#she did it the corinthians did it it was an accident

[pu-butt]

Besides the fact that the idea of an 'original myth' is absolute nonsense, it is also such a waste to look at mythology that way. I am working on my thesis on literary funerary epigrams on mythological figures (long story lol) and it requires me to do deep dives into the traditions surrounding dozens of mythological figures and i am in a constant state of physical distress in a bad way AND a good way. The bad way of course is related to deadlines and the stress of writing a thesis in general. But the good way is entirely connected to my reading about these dozens of versions of myths and their implications. It's probably not great for me long term, but with each word i read on Ajax's suicide or Niobe's petrification or the death of Medea's children my heart feels like it's choking and my legs can't stop shaking and my throat just itches to scream because all of it is just absolutely bonkers. If i had any energy left in me after this day of building up my case on Medea's children and Oedipus' sons only to have it all torn down by one (1) line of Euripides, i would write an actually coherent rant on why the fact that all these co-existing and contradicting versions of myths exist is the greatest thing about mythology. But alas, brain is dead, try again tomorrow i guess

#i feel like i might jump out of my skin #which is good and bad #medea is just driving me insane #she did it the corinthians did it it was an accident #ive never read euripides' medea so i was never that into her story bcs i just didnt know it very well #but man i get it now #boy do i get it #and with the whole context of hero cult #going absolutely bonkers over here #i wont be able to make any of it make sense with my epigram #and that is the point!!! #and it's like...it feels like a clue #like a lead #like it could have the most enormous implications on the development and popularity of the different strands of medea's story #if only we knew for sure when it was written and in what context #but we do not #it could be the key but we dont have the lock #losing it i tell you

[fluffywolverine]

it striked my eye how jed is treated better by the literal nightmares than people who were supposed to take care of him.

first we see gault making at least boy's dreams good. she does her best trying to cheer him up when he's asleep, but it's not the only good thing she does. gault also empowers jed by letting him deal with problems. they are made up, sure, although the boy can feel what is it like to actually have an impact, not only to be enslaved by others. furthermore gault tries to protect jed from morpheus. as soon as she sees him on the monitor, she tells jed to walk away, because she knows the dream lord, she knows she will have to go back to his kingdom. most importantly - she wants to protect jed from dream's wrath. we know that he eventually does not harm the boy, but gault didn't. she wanted to confront morpheus alone, despite knowing that her master will be angry with her.

then we see corinthian literally saving jed from his foster care. yes, he did do that to get to rose, but this doesn't mean he had to treat the boy well. it was his choice to make jed trust him. again, probably in order to then make rose trust him, but still, he took care of jed during the convention, gave him food, saved him and rose from the funland. corinthian has his own, egoistic goals, and yet manages to treat jed like a human being, which is something his foster care apparently couldn't do.

in the comics both gault and corinthian treated jed like a mean to an end, without really caring about him. gault just had fun making jed dream weird stuff, there was nothing more about it. the corinthian meets jed by accident, so he does not make an effort to find him. he then keeps the boy in his trunk, not giving a damn about his well-being.

it all makes me think that this was a deliberate choice made by the creators of the show. a choice to empasise that a nightmare is more humane than an actual human. that hits hard.

#the sandman #sandman netflix #the corinthian #gault #jed walker

[knightofmidnightsun]

THE NIGHTMARE NEARBY, chapter three

the corinthian x gender neutral!reader

word count: 12K

warnings: mention of death and (slightly?) description of a dead body. description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. corinthian will face a long self-doubting spiral, so prepare the tissues. BUT THERE'S SOME FLUFF IN THE END, there will be a time when it'll look like it won't come, but it will, I promise!!!

summary: the journey of a nightmare trying to fly into the warmth of the sun. and, the first wax burn that marked his skin.

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking so long to post this chapter, I was on a hiatus that last month due to my mental health and my studies, but I'm back! It's a very long chapter so I'm not sure if I had proofread everything, soon I'll check this chapter again, so I hope you enjoy it either way.

After this chapter, there will have a time jumping till the next one and I'll reblog a prompts list so you can request drabble ideas for the detective and the Corinthian during this one-month time jump!

And for last but not least, I want to thank @kameronrose, @80-s-cup-of-milk-and-honey and @ondragonhonour for helping me before, during and after my hiatus, helping me through my writing process and being patient with me lol, thank you so much, I meant it!

Now, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do. For sure, it is one of my favorites so far.

| prologue | chapter one | chapter two | fic's masterlist |

chapter three: the corinthian and the fall of icarus

The pearly moon hanging in the center of the dark night reflected perfectly on the blade in Corinthian's hands. Especially now that he was finally done cleaning up the blood in it.

Sighing, as his breath lingered in the cold air, he tucked his blade back into one of his holsters, previously hidden by his blazer. The only thing that never left his hands was his handkerchief, now soaked in the blood of the dead young miss lying in the motel’s bed.

There was no longer a trace of white on the handkerchief, yet without any hurry, Corinthian used it to wipe the blood running from one of his eye sockets. The blood-soaking handkerchief stained his fingertips through the thin fabric but he didn’t give it a mind, doing his best to clean himself and his things from anything that could relate him to the body of the woman who was only a few steps behind him.

Unlike the others that the Nightmare had killed so far in that town, she wasn’t a boy, much less a prostitute. He never intentionally changed his victims during all the time he traveled from city to city — state to state — on a killing spree. However, now, he had to make an exception.

A little thing to stir a certain detective's head. To shake up that game of cat and mouse between you two since you were more committed to this case and its conclusion than he had initially thought.

Even when it was hours since both of you were walking through the town and drinking at that same bar, he could still hear your voice in the back of his head. How engaging you were about the case and looking forward to taking the next step tomorrow at work. Not only that but you were slightly captivated at knowing more about him — the stranger who seemed to feel all the overwhelming storm that gathered in you — and also sharing a little about yourself in return.

Silly things really, nothing that usually would intrigue the Nightmare. However, with you, any of them sounded silly at all, not even foolish. For a moment, while listening to you and saying a thing or two himself, he felt… Nevermind. That wasn’t his point.

The point was that, unfortunately, you mentioned nothing about your visions. You never did, not directly. Neither way, luckily, talking with you was intriguing enough to keep his attention until you both headed home.

He never said he was going home but to finish a job. And that he did.

The Nightmare began to dress, idly looking for his sunglasses until he found them beside the bed. By accident, as if he wanted nothing, his vision collided again with the frame of the person's body stretched out — thrilling the pattern of their own red blood covering every detail of their skin.

However, Corinthian jumped out of himself immediately when his sockets stopped at their face.

They were you. He’d recognize the contours of your face anywhere. Although, what really made him shiver was not meeting your eyes, your pair of myriad colors and emotions.

How they used to blaze every time you were motioning as you spoke. How your eyes sparkled and, suddenly, you felt more alive. You could make anyone around you feel more alive but only when you were comfortable enough to let your walls slowly give in.

When you felt safe enough to let people pry through those walls.

Safe for saying things that typically you wouldn’t be with other people but did with him. Him from all people.

You gave him the password to let him in the door and you should have regretted it.

In the past, the Nightmare laughed when someone stated that ‘eyes were windows to the soul’. There wasn’t such a thing for him. For him, eyes were the window to the truth and nothing more.

Yet, with every second he spent admiring your eyes and how your corners crinkled when your gazes met, he may or may not have learned he was wrong… In a few parts.

The eyes could be the window for the soul and the truth — because, what was a soul if not the truth about the being that carried it within itself? Wasn't a soul the chest of their past, present, and future?

Then, he took them from you.

His stomach turned at the realization, he got your eyes and ate them. At the time, he enjoyed the whole thing but now, knowing to whom they belonged, he felt sick. The Corinthian had never felt sick, he didn’t know how he knew the word or the feeling.

He just knew it felt like a stab in the chest.

Not a single stab but a thousand of them, followed one by the other. Tearing his skin apart from the inside and bringing him back to the night Dream nearly unmade him.

He had never been the one stabbed.

His vision, for the first time in decades, blurred. The blood soaking his hands and his handkerchief were yours, redder than anything he had ever seen. And for the first time, he hated himself for how that same blood had once brought comfort to his fingertips but was now nothing more than a terrible cold burden, pulling his body down and against the squeaky clean motel floor.

The Corinthian jerked his face away from your body and threw the bloody handkerchief as far into that room as possible. So that he would never find him later no matter how hard he tried.

However, when he dared to glance at the same body again, they weren’t you. They had never been you. She was a student he had met while wandering around the town that night, not you.

You had never been the one who was laying peacefully in the motel’s bed, covered in your own blood and missing both of your eyes.

Even if you were, why did it freak him out?

It didn’t make sense, the mere thought of it shouldn’t affect him. There were many reasons for that but he could start with the obvious one: he had met you for a day and a few hours. You were much a stranger to him as he was to you, except for the part where he knew your name (something you couldn’t say the same about him) and that you could or not have a link to the place where he came from.

Besides that, you being that shouldn’t bring that kind of reaction of his.

Pursing his lips in a thin line, the blonde threw himself into a chair near the window, taking his blade back from his holster and searching for a piece of wood inside his blazer. It was one of his many wooden pieces that were almost done, scraping every now or then when…

Well, you know, when he needed to think.

The blonde turned to score the wood, gently blowing away the dust and a few small pieces of wood far away, something he should clean before leaving the room.

A different thought crossed his mind at each scratch he made on the wooden piece. But the same question always made him stop what he was doing before resuming it again.

What the hell were you? Because it had to be you, right? The thing that didn't fit. What was troubling his mind and making him feel something that shouldn't be there. It could only be you, whatever your ability or your true nature was, it was making him sick.

If he knew that playing with you would backfire so fast, especially like that, he’d have followed his plan strictly that night and killed you in the first alley. Indeed, it would bring less headache than now, and it wouldn’t upset him in the same way.

Upset? He huffed to himself and resumed back to scratch his wooden piece, he wasn’t upset. Tonight wasn’t the first time he had imagined you dead, killing you with his own hands like he had done many times before — you wouldn’t be the first and let alone the last victim of his. Yet, something felt different now and he couldn’t figure out what or why.

Suddenly imagining that the blood on that handkerchief was yours, not that lady's… Brought something in him. Very different from what he felt when he killed, nothing so fleeting as since even now, while scoring his blade against the piece of wood in his hands, the Nightmare felt the stabbing sensation lingering in his core.

Similar to what he had felt when he sat by your side that night.

When you two met at the cafe the following day and he placed his hand over your gloved hand, you dared to smile at him. Or, a few hours ago, when you two went to the bar again, together, and chatted until your friend Bruce had the decency to kick you out kindly.

Just… Peaceful. Nothing had felt peaceful to him before, until you.

It wasn’t a coincidence, not at all. The Corinthian had lived long enough to know that.

He rotated the forming carving in his palm, the roughed edges grinding into his palm like a sharp reminder of the wooden hilt he had gripped only seconds ago. His lips twitched as he thought to himself, grabbing the piece before scraping it once again, trying to finish it along with the dilemma he was finding himself in.

Feeling what others don't feel changes a person in a way. It makes you more human.

It made you more human. At the point to want to hear about the interests of a Nightmare even if your conscience was aware of the danger in it. What a curious human you were, indeed.

Usually, he’d just keep going with it and wait for it to end. Despite being different from the last people he had played, you’d bored him sooner or later — just like the others — and he’d have to kill you when it happened. Not ‘have’, he ‘would’.

However, the Corinthian would have to go against his rules precisely because there was something different about you. The initial plan was to understand what you were, day after day patiently. Now, he couldn’t be patient any longer.

With the last scratch from his blade, the Corinthian looked at the finished wooden piece in his hand. How he had perfectly captured each contour and curve of the familiar figure, especially, the pair of eyes full of emotions.

Grinning down at your face engraved in wood, the blonde wondered how much those eyes hid even without their owner's knowledge.

Then, he gathered his things and fixed the scene he’d left behind. There was only one place that the Nightmare knew would have the answers he was seeking, even if have been a long time since he hadn't visited there, he was finding himself forced to change that.

Corinthian would go back to the place where once was his home.

The Dreaming had changed.

The Nightmare had predicted it would have.

It was even expected since it had been a long time since Lord Morpheus had returned to his realm. Therefore, viewing the place how it was now shouldn't have amazed him, but it did.

Lands that once were filled with a plethora of colors and annoying waves of laughter were vacant — drained to nothingness. Not a sign of life could be found as the Nightmare wandered through the outside of the palace, trying to catch any dream or nightmare still lingering at their home.

So, it hit him, there was no one to be found.

It seemed like everyone had run away, thinking that their creator abandoned them once and for all.

That brought a smile to the Corinthian’s face as he fixed the hat over his head. Perhaps, finally, the others could understand why he had fled to the Waking World — what it really meant to be free or to search for that freedom. How it was to look for something beyond what you were designed to be.

While nearing his way to the front of the palace, the Nightmare saw a few things that were still intact at The Dreaming. Despite how lonely and empty the realm felt, it looked like the House of Mystery and the House of Secrets remained strong, which meant that Cain and Abel did not leave the place. Predictable.

But they weren’t the only ones, speaking of predictable. Far away, Corinthian could see a bit of green among the grey area that covered the Dreaming grounds. The Fiddler’s Green continued to wait for his creator patiently even when most of his friends and siblings had fled.

The Nightmare wondered about the idea of visiting the dream just to nag him but ended up changing his mind. He could still remember the times he'd dared to walk among the dream’s trees and that same dream's attempts to drive the blonde out of his perfectly green lawn.

Standing close to the front doors of the palace, Corinthian gave a last look to the broken fields left of the Dreaming. For a reason he couldn’t grasp quite yet, he wasn���t smiling anymore, something in him stirred with a strange feeling. In a short time, not even the House of Mystery, the House of Secrets, or Fiddler's Green could fight the loneliness that prevailed in the Dreaming anymore, weighing on the chest of anyone who looked at the empty and lifeless place for too long.

Not that the Nightmare felt terrible about it. He didn’t, there was no world where the sight of the remains of those soulless hills made him feel remorse. The Dreaming hadn’t been his home for decades, nothing now could change how he thought about what the realm once was, what it used to mean for him.

With a sigh, he turned on his heels and watched the doors to the palace warily open for him, as who greeted someone that they used to know. And, as the Nightmare passed through them, he didn’t look back.

As the Nightmare passed through them, he didn’t look back. He just waited for the click of the door closing behind him to go towards the known path to the library.

If outside, the realm was shattered in pieces, gathering what it had left — inside the castle, everything was falling apart.

The immense pillars, perfectly carved where each contour told a story, rested in crumbles on the ground and no longer supported the magnitude of the place. The Nightmare's gaze followed its destroyed pieces' path, step after step, how they revealed to him how the grand hallways and room of the majestic Dream's palace were nothing more than an old memory.

Inside the castle, strolling to the library made Corinthian feel stranger than outside when all he had was a view of a land ravaged by the lack of its king. The walls surrounding him were a single reminder of who had brought that to the realm, the same Nightmare that dared to walk calmly through the place as if nothing hadn’t changed over the centuries.

He could hear the wind hissing at him, shifting after every turn he’d take. The palace recognized him and if it weren’t completely empty, anyone would feel the rogue nightmare aura back to the Dreaming as the place did. They would sense the air becoming heavier in his presence.

The Nightmare that strayed from the Dreaming. The being who stated that would never return. And the reason the place he was raised was on its last breath. Not that anyone knew that but probably, they could guess since their lord was looking for him before he disappeared.

It has been more than fifty years. Things at the Dreaming weren’t like before, the loneliness that the walls exhaled made it clear.

After some time, the Corinthian found the entrance to the library. A grimace was placed on his face, confused by the uncommon deafening silence — everywhere used to be noisy. It was strange not to see a familiar face squinting their eyes at him suspiciously as they mumbled about the rogue nightmare.

He shook his head to himself, it should be a blessing and not something to bother him.

Once the Nightmare got into the library, the sight gracing him left him much more confused.

As anywhere in the realm, it was falling in itself. Most of the shelves that used to fill every inch of the place, full of books and stories that were currently being written were gone. Wood pieces of those shelves were left where they onetime were. The many books that brought the endless smell of fresh papers in the air now turned into dust, covering every surface.

And no sign of the loyal librarian who cared for the Dream’s library with her whole heart.

Holy shit, how was the Corinthian supposed to find your book now? He was expecting that the entire realm would be affected by the absence of its lord… But the library?

It was a collection of every book imagined and every story of a soul, human or not. The Nightmare thought that the place could work on its own, as long as people continued to create and live.

However, it couldn’t be like before, could it? It wasn’t like how things worked. Once someone took an essential piece off the board, the rules changed.

Everything changed. Perhaps, he hadn’t foreseen this as well as he'd thought before.

The Nightmare walked past what remained of the library, searching for anything that could be resisting the fall of a kingdom. Any standing bookshelf, a book facing down the cold ground, or even a single page by itself. Nothing.

If there was any magic around there, even if a little, the blonde in sunglasses didn’t feel it. Crumbles and dust made up the place once filled with magic, to the point of being sickening to the Nightmare now roaming its voidness.

Then, after so long, all that the Corinthian met was the breath of a dying land.

For a moment, he caught himself sitting in the middle of the long-lost library, was he supposed to feel something about all of it?

Because he didn’t regret helping that charlatan to keep an Endless trapped, especially when that Endless was his creator, all he wished was freedom. And only for that did Lord Morpheus try to unmake him?

Just for dreaming?

Was it really wrong wanting to feel emotions like humanity felt? To be among them, try to look and be like them? To envy them? For fulfilling his purpose perfectly while experiencing the ephemeral sensation of being human?

No. I wasn’t. Dream of the Endless was wrong, he was a self-centered, cruel, and blind creator to believe it was, to condemn any of his creations to do something as simple as dreaming.

So, Dream deserved what it came for him. Some would even say it was karma.

Thus, why wasn't the Corinthian satisfied?

He got the freedom he had long wished for. He was among humanity and fed from their fear and distress. In a second, he could feel how mortals were gifted to feel.

And even so, it wasn’t enough until he was drawn to your way at that bar that damn night.

One time or another, what he could regret was not killing you that same night for how your mere presence affected him. But, ironically or not, your effect on him was the exact reason for him to most of the time be relieved for not killing you yet.

Relieved. One more word that he didn’t understand its meaning or sensation before you and he shouldn’t, not in the way he did. That’s why he had returned to the Dreaming, looking for your book, for something that could explain what you were.

Why, when he was around you, to feel was easier? Stronger, even.

Corinthian tsked, rummaging in his pockets. His voided sockets wandered at anything but what he fished out of a specific pocket of his blazer, it would be better if he didn’t. It was bad enough for him to have recognized what he was looking for just by tracing his fingertips into the sharp edges of the wooden piece recently carved.

Why? It was simpler to ask this, the Nightmare realized when he finally stared at the piece he held fiercely. A heavier wave of confusion washed him as he looked back at those carved eyes.

Then, he sensed it.

Like something stroking the back of his neck and forcing him to look back at a spot under some wooden planks. Instead, what was hiding there.

A large burgundy book with a gold-edged spine was tucked away in what little remained of the various shelves. A unique aura enveloped its pages, the last drop of magic still lasted in the forgotten library. It wasn't for nothing that it wasn't easily felt but now that the Nightmare acknowledged it, he could feel every new word being written on its pages.

The Corinthian pushed himself up, slowly approaching the book. From where he was, he couldn’t read what was its exact title.

The D- And that was it.

Standing up beside the planks that were hidden in the book, the Nightmare was about to kick them away when…

“... Corinthian?” The sound of a certain voice caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

“Lucienne,” the Nightmare turned around, facing the librarian with pointy ears and rounded glasses.

Ever the loyal library, even if from an abandoned realm. Perhaps, the Corinthian was wrong for quickly assuming that she’d leave the Dreaming as the others did. 

“You’ve returned,” the librarian sized the Nightmare up, carefully. Her hands gripping a book close to her chest, its title away from curious eyes, “Unfortunately, his Lordship is missing at the moment.”

Corinthian fought back a snort. Rather, grinning at her wording.

With ‘at the moment’, Lucienne meant sixty-five years and four months.

“Dream is missing? What a misfortune,” with a dramatic sigh, the blonde pretended not to notice how the librarian raised a brow at him. He didn’t answer her question and was well aware of that. As was she, perhaps that was why he felt like she could bore a hole into his skull, “Good thing I hadn’t returned, I’m only passing by”

“Hm,” Lucienne murmured skeptically, not falling for the alluring toothy smile that the Nightmare showed off, “And I suppose you do not know anything about our Lord's whereabouts?”

“I don't know what you're trying to imply with that tone,” Corinthian clicked his tongue, “Wherever Dream is, I am sure he is having all the time of the world to think.”

Usually, the librarian wouldn’t be the reason for the Nightmare to shiver. She was one of the most loyal Dream’s servants and could intimidate anyone that messed with her nerves.

Yet, when Corinthian was still a nightmare that carved wood under the comfort of a shadow in the Dreaming, Lucienne's squinted eyes and tight lips didn’t affect him. Not like it did now, as she threw daggers at him with a single stare.

“Think?” the librarian repeat the word, her voice not contained anymore. She was outraged, to say the least.

If he had to admit, it had made him shiver. It would be a secret only shared in a mundane night's silence.

Lucienne wasn’t the type of being that played following the rules of someone else’s game, especially a nightmare’s. After decades of aiding other dreams and nightmares, it could have taught her not to be deceived.

“Where the loyalty for your creator lies, Corinthian?” The librarian asked, her voice hardly above a whisper, “To fail him with such disrespect as to decide to have a part in his disappearance?”

So, she knew. The Nightmare couldn’t tell how much the librarian knew, but it was enough for her to know what was fact and what was still a shot in the dark.

Certainly, Jessamy had told Lucienne about his involvement. He remembered seeing the raven flying around the Burgess manor — because of that, he did himself the favor of warning the magician about the Dream's faithful messenger.

Yet, he had seen no sign of the raven in the Dreaming. If she were there or in the Waking World, she’d sense his presence in the realm and would make sure to be the first to confront him. Despite that, the Nightmare didn’t hear any beat of wings when him when he first stepped back into the Dreaming or now, as he discussed with Lucienne.

Did that charlatan get rid of…? Corinthian shook his head, that wasn’t something to be worried about. In fact, to celebrate, Jessamy could be quite annoying sometimes.

Then, why he wasn’t smiling anymore?

“Why should I be loyal to him?” Corinthian bit back, ignoring how hoarse his voice suddenly got, “He never had loyalty to me, not even to you or any of the others. There is a reason for almost every creation of his had fled the moment he didn’t respond to their pleas, don’t you agree?”

Listening to his words, the library frowned. The irritation in her furrowed brows and tight lips was replaced by a sympathetic look and lips pressed in a straight line, gulping back her thoughts. In a certain way, she knew where that resentment was coming from.

A long time ago, many nightmares and even dreams had blurted out about how sometimes it was difficult to feel anything for their lord but indignation.

“You misunderstand him, Corinthian,” Lucienne wasn’t hiding the sorrow painted on her features, yet if briefly. She might not tolerate the Nightmare but she felt sorry for him being unable to see things as they truly were, whether they like it or not, his twisted vision and mind were the real reason they were having this conversation.

The Corinthian wasn’t stupid, he didn’t need to take a second glance at the librarian’s face to see what was crossing her mind while she stared at him quietly. Pity, she was pitying him and he hated it.

If someone was supposed to pity, that someone was him. The Corinthian should be the one to pity the other people from the Dreaming, being sorry for them.

Sorry for Lucienne, the ones who chose to stay, and even the others servants that still had a little faith in their Lord as they lived in the Waking World. For all of them, they all were delusional, and couldn’t have the guts to cut the thread that linked them to Dream.

The Nightmare pitied them, they were the ones who didn’t understand Dream. He let out a wry chuckle, shaking the fragile walls that hold the library up with the sound of it.

“To the contrary, I see him for what he is,” he clutched at something he was holding, embracing the sharp contours in wood meeting the skin of his hand. The blonde lifted his lips and gave the librarian a mock grin, forcing the words out of his mouth, “If you think I failed with him, I don’t mind. You just can’t pretend that he didn’t fail with us first, he doesn’t care about you or me. Or for what we think.”

Lord Morpheus could have been the one who created them, but he never would be capable of truly seeing them. Being the one that brought them to life didn’t make him a good creator or Lord, quite the opposite. Precisely for being the one who gave them the breath of life, Dream didn’t see them beyond the duty that he thoroughly shoved right to their throats.

Dream of the Endless didn’t care about his servants, he only cared about himself and his kingdom.

And for that, the world was drowning in the fragments of a kingdom’s downfall.

That was the end that The Dreaming deserved, his Lord’s masterpiece, after everything that Dream had turned a blind eye to.

Lucienne not once missed the dark lenses of the Corinthian’s sunglasses — eyes and voidness locked in an unnerving quietness. Both servants of the same Lord: the loyal librarian and the rogue nightmare, which one would look away and turn their backs to that discussion?

Laying all of his bets on the table, Corinthian thought he had a good guess about who it would be. That was before the so-called 'good guess' fixed the round glasses on the tip of the nose and took a step forward toward him.

“You’re wrong, Corinthian,” Lucienne raised her chin and the Nightmare turned his nose at her insistence, “Not only for the twisting view you have of Lord Morpheus and for what you did to him… But for how you have harmed the Waking World and the Dreaming while doing so”

Had he?

The Nightmare doubted that… Decades ago, when he had nothing to be confused or uncertain about.

Still, something was different now. He didn’t know why. Still, something was different now. He didn’t know why but his head was constantly rewinding to what he had witnessed once he arrived back in the realm of dreams and nightmares. A land that had lost its life and colors, followed by grey clouds ready to start an endless storm.

After, all of them came in. The doubts.

And, if anyone wanted to hear some sincerity coming from Corinthian, the last thing he needed was more doubts. The number one reason for him to be there, at the Dreaming, was to crack the doubts that he already had back in the Waking World.

Therefore, he honestly didn’t need Lucienne instigating the new tide of doubts that broke in his thoughts, flooding each one of them. Despite his will, it came to him anyway.

Memories of how agitated and vivid those lands used to be when even the darkest spots used to bring comfort and not shivers, were shuffled with the brutal reality images of how the kingdom was now. A realm of dust and crumbles.

All by taking the card from the house of cards base.

The Corinthian looked away, rubbing his forehead. The staring contest between him and Lucienne didn’t matter anymore — it had never mattered — not when he was trying to look for the quickest way to put his head back to place.

A nightmare being tormented by his own mind, who would have thought about that day would come? Not him.

Corinthian sighed deeply, darting his tongue across his dry lips. Who had built that house of cards in the first place?

“Now, am I really the one to blame?” His low voice swallowed the silence in the library, Lucienne studied him carefully, paying no mind to the wind attempting to scare a nightmare off, “Everything I had done was to be free, if anything it’s thanks to me that the others finally gave in to what they always wanted to. Besides their duties and what they were created for, without fearing Dream punishing them for doing so.”

Knowingly, he said the last part bitterly, biting the two words and swallowing them down.

Some of the words the librarian had given him with such certainty were still running wild between the tracks of his train of thought, so he had all the right to refund them in some way. Paying for every letter, every gap, and every wound they unwittingly inflicted on his nonexistent soul back.

Mockingly, the Corinthian bowed his head in Lucienne’s direction, “You could follow suit and give it a try. Who knows, you might like it”

One last strike into the librarian’s nerve, carried by poison in every curve in his words.

Lucienne winced slightly, realizing the vicious teasing behind the Nightmare’s suggestion. If she didn’t have any self-control or sense, she’d smack him with the very book in her hands, Corinthian didn’t even need to read much in her narrowing eyes to acknowledge that.

Wait… Did the librarian hold a book? The Nightmare furrowed his brows, lowering his vision to the servant’s hands — there, she indeed was carrying a book when she first encountered him in the library. Perhaps, the book under the pranks wasn’t the only one persevering the loneliness of a kingdom?

The book. Glancing at the burgundy book hidden in the resemblances of a shelf, Corinthian remembered what he had found and tried to take a look before he was interrupted. Lucienne’s presence almost made him leave without what he had just found.

Even during his discussion with the librarian, if the Nightmare focused enough, he’d feel the magic pulling him to the collection of pages in a cover. Mesmerized by the familiar aura enveloping and sheltering it from the realm’s decay.

If he closed his eyelids, even briefly, he’d go back to the days when everything used to feel enough.

And now what lingered in the bare of his being was a longing nonsatisfaction. Despite how much he had achieved.

“If you really wished for that freedom that you so roguishly conquered,” Lucienne’s voice stood above the Nightmare’s train of thought again, bringing his attention back to her quipped brows, “why have you returned now?”

Corinthian raised a brow back to her, glancing between the librarian and the book she held, “I said I’m passing by”

“And I don’t believe you,” Lucienne rolled her eyes, fixing her posture. Her analytical stare bored through the pair of sunglasses that the Nightmare wore, trying to decipher his true intentions back in the Dreaming, “I’ll ask you again and I wait for an appropriate answer: why are you here?”

Fucking hell, the Corinthian pressed his lips into a thin line. What should he say? If he wanted Lucienne out of his way and to take that book without her nosiness, he should give her some type of answer. How much of the truth he could tell her without feeding her suspicions about him?

The half of it? The tenth of it?

“I was looking for a book,” Corinthian opened his arms, glancing around where he kept his two feet. The place hadn’t changed a bit since they started their little conversation, it still hung by a thread, “But I guess I won’t find it here.”

Lucienne tilted her head, looking the Nightmare up and down. Disbelief was clearly written over her features.

“A book,” Lucienne could believe what she had just heard. With a grin, Corinthian slowly nodded to confirm that she hadn’t heard wrong. The librarian scoffed, that sounded ridiculous, even for a nightmare, “You’re saying that your search for a book brought you back to a place you had sworn never come back to?”

The Corinthian shrugged, “Is it so hard to-”

“What is the name of the poor soul you want to read about before killing them?” Lucienne cut Corinthian off like a blade crossing thin air. Immediately, the Nightmare’s vision snapped back to her, taking time to process exactly what she had said.

Anyhow, both were oblivious to how the ground shook beneath their feet toward the insinuation. The librarian took upon Corinthian’s lack of answer to continue, “As you have been killing many others through the last decades?”

And that was her mistake.

The sound of the Corinthian’s jaw setting is swallowed by the library, his three mouths gritting his teeth in an iron grip. The Nightmare didn’t have veins or blood to run through them but, somehow, he thought he listened to the sound of blood flushing furiously inside of his head. Probably, it could be blood, it would explain why he was seeing red.

From outside the library and the palace, the clouds trembled. The Dreaming’s sky was completely painted gray and black, covering the lands in a big and cold shadow.

Now, Corinthian knew that Lucienne didn’t know about the detective. There was no way she would, that was a fact. That was supposed to be obvious.

Nonetheless, the facts didn’t matter, on the contrary. He didn’t like the implication that was intertwined in the librarian’s words, the incredulity in her tone when she referred to you as one of his next victims.

Like the ones who he amused himself by inviting them to the night, luring them to the comfort of his embrace before stabbing their backs. Then, with hands soaked in blood, taking their eyes out with the help of his blade, devouring them — blissfully enjoying the bittersweet taste lingering in his mouth, filling his chest with delight. Temporary, but still a pleasure, it used to satisfy him.

However, you were nothing like them. One day, you’d be one of his victims? Yes, he’d have to kill someday soon, but it would never be like how he had done with the others.

Not because he didn’t want to but because he couldn’t do such a thing. Not with you.

At the end of the day, besides all the Corinthian's attempts, they wouldn’t change how he felt anytime he imagined his hands soaked in your blood and your eyes consumed by his voidness. His stomach turned upside down just from trying to view you without your eyes, empty sockets and stolen soul.

Would your aunt be right? Would you forever be stuck in the mundane world if he took your eyes off you?

Incapable of finding peace?

There was no world where he could do it with you, submit you to a fate as being trapped in an eternity of loneliness. As long it was with any other boy or girl, it didn’t bother him. The Nightmare didn’t care about any of them, they didn’t deserve what was given to them.

Yet, for some reason, you did.

When it was about killing you and eating your eyes, that was a sight that he could never bear. And he couldn't figure out why.

Still, somehow, realizing that made the Nightmare’s limbs feel like they were made of lead.

“You’re wrong in assuming I’m searching for a next victim’s book, Lucienne,” Corinthian muttered, the words spat out dryly. Although he stiffed his posture back and tried to regain his control over the discussion, the Nightmare let out his annoyance when he clenched his teeth along his tone.

What he actually wanted to say was a single question: How could you think this of me? But, that could be easily retorted with an even better question.

How wouldn’t she?

After all, he is the Corinthian. Regardless of knowing that much, the Nightmare rested a hand over his chest, “Even I am not that sadistic, not at this point”

Lucienne blinked at that, dropping her arms to the side so she could take a better look at the blonde. Was he joking? He had to be, she hoped he was. However, the way he wasn’t chuckling in the way he used to do, was enough to tell her that he meant it. Which didn’t make sense, because yes, he was that sadistic.

Worse than being a nightmare, terror being the core of his nature, he had been corrupted by the evil in himself and humanity. Corrupted by what he was and what originally was his purpose.

Scanning the Nightmare’s form, the librarian searched for anything that could answer the unspeakable question that lingered in the air, absorbed by the walls in the library was raising — one that, as well, pickled in the back of her mind.

Because the nightmare before her can’t be the same nightmare that she witnessed running away from their realm. So, what was he?

What had changed him during the years he had been with humanity?

For all the librarian knew, the consequences of Dream being kept away from his duties could affect the Corinthian in the Waking World, right? Mess with the bareness of his existence? As it would probably affect any other dream and nightmare who fled to live among the humans.

No, it didn’t make sense. If that was ever the case, the other dreams and nightmares would have already come to her and reported anything hypothetically wrong with them.

So.. Could it be a curse? Did the nightmare cross the wrong person in the past decades? Maybe a demon, sorcerer… Anyone powerful enough to put him under a hex that forced him to feel a drop of human empathy, since all he wanted was to feel like humanity did.

But if someone cursed or plagued by evil was walking through the Dreaming, any servant there would had felt something off. And, Lucienne hadn’t sensed any magic in the nightmare that didn’t belong with him.

Lucienne remembered too well that even a few years after his escaping, Lord Morpheus was having to deal with the huge trail of bodies that the Corinthian had in his tail, accompanied by a wave of dread and terror that washed over the humans that he crosses ways. He hadn’t changed at that time, and that was one of the reasons their Lord decided to put an end to this matter and unmake him.

Therefore, what was different now? After so many years? Decades? Almost a century?

The librarian was running out of answers. Nothing made sense, it was like she was overthinking it.

Yet, she wasn’t. Something had changed, she just couldn’t quite grasp what.

Not until…

Puzzled, Lucienne drew her brows together, eyes stopping at the track.

“I thought you had stopped wood carving,” she noted out loud, eyes fixed at what Corinthian held fiercely in one of his hands.

Corinthian’s face dropped by the librarian’s voice, what she was pointing to with her wise eyes.

He was supposed to have kept it back in one of his pockets when Lucienne entered his space, but he forget it. How did he not notice that he was still holding his figure? And, instead, unconsciously found comfort in holding it tight.

For a nightmare as clever as him, he was losing touch.

“Looks like you're back with your old hobby,” choosing to ignore the Nightmare’s quiet shock, Lucienne added.

The way she was saying, prompting the subject, wasn’t helping the Corinthian to understand where the librarian wanted to go with it. What was the importance of him going back to wood carving or not?

It had nothing to do with what they had discussed in the last few minutes.

So he decided to take that rope she was giving him anyway, without giving it a mind. If it would help to distract Lucienne, he would willingly pull the rope.

“Stop is a strong word, I just wasn’t interested anymore for a while,” Corinthian shrugged it off, fixing his sunglasses, “Humans would call that a pause”

“I see,” the librarian stepped closer to the Nightmare, calmly, “You started to wood carve again when you arrived at the Waking World?”

Corinthian raised a brow at the question, pondering it carefully. What was so interesting about he wood carving again? When he used to do his hobby in the Dreaming, no one commented about it or his little creations, much less Lucienne.

“No…?” he tilted his head, incapable of reading the now Dreaming’s keeper, what she had running on her mind.

As a matter of a fact, it had been three days since he started wood carving again.

Trying to be as casual as possible, without causing any fuss, the Nightmare slipped the wooden figure back into his blazer pocket. He didn’t appreciate the idea of not knowing what was boiling in the librarian’s mind while locking her eyes on his piece.

“Is someone you met?” Lucienne asked, dipping her head. In response, the Nightmare furrowed his brows, not understanding what she was asking exactly. What was she referring to now? Towards the lack of an answer, the librarian pointed to his pocket, “I’m talking about the figure. It doesn't look like anyone I met from the Dreaming or any other realm”

Oh…

Corinthian sneered at himself, contemplating the situation where he was put as his eyes echoed the sound. Mocking the Nightmare themselves, even when they were him.

It was almost tragic if not frustrating. If he was alone in the library, he’d have screamed until he could understand what humans meant by their ‘lungs burning’.

Lucienne tricked him in her own game. It had been a long time since they weren't playing cards according to his rules, but hers. And without realizing it, the Nightmare fell into the librarian's trap.

He was cornered and in the exact place that Lucienne wanted him to be. In a position where even if he answered her or refused to, he would be giving her an answer anyway.

The Nightmare tutted, tilting his head while analyzing what had led him to where he stood.

The librarian could be quiet and always in her place in the past, knowing when was her time to speak or not. However, she was always there, somehow. When things unfolded and another servant needed to her to the wise, whether they like it or not, Lucienne was there like a shadow. An annoying one, in the Corinthian’s opinion, she always had some advice to give.

Unlike any of the other creations, dreams or nightmares, Lucienne was one of the few who was well aware of what the Nightmare was: his story, the moment he violently rose, and what he had become from there.

Therefore, of course, she’d have noticed that something was off.

From the moment that she stopped at the entrance of the library and her eyes locked on the Nightmare, she knew. Whatever it happened in the Waking World, it made the Corinthian return to what once was his home, in search of an answer or of what could solve his problems back in the Waking.

The very world that he adamantly claimed from the bottom of his being, the only place where he could be free. For the Nightmare to break his own vow and leave quickly that same world before going back, something would have scared him.

Him. The Corinthian. The Nightmare. The reflex of humanity.

What would scare such a being?

Would be the same thing that brought back his interest in wood carving back? An old habit that the Nightmare used to have even before Lucienne existed. A thing that he treasured and kept with him before he went to the Waking World for the first time, along with their Lord? And which, after that, when he was once back to the Dreaming, was never seen around again.

To make the Corinthian fall back to one of his old hobbies, a forgotten one even by himself, it needed to be something powerful. It wouldn’t be for anything that would make a nightmare get glimpses of his old self and question what he had achieved — how he had, the cost.

Then, the final card was the wooden figure. When Lucienne had her eyes on it, she finally understood.

What was more powerful than a human’s heart?

Nothing.

No, the Corinthian took a step back. He refused.

He can’t bear the idea of Lucienne knowing all of that. And, even if she did, that being his true.

Or, worse, what if the librarian discovered more about you? Would she ask for a dream or nightmare she trusted to warn you about him? Make sure you find out about his true nature? What he has done?

Would Lucienne be that cruel? With him?

Corinthian can’t let that happen. What would you do if you knew everything through someone else?

“I think we’re done here,” the Nightmare didn’t care about the strange book that he had found before Lucienne arrived, not really.

He wouldn’t be there any longer, he couldn't let Lucienne get more answers out of him than she already had. His questions could be left to think about later, but now they weren't on his top priorities anymore, “I won’t entertain you anymore with my presence”

Bumping into the librarian’s shoulder, the Corinthian passed by her. When he felt her eyes following his back, he ignored them.

The Nightmare still was clever enough to leave when it was necessary. Even if it meant that he had lost in their game.

In the Corinthian’s command, the wind returned to involve his body in a tight hold, a gale reserved for him and him only. Dust and sand camouflaged the Nightmare in thin air, ready to follow him wherever he wanted to be.

The Dream shuddered at the Nightmare’s demand, willingly giving his ticket back to the Waking World.

“Corinthian,”  Lucienne called for him before he was completely gone from Dream’s realm again. The Nightmare expected the library to say something about their Lord, to remind him adorably that he was wrong in this matter — he imagined her saying anything to him except what spilled out of her mouth, “Whoever they are, let them be. Don’t destroy their life”

Then, with that, the rough breeze that had been there from the beginning led him back to where he belonged. To humanity.

But that didn’t stop him from hearing Lucienne’s last words to him. And they hit his intrinsic in a final blow, “Nothing good comes when you’re around, not to them”

The clicking sound of the glasses full of alcohol hitting the tables, along with the loud laughs of some drunks, was one of the few things that kept Nightmare from completely drifting his mind away.

Inside the bar, most of the people were seeking the shelter of a drink and the comforting warmth in spaces like that, anything that would make them forget about how cold it was outside. It could probably be one of the coldest nights of the season, forcing humans to find new ways to keep themselves safe from the icy breeze of the town.

For the first five minutes, Corinthian thought that it would be better if he headed to his nightly routine and didn’t meet you that night at all. Bruce, the bartender who took care of the bar at night, had seen him and greeted him? Of course. Would he probably tell you he was there and left before you arrived? For sure, after all, the bartender had a fondness for you — the reclusive detective with fickle humor.

It didn’t mean that, for a second, the Nightmare had pondered the idea of going to his routine and let the bartender tell you he had left anyway. But, he didn’t leave.

Instead, he had left the table he had taken in the back of the bar and sat on the counter’s stool.

Now, ten minutes since he had first arrived. Corinthian exchanged a word or two with the bartender, filtering little of what was said as he constantly caught himself back in what had happened in the Dreaming. The things Lucienne had said to him and what he would have said to her.

The details that were left in suspense, which were never mentioned but that had taken their places in the corner of his existence. Carving their own holes and burying themselves in him. All well aware that in the late night, when no sigh could be heard, the Nightmare would dig them up till the tip of his fingers turned to sand and clay again, trying to cling for what they were. The details, what they were? What did they mean? Why they held his unconscious conscious as their home?

In a moment, while the Corinthian drifted in and out of the conversation, Bruce mentioned something about a bottle of wine that he kept untouched in his house. At first, the Nightmare thought the bartender was trying to seduce him to his bed, it wouldn’t be the first time that a handsome man told him about a very old and expensive wine in their house that needed to be shared. That made Corinthian return his full attention to what Bruce was saying, just then noticing where he was going with the ‘untouched bottle of wine’ point.

“Do you believe it? A Château Lafitte as a gift? From 1828?” the bartender snorted, shaking his head, “That kind of stuff is rare, to not say very expensive, I almost refused but I’m sure you already know how the grumpy detective is”

“The detective?” Corinthian furrowed his brows slightly, “I didn’t quite catch, the detective was who gifted you that bottle of wine?”

“Yes, sir,” Bruce nodded, chuckling at the memory as he poured another glass of vodka for the Nightmare, “According to the dear detective, I deserved a reward for putting up with such a moody presence at the bar for a year.”

Well, that much sounded like something you would say indeed. The Corinthian nodded in understanding — for others, you were reclusive and someone of few words, rather staying in your quietness than instigating a conversation. Perhaps, it was because of it that you’d suggest sometimes that you were a complicated person to be around, the way your coworkers referred to you didn’t help you to think otherwise either.

However, you weren’t. Complicated, that was. Not for the Nightmare.

Sure, there were times when he couldn’t understand you. He still didn’t know how your abilities worked or where they came from, for example, only that they remind him of the Dreaming. That was why he had gone there and regretted it instantly, going back to the Waking World, (annoyed, he might add, it was the better word to describe his mood without going further).

Also, he couldn’t quite grasp yet the reason for you wanting people to discover their truths. What was the point in showing someone what they will continue to be oblivious about?

Okay, maybe it was your sense of justice, he could understand that. You believed that people deserved to face reality.

Although, he of all people had a say in the matter, an incontestable fact: humanity is afraid of acknowledging their truths, to confront reality, the reflex that would stare them back in the big mirror of the world. And, you could do nothing about that.

Thus, why keep trying? It was useless. If they couldn’t see what was in front of them and inside them, in their intrinsic, so they didn’t deserve to wander among the others. Someday, he hoped, you would understand — before you died, preferably.

Speaking of you… He glanced around the bar, distractible, dark lenses stopping at the bar’s doors for a second. Better late than never.

Escaping from the icy wind, you fixed your scarf and readjusted the black gloves covering your hands, protecting you from the winter's sudden potential. Flashing your eyes at a couple of drunks settled in their tabled, you winced by their shoutings and kept your hands in the pockets of your coat, as usual.

Your face didn’t carry the best of expressions, any energy you had before drained by what you had to deal with at work today. Dragging your gaze to the counter, finding where the Nightmare and the bartender were, you did your best to mask your tiredness. But it was clear, as you made your way to the stool next to him, that something had dreaded you.

The Corinthian could smell the fear leaving your pores and coating your frame. However, nothing of it was yours, but from someone else.

A flash of the face you the girl he had killed between last night and today, her expression contorted in horror and lack both of her eyes. Her blood pooled on the floor and stained the bottom of his black shoes.

The student…

“Hey Bruce,” you dipped your head, adjusting your figure over the stool. Your eyes were on the counter but, clearly, your attention wasn’t there, “Can I get a whiskey in one of those exquisite glasses and with ice?”

The bartender puffed, glancing at the Corinthian as he held a laugh, “You mean a whiskey on the rocks?”

“Good to know we’re speaking the same language,” you said with a smug, one that quickly faded from your face. The Nightmare snorted at your tone, sipping his drink — at least, he wasn’t the only one sulking anymore. Laying your arm over the counter, you faced the man in sunglasses, his hat resting in his lap, “Sorry for being late, my case is… It’s complicated”

The Nightmare took a second to contemplate you from up close since you were sitting by his side. You weren’t excited as you were when you both shared your goodbyes in the middle of the night, your eyes beaming at him as you whirled your back to him. Now, your irises felt haunted.

Gulping a lump that formed in his throat, the Corinthian frowned at himself. His mind was drowning in words, a single being played repeatedly like a broken record.

Haunted. Haunted. Haunted. Haunted. Haunt-

“And you?” you asked in return, tilting your head at the Nightmare. Instantly, he noticed a subtle scent of tobacco coming from your clothes, not your breath.

It grounded him more firmly in the present.

“A lot like you, I hadn’t the best of days,” he raised his glass, shrugging.

“Hm,” you muttered, tapping the counter as you waited for your order, “Are you okay?”

Corinthian huffed, to not say that he scoffed at your question. Not because of the question itself, but for you being the one asking it. You, who were overflowing in worrying, despite your attempts to keep all that gathering in your core. And you still cared to ask him if he was okay?

That sounded like a joke. How would he even start explaining? Better, what would he actually say?

I was working and suddenly you came to mind and it distracted me enough to make me go home and I hated it, in fact, it’s still bothering me. So could you please stop with whatever you’re doing? Because you have to know what you’re doing.

No, that wasn’t one of the best ideas, for far not the brightest.

“Are you okay?” he returned the question, “What happened, another victim?”

“I wish it had been only that,” you sighed, “But I believe things are getting harder the closer I get to the answer.”

“Well, enlighten me,” the Corinthian offered an encouraging smile, one that you returned with a nod before starting to explain.

Quickly, Bruce handed you your drink before giving the both of you a wink and going back to his work. You didn’t touch the whisky, just thanked the bartender in a mumble and ranted about how your case was going as you let the ice melt in the drink and diluted the alcohol.

And, for what it seemed, only one thing had happened as the Corinthian had predicted that day: his changing his victimology so suddenly did not only stir your head but your precinct as well.

Aside from the complete change of target, the young adult was murdered in the same way the others had. About the eyes... Like the last times, they were taken too. Nothing else had changed.

Your hands gestured in the air while you talked in a lower tone, wishing for Bruce not to hear how was the student’s state when you went to the morgue.

Her skin was coated by the smell of dead, lifeless, her clothes soaked in her blood and her chest exposed — with wounds that even if she hadn’t died in the motel, she’d not make it to the hospital. And her face…

You stopped yourself before continuing, a shiver running down your spine when you relived her fear and worry for her own life.

Her face was pure void, according to your words. You didn’t know another way of describing it. Blood tears had stained her cheeks and turned into two portals for emptiness where her eyes once were.

The Corinthian went quiet while you continued to explain what happened at your work, how your case was going, how the new victim would change it, etc. His dark lenses were fixed on your face, even if he wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying anymore. The vodka he had in his hand turned warm when the smell of tobacco in his gloves couldn’t hold his thoughts to the ground anymore, rewinding to the shadows in his being once again.

Into emptiness.

For some reason, the Nightmare could still feel that there was something in his hands. Staining, soaking, and coating them with a bloody weight. Drop by drop, he heard the vividly liquid fall from his fingertips to the drink in his glass, tainting his vodka with his wrecks.

Looking up, he could see the crumbles in his being that mimicked the ones in the Dreaming. His feet sank in sand, dust, and clay as he strolled among the nothingness that fill him. Each step left a red footprint behind him, the tracks of a fallen creation. A killer.

Wasn’t that what he was supposed to be? The truth about humanity was ugly, horrible, and gloomy — his purpose was that, to represent that side of them. To defy them to see the shadows of their reflex, a sight they wouldn’t dare to face when they were awake.

So, he would make them see it himself. Acting like them, camouflaging among them and killing the ones who didn’t know how to enjoy what they had. Feeding from their eyes and enjoying it himself, for once, the Nightmare could feel like humans did.

And then, he was greeted by the void again. Vacancy.

Everything that, now, the Dreaming reflected too.

The Corinthian bit the inside of his cheeks, looking for anything that would push that memory away, even pain. But he felt nothing, sand filled his tongue and vanished at the same second, leaving a bitter taste instead.

The Dreaming was a part of Dream, as Dream was a part of the Dream, and he — a nightmare — was made with the resemblances of Dream, his creator. Would that mean that Dream was feeling like he felt? That lack of everything and nothing at the same time?

Something in thinking about it, made the Corinthian feel sick. Sicksicksicksicksicksick, an unfamiliar word with a new meaning and he hated everything about that word. It implied that he felt bad about his creator if it was true if Dream was really passing through what he has been in his entire existence.

That hole grew bigger and bigger in his core.

And, if that was the case, he couldn’t feel sick about it. He should be satisfied with it. Eventually, Dream would understand him.

“Even if one of the offices behind those other cases replies to my letter, it will be useless,” the sound of your voice slowly grounded him back to his stool. If you had noticed that the Corinthian wasn’t entirely there, you didn’t say anything about it, “Until there, my case will close, unfinished, and I won't be able to continue it from here.”

“What?” the Nightmare drew his brows together, “What do you mean?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line, sipping your drink for the first time.

“MacDonald got in touch with the cops in the other cities, the closest from here, asking them about the victimology, and who answered her said that my case matches their old cases,” Corinthian’s sockets widened, raising his brows at it and returning to drink again. He would need it, “My unsub has been working for ten years, if not more”

Way more, the Nightmare pursed his lips. It wasn’t like he was going to count how many years had passed since he'd started, it had certainly been over fifty.

It started before Dream was captured. So, there was the math.

His lips turned into a pout when the name emerged again in his mind. Dream.

“Sorry if you had already explained, I’m just trying to understand,” the Corinthian fixed his sunglasses, twitching his nose, “But why this means that you will close your case?”

Drumming your finger on the surface of the counter, you looked away from the Nightmare in silence. The same lullaby was playing constantly, it made the skin of the Corinthian tremble as if they were strings trying to follow a melody’s chord.

He felt that wave again. Emotions threatening to escape from your chest and that claimed for him to reach them one more time. Like he had done the other times.

However, this time, the Nightmare chose to ignore it. To let the wave pass through him and don’t adventure in the deep of those waters. To not swim further.

Just stay.

Suddenly, he felt it. Vividly.

That feeling when you would be drowning and the water filled the bottom of your lungs, digging its way into your organs, tissues, flesh, and core. Lungs screaming for oxygen, pleading for it even a bit, anything that would make the pain go away. The burning.

The Corinthian’s lungs were burning.

Despite him not having lungs or feeling pain, not as humans would do.

But, he felt.

“It’s just that…” you stopped yourself, the words trembled every time you opened your mouth, “The others officers, from these other cities, they all said the same thing, you know? The unsub always leaves after he murders the seventh victim, he moves from town to town, taking advantage of the officers who don’t give his cases a second thought.”

That… That was true.

The Corinthian pinched the bridge of his nose when he remembered that. Remembered by you. How had he forgotten a crucial thing as it?

It could be because he had never shortened the time between his killings. Or because he had never been that absorbed before.

Enjoying more what happened after the killing and the delight than the process itself.

That wasn’t optional: he should find his next victim.

But, it would mean that he’d have to leave the town soon after. And, if he left, he could just let you continue here.

Everything that Corinthian was planning to do in the future far away would have started to be set in motion. That idea, unlike when he first thought about it, didn’t bring him any excitement. Or amusement. In reality, it made that burning feeling return to his lungs.

His chest.

“MacDonald just took information from them because she technically forced them to re-check closed cases and even so, it will be for nothing” Your glass of whisky danced in your hand, sparkling under the bar’s dim lights. You frowned at the whisky, glancing at the Nightmare, “Probably, tomorrow another body will be found, and even if get to the motel instead of asking for the cops to bring the victim to the station… The unsub will be on the road already, he could be anywhere.”

Yes, he could.

The Corinthian mimicked your frown, taking in what you had just said. The agony of drowning in the void as you wait for a helping hand or for that torture to end — but nothing ever coming to happen.

Condemned to the lack of a something, an anything. A conclusion.

The lack of everything and nothing. That would make you two, right?

After the bar, both of you would be doomed to a similar fate. You would have to die without your answers while he would have to keep living without his answers, but the doubts you planted in his head.

And your blood in his hands.

The Nightmare winced at the mere thought, seeing his blade cutting through your fresh. Only one time, he wouldn’t have the courage to stab you more than once. So, for that, he’d have to hit you in your head, more specifically, your medulla oblongata.

You would die ten seconds later, gazing at him in his empty sockets while one question lingered in the air and you’d never find the strength to make it. Why? Then, your eyes wouldn’t close, they would continue to stare at him, emotionless. Completely numb, empty, just a void of what you were.

A reflex of him.

He’d never find in himself to close your eyelids. Or maybe, he would, not wishing to remember you in that way.

He needed to remember you by the way you’d look at him while explaining something that you didn’t have sure he’d understand — but it didn’t matter, because he would be paying attention, and that was enough. Not only by how your eyes widened at him, pouring how you felt out but your determination, what some would assume to be stubbornness. Yet, he appreciated it, even when he didn’t understand why you kept doing what you did, he liked that you weren’t one of giving up.

You never were or would be. You were the type of person that wouldn’t die without pulling up a fight, trying until your last breath to carry on.

The Nightmare’s hand hovered over the pocket of his blazer, feeling the edges of the wooden figure there.

He had to make a decision.

“You seem too positive about that,” the Corinthian remarked in a mutter, loud enough for you to hear and bring your attention back to him.

It was inevitable, the wanting to kill would strike again and he’d give in to it.

He’d have to murder another victim, no matter when.

“What do you mean?” it was your turn to ask.

That was the key: no matter when.

The Corinthian grinned at your question as if you had asked exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You had said to me that the killer probably is killing and setting his scenes as he does because he wants attention,” the man in sunglasses quipped a brow, pulling his drink away from him, “Especially from the press”

“Yes…?” you furrowed your brows, folding your arms, “Where you want to go with it?”

“Calm down, sweetheart, I was already getting there,” the Corinthian held his hand up, not noticing how you lowered your head, bashfully, “As you said, none of the other officers even investigated the case, so until now no one had instigated his interests”

Not that he didn’t want attention.

After years of murdering and rarely being a topic around common people, he had grown to like the mornings after the murder.

When he’d walk among the humans, waved by the sun upon his head, while they were utterly unaware of the horribles of the other night. The danger that was nearby.

It wasn’t something that you needed to know, though.

“What are you suggesting?” you abandoned your drink, narrowing your eyes at the man in sunglasses.

“Give what he wants,” the Corinthian offered, drumming the counter as you did before, “I know people that if I knock on their door right now, would have it published tomorrow morning”

With a threat. But the point was that they would do what he asked them to do.

You opened your mouth, then closed it and opened it again.

“Would you do that?” you asked, trying to hold back a smile. Either way, the corners of your lips turned up, “Seriously?”

“Of course, I would,” he flashed you a smile, genuine this time, “Am I not a journalist?”

Your face relaxed in relief, tears threatening to escape from your eyes while you stare at his sunglasses. Your gloved hands gripped the stool where you were sitting, not knowing exactly what to do with them. Perhaps, if you weren’t so afraid, you’d ask him if you could hug him.

“You don’t know how much this means to me, thank you,” you brushed your shoulders against his, briefly, “I owe you this one”

“No, there is no need for such a thing,” the Corinthian shook his hands, resting them over the counter, “See this as I doing a favor for a friend”

Friend? Was that what you were?

“Huh, if you say so,” you nodded, “I’m sure you would like a last drink before heading to some of your contact’s house?”

The Corinthian chuckled, “I’m not one to refuse a drink when offered”

You laughed at him, much lower than the others in that bar and, yet, sweet.

“Bruce, please,” you called the attention of the bartender, who quickly perked up at your order from his position behind the counter, “One round to me and…”

The sentenced paused there, remaining in the air. Your eyes stopped at the being by your side again, as if you waited for something.

It took a couple of seconds for the Nightmare to realize.

His name. You were asking for his name.

He was taken aback by that, fixing his position on the stool sheepishly.

You didn’t want any of you to be a stranger anymore. That made his chest burn again, but not in a bad way like before, it was something else.

Let your name run around or, worse, give a face to said name was a dangerous thing to do. It would only bring you trouble for the person.

“Hm,” Corinthian scratched the back of his neck, “You can call me Cori”

But the Nightmare was willing to take the risk.

Your brows rose, “Cori?”

He liked how the name sounded in your mouth, how your lips moved along the letters. It felt right when you repeated, coating the world in honey and turning it into a sweet melody, a lullaby. A dream.

Everything that he lacked.

“Did I get it right?” your eyes crinkled when you questioned, lowering your head in his direction.

Cori smiled again, nodding, “Yes, and you? I suppose you have a name, detective”

Rolling your eyes, you pondered it for a moment.

A name wasn't something that someone should give to any one.

In the end, names held power. Identities were made by names, and names molded souls. Once you gave a name to something, it became real, it had a meaning.

Yet, you gave yours to him freely.

And, even with Corinthian knowing what was your name way before you knew his, it was there.

At the moment that his chest filled with flames that burned but couldn't be felt.

The beginning of the downfall of a nightmare.

.

next chapter.

.

Taglist: @slashersimp101 @mavsketch @lostcause514 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @morallygr4ygay @milleca @ravenous-says-stuf @smoke-n-fiire @laydreams @kameronrose @mischiefmanaged71 @seraferna @lupinlie (if you want to be added, let me know!)

#the nightmare nearby #the sandman x reader #the corinthian x reader #corinthian x reader

[historysims4]

15 QUESTIONS FOR 15 MUTUALS (tag game).

Thanks for the tag @antiquatedplumbobs & @viktorviolettaenterprises.

Are you named after anyone? Vivienne Westwood, British designer. My mother has always loved fashion (in fact she was a seamstress before retiring).

When was the last time you cried? If we mean tears of joy, when my nephew was born a few days ago. Tears of grief when my uncle died about a year ago.

Do you have kids? Not yet, but I hope one day to have at least one (unfortunately not everyone has a baby right away and I've been married for 8 years).

Do you use sarcasm a lot? It depends on the topic and if it's appropriate. I always try not to offend anyone.

What sports do you play/have you played? As a child I did classical dance but then at the age of 15 I had an accident which unfortunately didn't allow me to continue this passion. Now I do yoga (it's not a sport but it's an activity I love).

What’s the first thing you notice about other people? The eyes ... Every human being has different colors and I love observing the various details that distinguish people.

Eye colour? Cerulean, if it rains it goes on dark green, if there is sun it goes on amber.

Scary movies or happy endings? On film? Reading? 😶...

Any special talents? I love making desserts and cakes and luckily I'm good at it 🤣.

Where were you born? France

What are your hobbies? Listen music, read historical novels and vintage magazines on old fashions, the sims (from the very first to 4).

Do you have any pets? Yes, I have a super cute mixed breed cat!

How tall are you? 170 cm.

Favourite subject in school? Art! Always loved even when I travel. I love exploring old churches or palaces, museums... My former high school professor was very good at his work and I have to thank him if to this day I remember what a Corinthian column or pediment is or Byzantine art or belle époque!

Dream job? I don't know, I've had various jobs but perhaps my dream would have been to become a screenwriter and write a vintage-style TV series or film... 

I chose to tag no one! Feel free to skip this quiz or take it 😅

#tag game #ask game

[shammah8]

"Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labour in the Lord is not in vain.

1 Corinthians 15:58

BOLD WITNESS NOT IN VAIN

Lung Singh was a spirit worshipper and opium addict for forty-five years in the little Southeast Asian country of Laos. When he turned to Christ, he became a powerhouse for the Lord. Dr. Jan Pit shares about the day he baptized Lung Singh:

“I’ll never forget how, after coming up out of the waters, he began singing, ‘I have decided to follow Jesus,’ Then he pointed to the ripples spreading out in the water and said,

‘Brother Jan, there goes my old life. All the old things have passed away. It’s gone. Everything now is new.’

“Still soaking wet, he clambered onto the bank on the side of the famous Mekong River and knelt down. ‘Devil,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve been your servant for 45 years. Now I belong to Christ. Now I only serve him.’

“I’ve never met a man so on fire for the Lord. After I left the country in 1973, Lung Singh continued his courageous ministry. He was constantly warned by the Pathet Lao Communists to stop his preaching, but he refused.

“’I cannot do that. Jesus saved me. He did everything for me. I can’t be quiet!’” Years later he was executed but not before impacting for good the kingdom of heaven.

Sister Wu is a leader in a house church in China. One day her home was suddenly raided by the police. She had Christian literature from abroad and it was confiscated. Sister Wu was arrested and taken to the police station. The police were cruel and abusive towards her. She was questioned overnight not only by the police but also by the head of the Religious Affairs Bureau (RAB) of the city.

She bravely responded to their questions.

Just a few days after her release, the chief of the RAB’s brother was severely injured in an automobile accident and taken to the hospital. By the time Sister Wu knew about it, she went to visit this RAB chief’s brother and mother. She led them to the Lord while they were in the hospital.

Later, on another occasion, Sister Wu was holding a Christian training class in a small room of a restaurant. One of the employees decided to report the meeting to the PSB hoping to make some money because it was an illegal meeting. The matter was reported all the way to the top of the RAB, but the chief of the RAB, upon discovering that it was Sister Wu conducting the meeting, said “Oh, don’t bother her. She’s OK.” Sister Wu’s boldness was rewarded.

Response

Today I will live in the strength of Christ and fearlessly refuse to give in to my enemy, Satan’s attempts to shut down my verbal and outgoing witness.

Prayer

Pray for boldness for all believers to share the Gospel openly.

© 2013 Open Doors International. Used by permission

[aceofthegreenajah]

Okay, time for Sandman!

What I think I know before starting:

- I’ve read some of Neil Gaiman’s more popular books but no comics. I own the Sandman… audiobook? Audioplay? Radioplay? One of those. But I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

- I know the inciting incident – Dream aka Morpheus was captured (I think they were trying to capture Death and got him by accident).

- I’ve seen some pictures about casting.

- I think the comics were vaguely DCU related but I might be wrong about that. I think the show has to write around some things they don’t have the rights for in regards to that, but again, that’s just me reading between the lines and I might be wrong.

- I think the comic series is really long, was started when I was a kid, and might even be still ongoing???

On with the show!

- Okay that opening sequence was cool as hell I kinda want to rewatch it immediately.

- Oh this place is not ominous at all.

- Charles Dance! I didn’t know he was in this too!

- mr. Charles’ character you are sus. And a dick.

- prediction – the summoning will interrupt this and the Corinthian will remain free while Dream is trapped, and will be more powerful when he gets out. A volume 1 villain or something further down the line. (five seconds later:) yes I knew it.

- These older shakespearean actors really can declaim.

- Is that kid gonna be Morpheus’ eventual ally and releaser?

- The Corinthian came back faster than I expected.

- I also kinda want to go back and analyse the way the Corinthian moves sometimes. Kinda dreamlike, not fast, just the moment you take your eyes off him he’s somewhere he wasn’t before, but it’s the logical place for him to be so your brain just goes ‘oh, makes sense.’ At least mine does.

- Ooh that look says a lot with 0 movement, well done!

- He looks kinda spindly and a little eerie. Well done on that too.

- Well I think your father would just ask for more and more and more if he got something, but who am I to know? I’ve only seen him be a shitty father to you and a cult leader and an arrogant, reckless amateur magician who stumbled his way into good fortune by accident. See, he even makes, you, his own son call him ‘magus’!

- Is Ethel like Alex’s stepmom now? Or an apprentice magician? (hoping for second, expecting the first)

- By the way I love this bird on principle.

- Daring heist / escape by bird??? Sign me in! Oh you little saboteur!

- WHO DID THAT I WILL KILL YOU

- IT’S THE KID I LIKED YOU YOU’RE DEAD TO ME

- Maybe it’s okay his sibling to death maybe it’s not permanent

- Is that motivating him to escape tho (or motivating the kid to turn over a new leaf (I won’t forgive him but I’d give him points for effort))

- This man – Roderick or whatever – gets worse by the second.

- Sure you’ll probably be fine but it should still be your decision! Yes run away Ethel! I mean free Dream first as a distraction / to screw him over.

- Oh well robbing him is good too I guess.

- Sure fight over the magic circle of containment hope you made it from a durable material.

- That look from Dream is pure disgust and derision. Deserved of course.

- Ethel giving off villain vibes. Well more than she already was. I like it. She’s smart she’ll be terrible *★,°*:.☆(￣▽￣)/$:*.°★* 。

- Paul act as a conscience here please someone needs to. (but don’t get yourself in trouble you seem sweet.)

- understandable. Short-sighted maybe but understandable.

- I told you make your magic circles out of a more durable material. Also was it on purpose? I’m inclined to think so, but certainly he didn’t seem inclined to correct it.

- Feeling a little bad for the quilt Paul must feel but Alex kinda got what he deserved. If he had released dream after his father died I’d have said he’s a kid and an abuse victim he should be spared, but he had decades to try to be better. Eventually you do run out of time to change.

That was a fucking good time. 10/10

#the sandman #netflix sandman #what tags are people using??? #sandman reaction #the sandman episode 1 #reaction #liveblog #the sandman liveblog #<--- that last one will be my tag for the rest of them once I get around to it

[princessjaqulinechess1031]

Interesting

Description: Damian and Marinette have a rainy day date.

Characters: Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng

The rain poured down on Gotham, the streets lit up with the headlights of cars and the reflection of light posts off the thin flood of water on the street. Damian and Marinette sat inside the café, steam rolling up from their coffees and twisting the smell of mocha and cinnamon from Marinette’s coffee up into their noses. Marinette took a sip of her coffee, looking out of the window with a sigh and leaned her head against her hand.

“I love the smell of the rain,” Marinette said softly. Damian raised a brow.

“You can smell the rain?” Damian asked. Marinette nodded, her pigtails bouncing.

“Oui. Can you not?” Marinette said. Damian shook his head.

“Smells like a normal Gotham day to me,” Damian said. “What does it smell like to you?”

Marinette sighed and leaned back in her chair with a smile.

“Like…..fresh paper and the wafting of flowers,” Marinette said. Damian grinned at her.

“Sounds like a lovely smell,” Damian said. Marinette nodded. It was, it was one of her favorite smells. It reminded her of busy days back in the bakery of her youth, when the rain was pouring, and Papa and Maman would bake fresh bread with her. Even now, she could almost feel the heat of the oven and the laughter of her parents. Oh, how she missed them.

She used to not be able to think of them without at least one tear. But now…now she could think of them with a smile, without the marring that Hawkmoth had left on her family. A hole would always be left in her heart in the shape of her parents, but the hole was scabbed over. Still there, still in pain, but no longer bleeding blood so thick it threatened to drown her.

She heard a rustling in her bag, and she looked down to see Tikki’s antenna poking out. Marinette smiled and broke off a piece of the muffin she had bought and brought it down for her kwami to eat.

Damian laughed under his breath at the motion. “Tikki hungry?”

Marinette nodded and then shut her bag again once she was certain her little friend was fed.

“Thankfully, Tikki is much nicer about it than Plagg,” Marinette chuckled. Damian rolled his eyes.

“I’m the son of a billionaire, and I still don’t know how Adrien manages to afford to feed Plagg,” Damian joked. Marinette giggled and Damian reached across to peck a bit of her muffin off. Marinette playfully slapped his hand away but let him get away with a piece anyway.

“My muffin,” Marinette said in a mock-stern voice. Damian popped the piece of muffin into his mouth with a smug grin, and Marinette had to fight not to roll her eyes.

“You could have got your own,” Marinette said, “if you’re so hungry.”

“It’s more fun if I steal it from you,” Damian said. Marinette sipped her coffee, relishing the warm taste in the cool Gotham air. Though it was warmer in the coffee shop than out in the open, the rain put an inescapable chill that was impossible to ignore.

“My maman, she used to make the best muffins,” Marinette said. The scab clenched but did not reopen. “She used to make orange blossom muffins, and they were the best in all of Paris.” She smiled wistfully, eyes glistening as her mind wondered to a different time and place. “She taught me how to do it, but the first few times I just burnt them all!”

Damian chuckled. “I’m sure Alfred would let you make them some time, if you asked.”

“Do they sell orange blossom in America?” Marinette asked. Damian shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Damian said. “I don’t often do the shopping. I’m sure Alfred has his ways though.”

Marinette had to agree with him on that one. The Wayne family butler and closest confidante she was sure could take over the world, procuring orange blossom was probably a drop in the hat for him.

“Monsieur Pennyworth probably could,” Marinette said. Damian laughed once, lightly, and then crossed his arm on the table.

“Maybe you could teach me? My mother was never one for baking, so I never learned,” Damian said, eyes downcast. From all that Marinette had heard of one Thalia al Ghul, it sounded completely character for her to never teach Damian something as simple as baking. Or spend the time to teach him, regardless. Damian was never one to ask for help, so Marinette was obliged to agree to teach him.

She reached across and laid her hand on top of his.

“Of course, ma moitié,” Marinette said. “Maybe I can teach you the family secret for croissants!”

Damian laughed under his breath. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Marinette looked outside and noticed that the rain had let up to only a small drizzle. She picked up the pink umbrella by her seat as she stood, sticking out a hand to Damian as a symbol to follow her.

“Come on, let’s head back while the rain has calmed down,” Marinette said. Damian took her hand and followed her out. Marinette held the umbrella in one hand and her coffee in the other. Damian had discarded his when they left, saying it wasn’t that good anyway, but Marinette figured it was an excuse to take the umbrella from her so he could hold her hand.

Which he did after about a minute. Because Damian had already asked one vulnerable thing of her (to teach him how to bake), and so asking another was out of the question. Damian was a softie deep down under his grumpy veneer, but very rarely could he express that tenderness verbally. And Marinette was fine with it, if it meant she got to hold his hand.

The tip of Marinette’s boots wetted just a little, and she knew she would have to let them dry for a day or two before she could wear them again.

They walked in silence with their hands connected as the strolled through the drizzly day of Gotham back to the Manor. Marinette shut her eyes and leaned her head against Damian’s shoulder as they walked, finding warmth in him in the slight chill of the air.

“You really should walk with your eyes open, nawaret aynaya,” Damian said. Marinette hummed and opened her eyes lightly.

“It’s more fun this way,” Marinette said. “Adds danger to my day.”

Damian squeezed her hand tightly and kissed the top of her forehead.

“And being a superhero isn’t danger enough?” Damian asked softly. Marinette shook her head and propped her head up on Damian’s shoulder. The two came to a stop at the corner of a street, neither looking in front of them.

“What can I say?” Marinette said. “I’m a glutton for adventure.”

“Interesting,” Damian said. Damian leaned down and kissed her lips softly, and Marinette smiled into the kiss. Her coffee was forgotten, accidently dropped to the ground as she curled her arms around his neck. The coffee spilled on her boots, but she could not find it within herself to care.

Damian pulled away from her, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes.

“interesting,” breathed Marinette, before she reached back and brought him in for another kiss.

Notes:

it's FEARLESS day! this fic was partially inspired by the song "Fearless" by Taylor Swift, which she re-released today on the Fearless (Taylor's Version) album. I'm a Swiftie, what can I say?

Chapter Bible Verse:

"And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." -- 1 Corinthians 13:13.

Questions, comments, or concerns? Let me know! Have a blessed day!

#batfam #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #batman #fluff #maribat #miraculous ladybug #taylor swift #fanfic

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

The Treatment of Slaves

1 “Give the Israelites the following laws: 2 If you buy a Hebrew slave, he shall serve you for six years. In the seventh year he is to be set free without having to pay anything. 3 If he was unmarried when he became your slave, he is not to take a wife with him when he leaves; but if he was married when he became your slave, he may take his wife with him. 4 If his master gave him a wife and she bore him sons or daughters, the woman and her children belong to the master, and the man is to leave by himself. 5 But if the slave declares that he loves his master, his wife, and his children and does not want to be set free, 6 then his master shall take him to the place of worship. There he is to make him stand against the door or the doorpost and put a hole through his ear. Then he will be his slave for life.

7 “If a man sells his daughter as a slave, she is not to be set free, as male slaves are. 8 If she is sold to someone who intends to make her his wife, but he doesn't like her, then she is to be sold back to her father; her master cannot sell her to foreigners, because he has treated her unfairly. 9 If a man buys a female slave to give to his son, he is to treat her like a daughter. 10 If a man takes a second wife, he must continue to give his first wife the same amount of food and clothing and the same rights that she had before. 11 If he does not fulfill these duties to her, he must set her free and not receive any payment.

Laws about Violent Acts

12 “Whoever hits someone and kills him is to be put to death. 13 But if it was an accident and he did not mean to kill him, he can escape to a place which I will choose for you, and there he will be safe. 14 But when someone gets angry and deliberately kills someone else, he is to be put to death, even if he has run to my altar for safety.

15 “Whoever hits his father or his mother is to be put to death.

16 “Whoever kidnaps someone, either to sell him or to keep him as a slave, is to be put to death.

17 “Whoever curses his father or his mother is to be put to death.

18-19 “If there is a fight and someone hits someone else with a stone or with his fist, but does not kill him, he is not to be punished. If the one who was hit has to stay in bed, but later is able to get up and walk outside with the help of a cane, the one who hit him is to pay for his lost time and take care of him until he gets well.

20 “If a slave owner takes a stick and beats his slave, whether male or female, and the slave dies on the spot, the owner is to be punished. 21 But if the slave does not die for a day or two, the master is not to be punished. The loss of his property is punishment enough.

22 “If some men are fighting and hurt a pregnant woman so that she loses her child, but she is not injured in any other way, the one who hurt her is to be fined whatever amount the woman's husband demands, subject to the approval of the judges. 23 But if the woman herself is injured, the punishment shall be life for life, 24 eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, 25 burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise.

26 “If someone hits his male or female slave in the eye and puts it out, he is to free the slave as payment for the eye. 27 If he knocks out a tooth, he is to free the slave as payment for the tooth.

The Responsibility of Owners

28 “If a bull gores someone to death, it is to be stoned, and its flesh shall not be eaten; but its owner is not to be punished. 29 But if the bull had been in the habit of attacking people and its owner had been warned, but did not keep it penned up—then if it gores someone to death, it is to be stoned, and its owner is to be put to death also. 30 However, if the owner is allowed to pay a fine to save his life, he must pay the full amount required. 31 If the bull kills a boy or a girl, the same rule applies. 32 If the bull kills a male or female slave, its owner shall pay the owner of the slave thirty pieces of silver, and the bull shall be stoned to death. — Exodus 21:1-32 | Good News Translation (GNT) The Holy Bible; Good News Translation Copyright © 1992 by American Bible Society. Cross References: Genesis 9:5; Exodus 24:3; Exodus 21:36; Leviticus 25:19-20; Leviticus 25:44; Numbers 35:10-11; Numbers 35:16; Deuteronomy 15;16; Deuteronomy 21:4; Deuteronomy 21:6; Deuteronomy 22:18-19; Nehemiah 5:5; Ezekiel 15:8; Matthew 5:38; Matthew 18:25; Matthew 26:15; Matthew 26:52; Mark 7:10; 1 Corinthians 7:3; 1 Corinthians 7:5; 1 Timothy 1:10

#law #slaves #death #Exodus 21:1-32 #Book of Exodus #Old Testament #GNT #Holy Bible #Good News Translation #American Bible Society

[mask131]

The Sandman bonus notes - The Doll’s House

In France, when the Sandman series got released, they packed  the “books/arcs” together, two per volume, and at the end of them added bonus content. Drawings and alternate covers, storyboards, interviews and commentaries by famous comic book names.

Since I am browsing through my Sandman stories again, I thought I’d share a bit some of the informations found in those bonus contents (not everything, of course, but some highlights)

Of course, spoilers ahead for The Doll’s House. 

# Hy Bender interpret Dream natures as a reflection of his domain. Notably, Dream’s inability to adapt and how slow he is to change as a result of how most stories, myths and legends actually find their origins and foundations on very ancient stories, primitive archetypes and fondamental pictures that are as old as humanity and found their way in the collective unconscious (he mentions there the works of Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell). And the same way one same archetype or myth takes many forms or variations throughout cultures, continents and times, Dream appears differently to anyone who sees him yet stays fundamentally the same being, the change being merely superficial. 

# Hy Bender interprets The Corinthian as a dark reflection of Dream himself. He bases himself on a comment of Mike Dringenberg, the artist for “Collectors”. Mike Dringenberg said that the Corinthian was literaly a being that devoured everything he saw, and as a result is a twisted symbol for the artist - the same way Mike himself uses everything he sees as visual material and the same way Neil uses everything he hears and sees as story material. In fact, Neil was the model for the Corinthian when Mike had to draw the cover of the issue. 

# For “Tales in the Sand”, Neil Gaiman wanted, when it is said that Nada took her own virginity with a rock, that the young man listening would instinctively protect his penis with his hands, in an act of sympathy. But the publishers thought it would be misinterpreted and thus it was not included.

# According to Neil Gaiman, the rule that “Mortals cannot love the Endless” did not enter in conflict with how Desire birthed Unity Kinkaid’s child - because Desire raped a woman in her sleep, and that does not enter in this rule about love. Neil also mentions that not only was this rule implented to create the conflict between Dream and Desire, but it was also to fit with the greater concept of “tales of men VS tales of women”. 

# Neil Gaiman mentions that Desire’s domain, the Threshold, comes from a never-written story by Clive Barker (Barker had shared this story with Neil because Neil was supposed to be a character in it). In this short story, the Threshold was the “realm of pain” (a pu on thresh and hold). Gaiman also wanted Desire to live in a replica of their body because “desire lives under the skin”. 

# Dream does not need the thousands of beings that inhabit the Dreaming. He could very well manage and take care of everything alone. But he lets them be because he likes company. Neil always thought that Dream spent millions of years completely alone in the Dreaming, and ultimately decided that he liked better to be surrounded by beings than on his own (though he would never admit it). Asked about why then would Dream not create for himself a partner ideal for him (as a solution for all his love problems), Neil Gaiman says that Dream might have tried that already, but that either he grew bored of her or she left him. But it is true that no rule prevents Dream from creating a partner for himself.

# Commenting about the previous informations, Neil Gaiman precises that not all of the Dreaming inhabitants were created by Dream. Some actually were fleeing other realms, places or dimensions and found a refuge here. Others ended up in the Dreaming by accident and decided to stay. And some other beings are born spontaneously in the Dreaming, Dream not being directly involved in their existence. 

# When asked about what language people speak in the Dreaming, Gaiman answers that it is the language everyone speaks in their mind. 

# Some readers were furious at Gaiman for killing Hector Hall, not realizing that Hector had already been killed a long time ago in the “Infinity, Inc.” comic book. 

# To create the Corinthian, Neil Gaiman wanted a character reflecting the romanticism of the serial killers. According to him, at the time serial killers were not yet presented as something “cool” or “trendy”, but he felt that it was coming - he had noted for exemple the existence of fanzines about serial killers, with interviews of them in prison. As a result, Neil Gaiman wanted with the “Collectors” story to show that serial killing was neither cool nor trendy. 

# Neil Gaiman named the Corinthian after a slang of the 17th century, where a corinthian was a salacious lecher frequenting whorehouses. But the Corinthian doesn’t have any sexual activity - and he is “only homosexual in the sense that when he eats eyes he prefers those of boys”. But Neil Gaiman also mentions that the Corinthian could have taken his name from the town, the epistles, the columns, or the advertisement company that included this term in a slogan to sell a car: ultimately, the Corinthian needed to be a charismatic and cool figure, all that Dream was not. 

# The serial killer convention was inspired by the Fantasy World Convention of october 1988 (London). 

# The script for the Collectors issue had numerous change. For exemple, Neil Gaiman had some troubles when he wanted to have a serial killer speak clinically and brutally, honestly of masturbing, before using more and more euphemism for it and for its actions, until in the end the reader realized that the man wasn’t speaking of masturbation anymore but of murder. However the editor told Gaiman “In the DC Universe, nobody masturbates.”And originally, Funland was going to be Disneyland and he was supposed to wear the iconic mouse’s ears on his head, but it was changed at the last minute out of fear of copyright complications. But ultimately, changing the mouse’s ears to two wolf ears turned out to be very fitting with the Little Red Riding Hood tale told in this issue. 

# The dreams of Hal that include a Judy Garland/Dorothy that keeps taking her faces off to find her true self, passing by the different characters of The Wizard of Oz, was inspired by a realm dream a drag-queen told Gaiman about, one day in London - a dream in which the drag-queen’s friends had their faces either scarred or falling into pieces.

# Zelda and Chantal were inspired by two real-life duos. The first was a duo of “spider-women” Neil Gaiman met - he could not tell if they were sisters, lovers, or mother and daughter. The other was a couple of lesbians that he knew and where one would act as if the other was a ventriloquist dummy - she kept whispering to her what she wanted to say, so that her girlfriend would say it for her. 

# Alan Moore one day went to eat with Neil Gaiman and a few other friends at Northampton. Moore started telling them about the comic he was created, one about Jack the Ripper, named “From Hell”. He started describing in vivid details and with passion a scene of “ritual dismemberment” with a supernatural aura, and his description was apparently so powerful Neil got out of the restaurant for a minute, shaken. When he came back, Moore was still describing the scene, and just after hearing a few words of it Gaiman went out again of the restaurant. When his friends finally went search for him, he was sitting in the gutter, a dreadful look on his face, his head in his hands, and a homeless lady was comforting him. Moore mentions that it was a “very Gaiman” moment and that the old homeless lady might have been Mad Hettie, brought to life. 

#the sandman #dream #neil gaiman #alan moore #hy bender #desire #clive barker #the corinthian #the dreaming #spoilers #the doll's house

[thenightling]

What the Hell IS Daniel Hall?

There seem to be some people on Tumblr very confused about what Daniel Hall is.   I guess someone is going to have to try to explain him.  Please note: I do not have the annotated Sandman.   This is purely from my own observation while reading Sandman.

Okay, very simple answer.   Daniel is Dream of The Endless.   

He is not still “only twee-years-old.”  He is not Morpheus’ “son.”  He is not Morpheus’ heir. He IS Dream.  We are literally told this in every single comic he has appeared in.

Let me try to explain...   

If you’ve read American Gods you know there are multiple versions of Odin based on the different ideas of him.  And how the Icelandic Odin is not Mr. Wednesday even though both are Odin, that’s sort of what this is like. 

To begin we need to discuss Daniel’s conception.  Daniel is the son of Hector Hall and Lyta Hall.  Hector is the son of Carter Hall, whom many of you may know as Hawkman.   Hector gets reincarnated and so does his wife.  And every time they reincarnate, at some point (usually in adulthood) they regain the memories of their previous life . Keep that in mind.

Hector was tricked by Brute and Glob into believing he was The Sandman.  Gifted with some of the Sandman powers Hector.  There’s just one problem.  Hector was dead.  Hector is a ghost.  

And Lyta, though originally from a defunct (now AU) timeline had at one point been Wonder Woman’s daughter (again, now defunct continuity / AU continuity) which gave her a direct link with The Furies (The Kindly Ones).  

Lyta lived with Hector in a false version of The Dreaming inside a boy’s head, in a hazy dream-state.  This went on for years.  Still pregnant.   Any normal child would have been born already but two years had passed and she was still very much with child. 

Eventually Morpheus unwraveled the great scam and forced Hector’s spirit to move on. 

So the baby conceived in dreams, possibly by a ghost, (as in Sandman lore it’s unclear if Hector was alive when he impregnated Lyta) was born.  From the very start Morpheus could sense the child was of The Dreaming and it was clear this was no normal child.

He was gestating in dreams for over two years. That child is more dream than flesh.  

When Daniel is finally named, he names himself.  This isn’t some cute “Morpheus speaks baby” moment.  This is a psychic communication between him and Daniel.   

Notice how Morpheus puts his fingertips to Daniel’s forehead there.   This is how they psychically communicate.  In the Kindly ones he mentions how he and Daniel have “spoken” and this is later confirmed by Daniel, himself in his more mature / True form.

Morpheus did not name Daniel.   Daniel named Daniel.  

Daniel isn’t a name chosen at random.  Daniel picked it for himself because Daniel is the Biblical Oneiromancer.  Daniel is the Dream prophet  or Dream Scryer of the Bible.  He was the prophet who had visions and prophetic dreams foretelling the future and communicating with God.  Daniel in Sandman chose this name for himself because he knew who and what he truly was.

Even Lyta (despite her resentment toward Morpheus) knew the name was right for her son and smiled when she repeated it.

Later (though still appearing very human) Daniel is revealed to be what some might call a dreamwalker.  A dreamwalker is someone who can lucid dream and enter the dreams of others at will- what is supposed to be a very rare ability.  Daniel lucid dreams his way to The House of Secrets and stays for story time.

The striped pyjamas are no accident.  This is a nod to Toby in the fantasy film Labyrinth.  In Labyrinth Jareth, The Goblin King, does choose Toby as his heir and does plan to turn him into what he is.  There is a similarity in that Morpheus knows Daniel will take his rightful place in his realm but he did not pick a human child at random as an heir.  Daniel was born into Dream Magick.  He literally gestated in it.  This is no normal baby.  

 Now we come to the explanation of what Daniel is.  

Morpheus attempts to explain being Dream of The Endless to Matthew, and how all anthropomorphized incarnations of Dream of The Endless are just “aspects” of a greater whole, he uses the metaphor of facets of a giant jewel.

During Sandman: The Kindly Ones, Puck and Loki burn away all that was human from Daniel.  Daniel (as a being) survives this transformitive fire because he is clutching a phoenix feather.  But he is now transformed.  The human part (what human there was) is gone now.

Puck and Loki did not give him that feather.   They didn’t even know what he had in his hand at first.  

Now here’s where things get weird... er.    Before even this, Cluracan has a brief vision of Daniel in his true adult Dream of The Endless form.  It’s similar to the illustration of Daniel’s Dream of The Endless form previously shown in Destiny’s book.  

Notice here when Morpheus shakes hands with Daniel, we see Daniel in a pose that is most assuredly not a normal pose for a toddler.  He is posed like a noble greeting another noble.  One hand cupped behind his back as he stands up straight and shakes Morpheus’ hand.   

  When Morpheus “Dies” Daniel comes into his own.  He physically becomes Dream of The Endless corporealized- with all the powers and memories that go with it.   

This scene can be interpreted as Daniel finally taking his true and proper form as Dream.  Also notice the dreamstone is shrinking.   Each dreamstone is made from a piece of Dream’s very soul.  Daniel is absorbing that soul fragment into himself and becoming wholly who and what he is supposed to be.   He IS Dream of The Endless.   That is not a title.  That is who and what he truly is. 

This is further solidified when in Sandman: The Wake Daniel tells Matthew that HE was the one who stopped The Corinthian from killing him.  And that was while Daniel was still in the form of Toddler-Daniel, making it clear that even at that point he wasn’t truly a normal toddler.  

Daniel, himself, tries to tell the reader that he IS Dream of The Endless. He’s not Morpheus but he IS Dream.  Dream of The Endless isn’t a mere title.  It’s WHAT he is.  It’s who he is.  He’s a facet of this great crystalline entity.  

This is made more clear in Sandman: Overture when we see Morpheus meeting the other aspects of Dream.  He acknowledges that they are all “him” yet they are autonomous to each other.   Self-aware and self-contained yet linked.  

Daniel isn’t some human baby that Morpheus randomly chose as his heir. Daniel IS him.   Both are shards of the same being.  But here’s the thing.  Facets of Dream of The Endless CAN exist autonomously from each other.  This is how Morpheus was tricked into thinking the cat (Desire) was another aspect of Dream (another shard) in Sandman: Overture.

So you see, when I “Ship” Morpheus with Daniel I speak of two pieces of a greater whole finding a balance, kinship, and understanding with one and other.  I speak of two adult aspects of a greater whole. Not a man and child.   Not a man and his heir.  Not a child who was groomed by a supernatural being.  But two supernatural beings with the same knowledge, power, and (for the most part) memory as each other- pieces of the same soul corporealized.  Both connected by being facets of the great jewel that is Dream of The Endless yet autonomous to each other.

Even if Daniel had been human he would be pushing thirty-years-old right now.  Characters in Vertigo Comics were aging at real-world speed (until they switched over to DC Black label, which was only a few months ago).  This is no three-year-old, folks.   

Now for a hypothetical.

Morpheus would be the younger of the two as in my “shipping” of the duo requires Daniel to have resurrected Morpheus as a dream entity.  As a dream entity Morpheus would no longer quite be Dream of the Endless anymore but free from that role in his own “death” as Dream of The Endless.  

I feel this is what happened- that he became a dream entity posthumously.  Notice his appearance in Hob’s dream in Sandman: The Wake.  He was there with Destruction.  Hob did not know who Destruction was other than a random street artist he saw once. he did not know Destruction’s connection to Morpheus.  There is only one explanation for that dream he had of them.  The only explanation is that it truly was Morpheus in his dream, brought back as a dream entity but dead as “Dream of The Endless.”     

If Morpheus exists as a dream entity now, that’s Daniel-Dream’s doing.  And therefor Daniel is technically the older of the two now, as Morpheus had to be recreated to become this dream entity. (Sort of like how Matthew became Dream’s raven.)  

Morpheus may have his ancient memories and knowledge (as Daniel does as well) but in his current state (as a dream entity) Morpheus would technically be the younger, at least in that form.

There. That’s the best way I can explain it.   

I hope I have that right.     

#Neil Gaiman's The Sandman #The Sandman Universe #The Dreaming #Daniel Hall #Morpheus #Dream of The Endless #Neil Gaiman #Neil Gaiman's The Sandman Universe

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Hey, so I'm force to go to this xenophobic church in Manhattan- they even have an organization where they go to abortion clinics and coerce people w/ uteruses to not go forward with the abortion (they are very open with promoting this organization). I stopped paying tithes to them a long time ago, because knowing what I know abt the intricacies of childbirth & what it's like to be LGBTQ+ in particular, I literally cannot support what the church is doing bc I believe its harmful (1)

Today my mom and I were talking about finances and I’ve been in a sort of bind recently because I’ve had to pay off credit cards, one of which I used to pay for repairs to my car & another person’s car when I got into an accident over the summer, plus I still have my biweekly car payments to worry about. I’ve been managing, but I dont really have much money to myself, and because everyone’s out at either work or school, I normally buy food for myself because no one is home to cook. (2)

My mom straight up told me that the reason why I have been broke is b/c I’m not paying tithes, which kind of took me off guard bc I thought it was because I wasnt putting in as much hours for school (I have a two day break on Monday-Tuesday but decided not to put in any extra hours because I didn’t want to overwork myself like last semester + my mental health has been extremely poor). (3)

Since she said that I’ve been in a sort of panic mode, that maybe I won’t be able to be myself in the future and get surgery/HRT and find a suitable partner (I’m an aro/ace trans guy and I desire to be in a qpp with another guy), which has been debilitating because I’ve been seriously struggling with my social skills, and have literally only two friends that I’ve been keeping contact with occasionally, though its difficult because we have all gone on separate paths due to life basically (4)

Anyways this is a super long ask but I felt like it needed context because the fact that I suck as socializing & making friends has affected my self-esteem and mental health to the point where I have thoughts of s*icide, among other things, including flashbacks of traumatic events that I wouldnt have otherwise remembered. Basically I wanted to ask- am I wrong for not paying tithes to this church? Will God punish me for not paying tithes to this church? (5)__________

Hey there, anon. I’m so sorry for the delay in answering this, I’ve been having some mental health issues of my own so I’ve been taking a little break from this blog. I hope that you are hanging in there, and that things might even be looking up for you since you sent this in. 

I’m sorry that you are experiencing so much distress right now; and that your mom’s comments have added to it. I know that money is tight for you right now, but if at all possible, I recommend seeking professional help to guide you through dealing with the flashbacks of traumatic events and all that; some therapists offer sliding scale payment options for patients who need it. I know that’s not what you’re asking about though, so on to tithes.

I 100% think you’re making the right decision not offering your money to this church. You disagree with their ministry and do not see God’s will in it; giving them money would be contributing to those ministries.

People offer tithes (or a smaller fraction of their financial income) to their faith community as an expression of gratitude to God, a willing response to God’s activity in that faith community. You see God’s movement in a community, and you want to be a part of that movement; so you offer financial gifts to keep the movement going. Generosity should never be pressured out of a person, it should never feel like an obligation; if the Holy Spirit is moving you to give, you’ll feel a real desire to give. 

Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 8:11-13 about our financial offerings coming from a place of desire, not obligation: 

“And in this matter I am giving my advice: it is appropriate for you who began last year not only to do something but even to desire to do something—now finish doing it, so that your eagerness may be matched by completing it according to your means. For if the eagerness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has — not according to what one does not have.“ 

That above quote teaches us several things about offerings made to our faith communities, the first of which applies directly to your current situation, while the other two apply to giving in general:

It assures us that we should give what we desire to give – that desire and eagerness will come to us naturally when we truly hear God’s Word read, proclaimed, and acted out. 

The quote also assures us that one only has to give “according to what one has, not according to what one does not have” – so even if you one day find a faith community wherein the Spirit moves you to desire to give, 10% of your current income is probably more than you have to give at the moment, and that’s okay.

Finally, Paul doesn’t specify finances in this quote – what you give to a church whose mission you believe God approves of doesn’t have to be money, especially if money isn’t something you have at the moment. It might be your time or your skills, your voice or your strength, your art or your presence – whatever unique gifts God has given you that you can use for the good of God’s world. 

If you don’t see God’s activity at this church, and thus are not moved to a genuine desire to offer what money you can, don’t do it. God does not oblige us to give money just for the sake of giving it; it’s not a task to check off the list of things you need to do in order to “earn” God’s love or blessing in your life. You don’t have to do a single thing to “earn” God’s love and blessing; God gives these things freely to each of us. 

Sometimes we don’t recognize that love and blessing clearly, because for better or worse God isn’t a micro-manager who swoops in and makes everything work out perfectly in our lives. Instead, humanity’s free will has built up systems that keep many of us poor, many of us oppressed; people who don’t “deserve” to suffer…suffer. Not from any fault of theirs, not because they failed to “earn” God’s help or because they did something to bring God’s punishment on them – but because that’s just the way this world is right now. It hurts people who should be protected. Even so, we trust that God is there – God is there with you in the midst of your distress, your struggles to make ends meet, your pain at the trauma you’re reliving. 

You aren’t broke because you’re not paying tithes; you’re broke because our world is broken and forces students to work long hours on top of keeping up with schoolwork and mental health stuff. I’m so sad and mad on your behalf that you’re stuck in this situation, and I hope things improve really soon.

Friend, I promise you, there will be a future where you’re able to go on hrt, where you are able to live as your full self, where you have friends and a qp partner and where you are happy and loved. There will be a future where you find a faith community that you’re thrilled to give back to, whether that’s your time and talent or your money or all of the above, because you truly see God’s activity in the work they do. It sucks that these things aren’t all true for you here and now, but I believe in that future for you. In the meantime, I promise you: God’s with you, unconditionally. 

#tithes #offerings #finances #suicide ideation mention #mental illness and health #Anonymous #essays

[dailyaudiobible]

08/24/2020 DAB Transcript

Job 12:1-15:35, 1 Corinthians 15:29-58, Psalms 39:1-13, Proverbs 21:30-31

Today is August 24th welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it is a joy to be here with you this week. I’m looking forward to the territory we’re going through in this week. And even though we’re kind of in more serious territory, kinda dealing with suffering and the kind of topics that we try to avoid if…if we can help it. I just have this sense of optimism that if we embrace this season that we’re going through in the Scriptures and in our lives so much cleaning out can happen, so much restructuring can happen over the next little season. And as we go into the latter part of the year the world may be chaotic but we just…we don't have to participate, like that's our prerogative. We have to participate in life, but we don't have to get swept into divisiveness and we don't have to get swept into chaos. That's a choice and when we’re willing to face our own junk, when we’re willing to our own, which these books, these books like Job and Ecclesiastes, they have a way of asking us to face our own stuff. When we do than we’re getting honest and when we get honest God can move. So, let's dive in. Let's take the next step. We’re reading from the voice translation this week. Job chapter 12, 13, 14 and 15 today.

Commentary:

Okay. We spent a good amount of time today reading from Job and hearing Job pour out his heart and it's brutal and it's honest and it's how he's feeling and it's what he’s sensing and it's…his frustration. And we got…we have in Job what we would call cognitive dissonance. And we feel this way when we believe something to be true or we've always functioned in a certain way only to find out it may not be that way, right, which we can bring us into doubt or we reject…or like we were like, “the way I thought things were are not how they are” and that creates a dissonance that we have to wrestle with and try to settle the score so that we can move forward, so that we can understand what we’re dealing with. So, what we have is Job's friends trying to reason with Job basically saying, “God is good. Everybody knows that. God is just. Everybody knows that. He’s righteous. Like He's not going to punish a person for no reason, He's not gonna to judge somebody for nothing. So, Job your plight must be that there's something…something going on and you just keep trying to say your innocent, which only proves your guilt”, right? Because the cognitive dissonance for Job's friends and…and Job are that the baseline is, “God is good. God is good.” So, Job has this problem of feeling like truly he hasn't done anything wrong, truly he’s righteous, which leaves no explanation for his suffering if in fact he’s being judged by God, which Job believes to be the case. Job's friends have the dissonance because they’re listening to their trusted friend, but there's no way they can believe Job over what they think that they know about God. And, so, they're basically just trying to help Job follow the path to discovering his own sinfulness so that he can repent and maybe God would restore him. So, this is why there's all this back-and-forth. This is why there's all this wrestling and this is why we say the things that we do to people who are going through things that we don't understand. I mean because this creates a tension that needs to be resolved. Job wants to solve the tension but it's not gonna come through the advice of his friends. Like they’re wise people and he's a wise man and he doesn't feel like they know anything that he doesn't know and he’s listened to them, but he knows everything that they're telling them. The only place he’s gonna actually get the answer he's looking for is from God. He wants an audience with God but he knows that if he were able to get that audience with God than even his own mouth would condemn him. Like it's a tension that he’s trying to resolve and, in some ways, where Job is going, like where he is keeping his heart close and true, this thing he is focusing on is revealed today. And honestly, again, one of the most beautiful, difficult, and true statements in the Bible is found in our reading today. I mean when we started Job we saw Job have his life destroyed systematically and we watched him respond by falling down, certainly grieving, mourning, but falling down in worship to God. Job today says something that is a continuum, basically, of that posture of heart through all of this. Job is basically saying, “I have got to find God and I may find that when I do, if I do, that I am not innocent after all and God might kill me for it. Even if he slays me, still I will hope in him.” O man, that posture is so deep. It's Job acknowledging that he does not understand at all what is going on. And what he does understand or what he thinks he understands about himself, maybe he doesn't. But he's got what he’s got, He’s got his convictions and nobody is gonna talk him out of it, nobody's gonna say the right thing or give the right reference. He wants God and if can find God and God kills him then he’s still gonna hope in God because there's no other hope no matter what. This is saying like, “even if God ends up being a hopeless waste of time, still I will hope in the Lord and the Lord only.” That is be on our theology friends. That is beyond any formula we can construct to try to explain God and God's movements among people on planet Earth. And it is beyond any of our circumstances. It's saying it like it is. There is no other hope. And, so, even if it's a vain hope, I'm still going to hope. That's called faith. And the thing that we should be wrestling with because it's what's being brought up, this is what we’re supposed to do is wrestle with, is to consider, “do we love of God for what he can do? Would we love Him if He did nothing?” Is that what we’ve got going on here, a transactional relationship? Yeah, that gets the bedrock pretty quick doesn't it? That like…like cuts to the bone, which is what the Bible promises to do, that it would…that it would be able to get as deep as to where soul and spirit divide, that it gets to get to the deepest essence of who we are. and that's where we’re at today as we come out of the book of Job.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into this, it’s disruptive, it's…it's more fun when our reading is something tremendously encouraging or tremendously enlightening in a positive way. It's difficult sometimes when the mirror goes up and we have to look ourselves in the face and we have to look into our own eyes because the Scriptures are forcing us to be honest. And we see honesty today in the Scriptures and it leads us to consider our own lives and our own seasons of suffering and our own interpretation of what's going on. So, come Holy Spirit into that as we continue through this day. We need You and Job is showing us that he needed You. There was nothing else that was going to be adequate, no other word, no other circumstance, You and You alone. And that's over being led understand - we need You, there is no other hope. And, so, come into that as we…as it brings up whatever it brings up, as we wrestle with it, as we consider it, as we embrace it. We pray this in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

Commentary:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it is…it is home of the Global Campfire, it is that where you find out what's going on around here and there’s always something or another. So, check of the different sections. You can check them all out in the app as well.

But the Community section gives us the Prayer Wall, gives us the different places to get connected on social media. The Shop, of course, is resources that over the years have been developed for the journey that we are on making our way through the Bible in a year. So, check that out.

And if you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, I cannot possibly thank you enough. My vocabulary is not big enough to describe the gratitude and awe that…that I try to often enough. Just the fact that we are here, just the fact that God’s spoken word is always being spoken, that the Global Campfire is always burning is remarkable, but it hasn't happened by accident, it’s to happened because we’ve been in it together. And, so, thank you for your partnership. So, there's a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button, it's in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today, I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello DAB family this is Steadfast Stacy in Arizona I’m calling to pray for Barb in Canada who called basically with regrets about not feeling like she had not laid a decent adequate foundation for her children. And I’m praying for her and for myself because I share those regrets and I know that God is bigger for both of us. Dear heavenly Father thank You for Barb, thank You for her call and thank You for her vulnerability that is a blessing to me. Thank You that You are bigger than our regrets, that You know our hearts, that You know who You placed in our homes, what children You gave us, and that You promise us that we were adequate for those children. Lord there’s something about for me in this COVID time, just an awful lot of time to think, an awful lot of ways to see the choices that my children are making and just my maturity in beating myself up about my part in my son’s inability to…to see You in their lives and see their need of You. But Lord this all comes back to my need of You, my need of You to put all that in perspective and my need of You to…to be able to trust that I did what I could. And I’ve been seeking and I’m sure Barb is the same way. I can’t…I…I hear a tenderness in her heart and I pray that You would help her at this time to be comforted by You, to be…have the right words to be sprinkled with grace when she interacts with her children in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Good morning family this is Purely Pampered of Maine today is Wednesday the 19th of August it’s been almost 5 years since I last called asking for prayers for the situation with my son who came out as a transgendered female and all of the resulting difficulties surrounding the breakup of his marriage and the whole situation. We’re basically estranged and my child and my husband’s choice and have only seen our grandson a few times. The hole in my heart never stops hurting and I would ask for continued prayers. Today I’m asking for prayers for my older son and his fiancée. They found out two weeks ago that their jobs are not coming back and that they have to be out of their apartment by the end of the month. They have two dogs and three cats which have been certified as emotional support animals to my future daughter-in-law. So, considering that and that they’re both unemployed, finding another place is proving quite difficult and they’re facing homelessness. My son has been away from the faith for some years now feeling abandoned and like God cannot be trusted. I am asking that God would intervene in the situation and reveal His power demonstrating that God is a loving God who cares about the details of their lives. Will you please lift them up in prayer? Thank you. I pray for you all each day, the requests that are called in and those that are not. I love you family. I’d be lost without you. I gain such strength knowing that you are there.

Hello family this is Angel. You didn’t know me yet but I’m your sister in Christ and I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been listening but I know it was before Zeke was born, so it’s been at least nine years but I’ve been growing with you, learning with you, praying with you, crying with you. So, I want to just say hi and say I’m here. And I’m here also today to ask for your help. Jesus said some things come only with fasting and prayer. And I’ve been fasting and I’m going to continue fasting and I’m asking you to continue praying with me. My 15-year-old is in dire need of your prayers her name is Elyse, which means consecrated to God and I know that He has such good plans for her. I know that she’s going to come through this is gold but for the last year and a half she’s been suffering so badly with PTSD, with depression, with not being able to get out of bed or function even the smallest level. Yes, she’s seeing counseling, yes, we have a psychiatrist and those things do and will help but they are not the answer. Christ is the answer. Please pray for my precious one Elyse who is consecrated to God. Pray that the anxiety will leave her, that she will grow, that she will thrive, that she will be able to speak truth to herself and that she will know God’s presence in a…in a new…in a new way, that no depression can touch her, that generational bonds would not have any…

Good morning DAB family this is Tina from Ohio thank you Brian and all of my DAB family for all of your guy’s faithfulness and your prayers. I just want to say a Jewish prayer, but I will not be saying it in Hebrew I will be just saying it in English. May the one who blessed our fathers and our mothers -Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah bless and heal those who are ill. May their blessed holy one be filled with compassion for their health to be restored and their strength to be revived. Blessed be the holy one. May God swiftly send them a complete renewal of body and spirit, complete healing from the heavens, healing of the spirit of the body speedily and soon and let us say amen. God bless each and every one of you and may the Lord’s face shine upon you and may His continence rise upon you and be gracious unto all of you and give you all peace today. Be blessed and encourage my brothers and sisters.

Hi neighbors it’s Lisa the Encourager I hope you’re having a most blessed day. I pray God’s blessings upon you and your life. I’m praying today for your children and stress. So, whatever stress is in their life that’s what I want to pray for and pray away from. Dear God, I thank You again so much for Brian and his ministry with the Daily Audio Bible to each and every one of us God. I pray special blessings over Brian so that he doesn’t have stress God, that You eliminate any stress in his life and in addition to that I pray for the Daily Audio Bible children God, any and all of our children whether they are dealing with stresses in relationships, work, marriage, children, teenagers Lord, whatever stresses are coming into their lives bombarding them and keeping them, their minds away from You because their minds are so focused on the stress God. I pray that You will swoop in and just take it away from them and just give them peace, give them love, give them direction, and just help them Lord God to rely on You in all things and give it all to You and not trying to beat themselves up…up about it and help them to know that You are the Almighty conquer and that they can surrender that stress over to You, You will take it from them Lord God. Help them to know that, see that, feel that, touch that, understand that in a mighty, mighty way. In Jesus’ precious name I pray. Amen.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is Treasured Possession and let’s pray. Father God, I love You so much. I thank You for all of the blessings and all of the power and all of the goodness and all of the joy and peace in the patience and the kindness and for self-control Father God, all of the fruits of the spirit that are ours in Christ. And more than anything Father I thank You that our identity is found in You, that when we place our hopes, our dreams, our desires in Your hands than those around us that are in pain, those around us that show up in ways that are quite disappointing, when those around us show up in ways that just baffle and astound as Father God You never change. You are right there, and You love us with a love that is so far beyond what we can ask, think, or imagine. Father God, the words of first Corinthians 13 talk about Your love. That is Your love and it is so far from our human heart, but You Father God can fill us with that love and help us see that love and show that love. Help us Father God to love one another that way. Help us Father God to love more than we need to be right. I ask Father God that You would strengthen and empower those who are going through relationships today that are hard, that are difficult, that are challenging their very knowledge of who they are in Christ. And I thank You Lord that You love beyond that we can never know with a peace that passes understanding. And it’s in Jesus’ name I ask these things and I praise you for these things. Amen.

[faithpeacehopejoy]

And this is love: that we walk in obedience to his commands. As you have heard from the beginning, his command is that you walk in love.

2 John 1:6 NIV

https://bible.com/bible/111/2jn.1.6.NIV

All the days of the desponding and afflicted are made evil [by anxious thoughts and forebodings], but he who has a glad heart has a continual feast [regardless of circumstances].

— Proverbs 15:15 (AMPC)

Learning to Expect Good Things

Adapted from the resource Battlefield of the Mind Devotional - by Joyce Meyer

Shortly after I began to seriously study the Bible, I felt an oppressive atmosphere around me. Everything seemed gloomy—as if something bad was going to happen. It wasn’t anything I could explain, just a vague, dreaded sense of something evil or wrong about to happen.

“Oh, God,” I prayed. “What’s going on? What is this feeling?” I had hardly uttered the question when God spoke to me. “Evil forebodings.” I had to meditate on that for several minutes. I had never heard the phrase before. God had spoken to me, and I stayed quiet before Him so I could hear the answers.

I realized, first of all, that my anxieties weren’t real—that is, they were not based on true circumstances or situations. I was having problems—as most of us do —but they were not as critical as the devil was making it appear. My acceptance of his lies, even though they were vague, was opening the door for the evil forebodings.

I eventually realized that I had lived in the midst of similar gloomy feelings most of my life. I was expecting something bad to happen instead of aggressively expecting something good. I felt a dread, an unexplained anxiety around me. I couldn’t put my finger on anything specific—only that sense of something evil or terrible.

The Living Bible says, “When a man is gloomy, everything seems to go wrong.” That’s how I felt, as if something—maybe everything—was wrong or was about to go wrong.

As previously stated, I realized that for most of my life, I had been miserable because of evil thoughts and anxious forebodings. As I continued to meditate on evil forebodings, God broke through and gave me a clear revelation. I was miserable because my thoughts were miserable—my thoughts were poisoning my outlook. My thoughts robbed me of the ability to enjoy my life.

I should have been saying, “Thank You, God, for today. Thank you for Dave and my children and my friends and all Your blessings.” But, instead of being positive, I found myself even dreading to answer the phone when it rang, for fear it might be bad news.

All of this gloom and doom that surrounded me began in my abusive childhood. I endured a great deal of misery, and most of my life was unhappy and filled with disappointments. I began to live in a vague fear and dread of the future. I had not been taught to let go of what was behind.

I couldn’t rejoice in what I had now and the good things going on in my life. I focused on the past and what might lie ahead—and what lay ahead was usually gloom and doom and chaos because that was what I was expecting.

Satan had built a stronghold in my mind, and I was trapped until I learned I could tear down that negative, evil stronghold by applying God’s Word to my life and circumstances.

I once had a friend whom I’ll call Marlene. She lived in a state of constant chaos. One day she had health problems. The next day Marlene’s son had lost his job, and they were going to have to support him and his family. As soon as that was over, another traumatic situation would erupt.

Marlene was a Christian, but she lived in fear of bad news. Marlene would not have known how to live a life that was not filled with chaos. All of her conversation was negative and gloomy. Even her countenance was sad and gloomy.

I realized that I had started to become like Marlene—I was miserable because I had allowed Satan to rob me of the ability to enjoy my life. It took a while before I was able to be positive most of the time, but little by little, my thinking changed, and so did my life.

I no longer live in evil forebodings, expecting to hear at any moment of a new problem. Now I purposely expect good things to happen in my life. I realize now that I can choose my thoughts. I don’t have to accept Satan’s lies.

Like everyone else, negative things do happen to me from time to time, but I don’t become negative because of them. I remain positive, and that helps me enjoy my life even in the midst of the storms.

Prayer Starter: Father, I thank You for the great future You have planned for me. Please help me to choose positive thoughts that line up with Your Word and expect Your goodness in every area of my life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

VERSE OF THE DAY

September 25

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 10 That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Become “Deeply and Intimately Acquainted” with God

By Rick Warren

"For my determined purpose is that I may . . . progressively become more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him, perceiving and recognizing and understanding the wonders of His Person more strongly and more clearly” (Philippians 3:10 AMP).

Happiness is found in getting to know God a little bit better every day.

In Philippians 3:10, Paul said, “For my determined purpose is that I may . . . progressively become more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him, perceiving and recognizing and understanding the wonders of His Person more strongly and more clearly” (AMP).

Paul became “deeply and intimately acquainted” with God because he had a relationship with him and took the time to get to know him.

You don’t become “deeply and intimately acquainted” with God by accident. As Paul says, it’s a “determined purpose.” It’s something you have to do something about. You have to invest your time in it.

Make time for God! If you set aside 10 or 15 minutes of focused time with God each morning, you’ll begin “understanding the wonders” of God with greater clarity. And you’ll begin to experience greater happiness in your life.

PLAY today’s audio teaching from Pastor Rick >>

Talk About It

What are some things you do every day for at least 15 minutes? Do you do them because they’re essential or just because they’ve become habitual?

How can you adjust your schedule so that you can spend more time with God?

What distractions can keep you too busy to spend time with God?

#Jesus #christian #mind of christ #christlike #dailyhope #dailydevotional #joycemeyerministries #life #love #092519 #friendship #fam #peace #hope #joy #strength #bibleverses #bible study #study

[flowingsunflowerfaith]

Flowing Sunflower Faith

    I have always loved sunflowers. The way they chase the sun, the heights they get to, and how dominant they always are. Sunflowers have uniformity. In a field of sunflowers each is parallel to others around it. Now I have always been a christian, not as strong as one that I always should be but I have been one. I didn’t realize that being a christian is being a sunflower.

     It took me losing a close cousin of mine to find my way back to God. No seriously we lost him on Tuesday, April 16th, 2019 and I was at church on Wednesday, April 17th, 2019. It wasn’t until his death did I realize that God was so close. “Aaron was in a horrible car accident and he dead.” That’s what I remember being told that night that I got the call. Right then I started Praying. I remember saying “God, please show me that he went quick and didn’t suffer.” Now I wasn’t as close to him as I was when we was growing up, life happened. We have a big family and we all stayed close, mainly around holidays and birthdays. But we started our life’s and our family’s, and wasn’t as close as we should of been. But once I saw the pictures of his car and the wreck I knew that God didn’t let him suffer and that he wasn’t in any pain. 

     After getting back into church I was looking for a way to really become faithful. I didn’t want to just go to church I wanted to study and now God and his scripture. So I started looking into ways to grow my faith, thank God for the internet. I stumbled across something called Bible Journaling. It’s where you study your scriptures and then make art right on the pages of your bible. I was amazed and interested. I’ve always been a arts and crafts person and why not try it with my religious aspect of my life. So I did I found a KJV Note-taking Bible and some art supplies and I was ready to go. I started to fill pages with art that had inspired me and ideas i had gotten from others off the internet(Thank You All) 

    Out of all of the art that I had done I didn't fell like my love for Sunflowers was any where in my bible. So I started searching...and searching...I couldn’t find anything that spoke to me when it came to my faith and love for sunflowers. So I prayed, and quickly I found what I was looking for kinda. It wasn’t art, it was a wonderful article by Daphne Delay. Her article was exactly what I was searching for and it said it all in the title Unusual Lessons from the Sunflower. As I read over the article I pulled out some post-its and started writing down the main lessons and looking up the scripture in my bible. She was saying everything that I needed to hear and wanted to know.

Lesson #1: The sunflower knows where the sun comes from and where it will return. (Matthew 2:1-2, Matthew 24:27, Isaiah 45:5-6) 

When we rise in the morning, our thoughts should be on the Lord.

As the day continues, our thoughts should never wander far from Him.

And each night, we should position ourselves again to rise with the “Son” in our hearts and on our minds

Lesson #2:  Because of a central focus sunflowers stay unified in purpose and position. (Psalms 133:1, 1 Corinthians 11:1) In other words, it pleases God when His children are unified in purpose and poise. The world stops to see it! Like a field of Sunflowers catches the eye so does a group of believers united together.

She goes on to talk about wild sunflowers and how they look for sun but not in unity with others, and I realized, that’s it I need to be in church and not only do I need to follow him but also learn and teach others. The more that I can do for God the more he will do for me. So I will keep studying my bible and grow in my faith with God by doing my Bible journaling but most of all I will STAY MINDFUL OF JESUS AND NEVER GET DISTRACTED FROM MY PURPOSE. 

If you haven’t read her article I encourage you to take a few minutes and do so!  https://daphnedelay.com/blog/purpose/lessons-from-sunflower/  .

#biblejournaling #god #faith #flowingsunflowerfaith #bibleverse #growinfaith #biblescripture #daphnedelay

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Our Lady of the Incarnation

Or, Positive Sum

Summary: Summoned to Ledford Park under false pretenses, Edmund Marlcaster is offered a trade he might be unable to deny.

Rating: K - Content suitable for most ages. Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 2160

Notes: Hello, people of the XXI century. How do you do? A few clarifications, I do not know whether intraracial marriages were in fact abolished in Paraguay under de Francia’s dictatorship (c. 1810 - c. 1836), but I do know that it is a popular folk tale, and I also know that Paraguayans are amongst the most miscigenated populations in South America.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy it!

“And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.”

~ 1 Corinthians 13:2

Edmund Marlcaster rode silently through the dark of the night, the only light being the one from the full moon above him and the only noise was the sound of roofs hitting against the pebbles on the road.

He took a leisure pace, his carriage had suffered an accident on his way to Grovershire a few days ago, and his ribs still felt sore. In fact, if the destination was not so close and the tone of the request was not so urgent, he might had declined.

“Mr Marlcaster,” Theresa had said, on occasion of his father’s wake. “I understand you might not be at your best condition, given all that happened to you those last few days, but my father is becoming impatient about our wedding.”

“Miss Sutton, do you not realize I am burying my father or you simply does not care?!” He asked, on an uncharacteristic harsh tone. She usually tires him, but his response is always cool disinterest.

She, in turn, sighs. “I know, Mr Marlcaster, and I understand. However, it took all of my persuasion to keep him from coming here himself to hand you a demand. If you could only… talk to him, explain that during your closed mourning, it would not be proper for your family to hold a marriage celebration…”

He had to concede that the woman had a point. It was so rare he had to take note of it.

“I cannot travel long distance.” He responded. “I am still unwell from my accident.”

“I understand. That is why I had required of Mr Sinclaire the use of Ledford Park for an evening next week. I am sure I can convince my father to come, and it is not so far as in to be extenuating for you.” She said, and turning into pleading eyes, she continues, “Please, Mr Marlcaster. It is of utmost importance.”

How could he decline such a simple request from his fiancée? To meet her at Ledford Park for an evening. The young man may not care much for Miss Sutton, but he had to admit she was a dotting, loving woman; he owed her at least some deference.

So, he complied. He had the groom saddle him a stable ride and departed through the three-mile road that separated Edgewater from Ledford Park.

Upon arrival, he notes there were three footmen waiting for him at the entrance, what was most unusual. Edmund may not have had many an opportunity to interact with Mr Sinclaire, but he never appeared to be one for such gestures of grandeur.

It must be Miss Sutton’s idea, he dismissed quietly.

As two footmen care for his horse, the third asks to be followed, as his master awaits for him at the study.

When he reaches the room, and the footman disappears, is that he notices it was all a carefully engineered set-up. There were three people inside that room, and neither one of them was Mr Sinclaire or Mr Sutton.

“Good evening, Edmund.” His stepsister greets, smiling wickedly from the chair behind the bureau. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Miss Sutton, what is the meaning of this?!” He barks at his fiancée. “Where is your father?”

The young woman glared in response. “Mind your tongue, Mr Marlcaster! Believe me, I wanted to do much worse. You ought to thank your sister for that deceiving you is the least I am due.”

“Edmund, please.” Miss Daly tries to reason with him, from the right-arm side of her mistress. “Just listen to what Susan has to say. I promise you, it is not something bad.”

What was particularly striking about Briar is that she was not wearing her uniform, but she also did not seemed to be wearing anything a servant might on their holy days. No, instead she wore a royal blue dress, highly embroidered and decorated.

It was so fancy that, if not for the perfect measurements on her figure, she would have swore it was a loan or a donation from Lady Susan.

“It seems it is you I have to blame for this whole spectacle.” He glares, furious, at the natural daughter of his stepfather. “Very well, then. What is that so important that you have to tell me, Miss Beauchamp?”

She smiles like a lioness closing on her prey. “Edmund, please. We are supposed to be family. You can call me Susan.”

“Miss Beauchamp, please.” He growled.

“Very well, as you wish.” She smirked, stood up and walked around the Bureau, in a pensive fashion. “Tell me, Edmund, do you know where the Parana River is located?”

He huffed. “No, and I do not see how that relates to anything.”

“I am getting there, I am getting there.” She smirked and then pointed a map hung on the side of the study. “It is in southern America, between the old colonies of Portugal and Spain, up the estuary of Rio de la Plata.”

Susan walks around the bureau once more and sits back on the chair. “Say, Edmund, would you not mind to take a seat? This would be much easier on both of us.”

As if on cue, and perhaps exactly like that, Miss Daly sat on one of the chairs in front of Susan, while Miss Sutton retained her sneering post on the left corner of the study.

Feeling the tiredness of his ribcage, he begrudgingly complied with a chair next to Briar.

“As I was saying, some nine hundred miles from the mouth of Rio de la Plata, up the Parana River, lays a small village named Encarnación, at the Intendancy of Paraguay. Lovely place, I am told.” She smirked once again, probably out of her own inner joke. “A few years back, I have you hear, their ruler decided to outlaw marriages between any two locally-born Whites. Their men often marry Indians. Isn’t this so very curious?”

“Very.” He grunts. “Again, what does any of this have to do with any of us being here?”

“You see, Edmund, my mother and I were not completely destitute, she could amass some savings out of a lifetime of work. That, coupled with a generous loan from Mr Sinclaire, was just enough to buy a sizeable chunk of land, just outside Encarnación.”

“I see. Are you sailing to the New World, then?” He questions, a tone of hope on his voice.

“Not really.” She responds. “You see, I never hated you. If anything, I pitied you. A mother who did not care for you, a stepfather who would take more to a daughter he never seen before than the son he raised from age five. The only person who loved you, and whom you loved in return, was dead and buried.

“Furthermore, you have no tact for business or administration. You were positively lost with the legers at Edgewater under the watchful eye of the Earl, now that you are alone, you would absolutely wreck the books. And if you did think I would not notice your infatuation with my maid, you are more naïve than I thought.”

Briar chooses that moment to interlock her fingers on his and to smile kindly at him.

“Given our situation regarding the Earl’s last will, and your mother’s delusions, I am here to offer you a way out, so to speak.” She opens a drawer and fetches a few papers. “There is a ship that sails from Liverpool in a fortnight, headed towards Buenos Aires. From there, it is a three-day journey upstream to Encarnación.”

“Susan wants you to leave.” Theresa blurts out, and, under the intense glare of the aforementioned woman, retracts with a, “Pardon me.”

“While I would not put it in quite those terms, yes.” A pause for effect. “I do believe it is mutually beneficial for you to immigrate to Paraguay.”

He looks at the woman dispassionately and then chuckles loudly. “Are you insane, woman?”

“Edmund, please.” Briar holds his hand tightly. “Think carefully. More than once you complained to me your unwillingness to inherit Edgewater. Lady Susan is offering you a way to back off from it, and still have a comfortable lifestyle.”

“Yes, but in Paraguay.” He stresses the word, as if it is poisonous. “How can I trust that this is not a plot to take me away from the country long enough to usurp Edgewater from under me?”

For the disdain for the land, Briar takes her hand away, as if terribly hurt. Edmund notices it, but does not understand why.

“Well, Edmund, I chose Paraguay because it was the most suitable place for you and Miss Daly to live together as a lawfully-wedded couple. There would be no man to bat an eye to it there, of this, I am certain. In here, though…” She trails off.

“The British are harsh with those of different skin colours, and even more so of those who collude with them. If you doubt me, I can have Mr Harper to come here and attest to it. However, if you so desire, I am sure we can find something here in England to your tastes.”

Such a statement made the grinds on his mind to swirl. Edmund did not think about the complications arising from Briar’s skin tone. He was still stuck on those related to her position as a maid and his status as an engaged man.

Furthermore, while he did feel a great deal more strongly about Briar than he did for Miss Sutton, or any other woman, for that matter, he was still unsure about whether he wishes to actually marry her.

“As for whether you can trust me, I am willing to make a concession. The current owner of the estate I am proposing is a business associate of mine, a Frenchman who lived in Paraguay for many years.” She continues, off-handedly. “He has agreed to guide you through your journey from Buenos Aires, to show you the estate. You need only to sign your claim to Edgewater to me if it is all to your liking.”

“What about my mother?” He asks. Wretched or not, he still had a duty towards the woman.

Susan shrugs. “I do not care what you do with her. Leave her here, send for her after you settle, take her with you in the ship. Just be certain she will have no home with me.”

It was to be expected, he considered, seeing how strained is the relationship between his mother, his step-grandmother and his stepsister.

Despite Susan’s assurances, however, he was still very insecure about it all.

“That being said, the ship goes off in fourteen days. While my offer leaves with it, I am sure you can afford a few days to think about it, dear brother of mine.” Susan says, detecting the doubt on his features. “The farmstead is not attached to a marriage to Miss Daly, as well, though I believe it to be in good taste, considering your night-time activities.”

“Very well.” Edmund breathes out. “I will consider your offer.”

The brunette nods. “It is all correct. Miss Daly will be awaiting for you with your tickets and the name of my associate at Ranelagh Place in Liverpool. You needn’t to speak to me about it any further, but I am willing to respond to any further doubts you have. Miss Daly shall relate to me whether you made the deadline or not.

“There is one thing I ask of you, and it is of utmost importance. Do not speak to your mother about my offer. I am trusting you, but I do not trust Henrietta.” Susan glares at the mention of the name. “If I know you consulted with her, I will be interpreting it as a refusal of my generosity.”

“Sure, seems reasonable.” He agreed.

“The major domo shall show you out.” The woman points to the door and he left with no further words.

Later that night, when Briar and Theresa had already left for Liverpool, Susan sat alone at the study with the master of the house.

“Do you think Mr Marlcaster will take it?” Ernest comments, thoughtful. “The deal, I mean.”

Susan hums her affirmative. “I suppose he will. He desires a fight for Edgewater just about as much as I do. He knows he has no talent for administering an estate of such nature, and he has been blessed with the lack of desire for it as well. The Paraguayan farm I offer him is much more manageable.”

The esquire smiles. “In any case, it was generous of you to offer.”

“Eh.” She shrugs. “I know how much value Edgewater holds, monetary and emotionally-wise. If a few hundred pounds and the loss of a handmaid is enough to keep it, then I say it was mighty cheap.”

Taglist: @catlady0911; @choicesyouplayandmore; @cocomaxley; @enviouslylove; @hellospunkiebrewster; @mrsernestsinclaire; @shelivesinthewoods; @tornbetween2loves

#desire & decorum #edmund marlcaster #theresa sutton #briar daly #ernest sinclaire #luke harper #henrietta of edgewater

[llj1776-blog]

The Parable of the Sower

Luke 8:5-15 “A sower went out to sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it. And some fell upon a rock; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it. And other fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an hundredfold. And when he had said these things, he cried, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. And his disciples asked him, saying, What might this parable be? And he said, Unto you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God: but to others in parables; that seeing they might not see, and hearing they might not understand. Now the parable is this: The seed is the word of God. Those by the way side are they that hear; then cometh the devil, and taketh away the word out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved. They on the rock are they, which, when they hear, receive the word with joy; and these have no root, which for a while believe, and in time of temptation fall away. And that which fell among thorns are they, which, when they have heard, go forth, and are choked with cares and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to perfection. But that on the good ground are they, which in an honest and good heart, having heard the word, keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience.”

I was always taught that the ones that were in rocky soil and thorny soil got saved, but just backslid. After much study I no longer believe that. 1. The ones in rocky and thorny soil fall away and never produce fruit. Jesus Himself said that any branch in Him that does not produce fruit is cast into the fire.

John 15:1-10 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing. If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned. If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you. Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples. As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love. If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father's commandments, and abide in his love.”

2. The ones in rocky and thorny soil do not receive the Word in an honest and good heart.

Jesus said in Matthew 5:8 “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.”

If only the pure in heart will see God, then only the pure in heart will go to heaven. In addition, a person’s heart cannot be pure if it is not good and honest.

Therefore, the ones in the rocky and thorny soil are not saved and will not go to heaven.

3. The Bible says in Romans 10:9-10 “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.”

Acts 16:31 “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.”

A person gets saved by believing on Jesus Christ which includes an intellectual accepting of the biblical truths that Jesus Christ died on the cross to pay for our sins and that He arose physically from the dead 3 days later, but this intellectual belief is not enough to save a person.

James 2:19-26 “Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well: the devils also believe, and tremble. But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead? Was not Abraham our father justified by works, when he had offered Isaac his son upon the altar? Seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by works was faith made perfect? And the scripture was fulfilled which saith, Abraham believed God, and it was imputed unto him for righteousness: and he was called the Friend of God. Ye see then how that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only. Likewise also was not Rahab the harlot justified by works, when she had received the messengers, and had sent them out another way? For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.”

The Bible also says in 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 “Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God.”

It is true that we are saved by faith not by works (Ephesians 2:8-9). However, this passage in James shows us that if our faith does not cause us to work, then our faith is dead. Dead faith will not get a person to heaven.

Now it is also true that a Christian can struggle with sin, and fall into sin when they are weak.

Proverbs 24:16 “For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again: but the wicked shall fall into mischief.”

A Christian can even accidently commit sin without realizing it (Romans 7:15-25). Everyone commits sin every day on accident.

However, if a person lives a life of sin not caring about what God thinks about it, and not praying and working to overcome it, then they are not saved and will not go to heaven.

Praying to overcome sin is the key. As Romans 7:15-25 shows we are not capable in and of ourselves of living the Christian life. We must pray that God will empower us to live it, and we must trust God to keep us from falling.

If we try to trust ourselves to keep us from falling, we will fall. We must trust God, and remember God always give us a way of escape from temptation. If you are struggling against a sin, then when you are tempted with it, Pray, look for that escape, and take it.

The Bible also says to flee from temptation. We should do everything we can to avoid temptation. For example, if possible do not drive by a bar every day, if you struggle against the temptation of drunkenness.

Jude 1:24-25 “Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.”

In addition, The word believe in Acts 16:31 means (Strong’s # 4100 in the Greek) commit, this is taken from another Greek word (Strong’s # 4102 in the Greek) meaning  abstractly constancy in such profession, which is taken from another Greek word meaning (Strong’s # 3982 in the Greek) obey, trust, yield.

Therefore, If a person truly believes on Jesus Christ then they are committed to Him, they will continue in their profession of Him, and they will live their life in obedience to Him.

This definition is in agreement with the verses above and John 14:15 “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”

If a person truly loves God they will obey Him.

To intentionally not obey God is to look into the eyes of Christ while He was dying on the cross and tell Him “I don’t care that you died for me, how much you suffered to save me. I am going to do what I want to do.”

I heard my pastor say something like that when I was a teenager, and that has kept me from leaving God and living a life of rebellion against Him.

I have went through some really hard times and have been tempted to rebel against God, but I always remembered this and have never been able to go through with it. Because I loved Christ too much to be able to hurt Him like that.

I did not say this to brag on myself, but in hope that it would help you to also not fall away from God, as it has helped me.

This all means that if a person is living a life of rebellion against God then they are not saved and if they die they will go to hell. It does not matter if they said a pray, got baptized and have been a church member for 50 years. If they intentionally turn to a life of sin and rebellion and they don’t care what God says about it they are not a backslidden Christian who is going to go to heaven and just lose some rewards. They are a lost heathen, who is going to burn in hell for all eternity.

People need to be taught this correctly, because there are a lot of people who are living in sin and they think they are saved. If these people do not find out that they are lost, then they are going to wake up in hell one day and wonder how they got there. And their blood will be upon the hands of every Christian who ever told them that they were saved, and just backslidden.