#could I imagine I will see David return as a doctor? how lucky we all are!

[noblogname765]

Oh JUST LOOK AT HIM

#could I imagine I will see David return as a doctor? how lucky we all are! #he got to top dilf list of the year #best doctor in the universe #david tennant #14th doctor #fourteenth doctor #doctor who #doctor who special #doctor who 60th anniversary #dw 60th

[chloelucia13]

Chapter 1: A Sweet Rain

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female!reader

Prompt: Your best friend is getting married, but it seems that you’re the one  who got lucky. 

Warnings: mostly fluff, language, a little angst, it’s pretty chill

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: So this is going to be the first part of a multi-part series! Enjoy this fluff, because this'll probably be all you’re gonna get out of this series! Anyways, buckle up and I hope you all enjoy! As always, my tag lists and requests are open!

Songs mentioned: “First Day of my Life” by Bright Eyes, “Samson” by Regina Spektor

Tags: @sojournmichael​

“Hey Pen, what’s up?” you hummed into your phone, fishing for your keys in your purse.

“Okay, I have big news,” she squealed, and you nearly had to pull the phone from your ear due to the pitch. “Like, really big news. News so big you couldn’t even imagine-”

“Out with it, Penny!” You chuckled before finally finding your keys, unlocking your car door.

“Okay, okay... JJ and Will are getting married!”

“Oh my god!” Your pitch now replicated hers, and your hands started to shake as you sat down in the driver’s seat of your car. “I have to call and congratulate them!”

“NO!”

You jumped at her sudden shout, furrowing your brow in confusion. “Why not?”

“So the thing is... We’re kinda throwing a surprise wedding for them at Rossi’s.”

“What?”

“Okay, so...”

She rattled off the details of exactly what was happening, about how Will was in a near-death situation and how he proposed to her in his hospital room, and how Rossi overheard their plans to just go to the courthouse and decided that he wanted them to have a proper ceremony.

“So, are you coming?” she basically begged after taking a deep breath, winded after her rushed summation of the events that had taken place.

“Of course I’m coming! I’ll help you guys get ready and everything! Just tell me when and where!”

“Okay, so it’s gonna be at Rossi’s mansion tomorrow-”

“Wait, tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she dragged out. “Sorry it’s short notice. It’s kinda short notice for everyone.”

You let out a silent sigh, licking your lips. “You’re all lucky that it’s my day off.”

***

You were clad in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt when you pulled up to the towering mansion that you were only slightly envious of. With your dress and makeup bag in the back of your car, you locked your doors before following the stone trail that led to the front door of Rossi’s house.

You barely knocked once when the door swung open, revealing an excited and frazzled Penelope. “Thank god, you’re here,” she sighed, grabbing your arm and yanking you into the door.

“What’s wrong, Pen?” you questioned, trying to keep up with her fast pace that was honestly alarming considering the 5-inch stilettos she was donning.

“Everything! The only other girl here is Emily and she does not have a clue on how to color coordinate! And the caterers said the food might not be ready in time and JJ’s mom might be late and-” 

“Penelope, take a deep breath! Everything’s gonna be just fine. Let’s see what you have so far.”

She nodded, taking a few deep breaths before guiding you over to the pair of French doors that led out to the backyard.

So far, all of the chairs had been set out for the ceremony and the wedding arch and already been placed, but sat bare. Table for the reception were out, but they were lacking decorations as well. The only thing that seemed fully completed was the dance floor, which had a mat of hardwood laid out on the grass with a sound system at the head of it.

“Okay, you’ve all got a good head start. It’s only noon, and they’re not supposed to be here until 6. We still have time,” you consoled, giving her a comforting smile. 

“Ah, is this the girl we’ve been waiting for?” a voice questioned behind you, and you and Penelope turned around to see three men walking in your direction. 

“It is!” Penelope replied, beaming and placing a hand on your shoulder. “Boys, this is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, the head psychologist at St. Elizabeth Hospital in DC.” Penelope then shifted over to the boys’ side, standing next to the man you knew as David Rossi. “You already know this guy.”

“Of course, how could I ever forget,” you hummed, reaching out to shake his hand.

She then stepped next to a taller man with dark skin and strong eyebrows. “This here is Derek Morgan.”

You shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

She finally stood by the last, and the tallest, man in the group. “And this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You smiled at him, and he did the same in return. “I remember her saying you don’t do handshakes. It’s nice to meet you.”

“So now we’ve got two doctors to deal with?” Rossi playfully sighed, patting your shoulder.

“Seems like it,” you hummed, grinning at Spencer before turning to Rossi. “Though I doubt I’m half as intelligent as Dr. Reid right here. I’ve heard rumors of an IQ of 187?”

Spencer shrugged, a blush flooding his face. “I-I uh, I mean... Yes.”

“And that IQ immediately decreases threefold whenever he sees a pretty girl,” a voice behind you teased, and you turned to see Emily walking over to the group, a bright smile on her face.

“Is that so.” You beamed back at her, slinging an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into a hug. 

“Alright chatter-bugs, we’ve got a wedding to set up!” Penelope announced. “Hotch is gonna be here late, so we’re down a person for a while.” She grabbed your arm and began tugging you off. “I need you to help with flower stuff.”

You rolled your eyes and waved goodbye to the group before letting her tug you inside. Once you two were in one of the many living rooms, she turned to you with a big grin on her face. “What?”

“So?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, shaking your head slightly. “So what?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes as if it was obvious. “So, what do you think of the doctor?!” 

“Oh my god,” you grumbled, running a hand through your hair. “Penelope, I am not gonna date your coworker, no matter how cute he is.”

“So you think he’s cute!”

“Penelope!” You let out a breath. “Pen, you know I’m not good with relationships, especially with my job, I barely have time to do anything.”

“Neither does he! It’ll be perfect!” She pushed out her lower lip, clasping her hands together in a praying gesture. “Please, at least think about it!”

Another sigh left your lips. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

She squealed. “Yay!”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m for sure gonna date him!”

She smiled knowingly, nodding once. “Whatever you say.”

***

You were lucky that the florist you contacted had the flowers you needed in supply, and even luckier that they were able to have them all ready within the hour.

You were busy attempting to arrange the flowers and fake vines on the arch when you felt a presence to your right, watching from your peripheral as they gathered a handful of baby’s breath and began sticking them in the spots you needed filled.

“Thanks,” you hummed. “I was about to grab a step ladder for that, but you seem to have that under control.”

“It’s a gift and a curse,” Spencer joked, giving you a shy smile before turning back to his task.

You chuckled before grabbing a roll of sheer ribbon and holding it out to him. “Mind using your gift to tie that ribbon at the top of the arch? I can’t reach.”

He nodded, gingerly taking the ribbon from your hands and extending a length out to tie it to the top of the arch. You then took the roll from his hands and created a draping effect before snipping the length off from the roll and tying it to the side of the arch. 

As you moved to the right side of the arch to mirror the draping that you had just done, Spencer’s eyes followed your movements, his breath caught in his lungs and his lower lip caught between his teeth. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” he voiced, snapping out of his trance.

You smirked, handing him the roll. He grinned shyly back at you before mirroring the work he did on the other side. “I asked you where you’re from,” you explained as you took the roll back from him.

“Oh, uh, I’m from Las Vegas,” he rushed out, already feeling a burning in his cheeks.

“Really? What a coincidence. I’m from Reno, but I worked in Vegas while I was getting my masters.”

“Where’d you work?”

“The mental hospital there.” You shook your head, letting out a sigh. “God I worked there for like a year but I can’t remember the name for the life of me. Harrington, something like that-”

“Bennington?”

“Yes, that’s the one!” You turned to give him a smile, only to see a haunted look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, pursing his lips and casting his gaze to the ground. “I-it’s nothing.”

“Spencer.” You took a step forward before tentatively reaching your arm out, weighing the possibilities for a moment before placing your hand on his shoulder. “I know I’m not a profiler, but I can still read people. And I also know that we aren’t close, but you should know that you can trust me.”

He nodded, puffing a breath out through his nose. “I... Someone close to me is... Is one of the residents there.”

Your mind pondered for a moment, dots connecting right in front of your eyes. “Diana Reid.”

He tensed at the name, unconsciously giving himself away.

“She was one of my favorites.” You watched as his eyes lifted from the ground and flickered over your face, trying to decide if you were being honest. “God, she was so intelligent and kind and hilarious as all hell.”

He let out a small chuckle, relaxing slightly. “Yeah?”

“Oh absolutely. She’d crack me up all the time, my sides would hurt from laughing by the time my shift ended. And when she wasn't making me laugh, she’d tell me about her favorite author, read me some of her favorite passages.” A smile imprinted on your face. “Or she would read me letters that she got. Everyday she had a new letter, and her face would light right up when I handed it to her.”

Tears began to well in his eyes, and you moved your hand down to his bicep, locking gazes with him.

“She talked about you everyday. About her genius FBI agent of a son. She was so proud. And I could tell that you cared about her so much. Enough to get her the help she needed. Enough to risk your relationship with her to keep her safe.”

Spencer blinked back his tears and reached up to grab your hand, and for a moment you worried that you had crossed a line.

But that worry immediately faded away when he held your hand, squeezing it gently before giving you a kind smile. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You just nodded, letting the moment linger for as long as possible.

“Hey guys, how’s the arch coming alo-” Penelope began as she walked over to you two, her face buried in her tablet. She froze the moment she looked up, seeing the strange and vulnerable scene in front of her.

“Yeah, yeah, It’s good. I’m uh, I’m gonna go get some water,” Spencer rushed out, giving you both tight lipped smiled before hurrying off.

Penelope gave you a look as she stepped over to you. “What was that?”

“I know his mom,” you stated incredulously, the shock still lingering in your system. 

“Wait, what?”

“She, she was one of the residents at the mental hospital I used to work at.”

“So you guys are like on a third date basis with info about each other?”

“Penelope!” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I think that was the deepest conversation I’ve ever had with a stranger.”

“And I bet he can go a lot deeper-”

Your face grew a bright red and you smacked her shoulder. “Stop it!”

***

Your feet were aching by the time you had finished decorating the backyard, immediately falling into a chair with a heavy sigh the moment you placed the last centerpiece on the tables. 

“Y/N I think you may be an actual saint,” Penelope breathed out. “Thank you so much for helping. I don’t think I could’ve gotten this done by myself.”

“I’m always down to help,” you replied, giving her a tired smile. “I should probably start getting ready though. The party’s gonna start soon.”

“I’ll come with you. My stuff is all in my car. We can use one of Rossi’s many bathrooms.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

The two of you gathered your makeup and clothes for tonight before heading into the first bathroom to the right on the second floor of the mansion. That room immediately filled with giggles as you two got ready, helping each other with hair and makeup.

It was almost time for the party to start when you two were ready, zipping your dresses up and slipping on your heels when there was a knock at the door.

“Are you two gonna give us a reveal anytime soon or do we have to beg for it?” Derek’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, his grin evident in his words.

“We?” Penelope questioned, smirking herself.

“Well you know there’s gotta be an audience whenever there’s two beautiful women. Now are we gonna get a show?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a chuckle as Penelope stepped over to the door. “You ready?” she questioned.

You shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sighed in response before gesturing for her to open the door.

She pulled the door open a moment later, stepping out first and you stepping out behind her.

Emily let out a low whistle, motioning for you two to turn. You scoffed but obliged, waddling around in a circle before giving everyone a sheepish smile. Emily and Derek bombarded the two of you with compliments, boosting your confidence through the roof and making your cheeks burn bright.

Eventually, Emily and Derek and Penelope split off into their own group, chatting amongst themselves. That was when you noticed a timid body tucked away to the side, someone who had been there the whole time but had stayed silent.

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling up at him.

“Hi,” Spencer hummed in return, a shy smile on his own face.

From behind you, you could hear the group change their conversation from whatever mundane topic they were on previously to the topic of you and Spencer. The words seemed to blend together but you could pick up a few things. 

“What did I say, that IQ is gone,” Emily joked.

“Pretty boy’s got a pretty girl now,” Derek added, all of them giggling.

“You um... You look beautiful,” Spencer told you, blatantly ignoring the group’s playful comments.

“Thanks. You clean up well yourself,” you said, reaching up and straightening his bow tie for him. “I dig the bow tie.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. It’s very Eleven-esque.”

He smirked at that. “You watch Doctor Who?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, whenever I get the time. I’m not as big of a fanatic as Miss Penelope Garcia, but I certainly enjoy it.”

“Maybe we can watch the new season together sometime?”

You nodded, beaming. “It’s a date.”

You were so wrapped up in your conversation with Spencer that you failed to notice the peanut gallery wander off, evidently bored by the change of conversation. 

However, you didn’t fail to notice the blush deepening on Spencer’s cheeks from your words, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a nervous habit that (you hated to admit) had an effect on you.

“We- uh, we should probably head outside. I bet the party is starting soon,” he stuttered out, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

You nodded with a frown, glancing over at the bathroom. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’m gonna clean up the bathroom and throw my stuff in my car, then I’ll meet you out there.”

A strange emotion, almost reminiscent of disappointment, crossed over his face for a moment before he nodded. “Alright. See you out there.” He gave you a small smile before stepping past you, leaving a lingering touch on your bare shoulder before retreating downstairs.

***

Luckily, the wedding ceremony had gone off without a hitch, every moment was perfect and extremely emotional.

Tears stains still lingered on your cheeks when dinner was over, and JJ handed you a tissue when she stepped over to you. “I’ve got a whole supply of them, my mom gave ‘em to me when I was breaking down up there,” she whispered to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Thanks, JJ,” you breathed, hugging her back just as tight. “I’m so happy for you two.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty happy too.” The two of you giggled, and she pulled away from the hug to give you a smile before looking around. “And I’ve noticed that a special someone is pretty happy to see you, too.”

You followed her line of sight, playfully rolling your eyes when you saw Spencer playing with Henry. “God, who put you up to this?” 

She scoffed, turning back to you. “Hey, I may not be a profiler, but I know a connection when I see one.” She reached out, taking your hand in his. “You should really give him a chance. You two would be amazing together, and you both deserve some happiness in your lives.”

A sigh left your lips, but you nodded. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

JJ squeezed your hand before rising to her feet and looking around for Will. “Well, we should probably do the first dance before Penelope loses her mind.”

You grinned at her. “Have fun, girly. Love you.”

“Love you too. And thank you for all this. It means so much to me.”

“Of course. Anything for you. Now go dance!” You shooed her off with a laugh, watching as everyone turned their attention to the bride and groom making their way over to the dance floor.

The music started playing, and everything moved in slow motion as JJ and Will danced together, both of them beaming with pure love in their eyes. People eventually moved to join them, everyone swaying together on the dance floor.

You had sat at the table for a while, watching everyone make idle chat and have fun on the dance floor. This feeling of warmth and comfort was one that was foreign to you, and you wanted to bask in it for as long as possible. 

“All alone?”

You looked up to see Spencer standing in front of you, a shy smile on his lips. 

You nodded, returning his smile. “I guess so. Dancing really isn’t my thing.”

He pulled a chair up next to you, sitting down and watching the crowd with you. “Yeah, me either.”

“Really? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe I saw you dancing with Emily. And Penelope. And JJ. And JJ’s mom.” He scoffed, and you let out a laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “Maybe you’re just a ladies man.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I mean that sounds like some player behavior if you ask me.”

You both shared a laugh, wide smiles stretching across both of your lips. That laughter soon faded into a comfortable silence, the two of you returning your gazes back to the dance floor.

“I mean, there’s one girl I haven’t danced with,” Spencer spoke up, bringing your attention back to him.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah? And who would that be?”

Your eyes followed his form as he stood from his seat and walked around you, stopping when he stood right in front of you. “I believe that would be you.” He extended his hand out to you.

A small chuckle left your lips, gently placing your hand in his and pushing yourself to your feet. “You’re getting confident, doctor.”

At your words, his demeanor began to slip, a light blush blooming across his cheeks, glowing under the string lights. “Oh-I-”

“Spencer.” You squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough around me to be forward.”

He let out the breath he was holding, squeezing your hand in return before leading you over to the dance floor. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle glance Spencer shared with the DJ once you two stood on the hardwood mat.

The song changed, now playing a slow song you were all-too familiar with. “I didn’t peg you as a guy who listened to Bright Eyes.”

He shrugged. “I’m not. But I had Penelope look into your purchases to see what CDs you’ve bought.”

You feigned offense, gasping and shoving his shoulder. “You two were conspiring!”

He let out a laugh, beaming at you as he placed one hand on your waist. “Well we better get to dancing before this song is over. It’s only 3 minutes and 9 seconds long.”

You rolled your eyes but obliged, placing your free hand on his shoulder and stepped close to him, squeezing his hand once before you two began to sway, eyes locked in each other’s gaze.

“I’m, uh...” You sighed, pursing your lips. “I’m really sorry about bringing all that stuff up with your mom,” you whispered.

“It’s okay,” he whispered in response.

You furrowed your brow in frustration. “But I made you upset, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t upset me.” He let out a breath. “Honestly, it’s really nice being able to talk to someone who knew who she is. Who she really is. Not her illness, her.”

You nodded, searching his eyes. “I’m glad that you trust that I know who she really is.”

“I don’t need to trust you. You told me exactly who she is. She’s a kind, intelligent woman.”

A smile settled on your face. “With a kind and intelligent son.”

He returned your smile, his hand winding around your waist and pulling you against his chest as the song changed. 

You chuckled, searching his eyes. “God, did you guys just decide to play all the music I like.”

He paused to listen to the song. “No, I don’t recognize this song. Maybe Penelope chose it.”

“Of course she did.”

You listened to the lyrics, humming along to the melody as your eyes traced over his features.

Your hair was long when we first met. Of course.

Slowly, as the two of you swayed, you laid your head on his chest, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Peace.

#Spencer reid #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer x reader #Spencer x reader angst #Spencer x reader fluff #Spencer x reader smut #Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid angst #Spencer Reid series #Spencer Reid oneshot #writing #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #bau x reader #cm x reader #Emily prentiss #Penelope garcia #jennifer jereau #will lamontagne #Derek Morgan #Dave rossi

[klaineharmony]

300x3

There are 896 words here, but this is really a rewrite of the last section - I did my best to make it smoother, though this is still just the bare bones of the conversation - there’s no physical or temporal context, other than Jack and David being in a trench dugout somewhere in 1918. Historical details  later. But I have this smooth enough now that I think I know where their conversation is going next.

The first two chunks of this are here, in case anyone needs them. @whatstheproblembaby and @queenofbrooklyn, I have been living for your tags on these. :)

It took another four weeks for Esther's letter to arrive. 

Jack opened it with shaking hands. David was standing next to him, tense; they both knew that this letter would have news, good or bad.

Jack, my dear boy,

I don't know how to tell you this in a way that will not be painful, but Sarah has been very ill with the Spanish flu these past few weeks. She is recovering now, slowly, but there was a period in which Meyer and I were not sure she would survive it. We thought of sending a telegram, but what could you have done? She is still extremely weak, but the doctor believes she is out of danger. 

We have been very lucky; the children have been incredibly brave, and none of them are sick - we kept them away from Sarah entirely. They say this flu is sparing older people and the very young . . .

Jack couldn't read any more through the tears that filled his eyes; he dropped the letter on the table, put his face into his hands, and wept. She was alive. Sarah was alive. The cold dread that had been weighing him down was finally gone, and the relief was so great he almost couldn't comprehend it. 

David’s arms were around him immediately, and he could feel David shaking, too. He returned the embrace, and they cried together. 

Slowly, Jack realized that David was whispering Hebrew through his tears.

“Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, ha-gomel l’chayavim tovot she-g’malani kol tov.”

Jack knew what it was: the prayer of gratitude. He had heard Esther, in particular, use it after someone had been ill, and he closed his eyes and tried to recall the response.

“Mi she-g’malcha kol tov, hu yi-g’malcha kol tov selah,” he said softly. His Hebrew was, as ever, imperfect and halting at best, but he wanted David to know that he understood.

He felt David’s arms tighten even more, and his heart smote him. He had been so consumed by his own fear for Sarah that he had barely spared a thought for David, who had done everything to try and hold him together. David had been suffering as well, fearful for his sister’s life, and Jack hadn’t done nearly enough to share that burden. He shifted so that he could hold David more closely, and pressed his lips to David’s hair.

“I’m so sorry, David,” he apologized. “I left you alone in this, and I shouldn’t have.” 

David shook his head against Jack’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I can only imagine what it must have been like for you, seeing how sick she was. I remember how weak she was after Lizzie was born, and I’m sure this was as bad as that, if not worse - and we didn’t see the worst of it, then.” 

“It’s not all right,” Jack said, quietly insistent. “Sarah is your sister, and I know how much it would devastate you if anything happened to her. Her being ill doesn’t just affect me, and I should have been able to see past myself enough to comfort you.”

David nodded, pressing a forgiving kiss to his neck. “We’re neither of us at our best, Jack,” he said wearily. “Being out here is enough to grind the humanity out of anyone. I’m just so thankful she was spared. I kept thinking about what losing Sarah would do to all of us, and I - almost couldn’t stand it. We were so afraid for her when she was carrying Judith, and I don’t know how she would have made it through that without Kath, and now - to have this damned influenza almost take her from us. She's been through so much."

Jack nodded, feeling more tears slide down his cheeks. He might never forgive himself for not being there - when Sarah was pregnant, when Judith was born, through this last illness for both Sarah and his children. Sarah might not forgive him. But he would gladly take her being alive and angry, over never being able to hold her again. 

“I was afraid of losing you, too,” David said, so low that Jack could barely hear him. “You were just - gone these past few weeks, Jack. I didn’t want to lose both Sarah and my husband.”

Jack’s breath stuttered in his chest. It was still something they said so rarely - so rarely, and out of caution more than anything, though they had loved each other and kept their vows to each other for so long - and it made his heart hurt even more, to hear David say husband and realize again how burdened he had been.

“David,” he murmured. He stepped back from their embrace so that he could take David’s face in his hands. “I love you. I will always love you.” He kissed David with all of the tenderness that had been missing recently, and he felt David melt into it, pulling him close. 

“There you are,” David said breathlessly, when they finally broke apart. Jack pressed his forehead to David’s, and kissed him again softly.

“I’m sorry. I really am. It’s - harder to remember, here, how to be your husband, when we’re just tryin’ to survive every minute. And I was - almost literally beside myself, I was so terrified for Sarah. Nothing that’s happened since that night feels very real, until now. But that’s not an excuse - you deserve better than that, and I’ll do better.”

#300x3 #Klaineharmony writes #Defend #Over the Wall #Newsies #Newsies 1992

[ikleesfiction]

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 2250 words Author note : My first dip on this fandom. Endgame would be Jay Halstead x reader. Jay will appear in the next part. Disclaimer

Part 1

You arrive at the swimming pool much later than you've wanted. You wish to get a few laps before the school kids coming for their class. But here you are, only begin to warm up, the raucous laughter of school kids echoing in the pool already.

You get into the deeper side of the pool, not wanting to interrupt the class or get interrupted. Starting your lap without forcing yourself. Ever since the incident, you have yet reached the perfect movement of your feet. Some day, like this morning, it was hurting so bad. Made you wish you don't have to get up from the bed. 

But after about forty minutes of light swimming in the pool, you feel like it's getting better. You think you could swim for another ten minutes before coming up. As a challenge for yourself, you swim deeper and doing apnea. From your periphery, you can see three kids get closer to the deeper side of the pool and swimming playfully. You reach the poolside and come up for air, trying to see if the boys are safe enough or if you need to warn the teacher.

All of a sudden, one of the boys puts his hand up. Panicking, as he tries to get more air. You cannot spot the kid's friends. When you dive and swim to the boy as fast as your feet allowed, you see the other two boys pulling their friend's foot down. Not realizing that their friend is drowning.

Once you reach them, you pull the drowning boy up, bringing him to the poolside. The pool guard and the school teacher are ready to help you get the boy out of the pool. The boy is coughing water and keeps panicking. They try to calm him down so he can breathe. Shortly enough, the boy calms down and breathing through his sobs. Still in the water, you feel the boy's friends approaching. They gape in shock, realizing that their friend was almost drowned.

We're so sorry, Owen! I thought you're ready when we pull you in!!" said one of the friends.

"That was a dangerous thing to do, David. I told you, right before we get in the water. Nobody should swim on the deeper side of the pool. But you three even played in here. Someone could get seriously injured by your recklessness.", chides the teacher to her students.

"Yes, Miss, we are sorry," says the other boy from the pool.

"Now, everybody gets out of the water. We have to stop the class. I need to bring Owen to the hospital to make sure that he is not badly hurt. David and Noah, I will call your parents to report your behavior. You too, Owen. I will tell your mom the same at the hospital," declares the teacher.

""I called 9-1-1, paramedics are 3 minutes out, to bring him to the hospital," says the pool guard. "Nice save, by the way," the pool guard continues to acknowledge you.

"Nah, just lucky I saw them first," you object. Looking at the drowning boy, Owen, as the teacher called him, "You're gonna be okay, kid," you continue to soothe him.

Owen looks back at you, and through his hiccups, he says, "Thank you." You return him with a smile.

A moment later, you see Gabby Dawson and Sylvie Brett arriving. They check Owen and briefly pack him up to go to the hospital.

"Hey girl, nice to see you here," Sylvie greets you.

"I don't wanna be ungrateful, but I wish I didn't have to see you here, Syl," you reply, slightly amused.

"Eh, what can you do, right?" She remarks jokingly.

"Alright, we're ready to go, Owen. Let's go see your mom at Med", Gabby informs her patient.

"I'll follow you there. I need to wait until the subs teacher gets here to take over the class," The teacher tells Gabby. "Thank you again for saving my student," She earnestly says to you.

Gabby and Sylvie notice the encounter and raise their eyebrows in question.

Gabby then rolls the gurney out while Sylvie hangs back and grins at you, "You saved him from drowning? How's the table turned! The rescuee turns to be the rescuer!"

"Shut up, Brett!" you whisper-yelling, feeling embarrassed.

As you try to pull yourself out of the pool, your left hamstring suddenly cramps. "Argh!" you shout and let yourself back into the water.

"You okay?" Sylvie inspects you.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine. I just need a cool-down lap, then I'll be okay. You better go catch Gabby before she leaves you here", you try to dismiss her.

"You sure you okay? Do you need a ride to go back from here? Your feet hurt because you sped up to save Owen, don't they?" Sylvie pries.

"No, I'm okay. It doesn't hurt much. Seriously, if it feels bad, you'll know, Syl. I won't shut up about my pain when I can badger you", you pull out another tactic to get rid of her worry.

"Alright then, you'll promise to go to your clinic if it gets worst, right?" Sylvie finally relents.

"Of course," you simply reply. You need Sylvie to leave soon because you want to give your left hamstring a massage. You are not going to do it under Sylvie's scrutiny.

"Okay, girl. See ya!" with that, Sylvie goes.

You have known Sylvie and Gabby, and also almost everybody from Firehouse 51, since that accident. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then Firehouse 51 got to rescue you. But the accident badly hurts your legs.

You were supposed to only stay in Chicago for 3 days for a business trip. But because of that accident, it becomes 3 months. You have to complete a series of treatments so you can gain full recovery of your leg movement. You cannot go back home. Your family cannot come to be with you for that long. You ought to rearrange your life and have been doing this treatment for the last couple of months.

You stay in the pool for another ten minutes before you could move with much less pain. Slowly getting out of the pool, then you go take a shower in the locker room. You decide that you need to go to the clinic, meet your physical trainer to check out your feet. It wasn't that you lied to Sylvie when you said that it doesn't hurt much, but you're on the last segment of your treatment. You don't want to take a risk and have to redo the treatment.

Now, if the treatment is successful, presumably you can leave Chicago in four weeks. As lovely as the city is, you don't want to risk staying longer in this city than you have to. You get a job that you love, that makes you travel all over the world. So being stuck here in Chicago, by yourself, feels like torture to you.

Firehouse 51 is very supportive of you once they know that you have to stay in the city by yourself to recover from your injury. They help whenever they can. Kelly Severide basically adopted you as his little sister since he's the one who pulled you from the incident scene. You're grateful for them, but it made you missed home more. At home, you are close to your parents. You're working with your best friends, surrounded by your favorite people. You still call them whenever you can. But their life continues while yours is stuck in Chicago.

You take a taxi to the clinic where you're treated. Crossing Chicago Med on the way, you remember hearing Gabby would take Owen here for further checkup. You hesitate slightly in front of the hospital entrance.

Maybe I can check on Owen one more time? Ensuring that there's nothing serious happening to him? You thought to yourself.

You ask the cab driver to pull over as you passed the hospital entrance.

You step to the ED nurse station, "Hi, Uhm, there's a boy, named Owen, that was brought here because of drowning. May I ask if he's doing okay?"

The nurse gives you a hard stare, "We cannot disclose any information about our patient to any non-family member, Miss,"

You scold yourself for being too soft-hearted. Naturally, the hospital will not tell you anything. For all they know, you could be a kidnapper, child abuser, or something similar.

You're just gearing yourself to leave, throwing an apologetic smile to the nurse, "Of course, I understand. Thank you,"

However, a doctor in dark scrub interrupted politely, "Who's asking?"

Looking up to the doctor, you see a "Connor Rhodes, M.D" embroidered on his scrub.

"Uhmm, my name is Y/N. I was there at the pool. He couldn't breathe for a moment when I pulled him out. I know the paramedics said he'd be okay, but I thought I could make sure, for my sanity, that Owen is going to be okay,"

The doctor and the nurse glance at each other, contemplate shortly before the doctor tells you to wait. He goes into one of the Trauma Rooms. You are just standing awkwardly at the nurse station, trying to be unobtrusive as possible.

Then a woman in a doctor's coat comes out from that Trauma Room, follows by another doctor in red scrub and Dr. Rhodes himself. Once they are in front of you, you can see "Natalie Manning, M.D" on the woman's coat.

"Are you the one who saved my son??" Dr. Manning stares at you with teary eyes.

"Err... I pulled him out of the water, yes. But the pool guard.."

"Before you can finish your sentence, you are hugged by the woman.

"Thank you so much! Thank you! I don't want to imagine what it would be if you're not there!"

Surprised by the hug, you're just awkwardly patting her back, looking at Dr. Rhodes and the other doctor behind her. You read, ".. Halstead M.D" on his chest, but unable to see his first name.

"Uhmm, I just happened to be there," You return, not knowing what to say. Dr. Manning lets you go from her hug after some time.

"Is he truly going to be fine? No water in his lungs?" you ask the doctors.

"We did a scan on his thorax. Nothing worrying is in his lungs. We will monitor him further. Hopefully, there'll be no sign of infection occurred. We can send him home tomorrow if all goes well," Dr. Halstead reveals.

"That's great to hear," you feel relieved after hearing that. "I hope Owen won't be afraid to be in the water again after the scare,"

"Well, I'm the one who's afraid to let him in the water now," retorts Dr. Manning. Her eyes are still watery, but her makeup is not smeared.

Stupid thing to notice, Y/N, you thought to yourself.

You pull out a pack of tissue from your bag and offer it to Dr. Manning, who receives it.

"I'm sorry I'm a mess. My name is Natalie Manning, Owen's mom. Here is Dr. Will Halstead, my fiance. You met Dr. Rhodes before,"

"Y/N Y/LN. Nice to meet you, even though the circumstance is not nice," you introduce yourself as you shake their hands.

"Seriously, thank you for saving Owen. How can we ever repay it to you?" Dr. Halstead sincerely says.

"Ah no, I did not do that or come here expecting anything. I'm just glad that you can let me know Owen is alright," you refuse.

"Why don't you come to our place for dinner someday when Owen is home?" Dr. Manning suggests.

"It's okay, doctor. There's no need for that.", you try to turn down their offer.

"Yeah, that's a great idea!" Dr. Halstead says. He pulls out his phone from his pocket. "Please put down your phone number here. We'll set up the dinner schedule" as he hands his phone to you.

You receive the phone, in reflex. "Truly, doctors, you don't have to do this. You don't even know me. What if I was lying to you?". These people were too trusting, you thought.

"His teacher told us what happened. Gabby Dawson also told us that her friend saved Owen. I could double-check with her if I ever doubt you. Not that I am, though," Dr. Manning explains.

"Dinner is the least we can do for you, Y/N. I could also ask my cop brother to come to dinner, in case you turn to be a villain", Dr. Halstead jests.

You snicker lightly. "Alright then, only a fool refused free dinner," as you put your number on Dr. Halstead's phone.

"Well, don't expect much from the dinner. These people are not known to be a good cook, you know", quips Dr. Rhodes.

"Just for that, Connor, you're not invited to dinner," Dr. Halstead points at him.

They laugh as you return the phone to Dr. Halstead. "I should go. Thank you again for letting me know about Owen. Hope he will back to the pool soon", say you with your cheeky grin.

"Thank you so much. You're such a good person. Saved my boy, came here to check on him, even gave me a tissue!" Dr. Manning lists to you as she dabs her eyes.

Dr. Halstead and Dr. Rhodes shake your hand goodbye. Dr. Manning gives you another hug before letting you exit the ED. None of the three doctors miss the limping on your left foot.

Next on this fic : Part 2

#fanfiction #one chicago #one chicago fic #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #will halstead #natalie manning #connor rhodes #owen manning #gabriela dawson #sylvie brett #jay halstead x reader #original work #wyftiiffy

[life-observed]

The Moral Peril of Meritocracy

Our individualistic culture inflames the ego and numbs the spirit. Failure teaches us who we are.

April 6, 2019

David Brooks

By David Brooks

Mr. Brooks is an Opinion columnist. This essay is adapted from his forthcoming book, “The Second Mountain: The Quest for a Moral Life.”

Many of the people I admire lead lives that have a two-mountain shape. They got out of school, began their career, started a family and identified the mountain they thought they were meant to climb — I’m going to be an entrepreneur, a doctor, a cop. They did the things society encourages us to do, like make a mark, become successful, buy a home, raise a family, pursue happiness.

People on the first mountain spend a lot of time on reputation management. They ask: What do people think of me? Where do I rank? They’re trying to win the victories the ego enjoys.

These hustling years are also powerfully shaped by our individualistic and meritocratic culture. People operate under this assumption: I can make myself happy. If I achieve excellence, lose more weight, follow this self-improvement technique, fulfillment will follow.

But in the lives of the people I’m talking about — the ones I really admire — something happened that interrupted the linear existence they had imagined for themselves. Something happened that exposed the problem with living according to individualistic, meritocratic values.

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Some of them achieved success and found it unsatisfying. They figured there must be more to life, some higher purpose. Others failed. They lost their job or endured some scandal. Suddenly they were falling, not climbing, and their whole identity was in peril. Yet another group of people got hit sideways by something that wasn’t part of the original plan. They had a cancer scare or suffered the loss of a child. These tragedies made the first-mountain victories seem, well, not so important.

Life had thrown them into the valley, as it throws most of us into the valley at one point or another. They were suffering and adrift.

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Some people are broken by this kind of pain and grief. They seem to get smaller and more afraid, and never recover. They get angry, resentful and tribal.

But other people are broken open. The theologian Paul Tillich wrote that suffering upends the normal patterns of life and reminds you that you are not who you thought you were. The basement of your soul is much deeper than you knew. Some people look into the hidden depths of themselves and they realize that success won’t fill those spaces. Only a spiritual life and unconditional love from family and friends will do. They realize how lucky they are. They are down in the valley, but their health is O.K.; they’re not financially destroyed; they’re about to be dragged on an adventure that will leave them transformed.

They realize that while our educational system generally prepares us for climbing this or that mountain, your life is actually defined by how you make use of your moment of greatest adversity.

So how does moral renewal happen? How do you move from a life based on bad values to a life based on better ones?

First, there has to be a period of solitude, in the wilderness, where self-reflection can occur.

“What happens when a ‘gifted child’ findshimself in a wilderness where he’s stripped away of any way of proving his worth?” Belden Lane asks in “Backpacking With the Saints.” What happens where there is no audience, nothing he can achieve? He crumbles. The ego dissolves. “Only then is he able to be loved.”

That’s the key point here. The self-centered voice of the ego has to be quieted before a person is capable of freely giving and receiving love.

Then there is contact with the heart and soul — through prayer, meditation, writing, whatever it is that puts you in contact with your deepest desires.

“In the deeps are the violence and terror of which psychology has warned us,” Annie Dillard writes in “Teaching a Stone to Talk.” “But if you ride these monsters deeper down, if you drop with them farther over the world’s rim, you find what our sciences cannot locate or name, the substrate, the ocean or matrix or ether which buoys the rest, which gives goodness its power for good, and evil its power for evil, the unified field: our complex and inexplicable caring for each other.”

In the wilderness the desire for esteem is stripped away and bigger desires are made visible: the desires of the heart (to live in loving connection with others) and the desires of the soul (the yearning to serve some transcendent ideal and to be sanctified by that service).

When people are broken open in this way, they are more sensitive to the pains and joys of the world. They realize: Oh, that first mountain wasn’t my mountain. I am ready for a larger journey.

Some people radically change their lives at this point. They quit corporate jobs and teach elementary school. They dedicate themselves to some social or political cause. I know a woman whose son committed suicide. She says that the scared, self-conscious woman she used to be died with him. She found her voice and helps families in crisis. I recently met a guy who used to be a banker. That failed to satisfy, and now he helps men coming out of prison. I once corresponded with a man from Australia who lost his wife, a tragedy that occasioned a period of reflection. He wrote, “I feel almost guilty about how significant my own growth has been as a result of my wife’s death.”

Perhaps most of the people who have emerged from a setback stay in their same jobs, with their same lives, but they are different. It’s not about self anymore; it’s about relation, it’s about the giving yourself away. Their joy is in seeing others shine.

In their book “Practical Wisdom,” Barry Schwartz and Kenneth Sharpe tell the story of a hospital janitor named Luke. In Luke’s hospital there was a young man who’d gotten into a fight and was now in a permanent coma. The young man’s father sat with him every day in silent vigil, and every day Luke cleaned the room. But one day the father was out for a smoke when Luke cleaned it.

Later that afternoon, the father found Luke and snapped at him for not cleaning the room. The first-mountain response is to see your job as cleaning rooms. Luke could have snapped back: I did clean the room. You were out smoking. The second-mountain response is to see your job as serving patients and their families. In that case you’d go back in the room and clean it again, so that the father could have the comfort of seeing you do it. And that’s what Luke did.

If the first mountain is about building up the ego and defining the self, the second is about shedding the ego and dissolving the self. If the first mountain is about acquisition, the second mountain is about contribution.

On the first mountain, personal freedom is celebrated — keeping your options open, absence of restraint. But the perfectly free life is the unattached and unremembered life. Freedom is not an ocean you want to swim in; it is a river you want to cross so that you can plant yourself on the other side.

So the person on the second mountain is making commitments. People who have made a commitment to a town, a person, an institution or a cause have cast their lot and burned the bridges behind them. They have made a promise without expecting a return. They are all in.

I can now usually recognize first- and second-mountain people. The former have an ultimate allegiance to self; the latter have an ultimate allegiance to some commitment. I can recognize first- and second-mountain organizations too. In some organizations, people are there to serve their individual self-interests — draw a salary. But other organizations demand that you surrender to a shared cause and so change your very identity. You become a Marine, a Morehouse Man.

I’ve been describing moral renewal in personal terms, but of course whole societies and cultures can swap bad values for better ones. I think we all realize that the hatred, fragmentation and disconnection in our society is not just a political problem. It stems from some moral and spiritual crisis.

We don’t treat one another well. And the truth is that 60 years of a hyper-individualistic first-mountain culture have weakened the bonds between people. They’ve dissolved the shared moral cultures that used to restrain capitalism and the meritocracy.

Over the past few decades the individual, the self, has been at the center. The second-mountain people are leading us toward a culture that puts relationships at the center. They ask us to measure our lives by the quality of our attachments, to see that life is a qualitative endeavor, not a quantitative one. They ask us to see others at their full depths, and not just as a stereotype, and to have the courage to lead with vulnerability. These second-mountain people are leading us into a new culture. Culture change happens when a small group of people find a better way to live and the rest of us copy them. These second-mountain people have found it.

Their moral revolution points us toward a different goal. On the first mountain we shoot for happiness, but on the second mountain we are rewarded with joy. What’s the difference? Happiness involves a victory for the self. It happens as we move toward our goals. You get a promotion. You have a delicious meal.

Joy involves the transcendence of self. When you’re on the second mountain, you realize we aim too low. We compete to get near a little sunlamp, but if we lived differently, we could feel the glow of real sunshine. On the second mountain you see that happiness is good, but joy is better.

#meritocracy #David brooks #spirit #individual #ego #community #love #success #failure #self #culture #happiness #joy

[thegreatestofheck]

Little Village pt.4＊Outer Banks＊

the first three parts are here on my masterlist!

word count - 2.7k  warnings - light swearing and typos (it was way too late to edit this before I published it) synopsis - A doctor’s visit, a baby shower, and an early surprise.  tagging -  @apoguecalledjj @ijustreallylovethem @deathcompass @lolitstiana @ jxpiter-sxturn a/n - i’m sorry this took so long!! I was focusing on another fic, but now that it’s over updates for this one should be more frequent! I tagged a few people who showed interest, but if you don’t want to be on the taglist, just let me know!  Stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy!

***

“Routledge, how could you not tell me about this?” June’s boss asked, standing above her as she vomited in the staff toilet. 

“I’m sorry, David,” June said. Her voice was weak from the vomiting. “I didn’t want to make things harder for you.” 

“How far are along are you?” David Merchant asked, leaning up against the wall. June could hear the exhaustion in his voice as he pinched his nose between his fingers. She sat back, wiping her mouth. 

“I’m due in a few weeks.” 

“What?” He looked down at her stomach, trying to figure out how he hadn’t realized. “How-” 

“High waisted jeans are a girl’s best friend, David,” June said. She tried to smile as she pushed herself off the floor. “I need this job, especially now. I’ll work until I can’t walk anymore. I hope you can understand that.” 

David didn’t take his eyes away from June’s belly, even as she was standing. 

“I understand, but-” 

“Thank you, David.” 

June didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say before pushing past him and returning to work. 

By the time her shift was over, June was in a piss ass mood. Hiding her very pregnant belly at eight months was nearly impossible. Lying through it wasn’t working anymore. More and more people were finding it out. And that made the reality of her situation all the more real. 

If the sickness and the cravings and the hormones and the swelling feet and the doctor’s visits didn’t make it feel real enough, people congratulating her as she walked down the street definitely made it feel like her time was running out. 

She met John B and Sarah at the doctor’s for another check up. Usually, whenever June came around, Sarah had a large grin on her face, eyes always sparkling. June knew that she was still trying to impress her for John B’s sake and, no matter how many times June told her that she didn’t have anything to prove, Sarah always tried. 

But this time, there was no smile on her face. Sarah tried to smile when June walked into the doctor’s office. John B wasn’t around as June sat down. 

“What’s wrong?” June asked the girl sitting beside her. Sarah shook her head, her hair brushing against her shoulders. 

“Nothing’s wrong, June.” 

“Sarah.” June raised her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” 

Sarah sighed and lowered her head. 

“I got a letter from Rafe today,” she said, her legs starting to shake. June placed her hand over Sarah’s. “Part of the program, I guess. He apologized and everything, said he was trying to do better. It just....” 

When it was clear that Sarah wasn’t going to be able to say anything else, June gave her hand a squeeze. 

“I can’t imagine what the last months have been like for you. But I know what it’s like to lose a father,” June said. Sarah glanced up at her, tears in her eyes. “You can always come to me if you need to talk.” 

Sarah nodded her head slowly and then let out a laugh. 

“You really are everyone’s mom, aren’t you?” She grabbed a tissue and wiped her nose quickly. June felt herself smile. 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“Ms. June Routledge?” The nurse called from the front. June turned toward Sarah, eyes wide. 

“Where’s my brother?” She asked the girl. 

“Said he had to go to the bathroom,” Sarah said with a small, nervous shrug. “I’ll come in with you. Don’t worry about it.”

June nodded and then stood, following the nurse toward the back. Sarah followed right behind her. 

“You’ve turned down every chance to know the baby’s gender,” the nurse said, flipping through June’s report. “Do you want to know today?”

June shook her head. 

“I want it to be a surprise,” she said as she tried to bite back a smile. Sarah sighed dramatically with a roll of her eyes. 

“You know that makes planning a baby shower very difficult, right?” she asked, poking June lightly in the ribs. June laughed and swatted her hand away. 

“I told you. There doesn’t have to be a baby shower.”

“Nonsense,” the nurse piped in, glancing back with a smile. “Every woman needs a baby shower, especially for her first.” 

You found yourself smiling. 

“You wanna come?” Sarah asked the nurse. 

“You don’t even know me,” she replied, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. 

“I’m Sarah. And this is June. What’s your name?” 

“Beka.” 

“Well, Beka, now we know each other. You wanna come to June’s baby shower?” Sarah tried again. Beka the nurse grinned as they slowed to a stop by the room. 

“I’d love to come.” 

Beka ran the usual check up stuff before exchanging numbers with Sarah and walking out to get the doctor. 

“You are the most sociable person I have ever met,” June said to the girl with a large smile, settling herself into the bed with a heavy sigh. Sarah sat beside her and took her hand in hers. 

“Anything for you.” 

June’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears. She blamed it on the hormones. 

“You are going to be the best aunt,” June said, a few tears running from her eyes. She wiped them away quickly as Sarah let out a teary laugh. 

“And you are going to be the best mom.” Sarah leaned forward and pressed a kiss against June’s forehead, just as the doctor came walking into the room with John B on her tail. 

“I’m so sorry,” John B said, walking around to the side of June where Sarah was sitting. 

“Next time, hold your blatter, Little John,” June teased before turning to the doctor. 

“How’s the baby?” the doctor asked, smiling down at June. 

“Kicking a lot,” June said, puffing out her cheeks and letting out a heavy breath. “Especially when I’m trying to sleep. Keeps having the hiccups, too.”

The doctor laughed. 

“That’s all completely normal.” She pressed her hands gently against June’s belly. “You’ve only got a few weeks left until you’re ready to pop. You ready?”

June’s mouth went dry and she squeezed John B’s hand. She really wasn’t sure. She hadn’t really decided yet if she was ready to be a real mom. She knew full well that she had a wonderful support system surrounding her and she had been practicing nearly her entire life for it. Keeping JJ out of trouble was enough like taking care of a baby, June presumed, but still, something told her in the back of her mind that it wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t good enough. 

John B saw his sister’s pain and looked up at the doctor with a smile all his own. 

“We’re ready for whatever comes our way,” John B said. The doctor smiled. 

“Little Miss June and her baby are lucky to have you guys in her life.” 

June let out a small sigh and gave a little smile. 

“Yeah, we are.”

***

“I feel fat,” June whined, twirling around in the mirror. Kie grabbed June’s shoulders and turned her around to face her. 

“You’re not fat,” Kie said, looking directly into June’s eyes. “You are carrying a literal child in your womb. Yeah? There’s a baby growing inside of you, give yourself a break.”

Tears gathered in June’s eyes as she nodded her head. She hated being so damn emotional all the time, but she couldn’t help it. 

“Come on, girls!” Sarah said with a grin on her face as she walked into June’s room. “We’ve got a baby shower to go to.” 

June let out an overly dramatic, exasperated sigh, but followed Sarah out of the room. Kie grabbed both of their bags off the ground and jogged after them. 

June had never expected this many people to show up at her baby shower. Sarah and Kie were there, obviously. But Wheezie had come, too, along with Mrs. Heyward and Mrs. Carrera. Beka the nurse was there, even June’s doctor. All three of the boys had come, even though they weren’t technically invited. Ms. Lana had showed up, along with a few of the other girls June knew from the cut; Peeler and a few of the others. Seeing them all there made a smile grow on June’s face. 

She had never been to a baby shower before, but she was sure that none of them could ever top hers. Kie and Sarah had spared no expenses. There was food and balloons and little games to play and presents. The boys hung out by the food most of the time, JJ munching on whatever he could get his hands on. 

June was glad to have all of these people here, even when they were milling about, talking to each other. It was strange, seeing Kooks and Pogues talking to each other like old friends. Ms. Lana talked to the doctor, Kie and Sarah chatted with Peeler. Beka talked to the boys by the food table. Mrs. Carrera and Mrs. Heyward engaged in quiet conversation. Even in the quiet moments, June couldn’t help but smile.

John B sat beside his sister at one point, admiring everything from afar. 

“Dad would be proud of you, you know?” He said, taking a sip of water from his cup. June turned to look at her brother, eyebrows raised. 

“Are you trying to make me cry right now?” 

John B shook his head and let himself laugh. 

“No. I just thought you should know.” June cleared her throat to cover the fact that she did, in fact, almost start to cry. “You took care of me most of my life, I know that. Thank you.”

June smiled and reached out to take her little brother’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way, Little John.” 

He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her temple before settling back into his seat. 

By the time it was all over, June was overwhelmed with gratitude and gifts. But she was exhausted. If she hadn’t been pregnant, June would have been able to sit around a socialize for hours. But with the baby, after a few hours, June could barely keep her eyes open. She dozed off on the car ride home. 

The boys helped her carry things into the nursery once they got home. Diapers and baby powder and milk bottles and clothes and shoes and toys and anything else that she could possibly need was set on the floor. By the time everything was inside, all of them were exhausted. Sarah and John B crashed in his room. Pope and Kie passed out on the couch. JJ was out smoking a joint. 

June sat on the floor of the nursery, looking at all of the things that she had been given. Since her little village had given the room a make over and gave her the crib, they had scrounged up bookshelves, a changing table, and other places for storage to fill the room. With the bags all over the floor, June knew that she was going to have a field day sorting everything and putting it in its proper place. 

Soon, the room would be ready for her little pogue to come into the world, with an entire family already at hand. That thought alone was enough to make tears roll down June’s cheeks. Before she knew it, she was sobbing in the middle of the floor. A hand on her stomach, June tried to wipe her tears away as they fell. 

“I love you so much, Baby Pogue,” she said through tears. “And I can’t wait to meet you.” 

A quiet cough startled June. She looked over to the door. JJ stood there with an eyebrow raised and a soft smile on his lips. June laughed and wiped away her tears. 

“A few weeks feels like too long,” she said as she sniffled. 

“Come on, Mamas,” JJ said, walking over to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “You need some sleep.” 

“Okay.” June let him help her to her feet and lead her to her room. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll crash on the floor,” JJ said, helping her onto her bed. Lazily, June shook her head. 

“No, J,” she said, keeping hold of his arm as she winced and rolled under the covers. “God, I feel like a balloon full of rocks.”

“Well, you look hot.”

June scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t flatter me, Maybank.” 

JJ smiled down at her as her eyes started to close. Her grip on his arm never loosened despite her drifting off to sleep. 

“My arm is tingling,” she mumbled. JJ let out a quiet laugh. But it was clear to him that she wasn’t letting go until he sat down next to her. 

“John B sees this and he’ll kill me, you know,” JJ told her as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. June, with her eyes closed, gave a sleepy smile. 

“Yeah, well, he’ll have to go through me first,” she mumbled. JJ scoffed and gave a small shake of his head. He lay there beside her for a few minutes, trying to contemplate what to say next, but by the time he had the words he wanted to say, June was asleep. 

JJ gave her hand a little pat before rolling onto his side, his back facing away from her. It took him a few minutes to fall asleep, but eventually, he did. 

***

June let out a heavy sigh as the boat pulled away from the dock. John B and Sarah were going on a date to the mainland. June hated to see them go, even though it was good of them to spend time alone together. For the past nine months, they had both dedicated nearly all of their time to June and the baby. She was grateful for them, endlessly, and she was more than glad that they took the time for each other. 

But it left her wondering what she would do all day. She could rearrange everything in the nursery again for the one millionth time. She could got to the Wreck and eat half of the menu while she talked to Kie. Maybe she would head over to Heyward’s, take up Mrs. Heyward on her “free lemonade any time” offer. 

Instead, June went to the beach. The waves were high that day, perfect for surfing. If she had been in any other condition than her current one, she would be out there surfing along with everyone else. But, alas, she was shore bound. 

Watching was good enough for her though. She laughed when people tumbled into the water with a shout. She clapped when someone surfed a wave successfully, wishing more than anything that it was her. It didn’t take long for June to catch sight of JJ surfing the waves. 

John B always said that JJ was the best surfer he knew. And there was good reason for it. JJ was born to surf. Even though June would never in a million years admit that he was better than her, she knew that her little brother was right. Kildare had never seen a better surfer than JJ Maybank. 

June felt a sharp pain course through her stomach. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to concern her. Once the wave of pain passed, June let out a deep breath and scowled to herself. She tried to return her attention back to the surfers, but her mind was wandering. An hour or so later, another wave of pain passed through her. 

Trying to keep her mind off of it, June looked up and a smile crossed her face. JJ was wandering out of the water, his surfboard under his arm, his hair a mess of sea water and salt. He smiled when he saw her, trotting over. 

“What are you doing here, Mamas?” He asked, standing in front of her. June leaned back, pressing her palms into the sand. 

“Oh, you know, enjoying the view,” she said with a smile. JJ rolled his eyes and offered her a hand to help her up, but June waved him off. She pushed herself to her feet, taking a little longer than usual to get up. 

“I’m sure you’re starved after taking that beating from the ocean,” she said once she was standing upright. “Drive me back to the Chateau and I’ll whip up some grilled cheese, yeah?” 

JJ smiled. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

***

The next sharp pain that June felt was a lot worse than the other ones. And it stopped her right in the middle of making JJ his grilled cheese. As soon as she sucked in a sharp, pained breath, JJ was on his feet and walking over to her. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, one hand on her back. June tried to push him back, but then she felt something start to trickle down her leg. Eyes wide, she turned to look at JJ. His breath caught in her throat, waiting for whatever her answer was going to be. “June?” 

June swallowed a lump in her throat, pressing her hand against the side of her stomach. She looked over at JJ again, mouth going dry. 

“The baby’s coming.” 

#outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #little village #jj maybank #jj obx #john b #john b routledge #john b obx #jj x john b's sister #john b's sister #pope heyward #sarah cameron #kie carrera #pope obx #sarah obx #kie obx

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 29: Crosswinds, Pt 1

It had been ten days since they had found the passengers and subsequently the explosion that had injured Killian and unfortunately killed Vance. It had also been ten days with no Callings and though they hoped that meant it was all over, somehow, both Emma and David knew that this lull probably wasn't permanent.

Emma visited Ruth's grave that morning and put some flowers down for her. She hadn't been here in a while and truthfully, she was only six when Ruth died. She didn't remember a lot, except her motherly love and a few wise words. In a lot of ways, David and MM had always been her surrogate parents, even when they were young. They had seen her through her tremulous teen years, scolded her for how wild she had gotten a few times with Lily, and endured her screaming at them when they did try to step in with any kind of discipline. And somehow, she had turned out very well, the credit with which she attributed to them.

With her father, things had been good with him once he got clean and turned his life around. But David and MM were always the ones she would go to for advice. However, they were dealing with a lot too, so she had decided to come talk to her mother that morning. She knew David and MM would both drop everything for her, but she felt she needed to go this one on her own for a while.

"And so...that's where we are. I'm not saying I'm jealous of David...but MM's world didn't really move while he was gone. It's like she just stopped and waited for him," she explained.

"But…Killian didn't and I don't blame him. He should have moved on...five years is a long time. But it still hurts," she confessed.

"I still love him...and I think he still loves me. But we can't...he's married and the whole thing is a nightmare," Emma said.

"Anyway...thanks for listening, Mom. You can be proud of us. David and MM did a pretty bang up job with me and somehow I'm not a complete mess. Just half of one," she joked.

"Dad's better too now. He didn't drink a drop, even when he thought we were dead," she added.

"And MM is the rock and the badass she's always been. All things work together for good...that's what you always used to tell us," she mused and smirked.

"Romans 8:28...pretty trippy there with the number," she said, as she stood up and quietly walked away. Killian had made a full recovery and was checking out of the hospital today so she decided to head there to see him.

~*~

In the ten days that had passed since the rescue of the passengers, David and Margaret had not wasted the quiet lull that had set in. Margaret had taken a few days off and they had spent them decompressing together, before they began to pursue finding Johanna and checking in on Glinda and Regina, who were treating the once missing, now found passengers. They had finally located Johnna's new residence and were going there today, but first, they stopped by Vance's memorial that was being held, albeit, unofficially.

Upon his death, the NSA had cut ties with Mr. Gold and went quiet on the investigation into flight 828. Gold wasn't surprised and it was agreed that they would collaborate together in the continued research. Gold was very impressed by the records and boards that David had built in the garage and was now a fairly frequent guest at the Nolan house. Henry had taken to him as well and Mr. Gold was always very eager to see Henry's drawings.

Gold was attending the service and the two of them hung back, as the memorial proceeded. Unfortunately, near the end, Agent Arthur King, as well as one of Vance's protege, agent Powell, spotted them and came to confront them.

"You have a lot of nerve, Mr. Nolan," Powell said.

"Excuse me?" Margaret questioned defensively.

"He's the reason that Vance is dead," Arthur claimed.

"David saved dozens of innocent people and it kills us that Vance didn't make it out, but it is not David's fault," Margaret insisted and he squeezed her hand.

"He was a good man and we're just paying our respects. He risked a lot and it saved a lot of people, including our son," David said.

"Just leave," Powell insisted. They joined hands and started out again and they were quiet for a while, as he drove them, not noticing they were being followed. They arrived in the vicinity of the address they had discovered Johanna lived about ten minutes later. He parked a couple blocks away and they joined hands, as they took off on foot.

"Do you think it's strange that Johanna moved right before we found out that she was on the plane?" Margaret asked. He shrugged.

"Maybe a little...but then again, she might not have come back to the life she had before. Not very many people got as lucky as me when they came home," he said fondly, as he gently cupped her cheek. She smiled at him and he noticed someone out of the corner of his eye.

"David Nolan?" the young man asked.

"Who are you?" he asked skeptically.

"Aaron Glover...I'm an investigative reporter," he replied. That immediately turned David off and they kept walking.

"Stop following us," David warned.

"I do a podcast called 828 Gate," he said.

"We're not interested in talking to the press," David refuted.

"Even if I can tell you that one hour before you helped rescue those missing passengers, a Black hawk helicopter touched down in Red Hook?" Aaron asked, stopping them in their tracks. He turned to him.

"You can prove that someone in the government is involved in this?" David asked.

"I have a source…" he said vaguely.

"And did this source tell you who was on that helicopter?" Margaret asked.

"I don't know who it is, but the person calling the shots is referred to as the Major," he revealed. David and Margaret exchanged a glance.

"Military?" David asked.

"Definitely...and we're talking classified, but with my source and your help, we could blow this thing wide open," Aaron replied.

"We'll think about it," David said, as he took the man's card and they continued on toward their destination.

"David...how high do you think this thing goes?" she asked.

"Really high...I mean, they were keeping the director of the NSA in the dark, so it probably goes higher than we can imagine," he replied.

"You...you don't think they know what Henry can do...do you?" she asked. He looked at her.

"Not yet...and we have to keep it that way," he said, as he stopped for a moment.

"I promise you that I will make sure they don't know about our son," he vowed and she hugged him tightly. He kissed her tenderly for a long moment, before they continued on their way.

~*~

"I got here as soon as I could," Emma said, as she arrived at the property upstate where Glinda Goode was housing the rescued passengers.

"Thanks for coming. You're the first one here. We asked all the passengers that showed up at the hanger when the plane exploded to come," Regina replied, as she showed her inside.

"How are they doing?" Emma asked.

"Barely functioning...aside from Aurora, of course. They have shared movements at times, but they are mostly in a vegetative state," Regina replied, as she was astonished to see them all jerk together.

"Why do you think they haven't come around yet?" Emma asked.

"Medically...it could be that the brain has shut the body down to recover from the intense trauma, but that's just a shot in the dark theory. In reality, I have no idea," Regina admitted.

"Hey...you're doing your best and I'm sure they'll come around," Emma said, as she touched one man's hand and she had a Calling when she did. She saw a ground covered in snow and a man's hand touch the snow. She could hear what sounded like labored breathing from him.

"Find her," the man's voice said, as the Calling ended. This was definitely different than any Calling before and very intense.

"You just had a Calling," Regina said.

"Uh yeah...and it said find her. It wasn't my voice this time," Emma replied, looking at the man, as Regina opened his file.

"Paul Santino," she said.

"It says he was married, but his wife, Helen, didn't show up at the hanger," Regina said, as Emma looked at the file.

"Find her...maybe I'm supposed to find his wife," she said, as they noticed the man was suddenly awake and aware of everything around him.

"Paul?" Regina asked, but he looked confused and they exchanged a glance.

"Who is Paul?" he asked.

"That's your name...do you remember anything?" Emma asked. He was silent for a moment, but could return nothing but a blank stare.

"I...I'm sorry, I don't know who I am. What happened? How can I not know who I am?" he asked in alarm. Regina put her hand on his arm.

"It's okay...you've been through a bit of trauma, but you're okay now and we'll figure this out," she assured, before pulling Emma aside.

"Amnesia?" the blonde asked. Regina nodded.

"After the trauma he went through, I'm not surprised. How did you wake him up?" she asked.

"I don't know...I just touched him. It must have been the Calling," Emma replied, with a shrug.

"Can you try with some of the others?" Regina asked.

"I guess…" Emma replied, as she touched Anton's arm, but there was no Calling and no change in Anton's vegetative state.

"Sorry…" she replied.

"It's okay...it was a long shot. The catatonia could be the body's way of forcing the brain to rest and rebuild neural pathways to heal them," Regina explained.

"Are you going to try to track down Paul's wife?" the doctor asked.

"That seems to be what the Calling wants. Can I borrow that file?" she asked. Regina nodded and handed it to her. She looked through it while she waited for the other passengers to arrive.

~*~

David and Margaret arrived at the Brownstone residence and pressed the doorbell. Soon, a woman that Margaret hadn't seen since she was twelve answered the door.

"Johanna Mason?" David asked.

"Yes?" she asked, as she looked at them and was definitely trying to figure out why his wife seemed familiar.

"My name is David Nolan...I was on the plane and this is my wife, Margaret," he said.

"You were on the plane?" she asked. He nodded.

"But that's not really why we're here," he replied, as he turned to his wife.

"My maiden name is Blanchard," she said, as she looked the woman in the eyes. Johanna gasped.

"Mary Margaret?!" she exclaimed, as she came out onto the porch and they hugged.

"My goodness...look how beautiful you are. I knew you would be...you were such a fair child," Johanna gushed, making her blush. David smiled and squeezed her hand.

"And David...you're the little boy that was always so smitten with her and picked all the snowdrops out of the garden," she recalled.

"I am and I'm still smitten," he said.

"Please...come in, both of you," she urged, as they stepped inside.

"How incredible is it that you were on the plane too?" she asked.

"It's quite the coincidence. My sister wanted to take the later flight, so I stayed behind with her and our son too," he explained.

"Oh my goodness...you lost all three of them?" Johanna asked.

"I did...but then I got a miracle and got them all back," Margaret replied.

"I'm so glad for you…" she said.

"My husband and I tried, but I'm afraid it just didn't work. I'm too different now he says...but I think it's because I know he's seeing someone else," she replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Johanna," Margaret replied.

"It's okay...I just moved here and I hope this can be a fresh start. But if you're not here about the plane...can I ask why you are?" she questioned. Margaret nodded.

"It's about my mother," she said.

"Eva?" she asked in confusion. Margaret nodded and showed her the article on her phone.

"I know that everyone told me that my mother had late stage cancer and died soon after...but this article suggests that her death was more sudden," Margaret said.

"No...your mother got sick and then she was gone," Johanna said quickly.

"Are you sure?" Margaret asked. Johanna looked at her for a moment.

"What...what are you asking me?" she questioned. Margaret sighed.

"I think...I think there was foul play," she said.

"Who...who do you think would want to hurt your mother?" Johanna asked. Margaret glanced at the article.

"The woman that, according to this article, was her longtime rival," she answered, as she watched the other woman's reaction.

"Oh...no, Cora and Eva barely knew each other," Johanna refuted.

"If this article is correct...then that's not exactly true. MM's father chose Eva over Cora," David interjected.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read in the newspaper. You know people love to gossip," Johanna chided.

"They do...but I don't think this is gossip and I think my father's wife did something to my mother. I need the truth, especially if she could be a danger to my family," Margaret said.

"Oh Mary Margaret...there is nothing for you to fear. Your mother's death was a sad tragedy, but there was no foul play," Johanna insisted.

"She hated my mother...and I have two children to protect from her," Margaret said.

"Sweetheart…" Johanna said.

"And a husband that I lost and just got back. I need to know what really happened to my mother," Margaret added.

"I'm sorry...but I can't help you," Johanna replied.

"Then you do know...you know what really happened," Margaret stated.

"I'm sorry...but you both need to leave now," Johanna said.

"What are you hiding?" Margaret demanded to know.

"Mary Margaret...please, please let this go," Johanna pleaded with her.

"Cora did something, didn't she?" the raven haired beauty asked.

"Let this go...and keep your distance from Cora Mills," she advised, as she showed them out quite abruptly.

"She knows what happened, David…" Margaret realized.

"It seems that way...but looks like we're going to have to keep digging without her," he said, as he kissed her forehead. She sighed and she rested her head against his chest, as he hugged her, just as his phone rang.

"Hey Regina…" he answered, as Margaret lifted her head.

"Uh yeah...we can come up there. See you soon," he said.

"Regina is asking the passengers that showed up at the hanger to come up to Glinda's beach house upstate," he replied, as he led her back the way they came to find their car.

"While we're there...I can ask Regina if she can dig up my mother's medical records," Margaret said. He nodded.

"It's a place to start anyway," he agreed.

~*~

Killian buttoned his shirt that morning. His injuries were nearly completely healed and though he was still off, he had decided to go into the office to do some paperwork that morning. He felt his wife wrap her arms around him from behind and immediately felt a stab of guilt. He loved Milah...but never had loved her the way he loved Emma. When he thought Emma was dead, it was easier to love and move on with Milah. But now that she was back...he found himself wanting the only arms around him to be Emma's. It was horrible and he hated himself for it, but that was how he felt.

"Are you sure you want to go into the office so soon? No one is expecting you to," she said. He smirked.

"I know...but the paperwork never stops. Worst part of the job," he replied.

"I beg to differ. You getting caught in an explosion is the worst part of the job," she said. He smirked.

"Touche," he agreed, as she pecked him on the lips and then slid her hands down his abdomen.

"You know...you could go in a little later and we could…" she said trailing off.

"I'm ovulating," she added. He took a deep breath. Before the plane, he had been ready for kids even before she was. It was a little odd actually since she told him she wanted to wait until she finished her degree in night school. But since Emma had gotten back...she was suddenly ready and very eager to have a baby.

"I wish I could...but I'm still not quite up to par. I need a little more time, I think," he said, pushing his reluctance off on his injuries.

"Yes…I suppose it's a little soon," she agreed, as she gave him a kiss. He sighed and finished buttoning his shirt. Guilt ate at him again and he couldn't get out of the house fast enough...

~*~

David parked their car at the beach house and they got out.

"Wow...this is quite a place," Margaret said, as they joined hands.

"No doubt...it reminds me of all those trips we took the kids on upstate," he said, looking at her fondly. She swooned at that.

"Oh me too...that little cabin in the Catskills when they were seven. That was such an amazing trip," she recalled. He smiled and kissed her tenderly, as they reminisced.

~*~

Eight Years Ago

Margaret looked out the snowy window, as she stood in the kitchen and watched her husband try to dig them out. They had rented this cabin and brought the kids here for a long weekend. It had been a ton of fun so far, but they were supposed to head back today.

"I think...we're going to have to call in sick tomorrow. There is no way we're getting out of here today," David said, as he came back inside. She left the pancake batter she was stirring and pecked him on the lips.

"Oh no…" she said, feigning disappointment and then giggled, as he pressed his cheek against hers.

"You're going to have to act more disappointed when you call your boss," he teased. She giggled.

"I can't help it...being snowed in with my family for an extra day just sounds like pure bliss to me," she said. He smiled and kissed her tenderly.

"Me too," he agreed, as the kids hurried out from their room and jumped on the couch to look outside.

"Wow!" Henry said.

"Are we staying an extra day?" Olive asked.

"We are…" David replied.

"Can we play in the snow?" Henry asked.

"Mmm...after breakfast. Go get dressed and wash up," Margaret replied, as they scampered off and they went back to making breakfast together.

~*~

"That was a really good day," she said. He smiled.

"It was...and now there can be so many more," he replied, as they went inside.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #Emma #Henry #Regina #Mr. Gold #Manifest #with a Once twist #romance #family #mystery #adventure #drama #AU #Lightning in a Bottle

[miamistax]

Read this. Someone you know has lived these same experiences. This must end now.

David Gamble, Jr.

I grew up in Reno, Nevada.

In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.

In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.

In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “niggerlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.

In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.

In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.

In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”

In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.

I remain in Reno for college.

During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.

In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “nigger.” None of my friends corrects him.

In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.

I move to San Diego, California for law school.

In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.

The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.

After law school, I return to Reno.

A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “Slave David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.

I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.

I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”

A white friend tells me that white voters have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more whites than blacks receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.

I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “nigger” over and over.

I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.

Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced racism. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bullshit.”

Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing nigger!”

Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.

My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.

Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “whites only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.

Not long before that, my family were slaves, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.

This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.

And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a black American. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as slaves and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through slavery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.

Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten black Americans who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.

I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.

The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the killing of George Floyd, but not just about George Floyd. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many white Americans must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many black Americans need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.

When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against racism in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate racism from American society.

I am now asking for your help. Please seek truth and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about systemic racism and anti-racism. When your friends of color tell you that racism is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.

My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.

It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

AO3

Previous

Thank you all for reading.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge - she’s a great beta.

Thanks also to @happytoobservenolongerdistant

Chapter 4: Walk On By

If you see me walking down the street And I start to cry each time we meet Walk on by, walk on by

Burt Bacharach/ Hal David

Claire sipped her coffee and looked contentedly around the living room. She couldn't quite believe she had moved in only ten days ago. It felt like she had lived here for ages. Having furniture from the house probably helped, she reasoned, although she wasn’t sure what would happen when Lamb returned there in two years time. Would he expect the furniture to be returned? And would he expect her to be ‘returned’ too? Now that she had finally made the move, she doubted she would ever return to live there.

She had definitely fallen lucky with this flat… and with her neighbours. Mrs. Crook was as sweet and kind as Anna and Mary had said. Ten days in and Claire had already been the recipient of an apple turnover, a steak and kidney pie and half a dozen scones.

And, even in this short time, she had grown fond of Anna and Mary. Anna worked in marketing at the King’s Theatre whilst Mary was an accountant in the local tax office. They seemed very different; Anna was very outgoing and vivacious with a wide circle of friends, always heading out to parties or social functions whilst Mary was quieter and more reserved. And yet, they lived together very amicably -- their characters complementing each other’s.

Then last night, Claire had finally met John, who worked as a book editor for a publishing house. Their exchange had been brief. Claire was just coming in the front door after a long day at the hospital, whilst John was on his way out for some evening's entertainment, elegantly dressed and smelling divine. He kissed her warmly on both cheeks before continuing out of the door, calling assurances that they would indeed meet very soon for a ‘proper welcome to the building’.

Claire glanced at her watch and, suddenly realising the time, rushed into her kitchen, pulled a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge and made her way across the landing to Mary and Anna’s flat.

The door to their flat was already ajar. Claire knocked and walked in. Mary and Anna were sitting in the living room, full wine glasses in hand.

“Hi, Claire. You want a drink before we go out?” Mary made to stand up.

Claire motioned her to sit. “Yes, great. Don’t get up, I’ll get it myself. And I’ll pop this one in your fridge.”

From the kitchen, Claire heard the front door open again, followed by John’s voice greeting the girls.

“Mary... lovely, my dear. Anna… as glamorous as ever. I hope you don’t mind if an old friend joins us for dinner, do you? I hadn’t seen him since uni, twelve years ago and we reconnected at a reunion-type thing this week.”

Claire took a sip from her glass as she wandered back into the living room.

“So, this is Jamie…”

The thump of Claire’s wine glass as it hit the carpet interrupted John’s introductions. She immediately bent down to retrieve it before rushing to the kitchen for a cloth. Her cheeks burning, she leant against a countertop and stood still for a minute, trying to calm her breathing.

From her initial glance, he hadn’t changed that much in eight years. His hair was shorter. No longer touching his shoulders, it was barely long enough to curl. His shoulders were a bit broader too, clad in one of those flannel checked shirts he was always so fond of. She hadn’t dared to focus on his face… or his left hand.

She could hear John’s introductions continuing. And then he spoke. That soft Highland burr seemingly unaltered by the years in America. He spoke a low tone, too low for Claire to hear, his utterances drawing laughter from Anna and Mary.

“I’ll just see if Claire needs a hand.” Mary’s voice rose above the laughter, causing Claire to abruptly grab a dishcloth and hurry back into the living room.

“I’m so sorry, Mary, Anna. The glass just slipped from my hand… must be my hand cream… not rubbed in properly…” Claire’s nervous rambling finally ground to a halt.

“Don’t worry, this carpet’s seen far worse than a drop of wine.” Mary took the cloth and dabbed at the small patch of damp next to her. “You just sit down Claire.”

Claire perched on the edge of the sofa obediently.

“And here we have the newest inmate in our building… Claire Beauchamp… Jamie Fraser.” John was determined to finish. “Claire’s another damn Sasse…”

“Hello.” Claire broke into John’s introductions, finally glancing up at Jamie.

With a curt ‘hi’, Jamie nodded his head in response.

“So, Jamie, you joining us for dinner, then? We’ve got a table at the ‘Star of India’. You like Indian food?” Anna turned her full attention to Jamie.

“Aye, I’ll be happy tae join ye if ye dinna mind. Indian’s one of ma favourites.”

******

Nine years ago

“Ye ken, Sassenach, when ye said ye were takin’ me out fer a meal, I dinna imagine this… er… place.”

“Oh, what did you imagine?”

“Och, I dinna ken… somewhere with wee flowers, candles, soft music, tablecloths and a glass or two of wine. No’ these bench tables, beer from the bottle…”

“I love the food here. It’s my favourite. What are you going to order?”

“Chicken Korma, or do they do an omelette?”

“Jamie, do you not like Indian food?”

“Honesty, is it? I canna say I do.”

“Let me order for you. I’m sure you’ll love it. But if you don’t like it I promise we don’t have to come here again. I’ll get my curry fix when you’re not around.”

“Is that a threat there, Sassenach? Because, let me tell ye, I plan tae always be around, ye ken.”

******

“Are we all ready to go then?” John looked around the room. “I’m sure the restaurant won’t mind another one joining our party. Might just have to squeeze together a bit more but I’m sure that’s not a problem, eh, Jamie?”

Anna and Mary led the way out of the flat, followed by Claire, with John and Jamie bringing up the rear. Jamie’s eyes drifted to the brown curls three steps below him.

Once he had got over the initial shock of seeing her, a neighbour of his friend no less, he tried to study her appearance through surreptitious half glances whilst maintaining his air of indifference. Not that it was an act. He knew himself to be indifferent to her. The past eight years had proved that.

At first sight, she seemed pretty much the same. From the introductions, it was clear that she wasn’t married. Her curls were as untamed as ever; perhaps she had lost a bit of weight. But the way her hands fluttered around her face in agitation hadn't changed. Neither, apparently, had her obsession with hand cream.

******

Nine years ago

“Come to bed, Sassenach. I want that round arse of yers here next tae me right now.”

“In a second. Just finishing.”

“How many times do ye have tae put that cream on yer hands?”

“But they get so dry with constant washing and using the hand sanitiser all day. I have to keep putting it on. You don’t want my hands all rough, do you?”

“Och, no, Sassenach. When ye put yer soft hands there… oh… like that… and hold me… aye… and stroke… oh god… yer touch…”

******

Downstairs, the door to Mrs. Crook’s flat was slightly open.

“Mrs. Crook...” Anna peered around the door. “Hello, Mrs. Crook, are you ok? Your door’s open.”

“Come in dear. I must have forgotten tae close it.”

Mary turned to Claire and Anna. “That’s not like her. Mind if we just check?”

As they stepped into the hallway of Mrs. Crook’s flat, it quickly became apparent that things weren’t right. The small Persian rug on the floor lay crumpled and askew. The side table had obviously been knocked, the Royal Doulton figurine laying  on its side. They made their way into the living room to find Mrs. Crook sitting with one leg propped up on a stool. There was a cut just below the old woman’s hairline, the blood still fresh on her skin.

“Oh, Mrs. Crook, what happened?” Mary rushed to her side.

“Och, Dinna fash. I jes’ tripped up in the hall and banged ma head on the table. I’m fine, dinna bother about me.”

Claire’s professional instincts took over. “Can I see?”

Gently she touched the raised leg, her hands moving instinctively over the limb, pressing and prodding, looking for signs of pain or discomfort on Mrs. Crook’s face. Once satisfied, Claire sat back. “I think you’re very fortunate. You’ve only sprained your knee. We can put an ice pack on that to help with the swelling. I’m more concerned about the knock on your head. Do you feel sick, or sleepy?”

“Nae more than usual.”

“I think we need to take you to A&E, get you checked out there.”

“Oh, no, Dinna fash. I am no’ goin’ tae the hospital. I’ll be fine here. I can see ye’re all on yer way out. Dinna let me stop ye. Go, have fun.”

Claire looked sternly at the old woman. “No, I’m not leaving you here. You may have a concussion. If you won’t go to the hospital, then you’re going to have to put up with me staying to keep an eye on you.”

Mrs. Crook opened her mouth to protest, but Claire halted any protestation. “I’m not actually asking you, I’m telling you. That’s my plan. I’m going to go and get my medical bag and we’re going to spend the evening together watching the telly and drinking tea. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Once outside in the main entrance hall, Claire explained the situation to John. Jamie stood next to Anna, listening.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” John said sympathetically. “Are you sure you couldn’t maybe join us later?”

“No best not. But you all go and have a good night.”

Claire stood and watched as, laughing and joking together, the four of them headed out into the street.

******

Nine years ago

“So, have ye always wanted tae be a doctor, then?”

“Yes, ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to heal people, make people better. I think maybe it’s because… no, sorry…”

“What were ye goin’ tae say?”

“Er… maybe it’s because my parents died when I was a small child. Maybe I want to try to protect families from having to go through that. I don’t really know. I only know it’s always been my big dream.”

“I ken ye’ll be a grand doctor. I can tell. Ye’re a true healer.”

********

With Mrs.Crook comfortably settled, an ice pack on her knee and the cut on her head cleaned and washed, Claire sat down for an evening of watching television. As the opening credits for ‘X Factor’ appeared on the screen, she finally let her mind begin to wander over the evening’s events.

Like an unaccustomed hole in a tooth that the tongue is repeatedly drawn towards, even with the knowledge of pain to follow, so Claire’s mind kept being drawn towards Jamie, analysing every aspect of his sudden and very unexpected debut.

His physical appearance (still as muscular as ever, perhaps even more so, ageing well); his voice (no trace of the past eight years in his accent); his attire (still the same casual clothing, but worn so well. No wedding ring but then he never would wear any jewellery anyway so…); his demeanour (open and friendly… except to her).

And then, Claire realised, came the pain -- We have met. Now we are strangers, worse than strangers for we may never become acquainted.

NOTE: The last line is a direct quote from ‘Persuasion’ by Jane Austen.

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Letting Go #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 4

[sophisticateddesign]

Lies and Lunch.

INVOLVED:  Mercedes Jones and Titus Wilkerson  LOCATION: Lenox Mall; Atlanta, GA. TIME FRAME: Saturday NOTES: Mercedes fails to find maternity clothes. AUTHOR’S NOTE: n/a

You could call Buckhead the center of Atlanta.  You may or may not be right about that.  But whatever you believed, one look and you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt, there was money here.  If you were to live in the black Mecca of the south and be privileged enough to be a person means, Buckhead was where you wanted to be. Truth be told, Buckhead was north of the city proper. Right before you left for all points North; Marietta, Cobb county, Alpharetta. That was where the real money was. Where the white elite dug in just off Johnson’s Ferry road.  Where if you went just over the river and you found that one little secluded road. The one behind the Mc’mansions that all sat on a golf course. You’d find the estate of Ludicrous himself.  

Like all the burrows in the city, Buckhead had its own shopping center, Lenox Mall.  A lavish white shelled mall, boned in cremes and marble floors, that housed over 200 stores and eateries.  That’s where Mercedes and Titus were. Mercedes toted a osingle small black bag from Mac. Her eyes scanned every window display they passed. Mentally giving them either her stamp of approval or her frown of rejection. Titus, on the other hand, was studying young hot ass, either smiling or sometimes waving at the ones who caught him gazing at them in approval.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm!” Titus exclaimed, as his head twisted on his neck following one man’s ass like it was a mouse and he was a hungry owl. “She has to know that man is gay.” He said, hand clutching at his heart.

Mercedes sighed, her hazel eyes unable to hide her annoyance. “You sir. don’t know that man’s life.” She said, in a fruitless attempt at challenging his gaydar as they passed Louis Vuitton.  The window display was outlandish, with thirty-six cameras all pointed at 2 lone handbags. Mercedes came to a full stop to marvel at the uniqueness of the display. “I think I really want a Lou baby bag.” She said dropping more than a hint at her shopping companion.

“First of all, I might not know his life, but I know where he was two days ago.” Titus gloated, “Second, your bad and boujee ass should buy it.” He caught her hint and threw it right back at her. “if you want. Because I already know what I’m getting my Godchild.  It’s called a baby shower.  I’m not buying anything for your ass.”

One hand went to Mercedes hip a look of mock shock on her face. “That man was too young for you.  I.. I’m speechless.” She said in a voice dripping with admiration. Titus was five years older than her, but managed to act, on most occasions, 20 years younger. At his next return Mercedes rolled her neck, and cut her eyes at him severely, walking off. Her hips swaying from side to side as she continued on her quest for maternity clothes. Only a pinch saltier then she was a second ago.  “We are supposed to be finding me a new wardrobe. I’m already using a rubber band to hold these pants up.  I brought my clothes to accentuate my ass and my waist trainer to ensure my stomach wasn’t a factor.” She said lifting her bag, “yet, all I have managed to get are foundation refills.”

“He too old for me to date. What we were doing, I wouldn’t consider dating.” Titus said, throwing his scarf up around his neck. He rushed forward to catch the surprisingly quick woman, which wasn’t hard considering how short her legs were.  He gave her a sharp pat on the ass. “You know Lenox on a Saturday afternoon is for seeing and being seen.”

 Mercedes gave him a questioning look, “Who made that a thing?”

 “Everyone!” Titus said, taking a quick step away from her. “Well everyone whose head hasn’t been stuck in a hole. In the past few hours, your ass has been the star of its own one man show. A show that you have been completely oblivious of...” Titus said shaking his head.

“I have bigger things to worry about then what random men want to jump my bones.”  Mercedes said reciting a well-practiced line.

Titus rolled his neck and repeated her words verbatim, adding a bored inflection to scorn her. “You have had tunnel vision since before that baby was thing.” He said eyeing her hidden belly.  “It was all about taking care of your mother, sister and the kids.  And now that they are gone, before you even attempt to find a person to love you.  You go and create a whole new person by yourself.” He said annoyed.

He had a point, not that she was going to admit that to him. “You act as if I've never dated. As if I never tried.” Mercedes argued. “Need I remind you of John, Trevon, Jordan, Bobby…” she said with her lips curling into a hateful snarl.

Titus held his hand up silencing the woman.  “I will admit you had some bad luck. But… there were some good ones. Mercedes there will be good guys in your future if I have to find them for you myself.  Don't think for a second that this child is going to stop me. If Michael and I can find our bliss.  I know damn well you can.” He finished wrapping his arm around the woman's shoulder and hugging her close to his side. “That is another promise I made your mother.”

Mercedes laughed and shook her head, “Adding my mother to this doesn't mean anything you know.” She lied trying to sound in control of her emotions.  

Titus’ laughter bounced off the walls and echoed all around them drawing a number of pompous eyes their way.  “Now we both know that’s a whole lie. You are to much. Anyway, changing the subject.” He said taking a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish, dramatically dabbing at his forehead.

Mercedes jumped into the gap.  “You can change the subject after you feed me.” She said patting her stomach.  “I am starving.”  

~30 minutes later ~

The shrimp flipped end over end into the air before hitting the grill top, where it sizzled. Mercedes smiled at the little trick.  A faint sigh left her lips as the chef continue to cook. “I wanted food not a show.” She grumbled just loud enough for Titus to hear her over the clink of the spatula dicing through the chicken on the grill.

“It must be nice to be a beggar and a chooser.’ Titus muse tossing imagined hair back over his shoulder. “Anyway…” He said in exaggerated tones.  “Tell me about him...  I know you had a few meetings, dinner and when to the doctor with him.  But outside of he seems nice.  You haven’t said anything of real import.“

 Mercedes shrugged. She held that posture for a moment, then let her shoulders fall. “There isn’t much to tell.” She said easily.  “He seems nice. Owns his own business. Is smart, and reasonably caring.” She rattled off trying to deflect. She sat back a little in her seat as the chef began plating their food. “He’s basically everything I wanted in a donor.  I’m lucky.” She finished, whispering thank you to the chef.

Titus listened, his face disapproving. “Mhm…” He said, completely unimpressed by the scant information the woman just offered him. “That’s a relief. I suppose.”  He said as his own plate was filled.  “I could run a complete background check on him if you’d like.  Just so we know what you’re dealing with.”

Mercedes shook her head, “No need.  I’ve already had it done.” She smiled,  “He is completely on the up and up.  Good family, nice home…” She trailed off taking a huge bite of chicken and rice into her mouth. She closed her eyes and almost came off how delicious it was.  Sighing around the mouthful she chewed, smacking her lips a bit before taking another bite

“Even better.” Titus commented with a nod. He waited for a long moment, adding soy sauce to the dish in front of him. He glanced over at Mercedes who had already began to eat, then sat the bottle down with a hard clink on the wood.  “You make me sick.  You are really going to make me wild horse your ass Mercedes Jones? Is the man potential or not.  For heaven sakes.” He fussed, turning the chicken, rice and shrimp over with his fork. “Here I am trying to marry your stubborn ass off and your holding out. The man owns a business, wants to be a daddy and has a house… Is he at least cute, woman? And young enough not to need dentures?”

Mercedes laughed around her mouthful, fully aware of how annoying she was being. She placed her hand in front of her mouth trying not to spit any food out of her lips.  “I’m sorry. You are just too easy.” She said tucking her lips in to her mouth to let her laughter die away before she answered his question. “He’s okay.” She said trying to seem unimpressed by the man. Which even now was hard as the thought of his towering figure and massive arms caused a slight flush to run up her neck. “And no, he’s not an old man.”

Titus beamed doing a little shimmy with his shoulders, “Looks aren’t everything. If he’s not your granddaddy we may have a prospect.”

Mercedes touched his arm quieting the man. She shaking her head no, “He is not my type. And besides that, he’s white.  You know how they love their stick figures.” She said as if the matter was closed. She shrugged again and went back to her food.  “But he’ll make a good co-parent.” She said twisting her lips up in thought. Their argument? Still bothered her.  She didn’t really know what to say.  Or for that matter why the idea of him being impotent even bother her at all.  She slumped a bit her mind working feverishly against what she deep down already knew. She had a crush on her baby’s daddy.    

Titus’ shoulder slumped, “Damn!” He said once she laid out the facts. “I could forgive him being white if he was hot but a regular degular white guy is unacceptable.  They often appreciate curves but only with the lights low.”  He sucked his teeth, then settled in and started eating.  He glanced at Mercedes noting that faraway look she always got whenever she was mulling something over, be it what color drapes to buy or when to dump a man. No matter what the look was always the same. “What’s that look about?

Mercedes sighed, “Nothing.” She said, “Tell me how David is doing?  I can’t believe he’s almost 18. You have to get him to tell you what he wants for graduation.”

Titus rolled his eyes, “What most teenage boys want. Tickets to the playboy mansion.” He said shaking his head, “I swear he tries to be super hetero- as a way to spite me. But you!” He snapped, “Stop changing the subject. What’s the matter with you?”

Mercedes giggled, but didn’t miss adding more food to her mouth. “Change.”  She said as if the word meant anything. “Changing and dealing with another person.  It’s trying.”

Titus squinted, “Tell me something I don’t know.” He sighed, “Wait…” His face contoured. “What is this about?”

“We, the baby’s daddy and I...“ Mercedes shook her head and took a bite of steamed cabbage.  “Let’s just say it’s hard getting to know people. Somethings were disclosed, and it’s made our interactions a little awkward.”

Titus laughed, “Your whole situation is awkward. And that’s what your ass gets.  Miss I’m going to make a test tube baby.” He said loudly, “Suck it up. And find a way through.” He said knowing full well how is friend operated. “That bundle of joy is coming and try as you might it isn’t going to get any easier. Hell, it’s not like you want to fuck him.” He said eating happily.

#Thread #Thread: Mercedes Jones #Thread: Titus Wilkerson #tHread: Lunch and Lies

[anotherfiveyears]

28: Love Of My Life

For two weeks, Dave diligently sat by Taylor's side. It was a blur of Anna and his mother coming and going from the room with food and coffee, and of tiny but important progressions in Taylor's recovery. A promising brain scan, a removed ventilator, a few twitches and hand squeezes that Dave definitely didn't imagine, they all resulted in one glorious morning when the doctors confirmed they would be waking Taylor up.

A flutter of eyelashes, then a pair of hazel eyes focusing and unfocusing on his face.

"Taylor," he choked out, tears streaming down his face in steady rivers. "Taylor... It's gonna be okay, man."

He groaned and tried to lift his head, completely disoriented and embarrassed by his helplessness. "Fuck off," he croaked.

Dave's face split into a wide smile and he dove across the bed to his best friend, kissing him firmly on the lips. Taylor weakly tried to shove him away, but Dave got what he wanted. That grin and that raspy, annoyed laugh lifted two weeks of stress and terror directly from his shoulders.

*

"Go, you asshole!" Taylor yelled and flung a plastic spoon full of green jello at Dave's head. "Go fucking eat something besides hospital food. We're starting to look like Iggy Pop and Mick Jagger."

Anna laughed from the doorway and Dave finally stood up from his bedside chair. "That would be a kick-ass collaboration and you fucking know it, Hawkins," he jabbed a finger at Taylor.

"We'll make it our life's work, then," Taylor yawned and settled back into his bed.

"We're just across the street, T. My number's on the board over there, just have the nurses call me if you need anything, okay?"

Taylor just rolled his back to them and waved his arm, effectively dismissing them.

"Let the poor guy sleep, David," Anna whispered.

"The love of my life's been sleeping for two fucking weeks! I missed him!" Dave didn't care what anyone thought anymore, he really had missed his best friend. He had been so close to death and he was so young, it had scared everyone around them into reevaluating their lives down to the very core.

"Go!" Taylor yelled again. "And bring me back something that isn't green," he added.

*

Dave and Anna waited for the elevator in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Now that Taylor was okay, Anna could go back home and Dave could resume his rock star life. There were a couple of girls back in the states that he had been talking to and he was busy trying to decide which one to call first when he realized Anna was waiting for him in the elevator.

"Something on your mind?" she asked when he slumped against the elevator wall.

"I haven't talked to Jordyn in like three weeks," he admitted. "It'll be a fucking miracle if she takes me back."

"Just explain what happened. I'm sure she'll understand."

The elevator doors slid open as Dave considered her words. Jordyn was quite a bit younger than them, she probably already moved on to someone new. The doors opened and they walked out onto the sidewalk when Dave was pulled from his thoughts long enough to register that Chris was calling his name.

"Hey, man! Is he up? Did they wake him up?" he asked eagerly, running up to him.

"Yeah," Dave felt his throat tighten and the tears threaten to return, he was just so fucking relieved that Taylor was going to be okay. "Yeah, he's up."

Chris dragged him into a tight embrace that lasted long enough to elicit an awkward chuckle as they both wiped the tears from their eyes. He glanced at Anna as she waited patiently, then realized she had never met Chris.

"Oh! Shit, sorry," Dave put his arm around Anna and brought her forward. "This is Anna. Anna, this is Chris."

"Hi," she said sweetly. "It's nice to finally meet you." In the two weeks they had been at the hospital, Anna and Chris had somehow never managed to cross paths.

"You too. I've heard so much about you," Chris shook her hand and pointedly looked at Dave.

Dave frowned a little, wondering if he was to blame for Chris hearing so much about Anna, then shook her shoulders a little. "We were just headed across the street for some dinner."

"You should come with!" Anna offered. "Taylor's napping anyways."

Chris looked between her and Dave, obviously trying to gauge if he was interrupting anything, but agreed when Dave flashed him a smile.

*

Anna and Chris stared wide-eyed over their beers as Dave devoured an almost obscene amount of pub food. He felt as if he hadn't eaten in two weeks, like he was in some sort of suspended animation waiting for Taylor to wake up. But that was all behind them now, now they could move forward.

"I know it's early yet, but do you guys have a plan for what's next?" Anna asked.

Dave and Chris looked at each other for a moment then shrugged. There weren't any plans, the shows were canceled with no obligation to make them up and they had an empty slate from then on out. Taylor still had a long road ahead of him, he needed to get healthy before Dave would even consider making another album, but he had some other offers to moonlight on friend's albums that he was seriously considering.

"The Gimmes want to make another album," Chris said quietly.

"Really?" Anna bounced a little on her chair, making Dave smile. She loved The Gimme Gimmes and it made Dave want to record more covers for their B sides.

"Yeah, you got any requests?" Chris asked.

Her grin practically lit up the entire pub as she rattled off her favorite songs. "... but even if you only do All My Loving, I'll be happy."

Chris laughed and nudged her with his elbow. "I'll call Joey in the morning. I'm gonna go smoke."

Once Dave and Anna were alone, she leaned close to Dave. "Hey," she nodded to the large wooden bar where several men were hunched over their after-work pints. "That guy keeps looking over here. Do you know him?"

Dave sat up straight and pretended to stretch his back, twisting his spine so he could get a good look at the man Anna was asking about. The moment he saw him, the edges of his vision tinged red and his blood ran ice cold. He felt Anna's hand on his and he turned to her. "Go get Shifty."

She didn't hesitate, just jumped up and hurried off towards the back of the bar while he tried to get a grip on his anger. Greg, that fucking roadie that had given Taylor a bad score, was sitting less than twenty feet away and all Dave wanted to do was murder him. Once he felt like he could make a coherent sentence, he stood and casually strolled over to the bar.

"Hey, man," he said smoothly, throwing down his credit card just in front of Greg for the bartender to swipe. "Haven't seen you in a couple weeks."

Greg shifted nervously on the wooden bar stool, looking everywhere but at Dave which was almost impossible with how close Dave was hovering over him. "Yeah, I had some family shit come up."

"Yeah?" Dave nodded and took his card back, shoving it back in his wallet. "We should go out back and catch up."

Surprisingly, Greg manned up and followed Dave to the alley where he lit a cigarette and lazily puffed on it, never taking his eyes off of his ex roadie. "So you almost killed my drummer."

Greg's head snapped up and his blue eyes looked terrified. "It's not my fucking fault he got greedy and slugged the entire thing into his arm."

On the surface, he appeared perfectly calm as he took a long drag and nodded his head, but beneath the facade, all control was gone. Dave suddenly lunged forward and shoved Greg as hard as he could against the brick wall. His head bounced, making a sickening crack before he crumped at Dave's feet. He pinched his cigarette between his lips and knelt over him, raining blows onto his former roadie's face while punctuating each one with words.

"You. Almost. Killed. My. Best. Fucking. Friend."

Greg was still trying to fight back, clumsily tearing at Dave's shirt, but never making any progress until the last thing Dave heard was a wooden chair splintering over his shoulders.

*

He heard her voice and felt her hands on his chest, "Come on, kitten. Come back to me."

He lay dazed on the cobblestones, his eyes focusing on her face and then the night sky beyond her. "What...?"

"You fought a junkie and his dirty fucking friends ganged up on you," she said bitterly, looking over her shoulder at something. "Can you stand?"

He tried to move, but his shoulders felt like they were detached from the rest of him and he groaned in pain.

"All right, hang on," she slipped her arms behind him and helped him up against the wall, then steadied him as he gradually made it to his feet.

"Fuck," he muttered, looking around at all the blood and broken wood on the ground.

"Yeah, you did a number on him," she replied and carefully put his arm around her shoulders. "There's a cab waiting for us."

"Where's Chris?" a sudden panic washed over him when he realized Chris was missing.

"He's... handling things elsewhere," she said quickly then began to walk him towards the street. "Hurry up."

Dave tried to look around for Chris, but Anna shoved him into the back of a black cab and slammed the door behind them.

The driver turned in his seat to face them. "If he bleeds on me seats you're going to have to pay, lass," he said, eyeing Dave like he was contagious.

"It's not his blood, man. Just drive," Anna snapped.

The drive seemed to take forever and every bump the cab went over sent shooting pains down Dave's arms and spine, making him gasp. Anna kept her arm around him, quietly reassuring them that they were getting close to the hotel.

When they finally locked his hotel room door behind them, she led him into the tiny bathroom and carefully pulled his shirt off so she could examine his back.  "Just a couple scrapes, but you're going to have one hell of a bruise in a few hours. You are so goddamn lucky your mother went home already."

He looked up into the mirror and winced at her pale face. "What did Greg look like?"

Anna was silent for a moment, then softly ran her fingers across his back making him shiver. "He'll be lucky to see in the morning," she whispered and slid herself between him and the counter. "Look at me." She held his cheek and studied his eyes, but she lingered a little too long for a simple concussion check.

His hands found her hips, holding her against him as he ignored the screaming in his shoulders. The quiet hotel room, her pulling him close and her eyes locked on his, it was too fucking much. He knew she was lonely; Aaron had been gone so much that she felt abandoned, but he couldn't be the one to initiate anything. He could never look Aaron in the eye again if he kissed her, but if Anna kissed him... that was a different story.  She brushed her lips against his and he felt her relax against his chest, deepening their kiss.

Everything he had held back for the past two years came flooding back. He had tried to pretend that he didn't still love her, but there wasn't any use in denying it anymore. Not when she had steadfastly been there for him during this ordeal with Taylor and especially now that she was pulling herself onto the counter and hooking her legs around him, it was all he could think about. Anna, I love you.

The moment the thought ran through his mind, she yanked away from him. Her hands splayed on his chest as she slipped off the countertop.

"Sorry," he whispered, stepping back from her.

"Yeah," she nodded, clearly freaked out by what had just happened. "Yeah, me too."

#anotherfiveyearsfic

[sending-the-message]

I Cannot Explain What I Witnessed in the Emergency Room by Rha3gar

I witnessed something in the emergency room that I cannot explain. I have not shared this with anyone until now.

I woke up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. Not an uncommon morning condition for my college days. I looked around the unfamiliar bedroom until I found my phone. It was 11 AM on Sunday. I sat on the edge of the bed and began to put my clothes on. I noticed I was not alone. My heart started to race as I attempted to recall the previous night's drunken events. To my relief, I recognized the girl next to me as one of my friends, as she rolled over in discomfort from the sunlight.

I grabbed my shoe, and started to put it on. Something was wrong. White-hot pain shot up my leg as the inside of the shoe made contact with my big toe. I winced as forced the Nike sneaker over my swollen foot. I threw my jacket on and made my way to the door. I immediately fell to the floor as soon as I put pressure on my right foot.

I heard a burst of laughter from the girl behind me.

"Still a little drunk, eh?"

I replied. "No my foot is killing me, I think something is wrong."

"What did you do to it? You were fine last night when you were running around downtown." She asked.

I recalled the memory of the previous day.

"Oh shit I was running? I got my big toenail removed because of that soccer injury from the intramural game. The doctor told me to take it easy. I must have not thought about it after I was drinking. My foot was still numb from the anesthetic."

Ouch! Well go home and take care of it!" She said.

I sighed, said goodbye, and left.

Being a dumb college kid, I limped home the entire 2 miles back to the shack my college roommates and I called "Home." I immediately sat down and started drinking to curb the hangover.

It wasn't until later that night someone decided to talk some sense into me. We had friends over, and one girl, who happened to be pre-med, noticed my limping.

"What's happened?" She asked.

"I had minor surgery on my foot, and it just hurts. I could barely put my shoe on this morning." I replied.

She got closer and looked at my leg.

"OH MY GOD! You need to go to the hospital! You see those red streaks running up your leg? That's blood poisoning!"

She grabbed my arm and rushed me to her car.

She was nice enough to drop me off at the front door of the ER. Half-drunk, I limped inside, and was immediately wheeled back to a room.

This began the strangest night of my life.

The ER of the university hospital was especially crowded. I was put into a room that was already occupied, with a plastic curtain separating me from the other patients. The occupants of the room caught my attention. There was an unconscious man on the other bed, stiff as a board, and drained of all color. Next to his bed was a woman, extremely thin, with a sunken face and tattered grey hair, and looked like she hadn’t slept in years. She sat frozen in her chair. Standing in front of the couple, was a tall male nurse, an EMT, and a police officer. The woman gazed forward with a blank stare as the cop spoke to her:

"Ma'am you need to tell us what your boyfriend took. He is going to die, but we may be able to save him if you just tell us. We want to hear it in ENGLISH. Can you do that!?"

The woman didn't respond.

The interrogating went on like that for a while, and the woman continued to stare forward with her unwavering gaze.

Finally, my nurse came in a began to hook up an IV to me. She spoke: "This should help with the infection... And will help sober you up a bit."

I looked at her, and she winked at me.

She leaned in a whispered to me, "Sorry about the patients next to us. Try and ignore them if you can."

She returned to a normal volume.

"The hospital is pretty crazy tonight, so the resident doctor wants me to work on getting this infection out of you foot. You’re lucky this didn't reach your lymph nodes. Sepsis is no joke. I am going to have to cut open your toe and drain the infection out. I'll numb you with a local anesthetic first."

I grimaced as she stuck the long needle into my toe.

"I'll be back in 15 minutes when you're numb." The nurse said as she left.

I looked out into the hall as she walked out. I noticed another police officer just outside, and he was talking with a priest. It was not uncommon to see priests around campus. The university was Catholic, but I found it strange that he were right outside my hospital room. The man on the bed next to me had not moved. Maybe he was going to die and they were going to read him his last rights? My heart was racing. I had never witnessed a death before.

I turned my gaze from the hall to the curtain next to me. Just behind it was the strange woman, but she was now staring directly at me with her dull grey eyes. I quickly turned away from her, I felt like her gaze went right through me as an icy shiver crept down my spine.

My nurse returned and started setting up her prep table. She sterilized her scalpel and my toe, and began cutting. I couldn't look, I am not very good with that sort of thing. Without thinking, I turned my head to the right again. The woman was still staring at me. As soon as our eyes met, I had the strangest vision. It was like I started day-dreaming, but it was so vivid. I imagined myself taking the scalpel, and stabbing my nurse with it over and over again. I imaged the sounds of her screams and the horrific bloody mess.

I yelled aloud. "No!"

I snapped out of the day-dream.

I was horrified with what I had just imagined. I was not a violent person at all, and had never even thought about anything that graphic in my life. My stomach began to turn with nausea.

Concerned with my outburst, the nurse asked me if I was okay. I told her I was, and she continued. I looked to my right again at the withered woman. She was still staring at me, but now, she was smiling an eerily wide smile. It was like she was amused at my discomfort. I turned away and decided not to look back.

The nurse finished, wrapped my foot, and told me she would be back later to check on me. As she left, some medical staff came in, and wheeled away the man who was on the bed. They had draped a sheet over his body.

The police officer and priest walked in, and closed the door. The priest gave me a slight nod as he walked by. I noticed my cross necklace was exposed though my hospital gown. The two men walked behind he curtain. I jumped in fright as soon as I heard it. The woman started hissing and screaming as soon as she saw the priest.

The police officer spoke: "Cut that out, or I will arrest you."

The priest interjected. "No need for that at the moment. Miss Bayer, my name is Father DiMarco."

I heard the woman spit.

He began speaking again. But this time it was in a different language. I hadn't been to church in a while, but some of the Latin caught my ear. I heard "Nomine." Which I know means name.

To my amazement, she responded. The words hissed though her at an incredible rate. She spoke in Latin, just as the priest had. When she stopped. The cop spoke:

“This is how she was talking when we found her father. What's she saying?"

The priest replied: "I need you to leave us. Take the boy."

The cop then walked over to me: “Let's get you to another room son. This woman has been through a lot tonight."

I was happy to leave. I just wanted to be out of there. I started to get out of my bed and climbed into my wheel chair.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as the woman spoke aloud, in English:

"Your mother misses you, David."

She then let out the most terrifying laugh I had ever heard. As the cop wheeled me out of the room I could hear her maniacal laughter trailing off behind me. My eyes welled up with tears as I reflected on two things:

First, my mother took her own life a few years ago.

Second, and even more disturbing, none of the medical staff in that room had said “David” aloud.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

[swanqueeneverafter]

32. Witch Hunt, Pt.5

Storybrooke. Present Day. Granny's Diner. (Leroy storms into the diner.) Leroy: “Big news, everybody. Emma found Regina. She was holed up in her office working on a potion.” Archie Hopper: “What kind of potion?” Happy: “Was she gonna hurt us?” Leroy: “A memory potion. Regina said she’s gonna use it to prove that she didn’t cast the curse.” Granny: “Like I’d drink anything she handed me.” Leroy: “Oh, somebody will. And if they remember we’ll know exactly who did this to us.” (Zelena quickly leaves the diner.) Storybrooke General Hospital. (Little John is taken to an emergency trauma room.) Nurse: “He’s bradycardic. BP dropping fast.” Dr. Whale: “What did this to him?” David: “We don’t know.” Nurse: (Realizing as Little John shakes violently:) “He’s going into shock.” Dr. Whale: “We need to sedate him. 15 mg of propofol.” (Dr. Whale tries to give Little John a shot. Little John continues to tremble violently and he begins growing a tail. As Dr. Whale attempts a second time, the tail lashes out hitting him. Lots of people take a blow from the tail.) Robin Hood: “John, John!” Hook: (Ducking:) “Bloody hell!” Robin Hood: “John!” (Little John transforms into a flying monkey.) David: “Okay, I didn’t see that coming. (The flying monkey takes a leap jumping through the window and disappears into the night:) What the hell was that thing?” Dr. Whale: “Don’t look at me. I’m a doctor not a vet.”

Outside The Mayor's Office. (Emma and Regina are on a stakeout, sitting in Emma's car and watching the house.) Regina: (Unimpressed, slightly bored:) “So, do we just sit here and wait?” Emma: (Nods:) “Until the person who cast the curse makes a move on your office.” Regina: “Is this... really what you do for a living?” Emma: “Yeah, it’s called a stakeout.” Regina: “And you don’t get bored?” Emma: “I don’t know. I find ways to pass time. Eat. Talk. Mostly watch, which is what we should be doing.” (Emma sips from her cup and Regina sits quietly for a moment.) Regina: “Does he have friends?” Emma: “Does who have friends?” Regina: “Henry. Does he have any friends in New York?” Emma: “Yeah, he’s got a lot of friends. No girlfriends, yet. At least not one I know about.” Regina: “So, he’s happy? His life is good there?” Emma: “Yeah. I almost didn’t come back because of that.” Regina: “Well, why did you?” Emma: “Because he may not remember all this but I do. And I know what he would say. A hero would come back.” Regina: (Smiles:) “He would say that.” Emma: “Are you sure you don’t want to meet him? We could just tell him you’re an old friend like Mary Margaret and David.” Regina: (Tears up, shakes her head:) “It would be too hard.” Emma: “I can’t imagine- (Emma notices a movement in the window of the house:) We got ‘em.”

The Mayor's Office. (Emma and Regina slowly sneak up to the office door.) Emma: “Are you sure whoever is in there can’t escape?” Regina: “I sealed the room with a blood lock. It can keep you out or it can keep you in. I know what I’m doing.” (Regina uses magic to open the door. The room is in a mess.) Emma: (Armed with a pistol:) “There. Don’t move!” Regina: “There’s nowhere for you to go.” (A hooded figure disappears in a cloud of green smoke.) Emma: “I thought you said they couldn’t do that.” Regina: “No one can break through blood magic. No matter how powerful they are.” Emma: “Then, who are we dealing with?” The Enchanted Forest. Past. One Year Ago. The Palace. (In the courtyard a burning fire fuels the protection spell. Regina magically absorbs the green flame.)

The Enchanted Forest. (Grumpy watches the palace from a distance. A green dome surrounding the castle slowly fades and then disappears entirely.) Grumpy: “It's down!” Prince Charming: (To the group:) “We move on the castle. Now.” The Palace. The Courtyard. (Regina sits down on a bench looking over the landscape.) Regina: “I’m sorry, Henry. Maybe one day you’ll find me and wake me up. But until then-” (She is about to prick her finger as the Wicked Witch approaches her from behind.) The Wicked Witch: “You weren’t even going to say hello first? It’s not exactly the welcome I was expecting. (Regina turns around:) What does a witch have to do to get your attention? (Using magic, she takes the needle from Regina’s hand:) What’s the matter? Has life got you down?” Regina: (Standing up:) “None of your business.” The Wicked Witch: “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Regina: “I know exactly who you are. The Wicked Witch.” The Wicked Witch: “Is that all?” Regina: “I’m not that interested.” (The Wicked Witch magically disposes of the hairpin.) The Wicked Witch: “Please, allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Zelena.” Regina: “That’s my dress.” The Wicked Witch: “I had to take it in a little bit at the hips but it looks better on me, don’t you think?” Regina: “I think, you should never have left Oz.” The Wicked Witch: “You can have your castle back if you want it that badly. I was just trying it on for size. Besides, I’ve already seen everything worth seeing. Your closet. Your gardens. Your crypt.” Regina: “Yes, how did you break the blood lock?” The Wicked Witch: “I didn’t.” Regina: “The door was open. No one’s that powerful.” The Wicked Witch: “Cora really never told you.” Regina: “Told me what?” The Wicked Witch: “The truth about us, Regina.” Regina: (Chuckles:) “What are you talking about? And, how do you know my mother?” The Wicked Witch: “Same way you do. (Leaning closer:) I’m your sister. Actually, half-sister. But, details, details.” Regina: “That’s not possible. You’re green.” The Wicked Witch: “And you’re rude. Cora had me first. Before she wormed her way into the dregs of royalty. Well, you know I’m telling the truth. How else could I have broken the door to the crypt? Our mother gave me up and sent me away. But you, you she kept. You she gave everything.” Regina: “Everything she wanted. If what you’re saying is true, then you were lucky to escape her.” The Wicked Witch: “Enough of the martyr complex, Regina. Try growing up without a mother. Try living in Oz knowing that no one thought you were good enough. Not your mother. And not the only man that our paths both crossed. Rumplestiltskin.” Regina: “You knew Rumplestiltskin?” The Wicked Witch: “Did you think you were his only student?” Regina: “Let me guess: You’re mad because he chose me to cast his curse. Well, get over it. It wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be.” The Wicked Witch: “Anything would have been better than the life I had. But, despite my shortcomings I made something of myself, dear. And I didn’t need Cora. Or Rumplestiltskin.”

Regina: “Well, it’s too bad they’re not around to see how well you’ve turned out. They’re both dead.” The Wicked Witch: “That’s alright. You’re the only one I need alive.” Regina: “Really? Why is that?” The Wicked Witch: “Because I’m going to take everything away from you.” Regina: “Too late. I’ve already lost everything that matters.” The Wicked Witch: “No, Regina. You haven’t lost anything yet.” Regina: “So, you are going to kill me?” The Wicked Witch: “No, it’s too easy. For me to get what I want I need you to suffer. You see, what’s in store for me is all my dreams being realized. But for you- Well, it’s a fate worse than death.” Regina: “Go ahead. Bring it, Greeny.” The Wicked Witch: “Indeed, I will. See you soon, sis.” (She summons her broomstick and leaves.) The Palace. Regina’s Chamber. (Regina returns to her chamber. She frees Robin Hood from her spell.) Robin Hood: “You didn’t go through with it.” Regina: (In a cheerful tone:) “You were right. The sleeping curse wasn’t the answer. As you said, I just needed to find something to live for.” Robin Hood: “And you found it? (Smiles:) What?” Regina: “The one thing I haven’t had in a very long time. Someone to destroy.” Storybrooke. Present Day. Blanchard Apartment. (Emma and Regina are about to enter.) Regina: “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Emma: “It’s gonna be fine. Trust me. (Emma opens the door and they enter. clearing throat:) Hey, how was your day?” Henry: “Good. Storybrooke is a weird place. But cool. Did you know there’s a library inside a clock tower.”

Emma: “I do. I’ve been there before. Come on, I want you to meet someone. This is Regina Mills. She’s the mayor of this town and she wanted to meet you.” Henry: “Is something wrong?” Regina: “No, no. No, nothing’s wrong. Your mother just told me a lot about you. I heard you like school and that you’re good at English.” Henry: “Yeah. Why did she tell you all this?” Regina: “Because she couldn't be prouder of you. While you’re in town I was thinking, maybe I can give you a tour sometime. You know, show you around. Maybe we can stop in for ice cream.” Henry: “Yeah, I’d like that. (Regina smiles:) So, it was nice meeting you.” (Regina takes a step towards Henry intending to embrace him. He offers her a hand. After a moment she shakes it. Henry turns and leaves to play his game.) Emma: “How was that? You okay?” Regina: (Nods:) “It was a start.” (David and Hook enter the apartment.) David: “We need to talk.” Emma: (Looking around, she notices Henry sitting on a sofa:) “Outside.” (The group leaves the room.)

Outside The Apartment. Mary Margaret: (Whispering:) “They’re being turned into flying monkeys?!” Hook: “Yes, he took a simian form with the added bonus of wings.” Mary Margaret: “Did you think this is what happened to the missing dwarves, too?” David: “It would explain why we haven’t found any trace of them.” Emma: “And Neal?” David: “No sign of him, either. So, yeah, it’s possible.” Emma: “Wouldn't be the first flying monkey I've dated.” Regina: “The person who escaped our trap disappeared in cloud of green smoke. And now there are flying monkeys in this town? I think we know exactly who cursed us.” Emma: “The Wicked Witch of the West? (Regina nods:) Seriously? She’s real, too?“ Hook: “Says the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.” Emma: “I don’t get it. It’s not like we’re in Kansas. Why would the Wicked Witch of the West wanna come to Storybrooke?” Storybrooke. Present Day. Zelena's Farmhouse. (Carrying a tray of food, Zelena walks to a storm cellar in the grounds. She uses magic to open the door and is then seen walking down a wooden staircase. She places the tray in front of a cage.) Zelena: “Hungry?” (A hand grabs her arm before she’s able to turn away.) Mr. Gold: “You never should have brought me back.” Zelena: (Smiles, kicking the tray so that he can reach it:) “Eat up. We’ve got work to do.” (Zelena exits.) Mr. Gold: (Picking up a bowl of rice:) “You feed the madness and it feeds on you. (Turning the bowl in his hands:) You feed the madness and it feeds on you. You feed the madness and it feeds on you.” (Mr. Gold giggles. Using his fingers, he finally starts to eat.)

The End.

#sq #swanqueen #Swan Queen

[ecotone99]

[SF] The first chapter of a potential book that I submitted as an assignment for Science Fiction at school. It involves the Trump Monument, Nuclear War, and a human thought experiment to preserve humanity. Let me know what you think!

-1-

It was a cold November morning in Washington, D.C. The sun had yet to peek over the Trump Monument, the tallest point in the capitol since 2020. In fact, the sun hardly covered more than half the city at a time because it was usually blocked by what some might call a ‘pinnacle of engineering aptitude.’ The monument appeared nearly identical to that of the Washington Monument, but after the demolition of the latter, for what congress called “something much better”, the Trump Monument now towered at 2,500 feet from the ground, and covered a span of nearly 5 blocks. According to the history books, the monument was originally erected as a “tribute to the greatness of this country”, proclaimed by then president Donald Trump, although to the wise it may stand as a symbol of oppression; keeping those deemed lesser in the shadow of those deemed greater, only for the lesser to be inevitably crushed by (possibly quite literally) their tribute to greatness in the end. Each year, this fate became seemingly more certain to those who know it, but as money filled the pockets of the capitalists in their endeavors, accepting ignorance in exchange for giving up morality and aptitude, the care for the matter seemed less and less urgent. Those outside of the government were too concerned for their wallets to be concerned about the world outside of business. The year is now 2051, and the government that has worked so hard to plug the holes in their sinking ship of debt has reached the brink of global nuclear war. The air carried a cloud of doubt, that these men and women that were soon to arrive at the downtown hover-rail station might change the fate of all those around them.

As the train neared the city, the only lights that could be seen through the thicket of bramble and fog were that of the capitol, since, as of early last year, all federal employees have begun working rotating shifts 24-hours a day to maximize profit, including weekends, typing furiously at computer screens to the point of callous, trying to prolong the inevitable for just a couple more days, a couple more days—And each day, they typed a little faster, a little faster, sending and receiving international transactions until you could barely see their fingers yet but a blur of flesh and skin and bone across each key in each fell swoop, until they would return home each night, armpits damp from anxiety, twiddling their fingers endlessly as they typed away into their dreams, never sleeping but never awake, but always working, for there was always more work to be done.

The magnetic brakes kicked on automatically as the train hovered down the rails to the final station, quickly but gently slowing down the behemoth. An unsecured brown leather backpack fell from a faulty overhead compartment onto the head of a younger woman.

“Ouch! Whose stinking bag is this?”

“Sorry about that, looks like I didn’t pack in my luggage good enough. Are you okay?” John picked his bag up off the pristine floor of the luxury train cab and carefully secured each arm through the shoulder straps. his cheeks swelled and reddened from embarrassment. Elevator music played in the background.

“Whatever, you’re lucky I don’t have that money yet or I would have sued your ass.” The woman looked at him, annoyed, before turning her back to him and departing from the awkward conversation. People are too sensitive these days, John thought. He wasn’t going to let one sour encounter ruin his day, however, for as she reaffirmed, there was a lot of money to be earned from this little week-long endeavor, whether they wanted to be there or not.

These 100 men and women, all of which were from diverse backgrounds, cultures, educations, and wealth, were all there for the same job inquiry—they had all received hand-delivered letters to their front doors by men in black suits and sunglasses, bearing official U.S. badges representing their affiliation with the US Department of Future Security, a military agency that focuses on protecting the United States from any and all future terrorist and domestic threats. Each delivered envelope contained the same message, which reads as follows:

IMPORTANT NOTICE

Dear (insert name),

You are hereby ordered to report for induction into a 7-day testing program at your nearest UNITED STATES FUTURE DEFENSE facility. Transportation will be provided to and from the facility. Be prepared for pickup by FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11 @ 5:00 AM at your residence.

$50,000 USD will be electronically transferred to your E-Wallet upon completion of the program as reimbursement for lost time.

Willful failure to report at the place and hour of the day named in this Order subjects the violator to fine and imprisonment. Bring this Order with you when you report.

Your country thanks you for your service.

David Koehl, Overseer of U.S. Future Defense

The doors of the train cab slid open with a long, hydraulic breath. The men and women aboard the train, all clenching their envelopes and anxious to finally stretch their legs, slowly and clumsily made their way out of the only couple doors available, and per instruction of a nearby official from the Future Defense Department, lined up: men on the left, women on the right, until they were left with two perfect rows of 50 men and 50 women. The official checked each person’s papers before a Greyhound arrived shortly for each line to provide the remaining transportation to the facility, although the personal space proved to be inconsistent with the luxury accommodations provided by the hover-train, and people were finally forced to small-talk with each other, something that has become outdated in modern society, and is generally avoided.

“What do you think they’ll be testing us over?” whispered someone in the back.

“I don’t know,” replied another, “but the sooner this is over and I get my money, the better.” There was a long silence before someone spoke again.

“…Do you think it’s gonna hurt?”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“So then why won’t they tell us what we’re—"

“Just shut up and be glad you’re getting paid!”

The Greyhound was silent the remainder of the way to the facility. The Future Defense Building was located on the very edge of the city, down a mile and a half of gravel back roads and through three electric barbed-wire fences with security checkpoints, each more thorough than the previous, until finally arriving at the underwhelming front driveway of the two-story Future Defense Building in what seemed like the middle of the swamp. It looked like a crumb on the crust of the earth compared to the mighty Trump Monument, and this was most people’s immediate observation. How ugly, this building! Only two stories? Pfft! My vacation home is probably worth more than this whole facility…

The two groups of fifty were escorted by men in their full military uniforms from the Greyhound up to the main entrance of the Future Defense Building. John was near the back of the line, pondering this operation that was about to unfold in the coming days. The group of women were immediately separated from the men and led around the back of the building, while the men were led through the front doors. Coming from the outdoors where it was much darker outside, most men in the group grunted and groaned as they were temporarily blinded by the white fluorescent lamps that composed the majority of the ceiling in the facility. The air was warmer than outside, but smelled of sterility and latex gloves.

An older looking doctor in all-white scrubs with only a single wisp of grey hair covering his shiny head popped out of a side door in the lobby to greet his subjects.

“Good morning everybody. We are thankful for your safe arrival!” began the doctor, “I am Doctor Mayflower, head of the E.D.E.N, project, Short for the Extended Deep Equilibrium Network. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so let me try and explain some things.” Doctor Mayflower reached into his lab coat pocket, withdrawing a tiny micro-chip, and held it for everybody to see. “At E.D.E.N, we’ve been perfecting the science of recording data. Not computer data, but rather, biological data. That is, the data that each and every one of you carry up here.” Mayflower tapped his index finger on the side of his head. “As many of you may know, our country has been on the brink of war for quite some time.” They did not know. The quiet hush of the crowd was replaced with panicked whispers and faces. “Oh, you aren’t aware? Well.” He cleared his throat. “See, nature is a cat-and-mouse game of survival of the fittest; Humans are bred to survive, and adapted over generations to catch each and every mouse, and prove time and time again his dominance over nature until there was nothing left to dominate. But as arrogant as humans are and always have been, we will time and time again neglect to realize that the greatest enemy to man is himself. The apex predator. The only difference this time is that we jingle the very keys to the atomic ending of life as we know it, and do so as if attempting to entertain a child.”

“We aren’t at war, we paid our debts!” blurted out someone from the crowd, believing what the doctor said to be borderline hysterical.

“Allow me to continue, please,” proclaimed Mayflower. “The government has exhausted its options for peace negotiations. If money is truly god, then god will not save us now. E.D.E.N. is our only escape.” The crowd became silent. Mayflower took a long pause, allowing his subjects to absorb everything he just said. After a moment, he began again. “Clear your mind and stay with me for a second. I would like to demonstrate a mental exercise.” He did not begin until the entire group was at his attention. “When I say the word ‘tree’, I want you to close your eyes and imagine the first image that comes to mind. Study that image in your head closely, but don’t overthink it.” John closed his eyes, and imagined a gnarled and ancient oak tree in a corn field. It was the very one that he used to swing from as a child. “Now,” said the Doctor, “I want you to imagine the first thing that comes to mind when I say the word ‘home.’” John did not picture his home where he currently lived, but envisioned the home where he grew up—a small farm house with a tin roof and vines creeping up the ancient oak siding. This image brought a smile to his face, if only long enough to have his fantasy interrupted by the doctor once more. “Okay. Lastly, I want you to think about the tree again.” The crowd stirred restlessly, not really seeing the point in this exercise. John followed the instructions and thought about the tree again, however, and pictured the same old oak tree in the field. “Now, I’ll bet money that the image of the tree you saw the first and second time are the same tree, yes? And if you think of ‘home’ once more, you will see the same image of home that you first imagined?” The men all looked at each other as if the doctor had read their minds without even needing to hook them to equipment. “This is because the human mind accesses memories using what we like to call ‘triggers.’ When I say a certain keyword, your first image that comes to mind of that word will always be the same. Because of this phenomenon, we have coined these as static memories, and have made possibly the most important discovery in human history, the ability to read and download thoughts. Since these memories don’t change, they have no risk of a deviation of outcome, and can be safely stored on these chips. Have you ever tried to store abstract thought on a computer chip? Well, it’s quite an impossibility. We have to have real, tangible data or the entire system is buggered.”

“Why do you want to read our thoughts?” someone cried out.

“What, do you have something to hide?” joked another.

Mayflower ignored these comments. “For the past 5 years, we have been working on a super-computer of sorts. Imagine a perfect reality, composed off all of the puzzle pieces of society, government, weather, and economy. Every man, woman, and child are as real and tangible as in this room right now, but there are no longer any possible threats to our existence as a species. No more wars, no more violence, no more aging. Perfect harmony. Equilibrium.” The crowd became suddenly more interested in what the Doctor had to say. “When the bombs fall, there won’t be anything left if we don’t prepare for it. So, we’ve created what we like to call the Extended Deep Equilibrium Network. A virtual reality held on a central computer here at the facility that houses the very thoughts and memories of the human race in order to construct the most perfect and accurate simulation of our reality possible. That is, after we take out all of the harmful or bad memories beforehand. That’s why we need each of you—You all have been selected as the basis for simulated human life. We have set up a state-of-the-art augmented reality chamber where the participants will re-experience static memories the exact way they remember them. Touch, smell, sound, sight, and even taste will remain intact. This is the only safe and efficient way which we’ve learned to collect these memories onto our chips. All of you standing here before me today might very well be pioneering the very fate of the human race as we know it. If and when the bombs drop, we will be prepared to house up to 500,000 Americans in state-of-the-art stasis chambers miles under this very spot. Finally, After the earth’s crust is blown to bits, we will be safe and sound, living indefinitely in the paradise known as E.D.E.N.”

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Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Sue Hardy Dawson

is a poet & illustrator. Her debut collection, ‘Where Zebras Go’, was shortlisted for the 2018 CLiPPA prize. Sue’s poems and teaching resources can be found on the CLPE website. Her second, ‘Apes to Zebras’ co-written with poetry ambassadors, Roger Stevens and Liz Brownlee won the North Somerset Teachers Book Awards. Sue has a First Class Honours Degree. Sue loves to visit schools and he has worked with the Prince of Wales Foundation, ‘Children and the Arts. As a dyslexic poet, she loves encouraging reluctant readers and writers.  Her new solo collection, If I Were Other Than Myself is due out with Troika, February 2020. Look for her on Twitter @SueHardyDawson, Facebook, Poet Sue Hardy-Dawson https://www.facebook.com/poetsinschools clpe.org.uk/poetryline/poets/hardy-dawson-sue Book her with Authors Abroad https://www.authorsabroad.com/search-authors/sue-hardy-dawson

The Interview

1. What and who inspired you to write poetry?

When I was a small girl my father used to march around the bedroom reciting poetry. He grew up during the infancy of accessible radio and most people had, a party piece back then. He actually had a rather wonderful singing voice as well, but he had a way of sort of acting out the poems. He was a great fan of AA Milne and would do the Kings Breakfast and The Dormouse and the Doctor. He knew by heart great long stretches of Hiawatha and the rhythms and repetition, exquisitely crafted language I loved. He would do the Highway Man, The Green Eyed Yellow Idle, Night Mail and the now somewhat none PC Cargoes with its cargo of ivory. However I loved to listen to his voice and his enthusiasm was infectious. Of course I didn’t understand all of the words but I was mesmerised by them. I wrote a kind of tribute to Auden’s Night Mail, you can find it in Where Zebras Go.

Like myself my father was dyslexic, though I didn’t know until after I was diagnosed aged 16. He was an extremely well read man but deeply embarrassed by what he couldn’t do. I didn’t particularly enjoy school either, though like my dad an avid reader, I struggled to spell legibly and had terrible handwriting. Dyslexia was largely unheard of and little understood then. I enjoyed art though and had a vivid imagination. When I was about 8 faced with the dreaded task of writing holiday postcards I wrote a little poem. It seemed to please everyone and was something I seemed to be quite good at. When my Nana died many years later, she still had that poem in her bedside drawer.

But in the meanwhile I became disillusioned, fearful even of writing, the sheer effort of it and when I left school I didn’t write for many years. Then fate intervened I had children and I started writing poems and stories just for them. Next one of them was diagnosed with dyslexia and dyspraxia and kicked off big style, they didn’t want to be stupid like me. Computers were in fact my saviours, when I first saw one it had to be filled with binary codes, not very dyslexia friendly, but suddenly I was helping a reception class and four-year-olds were using them. I learned and went on to do a degree and yes began to send poems out.  I went to a library event and Nick Toczek put two of my poems into a Macmillan Collection, Toothpaste Trouble, 2002, my first step. It would be 14 years before I got my first collection accepted. Poetry lists for children died and came back again during that time and it was essentially an apprenticeship. Yet I don’t regret it, I think my poems grew as did my family. It was the right time for me.

2. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

When I was 14 in an English lesson I first discovered Ted Hughes, his poems were quite different to the ballad style poems my dad recited. I was struck particularly by ‘The Thought Fox’, it was as if he saw into my head. The best poetry, however simple or complex reaches out to a common experience and shows it in a different way. I think then was the first time I had actually thought about poets being people who wrote, that I might write poems. It changed my view of what a poem was and I felt I need to read as much of it as I could, to experience its constantly evolving form. From Hughes and those before him right back to 16 century and forward to the Mersey Sound, Kay, Duffy and too many to mention I absorbed them.

Many years later and two collections later, I found to my delight that I was in an anthology called A Poem For Every Night of the Year,  with Ted Hughes’s Thought Fox, still one of the most exciting things I have ever achieved.

Here also I owe a great debt older wiser poets, children’s poets, well at least those I have had the pleasure of knowing, are wonderfully kind and generous people. I have had lots of support and encouragement. I met Roger Stevens some years back and through him, Liz Brownlee, Gerard and Cathy Benson, Rachel Rooney, Jan Dean, Michaela Morgan and many, many other wonderful poets. I feel so very lucky and at first was more than a bit star-struck, poets whom I had read for years, I felt like a child at a grownups’ party. But though we span the country the internet means we can stay in touch, because writing is essentially a lonely business.

3. What is your daily writing routine?

On a writing day I like the first few quiet hours, I will take those thoughts once formed out for a dog walk, do admin on my return. Then late at night when the house quietens again I will work on until I feel my brain is too sleepy. I find that things become clearer if you put them away for a few days. So I’m always on with multiple things. If I get a block I read through old notebooks until something comes. A deadline has a great capacity to focus the mind. Essentiality, though, a good idea can arrive at any time, so I have paper pens, phone, notebook, Dictaphone always. I have a bad memory so if I lose the first line it’s lost forever. But if I scribble that even on my hand the rest will return.

4. What motivates you to write?

Everything and anything, I need to write or I feel quite lost, even if it’s not working out as I’d hoped I need to try every day. Sometimes though the best days something flies into your head and you just feel it has wings, it might obsess you for days and that for me is the best feeling, the constant surprise of not knowing quite where you are going but that it is worth the search.

5. What is your work ethic?

I write something every day, even if I don’t think it’s good, because without words on the page you have nothing to craft to work on. Sometimes a line is just shorthand for where you are going so it’s a case of don’t think too hard about good or bad just write. I will spend days, weeks or even occasionally years crafting and changing bits, for me that is the joy, the shaping and smoothing.

6. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I think immensely, first you must know what has been before so you don’t write it again, or at least provide a new way of looking at it. I think whatever you write you must read because there is no substitute for reading if you are a writer. I read once for pleasure and closer to see why it is wonderful or in some cases terrible. I unpick why and that informs my writing process. Not that I think about any of this when I’m actually writing. Writing is a bit like diving into a pool, you can control the way you leave the ground, but how you land and the bit in the middle is free falling.

7. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I have very diverse tastes in writing, for poetry, apart from all of the above I love, Pie Corbett, Philip Gross, John Foster, Joseph Coelho, Roger McGough and not exclusively Billy Collins. Literature, David Almond, Andrea Levy, Lucy Waters I could go on for pages.

Why I like writing that transports me, I love poetic prose, essentially if I read something and aspire not to recreate it but to write as well then I love it with a passion.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

Well, because I can’t stop, in a way. I do have other things that I do but nothing that fulfils me in quite the same way. I also paint and illustrate though so I have times when those things take over, but even so I have to stop every couple of days just to write something or it gnaws at me and I can’t concentrate.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

I would say that we are all writers, but write what is inside yourself. Read as much as you can and not just what you think you like, writing that is bad can tell you as much about process as good writing. Write something every day even when you feel like you don’t have anything to say. Read what you write to others, draft and redraft, keep going. Write for the pleasure it gives you and because you can’t help it. If it gives you no pleasure you probably should do something else. Being a writer is a tough life because inevitably you need a thick skin. I thought when I got my first book out how wonderful, then a second later what if no one likes it? It’s not easy but if you try and keep going it’s possible even for someone like me who finds manual writing difficult.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Well some things are still top secret, however, I have a new book due out February 2020 with Troika Books, ‘If I were Other Than Myself’, I have done all of the illustrations and I am very excited about it.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Sue Hardy-Dawson Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[becomewhatyouare]

The Moral Peril of Meritocracy

Our individualistic culture inflames the ego and numbs the spirit. Failure teaches us who we are

By David Brooks

Mr. Brooks is an Opinion columnist. This essay is adapted from his forthcoming book, “The Second Mountain: The Quest for a Moral Life.”

April 6, 2019

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CreditAntoine Maillard



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CreditCreditAntoine Maillard

Many of the people I admire lead lives that have a two-mountain shape. They got out of school, began their career, started a family and identified the mountain they thought they were meant to climb — I’m going to be an entrepreneur, a doctor, a cop. They did the things society encourages us to do, like make a mark, become successful, buy a home, raise a family, pursue happiness.

People on the first mountain spend a lot of time on reputation management. They ask: What do people think of me? Where do I rank? They’re trying to win the victories the ego enjoys.

These hustling years are also powerfully shaped by our individualistic and meritocratic culture. People operate under this assumption: I can make myself happy. If I achieve excellence, lose more weight, follow this self-improvement technique, fulfillment will follow.

But in the lives of the people I’m talking about — the ones I really admire — something happened that interrupted the linear existence they had imagined for themselves. Something happened that exposed the problem with living according to individualistic, meritocratic values.

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Some of them achieved success and found it unsatisfying. They figured there must be more to life, some higher purpose. Others failed. They lost their job or endured some scandal. Suddenly they were falling, not climbing, and their whole identity was in peril. Yet another group of people got hit sideways by something that wasn’t part of the original plan. They had a cancer scare or suffered the loss of a child. These tragedies made the first-mountain victories seem, well, not so important.

Life had thrown them into the valley, as it throws most of us into the valley at one point or another. They were suffering and adrift.

Some people are broken by this kind of pain and grief. They seem to get smaller and more afraid, and never recover. They get angry, resentful and tribal.

But other people are broken open. The theologian Paul Tillich wrote that suffering upends the normal patterns of life and reminds you that you are not who you thought you were. The basement of your soul is much deeper than you knew. Some people look into the hidden depths of themselves and they realize that success won’t fill those spaces. Only a spiritual life and unconditional love from family and friends will do. They realize how lucky they are. They are down in the valley, but their health is O.K.; they’re not financially destroyed; they’re about to be dragged on an adventure that will leave them transformed.

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They realize that while our educational system generally prepares us for climbing this or that mountain, your life is actually defined by how you make use of your moment of greatest adversity.

So how does moral renewal happen? How do you move from a life based on bad values to a life based on better ones?

First, there has to be a period of solitude, in the wilderness, where self-reflection can occur.

“What happens when a ‘gifted child’ findshimself in a wilderness where he’s stripped away of any way of proving his worth?” Belden Lane asks in “Backpacking With the Saints.” What happens where there is no audience, nothing he can achieve? He crumbles. The ego dissolves. “Only then is he able to be loved.”

That’s the key point here. The self-centered voice of the ego has to be quieted before a person is capable of freely giving and receiving love.

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Then there is contact with the heart and soul — through prayer, meditation, writing, whatever it is that puts you in contact with your deepest desires.

“In the deeps are the violence and terror of which psychology has warned us,” Annie Dillard writes in “Teaching a Stone to Talk.” “But if you ride these monsters deeper down, if you drop with them farther over the world’s rim, you find what our sciences cannot locate or name, the substrate, the ocean or matrix or ether which buoys the rest, which gives goodness its power for good, and evil its power for evil, the unified field: our complex and inexplicable caring for each other.”

In the wilderness the desire for esteem is stripped away and bigger desires are made visible: the desires of the heart (to live in loving connection with others) and the desires of the soul (the yearning to serve some transcendent ideal and to be sanctified by that service).

When people are broken open in this way, they are more sensitive to the pains and joys of the world. They realize: Oh, that first mountain wasn’t my mountain. I am ready for a larger journey.

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Some people radically change their lives at this point. They quit corporate jobs and teach elementary school. They dedicate themselves to some social or political cause. I know a woman whose son committed suicide. She says that the scared, self-conscious woman she used to be died with him. She found her voice and helps families in crisis. I recently met a guy who used to be a banker. That failed to satisfy, and now he helps men coming out of prison. I once corresponded with a man from Australia who lost his wife, a tragedy that occasioned a period of reflection. He wrote, “I feel almost guilty about how significant my own growth has been as a result of my wife’s death.”

Perhaps most of the people who have emerged from a setback stay in their same jobs, with their same lives, but they are different. It’s not about self anymore; it’s about relation, it’s about the giving yourself away. Their joy is in seeing others shine.

In their book “Practical Wisdom,” Barry Schwartz and Kenneth Sharpe tell the story of a hospital janitor named Luke. In Luke’s hospital there was a young man who’d gotten into a fight and was now in a permanent coma. The young man’s father sat with him every day in silent vigil, and every day Luke cleaned the room. But one day the father was out for a smoke when Luke cleaned it.

Later that afternoon, the father found Luke and snapped at him for not cleaning the room. The first-mountain response is to see your job as cleaning rooms. Luke could have snapped back: I did clean the room. You were out smoking. The second-mountain response is to see your job as serving patients and their families. In that case you’d go back in the room and clean it again, so that the father could have the comfort of seeing you do it. And that’s what Luke did.

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If the first mountain is about building up the ego and defining the self, the second is about shedding the ego and dissolving the self. If the first mountain is about acquisition, the second mountain is about contribution.

On the first mountain, personal freedom is celebrated — keeping your options open, absence of restraint. But the perfectly free life is the unattached and unremembered life. Freedom is not an ocean you want to swim in; it is a river you want to cross so that you can plant yourself on the other side.

So the person on the second mountain is making commitments. People who have made a commitment to a town, a person, an institution or a cause have cast their lot and burned the bridges behind them. They have made a promise without expecting a return. They are all in.

I can now usually recognize first- and second-mountain people. The former have an ultimate allegiance to self; the latter have an ultimate allegiance to some commitment. I can recognize first- and second-mountain organizations too. In some organizations, people are there to serve their individual self-interests — draw a salary. But other organizations demand that you surrender to a shared cause and so change your very identity. You become a Marine, a Morehouse Man.

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I’ve been describing moral renewal in personal terms, but of course whole societies and cultures can swap bad values for better ones. I think we all realize that the hatred, fragmentation and disconnection in our society is not just a political problem. It stems from some moral and spiritual crisis.

We don’t treat one another well. And the truth is that 60 years of a hyper-individualistic first-mountain culture have weakened the bonds between people. They’ve dissolved the shared moral cultures that used to restrain capitalism and the meritocracy.

Over the past few decades the individual, the self, has been at the center. The second-mountain people are leading us toward a culture that puts relationships at the center. They ask us to measure our lives by the quality of our attachments, to see that life is a qualitative endeavor, not a quantitative one. They ask us to see others at their full depths, and not just as a stereotype, and to have the courage to lead with vulnerability. These second-mountain people are leading us into a new culture. Culture change happens when a small group of people find a better way to live and the rest of us copy them. These second-mountain people have found it.

Their moral revolution points us toward a different goal. On the first mountain we shoot for happiness, but on the second mountain we are rewarded with joy. What’s the difference? Happiness involves a victory for the self. It happens as we move toward our goals. You get a promotion. You have a delicious meal.

Joy involves the transcendence of self. When you’re on the second mountain, you realize we aim too low. We compete to get near a little sunlamp, but if we lived differently, we could feel the glow of real sunshine. On the second mountain you see that happiness is good, but joy is better.

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David Brooks has been a columnist with The Times since 2003. He is the author of “The Road to Character” and the forthcoming book, “The Second Mountain.” @nytdavidbrooks