#and then asking him to produce medical miracles

[faerievampling]

Miracle - Part 2

Summary: Astarion asks a pregnant Tav to marry him and settle down for a bit. Can be read as a stand alone story!

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x F!Tav / Reader

Link to Part 1

Link to Ao3

My Masterlist

Warnings: 18+! Explicit! Astarion being a perv for pregnant Tav! Pregnancy kink. Breeding kink. PiV. Vaginal fingering. Cunnilingus. Body worship. Panty sniffing. Mention of body changes, symptoms of pregnancy.

A/N: Do y'all want more of these two? because I have more. I hope you enjoy!

You and your beloved continue to travel and work. Despite being expert adventures, you both had decided on taking low risk journeys and dealings. You were lucky to have found an enchanted ring long ago, one that allowed your vampire to walk in the sun, so there was no disruption to your living schedule.

Astarion insisted that you take it easy, and had even wanted you to stop traveling altogether, but he could only get you to acquiesce to directly participating in battles.

But you were starting to get rather big, and you weren’t so quick or nimble as you once were. The extra weight was daunting on you.

You are nearing the end of your pregnancy, now.

“Darling, you know I’m not one for…tradition, or convention, or any of that,” Astarion said one day as he massages your swollen hands. You were propped up in bed, your legs draped over Astarion's lap as he sat upright, working the fluids out with his strong digits. It was hard work, growing a baby, and strange things happened, like swollen hands. “But, I was reading something the other day…”

“Oh?”

“In one of my romance novels…you know the ones,” Astarion admits coyly, and you smile, nodding because he had shared this guilty pleasure with you before. “In one of them, the love interest wanted the mother of his child to share the same surname as their offspring. And he, the love interest, wanted to also share…this last name with them.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What do you think of that?” Astarion inquires coquettishly, turning on an almost boyish, shy charm that makes your heart swoon.

“I think it’s romantic. The love interest wants his family united, and I think that’s lovely,” You say. “What do you think about it, Astarion?”

“I think I want that. With you.” Astarion turns your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I don’t care to do it traditionally, I just want you to be mine. I’ve already talked to Wyll.”

Astarion moves your legs off his lap onto the bed, moving for his things across your suite. The two of you were quite wealthy at this point, and had found a lovely little inn to stay in outside of Athkatla, the capital of Amn.

Astarion produces an envelope, pulling out the papers inside before handing them over to you. Astarion, not having the patience for you to actually look them over, tells you that it is the paperwork for an annulment of his death certificate, an official acknowledgement of the destruction of a previous marriage, and a marriage license –

“Wait a minute,” You stop him.

Astarion has an ‘I’ve been caught’ look on his face. “Ugh, I had hoped you’d just ignore that part I sandwiched in there.”

You knit your eyebrows together, shaking your head at him. “I’m no stranger to your ‘sandwich’ tactics, Astarion,” You quip back. “A previous marriage?”

“One that I have no memory of and was contractually destroyed upon my first death. Now that I’m legally alive again, and they are still alive, it’s just to acknowledge that marriage is no longer legitimate, so that our marriage is.”

“Oh,” You say, digesting these two things at once; Astarion had an ex-husband or wife, and he was asking you to marry him right now.

“I figured we could go back to Baldur’s Gate for a while, get Wyll’s stamp of approval, and there was that midwife Shadowheart suggested to us…” Astarion trailed off, his mind wandering at all the things there was to do. “You should probably get a check up. It's been a while, darling, and my 'inspections' of you are hardly medical in nature.”

You give him a gentle smack on the shoulder, prompting a handsome smirk from him before you narrow your eyes at him. You knew he was going to tell you that now was the time to settle down. You knew it was coming.

“Don’t look at me like that. Not after what I’ve just asked of you.” His rounded eyes look away from you, like he’s embarrassed.

You change your tune, realizing you’re being a jackass. You ease yourself out of bed, Astarion rushing to help you. You take his arm, and once on your feet, you place your hands on his chest, looking up at him as he looks away from your cleavage, meeting your gaze.

“Astarion, of course I’ll marry you,” You say with a smile, bringing him into a tender kiss. Astarion cups your cheek with one hand and a breast with another: he has become rather obsessed with them lately.

“I guess I’m just not ready for our grand adventure to end.” You explain, tears in your eyes as you think about all the change that’s to come.

Astarion cradles you closer. “My love, this is just the start of a new adventure. And let’s be reasonable, we both know you’re terribly uncomfortable with all the traveling. Don’t you want to just rest your tired, but very sexy body for the last part of your pregnancy, my darling?”

You couldn’t help but agree.

He’s being cheeky, trying to hide the tears that have welled up in his eyes. Astarion has never known family. He couldn’t fathom having a wife, nonetheless a pregnant one. But here he was, with the object of his desire in his arms.

“I love you so much, Tav. I just want you and our child to be safe.” Astarion says. “Baldur’s Gate is the safest place for us. All of our friends are there, we have ample protection and resources – don’t make me beg.”

You’re back in Baldur’s Gate before you know it.

———

The night you arrive, you and Astarion stay at Jaheira’s house; the two of you are utterly exhausted from your travels, and you collapse in bed.

Astarion watches as you lie on your side, trying to find a pillow to place beneath your large, aching belly. Realizing how little options you had, Astarion lies beside you, snaking his hand beneath your belly.

“Ah,” You say in relief, earning a smile from Astarion, who just wanted you to be comfortable. He had seen how hard your pregnancy had been.

“I guess it’s alright if you use my pillow, darling. I wouldn’t be opposed to staying just like this, though.” Astarion’s voice is light and gentle, the smoothness filing your ears in a pleasurable way. “We have a long day tomorrow. We’ll likely be at the courthouse all day…”

Astarion shivers at the thought, giving a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

“Could you imagine going back to that? Being a magistrate? Spending all day in the courtroom settling legal disputes and passing ‘Astarion approved’ laws?” You smile over your shoulder at him; a perfect opportunity to steal a sweet kiss, Astarion plants one on your cheek as he chuckles.

“No, certainly not. I love being an adventurer with you.” Astarion places another kiss on you, this time to your neck. “But I may have to find something to do in the meantime while our little one is…well, little.”

“What do you have in mind?” You ask as you intertwine your fingers with his, the warmth in your chest nearly bringing tears to your eyes.

“I’ve got a few options. You know that Jaheira wants me to help her recruit more Harpers in the city, but that sounds like far more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe I’ll work in the city with Wyll, continuing to help with the various outreach programs he's implemented as Duke," Astarion explains as he listens to the beating of the hearts of both his child and his beloved.

He can tell once you've fallen asleep, but he keeps talking, because he can feel the fluttering in your stomach as his child responds to his voice.

It takes everything in him not to choke up.

---

The next day, you try look as beautiful and bridal as you can being so heavily pregnant. But today was the day you’d become an Ancunín, and you wanted to look nice.

“A pregnant bride is so very scandalous,” Astarion teased as he watched you dress. Your husband-to-be was a bit of a peeping tom.

Astarion picks up last nights panties you discarded on the floor.

“Tsk tsk. You can’t be so messy, my wife.” Astarion was testing the word on his tongue, bringing the fabric that absorbed your carnal scent to his nose, inhaling as he gazed at you devilishly.

You blush, rolling your eyes at him as you slip on a new pair, but Astarion stops you, beckoning you to him.

Astarion sits on the edge of your bed, bringing your body between his thighs as his pretty lips circle the tip of your breast, gently suckling your nipple as he flicks his tongue against you.

“So sensitive…” You moan, but you make no motion to move away, so Astarion doesn’t stop.

“Mmm,” He moans back, his hand moving from the curve of your belly to your slick mound, which was also increasingly sensitive as you got further in your pregnancy.

Astarion tenderly massages the folds of your cunt, easing a finger between your walls as he brings his thumb to caress your swollen clitoris, the very one that he was dreaming of devouring with his tongue after he gave your gorgeous breasts the proper attention they deserved, of course.

Astarion loved you like this. Swollen with his child, evidence of being filled to the brim with his come. His sensitive nose could smell your ‘baby’ hormones that made your skin glow, made your hair thick and shiny.

It made him ravenous. You were absolutely gorgeous to Astarion.

He couldn’t even believe it, really. It had been nearly seven months since the two of you found out, seven months of adventuring, of watching your body change, and it awakened something within him.

Although you often complained how swollen you felt, Astarion loved the way you looked: your nipples and labia puffy, clit engorged, your ringed muscle puckered, your stomach rounded and full.

Not to mention how desperate you were for him; you quivered under his every touch. You were just so responsive, so sensitive, like your every nerve was on fire for him; he couldn’t help but indulge you whenever possible. He just wanted to touch you, to watch you squirm, to look at your body and know that you, your womb, is his.

Astarion stands up and gently pushes your back against a wall as he moves to get on his knees, lifting a thigh up and to the side as he kisses down your inflated stomach.

Reaching up to take a breast in his hand, Astarion brings his mouth to your center, engaging your core with his lips. He brings your folds into his mouth, sucking and caressing your sex with his tongue.

He just wants to worship your body. He needs just a taste of you, of your depths, and he plunges his tongue between your folds, gathering your juices on his lips before focusing on that sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your mound.

You’re delicious, beautiful and maternal, pliant in his hands as he reaches two fingers into your depths, reaching behind your clitoris to rub your spongey walls. His motions have you seeing white, causing your breasts to heave and bounce as your body clenches around his dexterous fingers.

He loves the way you drag your fingers through his hair; feeling your nails on his scalp sends shivers throughout his body.

Astarion pulls away as you come undone, watching as you writhe above him. Astarion is fully holding you up with his strong hands, making him feel like quite the family man at this moment, physically carrying both his bride and his child in his hands.

He still can’t believe this.

Astarion brings the both of you to the bed, stripping his clothes off as you get comfortable, maneuvering yourself for his entry.

Being so large, you couldn’t lie on your back anymore, and riding him was far too difficult, so you opted to bend yourself over, putting pillows beneath you in all the right places to ensure your comfort.

Astarion moans at the sight of you exposing yourself to him.

“Fucking yes, my love. You’re so beautiful, Tav.” Astarion grasps his wet cock. He’s dripping with so much pre-cum that he’s almost surprised, and he uses it to wet his member, which so desperately needs to be inside of you. "If I could just keep you like this forever..."

Astarion pulls back his foreskin with his thrusting motions, moving the skin up and down his shaft, groaning as he admires you.

Parting your folds with his finger and thumb, Astarion lines himself up with your entrance before enveloping himself into your warmth, earning a gasp from him at the sensation.

“Gods, you feel even tighter, Tav, with my child in you…” Astarion drifts off, the squelching and slapping of skin on skin making him entirely forget himself.

Astarion felt your waves of pleasure wash over you as you coiled around the base of his cock. With two fingers, Astarion massages that sweet button of yours, causing you to gush even harder around him, your orgasm evident in your entire being: you cried his name as you convulsed around him, giving him your milky come.

Astarion followed soon after, releasing his seed deep inside you as he spoke a love confession in your ear. Careful not to collapse on top of you, Astarion rolled over, giving you space to catch your breath.

Your muscles were already exhausted, fatigued from pregnancy and your spasming muscles. Astarion starts to mindlessly rub your back as you lay on your side, giggling as he draws you into his chest.

“Well, now I’ve got to fix myself,” You say, moving to stand before Astarion pulls you back into him.

“Maybe you should go just like this. Full belly, looking freshly fucked and used by your husband-to-be.” Astarion kisses your cheek, nuzzling his nose into your face as he does.

“Ha. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You giggle as your beloved finally releases you. Once you’ve fixed your makeup and properly dressed yourselves, the two of you walk out into the streets of Baldur’s Gate, hand in hand.

A few hours later, you would be known as Tav Ancunín, and your stomach leapt with joy at the thought. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Masterlist

[bibibbon]

As for besties and many of my aus...HC is evil. As you said before, really twisted and sick what they are doing (withholding resources and selecting who is worthy to receive it) this is a type of cruelty that feels canon.

But then I ask....who IS worthy, in their eyes, to gain resources?

My mind went to Mirko (in canon she lost all the limbs bc ofc😒 right hori?) but here ? She can regain her limbs back thanks to technology (if may not be process that lest 5 mins but if she loses her legs, she can get them back with no problem)

And then....and what about AM? He is the #1!

Ok what if HC CAN restore his health but AM never thought in fix himself? In one movie David shield had a machine or a way to help am and...had to trick the man to that...and ended up arrested (if the info I got is correct)

Many talk "Eri can fix am" but no one talks "does am ever attempt to try fix himself?"

I do think Endy would receive help.

The help is for the 1% and ...only Izumi sees how unfair this is.

Hi @mikeellee 👋

That's an interesting question! How does the hero public safety commission rank the worthiness of heroes and how they should allocate their resources.

Obviously, the hero public safety commission would ration and save their resources for who they view is the best or for whoever has the money to pay for them. However, it's an interesting question to decipher who is worthy in the hpsc eyes.

Logically, I believe that all might is definitely worthy of the resources that the hpsc but that worthiness that all might holds depreciates as he gets older and the hpsc starts to put a timer on his usefulness and his ability to continue to be a pillar for Japan. This nay cause for them to withdraw and not actively aid him as directly as they would in his prime. Ultimately, I feel like the hpsc would start to spend a lot more of their resources actively searching for another person or hero to replace all might, then keep an already deteriorating puppet on display.

Miriko and other iconic heroes on the top 20 list would receive the resources that they need and want from the hpsc. This is because these heroes contribute to being a backbone to society, and losing them would do more harm than good for the hpsc.

I believe that the hpsc can efficiently help in making heroes stronger and giving them resources to better themselves, but I don't feel like the hero Commission can perform miracles. I believe that there should be obvious downsides for everyone if the hpsc does do things like regenerate miriko's limbs whether that be something as small as chronic pain or the fact that she may need to start taking pills because of the risk that her new limbs may be rejected from her body.

All might could probably receive help, but would it be efficient? I believe that the downsides of all might getting better would outweigh the benefits of it all. David's device was still at its early stages, and not fully finished. There is also the fact that David's device wouldn't have fixed all Might's internal issues but would of only elongated and strengthen the duration of all might's quirk which is something he was way more than ready to pass down to the next generation.

Eri can for sure be exploitated to produce perfect medication and heal individuals but we seem to not take into consideration that Eri's quirk actively rewinds an individuals state meaning that there could be problems like going too far back and opening a previously healed injury which could be dangerous or the fact that the rewind can cause memory loss if she does rewind the entire body and so much more.

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Next Chapter

The buzzing of her phone made her groan. Green eyes opened to glare at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. 0200. She’d only just crawled into bed about twenty minutes ago.

A tired hand snatched the phone off her nightstand, hitting the answer call button and holding the phone to her ear.

“Mayfield..” she mumbled, still half asleep pulling herself up onto her elbow and trying to blink sleep away.

“Mama,”a gruff male voice with an accent answered. Petra sat up, awake in an instant hearing her callsign. “We need you. ASAP.”

It took a moment for the voice to register in her brain. Captain Price. Shit. It was never good news when he called. Petra’s feet hit the floor as she tucked the phone against her shoulder and searched for her uniform, pulling it on just as quickly.

“Big guy?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Price wouldn’t be calling her if it wasn’t.

“A-firm,” the captain said. “He’s already walking his stubborn ass back to his bunk.”

Of course he was.

“Two minutes Captain,” Petra said. She hung up after that, taking an old scrunchie to tie her dirty blonde curls back with, it wasn't regulation but she didn’t have time for that.

---

Exactly two minutes later, Petra is banging loudly on the door of the soldier she’d been woken up to deal with. It was a miracle no one else stepped into the hall to see what was going on, though she suspected the rest of the team already knew. She impatiently tapped her boot on the concrete floor for only a few seconds before opening the door.

“Lieutenant!” she barked. She saw him there, half leaned against his bed, removing his gear. A balaclava clad head turned to look at her, the skull plate that was typically worn over it still in his hand. Ghost was, well, large. He stood head and shoulders over Petra's head and she swore it was a miracle he fit through any door on base. He looked like shit even in the dark. Petra turned the light on, revealing just how bad it was.

Lieutenant Ghost, hunched over, was covered in blood, a gash in his side the source of it all. Petra’s hand flew to the zipper on the medical pack she’d carried with her, the other hand slamming his door shut behind her as she stomped inside.

“Sit.” she ordered, the far larger man quietly obeying, sitting on the bed with a grunt. The medic wasted no time making her way to him. She could feel his heavy gaze on her as she knelt at his side, watching her every move.

“M’fine,” he said quietly before being silenced by the small blonde digging through her pack.

“Shut the hell up,” she said. Petra was furious seeing such a serious wound that he’d apparently thought could go without treatment. She pressed a sterile cotton pad to the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. Ghost clenched his jaw at the pain in his side. “Blade or bullet?”

“Shrapnel,” he said in that damned British accent, she could feel the scowl behind his mask as his eyes still bore into her. The medic’s only response was a sharp exhale through her nose. That accounted for the size at least.

She lifted the cotton pad, now stained dark red with his blood, the wound was long and broad, being about as long as her hand against his side. It didn’t matter how well she treated it, it would scar. Not that it made much difference on Ghost, he was already covered in more scars than even he could count. Thankfully though, the bleeding had slowed significantly. That was a relief.

She moved to her pack again, this time producing a clean cotton pad and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, she dampened the pad and listened to the hiss that escaped the lieutenant as she cleaned the gash. Petra quietly offered words of comfort, the way she often did with recruits that came to her with far less serious injuries on her last base. She didn’t look up to see the disapproving look in his dark eyes.

Once it was cleaned, Petra found the wound, despite how large it appeared, was shallow enough that stitches wouldn’t do it any good. She carefully bandaged it, being sure not to wrap it too tightly around Ghost's ribs.

“There,” she said, giving him one last look over. “That should do ya..”

“Thanks doc,” he said quietly. She could've sworn he sounded tired.

“You know I was finally getting some sleep when Price called,” she said, starting to put her supplies away. “A full week of round the clock work down at the clinic and the moment I finally curl up in bed, I have to come hunt you down because- for some reason! You thought you could just sleep this off??” Petra stood, adjusting the pack over her shoulder again and placing a hand on her hip. “You could've died, you know? Bled out and shit.”

Ghost was quiet, he almost always was, as Petra ranted at him. Telling him what an idiot he was for refusing medical attention. She reminded him of a small dog, barking up at the larger breeds simply for existing. Her uniform was disheveled, hastily put on he gathered, and her hair was only half in the bright pink scrunchie that attempted to hold it back. She still looked like the fiery medic he too often heard reaming out Gaz after the sergeant fell out of a helicopter and somehow survived for the second time since she arrived on base.

“You look tired Mama.”

Ghost's voice cut through her rambling, halting it. Petra stared at him, fire still in her eyes. She groaned, wiping a hand down her face.

“Just… make sure you get the bandage checked in the morning,” was all she said as she stalked out of the room, slamming the door as she left. She fished her phone from her pocket. 0245. If she was lucky she could get back to bed and get some sleep if she skipped a morning shower.

---

The next day Petra felt like her boots were filled with lead as she counted supplies in the clinic. She was at least slightly more out together than she'd been last night, her hair in a more reasonable bun and her uniform straight, though the bags under her eyes gave away her exhaustion. Supply counting was tedious and only made it harder to stay awake.

The medic found herself reminiscing about simpler days as she made notations of what would need to be ordered. Standing on a regular old base, in a regular old clinic with a full team of medics to work with as recruits and trained soldiers alike came and went with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises. Days where she could find sleep easily and often. Nothing like the task force’s base. Here she was basically alone, caring for the team of five and the clinic with nothing but the faint ringing in her ears to keep her company. Petra made a mental note to petition Price for a second medic.

She didn't hear the heavy boot falls as they came up behind her and a gloved hand placed a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the counter in front of her. Petra looked up, finding a familiar pair of deep brown eyes staring back at her from behind a balaclava decorated with a skull.

“You still look tired,” Ghost grumbled. He didn't look so great himself, though he hid it far better than Petra did. In place of his black combat gear, he wore an equally dark hoodie and jeans. Must be nice to have days off to dress casually.

Petra chewed the inside of her cheek, biting back the bitter thought. She glanced down at the coffee he delivered. Black, probably no sugar. A rare kindness.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, placing the clipboard she'd been holding down next to it. “Let's look at that bandage.”

She waved him over to a chair and Ghost sat quietly, lifting the hoodie so Petra could inspect her work from the previous night. The bandaging looked hastily done and sloppy, but no worse than when she’d had to tend wounds in the middle of a gunfight. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she removed the layers of gauze and medical tape. At the very least, she'd properly cleaned it. The gash still looked fresh but it was clean and it didn't bleed much after she bandaged it.

“We'll need to keep redressing it over the next few days,” she noted to herself aloud. Petra stood and turned to her cabinets of supplies. “How's the pain?”

“Can hardly feel it,” Ghost replied, this time not looking in her direction. She was grateful for that this time.

When she was finished redressing the wound, he had turned to look at her again, quickly looking away when she noticed. The medic turned, disposing of her gloves in a bin nearby.

“I don’t need to offer you a lollipop like I do for Roach, do I?”

Petra smirked, almost certain that had earned her a chuckle from the usually serious Ghost, but the only hint she received was the way his eyes crinkled behind the balaclava.

“I’m starting to understand where you got your name from,” He rumbled, the tiniest hint of humor in his voice. He stood up to his full height, stepping just a little closer to her. She barely came up to his shoulder. “You really worry about us.”

“Someone’s got to Ghost,” Petra replied, her tone softening. She had to shuffle half a step back to look up at him and not just stare at his broad chest. “Besides, what kind of medic would I be if I didn’t care for my soldiers?”

[sirensofthefiveseas]

❛ That was no miracle! ❜ - usopp @ cirrus ! asked by @a11sunday

"Then what the hell else do you call it! I'm clouds Ussop! Standing behind me is a good way to get shot!" The blue haired medic grabbed Ussop by his shoulders, shaking him violently. "How are you not hurt?!" Unseen to the logia the hardened cloud shield they had been working on her producing dissipated into the air and blew away with the next gust of wind

[justcallmefox89]

Irressistible Force Paradox: Chapter Three - An Open Heart Fic

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Ethan accuses Rory of the unthinkable and Rory fights his growing attraction to his former medical hero.

September 14th.  5:49 p.m.

Oh hell.

I freeze in place, fear momentarily short-circuiting my brain as Ramsey glares at me.

Do you never go home old man!?

“Rookie, you and I n - ”

“You’re a miracle worker!” Sarah gasps, interrupting Dr. Ramsey. “Do you think she’d take a bottle now? She hasn’t had anything to eat for hours.”

I smile down at Emily.  “I think that’d be just fine.”

Sarah beams at me and rushes towards Emily’s diapers bag while Jason sags against the doorframe in relief.  

“Since Emily is resting now, you and I have some things we need to discuss, Dr. O’Shea.”  Ramsey gives me a stern look and nods towards the hallway.

“Um, actually I had something I wanted to show you, Dr. Ramsey,” I meekly reply, using my free hand to motion him closer.  

“Dr. O’Shea - ”

“Please,” I implore him softly.  “I think it might be important.”

He relents, sighing and stepping closer.  “What is it, Rookie?”

I lower my voice to barely a whisper.  “I noticed when I unlocked my phone to play some music Emily flinched away from the screen, almost like the brightness hurt her eyes.”

“There could be any number of explanations for that.”

“Her reflexes are sluggish, that combined with the fever, the irritability, not eating - ”

“Look, Rookie.”  Ethan puts a hand on my shoulder.  “I can appreciate that you want to help, but all these symptoms can be attributed to the sepsis. You’ve managed to calm her down and I’m sure her parents are grateful, but leave her case to the diagnostics team.”

Insufferable.  Completely, absolutely insufferable.  And gorgeous.  And tall.  And so completely climbable.  I loathe him.

Ramsey’s eyes widen and a small sound of protest leaves his mouth as I grab his hand and gently guide his fingers to the top of Emily’s head.  His face pales as his fingertips brush over the swelling that’s nearly invisible under her dark curls.

“As I was saying, all of those symptoms combined with the severe swelling of her fontanelle, makes me think the sepsis was brought on by a severe case of meningitis,” I murmur.

Ramsey gazes down at me steadily.  “You think?  I’m not going to subject an infant to a spinal tap based on your guess.”

I grit my teeth and inhale deeply.  “I know.  I know this is meningitis.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” he says.  “I’ll page Naveen and call for an anesthesiologist.  Once we confirm, we’ll need to pinpoint what variant of meningitis we’re specifically dealing with.”

“Dr. O’Shea?  I have Emily’s bottle ready.”  Sarah steps forward and takes Emily from me, gently cradling the little girl in her arms and offering her the bottle.

I turn to leave but the sight of a can of formula sticking out of Emily’s diaper bag stops me.

“Sarah?  Has Emily always been formula fed?” I ask.

Her face falls.  “Is that a problem?  I was never able to produce enough milk for her, so we had to formula feed.”

“No, not at all,” I hurriedly reassure her.  “As long as our girl gets fed, that’s all that matters.”

“What are you thinking, Rookie?” Ramsey whispers, his warm breath ghosting over my ear.

A pleasant shiver runs through me, and I almost start to lean into him, my traitorous body reacting to his close proximity.

Get it together.

“Bacterial meningitis caused by cronobacter sakazakii.” I murmur, tilting my head towards the formula can.  

Ramsey’s eyes widen.  “My god,” he whispers.  “Stay here and update the parents.  I’m getting the rest of the team.”

Not thinking, I reach out and grab his arm before he can walk away. He must be able to see the panic on my face because he takes my hand in his and squeezes it once.   “You can do this, Rookie.  Walk them through your theory and what’s going to happen next. I’ll be back soon.”  

10:30 p.m.

Through the window of the hospital room I watch Emily rest, an IV inserted in the crook of her tiny arm.  Jason and Sarah doze fitfully in armchairs positioned next to her crib.  Emily is sleeping soundly, her face no longer flushed with a fever; a sure sign the intravenous antibiotics are working.  My shift ended three hours ago, but I can’t bring myself to leave, worried that the minute I walk out of the hospital something awful will happen.

“What are you still doing here, Rookie?”

“Could ask you the same thing, Dr. Ramsey,” I reply, my eyes never leaving Emily’s sleeping form.

“This isn’t even your case.”  A hard edge creeps into Ramsey’s voice.  

“Are you saying I should only care about the patients that I’m assigned to?”  

Ramsey sighs, scratching at the thick stubble on his jaw.  “Of course not.  A good doctor will care about every patient that walks through those doors, whether they’re assigned to them or not.  But I’m not convinced anything you did this afternoon was because you cared about the patient.”

I turn to face him and cross my arms over my chest, scowling.  “Excuse me?”

“You think any other physician here would have let you get away with that little stunt you pulled this afternoon?”  Ramsey steps closer, towering over me, and I fight the urge to back away from him.

“If you hadn’t made that solve I would have had your job, Rookie,” he continues, his voice low and dark.  “Attention-seeking stunts like that won’t land you a spot on the diagnostics team, so if you ever even think about doing something like this again you will be out on your ass.”

I blink, momentarily stunned into silence.  “You think I helped Emily just to get noticed by the diagnostics team?” I finally manage to ask, unable to keep a note of hurt out of my voice.

Ramsey rolls his eyes.  “I see it every year, ambitious interns who think that if they pull off an impressive solve -”

“You think I would use a sick child to further my career?” I seethe, drawing myself up to my full five feet four inches.  I move closer, invading his personal space and jabbing a finger into his muscled chest.  “I was waiting for test results on the one case I had, so I offered to sit with Emily so Jason and Sarah could get some rest.”

His handsome face shifts into a disdainful sneer.  “So you abandoned your own patient to help mine.”

“I was partnered with Dr. Landry on that case, and he had no issues proceeding on his own for an hour or two while I assisted Jason and Sara.  I’m surprised you don’t remember that since you went out of your way to try and humiliate him when we presented earlier today,” I hiss.

Ramsey has the good grace to momentarily look abashed, and he breaks eye contact with me as his cheeks flush a faint pink.  He clears his throat.  “Now that you have mentioned it I do seem to recall -”

“I didn’t do this to get noticed by the diagnostics team,” I continue, poking him again.  “I did it because I saw a pair of scared, first time parents falling apart because their baby was sick and inconsolable.  I did it because that family needed help.”

Ramsey catches my hand in his, sending a pleasant thrill through me, and gently pulls it away from his chest.  “I may have been hasty in my initial assessment of your motivations,” he says slowly.

I rip my hand away from him, cradling it against my chest. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.”

I turn and hurry down the hallway, trying to ignore the way my body responded to Ramsey’s touch, and how much his accusation had hurt.

**********************************************************************************

September 17.  9:30 p.m.

“Shit.  Shit, shit, shit!” I mutter, sitting on the floor behind the intake desk and looking through the lost and found box.  I’d spent the whole day moving into a new apartment and the last thing I want to be doing is searching for my I.D. badge, but if I don’t have it tomorrow morning it will be just one more excuse for Ramsey to get on my case.  And after our last encounter outside Emily’s hospital room, I’ve been avoiding him at all costs.  I eventually find it among the sea of tangled lanyards and other bits and bobs that my fellow doctors have misplaced.

I shove the box back into place and start to stand up, wincing as the blood flows back into my lower legs.  I immediately crouch back down as raised voices carry down the corridor and draw nearer to the waiting area.  I peek over the edge of the desk, watching Ramsey throw his hands up in the air and scowl at Dr. Banerji.

“You can’t do this, Naveen!  I won’t let you!” Ramsey shouts, angrily running his hands through his hair as he paces back and forth.

“It must be done, Ethan,” Dr. Banerji says placidly.  “Not everything is in your control.  It’s time you finally learned that.”

“You are not my teacher anymore!”

Naveen gently smiles at him.  “I am always your teacher.”

“Goddamnit Naveen!”  I involuntarily gasp as Ramsey slams his fist into the wall.  Dr. Banerji sighs softly before walking away, Ramsey staring miserably after him.

What.  The. Fuck.

Faced with the choice of hiding here until Ramsey overcomes whatever internal crisis he’s going through or facing him directly… I decide to nut up. I slowly emerge from my hiding space without him noticing me.  I strongly consider just sneaking away, but then I notice the blood.  I wage a brief internal battle before making my choice.

“Dr. Ramsey?” I call out softly.

He whirls around to face me, eyes wide.  Once he recognizes me his eyes narrow and he scowls.  “Spying on me, Dr. O’Shea?”

“It’s adorable that you think I’d waste my very limited free time on you,” I snark back.

“How much did you see?” he asks, clenching his jaw.

My god, that jawline…  Focus, Rory!

I shrug.  “Enough.”

“If you speak a word about this to anyone -”

“You’re bleeding,” I interrupt.

He stares down at his hand in confusion.  “I didn’t realize…”

“Come on,” I sigh.  “Let’s get it taken care of.”

Ramsey’s shoulders stiffen.  “I am perfectly capable of -”

I roll my eyes.  “Do not fear Dr. Ramsey, even I, a lowly intern, know how to patch up busted knuckles. Just let me help.”

He refuses to move, so I grab onto the end of his tie and gently tug him towards an empty patient room.  Too shocked to protest, he obediently follows me.  Once we’re in the room I shut the door to prevent any prying eyes, and direct him to sit on the edge of the hospitable bed while I glove up and gather all the necessary items.  I sit next to him and tentatively take his hand, surprised by just how much larger it is than mine.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, soaking a gauze pad in saline solution and dabbing away the drying blood on Ramsey’s knuckles.

“No,” he says tersely, refusing to look at me.

“Ok,” I murmur, focusing my attention on my work.  Some of my hair falls out of my ponytail and into my eyes. “Damn.”

“Let me.”  Ramsey’s voice is rough and there’s a slight hitch in his breathing.  He extends his uninjured hand, pausing just short of touching me.  I tilt my head up, allowing him to move the loose hair out of my eyes.  His fingertips brush against the shell of my ear, lightly trailing over the curve of my jaw as he withdraws his hand; the scrap of his calloused skin against my light five o’clock shadow causes a pleasant shiver to run through me.  

I peer up at him over the rims over my glasses.  “Thank you,” I whisper, suddenly feeling nervous.

He doesn’t reply as his blue eyes rove over me, taking in every detail. “Why are you doing this?” he finally asks.

I shake my head, breaking the temporary spell he had seemingly cast over me.  “You hurt yourself,” I say, annoyed at how breathless I sound.  I snap my eyes back down to his hand, gently dabbing antiseptic cream over his cuts.

He laughs softly, the sound dark and seductive in the close quarters of the small hospital room.  “I’m fairly sure I could have managed a band-aid or two, Rookie.”

I shake my head, biting my lower lip as I concentrate on precisely placing steri-strips over his broken skin.  “I don’t know,” I finally mutter.

“You’re so different from the others,” Ramsey whispers, almost to himself.

I snap my gloves off and gather up my trash, depositing it in the appropriate disposal bins under Ramsey’s intense gaze.   “I need to go, Dr. Ramsey.  My roommates are -”

The words stutter in my chest as Ramsey stands up and catches one of my hands in his.  “I owe you an apology.”

My brain short circuits at the feel of his fingertips caressing my palm, a barely there sensation that instantly makes me wonder what that touch would feel like on other parts of my body.  “W-what?” I stammer.

“For accusing you of using Emily’s case to further your career,” he clarifies.  “It was an unfair assumption on my part, and I apologize.”

Just like that the spell is broken, the mere mention of his accusation enough infuriate me all over again.  Glaring, I jerk away from him, resolutely ignoring the faint pang of disappointment that thrums through my body as I do.  “You can take your apology and shove it up - ”

“Rookie.”  The word is a growled warning, and Ramsey has gone from contrite to furious.

“Have a nice night, Dr. Ramsey,” I say venomously as I leave the hospital room, rubbing my palm against my thigh, wishing I could erase the feeling of his touch.

[childofchrist1983]

I am come a light into the world, that whosoever believeth on me should not abide in darkness. And if any man hear my words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world. He that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one that judgeth him: the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day. - John 12:46-48 KJV

Can you imagine what the people must have thought? Today, people know about CPR and have defibrillators and all sorts of equipment to save someone who has a heart attack or suddenly stops breathing, and we take for granted that medical science can save people in so many situations.

In Jesus Christ's time on Earth, if you couldn't feel or hear someone breathe, they were dead. And, in fact, they usually did die because there was no way to save them. They must have been both happy and fearful that Jesus saved this child. Happy because she was alive and could rejoin her family; and afraid because they couldn't understand how one could bring anyone back to life. In Luke's version of this miracle, the ruler comes to Jesus because his daughter is sick and asks him to come so that she won't die and while they are on the way, servants come and say she has died, and he shouldn't bother Jesus any longer. Regardless of how it happened, the child lives.

But just like the son of the widow of Naim and Lazarus, and those whom medical science is able to bring back to life, they all died. So will we! But Jesus does bring them and us back to life – eternal life! Whether we are one who was able to be resuscitated or not, like the child in the miracle we will one day die and enter eternal life. Jesus healed those in the Gospels, and God has given the scientists of today the ability to heal as well as to prolong life but this is not our permanent home. Our home in Heaven will be so much better as there will be no more suffering or pain or death. We will live on eternally with all those who have gone before us. Like the widow of Naim and Martha and Mary, we too, need to believe! God sent His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, so that we would believe in Him and be saved, no longer in fear of death. We know that this life is temporary, and that He has prepared a place in His eternal Kingdom of Heaven for each and every one of His children.

Everyday, we must remember to thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the grace that He poured out for us on the cross at Calvary. He has freed us from the burdens of sin and guilt. May He help us to always walk in His grace and Holy Spirit, not by our own measure. May He give us the humble humility to know that our freedom and eternal salvation is found only in Him, so that His grace may sustain us, and we may never lose sight of His love and light and mercy. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for calling us to Him and to serve Him. May He equip us to do all that He has called us to do so that as He works through us, He may use us to produce fruit, to reach others, and to encourage all brothers and sisters in Christ. May He work all of these things in us and through us for His Kingdom and His glory. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all His creation, for His miraculous ways and for everything He does and has done for us! Keep the faith and keep moving forward in your walk with Jesus!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Word and for sending His Holy Spirit so that we might have His grace, not only to awaken us and transform our hearts in our spiritual rebirth and guarantee our eternity with Him, but to also call upon Him whenever we are in need. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all the reminders of His love and mercy and faithfulness within His Holy Word. He is bigger than any challenge or circumstance in our lives. Knowing this within our minds and our hearts, nothing can deter our faith in Him and His Truth. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful LORD, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[genuinehc]

Day 5: No Response

Challenge: @mediwhumpmay 2023 Fandom: Mass Effect Prompt: Day 5: No Response Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort, medical whump, the Lazarus Project, skinless body, brain dead

The Illusive Man flicks ash from his cigarette, which the holographic imager renders for a moment before it disappears. Miranda briefly wonders if there’s a tray just outside of the projection’s field, or if the Illusive Man treads through ash when he’s walking.

“Report.” 

Miranda straightens her shoulders and bites back the truth: that there’s nothing to report beyond the financials she’s already sent over. Shepard is still functionally dead, autonomic functions existing purely through machinery, and neural activity exists only when directly stimulated and disappears when electricity is removed. It’s the same report as last time, but now they’ve spent more money, the well for this quixotic and idiotic project seemingly endless. 

Instead, she says: “We’ve had promising results with the cloned tissue and have been able to replace several organs, reducing the need for additional cybernetics to replicate an endocrine system. Most hormones should be self-producing, which will ensure that the subject will not need supplemental injections-”

“How much longer will this take, Miss Lawson?” He takes a long drag on his cigarette. 

The Illusive Man asked for a miracle and she has been obediently producing miracles for the last year, over and over again, breaking boundaries of human biology and medical knowledge a few times a month. But certainly, how much longer to raise an actual, honest to god person from the dead with minimal evidence of past trauma? 

She presses her lips together and counts to ten. “I’ve sent the findings on neural generation; creating neural tissue is relatively simple compared to repairing a brain. Our testing shows that returning a traumatized brain to a pre-traumatized state is still outside-”

“So in short, you can grow a brain, but not repair this one? Is that what you’re telling me?” At Miranda’s hesitation, he plunges ahead. “I need Shepard to be Shepard, Miss Lawson. Not a rough facsimile. I need the real Shepard, otherwise none of this works. And I need you to do it yesterday. Dismissed.” 

The hologram goes dark and Miranda is alone once more. Rather than dwell, she fingers the comm for Wilson and asks for the latest test results to be prepared for her review. 

-=-=-=-

The bulk of the Lazarus Project is contained in a prefabricated lab, customized only just enough to work for this particular project. At the center of the lab is a metal slab with a body encased in a glass clean box, a design choice that came directly from the Illusive Man. Ports for machines and gloved hands stud the exterior, but it leaves nothing to the imagination as to what is inside it. 

Miranda doesn’t need the constant reminder that she has one purpose. 

The body is undergoing another round of muscular generation, a process that is singularly unpleasant to watch; bodies are meant to have skin. But without having the last day’s reports to hand yet, Miranda approaches the table to see the readouts come in real time. 

“Anything yet?” Wilson has somehow snuck up on her and Miranda nearly jumps. 

Wilson is supposed to be her head assistant and she is absolutely certain that he is also reporting directly to the Illusive Man. She trusts him about as far as she can throw him.

She shakes her head as Wilson hands her the datapad. “No. Why would there be?” 

They silently stare at the skinless thing inside the box, for once united in mutual revulsion.

“Take the night off, Wilson.” 

He hesitates and Miranda knows why. She is not known for anything but stringent adherence to protocol.  

But she has a lot on her mind and gestures at the box and its contents. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere.”

[dankusner]

Jakes responds to accusation by filing defamation lawsuit

THE POTTER’S HOUSE Pastor sues over grooming allegation

Dallas pastor T.D. Jakes filed a defamation lawsuit last week against a man who alleged in a YouTube talk show that Jakes groomed and attempted to sexually assault him years ago.

The lawsuit was filed after Jakes experienced a “slight health incident” during a Sunday sermon, and the lawsuit appears to link the incident to the accusations.

The lawsuit named Duane Youngblood, 57, of Pennsylvania as a defendant and was filed in a Pennsylvania district court on Nov. 25 and refiled Nov. 26.

The lawsuit also lists 10 unnamed defendants who “have acted in concert and agreement with Youngblood in order to commit defamatory conduct,” according to the lawsuit.

The lawsuit said the plaintiff does not yet know all of those individuals’ names or extent of involvement in the alleged defamation.

Jakes is the founder and senior pastor of The Potter’s House in Dallas.

A spokesperson for The Potter’s House declined to comment beyond what the church told the New York Post last week.

The church said last week that Jakes is continuing to undergo medical testing and remains in good condition and that medical professionals have ruled out a stroke.

YouTube appearances

The lawsuit highlighted that Youngblood is a registered sex offender.

He was convicted of the sexual assault of a minor in 2008 and of corruption of minors in 2014, according to the Pennsylvania sex offender registry.

Youngblood, formerly a minister in Pennsylvania, did not immediately respond to a phone call requesting comment Tuesday.

An attorney listed for Youngblood in the lawsuit also did not immediately return a phone request for comment.

Attorneys listed for Jakes did not immediately return phone requests for comment Tuesday.

In recent appearances on the YouTube talk show Larry Reid Live , Youngblood said Jakes tried to kiss him and called him from a bathtub saying he wanted to sleep with him.

He indicated this allegedly occurred when he was in his late teens.

The lawsuit said Youngblood, through a lawyer, asked Jakes for $6 million in a letter dated Nov. 15 to “resolve this matter quickly and privately” shortly after the Larry Reid Live episodes were published online.

In an Oct. 28 interview with Larry Reid titled “The Abused become the Abuser,” Youngblood said he had recently been released from prison after violating his parole and alleged he had been abused by other ministers.

The lawsuit filed by Jakes says the “intentional and malicious lies have taken a substantial emotional and physical toll” on him.

Health scare

“On November 24 — the day before he filed this action — Bishop Jakes suffered a medical crisis on stage in the middle of his Sunday service in front of his entire church,” the suit says.

On Nov. 24, Jakes was on stage speaking when he began to shake and others rushed to his aid.

Jakes has since been released from the hospital following emergency surgery.

He has not given details about his health episode or the surgery.

During service at The Potter’s House a week later, Jakes gave an update on his health with his congregation via video.

“I’m in peace and tranquility,” he said in the video.

“And I want you to know that I can feel your prayers. I can feel your support and your love.”

“Many of you don’t realize that you’re looking at a miracle,” Jakes said.

“I faced a life-threatening calamity, was rushed to the ICU unit; I had emergency surgery. I survived the surgery. I’m back.”

The lawsuit asks for damages exceeding $75,000 in addition to attorneys’ fees, punitive damages and other relief as the court deems appropriate.

At the end of 2023 and the start of this year, Jakes was the subject of a slew of videos on social media attempting to link him to producer Sean “Diddy” Combs and accusing him of sexual misconduct.

The fact-checking website Snopes released a report in May saying that some videos spreading “false and unfounded” rumors about Jakes were at least partially created using artificial intelligence.

Jakes responds to accusation by filing defamation lawsuit

THE POTTER’S HOUSE Pastor sues over grooming allegation

Dallas pastor T.D. Jakes filed a defamation lawsuit last week against a man who alleged in a YouTube talk show that Jakes groomed and attempted to sexually assault him years ago.

The lawsuit was filed after Jakes experienced a “slight health incident” during a Sunday sermon, and the lawsuit appears to link the incident to the accusations.

The lawsuit named Duane Youngblood, 57, of Pennsylvania as a defendant and was filed in a Pennsylvania district court on Nov. 25 and refiled Nov. 26.

The lawsuit also lists 10 unnamed defendants who “have acted in concert and agreement with Youngblood in order to commit defamatory conduct,” according to the lawsuit. 

The lawsuit said the plaintiff does not yet know all of those individuals’ names or extent of involvement in the alleged defamation.

Jakes is the founder and senior pastor of The Potter’s House in Dallas. 

A spokesperson for The Potter’s House declined to comment beyond what the church told the New York Post last week. 

The church said last week that Jakes is continuing to undergo medical testing and remains in good condition and that medical professionals have ruled out a stroke.

YouTube appearances

The lawsuit highlighted that Youngblood is a registered sex offender. 

He was convicted of the sexual assault of a minor in 2008 and of corruption of minors in 2014, according to the Pennsylvania sex offender registry.

Youngblood, formerly a minister in Pennsylvania, did not immediately respond to a phone call requesting comment Tuesday. 

An attorney listed for Youngblood in the lawsuit also did not immediately return a phone request for comment.

Attorneys listed for Jakes did not immediately return phone requests for comment Tuesday.

In recent appearances on the YouTube talk show Larry Reid Live , Youngblood said Jakes tried to kiss him and called him from a bathtub saying he wanted to sleep with him. 

He indicated this allegedly occurred when he was in his late teens.

The lawsuit said Youngblood, through a lawyer, asked Jakes for $6 million in a letter dated Nov. 15 to “resolve this matter quickly and privately” shortly after the Larry Reid Live episodes were published online.

In an Oct. 28 interview with Larry Reid titled “The Abused become the Abuser,” Youngblood said he had recently been released from prison after violating his parole and alleged he had been abused by other ministers.

The lawsuit filed by Jakes says the “intentional and malicious lies have taken a substantial emotional and physical toll” on him.

Health scare

“On November 24 — the day before he filed this action — Bishop Jakes suffered a medical crisis on stage in the middle of his Sunday service in front of his entire church,” the suit says.

On Nov. 24, Jakes was on stage speaking when he began to shake and others rushed to his aid. 

Jakes has since been released from the hospital following emergency surgery. 

He has not given details about his health episode or the surgery.

During service at The Potter’s House a week later, Jakes gave an update on his health with his congregation via video. 

“I’m in peace and tranquility,” he said in the video. 

“And I want you to know that I can feel your prayers. I can feel your support and your love.”

“Many of you don’t realize that you’re looking at a miracle,” Jakes said. 

“I faced a life-threatening calamity, was rushed to the ICU unit; I had emergency surgery. I survived the surgery. I’m back.”

The lawsuit asks for damages exceeding $75,000 in addition to attorneys’ fees, punitive damages and other relief as the court deems appropriate.

At the end of 2023 and the start of this year, Jakes was the subject of a slew of videos on social media attempting to link him to producer Sean “Diddy” Combs and accusing him of sexual misconduct.

The fact-checking website Snopes released a report in May saying that some videos spreading “false and unfounded” rumors about Jakes were at least partially created using artificial intelligence.

DALLAS 

Bishop faces new allegations

Brother of man sued by pastor also alleges sex assault attempt

The brother of a former minister who has accused Bishop T.D. Jakes of sexual misconduct has filed a sworn affidavit in court alleging the Dallas megachurch pastor tried to sexually assault him.

The affidavit is signed by Georgia minister Richard Youngblood, 62, the brother of Duane Youngblood, whom Jakes is suing for defamation. 

The affidavit is part of a 167-page motion filed last month in the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Pennsylvania that seeks to dismiss Jakes’ defamation lawsuit.

Duane Youngblood alleged last year in a YouTube talk show that Jakes groomed and attempted to sexually assault him years ago. 

Jakes is senior pastor of The Potter’s House, which has 30,000 members, according to its website.

“Duane Youngblood’s brother’s allegations are absolutely false,” Dustin Pusch, a lawyer for Jakes, wrote in a Feb. 5 email to The Dallas Morning News.

“The Court has set a response deadline of February 14, on which we will file a robust and thorough response to these latest versions of Mr. Youngblood’s meritless claims, and will continue to hold him accountable for the harm his knowingly false accusations have caused,” Pusch said.

Tyrone Blackburn, a lawyer for Duane Youngblood, said in a Jan. 31 email: 

“The Youngblood Brothers have been in religious systems that did not encourage speaking out against perceived authorities.”

Richard Youngblood founded The Latter House in Atlanta, according to his bio on X. 

He alleges in his sworn affidavit that he watched Jakes preach in Pennsylvania when he was a young minister, and later moved to West Virginia to “sit under [Jakes’] tutelage.”

He said he was Jakes’ “armorbearer,” which included driving the Dallas pastor to events. 

On one occasion in the late 1980s, Richard Youngblood alleged in the affidavit that he and Jakes shared a hotel room while traveling together, and that Jakes climbed into his bed and tried to kiss him.

Defamation suit

Jakes sued Richard Youngblood’s brother, Duane Youngblood, for defamation in a Pennsylvania district court on Nov. 25.

Jakes’ lawsuit said Duane Youngblood is a registered sex offender.

According to the Pennsylvania sex offender registry, he was convicted of sexual assault of a minor in 2008 and of corruption of minors in 2014.

Duane Youngblood attached a sworn affidavit to the motion to dismiss filed last month. 

In that affidavit, he alleges he has experienced multiple instances of sexual abuse, beginning when he was 9.

Duane Youngblood says he met Jakes during one of the megachurch pastor’s visits to Pittsburgh.

He alleges in the affidavit that he drove Jakes back to his lodging and that he and Jakes had a “deep, emotional conversation that brought me to tears.”

He alleges Jakes tried to kiss him, and later told Youngblood he wanted to have a sexual relationship with him.

On the talk show Larry Reid Live , Duane Youngblood indicated these events occurred when he was in his late teens.

Jakes’ suit said Duane Youngblood, through his lawyer, asked the pastor for $6 million in a letter dated Nov. 15 to “resolve this matter quickly and privately” shortly after Duane Youngblood alleged on Larry Reid Live that Jakes attempted to assault him.

“The underlying story in this case depicts a carefully planned effort by a convicted criminal, and those acting in concert with him, to rewrite history in order to deflect blame and accountability for his own reprehensible and criminal conduct and to publicly smear a renowned and eminently respected religious leader in a blatant and explicit attempt to extort him for millions of dollars,” according to Jakes’ lawsuit.

Blackburn shared with The News a copy of the letter he said he sent Jakes’ legal team.

“The letter, dated November 15, 2024, was a pre-litigation settlement demand sent to Bishop Jakes on behalf of Duane Youngblood,” Blackburn wrote in a Feb. 5 email to The News . 

He described the $6 million amount as a “starting figure in negotiations.”

“Demand letters are a standard legal tool used to present claims and seek resolution outside of court. The intent of the letter was to propose a settlement, not to coerce or improperly pressure Bishop Jakes,” Blackburn said.

Affidavits

Blackburn’s January court motion includes sworn affidavits from five people, in addition to Richard Youngblood, who allege Duane Youngblood had previously described to them Jakes’ alleged unwanted sexual advances.

In a Jan. 31 email, Blackburn shared more information about the identity of the people who signed the affidavits.

He said the five people include a school friend who knew Duane Youngblood since 1984; 

a former roommate who lived with Duane in high school and college; 

Duane’s wife since 1989; 

a friend of Duane and his wife for over 10 years; 

and a family friend for over 30 years.

[winterfable01]

The philosophical and the psychological approach to life

[...]

Nothing is more characteristic and symptomatic in this respect than the gulf that has opened out between faith and knowledge. The contrast has become so enormous that one is obliged to speak of the incommensurability of these two categories and their way of looking at the world. And yet they are concerned with the same empirical world in which we live, for even the theologians tell us that faith is supported by facts that became historically perceptible in this known world of ours— namely that Christ was born as a real human being, worked many miracles and suffered his fate, died under Pontius Pilate, and rose up in the flesh after his death. Theology rejects any tendency to take the assertions of its earliest records as written myths and, accordingly, to understand them symbolically. Indeed, it is the theologians themselves who have recently made the attempt—no doubt as a concession to "knowledge"—to "demythologize" the object of their faith while drawing the line quite arbitrarily at the crucial points. But to the critical intellect it is only too obvious that myth is an integral component of all religions and therefore cannot be excluded from the assertions of faith without injuring them.

The rupture between faith and knowledge is a symptom of the split consciousness which is so characteristic of the mental disorder of our day. It is as if two different persons were making statements about the same thing, each from his own point of view, or as if one person in two different frames of mind were sketching a picture of his experience. If for "person" we substitute "modern society” it is evident that the latter is suffering from a mental dissociation, i.e., a neurotic disturbance. In view of this, it does not help matters at all if one party pulls obstinately to the right and the other to the left. This is what happens in every neurotic psyche, to its own deep distress, and it is just this distress that brings the patient to the analyst.

As I stated above in all brevity—while not neglecting to mention certain practical details whose omission might have perplexed the reader—the analyst has to establish a relationship with both halves of his patient's personality, because only from them can he put together a whole and complete man, and not merely from one half by suppression of the other half. But this suppression is just what the patient has been doing all along, for the modern Weltanschauung leaves him with no alternative. His individual situation is the same in principle as the collective situation. He is a social microcosm, reflecting on the smallest scale the qualities of society at large, or conversely the smallest social unit cumulatively producing the collective dissociation. The latter possibility is the more likely one, as the only direct and concrete carrier of life is the individual personality, while society and the State are conventional ideas and can claim reality only in so far as they are represented by a conglomeration of individuals.

[…]

For more than fifty years we have known, or could have known, that there is an unconscious counterbalance to consciousness. Medical psychology has furnished all the necessary empirical and experimental proofs of this. There is an unconscious psychic reality which demonstrably influences consciousness and its contents. All this is known, but no practical conclusions have been drawn from this fact. We still go on thinking and acting as before, as if we were simplex and not duplex. Accordingly, we imagine ourselves to be innocuous, reasonable, and humane. We do not think of distrusting our motives or of asking ourselves how the inner man feels about the things we do in the outside world. But actually it is frivolous, superficial, and unreasonable of us, as well as psychically unhygienic, to overlook the reaction and standpoint of the unconscious. One can regard one's stomach or heart as unimportant and worthy of contempt, but that does not prevent overeating or overexertion from having consequences that affect the whole man. Yet we think that psychic mistakes and their consequences can be got rid of with mere words, for "psychic" means less than air to most people. All the same, nobody can deny that without the psyche there would be no world at all, and still less a human world. Virtually everything depends on the human psyche and its functions. It should be worthy of all the attention we can give it, especially today, when everyone admits that the weal or woe of the future will be decided neither by the threat of wild animals, nor by natural catastrophes, nor by the danger of world-wide epidemics, but simply and solely by the psychic changes in man. It needs only an almost imperceptible disturbance of equilibrium in a few of our rulers' heads to plunge the world into blood, fire, and radioactivity. The technical means necessary for this are present on both sides. And certain conscious deliberations, uncontrolled by any inner opponent, can be put into effect all too easily, as we have seen already from the example of one "Leader." The consciousness of modern man still clings so much to external objects that he makes them exclusively re[1]sponsible, as if it were on them that the decision depended. That the psychic state of certain individuals could ever emancipate itself from the behaviour of objects is something that is considered far too little, although irrationalities of this sort are observed every day and can happen to everyone.

The forlorn state of consciousness in our world is due primarily to loss of instinct, and the reason for this lies in the development of the human mind over the past aeon. The more power man had over nature, the more his knowledge and skill went to his head, and the deeper became his contempt for the merely natural and accidental, for all irrational data—including the objective psyche, which is everything that consciousness is not. In contrast to the subjectivism of the conscious mind the unconscious is objective, manifesting itself mainly in the form of contrary feelings, fantasies, emotions, impulses, and dreams, none of which one makes oneself but which come upon one objectively. Even today psychology is still, for the most part, the science of conscious contents, measured as far as possible by collective standards. The individual psyche has become a mere accident, a marginal phenomenon, while the unconscious, which can manifest itself only in the real, "irrationally given" human being, has been ignored altogether. This was not the result of carelessness or of lack of knowledge, but of downright resistance to the mere possibility that there could be a second psychic authority besides the ego. It seems a positive menace to the ego that its monarchy could be doubted. The religious person, on the other hand, is accustomed to the thought of not being sole master in his own house. He believes that God, and not he himself, decides in the end. But how many of us would dare to let the will of God decide, and which of us would not feel embarrassed if he had to say how far the decision came from God himself?

--Carl Jung en "The Undiscovered Self"

[dolceaspidenera]

Big agree with everything that's been said. It's a shame that people tend to flatten his character. I guess that the dumbing-him-down trend might be related to his tendency to be very reckless and not think things through. Especially at the beginning of his route, he tends to act a lot and think later about consequences, so maybe the misinterpretations come from that, although his recklessness actually stems from his self-sacrifice tendencies and his self-loathing, certainly not from being stupid.

The same thing could be said about his initial physical relationship with MC, he's very reckless and he is basically all over you since the beginning, probably because 1) he sees sex as the only thing that he can offer and doesn't think that someone could be genuinely interested in him for other aspects, 2) the initial attraction and falling in love can be quite potent, it's basically your brain producing its own drugs. Considering that he already tends to self-medicate through alcohol, I think that it can easily become for him a way to escape his own thoughts without even realizing it. 3) There is also, of course, the fact that he genuinely craves love and affection, without really knowing how to search/ask for it and he tends to get attached really quickly. It's sweet to see how during his route, as he gets better and better, he also becomes less physically "pushy", for lack of a better word, and more relaxed around you, he's still flirty but tends to leave more the ball in your courtyard.

Despite all his flaws, he is an incredibly loving and kind person, loyal and devoted and so, so sweet. Show him just a tiny bit of love and he will regard you as a f*cking miracle (it makes me tear up every time). He is also fun, charming, and easygoing. Honestly, the fact that he gets flustered easily and is sometimes clumsy just makes him more endearing to me. I wouldn't change a single thing about him, I love him so much, flaws and all.

As for the "Julian is a terrible doctor" thing, I'd suggest people watch a couple of episodes from the TV show "The Knick", set in the 1900s and following Dr. John Thackery and the staff at the Knickerbocker Hospital. The series really drives home how easily people died at that time, even for things that nowadays would be considered trivial, and what a toll it took on the doctors' mental health, even if it wasn't their fault but was due to a lack of means (and we're talking of the 1900s, The Arcana is set way before).

I'm unfortunately very familiar with mental health issues, and I can honestly tell that to live with all that shit inside your head and not only manage to come out of it but to still want to do good, and still want to help others, is nothing short of amazing. It just shows how incredibly resilient and kindhearted Julian is. He should be admired for that and taken as an example.

So yeah, all of this to say that he is a really well-rounded and complex character and extremely well-written, and did I already say how much I love him?

Oh boy, I took a tangent and ended up writing a mini-essay, ops 🙈 sorry about that.

About Julian

In my post About Dorian I mentioned how people in the fandom typically reduce the M6 into one or two personality traits. I’ll be talking about Julian today and the fandom's treatment of him!

I'm going to try and keep this factual and not opinionated, nothing like “he should only be like this” and more like “this is what he is in game, but people show him like this” 

It's gonna be a long post so if you don't want to get into the topic, or don't feel like reading something long then go ahead and scroll by! I don't mind! 

And if you want to make this a civilized discussion then i don't mind talking and hearing others points out either!

So let's go!

Julian is a Doctor who went to Parka to learn medicine and got most of his experience on battle fields while he apprenticed under Nazali. He started up his own clinic in Vesuvia and ended up being hired by the palace to work on the red plague cure, eventually treating Lucio himself. 

After the apprentice died he was stricken with grief, eventually he had an affair with Asra but it didn’t exactly last. He soon found a cure in the form of killing Lucio through sickly hallucinations of the hanged man. 

Julian is a smart man, who often blames himself for things that were not his fault, even putting himself at risk with no evidence simply to save others or because he feels guilty. He loves people with his whole being and yet doesn't trust himself to be around them as he thinks he’ll hurt them with again no evidence. 

So tell me why most of the Arcana fandom will portray him as, for lack of a better word, idiotic and whoreish. 

I know Nyx Hydra poked fun at Julian a few times, mentioning that he likes to use leeches or make him kinky, but that is simply not his whole personality.

Yes, he can be flustered easily, and easy to arouse, and a masochist. But he is also lovey dovey, and soft and mushy and loves with his whole heart not just his dick.

And he literally went to school, i know its a big joke that he simply doesn't know what a medical school is but he literally went to one… and even if he didnt and there's no evidence of that he was at least mentored by Nazali who definitely did go to school. 

Now again i'm not saying he can't be horny, oh on the contrary he is horny, for someone he loves, not just a stranger. And by all means he's not the smartest man in the world, he actively struggles to comprehend magic and the Arcana realms but that's because he is smart with science and medicine! 

And yes you can write porn without plot with him, he doesn't have to show off his undying love in every single thing he's in. and yes you can make him marvel and question magic and still show his smarts in reality. He literally tries to use logic in the tower's realm and figures out that the realm is looped by testing out his hypothesis. 

All I'm saying is that a lot of people reduce his character when he really is rich in personality, and hopefully this will help bring some light as to what his character might look like more fleshed out. 

Another point I want to touch, is Julian as a background or side character. I’ve written a fanfic that was focused on my Mc, Asra, my friends Mc, and Julian. But my friends Mc and julian were supporting cast, so Julian wasn’t as fleshed out as Asra, but i didn’t reduce him to only horny or kinda dumb whenever he was “on screen” his traits just didn’t show as much as it would if he was a main character.

So what should we take away from this? 

Well, Julian can be horny and isn't the smartest man in the world, but he is much more than that! He's loving and cares so much about the people close to him, he's smart and doesn’t know much about magic but is willing to try and figure it out with the knowledge he has. He gives his whole self to someone, his heart and body. And he does not need to constantly show these traits in depth especially if he's mostly a side character in someone's story. 

Julian is a lovely character, and I would love to do an analysis of him after I re-do his route, but I think this is good enough for now.

Of course you can all do what you'd like with him, but when it becomes prevalent that the fandom is mostly thinking of him in a reduced state it becomes a little saddening, and it's good to remind ourselves that he's not all horny and unknowing! 

Feel free to give your reasoning for making him more horny, since i’ll be honest i don't think as many people think they’re dumbing him down. If anything I think Lucio might be dumbed down more, but I definitely notice the dumbing down of Julian too.

[trek-tracks]

Kirk, to McCoy in The Ultimate Computer: Genius doesn't work on an assembly line basis. Did Einstein, Kazanga, or Sitar of Vulcan produce new and revolutionary theories on a regular schedule? You can't simply say, today I will be brilliant.

Also Kirk, to McCoy a few days earlier: Hey Bones we need a cure for aging in the next 45 minutes or everyone's dead, get on it, love you bye

[bb-e3rie]

Power of Awareness Chapter 23, Neville Goddard success story (2):

“Only the most complete and intense use of the law of assumption could have produced such results in this extreme situation.

Four years ago, a friend of our family asked that I talk with his twenty-eight-year-old son, who was not expected to live.

He was suffering from a rare heart disease. This disease resulted in a disintegration of the organ.

Long and costly medical care had been of no avail.

Doctors held out no hope for recovery. For a long time, the son had been confined to his bed. His body had shrunk to almost a skeleton, and he could talk and breathe only with great difficulty. His wife and two small children were home when I called, and his wife was present throughout our discussion.

I started by telling him that there was only one solution to any problem, and that solution was a change of attitude. Since talking exhausted him, I asked him to nod in agreement if he understood clearly what I said. This he agreed to do.

I described the facts underlying the law of consciousness – in fact that consciousness was the only reality. I told him that the way to change any condition was to change his state of consciousness concerning it. As a specific aid in helping him to assume the feeling of already being well, I suggested that in imagination, he see the doctor's face expressing incredulous amazement in finding him recovered, contrary to all reason, from the last stages of an incurable disease, that he see him double checking in his examination and hear him saying over and over, "It's a miracle – it's a miracle".

He not only understood all this clearly, but he believed it implicitly. He promised that he would faithfully follow this procedure. His wife, who had been listening intently, assured me that she, too, would diligently use the law of assumption and her imagination in the same way as her husband. The following day I sailed for New York – all this taking place during a winter vacation in the tropics.

Several months later, I received a letter saying the son had made a miraculous recovery. On my next visit, I met him in person. He was in perfect health, actively engaged in business and thoroughly enjoying the many social activities of his friends and family.

He told me that from the day I left, he never had any doubt that "it" would work. He described how he had faithfully followed the suggestion I had made to him and day after day had lived completely in the assumption of already being well and strong.

Now, four years after his recovery, he is convinced that the only reason he is here today is due to his successful use of the law of assumption.”

[depressedacadamia]

Blood will have blood

Summary:  Being a healer during a war was a job that only few could handle- seeing soldiers who risk their lives was not for the weak. But Will questions everything as a powerful but very young demigod is about to die before his very eyes.

A/N: Day two of Will solace's bday week!!! I know I could have written another 3 Days in the infirmary fic but I thought I'd give some angst because I haven't done it in a while and I listened to somone talk about Patroclus' death; it was in the Podcast Let's talk about myths, baby! It's suuppperrr good but that episode had me close to tears. Thnks to @solangeloweek AND THIS IS REVENGE FOR THAT REALLY GOOD BUT SAD FIC BY MY FRIEND; THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE. Anyways, love from me <3 !!

Read on A03      Masterlist

“Move!” Will yelled as he hastily brought medical supplies to the healer who was working on fixing someone’s foot which had been sliced off.

“Fucking Gods, sending their kids to fight their battles, They don't know when to stop, do they?” Will gritted out aggressively as he crouched down by his patient- a powerful but young demigod who had been severely injured in a vicious fight.

Will washed the bloody cloth in the water and produced a clean one, at which he gently cleaned the wounds. He could feel their life force thinning, their heart beating softer and softer. He had given the demigod all he could- ambrosia, nectar and as much treatment as he could offer; but they were in a war- he couldn't dwell too much on the patients who he couldn’t save.

“If you don't require urgent treatment, you need to leave,” Will announced. “ Starting now, we are under triage. Red patients will immediately be accepted, yellow will have to wait- the walking wounded will have to consult their nearest field medic. I repeat, As of now, we are in triage!”

“Will, a new wave of patients are going to come soon- apparently the enemies have launched a fresh attack and our side wasn't prepared,” Kayla mumbled, handing out supplies to the healers. Will groaned but his frustration was quickly overcome with worry: how would his friends on the frontline fare with this fresh assault?

He worried for some of his siblings who had chosen to be soldiers over healers, he worried for people like Annabeth Chase and Piper Mclean- He even worried over Percy Jackson.

But most of all he worried over Nico Di Angelo. He was not concerned over Nico dying; he knew his boyfriend very well and the chance that he’d let someone else kill him was practically impossible. But he did fear Nico overworking himself, it was almost unavoidable.

Alas, he couldn’t worry about his boyfriend, he was in a war after all and he had to focus on his job- to heal the others.

“Will-” An urgent voice tugged him from his thoughts. “ Isn’t there anything else you can do for them?” The soldier pointed at his wounded younger sibling. His bruised, bloody face was contorted into a grim expression as his hand gripped the hand of the dying soldier.

“We can’t do anymore,” Kayla informed sadly. But as Will watched the young patient slowly being dragged to Thanatos, he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't this child's time yet- that's what they were, a child.

They were fighting a war, children were fighting a war while the almighty sat in their thrones above and watched it as if it were simply a film. Innocent children like the one beside Will were dying and.. And - and the gods just expected them to continue.

“There is something I can try,” Will started quietly. “But I can’t guarantee that it will work.”

“Will, you can’t-” Kayla quickly cut in. “You know how draining it is on your body and you've never tried it on somebody with such grave injuries before.”

“But I can still try,” Will told Kayla. His mind was made up- if his friends were out there risking their lives on the battlefield, this was the least he could do; risk his life to save this innocent, and powerful demigod. If this went right, their quick recovery would be essential to winning.

Kayla knew that nothing could stop Will as he peeled off his gloves and placed his hands onto the cold skin of the soldier. Will’s hands danced slowly around the bloodstained chest and abdomen of the soldier and every once in a while, his fingertips would accidentally brush against the wounds dipping the tips of his nails in a crimson substance that was still warm.

He glowed, as he healed- he always did. But his hands felt warmer than usual and when he felt it was time, he pressed his hands into the bloody wound that no longer poured blood- for there was no blood to pour. Wil drained himself, trying to heal what he could but it was to no avail- this child had died. There was nothing Will could give.

But he refused to let this be it- It couldn't be! The Gods couldn't let this child die, they were not a soldier- they were a child for god's sake!

So after he had given everything- all the healing power that he had been blessed with by his father, he found himself with his hands pressed into the lifeless body of the child. And slowly, as he weeped over their corpse, with every drip of his tears, he felt a little more of life ease into the child again. And so he bellowed.

He cried and let the tears pour into the wounds, healing, no- bringing the child back to life. They steamed down his face as he mourned as grievers do. He clutched at the child’s chest that no longer beat and he felt the life before his grow stronger. He heard a little ‘ba-dum’.

Then, the soldier opened their eyes and took a deep inhale.

There was clapping and laughter and crying as people across the infirmary watched the miracle being performed by the Head Healer.

Will felt a smile across his face. While he felt weak, so very weak, he felt pride as he looked at the child, who bleated as they choked air into their lungs like a new born baby goat, their cheeks rosy again.

And then he felt pain. Excruciating pain. It twisted and burned. He heard screaming, the scream of a mother who has lost their child before realising that it was his own voice- his hands, once covered in the blood of the child shot to clutch at his chest only to feel a warm thick liquid coat his hands like water running out of a tap.

He gasped for air. Urgent hands were on him, lifting him onto a stretcher as people immediately fell silent. The room, celebrating moments ago, fell into a trance watching. The healers worked desperately, tearing open Will’s clothes, working as fast as they could.

Will coughed and coughed and as the blood stained his lips he let out a small smile. His small smile turned into a laugh covered with his coughing which only forced up more of the substance as it trickled slowly down his chin.

“Will? Will?” Kayla asked desperately, watching him choke. His lips turned crooked as his face paled, displaying his freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks.

“Please frame these last words: Fuck the Gods,” He whispered, content with his last moments before he suddenly shot open his eyes as he recalled that he had forgotten something. “ Oh- and tell Nico that I love him and that jazz.”

His voice was weak and the blood began to dry on his hands.

“Tell me what?” A confused, alarmed and horrified voice echoed from the other side of infirmary belonging to a warrior holding their helmet under their arm and stygian iron sword in their hand.

[charlesreeza]

The main altar at the church of Saint-Pantaléon in Troyes, France, features a statue of the namesake saint and martyr.  I can’t resist telling a good martyr story.  (Italics indicate the way Christians are supposed to behave, for those who have forgotten.)

According to the legend based on zero facts, in the late 3rd century, Pantaléon was the son of St. Eubula and her husband, Eustorgius of Nicomedia, a rich pagan businessman. After his mother’s death, he fell away from the Church and studied medicine, eventually becoming the physician to Emperor Galerius. 

St. Hermolaus, Bishop of Nicomedia, brought Pantaléon back to the church and urged him to remember that faith is to be trusted over medical knowledge. At his father’s death, Pantaléon received a huge fortune. He freed his father’s slaves, distributed his wealth to the poor and selflessly served their medical needs. This behavior looked suspiciously Christian, so his jealous enemies denounced him to Emperor Diocletian, persecutor of Christians.

Galerius liked his physician and hoped to spare his life by getting him to deny his faith, but Pantaleon was having none of it. In fact, he turned around and healed a paralyzed member of the court to demonstrate the power of Christ. This backfired as Galerius thought the miracle was an example of “magic,” which was also frowned upon. He did not know that miracles and magic are two completely different things. (Don’t ask how. I will not respond.)

Pantaleon was handed over to the torturers who burned him with torches. Christ appeared in the form of Bishop Hermolaus, extinguished the torches and healed Pantaleon. This infuriated the pagans. A tub of molten lead was set to a boil and the saint was thrown into it. The fire immediately went out and the lead became cold to the touch. The pagans then tied a great stone around Pantaleon’s neck and threw him into the sea. The stone floated and Pantaleon hung on to it.

He was then thrown to wild beasts, but the animals fawned over him and refused to leave his side until Pantaleon blessed them. The saint was bound to an execution wheel, but the ropes broke and the wheel snapped in two. One of the torturers had enough of Pantaleon’s dirty tricks and grabbed a sword to behead him. The sword bent. The executioners immediately abandoned their paganism and converted to Christ.

Pantaleon begged God to forgive his torturers, and this is why he is also called Panteleimon (Greek for “mercy for everyone” or "all-compassionate"). Comforted by the knowledge that God was with him, the saint gave the executioner permission to kill him. The man obliged and beheaded the saint. His severed head produced both blood and a white liquid like milk. (Don’t ask why! Don’t!)

Fortunately, a pious lady had the presence of mind to collect some of the blood and milky goop to be kept in glass phials that are preserved at a church in Ravello, Italy and a monastery in Madrid. On the feast day of the saint, the milky blood is said to liquify and bubble. This also happens to all the other phials of Pantaleon’s blood kept in the Italian cities of Naples, Bari, Vallicella, Lucca and Venice. (It’s a good thing there was enough supply to satisfy the demand!)

St. Pantaleon has always been popular amongst Italians, especially in Venice where the saint’s name became associated with the city. The name was subsequently given to a recurring character in commedia dell'arte who wore trousers rather than knee breeches. Trousers become so associated with this character that the word “trousers” became the Italian word, “pantaloni.” This was later shortened to “pants.”

If you play the lottery, I have good news for you: Italian Catholics have known for centuries that if you ask St. Pantaleon for a winning lottery number, it will be revealed to you in a dream. He can also be invoked against headaches, loneliness, consumption, wild locust attacks, witchcraft and accidents. He is the patron saint of physicians, midwives, and livestock, an odd combination if ever I heard one.  

Best of all, even better than winning the lottery in my opinion, Pantaleon accepts prayers to stop kids from crying!  I plan to try this on my next flight to Europe.  My prayers will probably be returned to sender because I’m a heretic and a daily sinner, but I might be able to find an unstained soul on the flight to make the request.  Devout Catholics, try this yourselves and let me know if it works.

Photo and disrespectful commentary by Charles Reeza

[densi-mber]

Christmas Movies and Milk Duds

A/N: This idea was kindly provided by mashmaiden. Takes place post “Free Ride” in season 4.

Merry Christmas Eve to everyone celebrating!

***

“Hey, you still awake?” Kensi asked, the silhouette of her head popping around the door to Deeks’ bunker. Callen had decided to stay with some of the crew to celebrate so he was alone.

Deeks lifted his head from his pillow, but didn’t bother to actually sit up on his bunk.

“That depends,” he said, dropping his head back down. “Did you bring me any Christmas cookies?”

“No.” Apparently deciding that the coast was clear, she slipped inside and plopped on the side of his bed, jostling the mattress. “I have something even better than cookies.” She frowned, peering around the dim room. “Why’s it so dark in here?”

“Because my head is killing me,” Deeks replied, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes against the constant ache. “If you recall, I was bashed over the head and stuffed in a garbage can.” He opened one eye, pushing out his lower lip a tiny bit.

“Is it really that bad?” Kensi asked, leaning forward. He didn’t expect her to run her fingers through his hair and stilled as she brushed the goose egg at the back of his skull. “Geez. I’m sorry, Deeks, I didn’t know it was that bad. Do you want me to take you to the infirmary again?”

“Nah.” Kensi’s touch was actually proving a more effective balm than any pain medication. “The noise from the party was just getting to me.”

Kensi was silent for a few more seconds while she mindlessly massaged the area around his bump. He wasn’t sure Kensi was even aware she was still touching him.

“You know, I was pretty worried about you,” she said in a hushed tone. “I thought you might have been pushed overboard or something.” Her hand stilled in his hair and Deeks heard her inhale unsteadily.

“Hey, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said, nudging her knee. “You still owe me a trip to Tahoe. So I can kick your ass on the slopes.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s not happening.” Kensi chuckled derisively, folding her arms over her chest. “As soon as we get off this ship and you’re cleared for physical activity, you are on.”

“Sounds like a date,” Deeks agreed, feeling significantly more cheerful than when Kensi found him. “Hey, why did you come looking for me in the first place?”

“Oh, I just thought you might want some company,” Kensi explained with a little shrug. I found a free common room and one of the three available channels happens to be playing “Miracle on 34th Street”.

“One of your favorites.”

“It is. Maybe we could watch it together.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “That is if your head doesn’t hurt too much.”

“I think I can manage it,” Deeks said, swinging his legs off the bed. “Although you might have to help me get there.” Rolling her eyes, Kensi slipped an arm behind his back as he he stood.

They made it to the empty common room without running into anyone, or Deeks collapsing. Kensi turned down the lights before he had a chance to ask and plopped down next to him on the small couch he’d chosen. As little Suzy appeared on-screen, Kensi produced a box of milk duds, offering them to Deeks.

“Where did you even get those from?” he asked, even though he shouldn’t be surprised that his sugar loving partner had found a way to sneak candy on-board.

“It’s probably best if you don’t ask,” Kensi told him, popping a chuck of chocolate coated caramel into her mouth. She sighed and leaned back so she was almost leaning against him. “Merry Christmas, Deeks.”

“Merry Christmas.” Head injury and all, he decided that it wasn’t such a bad Christmas after all.

***

A/N: Apparently most aircraft carriers do have TVs, but they’re in common areas and have a limited number of channels.

[nillegible]

Hua Cheng, with the ennui of an immortal whose reason to live had vanished from the face of the three realms, takes refuge in what little in the world still reflects his Crown Prince’s glory. He seeks out powerful, near mythical swords, and remembers the sharp eyes that would enjoy testing them. He seeks him in wayside flowers, and spring rain, and finds it strange that a world so empty of his prince could be so full of him. The god who had reached out to Hua Chang and commanded him to live.

The people have long since forgotten. The kingdom of Xianle is but a forgotten memory, a sidenote in history scrolls maintained by the larger library collections. Most of the Crown Prince’s shrines are also long gone, fallen into disrepair. Hua Cheng tries to make up for it with the resplendence of his own shrine to His Highness.

And then one more shrine to His Highness, appears.

Reappears, perhaps; there had been one there before. Hua Cheng spares it a glance, but when it is clear that His Highness had not returned, and that it was merely the work of a young Wen disciple, Hua Cheng ignores the site once more.

Well, he can’t resist keeping half an eye on him. Hua Cheng occasionally observes him – there’s so little else to do – and notices him giving medicine to civilians, watches him completely fail at bargaining and pay too much for every little thing, watches him return to the little shrine again and again, and stare at the words carved into the lintel, and repeat the words to himself, sounding confused.

The boy never kneels, but he prays.

His Highness would have adored this child, would have supported his almost inhumanly accurate archery, would have looked at his sword forms for barely five minutes before intervening to tell him that he needed a different sword for his stature and temperament.

Two believers. His God now had two believers; Hua Cheng, the Ghost King who had ascended to heaven and then turned them down, and little Wen Ning, a fifteen-year-old child of Qishan Wen, a ruthless cultivation sect that didn’t suit him at all.

(Hua Cheng watches Qishan Wen sect, knowing that like Xian Le, like Yong’An and hundreds of other kingdoms, they too would inevitably fall.)

Rarely, very rarely, Hua Cheng takes a child’s form and visits the other shrine and tells Wen Ning stories about His Highness, the crown prince of Xian Le.

*

And then Hua Cheng all but forgets about the little Wen, his Highness ascends a third time and Hua Cheng has finally found him again, this time, this time Hua Cheng would not lose him, would not be parted from him.

It’s when His Highness says that he has no believers that Hua Cheng remembers that it’s not true.

Two believers is not many more than one, and Wen Ning could never match the depths of Hua Cheng’s devotion.

(But when he leaves His Highness on that cursed mountain, it is good to know he would not be alone.)

*

And then one day there’s a prayer. Prayers sound different to heavenly officials, depending on who is making them. They are usually stronger from within a shrine, stronger with humility, and stronger by far depending on the strength of their faith. (Hua Cheng does not know why Wen Ning believes so steadfastly, when he did not know the man gege had once been, had not been saved by him, been told to live for him, and died for him, twice.) Wen Ning’s prayer echoes, and gege turns to him. San Lang, please. Would you take me to Yunmeng?

Yunmeng is burning down, and Wen Ning prays, “Daozhang, help them.”

His Highness loves Wen Ning.

*

Hua Cheng leaves a few butterflies to watch him, watches him dance around the fighting, never taking a life himself, returning the bodies of the deceased to the rightful places with respect, a battlefield medic, only seventeen, who sits beside the dying with empathy and grace, tries to lessen their suffering. His sister, Wen Qing, is remarkable, she pulls people back from the brink of death, produces miracles with her own two hands. Wen Ning follows after, easing the pain of those mangled bodies that Wen Qing cannot reach in time, or judges impossible to cure.

Where do they go? Wen Ning asks once, bathing in icy waters, washing off the blood of his day.

“I don’t know. The ones who stay are still here. I do not know what comes after,” he admits. “But I hope it’s somewhere peaceful, before they return again.”

Wei Wuxian does the unimaginable. If anyone of this current crop of cultivators deserves to ascend it’s him. But he’s carved out his golden core to give to his brother, and Hua Cheng thinks that if he does ascend, it might be downwards, like him.

*

And then Wen Ning is taken to a work camp run by sadists. “San Lang, can you take me to see Wen Ning?” asks XIE LIAN, and he seems frightened.

“What happened? Has he stopped praying?”

“He is only repeating ‘Body in hell, heart in paradise.’”

 Hua Cheng has seen the young man repeat the words a thousand times, but this time must be different. Wen Ning has finally learned what that means.

“I can’t go, I have to protect my family, Daozhang, Please. I can’t go,” are Wen Ning’s last words, though his mouth only shapes the words. His lungs have caved in from the beating and then the push off the cliff edge, and he can’t breathe enough to speak. Can only mouth the words as blood dribbles from his mouth.

His Highness kneels beside him. “Oh child, what have they done to you,” he whispers, resting a hand on his chest. The power flows from his hands, but he’s not a god of healing. All he does is ease his pain.

Wen Ning smiles.

“Can you watch them until I come back?” strangely, he’s looking at Hua Cheng, not XIE LIAN.

“I will,” he says softly.

“Thank you for everything, Daozhang,” Wen Ning whispers to his god, and then his spirit untethers. A small green flame, dim and exhausted from what he’s been through. Hua Cheng leans over and gathers the small spirit into carefully cupped hands.

“San Lang,” says Xie Lian, and he looks weary. Hua Cheng would gather him into his arms were they not occupied. “What are you doing?”

Some spirits don’t leave. Can’t. Wen Ning is a mild mannered, silly child and yet in this, he is no different than Hua Cheng; Wen Ning will not go.

There aren’t many places for lost, stubborn spirits, but Hua Cheng has carved one out painstakingly.

“I will take him home.”