behind me, lifting me so I sit on his lap.

“We’re going to teach you to eat with chopsticks.”

“This is going to get messier than it already is, then.”

“So be it.” He grabs the chopsticks with his left hand and places them in my right hand, positioning my fingers awkwardly around them. “Like this.”

He guides my chopstick-holding hand to the sushi and manipulates my fingers until we’ve picked up a piece and dipped it in soy sauce. Ever so carefully, we lift it toward my mouth. Which is right about when I realize what we’re doing is almost more intimate than when he bent me over the back of the couch.

My hand shakes, and the chopsticks lose their light grip right before it reaches my lips . . . and the cold rice and fish slips right down the neck of the T-shirt I’m wearing.

“Damn it,” I say. “I knew this was going to be a disaster.”

Sushi might be delicious, but it feels kinda gross now that the rice is stuck to my boobs and the fish is somewhere farther south, near my own tuna.

Justin chuckles before reaching his hand down the neck of the shirt and scooping up the remains. I twist and watch as he pops it into his mouth.

“Tastes even better.”

I slip my hand under the shirt and grab the errant piece of fish, holding it between a thumb and forefinger. He nips my fingers before snatching it up.

“How about we skip the chopsticks? I’m lucky if I can figure out which fork to use. Adding in completely new utensils isn’t really fair for this Kentucky girl.” I lean back against him, the novelty of this position not yet wearing off.

“Tell me about it.”

His question confuses me. “Tell you about what?”

“Being a Kentucky girl.”

I twist again to take in his expression. He looks genuinely curious, but that doesn’t really make me want to share. My upbringing was light years away from anything Justin can imagine.

“Nothing much to tell.”

“Now, that I don’t believe.”

I think about what I can tell him.

I was born in a tiny town with one red blinking light. I’m not even sure that qualifies as a one-stoplight town. I never knew my father, probably because my mama wasn’t so sure who he was either. My earliest memory was stuffing all my toys and clothes in a garbage bag and dragging it behind me as we moved from trailer to trailer through the park as she hooked up with loser after loser. Paper-thin walls didn’t muffle the sound of her “earning” our keep.

I took refuge in music—putting my headphones on and turning up the volume to drown it all out. One of the least loser-ish of the losers gave me a hand-me-down iPod loaded with tons of country music. Living in Kentucky, that’s about all I heard anyway, but he had the classics too. Loretta Lynn, old Reba, the Man in Black—I soaked up their words and eventually started writing my own.

When I was fourteen, my mama hooked up with a man who had enough money to buy her a Cadillac Eldorado, but didn’t want to have anything to do with a kid. She clutched the keys to her new Eldo in her hand as she told me to pack my bags, because I was moving in with my gran.

Doing what I’ve done so many times before, I loaded everything I owned into a garbage bag and stuffed it in the trunk of the Eldo. My one and only ride in that car was across the river, where she dropped me off like a litter of unwanted kittens. I suppose I should be lucky she didn’t stop at the bridge and attempt to drown me. Gran lived a half mile from the happening hot spot in town: Pints and Pins, affectionately known as Brews and Balls by the locals.

But I couldn’t tell him most any of that. I decide on the streamlined version.

“I’m from a one-stoplight town. My gran raised me after my mama decided to do some exploring. It was better that way, because Mama bounced us around a lot, depending on what guy she was . . . dating at the time. I worked at a bowling alley to help make extra money.”

My gran and Brews and Balls were both my salvation in different ways. Gran because she welcomed me with open arms and gave me the unconditional love and stability I lacked for the first fourteen years of my life. Birthday cakes, Christmas presents—those things became expected instead of the hit-or-miss mess they were with my mama.

When he doesn’t speak, I continue to fill the silence. “Gran lived on Social Security, so every extra dollar helped.”

To myself I add, Because my mama sure didn’t send any home. Nope, after she packed up her Eldo and hooked it to the back of the rich man’s motorhome and rode out of town, we didn’t hear from her for years.

Shaking off the bitterness, I kept going. “Brews and Balls was the first stage I ever stood on to sing in front of people. One karaoke night, the crowd wasn’t getting into it, so Benny, the owner, decided to take matters into his own hands. He’d heard me singing to myself in the kitchen while I was frying up onion rings and hot wings and chicken fingers, and decided that I’d do just fine. He pushed me out of the kitchen and into the bar, not even giving me time to drop my apron. The song was ‘Born to Fly’ by Sara Evans. When I finished, there was dead silence . . . and then the crowd went crazy.”

I close my eyes, the memory still vivid in my head. When I stepped off the stage, Benny had tears in his eyes. “You surely were born to fly, Selena.” He was the first and only man ever to believe in me.

And wouldn’t he just be proud of me now? Mostly naked with a butt plug up my ass, sitting on this man’s lap who I married after spending a single night with him.

I push the thought away. I’m going back to Tennessee in less than forty-eight hours. Back to normal. Which was a crazy thought all by itself—that my normal is life on a tour bus, heading out to sing in front of crowds of thousands in stadiums across the country. That’s what I need to focus on, not the man whose chest I’m pressed against and the awkward silence I’m just now realizing has overtaken the room.

“How’d you go from karaoke in a bar to touring?”

“Benny pushed me to try out for Country Dreams, and when I got past the initial audition, I decided I couldn’t go because Gran’s health was getting rocky. I couldn’t leave her, and we couldn’t afford in-home care. But somehow, through the grapevine, my mama heard about the show and that I was going to turn it down, and she showed up on Gran’s doorstep the day before I needed to report to Nashville for filming. She promised she’d take care of Gran if I’d only just take this shot.”

I swallow, the lump in my throat growing. The last part of this story is the hardest, and the reason for the guilt that tugs at my soul on a regular basis.

“When the finals came around and I made the cut, my mama decided Gran could take care of herself, so she left her. She just wanted to be on TV when they showed my family in the audience, and meet some famous people.” I pause, my heart clenching at the memory. “But Gran fell and hit her head, and never woke up again. She died before I could make it home to even sit by her bedside.”

“I’m so sorry,” he starts, but all the emotions and memories are bursting through my walls, and I can’t stop.

“You want to know what it’s like to wish I’d never taken a shot at my dream because my selfishness—and my idiot move to trust my mama—was responsible for the death of the only person who ever really cared about me?”

“Selena—”

“Or that I’ve been ignoring dozens of missed calls and messages that I know are from her because she’s probably seen the news, and the only reason she’d be calling is for money?”

His arms wrap around me and squeeze me tight. “Selena, slow down. Breathe.”

His words highlight the fact that I’m breathing so fast, I’m liable to hyperventilate. Justin rubs my back as I force myself to slow my breaths until my chest rises and falls in time with his.

Crap. I can’t believe I just spilled all of that. I’ve officially shattered any illusion that Justin might have had about my background.

I pull away from him and stumble off the table. My soul is shredded with the telling of it, and I’m too raw to face him and his questions any longer.

“I think I’ve had enough sushi tonight. I need a shower to clean up now too.”

I don’t look him in the eye, and I don’t wait for a response. I turn on my heel and head for the bathroom.

His ominous words follow me inside. “This conversation isn’t over.”

I’m naked in bed, waiting for Selena, when I hear her voice coming from the bathroom. She’s singing. Even though it’s muffled by the water, glass, and walls between us, I can tell it’s heartbroken and haunting. I didn’t plan on that kind of emotional baggage from someone so young, but it’s impossible to ignore. She’s not broken, but she thinks she is.

The sound of her voice has me on my feet and crossing the room to stand in the bathroom doorway.

Steam fills the shower enclosure, but I can see her clearly enough to watch her rinse the shampoo from her hair. As the suds slide down her body, her voice grows quiet before she stops. I wonder if she realizes that I’m watching, but instead she presses both hands to the tile shower wall and leans forward.

In that moment, I know the water is drowning her tears, and I feel an urge I’ve never felt directed toward someone who wasn’t family: the urge to comfort. I dried my little sister’s tears once upon a time, but I never expected that another woman’s would affect me so acutely.

I want to walk into the shower and pull her into my arms, but I have a gut feeling that she wouldn’t welcome the knowledge that I’m seeing her at her weakest. Selena may be submissive sexually, but her inner fire and spark is driven by pride that I realize mirrors my own. She’s young, but she’s lived a hard life already.

I have the inexplicable desire to make it easy for her. To wash away the guilt and hurt in a way the water never will. But I don’t know how to do that. It’s something even my money can’t buy. And the very fact that I wish I could scares the fucking hell out of me in the way I’ve never experienced.

What is she doing to me? I want to own her, keep her, ensure that she’s mine, but I didn’t expect to feel like . . . like this. The intensity of my need would scare the shit out of her too.

I turn away when she pushes off the wall and reaches for the shower control to turn the water off. By the time she leaves the bathroom, I’m back in bed with a myriad of possible things to say running through my mind.

But every single thought flies from my brain when she walks into the bedroom, wet and naked.

Fuck, but the woman’s body is downright sinful. Full tits, small waist, flared hips, toned legs. Even as all of the blood in my brain rushes directly to my cock, I have enough brain cells firing to appreciate that she’s more than a traffic-stopping body. She also has invisible scars and insecurities that I need a map to navigate without triggering. I’m starting to comprehend the enormity of what I’ve undertaken when I said, “I do.”

She stops, and her teeth dig into her lower lip.

I wait, curious to see what she’s going to say. With Selena, I never really know—and I’m finding I like that unknown.

“Can you . . . help me out?”

I almost say that I’ll help her with any fucking thing she wants, but I don’t. “With what?”

She bites her lower lip again and lets it slide between her teeth. “With, um, the plug?”

A small smile curves my lips. “You didn’t take it out in the shower?”

A short, jerky shake of her head is her only answer.

“And why’s that, Selena?”

Her gaze drops to the floor, which won’t do. Sliding back into the roles that we’ve carved out is easier for me than addressing the events of tonight, and maybe that’s exactly what it takes to bring back the Selena I’m already addicted to.

“Look at me when you answer me.”

A blush I’m becoming more and more familiar with stains her cheeks as she lifts her gaze to mine once more.

“I thought since . . . you know, you put it in, that you should be the one to, um, take it out.”

She’s perfect.

“Good girl. If you’d taken it out without my permission, I would’ve had to spank that pretty ass.”

I toss the covers aside, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and stand. Her attention immediately falls to my dick. I don’t correct her, because I like her attention there. She’ll be paying it a whole hell of a lot more attention in a few minutes. But first . . .

“Turn around and bend over.”

Her blush turns from a luscious pink to a fiery red.

“Excuse me?”

“Do I need to repeat myself? Because if so, your ass is going to be as red as your cheeks, sweet girl.”

Her throat works as she swallows. I open my mouth to repeat my command, but she spins on her heel and bends over before I can get out the words.

My hand flexes with the need to smack that heart-shaped ass. I don’t want to confuse her, but I can’t resist. I pull back and deliver a stinging slap just under the curve of her right ass cheek. She inhales sharply and starts to rise, but my hand at the small of her back holds her in position.

“Don’t move.”

“But—but why?”

I crouch and trail my hand down the side of her body, stopping to cup her breast and roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

“Because I can, Selena. Because your body belongs to me. And because you want it.”

A shiver races through her and her nipple stiffens further, confirming my words.

I release my hold on her nipple and drop my hand to the back of her calf. I rise slowly as I drag my palm up the back of her leg to her ass. I find the base of the plug with my thumb and press against it.

I’m rewarded with another harsh intake of breath.

“I’m taking it out, but a bigger one is going back in tomorrow. I don’t have a lot of patience, and I can’t wait much longer to fuck this gorgeous ass.” I pull the plug out by the base and fuck her with it a few times before withdrawing it completely.

I turn toward the bathroom, but pause to tell her, “Be on your knees when I come back out. I’m going to fuck your mouth before we go to bed.”

She shivers visibly. My dirty girl.

I take care of the plug in the bathroom and return to find her waiting on her knees . . . just missing the mark of obedient because her hand is between her legs, and her eyes are closed as she rides out an orgasm.

I watch—raptly—because Selena in the throes of climax is the hottest fucking sight on the goddamn planet. But my enjoyment in watching her doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy punishing her even more.

“Couldn’t wait for me, I see.”

Her eyes snap open, and if it’s possible, her cheeks turn even redder. “I . . . I needed—”

“You needed to wait and take what I give you. And since you’ve already gotten yourself off, I guess that means you don’t need me to eat that pretty pussy until you’re so drunk off the pleasure, you can’t move.”

Crestfallen. That’s the word that perfectly describes her expression.

“But—”

“Keep that mouth open, baby, because you’re about to take my cock down that gorgeous throat of yours.”

Her jaw drops, and I smile.

“Perfect.” I step toward her, cupping her chin and running a thumb along her lower lip. “Fucking perfect.”

My cock is straining up toward my navel, so I grip the base and bring it to her lips. Her tongue slips out and flicks the head.

“Grab my ass with both hands. I want you in position, and I don’t want you tempted to fuck yourself with your fingers.”

She complies, and I feed my cock into her mouth. She takes more than she did the last time, and I know this won’t last long. I bump the back of her throat, and she gags a little.

“Swallow me, baby. I want to feel your throat work me.”

Again, she complies, and I begin to thrust. In and out, reveling in the hot, wet heaven of her mouth. She takes me like a champ, her little moans sending out vibrations I can feel in my balls.

I have the primitive urge to mark her as mine. I feel my sac tighten, and I decide I’ll finish on her tits next time.

“Ready, baby?”

She nods, and her nails dig into the muscles of my ass. I fucking love it.

My orgasm shoots down from my spine, and she swallows every drop that I give her. She’s the perfect fucking woman. The perfect fucking wife.

I help her off her knees after I’m finished, and wipe the edges of her mouth with my thumb.

“You’re a fucking goddess, Selena.”

Her answering smile is shy as I back her toward the bed. When the back of her legs touch the mattress, she sits, and I drop to my knees.

“And it’s my turn to worship.”

And worship, I do. Until she’s come three times, and I can still feel the marks her nails left in my scalp as I settle into bed and wrap myself around her, tucking my once-again hard cock between her ass cheeks.

As I’m dozing off, one hand cupping a breast, I wonder if I’ll ever be sated with her.

Something about last night—the sushi, sitting on the table, telling Justin about my past and the intimacy we shared after—trips my brain into a whole new side of married life. I’m afraid to trust it, afraid to rely on it. Skepticism is one quality I’ve got in spades.

So when I open my eyes the next morning, expecting to see an empty space in the bed beside me and yet Justin is there, a tiny bit of that skepticism fades away. Maybe I am a little bit important to him. I thought for sure he’d be off running an empire right now, leaving me alone again at the earliest possible moment. His presence provides some hint of validation that I don’t want to admit needing.

As these thoughts roll through my brain, I realize it’s only the second time I’ve seen him asleep, the first being the early hours of Christmas morning. But that morning, I only chanced a glance at him before I hurriedly shoved all my stuff in my bag and tiptoed to the door. He was supposed to be nothing more than a way to forget that I’ll never share another Christmas Eve with Gran . . . and yet now he’s my husband.

Face relaxed in sleep, he looks younger than his thirty-three years. Without that blinding intensity and those piercing eyes focused on me, I’m able to study him at my leisure. Dynamic. Ruthless. Driven. Those are three words I’d use to describe him. Even in sleep, he’s probably dreaming about conquering something.

I know I should wonder about his motivations behind this whole marriage, but I find that I don’t care. Whatever it was that sent him on this wild hair, I should find it in me to be grateful. Otherwise, I’d be wearing another man’s ring and living an even bigger farce.

Glancing down at the ring on my finger, I realize that I like it there. Warmth creeps into my veins at the sense of belonging I feel.

Crap. I’m starting to get attached. Danger!

The terrifying realization is interrupted when Justin’s eyes flick open and his gaze lands on me.

“Are you watching me sleep?”

I decide to go with the truth. “Yes.”

His lips curve up, and I catch a flash of his white teeth. I think it’s a genuine smile, but they’re so rare for him, I have to actually think about it.

When he stretches his arms overhead and the sheet falls away, his washboard abs rippling, I forget about the smile completely. How can a man who sits at a desk all day look like that?

My mouth opens before I can engage my brain. “Do you leave your desk to climb buildings or something? Seriously, those aren’t desk-jockey abs.”

His smile shifts into the smirk I’ve become very familiar with as his gaze jumps to mine.

“You’re saying you actually like something about me?”

Justin’s eyebrow goes up, and I know he’s having fun with me, so I give it back to him.

“I’m saying I’d like those abs on any man, so I guess I’m lucky they’re yours.”

His eyes narrow at my words. “Any man?”

His tone is quiet and even more intimidating than normal. I have only that tone as the slightest warning before he rolls and reaches for me. My squeak of surprise fills the room as he draws me closer and pins me beneath him, one forearm on either side of my head.

“There are no other men when it comes to you, do you understand me, Selena? None. You belong to me.”

Whoa. Holy possessive alpha-male alert, Batman.

I push up on my elbows, bringing my lips within a breath of his. “As long as that means there aren’t any other women for you, then we have a deal.”

“You think you can bargain with me?” Every movement of his lips brushes them across mine.

“I’m sure going to try,” I reply, my daring knowing no limits this morning.

“Sassy girl. You know that just makes me want to teach you a lesson, right?” His tone is a low growl, and his lips continue to tease mine with the hint of a kiss.

Untangling one of my arms from beneath me, I reach up and bury my fingers in his dark hair. “Then what are you waiting for?”

His lips crash down against mine, and words cease to be necessary.

Justin leaves the penthouse to head to work around ten a.m., and when he promises that he’ll be back to get me by seven, I actually believe him. Maybe it’s the look in his eye when he left the bed that clearly said he didn’t want to leave me there alone. It’s like something finally clicked, and like a train, we’ve shifted onto a different track. One where maybe we can figure out how to coexist peacefully.

When I finally drag myself out of bed, I shower and breeze through my morning routine, dressing in some of the most casual of the new clothes in my closet. Glancing at the TV, I think about turning it on, but really don’t want to know if my marriage to this complicated man is still the top story.

Justin promised days ago that if I just trust him, he’ll take care of the press side of things, and I shouldn’t worry because it’s a pointless waste of energy. I decided he was right and just buried my head in the sand. If a billionaire can’t stop them from saying what they’re going to say, how can I? It’s wasted effort.

[romancatholicreflections]

12th March >> Fr. Martin’s Reflection on Today’s Gospel Reading (Matthew 17:1–9) for the Second Sunday of Lent, Year A: ‘It is wonderful for us to be here’.

Second Sunday of Lent, Year A. Gospel (Europe, New Zealand, Australia, Canada & South Africa) Matthew 17:1-9 Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain where they could be alone. There in their presence he was transfigured: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became as white as the light. Suddenly Moses and Elijah appeared to them; they were talking with him. Then Peter spoke to Jesus. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘it is wonderful for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ He was still speaking when suddenly a bright cloud covered them with shadow, and from the cloud there came a voice which said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favour. Listen to him.’ When they heard this the disciples fell on their faces overcome with fear. But Jesus came up and touched them. ‘Stand up,’ he said ‘do not be afraid.’ And when they raised their eyes they saw no one but only Jesus. As they came down from the mountain Jesus gave them this order, ‘Tell no one about the vision until the Son of Man has risen from the dead.’ Gospel (USA) Matthew 17:1–9 Jesus’ face shone like the sun. Jesus took Peter, James, and John his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them; his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light. And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, conversing with him. Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them, then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” When the disciples heard this, they fell prostrate and were very much afraid. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Rise, and do not be afraid.” And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone. As they were coming down from the mountain, Jesus charged them, “Do not tell the vision to anyone until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” Reflections (5) (i) Second Sunday of Lent I like walking but I tend to walk on the flat. There are others who prefer to walk in the mountains. I knew one or two people and every weekend they set out to climb another mountain. When they ran out of Irish mountains, they looked for mountains abroad. I can see the attraction of walking up mountains. The view from the top can be wonderful. You see everything in a different way. Even from the three-rock mountain or hill, which I have climbed in the past, our own city looks different to how it looks from ground level. Going up can help us to see differently. It is one of the reasons why, when I am flying, I like a window seat. I love to look out and see the land below in a way I don’t normally see it. In the gospel reading, Jesus takes Peter, James and John up a mountain in Galilee. Most of Jesus’ ministry seems to have been around the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Capernaum, which was the base of his ministry was on the shore. Yet on this occasion he goes inland and he ascends a mountain with three of his closest associates. Just as going up a mountain can help us to see things in a different way, on this occasion Peter, James and John saw Jesus on the top of the mountain in a way they had never seen him before. They saw him bathed in a kind of heavenly light. Jesus was very much of this world; he lived a fully human life. Yet, he was also of the world of the kingdom of heaven, in a way that was not true of anyone before or since. He was very connected to other people, especially to those in greatest need; indeed, he loved people with a very distinctive love. Yet, he was also caught up into a loving relationship with God which was unique among human beings. It was this dimension of Jesus that the disciples became aware of on the mountain, his distinct relationship with God, his unique connection with a world beyond this earthly world, the world of the kingdom of God. The gospel reading describes the response of Peter, in particular, to this extraordinary experience of Jesus on the mountain. It was an experience touched him deeply, ‘Lord, it is wonderful for us to be here’. We may not have had the kind of experience of Jesus that Peter had on the mountain but we may be able to recall times in our own lives when we too found ourselves saying, ‘Lord, it is wonderful for us to be here’. Peter was responding to some sense of the presence of God in Jesus, the presence of a Love that brought a profound sense of peace, the presence of a Life that was stronger than death. Whenever we find ourselves saying, ‘It is wonderful for us to be here’, some sense of the presence of God, as Love, as Life, stands behind it. We might never be inclined to qualify those experiences as ‘religious’. Such experiences may not have occurred in a church or in some other setting we think of as religious. Yet, if such experiences left us feeling more alive, more at peace, with ourselves and others, they are truly sacred. It might be the experience of someone’s love in our lives, or an experience of a piece of music, or some experience of nature in all its wonder and beauty. It might be some experience of community that others have helped to create and that we are privileged to be part of. Our instinctive response to these kinds of experiences can be, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’, and if we are people of faith, we might place the little word ‘Lord’ at the beginning of that statement as Peter did. Having been so deeply touched by the experience of Jesus on the mountain Peter came up with the suggestion of building three tents, one each for Jesus, Moses and Elijah. Maybe it was his stumbling effort to hold on to this experience, to make sure it didn’t go away. He wanted to do something. Yet, this wasn’t a moment for doing; it was a moment for receiving. He had no sooner made his suggestion than a voice came from the cloud, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favour. Listen to him’. This wasn’t a time for Peter to roll up his sleeves and start building; it was a time to listen. Here was a grace to be received in stillness. There are some experiences which just need to be savoured, those grace filled moments when we sense that we have a brush with the holy, whatever form that might take. We can be tempted to take charge of such moments, to manage or control them, a little like Peter. Yet, when these graceful moments come our way, as they will, our calling is to be still before them, to listen to them, to give thanks for them. Once Peter let go of his desire to manage the gift, something wonderful happened. According to the gospel reading, ‘Jesus came and touched them’. If we are still before those grace filled moments, the Lord will touch our lives too. And/Or (ii) Second Sunday of Lent When I was a child growing up in Cabra, my father bought a little car, a Mini, as it was known at the time. On a Sunday he would take my mother, myself and my two brothers out for a drive. When we were in the car, before we headed out, he would turn towards us in the back seat and say, ‘Will it be the sea or the mountains?’ The sea was anywhere from Dollymount to Rush. The mountains were really the Dublin hills, but we used to call them the mountains. At the time I always had a preference for the mountains, and I was always glad when we headed south, rather than east or north. There was something about being on a height which I found exhilarating and exciting. It felt different up there. You were somehow above it all. The city looked better from a height, more beautiful, spreading inland from that natural horseshoe that is Dublin Bay. You had a different perspective that stayed with you when you came down. Peter, James and John made their living from the sea. They were fishermen. They must have spent long hours on the sea of Galilee or by its shores. In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus takes them away from the sea, up a high mountain. There, on that mountain, they saw Jesus as they had never seen him before, transfigured. A little earlier his gospel, Matthew had described Jesus and his disciples in a storm at sea, the boat battling against the wind and waves. Now on the mount of transfiguration, the storm must have seemed a distant memory as they were absorbed by an experience of Jesus that made Peter cry out, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. The hell of the storm at sea had given way to this heavenly experience on the mountain. Yet, an even more hellish storm lay ahead for the disciples. They would soon come down the mountain and journey towards Jerusalem, the city where they would experience suffering, loss and failure, where, in the words of today’s second reading, they would ‘bear the hardships for the sake of the good news’. In our own lives we will probably have experienced both the storm at sea and the peace of the mountain top. When we look back on our lives, the darker and more painful experiences sometimes stand out for us. Hopefully, we will also remember times when, like Peter, we said, ‘it is wonderful to be here’. These were times when we felt deeply happy and at peace, when we felt alive. They were times of special grace that, in some way or other, put us in touch with the mystery of God. We experience a sensed of something, or someone, beyond ourselves that, in some way, left us transfigured. The gospel reading this morning invites us to remember those moments, to relive them, and to continue to draw life from them. I am struck by that little word ‘here’ in Peter’s statement. So often we can find ourselves wishing that we were somewhere else, not ‘here’, but ‘there’. We image that we would be happier if we were in a different place, or with different people, or doing different things. In some instances that can be the case. It can be important at times for people to move, because where they are is anything but wonderful. God may even be calling them to move, just as, according to today’s first reading, he called Abraham to leave his country and his family for a different land. At other times, however, our wishing to be somewhere else can spring from a failure to appreciate what we have, where we are, the people around us now. If we gave ourselves time and space to see more deeply, we might appreciate more fully the here and the now, and we might find ourselves saying more often, ‘it is good to be here, here in this place, with these people’. Sometimes we have to go up a mountain of some kind to see more deeply; we have to step back a little from the normal routine of our lives, if only for a short while. On the mountain top, Peter, James and John were helped to see Jesus more deeply than they had ever seen him before. They were captivated by the mystery of his identity, ‘This is my Son, the beloved’. They saw that there was more to him than they had realized. So often, there is more to the place we are in, and to the people we are with, than we realize. Our way of seeing where we are and who we are with can be very restricted. We can miss something important about the ‘here’ and the ‘now’. In one of our acclamations at Mass, we say or sing, ‘Heaven and earth are full of your glory’. This morning’s psalm declares that ‘the Lord fills the earth with his love’. All of creation is charged with God’s glory and love. That is especially true of the human person who is made in the image of God. God could say of each person we meet, ‘This is my son, my daughter, the beloved’. As God invited the disciples on the mountain to see Jesus more deeply, he invites us to see each other more deeply, to relate to each other in a way that acknowledges the wonder of our being. And/Or (iii) Second Sunday of Lent If any one of us were to look back over the past number of years of our lives, we would more than likely be able to identify times when we struggled, when life was difficult, and other times when we were happy and at peace. Last Sunday the gospel reading put before us a testing time in the life of Jesus, an experience of struggle in the wilderness. This Sunday the gospel reading presents us with a very different moment in Jesus’ life, a time when his experience of God calling his name in love left him transformed. Many of us might find it easier to identify the wilderness type of experience in our lives. Painful experiences have a way of staying with us long after we have moved on from them. Today’s gospel reading, however, invites us to recall the mountain top experiences that we have had in the course of our life-journey. These are the times when, in the words of Peter in today’s gospel reading, we said, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. What was it about his experience on the mountain that made Peter say that? The glory of God shone through Jesus in a way that had never happened before. On the mountain top they had an experience of God’s presence in Jesus. We could say that they had an experience of heaven. The experience was so wonderful that they did not want to come down the mountain, no more than those in heaven would want to come back to earth. The experiences in our own lives that make us say, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’, are also going to be, in some way, experiences of God. We will not necessarily have to go up a physical mountain to have such experiences. We can be fortunate enough to experience something of God’s loving presence in and through the people that cross our path in life. In the response to this morning’s psalm we prayed, ‘May your love be upon us, O Lord, as we place all our hope in you’. The Lord’s love can come upon us in and through those who support us in the testing times of life. Something of God’s passion for justice and for truth can be revealed to us in and through other people who enter our lives. Whenever we experience those divine qualities of love, justice and truth in others, we may find ourselves saying, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. God can also touch our lives in ways that do not directly involve other people. Time on our own in the presence of nature can leave us with a really deep feeling of wonder and gratitude. Our heart tells us, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. Such experiences are ultimately experiences of God. When we spend time alone in quiet prayer we can sometimes be aware of a presence that is more than human, and that leaves us with a sense of being deeply loved, in spite of the pain and loss we may be experiencing. Jesus spoke of God as the God of the living, not of the dead. Any experience that leaves us feeling more deeply alive is an experience of God. I am sure you could probably think of many such experiences. Whenever we have opportunities to be creative, for example, we feel more alive. The most wonderful expression of human creativity is when a man and a woman come together in love and bring forth new life. For parents to look upon their newly born child is to feel very alive. That is surely an experience of God. There are other ways in which people can be creative. A writer creates something with his or her pen, carpenters with their tools, artists with their brushes and paint. When such people look upon what they have created with deep satisfaction, they invariably feel more alive. Surely, therein lies an experience of God. Others have the gift of helping to create community. People who are involved in bringing others together in ways that are nurturing and caring are being very creative. Again, when such people do that well, they feel more alive because of it. That too is, ultimately, an experience of God. We all have the capacity to be creative in some way. If God is the Creator and we are made in God’s image, it follows that to be human is to be creative. Any experience of God, any life-giving and life-affirming experience, is ultimately an anticipation of our final destiny which is to be fully alive in God’s presence. Abraham is the primordial pilgrim. God called him to set out on a journey, a journey of faith, for the land that God would show him. At our baptism we set out on a journey of faith and at the end of that journey is transfiguration. As Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, ‘From heaven we are expecting a Saviour… who will transform our humble bodies into copies of his own glorious body’. Along the way hopefully we will have our own brush with the holy; we will know grace-filled moments of special light. We are more likely to have such moments if do what was asked of Peter, James and John on the mountain, if we listen to the voice of the Son of God. It is above all that spirit of attentiveness, of the listening heart, which will allow us to be touched by the divine reality which is just below the surface of all things. And/Or (iv) Second Sunday of Lent On the parish trip to the Holy Land last June one of the places we visited while we were in Galilee was Mount Tabor. This high hill has traditionally been venerated by Christians from earliest times as the site of the Transfiguration. We celebrated Mass in a church on the top of the hill. The transfiguration is one of those scenes that has captured the imagination of artists down through the centuries. The last time I was in Rome I went to the Art Gallery in the Vatican Museum to see the wonderful painting of the Transfiguration by Raphael. It is a very large and beautiful painting. I could sense that of those who stood before that striking artistic expression of this evening’s gospel reading were saying, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’ I am sure there are times in all our lives when we find ourselves wanting to savour the moment because, in the words of Peter in this evening’s gospel reading, we sense that it is wonderful to be here. In the material that Trocaire have prepared for this second Sunday of Lent there is a story about a Jesuit priest working in a poor parish in South America. One evening a rather fierce looking man from the village came to the priest’s house and said to him, ‘Come to my house, I have something to honour you’. The priest wasn’t sure whether to accept his invitation or not. However, he went to his house which was a very flimsy shack. The man made the priest sit and from his seat the sun could be seen as it was setting. The man just said to the priest, ‘Senor, you see how beautiful it is’. And they both remained silent for some minutes as the sun disappeared. Eventually the man said to the priest, ‘I have nothing to give you, but I thought you would like to see this sunset. It pleased you, didn’t it? Good evening!’ This man had his experience of the transfiguration every sunset and he wanted to share this precious gift with someone whose presence he greatly appreciated. Even in situations of great need and want there can be moments of transfiguration. We have all been cut to the heart by the unfolding disaster in Japan. The destructive power of nature has brought home to us our profound vulnerability, in spite of the great technological progress we have made at all kinds of levels. What has been happening in Japan seems like the opposite of a transfiguration. The experience of Peter, James and John on the mountain was an experience of transcendent light. The experience which the man in Guatemala shared with the priest was also an experience of light which left them both with a sense of great joy and peace. In contrast, the experience of the people of Japan has been one of great darkness. It can be difficult to make sense of it from a faith perspective. We cannot help but ask ourselves, ‘Why has God allowed this to happen?’ Yet, I was struck by the way the Japanese people on Friday last stood in prayerful silence remembering the many thousands who had died just a week before. It was as if they were silent before a mystery which they knew they could not comprehend. Sometimes that is as much as we can manage in such situations. Listening to the stories of some of the survivors I also had the sense that many of them had their own experience of light in the midst of the awful darkness. The courage and generosity displayed by many people towards those in need stood out as shining lights in the midst of the darkness. If God was anywhere in that awful scene he was there in the heroism of those who gave of themselves to rescue and then to support the victims of the disaster. The gospels indicate that the transfiguration happened at a dark moment in Jesus’ own ministry. His relatively successful ministry in Galilee was coming to an end and he had just begun to head for Jerusalem, the city that would crucify him. Immediately before the Transfiguration scene in the gospel of Matthew Jesus had spoken for the first time to his disciples of the necessity to go to Jerusalem where he would undergo great suffering and be killed. The disciples reacted very negatively to these words of Jesus and Peter, in particular, rebuked him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord! This must not happen to you’. However, in response Jesus rebuked Peter, addressing him as Satan and referring to him as a stumbling block. Jesus insisted that great darkness lay ahead not only for himself but for his disciples too. It was in that context that Peter, James and John had that wonderful experience of the transfigured Jesus on the mountain. A heavenly light shone through the earthly gloom and gave them a taste of the glory that beyond lay beyond the experience of the cross to come. Jesus was showing them that, yes, dark times had arrived but the light of God’s presence would continue to shine even in the midst of that darkness. The transfiguration encourages us to look for the shafts of light in even the darkest of situations, and it assures us that in the end light will triumph over darkness because our ultimate destiny is to be transfigured as Jesus was, to be conformed to the image of God’s Son, as Saint Paul puts it. And/Or (v) Second Sunday of Lent In last Sunday’s gospel reading we found Jesus in the wilderness of Judea, tested and tempted by Satan. In this Sunday’s gospel reading Jesus is on a mountain top being strengthened by God. It is hard to imagine two more contrasting gospel stories. Perhaps we can see something of our own lives reflected in these very contrasting experiences of Jesus. We know the experience of the wilderness, times when we find ourselves struggling, being put to the test in some very fundamental way. Our faith in God, in others, and maybe even in ourselves is put to the test. Hopefully there will also have been moments when we had a sense of God’s presence, times when we felt very much at peace, when we found it easy to say with Peter in today’s gospel reading, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. It is these kinds of experience that this morning’s gospel reading invites us to remember and celebrate. Can we call to mind times of special grace that put us in touch with the mystery of God? These were times when the holiness of God, the goodness of God, the love of God, broke through into our lives. It might have been a moment when we were moved by some passage in Scripture. A word from the Lord fed our spirit and bathed us in light. Perhaps we entered a church and we had an experience of a presence that enveloped us and somehow assured us that we were loved and cherished. We may have had a sense of God’s comfort in a time of bereavement, of God’s strength helping us in our weakness. This sense of God’s comfort and God’s strength may have been experienced in and through the kindness of family or friends, or even the kindness of strangers. All of these experiences leave us feeling more alive, more hopeful, more willing to go out of ourselves to others. They leave us transformed, transfigured in some sense. This was Jesus’ own experience of the mountain in Galilee. He was transfigured because he had a powerful experience of God’s presence at a moment of great vulnerability. Something of heaven touched him and transformed him. He experienced a communion with the heavenly figures of Moses and Elijah, but even more so a communion with God his heavenly Father. According to the gospels Jesus had this experience just after he started to speak to his disciples about himself as the Son of Man who must go to Jerusalem and undergo much suffering there at the hands of the religious and political leaders which would end in his crucifixion. Just as he began to set out on this very difficult road, this way of the cross, he sought out God on the mountain and God responded to his seeking in such a powerful way that he was transfigured. He could now set out on this journey knowing that even if everything was taken from him, as it would be, God’s love for him would endure. He would remain God’s beloved Son. Jesus could face this difficult journey in the knowledge that he was loved and supported. Jesus took Peter and James and John with him up this mountain, because he wanted them to experience something of what he would experience. The risen Jesus wants all his disciples, all of us, to experience God as an enduring, loving, presence on our own life’s journey, which invariably becomes at some point a way of the cross. The gospel reading invites us to leave ourselves open to being touched by God’s grace, God’s holiness, goodness and love, so that, like Jesus, we can travel hopefully, even when the way is difficult and we find ourselves struggling with loss or the prospect of loss. Our openness to God’s presence, our relationship with God, our faith, does not remove us from the world or distract us from the task of living our lives. It allows us to engage with life with a strength greater than our own human strength and a hope that is a great deal more than optimism. Abraham displayed this strength and hope in the first reading when he set out from his country, his family and his father’s house for a land that God would show him in time. In the second reading Paul calls on Timothy to bear the hardships for the sake of the gospel relying on the power of God who has saved us and called us to be holy. Jesus and his disciples had an experience of heaven on that mountain in Galilee. They were between worlds, between heaven and earth. Our faith helps us to see that we too stand between worlds. The eyes of faith allow us to see the presence of the next world in this world, the presence of eternity in time. It is above all in the Eucharist that we can sense the presence of eternity in time. The risen Lord is present to us under the form of bread and wine. Our presence at the Eucharist is akin to the presence of the disciples on the mount of transfiguration. As we allow the divine to touch us in the Eucharist as it touched Jesus and his disciples on the mountain, we take up our earthly journey with clearer vision, and with a renewed strength and hope. Fr Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, Ireland. Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ieJoinus via our webcam. Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC. Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf. Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

12th March >> Fr. Martin's Reflection on Today's Gospel Reading (Matthew 17:1–9) for the Second Sunday of Lent, Year A:  ‘It is wonderful for us to be here’.

Second Sunday of Lent, Year A.

Gospel (Europe, New Zealand, Australia, Canada & South Africa)

Matthew 17:1-9

Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain where they could be alone. There in their presence he was transfigured: his face shone like the sun and his clothes became as white as the light. Suddenly Moses and Elijah appeared to them; they were talking with him. Then Peter spoke to Jesus. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘it is wonderful for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ He was still speaking when suddenly a bright cloud covered them with shadow, and from the cloud there came a voice which said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favour. Listen to him.’ When they heard this the disciples fell on their faces overcome with fear. But Jesus came up and touched them. ‘Stand up,’ he said ‘do not be afraid.’ And when they raised their eyes they saw no one but only Jesus.

  As they came down from the mountain Jesus gave them this order, ‘Tell no one about the vision until the Son of Man has risen from the dead.’

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 17:1–9

Jesus’ face shone like the sun.

Jesus took Peter, James, and John his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them; his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light. And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, conversing with him. Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them, then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” When the disciples heard this, they fell prostrate and were very much afraid. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Rise, and do not be afraid.” And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone.

  As they were coming down from the mountain, Jesus charged them, “Do not tell the vision to anyone until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Reflections (5)

(i) Second Sunday of Lent

I like walking but I tend to walk on the flat. There are others who prefer to walk in the mountains. I knew one or two people and every weekend they set out to climb another mountain. When they ran out of Irish mountains, they looked for mountains abroad. I can see the attraction of walking up mountains. The view from the top can be wonderful. You see everything in a different way. Even from the three-rock mountain or hill, which I have climbed in the past, our own city looks different to how it looks from ground level. Going up can help us to see differently. It is one of the reasons why, when I am flying, I like a window seat. I love to look out and see the land below in a way I don’t normally see it.

In the gospel reading, Jesus takes Peter, James and John up a mountain in Galilee. Most of Jesus’ ministry seems to have been around the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Capernaum, which was the base of his ministry was on the shore. Yet on this occasion he goes inland and he ascends a mountain with three of his closest associates. Just as going up a mountain can help us to see things in a different way, on this occasion Peter, James and John saw Jesus on the top of the mountain in a way they had never seen him before. They saw him bathed in a kind of heavenly light. Jesus was very much of this world; he lived a fully human life. Yet, he was also of the world of the kingdom of heaven, in a way that was not true of anyone before or since. He was very connected to other people, especially to those in greatest need; indeed, he loved people with a very distinctive love. Yet, he was also caught up into a loving relationship with God which was unique among human beings. It was this dimension of Jesus that the disciples became aware of on the mountain, his distinct relationship with God, his unique connection with a world beyond this earthly world, the world of the kingdom of God.

The gospel reading describes the response of Peter, in particular, to this extraordinary experience of Jesus on the mountain. It was an experience touched him deeply, ‘Lord, it is wonderful for us to be here’. We may not have had the kind of experience of Jesus that Peter had on the mountain but we may be able to recall times in our own lives when we too found ourselves saying, ‘Lord, it is wonderful for us to be here’. Peter was responding to some sense of the presence of God in Jesus, the presence of a Love that brought a profound sense of peace, the presence of a Life that was stronger than death. Whenever we find ourselves saying, ‘It is wonderful for us to be here’, some sense of the presence of God, as Love, as Life, stands behind it. We might never be inclined to qualify those experiences as ‘religious’. Such experiences may not have occurred in a church or in some other setting we think of as religious. Yet, if such experiences left us feeling more alive, more at peace, with ourselves and others, they are truly sacred. It might be the experience of someone’s love in our lives, or an experience of a piece of music, or some experience of nature in all its wonder and beauty. It might be some experience of community that others have helped to create and that we are privileged to be part of. Our instinctive response to these kinds of experiences can be, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’, and if we are people of faith, we might place the little word ‘Lord’ at the beginning of that statement as Peter did.

Having been so deeply touched by the experience of Jesus on the mountain Peter came up with the suggestion of building three tents, one each for Jesus, Moses and Elijah. Maybe it was his stumbling effort to hold on to this experience, to make sure it didn’t go away. He wanted to do something. Yet, this wasn’t a moment for doing; it was a moment for receiving. He had no sooner made his suggestion than a voice came from the cloud, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favour. Listen to him’. This wasn’t a time for Peter to roll up his sleeves and start building; it was a time to listen. Here was a grace to be received in stillness. There are some experiences which just need to be savoured, those grace filled moments when we sense that we have a brush with the holy, whatever form that might take. We can be tempted to take charge of such moments, to manage or control them, a little like Peter. Yet, when these graceful moments come our way, as they will, our calling is to be still before them, to listen to them, to give thanks for them. Once Peter let go of his desire to manage the gift, something wonderful happened. According to the gospel reading, ‘Jesus came and touched them’. If we are still before those grace filled moments, the Lord will touch our lives too.

And/Or

(ii) Second Sunday of Lent

When I was a child growing up in Cabra, my father bought a little car, a Mini, as it was known at the time. On a Sunday he would take my mother, myself and my two brothers out for a drive. When we were in the car, before we headed out, he would turn towards us in the back seat and say, ‘Will it be the sea or the mountains?’ The sea was anywhere from Dollymount to Rush. The mountains were really the Dublin hills, but we used to call them the mountains. At the time I always had a preference for the mountains, and I was always glad when we headed south, rather than east or north. There was something about being on a height which I found exhilarating and exciting. It felt different up there. You were somehow above it all. The city looked better from a height, more beautiful, spreading inland from that natural horseshoe that is Dublin Bay. You had a different perspective that stayed with you when you came down.

Peter, James and John made their living from the sea. They were fishermen. They must have spent long hours on the sea of Galilee or by its shores. In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus takes them away from the sea, up a high mountain. There, on that mountain, they saw Jesus as they had never seen him before, transfigured. A little earlier his gospel, Matthew had described Jesus and his disciples in a storm at sea, the boat battling against the wind and waves. Now on the mount of transfiguration, the storm must have seemed a distant memory as they were absorbed by an experience of Jesus that made Peter cry out, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. The hell of the storm at sea had given way to this heavenly experience on the mountain. Yet, an even more hellish storm lay ahead for the disciples. They would soon come down the mountain and journey towards Jerusalem, the city where they would experience suffering, loss and failure, where, in the words of today’s second reading, they would ‘bear the hardships for the sake of the good news’.

In our own lives we will probably have experienced both the storm at sea and the peace of the mountain top. When we look back on our lives, the darker and more painful experiences sometimes stand out for us. Hopefully, we will also remember times when, like Peter, we said, ‘it is wonderful to be here’. These were times when we felt deeply happy and at peace, when we felt alive. They were times of special grace that, in some way or other, put us in touch with the mystery of God. We experience a sensed of something, or someone, beyond ourselves that, in some way, left us transfigured. The gospel reading this morning invites us to remember those moments, to relive them, and to continue to draw life from them.

I am struck by that little word ‘here’ in Peter’s statement. So often we can find ourselves wishing that we were somewhere else, not ‘here’, but ‘there’. We image that we would be happier if we were in a different place, or with different people, or doing different things. In some instances that can be the case. It can be important at times for people to move, because where they are is anything but wonderful. God may even be calling them to move, just as, according to today’s first reading, he called Abraham to leave his country and his family for a different land. At other times, however, our wishing to be somewhere else can spring from a failure to appreciate what we have, where we are, the people around us now. If we gave ourselves time and space to see more deeply, we might appreciate more fully the here and the now, and we might find ourselves saying more often, ‘it is good to be here, here in this place, with these people’. Sometimes we have to go up a mountain of some kind to see more deeply; we have to step back a little from the normal routine of our lives, if only for a short while.

On the mountain top, Peter, James and John were helped to see Jesus more deeply than they had ever seen him before. They were captivated by the mystery of his identity, ‘This is my Son, the beloved’. They saw that there was more to him than they had realized. So often, there is more to the place we are in, and to the people we are with, than we realize. Our way of seeing where we are and who we are with can be very restricted. We can miss something important about the ‘here’ and the ‘now’. In one of our acclamations at Mass, we say or sing, ‘Heaven and earth are full of your glory’. This morning’s psalm declares that ‘the Lord fills the earth with his love’. All of creation is charged with God’s glory and love. That is especially true of the human person who is made in the image of God. God could say of each person we meet, ‘This is my son, my daughter, the beloved’. As God invited the disciples on the mountain to see Jesus more deeply, he invites us to see each other more deeply, to relate to each other in a way that acknowledges the wonder of our being.

And/Or

(iii) Second Sunday of Lent

If any one of us were to look back over the past number of years of our lives, we would more than likely be able to identify times when we struggled, when life was difficult, and other times when we were happy and at peace. Last Sunday the gospel reading put before us a testing time in the life of Jesus, an experience of struggle in the wilderness. This Sunday the gospel reading presents us with a very different moment in Jesus’ life, a time when his experience of God calling his name in love left him transformed.

Many of us might find it easier to identify the wilderness type of experience in our lives. Painful experiences have a way of staying with us long after we have moved on from them. Today’s gospel reading, however, invites us to recall the mountain top experiences that we have had in the course of our life-journey. These are the times when, in the words of Peter in today’s gospel reading, we said, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. What was it about his experience on the mountain that made Peter say that? The glory of God shone through Jesus in a way that had never happened before. On the mountain top they had an experience of God’s presence in Jesus. We could say that they had an experience of heaven. The experience was so wonderful that they did not want to come down the mountain, no more than those in heaven would want to come back to earth.

The experiences in our own lives that make us say, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’, are also going to be, in some way, experiences of God. We will not necessarily have to go up a physical mountain to have such experiences. We can be fortunate enough to experience something of God’s loving presence in and through the people that cross our path in life. In the response to this morning’s psalm we prayed, ‘May your love be upon us, O Lord, as we place all our hope in you’. The Lord’s love can come upon us in and through those who support us in the testing times of life. Something of God’s passion for justice and for truth can be revealed to us in and through other people who enter our lives. Whenever we experience those divine qualities of love, justice and truth in others, we may find ourselves saying, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. God can also touch our lives in ways that do not directly involve other people. Time on our own in the presence of nature can leave us with a really deep feeling of wonder and gratitude. Our heart tells us, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. Such experiences are ultimately experiences of God. When we spend time alone in quiet prayer we can sometimes be aware of a presence that is more than human, and that leaves us with a sense of being deeply loved, in spite of the pain and loss we may be experiencing.

Jesus spoke of God as the God of the living, not of the dead. Any experience that leaves us feeling more deeply alive is an experience of God. I am sure you could probably think of many such experiences. Whenever we have opportunities to be creative, for example, we feel more alive. The most wonderful expression of human creativity is when a man and a woman come together in love and bring forth new life. For parents to look upon their newly born child is to feel very alive. That is surely an experience of God. There are other ways in which people can be creative. A writer creates something with his or her pen, carpenters with their tools, artists with their brushes and paint. When such people look upon what they have created with deep satisfaction, they invariably feel more alive. Surely, therein lies an experience of God. Others have the gift of helping to create community. People who are involved in bringing others together in ways that are nurturing and caring are being very creative. Again, when such people do that well, they feel more alive because of it. That too is, ultimately, an experience of God. We all have the capacity to be creative in some way. If God is the Creator and we are made in God’s image, it follows that to be human is to be creative.

Any experience of God, any life-giving and life-affirming experience, is ultimately an anticipation of our final destiny which is to be fully alive in God’s presence. Abraham is the primordial pilgrim. God called him to set out on a journey, a journey of faith, for the land that God would show him. At our baptism we set out on a journey of faith and at the end of that journey is transfiguration. As Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, ‘From heaven we are expecting a Saviour… who will transform our humble bodies into copies of his own glorious body’. Along the way hopefully we will have our own brush with the holy; we will know grace-filled moments of special light. We are more likely to have such moments if do what was asked of Peter, James and John on the mountain, if we listen to the voice of the Son of God. It is above all that spirit of attentiveness, of the listening heart, which will allow us to be touched by the divine reality which is just below the surface of all things.

And/Or

(iv) Second Sunday of Lent

On the parish trip to the Holy Land last June one of the places we visited while we were in Galilee was Mount Tabor. This high hill has traditionally been venerated by Christians from earliest times as the site of the Transfiguration. We celebrated Mass in a church on the top of the hill. The transfiguration is one of those scenes that has captured the imagination of artists down through the centuries. The last time I was in Rome I went to the Art Gallery in the Vatican Museum to see the wonderful painting of the Transfiguration by Raphael. It is a very large and beautiful painting. I could sense that of those who stood before that striking artistic expression of this evening’s gospel reading were saying, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’

I am sure there are times in all our lives when we find ourselves wanting to savour the moment because, in the words of Peter in this evening’s gospel reading, we sense that it is wonderful to be here. In the material that Trocaire have prepared for this second Sunday of Lent there is a story about a Jesuit priest working in a poor parish in South America. One evening a rather fierce looking man from the village came to the priest’s house and said to him, ‘Come to my house, I have something to honour you’. The priest wasn’t sure whether to accept his invitation or not. However, he went to his house which was a very flimsy shack. The man made the priest sit and from his seat the sun could be seen as it was setting. The man just said to the priest, ‘Senor, you see how beautiful it is’. And they both remained silent for some minutes as the sun disappeared. Eventually the man said to the priest, ‘I have nothing to give you, but I thought you would like to see this sunset. It pleased you, didn’t it? Good evening!’ This man had his experience of the transfiguration every sunset and he wanted to share this precious gift with someone whose presence he greatly appreciated.

Even in situations of great need and want there can be moments of transfiguration. We have all been cut to the heart by the unfolding disaster in Japan. The destructive power of nature has brought home to us our profound vulnerability, in spite of the great technological progress we have made at all kinds of levels. What has been happening in Japan seems like the opposite of a transfiguration. The experience of Peter, James and John on the mountain was an experience of transcendent light. The experience which the man in Guatemala shared with the priest was also an experience of light which left them both with a sense of great joy and peace. In contrast, the experience of the people of Japan has been one of great darkness. It can be difficult to make sense of it from a faith perspective. We cannot help but ask ourselves, ‘Why has God allowed this to happen?’ Yet, I was struck by the way the Japanese people on Friday last stood in prayerful silence remembering the many thousands who had died just a week before. It was as if they were silent before a mystery which they knew they could not comprehend. Sometimes that is as much as we can manage in such situations. Listening to the stories of some of the survivors I also had the sense that many of them had their own experience of light in the midst of the awful darkness. The courage and generosity displayed by many people towards those in need stood out as shining lights in the midst of the darkness. If God was anywhere in that awful scene he was there in the heroism of those who gave of themselves to rescue and then to support the victims of the disaster.

The gospels indicate that the transfiguration happened at a dark moment in Jesus’ own ministry. His relatively successful ministry in Galilee was coming to an end and he had just begun to head for Jerusalem, the city that would crucify him. Immediately before the Transfiguration scene in the gospel of Matthew Jesus had spoken for the first time to his disciples of the necessity to go to Jerusalem where he would undergo great suffering and be killed. The disciples reacted very negatively to these words of Jesus and Peter, in particular, rebuked him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord! This must not happen to you’. However, in response Jesus rebuked Peter, addressing him as Satan and referring to him as a stumbling block. Jesus insisted that great darkness lay ahead not only for himself but for his disciples too. It was in that context that Peter, James and John had that wonderful experience of the transfigured Jesus on the mountain. A heavenly light shone through the earthly gloom and gave them a taste of the glory that beyond lay beyond the experience of the cross to come. Jesus was showing them that, yes, dark times had arrived but the light of God’s presence would continue to shine even in the midst of that darkness. The transfiguration encourages us to look for the shafts of light in even the darkest of situations, and it assures us that in the end light will triumph over darkness because our ultimate destiny is to be transfigured as Jesus was, to be conformed to the image of God’s Son, as Saint Paul puts it.

And/Or

(v) Second Sunday of Lent

In last Sunday’s gospel reading we found Jesus in the wilderness of Judea, tested and tempted by Satan. In this Sunday’s gospel reading Jesus is on a mountain top being strengthened by God. It is hard to imagine two more contrasting gospel stories. Perhaps we can see something of our own lives reflected in these very contrasting experiences of Jesus. We know the experience of the wilderness, times when we find ourselves struggling, being put to the test in some very fundamental way. Our faith in God, in others, and maybe even in ourselves is put to the test. Hopefully there will also have been moments when we had a sense of God’s presence, times when we felt very much at peace, when we found it easy to say with Peter in today’s gospel reading, ‘it is wonderful for us to be here’. It is these kinds of experience that this morning’s gospel reading invites us to remember and celebrate.

Can we call to mind times of special grace that put us in touch with the mystery of God? These were times when the holiness of God, the goodness of God, the love of God, broke through into our lives. It might have been a moment when we were moved by some passage in Scripture. A word from the Lord fed our spirit and bathed us in light. Perhaps we entered a church and we had an experience of a presence that enveloped us and somehow assured us that we were loved and cherished. We may have had a sense of God’s comfort in a time of bereavement, of God’s strength helping us in our weakness. This sense of God’s comfort and God’s strength may have been experienced in and through the kindness of family or friends, or even the kindness of strangers. All of these experiences leave us feeling more alive, more hopeful, more willing to go out of ourselves to others. They leave us transformed, transfigured in some sense.

This was Jesus’ own experience of the mountain in Galilee. He was transfigured because he had a powerful experience of God’s presence at a moment of great vulnerability. Something of heaven touched him and transformed him. He experienced a communion with the heavenly figures of Moses and Elijah, but even more so a communion with God his heavenly Father. According to the gospels Jesus had this experience just after he started to speak to his disciples about himself as the Son of Man who must go to Jerusalem and undergo much suffering there at the hands of the religious and political leaders which would end in his crucifixion. Just as he began to set out on this very difficult road, this way of the cross, he sought out God on the mountain and God responded to his seeking in such a powerful way that he was transfigured. He could now set out on this journey knowing that even if everything was taken from him, as it would be, God’s love for him would endure. He would remain God’s beloved Son. Jesus could face this difficult journey in the knowledge that he was loved and supported.

Jesus took Peter and James and John with him up this mountain, because he wanted them to experience something of what he would experience. The risen Jesus wants all his disciples, all of us, to experience God as an enduring, loving, presence on our own life’s journey, which invariably becomes at some point a way of the cross. The gospel reading invites us to leave ourselves open to being touched by God’s grace, God’s holiness, goodness and love, so that, like Jesus, we can travel hopefully, even when the way is difficult and we find ourselves struggling with loss or the prospect of loss. Our openness to God’s presence, our relationship with God, our faith, does not remove us from the world or distract us from the task of living our lives. It allows us to engage with life with a strength greater than our own human strength and a hope that is a great deal more than optimism. Abraham displayed this strength and hope in the first reading when he set out from his country, his family and his father’s house for a land that God would show him in time. In the second reading Paul calls on Timothy to bear the hardships for the sake of the gospel relying on the power of God who has saved us and called us to be holy.

Jesus and his disciples had an experience of heaven on that mountain in Galilee. They were between worlds, between heaven and earth. Our faith helps us to see that we too stand between worlds. The eyes of faith allow us to see the presence of the next world in this world, the presence of eternity in time. It is above all in the Eucharist that we can sense the presence of eternity in time. The risen Lord is present to us under the form of bread and wine. Our presence at the Eucharist is akin to the presence of the disciples on the mount of transfiguration. As we allow the divine to touch us in the Eucharist as it touched Jesus and his disciples on the mountain, we take up our earthly journey with clearer vision, and with a renewed strength and hope.

Fr Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, Ireland.

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