#I made them at separate times unrelated to each other in any capacity. I only put them together LAST year and they have both existed long

[peapod20001]

Hi hello. Why am I so good at making complimentary character designs???

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 9: Wolf’s Bane

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: This ended up being way longer than I anticipated, but I lost all self control while writing. Someone please stop me before this turns into an entire full length novel about Teen Wolf...

P.S. Derek is resurrected just long enough to be helpful, Y/N gets a lesson in seeing the future, and we finally identify the alpha (which is, of course, groundbreaking information for us all)

                                                      ————————

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as I walked through the doors of the high school. My stomach was in knots. It had been for days, actually. It’d gotten all twisted up last Friday, after I drove Allison and Jackson home, somehow managing to only get worse with each passing day.

To say that I was dreading today would be the worlds most massive understatement.

I wasn’t looking forward to seeing anyone. Not Allison, because the guilt I felt every time I looked at her was starting to eat me alive. Not Lydia or Jackson, because they’re both way too self-absorbed to be around when you’re feeling down. And I absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent would not be talking to Scott or Stiles.

As if on cue, my eyes landed on Scott’s dejected frame as I neared my locker. He was leaning against it, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes rose from the tiled floor to meet mine, and I stopped.

Nope.

I turned on my heel and speed walked the other way. I would gladly carry my things around all day over talking to him right now. He called my name, but I continued as if I hadn’t heard him. Within seconds, he was at my side. 

I let out a frustrated huff. I thought I could outrun him longer than that.

“Hey! You can’t just ignore me for an entire weekend.” He hissed the words out in a rush, as if he had any right to be angry with me.

He’d been ridiculously persistent about apologizing. I’d gotten so many texts and calls from him that I had to eventually just turn my phone off. When I did that, he showed up at my house. I was pretty sure he stayed out there for a couple hours on Saturday, but I locked myself in my room upstairs, so I wasn’t positive.

My jaw clenched as I forced my gaze to stay on the hall in front of me. He kept up with my quick pace easily, unrelenting. I felt his eyes boring into the side of my head, urging me to respond.

I had so much to say, but no idea how to get the words out. I was still furious with him. He’d ruined whatever I had with Stiles in the most spectacularly dickish way and, to top it off, nearly killed me. Like, how the fuck do you even begin talking about that?

“Will you at least tell me if you’re okay? Y/N!” At the harsh snap of my name, I spun around to face him with a glare.

He staggered back a step, an arm raising defensively, and stared at me with wide eyes.

“You want me to talk to you? Then tell me what the hell is going on.” My voice was hard with days-long built up anger.

“What do you mean?” He just blinked, trying to look innocent, and I scoffed.

“You’ve been keeping things from me.” I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows expectantly.

It was absurdly obvious at this point. He and Stiles both knew way more about well, everything, than I did. The alpha. The full moon. Jackson. I could just feel it. I was being kept out of the loop, despite them constantly roping me into their supernatural problems.

They either needed to start giving me all the information, or just leave me out of it entirely.

He looked like he was about to argue, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he thought better of it with a heavy sigh. He glanced away briefly to scan the bustling hallway before finding my eyes again. “To protect you.”

A rush of air left my lungs in a harsh scoff. Was he actually serious right now?

“I don’t need protection.” I snapped, appalled that he would even try that excuse. I didn’t need him deciding what was best for me, or what information was safe to tell me. “I need to know what’s happening!”

“I can’t...” His voice broke regretfully, his eyes rounding with sadness. There was an internal conflict raging behind them, but the wrong side was winning.

My heart tugged painfully as I blinked back a few frustrated tears. I didn’t let myself get emotional over the weekend. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t. There was still too much to process. It was like I was being forced to complete a puzzle for my life with only a third of the pieces available.

Ultimately, it felt like he didn’t trust me. After everything I’d helped him and Stiles with, I deserved to be an equal partner. Not someone they call when no one else can help because they don’t know he’s a werewolf. Not someone they keep at arms length.

“Then maybe we can’t be friends.” My voice was barely above a whisper as I choked the words out.

I didn’t want to believe that it’d already come to that. He and Stiles were the first people in all the places I’ve lived that never judged me. Our friendship had been surprisingly organic, despite the way it started. I’d never felt like an outsider.

Well, until they started keeping secrets from me.

I stuck around just long enough to catch the crestfallen look on his face before I turned and walked away.

I tugged a hand through my hair and tried to collect myself as I neared my first period class. The break from my problems was short lived, since I share it with him, Stiles, and Allison. My eyes immediately found Stiles as soon as I walked through the classroom door. He was leaning back in his seat, balancing a pencil between his two pointer fingers.

His eyes slowly rose to meet mine and he perked up with a jolt, the pencil clattering to the floor. I looked away, already feeling my resolve crumble at the sight of his big, honey eyes. I slid into my desk which was, unfortunately, right behind him.

I bent down to place my bag onto the tiles beside my feet, taking my time rummaging through its contents to find my English folder. When I eventually sat upright, I reeled back at the sight of Stiles turned around to face me.

One of his plaid covered arms was slung across the back of his chair, his fingers tapping anxiously on the corner of my desk. He looked at me with rounded, hopeful eyes. I swallowed as my heart skipped a beat at the sight. I needed to hold it together. I was mad at him.

“Can we talk?” He murmured timidly as his eyes swept over my face.

I’d gotten a handful of messages from him over the weekend, too, but he’d given me more room to breathe than Scott. Before I could even fully process his question, a harsh voice drew my attention away from him. 

“Y/N, what the hell?” Allison plopped into her seat beside me, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You didn’t answer me all weekend. How are you doing?”

Shit. I’d honestly forgotten about the few texts she’d sent after I turned my phone off. A moment later, Scott walked into the room, eyes firmly planted on the floor. I sunk down into my chair, feeling like the walls were closing in around me. I couldn’t face them all at once right now.

Allison threw a hand up in exasperation and I chewed on my bottom lip anxiously. I had to say something.

“I’m...fine.” Yeah, that didn’t sound remotely close to believable, even to my own ears.

I was fine, though. Mostly. The pain in my leg had dissipated enough that some Advil in the morning made it bearable throughout the day. Emotionally, though? I hadn’t even began working through everything. Scott slowly sat at his desk right in front of Allison, shoulders slumped.

“Are you sure? You literally flew like twenty feet in the air.” Her eyes were wide with concern as she watched me closely. Man, I really am the worst friend in the world for ignoring her. If something like that happened to her, I’d be worried sick.

I saw Scott stiffen from the corner of my eye. 

“Whoa, wait a minute. Back up. What are we talking about here?” Stiles’ eyes twitched before jumping back and forth between us.

I let my gaze flicker back to him, surprised. He didn’t know? I glanced at Scott, chest tightening at his guilt ridden expression. Well, I guess there’s my answer.

“Sorry.” Allison mouthed the word silently with a grimace before turning toward the front of the room.

“Hey. Yeah. Stiles talking. What the hell?” I rested my elbows on my desk and rubbed at my temples, letting my eyes fall closed.

It was way too early for all of this. It wasn’t my job to tell him that his best friend almost killed me. We weren’t even on speaking terms right now. Plus, I couldn’t say anything in front of Allison anyway. I was stuck, and I could feel his eyes watching me closely.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started.” Our teacher walked into the room and threw his stuff onto his desk loudly.

I peaked up through my arms, watching as Stiles’ eyes narrowed and lingered on mine for a long moment. He pursed his lips and hesitated before finally turning his back to me. I let out a relieved breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

This was going to be such a long day.

                                                         ————————

I walked into the cafeteria, feeling emotionally exhausted. I’d spent the first half of the day avoiding anyone who tried talking to me. After class this morning, I was even more aware of the fact that I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with my problems right now. 

My eyes instantly landed on Scott and Stiles, who were sitting by themselves. I let my gaze wander over the room until I found Allison and Lydia. They were sitting clear on the opposite end, which was a little overkill, if you ask me.

It was weird to see our friend group so separated, but Allison and Scott were still barely speaking, and Jackson was M.I.A because he decided to break up with Lydia via text this morning. 

While I wasn't the least bit surprised, and honestly glad to be rid of him, she was still devastated. I headed in their direction, not looking forward to repairing another broken heart, when I heard something that made me stop. 

“Scott. Can you hear me? You can, can’t you?” It was Jackson, standing in a corner by the vending machines. 

My brows furrowed as I followed his intense gaze to where Scott and Stiles sat. Scott was whispering something frantically, looking panicked. 

“Are you trying to pretend not to hear me?” Jackson sounded way too smug for his own good, which honestly wasn’t unusual. 

Scott snapped at Stiles across the room, who just threw his hands up with a shrug.

“So what else can you do? Huh? Can you see better? Are you stronger? More powerful? I knew there was no way you suddenly got that good at lacrosse. Which means you’re actually a cheater, aren't you? I mean, can you even play lacrosse?”

I watched as Scott’s jaw clenched angrily, my heart dropping into my stomach at his words. His fingers tightened around the water bottle he was holding, his entire arm trembling with barely contained rage. 

“I bet my new co-captain is going to score a bunch of shots tonight. Aren’t you? And while you’re pretending you’re not a lying cheat, I’m gonna ruin your life if you don't give me what I want. You know what I’m going to start with? Her.”

My eyes flickered toward Allison, who was laughing at something Lydia said, blissfully unaware of what was happening. “I’m going to destroy any chance you have left with her. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to get her alone, and get my hands all over that tight little body...”

Oh, my God. Okay. I did not need to hear anymore of that. I started walking toward Scott and Stiles briskly, my heart racing. 

Jackson knows. How the hell does he know? Why didn't they tell me he knows?

A few seconds later, I stumbled to a halt in front of their table. Stiles looked up at me with wide eyes, lips parting mid-chew. I ignored him, putting a hand on the table and leaning down so there were only a few inches between Scott and I. 

“Did you tell Jackson?” I hissed quietly, sounding way more freaked out than I meant to. 

He sat there for a few moments, his jaw tensing repeatedly as he tried to tune him out. His eyes flickered up to mine, intense anger swirling inside them. “No. How do you even—it doesn’t matter. That’s the least of my worries right now.”

“That’s the least of your worries?” My voice rose with surprise. Just how much had they been keeping from me?

He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. I turned my head and saw that Jackson had disappeared. 

“So...are you talking to me again?” His tone had lost some of it’s edge, but I could tell he was still fuming internally. 

I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. I’d nearly forgotten that I was supposed to be ignoring them. “No. I just...” 

“If you were...would you help me with something?” He looked hopeful, and I took a moment to consider it. 

“No.” Stiles interjected before I had a chance to respond. He glared at Scott before his hard eyes moved to me. “No. You’re not getting involved.” 

My mouth dropped open in surprise. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right to tell me what to do. In fact, his dismissal only made me want to do it more.

“I’ll help.” I narrowed my eyes at Stiles angrily before moving my attention to Scott. “If you tell me everything that’s going on.”

He pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. A jolt of hope rose through my chest. 

“No way. Not gonna happen.” Stiles scoffed, his tray clattering against the table as he slammed his water bottle down onto it. 

My eyes jerked back to him, my jaw clenching. “Stilinski, I swear to—”

“Y/N.” Scott interrupted, his voice soft. “He’s actually right. It’s better this way.”

I stood there for a moment, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I couldn't believe they were being so stubborn about this. It seemed like things had shifted so suddenly. One day, I was helping them with everything and the next, I’m being left out entirely. 

“Fine. I’ll find out myself.” I huffed and turned on my heel, stalking away from them and right through the doors. 

I didn't stop until I stomped my way out into the parking lot. I was beyond over their secrets and lies. I wanted answers, and I knew where to get them. I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to do what I was about to do, but this person said they’d help me once before. 

I just hoped the offer was still good. 

                                                             ———————

I looked up at the house and let out a long sigh, shaking my arms at my sides to get rid of some of the nerves vibrating through me. I can do this. 

It’s not scary. It’s not scary. It’s not—

I nearly jumped out of my skin as something rustled in a nearby tree, but felt my shoulders sag with relief as a squirrel ran across the ground in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to gather enough courage to get closer. 

I forced myself up the rickety porch steps, one foot in front of the other. My hand came up and lightly rapped on the front door. The second my knuckles connected with the chipped wood, it swung open with a loud squeal. 

I peaked my head inside, squinting through the darkness that blanketed the entrance despite it being the middle of the day. “Derek?”

It didn’t look like he was here. It didn't look like anything living had been here for awhile, actually. Almost every surface in the house was covered by a thin layer of dust, broken furniture cluttering the space. I took a tentative step inside, my heartbeat rising as I glanced around. Truthfully, I was still terrified of the guy, but he’d saved me from Scott a few days ago. I knew he couldn't be all bad. 

The floorboards creaked at the top of the stairs, and my head whipped in that direction. My eyes scanned the area as best they could through the dark, but didn’t find anything. I tried to steady my breathing as I continued forward. Another sound made me whirl around, but once again, I was alone. Okay. Maybe this was a bad idea. I should just leave. 

I turned toward the door, and immediately let out a startled scream at the sight of a tall figure standing right in front of me. 

“Y/N.” Derek greeted, his voice entirely too level. 

I put a hand on my chest and tried to catch my breath. “Goddamn. Do you always have to do that?”

His eyes wandered over my face skeptically, his lips pressed into a firm line. I took a small step back, my shoulders tensing. Even if I knew he wasn’t completely evil, he was still scary as shit. 

“What exactly are you doing here?” 

“You’ve been helping Scott, right?” I wheezed out, deciding to get right to business. He just stared at me blankly, so I continued. “Well he hasn't really been honest with me lately, and I want answers.”

His thick brows pulled together as he took a slow step toward me. “And you thought I would give them to you?” 

I scrambled back again, watching him closely. I wasn't even sure if he was trying to be intimidating. His whole aura was just...a lot. It was the leather jacket he always wore, and the scowl that seemed permanently etched into his face. Not to mention the fact that he somehow always found a way to emerge from the shadows. 

“I...I don't know.” I stammered, losing the small bit of confidence I had. 

“I would say, if Scott doesn't want you involved, it’s probably for a good reason.” His hazel eyes stayed locked onto mine. They were almost impossible to read. 

It was obvious he wasn't going to tell me anything. I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. I knew it was a long shot. I figured, though, that while I was here I should bring up something else that’d been nagging at me...

“A few weeks ago, you said you could help me learn control.” I rushed the words out, my skin prickling with anxiety.

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slowly. “So?”

“So...” I drawled, squaring my shoulders in an effort to look confident. “Help me.”

                                                          ———————

“Y/N, just concentrate.” 

I blew out a frustrated huff and let my eyes pop open. 

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last hour?” I snapped, sagging back into the dilapidated couch we sat on. 

Derek had been trying to help me “vision”, as he called it, for what felt like an eternity. I wasn’t getting anywhere despite his advice. He apparently knew a lot about almost every supernatural creature there was. Not that I fell into that category. I was more like...supernatural adjacent. 

He’d made sure I knew that I was still human, but I was already well aware. There’s no super strength or heightened reflexes going on here. Just bad dreams and occasional sleepwalking. 

“You need to find something that helps you get control. We call it an anchor.” He insisted from beside me, resting his elbows on his knees and gesturing with his hands. 

“An anchor.” I said slowly, trying the word out for myself.

He nodded and rose to his feet suddenly. “It can be a feeling, a memory, an object...even a person. It’s just something that helps you concentrate and focus your power.”

I watched as he walked across the room and crouched down a few feet away. He inspected the floor for a few moments before picking something up and striding back to where I sat. He held his hand out, palm facing the ceiling, and my face scrunched in confusion. 

“Why are you giving me a rock?” My gaze flickered back up to his face and he rolled his eyes impatiently. It was the first actual emotion—other than anger—I’d ever seen him express.

“It’s just a physical object to help you. Try to think about something that makes you feel a strong emotion.” I studied the small stone skeptically, but eventually took it from him.

I rolled it around in my palm, trying to wrack my brain for anything that could cause a reaction. I went over the past few weeks, letting my eyes fall closed. 

I thought about mom, and how she’d packed up her entire life several times just so I could have a chance at a normal life. I thought about how quickly Allison and I had become friends, and how horrible it was that I was still keeping everything from her. I thought about Lydia, and wondered if she would ever stop pretending to be a moron. And Jackson, well, I was pretty sure there were no redeeming qualities beneath his superficial exterior. 

Then, my mind wandered to Scott. Ever since that first night I moved into the house next to his, he’d been a constant in my life. For better or worse. I’d helped him through so many ridiculous situations. Digging up Derek’s sister, avoiding death at the hands of Allison’s family, and running from the alpha to name a few. He’d been there for me countless times, too. 

And lastly...there was Stiles. My heart twisted painfully at the thought of him, my face falling into a grimace. 

“There.” Derek spoke up suddenly, making me jump. My eyes fluttered open to look at him in question. “Whatever you just did was working.”

My skin exploded with heat as embarrassment rushed through me, even though he had no idea what I’d been thinking about. Great. My anchor is a spastic teenage boy who spends most of his time lying to me. 

“Try again.” Derek insisted and sat back down on the other end of the couch. I let out a long sigh. 

Here goes nothing.

My eyes slipped closed and I let my mind wander back to Stiles. I replayed our most significant moments together. Like all the times he protected me at the school that night we were trapped, and the way he’d kissed me out of relief when I didn't get eaten alive. Then there were the two times we’d shared a bed. Those were the only nights I’d managed to escape my vivid, and sometimes terrifying dreams since moving here. 

I thought back to last week and felt my lips pull into a frown. All my recent memories of him had been tarnished by the secrets he was keeping. 

My fingers clenched around the rock. It suddenly felt like my senses were dulling. My brows furrowed as I started to drift off. It didn’t feel like I was falling asleep, just that I wasn’t fully conscious in the present. My mind was going somewhere else. 

My skin slowly went numb. My ears rang as the sound of Derek’s shuffling beside me drifted into nothingness. The ground shifted beneath me and my eyes jerked open.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as shock surged through me. I was standing in the middle of a field. It was dark, the only illumination coming from the massive overhead spotlights. My head whipped from side to side as I tried to figure out exactly where I was.

It was...the lacrosse field? At school? I took a few tentative steps forward, arms wrapping around myself as the frigid air bit into my skin. 

What the hell was this? I was just in Derek’s house a second ago. Was I hallucinating or something?

I let out a shuddering breath, a cloud of condensed air fanning my face. Just then, a bloodcurdling scream sounded from behind me. I spun on my heel painfully fast, but immediately stiffened at the sight on the other end of the field.

There was someone crumpled on the turf, covered in blood. I moved forward slowly, feeling a strong urge to see who it was. The only thing I could hear was the hammering of my own heart in my ears. There wasn’t a single other soul around, adding to the eerie emptiness.

It felt like it took days to reach the body. When I got close enough to see their face, though, I broke out into a sprint.

It was Lydia.

She was wearing what looked like a formal dress, blood splattered across her torso. I fell onto my knees beside her, hands shaking as they gripped her shoulders. I turned her onto her back and brushed big clumps of strawberry blonde hair away from her face.

I couldn’t tell if she was breathing. My eyes flickered down to her side and I reeled back at the sight of deep bite marks just above her hip. With a grimace, I bent over her body and placed my ear against her chest to try and hear a heartbeat.

Oh, God. Please have a heartbeat.

I froze at the sound of rustling from the tree line nearby. My gaze slowly lifted, landing on two glowing red eyes in the shadows.

Only this time, they were attached to a man.

With a harsh gasp, my eyes popped open. I sputtered out a few coughs and felt a steadying hand at my back, pulling me up into a sitting position. My eyes moved around frantically as I tried to get my bearings.

My shoulders sagged as I realized I was back in Derek’s house. Had I even left? What the hell was that? When did I lay down?

He leaned close, his eyes searching mine. “What did you see?”

I blinked, trying to process what the hell just happened. I’d never experienced anything like that in my life. It felt so real. 

“Lydia.” I gasped, my chest heaving with labored breaths.

I put a hand over my heart, trying to steady it. My head jerked from side to side as I took in the dusty floors and broken walls around me. I wasn’t fully convinced that I was actually here. 

“Okay, good.” Derek nodded encouragingly, and my eyes snapped back to his. “What was she doing?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to gather my thoughts. I finally got my breathing under control, but my heart was still clattering in my chest painfully. It felt like I’d just been in a dream, but it wasn't like any dream I’d ever had before. My stomach twisted painfully. I knew exactly what it was, but that meant...

“Y/N.” He urged, eyes still studying my every move. 

“I—” I swallowed, trying to collect myself. “I think she was dead.”

                                                          ———————

This plan was beyond stupid. 

I was sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s car, which was parked in front of the long term care section of the hospital. Since he’d helped me earlier, I agreed to do him a favor. Apparently that meant I’d be talking to his comatose uncle’s nurse. 

He told me that Stiles had traced the weird text Allison got that night we were stuck in the school, and it came from a computer here while logged into Ms. McCall’s account. The fact that I knew nothing about any of this made me ten times angrier with him. 

“And what is Scott doing again?” I sighed, unbuckling my seatbelt. 

“Stealing Allison’s necklace.” Derek deadpanned, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

“Right. Of course, because it has a symbol on it that your sister left as a clue for you...”

I glanced over at him and he nodded slowly, face as stoic as ever. I swear this guy has never smiled a day in his life. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I popped the car door open and stepped outside, letting my eyes slowly scan the building. I swallowed nervously and stole one last glance at Derek over my shoulder. His eyebrows rose expectantly and I forced myself to turn back around.

I had a bad feeling deep in my gut, but tried to ignore it as I hesitantly stepped toward the door. I wrapped my fingers around the handle and let out a long breath. This was fine. Just because I was doing a favor for a slightly terrifying werewolf, didn’t mean I was going to get hurt.

I pulled the door open and took a few tentative steps inside. When I noticed a moment later that the place was completely deserted, I froze. There wasn’t a single other person around, nothing but eerie silence filling the space. It was late, yeah, but there should be someone here. 

“Uh...hello?” I called, hoping the nurses were just on break nearby or something.

When I got no response, I continued forward slowly. I scanned the area quickly, trying to find any signs of life. The unusual stillness made the hairs on my arms stand up straight with apprehension. I peered through the glass above the welcome desk to my left, trying to find anything useful.

Well, as long as no one is around...

I jogged around the desk and jiggled the mouse beside the computer. The screen hummed to life and I glanced up quickly to make sure I was still alone, before clicking through the open tabs until I found the patient database.

I hastily typed Peter Hale—the name of Derek’s uncle—and quickly scanned his file. I found his room number easily and shut the computer down before going on my way.

As soon as I turned the corner, though, I ran smack into a hard chest. I let out a surprised yelp and stumbled over my own feet, the other person rearing back with a dramatic flail of their arms.

“Jesus! What are you doing here?” Stiles practically yelled, his voice a mixture of anger and shock as he looked at me with wide eyes.

Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting that. 

“What are you doing here?” I leaned toward him and hissed, my voice a harsh whisper despite us being the only people around. “You’re supposed to be starting tonight.”

His eyes lit up with surprise and I felt a blush creep up my neck. I’d heard from Lydia that he’d been promoted to first line on the lacrosse team. It wasn’t like I was keeping tabs on him or anything, but he’d been hoping for this all year, so I was confused to see him here instead. The game should be starting any minute.

“I’m just...checking something out.” He stuttered, one of his hands coming up to scratch at the back of his head.

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel, ready to walk away from him. He just couldn’t stop lying to me. It didn’t matter anyway. I had a mission to accomplish and I shouldn’t be wasting time by talking to him.

I only made it a few steps before a gentle hand gripped my elbow.

“Hey,” He called softly, and I hesitated a moment before turning to face him. “Scott told me what happened. Are you okay?”

I let my eyes trail over him slowly. He still wore the white undershirt and blue plaid button-up he’d had on at school, but had added his black jacket on top. The same one he’d let me borrow a few times before. He was studying me with his big, caramel eyes.

He looked and sounded like the same Stiles, but something felt different between us. After the events of the last few days, it was like there was a roadblock whenever we tried talking. We were more distant than we’d ever been, and it didn’t sit right in my chest.

I opened my mouth to respond, but paused when my phone started ringing loudly in my back pocket. I tugged my arm out of his hold and quickly pulled it out of my back pocket, scoffing when I saw Derek’s name on the screen.

“What?” I sighed, hoping he didn’t need me to do anything else. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Did you find her?” He rushed the words out quickly, sounding anxious.

My eyes flickered to Stiles, who was watching me closely, his brows pinched in confusion. I just walked around him and started toward Peter’s room. I heard his quick footsteps as he trailed after me, but tried my best to ignore him.

“No one is here.” I finally made it to his room and stopped in the doorway. It was empty, too.

“What?” Derek barked, voice rising.

“What do you mean, what? His nurse isn’t here, and he’s gone too. Are you sure this—”

“Y/N, you have to get out of there. Right now. It’s him. He’s the alpha! Get out!”

I staggered back a step at his frantic yelling and let my arm fall down to my side, ending the call. My heart lurched in my chest as I heard shuffling from around the corner.

“Was that Derek?” Stiles snapped anxiously behind me. “Did he just say—”

“Well, hello there.” My head jerked to the side at the sudden voice, my eyes widening as they landed on a man who was leaning against the wall a few feet away.

He was partially cloaked in darkness, but I could make out that he was tall and had shaggy brown hair. His lips twitched up into a slow smirk and I noticed that half of his face was covered in nasty looking scars. I could only assume that it was Peter.

Stiles suddenly gripped my hand and tugged me down the hall with him as he started running away. We only made it a few steps before a nurse appeared out of nowhere, stepping into our path. We stumbled back, nearly crashing right into her.

“What are you doing here? Visiting hours are over.” She practically snarled with a sinister smile.

“You...” Stiles pointed at her with a shaky hand, looking between her and Peter frantically. “And him...you’re the one...oh my—and he’s the...oh my God, we’re gonna die.”

Just then, Derek stepped around the corner and smashed his elbow into the nurse’s face. I staggered back with a gasp, not expecting the violent move. She crumpled to the floor in a heap, passed out cold. I just stared at her body with wide eyes.

“Oh, that’s not nice...” My head whipped around as Peter drawled lazily. “That’s my nurse.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people.” Derek took a threatening step forward, his face a hardened mask of anger. “Get out of the way.”

He hadn’t even so much as glanced at us as he muttered the words, but it was obvious who he was talking to. Stiles wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest before sliding us to the floor. I pressed my back into the wall, my body trembling with fear.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?” Peter strode toward Derek quickly, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Stiles murmured, causing my eyes to snap up toward him. He had one arm wrapped around me, the other propped up against the wall caging me in safely. His eyes flickered over me quickly as if surveying for signs of damage. 

Derek suddenly growled loudly, and I peered around Stiles’ shoulder just in time to see his eyes flashing bright blue as he snarled, his canines extending. He jumped up, using a wall as leverage, and pounced on Peter. He easily shook him off, spinning around to slam his back into the wall next to where we were still crouched.

A chunk of the molding snapped off, dust and drywall sprinkling down onto us. Stiles and I instantly scrambled away as fast as possible. He grabbed my hand tightly, our fingers weaving together as he hauled me to my feet. We nearly trampled over the nurse’s body, but stumbled back just in time to step around her.

Peter leaned down and gripped Derek by the throat before pulling him up off the tiled floor. He strode forward, pulling Derek along with him as he made his way down the hall toward us. Stiles and I stumbled backward with each quick step he took. 

My heart was pounding in my throat as I tried to get control over my breathing. Derek’s hands came up to claw at Peter’s arm as his legs kicked wildly, looking for any leverage to escape.  

“My mind, my personality, were literally burned out of me. I was acting on pure instinct.” He suddenly released his hand and Derek slammed to the floor with a pained groan. 

“You want forgiveness?” Derek roared, jumping to his feet and landing a hard punch to Peter’s jaw. 

He easily deflected his next attempt and headbutted Derek harshly. He stumbled back a few steps, and Peter used this to his advantage as he kicked him harshly in the chest. “I want understanding.”

Derek flew several feet in the air before crashing to the floor and sliding all the way down the hall until he lay crumpled at our feet. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and spit out a mouthful of blood. I suddenly realized we were back in the main waiting area, and pulled Stiles by his hand that was still entwined with mine. We kneeled down behind the desk as the two werewolves continued fighting in front of us.

“Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell, even more slowly coming back to consciousness.” Peter wandered his way forward slowly, menacingly. “Yes, becoming an alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can’t help that.”

Derek rose to his feet and swung his arms wildly. It was obvious that Peter’s words had struck a cord in him. He easily blocked each punch before gripping Derek’s wrist tightly and effortlessly snapping the bone. He let out a pained roar and I flinched as the sound echoed through the room. 

“I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.” Peter released Derek’s arm before fisting the sides of his leather jacket and throwing him over the desk. 

He smashed through the glass barrier, pointed shards raining down on us as he landed harshly on the floor beside our crouched position. Stiles spazzed out next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders frantically and tucking my head into his chest before leaning his body over mine. My chest swelled at the protective gesture. 

Heavy silence blanketed the room for a long moment. I let out a shaky breath, trying to stay as still as possible. Stiles shifted over me and I peeked around him to see what was going on. Derek started crawling away from us slowly, looking seriously injured.

“We have to do something.” I gasped, heart racing painfully in my chest. 

Stiles looked down at me with wide eyes, like I’d lost my mind. “Yeah. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Before I could protest, he pulled me to my feet. Neither werewolf even spared us a glance as we bolted out the front doors. I didn’t want to leave Derek in there. It didn’t feel right. I wasn’t sure what I could do to help, but there had to be something. 

Stiles dragged me all the way to his Jeep and wrenched the passenger door open. I just stood there, frozen. 

“Y/N. Get in!” He yelled, his eyes wide with urgency. 

“He’s gonna die in there.” My voice quivered as I looked back toward the hospital.

Stiles tilted his head up to the sky in exasperation before looking at me with narrowed eyes. “He’ll be fine. He’s surprisingly hard to kill.”

He jerked his arm forward, gesturing for me to get in, and I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. I knew there was nothing I could do, but I wanted so badly to help. I stole one last glance at the building and let out a heavy sigh, sliding into the car begrudgingly. Stiles slammed the door closed behind me and ran around the hood before jumping into the driver’s seat. 

A moment later, he sped out of the parking lot. We didn’t say a single word the entire ride home. 

We’d been sitting here, in front of my house, for the last several minutes. Thick tension crackled in the air between us, but we were both too stubborn to be the first one to break. I sat there for a few more seconds, indecision clawing at my insides. I wasn't exactly jumping to talk to him, but part of me didn't want to leave him, either. 

Something about his presence was calming. Even as we sat here in tense silence, I knew it was better than being alone. But we couldn’t stay like this all night. With a dejected sigh, I reached for my seatbelt, but paused when he spoke up unexpectedly.

“You know, I’ve been trying my best to keep you out of this stuff.” His words were sharp as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

I turned toward him slowly, relaxing back into my seat. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve almost died in the last couple months?” His jaw clenched as his eyes swept in my direction. Their normal amber color had darkened as several intense emotions swirled inside them. Frustration, anger, worry. “Everyone who’s involved with the supernatural keeps almost dying. We aren’t going to stay this lucky.”

“Then let’s not rely on luck anymore. We can learn to take care of ourselves.” I insisted, leaning toward him slightly. 

I was tired of taking a backseat in all of this. Today, for the first time, I felt like I was truly a part of the team. Even though I had to go through Derek to get here, it was so much better than being kept in the dark. 

“I’m too busy worrying about you to take care of anything else.” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes flickered around my face before looking away.

I just stared at him in confusion. “Why would you worry about me?” 

Out of all the people in his life, I should be at the bottom of the list. Hell, I shouldn't even be on the list. 

“You’re joking, right? You keep showing up in places you shouldn’t be. You’re constantly almost getting hurt. You sleepwalk into the woods half the time and—and I’m terrified that one of these days I’m gonna be too late to help.” 

He rushed the words out, his eyes wide and intense. He was giving me this look, like I was the most important person in the world. My heart tugged uncomfortably in my chest and I swallowed. 

“I haven't even done that in—” My words caught in my throat at the way his head tilted incredulously and I sighed. “You don’t always have to be there, Stiles. You don’t always have to look after everyone else.” 

His eyes twitched and his lips rolled into a thin line. “You’re not gonna stay out of this, are you?”

I shook my head slowly. “I know I can help somehow. I can feel it. And if I know that, and don’t...then I don’t think I can call myself one of the good guys.”

Silence fell over the car again, but this time it wasn't awkward or tense. I studied the way the streetlights illuminated his freckled face. Shadows created hard lines around his jaw that contrasted the soft gaze of his eyes as they bored into mine. My stomach fluttered with a foreign emotion and I chewed on my bottom lip as I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly feeling nervous. Something had shifted in the air between us, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Is it obvious yet how much I like you?” His gaze flickered down to my mouth quickly and my breath hitched at his words. 

“Painfully.” I felt myself leaning closer to him without actually meaning to. Yes, I was still mad at him, but right now that didn’t seem to matter so much. 

He met me halfway, our lips molding together instantly. My eyes slipped shut as one of his hands came up to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. His slender fingers wrapped around the side of my neck as his head tilted, his lips slanting over mine. My mouth parted against his and our tongues explored each other almost urgently. 

This wasn’t anything like the kisses we’d shared before. It was intense, and rushed, like we couldn’t close the distance between us fast enough. I could practically taste everything he felt for me, all the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how. Without breaking away, I blindly undid my seatbelt and fisted the sides of his jacket to pull him against me. 

One of his arms slid around my waist and my hands flattened against his chest before gliding up to rest on the sides of his head. His buzzed hair poked at my skin as he tugged me forward. I fumbled across the gearshift until I landed in his lap, my knees resting on either side of his hips. 

He hummed against my lips in satisfaction as his fingers tangled themselves in the hair at the back of my head. His other hand pressed me impossibly closer, and I arched up into him. He pulled away unexpectedly, and I felt my eyes flutter open to look at him in question. 

“Can—can I...?” He murmured breathlessly, his gaze flickering between my neck and eyes. I nodded a little too eagerly, but couldn’t find it within myself to feel embarrassed. 

He tilted his head down cautiously and I let out a shuddering sigh as his warm breath fanned my skin. My head fell back, a quiet whimper leaving me as he began peppering delicate kisses down my throat. 

A sudden, low whistle had my eyes popping open again. 

Stiles didn't seem to notice—or maybe he just didn't care—as his lips maintained their slow pace against me. I squinted into the darkness, my gaze almost immediately landing on Scott as he practically hung out of his bedroom window with a teasing grin. 

I pushed against Stiles’ chest with a breathy laugh. He groaned lowly in protest, but didn't put up a fight as he sagged back in his seat. His big eyes shined up at me with confusion and I jerked my head toward the houses. He looked over and scoffed in annoyance as he realized we had an audience, before his head slowly lulled back in my direction. 

“Goodnight, Stiles.” I couldn't control the smile tugging at my lips as I cupped his freckled cheeks and placed a gentle kiss just beside his mouth. 

I popped the door open and jumped down, straightening out my shirt with my palms. Stiles shut the door after me and leaned an elbow out the window before letting his chin rest on his forearm. He just stared at me with a small smile on his face, his eyes shining under the streetlights. My heart fluttered at his awe-struck expression and I forced myself to turn around. 

If I didn’t go now, I might never be able to walk away from him. 

“Night, Scott!” I called up to his room as I unlocked my front door. 

His muffled reply came just before I let the door close behind me. I sagged against it, a big grin slowly taking over my face. Being with Stiles had given me a chance to forget about all the crazy shit that happened today, if only for a few minutes.

I knew our problems were really just beginning. Yeah, we identified Peter as the alpha, but something told me being exposed wouldn’t faze him. He was clearly a deranged psychopath that wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was a pack. I felt like we had a chance to fight back, though. Despite the challenges that were undoubtedly ahead, I was more confident than ever before. 

It finally felt like I had all the puzzle pieces. 

Episode 8                       Episode 10

[phytolacca-a]

A writeup on my most recent try on ABAXACATABAX charms:

I’m reuploading this with additions. I DO NOT intend this to be a How To post. I’m just wanting to share what I did as well as possible expansions since it’s a pertinent time.

Intended Use: Driving out (and protecting from) all sickness and illness for my immediate family members and I. Particularly to help fight against the virus going around. I feel that this charm can be very versatile in application, so I decided to test how it’d work for this situation.

(From Folk Witchcraft, Roger Horne)

Result Findings/Thoughts, My Procedure, Etc.:

————————————————————————-

TLDR, Current Results/Thoughts: 

- 3/18/20: So far the only thing I’ve been told is that last Monday night (the night after I gave the charms to the 3), they each separately noticed they slept much better than usual and the two who wake up super early slept in a longer (healthy) amount. They each noticed this unrelated to each other, and I never mentioned anything about sleeping to them or even when thinking about the effects. My hopeful guess is this: the good-sleeping effect, presumably by the charm, is related to how getting better and restful sleep is associated with strengthening the immune system and helps get rid of sickness. I will see how it goes going forward.

- Edit, 3/21/20: I feel as though the biggest tests of these charms will be in the next week or two. Will be looking out for any hard notice of it working.

- Edit #2, 3/21/20: I believe I’ve noticed the method of which these charms might work through. I made these, or at least started, in the hour of the Sun on a Sunday. It’s occurred to me that the “drive out sickness” aspect is possibly more... prevalent, violent than expected. But although there have been correlations of sickness bubbling up and either dissipating or exiting the body while wearing the charm, that’s all I can say currently- there’s correlations. But I do believe that a main aspect of this charm is turning out to actually physically drive out whatever sickness from the wearer, at least in some capacity.  So far, here’s what the others have said: My grandmother has said that she believes it seems to be working as intended, as she’s said “Well I think it must be working as I could have been a lot worse off” (in talking about something that happened, related to my correlation of it possibly helping literally drive out sickness.) My stepfather has told me that he’s felt that the charm has been protecting him from getting sick since wearing it, as he travels most of the week and has not gotten ill from the heightened human contact. But like I said, the true tests I think are in the next coming weeks. Will be on the lookout.

————————————————————————-

Prep:

I did this last Sunday, starting in the hour of the Sun although I didn’t end up finishing within the hour. I gave offerings to the Sun in asking for aid in my magic working. I had Elderberries and Bay Leaves, paper, pen & pencil, felt and thread. I can’t find the pestle to my mortar so I tried using a blunt end of something in a bowl. Spoilers: trying to crush the Elderberries like that did not work very well at all. I also took inspiration in preparation from Gemma Gary’s Traditional Witchcraft for charmmaking.

Working:

I began by trying to cast a circle.

I cut out 4 3x3in pieces of paper. I then began writing the ABAXACATABAX charm out in pencil. On the other side, I wrote down what the charm is to do which is something I neglected to last time I tried this. I then drew the symbol of the Sun above the will.

This is when I began empowering the attributes. I poured dried Elderberries into a bowl and began trying to pound and crush them into a powder. While I did this, I closed my eyes and continuously repeated what I wanted it to do loud as I pounded the berries. This went on for a long time, probably a longer time than I realized.

Even though this crushing didn’t actually work (most of them were mostly whole…) I felt like I managed to do what I was going for anyways even if I didn’t get powder out of it.

After this I began to go over the penciled words in ink, to finalize what I wrote. Because I was just tracing, I was able to start chanting again forcefully. And again I slipped into that sort of state where I could just repeat it without thinking about it. Whenever I became aware of myself saying the words, I would switch up the phrasing and slip back in until I became aware again.

After this, I put some Elderberries in the center of the paper and folded it like how Gemma Gary’s book described. Four corners in, fold, fold, then making the cloth holders for the charm. Before/while I did that though, I put the folded papers on a tray, circled them in Elderberries and sat a candle right in the middle of them to hopefully empower them more. I used what I had to make portable holders for the charms, which was red felt and white thread. I tried to empower a bay leaf as I took it into four pieces to place inside the little pouches as I was almost done stitching the sides. I grabbed a pinchful of Elderberry not-powder and put some in. I then picked up each charm paper and placed them in, ending off with a little bit more Elderberry and stitched it up.

I made little loops in the felt to place cord through to wear.

After they were all sealed up, I lit another candle (the only one I had at the time was a little red one) in wanting them to soak in extra continuous juice. I lit some incense. I passed each charm into and through the smoke from underneath it to seal them. I then left the charms around the second candle for the rest of the night; I kept reading Gemma Gary mention leaving spells and charms to “cook” so I figured I’d try even though I don’t have a proper working altar or anything yet.

Possible Issues:

Other than the fact I said that making these charms might have been the messiest spellworking I’ve done yet, there’s one large thing. The good news, is this is only for me and shouldn’t effect the other charms. When I was folding the first charm paper, one of the Elderberries I had in there popped out and ripped the paper. I made sure not to let that happen to the others, and made sure to give myself the possibly faulty charm as I’m in the least danger. This might render my specific charm bunk. Or at least, maybe not as strong as it should be or would be. But I’m not entirely sure this even negatively affected it at all; which would be cool if it didn’t! If I find out it did, I’ll just end up redoing mine.

The other issue was the timeframe. This goes into the messiness, but I took SO much longer than I thought I would making these. I started at the start of the Sun’s hour, and ended sometime in Mercury’s hour. I don’t know yet how exactly this affected my working, if at all?

I’ve yet to do divination on this working.

Things I’d Like to Consider for Changes/Additions:

I think that there’s worth in a change in planetary approach; I’ve been discussing a little bit of this with someone who utilized Mercury rather than the Sun for the charm which seems to have turned out less seemingly violent in approach and rather more preservative-protective. So, something I think I will consider more are other combos rather than just utilizing the Sun, possibly adjusting for the context of the situation of use. I’d still like to feed the charms semi regularly to continue the usage, so I might utilize the different combos of planets in the way I refuel/feed? Not sure, but I’ll be considering it. 

But yeah. I’m hopeful for these charms and I’ll be continuing to monitor them as time goes on!!

[scrutineyeze]

i’m seeing a lot of ppl tossing around ideas about the nature of Fear & the Fourteen Fears (& some about the Extinction & its place in that), so i thought i’d try my hand at it too, lol. these thoughts have been kicking around my head for a while, & i’d be really interested in hearing what others think about this !

gonna put a warning here just about descriptions of fear/s & stuff. also a heads up: this contains spoilers for all of the magnus archives up to date [6/29/2020] and also i have A Lot of thoughts & can Not shut up, so this got. long. (2.7k) & ,,, increasingly weirdly worded bc uhh that’s kinda How I Write

without further ado: my thoughts on Fear, its facets, & how Old these might be. possibly also featuring mentions of the sublime & various things i’ve read. (i’ll work to paraphrase and/or quote these things as succinctly as possible.)

01. introduction 02. Fear: that it is not distinct Fears 03. Fear: a continuation, that it is in Facets 04. on the separation & age of such Facets 05. on, indeed, why such facets cannot be seen are Separate 06. some closing thoughts

01. thesis: robert smirke is Wrong about Fear. robert smirke believes that Fear is distinguishable into Fourteen Separate Fears; this has been shown to be, of a sort, already incorrect, as jonah magnus figured out & demonstrated with the only successful ritual, which entailed bringing in all the “fears” at once. however, to think of them as distinct Fears as in plural is a misunderstanding.

02. the following are selections from the meno, a dialogue written by plato & this translation is from Cathal Woods. beginning at 71d.

Socrates: … But you yourself, divine Meno, what do you say virtue is? … Meno: M: But it's not hard to say, Socrates. To begin with, if you want the virtue of a man, it's easy. A man's virtue is this: to attend to the affairs of the city effectively and in the process to benefit his friends and harm his enemies and make sure that he suffers nothing similar himself. If you're looking for the virtue of a woman, it's not hard to express. It's to manage her home well, preserving her possessions and being obedient to her husband. And there's a different virtue for children, both male and female, and for an old man, and, if you want, for a free man and, if you so desire, for a slave. And there are so many other virtues that there's no problem saying what virtue is, since there's a virtue for each occupation and stage of life with respect to each function of each person. And I take the same to hold for vice, Socrates. Socrates: It seems I've had some great good fortune, Meno, if, when looking for a single virtue, I have discovered in your possession some kind of swarm of virtues.

socrates then goes on to ask about bees & if meno thinks that they differ from each other insofar as “their being bees” or if they only differ through other means, such as beauty, size, colour, etc. meno says that they differ by other means, not through their being bees, & socrates presses then that virtue must be the same: there must be something which makes each of the attributes which meno listed virtues, and that connecting thread must be Virtue.

imagine, then, that we are talking about fear. (not so hard to do, when we are talking about fear lol.) so it might follow thus:

Socrates: meno, what is fear? Meno: Well, it is of corruption, and of violence, and of death, and of …

and so on—except that meno could, of course, differentiate further than simply the fourteen which smirke spoke of. as said in 111 “Family Business:”

I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red?

and, of course, he goes on to say:

I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour.

but i would (will) argue that it isn’t meaningless to try to describe Fear as it is, which is as a single Entity. because it is the differences by other means (beauty, size, shape) which distinguish the facets of Fear, and not that it is distinct from itself by its Being Fear. that which makes us afraid—and us here, and likely everywhere, will be in reference to living things which feel fear in general, tho i will try to make myself clear at any time i speak less or more generally—makes us afraid through its Shared Connection to Fear, not through its connection to any other thing or other attributes. if something has the capacity to induce fear, then it must contain within itself the connection to Fear, or its being scary—the way that a bee, regardless of its other features, will always share with other bees their Being Bees, and the way that virtues must all contain within themselves that which Makes Them Virtuous in order to be listed as virtues at all. “that which Makes Them Virtuous,” socrates says, must be Virtue, & he spends the whole dialogue trying to get meno to help him answer that question (plus an interesting part about memory & reincarnation, but that’s unrelated).

(i’m going to say here that you Really Don’t Have To Read the meno. i uh personally dislike plato, esp when he’s not talking about love—but this is neither here nor there.)

03. so this brings us to, well, if Fear isn’t separate, then what are the Fourteen in relation to Fear? i’d say that they’re Facets of Fear, the way that honeybees and bumblebees are both bees, and aren’t different insofar as “their being bees,” but they are different in terms of other things, such as size and shape, so you might call them Facets (or different manifestations) of Bee-ness.

this does, also, allow for the looseness of seeing Fear like Colour. you can stick to the basics—blue, red, yellow, green, etc.—or get into specifics—ochre, cerulean, lilac—but you’re still discussing Colour. at the same time, Fear works similarly; you can speak of Fear of change (which would include fears such as uninjured to injured, healthy to sick, alive to dead), of depths (which is my reasoning against the point in 111 that “[s]ome really clash, and you just can’t put them together” … “I doubt The Buried would be bringing through The Vast,” because the fear of both seems to me as significantly more similar than dissimilar: the fear is often categorized as not being able to breathe, due to a too-much or not-enough, and also as the fear of being insignificant in comparison to the size, the fear of a deepness you will Never comprehend that Will Swallow you—a video i would Highly Recommend is “Fear of Depths,” made by Jacob Geller; he talks mostly about caves, the darkness you can’t see into, the call of the void. he talks some of the creatures at the bottom of the ocean, a lot about various video games, including a platformer which causes you to lose the floor. it’s a game about going deeper, ever deeper, and yet … you’re plunged into a massive, empty space. it’s a very, very good video. cw for talking about someone dying stuck in a cave.)—and you can speak of Fear in specifics, even more into detail than the Fourteen do. the Fourteen seems, to me, as a relatively easy nomenclature for these things, especially as understanding these things involve “paradoxes that most adults couldn’t handle” (111)

04. and i’m not arguing, necessarily, against using such nomenclature. to talk about Fear is difficult—i believe, much like socrates believes in Virtue, that there must be something that we can speak to which will succinctly categorize all that we find Scary, but, just like socrates and his search for Virtue rather than the naming of virtues, i find myself at a loss. i have my own thoughts on its connection to the sublime, & how terror and awe meet—how i find it impossible to separate the two, and other thoughts on how perhaps calling what i’m speaking of Fear is a reduction of what it Is—but i think putting those thoughts in another meta is a better organization of my thoughts.

so to talk about Fear in a much more manageable way, to talk about it in its particulars, in its Facets, allows us to better speak to it, just as, when trying to speak of Bravery, one does not need to speak of all things Virtuous.

however, i do believe it important to bear in mind the distinction between something being a Facet of Fear, and something being A Separate Fear. this is when we come to the “age” of various “fears,” or facets. this is another point at which i believe that robert smirke is wrong. he believes that the flesh is the youngest entity, that the end is old & so is the dark—and i’ve seen further speculation from there, about the eye being young—which, in light of how the eye (or, at least, jonah magnus, which i think is more likely, as it does seem Fear is malleable based on belief—as it should be, if it is to reflect our Fear) feels about children’s fears (cf. “Night Night,” ep. 173), i’ve seen quite a bit about

in order for fear to exist, the Fear must have been there since the first time fear was felt—or must have been created simultaneously with it, or some such thing. if Fear is indeed how i’ve described it, and smirke took the easy way out by calling it by its Facets as meno did Virtue, then i would argue against the saying that one facet of Fear is older than another—especially because the difference seems only to be in how close one pays attention.

consider the hunt and the eye, for a moment. at first glance—indeed, likely from smirke’s point of view—the hunt would be an older fear than the eye. we understand the hunt to be the fear of being chased, the fear of being made prey, the fear of predators lurking or stalking or hunting. and we understand the eye to be the fear of being watched, seen, known, of having our secrets brought into the light—the eye, as i’ve seen algie @equalseleventhirds say (along with a great deal of other things that i find highly interesting! they have had a lot to say about the connection between fears—fear soup is the nomenclature there—& also about jonah’s effect on the apocalypse & the distinction of Fear that we’ve seen in season five; all of this i highly recommend checking out) is younger than others, and from how these facets are understood now, it seems possible

after all, animals have been afraid of being prey since there were first hunters.

except to be hunted, you must first be Seen. how many animals protect themselves through camouflage? how long have animals used camouflage to protect themselves? how many animals Must fear being Seen just as much as being Hunted because, to them, those facets are inextricable?

05. which brings us to the facets being incapable of being made separate. we—and once more, this is all living things which can feel fear—don’t ever fear only One Thing At A Time.

from a piece of my writing (which is still very much in the works):

“Fear … isn’t that separate. The cabin fed on your fear of loss, yes, but also of being alone—of being left alone. Of being the sole survivor. Of watching us slip away—of losing us to an unfathomable violence that hid[es] … you’re not only afraid of one thing, Tim. It all blurs together.”

in this instance, i’m talking about desolation—kind of. 111 describes it as the “[f]ear of pain, fear of loss, fear of unthinking or cruel destruction.” but where does the fear of pain stop connecting to the fear of being prey, of being the victim of some unexpected violence? from “the Eye Opens,” ep. 160:

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

where does the fear of loss stop being the fear of being alone? if you’re afraid of losing those you love, you’re also afraid of being made separate from them, of being alone, aren’t you?

even the flesh, which smirke thinks began with the industrial revolution, must have existed since there were first bodies. even if included within other facets, there are so many things which force us to recall our own physicality in the worst way. in the disease & decomposition of bodies—in things like gangrene, in the bacteria that consume flesh—in the witnessing of flesh (sometimes yours) in the mouths of predators—hyenas and lions don’t always kill their prey being beginning to consume it—

humanity’s stories are full of reminders, too. we have cannibalism in our fairytales (hansel & gretel) & we have it in our propaganda: horror stories ranging from during the famine in Jerusalem during Titus’ siege—Reza Aslan’s Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, “There were scattered reports of Jews who succumbed to eating the dead.” and i think i’ve read of similar rumors spread about early christians eating children, tho can’t currently find any sources—and also in significantly more recent times we also tell stories of various people participating in cannibalism, or of monsters which only consume human flesh, or people driven to starvation (cf. ep. 58, “Trail Rations”)—these stories aren’t new. living things have probably feared our own bodies since we had the knowledge that they age and deteriorate and die—that we must eventually end because of them.

this is also why i don’t believe the extinction is any more than another facet of Fear, just like any other; (from “Rotten Core,” ep. 157) “[p]erhaps it is an existential fear that flows through the others like a vein of ore.” it overlaps with and through and into the other facets just as each other in turn folds into the rest. i mean ,,, how many apocalypse-setting shows/books/movies/podcasts exist now? how big was the “2012 as the end of the world” thought? (they made a movie about it: 2012.) us, our end, & the life that comes after … i’m put in mind of a post i recall going around:

“but we built robots, who have beat-up hulls and metal brains, and who have names; and if the other people come and say, who were these people? what were they like?

the robots can say, when they made us, they called us discovery; they called us curiosity; they called us explorer; they called us spirit. they must have thought that was important.

and they told us to tell you hello.”

06. this has all been a rather long-winded (and somewhat meandering) proposition on how Fear might work—i’m Very interested in how other people think about Fear/the Fears/the Fourteen (& if anyone wants to talk to me about the Sublime & where that meets Fear, i’d ! be Very interested in talking about that, i might make another post about that too). i see each facet of Fear as inextricable—when talking and/or writing about them, i find it hard to keep any of them separate at all, especially when it comes to fears i specifically have myself. what do other ppl think ? how separate do you see the various fears/facets ?

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Omg HRH. Is it too soon to beg for another chapter? I mean I can get on my hands and knees. I need to know what Jamie does after that speech almost more than I need the next episode of outlander. Amazing writing as always.

I owe everyone who has kept up with this story a huge thank you for staying with me.  The messages and comments about the last few parts have been absolutely incredible. Your love has been overwhelming and I can’t say enough how much I appreciate you.

Many thanks to @notevenjokingfic​ and @balfeheughlywed​ for all of their help with getting this world in order for Part XI.  They helped me figure out what needed to happen for me to fall in love with this part. I hope you love it as much as I do. 💜 xx. K

Previously:

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias | Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XI: Watched

Jamie Fraser was sure that he was breaking at least a dozen laws and workplace protocols by slipping out of the banquet hall, past a series of closed doors, and into the wing of the palace that contained the Queen’s private living quarters.  But in that moment, buzzing from the exhilaration of her speech and that faint tip of her head, he would have happily spent a night or two (or a hundred) in some damp, drafty Scottish jail. If only to say that he had tried.

With a furtive look over his shoulder, he slowed his walk and began to test doorknobs.  He searched for the slivers of light that indicated the existence of life behind closed doors.  

He had collected the moments in which she was stripped bare (her admission that she wanted to touch him), felt the vibration filling his chest brought about by the mere nearness of her (the unique markers of their time together), and catalogued one of her breathy admissions (that she wanted his kiss, but only if he did it properly).

He needed more.  Still.  Even more so now having heard her address a room full of people about finding something rare.

He muttered to himself, his palms beginning to sweat as the end of the hallway came into sight.

Curses (ifrinn). Prayers (the ones he only said when he was in a bind, recalled from childhood).  

But still more locked doors, more silence, unrelenting darkness.

In the end, Claire was tucked away at the end of the hall.  Hidden in a room with the door partly ajar. He stood, grasping the doorframe and watching her, the relief of having found her making him woozy.  

The notion occurred to him that it felt as though at least a year had passed since the lost moment they shared in the stables.  

An opportunity that misfired.  A faltering separation that felt like an untimely goodbye.

He had not really seen her since then.

Of course, he had just seen her at the dinner.  He had played witness to her dressing down of Frank Randall and the finale of the part of her life that contained her engagement. Her speech, delivered to a room full of people, had been layered.  Despite the presence of an audience, her confessions had been deeply personal (as if she unzipped her own skin at the centerline and crawled out of herself, glowing).  It had been raw in a way that he was not sure anyone else there had grasped.  But it had also been a message. An entreaty to him (James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser) to have hope.  That all was not lost in the stable hay.  That what it was between them had not dissolved into daylight at their parting.  The message had dispatched with the slight tilt of her chin.  In acknowledgment of its receipt, he tilted his head back.  

And the change in her face (the firmness in the set of her lips slipping, the relief of exhaling a long-held breath) had been remarkable.  That softness in her expression, as fleeting as it had been, had rekindled in him a dream that he had placed on a shelf in the back of his mind.

Her.   Him.  Them.

And then there she was in that dark room at the end of the hall.

And Christ was she ever beautiful –– her dark head bowed just slightly, arms spread wide to brace herself against the window sill, shoes abandoned and one bare foot peeking out from beneath her dress. Her back arched as she inhaled.  The sound she made was deep, from her belly.

Relief tempered by exhaustion.  

He was made a voyeur by the mere fact that he was frozen –– yearning to keep this moment for himself forever.

She rose to full height, eyes affixed on some unidentified point outside the window and beyond the horizon.  She removed her rings, the frothy blushed champagne layers of her dress whispering over one another as she moved.

Every meaningless platitude (love will overcome) and canned speech (an expression of love) that he had written in his head fell away.  

Claire.  Just Claire.

One ring and then the other.

She turned from the window just slightly as she grimaced, twisting the ring on her left ring finger.  

The newspapers had a field day when the Queen (the People’s Accidental Queen) deigned to wear a ring upon her engagement to Frank Randall.  Royals did not belong to someone, the papers cried, with photographs of the ring peppering printing after printing.  Now those some newspapers would undoubtedly have a tantrum in equal measure over the fact that she no longer wore that ring.  They would smear her –– the end of an engagement, the flippant and foolish Queen.  

Something told him that she no longer cared.

Her profile was illuminated with a halo of bluish silver –– her lower lip tucked between her teeth and her brow furrowed.

If there were words to describe her, he could not call them to mind in any language he knew.  

English.  Gaelic.  French.  Russian.  

All of the pre-packaged sentiments with their practiced syllables were inadequate for her.  

“Fuck,” she muttered.  Something about her muttered profanity made him smile.   She was unguarded, unaware.  She was just being.

The ring finally slipping over her knuckle and off her finger, landing on the windowsill with a sharp clang.  She sighed, turning back to face out of the window, her narrow shoulders folding in as she bowed her head again.

“Claire?” he started.

He had expected her to to startle (a small jump, a profane expression) at his unannounced appearance.  Instead, she turned with wide eyes and whispered, “Fraser.”

A moment and then another.  

He did not wait for an invitation before stepping into the room and drawing the door closed behind him.

“Jamie,” she said quietly, taking a single step towards him, pausing, and then taking another step.  “I…” Her voice faded away, her lips melting into the slightest of smiles. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”  

They each took another step closer, closing the space between them.   He was close enough to see the lift of the tiny hairs on her forearms, the goosebumps, the rise of the delicate lines of her collarbones as she attempted to control her breathing, the layers of transparent fabric that laid one over another just just so that her dress was not sheer.  

“I wanted you to come,” she confessed.

“I kent ye did.”

“I was worried that it was too late. That I had spoiled everything.  That I––”

(he interrupted her –– Claire, not the Queen) ––

“and it’s no’ too late.”

It was a balm on her worry, but it did nothing to slow her pounding heart or even her breathing.  Even if she had wanted to, she no longer had any capacity to choose to control herself around him.  She had given that up with her confession, with her decision to rededicate (or to dedicate anew) herself to a life beyond the gilt cage in which her days had been structured by someone else on her behalf.

Suddenly, she needed him to know.  To lay herself bare to him –– the messy parts and all.  “The nights we have spent together have changed me.  Fundamentally.”

“Aye.  As they have me,” he responded quietly, fingers drumming a loose rhythm against his thigh.  

To touch her, not to touch her.  A wispy tendril that had loosened itself from her perfectly coiffed updo, hovering just over her temple.  It curled around her face.  The deep v of her dress ending between her breasts.  A touch to interrupt the soft, pale skin of her mostly bared back.  Testing the fluttering, diaphanous fabric covering her shoulders and arms. To find that her skin was his addiction, a habit to take up and let consume hime.

“You have changed me.  Or perhaps you gave me the push I needed to find and prioritize certain parts of me.”

‘Touch her, you fool,’ his mind directed him.

He reached for the curl. Claire’s breath hitched, her breasts rising just slightly as she inhaled. One. Two.  She held the breath in her lungs until it burned. Three.  Four. His fingers moved down her jaw and she put her tiny fists to his waist, balling into the fabric of his kilt and drawing him closer.  He resisted the urge to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen.

Claire drew another breath and another, quivering as she fought the urge to turn into James Fraser’s hand, to let her eyes close and kiss his palm.  “I did what I did, said what I said, not for you, but for us.”  

A pause, her eyes on his. A breath and another. The vibration. It was not even close to last in the litany of admissions she had stored for this moment.  She was stripping herself bare for him.

“I need to know what it is between us, Jamie.  I have never…”  Her fingers moved up his hip and she laid her palms flat against his stomach.  “I have never felt this way before.  And waiting here. Wondering if you would want me…”

“Would I want ye?”  It came from his lips in a near bark, his surprise palpable.  Her eyes widened, earnest and searching.

“Yes.”

“Claire, I dinna want ye.  I need ye.  I’ve never needed anyone before.”

She licked her lips and he saw her tears swell along her lower lash line.  “It is not too late, then?”  

In her adult life, her voice had never been as small as it was then.  The question placed her dreams in the palm of his hand. (Those did not belong anywhere else, to anybody else; they were home now.)  

He drew a breath at her question.  He smiled with his answer.  “No, it isna too late, and I’d still verra much like to kiss ye.”  

Her reactions to his admission filled pages in a book (a memoir with chapters yet to be written) –– the tremble of her lips, the hitch in her breath, the way her eyes took on a glassy, aroused sheen. Light swirled like a whirlpool in her mind.  

“Do it properly,” she mumbled, a slight smile touching her lips at the recreation of the moment in the stables.  The words had run through her head a million times –– her response in the stables.  They had run through his head at least as many.

His tongue was slow, sweeping his lower lip as his eyes focused on the top of her head.  At his touch (an unexpected brush of fingertips over the backs of the hands that she had knotted into the front of his shirt), she let loose a quiet sigh and tilted her head to the side. Anticipating his mouth.  A ghosted touch traveled over her narrow wrists, bare arms, the sloped curve of her shoulders, her throat, and jaw.  

“This, though, willna do.” Her head pitched to the right as he removed the first pin from the careful assemblage of her chignon.  The pin fell to the floor with a hollow ping.  Her eyes fluttered closed, the moment blurring and becoming dreamlike.  When he at least drew the lynchpin of the chignon, her hair tumbled down over her shoulders.  “Mo nighean donn.”  

“What?” she slurred, her eyes becoming slits just to look at him.

He captured a single loose curl and pushed it over her shoulder.  “Basically it means ‘my brown-haired lass.’”

His gaze, blue and intent, made her skin feel too small to contain the feeling in her belly. He had peeled clean away the outermost protective layer of herself.  

Armor, discarded to nothing.  He would be her protection now, covering the parts of her that were vulnerable.

Disconcerted, she whispered, “I have always thought it was a dull color brown.  My mom, my sister, my uncle… they were so blonde.”

“Not dull at all.  Like the water in a burn.”  Warm, his touch expanded across the bare skin of her upper back, drawing goosebumps to the surface everywhere.  His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of her neck.  “Where it ruffles over the stones.  Dark in the wavy spots, but with bits of auburn where the moonlight catches it.”  

Her chin dipped ever so slightly, but he captured it between his thumb and forefinger.

Guiding her gaze back, he softly said, “Look at me.”

And she did.  

For the first time, they were both entirely unguarded and unburdened.  He could see her then.  Her eyes were sweet, fragrant honeycomb cutting through biting, perfectly aged, oaky whisky. An amber pool in which he would gladly drown.  

Unsayable things came to him.  Things that he worried would frighten her off. (Now, forever, us, a dhia. Mo chridhe, my lass, my love, my life.)

Instead of speaking the endearments into existence, he allowed his lips to curve up.  A smile.  “In about a moment’s time, ye ken that we’ll no’ be able to go back to the way things were, Claire.”

The tremble in her lip. The little twitch at the corner of her mouth. The dart of pink tongue as she drew an anticipatory breath.  The gentle arch of her body towards him.

“Yes, Jamie.  I know.”

His name.  It was as though he had never heard it before he heard it in that moment.  The sweet cadence of her voice massaged it until it became neither a name nor a word, but a calling.  

She continued, “I know, and I need never to go back there.”

It was as though the very crust of the earth vibrated beneath their feet then.  

His fingers moved to the intricate lines of her delicate tiara as she readjusted just enough to hold onto his hips.  Diamonds and sapphires caught light as he brought his fingers beneath the circlet in her hair. In the low light, prismatic shapes skipped and fell over wallpaper, danced down the front of her dress, and juddered over the narrow sliver of carpet between their feet.  

She stepped forward just enough, her sigh was quiet and the catch in her breath signaling their joint tumble over the precipice.  In his guts, he wondered if he was about to stop breathing altogether at the sight of her.  Like she needed air, she needed his acknowledgment that things were going to be different. A huskiness overtook her voice as she recognized again the solemnity of the moment with a mumbled, “Of course you know that this will change everything, too, Jamie.”

“Aye, I ken, but I need it, too. Just as ye said.  I canna go back to the way things were.”  

And with that, he lifted the tiara fully from the tangle of her curls.  His removal of the weight of it allowed her to take her first fully-formed breath of the evening.  Eyes raked down her body as she took the tiara from him, discarding it to the floor.

“I’ve heard every word ye said tonight, Claire…”  His voice trailed off, though he willed himself to speak again.  “And when I kiss kiss ye, ken that I’m kissing you.  Not the Queen.”

“Good.”  

Neither would ever be able to identify who finally closed the gap.  It was as it was meant to be. Neither made the choice.  The universe did.  

Bodies connected, his belly was warm against hers.  The seam of them (the soft curve of her against the hard line of him) drew them closer than they had been before.  The slight press of his arousal against her pinked her cheeks a glorious, springtime blossom of a color.  He was unabashed, prepared for her to know everything of him.  Everything that she made him feel –– in his heart, his head, his body.  He tested the color with his fingers, basking in her reaction to him.  

“I’m in love wi’ ye, Claire. Madly.”

He inhabited her space entirely, his hand on the fabric over her hip and his thumb inadvertently finding the soft swell of flesh there.  The tip of his nose ran along her cheekbone and she felt everything but the mingling heat of their bodies dematerialize.  On the tail end of a sharp breath, she confided, “I am in love with you, too.  Irrevocably so.”

His left hand found her cheek, his wide palm along her jawline, angling her and urging her towards him.

Skin like pearl.

Her eyes closed, though she wanted to watch him.  He was drinking her in, a storm darkening his eyes. She wanted to memorize every moment.

After only a shared breath more, her lips parted and his mouth was on hers. At first, the touch of his lips was a mere nuzzle.  (Enough that she recognized that the wine on his lips and his tongue was the same that lingered on her own palate.  Enough that her entire body responded to him.)

Rising onto tiptoes, her fingers curled into fabric and her body pressed into the hard curve of his chest.

Up, up, up.

Her calves ached as she arched herself higher as his hand found its way to her lower back, drawing her closer and closer. His mouth moved with certainty, as though it had been constructed from his flesh solely to kiss her.

She needed more of him.

His taste.  His breath.  His touch.  His reactions.

She was alive and under a spell.

Needy, desperate.  Dwelling in the conflagration.  Burning, piercing need.  Eternal.

She became liquid against him at the first swipe of his tongue –– sure, firm.  Her heart went mad in her chest and she only faintly recognized the roar of thunder somewhere far in the distance.  The sound that came from him met the thunder, magnified it, and made her belly clench.  He tasted like rain that had not yet fallen and an entire future of doors to open.  Together.

Her fingers found the soft skin beneath his jaw, holding his face gently as he eased back only slightly.  

When she inhaled she felt at once young and ancient.

Carefree but knowing.  Senseless and conscious of everything (all of his breaths and the guttural sound as he slows the kiss, the hammering of their pulses like the flicker of hummingbird wings just beneath the surface).

A moan rose in her, vibrating into the recesses of his mouth.  He smiled again, mouth slowing as it curved against hers. Flat and unyielding, his tongue traveled one final time over hers.  When their lips separated with a soft, wet smack, she kept her eyes closed.  She could not force them to open.  Frozen in place, she was woozy and painfully aching with the need for more.  

To kiss him again. To have his hands explore with her dress and his kilt puddled at their feet.

“Ye look like ye’ve been stung by a bee,” he whispered before drawing her lower lip into his mouth. She would take more and more still.

And when they parted for the night with a promise to meet the next evening at the stables, she realized that the universe had been made for their eyes alone.

[ratherashleigh]

supergirl 418 stuff in a list

for an episode filled with so much cringe-inducing schlock, i sure did have a good time!

What to Do with Kara Danvers?

it’s only taken four seasons but finally FINALLY supergirl using kara to hide in plain sight. the larger arc there is really working for me; kara has this whole identity at her disposal that she never gets to use because for some fucking reason every damn person knows who she is. (seriously, kara and lillian should have been a whole thing, kara and colville? KARA AND MAGGIE. honestly.) but the entire premise of superman and supergirl is that they hide in plain sight! clark at least is one of the people, and for all kara’s differences and difficulties, she’s been back with kryptonians now and she chose to come back. last season we had an entire run of how supergirl wasn’t all that kara was good for, and this glimpse of how useful kara as a construct is to kara’s capacity to do her job as supergirl couldn’t be coming at a better moment in the build up to it being ripped away from her relationship with lena. seeing kara trembling on the floor in pain as kara and knowing that that persona was the only thing keeping her safe? 😗👌.

supergirl with steve vs kara with steve was just so much. 

i love willie garson and he was criminally underused here

the way steve held his pal’s hand when they had to lie down!

but watching her encounter people afraid and distrusting over and over again was fucking heartbreaking.

i still appreciate the point they’re making, that people will believe anything if they’re fed the right combination of evidence, but the show hanging a lampshade on how many possible other explanations doesn’t make it any less hilarious that there are four separate canon-based possibilities for alternative supergirls - bizaaro, shapeshifter, hologram, image inducer - and that doesn’t count alternative universe and the actual answer of a clone. the fact that there’s a publicly available device on the market right now in-world that could do this and there isn’t even a debate outside of those who know kara? laughable.

speaking of laughable, why do people continue to think shooting her with regular ol’ guns and bullets is gonna do a damn thing?

Who the Hell is Lex Luthor?

having an unhinged megalomaniac as the puppetmaster in your relatively nuanced story about public discourse and the climate of hate is... actually classic supergirl, so idk why i thought maybe anything better would come of this. i don’t love that his motivation has been shifted away from having any genuine root in his feelings about aliens and they chose to make him an outright psychopath threatened by anyone who might be better than him in any way. that this shift has also come at the cost of any faith that lena wasn’t psychologically abused her entire like is just the icing on the ‘thanks, i hate it?’ cake.

BUT ALSO, LEX IS A FUCKING MUSTACHE TWIRLING NUTBAG

the romanov’s execution date on a note in the chess piece?

lena’s nickname as a child was after anastasia?

the checkmate pattern being a reference to both AND the combination to the chessboard lock?

WHAT IS THIS, AN ESCAPE ROOM???

AND THEN THE DIARIES.

on the one hand, everything about this is the saddest thing ever for lena.

on the other hand, LEX IS A ILLUSTRATIVE JOURNALER, AND NOT A VERY GOOD ONE.

oh my god.

who actually wrote those diaries, and can they never be employed ever again?

HOW DARE THEY INSINUATE LENA WAS A HORSE GIRL.

this was the peak of what boils down to me feeling that on paper in bullet points this episode was probably great but in execution this show is a fucking low budget soap opera with dialogue writers to match.

and then the button to open his secret door was in the Personally Significant Location built into some artwork?

also lex going with leutemann's hannibal crossing the alps and not turner’s? what a loser.

(leutemann is an illustrator and the print they recreated actually has all that really clean line work, so it makes sense. but still.)

I WAS DYING. THEY WENT SO HARD. 

everything about this was terrible but it made me laugh so hard, so i’m not even sure i’m complaining.

A Super and a Luthor Go On a Field Trip

SO YEAH THAT HAPPENED.

I WILL NEVER GET OVER THAT HALLWAY WALK.

OR THE WAY THEY BOTH KEPT BUCKING EACH OTHER UP.

even if lena was being the lost princess of Drama™️, kara was giving her a run for her pennies.

god this was just. a;ksjhdjka. i can’t believe how much effort they’ve finally bothered to put into restoring this relationship, except i absolutely can because it’s all gonna go to shit real soon, weeeeeeeeee!

just a side note, but lena should really invest in making the kryptonite shield at least as strong as the kryptonian it’s supposed to be protecting.

Unrelated to Anything

the next day, lena is in a brand new dress and alex was still in the same shirt, and i keep trying to imagine how the rest of that night played out. did they all have a sleepover at lena’s one bedroom apartment next door, just lena, alex, and their acquaintance supergirl?

i’m glad they alluded to the fact that the day they went to the prison was the next day, too, because otherwise i was going to accuse lena of changing outfits for their field trip

james going to therapy: literally everything i’ve ever wanted from this show?

that conversation with kelly and alex was the worst case of needing to put two people in a room together for Other Reasons i’ve ever encountered.

brainy and nia... also... existed.

i’m sorry. i am. i enjoy them when they’re in front of my face, most of the time, but this show doesn’t actually need comedic interludes, and it’s jarring. it’s so jarring.

“i don’t trust the press. i always parachute into crises like this without any context for the larger systemic issues at play.”

this line was so funny it almost justified how god awful everything about otis is in this episode. why... just, why

what’s with the show making all the sketchy fence sitters queer? the dean at lockwood’s university, now the prison warden? unneccessary.

was genuinely expecting the part when kara finds the SECRET TUNNEL to play out as follows: “lena?!” supergirl calls out into the room (this actually happened). there’s a pause, and supergirl grows concerned. and then. “kara, is that you?” supergirl’s concern intensifies.

[jercythesiscrying]

Just take my hand, and let’s enjoy | Kuroko x Kiseki no Sedai, Slash or Gen, G, 1.3k

Kuroko no Chapbook Series: A small collection of unrelated KnB fics written as part of an undergrad thesis class. Each was eventually printed and produced into original fiction as chapbooks.

Summary: Seven hugs that are received, and one hug that is given. Insight to male affection and some very soft boys.

Read on Ao3

A/N: Title is from dark cat’s song, BUBBLE TEA. Thank you to stream team for the editing and encouragement—y’all the best! ♥♥♥

I have learned that there is more power in a good, strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words. —Ann Hood

 .

 Hugging Kise-kun was always a gamble.

He was extremely affectionate: he wasn’t afraid to throw an arm around Tetsuya’s shoulders or toss a hand up for a high five. He was easily the best smelling, best-dressed person Tetsuya ever hugged. Whenever Kise-kun pulled him into an embrace, Tetsuya was suddenly bombarded by the strong aroma of an extensive hair and skincare routine, as well as whatever line of fragrance lingered from Kise’s last photoshoot. It was quite pleasant on that front.

However, Kise had a tendency to accidentally hurt him when he enthusiastically wrapped himself around Tetsuya, similar to a golden retriever knocking its owner off-balance when they came home for the day. Tetsuya wasn’t afraid to tell Kise-kun to stop once things became too much for him. It was bothersome for anyone in the vicinity when things didn’t go his way because Kise tended pout and whine. Loudly.

It was often annoying to deal with, but Tetsuya appreciated it nonetheless. He didn’t realize how much he’d miss it until they parted.

 . .

 Midorima-kun’s hugs depended on his mood. If he was forced to do it, it was uncomfortable for everyone involved. His breathing was shallow and his lips flattened to a pained line. The one arm he wrapped around Tetsuya gave a single pat on his back. When Tetsuya leaned his cheek against Midorima’s chest, Midorima became stiffer than a board. This was obviously the last thing he wanted to do, but Tetsuya held tight.

When he was a little more open towards physical contact, Midorima’s hugs were still awkward, but far less tense. His breathing was more relaxed, inviting Tetsuya to listen to the steady beat of his heart. The hand patting his back was also much more natural, and Tetsuya revelled in the motion.

The simple act was often complicated because Midorima-kun refused to let go of his lucky item unless he absolutely had to, but Tetsuya was undeterred, happy to accept these one-armed hugs.

 . . .

 For someone smaller than him, Tetsuya was always taken aback by the ferocity of Momoi’s crushing embrace. She liked to press chest to chest, squeeze him so tightly that his already poor lung capacity was pushed to its limit. Her thin arms were surprisingly strong, and she pulverized him easily when she tackled him. Tetsuya sported bruises after Momoi was finished with him, sometimes from the strength of her grip or because they both fell over when she finally latched onto him.

Tetsuya liked the challenge, even though he’d rather that Momoi-san let go of her crush on him. He cared for her, of course—he was quick to offer words of comfort or a pat on the head when she needed it—but his feelings remained platonic despite Momoi’s efforts to the contrary.

He loved that it didn’t deter her from showering him with affection, even after they separated.

 . . . .

 Aomine-kun gave the best hugs. They were full-on bear hugs. Especially because of how broad he was, he physically curled himself around Tetsuya, and he’d be enveloped by Aomine’s warmth. His shoulders were sturdy pillars that anchored them, his arms cocooned Tetsuya wholly. The embrace was often accompanied by the rumble of Aomine’s laughter and a hand ruffling his hair.

Tetsuya mourned when the frequency of his hugs slowly dwindled and changed. With every practice Aomine-kun missed, his hugs waned like his passion for basketball. First they became shorter, then they began to lack any feeling. Eventually, Tetsuya longed for the days Aomine’s arm was a near permanent fixture around his shoulder rather than leaving him without so much as a fistbump to greet his outstretched hand.

The next time Tetsuya hugged Aomine, it wasn’t quite the same. They’d both changed, after all, but at its core Tetsuya could feel the Aomine-kun who had become his partner. Aomine stiffened against Tetsuya at first, but when he finally relaxed the tenderness of his arms was familiar.

 . . . . .

 Since Tetsuya barely came up to his chest, hugging Murasakibara-kun was like hugging a tree. Murasakibara was indomitable and his hugs were no different. There was strength in his lanky build, solidity in his light embrace (because as much as he claimed he would crush others, Murasakibara’s hugs were gentle).

Hugging him was also like cuddling a snack cabinet. When they parted, Tetsuya always ended up with crumbs on his shirt. Murasakibara-kun smelt like the most inviting pantry, and Tetsuya loved to breathe deep when he pressed his face into Murasakibara’s shirt. Sometimes Tetsuya guessed what he ate last, and the crumbs that transferred onto his person confirmed his suspicions.

The last time they hugged, it was a cookie.

 . . . . . .

 Akashi-kun’s hugs were much like him: they came in a dichotomy.

The Other Akashi didn’t hug. Tetsuya had never even seen that version of him return a handshake, much less accept an embrace. If Tetsuya had to guess, he’d wager that the Other Akashi gave hugs that were calculative, perfunctory, perhaps a hug by definition but absolutely devoid of any kindness.

The True Akashi was different. The True Akashi was warm. Tetsuya was the perfect height to bury his nose into Akashi’s shoulder, cheek nuzzled against his neck. Hands on Tetsuya's back, rubbing it softly, and a sigh against his cheek that made his lips twitch upwards. The hugs from this Akashi were sincere and kind, but always cut too short. He wasn’t one for physicality, but Tetsuya felt like Akashi-kun desperately wanted to be held onto longer.

He never did. Tetsuya hoped that would change one day.

 . . . . . . .

 Kagami-kun was not like hugging any of the Miracles, but also like hugging a piece of each of them all at once.

Kagami was strong and firm, passionate and enveloping. His chest was broad and perfect for Tetsuya to press his cheek against, his shoulders comforting supports to lean on. Tetsuya had never felt stronger magnetism—the way a shadow needed a light—until he met Kagami-kun. He’d never felt the need to stay in someone’s hold until Kagami crowded close and pulled him in.

His hugs weren’t as full and encompassing as Aomine-kun’s, but they were just as warm and kind. They weren’t as gentle yet quietly powerful like Murasakibara-kun’s either, but there was a steadiness to them that anchored Tetsuya. Though Kagami had the strength to easily suffocate him like Momoi-san did, and enthusiasm like Kise-kun to accomplish it, Tetsuya was never once stifled by him. Even his one-armed hugs reminded Tetsuya of Midorima-kun’s (awkward) kindness.

He differed in many ways too. Kagami-kun often yelled into his ears when they fell into an embrace, most of which were exclamations of good work and success. It wasn’t a surprise that they hugged the most after a game (it was one of the only times at Teikou that Tetsuya ever experienced the others’ hugs in the first place) but Kagami also broke form in that regard. He rubbed his knuckles into the crown of Tetsuya’s hair after a good practice; never faltered when lifting him into an embrace as they mercifully passed another round of exams, spared from their senpais’ wrath. Sometimes Kagami-kun even pulled him into those bro-like hugs that were so prevalent in American jock culture.

When Tetsuya was safe in Kagami’s arms, he didn’t hesitate to bury his face in the other boy’s jersey.

 .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 Kuroko’s hugs were a gift. The pressure was always just right, the length always perfectly appropriate. Sometimes he lingered, though more often than not he let go when it was time. He had a tendency to press his face against whatever surface it landed on—a cheek against a chest, a nose into a shoulder—but no one ever told him to stop. It was simply part of the experience.

His arms curled around others the way old friends hugged in reunion, the way a parent cradled their child—impossible to miss the affection. Despite his strength (or, rather, lack thereof), he always held firm during an embrace. Everyone fell for Kuroko’s misdirection at one point, but his presence was undeniable once he gathered someone in his arms.

After parting, seeing the angelic smile on Kuroko’s face was always worth letting him go.

[the-single-element]

Good morning.

Today's readings are famous ones... or perhaps one might say "infamous". They show Jesus taking a hard line on something about which most people these days have agreed to take a softer line: the topic of marriage and divorce.

When Jesus bothers to not only say something plainly, but restate it even more plainly when asked... then I try to take it seriously, even when it's counterintuitive - even when it doesn't make sense according to what we're used to. And if I can do that for much more counterintuitive things than this (things like Jesus describing his flesh as bread, to be literally eaten), then I can't allow myself to flinch from this. He's saying it straight-up: don't act like marriage is something you can just back out of. It's not; it's something that in some way can't be undone.

But we... know from bitter experience how dysfunctional marriages can become. We know that separating them is sometimes necessary to prevent even greater harm.

So then... what are we supposed to do, confronted by that knowledge on the one hand, and Jesus's exhortation here on the other?

I can only try to approach it as a child does. With the curiosity of a child, which asks "why" over and over until it is satisfied, but which has no preconceptions over what the answers will be.

I'll start here: that you don't have to look far to find things we consider normal but Jesus considered dangerous.

For example, consider what he had to say about vows: that, instead of "keep your vows", you shouldn't make vows in the first place! That instead one should focus on being truthful and honest enough that swearing oaths isn't necessary.

Why?

Well, Jesus never made any secret that he wanted people to stop and consider what they were committing to before they commit to it. He was known, after all, to actively discourage people from following him who wouldn't be able to stay the course when the going got tough. He told parables about not committing yourself to build a tower or fight a battle without figuring out ahead of time whether you have what it takes to succeed.

If this is true, then why take a vow that you might break? Why put yourself in a situation where you could be in moral jeopardy from making a human error - which, as we are humans, we all succumb to now and again?

And nowhere is this clearer than a commitment that you need to keep your whole life.

So then... why doesn't Jesus just forbid marriage like he forbids vows, despite marriage being a vow, and maybe the most dangerous kind? Why doesn't he dunk us headfirst into the world to come, where such vows are unnecessary?

Well, for one thing, he understands that it wouldn't be a commandment we could bear.

For many of us, wanting that kind of togetherness is a deep, desperate longing. It's the longing we hear from the old stories, when Adam recognized Eve as "at last, my own flesh" in a way that nothing else in the world could be. "At last!"

And... as the Hebrews essayist points out today, there is something... resonantly familiar about Jesus drawing close to us by becoming a human being, sharing our human flesh and nature, to accomplish his mission. There's a reason that imagery of the wedding feast surrounds the prophetic visions of Jesus's work, and the coming of the Kingdom.

When we talk of "love" in Christianity, we're often talking about something fairly narrow, a specific word in the original Aramaic that Jesus used to describe the driving force at the foundation of the Kingdom of God.

He never uses that word here, when talking about marriage and spouses. He's not quite talking about that love. But the other meaning of what we call "love" in English - the one that's no less deeply significant to us - that still exists too. It's the sort of inexpressible longing that's a part of us, whether romantic or not, whether sexual or not. There are people who are so dear to us that we feel like we would "bend the world in half" before we'd lose them.

And they are not... unrelated phenomena. There's a reason that, despite the practical distinctions, we call φιλία, ἔρως, ἀγάπη all "love" in English.

But hot on the heels of last week's lesson, where Jesus reminded us that we must sometimes set aside good things if they might lead us into evil... I can only interpret today's teaching as a similar warning. Jesus, by arguing that marriage is not that easy to untangle, reminds us just what we commit to when we marry someone - when we proclaim that we'll be one flesh from then on. He reminds us how much is at stake if we promise something that, later, it turns out we can't give, especially something so deeply intertwined with our capacity to love.

The relationship enshrined by marriage - its permanence - is something we long for. But like any vow, we can't be slapdash with it; it'd be better not to vow at all, and live companionably outside marriage, than to enter into it and find out too late, only after someone else is relying on you, that you'll lose the war, that the tower will be left uncompleted. Better to leave as temporary what might have been permanent, then to unnaturally stretch something temporary into permanence.

And if it collapses anyway... if the vow turns out to be unfulfillable despite our best predictions and efforts... well, that's still not the end of the world. You might not be able to untangle yourself from your spouse, but that doesn't actually prevent you from living apart if it's the best thing for the two of you. It only prevents you from getting married again - because even separated, even with the separation as the expression of you doing the best you can by each other, that entanglement still exists.

And both for the lovers who never dare to get married, and the lovers who cannot because they already married before... the good news, if there is some here, is that they don't need the marriage to love each other.

The love, and the relationship of love, can exist even without the vow that stands for it.

Perhaps that's the most important part.

...or, perhaps, I've missed the plot entirely. This is, after all, not a topic on which I have much real experience.

So instead... I'll trust God for now. When I do have more experience with this kind of love and these kinds of relationships, when it's closer to being a practical issue for me, I can always go back - like a child who's noticed a new question they need answering - and ask Him more, trusting that he knows and loves us better than we know and love ourselves.

[blinder-secrets]

Love Hate - Tommy

fic request: #12 with Tommy please! 😘

a/n: i really need to make note of which list these requests come from lol i used both just in case (gif credit to hvproductions)

Tommy’s office was as sharp and lifeless as you’d anticipated. His desk was neat, empty of novelties, and the air was biting with minted tobacco. You leant back against the wooden top and folded your arms, facing the door in wait of your target. He’d successfully avoided you for the past fortnight, but enough was enough. You’d catch the bastard in his self-fashioned den. 

Pol had let you in, unaware of your less-than-friendly reason for visiting, and would no doubt get a bollocking for it. But, sacrifices must be made. Tommy Shelby will not blank you out of his life. 

He saw you before he reached the door. He made direct eye contact with you through the glass, and went the other way, presumably to lay a preemptive scolding on Pol. You held your ground, flexing your arms, before re-folding them across your chest in the opposite order. You had all day. He could take all the time he wanted, you’d still be waiting. 

Minutes later, he was back in front of you, separated only by the glass of the office door. You didn’t even have to say anything, your presence alone had put him on edge - you could see it in the hard expression he’d adopted as he turned the handle and entered.

‘(Y/n),’ he said. ‘You know I don’t like people in my office when I’m away.’

‘I know.’ That was the point. 

He eyed you for a moment before shutting the door behind him. Shrugging the coat from his shoulders, he turned to face the room, walking as far from you as possible in the small space. He hung the coat up, walked behind his desk, and paused to flick through the papers on top. You weren’t sure if he was stalling, or genuinely unbothered; it wasn’t unlike him to adopt the emotional capacity of a lump of coal when the situation demanded it. 

Especially when faced with the scorn of a past lover. 

You stood from your lean and spun to him. ‘So, we’ve not seen each other in a while.’

He sighed and pushed his hands into his pockets before looking you in the eyes. ‘What is this about, (y/n)?’

‘You want to get right to the point, Tommy?’ 

‘I haven’t got all day.’

‘Okay then.’ You smiled and took the sweetest dramatic pause you could. ‘I want you to admit to me, to my face, that you and Vee are getting serious.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘What?’

So, he was going to play that game. He was going to try and deny that he’d been seeing Vee, Victoria, your best fucking friend, behind your back. And had been doing long before he’d ended things with you. 

‘I don’t know what she’s told you but-’

‘Don’t try that,’ you interrupted, ‘she’s told me everything and I have absolutely no reason to think she’s lying.’

She’d confessed. You’d argued. She’d promised she was sorry. You’d told her she had to move out. She’d cried. You’d cried. It was painful and exhausting, but it’d taken you less than a day to recover and redirect your anger elsewhere.

‘I’d seen enough to come to the same conclusion myself,’ you added, ignoring the pinch of pain in your gut that the thought caused. 

Tommy was stiller than rock. His glacier eyes were set on yours with an unrelenting scrutiny: he was assessing the situation, planning his next move, conjuring another lie to tell. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. 

‘No you aren’t,’ you replied. 

If he was sorry he’d have told you. He’d have shown you the common decent of an honest, and merciful end. 

‘Alright.’ He nodded and sat in the chair behind the desk; a willing defendant of the trial you’d sprung upon him. You stayed standing, facing him, playing prosecutor for your soured affections. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t.’

HIs face remained frustratingly devoid of emotion. 

‘How can you be like this? How can you care so little?’

‘I have to, (y/n), you know that just as well as anyone.’

‘Bullshit!’ you spat, jolting forward to slam your palms on his desk. ‘Stop pretending!’

Tommy blinked, unfazed by your outburst. He was a mask of indifference and you were going in circles, circles shepherded by the iced man opposite you. 

You sighed. Time for a different approach. ‘You know,��it hurt when I realised that you’re not in love with me.’ It pained you to admit it. But it killed you to say what you said next. ‘But nothing can compare to the pain I felt when I saw you fall in love with her.’

He wiped a hand across his mouth - a filler movement while he summoned an appropriate response. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

‘Just tell me you love her.’ Your voice had broken on the final word, all bravado abandoning you as you faced the reality of your torments. He loved her. Not you. ‘Just say it, so I can move on.’

‘I won’t do that.’ 

‘Just say it.’ It was almost a plea.

Tommy looked to his lap, fingers twisting and untwisting, biding time.

‘Say it!’ You were almost laughing now, too filled with disbelief to take any other angle. ‘Just say it!’

He couldn’t even face you. He couldn’t even give you that. 

You scoffed. ‘Are you really so much of a coward, you can’t even admit it to me?’

‘There’s nothing to admit, (y/n),’ he answered, his calm tone replaced with a sharp, biting one. ‘I don’t love her.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ You wanted to, but you didn’t.

‘What do you want from me, (y/n)?’ His question hung lifelessly between the two of you, remaining unanswered as he continued, ‘D’you want me to say that I love you? You?’ 

He’d stood up whilst he spoke, leaning across the desk to bark his poison into your face. ‘It’s not going to happen. We weren’t in love.’

You were too hurt by his comment to address it, instead, you focused on preserving your friend’s dignity. ‘You’re lying to her too?’

He laughed. A soulless, cruel laugh. ‘Nobodies lying to anyone! Can’t you see?’ His hand lifted to scrub through his hair. ‘Christ, its just fucking, (y/n). We’re fucking, just like you and I were, and just like every girl I fuck next.’ He said it as if it were nothing, as if he were telling the weather to a passing stranger.

‘Just...fucking?’ you stammered.

‘Just. Fucking,’ he repeated, in a tone that made you want to spit at him. 

You recoiled from the desk, your hands snatching away from its wood as if it burnt. ‘I loved you,’ you said, quietly. You’d loved him, you’d fallen for him, and this was what it’d come to? This was who he’d proven himself to be? You fixed your face, adopting an expression as cold as his. ‘And I’m the last one who ever will.’

A pause; consideration, and then, ‘I don’t need love, (y/n).’

You left the room without telling him how wrong he was. 

[terrysacia-blog-blog]

Why Does Catholicism Refuse To Acknowledge Divorce And Only Allow Annulment?

Why Does Catholicism Refuse To Acknowledge Divorce And Only Allow Annulment?

Let’s First Look at How the Catholic Church Defines Marriage…

Matrimony or marriage in the Catholic Church is defined as a covenant where husband and wife in a partnership render mutual help and service to each other. Such a commitment would seem to assume the existence of maturity, knowledge, freedom, and psychological capacity.

What is an Annulment?

“Annulment” has an unfortunate stigma attached to it and is actually a term used to refer to a Catholic “decree of invalidity.” The process does not actually invalidate anything. Instead, a Catholic tribunal (which is a Catholic Church court) declares that the marriage which was initially thought to be valid under the law of the church has actually fallen short of at least one element that is required in a binding union.

For a Catholic marriage to be regarded as valid:

spouses must be free to marry

can both legally consent to marry

they can freely exchange their consent

purpose to remain married for life, to remain faithful to one another, and are open to having kids

desire the good of each other, and

their consent to marry is before at least 2 witnesses and in the presence of an authorized Church minister.

A decree of invalidity does not in any way deny the existence of a relationship, nor does it assume that the marriage was entered into with ill or immoral motives. The tribunal will only issue the decree if the ingredients necessary for a true marriage are missing.

Does The Annulment Make the Children Illegitimate?

Absolutely not!  Children born into a marriage that was later annulled are still considered “legitimate” within the Catholic Church. (Code of Canon Law, canon 1137). When the couples married, it was assumed it was a marriage entered in “good faith” and therefore kids conceived under this assumption are considered legitimate.

In the U.S., the annulment of a marriage in the Catholic Church does not interfere with state civil laws. Such a process is unrelated to civil issues such as child custody, alimony, visitation rights, parenting, illegitimacy, or property division.

Is There a Difference Between a Civil Divorce and an Ecclesiastical Decree of Invalidity?

Yes, there is a difference between the two. A civil divorce involves a civil dissolution of marriage where the division of marital property, child custody, and spousal support are settled. Here, the ex-spouses are declared free by the civil authority to enter into a new marriage with another person. On the other hand, the Church’s tribunal will declare a marriage null and void only if there is evidence that the marriage was not canonically valid. This is what is normally called an “annulment.”

What Is the Catholic’s Stand on a Civil Divorce?

The Church will tolerate a civil divorce if it is the only way to ensure the protection of certain rights, and property or care of the children. If this is the case, the action may not constitute a moral offense. However, the Church does not grant freedom to remarry after the finalization of a civil divorce.

Can I Apply for A Decree of Invalidity?

The Catholic Church recognizes marriages of non-baptized Catholics or non-Catholics. Whether you are a Catholic or not, baptized or not, you may apply.

Will I Automatically Receive a Decree of Invalidity?

No. Just as every divorce case is unique, every application before the tribunal is judged according to its merits and will follow the same canonical procedure. The Philippines’ Office of the Solicitor General (OSG) reports that from applications made between 2010 and 2011, 6 percent of such petitions were either denied or dismissed. Sometimes the evidence presented before the tribunal only proves that the marriage broke down, but it doesn’t prove the invalidity of the marriage during consent or spousal incapabilities.

The denied or dismissed petition may be reintroduced at a future time when there is available information or testimony to support the grounds for annulment.

If I’m a Catholic Divorcee Do I have to Obtain a “Decree of Invalidity” Before Marrying Again in The Church?

Yes, a divorced Catholic must have this decree before remarrying. Similarly, if a Church member wishes to marry a baptized or non-baptized divorced partner, this decree must first be issued by the Tribunal before any new union is officiated in church.

The Church tries to withhold and remain faithful to Jesus’ teachings about marriage’s lifelong commitment (Matt 19:1-10). As such, unless a person’s spouse has died, the Church requires a Decree of Invalidity before marrying someone else. The tribunal will investigate the validity of the marriage and confirm whether it was a truly valid or invalid marriage on the wedding day.

This can be an emotional issue. For instance, if a person who intends to marry a Catholic comes from a faith or tradition that accepts divorce and remarriage, it may be hard for this person to understand why he/she needs to go through the tribunal process. In this case, it would be helpful to speak to a Priest or Deacon if being married in the Catholic Church is important to their partner. 

What About a Failed Marriage?

The Church knows that we live in a “fallen world” and understands that the world is not a perfect place. Sometimes even valid marriages fail.

The Church does not advise people to stay in failed marriages – but it often tries to encourage reconciliation, especially in marriages with children involved. Separation or even civil divorce is sometimes necessary, especially in cases where there is abuse. However, the Church believes that separation or civil divorce to a valid marriage does not mean the ex-spouses should remarry, because it is God who joined them together in a lifelong bond.

The Church believes that a separated or divorced person therefore should live in a manner that shows he/she is still married. They shouldn’t remarry, date, or cohabit with anyone because that would be adultery.

How Much Will It Cost Me for The Canonical Process?

The Tribunal is funded by the Diocesan Coffers. However, it is only fair for the benefiting parties to contribute to the defrayment of any expenses. Filing an annulment with the Tribunal requires a $600 payment. $150 of this is a non-refundable deposit at the start of the process and then $450 is billed as the case progresses. Making smaller instead of lump-sum payments cannot hinder the progression of a case because it can be tailored to fit any budget.

[the-fitsquad]

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[d33-alex]

Science has outgrown the human mind and its limited capacities

[Photo: Francis Bacon's insight was that the process of discovery was inherently algorithmic]

"The duty of man who investigates the writings of scientists, if learning the truth is his goal, is to make himself an enemy of all that he reads and … attack it from every side. He should also suspect himself as he performs his critical examination of it, so that he may avoid falling into either prejudice or leniency." – Ibn al-Haytham (965-1040 CE)

Science is in the midst of a data crisis. Last year, there were more than 1.2 million new papers published in the biomedical sciences alone, bringing the total number of peer-reviewed biomedical papers to over 26 million. However, the average scientist reads only about 250 papers a year. Meanwhile, the quality of the scientific literature has been in decline. Some recent studies found that the majority of biomedical papers were irreproducible.

The twin challenges of too much quantity and too little quality are rooted in the finite neurological capacity of the human mind. Scientists are deriving hypotheses from a smaller and smaller fraction of our collective knowledge and consequently, more and more, asking the wrong questions, or asking ones that have already been answered. Also, human creativity seems to depend increasingly on the stochasticity of previous experiences – particular life events that allow a researcher to notice something others do not. Although chance has always been a factor in scientific discovery, it is currently playing a much larger role than it should.

One promising strategy to overcome the current crisis is to integrate machines and artificial intelligence in the scientific process. Machines have greater memory and higher computational capacity than the human brain. Automation of the scientific process could greatly increase the rate of discovery. It could even begin another scientific revolution. That huge possibility hinges on an equally huge question: can scientific discovery really be automated?

I believe it can, using an approach that we have known about for centuries. The answer to this question can be found in the work of Sir Francis Bacon, the 17th-century English philosopher and a key progenitor of modern science.

The first reiterations of the scientific method can be traced back many centuries earlier to Muslim thinkers such as Ibn al-Haytham, who emphasised both empiricism and experimentation. However, it was Bacon who first formalised the scientific method and made it a subject of study. In his book Novum Organum (1620), he proposed a model for discovery that is still known as the Baconian method. He argued against syllogistic logic for scientific synthesis, which he considered to be unreliable. Instead, he proposed an approach in which relevant observations about a specific phenomenon are systematically collected, tabulated and objectively analysed using inductive logic to generate generalisable ideas. In his view, truth could be uncovered only when the mind is free from incomplete (and hence false) axioms.

The Baconian method attempted to remove logical bias from the process of observation and conceptualisation, by delineating the steps of scientific synthesis and optimising each one separately. Bacon’s vision was to leverage a community of observers to collect vast amounts of information about nature and tabulate it into a central record accessible to inductive analysis. In Novum Organum, he wrote: ‘Empiricists are like ants; they accumulate and use. Rationalists spin webs like spiders. The best method is that of the bee; it is somewhere in between, taking existing material and using it.’

The Baconian method is rarely used today. It proved too laborious and extravagantly expensive; its technological applications were unclear. However, at the time the formalisation of a scientific method marked a revolutionary advance. Before it, science was metaphysical, accessible only to a few learned men, mostly of noble birth. By rejecting the authority of the ancient Greeks and delineating the steps of discovery, Bacon created a blueprint that would allow anyone, regardless of background, to become a scientist.

Bacon’s insights also revealed an important hidden truth: the discovery process is inherently algorithmic. It is the outcome of a finite number of steps that are repeated until a meaningful result is uncovered. Bacon explicitly used the word ‘machine’ in describing his method. His scientific algorithm has three essential components: first, observations have to be collected and integrated into the total corpus of knowledge. Second, the new observations are used to generate new hypotheses. Third, the hypotheses are tested through carefully designed experiments.

If science is algorithmic, then it must have the potential for automation. This futuristic dream has eluded information and computer scientists for decades, in large part because the three main steps of scientific discovery occupy different planes. Observation is sensual; hypothesis-generation is mental; and experimentation is mechanical. Automating the scientific process will require the effective incorporation of machines in each step, and in all three feeding into each other without friction. Nobody has yet figured out how to do that.

Experimentation has seen the most substantial recent progress. For example, the pharmaceutical industry commonly uses automated high-throughput platforms for drug design. Startups such as Transcriptic and Emerald Cloud Lab, both in California, are building systems to automate almost every physical task that biomedical scientists do. Scientists can submit their experiments online, where they are converted to code and fed into robotic platforms that carry out a battery of biological experiments. These solutions are most relevant to disciplines that require intensive experimentation, such as molecular biology and chemical engineering, but analogous methods can be applied in other data-intensive fields, and even extended to theoretical disciplines.

Automated hypothesis-generation is less advanced, but the work of Don Swanson in the 1980s provided an important step forward. He demonstrated the existence of hidden links between unrelated ideas in the scientific literature; using a simple deductive logical framework, he could connect papers from various fields with no citation overlap. In this way, Swanson was able to hypothesise a novel link between dietary fish oil and Reynaud’s Syndrome without conducting any experiments or being an expert in either field. Other, more recent approaches, such as those of Andrey Rzhetsky at the University of Chicago and Albert-László Barabási at Northeastern University, rely on mathematical modelling and graph theory. They incorporate large datasets, in which knowledge is projected as a network, where nodes are concepts and links are relationships between them. Novel hypotheses would show up as undiscovered links between nodes.

The most challenging step in the automation process is how to collect reliable scientific observations on a large scale. There is currently no central data bank that holds humanity’s total scientific knowledge on an observational level. Natural language-processing has advanced to the point at which it can automatically extract not only relationships but also context from scientific papers. However, major scientific publishers have placed severe restrictions on text-mining. More important, the text of papers is biased towards the scientist’s interpretations (or misconceptions), and it contains synthesised complex concepts and methodologies that are difficult to extract and quantify.

Nevertheless, recent advances in computing and networked databases make the Baconian method practical for the first time in history. And even before scientific discovery can be automated, embracing Bacon’s approach could prove valuable at a time when pure reductionism is reaching the edge of its usefulness.

Human minds simply cannot reconstruct highly complex natural phenomena efficiently enough in the age of big data. A modern Baconian method that incorporates reductionist ideas through data-mining, but then analyses this information through inductive computational models, could transform our understanding of the natural world. Such an approach would enable us to generate novel hypotheses that have higher chances of turning out to be true, to test those hypotheses, and to fill gaps in our knowledge. It would also provide a much-needed reminder of what science is supposed to be: truth-seeking, anti-authoritarian, and limitlessly free.

by Ahmed Alkhateeb – a molecular cancer biologist at Harvard Medical School. His work focuses on the development of analytical platforms to improve research efficiency in biomedicine. See article @ Aeon: https://goo.gl/sjBW1L

[grimorum-arcanorum]

asksubmitabout me

A writeup on my most recent try on ABAXACATABAX charms:

I’m reuploading this with additions. I DO NOT intend this to be a How To post. I’m just wanting to share what I did as well as possible expansions since it’s a pertinent time.

(From Folk Witchcraft, Roger Horne)

Result Findings/Thoughts, My Procedure, Etc.:

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TLDR, Current Results/Thoughts: 

- 3/18/20: So far the only thing I’ve been told is that last Monday night (the night after I gave the charms to the 3), they each separately noticed they slept much better than usual and the two who wake up super early slept in a longer (healthy) amount. They each noticed this unrelated to each other, and I never mentioned anything about sleeping to them or even when thinking about the effects. My hopeful guess is this: the good-sleeping effect, presumably by the charm, is related to how getting better and restful sleep is associated with strengthening the immune system and helps get rid of sickness. I will see how it goes going forward.

- Edit, 3/21/20: I feel as though the biggest tests of these charms will be in the next week or two. Will be looking out for any hard notice of it working.

- Edit #2, 3/21/20: I believe I’ve noticed the method of which these charms might work through. I made these, or at least started, in the hour of the Sun on a Sunday. It’s occurred to me that the “drive out sickness” aspect is possibly more… prevalent, violent than expected. But although there have been correlations of sickness bubbling up and either dissipating or exiting the body while wearing the charm, that’s all I can say currently- there’s correlations. But I do believe that a main aspect of this charm is turning out to actually physically drive out whatever sickness from the wearer, at least in some capacity.  So far, here’s what the others have said: My grandmother has said that she believes it seems to be working as intended, as she’s said “Well I think it must be working as I could have been a lot worse off” (in talking about something that happened, related to my correlation of it possibly helping literally drive out sickness.) My stepfather has told me that he’s felt that the charm has been protecting him from getting sick since wearing it, as he travels most of the week and has not gotten ill from the heightened human contact. But like I said, the true tests I think are in the next coming weeks. Will be on the lookout.

————————————————————————-

Prep:

I did this last Sunday, starting in the hour of the Sun although I didn’t end up finishing within the hour. I gave offerings to the Sun in asking for aid in my magic working. I had Elderberries and Bay Leaves, paper, pen & pencil, felt and thread. I can’t find the pestle to my mortar so I tried using a blunt end of something in a bowl. Spoilers: trying to crush the Elderberries like that did not work very well at all. I also took inspiration in preparation from Gemma Gary’s Traditional Witchcraft for charmmaking.

Working:

I began by trying to cast a circle.

I cut out 4 3x3in pieces of paper. I then began writing the ABAXACATABAX charm out in pencil. On the other side, I wrote down what the charm is to do which is something I neglected to last time I tried this. I then drew the symbol of the Sun above the will.

This is when I began empowering the attributes. I poured dried Elderberries into a bowl and began trying to pound and crush them into a powder. While I did this, I closed my eyes and continuously repeated what I wanted it to do loud as I pounded the berries. This went on for a long time, probably a longer time than I realized.

Even though this crushing didn’t actually work (most of them were mostly whole…) I felt like I managed to do what I was going for anyways even if I didn’t get powder out of it.

After this I began to go over the penciled words in ink, to finalize what I wrote. Because I was just tracing, I was able to start chanting again forcefully. And again I slipped into that sort of state where I could just repeat it without thinking about it. Whenever I became aware of myself saying the words, I would switch up the phrasing and slip back in until I became aware again.

After this, I put some Elderberries in the center of the paper and folded it like how Gemma Gary’s book described. Four corners in, fold, fold, then making the cloth holders for the charm. Before/while I did that though, I put the folded papers on a tray, circled them in Elderberries and sat a candle right in the middle of them to hopefully empower them more. I used what I had to make portable holders for the charms, which was red felt and white thread. I tried to empower a bay leaf as I took it into four pieces to place inside the little pouches as I was almost done stitching the sides. I grabbed a pinchful of Elderberry not-powder and put some in. I then picked up each charm paper and placed them in, ending off with a little bit more Elderberry and stitched it up.

I made little loops in the felt to place cord through to wear.

After they were all sealed up, I lit another candle (the only one I had at the time was a little red one) in wanting them to soak in extra continuous juice. I lit some incense. I passed each charm into and through the smoke from underneath it to seal them. I then left the charms around the second candle for the rest of the night; I kept reading Gemma Gary mention leaving spells and charms to “cook” so I figured I’d try even though I don’t have a proper working altar or anything yet.

Possible Issues:

Other than the fact I said that making these charms might have been the messiest spellworking I’ve done yet, there’s one large thing. The good news, is this is only for me and shouldn’t effect the other charms. When I was folding the first charm paper, one of the Elderberries I had in there popped out and ripped the paper. I made sure not to let that happen to the others, and made sure to give myself the possibly faulty charm as I’m in the least danger. This might render my specific charm bunk. Or at least, maybe not as strong as it should be or would be. But I’m not entirely sure this even negatively affected it at all; which would be cool if it didn’t! If I find out it did, I’ll just end up redoing mine.

The other issue was the timeframe. This goes into the messiness, but I took SO much longer than I thought I would making these. I started at the start of the Sun’s hour, and ended sometime in Mercury’s hour. I don’t know yet how exactly this affected my working, if at all?

I’ve yet to do divination on this working.

Things I’d Like to Consider for Changes/Additions:

I think that there’s worth in a change in planetary approach; I’ve been discussing a little bit of this with someone who utilized Mercury rather than the Sun for the charm which seems to have turned out less seemingly violent in approach and rather more preservative-protective. So, something I think I will consider more are other combos rather than just utilizing the Sun, possibly adjusting for the context of the situation of use. I’d still like to feed the charms semi regularly to continue the usage, so I might utilize the different combos of planets in the way I refuel/feed? Not sure, but I’ll be considering it. 

But yeah. I’m hopeful for these charms and I’ll be continuing to monitor them as time goes on!!

A writeup on my most recent try on ABAXACATABAX charms:

I’m reuploading this with additions. I DO NOT intend this to be a How To post. I’m just wanting to share what I did as well as possible expansions since it’s a pertinent time.

Intended Use: Driving out (and protecting from) all sickness and illness for my immediate family members and I. Particularly to help fight against the virus going around. I feel that this charm can be very versatile in application, so I decided to test how it’d work for this situation.

(From Folk Witchcraft, Roger Horne)

Result Findings/Thoughts, My Procedure, Etc.:

————————————————————————-

Keep reading

[the-fitsquad]

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HP (Hewlett-Packard) is a renowned name in the IT sector, involved in the manufacturing of desktop computer systems, laptops, workstations, notebooks, printers, scanners and other laptop accessories. The jump server would want to be built and configured to equivalent security standards as the PAW. The Computer software Licensing Service reported that the Token Shop contains an invalid descriptor table. Or Platinum processors and 24 DIMM slots enabling for up to 1.5TB of six-channel DDR4-2666 ECC SDRAM. This adds some design and style complexity, but can simplify security monitoring and computer software updates if a big number of accounts and workstations are utilised in your PAW implementation. Just make confident you’ve got at least 8GB, as the previewing procedure that makes up the view window of some 3D design and style programs like Cinema 4D can be a bit RAM-hungry.

These workstations are developed to last for decades and are frequently pricey. CAD application is obtainable for generic design or specialized utilizes, such as architectural, electrical and mechanical. Investing in a good ergonomic chair, sit-stand desk and tasking lighting might be pricey on the front end, but the investment is worth it to design a workstation that is best for you. Paved the way to more powerful keyboard workstations. The HP Z620 Workstation is quoted to possessing 4 times the memory capacity compared to last generation systems, a larger energy provide, and help for single- or dual-socket processor configurations. A commercial workplace desk is perfect for the busy executive, or operate-from-home enterprise owner. As I not too long ago bought Windows ten Product key to upgrade my Windows eight.1 Pc, Which worked perfectly.

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