#this is house getting an epiphany about “as straight as any of you” patient

[thankstothe]

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #screencap #s06e19 “The Choice” #rare sighting of house not immediately denouncing change #love it when they go at each other like this #and then house leaves in the middle #and if you were wondering yes #this is house getting an epiphany about “as straight as any of you” patient #wilson girl you were so winning tho

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 7

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

I’m sorry for this chapter being shorter than normal, but it is more of a transitional chapter to set up some new stuff! I’m trying a new writing style in this chapter and this is why the word count is shorter. I’m nervous about posting this chapter honestly, since I tried something different. The following chapters will be back up to 3.5-4k as usual! This story is not over! 

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

Address mentioned is completely made up. 

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six

Lee never stopped telling you how much he loved you. At first, you had thought it was a spur of the moment exclamation but you were mistaken. When you realized he meant it, you reciprocated telling him you loved him too, making him the happiest man in the world. It all happened so fast, and your relationship was evolving quickly.

Maybe living together played a factor in how quickly the relationship progressed. It’s hard to just be dating someone you already live with and can’t take out on proper dates. It made everything else happen faster. He wished he could spoil you and take you to restaurants and walk into a room with you on his arm, but he couldn’t yet.

But from that moment on, he never stopped telling you. He said the phrase probably every moment he could manage. Every time he called from his office; he wouldn’t hang up without muttering the phrase. He’d tell you that he loved you before he left the house, or he’d just announce it unprompted when you both were home together, like it was some epiphany or declaration. He’d love to whisper it to you, especially at night with you pulled tightly to his chest.

He made sure he’d tell you in nonverbal ways as well, always letting you know he was thinking about you. Somehow, you’d end up with flowers on your desk at work at least once a week as well, never with a card. He’d cook, and on his days off, he’d spend them with you or he would surprise you by fixing things on the house. Never in a million years had you ever expected Lee Bodecker to be such a romantic, and when you’d joke about it, he’d say,

“You give me a reason to be, doll.”

It was thrilling, having someone to love and to have those feelings reciprocated. The ability to just be able to give and receive love was something he was never able to manage, perhaps it was just never the right person, or perhaps he had always been too selfish.

Now for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t thinking about himself.

You gave him purpose and something worth fighting for.

“When this whole thing is over and we’re out of this town, I’m gonna marry you,” he said rubbing your arm as you lay in bed cuddled up to his side. You lay your arm across his tummy and rest your head on his chest. You hum in agreement, resting your eyes, both of you waking up earlier than you needed and you were enjoying the peaceful moment of the morning together.

“I hate seeing you with that Russel kid,” he’ll mutter, possessively pulling you closer, you could feel the vulnerability in his voice.

The past weeks have been really hard on Lee. It bothered him more and more each day, knowing Arvin was the one who got to drive you home from work and just being out and about with you. He knew you were his, and he never didn’t trust you. But you were so blind to the boy’s obvious feelings for you. It was something that would eat at him at night.

He couldn’t even blame you, if Arvin was able to sweep you away from him. Arvin was a good kid- took care of his family, worked a decent job, went to Church, and he was your age. He was much better looking in the traditional sense than Lee as well. Plus, you had a history. The boy was your first love and no one forgets their first love.

He knew you didn’t look at Arvin the same way Arvin looked at you, but he was always worried that a shift could come. If that damned reporter wouldn’t leave town and the more time you spent with Arvin, the more you’d see how much you’d actually want to be with him instead. You always told Lee he was the one you wanted and he believed you, but he worried that you would change your mind. He was so insecure, and he felt guilt, and he knew that he didn’t deserve to be happy, that he didn’t deserve your affection.

Sometimes he couldn’t let himself relax. Scenarios of all the different reasons you could leave him for polluted his mind and he hated how it took him out of being in the moments he just wanted to enjoy. He’d see you in his mind, happy with Arvin, marrying him instead and creating all those experiences with Arvin instead of him.

“He’s just my friend,” you reiterate, probably now for the millionth time. You were patient, and it never seemed to bother you, that the two of you ending up having this same conversation over and over. He needed the constant reassurance, and he hated the fact that he did.

“I want you, Lee,” you’ll mumble affectionately, trying to shower him with compliments and praise, to lift him up when he got down like this. “I don’t want any other man,” you’d affirm.

“This town is poison,” Lee mutters, looking out the window, the blinds pulled back as the sun is steadily rising. “Everything feels like it’s tainted,” he observes.

“Except us,” you correct him. He nods, but he knows his statement especially applies to him.

“Except you,” he sighs, his fingertips tracing circles on your bare shoulder.

“You don’t think you’ve ruined me, Sheriff?” you tease, making him smile, gradually pulling him out of his state. You’d lean up and kiss him, and the sensation would help his thoughts fade away for a few minutes. The feeling of your lips and soft skin against his own just putting his mind at ease, using his other senses to just keep his mind at bay.

He’s not sure if you realize how much he means it when he talks about escaping away from the town and marrying you. He thought about it all the time and it was what he was working toward. He knew even if he managed to go straight, if when Curtis left town, if the case around your mom was resolved, the town would still eat you up. The image of you both would be sullied. Reputation was crucial for survival in a town like this. You’d already been subjected to it before your relationship started.

He knew the solution was simple. He needed to take you away from Ross County, move to a new town where no one knew you both. It would just be a Sheriff and his new bride looking for a place to settle down. No rumors, or peeping eyes, or reporters, or exes, no corruption- just the two of you. Get a house, maybe start a family if you wanted that too.

He hoped you did. He’d be content either way, but he wanted a big family. His growing up was much less than ideal and it was just him and his sister. He loved the idea of a bigger family. He loved the image of having a house that was loud in a different way than what he grew up in. He often worried if he’d be a good father, but he never once doubted how excellent of a mother you would be if you wanted.

The only thing he wanted in his future was you, and everything else would be a blissful bonus of things he also doesn’t deserve. But to him you deserved the world and he simultaneously wanted to give you everything but then at the same time he felt like he would hold you back. You were young and had so many good years ahead of you. He couldn’t imagine you’d want to waste the rest of your life or even the rest of your twenties with him.  

You could get a job doing anything you wanted and he could run for Sheriff in the new town maybe, or he could do something else. It didn’t matter to him anymore really. The time he’s been with you has really helped him see what is actually important. It was the only thing he wanted. He wanted to be able to give you that because he knew that you deserved it and more than he’d ever be able to give you.

Laying in bed with you on this lazy morning, reminded him of the last time he was there when you were still bartending. It was the first time that pesky day dream of his started. It was something a lot bigger now than it was then. He loved you, and he was relieved he could say it to you now, and he wanted to settle down. This backwards way the two of you got together was a mess but it was yours. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, but he knew he needed to make things right.

He had been so blind, for so long, and he finally started to feel like he could be someone he actually wanted to be.

All he needed was time and he could set it all straight.

***

Arrest of Pimp in Knockemstiff, Ohio Reveals Corruption of Town Sheriff

By: Henry Curtis

Sheriff of Ross County, Lee Bodecker, has been allegedly involved in the coverup of a local brothel, run by Leroy Brown. Brown and several of his associates were arrested on Wednesday night by local police for drug possession and possession of illegal firearms. As the group resisted arrest, there was a shoot out at a small bar in Meade, which was revealed to serve as a front for their operation. Seven men, including Brown, were arrested Wednesday night for questioning by the local police.

While giving his statement, Brown confessed to the charges and in hopes of a lesser sentence, cooperated with police and provided names of all involved in the underground prostitution ring. He provided the police with twelve names, including that of the local Sheriff Lee Bodecker and his sister Sandy Henderson, who has since also been apprehended by the local authorities.

Sandy Henderson was apprehended on Thursday morning, and made bail for $500 that Saturday. Henderson and her husband, both denied an opportunity to provide a statement. The pair only stated they will be promptly returning home and want to put this behind them.

Although there has been no release of his official statement as of yet regarding this alleged involvement, Bodecker was taken into custody the next morning, apprehended by his deputies from his home. Deputy Bill Thomas has since announced that the Sheriff will be subject to a trial in the near future, and for now faces an indefinite suspension from his post until his innocence has been proven. Deputy Thomas has also said that regardless of the outcome of the trial, Bodecker will be unable to run for reelection next term.

With this new development, it is also worth noting that the Sheriff is a tenant of (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the daughter of Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker who is currently wanted by law enforcement for embezzling thousands from her husband Harvey Tucker’s company, Tucker Brokerage, and then fleeing with her sixteen-year-old son. When police arrived at her home Thursday morning to apprehend the Sheriff, deputies on scene took an official statement from (Y/L/N), where she denied knowledge of the Sheriff’s involvement in any of the alleged criminal activities nor any knowledge regarding her mother or brother’s whereabouts.

Woman Wanted for Embezzling Funds from Tucker Brokerage Arrested in Indiana

By: Henry Curtis

Former resident of Knockemstiff, Ohio, Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker was arrested in South Bend, Indiana yesterday morning before dawn. Being able to identify her as a wanted person, Este and Harold Turner, owners of the Sunnyside Motel where (Y/L/N)-Tucker had been staying for about three days prior to the arrest, notified the local authorities she was staying in one of their rooms. She also was accompanied by her sixteen-year-old son.

The boy’s older sister has now become the boy’s sole guardian and he has since returned to his hometown. According to the police, the boy was completely cooperative and they believe he had no knowledge of his mother’s crimes. In a statement given the night of the arrest, the boy told police he believed they were running from his step-father, as his mother insinuated, she had been a victim of domestic abuse. There is no evidence yet as to whether her statement is true, but there will be an investigation of husband, Harvey Tucker, to discover if this claim is true.

Both children of Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker have not agreed to speak about their mother or the situation to anyone except police. Daughter, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), said when she arrived in Indiana to pick up her brother, seemed to only care about getting her brother home safely. Locals report she never asked to see her mother, and only focused on her brother.

As of now, (Y/L/N)-Tucker will remain in the custody of the South Bend Police until they are ready to transport her to Columbus, Ohio where she will face jail time and then eventually a trial.

Corruption in Knockemstiff High School Staff, Principal Arrested for Illegal Distilling- Sheriff Involved in Cover Up

By: Henry Curtis

Principal of local high school, Mark Cunningham, was arrested today after local police discover an illegal distillery on his residence. Police had retrieved a warrant to search Cunningham’s land after receiving an anonymous tip from a source close to the Principal.

Following his arrest, Cunningham admitted to the felony, but also claimed Ross County’s previous Sherriff, Lee Bodecker, had prior knowledge of the still, and in exchange for his silence, he demanded Cunningham offer a secretarial job at the high school to his landlord, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), who is the daughter of Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker, who recently was tried for embezzlement.

The vice-principal of the high school, Meredith Lively, has stepped forth as interim principal until the position can be filled, and ensured the press (Y/L/N) had been fired effective immediately, despite her claims of being unaware any such deal had conspired. Police have found no evidence to contradict (Y/L/N)’s statement, and in an official statement taken from Bodecker, he confirmed that it was part of the deal she not be made aware of the circumstances.

New Sheriff Elected to Ross County

By: Henry Curtis

Former Deputy Bill Thomas has been elected Sheriff of Ross County. Following the trial of former Sheriff Lee Bodecker, who had been found guilty of all charges, Bodecker was barred from office, and given a five-year sentence.

Deputy Thomas in an acceptance speech during a recent town hall meeting, ensured residents of Knockemstiff that “one bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch” and the Sheriff’s department under new control will keep the town safe, and clean of crime and corruption. When asked by reporters how he felt about Bodecker, Thomas only described his situation as “unfortunate.”

There has been no other evidence of corruption within Ross County Sheriff’s Department although the investigation is still ongoing. When asked during his trial if he received any corroboration from any other law officials, Bodecker stated he never involved other members of the force with his wrongdoings.

REAL ESTATE  

Room Available for Rent in Knockemstiff, Ohio

$50 monthly rent (utilities included)

1 Bedroom (250 sq. ft.), furnished

Private bathroom with shower

4 Birch Street

Knockemstiff, Ohio

Please call the following number with serious offers. Price negotiable.

PART EIGHT

Taglist

@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01 @rosalynshields @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3 @hersilencedscreams @malar-region @purplerain85 @vesper852 @smilewolfdolan @softshell-taco @champagnebucky @lilacmeadows @mollygetssherlockcoffee

#lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan characters #the devil all the time #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland characters #x reader #lee bodecker fluff #lee bodecker smut #angst #devil all the time #lee bodecker series #sebastian stan x y/n #tom holland x y/n

[tinyboxxtink]

"....So I Married A Monster" *Part 9*

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

[I imagine this is him being a 'dad', lol]

Sorry this took so long ya'll. I love you.

I did my best!

Tag List

@agentcable

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

@thatesqcrush

@shittanyy

@mrsrafaelbarba

@word-scribbless

@storiesofsvu

@believinghurts

--------------

“Ma’am, you really need to calm down--” A nurse pulled you back into the bed while you continued to scream and cry.

“No, I need to know where they’re taking that man!” You screamed as you wriggled from her grasp.

“Most likely to surgery, ma’am,” The doctor explained. “He did just get a GSW to the chest--”

“Oh God,” You wanted to vomit. “But the-- the man who just left, he--” You suddenly had an epiphany of where Billy was headed.

“You have to get officers to 5237 Lakeview Shore Drive,” You said in a panicked voice. “He’s going to grab my children,”

“Aren’t they his children as well, ma’am?” The nurse gave you a look.

“He has NO right to them!” You gave her an exasperated look. “And seriously? You think a man who just murdered two--” No, you couldn’t think that way. Rafael was still alive, he had to be.

“Shot, two men,” You corrected yourself. “Deserves children?!”

“No, ma’am,” She shook her head. “Sorry, ma’am. He was just so kind and charming the last time he was--”

“Jesus Christ, are you really that starved for affection that a psychopath flirting with you is the highlight of your career, idiot?” You sneered at the girl who couldn’t have been more than 19. Just a candy striper-- of course Billy would go for her.

“Alright, Addie-- out,” The doctor pointed towards the door. “Make yourself useful and call 911,”

“But there’s already--”

“OUT,” The doctor barked once more. Addie rolled her eyes and stomped out of the room.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” He apologized, patting your shoulder. “You need to stay calm, we’ve stopped your bleeding and stitched you up, but if you become hysterical you could rip them out,”

“I just watched my ex-husband shoot the love of my life and then storm out of here to go kidnap my children, and you expect me not to get hysterical?”

“At least try, ma’am--” He pleaded with you.

“If you call me ma’am one more time I swear to God--” You growled.

“I’m sorry, Miss Y/N,” He corrected himself.

“Doctor you’ve just sewn up my literal anus, I think we’re on a first name basis,” You rolled your eyes.

“Right,” He chuckled nervously. “Listen if you promise to at least attempt to stay calm, I will go check on your boyfriend, alright?”

“Fine,” You sighed.

“Alright then,” The doctor gestured to two male nurses. sending them to find out information on Rafael.

---------

Rafael was indeed being rushed into an operating room, his chest bleeding profusely. It had missed his aorta, but just barely. One wrong movement by a scalpel and he’d die right on that table.

“...He’s lost a lot of blood already, doctor,” One nurse warned.

“Put him on bypass, I need more time to cauterize this wound!” The doctor barked as he sweat through his surgical scrubs.

“Yes sir,” The nurse nodded to someone who brought forward a machine and began hooking it up to Rafael.

“Alright people, we don’t have a lot of time,” He looked around the room.

"Pray for a miracle,"

-------------

At Your House

Lewis rushed into your house, trying to think of what to do. He’d need to get the girls and run-- it wouldn’t be easy. He’d need a good excuse. God, what would be a good excuse?

Lewis first went to Maggie’s room, gently waking her up.

“Mags? Maggie, wake up baby,” He cooed.

“What’s wrong dad?” Maggie asked while still half asleep.

“We-- we need to go,” He told her.

“Right now?” She turned her head to the side like a confused puppy.

“Yes, right now baby,” He began to grab her things and shoving them into her backpack. “Mommy’s in trouble,”

“In trouble?!” Maggie suddenly shot straight up in her bed.

“It’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lewis tried to keep her calm. “I just don’t want that bad man to get ahold of you and Kylie,”

“He has her?!” Maggie suddenly had panic in her voice.

“Maggie calm down, okay sweetie?” Lewis put his hands on her face. “We can’t let Kylie know, okay? So we’re going to tell her…”

“We’re going to the beach!” Maggie suddenly finished his thought. She was a great liar, quick on her feet. Just a chip off the ol’ Lewis block.

“Great idea baby!” He nodded while she pulled a jacket over her pj’s.

“And-- And we can go to the beach house, the one we used to go to?” She made that adorable little puppy dog face he couldn’t resist. He didn’t exactly “own” that beach house, but whatever his baby wanted, she got.

“Yes, yes of course Mags. Whatever you want sweetie,” He kissed the top of her head before they went into Kylie’s room.

“Kylie, wake up,” Maggie shook her awake while Billy began packing her a bag.

“Where are we going?” Kylie asked sleepily.

“We’re going to the beach baby,” Billy told her as he finished with her suitcase.

“In the middle of the night?” Kylie rubbed her eyes while Maggie helped her put some clothes on.

“Well, we want to be there as fast as we can!” Maggie continued to spin her web of lies, just like her daddy.

“Where’s mommy?” Kylie rubbed her eyes while Billy slipped her shoes on and they headed to the car.

“She’s uh…” He looked at Maggie.

“She’s still a little sick, so she’s going to meet us there later,” Maggie told her while giving her dad a thumbs up. He could cry in pride right now if he wasn’t worried about the cops finding them before he could escape.

“Okay,” Kylie just went along with the story, no questions asked.

Billy went to your key ring and grabbed your keys to your SUV, shooing the girls out into the car. He did a quick look around to make sure he had everything. Well, he had everything that mattered. His girls.

He glared around the room for a moment, pissed off that you had taken away your chances at happiness in this place. It would have been a great life; just him, you and the girls. No cops, no dumbass ADA, just you and him.

Well, soon enough it would be. He was sure Barba was dying right now, if not already dead. Then once he was out of the picture, you’d have no choice but to come back to him. He had the girls. He had your car. He had your happiness.

And soon, he would have you.

------------------

At The Hospital

The nurses had been forced to knock you out with some morphine when you began to get hysterical over not knowing what was going on with Rafael and your girls. So here you were, waking up groggy and disoriented in a regular hospital room. Soon enough you were alert and back on the anxiety train. You pushed on the CALL NURSE button rapidly until an older woman in green scrubs came rushing in.

“Y’Know that button is for actual emergencies,” She crossed her arms once she noticed you were fine.

“This IS an emergency,” You crossed your arms right back at her. “I asked to hear about my family, and all you people did was knock me out. That has to break some sort of law,”

“Really and what law would that be?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I...don’t know, but I’m sure my boyfriend could find one,” You huffed.

“Highly unlikely ma’am,” She shook her head.

“Why?” Your eyes went wide. “Why wouldn’t he? Is it because he’s dead? Brain dead? Paralyzed and unable to speak?!”

“No honey,” She rolled her eyes at your dramatics. “It’s just an insane notion,”

“...Whatever,” You muttered while she checked your IV’s and stats. “So are you going to tell me how he is? Or are you just here to shoot me up with more morphine?”

“Well, that depends,” She said while inputting your information in her iPad. “Can you keep calm, make sure you don’t rupture any of your stitches?”

“....Not with that tone I can’t,” You didn’t like it one bit. “But I think I deserve to know what’s being done about my children at the very least,”

“Well…” The nurse looked at the door nervously. “See, sweetie here’s the thing--” She walked over and made sure the door was fully closed.

“Oh God,” Your voice trembled.

“It seems your ex-husband has...taken them” She grimaced.

“Oh god,” You repeated. “Oh GOD,” You were going to be sick.

The heart monitor and machines began to beep as your blood pressure skyrocketed, bells and whistles went off as you started to have a panic attack. The nurse instantly started turning all of them off, not wanting to alert anyone of what she had done by telling you.

“Okay okay but LOOK, honey--” She grabbed you by your shoulders, forcing you to take a breath and look at her.

“....If I bring you someone, will you promise to calm down?” She asked.

You weren’t entirely sure you could make that promise, but if it was Rafael she was going to bring you, you’d say anything she wanted to hear.

“Yes,” You nodded vigorously. The nurse nodded back and walked to the side of your bed that had a curtain separating you and another patient. When she pulled it back, you saw Rafael laying in a hospital bed hooked up to wires and tubes, a breathing apparatus on his face. She pushed the bed over so that it was touching yours, almost like it was one big king bed for the two of you.

“Oh my god…” You whispered, barely able to hold it together. “Can I--?”

“Be gentle,” She warned you. You nodded softly before very cautiously stroking the side of his face, whispering to him.

“Baby, I’m here…” You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m here and I’m okay, so you have to be okay, okay?”

“How bad is it?” You looked up to the nurse.

“Well he made it through surgery,” She gestured to his still living body. “That’s always a good sign,”

“Give it to me straight...Marla,” You read her name tag.

“It was touch and go for a while, I won’t lie to you,” She sighed. “But...he’s been stable long enough I convinced them to let me bring him here to you,”

“....Thank you,” You gave her a small smile.

“If it were my Jonas in that bed, I’d never want him out of my sight either,” She smiled at you.

“Nurse Nightingale,” A doctor popped his head in. “Your husband is on line 1,”

“Speak of the devil,” She chuckled, heading towards the door. “I’ll be back to check on you later, I’ll-- see what I can find out about your children,”

“God…” You shook your head and muttered under your breath again.

“I’m sure they’re fine honey. They’re with their daddy at least, right?”

“True,” You nodded with another small relieved smile. If there was one thing you could bet money on, it was that Billy would take care of the girls. He was using them as collateral for sure, but he wouldn’t hurt them.

Would he?

---------------

Meanwhile

Hours and hours had passed. Billy had made it to the Hamptons with the girls. Luckily for him the people he was ‘borrowing’ the house from still hadn’t made an appearance. Given that it was the beginning of fall and the season was over, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to kill anyone to keep them staying there a secret.

The girls were in the living room watching Moana while Billy scrolled through his phone at the latest news blurbs and trending things on Twitter. Obviously “William Lewis” was out in the open again-- shit. People would be looking for him now. But nobody knew where they were-- they’d never find them. Right? He couldn’t go back to prison, not after the hell he went through to get out. He would never go back again, no matter what. Nothing was going to stand in his way, or slow him down. He intently watched Maggie and Kylie-- they were laughing and eating cereal. Maggie could hold her own for sure, but Kylie was just a tot. Could she handle being shuffled around the state? The country?

He seriously began to ponder if the girls were slowing him down.

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanfiction #william lewis #william lewis x you #william lewis x reader #william lewis angst #william lewis fanfiction #rafael barba angst #william lewis imagine #so i married a monster

[girlmadeofivory]

epiphany (Melissa McCall/Chris Argent)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUnDkI7l9LQ

Gerard shook his head at Chris’s aim. “Again.”

Chris raised the gun, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The semi-automatic weapon felt too heavy in his hands. He was barely 16. He didn’t want to be able to take a life.

The next shot hit the target dead-center. Gerard smiled. Chris smiled back, feeling bile rise in his throat. The smile didn’t meet his eyes.

------------

Chris adjusted Allison’s grip on her bow ever so slightly. “It’s important that you focus on your target. You’re distracted, and it’s messing with your aim.”

Allison nodded, wincing when the string of the bow cut into her fingers. She had forgotten her leather gloves in her locker. 

Chris handed his daughter his own gloves from the pocket of his jacket.

Allison smiled. “Thanks, dad.” His gloves were loose around her hands, and her brow furrowed a little in pain when she loaded her bow again. She was only 13, but Chris wanted to be the one to teach her. Before Gerard could.

“Just power through it.”

Keep your helmet, keep your life, son.

Just a flesh wound. Here’s your rifle.

Chris stood in the stark white halls of Beacon Hills Hospital, on the phone. “Hey, Allison, it’s me. I need you to come to the hospital.” 

His daughter hung up almost immediately, but as she did, he heard the door lock. She would be there soon. Chris peered through the window to where his wife’s body lay. For the millionth time, he cursed Gerard and his stupid anti-werewolf decrees. 

Allison ran into him, skidding a little on the shiny tile. “Where’s Mom?”

Chris shook his head, holding his daughter tightly. “She’s gone.”

Allison screamed, cursed, begged, sobbed. He couldn’t listen to it anymore. He just gripped her tighter. 

She looked up at him with teary eyes. “How?” Her voice broke over the word.

“She was bitten,” he whispered into her ear. “And it was the full moon last night. And-” 

Chris had intended to tell Allison about Gerard’s rules, about his blind hatred, but she cut him off. “I’ll kill him. The Hale. I’ll kill the whole damn pack.” And this time, her voice didn’t break. It was steely and sure and Chris was scared. Not of Allison, he could never be scared of her, but of what she might do for the sake of Gerard’s rules. And what it would do to her.

Crawling up the beaches now.

“Sir, I think he’s bleeding out.”

And some things you just can't speak about.

When Chris drove up to the battleground, he inexplicably knew something was wrong. He ran over to Scott where the boy sat on the ground, and-

Oh, God, no. There was blood around her mouth, and her chest was still. Scott sobbed over Allison’s body and for just a second, Chris felt his world shatter. No, not her, please, anything but that. And then another one of Scott’s sobs pulled Chris back into reality.

Chris kneeled next to Scott, putting his hand on the wolf’s shoulder. “Breathe, okay. Breathe. I’m calling 911. You tell them you called me first, okay? Get your pack out of here when they leave with her, I’ll take care of it. You just have to tell them you called me first, and then go home.” 

Scott nodded blankly, and Chris made the call. He turned away from the kids as tears threatened to spill over, but he bit his tongue and forced them back. Allison’s friends needed him. The ones she died for. He had to honor that.

With you, I serve, with you I fall down.

Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out.

_______________________________________________________________________

When the Stilinskis first brought Claudia in, Melissa assumed it was nothing. A routine checkup, or maybe a rough case of the flu. But then she was there again, and again, and when Melissa checked the files, she realized that her best friend outside of the hospital was dying. Not only that, but her mind was going, and that was almost more painful than watching her body wither and fail. 

Melissa did her best to support them. She brought over food when she had the time to cook, she invited Stiles over to her home to spend some time as a carefree kid, and she visited Claudia sometimes, after a long night shift when visiting hours were long over. 

The manager of the hospital had asked Melissa to pick up an extra shift once. Another nurse was attending his daughter’s wedding. Melissa had been all for it until she realized that it was Claudia’s floor. As much as she loved her friend, she didn’t trust herself to treat her. Treating friends and family was never a good idea, especially when she came home in the afternoon to see Stiles and Scott curled up on the couch together, Stiles sobbing into her son’s shoulder. 

Something med school did not cover:

Someone’s daughter, someone’s mother.

Melissa was working when Claudia died. The nurse had been at the front desk when she heard Stiles’ heartbroken shout, even from a floor below him. Mom. 

Melissa had grabbed another nurse, asked her to take over, and run up the stairs to Claudia’s room. Everything was silent in the hospital room. Stiles’ shoulders shook, and the Sheriff muffled his own cries into his son’s shoulder. 

She had a million things to say. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t say anything, scared to break the tension in the air. What do you say? I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this, she lived a good life, it’s no one’s fault. 

When Stiles and the Sheriff left for home, Melissa held the boy in her arms for a long moment. As she stood, she said, “Anything you need, come over. Any time, we’ll figure it out.”

Holds your hand through plastic now.

“Doc, I think she’s crashing out.”

And some things you just can’t speak about.

Melissa yawned, letting her head rest in her hand. She was sitting at the front desk of the emergency room, as she often did. It was exhausting to watch broken people drag themselves through the doors all day and night. Sometimes, as her vision blurred with tiredness, she would imagine Scott or Stiles, lying on a gurney, clothes soaked in blood, and jerk awake, heart racing. 

There was a lull in the ER, so she closed her eyes, pretending she was laying in her bed at home. Home, where everyone was safe. Where Scott and Stiles might be studying in a bedroom, where Isaac and Erica would play video games while Boyd made dinner for their little pack. Their little family. Derek might stumble in, streaks of dry blood on his shirt, and everyone would swarm around him to make sure he was okay. Because in their pack, they took care of each other. Maybe Derek would bring his sister, Cora. From what Melissa had heard about the youngest Hale, she guessed that Erica would get along beautifully with her. 

Maybe Lydia and Jackson would visit, too. They were barely pack at that point, but it was always nice to have them around. 

Only twenty minutes to sleep,

But you dream of some epiphany.

A light rap on the counter woke Melissa from her reverie. Scott and Isaac were smiling at her, holding a brown paper bag. 

“We brought you dinner. We didn’t want it to get cold, sorry for waking you up.” Isaac handed her the paper bag with a grin, his other hand woven through Scott’s.

The boys saw her eyes flick to their hands, and quickly disentangled themselves, looking away from her. 

Melissa offered a small smile. “I don’t mind, I just hoped you would tell me when you started dating again.”

Scott’s face lit up, and he kissed Isaac on the cheek. “I’m dating again.”

“Alright, boys, now go finish your homework and get some sleep. I’ll be home late again.”

The two teenagers left, holding hands much more comfortably, and Melissa allowed herself a moment of joy before returning to her work, eating as she reviewed patient files.

When she got home, Scott was sitting on the couch. She walked straight to him, dropping her purse on the ground, and pulled him into a hug. “I love you.”

Just one single glimpse of relief,

To make some sense of what you’ve seen.

_______________________________________________________________________

Chris lay in the hospital bed, breathing raggedly. He rasped out several ingredients before his eyes closed, and Melissa ran to find them. She quickly concocted the potion before spreading it over his wounds. They smoked, and Chris screamed, face contorted in pain. Melissa forced a rag between his teeth, muffling the noise. 

Several moments later, the lash marks had faded. Chris panted, trying to catch his breath. Melissa removed the rag and filled a glass of water, carefully pouring it into his mouth. 

Chris coughed weakly. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Melissa replied. “I’m just glad you’ll be okay.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead gently as he fell asleep.

With you, I serve, with you I fall down.

Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out.

Melissa was in the hospital. Melissa had been shot by hunters. Melissa was in the hospital. And Chris was a fucking mess. He hadn’t slept since he heard the news. Rather, he had climbed into his car and driven frantically back to Beacon Hills. Melissa was still asleep when he sat in the chair next to her bed, having received permission from one of her friends to stay past visiting hours.

Pain flooded Melissa’s body as she woke up in a hospital bed. What had happened before was hazy; she assumed her house had been shot up by hunters. Scott had asked her for advice, as he often did, and she had told him to fight back. Her chest throbbed over the bullet wound, but she would be okay. She had to be, for her son. For her pack.

“Melissa, thank God.” Chris reached out hesitantly to take her hand. “I was so scared, I thought… and after Veronica and Allison, I couldn't…” he trailed off, a couple of tears running down his face.

“Hey, I’m okay,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard about what happened and I-”

“I do appreciate it, really. But shouldn’t you be off saving the world?” Her lips quirked up into a playful smile.

Chris shook his head. “Not until my world is safe.” He bent down to kiss her before settling back into his seat. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Rest.”

With you, I serve, with you I fall down.

Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out.

Melissa held Chris’s hand. They stood in the cemetery, staring at the Argent tombs. Veronica Argent; Allison Argent; Kate Argent; Gerard Argent. Chris didn’t bother checking the dates. They were carved into his mind already. 

“And then there was one.” Chris laughed, his voice hollow. “I can’t believe…”

Melissa held his hand. “I know.” 

Chris choked down a sob and Melissa held him. They stood there, by the graves, holding each other, for a long time. When the sky began to darken, Melissa led Chris to her car. 

“Let’s go home, okay? The kids will probably be there, and it would do you plenty of good to be around a dozen lively wolves.”

Chris nodded, and they headed back towards their home, towards their family.

---

Melissa was right; the entire pack had taken up residence in her house. Scott, Isaac, Mason, and Malia sat jammed together on the couch, Isaac on Scott’s lap. Derek, Stiles, Ethan, Jackson, and Lydia sat around the dining table, catching up with each other over a game of poker. Corey, Theo, and Liam were lying in a puppy pile on the living room floor.

Chris and Melissa walked in to scattered greetings and the smell of brownies baking. Chris raised an eyebrow at the mess, but Melissa just laughed. “Don’t worry, I make them clean everything up before they leave.”

They shared a smile and headed up to Melissa’s room, where they changed into pajamas and lay under the covers.

“Good night, Melissa.” Chris kissed her. “I love you.”

She smiled. “‘Night. I love you too.”

Only twenty minutes to sleep,

But you dream of some epiphany.

Just one single glimpse of relief,

To make some sense of what you’ve seen.

#oc #original work #songfic #taylor swift #inspired by a taylor swift song #epiphany by taylor swift #melissa mccall #chris argent #tw: death #tw: referenced suicide #tw: hospitals #mccall pack #minor scisaac #allison argent #gerard argent #claudia stilinski #claudia and melissa are friends #tw: graveyard #tw: gunshot wound #soft chris argent #chris and melissa are the cutest #chris argent/melissa mccall #melissa mccall/chris argent #teen wolf #fanfiction #this completely got away from me #but i actually really like it

[the-quiet-winds]

Cathedrals in My Heart (part 1)

so this posted earlier, and i went to make a tiny edit and the whole post got deleted so... it’s me, it’s @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts, we wrote a thing. like, reblog, do what you all do. part one of three.

[Part 1: Come Out of the Things Unsaid]

It was small to start off with. katherine was just getting used to being able to say she had a mum again, that she had someone to look out for her, and she was loving it. It was just tiny things that caught in her brain and made her frown slightly. jane fussing over boleyn’s hair, or helping patch up cleves’ horse riding injury, or even the way she exasperatedly told boleyn off for hiding aragon’s bible. it all felt a little bit too much like everyone else was trying to push into her space, and katherine doesn’t exactly know how she feels but she isn’t happy about any of it.

jane, conversely, is following her maternal instincts where it leads. she may not be as old as the other queens (cleves and aragon were, at least when they died, over ten years her senior) but she has all of this willingness to nurture and care and no where to use it. so, unfortunately or fortunately, depending on your point of view, she uses it on on the five women in her life

jane doesn’t even notice the glare katherine gives boleyn after jane finally gets her to stay still long enough to sort out the fact that one of anne’s space buns had been falling out for the last half an hour. to her, it doesn’t diminish the relationship she has with katherine to care for the others too. but katherine was still young, her brain was full of complicated emotions she wasn’t quite able to handle because of her past trauma, and sometimes she had a very childish habit of being jealous, which turned into the even more childish habit of kicking boleyn under the table and pretending it was an accident (katherine wasn’t proud of that particular immature move but she’d be lying if she didn’t get a tiny bit of satisfaction from the way boleyn yelped when she’d kicked her)

boleyn recognized at this point that the kicks under the table, the missing brushes and pins from her dressing room table, the opened and flat sodas, and the micro-small tears in in her costume all come from one particular source: katherine. boleyn doesn’t understand why she’s out to get her, but then it spreads. pages in aragon’s bible are ripped out. one of parr’s notebooks is soaked. one of cleve’s bottles of wine is shattered in the yard. even one of jane’s homemade pillows has a corner cut off and stuffing threatening to spill out. katherine is reckless yet retreating into herself, and no one can figure out why. katherine even cuts into one of her own blankets, trying to convince everyone that she is most definitely not the culprit

boleyn has seen how it escalated, but she can’t work out why. there’s no point asking katherine about it - she’d deny it was her in the first place. jane was another non-starter, all the queens (except katherine herself) knew at this point that unless there was evidence, jane would take katherine’s side. she finally decides to talk to parr about it, and finds her wearily drying the pages of her soaked notebook over the empty bath.

“I think I know who’s responsible,” boleyn begins. “It’s-“

“katherine, I know,” parr says tiredly. “I just can’t work out why.” she pulls two sodden pages apart and sighs. “i’d like to find out soon though.”

boleyn’s about to reply, but is interrupted by aragon loudly proclaiming from outside the door that whoever broke her rosary was going to pay, possibly with their life

she comes storming into the bathroom, shattered white, yellow, and red beads filling her hands, slamming the door with her foot. “i’ve had it up to here with the bullshit in this house.” with a heavy sigh, she deposits the broken pieces in the garbage can. “whoever is doing all of this is getting kicked out,” she says murderously. “it’s howard,” parr and boleyn say in a quiet perfect unison. “we don’t know why, though,” parr adds quietly

“maybe because she’s a little bitch,” aragon says, glaring at the door as if imagining katherine on the other side. parr raises an eyebrow and aragon backtracks just a little. “okay, so howard’s not a little bitch. but whatever temper tantrum she’s throwing is getting really old. she knows how important my rosary is to me.” she sits down on the side of the bath and groans in frustration.

“but we can’t work out how to get her to stop if we don’t know why she’s acting out in the first place,” boleyn points out.

“for once boleyn makes a good point,” aragon nods. boleyn makes a face.

“rude.”

parr looks at her mischievously. “sorry not sorry”. “ladies,” aragon interrupts, “we need to figure out what is causing this god-forsaken attitude. suddenly and without warning, cleves enters, fists clenched around one of her gold chains, drenched in blue paint. “some bitch is going to die tonight,” she hisses as she futilely tries to clean the paint off. “cleves, you’re not allowed to kill howard,” parr says patiently after closing the door once again (and locking it this time). parr and aragon sit on the side of the tub, boleyn on the floor, and cleves stands at the sink as they all wait for another to have some brilliant revelation or epiphany

“ladies? any ideas?” parr prompts.

“we ask her nicely to stop?” boleyn suggests. she almost keeps a straight face too but cracks when cleves snorts with laughter.

aragon glares at them both.

“how about we wreck some of her stuff?” she suggests. parr shoots her a look.

“that’s definitely a no.” all four of them stay in silence for a few more moments.

“maybe we need to catch her in the act so she can’t deny she’s doing it. then we show the evidence to her and ask her why,” cleves suggests. parr nods, but thinks for a second.

“or we could show the evidence to jane,” she decides. “if anyone’s going to get the truth out of her, it’s going to be jane.”

they all murmur in agreement. "how do we do it?" boleyn asks. a devilish grin makes its way onto cleves' face. "we set a trap." and that's how, later that evening, "aragon's" bible (which is really just a new one they bought at a second-hand bookstore for a whopping £5) is laying inconspicuously on aragon's bed, with boleyn's phone tucked behind a picture frame directed straight at what would soon be a crime scene, taking everything in in glorious high definition

aragon announces loudly that she’s heading out to the evening sermon, and jane calls back from the laundry room to make sure she stays safe when she walks home. boleyn, pretending to be reading a magazine, notices katherine shooting daggers at aragon’s back as she leaves and she grins to herself. looks like howard has fallen for it. katherine goes up the stairs, apparently to go to her room, but she stops at the sight of aragon’s door slightly ajar, the bible resting innocently on top of the bed visible from the hallway. she glances around, making sure nobody can see her, before she darts into aragon’s room

boleyn's pricked ears hear kitten-light feet go into aragon's room, and she smirks behind her reading. cleves, in the bedroom next to aragon's, pauses in her cleaning at the poorly concealed sound of ripping paper, and she, too, chuckles to herself. howard is going down and they know it. she quickly puts some low music on and pretends not not to notice as katherine skirts past her room and heads into her own.

aragon gets home from the sermon and, as she expected, the bible is ripped up. she quickly ends the recording on boleyn’s phone and then makes the scene that katherine would expect her to make, walking into her room to find that her bible was destroyed. she screams and shouts and blames everyone, and in the chaos boleyn slips into the room and grabs her phone. parr plays her part and pretends to calm aragon down, while cleves notes katherine’s tiny smile as she pokes her head around the door of her room to watch the chaos before disappearing again. half an hour later they reconvene in aragon’s room. boleyn plays them the footage and they all smile to each other: katherine was caught right on tape tearing the pages out.

"we need to show this to jane," aragon states, and the others agree. "but how?" questions boleyn. "we would have to get jane alone with all of us, and that is easier said than done." no one could argue with that. jane spent the most time with katherine out of any of them. getting them apart for long enough to show jane the tape would take another genius plan, so they sat in silence and contemplated

“the easiest way,” parr says slowly, “would be to get howard out of the house for a while. a couple of hours maximum.”

“but how?” aragon asks. “she doesn’t go anywhere regularly enough for us to be able to work out if we have enough time.”

“one of us could take her somewhere?” boleyn suggests. “like, shopping or something. and then once we’ve spoken to jane then we text whoever’s with her that it’s safe to bring her home.”

“is she gonna want to go anywhere with one of us after how she’s been treating us though?” cleves frowns. parr sighs and shrugs.

“it’s worth a try asking, I guess. unless anyone has any other ideas?”

cleves' eyes light up mischievously. "ladies, I have a brilliant idea." she explained her plan, complete with a few ideas she got while watching something called "youtube", and all the queens agreed wholeheartedly. and that's how katherine got a mysterious and random call saying she won a free dance class at a studio thirty minutes away. only there was no class, and the caller, a woman with a thick cockney accent, was actually just boleyn from upstairs, using a random number that cleves had somehow put in the phone. the four crept towards the top of the stairs at the sound of katherine and jane's conversation. something suddenly turned bitter, with katherine spitting something along the lines of "can't you just be happy for me for once" before she stomped towards the stairs. the queens scattered into their respective rooms at the sound, followed by howard roughly slamming her door. no one heard jane's quiet and pained sigh downstairs.

boleyn sends a group text to the other three, listening carefully through the wall to katherine’s room next door as katherine slams drawers and sighs dramatically to herself.

“she took the bait on the phone. dunno what’s got her so upset now but she was up for it when I rang”

aragon texts back first "hook, line, sinker". cleves next "this will be great ;)" parr finally texts rationally "everyone be ready tomorrow. she will leave around 2:30, come back around 3:30". a second later, she sends another text "we need to be gracious, ladies. we can't hurt jane. this will hurt her enough as is."

the other three have the decency to feel slightly less excited about revealing katherine’s destruction to jane, but one look at their own ruined belongings does make them eager to see justice served. parr makes a good point though: they have to be careful with how they present the evidence to jane, and with what they say to her about katherine. none of them want to hurt jane at all. she’s always so kind and caring to all of them, and they really do love her a lot. the evening passes with each of the four thinking about how to break the news to jane.

the next afternoon, chaos is reigning in the house. jane is trying to persuade katherine to stay home, to not trust the random phone call, that it could be a trap. katherine, swirling full of jealousy and anger, grabs the keys to the car, looks at jane with hatred in her eyes, and spits out "you're not my mother!" before taking the car and driving away.

parr sighs and grabs her phone. “is now really a good time to do this?” she texts the others.

“it could be our only chance” aragon replies.

“I know, just... let’s all be kind, ladies”

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #catherine parr #anne of cleves #julie and jess write #cathedrals in my heart

[fanficnewbie]

“Fighting for Forever” - Chapter Six: Open Heart Fanfic

This is my first story/series. The first 5 chapters are adaptations from the first 4 parts of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” series with permission from @alwaysmychoices and then I continue my own original work in chapters 6-14.

I start this adapted storyline during Chapter 15 of the original OH series. There is a bit of AU, where I play around with the storyline a bit and insert two days between MC leaving the country club and returning to her apartment to find Landry packing. Some situations have been changed to keep with the original vision of @alwaysmychoices and make the story work in the direction I wanted it to go. However, I find my way back to the original in Chapters 6-8 and then move on past the ending of Book One during chapters 9-14.

My MC is female, Francesca Houseman, who has only had eyes for Ethan Ramsey from day one.

FULL SERIES

Chapter Six: “Diagnosis” 

2728 words

This entry retells the story of how MC diagnoses Naveen and how she gets the help she needs to figure out a plan for treatment.

(M - Language)

Francesca watched as Ethan and Jenner walked away and her stomach lurched at the metaphor their physical departure represented. She quickly pushed those thoughts away and went into her building. It had been an exciting and illuminating 36 hours but now life had to return to normal, her friends were waiting.

Francesca opened the door and was startled to see Landry in the living room packing boxes. “What are you doing here?!” Her perfect morning instantly dissipated.

Landry looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. “Getting the rest of my things. I said I’d pack up today while you guys were at brunch. It was in my email. I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

Knowing that she hadn’t paid much attention to her phone over the past two days did not win Landry any sympathy points. “Yeah well, my plans changed,” she mumbled, “Do what you have to do, I’ll be gone again in 15 minutes.”

Francesca tried not to look at him as she went to her room. She managed to look somewhat presentable for her outing after changing clothes, styling her hair and putting on a touch of make-up, in a record amount of time. Upon re-entering the living room, she noticed Landry struggling with a box. As much as she wanted to walk right past him and leave him to suffer, it just wasn’t her style. Instead, she sighed, put her purse down and went to help.

“It won’t work like that, here.” She took a box and repacked the items to make them fit like a jigsaw puzzle. Landry looked unconvinced, “I see what you did there, but what about the weight distribution?”

He had a point. They both worked on adjusting the items in the box in silence until finally it was packed correctly and taped shut. Francesca grabbed her things to head out the door, already much later than she planned to be, when Landry stopped her.

“You know, I always thought Aurora was the real threat, but I should’ve realized it was always going to come down to the two of us.”

She turned, trying to figure out the point of his words, refusing to allow him to justify his actions, “Maybe. But it didn’t have to ruin our friendship. We could have helped each other.”

Landry looked resigned. “I wish that were the case, I do. But we both have the exact same career goal. There was only ever going to be room for one of us at Edenbrook. And until one of us won, it was always going to turn out like this. It was always going to tear everything apart.”

His words sank in, the tragic truth cutting her to the core as she turned her back on him to leave, but then, something started to dawn. “Until one of them won.” An idea began to take shape as she instinctively connected the dots to her other cases. Until one of them won, like Jake Sandburg, the baseball player with the drug interaction that amplified in his system. Until one of them won, like the young boy with the bad bacteria in his gut wreaking havoc and making him sick. Francesca’s eyes widened with the realization, the picture formed and the answer hit her like a slap in the face.

Landry watched her standing there with her hand on the doorknob, frozen in thought, “What’s wrong with you?”

She spun around as her hands flew to her mouth – her amazement evident. “Holy fuck, you just helped me figure it out!”

Startled, Landry was also completely confused. “Figure what out?”

Francesca dropped to her knees and started opening the boxes he had just packed. Landry was incredulous, “Whoa, what are you doing?” She found the medical textbook she was looking for and started flipping through the pages.

The words poured out like a flood, her heart raced with the realization. “Dr. Banjeri, I know what’s wrong with him! It’s just like Jake Sandburg and this kid I had as a patient. Two factors causing a reaction. We were looking for the disease but the disease is really just a symptom!”

Shaking his head Landry struggled to comprehend. “What are you talking about?”

Francesca found the page she was looking for and quickly started scanning the text. She continued, “I think he’s is suffering from two ailments that are fighting each other to win total domination. Potentially a bacterial infection like that kid and a, and a…” she found the section she’d been looking for, “…a bacteriophage. Yes! Those would explain his sepsis, it’s basically a side effect!”

Landry sank to the floor and reached for another textbook as he processed her words. “So wait, you’re saying that the infection and the phage are attacking each other?” He opened a book to find his own evidence, “Then why hasn’t one won out yet?”

She rocked back on her heels, still trying to put it all together. “Theoretically, if both had strong defenses and a large enough population, they could keep the fight even, both sides growing.” She shook her head at the epiphany. “Dr. Banjeri is a victim of collateral damage.” 

Landry started to comprehend, “So his body is the battleground and his sepsis is just his immune system reacting to what’s going on?”

“Exactly, but we need to run tests and see what strain of bacteria he has. That way we can wipe it out before his immune system kills him trying to do the same.” She paused, whispering almost to herself, “We can save him.” The idea floored her.

Francesca looked up at Landry, although it killed her, she knew she was going to need his assistance. “Look, I get that we’re not in a good place right now, but I need your help. I don’t have a car and I can’t go to the hospital and get the equipment we need, but you can. If you get the supplies and take me to Dr. Banjeri’s house, we have a chance.”

Landry looked at her quizzically. “Why would you ask me? Why not the others or even Dr. Ramsey? We both know he’d do anything to save Dr. Banjeri.”

“The others aren’t here and I don’t have the time to gather them up and explain what’s going on just so they can do in an hour what we can do right now. As for Dr. Ramsey…” She stopped, remembering the sadness on his face the previous day, his hand squeezing hers for strength just to get out of the car and face Naveen. “I don’t want to involve him until I’m sure I’m right. I don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.” She looked Landry in the eyes, her ego cast aside and implored him, “Please help me.”

Landry took a breath, “So you’re asking me to help you save the life of the preeminent diagnostician in the country?”

She nodded. 

“And you somehow think that I’d say ‘no’?” He stood with the textbook and grabbed his keys, “Let’s go.”

The two of them were at the hospital in a matter of minutes, Francesca waited in the car, her stomach a tangle of knots and anxiety. It all made sense but what if it was still wrong? Worse, what if it was too late? Needing to focus on something tangible, she grabbed her phone and pulled up the memory in her GPS. She was thankful that Ethan had her navigate to Naveen’s house the day before, even though halfway there it occurred to her that he had to already know the way. It didn’t matter, now she could get there on her own. Now she could possibly save Naveen, and by extension, Ethan. The thought made her heart thump.

Landry startled her when he jumped back in the car, gear in hand, she grabbed her seat-belt, “That was quick.” 

He started the ignition and shrugged, “We both know we don’t have time to lose.”

She gave him the address and watched as he entered it into his own GPS, it said they’d be there in about an hour. She settled in for a long and awkward ride.

Five minutes later Francesca’s phone started to ding incessantly. She yelped, “Oh no, the brunch!” Her friends were pretty pissed. She read through multiple texts where they complained that she disappeared again and that she’s started to worry them.

Francesca responded to the group chat, talking out loud as she typed, “So, so sorry. Dealing with an emergency, I’m okay. Will explain tonight.” She sighed as she realized that she would have a lot of explaining to do when this was over.

Landry looked straight ahead, “Must be nice to be so cared for. Just don’t piss them off, they’ll all turn on you on a dime.”

Francesca snorted, “Well since I have no plans to betray anyone anytime soon, I think I’ll be okay.”

“I didn’t betray you, I followed my conscience.”

“Okay Landry, you did what you had to do. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. This, right now, it’s all that matters.”

“But, what about your hearing tomorrow?”

Francesca sighed and remembered that Ethan had given her specific instructions to prepare, but there just wasn’t time to do it all. What was the point of her medical license without Dr. Ramsey or Dr. Banjeri anyway? Suddenly it all seemed rather insignificant compared to what was happening at the moment. She shrugged and responded, “I’ll cross that bridge tomorrow.”

Then she turned on the radio and effectively silenced the conversation for the rest of the ride.

When they arrived at the river house, it almost seemed deserted. Landry turned, “You sure this is the right place?” Francesca hopped out of the car, “Of course, I was just here yesterday.”

Landry glared and she realized that she never told him how she had Dr. Banjeri’s address to begin with. Francesca met his harsh gaze defiantly, “It doesn’t matter Landry. We’re here to help him.”

Landry slowly nodded while he grabbed the equipment. Francesca ran to the door and started knocking, calling Naveen’s name. When he didn’t answer after a few minutes, she remembered the dock. “Of course, follow me.” She led Landry around the backside of the house and spotted Naveen, in a comfortable chair beside the water, a canvas resting on an easel in front of him.

She ran down to greet him, “Dr, Banjeri!”. He turned and smiled, slowly standing up when they reached him. “Francesca, what an amazing surprise.” He noticed Landry, “...and who is this?”

Landry awkwardly held the equipment and tried to shake Dr. Banjeri’s hand, “Nice to meet you Dr. Banjeri.”

“Well as I told Francesca yesterday, I’m retired, so you can call me Naveen.” He turned back to her. “What’s going on? Is everything okay with Ethan?” Francesca blushed a bit, “He’s fine. I’m here for you. I think I figured out why you’re sick and Dr. Olsen is here to help me.”

Dr. Banjeri sat back down while Francesca quickly explained her theory. He nodded thoughtfully as he listened. “Intriguing and very clever, I have to admit, I never thought of it.”

He looked to Landry and it seemed to suddenly dawn on him why he was carrying all of the medical equipment.

“You want to test me, here, now?” 

Francesca nodded, “Yes, I know you don’t want to be in the hospital so I figured this was the best way.”

Dr. Banjeri smiled, “A great doctor understands and respects their patient, and those two factors can save lives.” He chuckled, “Plus I didn’t have any other plans for this afternoon.” He stood back up with some effort, grabbed his cane and led the interns to his home.

With Naveen resting on the couch, Francesca and Landry drew the sample and fed it into the molecular analysis machine. Francesca’s stomach twisted tight waiting for the answers, she barely registered Landry quizzing the elder doctor on his career until the results came through.

The flood of relief that hit Francesca’s system was immediate. “We were right! There’s both a bacteria and a phage in your system. The phage is c2 and the bacteria is Acinetobacter baumanni.”

Naveen chuckled, “How fitting.” His tone started to deflate Francesca’s excitement as he continued, “A. baumanni is a superbug found only in hospitals, it’s resistant to antibiotics… It seems I have, quite literally, worked myself to death. I thank you for finding the truth. I can die with one of my life’s greatest mysteries solved at last. But I will still die, there is no antibiotic that works on that infection.”

Francesca only half-listened to his interpretation of the results, her mind raced as she tried to find a rebuttal. There was no way she’s going to come this close, only to hit a dead end.

“What if, what if… what if we tipped the scales? So far, it’s been an even fight but what if we gave the phage the advantage, then it could kill the bacteria!”

Naveen worked it out for himself, “Theoretically if you injected me with a massive dose of the phage, then yes it would wipe out the bacteria…”

Landry interjected, “…but it would exacerbate the encephalitis, your brain will swell and that will kill you!”

Dr. Banjeri threw up his hands, “Well at this point I’m going to die of something, and soon.”

Francesca started pacing the room, her mind still in warp speed, “Yes, if we get the dosage wrong it’s lethal. But if we got it just right, we should have a small window of time, just enough time to cure the phage before it actually does kill him.”

Landry balked, “Do you have any idea how risky that is? Getting the dosage right would be a pure gamble. We’re not experts in that field and I’m sorry Dr. Banjeri, but neither are you.”

Naveen smiled and looked at Francesca, “No, but we know someone who is.”

Francesca stopped pacing and looked at Naveen and Landry, another plan formed quickly in her head with just one more obstacle in her way.

She fell to her knees in front of Dr. Banjeri, her eyes entreating him to listen to her. “Naveen, we need to get you back to Edenbrook. I think I understand why you left but this time it’ll be different. It’s no longer the places for tests and failed treatments. It’s now the place where we can cure you.”

Naveen leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them and sighed, “The one place I never wanted to die was in a hospital. It’s a promise I made to myself long ago. It’s why I came here, I wanted the comforts of home, the beauty of nature. Not hospital beds and machines.”

Francesca touched his knee gently, “Then how about we make a pact that you won’t die there? I’ll go get Dr. Ramsey, Landry will help you pack some things and drive you to Edenbrook. We’ll meet you there in a couple of hours with the phage, we’ll save your life and then you can come back home to finish your paintings and read your books.”

She could tell that he wanted to say yes but something was holding him back…“Please Naveen, for Ethan.” 

Banjeri looked into her imploring eyes and suddenly realized that if he lived, he would have the chance to see Ethan and Francesca create a life together. He’d be able to see their story unfold after all. The thing he mourned losing just yesterday was now within reach and that spark was enough to conquer his deepest fear, to push him back towards choosing life.

He clasped her hands in his, “For both of you. For both of you, I’ll go.”

Francesca held back a smile at the insinuation and jumped up excitedly. “Landry, I need your car keys. I’ll leave now and go get Dr. Ramsey, you help Dr. Banjeri pack and take his car to Edenbrook. Text me when you leave here, I’ll text you when I get to Ethan’s.”

She didn’t even bother correcting herself when she said Ethan’s name. Landry either didn’t notice the informality or no longer cared, he just tossed her his keys and went to help up Dr. Banjeri as she exited the room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

#choices #choices game #choices fanfiction #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #dr ramsey #romance #edenbrook #fanfic #open heart dr ramsey #playchoices #choices fandom #ramsey stan

[grapesodatozier]

okay so I’m watching IT right now for 17th time and i had an epiphany. idk if this is already an idea out there but i just pasted the scene where Eddie encounters pennywise at the well House. do you think you could write a one shot where right after Eddie escapes, he bikes straight to richie’s house for comfort ? ik this is probably an idea out there in the tumblr world bUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE REALLY CUTE. thank you for coming to my TED talk, if anyone reads this.

thank you so much for the request!! this is such a cute idea and it was so fun to write omg

words: 2,137

read on ao3 or below!!

Eddie’s legs quickly became sorefrom how hard he was running, sneakers slapping harshly against the pavementwith every step, but he barely felt it. His chest was on fire, and his heartfelt like it was trying to punch its way out. The wind whipping past Eddie feltlike fingers down his arms, breath in his ear; it made him feel sick. His legs,protesting from years of disuse, managed to carry him all the way past hishouse to a blue Victorian. The sight made it a little easier for him tobreathe, despite how overworked his lungs were. He made his way up the porch onwobbly legs and rang the doorbell, near collapse when Maggie Tozier answeredthe door.

“Eddie?” sheasked, concern flooding her blue eyes. “Are you all right, honey?”

“Is Richie home?”Eddie managed to rasp out, his chest heaving.

“He’s in thebasement,” she answered, stepping aside and letting Eddie in. “Do you want aglass of water? You look a little beat.”

“That’s okay,”Eddie called over his shoulder, already halfway to the basement steps. “Thankyou, Mrs. Tozier!” With that he was bounding down the basement stairs.

Richie wassitting on the floor, video game controller clutched in his hands, neck cranedup at the television, his giant glasses reflecting the light of the screen. Hishead whipped toward the stairs at the sound of Eddie’s hurried steps. “EddieSpaghetti!” he exclaimed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t call methat,” Eddie said weakly, frozen at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t quitesure why he was here, and he was still pretty terrified, which didn’t helpclear his mind. He kept feeling like if he turned around… it would still bethere, that thing.

“Aw, you knowyou love it,” Richie winked. “So. You come over for a reason? Or are you justgonna stand there looking pretty?” Eddie blushed furiously at that.

“Yeah, I bet you’dlike that,” Eddie grumbled, making his legs move as he walked over to Richie.They practically sighed in relief as he took a seat on the floor next to hisbest friend. Eddie played with the zipper of his fanny pack; it was still open,and missing a pill bottle, which made Eddie’s heart start up again. Ma’s not gonna be happy, he thought tohimself. God, she’s gonna cry and screamand have a whole fucking fit. The thought was scary, but not as scary asthe memory of where his pills were, why they were currently lying in the middleof Neibolt Street. His breathing became a thin whistle, his entire bodytrembling.

“Eds?” Eddie’shead snapped up at the sound of his name, and he found Richie’s magnified eyesnarrowed as he looked at Eddie. “You okay? I made a joke about your mom and youdidn’t even punch me.” Eddie wanted to respond, wanted to yell at him, but hecould feel his throat closing. He reached for his inhaler, but even the sightof his fanny pack had tears blurring his vision. “Whoa, whoa, hey, it’s okay, I’llget it,” Richie rushed to say. He pushed Eddie’s hands out of the way andretrieved his inhaler. Eddie opened his mouth, letting Richie press his inhalerinto his hand and guide it to his face. Eddie inhaled, grateful for themedicinal taste on his tongue. Richie had one hand on Eddie’s and the othercupping Eddie’s jaw. His hands were a little sticky, but Eddie found that hedidn’t mind; they were warm, and they helped ground him. Eddie pulled theinhaler away from his lips, steadying his breathing on his own. He felt hottear tracks running down his cheeks and wiped them away furiously. Richie slidhis hand away from Eddie’s cheek, resting it on his shoulder. Eddie missed histouch. “You okay?” Richie asked in a voice so soft Eddie practically couldn’trecognize it. “What was all that about?”

Eddie consideredtelling him, but the thought had his throat closing again. “Tell me about yourday,” Eddie said suddenly, the words tripping over one another in their rush toget out. Richie’s brow furrowed, and he looked like he was about to saysomething, but Eddie cut him off. “Any good chucks today?” he asked, his voicestill shaking. The confusion on Richie’s face smoothed out, some expressionEddie couldn’t place passing over his wide eyes before he beamed at Eddie.

“Finally pickingup on my genius vocabulary, I see,” he bragged before launching into an accountof his day. Every word calmed Eddie’s breathing, every wild gesture and stupidvoice dried Eddie’s tears. Before long he was even laughing, smacking Richie’sshoulder half-heartedly. “So you really came over just to hear about my day?”Richie asked, toeing the line between humorous and serious.

Eddie shrugged,already beginning to shrink in on himself again. “I just wanted to see you,” hesaid defensively, wishing he’d worded it differently as a shit-eating,bucked-tooth grin spread across Richie’s face.

“I’m pretty irresistible,aren’t I?”

“Yeah, to licemaybe,” Eddie scoffed. But then he was thinking about lice, and things crawlingon him, inside of him, and he startedfreaking out again. What if that thing had touched him? What if he wasinfected?

“Eds?”

“I sawsomething,” Eddie managed to croak out.

“Congratulationson not being blind? Although considering your present company, you’re kindajust bragging.” Eddie shot Richie a look that shut him up.

“You know thehouse on Neibolt Street?”

“The abandonedone?” Eddie nodded. “Yeah, that place is fuckin’ Creep City.”

“Well, I passedit on my way home, and…” Eddie trailed off, his chest already tightening again.For once in his life Richie was quiet, patiently waiting for Eddie to continue.“I saw this, this man, I guess, but he-” Eddie sucked in a breath sharply,feeling himself getting to the verge of tears again. He gripped the hem of hisshorts so hard his knuckles turned white. “He was sick, like, fucking rotting.” He trained his eyes on Richie’sgangly, bent knees in an attempt to ground himself, unable to look into hisfriend’s eyes as his own began to fill with tears again. “I dropped my pills,and then he just fucking appeared outof nowhere. And I ran, but h-he chased me.” Eddie’s resolve broke on theword “chased,” and he began sobbing in earnest. Richie froze for a moment beforepulling Eddie into his arms. The angle was a bit awkward, as they were bothsitting cross-legged, their knees banging together. Eddie crawled into Richie’slap, throwing his shame out the window and following the instincts that toldhim to seek the comfort Richie was offering. Eddie was both surprised andgrateful when Richie wrapped his arms even more tightly around Eddie’s torsowithout cracking a joke. Eddie burrowed his face into Richie’s shoulder,fingers gripping the front of his shirt. He thought that maybe he should beembarrassed, but Richie was pulling him in, not pushing him away, and insteadof feeling embarrassed he felt safe,finally.

“Did he hurtyou?” Richie asked. His voice sent chills down Eddie’s spine; Eddie had onlyseen Richie genuinely mad once or twice in their six years of friendship, butit was so chilling that he’d memorized what it sounded like, and it soundedlike that. Eddie shook his head.

“N-no, I gotaway.” An image popped into Eddie’s head then, a bunch of balloons in anunnatural triangle formation, none of them bopping or blowing in the wind.Then, behind the balloons-

But no, Richiewouldn’t believe that. If Eddie mentioned the clown Richie would think he’dbeen joking, or that he was crazy. He might even get mad at him, and Eddie didn’twant to do anything that would make Richie stop holding him.

“Damn right yougot away from that fucking creep,” Richie said. Eddie thought he was trying tosound light-hearted, proud even, but there was still that harshness in hisvoice, that anger. “No fucking creep-ass hobo is gonna touch my Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie’s arms tightenedaround Eddie, and Eddie kind of felt like he was melting into Richie. It feltnice. Richie took a breath and said in a voice much closer to his normal,jovial tone, “I swear Eds, you gotta go out for track, you’d knock ‘em dead.”Eddie’s chest tightened again, but this time it was different. My Eddie. Eds. He curled further intoRichie, sniffling; Richie was a bony motherfucker, but Eddie had never beenmore comfortable. “Hey,” Richie whispered in Eddie’s ear, “he can’t get you,okay? You’re safe now. He’s never gonna bother you again.” This was anothervoice Eddie had only heard a handful of times, but it was a voice he liked muchbetter than the angry one. It was a voice Richie never used around the others,Eddie had only ever heard it when he and Richie were alone. It soothed him, andsoon his sobs were nothing more than small hiccups.

He reluctantlylifted his head from Richie’s shoulder, wiping at his eyes. “Shit, I got snoton your shirt,” he laughed weakly. Richie just shrugged.

“This shirt’s seenworse,” he grinned.

“Ugh, you’regross,” Eddie groaned, sharing Richie’s smile. He didn’t want to leave Richie’slap, but he felt like he had to, so he did.

“You know youlove me,” Richie winked.

“Yeah,” Eddiesighed, suddenly exhausted. That wiped the grin off Richie’s face, leaving himwith wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“I’m uh, I’mglad you came over,” Richie said. His hand were in his lap, but his Band-Aidcovered knees were bumping against Eddie’s, so he was close enough that hecould run his fingers over Eddie’s calves just by stretching them a little bit.Eddie got a weird feeling in his chest when Richie did that, but it felt kindof nice. “You know, you’re always safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happento you.” Eddie nodded, taking Richie’s hands in his own. His stomach flutteredas he did so, but Richie held on tight, and Eddie didn’t feel like pullingaway.

“Thanks, Rich.”

“Any time.”

“I’m not gonnalet anything happen to you either, you know.”

“Aw, Eds, myfierce little protector, you’re too sweet.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he didn’tlet go of Richie’s hands. “You okay?” Richie asked after a moment of silence.

“I think so,”Eddie said, deflating a bit. “I’m just- what if I’m sick now, you know? What ifhe did touch me, or what if it was airborne?”

“Well if it’sairborne then you just got me sick,” Richie joked, “so I guess we’ll rottogether, asshole.” He grinned, but it didn’t do anything to calm Eddie’sfears. Picking up on this, he added, “Eds, you’re not sick, I promise.”

“You don’t knowthat.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

Something Eddiecouldn’t quite name passed over Richie’s eyes. Then, suddenly, Richie’s handswere back on Eddie’s face, and he was pressing his candy-sweet lips to Eddie’s.It was brief, and their lips didn’t quite line up right, but Eddie melted intoimmediately anyway.

“There,” Richiesaid when he pulled away, his cheeks dusted pink. “That’s how certain I am thatyou’re not sick.”

“You’re an idiot,”Eddie mumbled, but he couldn’t help the smile that played across hisstill-tingling lips, and he took Richie’s hands in his own again.

“No, I’m adoctor,” Richie corrected with a huge grin.

“I’ve never hada doctor do that before.”

“I’d sure hopenot,” Richie said, making Eddie giggle. “Was that… okay?” Richie asked, hissmile faltering. It came back full force when Eddie nodded. “Awesome! It was…kind of awesome.”

“Yeah,” Eddieagreed. They looked at each other for a long moment, playing with each other’sfingers.

“You wanna play?”Richie asked, breaking the silence as he nodded toward the TV. “I can plug inanother controller.”

“Can I justwatch you play?” Eddie asked.

“Definitely!”Richie nodded enthusiastically. He turned back to the television, and Eddienestled in next to him, resting his head on Richie’s snot-free shoulder.

“You know, youshouldn’t sit so close to the screen,” Eddie said. “That’s probably why you’reso fucking blind.”

“No, I’m sofucking blind because I’ve blinded by your beauty so many times,” Richiegrinned down at him, kissing the top of his head. He then launched into a storyabout how the round was going as he began to play again, and Eddie was happy tosettle in and listen to his spiel.

As he thoughtabout it, Eddie knew Richie was right; he wassafe, and so was Richie, as long as they were together.

taglist: @jane-doe-663 @reddie4thesinbin @deadlighturis @constantreaderfool @reddieloserz

#reddie #reddie fic #reddie fluff #request

[af-answers]

Orion and the Two Heads

They all stared at the head staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. For a horrible minute, Orion was afraid he’d actually managed to kill a dead man. Then, the head began to laugh.

“Yes! Yes! This is what I’m talking about! Come over here, me, and pick me up!”

His body lurched forward, accidentally kicking the head to the other side of the room.

“Oof! Got to get used to this!”

The children waited patiently for Nick’s body to retrieve his head, Orion getting over the shock first, then Harry, then Hermione, and finally Ron.

“Now, I believe you promised us the location of another head,” Orion prompted.

Nick looked up at his severed neck, which “looked” down at him.

“I will tell you,” he said, gritting his teeth, “a deal is a deal, after all. But I wouldn’t have made it if I thought you’d actually be able to do it.”

Harry crossed his arms, bending at the waist to meet Nick’s eyes. “Where’s the head, Sir Nicholas?”

“We’re not going!” Ron whispered over breakfast the next morning.

“Nick said the head can only be found under the light of a full moon,” Hermione said, “so we need to make the decision soon. After tonight, it will begin waning.”

“Going that far into the Forbidden Forest?” Harry pushed aside a half-eaten pumpkin muffin. “Are we sure it’s worth it?”

“Besides,” Ron said, “no one knows why the head has been hidden. All history of the Valeron family has been lost. He could be a seriously wicked dude.”

“Or he could be an innocent. His body seems nice and well mannered enough,” Hermione countered. “Bottom line is, we won’t know anything for certain until we find him.”

The three looked over at Orion, who had been silent for most of the morning. The sudden intelligence he’d exhibited the night before had worn off, leaving a cowed boy in its wake. To be honest, Orion was trying hard not to think. He wasn’t sure what Artemis had access to anymore, and he couldn’t risk him finding out about the plan.

“I think,” he said, fiddling with his fork, “I’m not sure how much longer I have in control of this body. I can feel Art-Arthur chipping away at the walls holding him back, and I—“ he closed his eyes “— I want to live life to the fullest while I have one, you know?”

The Gryffindors were silent, the chatter of the other children pushing in on them.

“We’re here for you, Orion,” Ron said, squeezing his shoulder. “You wanna go out with a bang? You’ve come to the right people: mischief and adventure seems to follow us around.” He extended a fist toward his Slytherin friend.

A smile tugged at the corners of Orion’s mouth, and he bumped his fist against Ron’s. “To glory,” he said.

That night, the four friends rendezvoused at the pumpkin patch behind Hagrid’s hut. The three Gryffindors had the benefit of the Cloak, but the Slytherin house had a chess tournament that night, so Orion had to sneak out at a later time and meet them separately.

“Do we have everything?” Hermione whispered, ducking out from under the Invisibility Cloak.

Harry looked in his knapsack. “Map, candles, trowels, Seances for Dummies, cooking sherry—“

“—and a head-sized trash bag.” Ron finished.

Orion swooped down on a broom, dismounting two meters from the ground and flipping the broom handle over his shoulder with a grace Artemis could only envy.

“Are we ready?” he asked, propping the broom amongst Hagrid’s other gardening tools.

“As we’ll ever be,” Ron said, shaking from his shoulders to his feet to limber himself up.

“Right, straight to it, then,” Harry said, taking out the map and handing it to Hermione.

The four entered the dark woods as they always did: with fear and a heaping helping of ignorance.

After hearing a wolf howl in the distance, the students decide to sacrifice speed for safety and cluster under the Cloak. They arrived at the Whomping Willow without incident, when the moon was high in the sky.

“Hurry and find the marker,” Hermione whispered, holding the map up to the moonlight. “And stay clear of the Willow, whatever you do.”

The young wizards searched the area, lighting their way with their wands. A few minutes later:

“I think I found it!” Harry cried. His friends joined him at a shallow hill that had been bisected at some point, exposing its rocky innards. Near the ground and concealed by shrubbery the crest of the house of Valeron glowed in the light of the full moon: two winged snakes twined around a book with holes in it.

“There’s some heavy symbolism there,” Hermione said, crouching down. “Shall we begin?”

An hour and a meter of dirt later, Orion’s trowel struck metal. The friends looked at each other, then abandoned their shovels in unison, excavating the box with their hands. Soon, they hefted a metal box to the surface. A thick chain encircled it and a padlock held it shut.

“I’m getting bad vibes,” Ron said, standing and backing away. “No one puts a big, bloody chain on a box with only a head in it without good reason.”

“Perhaps it was one of Lord Valeron’s enemies, to punish him in the after life.” Orion pointed out. “In any case, I won’t have come all this way for nothing.”

He brandished his wand. “Alohomora,” he said.

Nothing.

“It makes sense that a chest this protected couldn’t be unlocked by a simple charm,” Hermione mused.

“We could try the old fashioned way,” Harry suggested. “Smash it off with a rock.”

“Maybe we don’t need to open it,” Hermione said. She tugged on Harry’s backpack. “We want to talk to a ghost, remember? Ghosts can phase through things. All we have to do is wake him up.”

Hermione retrieved the candles, sherry, and seance book. They arranged five candles in a circle around the box and lit them with magic.

“Animum sapientis,” she intoned, pouring the sherry over the box. “Accipit, expergiscimini, surrecturus!”

Only the chirping of crickets and the whistling of the wind could be heard on the small hillock.

“Did you hear that?” Orion asked.

When the others only gave him blank stares, he crouched before the box, tilting his head toward it. “I hear something inside,” he said, and the others fell to their knees, too.

“Dementor?” he repeated, then shook his head. “No, dimittere. Dimittere mortuis.” The candles all extinguished at once, and the padlock unhinged with a clink.

For a long moment, none of the children moved, but all stared at the box. Orion reached forward, removed the lock, and swept the chains off the chest.

He reeled back when the lid flew open of its own accord. A skull rolled forward in the tiny casket, its blazing green eyes flicking from person to person.

“My greatest gratitude to you youths!” it haled in a high-pitched trill. “I’d almost despaired of anyone setting me free.”

“Much obliged,” Hermione said with a small curtsy.

“But we’re here with a purpose,” Orion said. “We were told you knew— secrets.”

“Everyone knows secrets, my boy,” The skull of Lord Valeron pointed out. “Are the secrets I know worth sharing? That’s the question.”

“I’m guessing your secrets have something to do with the afterlife and immortality,” Harry posited, his arms crossed over his chest, “or we wouldn’t even be able to have this conversation face to face.”

“Or face to.. bone?” Ron corrected.

“Clever children,” the head replied. “But I like to keep my secrets. However, as a show of gratitude, here’s what I’ll do. You can ask me three questions, and if I like them, I’ll answer them.”

“How about, you answer our questions or we lock you back in the box?” Ron threatened.

The head leered at him, but then, the skinless face always appeared to be leering. “I think you’ll find locking this chest will be infinitely more difficult than unlocking it.”

“Fine,” Orion interjected. “We take you offer.”

“Alright,” the head fixed its fiery gaze on Orion. “First question.”

“How is your ghost split into two pieces without the other half not being able to find you?”

Lord Valeron sighed. “The obvious question, but I’ll humor you. Secret number one: I didn’t die from decapitation.”

The wizards exchanged surprised glances.

“I made known that once I passed on, I wished for my head to be removed, put in this box, and sent to my ancestral home in Scotland. The chains and ridiculous hiding spot were not my idea. But how did I do it?” The green eyes squinted up. “It was simple, really, but also wholly dependent on my personality. Or rather, personalities.” The head rolled its eyes, and Orion imagined he’d be shrugging if he had shoulders. “I had a split personality, one I didn’t quite get on with. So the one part of my consciousness got my body after death, and I inherited the head. Seems like I got the short end of the deal, literally, but I don’t mind. I do love to talk.”

A vibrating sensation buzzed behind Orion’s left eye and an odd excitement zinged through his limbs. Orion swallowed hard. This wasn’t good: Artemis had had an epiphany.

Hermione frowned. “Why did—“

“Would it be possible to separate a ghost from a body, before the person were dead?”

Hermione looked at him with confusion and dawning horror.

Orion, on the other hand, was confused by the words tumbling out of his mouth in Artemis’s voice. As soon as they had been spoken, the vibration stopped.

Lord Valeron blinked. “You catch on swiftly: a wizard after my own heart. I did do some experiments in that vein during my life. The nearest I got to succeeding cost me my own life. Let’s see if you can ascertain: what creature do we know who specializes in the extraction of souls?”

Harry’s green eyes widened. “Dementors,” he whispered.

Lord Valeron winked at him. “Right you are. I allowed a dementor to suck out my soul with the intention of cutting it off midstream and releasing my ghost, or half of it, at least. But I underestimated the its power, my plan backfired, and, well—“

Ron frowned. “That makes no sense. Dementors don’t kill, they feed on the soul. If it backfired, shouldn’t you have turned into a soulless husk with no ghost to haunt Hogwarts?”

“And why did someone chain you up and hide you in the woods?” Hermione asked.

The head cackled. “An excellent question. One I’d be delighted to answer.”

The skull floated above the casket on a cloud of green, which swirled and solidified into a skeletal shape.

“Why did they hide me away? Because I was my last experiment. And along the way, I figured out how to destroy the soul from the inside.” He flexed his new body, and a shimmering robe materialized over it, held closed by a belt in the shape of a snake. “A happy side effect, when one’s goal is to take over Hogwarts. And now I can fulfill that dream from beyond the grave,” Lord Valeron stepped out of the box and past the circle of candles. “Thanks to you.”

#and they keep making things worse #hogwarts au #orion fowl #Hermione Granger #Harry Potter #Ron Weasley

[jbrentonparker]

Different Plotting Methods

Ah, plotting. As a writer, it’s either your saving grace, or the bane of your existence.

Coming out of NaNoWriMo, the distinction between “Pansters” and “Planners” is on my mind. I fall firmly into the “Planner” category--though I haven’t always. When I first started writing when I was 12 or so, I believed pantsing was the only way to go (”pantsing” is, for those of you unfamiliar with the slang, is writing a story without doing any significant planning or plotting beforehand).

Perhaps not unrelated, I never got more than a page or two into any story I ever wrote for years.

Now I don’t dare start a story unless I’ve got 90% of it plotted out in detail. But plotting is hard, and a lot of writers who are just starting out can be daunted by the task, so I thought I’d write a series of posts, one every Friday, going over a few different plotting methods in detail, hopefully turning at least one person on to a method that works for them.

In this post, I’m just going to give a quick overview of seven methods that are commonly used and/or helpful to many writers.

The Freytag Pyramid:

Developed by German novelist and playwright Gustav Freytag, the pyramid was really developed to map out the story structure of five act Greek and Shakespearean dramas, but it can often be modified and applied to short stories and novels as well.

In Freytag’s pyramid, there are five parts (acts) to a narrative:

Exposition, in which the background of characters and events that occurred prior to the plot are given; Rising Action, which is the series of events that lead up towards the greatest point of interest, or the turning point in the narrative; Climax, which isn’t the same as what other people refer to as the “climax” of a story--Freytag means the turning point that changes the protagonist’s fate; Falling Action, when the conflict between the protagonist and the antagonist comes to a head (what is actually usually called the “climax” in novel writing); And Denouement, all the stuff after the Falling Action to the very last scene, in which the narrative is wrapped up for better or for worse.

The Three-Act Structure:

Similar to Freytag’s model, but this one has been developed specifically for narrative fiction. The First Act begins with exposition: the introduction of the characters and the setting. It gives the reader a sense of what “normal” is in the context of the narrative. A little ways into the First Act is the Inciting Incident, the thing that changes everything for the protagonist. The letters start coming for Harry, the Dwarves show up at Bilbo’s house. The protagonist trying to deal with this Inciting Incident leads to Plot Point A, and signals the end of the first act. Think of Plot Point A as the dramatic moment in a TV show right before the first round of commercials start (e.g. House’s first guess being wrong and the patient unexpectedly coding). The Second Act is the protag reacting to and trying to deal with Plot Point A. They don’t have the necessary skills yet however, and only continue to wind up in increasingly worse situation (this is their character arc, them gradually acquiring the skills to triumph later). The Second Act ends with Plot Point 2: the moment the protag is at their lowest. Everything that could go wrong has, and it seems as though they will never succeed, but they have to make a choice: forge ahead anyway, or give up. The Third Act commences, with the protag still trying to clean up after themselves despite the hopeless situation. They are forced to face the conflict head on in the Climax, which is the ultimate clash between the protagonist and the antagonist. One or the other comes out victorious, and the remainder of the act follows the same lines as Freytag’s Denouement, wrapping up all the loose ends.

Snowflake Method:

Developed by Randy Ingermanson, this is one that’s popular with many writers, especially because if its pick-and-choose nature in which you can skip steps, only using what works best for you. Step 1: Write a one word sentence, 15 words or less, describing in broad terms the subject of your story (”a young boy learns he is a wizard and goes to  a magical school”). Step 2: Turn one sentence into five: the first describes the set up, the next three describing the main conflicts, and the last describing the conclusion. Step 3: Write a one page summary of each main character, describing their major goals, motivation, conflicts, and epiphanies, as well summarizing the story from each of their respective points of view. Step 4: Take the five sentences from step 2 and turn each one into a paragraph, fleshing out the details of the set up, conflicts, and climax in the form of a one page synopsis. Step 5: Write one page for main characters and half a page for supporting characters describing the story from their point of view, expanding on step 3. Steps 6 through 10 continue to add more to the previous 5 steps, so I’ll skip over that for now. I’ll discuss it in more detail in the post devoted to the Snowflake Method, but you can google it to check out the other steps for yourself.

The Protagonist Fucks It Up Method:

I can’t remember where I first learned this method, so I am afraid I can’t credit the creator. It more or less plays out like the 3 Act Structure method, but with more of a character-oriented focus. An Inciting Incident occurs, which will forever change the protagonist’s life. In this event, they are passive: something has happened to them. First Reaction: the protag reacts to the inciting incident. Whatever they do, they make the situation worse. They make a new enemy, they wind up in a dangerous place, they fail in a way that leaves them with more problems than they had before. Second Reaction: the protag tries to clean up the mess they have just gotten themselves into. They, of course, fail, and wind up in even more trouble. Harry and Hermione send Norbert on his way without Malfoy getting Hagrid in trouble--but end up getting themselves and Neville detention instead. Third Reaction: In serious trouble now, the protag has a choice to make. Get the hell out of Dodge, or face the consequences of their actions, and try for one last desperate attempt at fixing everything. This leads to them confronting the antagonist and leads into the...

Climax, in which everything they have messed up comes crashing down around their head in a dramatic fashion. This is the moment in a RomCom when the main character has driven away all her friends, got into a huge seemingly irreparable fight with the love interest, and is in imminent danger of losing or has already lost her apartment/job/dog/whatever. The movie Bridesmaids is a great example of this story structure.

The Hero’s Journey:

If you were in 7th to 9th grade, you’ve probably learned about this at least once in school. This story structure can be found just about everywhere in fantasy literature, from the Odyssey to Eragon. It’s not a plotting method, but many writers have followed its structure in building their plots, and it appears in many epic myths and legends around the world. There seventeen (!) stages, so I’m going to blow through them real quick. You can google it for more info, or wait for my in-depth post about it.

The Departure (protag leaves the safety of home), which contains: The Call to Adventure (in inciting incident); Refusal of the Call (protag says “Heck no”, a la Bilbo); Meeting the Mentor (the reliable figure who coaxes the protag out and teaches them the ways of the world); Crossing the First Threshold (actually leaving home and setting out for adventure; Belly of the Whale (the protag is fully out of his element and thrust into totally new, usually dangerous, adventure). The Initiation portion of the narrative involves: The Road of Trials (a series of tests or challenges the hero faces, many of which they fail); Meeting with the Goddess (in which the hero is given an item or items that will help them in the future, see Galadriel);  The Woman as Temptress (named after the temptation of of lust knights in Arthurian tales and heroes in Greek epics often face, in which the hero faces a temptation that makes them consider abandoning their quest); Atonement with the Father/Abyss (when the hero confronts and is initiated by whatever holds power of their life and fate. See the scene with the cave on Dagobah in Star Wars for a very literal version of this); Apotheosis (the hero attains understanding, and is ready for the next more difficult part of their journey); The Ultimate Boon (the hero achieves their goal, comes out of the climax victorious). The Return consists of: Refusal of the Return (the heroes doesn’t want to go back to the way things were); The Magic Flight (the hero needs to get out of danger with the MacGuffin, e.g. Dorothy getting out of the Wicked Witch’s castle and back to the Emerald City); The Rescue From Without (other characters help the hero return, especially if the hero has been wounded); The Crossing of the Return Threshold (returning home, but retaining the knowledge and wisdom gained from the experiences of the journey); Master of the Two Worlds (the hero is now comfortable with both the inner world and outer world, in reference to both “home” and the wide world their adventure took place in, and their own inner self and everyone else); Freedom to Live (fear of death or anything else is cast off, giving the hero the freedom to live life to the fullest).

Beginning, End, and Nothing Else:

This one is nice if you’re a “plantser”, half planner, half pantser. You like to know where you’re starting from and where you want to end up, but you want everything in between to remain a mystery, and discover it as it happens.

It’s pretty straight forward: you come up with a premise, maybe a setting or a plot or some characters, or all three. Then you decide where you ultimately want the story to end up. To fall back on Harry Potter an an example (which most everyone is at least familiar with), it would look something like this: “A boy discovers he is a wizard, and goes away to a magic school. The climax is him having to face the evil wizard who killed his parents, preventing that wizard from regaining power.” It could be more detailed than that of course, the point is, you start out with only location and destination, and work out the rest as you go. This method is nice, because it automatically forces you to come up with a conflict to drive the story forward, and minimizes the likelihood that you’ll end up with a rambling, plotless story.

Stream of Consciousness Plotting:

This is my personal method, and just involves writing down everything I think of as I think of it, working out plot points and characters and setting as I go. It’s a mess, so I’ll leave any more explanation for a later post.

#writing tips #writing advice #plotting #plotting methods #how to plot a story #story structure

[skepticraven]

Teen Mom OG Shame On You, Ryan Edwards. And Shame On Your Wife Too.

Rant Time: Ryan is the biggest bullshitter I’ve ever seen and he isn’t even good at it. He said he was in rehab 21 days and graduated early. That’s not a thing. They don’t give you a gold star and tell you to go home early because you showed up to group therapy during detox and frankly, I don’t buy that he was some kind of rehab superstar. Knowing Ryan and his general tendency to do the absolute bare minimum required of him (if that), I seriously doubt he went to group during detox under any circumstance and hypothetically if he did go, he almost certainly would have been dosed him with Methadone, Suboxone, or Subutex to massively diminish or eliminate his symptoms. I mean, he had such a HUGE habit that if he cold turkey-ed it, he would have been vomiting, shitting, and sweating his way through group- not to mention the agony of the muscle aches. If Ryan has some kind of epiphany in rehab, then he would have completed every second of his rehab stint. He would have also made & followed a clear aftercare plan and jumped through whatever hoops Maci asked him to so that he can prove he is ready to be a responsible parent. But he did none of that.

Inpatient programs (especially the high-quality kind Ryan attended) is usually AT MINIMUM 28-30 days and quite often they may be 2, 3, or up to 6 months long because research shows that the longer the program, the higher the likelihood that the patient will stay clean in the long run. Of course longer is better! Habits that took years to create, can’t be erased overnight. There is a lot more to getting clean than just stopping using drugs. You have to learn your triggers, learn new coping skills for stressful situations, build new sober networks, rebuild one’s self-esteem, mend broken family relationships, learn accountability and responsibility, work through past traumas, possibly treat underlying mental illnesses, etc.

I’d bet an arm and a leg that Ryan was not only advised to NOT to leave treatment early but also to go to a halfway house after treatment because the alternative was going straight home to his army of enablers. He needs to grow up and he can’t do that on his mommy’s tit. Or Mackenzie’s. At the very least, the rehab would have suggested Ryan start outpatient treatment, attend community-based support groups (like AA, NA, HA, S.O.S, etc), meet regularly with a counselor, and see a psychiatrist for medication management- all of which he is not doing, by his own admission. Ryan doesn’t seem to grasp that trust is earned and he spent a long time losing it by being an absentee parent. He just thinks he gets to snap his fingers and all is forgotten despite having done nothing to earn back that trust and spending every possible minute of camera time to belittle the mother of his child. The woman who has been there for the last 8 years while Ryan sat around with that stupid vacant expression, doing drugs, and sleeping around. How about you thank Maci for a start?

Mackenzie is either totally clueless or a horrible person. She covered up and enabled Ryans addiction. During the on camera incident where Ryan was clearly driving while extremely intoxicated, she didn't immediately order him to pull over (thus allowing him to endanger lives). As his addiction happened, she made excuses for him nodding out- he's tired, he accidentally took too much medication, etc. Far from being upset about him driving while intoxicated, she rewarded his behavior by marrying him. Mackenzie has a son that she has brought into this dysfunctional marriage which is incredibly selfish. In fact, it's selfish that she didn't allow Ryan to get clean before making such a commitment. They always tell addicts not to make any major, life-altering decisions until they've been sober for a year. It’s like she wanted to lock him down before he got healthy. Again, she is making excuses for Ryan leaving treatment early and not completing any kind of aftercare plan. She tried to diminish his addiction by saying it was to xanax and not heroin. And now she is drinking with him on top of it! She couldn't be sabotaging Ryan any harder if she tried. And the way she treats Maci is disgusting. She lured Maci in and befriended her, then when Maci started to confide in her, she broke that confidence for no other reason than to cause drama. And since then, she has helped Ryan to excuse his absentee parenting by trying to paint Maci as the devil so that he doesn't have to take responsibility for his mistakes. And the thing is, Mackenzie KNOWS all of this and she is doing it anyways. 

Addiction is a disease but he has a choice now that he knows he has it. Treat it or don’t treat it. Do the right thing or don’t. Man up and own his mistakes or distract from them by pointing fingers. So far, he is 0 for 3. Maci has every right to demand he pass a drug test. She’d be negligent if she didn’t. 

I hope Ryan get’s his shit together for Bentley’s sake but I doubt it. 

#teen mom #teen mom og #ryan edwards #maci bookout #mackenzie standifer #teen parent #teen mum #gossip

[thegodthief]

Do Magick: Five Days and a Wakeup

The Objective: To use the Book of Oberon to summon and have communication (communion?) with a spirit that I have had dreams about for years.

The Research: The Book of Oberon (Harm, Clark, & Peterson), Gordon White's Rune Soup Grimoire Course, the Hygromanteia (Marathakis), Twilit Grotto: Archives of Western Esoterica, and the internet.

Where I am so far: Having compared the Book of Oberon's list of "The necessaries for this art of Necromancy"[1], Gordon White's "Provincial List", to what I can make and/or obtain in this short time, if the objective were to summon any other spirit, I would have given up the September 1st start date and probably the endeavor in general. To be short: I'm not giving up.

There is a reason the pseudonym for this spirit is "Patient Caller". From the beginning I recognized it/him as something external to my interior world, he has made it clear that it would take some sort of ceremonial magic to complete the connection. Something I have balked at for years because my emotional, mental, and sometimes physical wounds incurred from the decades of abuse by God-Fearing Men and Women in Christ's Holy Name had me wanting jacque shitte to do with anything even having the appearances of Christianity or with placing myself under the aegis of the Christian divinity(s).

Now having made the distinction between the people who hurt me and the religious banners they hid themselves in, I have been pushing back and challenging my fears. The Birto workings proved to me that I am capable of engaging Christianity-flavored ceremonial magic and enabled me to look further.

The entire time, it/he never ceased being "there". In my dreams and visions, there is always a giant book between us as a table and barrier. It/He is always obscured as if behind the screen of a confessional, or behind a ritual veil. And there is always a sense of "When you're ready, I'm here."

Because of that, I moving forward with the hope that if I can reach the "halfway point" across that divide, then Patient Caller will also meet me halfway. Obviously, I'm not going to have even a third of the "necessaries" even if I did take a whole year to prepare. Because I share a house with others, I don't have the luxury of a dedicated room for the sole use of workings. I have my personal room, and that's it.

An asthmatic in the house means incense and smoke is just not going to happen. Their ability to breathe trumps my foolishness. Mixed shifts means no loud noises. It's not a matter of having to choose between Perfect Timing and the Perfect Environment. It's about taking advantage of the best timing and environment I can get. For the resources and time that I have, however, I have enough to get myself into trouble. We shall see if it is enough to get out of trouble.

The Starting Equipment:

A rope or cord no less than 15' (≈4.6m) of length. A smaller cord no less than 3' (≈1m) of length.

A fragrant candle, with a votive or container that can be capped when not in use. The candle will not be lit, but will be warmed to release scent.

A white cotton shawl.

Knife with black handle, same as used in second attempt of the Birto working. To be honest, I'm not satisfied with it, but any attempts to replace it thus far has been met with an even greater dissatisfaction so it stays until something literally better comes along.

A hazel rod to be worked into a wand. (Detailed later in this post.)

Shewstone. (Also detailed later in this post.)

The Book of Oberon. (Required to be present by the ritual I intend to use.)

The Seal of Solomon. Even if it means drawing it by hand. Because reasons.

Cut notecards to mark the spirit's name for his circle.

Pen and paper to record notes during the working.

I know it is not "enough", but this is where I start, as I have faith that between the Book of Oberon, Patient Caller, and my observations, I am going to learn what is required, what is enough, and what is a detriment.

Magic happens when you're not looking. That phrase neatly summarizes the past seven days since I announced my participation. My active magic is based upon dreams, visions, and (dry) altered states. While my daily tarot divinations have been encouragingly boring, it is in the moments I'm not actively looking for information that I receive it in compact bursts.

My work commute is 45 miles each way, and when I'm lucky it's only that same number of minutes. (I am not always lucky, and leave accordingly.) During that drive, I have been experiencing epiphanies about what to do for the upcoming workings. They felt like someone was talking to me or telling me a story but I was too distracted by driving to catch the entire thread until the communication had ended. After which I would be able to recall the entire of the transmission, but unable to ask further questions.

I have a wand already. It has worked for me before and was the focus for some "adventures", but I did not want to dedicate it to any particular branch of magic. So the list entry for "Wand" was marked with "none".

While driving, I have a flashback to a time eight years ago, when a then close friend and I were up to (responsible) gathering shenanigans in the local hills and mountains. A hazel tree had been cut down on public land due to its uneven growth being a hazard. The local stewards were allowing folks to come collect what they wanted of the fallen tree as the less that remained for them to mulch meant the less they would have to pay for the disposal.

My friend wanted to collect as much as he could load up in his vehicle for staves, rods, and wands. I had gone to assist him and take a few for sending to my woo-minded friends. I had no intention of keeping any for myself. While the trunk of the tree was twisted and bowed, there were no small number of very long, nearly straight lengths. My friend suggested that if I was going to explore this "pagan thing" any further, I should keep a length of hazel rod for myself.

I have never forgotten my answer to him. "I wouldn't know what to do with it even if it hit me." I then pulled the next branch out of the debris pile for trimming. Of course, I pull a branch that was still connected to a bigger branch that was at the bottom of the pile. Moving this caused the entire pile to shift and tilt, throwing lighter branches and twigs every which way. Surrounded by flying trimmings and branches, all I could do was cover my face and duck.

I was struck upside the head with a long straight length of hazel that I grabbed before it could complete my humiliation by falling on my feet.

After my friend regained his composure from laughing so hard that he had to sit down, he made the soft and quiet suggestion that I should keep that rod in particular for myself. I did so, eventually placing it in a drawer and almost forgetting about it. Each time I did a purge of unnecessary things, I would look at the rod, hold it, remember how it "introduced itself", chuckle then put it back in the drawer for safekeeping. I had confidence that I would find a use for it "some day". I have come up with many ideas, but none of them were ever put into motion. The hazel rod remains in the same condition as it came to me.

After laughing at the flashback, road conditions required my full attention forward again. While "distracted", another "transmission" happened.

I saw myself holding the unmodified hazel rod in my right hand, upright, and with a severe look on my face even though my eyes were closed. There was a voice across a table from me, and that voice was instructing me what to do with the rod. The timing of the scene wasn't eight years in the past, or two weeks ago, but sometime in the near future. Sometime in the next three weeks.

I was left with the unshakeable conviction that this is what I had been saving that hazel rod for. Part of the instruction/conversation to be had is the refining of that rod.

When I performed the Birto working, I had a small dragon statue to serve as his "horse". During the first working, Birto seemed to project from the statue as if it was a lens. During the second working, he did not emanate from the statue itself, but the statue served as something I could mentally focus on until he made himself known via other means. I wanted to carry this over to this new ritual.

The ritual that Birto pointed me to calls for "... this spirit N. to come speedily, and to appear visibly here in a circle for him made and prepared with his name written therein, and that in a fair human shape and form, even like a child of three years of age, without the molestation of the air or hurting of any creature bearing life, annoying of beasts, or fearing of me or any of my fellows..." (The Book of Oberon. "A conjuration most necessary to the angels of each day to the obtaining of any spirit thou callest" Pages 236-239)

While I already have the cord and trimmed cards for N's Patient Caller's circle, I still didn't feel comfortable. Something felt missing. I needed a physical focus for myself, and that focus needed to be something that I could give over to Patient Caller for his exclusive use if needed.

I do have a small collection of baubles, crystals, and stones (Less than 20 even!), but they all had other uses already and could not be sacrificed for exclusivity. The idea would not leave me. In my meditations, I would visualize myself seated at the table preparing to perform the ritual. During those meditations, I would ask the embodiment of the Book of Oberon what substitutions could I make to fit my present circumstances.

It was in those meditations that the idea of a dedicated large white cotton shawl in lieu of full white clothing came about. (Clothes shopping when you are not a size naught is not always as straightforward as retailers would have you believe, online or not.) An interior conversation about how to share fragrance in a manner that could be quickly ceased should the asthmatic in the house have a negative reaction is what led to the choice of a scented candle in a lidded container.

During one of those meditations, she asked me which was more important for the physical focus: Form or function. She noted that in the limited time I had available, I could either purchase something that looked right for the job, made a neat display piece that I could show off to others, but may not have the right properties to work as I needed it to because it had been fashioned for a different purpose, or I could get something that Just Worked™, but would likely look like shit and add to the long list of reasons why my detractors declare loudly that I'm making things up.

I'll take function, please. I can always dress up the item if I want to impress people. Which I don't. I was reminded of a local rock and gem shop that I try to avoid because of the damages it can make on my budget. It was a random dice roll of an endeavor, but this is the last weekend for driving significant distances to obtain items in person.

The damage to my budget was well within what I was prepared to pay. So much so, that I wound up with two shewstones that met my requirements. Both are rough pieces (looked like shit), but both had one side that was polished flat and clear (met the function). One is a large thumbnail sized piece of amber and the other is a small piece of rutilated quartz that fits comfortably in the hand when the clear flat side is turned towards me.

Neither is required by the ritual. It just may be that my Patient Caller rejects both. I won't know until I find out.

Speaking of the ritual, here is what I have assembled thus far:

Preparation: Acquisition and consecration of tools as necessary prior to actual working. (See also: Activating Solomon's Seal for personal use during the eclipse.)

Circle: [Need: Preparation of the space(s) where the circles will be laid down using rope/cord.] Regardless of the use of a shewstone in the spirit's circle, his name (already revealed to me by Birto) must be written within it.

Consecration: [Need: Consecration of the Operation and the Circle(s).] Consecration of the Tools: "[T]o consecrate all instruments" or "Another prayer". (See the Book of Oberon, page 83[2].)

Invocation: Recite Psalm 54. Recite the appropriate prayer to the Intelligence of the Day (Planetary Day Prayer).

Evocation: "A conjuration most necessary to the angels of each day to the obtaining of any spirit thou callest" (See Book of Oberon, pages 236-239[3].)

Binding: (Included in above ritual.)

License to Depart: Based on Birto ritual. (See Book of Oberon, page 400[4].) Take up the knife and hold it pointing out as I turn a full circle and recite Psalm 54 once more. "Cut" the circle boundary with the knife and proceed with life.

Here follows referenced quotes from the Book of Oberon. It is suggested that you get something to drink and take care of personal business before you read because here lies very many words.

[1]"The necessaries for this art of Necromancy"

First have faith in God, acknowledge him to be almighty, call for his help, lean upon his sufferance, do work of charity, use abstinence, confess thy sins, repent truly, and transport thyself to a better kind or shape, and fulfill enerirnell, and keep observations.

Then provide an honest consecrated priest, three honest associates, books, vellum, standish, circle, palm crosses, sticks, a knife with a white haft, a black goat's horn, a sword, a scepter, two rings, one of copper, another of silver gilt, in the one must be written Tetragrammaton, in the other words to please the spirit, a rod of correction, the lamina, the principal's crown, a crown of virgin parchment for every of the associates, ink to write orderly prepared, Solomon's pentacle, Solomon's seals, seven planets, and their characters, oils, powders, blood, chalk, pens, suffumigations, a copper needle, vestment, albs, stole, fannell, glove, garments white, candles, coals, censer, holy water bucket, sprinkle, water, salt, tewisons, defensatives viz. or protections, silk to cover the lamina, sede maiestatis dei ["the seat of the majesty of god", and a cover for the same, a cover for every one of the seven planets, spices or odors for the same, a table, a tablecloth, a chair for the master, stoles for the associates, two white candlesticks, four evangelists, ashes made of a palm stick hallowed on Palm Sunday, the plat of copper having thereon pictures the spirits, suffumigations for the angels, suffumigations to please the spirit, suffumigations to urge the spirit a body, ordures for the excommunication, etc.

(The Book of Oberon, pages 290-291. Red text as same in book.)

[2]"[T]o consecrate all instruments"

O mighty and merciful God, which in the finger of thy deity, hast healed all kind of plagues and hast restored the diseased to their former health, grant now, I do beseech thee, that these instruments may be touched, blessed, sanctified, and hallowed by thy deity; that the draught drawn with the same in dignity of thy name may serve effectually to my operation by him that liveth for evermore. Amen.

"Another prayer"

O God, hear us in thy righteousness and vouchsafe of thy holiness of thy Godhead to consecrate, bless, and sanctify all these kind of instruments, that there remain no occasion of evil nor unholiness in them, but that they may be profitable, wholesome, and healthful to us and our work, for the merits of Christ Jesus ✝ Amen.

(The Book of Oberon, page 83.)

[3]"A conjuration most necessary to the angels of each day to the obtaining of any spirit thou callest"

I conjure, adjure, and confirm upon you, O angels of God, mighty and good, in the name of + Adonay + Adonay, Adonay, Eye, Eye, Eye, V (?). God was, God is, and God shall be, and in the name of God, Cados, Cados, Cados, high sitting upon Cherubim, and by the great name of the strong God, high and mighty above all heavens, Eye, Saraye, the shaper of worlds, the Creator of heaven, earth, sea, and hell, and all in them that hath any being, O holy angels, I conjure and invocate you by him whose name is Jehovahh, that made the first day and sealed it with his own name Phaa, and by him which appeared in the Mount Sinai to Moses the great prophet and leader of his people Israel, whose name is Achim, Ia, and that with great glory, who made the waters, seas, floods, springs, wells, and fountains the second day, and sealed them with his own name I. that they should not pass their straits and bounds. I conjure and confirm upon you Angels mighty and holy, and that by the names of that high God, that made the third day from the water to appear dry land and called it the land, and sealed it with his own name I that it should bring forth trees and herbs of itself. I conjure you mighty angels, holy and of great power, in the name of the dreadful and blessed Ia, Adonay Eloim, Saday, Asarie, and in the name of Adonay God of Israel, that created great lights to divide the day from the night the fourth day and sealed it with his own name Phaa, that it should be unto times and tides, nights and days. I conjure you, O holy angels, by the mighty Escherie, the confirmer of worlds and by the name Adonay, that on the fifth day created fishes and all other creeping things in the waters, birds flying upon the face of the earth, and sealed it with his own name, Phaa. I conjure you, angels of great power in the name, On, Hey, Heya, Saday, and in the name Saday, that created all four-footed beasts and men in the sixth day and gave to Adam power upon them and upon all the works of his hands. I conjure you, O noble angels, strong and mighty, and by the name Acim, Ima, Sagla and Ia, the Lord of Lords, which in the seventh day rested and gave it a law to the children of Israel to be observed as a holy and sanctified day. I conjure and exorcise you, O angels of great power, by the seven notable, coruscant, and splendishing stars, the Sun, the Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, and by the great name of God, Tetragrammaton, the mighty name Agla, the wonderful name Adonay, the strong name, El, and the name On, names of singular majesty, O angels, by all these and all others most reverent and high names of God both effable and ineffable, known and unknown, which I, by reason of mine imbecility and weakness, dare not to attempt as once to be so hardy to name nor excogitate, by these iterum atque iterum, again and again and so many times again as there be stars in the sky, sands on the shores, fishes in the sea, and grasses upon the face of the earth, I conjure and adjure, urge and constrain, confirm and compel, bid and command you and every of you, one and all, jointly and severally, to give and yield unto me, as now in this perilous work your strengths and aid, and that you command by and under the license of your God whose messengers to serve you, you [sic] are, that as certainly as thou, O Michael, art appointed to ☉ to protect and govern the people of God, and that by invincible strength, as true as thou, O Raphael, was attributed ad Tobie, ☿ ut parentum Sanaret, ex periculis liberat filium, et ei uxorem suam adduxerit [“to Tobiah, ☿ that he cure his parent, free his son from danger, and lead his wife to him”], as assuredly as thou O Gabriel, wast appointed the most joyful ambassador to the most pure, holy, and chaste Virgin Mary, virgo ante partum in partu et post partum [“a virgin before giving birth and after giving birth”], and greeting her with this undoubted salutation, Ave gratia plena Dominus tecum [“Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with you”], and as Daniel received consolation from his God by thee, and Zacharie pater Iohanes Baptiste [“the father of John the Baptist”] for his incredulity and undoubtedly, O you holy, mighty, and excellent angels, I beseech and pray you, yea, and I in the name of your God whose spirits you are, I do charge and command you that you and every one of you licence and permit all superior spirits and devils, to compel, urge, and command this spirit N. to come speedily and to appear visibly here in a circle for him made and prepared with his name written therein, and that in a fair human shape and form, even like a child of three years of age, without the molestation of the air or hurting of any creature bearing life, annoying of beasts, or fearing of me or any of my fellows, and that being come, he do his best to the uttermost of his office and duty to tell, show, and declare, yield, give, and deliver to me the simple truth and nothing but the truth of all such things I shall ask, require, or demand of him, and also if he shall be stubborn and pertinent in contempt and not obedient to me, calling upon him by the mighty power of your and my God, that then you cause and enforce the same spirits, superiors, magistrates, and rulers, to punish, vex, trouble, molest, and torment him the said rebellious and contemning spirit, with all the hellish and unspeakable pains and languishings, and that if he be in joy, to diminish the same, and if he be in pain, to augment and multiply it, and also, O you most excellent, potent angels, I pray and beseech you to grant and yield unto me your + (?) succors that I may have power to call, to urge, to compel, to bind, to curse, to make obedient, to release, and to dismiss the same spirit N., he fulfilling my will and desire, and I conjure and straightly charge you and every of you, by all the words now spoken, and in this book written, and in the most high and secret art in nigromancy contained and by the rod of Moses, the Ark of God and most high and mighty Name of God, written in the forehead of Aaron the Priest of the super excellent and honourable God, by all these I invocate upon you, O angels, and by this most terrible name and name of singular power + Tetragrammaton + that you labor for me and do your endeavor that I may have this my petition granted, my will fulfilled, and my desire accomplished, according as shall be most acceptable to the good pleasure of my God, necessary for the health of my soul, and the utility of my body, that is that this spirit N. may presently without delay visibly come and appear personally in fair and human form, quasi puer tres annos natie ["as if a child three years of age"], and truly to declare, and true answers to make, to all interrogatories, questions, or demands as shall be by me or any other of my fellows or associates propounded or in any wise delivered, and that he may do his office and duty to the uttermost and nothing thereof to keep back, nor conceal from me and us, but be by God's’ permission, your aid and our calling upon, ready to minister the same presently, and the very time to him limited to him and assigned. This grant Good Lord God who livest and reignest in glory sempiterne without beginning and without ending, now and forever, for thy dear son’s sake Jesus Christ, the everlasting and true word, the Immaculate Lamb, the saviour of mankind, and the most just judge, to whom together with the Holy Spirit sanctifier of all the elects, be praise and glory. Amen, Amen.

O Angeli supradicti, estote adiutores mee petitionis et [in] adiutorium mihi in meis rebus et petitionius. O vos Angeli omnes, adiuro contestor, per sedem Adonay, per Agios Otheos, Iskyros, Athanatos, Paracletos, Alpha, et Omega, et per hac tria nomina secreta + Agla + On + Tetragrammaton + quod hodie deb[e]atis, adimplere quod cupio.O angels spoken of before, be my helpers in these petitions, and help me in my affairs and petitions. O all you angels, I adjure and appeal to you, by the seat of Adonay, by Agios Otheos, Iskyros, Athanatos, Paraclete, Alpha and Omega, and by these three secret names + Agla + On + Tetragrammaton + that this day you might fulfill what I desire.

(The Book of Oberon, page 236-239. Red text and emphasis in original text.)

[4]O [N.], by all the words that I have spoken, and by the same virtue that thou didst come hither at this presence unto me, I command and charge thee to depart in peace, and rest with thy God, and be ready to come unto me another time when I shall call thee by the virtue of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be all honour, power, and glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

(Based on the Book of Oberon, page 400. Red text in original text.)

Here ends all the quotations. And if I have to <span style="color: red;"></span anything else, I'm gonna see red.

#DoMagick #The Book of Oberon #4374 word post. #I'd apologize but long term readers know this is SHORT for me. #RIP your screen.

[theadmiringbog]

The task of the first half of life is to create a proper container for one’s life and answer the first essential questions: “What makes me significant?” “How can I support myself?” and “Who will go with me?”

The task of the second half of life is, quite simply, to find the actual contents that this container was meant to hold and deliver. 

--

If you try to skip the first journey, you will never see its real necessity and also its limitations; you will never know why this first container must fail you, the wonderful fullness of the second half of the journey, and the relationship between the two. Such is the unreality of many people who “never grow up” or who remain narcissistic into their old age. 

--

“Juniors” on the first part of the journey invariably think that true elders are naive, simplistic, “out of it,” or just superfluous. They cannot understand what they have not yet experienced. They are totally involved in their first task, and cannot see beyond it.

Conversely, if a person has transcended and included the previous stages, he or she will always have a patient understanding of the juniors, and can be patient and helpful to them somewhat naturally (although not without trial and effort). 

--

The First Half of Life

--

If you get mirrored well early in life, you do not have to spend the rest of your life looking in Narcissus’s mirror or begging for the attention of others. You have already been “attended to,” and now feel basically good -- and always will. 

If you were properly mirrored when you were young, you are now free to mirror others and see yourself -- honestly and helpfully. 

--

Once you have your narcissistic fix, you have no real need to protect your identity, defend it, prove it, or assert it. It just is, and is more than enough. This is what we actually mean by “salvation,” especially when we get our narcissistic fix all the way from the Top. 

When you get your “Who am I?” question right, all the “What should I do?” questions tend to take care of themselves. 

--

First of all, you can only see and understand the earlier stages from the wider perspective of the later stages. This is why mature societies were meant to be led by elders, seniors, saints, and “the initiated.” 

--

If you have, in fact, deepened and grown “in wisdom, age, and grace” (Luke 2:52), you are able to be patient, inclusive, and understanding of all the previous stages. That is what I mean by my frequent use of the phrase “transcend and include.”

--

Ken Wilber says that most of us are only willing to call 5 percent of our present information into question at any one point -- and again that is on a very good day. I guess prophets are those who do not care whether you are ready to hear their message. They say it because it has to be said and because it is true. 

--

As a priest of forty years, I find that much of the spiritual and pastoral work of churches is often ineffective at the levels of real transformation, and calls forth immense passivity and even many passive-aggressive responses. As a preacher, I find that I am forced to dumb down the material in order to interest a Sunday crowd that does not expect or even want any real challenge; nor does it exhibit much spiritual or intellectual curiosity. “Just repeat what I expect to hear, Father, and maybe a joke or two!” As a spiritual director, I find that most people facing the important transformative issues of social injustice, divorce, failure, gender identity, an inner life of prayer, or any radical reading of the Gospel are usually bored and limited by the typical Sunday church agenda. And these are good people! But they keep on doing their own kind of survival dance because no one has told them about their sacred dance. 

--

The pattern of the heroic journey

1 - The hero lives in a world that they presently take as given and sufficient

2 - They have the call or the courage to leave home for an adventure of some type

3 - On this journey or adventure, they in fact find their real problem! They are almost always “wounded” in some way and encounter a major dilemma, and the whole story largely pivots around the resolution of the trials that result. There is always a wounding; and the great epiphany is that the wound becomes the secret key, even “sacred.”

4 - The first task, which the hero or heroine thinks is the only task, is only the vehicle and warm-up act to get him or her to the real task. He or she “falls through” what is merely his or her life situation to discover his or her Real Life, which is always a much deeper river, hidden beneath the appearances.

5 - The hero or heroine then returns to where he or she started and “knows the place for the first time” as T.S. Eliot puts it; but now with a gift or “boon” for his people or her village. 

--

Unless you build your first house well, you will never leave it. To build your house well is, ironically, to be nudged beyond its doors.

--

The most effective organizations, I am told, have both a “good boss” and a “bad boss,” who work closely together. One holds us strongly, while the other speaks hard truth to us and sets clear goals and limits for us. 

--

None of us can dialogue with others until we can calmly and confidently hold our own identity. None of us can know much about second-half-of-life spirituality as long as we are still trying to create the family, the parenting, the security, the order, the pride that we were not given in the first half. 

--

Post-World War II Japan ... Many of the returning soldiers were not fit or prepared to reenter civil or humane society. Their only identity for their formative years had been to be a “loyal soldier” to their country; they needed a broader identity to once again rejoin their communities as useful citizens. 

So these Japanese communities created a communal ritual whereby a soldier was publicly thanked and praised effusively for his service to the people. After this was done at great length, an elder would stand and announce with authority something to this effect: “The war is now over! The community needs you to let go of what has served you and served us well up to now. The community needs you to return as a man, a citizen, and something beyond a soldier.” In our men’s work, we call this process “discharging your loyal soldier.”

--

I am now personally convinced that Jesus’ ability to find a higher order inside constant disorder is the very heart of his message -- and why true Gospel, as rare as it might be, still heals and renews all that it touches.

--

I do not think you should get rid of your sin until you have learned what it has to teach you.

--

Spiritually speaking, you will be, you must be, led to the edge of your own private resources. At that point, you will stumble over a necessary stumbling stone, as Isaiah calls it; or to state it in our language here, you will and you must “lose” at something. This is the only way that Life-Fate-God-Grace-Mystery can get you to change, let go of your egocentric preoccupations, and go on the further and larger journey. 

--

Paul D’Arcy

God comes to you disguised as your life

--

The Second Half of Life

--

There must be, and, if we are honest, there always will be at least one situation in our lives that we cannot fix, control, explain, change, or even understand. 

--

One of the major blocks against the second journey is what we would now call the “collective,” the crowd, our society, or our extended family. Some call it the crab bucket syndrome -- you try to get out, but the other crabs just keep pulling you back in.

--

Instead of our “Don’t leave home without it” mentality, the spiritual greats’ motto seems to be “Leave home to find it!” And of course, they were never primarily talking just about physical home, but about all the validations, securities, illusions, prejudices, smallness -- and hurts too -- that home and family always imply. 

--

Your True Self is who you objectively are from the beginning, in the mind and heart of God, “the face you had before you were born,” as the Zen masters say. It is your substantial self, your absolute identity, which can be neither gained nor lost by any technique, group affiliation, morality, or formula whatsoever.

--

Because important things bear repeating in different forms, let me summarize the direction of my thoughts. I am saying that: 

We are created with an inner drive and necessity that sends all of us looking for our True Self, whether we know it or not. This journey is a spiral and never a straight line.

We are created with an inner restlessness and call that urges us on to the risks and promises of a second half to our life. There is a God-size hole in all of us, waiting to be filled. God creates the very dissatisfaction that only grace and finally divine love can satisfy.

We dare not try to fill our souls and minds with numbing addictions, diversionary tactics, or mindless distractions. Sin is to stay on the surface of even holy things.

If we go to the depths of anything, we will begin to knock upon something substantial. We will move from the starter kit of “belief” to an actual inner knowing. That is most especially true if we have ever (1) loved deeply, (2) accompanied someone through the mystery of dying, (3) or stood in genuine life-changing awe before mystery, time, or beauty. 

This “something real” is what all the world religions were pointing to when they spoke of heaven, nirvana, bliss, or enlightenment. They were not wrong at all; their only mistake was that they pushed it off into the next world. If heaven is later, it is because it is first of all now.

These events become the pledge, guarantee, hint, and promise of an eternal something. Once you touch upon the Real, there is an inner insistence that the Real, if it is the Real, has to be forever.

--

Any discovery or recovery of our divine union has been called “heaven” by most traditions. Its loss has been called “hell.” The tragic result of our amnesia is that we cannot imagine that these terms are first of all referring to present experiences. 

Only the True Self knows that heaven is now and that its loss is hell -- now. 

The false self makes religion into the old “evacuation plan for the next world,” as my friend Brian McLaren puts it.

--

Heaven is the state of union both here and later. As now, so will it be then. No one is in heaven unless he or she wants to be, and all are in heaven as soon as they live in union. Everyone is in heaven when he or she has plenty of room for communion and no need for exclusion. The more room you have to include, the bigger your heaven will be. 

--

No one is in hell unless that individual himself or herself chooses a final aloneness and separation. It is all about desire, both allowing and drawing from the deepest level of our desiring. It is interesting to me that the official church has never declared a single person to be in hell, not even Judas, Hitler, or Stalin. 

Jesus touched and healed anybody who desired it and asked for it, and there were no other prerequisites for his healings. Why would Jesus’ love be so unconditional while he was in this world, and suddenly become totally conditional after death?

--

Ken Wilber: 

The classic spiritual journey always begins elitist and ends egalitarian. Always!

--

Our mature years are characterized by a kind of bright sadness and a sober happiness. there is still a darkness in the second half of life -- in fact maybe even more. But there is now a changed capacity to hold it creatively and with less anxiety. 

--

Daily life now requires prayer and discernment more than knee-jerk responses toward either the conservative or liberal end of the spectrum. You have a spectrum of responses now, and they are not all predictable, as is too often the case with most knee-jerk responses. Law is still necessary, of course, but it is not your guiding star, or even close. It has been wrong and cruel too many times. 

The Eight Beatitudes speak to you much more than the Ten Commandments now. In the second half, you try instead to influence events, work for change, quietly persuade, change your own attitude, pray, or forgive instead of taking things to court.

--

If we know anything at this stage, we know that we are all in this together and that we are all equally naked underneath our clothes. Which probably does not feel like a whole lot of knowing, but even this little bit of honesty gives us a strange and restful consolation. When you are young, you define yourself by differentiating yourself; now you look for the things we all share in common. 

--

In the second half of life, we do not have strong and final opinions about everything, every event, or most people, as much as we allow things and people to delight us, sadden us, and truly influence us. We no longer need to change or adjust other people to be happy ourselves. 

Ironically, we are more than ever before in a position to change people -- but we do not need to -- and that makes all the difference. 

--

Your concern is not so much to have what you love anymore, but to love what you have -- right now. This is a monumental change from the first half of life, so much so that it is almost the litmus test of whether you are in the second half of life at all.

--

Be especially careful of any idealized role or self-image, like that of minister, mother, doctor, nice person, professor, moral believer, or president of this or that. These are huge personas to live up to, and they trap many people in lifelong delusion. The more you are attached to and unaware of such a protected self-image, the more shadow self you will very likely have. 

--

I have prayed for years for one good humiliation a day.

--

We all identify with our persona so strongly when we are young that we become masters of denial and learn to eliminate or deny anything that doesn’t support it. Neither our persona nor our shadow is evil in itself; they just allow us to do evil and not know it. 

--

If you are on course at all, your world should grow much larger in the second half of life. But I must tell you that, in yet another paradox, your circle of real confidants and truly close friends will normally grow smaller, but also more intimate. 

--

Ego (first-half), then soul (second-half)

--

The first half of life defines itself by “no” and the second half of life by “yes.” 

--

There is a certain real loneliness if you say yes and all your old friends are saying no.

--

If your politics do not become more compassionate and inclusive, I doubt whether you are on the second journey. 

--

Whole people see and create wholeness wherever they go; split people see and create splits in everything and everybody. By the second half of our lives, we are meant to see in wholes and no longer just in parts. 

--

Most of us tend to think of the second half of life as largely about getting old, dealing with health issues, and letting go of our physical life, but the whole thesis of this book is exactly the opposite. What looks like falling can largely be experienced as falling upward and onward, into a broader and deeper world, where the soul has found its fullness, is finally connected to the whole, and lives inside the Big Picture. 

It is not a loss but somehow a gain, not losing but actually winning.

--

The great difference between transformed and non-transformed people: Great people come to serve, not to be served. 

--

Good people will mirror goodness in us, which is why we love them so much. Not-so-mature people will mirror their own unlived and confused life onto us, which is why they confuse and confound us so much, and why they are hard to love.

--

It is only those who respond to the real you, good or bad, that help you in the long run. Much of the work of midlife is learning to tell the difference between people who are still dealing with their issues through you and those who are really dealing with you as you really are. 

--

The only final and meaningful question is “Is it true?” Not “Who said it?” “When and where did they say it?” “Does the Bible or the pope or my president say it?” or “Do I like it?”

--

You can usually do this well only if you have one true mirror yourself, at least one loving, honest friend to ground you, which might even be the utterly accepting gaze of the Friend. 

--

Like any true mirror, the gaze of God receives us exactly as we are, without judgment or distortion, subtraction or addition. Such perfect receiving is what transforms us. Being totally received as we truly are is what we wait and long for all our lives. All we can do is receive and return the loving gaze of God every day, and afterwards we will be internally free and deeply happy at the same time. 

--

No one can keep you from the second half of your own life except yourself. Nothing can inhibit your second journey except your own lack of courage, patience, and imagination. 

--

God will always give you exactly what you truly want and desire. So make sure you desire, desire deeply, desire yourself, desire God, desire everything good, true, and beautiful. 

All the emptying out is only fo rthe sake of a Great Outporing.

God, like nature, abhors all vacuums, and rushes to fill them.

#Falling Upward #books #best of

[datingadviceonreddit]

About 3 years ago, I was a 29 year old Asian guy with only a couple months to go before I turned 30, working at a Big 3 Accounting Firm (Lol KPMG), and I was realizing that I was unhappy and miserable, working long hours at all times of the day and night and spending all my free time playing Overwatch, and Dota 2…And despite earning good money, I had a house and some savings, I just knew my life was nowhere near where I wanted it to be or thought it should be, despite all the years of hard work because I never had a girlfriend. I was still a virgin at age 29. Never even had a date… I just wanted to take the time to finally get this off my chest since I have nothing better to do during the quarantine.I soon decided, with the help of an epiphany while reading some dating articles on Reddit that this was not the life for me and that I would need to start approaching girls and learning how to date to have any hope of losing my virginity before 30… To have any chance at a normal life...I didn't want to become a 100+ lay playboy:I just wanted to experience what other guys experienced in college that I missed out on.I just wanted to have someone I could share my hopes and struggles with, someone I could come home to and hug if I had a bad day.I just wanted to have some fun before I get married and start a family…Was that really too much to ask?So I quickly began to learn about dating and seduction and browsed Reddit and other forums almost daily to get hyped up and learn how to go on dates. I soon discovered, however, that I had bitten off far more than I could chew…I met up with a white guy I met online who seemed equally as motivated as me to go out and approach and we went out to several bars and clubs together. Every time we went out, he would always go home with a new girl… I’m not proud of it, but I was extremely jealous since none of these girls gave me any kind of signals of attraction when I approached, and stopped going out with him. Now, I realize it's because he went to the gym a lot and always had a nice haircut, but back then, It was kind of ridiculous how I’d approach girl after girl and get one word answers and a GO AWAY vibe the entire conversation and he would come in a few minutes later and THE SAME GIRL would be smiling and asking him questions about himself, it felt like he didn’t even need to do any work to get laid…At this point, I was watching YouTube videos from or reading articles on how to get girls on an almost daily basis, trying to study and learn all the latest conversation techniques. It felt like I hit a brick wall. This was SOOO much harder than I thought it would be. The dating articles I'd been reading specifically said that “women would rather date an ugly guy with confidence than a handsome guy with no confidence” but that didn’t seem to be the case. I was a 5’5” Asian guy competing with 6’0”+ white guys at every club I went to and it felt like no matter what I said, no girls were even willing to have an actual conversation with me. This is after 100+ approaches so I knew that it wasn’t just bad luck or lack of effort.So reluctantly, after learning some valuable lessons about the harsh nature of reality, I invested $2997 in a well known dating bootcamp since I figured I was already watching so many of their videos, and it’s only fair that I pay them and hopefully learn how to break through my sticking points since my strategy of trying to learn everything by myself was clearly failing.For those of you thinking about going to a Dating Bootcamp, be very careful you don't waste all your money like I did. This particular company did not give a single FUCK about me other than my money. My instructor just kept telling me to approach more girls, which I already knew how to do, and every time I asked for feedback on why none of the girls seemed receptive, he would give some bullshit feedback on how my vibe was off. I asked him how to correct it and he never had any real answers, always giving some woo woo answer about how I needed to have outcome independence and have more fun. It was really weird that everyone who seemed to succeed seemed to be the type to go to the gym a lot and pay a lot of attention to their physical appearance, even though they teach that looks don't matter.I finally lost my virginity through sheer luck after over 500 approaches. It was a random girl I met at the club after approaching empty handed the entire night, but we actually started making out right away after like 2 minutes, I'd never moved that fast before. It really was a life changing experience to finally get that monkey off my back. I felt more confident than ever and I even went on 2 dates with her to try to be her boyfriend but she didn't seem to reciprocate...Over the next couple of years, I became obsessed with getting good with girls, which certainly kept me going, but it also caused some problems…I went out with so many friends, hoping to find that gold nugget, that shining piece of knowledge or wisdom that would finally catapult me past this unbreakable wall, but they would either be just as bad with girls as me or be over 5'10", no exceptions. I read an article on Reddit about how you had to talk louder and slower and that actually helped a lot. Girls would actually give me a chance to have a conversation with them instead of rejecting me immediately but they would still shake their head when I asked them to go home with me or even just grab a drink together. That's when it hit me that I didn't know as much as I thought I did and that there was a lot more to learn.The bad news is, all this rejection was not good for my mental health. I started to wonder if maybe a short Asian guy like myself is just not meant to date… I was seriously considering moving to Thailand or The Philippines to try to at least find a gold digger wife…But finally, I found one particular dating coach that really resonated with me and I immersed myself in his training… He was 5’7” and Asian, so a short Asian like me. John Elite from Vancouver.The first thing he told me was that my hairstyle, fashion, and body language were all shit and unless I fix them first, nothing else would work. Now this is completely contradictory to some of the other advice I read, which convinced me that looks don’t matter but I decided to give it a shot. I got a blazer and chinos from Zara and got an undercut haircut with faded sides along with a gold watch. I didn’t expect anything to happen right away but the difference in girls’ reactions really was noticeable IMMEDIATELY. Suddenly, they would hang in and listen to every word I had to say instead of just politely waiting for me to leave. One girl even started asking me questions about myself and followed me when I asked her to grab a drink with me! I was SOOO HAPPY, it felt like everything changed.Next, he told me to fix my posture and stand up perfectly straight with no neck or back tilt. This was really hard for me because I spent my entire adult life playing video games and working in front of a computer, always hunched over. I even had to go to a chiropractor to undo the years of bad habits and damage to my posture but it finally got fixed after I started wearing a back brace like they give to scoliosis patients. Again, I noticed immediate results. I actually pulled a girl home this time and got a blowjob! No lay thought because of last minute resistance…The one thing that really transformed my results though was to speak to girls with vocal variety. I had a very monotone voice that didn’t change in volume or pitch at all. He had me watch episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S and we noticed that every character spoke with such vocal variety and inflections that it sounded like they were speaking in color compared to my black and white. This did not come easy but I worked had on it until it was at least somewhat passable. This turned out to be the tipping point and I finally started getting laid regularly when I go out instead of once every 500 approaches like before. Overall, I'm very happy to have slept with 15 girls.That’s kind of the level I’m at right now. I know I haven't found the one yet and I still have tons of work left to do, but it’s a huge improvement over where I started. Some of the guys on this thread are probably laughing because I'm having my first dates at 30, but it really took an incredible amount of work to get there and I'm proud of the results. Before the quarantine, I already had a girl I was regularly seeing before shit hit the fan, so I figured I could just continue seeing that chick while stuck indoors.Well, turns out I still have a lot more work to do on myself because after about a month of seeing her during the quarantine, she officially stopped responding to my texts 2 days ago, ghosting me. I realize now that I paid a heavy price for those 15 girls. I dealt with rejection after rejection, becoming a stronger person emotionally, but at the same time, alienating old friends by refusing to hang out with them for not having similarly "successful" mindsets. I even lost my family who have very old fashioned Christian mindsets and see me as a monster for going out and banging so many girls without even one stable relationship...I'm at the very beginning again, only this time in my early 30's, still working in my accounting job that I don't really have any passion for, but now without any of my old work friends or my family's support. It's hard for me to deal with the quarantine these days because my life was so centered around approaching lots of women and trying to hook up with them that I realize I don't really have any other hobbies.But I've also changed for the better. After going on this insane hell of grinding out 15 lays, I have a lot more confidence in myself and even though it sucks to not have anyone there for emotional support, I realize that I'm more than capable of making new friends, of starting my own business. Because the only thing holding me back is myself.Now that I've gotten what I wanted initially (losing my virginity, having random sex, meeting new women), it's time to move on to a new goal: starting my own business. Hopefully this next journey won't be anywhere near as difficult as the last one!Hope everyone reading this is safe and got some value from my post. Just needed to get this off my chest before work starts up again. via /r/dating_advice

#dating #dating advice #reddit

[goddamnitconnor-a]

@medernus​

He’s been here a hundred times before; more often in the earlier days, right after the accident, but still frequent enough over the next few years that he never quite forgets what the room looks like inside. Details would have faded, by now, if he let them, but parents have a way of hanging on after their child passes that makes that all but impossible. It’s normal, he’s been told by countless support groups and random officers at the DPD alike. It’s okay.

Until he met Griffon, Hank was really starting to believe it. He was finally settling down with the idea that it never gets any better or any easier; that some people are just doomed to suffer out their remaining years. He started forgetting he even had a choice in the matter. The psychiatrist changed all of that, even before they started spending more time together outside of the office than inside. As if, if he searched for it hard enough, maybe life still held some meaning to it. 

Even after that epiphany, though, some things seemed impossible. The task he’s set upon himself, communicated to the man at his side one day through an unprompted text, was one of those things until very recently. Cole’s room. Blocked off ( unfortunately along with his laundry room and the interior access to the garage ) behind a locked door nestled between his own bedroom and bathroom by nothing more than a table and an admirable ability to avoid dealing with anything that involved feeling-- until today, officially.

“You’re sure you’re ready?” Concern is usually something written across Griffon’s face, but it still seems genuine every single time. It’s accented with one hand reaching out to take hold of Hank’s; the other is grasping one of many plastic totes that had been stored away in the garage for this exact purpose.

He really never meant for it to get this bad.

“Yeah.” It’s offered after a deep breath and a light squeeze to the warmth circling around his fingers. Finally, he tears his gaze away from the door to look at his fiance. He doesn’t want to do this, not really, and that uncertainty is clearly reflected in blue eyes, but he thinks he has to. As he told Griffon already: it’s been long enough.

 Another, long regard of the door-- and then, just like that, it’s opened. That act alone is familiar enough that he only pauses to allow that familiar, sickening feeling come over him. But it passes into a dull, numbing sensation as soon as he steps forward. Like being struck suddenly and sharply in the head and the concussion that follows afterwards. It puts him into a daze as he enters, but then he remembers that he isn’t here to reminisce. He isn’t even here to grieve. 

He doesn’t put a description to the task, and he begins it only after tossing the totes in his own hands onto the bed. ‘Just pack everything up.’  It’s the only condition he gives Griffon before starting with the knick knacks and books on top of the dresser; action figures, mostly, and Hank is proud to say due to his own influence. Every single one of them brings a story back to mind, of course, but he spares them both the time and repetitiveness of ‘we went to this store and bought this one because of this thing that happened’ because, really, he knows that’s what it all amounts to.

Of course, if Griffon were just anyone he wouldn’t be standing in the house’s most guarded and important room. Certainly, he wouldn’t be entrusted with packing up Cole’s things. But he’s both a damn good doctor ( Hank’s words ) and an utterly devoted fiance ( his words ), and it doesn’t go over his head for a moment that just because Hank isn’t talking doesn’t mean Hank isn’t feeling. As he learned so very early on in their meetings, Hank never really stops feeling. And there’s a very limited number of things he can be feeling, right now.

It doesn’t matter what it is, really, and so after filling a tote with clothes still hanging in the closet, Griffon does a quick scan of the area nearby. As soon as his eyes land on a baseball bat leaning against the back of the closet, he reaches in to retrieve it. 

“Were you teaching him to play?” A quick once-over of the bat and the wear around the grip and from thousands of impacts by a baseball leads to an obvious conclusion, which brings a warm smile to his lips. “Looks like he got a lot of practice in.”

Even if he’s not really thinking too hard, the sudden interruption into the steady silence causes Hank to start-- but it’s only for a moment and he’s giving Griffon every bit of his attention just as soon after. That is, until the bat comes into sight; when his eyes lock onto it, he swears his stomach tightens into a thousand knots. He was wondering where it had been left. Of all the things for him to find...

“Yeah, he couldn’t get enough of it.” And as much as he thinks he shouldn’t be, he’s smiling just the tiniest amount ( sad, maybe, and short-lasting, but it surfaces nonetheless ). He puts down the stack of books in his hands to cross over to where Griffon is. The object is offered out to him with avid, patient attention close behind; Hank can feel Griffon watching him, but he doesn’t feel analyzed-- just cared for.

“We’d watch every game together. Didn’t matter what else was goin’ on.” If Hank hadn’t already established himself as such a damn good cop by then, Fowler probably would have fired his ass for all the ‘can’t work I’m watching tv with my son’ calls he got. Poor work ethic, now that he thinks of it, but he had his priorities straight. “He’d always talk about being a baseball super hero when he grew up. Never told him he couldn’t.”

There’s a moment of silence, a small drop in the lighter tone the memory had taken, and then he’s handing the bat back to Griffon. He knows, on some level, what the other man is trying to do-- and he also knows it’s working, on some level. He offers his thanks in the form of a long kiss before submitting himself back to the task at hand.

#medernus #i love them so much kill me #i can't believe griffon got hank to actually be ready for this #what a saint #under the cut just for length tbh