After all these years? ♥︎

i am thrilled to present to you another short from acogs: khyris mi'hail, or khyris the beloved in my conlang!

i'm especially happy with this one, but i say that about all of them, don't I? this one is inspired by the story behind the hanging gardens of babylon, how the king had them built for his homesick wife.

like most of my shorts, you don't need to know acogs to understand this <3 enjoy!! word count about 5k

~

“Everybody wake up, c’mon, everybody up!” The sound of pans banging together accompanies Major Malika’s shouts.

Khyris has been awake for an hour already, but he still groans at the thought of leaving his warm cot. The other corporals in the tent with him grumble and swear at the major with more colorful language than Khyris would dare risk.

Khyris sticks his head out of his blankets, bracing against the freezing winter air and squinting into the bright morning light of the tent. A few bastards who wake with the sun are sitting on the floor drinking coffee, the smell of which finally draws Khyris out of his warm cave.

“We were afraid you were dead,” says Eric, mumbling like he’s half dead himself. “You don’t move at all.”

“Nice to know you’re watching me sleep,” Khyris retorts, pulling on his three extra layers to fight back the biting chill. “Give me some of that.” Coffee in his system makes him feel a little more human, enough to make him realize there’s a group huddled around the morning campfire just outside.

Khyris joins them, coffee in hand, and finds them all staring at a map. “What’s going on?”

“Big news today,” Aeron says, grinning, full of energy no matter the time. “The queen’s visiting.”

Khyris almost spills his coffee. “What? Why? That man couldn’t lift a sword to save his life, what does he want with us?”

“Stow your hatred for a moment, my dear Khyris. He’s here to pick a spouse.”

Khyris stares, then laughs. “For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The other’s smiles slowly fade. Delia stares into her coffee like it holds the answers of the world—or more accurately, an escape from Khyris.

“You are serious. Sweet Cai.” Khyris buries his head in his hands. “Explain.”

“He’s here exactly because he can’t lift a sword to save his life. He wants someone who can. Solid strategy, I think.”

Khyris shakes his head. “He has hundreds of willing options back at court, the experienced soldiers paid too well to be out on the field. Why doesn’t he pick from them and leave us alone?”

“He doesn’t want a lazy court soldier. He wants a fieldman. Someone he knows he can trust with his life.”

“So he wants a bodyguard for a spouse, is what you’re saying. I thought he already had a team of those.” Khyris looks around. “Do you think Major Malika would notice if I disappeared for a week or two? Tell her I was indisposed. I was longing for home. Let me be a deserter, anything but having to see that bastard’s face.”

“Why are you so against him?” Aeron asks.

“Because he doesn’t give a damn about any of us. He just throws money at us, gives us more orders to build more cities, and every year checks in to see how we’re doing. He’d rather entertain the fools and artists of his court than pay mind to us.”

“So you don’t want to see him, but you’re mad he hasn’t come yet? Make up your mind, man!”

Khyris sighs. “I just don’t think you all should be kissing his ass, is all. He should be appreciating what we do for him. We just finished building him al-Hasa, he should be grateful.”

“We’re not kissing—” Aeron breaks off into a devious grin Khyris has seen before, and it’s never ended anywhere good. “You like him, and you’re mad he doesn’t like you back?”

Whistles and laughter go around the fire. “What?” Khyris sputters. “This is the queen we’re talking about, not some barmaid. You lot are ridiculous.”

Apparently happy with being labeled ridiculous, what Khyris thought were friends begin singing, “Khyris the Angrily Smitten” in an off key parody of a song he can’t remember.

“You sound like you’re drunk and it’s only sunrise,” he says in disgust, burying himself in coffee, his only friend this morning.

Later that day, he’s in the middle of a group training session and managed to forget about the queen’s newest joke. The stress of the major’s shouts during exercises in the middle of winter doesn’t leave much room for Khyris to think about anything else, though Aeron finds a way around it as always. Aeron’s only here to support his family’s farm—cooperation doesn’t matter much to him as long as he still gets paid.

In the middle of another round of hot yet cold push-ups, Major Malika calls for a sudden stop. “His Majesty is here,” she snaps. “I want to see some salutes, hear some respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Major,” they chorus, lining up to watch His Majesty Amoun’s brown and gold carriage pull up to the campsite. Khyris’ left hand goes to the side of his head like all the others, trying to keep his eyes in line as the carriage stops in a cloud of dust. The door opens with a click, and out steps a shadow cloaked in black, unusual for Kadar. Khyris’ eyes drift despite himself.

Khyris forgot how young the queen is, and how attractive, despite his own dissenting opinions. A dark, neat sheaf of hair and mustache frame a smiling face. His long winter cloak shows hints of Kadar yellow in ribbons and pins, but otherwise everything from the fur to his shoes is black.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Malika says with a deep bow.

“Thank you, Major. I’m delighted to be here.” Queen Amoun approaches the line of soldiers with his coat sweeping out behind him, just short enough not to get dirty on the sand. The soldiers drop their salutes as Amoun slowly walks in front of them like he’s inspecting them. Khyris fights not to close his eyes and disappear into a safer, less ridiculous world. He has many choice words for the queen, but keeps them all wisely to himself.

Amount is just passing Aeron and Delia, about to pass a stiff Khyris, when he stops and looks him up and down. “What’s your name?” Amoun asks.

Khyris swallows, cursing Cai in every way. He can feel Aeron’s traitorous, poorly smothered grin on his profile. “Khyris, Your Majesty.”

“Khyris,” Amoun repeats, slowly, like the sly tongue of a snake. He grins. “What a beautiful name.”

What to say to that?

Amoun solves the problem for him. “I look forward to seeing your face during my trials, Khyris.”

Khyris’ mind races, thinking of the Cairic Trials of Taru. They are Kadars, dammit, not Cairic. But, if the queen wanted to find a spouse who could defend him, there is not a much better way than that. “Trials, Your Majesty?”

Amoun laughs, a gentle, warm sound. “Wipe that fear off your face. I am not referring to the Trials of Taru, as thrilling and testing as they are. The trials I have created are much simpler, and will be much more to your taste, if that quiver on your back means anything.” He takes a step back so more soldiers can hear him.

“I wish we had a forest to do this, but alas, we are not in the north or in Tel Cairis. As you can see, there are three targets there.” Amoun gestures grandly to the three red targets being set up several hundred paces away, in the middle of the desert. “Whoever can perfectly hit the three targets”—he pauses for effect— “will get a private dinner with me.”

Khyris struggles not to laugh.

“The trials begin immediately, for all of you,” Amoun says. “You are soldiers, I’m sure you’re used to quick thinking and quicker requests. Come on, now.”

Khyris shuffles into a single file line with the others, Aeron at his back. “Not a word,” he hisses.

“Not a word,” Aeron echoes, but Khyris can hear his grin. Worst of all, he begins humming that awful song, Khyris the Angrily Smitten. He actively wishes for death even as he’s pulling his bow off his back and nocking an arrow into it.

Fail Amoun’s stupid target challenge. The easiest task in the world. He’ll be officially taken out of consideration, free to go back to the idiots at the campfire in the morning.

His focus drifts in and out while waiting for the other soldiers to shoot, even if they’ve never touched a bow before. Evidently Amoun believes miracles are possible. He seems like the type.

Amoun stands to the side of the line drawn in the sand where the archers must stay and shoot, his presence undoubtedly helping no one. Ever since he was a child, Khyris couldn’t stand people watching him practice or hunt. He savored the quiet of the northern forests where he grew up, savored the peace and focus in his heart while he hunted his family’s dinner. To have anyone else watching him, waiting, judging if he shot wrong, would ruin that sacred peace.

He sighs and shifts his weight impatiently.

“Relax, would you? You’re the best archer here, I have more reason for nerves than you do,” Delia says from somewhere behind him.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Khyris says. “I’m afraid I’ll do well.”

Someone scoffs ahead of him. He doesn’t keep his dislike of the queen private, but the way Amoun looks back toward the sound makes Khyris flush. Please don’t notice me, don’t notice me, look away.

“Then miss and make a fool of yourself,” Delia says. “You’ll be known as the army’s best worst archer, but not the queen’s spouse, a title I wouldn’t mind having. It’ll be a steady source of income for my family, at least.”

Khyris smiles. He and Delia became friends because of their similar situation. Aeron barged his way into their lives with no possibility of leaving. “I’ll be in the front row at your wedding.”

“I’d prefer your blessing on my bow.”

Khyris watches sorry swordsman after swordsman point their bows at the targets only for their arrows to land somewhere far off in another direction. Major Malika barks at them that they’ve failed, which is not an unusual thing for her to say, but they’ve never had to perform in front of the queen before.

People who have never touched a bow in their life still stutter and apologize for wildly missing. That’s the effect the queen’s presence has—not that it affects Khyris, of course. He glances sympathetically at the losers and thinks, I’ll be joining you in a minute.

At last, it’s his turn. Major Malika orders him forward with her usual grit, but Amoun is smiling with his big brown eyes and it’s every bit as unnerving as Khyris predicted.

“Let’s see what you got,” he says quietly, where only Khyris can hear. Khyris grits his teeth, mentally ordering him to shut up and let him focus.

Why is he trying?

Because it’d kill him to miss, he decides. He hasn’t missed since he was eleven, and he won’t start now. He has too much pride in his finest skill to be a laughingstock. Major Malika would know he wasn’t trying and would make him try again. He’s too good an archer for his own good.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore Amoun’s presence, and lets the bow do the work.

The first arrow hits. He doesn’t stop to check. His focus is on the second target, and a minute shift of his position readies him for the next shot. Khyris disregards all other sound but the grip of his fingers adjusting on the bow, the whoosh as the arrow flies free. He can’t quite block out the gasp Amoun makes, but shaking it off is easy.

The wind begins picking up just slightly, hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Khyris knows the song of the bow like his own skin, and it’s not what he needs.

You’ve done well, says the voice in his head. No one will believe you purposefully failed if you miss. You will be free, and your dignity will be intact.

The other archers shot in quick succession, too eager or humiliated to wait. Khyris knows he’s already taken longer than anyone else, but he waits another few seconds before nocking another arrow and letting it fly.

Khyris opens his eyes to find his arrows in the center of all three red targets. He sighs in relief.

Relief for what?

All is deadly quiet, and then some idiot begins cheering. Khyris shuts his eyes again.

Aeron. Of course it’s Aeron.

Soon, everyone is cheering or clapping, Amoun loudest of all. Khyris flushes hot, looking around for him, who’s grinning like someone just handed him all the wealth of Kadar.

Khyris goes over to him and wraps him a hug, drawing laughter and ‘aw’s from the onlookers. It’s just an excuse to whisper, “I hate you to the skin of your bones,” in Aeron’s ear, who just laughs louder.

#

Khyris stands in front of a little pond where some fool spilled water outside Amoun’s tent, turning left and right to inspect his outfit. It’s the only fine thing he has, provided by the army, meant for rare banquets at the palace.

It’s a velvet jacket in Kadar yellow decorated with the few gold medals he has to his name, one for exceptional scouting, another for bringing down the largest hog anyone had ever seen, large enough to feed the whole camp for an evening.

The yellow tent flap opens and Khyris quickly snaps to a stiff position, relaxing when Amoun gestures for him to. “Khyris,” he says with a warm smile. “Thank you for joining me.”

You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Khyris thinks, though even he’s not bold enough to say that to the queen’s face. He’s wearing a thin golden circlet with soft brown gems embedded, the crown of Kadar. Khyris has never been close enough to see it; it sparkles in the evening sunlight.

He’s never been close enough to see the queen’s face like this—the kindness deep within earthy eyes, his short, well-trimmed beard and mustache, the single lock of black hair hanging down on his forehead. His black cloak doesn’t have a smattering of dust, and the long fur hairs poking out of the collar make Khyris ache for the crude fur coat he made himself the last time he was home—these velvet jackets don’t do much in the way of warmth.

Amoun even smells like the forests of the north, Khyris’ home, with a hint of soft incense.

“Please, come in.” Amoun steps aside to let Khyris slip past him. He takes a quick look around. Amoun’s tent is nicer than any camp tent he’s ever been in, a colorful carpet covering the sand, a table of golden wood with two chairs set up in the middle, a white curtain hiding what’s presumably a bed in the corner. Even the lanterns, burning with blessed warmth, are polished and new compared to the grimy ones in the tent Khyris shares with five others.

“Sit,” Amoun says softly, latching the tent flap closed to keep out the abhorrent wind. Khyris sits, happy to be out of the cold with a plate of hot food in front of him, if nothing else. The faster he can fail this and get it over with, the better.

Amoun sits opposite him and unclasps his cloak, revealing a finely woven black waistcoat over a long sleeved yellow shirt.

“Ah, so His Majesty is capable of wearing color,” Khyris says before he can think about it. He refuses to go back on it, even as Amoun looks at him in surprise. Khyris won’t be the timid little soldier afraid to even look at his queen. He respects himself more than that.

“I admit my dress is rather unconventional for Kadar,” Amoun says, slipping into a relieving smile. He picks up a white teapot and pours them both steaming cups. From the smell, it’s coffee—in the evening? Another oddity. “It’s one of many reasons for people to distrust me—or worse, dislike me.” He smiles again over the rim of his cup.

Khyris is holding his for warmth until he remembers that he’s not in the tent waking up to Aeron jabbering in his ear, he has manners. He quickly puts it back on the table. All the manners he learned from his father and his one visit to court suddenly leave him. Hopefully his country boy ignorance doesn’t show too much.

No, he wants it to show, doesn’t he? He wants Amoun to be disgusted with his choice and let him go.

Khyris grips the handle of the coffee cup again but after a few seconds of indecision, leaves it on the table.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy this meal,” Amoun says, oblivious to Khyris’ inner turmoil and the fact that this is the best meal Khyris will ever have in the field in the middle of winter. “Have you ever been to a palace banquet? Forgive me for not remembering your face—you all look the same in those jackets.” He shovels a forkful of something into his mouth—wait, what are they eating?

Khyris gathers himself and picks up his knife, reminding himself to breathe. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says after what’s probably too long of a pause. “I have been to a palace banquet once, shortly after I joined your army.” He focuses on cutting what he now discerns to be lamb, a delicacy they don’t get out here at the building sites, laying on a bed but of golden rice. It’s hot and warms him to the bone, but it’s not as spicy as the kind his father used to make.

Amoun laughs, speaking with a full mouth. “Let’s not pretend it’s my army. Cai knows I don’t pay enough attention to it. Oh, forgive me”—he smiles sheepishly— “when I’m alone with someone, especially here instead of the palace, I forget my manners. My upbringing is coming back to haunt me. Perhaps that’s another reason people detest me.”

Khyris pauses. Suddenly the food is vastly less interesting than Amoun. “You grew up humble, Majesty?”

“Please, call me Amoun. I am here to court you.”

The reminder makes Khyris bring his eyes back to his plate. Make him throw you out.

“Yes,” Amoun continues, “I came from the forests of the north. My parents were well off, and I have no siblings, but it was not a glamorous childhood by any means. Not compared to what I’m used to now.”

Khyris chews slowly, hyperaware of everything. “I also came from the forests of the north, M—Amoun.”

“Really?” Amoun’s silver clatters against his plate. “I knew I chose well. Where exactly were you raised?”

Khyris tells him about the cabin his mother built, four young siblings and a father too crippled to hunt, a mother too overworked to cook, the privilege Khyris considered hunting.

He loses track of time as Amoun talks about those same forests, hiding from great imaginary beasts that were only the howls of the wind in the trees as a child, the warmth of the curry Amoun’s mother made—the same one Khyris’ mother made for his birthday.

Khyris has never met someone who grew up in the north forests before, and he soon finds he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Before Khyris knows it, they’ve both finished their meals and wine has replaced the coffee. No attendants come in to bring them dessert, Amoun only gets up and accepts plates from them through the tent flap.

Khyris doesn’t have to leave his chair the whole time—he feels like the queen here, dipping a spoon into the bowl of warmth honey cake soaked through with cream. Amoun asks him about his friends, his family, laughs at every story of his siblings, goes somber when Khyris tells him why he joined the army.

Amoun makes him feel like everything he has to say is worth something to him, that his nods aren’t the polite, diplomatic ones he’s no doubt used to putting on. Khyris is only too happy to return the favor and admire the reflection of the lamplight in Amoun’s eyes.

And then it’s ending. The wine has faded from Khyris’ system, and the warmth of Amoun’s hand as he helps Khyris to his feet is bittersweet. He doesn’t know when he stopped trying to make Amoun dislike him, if he was ever trying at all, but now he’s foolishly praying that Amoun will ask him back.

“Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Khyris,” Amoun says, smiling like the witches of legend are said to do—so strong, so beautiful, they make it impossible to look away. Khyris’ limbs seem to draw closer of their own accord before he realizes and quickly puts distance between them.

“Thank you,” Khyris says, a shadow clouding over his heart as he turns toward the tent flap that Amoun holds open.

“Would you like to go out with me again?” Amoun asks as Khyris is about to leave. He stares in hopeful disbelief. “It’s perfectly alright if you don’t. I would never force you into anything you would not want—I have heard the stories your companions tell. Khyris the Angrily Smitten.” Amoun’s lips curve into a smile with an unescapable hint of pain. “I think the angry part is more prevalent. You are one of the ones who would detest me at court.”

Khyris is again mad at Aeron, for an entirely different reason. Has this whole magical evening gone to shit?

“Majesty—Amoun”—he takes a deep breath— “I—I was wrong about you. I would like to go out with you again. It is possible for minds to change.” He laces his own fingers behind his back, arms held taught in the stiff jacket.

Amoun’s answering grin is brighter than the sun.

#

Amoun has to go back to Ramia, of course, and Khyris back to the city building corporal’s lifestyle, but they spend every chance they could get together, alone, in a welcome relief from life for both of them. Aeron and Delia have been nothing but evil about it, but it’s no less than Khyris would expect.

His and Amoun’s second outing comes mere weeks after their first, when Khyris thought he might go mad from anticipation. Would their next meeting be just as perfect as their first? He frets, despite Aeron’s relentless teasing about the fact that so recently, he’d despise himself for fretting about this.

He made the mistake of addressing the queen as Amoun in Delia and Aeron’s presence. At the risk of his own sanity, he’s been careful to censor himself since, though Aeron probably sees right through it.

Their second date is every bit as good as the first and more. Amoun invites Khyris to the camp where he’s staying, visiting another battalion of soldiers in the north. Khyris was happy to go just to escape Aeron’s teasing, but the smile Amoun gives him upon arrival did things to him he didn’t know were possible. After a few days together and the blistering kiss Amoun gives him when they part, Khyris knows his mind is made up.

It should not come as a surprise when Amoun proposes only a few months later. The whole purpose of Amoun’s visit, after all, was to find a spouse to court.

He’s not just falling for the queen of Kadar for all the perks of being his lover. when Amoun first announced this challenge, Khyris thought the steady income for his family would be the only reason he’d ever agree if miraculously chosen.

As soppy and awful as it sounds, as much as he’s becoming the very lovestruck fool he loved to hate, he enjoys Amoun for him, not for his money or his power or his safety. His company. His smile. His mix of ease and nerves, how he both seems to know exactly what he’s doing and has no clue at all.

Now, he’s in Ramia again for the first time in four years in the part of it he never thought he’d get to visit in his lifetime: the queen’s private palace apartments. Amoun is looking at him the warmth of the sun in those eyes and asking if Khyris will be his forever. What can Khyris say but yes?

Khyris might hang around court more often than he ever thought he would, but he still can’t bear to leave the army. He sees past the humor in Aeron’s voice when he asks, “Don’t forget about your fellow corporals when you’re the queen’s husband, alright?” Khyris spends half of the days leading up to wedding with the soldiers, working hard and crashing harder just like he did before, and the other half in some kind of paradise of luxury with Amoun.

He invites Aeron and Delia to the palace when he visits—he’s learned, as the queen’s betrothed, there’s little he can’t get away with, including sudden leave for any soldier he likes. Seeing the raw awe on Aeron’s face makes his own adjustment a little easier to bear.

He and Amoun decline to get tattoos of betrothal—that’s a Cairic tradition at heart, and the queen of Kadar couldn’t be seen with that, especially since they’re trying to move away from Tel Cairis’ traditions.

Being suddenly waited on and served food even better than the stuff in Amoun’s tent on their first date is nice, but jarring. He’s so used to the humble life, getting everything himself, being independent. The army only enforced that, even when he gained friends.

Now the clothes he wears puts his yellow dinner jacket to shame, and every bit of building has been made by hundreds of men compared to a few. He can only wonder how Amoun adjusted.

Amoun is a sweetheart, empathetic and sensitive. Unfortunately, this means Khyris can’t keep a secret around him, and he quickly notices Khyris’ discomfort.

“Mi’hail, please,” he implores one night, because of course he’d be the type to use old fashioned terms of endearment like that. “Tell me what I can do to make this place feel as much as your home as it is mine. All I desire is to make you happy.”

Khyris sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. His cheek is pillows on the silk nightshirt covering his arm, so light and soft and decadent you can hardly call it a shirt. His feet are made warm by the sheets of Amoun’s bed, the warm orange glow of candlelight turning Amoun’s skin the most beautiful gold.

This is not the first time Amoun has asked, but Khyris always tells him not to bother, he’s busy enough, he’s done enough already. “If we are to be married,” Amoun tries, “it cannot be on unequal footing. I will not have you be a sacrifice to be with me. You grew up with so little—let me repay you now.”

“Oh, and you grew up in luxury?” Khyris counters.

“Stop trying to switch the subject.” Amoun sits up against the cushioned headboard. “Tell me, or I will not leave it alone.”

Khyris knows how capable he is of that. He manages a small smile.

“A garden,” he settles on at last, thinking of the northern forests, how he loved the trees but always wished for a more glamorous, well-tended grove. “Remind me of the north, where we are from. Give me a version of our forests that’s neater, that shows the nicest parts without all the ugly ones.” He sighs, already picturing it, almost able to smell the richness of the tree sap if he concentrates. “With a fountain,” he adds. “Is that too much?”

Amoun’s eyes are shining. “Not at all. I will do it, mi’hail.”

Amoun builds him a garden. He commissions a fountain. He brings the forests of the north to Ramia.

Khyris underestimates him once again.

It takes so long and takes up so much space, Khyris is eventually banned entirely from the west side of the palace in case he catches a glimpse of Amoun’s hard work. All he knows is that Amoun is always beaming and giddy with excitement and anticipation of Khyris’ reaction.

The damn thing takes so long to build, Khyris doesn’t get to see it till three weeks after their wedding, when they get back from their trip alone to the forests of the north.

When everything is finally done to Amoun’s liking, Amoun can’t let go of his hand as he leads him out to see it. He even makes Khyris close his eyes, an incredible trust exercise. When Khyris is allowed to open them, his jaw falls open.

He’d been prepared by the sound of flowing water, but nothing could truly brace him for this. From the top of the steps leading inside where they stand, Khyris can see the whole thing: the fountain of himself holding his bow, quiver at his back, free hand reaching up to fix his hair. “Wh—how did you get a statue of me commissioned without needing me there?”

Amount just grins.

None of the trees are old enough to provide shade yet, but stone beds with soil inside house several young, green trees that will grow up to be the great sprawling ones of the north. The floor is stone, not dirt, and it’s much nicer and cleaner to look at than the leafy forest floor. The smell of the trees is absent, but it’s more than made up for with the greenery tucked into every spot, the rare pops of pink flowers from the east. Everything is well tended and trimmed, from the hedges to the plants to the shape of the trees.

Each layer up to the palace entrance is covered in some of potted plant, and an artificial river runs around every bit of it to feed them, the channel carved into the stone.

Khyris can’t fathom how he imported everything and how it’s stayed so fresh—the wont of a queen, he supposes.

“The gardens of Khyris,” Amoun says quietly at his back, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

After another minute of silence, he laughs nervously. “Speechless, mi’hail?”

“Uh, yes.” Khyris turns his head to kiss him. “I don’t know how to thank you. it’s absolutely gorgeous. I—seriously, all of this is for me?”

“I would be happy to ban the public if you asked,” Amoun confirms. “Does it take you back to the north forests as it does for me?”

“You know it does. It’s perfect in every way.”

Amoun walks him down the steps to the garden itself, showing him every carefully chosen detail. Khyris is happy to stand with him near the fountain, enough for the sound of the rushing water to lull him into a sense of calm. He wonders how he could’ve ever hated Amoun.

“Khyris the Angrily Smitten, they called you all those months ago,” Amoun murmurs. Khyris’ ears burn hot.

“I find it endearing,” Amoun confesses, “but I know you find it rather—embarrassing. I’d like to call you something else.” His fingers curl around Khyris’ neck, soft and warm. “Khyris mi’hail? Khyris the Beloved?”

Khyris fights the smile threatening to break out and fails. “Better than Khyris the Great, or something awful like that.”

Amoun laughs. “I am great enough for both of us,” he says, and pulls Khyris to the sound of the water mingling with the wind. An earthly heaven without Cai.

shorts taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @lunarmoment @missingpeace

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring

A rant about fandom culture

@thewritersuniverse on instagram 💖

This doesn't even have to be established. The world is bigoted against women—and the literary world, being part of the . . . world, is also bigoted against women. And naturally, fandom culture, which often roots from the literary world, is, too.

Let's talk about female characters in fandom culture. Does anyone else notice that female characters get very, very little attention compared to the absolute batsh*t crazy fanbases that male characters get? Take Harry Potter for example: Draco Malfoy is such a beloved character that people have written ESSAYS about why his most toxic traits are justified and lovable. But if Draco Malfoy was a woman, we'd be calling her an entitled b*tch and a spoiled brat. Nobody would defend Draco Malfoy, the woman.

Fandoms are often majority-women. The majority of women are cis women. The majority of cis women are attracted to men.

Now, here is a very general statement:

When women (for the sake of it let's say cishet women) see male characters, they see personality. Vulnerabilities, strengths, insecurities, likes, dislikes. Male characters are seen as people, we see them as love interests, as friends, as "squishes", as people that could exist in our lives, and are unique.

When men (again, for the sake of it let's say the typical cishet man) see female characters . . . they see objects. There is no personality, no interests, no insecurities to be empathized with. Society has conditioned men to see the ideal woman as a sex appeal. A majority of what few female characters in media have large fanbases, say Princess Leia or Wonder Woman, are loved by men or were iconicized by men for their sex appeal, regardless of their personal story arcs. Nine out of ten times, if you walk up to a cishet man and say "Princess Leia", they WILL picture her in a f*cking gold bikini. For this reason, a female character that is not conventionally attractive almost NEVER has a fanbase. Even Hermione Granger only got her recognition from men after the movies evolved into starring a hot, mature Emma Watson.

And when cishet women view female characters, they view role models. People they relate to. People they aspire to become. Strong, unwavering, and those that stand out.

Female characters to women, do receive love but are almost never the objects of fantasy; fanart, fanfiction, and apologists are made for characters that fans FANTASIZE about. That people view as their ideal partner. People defend and show love to these characters the way they would for a love interest, friend, or family.

Female characters never get that.

In fiction, we tend to search for the ideal. Even in the stereotypical toxic, broody YA boy with a tragic backstory, we search for soft spots—because we want to imagine the main character of the stories we love as lovable and human.

But the "ideal" that society has conditioned us to believe that women should adhere to is not vulnerability or sincerity or character. It's being sexy.

And because female characters are seen only ever as role models by even the best of women, morally grey, vulnerable, weak, hypocritical, unattractive, or unrelatable characters are automatically labeled with "no personality". HOT TAKE: If Elena from The Vampire Diaries was a boy, people would be busy sobbing over their poor smol bean that has to make a tough moral decision every single episode because he's so soft and sweet he couldn't possibly hurt someone. But instead, because the poorly developed character is a woman, she is sh*t on.

This goes on to say that it doesn't even matter if a character is well-developed or not. To use TVD as a further example: When Damon is stuck between Elena and Katherine and can't let go of Katherine despite everything she's done, he's a passionate lover, conflicted, tortured. People are drawn to his inclination towards toxicity, and find his lingering feelings for a toxic relationship relatable. But boiled down to the essence, Elena's story arc with Stefan and Damon wasn't even that different. Yet, she was criticized for making almost the exact same choices throughout the first three seasons. Heck, if you put it that way, Stefan's moral compass was literally identical to Elena's, too. But HE has a fanbase. Stefan VS Damon is an actual debate.

But there is no debate on whether or not Elena has the personality of an unsalted biscuit.

There's nowhere I'm particularly going with this; I just wanted to bring it to attention. Does anybody else feel this way?

Does anybody disagree? I'd love to hear some more perspective on this from all of you! Thank you for sitting through my painfully long rant that I'm positive not that many people will even read. <3

LGBTQ Manga Review - Cocoon Entwined Volume 1

I feel fairly confident in my assessments and observations of yuri works. I am comfortable openly stating what I like and do not like and providing critical analysis based on my knowledge and experience within the genre. However, as I read Cocoon Entwined, whatever faith I have in my authority goes right out the window like the punk teenage lesbian in a coming of age story. There are aspects of this story such as the importance of heirlooms and reverence for hair that I do not know the first thing about. I can comment on the story, characters, and yuri elements, but I fear that the deeper elements of the manga may elude me. However, my apprehensions will never stop me from enjoying and reviewing a yuri series. Cocoon Entwined is a schoolgirl yuri manga by Yuriko Hara which follows the exploits of the young women at the elite Hoshimiya Girls’ Academy.

Immediately, Cocoon Entwined presents as a class S narrative. It is set in an elite, idealistic all-girls’ school and there does not appear to be any sexual attraction just admiration between the girls. However, this judgment, while only a hair’s breadth away from the truth, does not exactly fit the work. There are elements of the manga that confuse its genre. Horror elements are peppered in via the eerie atmosphere and there are the makings of real relationships and romance within Hoshimiya Academy. The presence of such hidden feelings may be masquerading beneath what is presented in the first volume and, if they do exist, may elevate this work beyond the confines of S.

The story of Cocoon Entwined is disjointed, frequently flitting between different perspectives and points in time. This method of storytelling results in a confusing narrative twisted between the characters. At times the story can be frustratingly difficult to follow, a fact not helped by the characters, who can easily be confused for each other. Sadly, there is nothing to pull these strands of the story together yet. These factors make the work read like an anthology within a shared world rather than one cohesive story. However, many individual sections of this narrative display real promise, even if they are not woven together effectively.

One of the most intriguing and compelling chapters sees Hana Saeki, the beloved and admired prince of the school, catch the mysterious and distant Hoshimiya, granddaughter of the headmistress, as the latter girl dives out of a window. The two students run away from the school together, escaping the perfect and idealized environment where they both have to assume their certain roles for a brief moment. The encounter is fascinating and effectively creates a bond between the two.

Cocoon Entwined excels is in its setting and atmosphere. There is a tradition in the school of girls growing their hair out to incredible flowing lengths. During the third year of high school, the girls cut their hair so that it can be passed down to a younger classmate in the form of their school uniforms. The school uniforms being made out of hair has a large intrinsic "ick" factor that for many may be impossible to overcome. However, assuming one can stomach the notion, there are some interesting observations to be made.

The young women are poised and elegant, letting their hair grow and protecting it above all else. Having insufficient hair to create a uniform is seen as shameful, and passing the hair down is a proud tradition. The greater ideas here are that of tradition and heirlooms. The way the hair is treated with reverence and then passed on is wonderfully intriguing and creepy. The uniforms themselves are seen as special, and frequently are described as “breathing.” The whole manga is blessed by this wonderful and oddity that can send shivers down your spine, adding greatly to the setting. It is so disturbing and haunting that the manga feels more like an atmospheric horror work than a romance.

Sadly, while the atmosphere is amazing chilling and individual scenes contain hints of brilliance, Cocoon Entwined does very little in this first volume. There is no real central plot or conflict driving the narrative forward the work greatly suffers for this. Such a plot could also help to pull the disjointed stories together and help streamline the story. The ending hints at some real story and there is plenty of potential for one but this volume does little except introduce the reader to Hoshimiya Academy.

The manga also suffers due to its poorly written characters. The story revolves around three different girls, chief among these is Saeki. Although she is beloved by her fellow students and adored as the prince, she is something of an outsider, being a commuter student. Saeki also privately rejects her title of prince except in one case, when Hoshimiya uses it. However, despite being the most developed of the characters, she does not have any growth and rarely responds to other characters effectively, save the one aforementioned scene with Hoshimiya.

Hoshimiya herself is a tired trope of a character. She is the elite untouchable girl that no one knows anything about. The only moment with her that sticks out in the whole volume is when she cuts part of her hair and gives it to Saeki. This action, her lack of veneration for her hair puts her in contrast with the other girls of the academy. This action could have great implications, but again the volume does nothing with it.

Finally, there is the timid and fragile Youko Yokozawa. She spends the majority of the manga looking depressed and tearful despite having no reason to. Like Saeki, she is a commuter student, and one of the few people that can see past the facade of the prince. Her connection to Saeki leads her to develop feelings for the prince and become part of her inner world, knowing her secret. However, this bond feels unsupported and weak. Aside from being sad and interested in Saeki, Yokozawa has no real characteristics. Hopefully, future volumes will explore her a bit more.

None of the main characters have much personality and the connections between them feel unsupported. There are whispers of some relationships and possibly a love triangle here, but more work needs to be done to make each character feel unique and to lay the groundwork for their relationships. Ultimately, the hair and uniforms are far more developed and interesting than the main characters.

Cocoon Entwined’s greatest strength is its gorgeous art. Yuriko Hara has a light and delicate style that is perfectly suited to the girls and academy. The illustrations of hair are flowing and wonderful, and at times feel like they move along the page. The environments, especially the garden, and majestic and the uniform design is top-notch. There are wonderful sprawling panels and pages here depicting the girls and their flowing, stunning hair. However, the best moments are when the uniforms are drawn “breathing” with wandering hairs grasping at the girls and the environment. It adds to the chilling atmosphere in such a deep visual way.

The art is phenomenal but there are a few flaws. The biggest of these is the character designs, which, while adequate, are far too similar to each other. This makes the already difficult task of keeping the characters straight nearly impossible. Additionally, some of the more dynamic scenes, such as a chapter when the characters dance together, feel stiff. The characters and their clothing often looks restricted. The effect is worsened when compared to the long flowing hair that dances across the same panels.

The first volume of Cocoon Entwined is an introduction, a prelude to what is hopefully a better series. The manga does an excellent job of setting up its world and hints at some intriguing stories. However, future volumes will need to focus the story to a central plotline or conflict and flush out some of the characters. Overall, Cocoon Entwined is dripping with atmosphere, astounding artwork, and potential. The series can easily go from here to be a unique and inspired work or an aimless confused mess. However, on this volume alone it is nearly impossible to tell what the future will hold. Because of this, readers should definitely keep an eye on Cocoon Entwined.

Ratings: Story – 6 Characters – 3 Art – 9 LGBTQ – 2 Lewd – 0 Final – 5

Purchase Cocoon Entwined in print and digital: https://amzn.to/2HdPemf

Review Copy Provided by @yenpress

Patrick, and familiar Orion, on midnight slopes of Grand Snow.

Tale 11: Artemis Craweleoth & The Griminthrope (chapter 2 - Summoning Problems 2/5) part 3. Stories of Fey

gore

Patrick was the baby of the family, and thus the child of winter. Therefore, he was named by the Wolf King. The Current Wolf King knew their father Morgan, before he was Wolf King; or Morgan King Mage. Knowing his brother of men well, he named Patrick after Morgan’s late grandfather. The older girls were a bit jealous they didn’t get as sentimental of a name. Not that their’s were any less special. Not many people can say they were literally named by magic itself.

The family thought it odd that Patrick would leave before Artemis. In hindsight, no one could pry her from her coop. Patrick on the other hand, had tangible plans for his future; that were away from home. He had an adventurous spirit. After graduating school, and unable to be a legal paladin, Patrick had taken post in Grand Snow in the Westlands. He could have easily gotten an apprenticeship with Morgan’s friend Amadeus, but wanted to work right away; against his paladin coach, Kent Summorhind’s, advice. What inspired Patrick to go to the Westlands, was his eldest sister, Cadence. She had gotten her heartman healing apprenticeship, and a husband, from that magic valley. Patrick had heard so many stories of the Dragon Gate growing up; Grand Snow was an ancient, traditional, and isolated village. It was like a large bowl of circling enchanted steep mountains, that cradled it in a cold and magical serenity. It was a magic forest where humans and fey lived beside each other, in a way akin to a time before magic and war.

Patrick was welcomed by the forests existing mages, Ourboros Blacneadre and Saianne Healpenbroc. He would be the next generation’s mage, and be a new addition to the gene pool. The people of Grand Snow were so isolated, and so few, they became their own sub ethnicity in need of new strong youth. The people were eager to meet him. When it was another one of the Mage King’s children, they had high expectations. Ouroboros and Saianne had never seen Patrick in person; all they knew was of him was from Morgan and Emilia’s letters. Cadences only mentioned a few things in passing. Ouroboros had been a good Friend to Morgan when they went to school together, and thus was happy to help his children. Speaking of which, Saianne and Ouroboros’s son, Basilisk, had seen Patrick on Tiberius Gate when he went to Pepperidge academy with Cadence. His twin Levi, had left after marrying Cadence, making Basil, Patrick’s brother-in-law.

Though Basil and Ouroboro’s warmed up easily, Patrick had trouble wooing the other villagers. Shiny new genetics weren’t enough to prove worth, and an ability to survive in this high-altitude archaic village. Being a mage made him worthy of respect, yet they still avoided him. This was because Patrick had a special barrier: like all his siblings, he had the properties of the magic quadrant he was born into. Patrick acted like a wolf that wandered the slopes of the snowy peaks, instead of the mild valley. To the villagers, Patrick was like a rumor or myth that people felt was there, but never saw. It would appear, it wasn’t that they were avoiding him, but that he was drawn away from them, and toward the depths of the magic of the Dragon Gate.

One day, Patrick was called into the village by Ouroboros. Patrick was living in a shack upon the north slopes of the village; of which he had renovated by hand. Not much happened in Grand Snow, thus resulting in nothing to do, but do everything by hand from scratch. Patrick’s choice of post was ‘here if you need me’ deal. He was planning on getting wood and meat that day, so he was not amused when Ouroboros approached him while he was going about his day casually. Goood news, or bad new, Ouroboros was a lot of a person; and when he approaches people instinctively brace themselves. For once, today’s news was bad news; a murder had occurred. The scene had only a large smear of blood upon the snow, by a runic summoning spell. Any life lost in the small fragile heritage village, was great tragedy.

“Who did this? Only me, you and your wife can use magic.” Patrick asked Ouroboros.

“No clue; but I can’t tell if our friend died from summoning, which kills anyone except your father the King Mage, or if the fey summoned was not happy about it. It would be odd if someone else here did this; my people don’t use magic out of respect for mages and fey. We don’t even have wizardry resources here, due to cultural preservation protocols. I’ll look into who did this, and see who’s missing.” Ouroboros coughed. The smell of ice and blood was ghastly. He was the village’s only medical personal, and had seen a lot in his life thus far; but something about potential murder made him gag.

“I’m a paladin, and am practiced in wolf kingdom, and winter, magery. I could easily survive the mountains and track down whatever fey escaped; If a fey is responsible. The blood doesn’t bother me much,” Patrick said, kneeling down the failed summoning charm. It looked like a junior wizard was trying to summon a dragon. The diagram faced south, with poorly written runes.

“That would be helpful. I feel like I’ve forgotten something; This scene of blood on snow leading into the woods reminds me of something, but I cannot quite put my finger on it.” Ouroboros sighed. Patrick pointed out a specific rune on the center of the bloody diagram. Patrick smelt dust and feathers underneath the filth and blood. Ouroboros refused to come any closer.

“Whoever tried to summon a fey, didn’t know Old Anglian runic; because the rune they used was daigan. Maybe they thought ‘d’ for ‘dragon’; people like to summon dragons, right? Or perhaps it was a local who only knows Old Danian runic. Regardless, the rune for daigan is for day, when the raven children come out and sing. Maybe it worked; even though it faces the wrong way and is technically impossible?” Parick postulated. Ouroboros was slowly backing away from the gore. “All the people here have an idea about how magery works, and the lethality of summoning fey. I refuse to believe someone would try something so stupid. Which is only more proof it could be anyone.”

Seeing the carnage, and broken branches, Patrick began racking his brain for fey knowledge. Patrick only remembered the one raven child that was known to eat the rotting, leave a scene bloody but vacant, and are strong enough to kill: A Griminthrope. The princes of the Raven King.

“My father said that someone needs the name of a fey to summon them, there is none. And if they knew the name, they would’ve just called it. Which means a random fey of the raven kingdom would have been summoned. I Don’t know about you, but the only Raven child I can imagine dining on the flesh of men, are the ones that are supposed to be in a death tree in the shadow veil…” Patrick said standing up. Ouroboros laughed. The only Grimethorpe he had ever met, was hand reared by Morgan; and was a plucky crafty fellow. The prince had developed so much empathy, he refused to eat anything that was human, or was given a name. The memory brought Ouroboros back to his school days. Then a darkness overcame his face; there was no grantee the raven prince summoned, was the one he remembered fondly. Ouroboros, as mage of this magic forest, was overcome with fear for the safety of the people, fey and animals one the gate.

“Find him; And be careful, Patrick. Your father may have helpful resources; he did a grad study on griminthropes. If you can get to the radio phone in the top cabin, the Goldenscale family can help you cantact him. I will take care of finding who died, and who did this.” Ouroboros said.

That night, Patrick headed up the slopes upon his wolf familiar Orion, to call for help. The village buried the bloodied snow, as they could not find a body. The raven princes were known to eat a whole carcass; the princesses too. The village decided to do the head count in the morning, as the whole event was quite shocking. Patrick wouldn’t be there to help everyone feel safe that night; his mission to protect Grand Snow was more important.

In the morning, after the head count, they found no one was missing. Which was almost as disappointing, because it meant a fey, or even a beloved town animal, could have been a victim. Every life was precious, not just that of humans. To Ouroboro’s disappointment, Basil came forward, admitting he was responsible for the summoning. He was the only commoner to have an education in magic; having gone to Pepperidge like his, twin, parents, and Patrick. Basil didn’t want to stop doing magic just because it wasn’t traditional. Boredom made him want to see what he could remember or do. Though he was not supposed to use it. The hole village was irate. Ouroboros was disappointed in his son. To have the audacity to use magic in the presence of mages in Grand Snow. This is why wizards shouldn’t use magic everyone scoffed; they do stupid things with it, that always ends badly. Now the mage have to restore balance.

“I’m sorry. I thought no one would notice, and assumed there was no harm done. I just left when the spell failed. In all honesty, I thought it was an object summoning charm; all the old books on magic here, read the same. I also used fairy wax, which I realized should have made it nonfunctional…I was wrong; about all of that.” Basil explained. He was shown mercy for honesty, and sent to spend the whole day doing a head count on livestock, pets, and fey; as punishment. He hoped he would find nothing, because the owner of whatever died, would be responsible for sentencing him further.

              When Patrick got back into town after using the radio phone to contact his father Morgan. He saw Ouroboros and Saianne peering into the well in the town center; they looked disgusted.

“Basil used magic. In order to stay in Grand Snow, he agreed to never use it; as is law for commoners here. Me and Ouroboros are disappointed he broke his promise, but we don’t have the heart to banish him.” Saianne said. “Hopefully what I told him about griminthropes will deter him from future error more than the guilt and shame. I hate that I can relate.” She went on. Ouroboros looked up to see Patrick standing like nervous wreck. As if the betrayal was irrelevant.

“Spit it out. Stop looking like your father, and tell us what he said.” Ouroboros snapped.

“Oh…Well the thing is…My father wasn’t exactly…. Available to help us…” Patrick stammered.

NEXT--->

<---PREVIOUS

Eureka Seven Hi-Evolution 2: Anemone (review)

Score: * (out of 4)

Summary: A creatively bankrupt film that represents a new low for a beloved yet beleaguered franchise, Anemone is an epic misfire that begs comparisons to, of all things, The Room.

Long review (spoilers):

The story of the Eureka Seven franchise has been a long, and unfortunately, often troubled one. I have a separate post in development documenting its history through my eyes as someone who got into the series long after its original airing, so many of the matters relating to that subject will not be in this post. What this post is, however, is a breakdown of what makes this one film a failure.

Strap in, this is going to be a ride.

After several years in dormancy following the ill-received Eureka Seven AO, a new film trilogy titled Eureka Seven Hi-Evolution was announced. Immediately, this news begged comparisons to other cinematic reboots to well known franchises, two examples being the recent Code Geass reboot series and, more notably, Rebuild of Evangelion. I know when Hi-Evolution was announced, I was apprehensive. I dropped AO halfway through, and the installment of the franchise prior to it (Pocketful of Rainbows/Good Night, Sleep Tight, Young Lovers) was an average at best alternate universe. I was curious to see what the Hi-Evolution trilogy would do, but I had little faith that Tomoki Kyoda and Bones would produce something to redeem the series after AO.

The first film would later be promoted as finally telling an untold part of the story: the First Summer of Love, an incident in which main protagonist Renton’s father Adrock gained hero status for saving the world during an incident involving the alien Scub Coral. Unfortunately, this proved to be a bait and switch. The new animation depicting the First Summer of Love - which came about as the result of the military’s Operation Necrosis, a mission to use a weapon called Silver Box to destroy the Scub Coral and liberate Earth - comprises only a fraction of the film. The rest is made up, somehow, of footage recycled from the 2005 series with new audio dubbed over it to tell an altered story. As a result, the first film was mostly a failure.

Then the second film was announced to focus on Anemone, an immensely popular supporting character from the original series. Not only that, it would portray an angle of the Eureka Seven universe never seen before: for the first time, the story would take place in the ‘real’ world, being set in Tokyo. This represented a greater ambition on the part of the production, but also was a concept that could easily go wrong. Prior to the release of the film, I was expecting it to be another sort-of-retelling, this time focusing on the psychadelic nightmare depicted in the infamous original series episode “Acperience 1.”

If only that was what this film actually was.

I admit, when I saw this film, I had already been spoiled on its plot. I am glad I was, because had I not been, I would have found the movie incomprehensible. Tomoki Kyoda’s attitudes going into producing it have also been troubling, particularly remarks about “auteurism” in one interview. When the words “A Tomoki Kyoda Film” appeared on the screen at the beginning of this film, I gulped. I knew I was in for something.

The film opens with a flashback sequence introducing Anemone as a character and explaining some of the context of the movie’s story. Two problems immediately become apparent. One, this sequence - and all flashbacks to similar moments throughout the film - is rendered in full 3D CGI that looks extremely cheap. The colors and shading create the image of dull, flat figures created by a 3D printer moving around on CGI backgrounds. Worse, the mouth movements in these 3D CGI scenes do not match the dialogue. Viewing this movie, you will see mouth flaps regularly desync from the audio.

Worse yet, this movie is titled “Eureka Seven Hi-Evolution: Anemone” and was promoted as being an Anemone film, but Anemone is not in it. The “Anemone” in this film is, in fact, a new character named Fuuka who looks like her and has the nickname Anemone. She isn’t Anemone, though, because her character is completely different. It couldn’t be any more unlike the original Anemone’s. She’s an exact polar opposite of who Anemone actually was. The fact that this film is an even bigger bait and switch than the first one was is bad enough. But even if you roll with the idea of Anemone being a totally different character, it introduces problems that undermine the film internally. Let’s put a pin in that for now.

Anyway, the movie establishes Fuuka/Anemone’s backstory as a military brat whose father, Ken, was killed during an operation to fight an “Eureka,” one of several phenomena that destroyed the planet over time, eventually annihilating many nations and killing nearly three billion people. She is an inoffensive character, but does not have much at all of the spark the original Anemone had, instead sacrificing it for more typical tropes. Once the flashback concludes, the film jumps forward to the present day. Here, the first thing we see is a long battle sequence in which military forces battle “Eureka Seven” (the seventh Eureka), which attacks with a manifestation of the Nirvash. This sequence is drawn out and poorly plotted, making the action difficult to follow. That’s a problem throughout the film, in fact - we see cuts to similar battle scenes many times, and they always feel like incoherent sequences where things just explode to fill space.

Once this incoherent battle sequence ends, the true plot begins to kick in. Anemone consults “Dominic,” an app installed on her phone by Ken during the earlier flashback, for advice during the battle, and Dominic’s advice leads the military to decide to send Anemone “diving” into Eureka Seven using a special device. This device greatly resembles a virtual reality setup, but when activated, it sends Anemone into flashbacks to the original series. Here is where the recycled 2005 footage comes back in, but this time, it is executed better thanks to the context of it being in an “alternate world.” Anemone is sent to a moment where Nirvash and theEND battled in the original series and manages to destroy Nirvash, catching a glimpse of Eureka holding Renton’s clothing before being ejected from the dive. This causes a portion of Eureka Seven to be destroyed in the real world, which is humanity’s first victory against the phenomena.

There are several things we need to unpack here. First, the Dominic app. This is a bizarre reinvention of the character Dominic Sorel from the original series, who was a military officer that usually served as Anemone’s handler, often found himself on the receiving end of her abuse, and ultimately became her love interest. He had a story arc alongside Anemone where he came to doubt his role in the military and had his views evolve over time until he changed sides to join the heroes. Here, he is nothing but an annoying app with no real characterization. Worse, the avatar of his face rendered on the phone is depicted with CGI even worse than the flashbacks. Many of his sentences will begin with Dominic’s mouth moving, only for him to stop moving his mouth halfway through and yet continue to talk. It is a jarring sight to see every time it happens.

While the use of 2005 footage is better contextualized this time, and there is even some new footage animated in original 4:3 style, other things happen that bring down anything good that could come of this. Because all the leaps take Anemone to various battles between Nirvash and theEND, a plot hole is created: if Fuuka is the real Anemone, how was theEND there battling Nirvash before she leaped into it using the dive device? Worse, still, because of how different Fuuka and original Anemone’s personalities are, there is abrupt shifting back and forth in her character within the same scenes. Fuuka is, to put it mildly, an average anime girl who hits the usually expected tropes. Original Anemone was an ill-tempered, mentally damaged person with a violent streak and an addiction to drugs given to her by series antagonist Dewey Novak, who abused her and took advantage of her depression and need for validation to benefit himself. The problem comes in the fact that some of the recycled footage from 2005 includes showing Anemone piloting theEND in battle. Because Fuuka and original Anemone are so different, she suddenly becomes much more bloodthirsty and violent and then reverts back depending on when the individual moment was animated. It’s not consistent and takes the viewer out of the film. Another inconsistency in this same place comes with Dominic, who manifests as Dominic Sorel while inside Eureka Seven. He is present inside theEND’s cockpit while Anemone pilots, but even while new footage is animated for these sequences, Dominic is not present for the Anemone combat shots. He appears and disappears between individual shots.

Moving on. This basic setup drives much of the film. Anemone makes more dives into the world within the Eureka Seven, each time returning back to a battle between Nirvash and theEND that ends with a portion of Eureka Seven in the real world being destroyed. Because she is responsible for humanity turning the tide in the battle against the Eurekas, Anemone is turned into an idol by the military for propaganda purposes. This element is severely underplayed and has little real signficance in the plot. Her primary motivation is to come to terms with Ken’s fate battling the Eurekas, and thanks to this and intelligence gathered during the missions, the military decides to bring Anemone to meet a familiar face: Dewey Novak. Unlike the rest of the characters in the film sans Eureka herself, Dewey is the real one, having been ejected from another world heavily implied to be the world depicted in the first Hi-Evolution film. He was captured by the military outside Eureka Seven and placed in restraints that cover his eyes, while his legs are trapped in the other world and fade away to nothing.

Dewey’s presence in this film accomplishes little other than give tastes of what it could have been and provide sequel bait for a future installment. Many of his scenes are merely him saying mysterious and vaguely threatening things, none of which really make sense in the context of this movie alone. Further, because he is the Hi-Evolution 1 Dewey and Anemone is Fuuka, the reunion of the two ends up having no emotional resonance at all. In the original series, Anemone suffered terrible physical and mental abuse at Dewey’s hands, through his administering drugs to enhance her performance in battle and dispensing praise and attention in measured amounts to ensure her compliance. The idea that Anemone would be reunited with Dewey, who is now (apparently) a ragged, powerless old man at the mercy of his captors, could have been an opportunity for great mental catharsis as Anemone finally obtains closure for what Dewey did to her. But because neither one of them knows the other, this ends up being a false start. They merely speak about the mission against the Eurekas and therefore the dialogue could be between any two people. It is not something only Anemone and Dewey together could do, and feels wasted.

As her mission continues on, Anemone eventually destroys enough of Eureka Seven to expose its core. The core has a design that was clearly intended to be frightening, but instead is laughable; it is covered with small eyes and has one big one whose expression makes it look tired and unhappy about having to show up. Suddenly, Anemone gets trapped in “PLAY BACK” during her dive, a phenomenon that rewinds time back through the events in the earlier dives. She ends up being brought to a time just prior to Ken’s death, where she is confronted by Eureka.

The film was not good until this point. At this exact moment, it completely falls apart.

Eureka is no longer the naive but well-meaning girl from the original series, or even the mother who would go to any lengths for her children from AO. In fact, those Eurekas never existed at all. The “true” Eureka is a psychopath who became this way after accidentally killing Renton when her powers were awakened by her exposure to Silver Box (thus implying the event took place in the Hi-Evolution 1 world.) Since then, she has been using Silver Box’s power to rewind time and try to create new worlds where she can have her happy ending with Renton, but they all go wrong, forcing her to “PLAY BACK” and start over again. These actions were responsible for creating every other part of the franchise - the original series, manga, light novels, Pocketful of Rainbows, AO, all of them were nothing but dreams made real through Eureka’s use of Silver Box’s power, in the process releasing the Eurekas in the real world and killing billions of people.

Needless to say, this twist is appalling and fails in more ways than one. First of all, it renders the entire plot of this movie and the trilogy dependant upon knowing the events from the previous installments. If you don’t know anything about what took place in the previous installments, this twist is meaningless to you. It only lands if you have an attachment to the events now revealed to be false worlds. But if you have this attachment, the movie then steps squarely into the same mistake AO made by revealing that what you liked in the past didn’t end up the way you thought it did and wasn’t real. Worse, though, it makes it hard to care about any form of the franchise anymore, because at this point, it becomes apparent that every character can be whatever the demands of the plot dictate. When no character has an actual consistent personality that won’t change on a dime depending on the whims of the plot, there is no reason to get invested in them. Eureka is now essentially Monika from Doki Doki Literature Club, killing innocents and erasing entire worlds out of an overwhelming selfishness to get her own happy ending. It’s a complete betrayal of the central character. This twist also disrupts the logic of the timeline even further - because Anemone was leaping into battles between Nirvash and theEND, theEND already had to be there, but since Anemone didn’t meet Eureka until this point, how could she have created a world where Anemone was her enemy prior to meeting her?

Eureka offers to create a world in which Ken survived, but Anemone refuses, and after Anemone leaves, this happens.

There is little to say about this image, as it is the downfall of this franchise encapsulated in a single picture. The scene itself is even worse, rendered in the CGI and as awful to look at in action as it is in a still image. Worse still, Eureka’s dialogue in this scene has her saying that she is willing to become “the devil itself” to get her happy ending, which just butchers her character even further.

When Eureka Seven is destroyed and Eureka falls into despair over being unable to reach Renton, a new monster appears and goes on a rampage. At this point, Dewey suddenly reveals he has superpowers by breaking out of his restraints, manifesting his legs and showing that his eyes at least temporarily turn black. He telekinetically escapes from the prison, displaying powers similar to those of Truth, the main antagonist of AO. I strongly suspect he will be treated as a Dewey/Truth amalgamation in the final film of this trilogy.

With nothing left she can do, Anemone calls out an unheard phrase Ken once told her to call when she needs him. This causes Dominic to reappear, and he summons a new form of theEND that resembles Gulliver, her pet badger, into the real world. Together, they resolve to enter the monster so Anemone can try to save Eureka, and engage it in battle. This sequence is the only truly good portion of the film, offering a stunning example of what an Eureka Seven movie could have been and finally truly recapturing its magic. Contrary to the previous battle sequences, this one is well choreographed, exciting, and is enhanced by the presence of Ballet Mechanique during it. Unfortunately, this dizzying high is fleeting. When she reaches the inside of the monster and dives into its world, Anemone finds Eureka at the apartment complex from Fuuka’s childhood. This means we’re back into the awful CGI again. Eureka confesses her actions and motivations to Anemone, but Anemone refuses to give up on her and honor her request to kill her now that she no longer can use Silver Box’s power to make more worlds. This being Fuuka instead of original Anemone, and the alterations to the timeline, end up leaving no relationship between Eureka and Anemone in the “real” timeline. Like the interactions between Dewey and Anemone, there is little emotional resonance. Anemone manages to convince Eureka to leave, but before they can escape, the most stupefying event yet begins.

Millions of giant Gullivers begin pouring out of the apartment building and eating the entire world, forcing Eureka and Anemone to escape from them. If this sounds like a dumb visual, it is. The Gullivers also have the voice of Larva Nirvash from Pocketful of Rainbows for some reason. Yet this scene is treated completely seriously, with heroic music and everything, creating an embarrassing sequence that is impossible not to cringe during.

Eureka and Anemone escape, destroying the monster and causing it to drop a giant egg. Everything that happens after this point feels like a post credits scene placed in the wrong point of the film. Somehow, the Gekkostate members, Dominic Sorel, a giant Gulliver, and Charles and Ray Beams all appear in the real world despite their worlds being false. Dewey, having gotten to the surface, says more mysterious comments to set up the sequel. Anemone and Eureka talk, and Anemone says she thinks Renton may still be alive after all. Suddenly, the egg cracks open to reveal a new Nirvash model, whose drive displays Eureka’s name inside of it. Eureka realizes someone is searching for her, and the final shot of the film reveals Renton on another planet, using his Compac Drive to call out to Eureka.

Now that the plot is fully picked apart, I feel like I have to finally sit and really address one of the major elephants in the room when it comes to this film. In both broad strokes and smaller, more specific instances that would not be notable if the context of the more blatant examples didn’t exist, this film heavily copies things from the various installations of the Evangelion franchise. I don’t mean this as a reference to mere inspiration from Evangelion, which is widespread. This film is blatant, Darling in the FRANXX Episode 19-levels of copying things from it.

One doesn’t even need to actually view a single second of the film to see this, either. The teaser poster sets a trend the rest of the movie follows by brazenly copying the imagery of the Evangelion 2.22 poster.

Needless to say, this image sets the stage for what you see within the film itself. Within just the first 10 minutes, it becomes immediately apparent that Anemone lifts stylistic choices and imagery wholesale from Evangelion. Throughout the film, but most plainly in the early scenes, the scenery and composition of camera shots are directly lifted; when I first watched it, it was mere minutes into the film that I stopped and said “oh my God, this is ripping off Eva.” Smash cuts into title cards and scene transitions abound at the beginning (the first thing that made me notice the copying) and the first battle sequence is not just ‘inspired’ but flat out stolen from the well known battle sequence featured at the beginning of Evangelion. It steals the imagery of tanks and battleships engaging the enemy wholesale, and the story’s lead character (Anemone/Shinji) is being driven through the battle to an important location by a female character in a position of authority (Mischa and her crew/Misato), where the main character is coerced into piloting a weapon (the dive system/Eva Unit-01) against the enemy (Nirvash & Eureka Seven/the Angel) that nobody else can defeat.

Things don’t really improve for this topic after getting through the first battle. The unit “ASSID” that Anemone enlists and serves in is more or less a copy of NERV, both being paramilitary units ostensibly under affiliation with the United Nations to battle the enemy creatures. This might not be a big deal on its own, but in the context of the more obvious copying elsewhere in the movie, it is an example of something that is made worse by the rest of the film. We reach another shamelessly stolen point a little while later, when Anemone goes to visit Dewey. First of all, Dewey is held in a complex whose design - from the vast open spaces to the elevator to Dewey’s cell deep underground - is blatantly ‘inspired’ by Terminal Dogma, a chamber of similar design concept deep underneath the NERV base where the Angel Lilith is restrained on a cross. Accordingly, Dewey’s personal state is seemingly copied from Lilith’s. For no reason, Dewey has his arms pulled back onto a cross-like structure on the back of his wheelchair, giving him the appearance of being crucified sitting down; meanwhile, his eyes are covered with a blindfold, in context seemingly mirroring Lilith’s mask. Most notably, however, is one of the oddest things about Dewey’s appearance in this film: his legs fading away into another world. Lilith’s legs are also significantly malformed, barely forming stumps before splitting into dozens of tiny human-like legs. Both having such a specific, unusual similarity is hard not to notice. He even regains his legs after an important event related to him - the defeat of Eureka Seven and emergence of the Eureka monster - takes place, much like how Lilith regrows her legs in the original Evangelion series after the Spear of Longinus is removed from her body.

Also notably, the way Nirvash is suspended in the real world as it fights the military forces clearly mirrors the way Evangelion units are transported by air, save for the blatant crucifixion imagery being removed. This is depicted on the poster for Anemone I posted above. There are other smaller, more nitpicky examples of the specific cribbing from Evangelion I am excluding from this review to more highlight the significant ones.

Next let’s move on to something you’ve likely been waiting to see if you’re reading this review: the comparison to The Room. I’m sure that will likely cause some controversy, but I feel it’s on solid footing. As I mentioned, Kyoda remarked about having reached a point of “auteurism” with this film. That comment implies a certain mentality on his part that he absolutely failed to live up to, and it is hard to not see shades of Tommy Wiseau and his fanatical belief in The Room in Kyoda’s belief in his film’s quality. There is one point where they diverge that is troubling, though - Tommy Wiseau, after releasing The Room and seeing its reception, realized how people saw it and decided to roll with the reputation The Room acquired even though it wasn’t what he intended. Kyoda, on the other hand, seems to believe that his movie is the masterpiece he thought it to be and everyone else is wrong about it. To me, this represents a self-fulfilling prophecy in which Kyoda doubles down on previous mistakes in each new installment because they were poorly received the first time, as if he believes doing so will eventually force people to “get” what he’s doing. You can see in Anemone a doubling down on three of the worst aspects of AO: time travel/dimension hopping, butchering Eureka/past characters, and the inclusion of boring and irrelevant “real world” politics. It is like if Tommy Wiseau, instead of becoming self-aware after The Room was treated as a joke, decided to teach the public why his filmmaking style was right by getting the rights to make an adaptation of War and Peace with his style in it.

The continual doubling down on mistakes is something that can be traced through the franchise all the way back to the very first followup, the 2009 film Pocketful of Rainbows. As someone who only got into the Eureka Seven franchise many years later, my relationship to that film is different from that of people who were fans during that era, so I sought out opinions from a friend who was an original-era Eureka Seven fan. As it turned out, topics I was already honing in one turned out to have been controversial or poorly received back then, too. While Pocketful of Rainbows was ostensibly set on real-world Earth, it continued to feature the fantasy political structure from the original series, so that problem was at least partially dodged. One big flaw of Pocketful of Rainbows we did agree upon was its extensive use of recycled footage, with my friend pointing out that it also had an ugly gray filter applied to it, giving the film a “darker” look. Comparisons to what was released in 2018 are almost painfully obvious, and arguably even uglier than the filtered footage in 2009 was because of the fact the recycled footage is now 4:3 in a 16:9 film. Pocketful of Rainbows also drastically changes its characters, turning Gekkostate into the villains, Anemone into an elderly priestess/prophet of the Scubs, Dominic into a bit character who appears briefly as Renton and Eureka’s mentor before dying ten minutes into the film and popping up again later very briefly, the Scubs themselves becoming the “robotic” “EIZO,” and most notoriously, derailing Eureka in a fashion to which I will simply quote my friend:

For example, Eureka was made into this tsundere childhood friend of Renton, which felt cliche and unnatural. Not only that, but Eureka was completely helpless for much of the film. She didn't do any fighting and was just a broken bird for Renton to save. Some people took it as an insult to her character, a huge step down from the capable girl she was in the original.It's a common theme in these other entries, really. Eureka is consistently disrespected and derailed as a character to just fit the narrative. 

Another point about Pocketful of Rainbows that comes back in AO and Hi-Evolution is its use of alternate realities. While the original did establish such a concept existed, the followups have increasingly abused the idea of alternate universes to retcon previous installments, retcon themselves, and ultimately in Hi-Evolution 2, completely delete the entire franchise from existence.

As someone who came into the series late, I have always felt that Pocketful of Rainbows is an average, watchable film that fails to live up to its excellent predecessor, but I can easily understand why fans in the original era would not have liked it. It is not a good Eureka Seven film, but unlike AO and Hi-Evolution, it still feels like Eureka Seven. In my opinion, it includes enough of the spirit of the original in its fairytale-esque story (including the use of one, singular parallel universe) to still capture the whimsical tone that distinguishes the original series. That is where Tomoki Kyoda’s constant insistence on doubling down on the same mistakes over and over and over has destroyed the franchise since then, and the Hi-Evolution Anemone film is the pinnacle of that collapse. It tops all its predecessors in terms of alternate universe abuse, character derailment, and boring and irrelevant politics, choking out the soul of the franchise. As I said earlier, the Ballet Mechanique sequence is the only moment in this film that truly feels like Eureka Seven. That may be because at the core of Kyoda’s discernable vision, it would appear he wants Eureka Seven to be a darker story with a much more bittersweet ending. The problem comes with the fact that even if it was childishly naive, the unambiguously happy ending of the original series was a big part of its unique identity landing so effectively. I have mused before that what made Eureka Seven stand out was the fact that it combined a mecha anime with themes from 1960s counterculture, which effectively worked hand-in-hand with the fairytale tone of the story to create something unique. Even as childishly naive as it may have been, it was always at its heart about fighting for the right thing and for love, no matter what the odds or the forces opposing you. This wasn’t what Kyoda planned for it to be, it is what the series evolved into once other minds placed input into it. Now don’t get me wrong, there is plenty of respect to be had for a creator who sticks to their vision, but Kyoda has doubled down on the same ideas so many times now while remaining stubbornly closed-minded to the merits of the original’s evolution that any goodwill has burned away. Pocketful of Rainbows still felt like Eureka Seven because it still captured that idea of fighting for the right thing no matter what, but it did have a bittersweet ending. People criticized that movie, and Kyoda followed up by creating the grim, depressing Eureka Seven AO that retroactively inflicted damage on the original, as if it wanted to retcon what he was unhappy with. AO was rejected by fans, so he takes the same ideas and makes them even worse, flat out retconning the entire franchise out of existence with a film that barely has any identity of its own beyond undoing Kyoda’s dissatisfaction with his past work.

In the end, all these problems, in my opinion, come back to Tomoki Kyoda and his stubborn, singleminded obsession with executing a vision and forcing it to be liked. The first screening of this film in the United States, at the recent Anime Expo, was a very telling moment for it. As per my friend (original post at this link https://historyman101.tumblr.com/post/186188741243/so-i-was-talking-with-my-friend-pantsunugerumon), the Anemone screening was attended by only enough people to 1/3 fill the hall, and the film was met with silence for almost its entire runtime, the only moment eliciting cheers being the appearance of Gekkostate, Renton and Charles and Ray at the end. When the credits rolled, there was more silence followed by polite applause when the audience realized it was over. Kaori Nazuka, Eureka’s seiyuu, was in attendance and made a comment during the Q&A section of the presentation that also did an excellent job encapsulating the reason Kyoda’s approach brought the film and the franchise down. Accoring to Nazuka (voice clip provided by my friend via his friend who attended AX https://historyman101.tumblr.com/post/186190292840/kaori-nazuka-strikes-me-as-someone-who-is-just), Kyoda told her not to worry about Eureka being so different in this film because as long as she provides Eureka’s voice, it will always be Eureka. While it is true that a voice is an important part of an iconic character, it demonstrates a mentality that characterization, development and logical progression doesn’t matter. Those are key factors for any work, but especially for a character-centric story like Eureka Seven that lives and dies on getting you to care about the characters and what they experience. If characters become completely fluid and change on a dime to suit the director’s whims, the entire backbone of the story collapses.

I could go on for ages about this film, but I’ll finally wrap this review up. Since I reviewed a film that was ruined by its director’s obsession with executing a specific vision, next time, I will review a movie whose director was able to carry out their vision with exactly the creative control Tomoki Kyoda wanted himself.

Surprise Birthday Drabbles!

To celebrate this special day, we cooked up two Everlark drabbles just for you! Enjoy! <3<3<3

Love always,

Jackie & Caryn

The Garbage Will Do by JennaGill

Modern Everlark AU, featuring a scavenger from Jakku and lowly radar technician. I just couldn’t leave this idea alone and hope you like it! Happy Birthday Jessa!

********

“C’mon Peeta, you promised,” she said through the bathroom door, fidgeting with her middle bun. A bobby pin shook loose, and she wished she’d been more attentive while her mother arranged her hair. She grabbed another from the dresser and secured her hair hiding the elastic. She checked the top and bottom buns, fussing with the details of her favorite character.

“I dunno Katniss,” wafted between the crevices, spreading tendrils of doubt that they could pull this cosplay off at the Capitol ComicCon. “It’s a lot, Katniss. I’m Kylo acting as Matt, poorly, and I just want to be me.”

She straightened her muslin bindings and wrapped on the door with her staff. He promised this for her birthday and there was no backing down now. “I haven’t had my muffin yet, Matt!” she bellowed through the thin veneer, shoulders squared up to face him.

“Fine! Could you please not yell at me, you’re stressing me out!” Peeta huffed and stepped through the door, a vision in a beige jumpsuit, safety orange vest, over-sized glasses, and wayward ashy blond waves grown out especially for today. “You can’t even see how shredded I am in this,” he muttered and stomped across the room, grabbing his wrench.

“There’s my Undercover Star Killer Base Boss,” she drawled, proud of his transformation. She hooked her finger under his stiff collar and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “If you keep this up Matt, I’ll treat your light saber right tonight…”

He hummed in approval, “Lead the way, Mrs. Radar Technician, lead the way.”

******************************************************************************

The Seventh Floor by Papofglencoe

A/N: Modern AU Everlark ficlet. Rated M/Eish? Basically this is just library porn, with a nod to a mutually beloved author (who would be appalled by this). Happy birthday, Jessa!

****************************

She watched, her mouth hanging slightly agape in shock at the sight of him, as he strode past the circulation desk and jabbed the call button for the staff elevator.

A goddamn masterpiece. That’s what he was, his wavy golden hair and the t-shirt stretched taut over his thick, muscular shoulders damp from getting caught in the summer squall outside. A fucking Picasso. Or a Renoir. Or… or one of the other names she really should have paid more attention to in any of the countless art museums in D.C. that she’d been dragged into in the past couple years. None of the masters she could think of now came anywhere close to capturing his beauty.

As the elevator descended, groaning on its ancient cables, Katniss had the ridiculous thought that even the machinery was bowing to him, drawn to him not because it was summoned, but from the magnetic pull of simply wanting to be near him, prostrate at his feet.

When the rheumatic elevator doors finally wheezed open, after what seemed like three delicious years of gaping at his ass, he glanced over his shoulder toward her. His shockingly blue eyes, framed by a pair of ill-fitting, black-rimmed glasses, locked on hers, and the ghost of a smirk flitted across his lips. He stepped onto the elevator, the doors sliding shut between them, and she would have written him off as a phantom, some gorgeous ghoul conjured by boredom and a dash of paranoia, if the panel above the elevator wasn’t marking his progress upward.

As he made his way higher, to the fourth, then fifth, then sixth floor of the library, her pulse sped up, hammering violently throughout her body. She could feel the blood throbbing in her neck, in her ears—so loud the world fell silent around her. The blood stampeded through her arms to the tips of her trembling fingers. It pushed her heart to its aching limit. It coaxed its way between her legs, heating her, inspiring her.

She squirmed on the stool where she sat, watching the number “7” light up. The elevator halted, waiting at the top floor of the library to be called again.

He’d gone to the seventh floor—a quiet floor—its stacks housing all the language and literature books the university owned. Of course that’s where he’d go.

“So, ah, I know no one asked me, but I vote you go find that nerd.”

Her coworker’s caustic tone snapped Katniss out of whatever trance he’d put her in the moment he’d walked through the library’s double doors.

“Eh,” Katniss demurred, nervous at the mere thought of it. “I don’t know…”

Her brain began to list out all the reasons it was a terrible idea. It was the week before finals. The library was swarming with students, and the circulation desk had been slammed all morning. To make matters worse, her boss was in the office today—albeit probably passed out drunk at his desk. Katniss looked at the mountain of books that needed to be checked back in and sorted onto carts for reshelving. She imagined the mountain growing to epic heights in the next twenty minutes, avalanching and smothering Johanna Mason to death.

Actually, that last part was sort of a pleasant thought.  

“Listen up,” Johanna sighed. “I can go on pretending I don’t know it’s your birthday and be the spectacular bitch to you that I usually am. But I’m feeling generous today, I guess. And I know for a fact that loverboy was shooting ‘fuck me’ eyes at you. So…” She waved her hand dismissively at Katniss. “Scram. If anyone comes looking for you, I’ll tell them you’re on the can from whatever crap you ate at the Union for breakfast.”

Katniss bit her lip, her nerves warring with the overwhelming urge to go find him. Not that she had any idea what to expect, or even to say, if she did. “Well…”

Johanna shot her a withering look, her limited patience with her having already run threadbare.

It was enough.

“Fine. Cover for me. But if anyone asks where I am, don’t say anything about the “can.” Tell them I took my break early.”

**********

What the fuck was she doing anyway? This wasn’t like her at all. This was reckless and wild and… and so completely unlike any script she’d ever followed. It’s not that she was a great respector and worshipper of the rules—not at all. She’d trespassed more times than she could count into local hotels to use their swimming pools. She’s smoked pot with her best friend Gale since she was fifteen, either lying to her mother or sneaking out in the night to get stoned in the playground of the local elementary school (“drug free zone,” her ass). Katniss was openly disdainful of authority, and, if she was not mistaken, she’d dreamt just last night that she’d embarked on a personal mission to assassinate President Trump (best dream ever).

But when it came to boys…

It was different.

She found him down one of the British literature aisles, a copy of Persuasion open in his hands. At the sound of her steps, he looked toward her, his cheeks flushing a ruddy pink. He snapped the book shut and carelessly stowed it back in what was probably not its place, the spine jutting out a couple inches.  

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp in the almost sacred silence of the stacks.

“Hey,” she murmured back, wiping her suddenly clammy palms on her skirt. The thread connecting them pulled her toward him, the force of it unwilled but never more welcomed.

She stopped about a foot from him, unsure what to do next. Really, it was up to him.

The glasses he was wearing sat awkwardly on the bridge of his nose, a little too low. Not fitted for him. He pushed them up with one finger, but it did nothing to hide the fact that the glasses were also crooked.

“Sexy specs.” She smirked at him, hopelessly lost for him.

“Well,” he sighed, smiling down at her. “Unfortunately, my girlfriend has a thing for nerds, so I’m sort of stuck wearing them.”

“For now,” Katniss amended.

“Or,” he shrugged, “you know… whenever she wants.”

Katniss barked out a laugh, remembering too late where they were. She clapped a hand over her mouth to silence herself. In the distance, somewhere on the floor, she heard a chair push back and the soft snores of someone who’d lost their battle with studiousness.

It was probably a terrible idea, what they were going to do. Technically, they could get expelled. Or possibly arrested. But the minute Peeta had cracked a joke, in passing, about fucking her brains out in the library, it had become the fantasy that had sparked a hundred orgasms for her. It had been months, and it was all she could think about.

It was a terrible idea.

As the thought of what they were going to do came to her, Peeta seemed to read it on her body. Before she could change her mind, he had her pinned against the shelves, the hard planes of his body perfectly molded to the soft planes of hers, like two pieces made to lock together.

“Happy birthday,” he breathed against her neck before biting down on the flesh, sucking it between his teeth, nearly to the point of pain.

Katniss gasped, her hips involuntarily bucking at the sensation. As his tongue flicked the tender spot he’d left in the crook of her neck, Peeta grabbed one of her legs, winding it around him.

“You wore the perfect skirt,” he rumbled into her skin, burying two fingers deeply, shockingly fast, inside her.

Katniss’ head lolled back, ecstasy and agony raging through her. She wanted to burn alive, burn with him, burn this place to the ground. When she moaned, he leaned in and bit her lip harshly, punishingly.

“Shhhh,” he reminded her, his fingers curling inside her in a taunt. Teasing her, tormenting her, commanding her to moan again.

“Nerds don’t…” she gasped, her hands desperately trying to find their way into his pants, trying to grasp onto him, to feel him and love him. “Nerds don’t kiss like that.”

“Lucky for you, then, I’m not a nerd.” He backed away slightly, taking his fingers and the heat of his body with him. It felt like a cataclysm, that loss of his warmth and steadiness.

But instead of losing him, Katniss watched him sink to his knees in front of her, his hands coasting down her body, over her tits, her tummy, to her hips. He squeezed them, bracketing them with his hands as if touching her was painful to him somehow. He kissed her pubic bone softly over the fabric of her skirt, then dipped his head and bit her thigh.

“Oh god,” she said, wondering if god himself could see, could hear, would know what was happening. Wondering if god thought the creation before her was half as perfect as Katniss did.

She pointed upward, her arm flailing against the shelf. Amis, Austen, Auden went tumbling down around them as Peeta lifted her leg onto her shoulder and, moving the narrow fabric of her panties aside, began to speak to her in a language they’d made themselves.  

“They’ll see,” she panted, her index finger pointing to nowhere.

She could feel the rumble of Peeta’s laughter against her, seeping into her and moving her. His breath was hot against her, his hands bruisingly clutching at her ass.

“Then let’s put on a good show.”  

It should be YOI CANON: Yuuri and Victor watching “Titanic” and Yuuri having a Breakdown!!! (from the Fic “Dearly Beloved”)

 So here is my poorly drawn doodle... *runs away*

For all of you who just love to read Fics and have a lot of fun with AU YOI universes...I totally recomend you to read this fic.

 “Dearly Beloved” from @sophialala1 is one of this cute fluffy Fics who develops the YOI story in a universe where soulmates are just the sweetest thing...and so are Yuuri and Victor, who just get to know each other since Yuuri was born.They grow and they will slowly learn from each other and at some point fall in love...

There are a lot of cute/ super funny escenes from this fic that I love but this one from chapter 48  turned out to be one of my favorites!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3

Yuuri is a sweet teenager(almost 14 years old) and he just can’t understand why Rose is letting her soulmate die...so Yuuri cries in desperation and Victor (17), of course, doesn’t exactly know how to react...

Just take a look at this super funny part. Please read it out loud and imagine Yuuri’s crydrops falling...

After about seven different treatments, Yuuri looked more beautiful than any angel, his skin was glowing, his hair looked like something from a commercial and the muscles in his body were so relaxed that he was practically fleeting in Victor’s arms.

They were sitting in one of the launches, one of the few places at the resort where they could actually watch movies.

There was some old American movie playing. Yuuri seemed to like it, but Victor had a more important task at hand. Finding a way to make Yuuri purr.

He had tried massages, petting, playing with Yuuri’s hair and hugging him. But so far, he had nothing.

“Do you think they’re going to make it?” Yuuri asked worriedly.

Victor looked to the screen he had been ignoring for the past two hours. “Of course. It’s a love story, right?”

Yuuri nodded without taking his eyes of the screen.

Victor glanced to the screen in search of a better solution.

“I love you, Jack.” The girl spoke. She was in the water for some reason.

“Don't you do that… Don't you say your goodbyes, not yet. Do you understand me?” The guy or Jack, desperately tried to convince her.

The girl looked sad. “I'm so cold.”

Jack looked hopeful. “Listen, Rose, you're gonna get outta here, you're gonna go on and you're gonna make lots of babies and you're gonna watch 'em grow. You're gonna die an old… an old lady warm in her bed, not here. Not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?”

The girl or Rose, closed her eyes. “I can't feel my body…”

“Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me…” Jack stated. “It brought me to you and I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must… you must… you must do me this honor, you must promise me that you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how… hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise.”

Rose’s voice shook as she spoke. “I promise.”

“Never let go.” Jack pleaded.

Rose looked him sincerely in his eyes. “I will never let go, Jack, I'll never let go.”

“Victor…” Yuuri prodded as he tugged on the sleeve to his robe. “Are they going to make it?”

Victor suddenly wished he had seen that movie before. “I… I don’t know…”

The movie suddenly cut to another boat where someone waved a flashlight over the floating rifts. What was this movie about?

“We waited too long.” Some guy stated.

“No…” Yuuri gasped as he sat up, like he could somehow change the movie by giving it his full attention. “Victor…” He pleaded.

Victor wondered if he should just walk up there and turn the movie off. How dared it upset Yuuri like this?

“She’s alive.” Yuuri sighed in relief as he grabbed Victor’s hand tightly. “They’re going to save them.”

Victor sighed too. He prayed to all the gods that the movie would have a happy ending.

“Jack?” Rose said as she tried to shake Jack awake. “Jack?” She tried again.

“No.” Yuuri said in disbelief. “He can’t be dead, they were going to get out of there together…”

Victor noticed how tears began to pool in Yuuri’s eyes. “Yuuri?” He gently cooed.

“No.” Yuuri said as his voice cracked slightly. “They’re true mates, he can’t just… die…”

“I’ll never let go Jack…” Rose promised. “I’ll never let go.”

“Why are you letting him go?” Yuuri asked the screen. A tear fell down from his face and Victor immediately wiped it away. “You can’t just let him go. Why aren’t you trying to save him?”

“Yuuri.” Victor tried. “It’s just a movie, please don’t cry.”

“Victor…” Yuuri turned to him and hugged Victor as closely as he could. “I love you so much. Don’t ever die like that.”

Victor was taken off guard by the plea, but he couldn’t do much more than hold Yuuri close and make him promises that he would never die.

“Did you like the movie?” Irina asked as she made her daily tour around the resort.

Victor sent Irina a glare that clearly stated that she would have to re-evaluate what she believed to be appropriate movies to view in her resort.

Irina hissed in awkwardness as she snuck away.

Victor just continued to comfort Yuuri until after the credits were done, and then for a few more minutes.

“I’m sure the actors are very good friends.” Victor assured. “They probably have a lot of bloopers from that scene. No one died.”

“This was a stupid movie.” Yuuri sniffled against his shoulder.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Victor stated.

Suddenly, Yuuri pulled away. “If we’re ever on a sinking ship and we end up in icy water, can you promise me that you would take the raft and le me stay in the water.”

Victor’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

Yuuri did look deadly serious. “I will not loose you like Rose lost Jack. I would rather freeze to death than die of a broken heart.”

“Yuuri.” Victor tried.

“Please.” Yuuri sniffled. “Promise me.”

Victor wanted to claim that Yuuri wasn’t being fair. Omega eyes in a moment like this should be forbidden.

But alas, he couldn’t resist them. “I promise that if we’re ever on a sinking ship and end up in freezing water, I will take the raft.” Victor relented. He would just never take Yuuri on a ship. That was an easy solution.

Victor wasn’t a fan of water anyway. Not since the accident on the beach in Japan a couple of years ago. He still hadn’t recovered from it.

Yuuri smiled in relief and hugged Victor close again. “Thank you.”

Open up your EYE (Thoughts on MLP Movie)

Has the show gotten one of those characters that doesn't know what a sense of humor is and fights back with combat?  Or am I thinking of a lot of reformed characters from other media? Spoilers down below.  Haven't seen the movie?  Well the DVD/Blu-Ray aren't far behind.

Um...so that was the movie I had almost missed out on, huh?  Well it was.........something... Ok, so I'm afraid this "review" is going to be EXTREMELY difficult to judge because the night before I actually watched Disney/Pixar's Coco first (by the way, 10/10, would DVD/Blu-Ray again).  And sitting down to watch this movie second was probably a huge mistake as this movie left me with a rather sour taste in my mouth.  Perhaps if I waited to see Coco later, then I wouldn't feel this...negative.  I'm the kind of person that goes to the movies a ton so I'm pretty much judging this movie along with all the other movies I've gone to see in the past several years. So let's get an obvious good thing out of the way first; the movie's return to 2-D or 2.5-D animation.  Never in a long time since Princess and the Frog in 2009 have I been glad to see the return of hand-drawn styled animation.  It's actually quite interesting when you learn that the movie characters were actually made 3-D FIRST before becoming 2-D characters in a 3-D world.  Speaking of which, a major chunk of the pony characters don't feel like repeatedly used poses like in the TV show.  They've been given a similar design to the show but more expressive and created with greater, fluid movement in a few areas.  So of course Pinkie Pie would be the one to mostly get the spotlight in this area.  I think people were worried about the 3-D landscaping dampening the style, but I'll let it slide as they did create the landscapes beautifully.  Plus 3-D environments have worked for 2-D movies in the past.  Talk to a good chunk of Disney Renaissance movies like Beauty and the Beast's Ballroom. An interesting way to segue into this next part.  Whereas the Disney Movies were mostly the movie first and merchandise later, Hasbro's the company that will make a product first then get their animators to make an episode or movie around it.  Also I am aware that Hasbro has one hell of a leash on these animators.  They've probably had a ton of amazing ideas for a My Little Pony movie to appeal to all audiences instead of the targeted one.  But what I was given to view not fell into my low expectations...it went even LOWER!  Perhaps being exposed to Coco first had ruined my enjoyment for this as there was much needed room for improvement. See if I can sequence this a bit.  Let's start with the story.  Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship has created a massive party in an unusually-styled Canterlot that's looking a bit spacious than the busting city I'm usually seeing in the show.  Through some comedic introductions, a song and a series of show-related cameos we are given the things that the outside audience needs to know.  Things get shaken up when Tempest Shadow, an broken-horned unicorn visitor representing for the Storm King, arrives with an army to take over the entire kingdom in order to siphon the magic out of the four princesses.  Now it's up to Twilight and her five friends (not six, Starlight Glimmer got shoved out of the spotlight) to find aid outside Equestria and take back their home capital. Interestingly enough, the one hour and forty-four run time actually felt kind of long when normally I'm sitting for two to three hour-long movies...but then it quickly sped through the story in a poor pace to show off their new toys/playsets and have money left in their budgets.  I'm probably not the first to say this movie was poorly paced, am I?  From memory, I think the longest we've stuck with a setting outside Canterlot was probably the desert city of Klugetown.  You could probably argue that perhaps it was Hippogriffia/Seaquestria but events there kinda made me WANT to make it go faster.  Get to that part in a second. Songs?  As a 90's kid, you know that most of the songs are either set aside or forgotten (like the ones in this film) for the most important one:  The Villain Song.  And Tempest Shadow's Open Up Your Eyes (currently having its instrumental being spammed repeatedly during this typing) is indeed worthy of the title "Villain Song".  The setting, the lighting, the flashback made by a different team (according to the credits), I loved it all.  I'd say it reminds me of Unleash the Magic from Friendship Games but I rank this song much higher. Honorary note for Sia's Rainbow.  I'm being told by some reviews that the song felt a bit too somber for a finale but I don't know, this felt like a calm, perfect way to wrap up the movie with.  I haven't a clue what the problem with it was. Finally, how about the characters.  We've got your familiar TV show cast along with a ton of celebrity voices, including Sia as Songbird Serenade at the beginning and end of the movie who is literally modeled after one of her actual outfits.  I chuckled when I dug up her photo, I don't know how she manages to see through that hair.  Other noteworthy celebrities that got a good chunk of screen time were Kristin Chenoweth as Princess Skystar, Liev Schriber as the Storm King, Zoe Saldana as Captain Celaeno, Michael Peña as Grubber the Hedgehog and Taye Diggs as Capper the anthropomorphic cat.  Most have been given the appropriate amount of screen time while others (STORM KING, MAIN ANTAGONIST OF THE FREAKING MOVIE), were held off until the end.  Oh yeah, that one Parrot Pirate with the squawking and demolitions.  Loved that guy. Sadly, the weakest of the group was the Storm King himself and not just because he was saved for the climax.  Previous TV show antagonists have ranged from either self-motivated tyrants to strategic conquerors for their own kind.  This knucklehead is literally announced as "evil" from Grubber and there just wasn't much from him to label him as an awesome villain.  Even his own funny moments couldn't save him.  And this is coming from a guy who isn't very fond of Starlight Glimmer yet she's still WAY more interesting than this cloud yeti.  Oh well, maybe next time don't model your villain to be a lazy, wacky monkey. On the other side of the spectrum, however, is Emily Blunt as Tempest Shadow, the true antagonist of the movie, picking up all the work for the Storm King to restore her cracked horn.  Compared to "her boss" this character has her own goals and motivations, sort of like a bounty hunter or mercenary. Kudos there as those areas would reach up into the top three MLP:FIM villains on my list.  Sadly, as the movie is indeed called "Friendship is Magic", she's (OMG) reformed much like many of the other unicorns in this show (Anyone seeing a trend here?).  Regardless, when she was a villain, this was a skilled and probably self-trained fighter trying to regain her happiness through any means necessary, even serving a clown.  Even gave me a chuckle when she lost her cool in Canterlot in front of Grubber before realizing and calming down. The Mane Six and Spike are mixed in their performances and what they're given to do.  I'll have to rate them all from best to worst...you're not gonna love who's on the bottom. Pinkie Pie stuck out the most with previously mentioned animations and tons of interactions with the girls and the strangers they came across.  Side-note:  She is mean with a barge of cupcakes; had they been red-frosting, that fight scene might have been banned.  We even get a serious moment with her and Twilight where--getting ahead of myself.  Getting there soon, promise. Rainbow Dash, despite causing some extra trouble, gives the "awesome" the movie needs including getting the Parrot Pirates off their rears to face off against their former employers...that doesn't last long. Rarity's charm and generosity got Capper the cat to not only change Tempest's army's course but gather the other characters for a full on pledged climax fight. Fluttershy has hardly anything except the funniest moment in the entire film regarding opening up with a Storm King soldier.  Honestly want to know what became of those guys now. Spike, you trustworthy pal and weapon.  The TV show might have given you terrible episodes but who would have thought you'd become a necessary Pyro tool?  TF2 Workshop!  Make a mod!  NOW! Applejack...sold apple juice and roped a few people and rocks.  That's uh....that's about it. ....you all hate me now for this:  Twilight Sparkle ends up on the bottom heavily and deserves it all from actions, character writing and poor pace.  Our beloved Princess of Friendship is still the nerdy and orderly princess aimed at saving her home kingdom enough to act grumpy, annoyed and careless in her actions.  Said carelessness led to attempted robbery and created the biggest and most painful moment of the movie:  When Twilight angrily lashes out at Pinkie by saying she'd be better off without friends like them.  Not only was this stupidly painful, but it was the necessary tool for the whole "We're not friends anymore but then we get back together later" bit.  And said apology was being shoved in a climax to be ignored for comedic effect.  Now if perhaps both Twilight and Tempest were together during the end of the battle for apologies, that would not only be forgivable but an excellent moment for the movie.  But no...more like the Princess of Pace-dumping. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh....I know, I know, this is a movie targeted towards children, but so was Coco.  It would really help if some of that Disney magic could save the MLP Movie from its Hasbro chains.  I know if the team wasn't being held back, they could have gotten away with much, much more to save the film from me giving it a 4/10. Well, this is the West Coast Psycho, and in the words of Max G, "I hope ya hated it."

MESSAGE OF HIS HOLINESS POPE FRANCIS 

 FIRST WORLD DAY OF THE POOR 

 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time 19 November 2017 

 Let us love, not with words but with deeds

1. “Little children, let us not love in word or speech but in deed and in truth” (1 Jn 3:18).  These words of the Apostle John voice an imperative that no Christian may disregard.  The seriousness with which the “beloved disciple” hands down Jesus’ command to our own day is made even clearer by the contrast between the empty words so frequently on our lips and the concrete deeds against which we are called to measure ourselves.   Love has no alibi.   Whenever we set out to love as Jesus loved, we have to take the Lord as our example;  especially when it comes to loving the poor.   The Son of God’s way of loving is well-known, and John spells it out clearly.   It stands on two pillars: God loved us first (cf. 1 Jn 4:10.19) and he loved us by giving completely of Himself, even to laying down His life (cf. 1 Jn 3:16).

Such love cannot go unanswered.   Even though offered unconditionally, asking nothing in return, it so sets hearts on fire that all who experience it are led to love back, despite their limitations and sins.   Yet this can only happen if we welcome God’s grace, His merciful charity, as fully as possible into our hearts, so that our will and even our emotions are drawn to love both God and neighbour.   In this way, the mercy that wells up – as it were – from the heart of the Trinity can shape our lives and bring forth compassion and works of mercy for the benefit of our brothers and sisters in need.

2. “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him” (Ps 34:6).   The Church has always understood the importance of this cry.   We possess an outstanding testimony to this in the very first pages of the Acts of the Apostles, where Peter asks that seven men,“full of the Spirit and of wisdom” (6:3), be chosen for the ministry of caring for the poor.   This is certainly one of the first signs of the entrance of the Christian community upon the world’s stage:  the service of the poor.  The earliest community realised that being a disciple of Jesus meant demonstrating fraternity and solidarity, in obedience to the Master’s proclamation that the poor are blessed and heirs to the Kingdom of heaven (cf. Mt 5:3).

“They sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need” (Acts 2:45).   In these words, we see clearly expressed the lively concern of the first Christians.   The evangelist Luke, who more than any other speaks of mercy, does not exaggerate when he describes the practice of sharing in the early community.   On the contrary, his words are addressed to believers in every generation and thus also to us, in order to sustain our own witness and to encourage our care for those most in need.   The same message is conveyed with similar conviction by the Apostle James.   In his Letter, he spares no words:  “Listen, my beloved brethren.  Has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?   But you have dishonoured the poor man.   Is it not the rich who oppress you, and drag you into court? … What does it profit, my brethren, if a man says he has faith but has not works?  Can his faith save him?  If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and in lack of daily food and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled”, without giving them the things needed for the body;  what does it profit?   So faith by itself, if it has not works, is dead’ (2:5-6.14-17).

3. Yet there have been times when Christians have not fully heeded this appeal and have assumed a worldly way of thinking.   Yet the Holy Spirit has not failed to call them to keep their gaze fixed on what is essential.   He has raised up men and women who, in a variety of ways, have devoted their lives to the service of the poor.   Over these two thousand years, how many pages of history have been written by Christians who, in utter simplicity and humility and with generous and creative charity, have served their poorest brothers and sisters!

The most outstanding example is that of Francis of Assisi, followed by many other holy men and women over the centuries.   He was not satisfied to embrace lepers and give them alms but chose to go to Gubbio to stay with them.   He saw this meeting as the turning point of his conversion:  “When I was in my sins, it seemed a thing too bitter to look on lepers and the Lord himself led me among them and I showed them mercy.  And when I left them, what had seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness of mind and body”(Text 1-3: FF 110).   This testimony shows the transformative power of charity and the Christian way of life.

We may think of the poor simply as the beneficiaries of our occasional volunteer work, or of impromptu acts of generosity that appease our conscience.   However good and useful such acts may be for making us sensitive to people’s needs and the injustices that are often their cause, they ought to lead to a true encounter with the poor and a sharing that becomes a way of life.   Our prayer and our journey of discipleship and conversion find the confirmation of their evangelic authenticity in precisely such charity and sharing.   This way of life gives rise to joy and peace of soul because we touch with our own hands the flesh of Christ.   If we truly wish to encounter Christ, we have to touch His body in the suffering bodies of the poor, as a response to the sacramental communion bestowed in the Eucharist.   The Body of Christ, broken in the sacred liturgy, can be seen, through charity and sharing, in the faces and persons of the most vulnerable of our brothers and sisters.   Saint John Chrysostom’s admonition remains ever timely: “If you want to honour the body of Christ, do not scorn it when it is naked; do not honour the Eucharistic Christ with silk vestments and then, leaving the church, neglect the other Christ suffering from cold and nakedness”   (Hom. in Matthaeum, 50.3: PG 58).

We are called, then, to draw near to the poor, to encounter them, to meet their gaze, to embrace them and to let them feel the warmth of love that breaks through their solitude.   Their outstretched hand is also an invitation to step out of our certainties and comforts and to acknowledge the value of poverty in itself.

4. Let us never forget that, for Christ’s disciples, poverty is above all a call to follow Jesus in His own poverty.   It means walking behind Him and beside Him, a journey that leads to the beatitude of the Kingdom of heaven (cf. Mt 5:3; Lk 6:20).    Poverty means having a humble heart that accepts our creaturely limitations and sinfulness and thus enables us to overcome the temptation to feel omnipotent and immortal.   Poverty is an interior attitude that avoids looking upon money, career and luxury as our goal in life and the condition for our happiness.   Poverty instead creates the conditions for freely shouldering our personal and social responsibilities, despite our limitations, with trust in God’s closeness and the support of His grace.   Poverty, understood in this way, is the yardstick that allows us to judge how best to use material goods and to build relationships that are neither selfish nor possessive (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, Nos. 25-45).

Let us, then, take as our example Saint Francis and his witness of authentic poverty.  Precisely because he kept his gaze fixed on Christ, Francis was able to see and serve Him in the poor.   If we want to help change history and promote real development, we need to hear the cry of the poor and commit ourselves to ending their marginalisation.   At the same time, I ask the poor in our cities and our communities not to lose the sense of evangelical poverty that is part of their daily life.

5. We know how hard it is for our contemporary world to see poverty clearly for what it is.   Yet in myriad ways poverty challenges us daily, in faces marked by suffering, marginalization, oppression, violence, torture and imprisonment, war, deprivation of freedom and dignity, ignorance and illiteracy, medical emergencies and shortage of work, trafficking and slavery, exile, extreme poverty and forced migration.   Poverty has the face of women, men and children exploited by base interests, crushed by the machinations of power and money.   What a bitter and endless list we would have to compile were we to add the poverty born of social injustice, moral degeneration, the greed of a chosen few, and generalized indifference!

Tragically, in our own time, even as ostentatious wealth accumulates in the hands of the privileged few, often in connection with illegal activities and the appalling exploitation of human dignity, there is a scandalous growth of poverty in broad sectors of society throughout our world.   Faced with this scenario, we cannot remain passive, much less resigned.   There is a poverty that stifles the spirit of initiative of so many young people by keeping them from finding work.   There is a poverty that dulls the sense of personal responsibility and leaves others to do the work while we go looking for favours.   There is a poverty that poisons the wells of participation and allows little room for professionalism; in this way it demeans the merit of those who do work and are productive.   To all these forms of poverty we must respond with a new vision of life and society.

All the poor – as Blessed Paul VI loved to say – belong to the Church by “evangelical right” (Address at the Opening of the Second Session of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, 29 September 1963) and require of us a fundamental option on their behalf.   Blessed, therefore, are the open hands that embrace the poor and help them:  they are hands that bring hope.   Blessed are the hands that reach beyond every barrier of culture, religion and nationality, and pour the balm of consolation over the wounds of humanity.   Blessed are the open hands that ask nothing in exchange, with no “ifs” or “buts” or “maybes”: they are hands that call down God’s blessing upon their brothers and sisters.

6. At the conclusion of the Jubilee of Mercy, I wanted to offer the Church a World Day of the Poor, so that throughout the world Christian communities can become an ever greater sign of Christ’s charity for the least and those most in need.   To the World Days instituted by my Predecessors, which are already a tradition in the life of our communities, I wish to add this one, which adds to them an exquisitely evangelical fullness, that is, Jesus’ preferential love for the poor.

I invite the whole Church, and men and women of good will everywhere, to turn their gaze on this day to all those who stretch out their hands and plead for our help and solidarity.   They are our brothers and sisters, created and loved by the one Heavenly Father.   This Day is meant, above all, to encourage believers to react against a culture of discard and waste, and to embrace the culture of encounter.   At the same time, everyone, independent of religious affiliation, is invited to openness and sharing with the poor through concrete signs of solidarity and fraternity.   God created the heavens and the earth for all;  yet sadly some have erected barriers, walls and fences, betraying the original gift meant for all humanity, with none excluded.

7. It is my wish that, in the week preceding the World Day of the Poor, which falls this year on 19 November, the Thirty-third Sunday of Ordinary Time, Christian communities will make every effort to create moments of encounter and friendship, solidarity and concrete assistance.   They can invite the poor and volunteers to take part together in the Eucharist on this Sunday, in such a way that there be an even more authentic celebration of the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Universal King, on the following Sunday.   The kingship of Christ is most evident on Golgotha, when the Innocent One, nailed to the cross, poor, naked and stripped of everything, incarnates and reveals the fullness of God’s love.   Jesus’ complete abandonment to the Father expresses his utter poverty and reveals the power of the Love that awakens him to new life on the day of the Resurrection.

This Sunday, if there are poor people where we live who seek protection and assistance, let us draw close to them: it will be a favourable moment to encounter the God we seek.  Following the teaching of Scripture (cf. Gen 18:3-5; Heb 13:2), let us welcome them as honoured guests at our table;  they can be teachers who help us live the faith more consistently.  With their trust and readiness to receive help, they show us in a quiet and often joyful way, how essential it is to live simply and to abandon ourselves to God’s providence.

8. At the heart of all the many concrete initiatives carried out on this day should always be prayer.   Let us not forget that the Our Father is the prayer of the poor.   Our asking for bread expresses our entrustment to God for our basic needs in life.   Everything that Jesus taught us in this prayer expresses and brings together the cry of all who suffer from life’s uncertainties and the lack of what they need.   When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, he answered in the words with which the poor speak to our one Father, in whom all acknowledge themselves as brothers and sisters.   The Our Father is a prayer said in the plural:  the bread for which we ask is “ours”, and that entails sharing, participation and joint responsibility.   In this prayer, all of us recognise our need to overcome every form of selfishness, in order to enter into the joy of mutual acceptance.

9. I ask my brother Bishops and all priests and deacons who by their vocation have the mission of supporting the poor, together with all consecrated persons and all associations, movements and volunteers everywhere, to help make this World Day of the Poor a tradition that concretely contributes to evangelisation in today’s world.

This new World Day, therefore, should become a powerful appeal to our consciences as believers, allowing us to grow in the conviction that sharing with the poor enables us to understand the deepest truth of the Gospel.   The poor are not a problem:  they are a resource from which to draw as we strive to accept and practise in our lives the essence of the Gospel.

From the Vatican, 13 June 2017

Memorial of Saint Anthony of Padua

Francis

(via AnaStpaul – Breathing Catholic)

13th June >> Pope Francis' Message for First World Day of the Poor ‘Let us love, not with words but with deeds’ Photo Of Logo Of World Day Of The Poor Presented In Holy See Press Office - Photo By ZENIT (DCL) Below is the Vatican-provided text of Pope Francis’ Message for the first World Day of the Poor, which is to be celebrated on Nov. 19, 2017, on the theme: ‘Let us love, not with words but with deeds‘ *** Message of His Holiness Pope Francis for the First World Day of the Poor Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time 19 November 2017 Let us love, not with words but with deeds 1. “Little children, let us not love in word or speech, but in deed and in truth” (1 Jn 3:18). These words of the Apostle John voice an imperative that no Christian may disregard. The seriousness with which the “beloved disciple” hands down Jesus’ command to our own day is made even clearer by the contrast between the empty words so frequently on our lips and the concrete deeds against which we are called to measure ourselves. Love has no alibi. Whenever we set out to love as Jesus loved, we have to take the Lord as our example; especially when it comes to loving the poor. The Son of God’s way of loving is well-known, and John spells it out clearly. It stands on two pillars: God loved us first (cf. 1 Jn 4:10.19), and he loved us by giving completely of himself, even to laying down his life (cf. 1 Jn 3:16). Such love cannot go unanswered. Even though offered unconditionally, asking nothing in return, it so sets hearts on fire that all who experience it are led to love back, despite their limitations and sins. Yet this can only happen if we welcome God’s grace, his merciful charity, as fully as possible into our hearts, so that our will and even our emotions are drawn to love both God and neighbour. In this way, the mercy that wells up – as it were – from the heart of the Trinity can shape our lives and bring forth compassion and works of mercy for the benefit of our brothers and sisters in need. 2. “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him” (Ps 34:6). The Church has always understood the importance of this cry. We possess an outstanding testimony to this in the very first pages of the Acts of the Apostles, where Peter asks that seven men, “full of the Spirit and of wisdom” (6:3), be chosen for the ministry of caring for the poor. This is certainly one of the first signs of the entrance of the Christian community upon the world’s stage: the service of the poor. The earliest community realized that being a disciple of Jesus meant demonstrating fraternity and solidarity, in obedience to the Master’s proclamation that the poor are blessed and heirs to the Kingdom of heaven (cf. Mt 5:3). “They sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need” (Acts 2:45). In these words, we see clearly expressed the lively concern of the first Christians. The evangelist Luke, who more than any other speaks of mercy, does not exaggerate when he describes the practice of sharing in the early community. On the contrary, his words are addressed to believers in every generation, and thus also to us, in order to sustain our own witness and to encourage our care for those most in need. The same message is conveyed with similar conviction by the Apostle James. In his Letter, he spares no words: “Listen, my beloved brethren. Has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? But you have dishonoured the poor man. Is it not the rich who oppress you, and drag you into court? … What does it profit, my brethren, if a man says he has faith but has not works? Can his faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and in lack of daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled”, without giving them the things needed for the body; what does it profit? So faith by itself, if it has not works, is dead’ (2:5-6.14-17). 3. Yet there have been times when Christians have not fully heeded this appeal, and have assumed a worldly way of thinking. Yet the Holy Spirit has not failed to call them to keep their gaze fixed on what is essential. He has raised up men and women who, in a variety of ways, have devoted their lives to the service of the poor. Over these two thousand years, how many pages of history have been written by Christians who, in utter simplicity and humility, and with generous and creative charity, have served their poorest brothers and sisters! The most outstanding example is that of Francis of Assisi, followed by many other holy men and women over the centuries. He was not satisfied to embrace lepers and give them alms, but chose to go to Gubbio to stay with them. He saw this meeting as the turning point of his conversion: “When I was in my sins, it seemed a thing too bitter to look on lepers, and the Lord himself led me among them and I showed them mercy. And when I left them, what had seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness of mind and body” (Text 1-3: FF 110). This testimony shows the transformative power of charity and the Christian way of life. We may think of the poor simply as the beneficiaries of our occasional volunteer work, or of impromptu acts of generosity that appease our conscience. However good and useful such acts may be for making us sensitive to people’s needs and the injustices that are often their cause, they ought to lead to a true encounter with the poor and a sharing that becomes a way of life. Our prayer and our journey of discipleship and conversion find the confirmation of their evangelic authenticity in precisely such charity and sharing. This way of life gives rise to joy and peace of soul, because we touch with our own hands the flesh of Christ. If we truly wish to encounter Christ, we have to touch his body in the suffering bodies of the poor, as a response to the sacramental communion bestowed in the Eucharist. The Body of Christ, broken in the sacred liturgy, can be seen, through charity and sharing, in the faces and persons of the most vulnerable of our brothers and sisters. Saint John Chrysostom’s admonition remains ever timely: “If you want to honour the body of Christ, do not scorn it when it is naked; do not honour the Eucharistic Christ with silk vestments, and then, leaving the church, neglect the other Christ suffering from cold and nakedness” (Hom. in Matthaeum, 50.3: PG 58). We are called, then, to draw near to the poor, to encounter them, to meet their gaze, to embrace them and to let them feel the warmth of love that breaks through their solitude. Their outstretched hand is also an invitation to step out of our certainties and comforts, and to acknowledge the value of poverty in itself. 4. Let us never forget that, for Christ’s disciples, poverty is above all a call to follow Jesus in his own poverty. It means walking behind him and beside him, a journey that leads to the beatitude of the Kingdom of heaven (cf. Mt 5:3; Lk 6:20). Poverty means having a humble heart that accepts our creaturely limitations and sinfulness and thus enables us to overcome the temptation to feel omnipotent and immortal. Poverty is an interior attitude that avoids looking upon money, career and luxury as our goal in life and the condition for our happiness. Poverty instead creates the conditions for freely shouldering our personal and social responsibilities, despite our limitations, with trust in God’s closeness and the support of his grace. Poverty, understood in this way, is the yardstick that allows us to judge how best to use material goods and to build relationships that are neither selfish nor possessive (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, Nos. 25-45). Let us, then, take as our example Saint Francis and his witness of authentic poverty. Precisely because he kept his gaze fixed on Christ, Francis was able to see and serve him in the poor. If we want to help change history and promote real development, we need to hear the cry of the poor and commit ourselves to ending their marginalization. At the same time, I ask the poor in our cities and our communities not to lose the sense of evangelical poverty that is part of their daily life. 5. We know how hard it is for our contemporary world to see poverty clearly for what it is. Yet in myriad ways poverty challenges us daily, in faces marked by suffering, marginalization, oppression, violence, torture and imprisonment, war, deprivation of freedom and dignity, ignorance and illiteracy, medical emergencies and shortage of work, trafficking and slavery, exile, extreme poverty and forced migration. Poverty has the face of women, men and children exploited by base interests, crushed by the machinations of power and money. What a bitter and endless list we would have to compile were we to add the poverty born of social injustice, moral degeneration, the greed of a chosen few, and generalized indifference! Tragically, in our own time, even as ostentatious wealth accumulates in the hands of the privileged few, often in connection with illegal activities and the appalling exploitation of human dignity, there is a scandalous growth of poverty in broad sectors of society throughout our world. Faced with this scenario, we cannot remain passive, much less resigned. There is a poverty that stifles the spirit of initiative of so many young people by keeping them from finding work. There is a poverty that dulls the sense of personal responsibility and leaves others to do the work while we go looking for favours. There is a poverty that poisons the wells of participation and allows little room for professionalism; in this way it demeans the merit of those who do work and are productive. To all these forms of poverty we must respond with a new vision of life and society. All the poor – as Blessed Paul VI loved to say – belong to the Church by “evangelical right” (Address at the Opening of the Second Session of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, 29 September 1963), and require of us a fundamental option on their behalf. Blessed, therefore, are the open hands that embrace the poor and help them: they are hands that bring hope. Blessed are the hands that reach beyond every barrier of culture, religion and nationality, and pour the balm of consolation over the wounds of humanity. Blessed are the open hands that ask nothing in exchange, with no “ifs” or “buts” or “maybes”: they are hands that call down God’s blessing upon their brothers and sisters. 6. At the conclusion of the Jubilee of Mercy, I wanted to offer the Church a World Day of the Poor, so that throughout the world Christian communities can become an ever greater sign of Christ’s charity for the least and those most in need. To the World Days instituted by my Predecessors, which are already a tradition in the life of our communities, I wish to add this one, which adds to them an exquisitely evangelical fullness, that is, Jesus’ preferential love for the poor. I invite the whole Church, and men and women of good will everywhere, to turn their gaze on this day to all those who stretch out their hands and plead for our help and solidarity. They are our brothers and sisters, created and loved by the one Heavenly Father. This Day is meant, above all, to encourage believers to react against a culture of discard and waste, and to embrace the culture of encounter. At the same time, everyone, independent of religious affiliation, is invited to openness and sharing with the poor through concrete signs of solidarity and fraternity. God created the heavens and the earth for all; yet sadly some have erected barriers, walls and fences, betraying the original gift meant for all humanity, with none excluded. 7. It is my wish that, in the week preceding the World Day of the Poor, which falls this year on 19 November, the Thirty-third Sunday of Ordinary Time, Christian communities will make every effort to create moments of encounter and friendship, solidarity and concrete assistance. They can invite the poor and volunteers to take part together in the Eucharist on this Sunday, in such a way that there be an even more authentic celebration of the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Universal King, on the following Sunday. The kingship of Christ is most evident on Golgotha, when the Innocent One, nailed to the cross, poor, naked and stripped of everything, incarnates and reveals the fullness of God’s love. Jesus’ complete abandonment to the Father expresses his utter poverty and reveals the power of the Love that awakens him to new life on the day of the Resurrection. This Sunday, if there are poor people where we live who seek protection and assistance, let us draw close to them: it will be a favourable moment to encounter the God we seek. Following the teaching of Scripture (cf. Gen 18:3-5; Heb 13:2), let us welcome them as honoured guests at our table; they can be teachers who help us live the faith more consistently. With their trust and readiness to receive help, they show us in a quiet and often joyful way, how essential it is to live simply and to abandon ourselves to God’s providence. 8. At the heart of all the many concrete initiatives carried out on this day should always be prayer. Let us not forget that the Our Father is the prayer of the poor. Our asking for bread expresses our entrustment to God for our basic needs in life. Everything that Jesus taught us in this prayer expresses and brings together the cry of all who suffer from life’s uncertainties and the lack of what they need. When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, he answered in the words with which the poor speak to our one Father, in whom all acknowledge themselves as brothers and sisters. The Our Father is a prayer said in the plural: the bread for which we ask is “ours”, and that entails sharing, participation and joint responsibility. In this prayer, all of us recognize our need to overcome every form of selfishness, in order to enter into the joy of mutual acceptance. 9. I ask my brother Bishops, and all priests and deacons who by their vocation have the mission of supporting the poor, together with all consecrated persons and all associations, movements and volunteers everywhere, to help make this World Day of the Poor a tradition that concretely contributes to evangelization in today’s world. This new World Day, therefore, should become a powerful appeal to our consciences as believers, allowing us to grow in the conviction that sharing with the poor enables us to understand the deepest truth of the Gospel. The poor are not a problem: they are a resource from which to draw as we strive to accept and practice in our lives the essence of the Gospel. From the Vatican, 13 June 2017 Memorial of Saint Anthony of Padua FRANCIS [Original text: Italian] [Vatican-provided text] © Libreria Editrice Vaticana

The Simpsons: 10 Abe Simpson Quotes That Are Still Hilarious Today – Screen Rant

While the main five members of the Simpsons family get all the attention, the oldest family member should not be overlooked. Abe Simpson (or Grandpa Simpson) is a very different man than his son Homer, but his ridiculous personality fits in perfectly in the dysfunctional family.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 10 Lionel Hutz Quotes That Are Still Hilarious Today

Abe is cranky and absent-minded which could explain why he is relegated to the nursing home. He is the quintessential old man who always wants to talk about the great things his generation did while complaining about modern society. Though he doesn’t always get the spotlight, he is one more hilarious character from the beloved show. Here are some of Abe Simpsons’ funniest quotes from The Simpsons.

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10 Matlock!

There aren’t too many things Abe is passionate about, but when it comes to Matlock, he is a full-blown fanboy. Matlock was a legal drama from the ’80s which starred Andy Griffith as a brilliant lawyer taking on all sorts of high-profile cases.

The show has a reputation of having a lot of fans in the older demographic and Abe certainly counts himself as one of them. Whenever the show is on, Abe would just yell “Matlock” as loud as he could until he got to watch it. The impatient cry became something of a catchphrase for him.

9 Why, I Go In And Out Of Comas All The… Zzzzz

Abe Simpson has managed to last over 30 seasons of the show despite always seeming like he’s on the verge of death. He has a variety of medical issues and his episodes are so frequent that he hardly seems to notice them anymore.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 10 Funniest Homer And Bart Moments, Ranked

After Homer falls into a coma following one of his many accidents, Abe visits in the hospital and gives the family some encouraging words. He dismisses the coma as no big deal, and as if to illustrate his point, he falls into a quick coma while standing up before snapping out of it and saying “French toast, please.”

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8 Dear Mr. President, There Are Too Many States Nowadays

Though he may be old, Abe keeps busy with a number of hobbies. His favorite pastime seems to be writing angry letters to anyone and everyone he can complain to. The letters don’t often make any sense and it’s hard to say if he thinks people will listen, but he writes them either way.

His most ambitious attempt was trying to get the president to remove some US states. As a way of helping with the process, he even included a list of suggestions for which states should get the boot.

7 I Did Wear A Dress For A Period In The ’40s

According to his own stories, Abe Simpson lived a pretty interesting and event-filled life. The only issue is whether or not any of his stories are true. While he would seem to like to twist the truth a little bit every now and then, there might be a sliver of actual facts in his stories.

In one particularly incredible tale, Abe explains that he posed as a female burlesque dancer during World War II when stuck behind enemy lines. When Bart questions the validity of that story, Abe admits it’s only partially true, although it suggests the true story might be just as interesting.

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6 What’s So Unappealing About Hearing Your Elderly Father Talk About Sex?

Abe and Homer have never really seen eye-to-eye as father and son. When Homer was younger, Abe was a domineering and strict father who didn’t give Homer a lot of love. As an adult, Homer is very dismissive of his father and his old man ways. But that doesn’t mean Abe can’t give his son some advice.

RELATED: 10 Jokes From The Simpsons That Have Already Aged Poorly

After Homer and Marge encounter some sensitive marital trouble, Abe picks up on it and questions Homer if there is a problem with their sex life. Homer is understandably turned off by the discussion, especially the hilariously drawn-out way Abe pronounces “seeeeeeeeeex.” It’s only worse when he reminds Homer that he’s also had sex.

5 So I Tied An Onion To My Belt Which Was The Style At The Time

Abe certainly does like to tell a good story, even if it’s a story that doesn’t actually go anywhere. Abe even seems to acknowledge the rambling nature of his stories which are filled with historical inaccuracies. Yet he tells them anyway.

His story about taking the ferry to Shelbyville is an especially long-winded tale that keeps veering off course into ridiculous tangents. We’re not sure how an onion could even be worn on a belt let alone become popular fashion.

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4 Do We Sell French… Fries?

After experiencing so many adventures (that may or may not have happened), Abe often laments that he is now considered an old and useless old man. This sometimes inspires him to get active again, only to realize he does not understand modern society.

In an attempt to get back in the workforce, Abe takes a job at Krusty Burger but even fast food goes way over his head. While working the drive-thru window, a customer asks for French fries. Abe’s wonderfully confused response suggests he really doesn’t get out much.

3 I’m In Love! No, Wait It’s A Stroke

Abe is not always the easiest person to get along with, but like everyone, he is looking for someone to spend his days with. He’s had a few romances in his time, but one of the more serious and unusual was when he fell for Marge’s mother.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 5 Relationships Fans Were Behind (& 5 They Rejected)

Abe obviously doesn’t feel this way about every girl he meets. As he tries to make sense of this strange feeling before finally realizing it’s love. Then he realizes it’s actually a stroke. Maybe a bit of both.

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2 We Had To Say Dickety, Because The Kaiser Stole Our Word Twenty

There’s so much knowledge that Abe Simpsons has that you just couldn’t learn in the history books. When Abe is invited to speak to Bart’s class, he is able to teach them a bit of untold America history.

He starts the story by saying that it takes place in Nineteen Dickety-Two before explaining “We had to say ‘dickety’, because the Kaiser stole our word ‘twenty'”. How someone could steal a word is a mystery but Abe insists he chased him for dickety-six miles to get the word back.

1 I Used To Be With It, But Then They Changed What It Was

Abe’s life lessons are not always helpful or even factual, but a lot can be gained from the man’s understanding of growing old. It’s something we all experience and Abe has some wise and funny things to say on the matter.

In a flashback, Homer remembers making fun of his father for not understanding modern music. Abe repsonds “I used to be with ‘it’, but then they changed what ‘it’ was. Now what I’m with isn’t ‘it’ anymore and what’s ‘it’ seems weird and scary. It’ll happen to you!”

NEXT: The Simpsons: 10 Most Painfully Relatable Moe Quotes

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Winston Churchill Quotes on Democracy, The Arts, and Leadership

Looking for famous Winston Churchill quotes that have stood the test of time?

Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill was an important figure of his time. Through his assistance and leadership, the Allied forces, together with the U.S. and the Soviet Union, gained victory against the Axis powers during WWII.

A beloved statesman and writer, he was also a key individual in crafting post-war peace.

Independent, strategic, and strong, his ideals remain invaluable to this day. Like many successful and historic figures, his life was not without obstacles.

Who would believe that during his early years, he in fact, performed poorly in school? It took him three tries before getting into the British Royal Military College.

His mother rarely saw him at that time as well. His father, seldom present and someone he knew only through reputation, died when Churchill was only 21.

We can glean a bit of wisdom from his life as a well-known statesman and writer. Whether you’re after success, are fighting for change, or you simply need a bit of motivation, here are some of the best Winston Churchill quotes for you.

The Greatest Winston Churchill Quotes on Democracy and Leadership

1.) “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” ― Winston S. Churchill

2.) “A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.” ― Winston S. Churchill

3.) “History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.” ― Winston S. Churchill

4.) “Tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip.” ― Winston S. Churchill

5.) “Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.” ― Winston S. Churchill

6.) “Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.” ― Winston S. Churchill

7.) “The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.” ― Winston S. Churchill

8.) “Personally, I’m always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.” ― Winston S. Churchill

9.) “A fanatic is one who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject.” ― Winston S. Churchill

10.) “The greatest lesson in life is to know that even fools are right sometimes.” ― Winston S. Churchill

11.) “We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.” ― Winston S. Churchill

12.) “Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.” ― Winston S. Churchill

13.) “An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.” ― Winston S. Churchill

14.) “To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to them and fitted to their talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which could have been their finest hour.” ― Winston S. Churchill

15.) “We are all worms, But I do believe that I am a glow worm.” ― Winston S. Churchill, ‘Never Give In! The Best of Winston Churchill’s Speeches’

16.) “We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out.” ― Winston S. Churchill

17.) “Everyone is in favor of free speech. Hardly a day passes without its being extolled, but some people’s idea of it is that they are free to say what they like, but if anyone else says anything back, that is an outrage.” ― Winston S. Churchill

18.) “We sleep safely at night because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would harm us.” ― Winston S. Churchill

19.) “The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you are likely to see.” ― Winston S. Churchill

20.) “You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory, victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.” ― Winston S. Churchill

Winston Churchill Quotes on Never Giving Up

21.) “Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.” ― Winston S. Churchill

22.) “You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.” ― Winston S. Churchill

23.) “A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” ― Winston S. Churchill

24.) “If you are going through hell, keep going.” ― Winston S. Churchill

25.) “Never, never, never give in!” ― Winston S. Churchill

Famous Winston Churchill Quotes

26.) “It is not enough that we do our best; sometimes we must do what is required.” ― Winston S. Churchill

27.) “Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it.” ― Winston S. Churchill

28.) Never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.” ― Winston S. Churchill, ‘Never Give In! The Best of Winston Churchill’s Speeches’

29.) “For myself I am an optimist – it does not seem to be much use to be anything else.” ― Winston S. Churchill

30.) “Continuous effort – not strength or intelligence – is the key to unlocking our potential.” ― Winston S. Churchill

31.) “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” ― Winston S. Churchill, ‘Alone: The Second World War’ (Condensed) Series, Book 2

32.) “You will never reach your destination if you stop and throw stones at every dog that barks.” ― Winston S. Churchill

33.) “When you get a thing the way you want it, leave it alone.” ― Winston S. Churchill

34.) “Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.” ― Winston S. Churchill

35.) “Difficulties mastered are opportunities won.” ― Winston S. Churchill

Quotes by Winston Churchill about the Importance of the Arts

36.) “My tastes are simple: I am easily satisfied with the best.” ― Winston S. Churchill

37.) “Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.” ― Winston S. Churchill

38.) “To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.” ― Winston S. Churchill

39.) “All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope” ― Winston S. Churchill

40.) “Before you can inspire with emotion, you must be swamped with it yourself. Before you can move their tears, your own must flow. To convince them, you must yourself, believe.” ― Winston S. Churchill

More Winston Churchill Quotes

41.) “If you have an important point to make, don’t try to be subtle or clever. Use a pile driver. Hit the point once. Then come back and hit it again. Then hit it a third time – a tremendous whack.” ― Winston S. Churchill

42.) “It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of quotations.” ― Winston S. Churchill

43.) “However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results.” ― Winston S. Churchill

44.) “There is no time for ease and comfort. It is the time to dare and endure.” ― Winston S. Churchill

45.) “You create your own universe as you go along.” ― Winston S. Churchill

46.) “This paper, by its very length, defends itself from ever being read.” ― Winston S. Churchill

47.) “You will make all kinds of mistakes; but as long as you are generous and true and also fierce you cannot hurt the world or even seriously distress her. She was meant to be wooed and won by youth.” ― Winston S. Churchill, ‘My Early Life’, 1874-1904

48.) “Broadly speaking, the short words are the best, and the old words best of all.” ― Winston S. Churchill, Never Give In! The Best of Winston Churchill’s Speeches

49.) “To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day.” ― Winston S. Churchill

50.) “This is not the end, this is not even the beginning of the end; this is just perhaps the end of the beginning.” ― Winston S. Churchill

Winston Churchill quotes to live by

51.) “We shall not fail or falter. We shall not weaken or tire. Neither the sudden shock of battle nor the long-drawn trials of vigilance and exertion will wear us down. Give us the tools and we will finish the job.”― Winston S. Churchill

52.) “It is a mistake to try to look too far ahead. The chain of destiny can only be grasped one link at a time.”― Winston S. Churchill

53.) “Without a measureless and perpetual uncertainty, the drama of human life would be destroyed.”― Winston S. Churchill

54.) “If one has to submit, it is wasteful not to do so with the best grace possible.”― Winston S. Churchill

55.) “We shape our dwellings, and afterwards our dwellings shape us.”― Winston S. Churchill

56.) “The most important thing about education is appetite.” ― Winston Churchill

57.) “Perhaps it is better to be irresponsible and right, than to be responsible and wrong.” ― Winston S. Churchill

58.) “There are a terrible lot of lies going around the world, and the worst of it is half of them are true.”― Winston S. Churchill

59.) “Eating words has never given me indigestion.” ― Winston Churchill

60.) “No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.” ― Winston S. Churchill

More Winston Churchill quotes to inspire you

61.) “There is only one duty, only one safe course, and that is to try to be right and not to fear to do or say what you believe to be right.”― Winston S. Churchill

62.) “It is wonderful what great strides can be made when there is a resolute purpose behind them.”― Winston S. Churchill

63.) “All the greatest things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honour; duty; mercy; hope.”― Winston S. Churchill

64.) “Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak, it’s also what it takes to sit down and listen.”― Winston S. Churchill

65.) “When the eagles are silent, the parrots begin to jabber.”― Winston S. Churchill

66.) “It is no use saying ‘we are doing our best.’ You have got to succeed in doing what is necessary.”― Winston S. Churchill

67.) “If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future. ” ― Winston Churchill

68.) “We have not journeyed all this way because we are made of sugar candy.” ― Winston S. Churchill

69.) “It’s not enough to have lived. We should be determined to live for something.” ― Winston S. Churchill

70.) “Do not let spacious plans for a new world divert your energies from saving what is left of the old.” ― Winston Churchill

Did you enjoy these Winston Churchill quotes?

Hopefully, you have found one or two of his wise words to inspire you. You don’t need to be statesman to fight for what is right: these battles are fought everyday. As long as you give your best and do what you believe is true, you are brave.

The post Winston Churchill Quotes on Democracy, The Arts, and Leadership appeared first on Everyday Power Blog.

ARC Review: Jane of Austin by Hillary Manton Lodge

I received a copy of this book from the publisher via BloggingForBooks in exchange for an honest review. As this is an ARC copy, things that I discuss may vary and be different than in the published copy.

I have given this book ☆. 300-500 pages estimated as I read it in ebook format. It belongs to the Contemporary Romance genre. WaterBrook & Multnomah published it. I would not recommend it. The synopsis reads: “Just a few years after their father’s business scandal shatters their lives, Jane and Celia Woodward find themselves forced out of their San Francisco tea shop. The last thing Jane wants is to leave their beloved shop on Valencia Street, but when Celia insists on a move to Austin, Texas, the sisters pack up their kid sister Margot and Jane’s tea plants, determined to start over yet again.

But life in Austin isn’t all sweet tea and breakfast tacos. Their unusual living situation is challenging and unspoken words begin to fester between Jane and Celia. When Jane meets and falls for up-and-coming musician Sean Willis, the chasm grows deeper.

While Sean seems to charm everyone in his path, one person is immune – retired Marine Captain Callum Beckett. Callum never meant to leave the military, but the twin losses of his father and his left leg have returned him to the place he least expected—Texas.

In this modern spin on the Austen classic, Sense and Sensibility, the Woodward sisters must contend with new ingredients in unfamiliar kitchens, a dash of heartbreak, and the fragile hope that maybe home isn't so far away.”

Verdict:

I noped right out of there. Uninspiring and boring and annoying lead male. Sad though because Jane and her sisters are phenomenal characters.

In short, Jane of Austin, with its witty name, is a take on all things Jane Austen, featuring three sisters, reminiscent of Sense and Sensibility. The sisters run a tea shop but when their lovely landlord dearly departs, the sisters’ lives are turned upside down and they’re forced to leave their thriving hipster business because they can’t afford the rent and forced to move to Austin where they stay in a relative’s house, for free. Eldest sister, Celia, is dumped by her boyfriend before they leave town. While the middle sister and apparently, the most vibrant of the three (mostly because she’s a caustic and a little eclectic), Jane falls in love with wannabe singer whatshisface. But of course, whatshisface is not the hero here. But instead, moody and grumpy Callum is.

But I can’t really tell you what happens next because Jane of Austin is a DNF.

Jane of Austin starts off phenomenally well and I’m sucked into the story of the three sisters even though Margot is barely a person. She’s just mentioned once or twice and seems incredibly bratty. But then, Callum is introduced and he’s the most toxic and uninspiring lead male ever.

Be ready for a rant.

[contains spoilers]

Jane of Austin starts off like one of my favourite Lifetime movies, Scents and Sensibility. Their father is a corporate crook and the sisters set out on their own, building their own lives. And I love stories about sisterhood because I myself have a sister and much of my life surrounds our relationship. Because if you can’t count on family, who can you count on? Jane dropped out of school to look after Margot because their dad is awful and Celia works her little butt off to make ends meet at their cute little tea store.

Now, sisterhood is a great premise and then throw in some boys? What could be better?

Wrong, because once men were introduced to the story, the whole shitstorm began. It became less about women’s fiction and more about, how much dick can I get? Oh, I can’t get dick? The dick left me.

A couple of pages in and Celia is already broken up with Teddy, her longtime, why-aren’t-they-married boyfriend. When she moves to Austin, she’s fucking moping around and being all shady and not talking to Jane and basically driving a wedge between them because she refuses to talk about her relationship with Teddy to her sister. Fine, my sister doesn’t really tell me about her relationships either but come on, Celia and Jane were always tight and told each other everything. Boy comes in and fucks shit up.

Now, waltzes in cowboy central. Sean Willis is as charming as they come and immediately, Jane falls head over heels for him. I sort of do as well because he’s hot, and there are minute sparks. But suddenly, they go from rescuing-me-from-the-storm to dating. There was no precursor; there was no witty repartee, no long drawn out, pretty conversations. No. She just fell for him. I felt absolutely no chemistry. It was such a painful-to-read relationship. But I digress, Sean is the “darkest before the dawn”. They breakup because Sean wants to pursue his music in Nashville. LIKE THAT’S SOMETHING TO MOPE ABOUT??????? We all want careers, honey. He isn’t going to put you and your vagina first. Were you going to put him and his dick over your tea shop? I didn’t think so. So, don’t complain.

See where Jane of Austin is going? There’s just a lot of men. Highly doubt they’d pass the Bechdel test. That’s not what Austen was about, mkay?

Fine, I can put up with all this shit.

If only the lead male that Jane is supposed to fall in love with, was spectacular and phenomenal. Let me list all the problems with Callum.

1. When Callum first meets Jane, this is what he had to say:

“She did remind me of Lila; there was no denying the resemblance. But there was something…extra…about Jane. Almost like high school Lila, but grown and in Technicolour. Was it a fair comparison? Probably not. Lila had made her decisions and suffered when the man she chose failed her.”

I absolutely hate when love interests says that he/she reminds them of an ex-lover that they lost. And Callum did lose Lila to someone else and he practically shames her for it. Like, looook, if you were with me, you’d be better off because iM pErFeCt. And high school Lila? The last time this little fucker knew his ex-girlfriend was fucking high school. Let’s take a quick reminder that Jane is no longer in high school and is 26.

2. Callum is fucking hung up on Lila. Apparently, Lila called his father’s partner looking for a job but now that Callum is back in town, Lila is missing and he can’t reach her. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found, bitch. But, he believes its his sworn duty to make sure she’s safe because why would she ask for a job if she was okay/???? So this little bitch hires a private detective to find Lila. Like he’s some kind of fucking knight in shining armour. HE HASN’T SEEN THIS WOMAN IN AGES REMIND YOU. OR HAD CONTACT WITH HER. Wtf.

But fine.

3. Now, here’s where it gets really creepy. Callum is always stalking Jane or watching her from afar like a fucking creep. Exhibit A:

“From my room upstairs, I could see the way she clutched his hand, the way her head tipped back in laughter”.

“Watching Jane, I could immediately tell that Lyndsay landed on her last nerve. But as I watched Jane’s gaze flit from Celia to Lyndsay, her brows pressing together with that Jane-like intensity, I knew the sight of trouble brewing.”

THAT MUCH DETAIL??????? Because he stalks her and watches her constantly.

4. He uses the word possession to talk about Jane.

“But she wasn’t mine. She wouldn’t be.”

“Unless she was laughing with Sean. When that happened, I felt a little sick to my stomach.”

God, this was like the last straw. I wanted to throw up. I have a history of men subjugating and “possessing” women, cue family. And this just made my fucking skin crawl. And he talks about “claiming” here.

“Not a V-E Day kiss, not now, just a small claim on the corner of her lips that twisted with rueful amusement.”

5. He immediately girlfriend-zoned Jane. From the beginning, he thought she looked like his ex-lover and when his therapist asked him if he was interested in Jane, he came up fucking blank. Like some school boy who’s never had a date.

“Are you interested in her?”

“She’s seeing someone else. It looks serious.”

He doesn’t even bother being her friend or trying to get to know her as a person. He’s just interested in her. Let me remind you that I don’t have many highlights of Jane and Callum talking because they don’t fucking talk. He could have listened to her, gained her trust instead of being her mother’s cousin’s creepy friend who stays with them. All he wanted to do is “make her yours” and Callum keeps getting frustrated that she’s with some hotshot good looking guy.

He just mopes around, lamenting about how she can’t see that he’s perfect for her and not Sean. He just wonders why she doesn’t see that he’s interested in her.

I stopped reading once all the possession and claiming talk started. It just made my skin crawl and I wanted to throw up. Let me remind you that this was more than 50% of the book. Jane and Callum have absolutely no chemistry, they barely talk, he’s like the creepy uncle who lives in the attic and he’s barely got any character.

Not to mention, Callum is differently abled and suffering from PTSD which is not the greatest subject topic to be dealing with in a ROMANCE novel. Especially one that is so poorly written.

In writing this review, I took a look at the publisher’s profile to look for approval preferences and lo and behold, this is what I found, “publishing encouraging, biblical, trusted, and thoughtful Christian books.” It’s no wonder there was barely any sex in it. Or chemistry. Unfortunately, I did not check it properly on BloggingForBooks.

Perhaps Jane of Austin would have appealed whole heartedly to the right crowd of people where they like being possessed by their boyfriends and have their lives revolve around the dick. But I certainly hated it and did not finish it. It’s even lucky to receive one star from me because I loved the sisterhood part of the book.

First World Day of the Poor message released

(Vatican Radio) The Vatican on Tuesday released Pope Francis' message for the First World Day of the Poor which will be observed later this year on the 19th of November.

  Please find the English translation of the message below: 

  Message of His Holiness Pope Francis

for the First World Day of the Poor

Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

19 November 2017

  Let us love, not with words but with deeds

  1.         “Little children, let us not love in word or speech, but in deed and in truth” (1 Jn 3:18).  These words of the Apostle John voice an imperative that no Christian may disregard.  The seriousness with which the “beloved disciple” hands down Jesus’ command to our own day is made even clearer by the contrast between the empty words so frequently on our lips and the concrete deeds against which we are called to measure ourselves.  Love has no alibi.  Whenever we set out to love as Jesus loved, we have to take the Lord as our example; especially when it comes to loving the poor.  The Son of God’s way of loving is well-known, and John spells it out clearly.  It stands on two pillars: God loved us first (cf. 1 Jn 4:10.19), and he loved us by giving completely of himself, even to laying down his life (cf. 1 Jn 3:16).

            Such love cannot go unanswered.  Even though offered unconditionally, asking nothing in return, it so sets hearts on fire that all who experience it are led to love back, despite their limitations and sins.  Yet this can only happen if we welcome God’s grace, his merciful charity, as fully as possible into our hearts, so that our will and even our emotions are drawn to love both God and neighbour.  In this way, the mercy that wells up – as it were – from the heart of the Trinity can shape our lives and bring forth compassion and works of mercy for the benefit of our brothers and sisters in need.

2.         “This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him” (Ps 34:6).  The Church has always understood the importance of this cry.  We possess an outstanding testimony to this in the very first pages of the Acts of the Apostles, where Peter asks that seven men, “full of the Spirit and of wisdom” (6:3), be chosen for the ministry of caring for the poor.  This is certainly one of the first signs of the entrance of the Christian community upon the world’s stage: the service of the poor.  The earliest community realized that being a disciple of Jesus meant demonstrating fraternity and solidarity, in obedience to the Master’s proclamation that the poor are blessed and heirs to the Kingdom of heaven (cf. Mt 5:3).

            “They sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need” (Acts 2:45).  In these words, we see clearly expressed the lively concern of the first Christians.  The evangelist Luke, who more than any other speaks of mercy, does not exaggerate when he describes the practice of sharing in the early community.  On the contrary, his words are addressed to believers in every generation, and thus also to us, in order to sustain our own witness and to encourage our care for those most in need.  The same message is conveyed with similar conviction by the Apostle James.  In his Letter, he spares no words: “Listen, my beloved brethren.  Has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?  But you have dishonoured the poor man.  Is it not the rich who oppress you, and drag you into court? ... What does it profit, my brethren, if a man says he has faith but has not works?  Can his faith save him?  If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and in lack of daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled”, without giving them the things needed for the body; what does it profit?  So faith by itself, if it has not works, is dead’ (2:5-6.14-17).

3.         Yet there have been times when Christians have not fully heeded this appeal, and have assumed a worldly way of thinking.  Yet the Holy Spirit has not failed to call them to keep their gaze fixed on what is essential.  He has raised up men and women who, in a variety of ways, have devoted their lives to the service of the poor.  Over these two thousand years, how many pages of history have been written by Christians who, in utter simplicity and humility, and with generous and creative charity, have served their poorest brothers and sisters!

            The most outstanding example is that of Francis of Assisi, followed by many other holy men and women over the centuries.  He was not satisfied to embrace lepers and give them alms, but chose to go to Gubbio to stay with them.  He saw this meeting as the turning point of his conversion: “When I was in my sins, it seemed a thing too bitter to look on lepers, and the Lord himself led me among them and I showed them mercy.  And when I left them, what had seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness of mind and body” (Text 1-3: FF 110).  This testimony shows the transformative power of charity and the Christian way of life.

            We may think of the poor simply as the beneficiaries of our occasional volunteer work, or of impromptu acts of generosity that appease our conscience.  However good and useful such acts may be for making us sensitive to people’s needs and the injustices that are often their cause, they ought to lead to a true encounter with the poor and a sharing that becomes a way of life.  Our prayer and our journey of discipleship and conversion find the confirmation of their evangelic authenticity in precisely such charity and sharing.  This way of life gives rise to joy and peace of soul, because we touch with our own hands the flesh of Christ.  If we truly wish to encounter Christ, we have to touch his body in the suffering bodies of the poor, as a response to the sacramental communion bestowed in the Eucharist.  The Body of Christ, broken in the sacred liturgy, can be seen, through charity and sharing, in the faces and persons of the most vulnerable of our brothers and sisters.  Saint John Chrysostom’s admonition remains ever timely: “If you want to honour the body of Christ, do not scorn it when it is naked; do not honour the Eucharistic Christ with silk vestments, and then, leaving the church, neglect the other Christ suffering from cold and nakedness” (Hom. in Matthaeum, 50.3: PG 58). 

            We are called, then, to draw near to the poor, to encounter them, to meet their gaze, to embrace them and to let them feel the warmth of love that breaks through their solitude.  Their outstretched hand is also an invitation to step out of our certainties and comforts, and to acknowledge the value of poverty in itself.

4.         Let us never forget that, for Christ’s disciples, poverty is above all a call to follow Jesus in his own poverty.  It means walking behind him and beside him, a journey that leads to the beatitude of the Kingdom of heaven (cf. Mt 5:3; Lk 6:20).  Poverty means having a humble heart that accepts our creaturely limitations and sinfulness and thus enables us to overcome the temptation to feel omnipotent and immortal.  Poverty is an interior attitude that avoids looking upon money, career and luxury as our goal in life and the condition for our happiness.  Poverty instead creates the conditions for freely shouldering our personal and social responsibilities, despite our limitations, with trust in God’s closeness and the support of his grace.  Poverty, understood in this way, is the yardstick that allows us to judge how best to use material goods and to build relationships that are neither selfish nor possessive (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, Nos. 25-45).

            Let us, then, take as our example Saint Francis and his witness of authentic poverty.  Precisely because he kept his gaze fixed on Christ, Francis was able to see and serve him in the poor.  If we want to help change history and promote real development, we need to hear the cry of the poor and commit ourselves to ending their marginalization.  At the same time, I ask the poor in our cities and our communities not to lose the sense of evangelical poverty that is part of their daily life.

5.         We know how hard it is for our contemporary world to see poverty clearly for what it is.  Yet in myriad ways poverty challenges us daily, in faces marked by suffering, marginalization, oppression, violence, torture and imprisonment, war, deprivation of freedom and dignity, ignorance and illiteracy, medical emergencies and shortage of work, trafficking and slavery, exile, extreme poverty and forced migration.  Poverty has the face of women, men and children exploited by base interests, crushed by the machinations of power and money.  What a bitter and endless list we would have to compile were we to add the poverty born of social injustice, moral degeneration, the greed of a chosen few, and generalized indifference!

            Tragically, in our own time, even as ostentatious wealth accumulates in the hands of the privileged few, often in connection with illegal activities and the appalling exploitation of human dignity, there is a scandalous growth of poverty in broad sectors of society throughout our world.  Faced with this scenario, we cannot remain passive, much less resigned.  There is a poverty that stifles the spirit of initiative of so many young people by keeping them from finding work.  There is a poverty that dulls the sense of personal responsibility and leaves others to do the work while we go looking for favours.  There is a poverty that poisons the wells of participation and allows little room for professionalism; in this way it demeans the merit of those who do work and are productive.  To all these forms of poverty we must respond with a new vision of life and society.

            All the poor – as Blessed Paul VI loved to say – belong to the Church by “evangelical right” (Address at the Opening of the Second Session of the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council, 29 September 1963), and require of us a fundamental option on their behalf.  Blessed, therefore, are the open hands that embrace the poor and help them: they are hands that bring hope.  Blessed are the hands that reach beyond every barrier of culture, religion and nationality, and pour the balm of consolation over the wounds of humanity.  Blessed are the open hands that ask nothing in exchange, with no “ifs” or “buts” or “maybes”: they are hands that call down God’s blessing upon their brothers and sisters.

6.         At the conclusion of the Jubilee of Mercy, I wanted to offer the Church a World Day of the Poor, so that throughout the world Christian communities can become an ever greater sign of Christ’s charity for the least and those most in need.  To the World Days instituted by my Predecessors, which are already a tradition in the life of our communities, I wish to add this one, which adds to them an exquisitely evangelical fullness, that is, Jesus’ preferential love for the poor.

            I invite the whole Church, and men and women of good will everywhere, to turn their gaze on this day to all those who stretch out their hands and plead for our help and solidarity.  They are our brothers and sisters, created and loved by the one Heavenly Father.  This Day is meant, above all, to encourage believers to react against a culture of discard and waste, and to embrace the culture of encounter.  At the same time, everyone, independent of religious affiliation, is invited to openness and sharing with the poor through concrete signs of solidarity and fraternity.  God created the heavens and the earth for all; yet sadly some have erected barriers, walls and fences, betraying the original gift meant for all humanity, with none excluded.

7.         It is my wish that, in the week preceding the World Day of the Poor, which falls this year on 19 November, the Thirty-third Sunday of Ordinary Time, Christian communities will make every effort to create moments of encounter and friendship, solidarity and concrete assistance.  They can invite the poor and volunteers to take part together in the Eucharist on this Sunday, in such a way that there be an even more authentic celebration of the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Universal King, on the following Sunday.  The kingship of Christ is most evident on Golgotha, when the Innocent One, nailed to the cross, poor, naked and stripped of everything, incarnates and reveals the fullness of God’s love.  Jesus’ complete abandonment to the Father expresses his utter poverty and reveals the power of the Love that awakens him to new life on the day of the Resurrection.

            This Sunday, if there are poor people where we live who seek protection and assistance, let us draw close to them: it will be a favourable moment to encounter the God we seek.  Following the teaching of Scripture (cf. Gen 18:3-5; Heb 13:2), let us welcome them as honoured guests at our table; they can be teachers who help us live the faith more consistently.  With their trust and readiness to receive help, they show us in a quiet and often joyful way, how essential it is to live simply and to abandon ourselves to God’s providence.

8.         At the heart of all the many concrete initiatives carried out on this day should always be prayer.  Let us not forget that the Our Father is the prayer of the poor.  Our asking for bread expresses our entrustment to God for our basic needs in life.  Everything that Jesus taught us in this prayer expresses and brings together the cry of all who suffer from life’s uncertainties and the lack of what they need.  When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, he answered in the words with which the poor speak to our one Father, in whom all acknowledge themselves as brothers and sisters.  The Our Father is a prayer said in the plural: the bread for which we ask is “ours”, and that entails sharing, participation and joint responsibility.  In this prayer, all of us recognize our need to overcome every form of selfishness, in order to enter into the joy of mutual acceptance.

9.         I ask my brother Bishops, and all priests and deacons who by their vocation have the mission of supporting the poor, together with all consecrated persons and all associations, movements and volunteers everywhere, to help make this World Day of the Poor a tradition that concretely contributes to evangelization in today’s world.

            This new World Day, therefore, should become a powerful appeal to our consciences as believers, allowing us to grow in the conviction that sharing with the poor enables us to understand the deepest truth of the Gospel.  The poor are not a problem: they are a resource from which to draw as we strive to accept and practise in our lives the essence of the Gospel.

  From the Vatican, 13 June 2017

Memorial of Saint Anthony of Padua

(from Vatican Radio) from News.va http://ift.tt/2s64MQp via IFTTT from Blogger http://ift.tt/2thc9U6

 Determining the Dominant and Varying Emotions of the Author.

In today's post which by now I'm sure you all know is the third in the series; I'll be dwelling on how to determine the dominant and varying emotions of the author just as highlighted above.

OK. So, let's go straight into the nitty-gritty.

Authors, writers and poets like every one of us have emotions or attitudes or feelings which as a necessity they manifest especially in their work as much as in their everyday life.

They simply cannot help it.

Let’s imaging for a second the sight of a mother whose beloved child has just died if she’s nothing but grieving.

Or the sight of a man plodding home from work after losing his job if he’s nothing but melancholy.

Or the animated countenances of kids gazing at a flock of egrets either calmly perched on the backs of the grazing cattle or simply hovering around them.

Or even the sight of school children who are deservedly anxious to but couldn't just access their examination results if they’re nothing but frustrated.

All these are varying emotional whose meaning can never be lost on the perceptible members of the human community.

This is much more so because authors are like stars of the big screen that put their souls in their assigned roles.

And by so doing, they bring fully into the fore without leaving anyone in doubt as to the true essence of the theme(s) or ideas being projected.

Every day, we betray emotions of all kinds depending on how life happens to us; and the emotions could either be dominant or varied as occasions may demand.

An emotion is dominant if the author devotes greater part of his time to it above several others which occurred in the printed page.

While on the other hand, if more than one mood pervades the selection we say the author emotions are varied.

As a rule, hardly is there an author who is not governed by certain attitudes to, a feeling for or conviction towards the ideas or themes behind their writings especially in imaginative realms.

There's hardly an author also who sustain one emotion throughout a written work except the subject or scope covered is narrow.

For instance, an author may sound hopeful in one stanza and in the next appears to despair or show a lack of faith.

But in almost all cases, an author is like an eagle in flight poised to gain necessary heights, for effect, must rides on thermal of varying columns of winds.

The sort of reverential feeling you get when you read Wole Soyinka's 'Mohammed Ali by the Ring Side in 1985'

'

Readers on the other hand who wish to grasp the poet's emotional meaning must first of all feel what he felt to be able to adequately share with others the beauty of his communicative emotions.

Among the various emotions known to human kind are: joy, sadness, awe, grief, excitement, anger, apathy, sympathy, empathy, envy, jealousy, reverence, humility, hate, love, soberness, fear, courage and confidence and so on and so forth.

Most written pieces from the Bible and other classics of old and contemporary time are bunk with exercises in elements of emotional beauty which the reader as interpreter must grasp if he is to fully appreciate the author's noble endeavor.

In no other poetic selection is varied emotions are made more evident by an author than in this long poem of mine titled: The Business Register.

You'll clearly see how disapproving I was of widow Shoboe, the dramatic personae who I model exactly after the real life personality; most especially for her ingratitude, the disrespect shown to her late husband and her poor sense of business.

After all, we're all admonished never to speak ill of the dead; and in this case a loving dead husband at that.

The Business Register

I

They were your ideas of a dignified old couple,

Perfect perceptible to eyes,

Index by conservative piety.

There’s a matrimony in heaven consummated you would say.

Its needles the overstated narratives the sail was long

And arduous and many the futile storm

That swift arises to wreck their marital ship. Survived,

Now they proudly berthed at life nocturnal shores.

And subsequent a household name the community wide.

II

They were your standard torchbearers of the cross;

Mouthpieces of the good news;

They worshipped faithfully as the clock:

Many at the marble-porch parishes;

Many at their humble home;

And not a little nags or fights

Or bedlam was heard from their pious floor.

Except perhaps omniscient nature does record some

Behind closed door, of hearts bruising unseen, untold.

They were proud parents of lovely sons and daughters;

The perfumed emissaries to our stuffy-aired world;

And how as morning stars they brightly shone through

Firmaments of social and religious engagements;

Like they use to say, to know a good family,

Into the children all must look.

The husband is a perfect gentleman widely likable,

Who kept an open door to children not even his from far and near;

Even wayward nondescript were welcome;

And at his table he fetes them equal all;

Quick with rod at his right hand

To prove justice is love to their aberrations;

And with the left draws them close for soothing sermons;

A good man known also gospel by inheritance: His dwelling,

Though a small home with walls un-built;

And bath and kitchen and detached crude convenience unroof;

And ventured borehole and chairs and canopies now on threshold disrepair;

Like they use to say,

A man who raised himself a room apartment,

Has proved an achievers’ grade,

Ceases to be a member of the renters' club!

But sudden died, first, Lord of the house as is often the case;

When from vigil an ailment struck to cast in haste;

And tributary wailing and mourning rend the chamber's air;

III

Next entered widow Shoboe as heir apparent to estates bequeathed;

A dame hearty and lightly built to sail with all winds;

For whatever they were worth, she has her honours too:

She is a dancing Ikoto as sings the Sunday's Mass choristers;

A leading light among the class of good women;

And ever charming a sight for her years advanced;

Her gifts munificent she bestows more on the haves

Than the haves not; while a typical widow would have her failings blame

On a dear deceased, wax lyrical his multitude of virtues,

Lineage; such alive rarely acknowledge; shrewdly appreciate.

Accentuating the truism: "Till gone don’t know what you have got".

But Shoboe is an atypical widow who by the day more disgruntled became.

Piping to ears unsolicited her vexed notes of ascending murmurs:

Of how meagre the patrimonies, empty the vault;

Of how little accomplished her suggestions profound never took;

Of how once he brought a strange woman, their matrimonial bed defiled;

Of how she could have been history, save God and man;

Of how the union really was a patchwork through the years;

And of how-this how-that poorly fixed never fixed;

Often all these spit fired faced down the narrow balcony

Where beloved Kith and Kin hollowed the dead a marbled rest home;

Not even once did his paean sublime from her mouth freely flowed;

His fate sealed a worst mortal of all, unworthy a husband;

Now five years the thriftless dowager reigned;

Stewardship's to none but self alone rendered;

As ever a working bee save the hive's empty;

Pouched the year's round rents and rates collected;

And in defaulters ears the reminder she crooned

On the go dusk or dawn; in trade all rivalling,

Even tenants struggling starters;

Every known article, she vowed to trade in not too distant future;

Enquire one not on her wooden-stall,

And with lightning speed she ordered it,

Bungling yet the arithmetic of the gains;

At threescore and more life seemed just began

And in it she simply revels; a party freak her ears everywhere

Went for the breaking news; denied invitation the concerned

Mantle sooner arrived with her grievances. Their plea accepted;

Her avail next time she vouched. So consumed to splurge on

Things mundane that not a line or circle or square drawn.

Nor a shade of colour splashed;

Nor a brick added as improved re-inventions to the wheel-heirloom

She's been so critical, mauled denigrate all these years.