#do you think he pitched taskmaster to him on set

[stedesuedeshoes]

paul williams in ofmd?? paul williams strangled by taika waititi ??????

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #taskmaster nz #paul williams #taskmaster #do you think he pitched taskmaster to him on set

[danglovely]

Regrading Taskmaster: S04E06 Spatchcock it.

*Score changes noted in parenthesis.

Prize Task: Best Sheep Related Item

Noel brings in Woolen-Noel complete with knitted genitalia. This is a strong start, particularly if you imagine what the conversation was like when he commissioned it. Mel brings in raw wool and tells a story about how she used it as a faux beard with her family to pretend to be 19th Century patriarchs. The story really doesn't do much to sell the prize. Almost everything made out of wool is better than raw wool, which can apparently only be used by the untrained for beards.

Hugh has a hat that he bought from a Kenyan sheep herder. It's basically just a hat. Joe brings a cooked lamb shank in bowl of mashed potatoes. It's funny and would be a good prize if consumed fresh . . . but it's definitely not fresh. Lolly's sponsored a sheep and brings the adoption certificate and a photo. It's never really explained what this actually means and the sheep isn't on stage at the end. The photo is ridiculous though.

Noel's doll is the most interesting thing to actually win. Lolly edges out Joe's shank due to freshness and Hugh just brought in a hat. Mel is an easy last place on this one.

Hugh: 2 (0) Joe: 3 (0) Lolly: 4 (-1) Mel: 1 (0) Noel: 5 (+2)

VT 01: Get this camel through the smallest gap.

Mel is clever and gets a good reaction, but as with Noel and the camouflage, I'm about grading the tasks as written and not the entertainment value. the store was by far the biggest gap anyone got the camel through (unless the task exclusively meant the GAP brand). So, either she comes in last or the other four get disqualified.

Joe and Hugh removed the stuffing, which might be considered a material part of the camel. I think it should slide because the remainder pieces are probably still a recognizable camel. Alex measures the rest thus making the scoring easy.

Hugh: 5 (+1) Joe: 3 (+1) Lolly: 4 (+1) Mel: 1 (-4) Noel: 2 (+2)

VT 02: Score the best goal with this with this plastic bag. You may not handbag the bag. Most skillful, fastest, and fewest kicks wins.

Interesting one because there are two objective elements in the grade condition and one subjective element. The task doesn't specify any weight between them. Alex says in studio that there's a bonus point for the most skillful, so I'll assume it was communicated to the contestants at the time.

Greg forgives Mel for the handbag, but it was explicitly stated she couldn't do that in the rules, so DQ. Just as clear to me is Hugh excelling in all three categories. Joe somehow snakes the bonus point from him for celebrating. I'm giving it back because there was nothing particularly skillful about what Joe did. Easiest 6 points of the series.

My personal preference is to weigh time and number of kicks equally and take the average performance. In this instance, Alex's penalty system happens to set the results for Joe, Lolly, and Noel perfectly anyway.

Hugh: 6 (+1) Joe: 3 (0) Lolly: 4 (+1) Mel: DQ (-4) Noel: 2 (+1)

Solo Tasks: Hide This Ball From Alex/Inflate This Ball In the House/Score a Goal In the Garden

Mel is the victim of the solo task. My rule is no points for solo tasks unless somebody does something extraordinary. I'd need a better look at Chesham's pitch to know for sure, but it really looks like she had no shot at this from the get-go.

Mel: 0

VT 04: Work out what's in the sleeping bag. You may not look in the sleeping bag. You may not take items out of the sleeping bag.

Hugh tries another workaround and Greg does not go for it. Dumping out the sleeping bag reasonably constitutes taking the items out, so a DQ is correct. The only other thing to judge is what a sufficient guess constitutes.

I would set the minimum threshold for guesses that match the essence of the item. The jump rope with carrot handles is tricky because it still can be used as a jump rope, but Joe gets closer to actually describing it because he breaks one of the handles. I'm pretty sure a frisbee with fennel sellotaped to it can't be used as a frisbee anymore. I know Joe gets the genre of book right, but just "book" has to be a sufficient guess, lest there be debate over whether he should've gotten the title and author too. I'd normally throw a fit over the turtle or tortoise distinction, but I'm not actually sure how to identify the difference by looking at it, so both are fine. I will say that the type of helmet ought to be determined based on the feel of the badge, so just "helmet" doesn't cut it.

Alex says Mel didn't get any right, but I heard her guess book and tortoise. Even if only the final guesses count, she still got "book."

Hugh: DQ Joe: 5 Lolly: 5 Mel: 2 Noel: 5

Live Task: Prepare These Items For the Second Part of the Task/Hold All Your Items In One Hand Then Put Your Other Hand On Your Head

This is going to take some untangling. Noel is holding Greg's left leg and Greg is holding all of the items. This is a DQ for me because no one would commonly describe Noel as holding those items. Example: If you're holding hands with someone and they were holding a heavy bag, you could still offer to hold their bag for them because no one would say you were already holding it.

Mel saranwrapped all the items to the table and held the table. I'm more accepting of this one because if she opened her hand, all of the items would fall to the floor.

Lolly, Hugh, and Joe used one arm to trap most of their items against their body. It isn't the hand, but I think this has to be allowed. There were just too many items.

Hugh: 3 (+1) Joe: 2 (+1) Lolly: 4 (+1) Mel: 5 (+1) Noel: DQ (-5)

Final

Hugh: 16 (+3) Joe: 16 (+2) Lolly: 21 (+2) Mel: 9 (-7) Noel: 14 (-1)

I really punished Mel in this one, but honestly Greg gifted her nine points. Was a strong episode for Lolly and still is.

#taskmaster #tm regrade #hugh dennis #joe lycett #lolly adefope #mel giedroyc #noel fielding

[theravennest]

Let’s Talk: The Blooms at Ruyi Pavilion

I finished all 40 eps about two weeks ago, actually. I enjoyed it for the most part, the 1st half especially, but there were several things near the end that took me out. 

But first some of the good bits...

The cast chemistry was immaculate. Our four main lead actors were a lot of fun together. Not just Zhang Zhehan and Ju Jing Yi, but also Wang You Shuo and Xu Jiaqi (Loved them!). The four of them have such obvious ease with each other after their previous work together in Legend of Yun Xi and it made scenes with any combination of the main four really pop. 

I was especially drawn to the sisters’ relationship and the Prince-Vassal bond going on between Prince Su and Little Marquis. (Y’all know I’m a sucker for both sibling stories and stories about fictional royals and their loyal vassals.)

Most of the ancillary characters were interesting, actually. As y’all know from my last post about this one, I was crack shipping like crazy all the side characters. 😂 This cast made it easy for me.

Except for Prince An. (Sorry to hit the bad so early.) Good god, I hated that man. His character was poorly drawn in pretty much every way, which is unfortunate cuz he’s the main antagonist. Any story with a main antagonist that just doesn’t work is always gonna be weaker.

Also, no offense to people who like that actor but he was the only cast member who did absolutely nothing for me in terms of performance. So much of the story was focused on his weaksauce motivation and dry acting like, my god, put me out of my misery I do not care.

Anyway, the set design and costuming was top notch and I even enjoyed the broader story ideas the show was trying to put forth. The sitcom vibe of the first 20 eps or so was SOOO good. Our four mains’ comedic timings were pitch perfect. 

Unfortunately, the writing took a sharp nosedive in the back 3rd or so and it had a rough ending. (The lightning strike on the tower scene, the fight in the underground temple, the return of Prince An’s mom...all of that was trash. let’s be real.)

I mostly blame this on three things: the missteps with the Prince An character, the lack of development of Rong’s prophetic dreams even though that was the main premise of the show, and the jump-the-shark moment that was the wedding night and its subsequently underwritten fallout. 

Now to clarify, I don’t mean to say the wedding night event shouldn’t have happened at all but rather the execution of it within the story was poor and it negatively impacted 90% of the other character motivations/progressions and the overall pacing. 

You know, it felt like that thing you do as a writer where you wake up and have a specific scene in your mind. It’s evocative, impactful, fun, or otherwise intense. But you just have that scene and it’s something that would have to happen in the middle of your story. So you work your way backwards to try to get to that scene and you do your best to get the characters to make decisions to get there but when you sit down to write nothing works out. It’s clunky or OOC for the scene to still happen so you end up having to either scrap the evocative scene or keep the clunky lead up and hope no one notices. That’s what that wedding scene and everything that happened after felt like. They wrote themselves into a corner and just struggled to recover until the bitter end. 

The main pairing suffered the most because of the poor writing choices. No matter how much chemistry ZZH and JJY have together, even they could not completely salvage Rong’s yo-yoing behavior with Prince Su. They started off so wholesome and then dove into such toxicity and miscommunication for no reason. 

Don’t get me wrong. I can very easily enjoy angst. But Fu Rong consistently broke this man down. After ep 25-26, it stopped being good angst and became so awful to watch all the emotional manipulation and turmoil. There’s something broken in the writing if 9 out of 10 times Prince Su cried or fell into depression it was because of something Rong did or said to him after jumping to a conclusion with only part of the puzzle pieces gathered. 

I could forgive some stuff because Prince An was manipulating things but some stuff was just all Rong not giving Prince Su the benefit of the doubt or plain old not doing her due diligence in investigating. She is supposed to have inherited the most prolific and successful spy organization in the show and she still got 90% of her conclusions wrong. It was like she was determined to always think the worst of Prince Su no matter what despite how often he went above and beyond to help her. Despite the fact that he literally had a reputation as a general for being a harsh taskmaster but fair and just. 

I think what broke me was when she did the bare minimum investigation into her own father’s death and just fully blamed Prince Su without confronting him honestly or even considering his personality or their relationship up until that point. She really believed a single street seller’s entire testimony over the man she lived with and supposedly loved for months. Girl...

And this is after she’d previously mistakenly accused him of killing her mentor with very few facts to the point where she stabbed him on their wedding night.

There came a point where I actually wanted Prince Su to finally, truly divorce Rong and settle down with someone who could love him right. Maybe give him time to heal from the repeated heartbreaks, betrayals, and the literal stab wound in his chest but he was so fucking in love with Rong, he just couldn’t escape.

(If there were behind the scenes production reasons for the clunky-ness of the back half, I would not be surprised at all but ultimately they don’t matter cuz the story we got was the story we got.)

Imagine if we had gotten a Rong who used her prophetic dreams to navigate the cut throat world of royal politics. Or imagine if we’d gotten Rong as a true apprentice to Ruyi who learned both metalsmithing and spycraft in the first half and took over the pavilion as a competent leader in the second half. As it stands, it just felt like wasted potential.

I’m glad they had the modern day special AU eps tho cuz those were great. Zhang Zhehan and Ju Jing Yi had the opportunity to really showcase their incredible chemistry but in a modern setting and with better writing than the back 3rd of BRYP.

Now let’s talk Zhang Zhehan since he was the reason I started this in the first place. I loved him in this. I truly did. He was stern and serious but also playful and sweet. He was romantic but awkward, badass but vulnerable. He really delivered a nuanced and charming performance. I loved every second.

I think my favorite moment wasn’t some badass fight or even a super romantic moment. No, it was when he got drunk and started crying like a little baby cuz Rong was constantly doubting him no matter what he did. It was simultaneously sad and hilarious. Like gut busting funny. Y’all can watch it here:

I laughed so fucking hard at this. Oh my god, guys! This shit was too much.

Random Thoughts:

The romance between the 2nd leads was A+. Truly an adorable affair. Though I think they should’ve gotten together officially earlier around ep 25 or so and we should’ve seen the rest with them as a couple.

The costuming was so good y’all. For all the main four characters but I was especially drawn to Prince Su’s outfits.

The ghostly pale look with the bright red lips and eyeshadow makeup for Rong did not bother me at all. I actually liked it for her though I think it would’ve worked better if she’d had more explicit prophetic abilities.

I could’ve used more actual war scenes with Prince Su and Little Marquis.

The OST for the show SLAPPED!

That one kid spy in Ruyi Pavilion was voiced by the same actor as Chengling from WOH and I have never double-taked harder. lmao

Even though there were things I didn’t like in this show, I appreciated how gay I could make it in my last post. Truly it was a bisexual’s dream aesthetically.

#the blooms at ruyi pavilion #cdrama #zhang zhehan #ju jingyi #liveblogging #meta #reviews #long post

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

#black sails fic #charles vane x ofc #charles vane x oc #sometimes always fic #charles vane fic

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

In honor of Valentines Day being on a Friday this year I thought I’d share the very first Carry On fic I ever wrote—Friday I’m in Love. It’s pure fluff that was written after my first attempt at baking sour cherry scones. You can find the recipe included with the fic on AO3 or here. 

Friday I’m in Love

Baz:

I let myself into the flat.

It’s blessedly empty, as I expected. Simon and Bunce both have their last examinations today.

Mine were yesterday.

I believe I showed remarkable restraint in not coming over last night. I wanted to see Simon but distracting him before his last exam would have been poor form. Not to mention Bunce would most certainly have bitten my head off.

She’s an absolute terror when she’s studying I’ve discovered.

I didn’t know her well enough before Eighth Year at Watford and as she didn’t come back for second term I never had the chance to experience her end of term behaviour first hand.

She’s fucking terrifying.

I hoist my bag of supplies onto the countertop of their small kitchen and question myself again as to why I didn’t just do this at my flat. It’s far more spacious.

But my place is also far more sterile. I don’t mean clean, although it’s certainly tidier and far more sanitary than Simon and Bunce’s kitchen.

It’s warmer here. Not temperature warmer but more lived in. They actually use it far more than I use mine so it feels less stark. More welcoming. More like a home.

I can cook, if I must. I’m not like Fiona, who would likely expire on the spot if forced to fend for herself without take-away. Daphne’s all right. She always lets the staff off for the holidays. It gives her a chance to muck about in the kitchen herself on those days. She’s quite keen on it--even without magic--and honestly, she’s quite good at it.

It’s never held my interest though. Until now.

I’ve got all my supplies tidily set out on the countertop and I rummage in the cabinets for mixing bowls. I brought my own measuring cups and spoons. I wasn’t confident they’d have what I needed.

I’m not planning to use any magic for this. I’m going to do it all myself, because I want to, for Simon.

I’d rung Cook Pritchard a few days ago, when the idea struck me. There are likely recipes on the internet of course, but really what’s the point of that? It wouldn’t be the same, would it?

If I wanted to make Watford sour cherry scones for Simon it only made sense to get the Watford recipe. Hence the call to Cook Pritchard.

It had taken more wheedling than I expected to get her to part with the recipe.

“You aren’t the first student to ask, Basilton,” she had said. “It’s a Watford favorite but I don’t hand it out to just anyone.”

Pointing out that I wasn’t ‘just anyone’ would have been counterproductive at that particular moment.

It seemed I would have to resort to begging. “It’s not for just anyone,” I had said, my voice softening. “It’s for Snow. Simon Snow.”

I had heard her little intake of breath across the phone line and I knew I had her attention. I may have had an in with Cook Pritchard, being Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s son, but no one appreciated the food at Watford more than Simon and Cook knew that better than anyone.

I had continued, pressing my momentary advantage. “He’s finishing his first term at uni. I thought it would be a good surprise for him to come home to a platter of Watford’s sour cherry scones when he’s done with exams. Would you share the recipe just this once?”

She had emailed it to me within the hour. I am still coming to terms with the fact that Cook Pritchard used email. It was not something one thought about in regard to the Watford faculty and staff, even though Professor Bunce had eased the restrictions on electronics and set up WiFi when she took over as Headmaster. She’s never far from her laptop so it had been one of the first changes she made. After getting rid of the blasted merwolves, that is. Mitali Bunce has my vote of confidence for that alone. I hate the merwolves.

So now I’m here, in Simon’s flat, preparing to make the famous scones for my boyfriend.

I like the sound of that. Boyfriend. My boyfriend.

I would do anything for Simon.

Penny:

I’m done with exams before Simon, which isn’t surprising, but I’m too knackered to wait for him. I need a shower. I want to curl up on the sofa and watch stupid, mindless movies with him tonight.

And Baz, most likely. He’s sure to make an appearance tonight, after staying away yesterday.

Good thing, too. Simon is utterly incapable of focusing when Baz is around. Oh, I know he claims Baz helps him study but it’s rubbish. I’ve seen how he looks at Baz. He can’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off him.

To give credit where credit is due—Baz does try to help. He actually does help Simon study for some of his classes. He’s a stern taskmaster when he chooses to be.

But then he starts “rewarding” Simon for a job well done and I have to retreat to my room before it turns into a bloody snog fest, which it invariably does. Baz is as bad as Simon when it comes to the looking and touching.

I hear the music as soon as I open the door to the flat. How did Simon get home so early, I wonder, until I stop to actually listen to what’s playing.

My suspicion is confirmed when I enter the kitchen to find Baz washing up dishes as Kishi Bashi plays from his phone.

I really have my doubts about vampire hearing acuity when he startles as I come up next to him.

“Bloody hell, Bunce!” he snaps, glaring down at me as he picks up the bowl he dropped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re the one who’s supposed to have the preternaturally enhanced hearing,” I say, frowning at him. “Or is that only in regard to Simon?”

Baz points to the sink, which is still running, and then to the small speaker on the counter next to his phone. “Running water and music, Bunce. Even I can’t hear you sneaking up on me over that.”

“Wasn’t sneaking,” I retort. “It is my flat after all. You’re the one who broke in.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “It’s not ‘breaking in’ if I have a key.”

The scent has hit me now. The kitchen smells divine. I stop fussing at him. “What have you been doing?” I ask, bending down to peek into the oven.

He bats my hand away before I can open the oven door to look.

“All in good time, Bunce, all in good time,” he says, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “Simon on his way?”

“Should be shortly. What are you up to, Baz?” I’ve taken in the bags of flour and sugar on the counter, the bowls and measuring cups in the drying rack and the heavenly aroma wafting from the oven. “You’ve got a nicer kitchen than we do—why did you drag yourself and all this over here?” I ask.

It is telling that Baz blushes before he speaks. Of course he does.

“I wanted them to be warm, when Snow got home. And not by magic.”

“Wanted what to be warm?” I inquire.

He rolls his eyes at me again right as the oven timer goes off. He doesn’t answer me--just turns to pull on oven mitts and I’m a bit dazed for a moment at the sight of such a domestic looking Baz. I don’t notice what’s on the pan until he puts it on top of the stove to cool.

They’re scones. Cherry scones. Of course. My chest tightens and my gaze softens as I look at Baz.

He’s flushed more than he was a moment ago (which means Baz fed before he came over) and his eyes are riveted to the floor, not meeting mine.

“They smell fantastic,” I say. “They look just like the ones at Watford.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “You are such a sap, Baz. He’ll love it.”

Baz smiles down at me. It’s such a soft look, more like the ones he usually gives Simon. “You think so?” he asks quietly.

“I know so,” I say. “I’ll have to snag one before he gets home—you know he’ll eat them all, down to the last crumb.”

He swats my hand away again. “Keep your mitts off them, Bunce. Those are all for Simon.”

Simon:

“What’s for me?” I ask. Baz and Penny turn startled eyes in my direction. It’s not often I manage to sneak up on Penny but I almost never catch Baz by surprise.

I’d heard the music and the low murmur of voices when I came in. I’m dead on my feet. I stayed up far too late studying last night and my last exam was a bear.

But I’m done and home now and my two favorite people in the world are here and there’s a glorious smell in the air that is tantalizingly familiar.

“Hey, Simon,” Penny says.

Baz walks across the room to slip his arms around my waist. “Hello, love,” he says to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I melt into his arms, only too happy to lean my weight into his steady grip. I rest my head on his shoulder as my own arms wrap around him.

“Smells good in here,” I mumble.

“I should hope so,” Baz says. “I wouldn’t have wanted all my hard work to be in vain.”

I pick up my head to look at him. “You made something?” I ask and then look around the kitchen until I spot the baking pan resting on the stove top.

I freeze and then blink for a moment as I realize it’s a tray of scones. Cherry scones to be exact.

“You made these?” I ask, pointing to them. “For me?”

“Who else would I make cherry scones for, Snow?” Baz says crisply. “I don’t know of anyone who has as strong feelings for them as you do.”

“Simon,” I say, automatically correcting him as I drift over to the scones.

They look just like Cook Pritchard’s.

I don’t even know what to say. This may be the first time in my life I’m faced with warm cherry scones and I’m not immediately devouring them.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” Baz asks me. “I think you’d be assured I wasn’t out to poison you by now.”

“Git,” I say absentmindedly.

“I’ll have one then,” Penny says, reaching her hand towards the tray.

Baz bats her hand away and glares at her. “I told you, Bunce, these are Simon’s. You can have one when he’s done. Maybe.”

“If he’s left any,” Penny huffs. “You know how he is. He practically inhales them.”

“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” I complain. My tail lashes once then wraps itself around Baz’s leg. I reach out for a scone. It’s hot to touch still. I toss it from hand to hand.

Penny groans and hands me a plate and the butter dish.

I slather the scone with butter and take a bite. My eyes close and I could swear I’m back at Watford—the smell, the taste, the company. For just a minute I am back there, a ghost of a tingle in my fingers and a warm rush in my chest.

I slip my free arm around Baz’s waist and look up at him. His cheeks have a dusting of pink and it goes all the way up to his ears. He looks soft and shy and open. I go up on my toes and brush my buttery lips to his. “Thank you, Baz.”

His arm tightens around my waist as he pulls me closer. “Anything for you, love."

And I know he means it.

“If I have to watch you two snog in the kitchen then I deserve a scone,” Penny says, snatching one from the tray.

“Then we might as well give you a show, Bunce,” Baz says, turning to me. He rolls his eyes. I’ve grabbed another scone and am in the midst of eating it as he leans down to kiss me again.

“Incorrigible, Snow.”

“Simon,” I say, as I swallow the last bite and pull his face down to mine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563994

#simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #snowbaz #valentines day #friday im in love #fluff #my writing #my fics

[robdelicious]

How Robert Pattinson And Willem Dafoe Made It To The Lighthouse

Out of a swirling fog emerges the prow of a boat, knifing through a foaming sea. Two figures, shadows in the murk, stand silhouetted on the foredeck, confronting the horizon, their backs to us. Presently an island swims into view. No more than a crag, really: lonely, battered, forbidding. Then a lighthouse can be made out, blinking in the gloom.

Now we see the men head-on, a striking dual portrait in high contrast black and white: a double exposure. They are wearing sailors’ caps, greatcoats, and hefting wooden trunks. One is younger, taller, moustachioed. The other, more deeply crevassed, sports a wild beard, out of which pokes a small wooden pipe, like Popeye’s. Theirs are, by any standards, remarkable faces, extreme faces, unyielding as rock yet sculpted with great delicacy, skin stretched tight over jutting bones: sharp noses, strong jaws, deep set eyes. And, oh, the cheekbones! And would you look at all those teeth?

Before anything else — before they are handsome faces, or expressive faces, or famous faces (they are all of those things) — these are photogenic faces. On first inspection they appear impassive, almost blank. And yet an air of foreboding is struck. The older man’s features are fixed in a roguish grimace. The younger man is wary, tense. These might be the faces of a father and son, or brothers separated by decades: hard, thin, stern faces, built for hard, thin, stern lives. Lives filled with mean disappointments, festering resentments, blood feuds. Here are men who have seen trouble before and will see it again. Maybe they’re looking for trouble. Maybe they’ve found it. Is this a dual portrait — or the portrait of a duel?

Whatever has thrown these men together in this place — fate, karma, the thirst for adventure, the desire for escape (in the case of the characters, but perhaps the actors, too?) or (in the case of the actors specifically) the need to stretch oneself artistically, or to challenge oneself physically, or the reputation of the director, or a really good script, or all of these things — one senses they are aware already, as they square up to the stinging reality of their circumstances, that they may have got more than they bargained for. What we can be sure of from the off: there will be weather. There will be conflict. And there will be acting.

The film is The Lighthouse, the second feature film from the 36-year-old American writer-director Robert Eggers, who made a stir with his debut, The Witch. Eggers, who is based in Brooklyn but grew up in rural New Hampshire, is a man possessed of a rare and creepy gothic sensibility. The Witch was an arthouse horror film, a twisted fairytale with the insidious power of a nightmare. It concerned a family of 17th-century puritans banished to the woods of New England, and it involved possessed children, birds pecking at human flesh, and an unholy bond with a goat. It cost $4m to make and earned that money back 10 times over, making Eggers not just a critical darling, but a coming man in commercial cinema.

For The Lighthouse, Eggers is reunited with A24, among other production companies, and with much of his crew from The Witch, including his director of photography, Jarin Blaschke, and composer Mark Korven, who between them do as much as anyone to set the eerie mood. His co-writer is his brother, Max Eggers. The actors were new to him.

Those faces that I have been at pains to describe, then, belong to Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe. They play lighthouse keepers on a wind-slapped, rain-lashed rock off the Atlantic coast of North America. The year is 1890. Pattinson is, or appears to be, Ephraim Winslow, the taciturn apprentice. “I ain’t much for talkin’,” he says early on — a statement, like so many in this film of shifting and unfixed identities, that turns out to be not entirely true.

Dafoe is Winslow’s irascible, peg-legged senior partner, Thomas Wake, an experienced “wickie” and a cruel taskmaster, obsessively enraptured by the beacon he tends. “The light is mine!” he declares, mad-eyed. Wake consigns Winslow to the bowels of the building, where the younger man stokes the fire and swabs the floors and nurtures his grievances, while indulging in some quite epic, mermaid-focussed masturbation. Winslow and Wake are to spend four weeks alone on the island before they are to be relieved. But when a storm blows in, the odd couple are stranded — maybe, or maybe not, because a violent act on Winslow’s part has brought down a curse upon them. Slowly, and then in spasms of ultraviolence, they unravel.

The Lighthouse is a twisted buddy movie, a surreal black comedy, a psychological thriller set at the hysterical pitch of Grand Guignol. It was filmed in the spring of 2018 on sound stages in the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, on Canada’s Atlantic coast, and on location on the tiny fishing community of Cape Forchu, nearby. (“People tend to spend up to 45 minutes here,” Google Maps tells us of Cape Forchu. This fact might, or might not, amuse the filmmakers who spent weeks there, battling Biblical conditions. “It snowed in May,” notes Dafoe.)

With the exception of the Moldovan model Valeriia Karaman, who makes a number of brief, though memorable, appearances in her debut film, Pattinson and Dafoe are the only members of the cast, and their seesawing power struggle is the film’s entire focus, with point of view switching sides like a sail boat’s boom in a storm. Its success or failure rests heavily on their shoulders.

Pattinson and Dafoe are big stars, both. They are also men from different generations, different backgrounds, different countries and traditions. The Lighthouse was not an easy film to make for a number of reasons — the remote location, the raging weather — but not the least of the filmmakers’ challenges were the contrasting approaches of the two actors.

“They really did have incredible chemistry on screen,” director Eggers tells me on the phone, “but it was chemistry through tension. I know there’s been discussion about their different acting techniques and the trying conditions on set…” He pauses. “That couldn’t have been better for the movie.”

If you happened to be out and about in Halifax, in the early spring of 2018, you may have noticed a slender young loner stalking the streets day after day, muttering to himself. Noticed him, and felt concern for his emotional wellbeing. Had you followed him, and listened closely, you might have heard the same words repeated over and over again, in a gravel-voiced near-grunt: “Woyt poyn, woyt poyn, woyt poyn…” Come again? “Woyt poyn, woyt poyn...”

“White pine,” the slender young man enunciates into my voice recorder, 18 months on, in the accent of a nicely brought-up southwest London boy, rather than a 19th-century working man from a highly specific part of Maine. White pine — I’m sorry, woyt poyn — is one of the trees which his character lists when telling his colleague of his past misadventures as a lumberjack. Pattinson developed the accent with the help of a dialect coach and by speaking to a contemporary Maine lobster fisherman on the phone. “It’s one of those accents where if you say one syllable wrong it’s suddenly Jamaican, or something,” he says. “So it took ages.”

Pattinson arrived early in Halifax, before his director and co-star, to psych himself into the role of the saturnine Ephraim. Having approached Eggers after seeing The Witch, in the hope that they might at some point work together, Pattinson had declined the director’s first suggestion, for a part in a more conventional, mainstream film that the director was then developing.

“He said he was only interested in doing weird things,” Eggers says. “So when The Lighthouse came around I said that if he doesn’t find this weird enough, I guess we’ll never work together.”

It’s true, Pattinson says, that at that time, in 2016, he “wanted to do the weirdest stuff in the world.” (Mission accomplished, Rob!) Still, he spent a good deal of time agonising over whether or not to take the role in The Lighthouse. “I remember reading it and I thought it was very funny, but I was also thinking, ‘I don’t understand how the tone would work?’”

When Dafoe signed on, Pattinson was excited. “I knew Willem could bring that kind of anarchic energy,” he says, “but I really didn’t know how I would do it at all.” Dafoe, he says, in one of his many moments of self-effacement, “has one of those faces where he can literally sit in any room in the world, doing almost nothing, and it’s fascinating to watch. Whereas I sort of blend in with the chair I’m sitting on.”

Before filming began, the pair spent a week in rehearsals. Pattinson dislikes rehearsing, preferring to do his experimenting on camera. “It was very, very frustrating,” he says. “I just couldn’t achieve what they wanted me to achieve in that room. Robert [Eggers] was getting furious with me because I was just sitting there, completely monotone the whole time. He could not stand it.” Pattinson tells the story with no rancour whatsoever. He knows it sounds funny, but it wasn’t at the time. “I just don’t know how to perform it until we’re performing it. By the end of the week, I’m thinking, ‘I’m going to get fired before we’ve even started’. I definitely feel like, with the rehearsal period, we were quite angry with each other by the end of it. Literally, we’d finish for the day, I’d fucking slam out the door and go home.

“I knew that there was diminishing expectations of me throughout the week of rehearsals,” he says. “I definitely became an underdog. They’re like, ‘Wow, this was a big mistake. He’s really shit.’”

Pattinson and I talk on a sweltering August morning, in the comfort of a private members’ club in west London, near the flat he’s rented for the summer on Airbnb. (He’s in town to shoot Christopher Nolan’s new sci-fi spectacular, Tenet, about which he is permitted to tell us, with fulsome apologies, precisely nothing.) Rather than swigging kerosene and chaining tobacco, as in the film, he orders a banana smoothie, and when he’s finished that, an apple juice. Occasionally he sucks on a Juul.

Pattinson is 33. He grew up in affluent Barnes, the son of a dealer in vintage cars and a model booker. More or less untrained — unless you count some teenage am-dram — at 19 he was cast as Cedric Diggory, the hero’s doomed frenemy, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But his Hollywood breakthrough arrived in 2008. Twilight was a teen B-movie, but it became a pop cult phenomenon, spawning four sequels of diminishing charm, making an otherworldly $3.3bn worldwide and creating megastars of its leads, Pattinson, who played a sexy vampire, and Kristen Stewart, who became his girlfriend on screen and IRL, as they say, before, in an unseemly frenzy of prurient salivating, she became his ex-girlfriend.

While for some he may always be the pallid tween heartthrob, in the six years since the final instalment of Twilight, Pattinson has worked hard to reinvent himself. His post Young Adult years have been cussedly uncommercial and impressively adventurous. In that period, Pattinson has worked with some of cinema’s most fêted directors: David Cronenberg, Anton Corbijn, James Gray, Werner Herzog, the Safdie brothers. Most recently, he was an intergalactic castaway in High Life, an enjoyable, if bonkers, dystopian sci-fi from the French director Claire Denis.

“Even in the Twilight years I never said, ‘Oh, he’s just a pretty boy,’” says Robert Eggers. “I always thought there was something interesting about him. I could tell that he wanted to be a great actor. And in the past years it’s been very clear that he is.”

The attraction of more avant garde or outré material, Pattinson says, is it allows him to let rip in a way he never could in real life. Pattinson compares the experience of acting in a film like The Lighthouse with joyriding. “A lot of the movies I’ve done recently, you literally feel as if you’ve stolen a car and you’re kind of careening through stuff.” (Such are the fantasies, perhaps, of a boy who grew up with a father who imported American sports cars for a living.)

In person, Pattinson is a mild-mannered English actor, albeit a slightly eccentric one. On set, however, “because you’re playing a mad person, it means you can sort of be mad the whole time. Well, not the whole time, but for like an hour before the scene.”

What does he mean by being mad? “You can literally just be sitting on the floor growling and licking up puddles of mud.”

This sounds figurative. He really means it. On The Lighthouse, in the scenes in which his character is meant to be drunk on kerosene (there are quite a few of them), he was “basically unconscious the whole time. It was crazy. I spent so much time making myself throw up. Pissing my pants. It’s the most revolting thing. I don’t know, maybe it’s really annoying.”

It’s hard not to speculate that yes, it might be really annoying. “There’s a scene,” Pattinson remembers, “where Willem’s kind of sleeping on me and we’re really, really drunk and I felt like we’re completely lost in the scene and I’m sitting there trying to make myself gag and Robert [Eggers] told me off because Willem’s looking at him going: ‘If he throws up on me, I’m leaving the set.’ I had absolutely no idea this whole drama was unfolding.”

In some ways, Pattinson concedes, all this acting out is a reaction to his terrifying early super-fame. He speaks of himself in the second person when talking about it. “For a long time you’re very self-conscious in the street. You’re hiding a lot, so [on set] you have an excuse to be wild. It’s like being an adrenaline junkie. And also, when you don’t know how to do something, why not just run headfirst into a wall? See what happens. I haven’t got any other ideas.”

On The Lighthouse, he spun in circles before each take, to make himself off-balance. He placed a stone in one of his shoes, to increase the already considerable physical hardship. He can see — from my disbelieving laughter, apart from anything else — that all this strikes non-actors as funny, even preposterous. It may be that it sounds this way to some actors, too.

The most famous story (possibly apocryphal) of an encounter between an adherent of the Method — in which actors don’t so much pretend to be someone else as try to temporarily become them — and a more traditional, outside-in actor, who puts on costume and makes believe, is Laurence Olivier’s withering put-down of Dustin Hoffman, when they were working together on John Schlesinger’s Marathon Man. At some point, Hoffman, a graduate of the Actors Studio, confided in the great English Shakespearean that, in order to bring the correct verisimilitude to a scene in which his character has not slept for three consecutive nights, he had forced himself to stay awake for the same period. “My dear boy,” Olivier is said to have smoothly replied, “why don’t you just try acting?”

Eggers says that any suggestion of that kind of relationship between Dafoe and Pattinson is wide of the mark. “The idea that Dafoe is outside-in and Rob is this method actor, that’s not the case. I think maybe they lean the tiniest bit into those directions but they’re both combinations of things.”

ESQUIRE: https://www.esquire.com/uk/culture/a29300396/robert-pattinson-willem-dafoe-interview/

#Robert Pattinson #Rob Pattinson #Esquire #The Lighthouse

[manicr]

Season’s Greetings

 ...and a merry fuckmas to you too, asshole

Summary: It’s the season and Bullseye has a job, everybody just keeps getting in the way and into each others pants.

...Taskmaster hires Bullseye.

Rating: R for violence, profanity , sadism, and hating Chrismas.

Parings: None here. Future Multi: M/M, M/F, M/M/F, F/F,  F/F/M.

Prologue

In the distance Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You played as Bullseye garotted the fat man in the Santa suit next to the dumpsters in the alley behind the mall. Taskmaster sighed and tried once more to pitch the job to the notorious assassin, all while ignoring the far too excited face Bullseye was making as the mall Santa choked and bled. 

“It’s at least more profitable than whatever you’re getting killing Santas, Bullseye. More challenge too and much, much, better for your rep. You’ve been out of the game a lot, man. I’m practically doing you a favor here.”

He was happy for his mask when the hapless victim Bullseye was toying with pissed his pants, making Bullseye finally drop him with a disturbing little giggle and then proceeded to stomp his face in with sickening crunches. On his medication or not, Bullseye wasn’t sane.

“I’m doing this on my own dime, Tasky. A public service, if you will.” Bullseye wiped the garotte off on the red velvet suit before pocketing it. “I mean, it’s November. It ain’t right.”

“Then make some money with me. It’s a nice corporate hit; take out the boss man in his fancy home with his advanced security system and army of pumped up bodyguards. This asshole actual employed Anvil to watch his damn back, and they are actually good as private contractors go. I think a trained a few key personnel there.” 

“Boring. I can kill assholes like that a mile away.”

“Not this one. He’s into tech and is not just a trumped up Stark Wannabe either, he’s a military defense contractor. You won’t snipe him that easy. I’ll need your talents, sure, but I’ll need you there in person and ready to get into tight spaces.” Taskmaster could guess what Bullseye was to say and raised his hand before he could be interrupted. “I’m not involving Deadpool in this; he’s in one of his I’m a Hero phases again.” That he had O’Grady working with him already wasn’t anything Bullseye needed to know.

“Ugh. It’s such a waste,” Bullseye whined and lit a cigarette. “But still, still ain’t sounding like anything that would need or challenge my particular skill set.” He took a drag and cocked his head curiously; Taskmaster tried to go at this another way. Bullseye was vain and egomaniacal. 

“It is since I need absolute precision. Our target has equipped professionals with the latest defensive and protective gear there is, off-market stuff that he’s developed with the billions he makes off retail and slave-wages. I need a bonafide killer who can exploit the slightest crack in their armour while dealing with drone operated kill bots and unpredictable ricochets. Wilson would survive all that, but he wouldn’t be much help. You on the other hand, you’d clean house. Like magic.” 

“Sounds a little more interesting. What’s the paycheck?”

“Ten mil each. And whatever we wanna take from the target. It’s right up your alley, Bulls. It’ll put you back on the map, get you on your feet, grease the wheels -- all of that stuff. No more of…,” he paused and looked at the bloody mess at Bullsye’s feet, the dingy alley and stinking dumpsters, “this.”

Bullseye looked around too, mimicking his gesture, but didn’t seem to find anything amiss with the picture he was painting. “Who’s the mark?”

“Ben Johnson of Access Corp. Timeline, before Christmas. Client wants to tank the shares and send the company into disarray for the shopping season as well as to cut the military contract he’s holding. It also seems to be personal. So some of your particular flair will be appreciated by the client.” Always a good hook on Bullseye, let him be messy and artistic with his hits, or so Taskmaster hoped. 

It was never easy to maneuver Bullseye even when you’ve gotten him to move in the direction you wanted. The assassin came with a warning label and a penchant for chaos, but that was exactly what he needed for this job. More so than he was telling Bullseye. The assassin really didn’t need to know. 

Taskmaster waited, hearing Sleigh Ride play from inside, face tense behind the skull mask at Bullseye’s very much theatric thoughtfulness. He let out a relieved breath as Bullseye burst into one of his signature toothy grins and declared:

“I’m in. When do we start?”

#manicr writes #bullseye #taskmaster #black ant #fanfic #i'll try to post this every other day or so #got the first chapter dne

[mdelpin]

The Red Dragon - Chapter 20

AO3 | FF.Net | Tumblr: Ch1 | Ch19

Chapter 20

I’m sorry…

The words echoed in Gray’s mind, trying to work their way through the haze that had him lying down in a field he soon recognized. He shook his head slowly and felt a massive wave of pain reverberate in his skull. The voice was familiar, although he couldn’t pinpoint who it belonged to at the moment.

He heard a sound overhead. It reminded him of the flapping of wings, although it was louder than any bird he could think of. He searched the night sky but couldn’t make out anything in the pitch darkness of the moonless night.

Other noises began to filter through, there were muffled screams and a cloud of smog in the air that sent him back into himself. To a place he hadn’t visited since he’d been confronted with Natsu’s dragon. His loss still too painful, even after all these years.

Gray was helpless to stop the assault of his memories. The quick spurts of overly bright images of blood and fire making him turn to his side and vomit, both from the pain the overstimulation caused and the non-stop throbbing pulse that was pounding in his head.

More visions of burning structures and dying bodies assailed him. He heard himself whine in his throat, already aware of what was coming next. His heart stinging as he watched his parents try to protect him against a monster, they had no hope to stop. Their last moments were filled with excruciating pain, and even though their actions saved him, they’d also doomed him to a life spent alone. Gray had been the lone survivor of that attack.

His muscles stiffened painfully as he allowed himself to think of Deliora, the hellfire dragon that had destroyed his village and taken everything and everyone he’d loved from him. Ever since that day, he’d held a hatred for all dragons, but none more than the fire breathing red dragons.

But that had begun to change the last few years. His mate, Natsu, had been raised by red dragons, and Gray knew that if he ever wanted them to have the future he dreamed of, he was going to have to find a way to let go of his hate. Before it cost him the one he loved more than anything.

At the thought of his mate, Gray’s fingers quickly found their way to his scarf, wanting to reassure himself that it was still there. He continued to hear screaming, and he pried himself away from his memories with difficulty, trying to figure out what was happening in the present. He still had no idea how he’d gotten to this field.

The last thing he could remember was walking home from his last job, one that had begun as a takedown of bandits but that he’d managed to extend into a construction job. It allowed him to stay away from Talos and the situation that had precipitated his departure for three long months.

While he was glad for the vast amount of jewels he’d earned, he’d hoped that staying busy would also have helped to quell his anxiety at Natsu’s continued absence, but it had only made him more anxious with every passing day.

How did I get from there to here?

He scanned the ground for his travel bag but couldn’t find it, and when he checked his pockets, he found his purse mostly empty. Had he been robbed and left for dead?

He looked around him and began to notice other details. There was a lot of blood around him, an impossibly large amount lay in a pool a short distance away. It was more blood than could possibly have come from one human. Gray was getting more confused by the second. Who had been here with him? Where did they go? Did this blood belong to the man whose voice he’d heard earlier?

This field was special to him, it was a place he often went to relax or train, and it held many of his most pleasant memories. To see it covered in blood set him on edge, but there was something else. A vague feeling that something important had gone horribly wrong. But what?

He desperately tried to remember anything, actively fighting the muddle that had taken over his brain, but there was nothing to be found. At least not yet. The pain in his head signaled the possibility of a concussion. If that were true, there was no use fighting it. His memories would return in time. He might as well start the long trek towards Talos.

The field was a good mile away from the village. Gray got up slowly, trying to get a feel for how bad his injuries actually were. He was in a lot of pain, but he could move, although his legs felt sluggish.

He started making his way back to the village as quickly as he was able, remembering the screams he’d heard earlier. Erza would have his head if she learned he was slacking off in the field while he was needed.

Thinking of Erza reminded him of how he’d left town in a huff, angry at Juvia for forcing herself on him once again. And at his friends for aiding her. He felt stupid for making such a big deal about it when they could be dead, but he tried not to let that thought sink in too much. He needed to stay sharp because the more he tried to convince himself of different things that could have caused this much destruction, he knew there was only one that made any sense.

Dragons.

As he got closer, the glow from the fire was joined by the overwhelming heat from the flames. He was dismayed by how similar it all felt to what he’d already experienced.

The thought that this attack might be an indication that the war they’d thought was almost over was anything but made him push himself a little harder to get to the village faster, even though his legs were quickly tiring, and the pain in his side was beginning to worry him. The ache in his head remained relentless. He caught his breath as he realized the closer he got, the more familiar the scene of destruction became.

The sky glowed a soft orange, and clouds of acrid black smoke followed the path of the wind angrily as buildings burned. He could see Juvia moving as much water from the nearby lake as she was able and using it to douse the buildings, trying her best to keep the fire from spreading to the adjacent ones. She looked tired but determined.

Lyon also attempted to stop the fires with his ice, the intense heat of the flames quickly melting it into water. Gray was glad to see the combination of their efforts was beginning to turn the tide. He tried to call upon his own ice magic, but he was too weak. His head immediately began to throb, and once again, he felt the urge to vomit.

“Are you okay?” Erza appeared from somewhere behind him and put his arm around her shoulder, supporting part of his weight as they moved. She walked him over to a set of nearby stairs and sat him down.

She began to look him over, checking him for injuries. “When were you seen by a healer?” she asked curiously.

“What?” Gray looked at her in confusion. He watched her fuss over him and couldn’t help a small smile of fondness. Even with her clothes in tatters and soot clinging to her long scarlet hair, Erza still cared more about him than about her own visible injuries, despite the way he’d left the village.

“Some of your wounds have been partially healed.” Erza remarked as she continued to check him over, “Where were you anyway? You had us worried sick. Lyon said the last time he’d seen you, you’d just slammed into the side of a building.”

“What are you talking about? I was just coming back from my job, and I woke up in the field injured,” Gray told her, knowing from experience it was never wise to try to keep the truth from her.

“Your job, the field? You’re not making any sense. Your job finished six months ago, you never returned. We sent out rescue parties for months.”

“You showed up with the dragons and started fighting,” Erza looked at him, “How would you even have gotten to the field in your condition?”

Dragons? Gray was horrified. He’d been right, but none of the things Erza had said sounded at all familiar to him.

“I suppose the how you got there isn’t so important at the moment, I’m just glad you’re alright,” Erza said, eyes warm with affection.

She could be a hard taskmaster, but Erza Scarlet also cared deeply about her friends. Gray was glad she was dating his brother, even if Lyon was a dumbass, they complimented each other well.

“What happened?” Gray asked, “I don’t remember anything.”

“Maybe you hit your head too hard,” Erza conceded, “We heard this horrible screech, it was like nothing we’d ever heard before. Lyon and I ran outside to find a black dragon was attacking the town. I ran to evacuate the residents to a safer area while Lyon went to fight.”

“Then a large red dragon came out of nowhere and rammed into the first one. And you came running in like you’d never left and joined Lyon. The dragons fought for a while, but the red one managed to chase the other one away. Unfortunately, all of these fires are a result of their fight.”

“I don’t believe that.” Gray scoffed stubbornly. “The only red dragon in the area is Happy, and I don’t think he’d be strong enough to do that.”

“Maybe they’ve returned at long last,” Erza shrugged her shoulders before shaking her head in wonder. “That red dragon was amazing, the way it was fighting was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Tell that to the people of my village.” Gray almost snarled, not being able to help himself after having so recently re-lived the death of his parents and the destruction of his village. He cradled his head in his hands and closed his eyes as another wave of pain hit him.

“Where did you go?” Lyon asked as he shook his shoulder slightly. Gray hissed at him as his nausea returned.

“Be careful, you idiot.” Erza scolded Lyon, “I think he might have a concussion, he can’t remember anything.”

“Where was he?” Lyon asked, and Gray could hear the worry underneath the harsh tone as they proceeded to talk as if he wasn’t there.

“He just walked in, said he woke up in the field.” Erza reported, “Some of his wounds have been partly healed as well. It’s all very strange.”

“I’m surprised he looks this well.” Lyon mused, “If that red dragon hadn’t taken that hit, I don’t think he would have survived. That was very lucky.”

“Yes it was, do you think the black dragon will come back?”

“I hope not, I don’t want to think about what might have happened if that red dragon hadn’t shown up. We were no match for it, that’s for sure,” Lyon wiped the sweat from his brow as he once again glanced at his brother with concern.

“Did he say anything about where he was all this time?”

Erza shook her head, placing a finger on her lips, and Lyon nodded tiredly. Now was not the time to be asking those questions.

“It’s going to take us a long time to rebuild.” Erza sighed as she looked around at the destruction that surrounded them, already sounding tired just at the thought of the work that was ahead of them.

Lyon walked over to her and wrapped her in an embrace, “I don’t care about that, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Erza moved her arms until they surrounded him as well, holding on tightly. Lyon kissed her head and whispered, “I love you.”

Erza smiled before murmuring, “I love you too.” She leaned her head on his shoulder briefly before pulling away. “There’s still a lot left to be done.”

“I’ll go back and help Juvia put out the rest of the fires.” Lyon began to walk away when all of a sudden, he stopped. “You did well. Thanks to you, most everyone got out. I’m proud of you!”

Gray heard him walk away and looked up to see his friend watching after his brother with a slight dusting of red on her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but smile at them. They made a sweet couple, and he tried not to feel jealous of how easy they had it. Ever since Natsu had left, Gray had felt like a large part of himself had left with him.

“He’s right, you know.” Gray complimented her, she might be his superior, but she was also one of the few people he considered a friend.

“I just did my job,” Erza said without much interest. Praise wasn’t something that was important to her. It’s one of the things that made her a good captain. She was strict, but she didn’t expect anything from them that she wasn’t willing to do herself.

“You, however, almost got yourself killed while doing yours.” she reprimanded him. “You can’t lose focus like that during a fight.”

Gray looked at her blankly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Never mind. For now, I’m just glad you’re safe,” Erza smiled at him, but it was strained, and Gray wasn’t sure if it was because of him or the desperate situation the town was in. “Is your head better now?”

“A little.”

“You know, Juvia was very worried about you,” Erza mentioned with a glint in her eye, “She missed you a lot while you were gone. She even went with Lyon to the town you were working to ask questions.”

“Ugh, please don’t start that again.” Gray groaned, “Juvia is a nice girl, but I’m not interested in her that way.”

“At the very least, you owe her an apology for your behavior,” Erza pointed out.

“Don’t you think she owes me an apology?” When Erza didn’t immediately comment, he began to rant. “Why is it that when people are in a relationship, they start trying to pair off all their friends?” Gray grunted.

“I’m happy for you and Lyon, really I am, but I don’t owe Juvia anything. I told her I wasn’t interested, and she refuses to take no for an answer. That isn’t my responsibility.”

“I just want you to be happy, Gray. You never know, if you gave her a chance, she could make you happy.”

Before he could even protest that he actually did know, he was distracted by Erza gazing at his chest with a strange expression.

“Where did you get that necklace?” Erza asked curiously.

“Necklace?”

“Yeah, you know, that thing on your chest? You didn’t have that before.”

Gray had no idea what Erza was talking about, but then she grabbed something that was dangling on his chest and showed it to him. He couldn’t remember having ever seen it before, but at the same time, it felt somehow familiar. He felt a connection to it, even if he couldn’t think of what that might be.

“It’s beautiful,” Erza’s eyes widened as she inspected it, “The workmanship on the sword pendant... it’s exquisite, and that red gemstone, it’s so vibrant. It must have cost you plenty of jewels.”

“I didn’t buy it, at least I don’t think I did.” Gray murmured, puzzled by its presence. He removed Natsu’s scarf, grimacing at the bloodstains on it before folding it carefully and placing it on his lap.

He’d have to wash it quickly before the stains set. He couldn’t stand the idea of ruining his mate’s most prized possession. Second most prized possession, Gray reminded himself with a small smile, remembering Natsu’s words before he’d left, only to once again be consumed with worry.

Was Natsu doing okay? Was he injured? In his quiet moments, did Natsu think about him?

Gods, he missed him terribly! They had started to make a lot of plans for their future before Natsu had left, and Gray wanted nothing more than for him to return so they could get started on all of them.

Gray took the necklace off to get a better look at it but was instantly filled with a sense of loneliness and despair. He put it back on, and the feeling was gone.

What the hell?

Another mystery. Gray was getting really tired of those. It was more than his poor head could handle at the moment. He eyed the neat square of fabric sitting on his lap and touched it almost reverently, taking deep breaths as he ran the scarf between his fingers.

“Well, let’s get you to a healer. You still look terrible.” Erza helped him up, and they slowly made their way to the nearest healer with Gray clutching the scarf in his right hand.

They had almost reached the long line of people waiting to get seen when they were stopped by the approach of a very tired looking Juvia and Lyon.

“Gray-sama’s okay!” The blue-haired mage would not meet his eyes as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the ground while one of her feet twisted nervously.

“Juvia was worried.” Her cheeks flushed slightly as they always did when she was near him, and Gray couldn’t tell if it was due to embarrassment at how they’d left things, but the way she’d already resorted to calling him Gray-sama left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’m fine, Juvia.” Erza glared at him for his shortness, and he quickly added something more helpful to appease her. “Uhm, great job putting out the fires.”

Erza smiled at Gray in a way that made him wary. “I should really check the rest of the village to see what’s needed. Juvia can stay with you until the healer can see you.”

She turned towards Juvia before he could protest that Lyon could stay with him, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not, Captain. Juvia will do her duty.” Juvia beamed at Erza, “Juvia will make sure Gray-sama is well taken care of.”

“Erza expects -- I mean, I expect nothing less, try and get some rest yourself. The healer might want to take a look at you as well.” Erza patted the water mage’s arm while turning to smirk at Gray.

He glared at her, and she immediately narrowed her eyes, daring him to protest before grabbing Lyon by the arm and dragging him along with her. Lyon, well aware of Gray’s feelings on the matter, looked back and mouthed I’m sorry at him before turning around and following his girlfriend.

Did I actually think Erza was good for Lyon? Gray wondered, furious at the situation he’d been thrust into yet again. She’s the devil!

He found a place to sit and collapsed to the ground, leaning his back against a building. He felt exhausted from his walk and was not excited to find new aches and pains introducing themselves. He looked up at Juvia and caught her staring at him with a dreamy smile on her lips. He groaned in discomfort.

He liked Juvia well enough, and before she’d started actively pursuing him, he’d thought she was a nice girl.

However, ever since Lyon had worked up the courage to ask Erza out, Juvia had seemed to expect Gray to do the same with her. He closed his eyes while he waited, hoping Juvia would take the hint and leave him alone.

“Juvia thought she would never see her Gray-sama again.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Gray tried to keep the disdain out of his voice, but something about her calling him hers rubbed him the wrong way. He was not hers, never would be hers.

Sometimes he wished he could just yell out that Natsu was his mate if only so he could get Erza to stop trying to set him up with the water mage. There really wasn’t anything stopping him. He doubted Natsu would really care if others knew, given how he’d kissed him in front of Lyon and all the dragon slayers. It was all Gray, somewhere along the line, he’d gotten it into his head that if he told anyone else something terrible might happen to one of them and then they’d never be together.

Moments like this made him want to test that theory, though. He’d arguably had a day, and his patience was wearing thin. His head felt like someone was pummeling it from the inside, nothing made sense, and all he really wanted was to go home, get into bed, and pretend this day had never happened. Was that really too much to ask?

“Juvia saw the dragon take Gray-sama away.” Gray’s eyes shot open, and he looked at Juvia in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, did you just say you saw a dragon take me away?” A dragon? Just when he thought this day could not get any stranger.

He waited for her response, Juvia was prone to exaggeration, but she wasn’t a liar, there was usually some grain of truth to her words. “You must be mistaken, Juvia.”

“Juvia knows what she saw. Juvia saw Gray-sama fall and went to help, but the red dragon was already protecting Gray-sama from the black dragon. After the black dragon left, it picked Gray-sama up and flew away.”

“Juvia, If a dragon had taken me, I’d be dead,” Gray explained in as calm a voice as he could muster.

“Juvia knows what she saw,” Juvia repeated stubbornly.

“Well, Gray doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“When did Gray-sama get that necklace?” Juvia asked as she reached out to touch it. “Juvia doesn’t remember seeing it before.”

It bothered Gray to see Juvia touching the necklace, although he couldn’t really explain why. He was surprised to see her let go of it quickly with a pained expression.

“That wasn’t funny,” Juvia looked upset, and he had no idea what had happened. “Gray-sama should have warned Juvia that it was a trick necklace.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Juvia,” Gray said tiredly. “Both Erza and I touched it earlier, and we didn’t feel anything.”

“It zapped Juvia,” Juvia accused, she looked hurt, and tears were brimming in her eyes. “Juvia’s not dumb, she knows Gray-sama doesn’t like her the way she wants, but Juvia never thought Gray-sama would be mean about it.”

“Juvia, I swear, I didn’t do anything…” He tried to console her, but he could tell it was pointless. It had been a long day for everyone, perhaps she just needed to cry after everything she’d seen.

Gray went back to closing his eyes and ignoring her. He’d try to talk to her again after she calmed down. How much longer was it going to take to get seen by the healer? He wanted to leave, but he wasn’t willing to face Erza’s wrath if she found out.

With nothing but time on his hands, his mind immediately went to the mysteries that were surrounding him.

How the hell had he gotten to that field?

Juvia saw the dragon take Gray-sama away.

That was insane, only Juvia would come up with something like that.

Still, how had he ended up a mile outside of the village in the middle of an attack? Where had he been for those six months? Who had healed him? Where had the necklace come from, and why had it reacted to Juvia, but not Erza? More importantly, who did that voice in his head belong to, and why did it fill him with such disquiet?

...the red dragon was already protecting Gray-sama…

No. That did not make any sense, Gray flat out refused to believe that. He kept trying to work it out in his mind while he waited, growing drowsier with every question, especially when there were no answers.

It wasn’t long before his body succumbed to sleep. He was out long before the healer got to him.

A/N: This is the beginning of the final arc, and what the story was always supposed to be about. I first came up with this idea for the prompt memory for the MLM Week of When We Take Different Paths. It quickly grew into something unmanageable so I wrote In Living Memory instead. I decided this story had better art potential and used it as my Big Bang story.

This is the summary I submitted at the time…

Summary: Gray finds himself in a field, injured and with no recollection of how he got there. His village is in shambles and all he can remember is the flapping of wings overhead and the words “I will always come when you need me” whispered in his mind.

This is literally the first chapter I ever wrote for this story over a year ago. I changed the phrase to I’m sorry because I felt Gray would recognize the other one right away even if he were out of it, and I tweaked it a bit to adjust for things I didn’t know would happen back then.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, this isn’t a plot twist or something sneaky I pulled to be difficult. This is where the story was going all along. In the original concept, the reader would discover what Natsu was along with Gray but it was too limiting, and there would have had to be a lot of flashbacks which would have made the story a lot harder to follow. So I chose to tell the story in a linear fashion.

I understand a lot of you are going to be frustrated and angry that you don’t get to find out what happened in those six months right away, but I promise, you will find out everything before the story is over. As it is I think most of you will understand what happened, I didn’t attempt to be cagey.

But you also know a lot more than Gray does, so you will have to be patient with him. I will be happy to discuss or answer any questions I can in the comments.

#fairy tail #gratsu #ftlgbtales #fairy tail big bang 2018 #update

[dailybiblelessons]

The Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Revised Common Lectionary Proper 16 Roman Catholic Proper 21

Complementary Hebrew Scripture Lesson from the Latter Prophets: Isaiah 51:1-6

Listen to me, you that pursue righteousness,  you that seek the Lord. Look to the rock from which you were hewn,  to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father  and to Sarah who bore you; for he was but one when I called him,  I blessed him and made him many. For the Lord will comfort Zion;  he will comfort all her waste places, and will make her wilderness like Eden,  her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness will be found in her,  thanksgiving and the voice of song.

Listen to me, my people,  and give heed to me, my nation; for a teaching will go out from me,  and my justice for a light to the peoples. I will bring near my deliverance swiftly,  my salvation has gone out  and my arms will rule the peoples; the coastlands wait for me,  and for my arm they hope. Lift up your eyes to the heavens,  and look at the earth beneath; for the heavens will vanish like smoke,  the earth will wear out like a garment,  and those who live on it will die like gnats; but my salvation will be forever,  and my deliverance will never be ended.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture Torah Lesson: Exodus 1:8-2:10

Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.¹ He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, “Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?” The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.” So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, “Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.”

Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.

The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him, “This must be one of the Hebrews' children,” she said. Then his sister said to Pharaoh's daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” Pharaoh's daughter said to her, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child's mother. Pharaoh's daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh's daughter, and she took him as her son. She named him Moses, “because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”

¹Stephen mentions this in his defense before the Sanhedrin in Acts 7:1-53.

Complementary Psalm 138

I give you thanks, O Lord, with my whole heart;  before the gods I sing your praise; I bow down toward your holy temple  and give thanks to your name for your steadfast love and your faithfulness;  for you have exalted your name and your word  above everything. On the day I called, you answered me,  you increased my strength of soul.

All the kings of the earth shall praise you, O Lord,  for they have heard the words of your mouth. They shall sing of the ways of the Lord,  for great is the glory of the Lord. For though the Lord is high, he regards the lowly;  but the haughty he perceives from far away.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble,  you preserve me against the wrath of my enemies; you stretch out your hand,  and your right hand delivers me. The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;  your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands.

Semi-continuous Psalm 124

If it had not been the Lord who was on our side  —let Israel now say— if it had not been the Lord who was on our side,  when our enemies attacked us, then they would have swallowed us up alive,  when their anger was kindled against us; then the flood would have swept us away,  the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone  the raging waters.

Blessed be the Lord,  who has not given us  as prey to their teeth. We have escaped like a bird  from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken,  and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the Lord,  who made heaven and earth

New Testament Epistle Lesson: Romans 12:1-8

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.

New Testament Gospel Lesson: Matthew 16:13-20

There are parallel passages at Mark 8:27-36 and Luke 9:18-21.

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

Year A Ordinary 21, RCL Proper 16, Catholic Proper 21 Sunday

Selections are from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from New Revised Standard Version Bible (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Image Credit: Who? image from via The Vanderbilt Divinity Library,.

#A Ordinay 21 Sunday #Peter's confession #Abraham your father #Sarah your mother #justice a light to the people #salvation forever #Israelites oppressed #Moses' birth #Pharaoh's daughter #one body #we who are many #one in Christ #keys to the kingdom #Who do you say I am?

[aion-rsa]

INTERVIEW: Nick Spencer Maps Out Captain America’s Secret Empire

Hydra’s chilling rallying cry of, “Hail Hydra! Immortal Hydra!” has traditionally rung out in secluded fortress, or when its agents are launching a strike. Soon, though, it will be heard across the Marvel Universe.

A cosmic entity has altered history in such a way that Marvel’s most trusted and beloved hero, Steve Rogers, has been a life-long deep cover Hydra agent. As such, Captain America been using his status to secretly gather power for the terrorist organization. Writer Nick Spencer has been chronicling Rogers’ power grab in both “Captain America: Steve Rogers” and “Captain America: Sam Wilson,” and this spring, Hydra Cap will be ready to step out of the shadows, take control of America, and transform Hydra into a global super power.

RELATED: Secret Empire: Brave New World Stars Marvel’s New Invaders, Patriot

Rogers’ assault on freedom begins this April, when Spencer kicks off what is both the culminating chapter of his Captain America saga and Marvel’s big summer event, the nine-issue “Secret Empire,” which will feature art by Daniel Acuña, Steve McNiven, Andrea Sorrentino and Leinil Yu. CBR spoke with Spencer about how dangerous an individual Steve Rogers truly is, the scope and scale of his story, its major players, and the critical importance of certain tie-in issues.

CBR: Nick, I wanted to start by rewinding back a little bit to “Civil War II: The Oath” for some clarification, because there’s a scene towards the end of that book that suggests to me that Steve Rogers is even more dangerous than we’d realized. At the end of “The Oath,” is Steve revealing to an essentially comatose Tony Stark that he has the memories of the Steve that existed before the entity Kobik altered his history? Does he know how to appear to be the exact kind of hero he needs people to think he is?

Nick Spencer: That’s right. “The Oath” certainly provided a little hint that helps to explain why Steve still believes what he believes despite the world around him being very different than the one we obviously see in the flashbacks. “The Oath” was the first place we started tipping our hand on that, and you’ll see a further explanation of that over the course of the next few issues of “Steve Rogers: Captain America.” In “Secret Empire” #0, you’ll get sort of a final answer on that front. By the time you get to that phase of the story, you’ll really understand everything there is to know about Hydra Steve’s background and why he believes what he believes in the face of all evidence.

And, yes, it certainly does appear that Steve is operating with all the memories and experiences of the Steve that we all know and love.

Talking about how dangerous Hydra Steve is has me thinking about this larger story as whole. Essentially, this is long form tale that that’s coming to a culmination with “Secret Empire” a way of exploring Steve Rogers by showing how dangerous he could be and how compassionate he was.

That was always a facet of the story. In many ways, Steve Rogers is the most effective leader, strategist and planner in the Marvel Universe. He’s an incredibly effective guy. As a hero, he’s rarely come up short. He’s successfully led the Avengers against impossible odds countless times.

EXCLUSIVE: Mark Brooks’ cover for “Secret Empire” #4

The fact that he did all that as a force for good means, if you’re trying to do an accurate mirror inversion of the character, he needs to be equally effective. And yes, because he’s freed from constraints, compassion, mercy and goodness that opens up a lot of possibilities in terms of what he can do in order to achieve his goals.

This Steve is only driven by what is necessary and what makes Hydra strongest. Those are things that guide his moral compass. So that makes him an incredibly dangerous figure.

I did “Avengers: Standoff,” last year’s spring Avengers line event, but the genesis of that was a little different. That was a story that we already had planned as an arc of “Captain America: Sam Wilson” to coincide with the 75th Anniversary of Cap, and Tom Brevoort came to me and said, “We’re looking to do an Avengers family event in the spring and you’ve been building this story at the exact same time. Would you be interested in involving a range of other titles and making this event a little bigger?”

It was a natural fit, and worked better as a story that way. It helped us launch the “Captain America: Steve Rogers” book in a more high profile way, so I was certainly eager to do that, but this is obviously a very different thing. This is a line-wide summer event. This is the big marquee event that we do each year. So to get to head one of those is a huge thrill and a huge honor for me because it’s a lot of trust and faith to put in me as a writer.

I have a soft spot for these kinds of stories. I like events. I like big stories. I like stories about the interconnected universe and that draw from as many different facets from the Marvel Universe as possible. I have faith that when these things are done right audiences really respond.

I was certainly eager to do this. When I pitched the entire Hydra Cap story, I immediately told Tom Brevoort that this should be an event, that I didn’t think there was any other way to do this story justice. The genesis of all of it came from me.

I think that’s where a lot of the best events start; they stem from a writer’s belief that you need a bigger canvas to tell a story, rather than trying to retrofit or come up with an event in the room. This is very much just a natural extension of what we’ve been building from “Captain America: Sam Wilson,” to “Avengers: Standoff,” to “Captain America: Steve Rogers,” to this. This is really the logical conclusion.

“Secret Empire” is a big superhero action thriller, but what I’ve read and seen in the “Captain America” books suggests that it will have some science fiction and space opera elements to it as well in the form of an alien invasion by the Chitauri. Is that correct?

It’s a Marvel event and you want to involve as much of the Marvel Universe as you can. It’s fun to bring in unlikely elements and throw some things into the mix that you maybe wouldn’t in an issue of “Captain America.” So letting it outgrow the initial motifs and letting it become something broader was one of the things that I enjoy about this kind of story.

Steve talked a little bit about what he’s doing with the Chitauri wave in “Captain America: Steve Rogers” — that it’s a plan to wreak havoc and chaos and use that to his advantage. It will also allow him to put more pressure on people to give him more authority and power. The Chitauri are a very effective boogeymen in that regard. The question is, what happens when they arrive?

You’re also laying the groundwork to bring Maria Hill and Captain Marvel into that story with the talk of the planetary shield in “Captain America: Steve Rogers.”

EXCLUSIVE: Mark Brooks’ cover for “Secret Empire” #5

Yeah, the shield is something we’ve been setting up all through “Captain America: Steve Rogers” and “The Oath.” Maria Hill had given this technology to Carol Danvers that she believes can stem the invasion. It’s an impenetrable shield around the planet.

That’s something that Steve is very much determined to prevent. It’s something he’s racing the clock to beat, so it’s a nice face off between him and Carol Danvers in that regard. He’s trying to prevent this thing from going up while also trying not to blow his cover, and Carol is threatening to pull the rug out from everything that he’s planned.

It’s interesting to see some characters emerge as potential thorns in his side. You had Taskmaster and Black Ant in “Steve Rogers: Captain America,” then over in “Deadpool,” Phil Coulson unexpectedly stumbled onto the fact that there might be something untoward and sinister about Steve Rogers.

[Laughs] Gerry Duggan is doing some phenomenal work helping to set up the road to “Secret Empire” in both “Deadpool” and “Uncanny Avengers.” There’s definitely some real fun Deadpool stuff coming. If you’re trying to get the full experience on the road to “Secret Empire,” I highly recommend grabbing both “Deadpool” and “Uncanny Avengers.”

Events allow you to play with a lot of the Marvel Universe’s biggest toys, but they also often feature more than one central characters. Will “Secret Empire” have a core cast of characters?

For now, we’re trying to keep our main cast under wraps. A large part of that is because characters are placed in positions that they really haven’t ever been before. We’d be tipping our hand a little too much to talk about them now.

I can say, though, at its heart this is still a Captain America story — but this is also an Avengers, X-Men, Inhumans, Champions, Defenders and Guardians story. If you’re a fan of the core casts of those titles, your favorites are going to be well represented here, but we’re also going to reach out into cosmic Marvel, street-level Marvel, the X-Universe and into the Inhumans. We really brought everyone into the fray one way or another.

We’ve seen Steve’s ally Baron Zemo recruiting some supervillains, but I have to wonder how villains like Wilson Fisk might handle the emergence of Hydra’s “Secret Empire.” Will some of Marvel’s major villains play roles in this story as well?

Wilson actually has one of my favorite roles in this. It’s not just because of the story we’re telling here in “Secret Empire,” but because of his sort of broader arc in the Marvel Universe. He’s definitely a character to keep your eye on.

I wanted to talk with you about the “Secret Empire” one-shots that have been announced, because I understand they’re sort of key components of your story.

They are. Each one of the one-shots has some really important connective tissue that will fill in some blanks and show you some key scenes that reconnect to the main book. They’re definitely worth picking up to get the full picture. It’s the same thing with the issues of both the “Sam Wilson” and “Steve Rogers” books. Those are really critical to the entire reading experience.

You can read the event on its own, and if that’s all you read, you’ll be able to follow along. My advice, though, is to dig a little deeper and pick up these one-shots and the “Captain America” books because they really will give the story a lot more texture.

When you’re writing an event comic you’re constantly in a race against your page count, and you’re hitting a lot of big moments. To me, the best tie-ins are the ones that take those moments and show you what they mean to individual characters. You’ll see a lot of that in the “Captain America” books, but as we moved forward towards the end, it really became an issue that there were a lot of beats that we needed to hit. Even with nine issues ,there was still ground that we wanted to cover.

The last couple of issues of the Cap books during the event have really crucial things that give you a much fuller picture. They’re not just background pieces, and they’re not just taking a moment and going longer with it. They’re moments unto themselves that will help make the story a lot richer for you.

You’re working with four great artists on the “Secret Empire” series. Daniel Acuna does the #0 issue, and then Steve McNiven, Andrea Sorrentino, and Leinil Yu will do issues #1-9. What’s it like working with these guys? And how will their diverse styles work with the larger narrative?

I got everybody that I wanted. This is a dream list for me, and I’m seeing pages coming in from all of them now. I’m so honored to be working with artists of this caliber. They’re creating an absolutely beautiful and stunning book here.

In terms of the cohesion, we went into this with having a rotating team of artists as the plan. So we’ve been able to make the transitions pretty seamless and use them as a strength. So it’s not a jarring or disruptive experience. I think having the team of artists makes it a lot stronger.

It allows us to tell the story in a very compressed time frame; to actually let our summer event occur over the summer. I was more than happy to do it that way.

How does it feel to be just a little over a month out from the launch of “Secret Empire?” Any final thoughts you want to share with readers who think they know where the story is going or are not sure if this an event they want to be part of?

You don’t know where it’s going. [Laughs] It’s really been fun looking at the responses during the buildup.

I’m not oblivious to the fact that folks can feel like they suffer from event fatigue or what have you. All I can say to that is, I personally believe that events are like any other kind of story. The delivery method doesn’t matter. Whether it’s its own title, a weekly book, an anthology, or a team-up, I don’t believe there is a type of book that doesn’t work. All that matters at the end of the day is whether or not your story is good. I’m firmly of the belief that we have a very good story here that people will be very excited about and will respond to. At the end of the day, all you can do is try to provide that.

I’m excited to have the story get out there. I obviously have eyes on the first few issues and I’m very proud of how they turned out. I have a feeling that once they’re out there the audience is really going to respond and get excited. I can’t wait!

The post INTERVIEW: Nick Spencer Maps Out Captain America’s Secret Empire appeared first on CBR.

http://ift.tt/2nKvgEu

#Aion_Rsa

[dailybiblelessons]

The Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

The Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Revised Common Lectionary Proper 16 Roman Catholic Proper 21

Complementary Hebrew Scripture: Isaiah 51:1-6

Listen to me, you that pursue righteousness,  you that seek the Lord.

Look to the rock from which you were hewn,  and to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father  and to Sarah who bore you;  for he was but one when I called him,  but I blessed him and made him many.

For the Lord will comfort Zion;  he will comfort all her waste places,  and will make her wilderness like Eden,  her desert like the garden of the Lord;  joy and gladness will be found in her,  thanksgiving and the voice of song.

Listen to me, my people,  and give heed to me, my nation;  for a teaching will go out from me,  and my justice for a light to the peoples.

I will bring near my deliverance swiftly,  my salvation has gone out  and my arms will rule the peoples;  the coastlands wait for me,  and for my arm they hope.

Lift up your eyes to the heavens,  and look at the earth beneath;  for the heavens will vanish like smoke,  the earth will wear out like a garment,  and those who live on it will die like gnats;  but my salvation will be forever,  and my deliverance will never be ended.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture: Exodus 1:8-2:10

Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, “Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?” The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.” So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, “Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.”

Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.

The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him, “This must be one of the Hebrews' children,” she said. Then his sister said to Pharaoh's daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” Pharaoh's daughter said to her, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child's mother. Pharaoh's daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh's daughter, and she took him as her son. She named him Moses, “because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”

Complementary Psalm 138

I give you thanks, O Lord, with my whole heart;  before the gods I sing your praise;  I bow down toward your holy temple  and give thanks to your name  for your steadfast love and your faithfulness;  for you have exalted your name and your word above everything.

On the day I called, you answered me, you increased my strength of soul.

All the kings of the earth shall praise you, O Lord,  for they have heard the words of your mouth. They shall sing of the ways of the Lord,  for great is the glory of the Lord. For though the Lord is high, he regards the lowly;  but the haughty he perceives from far away.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble,  you preserve me against the wrath of my enemies;  you stretch out your hand,  and your right hand delivers me.

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;  your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands.

Semi-continuous Psalm 124

If it had not been the Lord who was on our side—  let Israel now say—  if it had not been the Lord who was on our side,  when our enemies attacked us,  then they would have swallowed us up alive,  when their anger was kindled against us;  then the flood would have swept us away,  the torrent would have gone over us;  then over us would have gone the raging waters.

Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us  as prey to their teeth. We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers;  the snare is broken, and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the Lord,  who made heaven and earth.

New Testament Epistle Lesson: Romans 12:1-8

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.

New Testament Gospel Lesson: Matthew 16:13-20

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

Year A Ordinary 21, RCL Proper 16, Catholic Proper 21 Sunday

Bible verses from The New Revised Standard Version, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All right reserved. Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright 1985 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Image Credit: Who? image from via The Vanderbilt Divinity Library, cropped and text added by Michael Gilbertson.

#Peter's confession #Who do you say I am? #Abraham your father #Sarah your mother #justice a light to the people #salvation forever #Israelites oppressed #Moses' birth #Pharaoh's daughter #one body #we who are many #one in Christ #A Ordinary 21 Sunday #keys to the kingdom