#he is adopted in spirit. likes to be included in the errands

[kibibarel]

i do appreciate this implication that Lillie called Lusamine over specifically but Lusamine seemingly brought N along unprompted. like were they hanging out? what is the vibe there

[midnightwinterhawk]

I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom​ for the inspiration. 

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

-

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

--

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter​

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After  years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos,  it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a  suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles  would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

//

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

[lynettethemadscientist]

MysMe Fantasy AU

SPOILER WARNING: these character backstories include lots of canon details.

Centaur!V

A majestic and proud race, the centaurs characterize themselves as first and foremost, practical. Their prudence is their strength. However, although Jihyun Kim’s father is a centaur, his mother was a dryad.

The dryads, unlike centaurs, are more emotionally-driven and free-spirited. V’s father chose V’s mother because of her artistic prowess and high reputation. Unfortunately, the process of birthing a centaur child from a dryad womb severely injured V’s mother and ensured that she could never pursue her artistry again. Because of this, V’s father abandoned her and took her child, believing her to be useless.

Eventually, V’s mother found a way to reconnect with her son. V then found himself torn between two worlds. His father raised him to deny his dryad heritage and live a pragmatic, business-minded life. But his mother understood his soul’s desire to express itself through art.

Sadly, before V could fully come to realize who he was and how to reconcile his two conflicting natures, his mother perished in a fire, saving his life in the process.

V distanced himself from his father and pursued his art, but he felt empty and without purpose.

When he met Rika, he thought at last he had found what he was looking for.

Naga!Rika

The serpentine race is resented among most other races, as they are a natural predator for most of them. While most naga children are insulated from the negative effects of societal rejection due to strong familial bonds, Rika had no such advantage. Her adoptive parents hated and abused her. And she was resented and mistreated by all who met her.

As she grew older, she learned to use her hypnotic gaze and seductive charm to conceal her predatory aura and become an almost magnetic presence to those around her.

But the damage had already been done. Her mask enabled her to make friends, but it could not scrub away the festering darkness that would warp her mind.

Furthermore, she couldn’t help but realize that no one truly loved her, they only loved how she presented herself.

When she met V, she thought at last she had found what she was looking for.

Drider!Luciel

Like nagas, the drider race is also commonly hated due to their predatory disposition. Saeyoung Choi, along with his twin brother Saeran, were the result of a politician impregnating a drider. Not wanting anyone to know about his scandalous tryst, he intended to murder his children, but their mother kept them from his reach. She gouged money from their father in exchange for her silence. And she harshly abused her children.

Unlike his brother, Saeyoung was permitted by their alcoholic mother to go outside on errands. He started attending a local church. Not long after, a centaur and a naga approached the drider child, warning him of a strange man that appeared to be spying on him.

Luciel was slow to trust the couple but he was grateful for their warning as he knew the strange man must have been sent by his father. V and Rika ensured that no one followed the child home. Additionally, Rika noticed Luciel’s malnourishment and began sending food home with him, which he would promptly give to his twin brother.

Eventually, Luciel would come to tell V and Rika about his and his brother’s predicament.

In an attempt to remove him and his brother from their parents’ grasp, V instructed Luciel to study coding. He had connections to an espionage agency that would be able to hide Luciel’s identity and make use of his arachnid attributes. Unfortunately, entering the agency meant that Luciel would have to sever all personal connections.

At first, Luciel refused, not wanting to be separated from his twin. He only agreed after V promised him that he would rescue his brother and assured him that it was the only way to keep the two of them safe from their father.

Luciel would spend the next several years working only to survive and to keep his brother safe, completely unaware that V had failed to keep his promise.

Drider!Saeran

Because Saeran was never allowed to leave his home, he was faced with constant verbal and physical abuse from his mother. As a result, his exoskeleton was unnaturally frail and he felt useless and weak compared to his brother.

When his mother was particularly vindictive, she would tear off one of his legs and he would have to wait months until his next molt to get it back.

Saeran felt hopeless and miserable. The only thing keeping him going was his brother and the promise he made that someday they would escape that house together.

When Saeyoung didn’t come home one day, Saeran fell into despair and their mother punished him severely, beating and starving him nearly to death.

Saeran endured two more months in that house, believing his brother was dead and soon he would be too, before V and Rika finally arrived. They were appalled at the sight of him. He had only 5 legs left. He could hardly stand and his throat was so dry he could barely speak.

Eventually, the couple managed to wrest the child away from his mother and take him to live with them.

Unbeknownst to V, Rika began to prey on Saeran’s frailty and insecurity. She wanted to use Saeran to build a haven for those like them. She believed that the outcasts and the abused were unable to survive in normal society. And she wished to encourage those who followed her to embrace their predatory natures, to let their fear and anger become a vengeful passion. She wished to give them purpose and happiness. And she would do so by force if necessary.

Vampire!Jumin

The vampires are a legacy race, usually heading large business empires that have existed for centuries. When a vampire chooses to retire from his position, it is passed down to his chosen heir. This heir may or may not be related by blood, but they are always related by bite. The most traditional of the vampire patriarchs establish an heir by taking a human wife and producing children. The wife is turned after the desired amount of offspring are born. Those who choose not to take a human wife instead choose a human apprentice. When the apprentice or child has proven himself to be a worthy heir, they are turned by their sire.

Jumin Han has already been turned, but his mother never was. In fact, his father divorced her and over the course of even a few decades has chosen many other human women to be his mate. None of them lasted very long.

Though Jumin did maintain a good relationship with his father, he resolved to never be a victim of fickle emotions like him. He isolates his heart against others, preferring to stifle his emotions and focus on his work.

His only respite from his emotional repression is his beloved cat, which was a gift from V, his childhood friend, and Rika.

Faery!Jaehee

Not much is known about the faery race. They remain an ominous presence to beings bound to the physical realm. The nature of these ethereal beings seems to range from ambivalent to malicious.

Jaehee Kang was a changeling. Her parents resented the replacement of their human daughter but raised Jaehee as a human anyways.

Jaehee grew up determined to establish herself as a proper member of society, despite her fae lineage. She excelled in her studies and was always a very distinguished hard-worker.

Jumin Han took note of her diligence, but his primary reason for choosing her as his secretary was that she wasn’t human and thus would not fall under the lecherous eye of his father.

When she was in high school she relaxed by hiking. Being in the mountains felt far more natural to her than being around other people. But after she entered college, she took a chance on watching a local production of a musical play. She quickly became entranced by the actor Zen. He was surpassingly beautiful and graceful. And the tenor of his voice as he sang touched her soul in a way that she had yet to experience. He was nothing less than enchanting to her. His performances felt like a glimpse of her true home.

Werewolf!Zen

Similar to vampires, werewolves characterize themselves by their family legacies. However, werewolves are more frequently tradesman, often priding themselves on their physical prowess or craftsmanship.

There are usually 4-6 pups in each litter, and each pup is expected to learn the trade of their mother or father from an early age. By the time they reach age 14, they are productive member of the family business.

Hyun Ryu was born in a litter of only two, so a lot was expected of him and his brother. Hyun’s brother adjusted easily into his role, but Hyun did not.

Hyun was an exceptionally beautiful child. His mother, fearing that he would pursue a career in entertainment, verbally abused him. She often called him ugly and chided him for his appearance.

Hyun found himself entirely disinterested in his family’s trade, and instead preferred to hone his singing skills or practice acting. When his parents demanded that he abandon these pursuits, he ran away from home.

Zen was barely able to make ends meet at first, taking on multiple small roles and at times resorting to the use of his wolf-form to intimidate people for money. But eventually his talents became more recognized and he was able to land larger roles.

Rika dearly loved Zen’s performances and hoped to further his career by establishing connections for him through the RFA. Zen was wary of her at first, but after V saved Zen from a nearly fatal motorcycle accident, Zen decided to join. Thankfully, there was no lasting damage from the crash due to Zen’s lycanthropy.

Merman!Yoosung

The merpeople have a particularly individualistic culture, usually encouraging their young ones to pursue whatever futures they desire and expecting them to be independent at a relatively early age. They do have their own schools, but their fry often attend schools on the surface, as it opens more career opportunities and proficiency on two legs is considered a desirable skill for merpeople to learn.

Yoosung Kim started his schooling on the surface later than most. He didn’t even touch dry land until high school. He had a lot of trouble adjusting and felt rather unsteady and aimless until he met his adoptive cousin Rika. She guided him in the ways of the land and taught him the importance of building relationships with others.

Upon hearing of Rika’s suicide, Yoosung fell into despair and disbelief. Yoosung relied on Rika a lot and the news of her death was extremely devastating for him. She was his mentor, his motivation, and his only real friend. And she was gone. Eventually Yoosung would fall into depression, unable to even attend his college classes even though he had been a star student in high school.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

In Corners

Calum never though he’d be a dad like this. But when it comes to his daughter, he’s always in her corner. Always and forever. 

What happens when you put together H’s love for angst+ Single!Dad Calum+ Coming Out?

This. This is the product. 

CW: Mentions of Death and health issues. Coming out. Some slight mentions of homophobia. Anxiety. 

Enjoy my masterlist

Feel free to support me on Kofi.

****No one has my permission to post this fic, including translations. Copyright be-ready-when-i-say-go, 2020.******

_________________________________

Calum shouldn’t have sat down. That is his mistake. He figures he wouldn’t fall asleep. Not this fast, of course. That will always be false hope. That will always be him giving himself too much credit. If he sat down too long without anything to do, especially in the comfy single seater, it would be game over for him. He has an hour before he has to pick up Ariyana from Elizabeth’s house. He dropped her off earlier in the afternoon and said he’d be back to get her before dinner time. 

And after running errands, first to get groceries, then take the dogs to the vet, and be home for the cable company, all Calum really wants is a nap. Just a quick one. That’s all it’ll be. Half an hour and then he can head out to get her. The both of them can decide what to get for dinner, if they’re going to cook or if they’ll give in and order a veggie pizza. There’s nothing like just sitting with a couple boxes of pizza and piling plates with maybe a slice too many and dancing from the counter to the kitchen table to keep any slice from sliding off. 

He feels his head fall forward on his neck and he snaps up. It takes him a moment, realizing he’s slumped down in the living room. Glancing up at the clock, he’s half an hour late. “Shit,” he exclaims, bolting up from the seat, grabbing his keys and wallet. The door is a slamming thud behind him and his keys jingle as he works to get the right one in his fingers.  

Inside the car, he pulls up Ari’s number and sets the phone into the hook on the air vent so he can drive and have both hands free. It rings and rings. Just as the back tires hit asphalt, she picks up. “Fell asleep again didn’t you, Dad?”

“I keep telling you that seat has some sort of magic in it. I’m on my way.”

She laughs. In the background, Calum can hear Elizabeth’s mother, her voice soft and sweet. “He’s on his way. Thanks, Mrs. Banks,” Ariyana says. “Want me to call in the veggie pizza?”

“Please. I’m sorry, baby girl. Should’ve set an alarm on my phone.”

“It’s alright, Dad. I lost track of time too. I’ll call it in.”

“Love you. Thanks.”

“Of course. Love you too.” 

It still blows Calum’s mind that for the last fourteen years it’s been just Ariyana and him, and somehow he’s managed to do the whole Dad thing well. Ariyana isn’t his kid, an apparent fact when she stands next to him at the grocery stores when they go shopping together or when they go out to the movies, on the rare occasions that Ariyana doesn’t think Calum’s lame. Her much darker than his own, almost like her skin swallowed up the night sky. 

But he wouldn’t trade it in for the world. Even though it meant he lost one of his best friends along the way, complications post-birth seemed to just linger and linger on until they unfortunately claimed Ariyana’s mother, Jazmyne. But both her and Calum knew things were going south fast. They both knew that one day would be her last and when Jazymyne told Calum that no matter what happened to her, she wanted him to take care of her baby, he agreed without hesitation. Ari was close to a year old when her mother died, leaving Calum to the wilds of parenthood alone. 

He was there for everything before that. When Ariyana first kicked in the womb. When the doctors let visitors in, he was the first to hold her. He watched her crawl for the first time, attempting to keep up with Duke who was shockingly good with a baby. Maybe it was because they were kindred spirits. All he did was sleep and eat all day and Ariyana as a baby did the same. He has so many pictures of Ari and Duke at his place on the couch, fast asleep, when Jazmyne had doctor’s appointments or whenever she was just too physically tired to do much of anything. Calum always kept his doors opened. He loved, and still loves, Ariyana, so there was never a problem when he got to watch her for a couple hours. 

Ariyana had a game she liked to play, especially when she was being put down for a nap, where when she finally could support her upper half, she would hide her face in Calum’s chest and then push up. He would kiss her forehead or cheek and she’d giggle before hiding her face again. It would go for ten minutes, a cycle of their version of peekaboo and kisses until sleep finally overtook her right there on his chest and Calum would be left, hearing the echo of her sweet giggle, the way only a baby can laugh, with one hand on her back, keeping her secure to his body.

Calum feels the tears filling his lower lashes and tries not to think too much about how much Ariyana has grown up since then. How at almost 25, he became a dad to the sweetest kid in the world. And it might not have been under circumstances that he would’ve liked, or ones that he would’ve expected, but he couldn’t deny the blessing Ariyana was in his life. So how much complaining could Calum really do?

Turning the corner onto the block, Calum can see Ariyana and Elizabeth standing on the front porch, huddled together. And almost, as the sounds of his tires rolling over of the street, are fire, they jump apart. Elizabeth falls into the swing and starts rocking as if she were doing it the entire time. Calum knows. He suspected it long before when suddenly Ari talked about Elizabeth all the time. They stayed after school a lot, on homework as the excuse. But Calum never pushed it. 

Instead, Calum parks. He opens his door just as the front door opens and Elizabeth’s mom steps out waving. “Thank you again, Jodie,” Calum calls out as he stands behind the opened driver side door. 

“Anytime. You know Ariyana’s welcome over literally whenever. Maybe next week, girls, we can do that candle thing I was showing you guys.”

“Mom,” Elizabeth groans. 

“What? It looks fun,” Jodie defends. It’s easy to see the relation between the two of them. Elizabeth getting her mother’s dark and wild curls. “You guys said you wanted something to do the next time you hung out? I figured what’s to lose by learning how to make candles?”

“Yeah, but they’re in those elementary school milk cartons.”

Jodie shakes her head. Her gaze lands on Calum and they both share a knowing look before Jodie turns back to Elizabeth, hands up and palms out. “Well, think about it then. Maybe we can find some other craft. Doesn’t have to be candles.”

Both girls are glancing at each other, communicating something and Calum has a good idea what it is. But with a small wave and smile, Ariyana steps down from the porch and over to the passenger side of Calum’s SUV. They both climb inside, doors closing at the same time. “Pizza should be done by the time we get there,” Ari says, sliding the seatbelt across her. 

“Cool. Tomorrow, I’ll cook.”

“You mean, tomorrow you’ll attempt to cook but I’ll have a take out place on standby.”

“My cooking’s gotten better over the years.”

“I’ll give you that,” she laughs. Then falls silent, mostly car rides are full of her talking about her day, asking questions, making terrible puns about the street names. But now, she fiddles with her phone, staring out of the window as the world passes by them. And she questions for a brief moment if they are passing the world by. Because it feels like it, as she sits next to her dad. 

Ariyana knows about her mother dying, she knows about Calum adopting her because of her mother’s wishes. She’s grateful for it. She can’t imagine what her life would be like if it weren’t for Calum, if she wound up with someone else, if she wound up with her grandmother, who lived back in the South. Calum never kept her family out of her life, but it’s always a question that plagues her. What would her life be like if things had been different? What would she be like if her grandmother took her in? Would her grandmother dress her up every Sunday like she did to her mother? Would she be eating oatmeal in the mornings with bacon on the side and just on the other side of the kitchen table a Bible would sit? 

She’s not sure why her mother didn’t leave her to her grandmother. Though she’s asked Calum several times, he never really answers it. Her grandmother never treated her badly. When she spent the summers at her house, running through the neighborhood with the other kids, and they scrambled to be inside doors or on porch steps as the streetlights came on, her grandmother would always be waiting, hands on her hips, with a shake of her head. ‘Cutting it close, like you gunnin for trouble,’ her grandmother would always say. 

But on the table would be her plate for dinner. Her aunts and uncle would always hook her up with the latest sneakers. Ariyana learned how to walk not to put creases in her shoes. She spent many nights sitting in her mother’s childhood room, cleaning sneakers with toothbrushes. She stared up at peeling wallpaper, feeling the soft pressure of reassuring hands on her shoulders. No one else would be in the room with her. 

And Calum never sheltered her from any of that. He took really good care of her and she never felt like she couldn’t tell him anything. She never felt like there was a disconnect. Until now. Because in her soul, deep in her gut, she knows that she wouldn’t have to worry about this with her mother. Her mother would just get her. There was nothing else in the world besides a mother’s love. Or maybe Ariyana just yearned for her mother right now that it made it seem like that. Maybe all she wants right now is that soothing touch, like when Grandma’s worn leathery palms would cup her cheeks and every ache was soothed. Every worry was squashed in just one touch. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t drive away now,” Calum teases, sliding out of the truck. 

Ariyana finally notices that they’re pulled up right in front of the doors of the pizza shop. She nods, glancing over to Calum. Does he know? Is he going to flip? She hopes he wouldn’t. Ariyana hopes that the track record of telling Calum major news proves accurate for future reactions. Like shockingly, he didn’t flip a lid when she was near failing trig. Mostly because she was too busy passing notes to Elizabeth. But she covered that up by saying the teacher just taught it in a confusing manner and Calum asked her if she wanted a tutor. That was all. He encouraged her that she could always try the subject again in the summer or maybe again once school started, but he didn’t give her a spill about how failing classes would never get her into college, or never help her make a living in the world. 

But almost failing trig and having to tell him this, the truth, admitting that even she’s not sure about the label--that could never compare. 

The car door opens and Calum slides the pizza onto the floor to keep it safe. Just as he gets into the driver seat, Ariyana speaks. “Can we go visit Mom? Like after dinner or whenever it really works?”

Calum nods. “We can go right now if you want. I have blankets in the back. Make it a picnic.”

“Those are the dogs blankets but sure, they’ll suffice.”

“Hey, now, the dogs don’t complain about those nice soft blankets.” He says it on the shot to make her laugh. He can tell something in weighing on her mind. That’s not his Ariyana but sometimes things are just hard to express verbally. He gets that. 

“They lack the ability too. So…” she laughs, watching as Calum makes a dramatic show of rolling his eyes and sighing. 

The smell of cheese and marinara sauce fills the car. There’s not even the radio playing. Calum lets her have control most of the time. According to her, all he ever plays are the throwback jams. Though occasionally in her shuffle she slips in one of the songs he’s mentioned or played before. She only puts the ‘good ones’ on though, her exact phrasing when Calum brought it up once. 

Upon arriving at the cemetery, Calum pauses, watching Ariyana slip out of the car. She skirts around to the trunk, pulling out the blankets. “Trunk water?” she asks, referring the case of water Calum keeps in the trunk. Mostly for emergencies and because he’s had a case always on hand. 

“I got it,” Calum returns as he grabs the pizza. He wants to ask if everything is okay. If there’s anything he needs to do, or anything she wants him to do, but he’s not sure if the question warrants verbalization. Something is not okay. Something is going on. Though he doesn’t want to push her at the same time. 

Walking over the grass, Calum doesn’t even take note of the headstones that lead their way. Most of the time he does. Most of the time he hates coming here. He never really thought he would’ve griefed a major loss in his twenties. He didn’t think life would be that cruel to him. Yet it had. Yet, he buried her six feet deep, let the oak be a barrier between her flesh and whatever creatures lived in the dirt. But this whole row, the plot they had to pick out together while Ariyana was still much too young, still a babbling baby on one of their hips. Calum can’t remember anymore the specifics. 

This whole trek though shows him he’s not alone. Many others have had those same feelings. Many others have cried a flood of tears before him and he can only hope those that cry for him don’t feel too burdened. He hopes that they know his life began and had to end too. It’s at the plot as Ariyana starts to unfold the blanket that Calum wonders if she wants to go to stay with her grandmother. Before she spent a lot of summers there because Calum had to go for a tour, but even during her Christmas breaks, she asked to go more often. Because he has to leave during the school year too sometimes, Ariyana stays with Luke’s wife and their kids. It works out, never find the fact that they have to make it work. 

“Do you want to live with your grandmother, Ari?”

Ariyana looks over to Calum, her brows pulled in together in confusion. “Did you nap so hard, Dad, that you lost your marbles? I love Grandma Gigi. But no, I don’t want to live with her.”

“I just--you’ve been quiet. Like something’s wrong. And I didn’t--I didn’t want you thinking that you couldn’t talk to me about whatever it is that’s going on. I know it’s not easy when I have to travel so many months at a time. But like, if you wanted something more stable, I don’t fault you. I wouldn’t be mad.”

Their blankets are straightened out and Ariyana places her arms under the boxes. “It’s crazy, yeah. But let’s be real. I have like four rooms at this point, one at every uncle’s house. Birthdays are like, insane when we all get together to have a party. And I like it, just us. Besides you don’t flip like Grandma Gigi about curfew. Though her cooking is better.” She sees Calum’s faux offense and quickly adds on, “But I do love you. You taught me how to ride a bike. You’re there to help me study when I can’t decode Shakespeare. You paid for me to learn how to fail at tap dancing.”

“You were getting better, sweetheart.”

“I was awful, Dad. And you taught me how to play football and helped me make junior varsity. There’s no one else that could’ve done all that.”

“You were an easy baby. A difficult teen. But an easy baby.”

“I won’t take offense at you calling me difficult. For now. It might come back up in other later arguments.”

Calum laughs, nodding his head towards the ground. “Believe me, I expect it.”

They finally sit, the pizza still warm as they take their first bites. Ariyana really asked to come out here because maybe she could tell Calum without actually having to say it. Maybe her mother would give her strength even beyond the grave. It would be like, coming out to both the people she cared about the most, at the same time. She wouldn’t have to do this over, and over, and over. Except her uncles of course. 

Grandma Gigi is going to be a whole other battle. That will have to be a battle she’ll have to fight when it comes up. Right now, she has to tell Calum. With nothing but crust in her fingers, she looks over to Calum. “Dad,” she starts. She’s never called him anything other than that, though she knows he’s not her biological father. She’s never known him as anything other than that. She’s never known him as anyone that would freak, or stop loving her, or shun her for anything. 

“What’s up, baby girl?” If Ariyana doesn’t want to move in with her grandmother, Calum’s at a loss. He just wants her to be happy. And healthy, of course, too. But seeing her torn up like this makes his gut constrict. He’s only been able to stomach one slice thus far. 

“Have you ever known you were different? Not like you suspected or you were guessing. But you just knew.”

It clicks. Like the switch of a light being turned on, Calum gets it. He exhales, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Well,” he starts, holding the slice on his fingers as he chews over the right words. He stares down at Jazmyne’s headstone. What do I tell her? You’d be so much better at this. He doesn’t want to start out with the ‘whole everyone’s different’ thing. It feels contrived, like he’s trying to weigh his own struggles against hers. All he wants to do, at a moment like this, is let her know he’s listening. He’s picking up the clues. “There’s nothing wrong with different, ya know? Different is good.”

“You don’t think different is like, wrong? Like, there’s a ‘normal’ that everyone’s used too. And different is scary. But is it wrong, ya know?”

There’s no use in trying to beat around the bush anymore. Calum swallows down his bite of pizza resting it on the cardboard box on the side where none of the other slices rest. He looks over at her, as she picks at the dog fur coating her black jeans. “Who you love or find attractive isn’t wrong. It may be different from what others expect of you or what others deem is right. I don’t care who you love. I love different. I accept different. I respect different and that means I love you; I accept you. And it also means I respect you too.”

Almost like a popped balloon Ariyana sighs. All the tension from her shoulders drop. “Was it that obvious?”

“I know when someone’s smitten when I see it.”

There’s a moment, where they both sit, watching the setting sun. Ari’s glad that it went well. That she doesn’t have to hide or fear anything. “You didn’t even let me say it, though,” she points out. “Like, I had this whole speech prepared and everything!”

Calum laughs. “Okay, let’s redo.”

“No, it’s too late now,” she huffs, holding her arms across her chest. Her laughter is bubbling in her chest and escapes her in tufts. “But, in all honesty, thanks. For understanding. I was kinda scared.”

Calum nods. “I understand. But I don’t want you to be afraid of telling me things. I’m always in your corner, Ariyana. Always and forever.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

With empty boxes collected and the blankets folded back up, Ariyana looks down at her mother’s gravestone. “I hope you understand, Mom. Love you.” The car ride is DJ’ed, like usual, Ariyana’s playlist and things are easy again. 

It’s about a week later as Ariyana gathers her books from the dining room table for school, when she notices a tiny pride flag pinned to the front pouch of her backpack. She didn’t buy that. Not even in her venture to the mall with Elizabeth last Saturday and they stopped at a small kiosk that was selling a bunch of pins. Elizabeth bought one, if she remembered correctly. But not her. 

“Ready to go, Ari?”

“Dad, did I buy that pin?” she asks, pointing to her brown canvas bag. 

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to leave it there. But I know you’re into pins now.” That explains it. He bought and pinned it there. And if she knows anything, inside will be a bottle of orange juice and some candy, in case she needs the sugar boost during the day. She hates that he does it, but as of late, she’s needed then more and more. 

“When’s my doctor’s appointment again?”

“Tomorrow, Tuesday. 1:30. I’ll be there to get you before your lunch time.”

“I’m going to miss trig.”

“You mean you’re going to miss Elizabeth,” Calum corrects, shouldering the loaded up backpack. 

“No, I’m failing trig, not failing in my relationship.”

“Smart ass,” he laughs as they shuffle out of the door. “C’mon. You’ve got a test first period and you’re not being late as an excuse.”

“Oh, c’mon, Dad. It’s World History. I can ace it in my sleep.” 

It’s true, but still, he’s not going to risk it. Ariyana plays with her phone, mostly texting but Calum’s not shocked. When his stops in the parking lot, the buses are already lined up and unloading. Ariyana grabs her bag, but not before leaning across the console and kissing Calum on his cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Kick ass on that test. Don’t be afraid to go to the nurse’s office or call me if you feel another dizzy spell, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Tell Elizabeth I said hi, alright?” 

Ariyana can’t stop the smile as she shuts the door. The window already rolled down. “You love having that power, don’t you?”

Calum laughs, leaning forward into the steering wheel but not pressing down on the horn. “C’mon your pops has to have a little fun, ya know.” 

She rolls her eyes, wishing she could seriously be upset. But instead, all there is is elation. She calls out another ‘love you’ and then starts towards the front doors. Right on the curb is Elizabeth, waiting for her. Their embrace is quick and they shuffle inside, hand in hand. There’s a moment, where there’s a small pause, Ari showing off the pin and Calum can only grin watching them. “You’re probably already seeing this Jaz. But God, she’s growing up fast. Her first girlfriend. Like, fuck, I’m getting old. So old, but I hope you’re proud. I hope she’s everything you wanted in a daughter. I hope I’m doing you proud.”

Calum knows he’s been watching too long when the buses start to leave. But part of him is worried. Afraid that he’ll pull out of the parking lot and she’ll wind up in the nurse's office waiting for him to rush to get her. He’s worried that he’s going to pull off and when he comes back she’s going to graduate. It might be her second year in high school but it already feels like with every blink she keeps growing up. He can’t stop her. He can’t keep her as that babbling baby on his chest who’d laugh at the raspberries on her cheeks. 

It’s on the drive back home, when there’s no music, no laughing from his right. When it’s just him and the road and the breeze floating in that he feels something on his cheek. It’s warm for a quick moment, even tinkles, and then gone. It’s not a bug, not some stray piece of hair. It encompassed his whole cheek and he thinks it was Jazmyne, cupping his cheek, like she always did before she’d pinched his cheeks. It never failed to annoy him. 

A tear slips from his eye. At the last red light before turning into his neighborhood, he doesn’t stop the ones that overflow the waterlines of his eyes. “I know you’re there.”

Tagging: @5-secondsofcolor @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles

[ferretfreedomfighters]

⁣JUSTICE FOR JESSE⁣⁣ - A Marshall Ferret Story

❌⁣ ❌⁣ Marshall Ferrets is the leading ferret mill in North America. They supply most of the pet stores in the USA with ferrets and pet stores across all of North America with ferret supplies. Marshall Ferrets is first and foremost a ferret mill. Ferret mills force female ferrets to breed out of season by injecting them with hormones, take their babies away from them when they are far too young, and over breed their females in order to meet the supply and demand needs put forth by their customers. Along with this, Marshall Ferret’s products are absolutely awful for ferrets: their malt paste and treats contains harmful sugars and carcinogens, their ferret kibble is essentially McDonalds for ferrets, and their toys are easily destroyed which creates choking and blockage hazards.

But, capitalism persists. This company rakes in millions of dollars every year, and they won’t stop until the money stops coming in. Please consider boycotting Marshalls and not purchasing any ferrets from pet stores, or buying any products that come from this terrible and unethical company. ❌⁣ ❌⁣

Here is Jesse’s story:

“My husband and I adopted two ferrets from another home on October 12, 2018. Jesse and Jax, two-year-old brothers. The home they came from had much left to be desired. They were fed Marshall's kibble, were bathed monthly with Marshall's shampoo, and were given Marshall's Ferretvite supplement and Marshall's Peanut-butter flavored Bandits for treats. They lived on Marshall's products. We had them checked out at the vet and they were both given a clean bill of health aside from Jesse's slightly enlarged spleen. The vet wasn't worried, so we weren't worried. We're fairly certain he also had Waardenburg's syndrome based on the shape of his head and his nonchalant demeanor, but he was never officially diagnosed. We switched their food to something much healthier for them, and stopped bathing them. ⁣⁣⁣⁣ ⁣⁣⁣⁣ Between the two of them, Jesse was much more laid-back. My husband often called him his spirit animal. If Jesse wasn't napping, he was eating, and if he wasn't eating, he was lazily following his brother or our kitten around the living room. He loved scritches, especially on his butt and would lick my hand if I hit an especially good itch. While Jax would play with us and chase ping-pong balls and feather toys, Jesse would ignore them. He would much rather be napping somewhere cozy. There was only one occasion where they played together. I remember that it was the only time they actually played together like normal ferrets because I was so excited to see it that I got it on video. Our first indication that something was very very wrong happened on the evening of Sunday, January 5, 2019. Jesse hadn't gotten up at all since about noon that day, not even to eat or go potty. We agreed that if he wasn't better by morning, we would take him to the vet. He didn't improve. He was more lethargic than before, wobbly on his feet, and didn't want to eat. He could barely stand to relieve himself. We rushed him to the local emergency vet that morning. A few hours later they sent him home with us with medicine and a food supplement. He was doing better throughout that afternoon.⁣⁣⁣⁣

Our first indication that something was very very wrong happened on the evening of Sunday, January 5, 2019. Jesse hadn't gotten up at all since about noon that day, not even to eat or go potty. We agreed that if he wasn't better by morning, we would take him to the vet. He didn't improve. He was more lethargic than before, wobbly on his feet, and didn't want to eat. He could barely stand to relieve himself. We rushed him to the local emergency vet that morning. A few hours later they sent him home with us with medicine and a food supplement. He was doing better throughout that afternoon. The next morning, he seemed to have improved more. He was more active and enthusiastically ate his breakfast. So I went to work, and my husband left to run some errands. We felt confident that he was fine. My husband came home a few hours later, and... Jesse was completely unresponsive. Barely lifted his head for his favorite treat. He called me, and 5 minutes later we rushed back to the emergency vet. They tried everything: a second round of x-rays, ultrasound, steroids, pain medication. Nothing worked... The doctor recommended euthanasia late that night. He slipped away as I was holding his little head in the palm of my hand. We made sure to let him know that he was loved. So, so loved.”

Jesse is not the first, and certainly wont be the last, Marshall ferret to leave his owners much too young. Unhealthy breeding practices are the tip of the iceberg when it comes to problems with Marshall Ferrets. Do your part to stop the breeding of ferrets at ferret hell (aka MF). Do not buy ferrets from pet stores. Do not purchase any Marshall products (this includes toys, cage accessories, food, treats, and shampoos). We have the power to make a difference for ferrets across North America.

If you have a story about a mill bred ferret that you would like to share, please send it to our submit box so we can use it to help educate.

[trolldomblog]

Seidr & Norse Shamanism

In Old Norse, seiðr (sometimes anglicized as seidhr, seidh, seidr, seithr, seith, or seid) was a type of sorcery practiced in Norse society during the Late Scandinavian Iron Age. The practice of seiðr is believed to be a form of magic relating to both the telling and shaping of the future. Connected with Norse religion, its origins are largely unknown, although it became gradually eroded following the Christianization of Scandinavia. Accounts of seiðr later made it into sagas and other literary sources, while further evidence has been unearthed by archaeologists. Various scholars have debated the nature of seiðr, some arguing that it was shamanic in context, involving visionary journeys by its practitioners.

Seiðr practitioners were of both sexes, although females are more widely attested, with such sorceresses being variously known as vǫlur, seiðkonur and vísendakona. There were also accounts of male practitioners, known as seiðmenn, but in practicing magic they brought a social taboo, known as ergi, on to themselves, and were sometimes persecuted as a result. In many cases these magical practitioners would have had assistants to aid them in their rituals.

In pre-Christian Norse mythology, seiðr was associated with both the god Oðinn, a deity who was simultaneously responsible for war, poetry and sorcery, and the goddess Freyja, a member of the Vanir who was believed to have taught the practice to the Æsir.

In the 20th century, adherents of various modern pagan new religious movements adopted forms of magico-religious practice that include seiðr. The practices of these contemporary seiðr-workers have since been investigated by various academic researchers operating in the field of pagan studies. Darkness covers the tents scattered across the drying grass of the festival grounds with a kindly shadow; at the far end of the sloping valley, the cliffs are edged by the first silver shimmer of the rising moon. As its light grows, it outlines a canvas pavilion and glimmers on the upturned faces of the folk gathered before it. They are gazing at a tall chair like a throne, but higher and draped with a bearskin, where a veiled figure waits, her body motionless, her face in shadow.

“The gate is passed, the seidhkona waits,” says the woman sitting on the fur-covered stool below the high seat. “Is there one here who would ask a question?”

After a moment’s hesitation, someone rises. He must decide whether to move from his present home or continue where he is. What should he do? What fate does the Völva see?

“Speak now, seeress, ’till said thou hast. Answer the asker ’till all he knows. . .” says the leader. And after a moment the seidhkona, her voice harsh as if it comes from a great distance, begins to answer him.

This could be a scene from the world of our ancestors, but in fact the ritual described above took place at a pagan festival in Northern California. For the past three years, a group called Hrafnar (“the Ravens”) has been performing a reconstruction of the Old Norse seidh ritual as a service to the community. The group has worked outdoors in rain or moonlight, in an underground bunker, and in living rooms; for groups of forty or more people, or for only two or three. In addition to assisting in personal growth, our purpose has been to demonstrate the validity of the shamanic tradition of Northern Europe, and to serve the larger pagan community to which we belong as the Völvas of Scandinavia served their people. The procedure has undergone many changes during that time, and continues to evolve, but we have now learned enough so that it seems appropriate to share our findings.

Norse Shamanism

The form of divination described above is one of a group of practices referred to as Seidh, which bear a strong resemblance to activities which in other cultures are called Shamanism. In order to understand what Hrafnar is trying to do, one needs to know something about Shamanism in general and how it was practiced in the northern lands.

Shamanism may well claim to be the oldest type of spiritual practice still in use among humankind. Evidence for activities similar to those of later shamans can be seen in the Paleolithic cave paintings. Shamanic practices have survived at all the edges of the inhabited world, with remarkable similarities in both technique and symbolism appearing in places as disparate as Siberia and Tierra del Fuego. Such a broad dispersal suggests that shamanism was practiced by homo sapiens at a very early stage of development, before its dispersion into different cultures. With such a venerable and extensive history, one would expect to find evidence of shamanic practice in the pre-Christian cultures of Northern Europe as well.

A careful analysis of Norse and Celtic sources suggests that this is indeed true. To the reader familiar with the literature of shamanism, many of the visionary and magical feats attributed to both Druids and Old Norse vitkis or völvas seem strongly reminiscent of shamanic practices. The Icelandic sagas are rich in accounts of magic of all kinds, including spirit journeys, weather working, healing, prophecy, and shape changing. Some of the Scandinavian practices may well have been learned from the Saami (Lapps) or Finns, but accounts from Celtic and even Greek legend support a belief in native Indo-European shamanism as well.

 Seidr

The practice for which we have the most information is called seidh (nominative case in Old Norse, seidhr), which may come from a word meaning “to speak” or “to sing”, or possibly be cognate to the verb “to seethe”, derived from the rituals of salt-boiling (Grimm, III:1047). According to Stephen Glosecki,

The etymology of seidhr, however, suggests indigenous development, perhaps retention of Indo-European practice. The mysterious term is cognate with French séance, Latin sedere; Old English sittan, and thus with a large group of terms based on the Indo-European root *sed-. A seidhr, then, was literally a séance — a “sitting” to commune with the spirits.

— (Shamanism and Old English Poetry, p. 97)

In the literature, seidh refers to various kinds of magical practice, including an act of divination or prophecy performed while in trance. Other terms for the practitioner of seidh would be seidhkona, spákona, or for a man, seidhmadhr. A more general term for a male spiritual practitioner was vitki (in Anglo-Saxon, wicca or [fem.] wicce). At an earlier period, both men and women appear to have practiced this craft. Male practitioners of seidh included Ragnvald Rettilbeini (the son of King Harald Fair hair, who was burned by Erik Bloodaxe at their father’s command along with the men who worked seidh with him), and Eyvindr Kelda, who was drowned by King Olaf. However, the majority of those who practice seidh in the sagas are female. The strong feminine tradition makes this form of shamanism especially interesting to women.

Skill in seidh was a specialty of the god Odin. It is said to have been taught to the Aesir by the goddess Freyja (Ynglingasaga: 4) and parts of the practice probably originated with the Vanir cult. On the other hand, Odin was himself originally a shamanic deity, who seems to have acquired this magical technique in addition to his mastery of the runes and other lore. In part VII of the Ynglingasaga, we learn that —

Odin had the skill which gives great power and which he practiced himself. It is called seith, and by means of it he could know the fate of men and predict events that had not yet come to pass; and by it he could also inflict bane on men, or soul loss or waning health, or also take wit or power from some men, and give them to others. But this sorcery is attended by such ergi [a term meaning sexual, or spiritual, receptivity used as an insult] that manly men considered it shameful to practice it, and so it was taught to priestesses.

Odin could change himself. His body then lay as if sleeping or dead, but he became a bird or a wild beast, a fish or a dragon, and journeyed in the twinkling of an eye to far-off lands, on his own errands or those of other men. Also, with mere words he was able to extinguish fires, to calm the seas, and to turn the winds any way he pleased.

A passage from the Lokasenna is of especial interest, since if the verb in the second line is examined carefully, it may provide evidence for Norse use of the shamanic drum. Taunting Odin, Loki says–

But thou in Samsey wast performing seidh

And beating out (spells) like a Völva,

Vitki-like didst pass through the world of men,

In woman’s wise, I believe.

— (Lokasenna: 24)

Other practices identified as seidh include raising storms, journeying or battling in animal form, sending a nightmare to kill someone by suffocation in his sleep, and love spells, all things with which shamans in other cultures are credited (or accused of) as well. Journeying, both in the body and in trance, is a standard practice in Norse literature. Destinations vary, there are references to travel in Midgard (viewing other parts of the real world) and seeking Odin’s Seat of Seeing in Asgard. However, by far the most common use of the term seidh is in reference to a ritual in which the seeress (völva or seiðkona) sits on a platform or high seat (seidhjallr), goes into trance and prophesies for the community. It is this practice which Hrafnar has to date spent the most time in recovering.

The most comprehensive account of a seidh session (or indeed, of any Norse ritual) which survives is the story in section four of the Saga of Erik the Red, in which a Völva comes to one of the settlements in Greenland to prophesy for the community. The idea that physically elevating the seer will assist in vision also seems to be behind the tripod upon which the Delphic Pythia sat to prophesy, and perhaps the tree trunk which the Machi shamaness of the Araucanian tribe of South America climbs in order to declare her visions as well.

In former times the machi mounted a platform supported by shrubs (the rewe) and there, in prolonged contemplation of the sky, she had her visions… When the machi has returned to her senses, she describes her journey to the sky, and announces that the Sky Father has granted all the wishes of the community.

— (Eliade: Shamanism, p.325)

The important features of the seidh rite in Erik’s Saga are as follows: The Völva was an itinerant priestess, requested to come to the steading to divine for them when the current famine would end. Other texts suggest that formerly such priestesses travelled with a group of younger people, perhaps in training, but at this period the Spákona Thorbjorg alone remained. When she arrived, she was given an opportunity to get to know the place, and then fed a meal of the hearts of all the different kinds of beasts available (possibly a reference to a sacrifice, in which the rest of the meat would have been eaten by the others). In Irish tradition, an offering to the gods was also sometimes a prerequisite to prophecy.

To prophesy, the Greenland Völva sat upon a raised seat with a cushion stuffed with hen feathers. To enable her to go into trance, a special song, the vardhlokur, was sung by a woman, which summoned the spirits. As a result, the seeress prophesied the end of the famine, and also answered many questions for members of the community. She wore a special costume, consisting of a blue cloak ornamented with stones, a necklace of glass beads, a cap of black lambskin lined with white cat skin, cat skin gloves, and calfskin shoes. A belt supported her skin pouch of magical paraphernalia and a walrus ivory handled knife, and she carried a carven staff with a brass knob, also set with stones. The most significant aspects of this attire are probably the inclusion of different kinds of animal fur, especially the skins of the cat, sacred to Freyja, and the staff, which appears in a 6th century plaque which may depict a priestess, and is among the items forbidden to Christians. In Laxdælasaga, a seidh staff is found in a grave believed to be that of a völva.

The Hrafnar Seidh Ritual

In the references to prophetic seidh which have survived, attention focuses on the questions, and beyond the information that a special song was sung, little is said about the techniques used to achieve vision. However, in studying the Eddas, we note that the Voluspá; BaldersdraumR, and the Shorter Seeress’ Prophecy all recount episodes in which Odhinn journeys to the Underworld to consult the Völva. These stories suggest two possibilities — the first is that the place in which prophetic vision is found is Hel, home of the ancestral spirits, and second is that the process of questioning was structured according to a traditional formula to which the seer was conditioned to respond. In seidh as performed by Hrafnar, singing is used to change consciousness and raise energy, the journey to the Underworld serves to bring everyone to the source of knowledge, and the formulaic questioning keeps the visionary state under control.

The first step is purification with the smoke of sacred herbs. Today smudging is most familiar from Native American tradition, but the practice of smoking with herbs (called recels) is found in Anglo-Saxon sources and elsewhere in European folklore. The purpose of the practice is to help people get rid of tensions and preoccupations that would prevent them from focusing on the work at hand. The leader or householder then defines the space to be used for the ceremony. One or more of the participants may orient and balance the group by honoring the directions and the local nature spirits. Finally, the gods in general and those deities particularly associated with seidh are invoked. With each step, the group moves deeper into the world of Norse myth. By the time the journeying begins, everyone should be caught up by the momentum of the ceremony.

None of this is strictly necessary for the practice of seidh. However Christian denunciations of pagan prophetic practice indicate that the gods were invoked before performing divination. More important is the psychological function of these activities. Taking time to establish Sacred Space provides a transitional period in which the participants can release the preoccupations of the day and their identities in the modern world and move into the world of Nordic myth. It is also useful to define the area of the ritual, especially when a ceremony is being performed in someone’s living room.

Wearing authentic clothing helps all of the participants make that psychological transition, just as wearing a cap or cape with skins or pictures of one’s power animal and other symbols helps the shaman to function. A great deal of this could be classed as theater, but any analysis of the shamanic literature will make the dramatic element in most traditional practices quite clear.

‘Tis time to sing at the Seat of Thul,

At the well of Urdh to welcome wisdom. . .”

With these words from the Havamál we move into the heart of the ritual, preparation for the prophetic trance begins. The seidh journey is powered by the energy raised by dance and drumming, chant and song. As in traditional societies, an exchange takes place between shaman and people in which the energy of the community enables the shaman to journey farther and faster to bring back the knowledge they need. The forms this takes may vary. Sometimes Hrafnar ceremonies include fiddlers who play Swedish folk music to get people into the mood. More often, we use the drum. The drummer should begin a strong beat to which all may sway, clap, etc. and if there is room, dance in a line or spiral which becomes a circle again, or only the seer/esses may dance. This is followed by the power songs of the seer/esses. A whistle may signal the end of the preparatory phase.

The Guide or drummer then begins a slow beat, and Guide begins the induction, or the Seer/ess may narrate the journey. It begins with instructions to relax the limbs, to deepen and regularize the breathing. Then people are directed to visualize a familiar outdoor spot from which a path leads downward and into a forest. The trees arch overhead to form a tunnel, through which one passes to the Sacred Grove. This is the barrier between the real world and Midgard, which is the Mid-world, the non-ordinary version of our normal plane of existence. In the center of the Sacred Grove rises Yggdrasil, the world tree. From this point, the journey incorporates imagery from traditional Underworld journeys, ending before the Gate, where all except the Seer/ess remain during the questioning.

The journey always follows the same general outline. Since this is being done aloud, the rest of the group hears and is carried along on the journey. In practice, each participant interprets the narration through his or her own symbol system, so that each person’s journey is different, although everyone arrives at the same goal. Each seer/ess or Guide visualizes the journey and narrates it in his or her own way, however the route is always essentially the same. As the group has continued to work together, members have influenced each other’s visions of the road.

This shared vision is the equivalent of the culture-specific interpretation of the Otherworld inherited by members of a traditional society. It also places the entire group in a rapport which facilitates the divination. Some symbols are universal, but the visions of individuals in a traditional culture tend to consist of images which other members of that culture can recognize and understand. By intentionally furnishing the first part of the journey with images from Norse culture, we increase the probability that the original material that follows will come from the same stratum of the collective unconscious, providing an integrated and comprehensible experience.

It is important to note that the Hel of Germanic mythology is by no means the same as the Hell of Christianity, to which, in English, it gave its name. Although Loki’s daughter Hella, who rules it, is in part a goddess of death and decay, the other side of her face is young and beautiful. Hel appears to include both the horrors of the grave and the beauty of the Undying Lands. Green plants flourish there even when in the world it is winter. Hel is the world beneath the mound — the world of the ancestors.

The topography of the Underworld appears to have been thoroughly mapped by the ancients; there is a remarkable degree of agreement in the accounts of journeys– the obstacles to be surmounted, the rivers crossed, the beings encountered on the way. Such a definitive tradition suggests generations of journeying. This pathway through the collective unconscious has been well surveyed.

Although the entire group makes the journey to the Underworld together, only the seer takes the further step of going through the gates, and only after formally indicating his or her willingness to do so. If the first Seer/ess has guided the journey, at this point a second person takes over as Guide. The chant is sung by everyone, to a medieval Norwegian melody. The music and the drumming carry the Seer/ess as s/he visualizes going through the Gateway into the Underworld. Individual experiences of this second stage of trance vary, however all agree that a definite shift in consciousness occurs. The experience is generally pleasant. For some, the stimulus of a question is required for images to form, others begin to see spirits etc. as soon as they arrive.

In the Eddas, Odin generally begins by chanting a spell to summon the Völva from her mound and stating his magical name and powers. He signals his question by saying– “Cease not, Völva, till said thou hast; answer the asker till all he knows….” (Baldrsdraumr 8, etc.). The Völva signals that she has finished with one answer and is ready for a new question by saying, “I tell thee much, yet more lore have I; thou needs must know this — wilt know still more?” (line 4, etc.). or in Voluspá, “Wit you more, or how?”

This pattern is the model for the interaction between the Guide and the seer/ess during Seidh trance. The role of the Guide at this point is to act as intermediary between the group as a whole, still in first stage trance, and the Seer/ess. In the orientation, people should be warned to make their questions as simple and specific as possible. The Guide signals questioners to begin and signals the end of a sequence. S/he also maintains sufficient rapport with the Seer/ess to tell when the Seer/ess is tiring and end the session. If there are more questions than the first Seer/ess can handle, a second and if required a third speaker is put up into the high seat and the sequence from the singing onward repeated.

Some querents may have questions involving the dead, or there may be times when a seer/ess senses spirits who are eager to communicate. Given that we are invading the realm of the spirits for this work, it seems only just that from time to time they should be allowed to have their say. The seer/ess may hear and transmit the message, or in some cases, allow the spirit to speak through him/her. This kind of communication, however, should be handled carefully, and special care should be taken in bringing the seer/ess back to ordinary consciousness.

When all questions have been answered, the Guide brings the last Seer/ess back through the Gate, but s/he may stay in High Seat for journey home. To the beat of the drum, the Guide narrates return journey in reverse order from entry. At the end of the narration, the Guide or a singer may sing another song to help people make the transition back to ordinary reality.

The final part of the ritual recapitulates the actions of the opening in reverse order, assisting all participants to make an orderly transition back to normal reality. Tasting rock salt is helpful in grounding, and distributing it provides an opportunity to make sure that everyone has in fact shifted back to ordinary consciousness. We always try to have food and drink available afterward to continue this process and replace expended energy. The social atmosphere of sharing food also provides a supportive environment in which people can debrief and discuss the interpretation of their answers.

The larger the group being served, the more useful a division of labor in the ceremony becomes. Roles include that of the Seer/ess, the Guide, one or more Wardens to assist in getting seers in and out of the chair and recovering as well as watching out for problems in the group as a whole, and of course, the people who are asking the questions. Each of these functions is important, and each requires preparation and training.

The element that makes seidh different from individual shamanic journeying is the presence of the people with the questions. The Harner technique in which a shaman journeys to obtain a vision for a client, helps him or her to interpret it, and teaches him to continue working in this way on his own occupies a middle position between solo work and seidh. Seidh allows a shaman, or seer, to use a single journey to see for many people in a way which recreates the culturally supportive environment of a traditional setting. In fact, only if there are several people seeking information of this kind does it make sense to put on such an elaborate ceremony. It might be said, therefore, that next to the seer/ess, the people are the most important participants.

Despite the fact that others lead the journey, the role of the querent should not be a passive one. Adding to the number of people sharing the vision seem to increase its intensity. Even an experienced journeyer may find the trip more vivid when others are along. The presence of a group provides an automatic support network which helps to validate the experience, and the energy and excitement created by group chanting provides extra power to carry the seer/ess into the second level of trance.

It is the responsibility of the querent to frame the question in a way that will provide a useful answer, so s/he should spend some thought on choosing the subject and be specific about how it is described. Questions should be narrowed down so that a single short vision will provide useful information. They should be serious, and they should be important to the asker. In asking their questions and interpreting the seidhkona’s replies, Querents would be well advised to heed the advice Socrates gave to Xenopohon regarding oracles. According to the master, it is stupid to ask questions which can be answered by research, reason or ethical principles.

In short, what the gods have granted us to do by dint of learning, we must learn. What is hidden from mortals we should try to find out from the gods by divination; for to him that is in their grace the gods grant signs.

— Xenophon, Memorabilia, LCL, trans. O.J. Todd, vol. 4, pp. 5-7

Ancient writers such as Epictetus also point out the necessity of approaching the oracle with a completely detached and open mind, determined to put the answer to good use, whatever it may be.

Interestingly enough, we have found that a vision will sometimes answer more than one question — the one that triggered it, and a question which someone else in the group is waiting to ask. The visions may stimulate insights in those who have not yet asked their questions or did not know they had one. Others simply “hang out” in a comfortable state or do their own spiritual work until it is time to return.

The greater the need of the querent, the more powerful the vision will be. The process is essentially interactive. Seer and querents have already been placed in rapport by journeying together; the seer uses his or her skills to reach a level of consciousness in which information and images can be accessed with great efficiency, but the questions, especially those coming from complete strangers, evoke the images, and validate the seer’s belief in his or her skills.

The querent therefore needs to stay as focused as possible, to sing enthusiastically when required, and to formulate his or her question as simply and clearly as possible. The more open the querent is to the experience, the more powerful the answer. In some cases, the answer may be something the querent has been told before, or a thing that could be communicated just as well in a less elaborate setting. The fact that the information is communicated when both parties are in an altered state seems to give it more impact. The images which are the most common type of response can have great power, and even ordinary information conveyed in trance may acquire profound significance. In any case, the querent is more likely to remember and understand advice received in this way.

The only equipment really needed for seidh is the mind. However, like shamans in traditional societies, in Hrafnar we have found that when one is working with a group, a certain amount of dramatic technique increases the effectiveness of the process. Physical symbols, which speak to the unconscious, help us to convince ourselves and those who work with us that we are indeed recreating the spirituality of our ancestors. Thus, in addition to researching the process itself, we have studied the culture from which it came, and tried, as much as possible, to recreate its clothing and artifacts. The effectiveness of this may be judged by one attendee’s comment that the experience felt like participating in something out of National Geographic.

Results

Seidh is not intended to replace other spiritual or therapeutic practices. Its benefits, as with any experience, depend on the use that is made of them. The ritual appears to have two major effects. The first is to provide spiritual counselling for a maximum number of people in a single session. The second is to give people a powerful sense of participation in a spiritual experience in the Northern European tradition. Many querents have reported that the answers they received were extremely accurate, and that they received new insights into their situations.

The Hrafnar seidh procedure is now reasonably well tested. Both women and men have been trained and seem to function equally well. Several of the seers are able to handle a roomful of questions with minimal assistance. Others are able to take several questions at a time with some support. Clearly, this is a skill which becomes easier with practice. The group has become known as a resource available to the local community and is beginning to work with other Norse groups such as the Ring of Troth. Hrafnar performs seidh at several annual festivals as well as on special occasions. In the future, we will continue to train more seer/esses, and give them the experience they need to function more and more independently.

[fandomn00blr]

Dread Moon, Chapter 15: Epilogue(s)

[Note: This is the whole chapter, cuz I couldn’t decide which part I liked best, and some of these will become spin-offs or more detailed one-offs. @figgypudz is real excited about Dorian, Bull, and Merrill living together sitcom-style in Kirkwall (I am, too...it’s cute!), and I have so much fluff planned for Anders and her OC Alarion, whom I rescued and adopted (stole) so they could join up with Amell and her rogue Wardens! Everyone gets a happy ending...until Trespasser.]

---

As expected, Sera and Dagna’s wedding was an unforgettable experience for everyone in attendance. Varric gifted Sera and Dagna advanced reader copies of All This Shit is Weird and asked them to help him write their own fluffy chapter about their relationship. It focused mainly on burnt cookies and red lyrium. Cassandra was terribly jealous.

After a few weeks of travelling through Ferelden, Merrill was beginning to miss Kirkwall, and Dorian was eager to see what he’d purchased. The estate ended up being better than anyone had anticipated, large enough to easily accommodate all three of them, along with all of the Chargers, should they ever wish to visit. Merrill quickly befriended all the ghosts and spirits that lingered there, and it became an important waypoint for much of Dorian’s ongoing work with Maevaris and the Lucerni, and allowed them all to easily coordinate with Fenris and Isabela in their continuing efforts to undermine the Tevinter slave trade.

Anders and Alarion found the Hero of Ferelden in the Deep Roads and actually fit in quite nicely with her rogue group of Wardens. Even Carver put aside his differences with the apostate who’d made his sister an accessory to terrorism and welcomed him like the wayward older brother he’d never had nor really ever wanted. Alarion was continually amazed by all the legendary people Anders knew from all his past adventures, including the King of Ferelden and Divine Victoria, all of whom worked within their various capacities to support Solona in her search for a ‘cure’ to the Darkspawn Taint. While Anders could barely be bothered to write to his Kirkwall friends, Solona made sure her cousin and her friends knew that he was healthy...and happy, and even sent him and Alarion on ridiculous errands that got them close enough for a quick visit every now and then.

The ‘Kirkwall Degenerates’ continued their efforts to rebuild Kirkwall into a shining example of a post-Rebellion city, welcoming of both mages and “recovering Templars,” as Hawke called them. Except Mettin. He was never seen in Kirkwall again, and rumors circulated that he had been haunted to madness by a ghost who looked like one of the young mages he’d been especially cruel to when he served in the Gallows. But Varric swore he saw someone who looked an awful lot like him distributing food to those orphaned by the Mage-Templar War on one of his 'diplomatic visits' with the King of Ferelden.

They also worked to improve the living conditions in the slums outside of Kirkwall, even dragging Dorian into the efforts to elevate the residential areas above the Chokedamp that swirled in from the surrounding marshlands, essentially building a ‘floating city’ connected by a series of bridges and platforms that even the ancient elves would’ve been proud of. Well, maybe. Merrill thought it was really neat, anyway.

Aveline and her City Guard successfully defended the city against numerous attacks from Starkhaven and from other surrounding cities who sought to take advantage of the city’s lack of a Viscount (until Hawke nominated Varric), with help from their Inquisition allies, of course. Donnic retired from the City Guard to stay home with their daughter, Leandra, who was the most doted on child in the entire city thanks to her numerous aunts and uncles. She received her first set of daggers on her third birthday from her Aunt Marian “they’re Dwarven so they’re perfect for a toddler” Hawke.

Bethany’s Kirkwall College of Magic and Enchantment became renowned for specializing in the ‘Healing Arts and Sciences.’ She welcomed mages from all schools of magic, and other non-mage experts, even including forward-thinking Chantry sisters, to serve as both teachers and students in one of the most innovative, cross-discipline medical research programs Thedas had ever seen. After receiving an anonymous donation to expand the program and build a state-of-the-art free clinic where the healers could work and learn through firsthand experience, she decided to locate it in Darktown, naming it “The Kirkwall Center for Medical Justice,” with a nod toward two of their most controversial guest lecturers. The feral cats that the clinic displaced were all neutered and allowed to roam the sewers as they pleased, which at least kept the rodent population at bay.

Leliana and Vivienne made a formidable team in Orlais, and Divine Victoria tried not to take it personally when Madame de Fer’s most loyal supporters began referring to her Left Hand as the “Iron Divine,” in contrast to Leliana, whom they referred to derisively as the “Nug Divine,” a title she eagerly reclaimed. They obviously disagreed on a number of issues, but their mutual respect and admiration, even friendship, for one another motivated them to find solutions and compromises that supported mages and strengthened the Chantry’s resolve not to fall back into its old misguided ways and abuses of power.

As promised, Evelyn began making plans for a life with Cullen outside of Skyhold and the Inquisition’s demands. They visited his sister, and he showed her what remained of his childhood home in Honnleath, and she took him home to Ostwick to meet her family. More than two years after the Inquisition’s decisive victory over Corypheus and his ‘hole in the sky,’ a letter on fancy paper, sealed by the Divine herself, came all the way from Orlais, hand-delivered by one of her own personal couriers...

---

Inquisitor Trevelyan,

The leaders of Ferelden and Orlais have requested that an Exalted Council be held at Halamshiral in order to review the activities and future pursuits of the Inquisition. Your presence, along with whatever representatives you see fit to attend, is requested, as the discussions and decisions made therein will impact you directly.

Sincerely,

Divine Victoria

---

A few minutes later, a raven arrived from the west, carrying another note written in Leliana’s chicken scratch on much more ordinary-looking stationery, bearing the Nightingale’s seal:

---

Evelyn,

By now, you should’ve received my ‘official correspondence’ regarding the Exalted Council. Forgive me if this comes as a surprise. Vivienne and I have done our best to shield you from these petty political matters as long as we could. You have allies all over Thedas, but it seems a few powerful people wish to forget what you’ve done for us all during this time of relative peace. Rumors of mysterious elven agents connected to the Inquisition haven’t helped. I’ve sent word to Josephine, Varric, Dorian, and our other ambassadors scattered about, and I’m assuming Cassandra, Cullen, and the others at Skyhold would also be willing to join you. Please bring as many supporters as you’re comfortable with...the more advocates we have, the better positioned you’ll be to decide for yourself what is to become of the Inquisition.

Take care, and try not to worry (too much),

Leliana

---

An addendum, in Vivienne’s elegant handwriting, read:

My dear...I know how you feel about the Winter Palace, but I promise the spa is one of the finest in all of Thedas, and you’ll be treated to some much-deserved rest and relaxation once all this unpleasantness has been dealt with. Don’t fret. We’ll get through this.

---

[jeanjauthor]

Resting Writer’s Face

Just shared a post where black men have days & places where Resting Bitch Face is a thing...and it made me think of the fact that Resting Writer’s Face is also a thing, but I did not want to hijack that thread, because it is too important in tone and content, and this is like, veering away and doing a 270 loop to go off in a different direction.

With that said...

Resting Writer’s Face isn’t quite like Resting Bitch Face.

First off, what is Resting Bitch Face?  Urban Dictionary and Wikipedia both list it as essentially the expression on a face (usually a female’s) that appears to a particular viewer to be mean, contemptuous, annoyed, irritated, cold-spirited, etc...when in actuality the person (again, the vast majority being female) is actually not feeling any of those emotions, or any other emotion, really.

It’s most commonly seen in females, because of Culturally Widespread Male Expectations™ that women are supposed to smile whenever a man is near, because females are supposed to be (pressured by culture & society) constantly pleasant and be upbeat and deferential and adoring and *gagging noises*...you get the point. 

When a male does not receive this “beautification” of his world, he feels robbed of what he views as the “right way” that a woman should behave in his presence, or “the way that things are supposed to be.”  And when he sees a culturally beautiful woman NOT smiling, he doubles-down on how “wrong” this feels...because doesn’t everything we consume in entertainment, media, culture, society, fantasy, etc, etc, all demand that Women Exist To Make The World More Beautiful For All (even the vast majority, and thust very mediocre, of) Men? *more gagging noises*

Resting Writer Face is...a little different.

It’s not really resting, for a start.

It can actually get pretty lively, even.

The “resting” part is still valid in the sense of unconsciously doing what it is doing.  Because trust me, we writers aren’t always consciously thinking of what our faces are doing when we are, well, thinking.

Specifically, thinking about plots, characters, action sequences, dialogue, and the all important How Would The Character We’re Thinking About React In Such-&-Such Circumstances.

This. Happens. All. The. Time.

It happens at home oodles and lots (I’ll get to that in a moment), but mostly Resting Writer Face is a thing when it’s done in public.  Because it happens when we’re out in public, walking around between one errand and the next, between car and work, work and lunch restaurant, work and car, car and dry cleaners, pet food store, whatever, wherever.  And it happens simply because we’re thinking about, as I said, plotlines, character actions & reactions, dialogue, etc.

Talking to yourself in public used to be a shameful thing.  Nowadays...not so much.  So many people are conducting conversations on bluetooth headsets, into their phone at frikkin way too loud volumes that they’d never use to the person standing three feet away, but they use to the person on the other end of the phone three inches from their mouth, blah blah blah...but talking to yourself isn’t automagically a sign of mental health issues.

Besides, we’re usually talking to our characters, reciting bits of dialogue to test how it sounds out loud before committing it to a story, or we’re talking out our plotlines, or we’re poking at said plotlines or a particular scene to see where the holes are and whether or not we can patch them, or finding that perfect bit of clever dialogue that will goad one of the protagonists into slapping the speaker in outrage...

(My absolute favorite of that particular last one was from an old fanfic of mine, wherein one character goaded the other into slapping him by deliberately making their relationship derogatory by calling it nothing more than “a slap and tickle”...and ohhh boy, did she slap him!  He honestly did not want to be horrid to her, but needed to get her to avoid him for a while out of pure plot reasons, so it worked very well.  But I digress.)

However, even though it’s no longer publicly shamed, talking in public is still somewhat discouraged.  So, a lot of us writers will go about our business thinking through the possible thoughts and dialogues and perfect one-liner quips for that dramatic moment in the story arc.  We don’t say anything aloud, but we think it.

And that’s when Resting Writer Face comes into play.  Because if we’re really invested in trying to find the perfect response, the perfect, “If ___ happens, then I (my character) would react  in ___ way.”

And a lot of the time...our faces show those emotions, the grunts and grimaces, the scowls and grins, all in a mental rehearsal of our characters’ physical and emotional actions, reactions, and efforts...showing up unconsciously or subconsciously, or barely consciously, barely cognizantly, on our faces.

When we’re typing in front of a computer screen and another member of the household drops in on us and sees the Sometimes Very Scary Expressions our faces contort into during the mental gymnastics of feeling and thus recording the emotions we’re writing onto the .doc page (non-writers have no idea just how exhausting writing can be, for all it’s often “purely mental” in effort)...well, the first few times can actually be rather alarming for that other person.

I’ve had housemates and family members and friends all ask me if everything was okay, if I was mad at them, or upset at something they had done, and I”ve had to quickly break off what I was writing, give them a quick polite lighthearted expression, and reassure them, “No no, I’m (everything’s) fine!  I’m just writing a really intense bit in my story!  (No, really!)”

The first few times this has happened, I apparently looked pretty darn scary, and had to reassure them a few times that my Resting Bitch Face scowl or glare or whatever was actually Resting Writer Face, which is an actively emoting thing.  That the emotions on my face weren’t my emotions. 

By the fifth or sixth time I was getting interrupted...the other person usually just blinked, thought a moment, and asked  “Writing hard?” and that was that, because yes, I was...and I’d usually stop and chat, or say, “Gimme a few moments” as I tried to get the thoughts in my head onto the page...which could sometimes stretch on to several minutes and I’d have to type some keywords to help me remember, or they’d say they’d come back later, and once I got it all out of me, I’d have to go look for them to find out what they wanted.

But that’s at home at the computer...so it’s obvious that I was writing. (clicketyclacking of the keyboard keys, etc, etc...)

When writers are out in public and our minds are busy with Writing Thoughts...we get Resting Writer Face.  And by that, I mean Resting in the sense of relaxing our usual vigilance about Conforming To Cultural/Societal Expectations For Facial Expression Matching Publicly Acceptable Moods.

I’ve scared people by having Resting Writer’s Face about some fight scene, verbal or physical, while walking past those poor folks in public.  Most of the times when I notice I’m scaring folks, I just quickly assume a more pleasant expression, or even say something along the lines of,  “I’m not actually angry; I’m just thinking about something in a story I’m writing.”  Which either gets me a “Ohhh, cool!” expression of relief or the Dubious Side-Eye of “Oookaaay, Weirdo” as they move quickly on their way.

...On the bright side, when I’m in dubious surroundings (catcalling males, or dimly lit sidewalks in less than safe areas, mostly), I will adopt a cross between Resting Bitch Face and Resting Writer Face.  I will deliberately think about my protagonists being tough and badass and competently dangerous...and let those emotions and facial expressions take over.  Not just my face, but the way I walk, the way I stand, the way I carry and present myself in a particular space.  (I’ve actually even managed to get men to move out of my path by Doing This One Weird Trick.™ (lol))

I’ve also caught myself doing this to quell anxiety about things, like “What if a car crashes in front of me? How would I react to that?” or “what if someone tries to rob the bank while I’m in it?”  or “What if someone at a nearby table in this restaurant starts choking? What is the Heimlich Maneuver again?”  so on and so forth.  These things are the stuff that isn’t even going to go into a book, but we’re still thinking it through.

Actually, a lot of people do this last one, not just writers...but I’ve found it’s most prevalent as part of what it’s like being a writer.  And I’d definitely say the one group of people who are guaranteed todo it far more often than even writers do are actors.  Because that’s their job, as actors.

So.  Resting Writer Face.  What it is, why it happens, how it differs from Resting Bitch Face, etc, etc.

Just remember that most of the time, we writers aren’t even aware that we’re doing it.  We’re too caught up in the stories in our heads, both in trying to make them, and in testing how they play out, to see if any changes need to be made.  And that’s not a bad thing!

I mean, if we’re working out a troublesome plot point (”How does my male protagonist get the female to ignore him for a month, so that the bad guys don’t try to kill her because of her interest in me?  ...ooh, how about he makes her slap him, very publicly??”(or for whatever reason)), then it means we’re trying to make the story better.

And that’s a great thing for our readers...even if we make people a little wary of us at times during the story creation stages.  At least, until they get used to the Writer Things™ we do.

...Also, this is why writing isn’t just what we do when we’re physically writing out the story.  A lot of writing takes place in our heads before the words ever hit the page. 

And because nobody pays us what everyone assumes writers get paid (not even 10% of what people assume, tbh), we usually are stuck doing all this hard mental word whenever we have a moment to spare...which includes when we’re out and about in public, doing our day job, running errands, buying groceries, you name it.

[armsdealing]

RENAUD. UNKNOWN AGE – CRIMINAL, CULT LEADER, THIEF – “NIGHTMARE” – BOARD

WHO? 

most recurrently, renaud (renaud theroux, if he’s feeling generous) is the landlord of a building in the commune of La Courneuve in seine-saint-denis, france. occasionally, and more accurately, renaud is the actual owner of the building, the manager’s name being cassander lane. he seems to be quite a shady character, much like cassander, much like the building itself and its tenants, and not many (at least not those that are in on it, sure) seem to be sure of how he looks like. man sure seems to have a lot of people to work out his errands though.

WHAT? 

renaud can be a lot of things depending on who you ask. he’s regarded as a demon leaning towards the incubus subtype, or a devil, or a non-christian malignant entity, or a spirit, or a ghost. he’s even been described as simply a nightmare. he himself is rather unsure of what he is. he’s a little bit of everything and a whole lot of nothing. he’s wholly non-corporeal, a creature that can solely be through possession of other creatures, usually humans. otherwise, he’s limited to dreams, specifically nightmares or sexual dreams, from which he draws energy from.

truthfully, there’s no true way to describe him, except as a superlunary accident, a cosmic anomaly given sentience by chance. he can induce fear or arousal the likes of which can’t be measured, and he feeds from that, not necessarily because he might die if he doesn’t feed, but because he grows stronger when he does. he’s not bound by time, though he is bound by space. he can take on any shape in the dream realm, and even show up to people in proper sleep-deprived or predisposed conditions, but he does not have a physical body. instead, he has to invade one. but because it’s him, one wasn’t enough.

naturally, he created a cult.

A CULT? 

though the term is used ironically, they are more or less just that, indeed. renaud, over the decades, has gathered a specific group of individuals to “work” for him and his operation, which invariably includes being possessed by him whenever he needs a corporeal figure. his relationship to them is a mix of employer-employee and deity-followers, and it’s best described as the latter disguised as the former.

WHO ARE THE MEMBERS? 

mostly lowlifes, admittedly. people who exist on the fringes of society. people who have nothing to lose and a lot to gain from the business deal renaud offers them. outside of criminals (that range from murderers to small time street rats), renaud has pocketed a few lawyers, a couple municipal council members in la courneuve and adjacent communes, a handful of cops, custom house officers/dgddi agents, and hotel managers. in varying degrees of commitment, involvement, and loyalty, renaud has his proverbial hand in many pockets.

ARE THEY ALL VESSELS? 

no. many of them, he’s just visited in dreams or through one of his more firmly established vessels. however, they’re all aware that they could work as potential vessels at a moment’s notice. renaud tends to go for people with certain qualities, though, so some have less to worry about than others.

there’s people who have never been possessed by renaud that have been however visited by renaud and that actively believe in renaud in a religious manner. this applies to a good percentage of the courneuve building’s tenants. they might not be his body, but they most certainly are his eyes and ears.

see the following post for a glimpse at the familiar faces that make up the “inner circle”, as they’re called. if he contacts someone, chances are it’ll be through one of them.

WHAT DO THEY DO? 

long story short, they do renaud’s bidding. the side effects of said bidding include: drug running, information brokering, bribery, blackmail, forgery, smuggling, contract killing, robbery, theft, extortion, tempering, and money laundering. mostly, he’s interested in a reliable supply of bodies that help him do what he does best, and that’s being a nuisance. the crime aspect is done “for the artistic sake of it” – he couldn’t care less about money, but it sure gives you many freedoms to have a lot of it, and it keeps his vessels busy, whether that’s getting it or spending it.

IS IT REALLY A CULT? 

i’m not really interesting in discussing the semantics of the word, but it does meet a fair bit of the criteria for one. there’s varying degrees of commitment to renaud (oh, because there’s a commitment level, because he’s built himself to something like a religious idol for these people), but all of them have signed the contract with him, regardless, whether seeking youth, wealth, power, or the freedom to cause mayhem. renaud becomes a part of the people he inhabits, and they become a part of him in turn, turning almost hivemind-like (or giving the feeling of one). the core members (like cassander) have been around for a good bit now, but it is them who are the most aware and willing to give to renaud the ultimate sacrifice if comes to it – again, the most committed members are people that have nothing outside the life renaud has given them. leaving is not forbidden (if there’s something “decent” renaud can say about himself, it is that), but it’s not so common.

if it’s not a cult, it might as well be a criminal gang with quite the unorthodox religious thinking patterns.

NOTES.

Renaud deals heavily with NSFW and horror themes, especially pertaining to body horror / psychological horror / erotic horror. To roleplay with him is to understand this.

He has no face. All the faceclaims used will implicate Renaud’s possession of someone, except in dreams, where he will take either a face of his own liking, or an object of your character’s lust/fear (this would have to be discussed).

He’s not open to romantic relationships, but your character may become entangled with him (or any member of the inner circle) one way or another.

The line between Renaud/The Inner Circle, where personhood is concerned, gets blurrier by the day. When Renaud is acting through one of them, he will partially adopt their mannerisms, personality traits, among other things. This would explain him not acting the exact same way.

[ezatluba]

It’s time to start preparing Fluffy and Fido for post-pandemic life

Elizabeth Chang

NOVEMBER 30, 2020

It might seem too soon to think about preparing pets for the time humans will return to offices and schools. After all, a coronavirus vaccine isn’t expected to be widely available until spring at the earliest, which means that most Americans who were sent home to work or study remotely will remain there for at least several more months.

But according to animal expert Zazie Todd, author of “Wag: The Science of Making Your Dog Happy,” the eventual separation will be easier for pets “if you make changes gradually, starting potentially a long time beforehand.” So, in the spirit of doing what’s best for four-legged family members, we asked several experts how to prepare our pets and, let’s face it, ourselves to spend weekdays without one another’s company.

In addition to Todd, we spoke with Clive Wynne, psychology professor and director of the Canine Science Collaboratory at Arizona State University and the author of “Dog Is Love: Why and How Your Dog Loves You,” and Monique Udell, an associate professor in the Department of Animal and Rangeland Sciences at Oregon State University who has done research on cats and dogs. We also emailed with Alexandra Horowitz, who runs the Dog Cognition Lab at Barnard College and whose most recent book is “Our Dogs, Ourselves.” Here are their answers to some common questions.

Will my pets be okay when our house is suddenly empty during the day?

“The good news,” Todd said, “is that probably they will be okay for things to go back.” But if you’ve been with your pet 24/7 and are suddenly going to be gone for a large chunk of each weekday, she added, “that’s a huge change” that should be introduced gradually. Dogs and cats relish routine, Todd said. “They would prefer to get their meals at the same time every day. And your dog would rather go for walks at the same time every day.”

Wynne agreed that pets are adaptable but warned that they do have their limits. Owners should be careful: “not to push them beyond the range of what a dog, an animal, can be expected to tolerate.”

Wynne said your pet will let you know if you’ve crossed that line. “In each of these things, it’s about taking small steps and watching your animal to see that your animal is comfortable before pushing any further, and always trying to stop the process while everybody is still relaxed and comfortable.”

If you’re a cat owner who thinks none of this applies to you, think again. “I would say that cats may often actually have a stronger emotional or behavioral response to change than dogs,” Udell said, though we might not notice those reactions. Although we often think of dogs as the more social pets, Udell said, “cats can be very social, and they can engage in a lot of deep social interactions with people, whether that be petting and cuddling or play.”

What steps should I take to gradually prepare my pets for this change?

The experts advised establishing a routine that’s close to the one you will keep when life goes back to “normal.” Think about when you wake up and go to bed, when you feed them — even, Udell said, the temperature of your house and the light-dark cycle. Then, gradually include some alone time for your pets. That might be tough if you’re in an area where you’re supposed to be sticking close

to home, Todd acknowledged. “In a worst-case scenario, it might be going and sitting in your car or going for a walk for half an hour, just so that your pet gets some time on their own,” she said.

[Dogs, too, can find the pandemic disorienting]

You might have to break some habits. Walking your dog more than usual? Consider whether your pet really needs those extra walks, Horowitz said; if so, make accommodations for your dog to get them when you’re back at work. Enjoy taking the dog with you when you run a quick errand? Consider leaving your pet at home. “I love taking my dog along with me on those rare occasions when I go out,” Wynne said. But “it would be better for the dog to be reminded that I may go away, and I may go away at unpredictable times for unpredictable lengths of time, but that the world continues to be stable, and I will always come back.”

If you’ve been paying more attention to your cat because you’ve been home, you shouldn’t suddenly eliminate that engagement when you go back to work, Udell said. Instead, she suggested, start shifting those interactions to times of the day when you’ll be available post-pandemic.

And keep in mind that your pet might not be as devastated as you fear. Wynne noted that although pets enjoy interacting with people, they also need to sleep about 12 or 14 hours a day. “So if a dog has been in such a busy household that it’s overstimulated,” he said, “it’s probably just going to be grateful to get a bit more sleep.”

What about pets purchased or adopted during the pandemic? This is all they know.

“We don’t know for certain, but most likely they will have a harder time, because they haven’t experienced those routines before,” Todd said. That means you need to expose them to being alone even more gradually than the pets you owned before the pandemic, she said. “Don’t just go out for a two-hour walk and leave them home alone when they’ve never been left home alone before.”

[I hated dogs, but I hated the pandemic more. Would a puppy help?]

“Start with pointless walks around the block without your dog — just 10 minutes,” Wynne suggested. “And make sure every day you take a pointless 10-minute stroll without the dog, perverse as that will feel, and let the dog get used to this.” Then start building up the length of time you leave the dog alone.

Both Todd and Udell counseled that the once-common advice to ignore your pet when leaving or returning is out of date. Making a fuss over your dog or cat upon your return does not cause separation anxiety, Todd said. “What your animal needs,” Udell said, “is for you to be accurately responsive to their needs.”

As for pandemic kittens, Udell wasn’t convinced that they will have a harder time adjusting, because they’ve had such intensive socialization. “Meeting those needs early in that relationship and being very available and present might actually help develop a more resilient cat that does better in your absence,” she said. How new pets will react is a “giant social question that we’re all going to be experiencing at the same time,” she added. “But I’m hoping for the positive outcome.”

What if my pet barks, urinates or chews things when I’m gone?

“If the animal shows signs of distress, like, you know, peeing inappropriately and crying or barking uncontrollably, then I would take a step back, and I would reduce the intensity of what you’re trying to do,” Wynne said. “If your dog is so distressed, even by you going out for 10 minutes, just go out the door, count to 10 and come back in. And once that works, go out the door and count to 20 and come back in. Baby steps.”

Horowitz suggested ensuring that dogs get their exercise before you leave. “This could include some long play bouts, not just walks. And give them something to do when you’re gone. ‘Chewing’ happens because they don’t have anything interesting (and permissible) to chew on.”

And if I try these suggestions and the behavior continues?

“If your dog or cat is soiling while you’re out, it is not necessarily separation anxiety; it could be a medical issue,” Todd said. “So, it is important to get them checked at the vet,” because there are other issues that will need to be ruled out, too, including boredom. “If a vet diagnoses a separation anxiety, very often they will want to prescribe medications for the pet, which will help alongside any behavioral treatments that you want to do.” Treatment for separation anxiety can take a long time, she said.

Wynne noted that although there are plenty of people out there offering their services as pet behaviorists or animal trainers, there’s no licensing, as with a vet or a human psychologist. “Anybody who’s watched a TV show can claim to be an animal trainer, an animal behaviorist.” That means doing your due diligence to ensure the person is certified through a respected organization, such as the Certification Council for Professional Dog Trainers.

Is getting my pet a companion pet a good idea?

“This depends on the animal. Some are very attached to their people; others get a lot of pleasure from” other members of their species, Horowitz said. “So, you have to know your animal.”

Todd and Udell cautioned, however, against thinking that a companion pet will cure your pet’s separation anxiety. Research is showing “that the other animal may play a role, but it’s likely not the same role as the owner,” Udell said. “And so, it’s not a replacement.”

Whether one pet will welcome a second depends on your pet’s nature and its age, as well as the age and species of the companion. “Many dogs will get on with another dog in the home, more so than cats,” Todd said. But “for both dogs and cats, it depends a lot on the early experiences they had” and whether they were socialized to get along with other animals. “Once an animal is adult, it can be very difficult to get an animal to accept a member of a new species as a friend, as a companion,” Wynne noted.

If you are considering a second pet, Horowitz said, have the pets meet each other, and find out everything you can about the new animal. “Also be sure that you have the time to acclimate the new animal to your home” before resuming pre-pandemic life. If you are unsure how your pet will react to another animal in the household, Todd suggested looking for a shelter that offers a foster-to-adopt program, so you can return the dog or cat if it doesn’t work out.

My pandemic pet has never had to deal with strangers in the house. How do I prepare them?

“Some dogs will actually be fine with that,” Todd said, “and for some dogs, that will be a much more difficult transition.” A good strategy is to designate a space — a mat, crate or room — that they can retreat to if they don’t want to interact with a visitor or that you can send them to for calming down if they react too excitedly. Get them used to the space before anyone starts to visit.

(In fact, Todd said, “it’s always a good idea to have a safe space where your dog or cat can go if they want some quiet time to just chill out and relax.” When your pet seeks out that spot, you should let them stay there, and teach your children not to disturb the pet when it’s in there.)

When you think it’s safe — pandemic-wise — you can ask a friend to practice coming into the house multiple times. Give your dog a treat when it behaves, Todd said. (Don’t have the friend give the treat; you don’t want a nervous dog to have to approach a stranger.)

If your dog is too sensitive for practice entries, “then you might need to waste some time talking on the threshold until the dog could get used to that,” Wynne said.

If you simply cannot take the introduction of new people or your gradual absences slowly enough, and your dog is “overwhelmed by any departure you might make or by any introduction of new people, no matter how briefly you’re away or no matter what distance you keep the person who comes to your door,” Wynne said, it might be time to consider consulting a vet about medication.

[How are dogs coping during the pandemic?]

As noted above, cats who are exposed to different types of animals early in life tend to be more accepting of them. The same goes for people. So a cat who has been living alone with one person during the pandemic, Udell said, “may or may not have the skills to interact in a comfortable way with somebody who does not fit into that mold.”

How can I get over my guilt and sadness about leaving them?

“I think it’s only natural to feel a bit sad,” Todd said, pointing out that Americans increasingly think of dogs and cats not as pets but as family members.

Rather than feeling guilty, Horowitz said, make sure your pet has some companionship. “Maybe you can bring your pet, under some circumstances, to work. Find a dog walker or community doggy day care you like and trust. If you can, go home in the middle of the day. And when you’re home, spend quality time with them.”

Wynne, however, isn’t convinced that guilt is entirely without merit. In general, he thinks we Americans expect our dogs “to put up with being on their own for longer than is conscionable.” Although he doesn’t necessarily advocate adopting the Swedish law that says that dogs can’t be left alone at home for more than six hours at a stretch, “it’s a good rule to live by.” There are ways of working around it, such as hiring a dog walker or getting a companion pet, he noted. But dogs have highly social and loving natures, and “it’s just not fair, not reasonable, to ask them to cope” with our long absences.

Both he and Todd said they hoped the general success of the country’s forced experiment with remote work will encourage employers to continue offering it as an option. “I hope that more people, after the pandemic is over, will at least have the option of working at home some of the time, some days of the week,” Wynne said. “That could be a silver lining to come out of the miserable times that we’re in. ”

[traditional-with-a-twist]

Windy Mountain Rain

Chapter Masterpost

Day 5 - Cherish

“He’s still a little shrimp, huh?” Mukaze hefted Shigure, swinging him above his head and back down. Shigure giggled and put his thumb in his mouth. “You sure you’re feeding him enough?”

“Hey, hey, Shirayuki’s Shigure!” With his curls trimmed to a bob, Kazuki had grown into his looks. He waved at her little boy. “I’m Kazuki. You can call me ‘uncle’ ‘cuz I’m Shirayuki’s adopted brother.”

Obi cocked an eyebrow at Mukaze. “Oh, really?”

Mukaze shrugged and passed Shigure to Kazuki. “It was either that or listen to him ask me to do it for the rest of his life.” He scratched his head. “Does it bother you,” he asked Shirayuki, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“O-oh. Of course not!” Shirayuki waved his concern away, eyes on her son as Kazuki jumped onto a bench with Shigure on his shoulders.

Shigure grabbed Kazuki’s curls for balance. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! Watch it!” Laughing, Kazuki untangled Shigure’s fingers from his hair. Shigure looked down at his enthusiastic mount with mostly bemusement, but he didn’t seem distressed, so Shirayuki returned her attention to Mukaze.

Her dad was watching her. “I remember when your mother would zone out like that, after we had you.” He gazed past them into the forest, his smile distant.

Shirayuki felt Obi’s arm around her shoulders tighten.

“Hey, Chief!” Itoya called up from the lower level. “The king’s envoy is here again. Should I tell him you’re busy?”

Mukaze blinked and looked over the rickety wooden railing. “Nah! Just send him up!” he called. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he, Shirayuki?”

Shirayuki started. “Who?”

“Got more problems for you to sort out, old man,” an all-too familiar voice drawled as the king’s envoy strolled around the corner. He was back to the scarf and knit warmers he had worn when she first encountered him, instead of his aristocratic costume.

“Ah, Mihaya!”

He stopped walking so abruptly he staggered. “Red?!” Mihaya cleared his throat when everyone, including Kazuki, stared at him. “I mean, Shirayuki. So you’ve finally showed up.”

Mukaze leaned back against the railing, which was sagging beneath his weight. He crossed his arms and nodded at Mihaya. “Weren’t you just here?” he remarked.

“It’s not my fault that I get sent on all these errands! I’m hardly ever home anymore,” Mihaya snapped. Rounding on Shirayuki, he said, “You’d understand what a pain it is, if you saw my new place. You should visit! Wait ‘til you see what I’ve built.”

Obi leaned over Shirayuki’s shoulder. “Ah, too bad. We can’t stay so long just for a visit like that.” He smirked, and Shirayuki tilted her head, wondering what was funny.

“I’m sure you can’t,” Mihaya muttered, scowling at Obi. He mumbled something else under his breath before his expression lightened. He put his hands behind his head and turned back to Shirayuki. “You know, I thought we’d see you sooner after that prince of yours got himself killed. I mean, this is your home, right? Why stay in Clarines now?”

Shirayuki swallowed the old sorrow at the thought of the home she could have had with Zen in Clarines. She put her hand over Obi’s, relaxing as she felt him shift closer to her. “We’re not staying in Clarines. It’s better for Obi on the road, so we’ve been traveling all this time.” She laughed. “By now, it’s almost like our home is everywhere.”

Mihaya looked down at her, scratching his head. He glanced between her and Obi. “You’re traveling with him…?”

“And this little guy!” Kazuki broke in. He bounced Shigure in his arms. “Whaddya think, Mihaya? I’m an uncle now!” Shigure let himself be cuddled, hand in his mouth again.

Mihaya stared at the two of them, jaw dropped. “He…you…you’re with that stray cat?!”

Shirayuki frowned. Her grip on Obi’s hand tightened. “Obi is my husband,” she told Mihaya firmly.

He seemed even more aghast at her confirmation. “But why?! Shirayuki, you have a title from the king. I would have adopted you! You didn’t have to vagabond from country to country. You could live comfortably and have all the nice things—”

“I do have nice things,” Shirayuki interrupted. Mihaya didn’t mean harm to her anymore, but he had it all wrong. “Obi found us a sweet little donkey and a wonderful wagon. I have my herb garden that I can carry with me. That’s all I need for every day.” She smiled up at Obi, but he was watching Mihaya with a curiously bland expression. Shirayuki leaned into his side until she felt him tilt towards her.

“And freedom’s more important than nice things, right, Mihaya?” Kazuki piped up. “If Shirayuki’s happy, we’ll just have to put up with missing her.” He gave a deep sigh. “’S not like it’s any different from before.”

Surprised by this help, Shirayuki beamed at Kazuki. Shigure looked more comfortable in his arms now, she noted.

Returning to Mihaya, she searched for something to put him at ease. “Besides,” she offered, “for everything else that’s nice about staying in one place, I can just enjoy it when we visit friends. We were visiting King Raj a little while ago. Shigure loved the flowers and the music.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Mihaya sighed. “I was out of the country on a business trip, so I missed the whole naming ceremony. That queen is a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“Queen Katan?” Shirayuki blinked at the sudden change of subject. “She seems to get along with King Raj?” she tried, not sure what Mihaya meant.

“Too much if you ask me. You never would’ve thought that he would pick a wife with so much to say for herself,” Mihaya grumbled. “The king said it was his idea but I know that she has to be the reason he made me the crown’s official envoy to these Lions.” Mihaya jerked his thumb at Mukaze as if he contained the entire village in his person. Shirayuki’s dad shrugged, apparently content to stay out of the conversation. “She definitely doesn’t like me.”

“Ah,” was all Shirayuki could think of in response.

“No, no,” Kazuki jumped in again. “It’s because we can’t trust all the other nobles in Tanbarun! Too many of us have been burned by them.” He grinned at Mihaya. “But you’re all right! You helped us defeat the Claw of the Sea, so you’re not like them.”

“Something like that,” Mukaze spoke up finally. He looked amused.

“Sure, sure.” Mihaya waved a hand, glancing around until his gaze focused on Kazuki. “So this one’s yours?” he asked, leaning down to look into Shigure’s face. Shigure drew back, startled, and Shirayuki bit her lip.

“He’s ours,” she confirmed.

“Huh.” Mihaya straightened up again. “Cute. Seems kinda rough on him, though, dragging him all over the place with a donkey and a wagon. Especially since he likes pretty things like music and flowers.”

Shirayuki blinked. “I…suppose.” She had never thought that Shigure might be happier with another life.

“If you come to my manor, I have some great music boxes I bet he’ll like.” Mihaya was still facing Shirayuki but his eyes flicked back and forth between her and Obi. “Any kid of yours should have something nice if he wants it.” Shirayuki noticed her dad raise his eyebrows, but Mukaze stayed silent.

“Umm…well…” It was very generous of him to give Shigure a present but if Obi didn’t have time for the detour… “Maybe you could bring it here, when you get the chance? And Dad can give it to Shigure next time!” It was the perfect solution. Shirayuki smiled in relief.

To her dismay, Mihaya’s face fell. “Who knows if it will last long enough out here in the wilderness.” He closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “It’s just a shame, Re--Shirayuki. You could have had anyone, you know.”

“Eh?” What was he talking about now?

“Oh, anyone? Even you?” Obi’s voice was light but it sent shivers down Shirayuki’s spine. He stepped around her, towards Mihaya. “Those are bold words to say in front of a woman’s husband, monkey.” Obi rested a hand on his hip. “In some lands, it could mean you were asking for a deadly fight.”

Mihaya stiffened. “Hey, watch it, cat-face! Who do you think you are, threatening me?!” His hands went to his sword. Shirayuki took a sharp breath, reaching for Obi.

“Am I? I just thought you would like to know.” Obi smiled and Mihaya hesitated, looking confused. Hand still at his belt, Obi cocked his head, his voice dropping into a register Shirayuki had rarely heard. “But even here, you’ll anger my master’s spirit talking like that.”

“Obi!” Shirayuki gave him a light push. How could he joke about that!

“Ah, missus, but it’s true!” Obi winked at her and Shirayuki felt the anxiety in her chest ease. “The master would move heaven and earth to defend your choices from monkeys like him.”

“Now you’re trying to scare me with ghosts?!” Mihaya glared at Obi but he had let go of his sword, nose wrinkled in disgust. “What kind of superstitious coward do you think I am?”

“I wonder…” Obi reached over to pluck Shigure out of Kazuki’s arms. Kazuki wilted but their son brightened immediately, snuggling against his father’s chest. Unable to help herself now that Shigure was within reach, Shirayuki put a hand up to smooth her son’s hair and adjust his cowl. Shigure’s eyes fluttered closed under her touch.

“I think he needs some rest,” Shirayuki murmured, looking back at the others. “Sorry about that…” She trailed off, surprised by the warmth in her father’s face, the delight in Kazuki’s, and the resignation in Mihaya’s as they looked at her little family. She found herself flushing without knowing why.

“Well,” Mukaze closed the distance to clap Obi on the shoulder and smile down at her. “You know best, Shirayuki.”

[bearmajors]

this is a very long post about my Star Trek OC, Shanak < 3

BACKSTORY: Shanak was born to T’Laron, a Vulcan and Richard Finnley, a Human. T’Laron, a witty and brilliant spirit, worked as a professor at a university on Vulcan. This is where she met Richard, a warm and caring man who captured her heart almost instantly. They bonded and soon Shanak was born, who's name means “love at first sight”, because of the strong connection his mother felt towards him. T’Laron started his intense Vulcan training immediately, but unfortunately, tragedy struck before Shanak could get very far. At the age of five, his mother contracted a very strong and rare form of Bendii disease, which doctors were helpless against. Shanak saw his mother’s Vulcan control rapidly disintegrate over the course of a year, until she ultimately passed away. 

Heartbroken and isolated, Richard moved himself and his son to Earth, where Richard had grown up. While on Earth, he encouraged his son to talk to the Vulcan professionals there to continue his study and meditation. Shanak stubbornly refused, claiming that if he couldn’t learn from his mother then he wouldn’t learn at all. The officials warned that this was extremely dangerous, especially considering that his mother had passed from a hereditary disease directly involving the mind. No matter how hard his father and the officials tried, Shanak would not budge. He grew to be a very rebellious adolescent, and his multicultural surroundings encouraged him to adopt a very expressive and emotional personality. He was a loner that struggled to connect with others, and growing up around his now shy and reclusive father did not help that fact.  The passing of his mother being a big influence on his career choice, Shanak enrolled into Starfleet Medical Academy. Due to behavioral problems, he doesn’t last a year there, and drops out. Feeling completely isolated and hopeless, he decided to start over back on Vulcan. He moved away from his father, and bought a small house in a different province. He begins studying at a local hospital to become a nurse, which is where another character comes into play.

CURRENT CANON: The Deep Space Nine episode “Vortex” ends with Croden, a Rakhari prisoner, and his daughter Yareth, being unknowingly saved from execution by a Vulcan science vessel. He was on the run from his oppressive government because he dared to speak out against them, and was facing the extreme consequences. In this universe, Rakhari anatomy is not at all compatible with the Vulcan environment, a fact not yet known because of the lack of contact between the two planets. Croden and Yareth are dropped off and as soon as they leave the air craft, he begins to feel weary.

They run as far as Croden’s legs can take them, having no plan on what to do with their life. In this universe, Yareth is an infant, which differs from the canon of the episode. She is wrapped up safely in a breathable fabric, given to Croden by one of the Vulcans on the science vessel, as an allergy precaution, due to her young age. Croden just so happens to feel extremely ill and weak while near Shanak’s house, and thinking about his daughter’s safety and seeing no other alternative, knocks on the stranger’s home.  Shanak opens the door hesitantly, being extremely shocked at his discovery. The strange alien in front of him is very clearly holding a baby in his arms and having difficulty breathing, so he welcomes him into his home quickly. After a very short conversation filled with lies on Croden’s end, he feels fit enough to embark back on his quest to find a place to raise his daughter. He tries to leave Shanak’s climate regulated house and promptly feels twice as sick as before, nearly falling onto the ground. Shanak holds Yareth and waits for Croden to be responsive, and offers to take him to the hospital. Croden panics and says that that’s not possible, and the stress of it all comes crashing down onto him. He grabs his daughter and looks into her face, muttering to himself. Shanak can clearly see how distressed he is, and becomes very sympathetic. He is wary of this stranger in his home, but he won’t force him to leave. He gently prods, trying to ask more about him: his species, where he’s from, what he’s doing on Vulcan, if this is a medical condition he’s had for a while. Croden becomes irritable, snapping and repeating the same lies as before, and as the conversation goes on, some contradicting each other. But, eventually, the truth is pulled from him.

Croden admits he can’t go to a hospital because in order to treat him they’d have to request his file from the Rakhari government, and then he would be taken away to be executed. He clings to Yareth a bit tighter as he says this, which makes the blood in Shanak’s veins turn cold. He could never be the direct cause of a child losing their parent, and without even knowing that Croden was innocent, he agrees to secretly house him and his baby.

Using his medical knowledge and materials, Shanak tries his hardest to find a solution to whatever issues exist between Croden’s anatomy and Vulcan’s climate. During this time, Shanak and Croden quickly discover similarities between themselves. They both feel like outsiders in this world. It takes a long time for Croden to open up about his traumatic past, but he eventually confides completely in the other man. They become strong friends, then partners. The search for the “cure” is still not done, but they live happily together, raising Yareth in a blend of Human, Vulcan, and Rakhari culture.

Shanak still works full time studying as a nurse, which leaves Croden and Yareth alone in the one place they can safely exist: Shanak’s home. Shanak’s home is small, and full of potted Earth plants. There is a small garden outside, full of resilient plants and spices, which Croden visits very infrequently. He is justly afraid of being found out about, but there are times at night where he covers himself up and feels the soil through a clothed hand. Most of the time, he just plays with Yareth, naps, and eats, waiting for Shanak to come home.

Croden’s present life is very different than his past life. He is extremely glad to be free from the terrible parts of his home planet, the injustice and danger. It takes a long time for the culture shock to wear off, and it never completely goes away, but he firmly believes that life with Shanak is the best thing that could happen to him.

SO, TO RECAP/CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS: Shanak is a half Vulcan half Human nurse. He has dark brown curly hair (think Sarek in Errand of Mercy but more curls). He has dark brown eyes and his physiology is mainly Vulcan, including the facial characteristics and internal organs. He is 5′10″ and wears turtlenecks and doctor’s robes, with stirrup pants over his boots. He wears dark, warm colors: mostly browns, tans, and blacks. Due to his troubled past, he knows practically no Vulcan techniques and feels disconnected from the culture, and when not in the company of other Vulcans, expresses emotion freely. He currently lives on Vulcan in a small one bedroom house full of plants with his partner, Croden, and Croden’s daughter, Yareth. This takes place in a slightly alternate universe where Yareth is an infant, and there are slight cosmetic changes to Rakhari anatomy, but otherwise everything else is the same.

Croden is a Rakhari male who escaped with his daughter from an oppressive government. Due to health complications and them illegally living there, Croden and his daughter Yareth are essentially stuck in Shanak’s home. Croden is 6′0″ tall with olive green eyes and light brown curly hair that reaches his shoulders. His appearance differs slightly from canon, his eyes containing thin black rings around a small pupil, and his facial pattern being a bit more simplified. Any other redesigns have not been finalized. He has an affinity for necklaces and pendants. He wears comfortable clothing, mostly grey and black. His daughter, Yareth, is an infant. She has light brown peach fuzz on her head and light brown eyes.

Croden (left) and Shanak (right) doing a “Vulcan kiss”. Shanak is speaking with his friends (off screen) and Croden is being moody about it.

[doedipus]

Let’s Play Dungeons and Dragons: Introduction

So, I think I’m going to go ahead and post the D&D stuff I was talking about earlier. About three months into the campaign, I started keeping notes on each session. I’m thinking of releasing a session or so worth of notes regularly (probably a couple times a week) until I catch up with where we are now, and then just posting updates whenever major story beats wrap up (probably every 1-3 weeks. Sometimes boring things take a long time). Of course, there’s a very obvious problem with that idea: there’s three months of lore between the start of the campaign and when I started taking notes! Thankfully, one of the other players was taking care of that at the time, so I’m going to try to summarize it as best I can.

Let’s get started!

The story began in the town of Valen, a port city located on a peninsula off the southern Sword Coast of Faerun. Three adventurers, Lucas Valeroyant (played by Rich), a recent graduate from the arcane academy of Candlekeep, Ser Graham Broyer (played by Rich’s boyfriend Jake), a trans man who ran away from home and began travelling under his late brother’s name, and Rolen Amastacia (played by Ludovik), a disgraced elven noble and holy man, were summoned from their homelands to a tavern by a mutual friend, Rockseeker. The trio received a mysterious black box from the innkeeper, and were told to deliver it to Rockseeker himself in Waterdeep. The magnificent corvette The Spirit of Fire and her crew awaited them in the harbor, ready to set sail for adventure.

While in town, Lucas met Greg, a dancer at a local bar. Greg robbed him blind and fled. Later that night, some bandits make an attempt on their lives, and were revealed to be assassins. The inn they were staying at was burnt down shortly thereafter, and Graham identified the attackers as the Sisters of the Night, a cult of ne’er do wells bent on causing chaos in Faerun. The party tracks down and captures Greg before fleeing the city on the Spirit.

On the boat, they meet Escrima (Rap), a strange young man from Calimport who was involved with a cult worshipping a lovecraftian creature known only as MOTHER. The party was attacked by some cultists, including villain apparent Sister Elsa. They defeat the attackers handily, though the sister escaped to fight another day. Lucas and Rolen (and Rich and Ludo) began to butt heads frequently, and a rivalry between the two was formed both in and out of character.

In between sessions, Jake posted on /r/transgamers to recruit players, and I joined the gang.

The gang stopped over at Lucas’ alma mater, Candlekeep, to do some research about the Sisters. While there, they ran into Constanza de Catarina (Kim), a tiefling cultist masquerading as a human noblewoman gathering information about the Sisters for her own organization, and Coy (Max), a dragonborn Big Boss expy wandering the world after the dwarven complex he called home was sacked by an angry dragon. The pair quickly hooked up with the party, comparing notes, and running errands for the locals. Along the way, Lucas and Greg formed a close emotional bond. In the countryside, the gang ran into a giant army of drow, orcs, bugbears, gnolls, and Sisters dragging an adult dragon out of its cave and loading it aboard a massive airship. 

The party eventually learned of a secret library below Candlekeep, and set about searching for it. After a dank journey through the partially submerged ruins below the academy, the gang found what they were looking for, and discovered the Sister’s master plan: resurrect their old leader, Overseer Minnia, and summon the demon god Yeenoghu into the material plane. They also found a handful of nifty magic items and a ton of funds, and promptly stole them, because adventurers are bastards.

Among the treasures was a key to a nearby portal to Sigil. Constanza, Graham, Rolen and Escrima accidentally triggered it, and were whisked off to the wild and dangerous city. They met a sapient rat hoard, known as US, and became involved with a murder mystery, meeting Narcovi, a dwarf working for Harmonnium, a guard force in the city, and eventually tracked down and nearly captured Sougad Lawshredder (known within the party as “crazy eyes”), a Believer of the Source who was trying to ascend to godhood by killing lawful folks across the outer planes. Sougad escaped, and Narcovi rewarded the party by helping them locate a portal back home.

Meanwhile, the opening of the portal triggered some sort of alarm in the Candlekeep security, and Coy and Lucas narrowly escaped through the use of a helm of teleportation and some potions of invisibility. They fled Candlekeep, sailing towards the province of Amn, where they believed their missing companions would likely turn up, if they ever did at all. Along the way, the crew encountered a band of slavers and rescued a child slave, Akim. The pair ascended a mountain outside the village of Amswater where a derelict gate was said to stand. Sure enough, the party popped out of the portal shortly after they arrived, and much rejoicing was had.

(Both of those sequences happened in separate sessions due to scheduling snafus. JP, our DM, is a fucking saint for even bothering to set up something like that)

While the gang caught up on the mountain, a company of drow, led by the Sisters sacked Amswater. The party pushed them back, and managed to rescue a couple of villagers from enslavement, though many others were killed in the battle, or carted away to the Underdark. The villagers, having nowhere else to go, boarded the Spirit of Fire with the party. Together, they stopped off at Athkatla, a nearby port city, and Constanza entrusted the refugees to the government there, explaining the situation in the countryside. This earned her the first of several legitimate noble titles that she didn't have to forge.

The adventurers set sail to Waterdeep at last. The sea voyage finally granted them some time to themselves, opportunities to get to know each other, and hone their skills. Graham and Constanza bonded over dragonchess, Escrima attempted to indoctrinate Graham into his cult, and Lucas taught Coy some minor spells in exchange for draconic lessons. Akim bonded with his savior, and essentially became Coy’s adopted child. Constanza established dominance over Escrima by cleaning his filthy ass off. Along the way, the crew captured and sort of tamed a live Wyvern, christened “Lupe,” who the adventurers tried desperately to find some use for besides venom milking.

Eventually, the gang arrived in Waterdeep and met with Rockseeker himself. The man was ostensibly a dwarf, but was quickly discovered to be something more, though the party couldn’t say exactly what. Rockseeker retrieved a parchment from the mysterious box, and explained that contained within it was a magical map that marked the locations of artifacts that could annihilate the Sisters for good... though, the map was encrypted, and the party was going to have to carry the map to Neverwinter, where a talented friend of Rockseeker’s could help them.

While in the city, the gang did much shopping and sleeping around, the latter of which clued them in on a plot to assassinate the Visible Lord of Waterdeep, John Merrow. Supposedly, the ambitious Lord Hier was planning on having him taken care of at an upcoming celebration at his estate. Coincindentally, Rockseeker had some invitations just lying around, so the party had an easy in.

However, the party was still a few days off, and the gang busied themselves with shopping and taking care of small jobs for the locals, as vagrants of their sort are want to do. They uncovered a small vampire infestation, but events conspired such that they never quite got to the bottom of it.

(Scheduling snafus raised their ugly heads again, and Rich ended up doing a solo session)

At this time, Lucas decided to go track down his old mentor from his student days, Gandalf (no relation to the lesser deity from LotR, we swear!) to see if he had any insight on the events that were unfolding, and possibly a way to get Candlekeep to forgive him for his tresspasses against them. He met up with an acquaintance from Candlekeep, Eva (played by Jake), a young lass who had at least one shrine dedicated to Lucas in her home. The two tracked down Gandalf, and, to their horror, discovered that he had become a necromancer, turning most of the town of Proskur into his thralls. The duo narrowly defeated him, though not before Gandalf murdered Eva and blasted a chunk of Lucas’ shoulder off. Eva’s soul found its way into Lucas’ body. Lucas returned to Waterdeep, thoroughly shaken. This is how JP likes to handle multiclassing, by the way.

Since Jake wasn't around to take notes for the session that weekend with the rest of the party, I ended up taking over that day. For whatever reason, Jake basically decided to let me handle the note taking thereafter, so that’s what the rest of this tale is going to look like.

I kind of have a pretty strong emotional connection to this group and campaign. They’re the first group of people I ever met who didn't previously know me as a dude or anything, and because my voice was one of the only things I’d worked on at the time, I was able to just be myself without all the other baggage for a couple hours every week. I didn't really talk about my being trans at all for quite a while, and I’ve been led to believe that I was basically stealth to them for the first couple months of play... though I eventually got more involved with the trans community on reddit, and more open about it in general.

The group was also really my first foray into the LGBT community in general. My impression of LGBT spaces and the people that inhabited them was pretty negative at the time. I just had the idea that everyone was super outgoing and boisterous theater club types, a class of person that I struggle to relate to and get along with. However these folks turned out to be pretty down to earth for the most part, and the realization that there were people like me who I could actually relate to and enjoy being around really opened my eyes.

[christianmenatwork]

Making the Most of the Coronavirus Season-CMAW081-Selah16

S=Something on my Heart

Dichotomy now of slowing down and sense of urgency at same time.  Some of this is being forced upon us, some is our choice which is what I want to focus on, what we choose to reduce and increase during this unique time and maybe even make some paradigm shifts that will continue beyond this crisis. First, let's talk about changes that have been forced upon us. What has slowed down. The economy or more specific to this podcast..work, some of you may have an increase in work especially if you're in medical profession. Most of us have seen a slowdown, or worst case maybe even a loss of a job, and I realize some of you may have been forced to slow because you have actually contracted the coronavirus. Travel.  I'm working from home and as a result I'm spending 2 hours a day at home that I would normally spend in my car, which is a cramped little Fiat, or as I jokingly call my "sports car". When you factor in errands I run between work and home that commute time can add up to 3 or even 4 hours a day. General pace of life, for most of us, has slowed down.  What has increased during this time? Time at home. In some ways, fear and anxiety have increased, though I would argue that as Christians we should be experiencing the opposite emotions, we should be experiencing peace, reassurance, and purpose during this time in contrast to the world around us. It seems to me like there is more time available which is interesting.  The reality is that time is constant. We have the same 24 hours given to us as a gift each day.  The reality is that we are experiencing an increase in certain activities  or you could say an increase in the percentage of time we spend in certain activities.  Let's shift now from what is out of our control to what is in our control. Praise God that gave us free will and the freedom and ability to choose.  So what are some ways we can choose to increase or decrease certain things or maybe a better way of saying it how can we make good choices to best utilize the time that we are given as well as the situation that God has placed us in right now, to make a shift in our behavior and priorities both now and moving forward in our entire lives, both in work and out of work, as well as in the lives of others we impact and interact with in our lives.  I'll start with some broad, philosophical concepts and then bring it back to the practical.  To make it really simple which is generally I've found the best way to be, we need to focus more on God and less on us, or you could say less on the world.  Here are a number of scriptures that speak to this in different ways. Deut 30:19-20a "I call heaven and earth as witnesses today against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life, that both you and your descendants may live; that you may love the Lord your God, that you may obey his voice, and that you may cling to Him, for He is your life and the length of your days;".  Colossians 3:2 "Set your mind on things above, no on things on the earth".  Romans 8:5-6 "For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit, the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace".  John 3:30 "He must increase, but I must decrease". 1 Cor 3:11-15 "For no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay or straw, each one's work will become clear; for the Day will declare it, because it will be revealed by fire; and the fire will test each one's work, of what sort it is. If anyone's work which he has built on it endures, he will receive a reward. If anyone's work is burned, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire". Matthew 7:13-14 "Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it."  Now, some application.  Let's get into the word and in prayer.  Here are several suggestions for you to get started or to increase your immersion in the word of God. First, WHAT to read. Rayburn Hall - 2 OT, 5 Ps, 1 Prov, 2 NT, Mike Mayo - History, Poetry, Prophets, Gospel, Epistles (what I'm doing using 5 different Bible audio apps. Bobby Hall from Men's Night Out, Fall, 2019 - 8 chapters every day for 30 days (2-1/2 to 3 yrs to read NT), a way to go deep. Chronological.  Where are you in life?-Psalms at night, Proverbs to make a decision, John great place to start to really learn who Jesus is as both God and man and why he came to earth.  HOW - Pray for God to speak to you and not stress over quantity, if you feel led to stay in one verse or one chapter do it.  Value the discipline of having a plan to follow each day but don't turn your plan into a god and fall into legalism. The point is to hear from God not to check off a task on your list. 5 Fingers from Navigators Video about ways to consume the Bible,.  Pick A time (what can you stick to consistently, maybe lunch or break at work, morning, night.  Ask these questions 1. Who wrote this 2. Who were they writing to 3. What is the message 4. What does this reveal about the character of God 5. How is this connected to God “-Adam Union.  There's certainly more we can say about being the spirit including prayer, but let's shift now to what are things of the flesh, things we should be decreasing during this time and moving forward. 2 things to avoid, one is satisfying the lusts of our flesh. With a bit more time on our hands, we will be tempted to indulge in overeating, escaping through alcohol or drugs, or watching a lot of TV, particularly things that don't honor God like pornagraphy. Another thing to avoid is to too inwardly focused.  Spending time alone in prayer and the word is good, relaxing with some TV or a good book or taking a nap is good in moderation, but don't forget to look around to see who God would have us blessing and connecting with. Play a game with your kids, have a cup of coffee and alone time with your wife, text or call your neighbors close by as well as friends, family members and acquaintences far away to see how they are doing and whether they need anything including prayer.  Treat your body as the temple of the Holy Spirit, eat healthy and exercise, take walks or a jog.  Set healthy limits for yourself for eating and drinking.  If you choose to drink alcohol, do so in moderation.  I heard on the Albert Mohler The Briefing podcast that marijuana sales have shot up during this time.  1 Cor 6:12 "All things are lawful for me, but all things are not helpful. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any." Just because Marijuana has become legal in many states doesn't mean we should consume it. Just because the Bible does not say you should not have any alcohol, doesn't mean it's OK to drink beyond moderation in fact it speaks strictly against that. When it comes to our work, just because we may have less oversight working from home, doesn't mean we should be any less productive.  To the extent that we are able, if we are blessed to still be employed, as Colossians 3:23 says "whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men".  Put in a full day's work as you normally would.  Don't be like the servant that buried the talent but rather put your time to good use so that your employer will have a return on their investment in you. Another thought on how to use this time.  Forgive everyone in your life and continue to forgive them.  Here are 3 groups to focus on. First forgive yourself.  During times of reflection, it's easy to think about your past and mistakes you have made. Remember that God has forgiven you and what's good enough for Him should be good enough for you.  Psalm 103:12 says "As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us". You're partnering with the devil and listening to his voice above the Lord's when you continue to condemn yourself and believe his accusations for past wrongs. Second, forgive individuals how have harmed you and if appropriate ask them to forgive you. This includes people who have harmed you in the past as well those harming you now.  Third, forgive groups of people or organizations that have either harmed you directly or done harm or evil in general.  I'm thinking personally about family members as well as about political parties and political leaders. Matthew 6:14-15, immediately after Jesus gave us what we called the Lord's Prayer, he said "For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive their trespasses, either will your father forgive your trespasses". Now back from the practical to the philosophical. Here in NC, Spring has sprung and every day reveals more life as the trees are budding, the birds are chirping and the grass is growing and turning more green.  Life is bursting forth and it makes me think that the paradigm shift that I want to adopt and carry forward beyond this season of the Coronavirus is to live life more abundantly, life in the spirit and not in the flesh, through my work and through my relationship with God, myself, and my family and others in my life.  And when life gets back to "normal", I don't want to fall into old habits that are not God-pleasing and life giving.  I want to look back at this time in my life, whether I'm looking back from this or the other side of heaven, as a time when I made a tangible and meaningful shift to be more a part of God's story and less a part of mine. 

  E=Example of Faith at work

There's been a lot of talk during this Coronavirus about what's essential.  I happen to work for an industry to makes products that are considered essential or critical during this downtime.  This has reminded about how so much of our life is spent on non-essential things, though we've made a habit of calling them needs when they're truly wants.  As an example, in Dave Ramsey's FPU he talks about how we call things like a new car a need when it's truly a want when you have an older car that works fine.  He also talks about how when you're gazelle intense and trying to pay down your debt and get ahead financially, you do things like eat rice and beans, which is a reminder to me that although food is essential to living, the type of food we eat can easily slip into the "wants" category and not the "needs" category.  This also led me not to just think about the value of simplifying our lives and not living in excess, but also how each of us through our work in some way contributes toward God blessing all of humanity.  I've talked in the past about Tim Keller's reference to God's Common Grace in his book "Every Good Endeavor", and how all of our work is sacred to the extent that God sends rain on the just and the unjust, as it says in Matt 5:45, we are a part of the way that God blesses all humans,.  Here are some examples I recently noticed of this common grace.  We just bought a Cat litter system that has separate compartmets, making it easier and cleaner when our 11 year old daughter changes the litter box.  I watched a 3 part series from I believe the Discovery Channel called "Harley and the Davidsons" about how how 2 Davidson brothers and the engineering genius of Bill Harley made a motorcyle that was a step above others and one that has blessed many many people over the last half plus century.,  As a third example, I'm going to reflect on some of the things I've done big and small, that have contributed to God's common grace to other my work and rather than share that with you I invite you ponder on your own career, past present and future and how you are a tool of common grace and as such a great example of faith at work.

A=Announcements

  Will return to weekly release in June after finish with Colson Fellows

  H=Handy tip to increase productivity and effectiveness 

From a quote heard recently from Scott Peltin, Founder, Tignum, is not a faith based organization, but I thought was valuable and pertinent for this time we're in right now "During these critical times it is important to recognize that these are uncharted times and they will require epic leadership. To do this, you will need to show up every day at your best. This means preparing diligently for your day and your critical meetings, recharging your own cognitive and emotional batteries throughout the day, and strategically multiplying your energy throughout your teams. People will need additional direction, extra calmness and self-belief, and a level of humility and vulnerability from you to admit that you don't have all the answers. Great leaders get a little better every day but this doesn't happen by chance.  It must be a choice."

Check out this episode!

[terryquinnblog]

THE FORTUNE TELLER’S DAUGHTER

When he was barely 14, Jimmy Quinn was the youngest sophomore in his class at Bishop Loughlin Memorial High School. He had a gang of friends there in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn and another back in his home neighborhood of Queens Village, two subway rides and a bus trip away. The challenging classes at Loughlin, his walk through the surrounding area’s bustling and racially diverse streets, the three-hour round-trip commute itself, marked as it so often was by offbeat fellow passengers and incidents – it was all a welcome change of pace. An escape from the tamer, almost suburban feel of his hometown at the northeast edge of New York City. The kids he’d met here in his freshman year, some black, some white, some Hispanic, were for the most part loud and savvy. They were sweaty and aggressively physical on the handball courts, which he haunted during every recess and for an hour or so after the school day. Back in Queens, everyone he knew was white and far less spirited.

Bishop Loughlin High, as it looked 60 years ago and still looks now

And yet, the Brooklyn segment of his life was exclusively male. In Queens he knew plenty of girls. He’d been in grammar school with them for eight years and liked their company. Had one girlfriend when in fifth grade, another in eighth … Ethereal Carol Edwards, whom he’d courted so tentatively from the seat of his Schwinn (“Can’t you come down from there, Jimmy? Have a glass of lemonade in our backyard?”) … Brash, earthy Margo Grobleski, who’d courted him (“Like those bucks, Jim. Where’d you buy them?”) ... Then, just last year, the golden-haired Linda Rahchin, whom he’d met at a high school mixer in Forest Hills, and whose misty gray eyes drove him nuts through seven months of actual dates, and who’d seemed to delight in letting him do zero. Nothing.

Bishop Loughlin was an all-boys school. And after a year and a half, this grew to be a source of acute frustration for him.

It was autumn of 1959, and though surely no one he knew would have guessed it, he was craving sex. Not just the hand-holding or furtive kissing and touching that had so long been on offer at the parties in his home parish of Our Lady of Lourdes, a densely Catholic community whose mores were dominated by Domincan nuns and fervent Diocesan priests. No, he wanted the raw experience of what his freshman year Health and Morality teacher had referred to once as sexual intercourse and twice as sexual congress. Two off-putting terms, he thought, no poetry in them. But he’d go with the former.

His fellow student and good friend Salvator Crespi, a Brooklyn native from the Bensonhurst neighborhood, gave him the impression that his quest for actual intercourse might not be particularly problematic. Crespi was scarcely a year older than him, but he’d been shaving for who knew how long. By the end of the school day, his jaw was as dark and stubbly as a college senior’s.

“How come you know so much about this stuff,” Jimmy asked him.

“What stuff?”

“You know …”

“Christ, Quinn, I pity you micks. You’re a dago like me, your old man takes you down to the whores on 86th Street when you’re 12.” Salvator kept a rubber in his wallet; it showed in circular relief through one side of the leather. When asked the right way, as he was now, he would give Jimmy a peek. “C’mon,” he said with a smirk, “there’s brothels all over friggin’ Brooklyn. You just gotta know where to look.”

Where to look. He didn’t even know exactly what a brothel was, didn’t know how much money he’d need to have on hand if he ever managed to find one. Nor did he have the gumption to ask his friend any more questions than he already had. What he knew was that something stirred in his viscera when he whispered the word ‘brothel’ to himself, or when he saw the imprint of Crespi’s Trojan, never mind when he came across a magazine image of Gina Lolabrigida, Marilyn Monroe, Lana Turner, Sophia Loren or Brigitte Bardot. Queens Village, he decided, was a sexual wilderness. So during his free time after school, he began setting out into the anonymous reaches of this distant, adopted borough to see where his search might lead him.

Jimmy had started with books and movies as a warm-up. He spent hours at the Fort Greene branch of the public library, sweatily skimming Lady Chatterly’s Lover, then the translation of Madame Bovary whose dust jacket looked most promising, until he came upon the handful of scenes he wanted. Every Thursday, when his classes ended at 2:00, he trolled the neighborhood for movie marquees advertising suggestive titles. And one afternoon, at a dingy cinema in the shadow of Pratt Institute, he watched Natalie Wood – an actress he at once decided must be the sexiest woman on earth – in a film called Splendor in the Grass. That title and the titillating still photograph they showed out front seemed a good bet, even if the Legion of Decency hadn’t banned the movie. Yet as arousing as the plot and the female star proved to be, he saw nothing anyone could have mistaken for sexual intercourse.

Nonetheless, that experience served as a turning point. For it was then he decided to seek out a certain unsavory street he’d once passed in his wanderings, and to follow up on a hunch he’d been nursing for weeks.

This whole sordid mission is not my fault, he told himself as he prowled the warren of dark lanes just north of Flatbush Avenue. (The place he wanted cowered in perpetual shade, he knew, towered over as it was by the 37-story tower of the Williamsburg Bank building. But where was it?) No one had taught him anything the least bit useful about sex, the actual mechanics of the thing. He’d learned all about STD’s and the horrors of advanced syphilis, thanks to a couple of creepy filmstrips one of Loughlin’s Christian Brothers had shown in Biology class. And he’d read about something called ‘the rhythm method’ as a way of avoiding conception. But how did the method work? And what exactly was conception? Or to get down to practicalities, just how had Ozzie and Harriet Nelson produced David and little Ricky? (Forget the taboo weirdness of his own parents, his five siblings and him.)

In time he found the street he was looking for, St. Felix, and the narrow storefront. He spotted the haggard fortune teller, seated outside on a throne-like armchair in front of her shop, as she had been the first time he’d seen her. But the girl – her daughter? granddaughter? – wasn’t standing beside her today. Didn’t seem to be running errands either, like pouring tea into the glass cup the gypsy woman kept nestled in her lap. Not yet, anyway.

Psychic Consultations, the lettering on the shop window said. Palm and Tarot Card Readings. The Realm of the Spirits Revealed. He felt that same swirly rush in his innards as he smelled again, and again was made slightly inebriated by, the incense burning in front of Mother Bellatrava’s House of Fortune. Might this not be what a brothel was, he asked himself, his head now swimming under the influence of that aroma. But the girl in her late teens, where was she? Jimmy had half his savings in his pocket, and he wasn’t going anywhere near the door of this place if the woman out front was alone. He turned around for one more glance before moving on and saw the heart-shaped face he remembered, framed for an instant in the parted curtains of the storefront’s window. Then, just as quickly, she disappeared. Only the older woman remained visible, languidly summoning him with a brightly beringed hand.

“Come,” she calmly summoned, her voice easily carrying over the 50-odd feet that separated the two of them. It was a knowing, conspiratorial voice. One he saw no reason to disobey.

####################

Jimmy Quinn had never felt more unsettled in his life than when the woman took one of his hands in both of hers and examined it gravely, for what must have been two minutes. They sat at a small rectangular table in a room at the rear of the place. There were no windows at all, and the air was fetid. A bristly-haired cat lay in one corner, looking dead, though it would ease open a single eye from time to time, inspect him with indifference, then close it again. At once her dander, which must have coated the lumpen upholstery of his chair, caused his breathing to become more labored.

“Fascinating,” the seer muttered, as her shriveled fingers probed the lines and fleshy mounds of his palm. They felt like the roughest grade of sandpaper; instead of soothing they abraded. The pupils at the center of the woman’s faded gray irises seemed to contract under the pressure of her concentration. Or feigned concentration. She looked lost in the fog of her own world, the spirit domain – which he knew, even at the age of 14, was a pile of crap. He’d seen the movies, the cheesy TV skits. She had the turban, the gravelly East European accent, everything but the crystal ball he’d thought sure would be included in the five-dollar charge posted on the sandwich board out front.

He was the one who should be reading her, as a harmless chiseler. And yet she was giving him the willies. Here he was, caught in this woman’s grip on a  rundown side street so far from family and home. She could murder him, couldn’t she, for the $28 tucked in the pocket of his chinos? Soak his bones in lye, mafia-style? Who out in Queens, or anywhere else, would ever know this was where he’d met his end?

“You might be kinder to your younger brother,” she said in a voice he had to strain to hear. Even so, there was a note of authority in her tone – not a welcome sound, given that she knew nothing about him.

“You think I’m cruel to ...” He couldn’t say “my fellow man,” which was what he was sure she’d meant. How stupid that would sound. “ ... that I’m cruel to people?” She cocked her head a tick, not looking up from her trance.

“This is not at all what I am saying. Kinder to your brother. You must listen.”

“I have four younger brothers,” he answered in a way meant to impress upon her how inadequate her lazy guess had been. Now she met his eyes.

“You know the one I mean.” When he did not answer, she bowed her head again. Resumed the coarse kneading of his hand.

All right, he would play along. Or no, play at playing along. She’d just started quietly moaning when he remembered, years back, being mocked so skillfully by Johnny, his next-down brother, who’d then turned, still laughing, and run. They’d been playing baseball, and he’d hurled at Johnny the ash wood bat he’d been holding. It struck him in the back, laid him out flat on the park grass. That night his father had shaken Jimmy by the shoulders and said he might have caused his brother to be paralyzed for life. Or worse. Whenever the incident was resurrected these days, it was as a humorous family legend, a crazy-kids story. But he’d never forgotten that look of outraged disbelief on his father’s face.

“Your father ...” the woman said, as if seeing what he was seeing. “He escaped a great conflict ...” This was nothing. Another stab in the air. So many of his friends’ fathers had served in World War II and survived, not just his own. Richie Clinton’s, Frank Maisto’s, Kevin Donahue’s, Robbie Giurlando’s, Howe Paine’s, Paul Clegg’s. She raised an eyebrow, nodded. “A blind man who yet sees ...” That stopped him.

“What do you mean?” he asked flatly. If she said next that his father had lost his left eye to shrapnel that ripped apart the navigator’s cabin of his B-17–

“Don’t be foolish, young man. I do not know what these words of mine mean.” She was mumbling again. “Perhaps you do, perhaps you do not. This is of little matter to me.” She gave a shrug. “Is it your wish that I should stop?”

He reflected on that. How comical and strangely troubling, the events of this whole episode. Wasn’t it all an empty joke? Or was it a collection of omens he needed to heed? His head felt woozy and he was exhausted. The possibility of physical harm he’d sensed at first was long gone. So was the state of sexual excitement he’d felt upon entering this cramped enclosure where he knew the younger woman still lurked. A quarter hour ago he’d had what he and the guys he hung out with called a woodie ... Then, as the seer talked on and on and kept stroking his palm, only a chubby ... Now he was shrunken. Yet what did that matter? He’d lost the thread of the afternoon’s mission. Things had taken a different turn. “No,” he finally said. “Don’t stop.”

“I can see his death,” she said, “your father’s. But ... but he should have died long ago ...” So true. Former Air Corp Lieutenant Hugh V. Quinn hadn’t only been half-blinded in the war. He carried an inoperable slab of German flak in his brain, as well. Jimmy’s mother was told her husband couldn’t be expected to live past the age of 35. It was a wonder he still–  “You will pass middle age before he leaves us,” she said. “But your mother ...”

Stop, he wanted to tell her. And thought, I am a horrible son, perverted. I came here today with the basest of intentions, and now this woman is about to tell me of my mother’s–

“I cannot see her death ...”

“You can’t?” A shock of deep and intense relief. Then, like a slap to the cheek, the urge to ask himself again, Am I not a fool to believe any of this? A pathetic dupe?

“She is a woman truly blest ...”

“Enough!” he blurted out, and yanked his hand away. Jimmy watched the woman shudder for an instant, as if to jolt herself from the psychic sphere to the present. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as politely as he was able. “Thank you so much.” He leaned far to the side, for cover, and drew five singles from his pants pocket. The woman eyed the money and smiled. It was the first time she’d broken her mood of grim clairvoyance. She stared at him as before. Waited until he could do nothing but look up and lock eyes with her.

“We know why you are here,” she said.

“You do?”  Both of you? he almost added. He felt stripped to the skin.

“How much more do you have with you, my boy?” And when he didn’t answer, “Be fair with me. Consider that we, too, must eat.”

“Ten dollars,” he said.

“That is not so. Be honest.”  Now the sly look in her eye and her talk of ‘we’ made him wonder whether all was necessarily lost. Whether he might not be, what, back in business. Was it possible he hadn’t missed out, after all?

“Twenty,” he said. She waited. “Twenty-three dollars.” She tapped the table twice with a chipped red nail. Tapped again until he got the point and dug up his wad of savings.

“AHIRA!” the woman bellowed. When Ahira entered, he saw that she was no teenager but a young woman in her 20's. The clairvoyant ceded her the chair, scooped up the crumpled bills and said, “You have heard tell, perhaps, of my daughter’s special power.”  Power? What was this? “She will tell you what I no longer can. The word you must guard in your heart, all your life, as a talisman.” Gathering up her skirts, she strode from the room.

A word?  For twenty-three–  no, twenty-eight dollars, a word? And yet here he was, sitting across from this exotic woman not just older than he had guessed but far more beautiful. And innocent, he saw. As innocent as he was. A brothel? Sexual intercourse? What on God’s earth had he been dreaming?

She sat there unmoving, dressed more simply than her mother. A dark brown shift, cotton slippers, two silver bracelets, an opal ring. He waited as she peered at him. Was she mute? Would she at some point write his word out on a pad?

“Sorry,” he said, “but am I supposed to say something first?”

“Patience,” she uttered at last, then smiled faintly. Seconds passed before he saw she was not simply telling him to wait longer before she spoke. She had spoken.

“So ... so that’s my word? Patience?”

“What you hoped for yourself today, in your short-sightedness – all that and so much more will come to you,” she said. “What is your name?”

“Jimmy?” Was that enough, he wondered. How much of his name did she want?

“It will come to you, Jimmy, in all certainty. You are one of the fortunate and need only, as I say, be patient.”

That’s it, he realized. He was free to scoop up his book bag, find his way to the Clinton-Washington subway stop and, thanks to the token in his shirt pocket, the only form of legal tender left him, start making his way back to Queens.

“You feel cheated now, I know,” Achira said. “First by my mother, then by me. For years you’ll remember, and I suppose resent, what happened here today. But in the end, I doubt you will feel cheated at all.” She rose to see him out.

The old woman was not at her post outside as he left. A blessing. The shame he felt would have stung him all the more. Even so, a fresh burst of anxiety assailed him as he walked down St. Felix Street. How would he pay for the last leg of his long trip home? That token was good for his rides on the GG to Jackson Heights, then the F train to Jamaica. But what was he supposed to do for bus fare on to Queens Village?

All the way back that early evening, he found he could conjure at will the comely face of the fortune teller’s daughter. Then too, he can even now, 60 years later. And just as the young woman predicted, his word was patience. Alas, it still is.

[lisabland93]

Our Wonderful Life of 25 Years

Today we celebrate 25 years of marriage!

On this day, 25 years ago, we eloped to Austin, Texas, getting married at 8:00 am. We had been engaged for 7 months, had gone through the Catholic Church for our marriage preparation (Which takes 6 months), and were ready to get married and start our lives together.  We didn’t want to wait any longer. 

I met Steve Bland in November of 1992 while out with a friend at a Club called Phase II. My friend was meeting her guy friend who was friends with Steve.  I didn’t actually talk to Steve till we were all walking out to our cars.  I asked him his name. When he told me, I said, “Steve Bland?? Do you know Daniel Bland?” He said, “That’s my brother.” Oh my goodness! I have known Daniel all through high school. He dated a friend of mine and we would all get together and hang out.  Upon discussing this with Steve, I recall attending a CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) dance at St. Mary’s School. My friends and I running out to a truck excited to see Daniel show up and open the passenger door to let him out. Steve was actually driving the truck bringing Daniel to the dance. Who knew? We were so close to meeting at that time but God wasn’t ready. We had to both grow before it was time. Upon getting to know him, the things that impressed me was his starched Wrangler jeans (that was the thing back then) and his Ford Diesel Truck. At 23 years old, to be driving a Diesel, I knew he was a hard working man and it being a Ford.....Oh, yea, I was a Ford girl. I had dated many a bum who couldn’t keep a job and drove Chevy’s. YUCK! Lol

When I met Steve, I was a single mom of a 4 year old daughter, Amber. I had made some choices that weren’t the best but I did gain a beautiful daughter and a lot of responsibility and a lot of growth. I had already completed college as a single mom, earning my Court Reporting degree and was working toward passing my state boards. Steve never wanted to have children and didn’t want to date anyone with children. I guess God had a different plan. Steve was a Shop Manager with a Diesel Mechanic’s degree working at Atterbery Truck Sales in Beaumont and had his own apartment. I was working at Nell McCallum Court Reporting firm in Beaumont and still living at home. 

We remained friends and grew to really like each other. In February, we were becoming very attached to each other. He had a planned Valentines’ date with a girl to a club in Lake Charles called Cowboy’s. He went on the date and then spent the night with his brother. The next morning I called him and casually asked him how his date went. He said it didn’t go well. I was super excited and glad it didn’t go well. He then asked me if I’d like to go to town with him. He needed to run to HiLo (a auto parts store) in Orange. I said sure. He came and picked me up and we ran his errand. When we got to the store, he said he needed to just run in and reached in the back seat of his truck and handed me a container of candy and a Valentines’ card. That was when we actually started dating. Amber turned 5 in March and Steve came to her birthday party with a gift just for her. Through our dating we would travel to Austin nearly every weekend spending time with friends and enjoying the city. It became our favorite place. On April 16, 1993, while in Austin jet skiing in Devils’ Cove, Steve pulled over the Jet Ski and wanted to tie it off and asked me to get the tie rope out of the container in the bike. When I opened the container, there was a ring box sitting there. I picked it up and looked at him and he was on one knee on a rock in about 3” of water asking me to marry him. Of course I said YES! After we got engaged, Steve knew I dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom. He asked me to quit my job to stay home and give him all of my bills. He would then give up his apartment and sleep on my parents’ couch until we were married. He did! The beginning of making my dreams come true! 

Steve’s dad was hired to tear a house down on East Circuit St. in Beaumont but upon walking through it saw its potential and told Steve to come look at it. We bought it for $1 and had it moved from Beaumont to Orangefield to some land that his parent’s let us use. The house was built in 1941 and was a little rough but we worked on it and made it our own.  When we married, we couldn’t live in it yet. So, my in-laws loaned us their 23’ motor home to live in and we parked it next to the house.  We worked hard to get the house live able. By the summertime, we had one bedroom ready and moved Amber into it and we slept in the dining room with NO AIR CONDITION!! That was rough!! Steve and I recall sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the living room in front of the windows where we had the attic fan sitting. He said, “One day you will be laughing about this.” I said, “I don’t think so.”

Six months after we married, I received a call from Amber’s real father who was now paying child support for the past 8 months. He wanted to meet her and spend time with her and take her places. Although I was happy he was finally taking responsibility as a father, I was scared to death as well. When Steve came home from work and I told him my fears, he told me it was all a ploy and to call my attorney tomorrow and have him ask her father to relinquish his rights then he would adopt her. The very next morning, I did just that. By the afternoon, her father signed his rights to me. Steve then began the adoption of Amber as his own. Another dream come true!!

Two years into our marriage, we got pregnant for Hanna. I will never forget the morning my pregnancy test was positive. I very excitedly told Steve that we were pregnant. He said, “Congratulations!” Hanna was born September 20, 1996. Two years later, we got pregnant for Payton. When I was pregnant, we moved to a new house on Holly St. Payton was born June 15, 1999. We also started Steve’s Services by purchasing my father-in-law’s grapple truck and I started homeschooling that year as well.  

At this time, Steve informed me that we had had our last child. He didn’t feel we needed to have anymore.  My dream was to always have 4, 2 boys and 2 girls. So, after many tears, I began many Rosaries. In November of 1999, Steve was invited to attend a retreat called Cursillo in Prairie Ronde, LA. He said he was giving his attendance to me as an anniversary gift because it was on our anniversary weekend. I had already attended one in Houston when I was 20. So, I kind of knew what they were like and was very excited for him to go. When he returned from that retreat, our life had been changed. God was always the center of our marriage but now we had given our lives totally to God including our procreation. We would let God tell us how many children He wanted us to have. The night he returned will forever be in my memory.  He glowed with the Holy Spirit and had no worry lines on his forehead. We stayed up almost the entire night talking. It was amazing!!  And another dream come true!

After the retreat, we then had our “Cursillo” babies. Emily was born on August 28, 2001. Aaron was born on June 5, 2004. We had 2 miscarriages after Aaron was born. So, two babies are in Heaven waiting for us. Then we had Mary on January 12, 2008. Mary was a difficult delivery and although, we wanted to have more children after Mary. God placed it on our hearts that she was to be the last one.  We didn’t try to have another child but we didn’t try not to have another child. We let God decide what He wanted for our future. When Aaron was 4 months old, we began building a new house back on Sand Bar Road. I designed the 3200 sq ft home which is currently where we live on 27 acres of land.  This is our dream home for sure!

God has truly blessed us with a great life, a great marriage, and wonderful children and grandchildren. Two weekends ago we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with the wedding we never had with our children as our wedding party. We couldn’t have asked for a better day!! When we left for the reception that day, we both agreed that God has given us a good life!

I can personally say that God has blessed me with an amazing man! God made him and healed him just for me!! I never deserved such a gift but God said I did. Steve is my King and has made me his Queen. My heart still flutters and swells when I see him.  There are so many days I can’t wait for him to be home. I love being in his space at all times. Now onto new chapters in our lives as we marry our children, welcome more grandchildren, and grow the young ones still at home. We have big plans for our future and I truly cannot wait to see what God has in store for us. Because our lives are truly HIS!!

Mrs. Steven R. Bland (Lisa)