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maddieinwonder · 4 years ago

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A Lesson In Romance #3: The Cast

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, the team figures it out.

A/N: I'm guilty of writing too much Morgan and Garcia but I can't help it — they're so much fun! I think them plus Emily would have the most dramatic reactions to Spencer in a (potential) relationship, though I'm excited to write about the rest too.

(Also, the reference at the end is from Lord of the Rings, because I love Lord of the Rings.)

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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If you've learned anything from rom-coms, it's that every romantic lead needed a supporting cast. Whether they were siblings, parents, or childhood best friends, the main character needed somebody who would drop everything to talk to them — preferably showing up at their doorstep with face masks, nail polish, and a bottle of wine.

In your life right now, you suppose those people would be your teammates from the BAU.

Of course, this hypothetical scenario didn't require your potential love interest to be from work, but let's say for the purposes of the discussion that they were. Then you hoped, at least, that they would have an IQ of 150 or higher and a propensity for wearing mismatched socks.

But you were getting ahead of yourself. You were simply imagining the hypothetical scenario where your life was a rom-com. Hypothetically, you would need a love interest, and hypothetically, you kind of already had one.

“Hey,” Spencer waved you over from across the coffee shop. It wasn’t difficult to spot him when the place was nearly vacant. Everything was slow and quiet this early in the morning, and you weren’t going to make an exception.

“Morning,” you greeted softly as you sat down, relaxing into the smell of freshly roasted coffee and baked goods.

“I already ordered yours.” He smiled, tucking his book away in his messenger bag. “They had bagels this morning. Yours is cream cheese, but mine is strawberry jelly.” He looked overly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but crack a sleepy smile.

You eyed the spread in front of you, before lifting your gaze to meet his. “So your theory that you can predict my taste in desserts seems to be getting better.”

"Yes!" He shout-whispered, silently raising his fists in victory. “I knew I was right.”

You giggled at his overexcitement over something as small as getting your dessert order right. Although, he did once spend ten whole minutes explaining to you why dessert for breakfast was an underrated concept, so you couldn't say this was beyond your expectations for Dr. Spencer Reid.

You propped your head up with your arms, a smile plastered over your face. “Have I ever told you that you’re a weirdo, doctor?” You teased.

“Why, yes. Yes you have.” He replied with a smile, gesturing at you to try the bagel. His own was almost-gone, so they must be good.

And it was. Your eyes fluttered shut as the heavenly combination of carbs and cream woke up your taste buds. It was made even better with a sip of the perfect cup of coffee.

"Perfect," you sighed happily, digging into your breakfast further as Spencer quietly caught you up on the latest news in classical art.

Two weeks ago, you wouldn't have guessed that you would talk to Spencer alone, much less spend your mornings together with him. But as it turned out, a lot could change in a few days.

After the initial awkwardness between you had passed, you found that the two of you shared a lot more interests than interdimensional doctors and space opera. You both loved coffee, obviously, but you also had a mutual love for desserts, classical literature, and history.

It didn't take long for these interests to seep into the weekend, resulting in a suspiciously date-like afternoon with Spencer at his favourite museum. But you tried not to think too much into it. After all, the day had ended with a "see you at work", and not a "would you like to come in?"

Still, your dance between friendship and something more continued to grow wilder as days passed, until it reached a point where it inhabited your every waking thought. The only time it didn't, ironically, was when you were spending time with the person in question and every stray thought seemed to fall away.

Your mornings with him brought a necessary reprieve to the dark realities of this job, and some days you almost had to drag yourself out of your seat, knowing that you were straying from the calm of his company straight into the lion's mouth. But duty always called.

Your sudden hesitance to be apart from the resident genius hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of your team either; ever since the two of you walked into office one morning with matching coffee cups and smiles on your faces.

At first you enjoyed Spencer's company too much to care, but you knew that it was going to bite you back one day. And today seemed to be that day.

You could tell, because the lift doors to the BAU opened to one very determined Penelope Garcia with her arms folded across her chest. "Spit it out, you two," she said sharply without any greeting.

You and Spencer looked at each other, confused, before looking back at Penelope. "Spit out what, Pen?" You asked, a frown starting to form between your eyes.

"You know what I mean!" She squeaked, dropping her stern facade for a brief moment. "Are the two of you dating? The entire team has been dying to know, and I mean, d-y-i-n-g because there's a huge pot of money with my name on it if you are."

"Ah— No— I mean, you think—" Spencer stammered, his face instantly turning beet red in embarrassment, while your face began to grow red for another reason entirely.

"I think what he means is 'no', and what I mean to say is— what do you mean the entire team?" You half-yelled the question, while Penelope raised her hands defensively.

"What I mean, sugar, is that the two of you went from avoiding each other completely, to coming into work together everyday — and I know you spent last weekend together too, because you couldn't stop talking about it the next day at work and everybody noticed." She stated, pushing up her glasses.

"Not to mention, Dr. Reid here started wearing brighter colours subconsciously." She continued with her observations. "I know this, because in the almost four years I've worked with this man, I've never seen him wear anything brighter than violet. Or white. Or beige. But those don't count." She shook her head, getting back to her point.

"You get what I mean— and you," she pointed her pen in your direction, causing you to jump slightly. "You finally stopped doubting yourself as a part of this team. I knew this when you started talking more often during briefings — which I have nothing against, B-T-W, I totally support any effort in self-care and personal growth — but you also stopped shifting in your seat which you used to do when you felt nervous."

Penelope took a deep breath, preparing for the climax. "So all I can assume, is either you've been attending one of the 52 self-help classes that happen every weekend in Virginia, or somebody has been helping you find some serious zen."

"And my money's on the latter because every time you think nobody's watching, you're making eyes at Reid. But you're wrong. Garcia is always watching." She concluded triumphantly, raising one finger to point at herself.

"You might make a good profiler yet, doll." Derek remarked, walking up to the group with a smirk firmly affixed to his face.

"Expert at all things romance, and Cupid of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, Penelope Garcia at your service." She smiled, graciously curtseying to your other teammate.

"I know you're smart like that, babygirl," he grinned, draping his arm around her shoulder, "but you also don't know pretty boy as well as I do, because they aren't in a relationship."

He turned to you questioningly. "Are you?"

"No." You replied, glancing hesitantly at Spencer for his response, but his face simply looked blank with shock.

"See? Now it's time to collect my payout." Derek grinned at the tech analyst, making the motion of raining dollar bills.

Penelope tailed behind him grumpily as he walked into the BAU office, surely to share the "good news" with everybody else.

You hesitated to follow, imagining what teasing and looks would follow regardless of the outcome. Then you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, Spencer gestured back at the empty lift with his head and you smiled, realising what he meant.

"That is the best hypothesis you've had all morning," you said. The two of you shared a laugh as you got back into the lift.

Even behind glass doors, you could hear a muffled "What?!" that you guessed came from Emily. "There's absolutely no way those two aren't together already. Have you seen them?"

There was a brief pause, then a loud groan.

"I know, that's what I told him!" Penelope's high-pitched voice was clear. "You know I'm going to be right about them eventually—"

The lift doors finally closed, blocking out the rest of their conversation. You looked up at Spencer, your gaze meeting his clear hazel eyes. He looked at his watch briefly before saying the next words.

"We've got time. Are you up for second breakfast?" He asked, referencing a movie from a conversation two weeks ago. He remembered. Of course he remembered.

You cleared your throat before replying the next line. "What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?"

He laughed, and you felt a familiar peace return to you.

Whatever your teammates were yelling about, the two of you could deal with it later. Together.

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Tag list:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot

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halo-jpeg · 4 years ago

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Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 1

"Bill, why? Why would you say yes to that party? We don't know him! What if he's some serial killer? What if he tries to get us to do drugs? What if he kills us or lives in a dumpster or something?" Eddie is erratic, his drink still in his hand. They were hardly off the block of the little cafe known as Portland Authentic. Eddie hadn't been too fond of the guy behind the counter, mostly because he had written 'Eds' on his coffee cup. "I mean- we only just got to Portland and you're already going to get us killed or something!"

"Eddie, it'll be fine," Stan is the one to cut in with reassurance, taking a sip from his own cup and somehow not flinching at the taste of the straight caffeine, "Yeah, he was a little energetic but he didn't seem malicious. I think it'll be a good opportunity to get to know some new people." Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Bill beat him to it, and no one had the disrespect to talk over Bill. That was just... off limits, so Eddie shut his mouth again and tried not to grimace.

"Buh-buh-besides," He started, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other soaking up the warmth of his cinnamon cappuccino, "It'll be guh-good to get out and see what kind of people Portland has to offer." With that, the discussion was closed, and Eddie let it drop with just a sigh, trying to shake away the lingering annoyance clinging to his mind. There were too many good things about Portland to worry about the bad things- in just a few days he would be working towards his dream as a doctor- he had always wanted to be a doctor. When he was younger, he had wanted his career to be within the health arena for the sake of reassuring his mother that he could take care of himself without being stuck behind a desk- now, though, he wanted to become a doctor to prove his mother wrong, to learn all sorts of things that would help him confirm that he wasn't sick, and had never been sick like Sonia Kaspbrak had said he was.

The rest of the walk back home was near silent, consisting of craned necks and obvious gawking- Portland really was gorgeous, and so different from Derry. Rather than the tiny, modest homes Eddie and his friends grew up knowing, almost everything in the downtown area was some form of 19th century architecture or something alike- each building consisted of warm tones, arched windows, grand streetlamps with pots of colourful flowers. Eddie can't even imagine what it must look like in the daylight.

"Oh, here's my work," Stan said, seeming not to have realized what street they were wandering down. The three halted outside of a small flower shop, Roses on Deane, and approached the large, open windows in the front. The lights were out inside, obviously, but it was still possible to make out the shapes of many many bouquets. Stan had managed to score a job a few months back thanks to a cousin who had a friend who owned the place, and though Stan never considered himself a huge fan of flowers, Eddie could see how the place would fit him. At least one of them had a job- Eddie shudders to think that there is yet another huge thing he needs to get done this weekend. If he doesn't have a job by next weekend then he won't be able to pitch in to help with rent. Bill, who had been working at the library back home, had been transferred here too, so he was also getting payed bi-weekly. Eddie was alone in his unemployment, but that was okay. He was smart, and efficient, and he would get a job sooner or later somewhere.

"When do you start?" He asked, finally bringing his rapidly-cooling drink up to his lips. He braced himself for a horrid taste, taking a slow, tentative sip, and almost letting a sound of approval slip past his lips. It didn't... It didn't taste horrible. Peppermint was okay, in his opinion, and it balanced out the bitterness of the coffee just right.

"Tuesday at 5:00," Stan took one last glance through the window, smiling serenely and turning to continue on to their new apartment. Again, the three fell into silence, calm and comfortable. They walked another three blocks before spotting their building, and Bill was the one to pull out an access card to scan at the door. Their bags were already up in their house, and Eddie had even made a few comments on how he appreciated the security. Electronic locks were unheard of to Eddie until today, and he was pleased. Now, he was too exhausted to be pleased. His coffee had him buzzing, and he would force himself to stay awake until his suitcase was unpacked, but he couldn't wait to curl up in his new bed, away from his hometown for the first time in years.

"We'll have to go grocery shopping tuh-tomorrow," Bill hummed half to himself as he stepped into the elevator, clicking the button labeled with a '2'. "We won't have any fuh-fuh-food. I'll buy us breakfast in the morning."

"Thanks, Bill," Stan smiles, "We can make a meal plan, budget things out. Just to make sure we can always make rent." Eddie nodded along, and took another long sip of the minty-bitter drink in his hand.

"We should go look at the campus. I want to find out where my classes are, maybe." Eddie found himself rocking back and forth on his heels, watching the little glowing number above the elevator buttons blink from 'G' to '1' to, at last, '2'. With a ding, the doors slid open, and a dim hallway was presented to them, the lights on low now that it was just about 10:00 pm.

"I want to go see Back Cove Park at some point. The bird watching is great. They have egrets sometimes, and other birds I haven't seen yet. I always go there when I visit- it's like tradition." Stifling a yawn (not because of the bird talk- Eddie was just tired) Eddie nodded his head. In all honesty, a nature walk sounded nice. Already, he was missing the Barrens, the poor dam he remembers building with Bill ages and ages ago. "It's right on the water, so we can go fishing too, or swimming if you guys wanted to. It isn't always as warm as it is tonight, and it's only getting colder, but..." Stan shrugs. They arrive at their apartment door, number 29, and yet again Bill is the one to pull out his key and stick it into the lock, giving it a twist and pushing the door wide open. Eddie steps inside first, flicking on the light and taking in the sight of his new apartment.

The door opened up into a short hallway. To his direct right there was a door leading to a small closet. A little ways ahead, the hallway broke both left and right, the left way leading to the kitchen and living room along with the doors to the balcony and Bill's room- in turn, the right way led to the main bathroom and the two other bedrooms reserved for Eddie and Stan.

"Wuh-well, I guess this is goodnight," Bill says, shutting the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, "We all have a l-lot of unpacking to do, I'm sh-sure." Both Stan and Eddie nod in near-perfect unison.

"Goodnight, you guys. Enjoy your first sleep in our new house." Stan speaks with a grin, staring at both Eddie and Bill with that intense hazel gaze that seems to communicate the intense reality of the situation. The three men had made it out of their childhood town, and now they were living on their own. They really weren't children anymore. Along with that look in Stan's eyes came a heavy feeling of bittersweetness- Derry was gone, now, and with it, Eddie's childhood. He smiled at his two best friends, and then turned down the hallway to greet his room.

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"Alright, that's everything," Ben says as the doors to the cafe swing shut and he locks them tight.

"Another job well done, boy! Another fantastic job, I'd say!" Richie throws one arm over Ben's shoulders, and then the other pulls in Bev by the arm. Crushing his two buddies in a double side-hug, he speaks in his almost-perfected MovieTone Newsreel Announcer Voice, disturbing the silence of the dark Portland streets, "You're both quite the caffeine-mixin' maestros, eh? You'll do great things for this world, great things!"

"Beep-beep, Richie. I'm exhausted." Beverly was smiling, sure, but Richie really could tell that she was done with today. He let both she and Ben go, toning down his behavior and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to each along with his lighter. Ben declined as politely as possible, so Richie and Bev were left to smoke without him.

"You'll get those beers for me, won't you?" Richie asks, taking a drag and relishing in the way the smoke filled his lungs. He should probably quit sooner or later, huh? Maybe one day. "I've got the cash back home. I'll give it to you and you can just go buy whatever you want. Party booze of your choice." Ben let out a chuckle, waving a hand in front of his face to show his dislike of the cigarette smoke. Richie mumbled something akin to an apology.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get it. And don't worry about paying me back, I'll be drinking it too." Richie beamed. With a light punch to the shoulder, he turned his attention to Bev, ready to play a little bit of Cupid.

"You're coming too, right Bevvie?" He asked the question as if it were nothing, oh-so subtly bumping Ben with his elbow. Beverly shrugged.

"Probably. It's basically a sin to miss out on an infamous Tozier party, isn't it?" She placed the cigarette against her lips, and puffed out smoke right after. "What else is happening other than drinking too much and getting the Police called on us for being too loud?" Richie couldn't help but snicker at that. The Police had, on numerous occasions, been called on him for playing his music at ungodly levels, but, I mean, come on, he has fantastic taste and the world needs to know it.

"Who knows, maybe some pin the tail on the donkey? Musical chairs?" Ben and Beverly both let out a snort, the redhead spinning to face Richie with suddenly bright eyes.

"Please," She said with a wide, bright smile, "I would pay to see you get annihilated by Ben."

"Excuse me, Miss Marsh, but I pride myself on being a musical chairs master! I was unbeatable in my fifth grade class!" Placing a feign-offended hand on his chest, Richie guffawed, upturning his nose in mock disgust. Beverly was laughing now, a light and cheery sound almost like the jingling of the bell in the cafe but a little less annoying. The bell also didn't make Ben's face light up, and he didn't want to hear the bell forever.

"Probably because you were built like string cheese, Richie- No offense, of course." Beverly only laughed harder at Ben's quip, and yeah, Richie admits that it was pretty good and about 99% true.

"The best damn string cheese you've ever tasted, Haystack," Richie shot his friend a wink, lifting one foot and crushing his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, "Now, my dearests, I must depart- nice work we did today, you two!" Richie flicked the butt away, speaking over his shoulder as he set off in the direction of home. "I'll see you both at my party!" He spins on his heel, waving Ben and Bev off with one last peace sign before continuing on into the darkness. Richie hummed a little tune to himself, a pep in his step despite his light tiredness. Oh, how he wanted to get home- the idea of cracking open a soda and sitting in front of the TV sounded pretty damn great right about now. For a Friday night the world was surprisingly quiet- the same wouldn't be said about tomorrow. Toziers were born to party. Richie's dad had thrown some ragers in his teenage days, and so had his mom- now, it was his turn to take on the family name and keep that legacy going. Other than beer he probably needed some snacks, chips or cookies or as Ben had so wonderfully suggested string cheese because who doesn't like string cheese? He made a mental note to go grocery shopping tomorrow and hoped that he didn't forget it.

Richie's apartment came into view, a pretty little six floor building made of a nice red brick. He lived on the top floor and his neighbors probably hated him for reasons that should be obvious enough but he'd yet to be kicked out which meant he still had some boundaries to push. He'd been brewing up a new party playlist for a few days now and he made yet another mental note to throw on 'Dancing Queen'. Richie's humming transformed into whistling as he pulled open the door to his building, waving to the late-night receptionist, a kind young lady who hated his guts and probably thought he was flirting with her all the time when he really didn't even swing that way.

"Good evening, m'lady," He said with a goofy, lopsided grin, earning a scowl over the top of a home-deco magazine, "Quite the swell night it is," He didn't linger long, pressing the call button for the elevator and stepping inside. He tapped '6' and waited, his spirits high, excited for tomorrow. He liked getting ready for parties. He liked the decorations he always put up, the arrangement of the snacks that he put too much thought into, and the anticipation of being the host because that always meant most eyes were on him. Up up up the elevator went, and let out a happy little ding as the doors peeled back open and he went right to his door. Richie pulled out his keys, jamming them into the doorknob and pushing the door open to reveal the space inside. "Honey, I'm home!" He called out the words, arms out at his side in a motion of grandeur. Of course, there was no response, and he kicked the door shut with his heel. Richie tossed his keys onto the little table by the door, toeing off each shoe in turn and leaving them discarded in the middle of the entryway.

"Hey there, babes," His first stop was the fish tank on the kitchen counter, packed with swimming little neon tetra and angelfish and Richie's prized bala shark he named Bella- creative, he knows- to sprinkle in some food. The little jar was just beside the aquarium, and he popped off the lid, shaking it above the open water and watching his little pals swim forth for their dinner. With his lasting grin, Richie let out a chuckle, his heart swelling at the sight of his aquatic children as he set the food back on the counter and took a step away. His own stomach let out a growl, and he realized for the first time that he hasn't eaten since after his last class, way back at 3:00. Popping open his fridge, Richie scanned it's contents- yep, he really needed to go get food tomorrow. There was next to nothing. He settled half-reluctantly on some month-old instant ramen and cooked it up with ease. Richie hadn't had instant ramen in ages, but there was a good amount of nostalgia contained within the simple dish. It had carried him through high school one plastic cup at a time, helping him fight through long nights of studying and even a nasty breakup.

The microwave let out three beeps, calling out 'Hey! I'm done, come eat me!' with each and every one. Richie ate it as he hastily cleaned up the kitchen, throwing dishes in the dishwasher and even taking the time to watch a casserole dish by hand, putting on his playlist but keeping the speakers on a low volume for the sake of his neighbors. No more than 15 minutes passed and then he was done, finally allowing himself to do what he's been anticipating all day. With a Pepsi in hand, he made the couch his home, curling up in a knitted blanket and tuning into 'Friends'. As he watched, one eye always on the TV, he snatched the black nail polish from it's spot on the coffee table and began to paint it over the chipped remnants of what was already there. At some point, after they'd dried, he ended up falling asleep on the sofa.

#Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #reddie #it movie #it #it 2017 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it 2019 #gay clown movie #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #stan uris #stanley uris #stenbrough #benverly #reddie fanfiction

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yetanotherfanficblog · 4 years ago

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PANGLOSSIAN

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Characters: Pyotyr Ilych (Male Duskwight Elezen WoL OC), Aymeric de Borel. Aymeric/Male WoL.

Rating/Warnings: T (Sexual Situations)

Summary: The Warrior of Light settles into domestic life at his husband's mansion in Ishgard. Set in an imagined peaceful era post-Shadowbringers, but spoilers only really apply up through the end of Heavensward. Written for Prompt #18 of FFXIV Write 2020.

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The first time Pyotyr had insisted on cooking for himself at the Borel Mansion, his husband was slightly confused, but supportive and intrigued, and his husband's servants ran the gamut from scandalized to absolutely beside themselves with laughter to very excited to have an evening off. Pyotyr however, insisted he was serious to any doubters, saying, "Noble by Adoption and Marriage or not, I'm still just a common country doctor at heart! I've cooked my own meals, done my own laundry, and made my own way for decades, and I can't just quit all that right off, now, can I?"

Thus, on this particular day, for far from the first time, Pyotyr Ilych had once again shooed his husband's servants from the kitchen, and immediately taken to bustling about, stoking a fire, and gathering various spices and foodstuffs from various cabinets and cupboards. And thus, by the time Aymeric returned from the House of Lords, he found him there. Apparently content to watch, he leaned against the doorframe to see the cook in action.

Pyotyr, in the meantime, flitted from place to place, absorbed in his culinary dance. After chopping up a few stalks of celery and a large, yellow onion, he leaned up over the counter to pluck a few springs of thyme and a few bay leaves from the herb rack overhead, before finally turning to the cauldron hanging over the stove to fish out some browned meat and dump in the onions and a few bulbs of garlic into the pot instead.

From helping his mother prepare dinner at their old seaside shack, to mess duty on board the Pomona, to scrounging dinner for himself and his daughters almost every night for years, Pyotyr had found that he enjoyed the rhythm of the kitchen, and the poetry of the product of the labor: disparate ingredients, mixed just right, to create something predictable,yet slightly different every time, a wonder of taste and discovery, the ultimate alchemy.

As the wondrous smell of garlic and onion began to fill the kitchen, he finished his preparation: Meat went back in the pot, a bowl of tomatoes he'd crushed earlier poured on top of that, the rest of the vegetables and a bit of water and a pour from a jug of cooking wine after that, then the thyme and bay leaves (He'd already added salt and pepper to the meat earlier, of course - Ishgard might prefer their salt in rocks, but Limsa knew to add it to the dish!), check the fire, lean back against the counter, wipe your brow, and await the fruit of your labors.

It was only then, as Pyotyr beamed at the bubbling pot in satisfaction, that Aymeric rose off the doorframe and stepped into the kitchen. Pyotyr looked over, eyes slightly wide in surprise, and quickly strode the length of the kitchen to wrap his arms around Aymeric and bestow a kiss on his cheek.

"Aymeric," he said, warmth and happiness in his voice and his face alike, "I'm sorry I didn't see you there earlier! Welcome home, my dear."

"'Tis good to be home, Pyotyr," Aymeric said in return, arms around his husband's waist, forehead pressed to his forehead for a moment, "And think nothing of it. 'Twas I who hung back to watch you work rather than announce myself. Whether on the Battlefield or in the Kitchen, I am always awestruck and transfixed to watch you in your element."

"Flatterer..." Pyotyr answered, his voice a murmur, his cheeks blushing as he wrapped his arms around his husband's neck. They stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying being close to each other again after a long day.

"So," Aymeric broke the silence first, "How was the Scholasticate?"

"Oh!" Pyotyr said, lighting up with a smile, "It was wonderful! There was a young lady from the Brume who came to sign up today. She attended my first lecture, and she had so many interesting, piercing questions about Arcane Rune theory! I've already given her a reading list and she sounded so eager to dive into it. I am so glad you expanded the scholasticate and opened it up to everyone. There are so many bright minds among the common folk that will get chances they might never have had."

Aymeric smiled back, "I'm glad to hear it. These years of peace will only last if we allow all of Ishgard's children to partake of its fruits. The noble houses have hoarded too much for too long."

"It always cheers me to hear you speak so, my ravishing revolutionary," Pyotyr laid his head on Aymeric's shoulder for a moment, "And speaking of, the House of Lords didn't given you too much trouble today, I hope?"

"Dzemael is up to their usual complaints," Aymeric said, "but it is nothing I can't handle. I think even Durendaire is finally coming around to the new ways, and the reconstruction bill the Commons put forth is so airtight, I don't think even Dzemael will be able to vote against it in good faith."

Pyotyr chuckled, "Hm. I'm sure they received some wonderful guidance and advice, to write such an airtight document."

Aymeric looked innocent, "Well, if the common machinists at Skysteel Manufactory heard some things from Sir Stephanivien, and Hilda happened to overhear my discussion with Lucia regarding the Dzmael's complaints regarding the taxes on Falcon's Nest, I can't say what they might have done with that information..."

Pyotyr blinked innocently, "Oh, the things people will do with idle chatter indeed."

After another beat, Pyotyr kissed his husband's cheek one more time,

"Thank you," He murmured into his ear, softly, lowly.

"Thank you? For what?"

"For this. For everything. After so many years of struggle, to think that I'm here, in the arms of the man I love, in the house we live in together, with nothing spread out before us but lives to build together and a hard fought peace to enjoy. I do not know what the future may bring, but right now, I cannot imagine a more perfect world."

"I am glad," Aymeric said, "For I feel the same. But come, am I right in thinking the stew will keep on its own for a while?"

"It will," Pyotyr said, his voice a murmur as he hung happily off his husband, "Why?"

Aymeric began to walk, his steps guiding Pyotyr back toward a nearby table, then, leaning back, back over the table. Finally, Aymeric answered him.;

"Because," he said, "That just means I shall have to sate my hunger in other ways for now."

Pyotyr blushed and chuckled, reaching up to undo the first button on his shirt collar, "I take it back, what I said earlier. NOW it's perfect."

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2020 #aymeric de borel #aymeric #aymeric-x-male-wol #aymeric-x-wol #ffxivwrite #fanfic

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years ago

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What color is your hair? Naturally dark brown, but I dye it red. Who is your best friend? My mom. Single, Taken, Flirty, Heartbroken? Single. What’s your favorite color pen? Black. Who is the last person who called you? My mom.

Are you in love with that person? Uh, no I’m not in love with her. I love her with all my heart, though. Do you like the band Spitalfield? I only knew their song, “Those Days You Felt Alive.” Is there someone you can’t imagine life without? My loved ones. Your enemy dies. How do you feel? I don’t have any enemies. Do you like rootbeer? Ehh it’s okay. I used to get a random hankering for one. What is your favorite color fingernail polish? Black. If you had to get a tattoo, what would it be of? Free bird on my inner wrist. Do you plan on having kids one day? No. What is the best fast food place, in your opinion? I haven’t been into fast food much for the past few months, but the only ones I ever go to are BK, Taco Bell, McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A, and Jack in the Box. Do you wake up in a good mood in the mornings? Nope. What is your favorite eye color in the opposite sex? Blue or green are quite pretty. What does the 53rd text in your inbox say? I’m not gonna figure that out. How often do you log onto myspace? I haven’t logged into Myspace since like 2008. What are your favorite pair of shoes? Adidas. What is your mom’s maiden name? I’m not sharing that. Are relationships ever really worth it? Yes. Would you rather receive balloons or flowers for valentine’s day? How about coffee and a stuffed animal. Particularly a giraffe. ha. Do you believe in love at first sight? No. Do you follow the crowd when it comes to trends or do your own thing? I do my own thing. Where were you at eleven this morning? I was right here in bed. What is your worst bad habit? I have many. How was your day? It was okay. I wasn’t feeling up to doing anything, but my mom got me out of the house tonight to see Doctor Sleep. Who did you spend last saturday night with? I’m always here at home with my family. Do you have faith in yourself? No. Hearts, stars, or horse shoes? “Clovers and blue moons. Pots of gold and rainbows. And tasty red balloons!” Do you believe in happily ever after? I believe you can have one, yes. Have you ever dated outside your race? No, but that’s not because I wouldn’t. It just so happens that the only 2 guys I’ve had a thing with were white and Mexican, and I am as well. What is your average phone bill? I don’t pay a phone bill. I’m on a family plan and my dad and brother take care of it. Which is better: chapstick or lip gloss? I’d just go for the chapstick. Perhaps a tinted one. Are you more of a tomboy or a girly girl? I’m just comfy, casual kind of gal. Leggings and oversized graphic tees for me. Have you ever been completely heartbroken? Yes. What is your favorite scent? I have a lot. I don’t feel like listing them right now, but I have plenty of times in other surveys. Is your name is the phonebook? Are phonebooks even still a thing? lol. Are you a virgin? Yes. Do you have a five year plan? Nope. What time is it? 11:49PM. Have you ever been proposed to? No. Do you have a favorite pair of socks? No. Do you take certain medicine on a daily basis? Yes. Describe the shirt you’re wearing. It’s gray and says “The Ghost Face.” It’s meant to look like The North Face logo. Have you ever seen two people together and you got sick to your stomach? No. Do you believe in Heaven? Yes. Is the grass really always greener on the other side? Nope. It just looks like that way. The other side probably thinks your side looks better. Do you prefer laptops or desktop computers? Laptops. I haven’t had a desktop in several years. Are you a jealous person? I haven’t felt that in a long time. I feel envy more often. Does the thought of marriage scare you? I honestly can’t imagine myself ever getting married. Is it true that faith is believing when common sense tells you not to? No. I haven’t heard it put that way before.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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lilacmoon83 · 6 years ago

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Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 177: Scrutiny

Snow rested her head against David's shoulder, as they watched their kids play a game. It was a familiar scene to them, but one sorely missed as of late. Their plates had been taken away a while ago and dessert was shared, as they enjoyed being together again. Rogers had stayed for a while and ate with them, but then opted to go home, for they had court in the morning and he wanted to go check on Tilly.

They tried not to laugh, as they watched their sons stare each other down with two of the worst poker faces they'd ever seen. They could help but chuckle to each other, as Bobby's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. It meant he thought he had a good hand and they could see their older son grinning at the younger for it.

"Well...let's see it," Leo said, as Bobby showed his cards.

"Three of a kind," he announced, thinking he was going to be winning the pot, which consisted of gummy worms, Oreo cookies, and more than enough sugar to keep him up all night.

"Don't even think about eating all that junk tonight, young man," Snow warned, making David chuckle as he got the same pout on his face that she did.

"Don't worry Mom...I'm the only one that's going to feasting on this jackpot tonight," Leo said, as he showed his cards.

"Full house kid...better luck next time," he said, preparing to scoop his winnings toward him.

"Um...not so fast there," Eva said, as Summer put her hand down, revealing four aces.

"What?" Leo protested.

"Sorry...I win," Summer said, as now both boys wore identical pouts.

"That's my girl...I taught you well. Better luck next time, boys," Eva boasted, as she congratulated her little sister in her victory.

"You know, coaching her isn't exactly fair. There's no one better at reading people than you," Leo complained. She rolled her eyes.

"I don't need my ability to read you two. You two wear your emotions all over your faces," she retorted.

"She's got you there," David agreed.

"Mmm...and they get that from you," Snow agreed too and he didn't deny it. His emotions were always prevalent in his mood and expressions. Emma chuckled at their antics and stole a gummy worm.

"Not to change the subject to more serious things...but I need a favor from you," she mentioned to Eva.

"Of course," the dark haired young woman replied.

"Killian...Rogers…" she said, correcting herself.

"Rogers and I found this in Tilly's boxcar earlier," Emma said, as she pushed the evidence bag over to her.

"Is that golden dust?" David asked, looking at it.

"Yep," Emma replied.

"Like...golden dust from a certain flower?" Snow asked. Emma nodded.

"I'm pretty sure…" she replied.

"Then she's been in Tilly's boxcar," David surmised.

"I think so...but that's not all that was in Tilly's boxcar," Emma replied, as she swiped through some photos on her phone of the drawings on Tilly's wall.

"Tilly drew these?" Snow asked. She nodded.

"If I had to guess, then she's probably been having episodes or moments of clarity that she's not even aware of," Emma replied.

"Emma...do you think these are drawings of the future?" Snow asked.

"I don't know...but I think Gothel is looking for the resurrection amulet. I already told Regina that we need to find a way to wake Zelena up so we can get it first," Emma replied.

"If Gothel gets the amulet...then all she needs is our star seeds," David mentioned unpleasantly.

"Which is why I'm going to get it first. I won't let her get it first," she promised. Snow clutched her daughter's hand.

"We know honey...but you won't fight her alone," she assured.

"I know...but you two have got to be careful. You're in more danger than I think you realize," Emma stressed.

"We promise we won't take any chances," David tried to assure her. But Emma knew her parents. The danger to them was significant, as usual and Emma feared that there wasn't much she could do to prevent any of the dangers to them.

"We have court in the morning, so I better go pay the check," David mentioned.

"Yes...and you have a recital tomorrow night, honey. So you especially need to get to bed," Snow responded.

"Mom...I'm not going to my recital," Summer refuted. The raven haired beauty frowned.

"Why not?" Snow asked and her daughter gave her an incredulous look.

"Uh...reporters are trying to follow you and Daddy everywhere and there are way more important things going on right now," she refuted.

"Oh sweetie...I don't care if a mob of reporters are waiting for us at the school. Your father and I would never miss one of your recitals. You love dance and we are not going to let anyone deprive you of that," Snow admonished.

"She's right peanut...we can't wait for your recital. You're the lead, as usual and you know we never pass up the opportunity brag about one of our amazing kids," he added, humbling her a bit, as her mother smiled and kissed her father's cheek, before resting her head on his shoulder. All the reporters and attention from other parents would be uncomfortable at best, but they were gladly going to brave it all for her and without question.

"That reminds me...we need to charge the camera tonight," she mentioned and he nodded, as he settled their bill. Emma smirked and squeezed her baby sister's hand. It was almost like being back home and that gave them all hope, for her parents always managed to give them a bit of normalcy, no matter what was going on around them. They were always first to their parents and that had never wavered, even when they had faced down some of the worst situations imaginable. David pecked her on the lips, before getting up to go pay the bill.

"Thanks again, Joe. We'll get out of your hair now," he promised.

"Nah...this is family. Stay as long as you want," he replied, as the song changed in the jukebox and happened to be one of Snow's favorites. He grinned back at her.

"Well...maybe one dance," he said, as he held his hand out to her and she swooned, as he swept her into his arms.

"This song is so cheesy," Leo complained.

"And like thirty-years old," Eva added.

"It is both of those things...but somehow, it just works for Mom and Dad," Emma said, as they all shared a smile.

"I think we're embarrassing our children again," Snow whispered to him, as they swayed and danced together. He chuckled.

"Probably...but what else is new?" he joked, as he kissed her tenderly. She giggled and then mewled into his kiss again. Which quickly dissolved from dancing into just making out.

"And now they're making out," Leo deadpanned.

"As usual," Eva added.

"It's not new, but still embarrassing," Emma agreed. Snow and David shared a smile at their usual commentary and they decided it was time to go home. As much as they wanted to stay, they had the unpleasantness of court to deal with early the next morning.

~*~

After a tumultuous dinner, the two couples returned to Roni's bar for a nightcap. Robin seemed to get along with Chad well enough. Regina knew she wasn't going to like whatever defense her sister's fiance would be mounting the next morning in court, but she definitely felt that he wouldn't be doing so maliciously. Still, she knew he would be painting Snow and David in a light that she wasn't happy about. Such was the job of a defense attorney, but she still didn't have to like it. Add to that, she still had to figure out a way to get Zelena to remember. She needed to find that amulet before Gothel. Everything could hinge on who possessed the amulet, but that was only part of the battle. Court in the morning was likely to be another and she hated that her family was even having to go through this. And all because of that damn doctor they had originally encountered in New Orleans when Isaac had sent Snow to his facility in a twist he wrote in as an insurance policy if they managed to defeat his narrative. They had, of course, and when the former author's twisted narrative had ended, he made sure to get in a final dig at Snow and Charming.

They had journeyed to the bayou and rescued Snow, of course, but not before making Dr. Ivan Facilier their enemy and initiating his need for revenge on them. And she had to give it to Facilier's vindictive grandson. He had crafted an unorthodox, but very effective revenge. Shining such media attention on Snow and David was not only the last thing they needed, but it was quite possibly the worst thing he could have done. Having normal people focus on them in the scandal he had crafted for them was so intrusive and exhausting. They didn't need or want the attention and it had complicated everything. The doctor that she had dismissed as a non-threat had proved her wrong in a devastating way. Being embroiled in this court battle was just a forced distraction they didn't need. It was almost like he was trying to ensure that even if they did manage to break the curse that there would be either no escaping this new reality or at the very least, it would prevent them from ever leaving Storybrooke again even if they did make it back. Somehow though, she knew Snow and Charming wouldn't mind the latter and neither would she. If they did make it back, she knew it wouldn't matter to any of them if they never had to leave Storybrooke again. In fact, she welcomed that and knew they did too.

"Nice try Facilier...but this family will endure," she muttered, as she did a shot and glanced at her sister, who was leaving with Chad for their hotel.

"I know that look…" Robin mentioned.

"I got a text from Emma...she thinks Gothel was poking around Tilly's boxcar," she said, her face troubled by this.

"The amulet...she's looking for it," he realized. She nodded.

"We think so and the only one that knows where it is…" she trailed off.

"Is Zelena," he finished.

"We need to get to that amulet before Gothel," Regina said, as she went in the back room and started fumbling around.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"I don't know...maybe she hid it here somewhere. Before the curse took us, Zelena assured me that it would be safely sealed away. That means that it might be here," she replied.

"Then we'll find it," he assured, as he started helping her look.

~*~

Snow kissed him deeply, as they lay entwined beneath the bedclothes, sated and glowing the in the after effects of their powerful, incredible lovemaking. They panted together, as their lips parted and they pressed their foreheads together, gazing soulfully into each other's eyes.

"I love you so much," Snow whispered, as she continued to kiss his neck

"And I love you, my beautiful Snow…" he rasped, as he spooned her against him and she settled in his arms. She noticed his pensiveness though.

"What's bothering you?" she asked, for not even their euphoric lovemaking had eased his tension.

"I just hate that you have to go on the stand tomorrow and relive what that psycho doctor did to you," he lamented.

"I know, but I'll be fine, my love, because I know that you'll be there with me," she reminded, as she kissed his cheek.

"You're my hero...never doubt that," she added, as they settled and slowly drifted off to sleep.

~*~

When David opened his eyes next, he was startled at first, because Snow was no longer beside him, but he was dressed in the exact clothing he had been wearing when he awakened Snow from the sleeping curse. He looked around and instantly recognized the meadow as the one from Neverland.

"Snow?" he called, but somehow knew she wasn't there. Snow had told him about her dream and he noticed that their tree was there. He could tell it was theirs, because of the blanket of snowdrops growing all around it.

"I'm sure you've figured out that though this is a dream...it is very real," a male voice said. David turned and found a tall, dark haired man before him. He was wearing a formal black and gold coat, pants and cape that indicated his royal station.

"You're King Endymion," David stated.

"And you're Prince David...we meet at last," he replied kindly.

"Snow told me about her meeting with Serenity and I think that's what is confusing me. Aphrodite made is sound like neither of you survived your battle with the Black Fairy," he said.

"We sacrificed ourselves to save our people from the darkness. Then two of our guardians sacrificed themselves to the resurrection stone to bring us back. Serenity and I were not happy about others sacrificing themselves for us, but it was their duty to see that we survived for our Kingdom," he explained.

"And then Gothel came along," he surmised.

"Yes...the Kingdom was lost then, but we were able to save most of our people and settle again near Olympus," he explained.

"Snow and I don't like the idea of anyone sacrificing themselves for us, especially one of our children. Emma's heart is already poisoned and I know we'll do anything to cure her," he said. He smiled.

"And I'm hoping I can help with that," he said cryptically...

~*~

The next morning, the District Attorney managed to sneak Snow and David in the back way again, avoiding the mob of press outside the courthouse. Clayton arrived after them, having actually enjoyed the attention of the cameras and even had the audacity to do a shameless plug for the grand opening event of his new exhibit debuting that very evening.

"Mr. Stavros...do you think this trial will affect the attendance to your event tonight?" one reporter questioned. He smirked smugly.

"On the contrary...I expect a packed house for the event," he said, as he looked over at Snow and David.

"There is no hard feelings here," he said, gesturing grandly toward them.

"I'll even extend an invitation to Detective Nolan and his lovely...Snow White to attend," he said, making some of them chuckle, at least the reporters that seemed to always eat him up. David clenched his fists, as they were essentially making fun of the woman he loved again, but she put both her hands on his fist and looked him in the eyes.

"Baby...it's okay. It doesn't matter what they say," she whispered.

"I just hate this...they're going to drag you through the mud today on the stand," he lamented.

"I know...but I'll get through it, because all I have to do is look at you the entire time. With you here, I can get through anything," she assured.

"The court will come to order," Judge Cabot stated, as the press was locked out of the courtroom and opening arguments began.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We're here today, because this man, the defendant, Clayton Stavros participated in a dastardly scheme. He assisted the late Dr. Franklin Samdi in a plot to enact revenge on a beautiful little family," Amara stated.

"Their reasons for wanting revenge are not clear, but what is are the deeds the defendant committed against David and Margaret Nolan, as well as their children. Clayton Stavros assisted the Doctor in his kidnapping Margaret Nolan and her son Bobby," she continued.

"Doctor Samdi kept Margaret Nolan against her will, made a false diagnosis in order to keep her locked up, and forcibly medicated her. Mr. Stavros provided forged papers, stating that he was Margaret Nolan's brother and stating that her name was Mary Blanchard. He used these falsified documents to have her committed and take custody of her son, all while allowing her husband to believe them to be dead," she explained.

"I know what these allegations must sound like to all of you. This plot sounds like something out of a movie or crime novel, but I assure what these men did to this family was very real. One is no longer with us to pay for his crimes, but the other still is and I believe after you have seen and heard our testimony, that you will come to one conclusion and one conclusion only. That this man, Clayton Stavros must be punished for his actions accordingly. Thank you," she concluded her opening argument, as Chad stood up and buttoned his suit jacket, before approaching the jury.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we can all agree that the late Dr. Samdi's practices were questionable at best, but the details in his memoir are hardly substantial proof to back up these allegations against my client. But there are facts that I can provide you with," Chad stated.

"I think we can all agree that my client did not do the right things when it came to Mrs. Nolan and her son. But I assure you that I can make the argument that he did the things he did out of concern for a young boy, whose mother is mentally ill," Chad continued.

"Margaret Nolan was correctly diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder and has three identities that we know of," he explained.

"But rather than get his wife the help she deserved, Detective Nolan chose to rather indulge her delusions by playing along with them and indulging her in a very unhealthy way. Meanwhile, his constant investigations into my client bordered on harassment. He was obsessed with trying to find some imagined mis-dealings and illegal actions that he was convinced my client was committing. But despite never finding definitive proof of anything, Detective Nolan refused to stop pursing his outlandish investigations into my client's business transactions," he added.

"Mr. Stavros' only tried to get Mrs. Nolan the help she deserved and give young Bobby a more stable home. He did it the wrong way, but I think by the end of this trial, you will agree that leniency in this matter should be considered. My client was trying to help in all the wrong ways. That deserves community service and a fine, but not jail time. And I think you'll soon agree," Chad finished, as he sat back down.

"He can't be serious," David growled under his breath.

"We knew they were going to go this route," she reminded.

"The state may call their first witness," the Judge stated.

"Thank you, Your Honor. The state calls Margaret Nolan to the stand," Amara announced. David squeezed her hand and she went to the witness box where the bailiff swore her in, before District Attorney Pearson approached.

"Good morning, Mrs. Nolan," she greeted pleasantly.

"Good morning," Snow replied.

"Can you please describe what it was like during your time in Dr. Samdi's care?" she asked. Snow got a haunted look on her face, as she remembered those nights.

"Dr. Samdi kept me locked in a small cell and his orderlies would force me to take pills. When I struggled, they would hold me down and even slap me. I had bruises and marks on my body most of the time," she confessed.

"Did Dr. Samdi ever tell you why you had to take these pills?" she questioned. She nodded.

"He said I was a sick woman and that I was a danger to my family when I said I wanted to go home," she replied.

"And what role did Mr. Stavros play in this?" she asked.

"He had custody of my son and said that my husband believed we died in a horrible accident. He said it was for the best," she replied, recalling all the nights she had cried for David.

"That must have been terrible to endure," Amara stated.

"It was...I cried for my husband every night," she confessed, as she gazed at him. It brought tears to his eyes too, for he hated all she had gone through and he had not been able to protect her.

"Objection, Your Honor. This is not a therapy session," Chad interjected.

"Sustained. Move on with your line of questioning, Ms. Pearson," the Judge ordered.

"Mrs. Nolan...there have been allegations that you have multiple identities. Is this true?" Amara asked.

"No...I only started to believe I might be this Mary Blanchard after I had been forced to take medication for months. The drugs caused those problems. I was very malleable when I was medicated," Snow replied.

"So it would be safe to say that Dr. Samdi easily controlled you while you medicated and the meds made you believe anything he told you, is that correct?" she asked. Snow nodded.

"Yes," she answered.

"Mrs. Nolan...do you know why Dr. Samdi would do this to you or why Mr. Stavros would want to participate in such a scheme against you and your husband?" Amara asked.

"I can't be sure, but I know Mr. Stavros wants revenge against my husband," Snow answered.

"Why?" she asked.

"Years ago...David was responsible for keeping him from illegally acquiring some ancient artifacts that he was desperate to add to his collection," Snow replied.

"Objection, Your Honor. My client was never convicted of any crimes, despite Detective Nolan's attempts to catch him with his baseless accusations," Chad objected.

"Sustained. The jury will disregard Mrs. Nolan's mentions of any unsubstantiated charges," the Judge ordered.

"Did Mr. Stavros allow you to see your son? The son that he illegally took custody of thanks to forged documents?" she asked.

"Sometimes...he would let Bobby visit once a week. Most of the time though, Bobby had to sneak away from Clayton to come see me," she replied.

"That had to be hard on your son. To be cut off from his real parents and kept away from his real father," Amara stated.

"Is there a question here, Your Honor?" Chad interjected.

"I assure you there is, Your Honor," Amara replied.

"Then ask it, Counselor," the Judge stipulated.

"Can you tell the court how your husband finally discovered that you were alive?" she asked. Snow smiled.

"That was our little Bobby. He managed to sneak away from Mr. Stavros long enough to find David. Then David came and found me," she answered. Amara smiled.

"Thank you Mrs. Nolan. Only one more question. Do you believe Mr. Stavros abused your son?" she asked

"Objection! This is not family court!" Chad protested.

"Withdrawn, no further questions," Amara replied, as she took a seat, while Chad got up and approached the witness bench.

"Good morning, Mrs. Nolan," he greeted.

"Good morning," Snow responded curtly.

"Is it true that you also go by Miss Blanchard?" he questioned.

"Mary Blanchard is the woman the doctor told me I was when I was medicated," she answered.

"I see...have you ever seen this book, Mrs Nolan?" he asked, as he held up a white paperback copy of Henry's commercially published version of the original book.

"Yes...it's my son's favorite book," she answered.

"Did you used to read to him from this book?" Chad questioned.

"Objection...of what relevance is this?" Amara questioned.

"I assure you that I have a point, Your Honor," Chad argued.

"Overruled. The Witness will answer the question," the Judge ordered.

"I still read to him from it. So does my husband," she answered.

"Then you are aware, that according to Dr. Samdi's memoir, that the reason Clayton Stavros sought to have you committed was because you began to believe that the stories in this book were real. That you think you are the Snow White in this book," he stated.

"No," she answered. She knew it wasn't really the truth, but for all intents and purposes, she was legally Margaret Nolan in this world.

"Then your son doesn't think that you and your husband are Snow White and Prince Charming?" he asked. She smiled.

"It's my son's favorite story and when he was younger, he liked to think we were. He has a very vivid imagination and we will never discourage that," she answered.

"Then if it is your son that is the only one that thinks your husband is Prince Charming, then why did Dr. Samdi document that you would constantly cry every night and call out for your Charming?" Chad questioned. But Snow was ready for this question.

"Charming is a nickname that I coined for my husband on the day we met. I have affectionately called him that since we met. I was heavily medicated by the doctor and probably was calling out for him by that name," she answered. He smiled at her and she smiled back across the room.

"A nickname? Is that really what you are expecting us to believe, Mrs. Nolan?" he questioned.

"Objection...argumentative!" Amara argued.

"Sustained," the Judge ordered.

"I apologize, Your Honor. I'll rephrase. Perhaps you can tell us why we should believe that," he reiterated. She smiled at David.

"Because anyone who has met my husband knows what an amazing man he is. He has always been my hero...my Prince Charming. He is an incredible husband, a wonderful father, and a dedicated police officer, who puts monsters in prison. Anyone that knows him isn't surprised that I nicknamed him that," she said proudly. Chad didn't look too happy about her answer, but conceded with a nod.

"Fair enough. I think we can both agree that Dr. Samdi was an evil man, but why should we believe that this translates to my client?" he asked. She looked at him incredulously.

"He stole my life from me and my family. He let my husband believe we were dead," she responded.

"Dr. Samdi stole your life. My client's participation is purely speculative," Chad argued.

"He had custody of my son using forged papers!" Snow cried out in outrage. Chad smirked and pulled some papers from his briefcase.

"The defense would like to introduce defense exhibit A. These are the papers in question. Mrs. Nolan...is that not your signature as your alter, Mary Blanchard, signing over custody of your son to Mr. Stavros?" he questioned. Snow was stunned. She knew the papers were a fabrication of the curse, but she also knew how it would look to a jury.

"I was under the influence of a lot of medication. When drugged...Dr. Samdi could have made me do anything he wanted," she responded.

"Blaming the medication again. Seems a bit convenient," he said skeptically.

"Objection! He's badgering the witness," Amara protested.

"Withdrawn. No further questions," he responded.

"The witness may step down," the Judge ordered, as Snow did so and rejoined David on the bench behind the district attorney's desk.

"You were amazing," he assured, as he kissed her tenderly.

"We will break for lunch now and return in one hour," the Judge ordered, as she slammed the gavel down and dismissed them. And David knew it would likely be his turn in the witness box when they returned.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #OC Charmings #Snowing centric season 7 #Hyperion Heights #AU #Roni #Weaver #Rogers #Tilly #romance #family #adventure #finding you always #the epic continues

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douxreviews · 6 years ago

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The OA - Season 1 Review

By Billie Doux

(The first part of this review is spoiler-free. I'll discuss the ending underneath the adorable spoiler kitten.)

The OA is an eight-episode series currently available on Netflix that was created by Brit Marling, who plays the lead, and Zal Batmanglij. It tells the story of a young blind woman named Prairie Johnson, missing for seven years, who returns home unexpectedly.

Prairie, no longer blind and inexplicably referring to herself as "The OA," won't tell the FBI or her parents (the wonderful former Borg queen Alice Krige and equally wonderful Walking Dead alum Scott Wilson) what happened to her during the seven years she was missing, although there are physical indications that she was imprisoned and abused. Instead, she begins telling her story to five random people in an abandoned house at midnight. The story, and it's a wild one, is told in chapters on successive nights throughout the succeeding episodes, and it has a dramatic effect on the lives of the five listeners, all of whom are from the local high school.

The ending of this series, or possibly first season since there are rumors that there may be a second, is controversial and is generating a lot of discussion. For me, The OA isn't so much about the ending, although I'm one of the viewers who found it quite powerful. It's my opinion that The OA is about the strength and transformative power of storytelling. We've all read books that have changed our lives and made us see the world in a new way. That's what this story did for the OA's five acolytes, four of whom are high school students: Steve, a violent outcast who deals drugs; druggie Jesse; brilliant and disadvantaged Alfonso; Buck the youngest who is trans and struggling to make his parents understand him; and Betty Broderick-Allen, a teacher.

I'm not sure if I can wholeheartedly recommend The OA. Some are finding it utterly fascinating and well worth watching (like me. I thought it was), while others are pissed about the ending and think it was a huge waste of their time. Caveat emptor?

And now, some spoilers. If you're planning to watch The OA, go no further until after you do!

What was real?

It appears that Prairie Johnson was kidnapped and imprisoned for seven years. She was blind when she was kidnapped, and regained her sight before she returned. Her five acolytes indeed used "the movements" she taught them to distract the school shooter long enough to keep him from killing the children in the cafeteria. Were the five actually sending the OA through an interdimensional portal so that she could rescue Homer and the others, or was that all in her head?

Honestly, I was about to give up on this series while watching the first episode, until I got to the end when the "I was born in Russia in 1987" thing started, oddly coinciding with the title sequence. Who puts the title sequence at the end? It was like saying, the story actually begins here. Of course, her childhood in Russia and the way she came back from the dead was very secret princess. It was so unbelievable that this was the point where I started wondering if OA was making the whole thing up. Or if maybe she believed it, but was stark raving mad.

There are so many hints and parallels throughout that make it seem possible that OA is either lying about her past and her seven years of imprisonment, or that she is mentally ill and honestly believes things that are not true. Her parents kept her medicated for nearly her entire childhood because of her unbelievable stories. There were multiple references to her head injuries. After her return home, the doctors in St. Louis said she should be committed. In the final episode, she is again being medicated and has an ankle monitor. There are also many indications that OA is psychic, which could be true even if she fabricated the whole thing.

After I finished the series, I rewatched the pilot, searching for clues. The first thing she asked when she woke after jumping off the bridge was, "Did I flatline?" She said that she was trying to get back to where she'd been held captive, even though she knew that they were gone. She also said, "We all died more times than I can count." The first thing she did when she arrived in her childhood home was attempt to find Homer Roberts on her computer, and later, she did. Although why couldn't Steve and Alfonso find evidence of her story online, too?

Did Hap exist, or was his search for proof of life after death a way that the OA used to humanize her captor? During the series, we often see things from Hap's viewpoint, even to his trips to find other NDE survivors and that strange murder of his friend at a morgue. (What the hell really happened in that morgue? What was that other guy doing?) The OA told her five acolytes that her father was a miner, and Hap's house was situated at an abandoned mine. When the OA was little and her name was Nina Azarova, her father forced her into freezing water in order to cure her fear of her nightmares of drowning in an aquarium, and note the similarity to Hap repeatedly drowning his captive subjects. Plus, the series began when the OA jumped off a bridge, and the kids on the school bus in Russia went over a bridge. Note also the use of glass or plastic during the OA's seven years of imprisonment and in the final shooting scene.

The neighborhood that the OA and her acolytes lived in was outright creepy. It looked like a typical suburb on the surface, but it consisted of jarring and oddly naked tract houses and there were often strange objects in the street. And I dare say most suburban neighborhoods don't have a half-built abandoned house sitting in the middle of an empty street? There was also the weirdness of the OA's instructions to her acolytes to leave their doors open while they were at her storytelling seances, something I found uncomfortable in present-day America; was that because the FBI instructed the Johnsons that "doors should remain open at all times"?

Steve, the OA's first follower and the character who changed the most, was introduced with a jarring, explicit sex scene right in front of a picture window showing that strange neighborhood. A drug-dealing bully with rage issues, Steve was the one who chose the other acolytes — except for teacher Betty Broderick-Allen, who basically chose herself. Grief-stricken by the recent death of her twin brother, Betty at first appeared to be a closed-minded teacher parroting the views of a rigid educational system uninterested in connecting with children who are different. Phyllis Smith is wonderful as Betty, and I thought her developing relationship with Steve, and in particular, the night she gave away her inheritance to save him from the goons from Asheville, was one of the high points of the series. I also really loved the scene where the OA impersonated Steve's stepmother and talked Betty out of expelling Steve, especially the bizarre little detail of one of the OA's fake press-on nails popping off while they were talking. Note that the OA guessed correctly that Betty had just lost a sibling, another bit that made me think she was psychic.

So let's talk about the ending.

The scene where Alfonso found the books under the OA's bed was very Usual Suspects, but it was also ambiguous. Yes, the OA could have used those books to create the details in her story, but she also could have been reading about subjects that had a relationship to her life, couldn't she? Why did Alfonso look in the mirror and see himself as Homer? And here's the big one for me. What was FBI agent Elias doing in the Johnson home alone at night, and why was he so weird and unconventional in the first place?

After I finished all eight episodes, I checked out a lot of articles and reviews on the internet. What seems to upset critics the most is the insertion of a school shooting into the narrative, supposedly out of nowhere. (That, and the admittedly silly interpretive dance "movements" that were intended to open the interdimensional portal.)

Honestly, I don't think the school shooting came out of nowhere. The focus of the entire series was saving the lives of children, and the five acolytes were all from the high school. The OA's story began with the Russian children dying on the bus, and then focused on five youths trapped under glass and killed and revived repeatedly in Hap's basement. Plus, it seemed to me that Steve fit the profile of a possible school shooter, and even though he momentarily reacted to the OA with anger in the pencil-stabbing scene, he was the one who changed the most, and for the better, over the course of the story.

We're now hearing that there may be a second season in the works. I cannot imagine what a second season could be about. Almost anything they do to answer questions about what happened in the first season might ruin the whole thing. Then again, what if the OA really did go through a portal in the end? What if Homer, Rachel, Scott and Renata do exist and are still imprisoned, waiting for her to rescue them?

A few bits:

-- OA may have meant "original angel." I thought that it could have been an interpretation of the word "away."

-- I didn't notice it the first time through, but there is a lot of purple, the color of royalty (secret princess), magic and spirituality.

-- There's Braille, too. There are actually strips on Braille on Khatun's face during the afterlife scenes. Also, the OA kept touching her white bedspread that had knobby protrusions like Braille.

-- How on earth did the OA and Homer write the symbols representing the movements on their skin? They couldn't touch each other; could anyone physically do that? Was that the reason the OA was told to make her arms longer during that scene with the bill and the trench?

-- Why were there potted plants in Hap's underground prison?

-- Why did the OA's mother Nancy freak out in the restaurant?

-- Loved the tiny blue quail eggs in milk for breakfast, and the bit in the afterlife about swallowing a bird.

So what is this show? Is it pretentious arty crap, or is it a powerful story about storytelling, mysticism and life after death? Lines are open. What did you guys think?

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

#The OA #Brit Marlin #Prairie Johnson #The OA Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews #something from the archive

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iamjjmmma · 6 years ago

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“Number All My Bones: There and Back and There Again” Part 1, Chapter 4

Beginning: https://bit.ly/2NtGPgu

Previous: https://bit.ly/2H5dDej

Next: https://bit.ly/2tD9Q03

It’s only a taser; I know. I know the basics about these types of guns, although violence isn’t my main research preference. Still, I duck inside, my heartbeat still somewhat yelling at me, my head definitely yelling at me to get back to my work, that it’s probably just some sort of census. But the doorbell rang, and Papyrus immediately sprang out of his seat, with that golly-gee smile impressioned all over his face, and sprinted towards the door. Sans sprinted after him, and I after Sans, all of us except Papyrus seeming to remember the rule that no one was supposed to answer the door except for me. But the door opened before I could say anything, and there stood the one woman I would cry over just a few weeks later. Her name tag read “Ica Grey, Head of the Anti-Monster Department”, the “Jess” part obscured by a shadow for a little while, but I knew who she was. The streak of grey hair, the crossed arms, the badges on her blue dress told me everything. She was the one who had started the “MF” tag, the one who had started the monsters coming home without any sort of occupation, the one who had started the monster children not allowed to take the same classes as humans, the monsters being denied from the hospitals. The dehumanization process didn’t need to be done; it simply was, and it was since when we were born. My smile stretches until it turns taut. “Hello, Miss.” Her hand settles on her taser for a moment, but it stutters just before it settles by her side. “Hello, Doctor. I’ve heard a lot about you.” I nod. “I can say the same. Especially with your ‘MF’ endeavors. What does it stand for, though? I’ll take a wild guess. ‘Monsters Forbidden.’” She nods back, although I can practically see her teeth gritting. Her hand moves closer to the gun. Betty whimpers a little, and Sans and Papyrus hush the other children away before they get embroiled in the grown-up soup of politics and science. In another world, maybe I would have gone with them. But that world is faraway, much too far from now to even think of existing. Miss Grey put her hand by her hip. “Are we conducting the meeting or not?” I nodded, although I didn’t even think about giving her any more than that. I was prepared to send all of the children upstairs, thinking they went into the living room, but it was only Betty, reading a history book for her tutoring program, no doubt. I was about to say something, but one look at the scary lady behind me all in blue sent her tiptoeing away and making her way up the stairs. As we sat on the couches, the coffee in the pot cold by now after my morning cup, I made my move, even though I knew it wouldn’t work by a long shot. “Do you mind putting the gun away? I have four little kids here, and I don’t want them getting-” She laughed, ran her long fingernails through her hair once or twice. “Of course not. You’re the scientist, aren’t you? You should know by now that it’s only a safety precaution. Not that I’d willy-nilly fire at one of your kiddos, right?” I sighed, went into a conversation about geothermics I wouldn’t give to my students until it was May and the graduation caps were being shipped. I counted myself using the words “entropy”, “enthalpy,” “quasistatic”, “Carnot cycle”, and “calorimetry” at least twice each before she started to nod off before nearly bumping her nose on the edge of the couch. Science that would have gone over her head even if she had a fifty-foot mitt to catch it. She jerked herself up so quickly that she started falling forwards, and I almost stretched out my hands to catch her before she could regain her composure.“Well, Dr. Gaster, this was all very, very informative, but can you please focus on the effectiveness of your project?” I went into a slight smile. Finally. “Alright, Miss. The expansion of the Core will help to power our city by-” She put a hand over her mouth in mock shock, but I knew she was yawning underneath. A professor tends to notice these things easier. “So it basically makes our gas bills cheaper?” I laughed, and I almost put a hand over my own mouth. I shifted into a different language, one that politicians love to speak. “What-?! No. No, not at all. If the expansion is complete, you won’t even have to pay for electricity at all. Ever. And thanks to it, we’re starting to see a big change. Not only in the bills-” I stopped. I was getting a little preachy. I laughed again. Even if I was preachy, it wouldn’t ever stop me from loving the feeling. So I gave in when she asked how the Core worked. Just this once. “Well, it converts geothermal energy from the mountain to-” I couldn’t say “magical”, but there was another word for that. A word I could use. “-idiopathic energy by using the underground chambers. These chambers have magnets with turbines that allow the electricity to be transformed from idiopathic to-” She put her hand over her eyes, although I know they were closed underneath. “It converts electricity to heat.” “Oh, I see.” Huh. So she wasn’t asleep after all. “A non-polluting, unlimited, self-sustaining power source. Of course…” I stand up, and she puts her weight on her toes as if she’ll follow, but she stays right there where she is. People say I’m a good judge, even though I’m a better scientist, but in cases such as this, I can’t always pull out a clear verdict about someone. “...none of this would happen if you don’t sign the agreement tomorrow.” She nods, but puts her hand closer to her taser just in case. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything.” “What do you mean that doesn’t mean anything? I’ve just explained an energy agenda that I doubt you’ll find anywhere else, and-” “That still doesn’t explain the rest of your kind.” “Are you-?!” “Yes, Doctor. I am. You think that just because you’ve made energy out of the dirt means that you haven’t come from it. You come up here and steal our jobs, steal our money, all because you think you’re better than the rest of us. You-” I stretched out my hand, reach for anything looking vaguely like a door handle to push. “Miss Grey, I didn’t say any of that-” “Oh, just because you didn’t say it doesn’t mean it isn’t-” I saw her in the corner before I heard her. Betty had come back from upstairs, probably because of all the fuss we made down here, and was looking at me with some of the most terrified two eyes I’ve ever seen. “Excuse me, ma’am.” She didn’t bother me as I went over and patted Betty’s shoulder. Poor girl. Only a few minutes here, and already we’ve escalated beyond what I would ever think of doing if Jessica wasn’t… Jessica. “Betty, it’s alright. The both of us were just having a discussion, alright? It’s very important. So what I need for you to do is to go back upstairs and-” “Doctor.” “Just a minute. What I need for you to do is go back upstairs and tell the others that everything is fine. And even if it does escalate, I’m stronger than I look, huh?” I patted her shoulder again for good measure. “Doctor, please. You’re not talking to anyone.” “Miss, what do you mean I’m not talking to anyone? Betty’s right here, isn’t she?” Chara and Asriel have come back down, too. I suppose the conversation died just enough. “Isn’t she?” Chara shakes his head, while Asriel shrugs his shoulders. “She’s still upstairs playing puzzles with Papyrus. An’ I think she’s learning how to play chess, too.” I look to my right, and Betty’s gone. Anxiety can do more than you could ever imagine, I suppose. If it can keep me staying awake at night after a dream that only mildly alarmed me, it can do what it just did. Anxiety also kept me heading towards my room after Jessica left, after calling down the kids and getting Papyrus to help me fix a pizza and some chicken, telling them that dinner was probably right around the corner. And just as anxiety foretold, something’s wrong. One of my books on human-monster history has fallen on the floor, but even without any sort of education in physics, I can tell it doesn’t fall like that. It’s at least halfway across the room, my bookshelf still in place right next to the door, and when I picked it up, another eerie fact sent a chill down my spine, and I almost felt my coat shaking along with it. It was open only a few pages in towards the end. Experience has taught me otherwise. If books don’t fall flat on the covers, front or backs, it normally falls with the middle pages open and spread out. Meaning if it didn’t fall, someone had to have taken it. Was it Sans or Asriel or Betty or anyone being tutored by him, forgetting to pick it up after they’d left? Or was it Papyrus, who was trying to get his own little revenge for me not getting him the book at the library? Alright. Focus. It’s probably one of them. I put back the book, and I sighed, going out to fix myself another cup of coffee. Anxiety can do everything, I suppose.

#glitchtale #camila cuevas #glitchtale anniversary

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thelonestriker · 3 years ago

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7/5/2021: A Stream of Consciousness

A song from my younger days is playing in the background. I can’t help but imagine how life was so easy back then. I remembered how it was as a 1st year college student in UST; a young 16 year old, wearing a ‘cool’ red Jansport backpack; having the one of the 1st “3G” Nokia phones, having a fun-loving barkada; Dota 1 days; going home early to study; having a youthful handsome look in which random girls would have a crush on me. Oh... the good old days.

I can’t help but realize how much I’ve neglected myself over the past few years. I used to imagine myself as a ‘rich young man’ who is well-loved and admired by everyone- full of confidence, very smart and skillful - when I watched those Korean dramas back in the day. i used to think that after becoming a doctor, life would be so much easier. Oh boy, I was so wrong... I didn’t know that reminiscing the past would make me teary-eyed as I’m writing this.

What went wrong, Karl?

I have failed to take care of myself. Not much exercise. Not a good diet. Very bad habits. Bad addictions. I’m still the skinny pot-bellied guy that I was before. I think I’m just at par with the 1st year resident version of me in terms of skills and knowledge. I’ve lost my youth and attractiveness that made me feel confident when I was still younger. I still haven’t fulfilled my promise to my parents; that I would buy them everything they want such as their dream house. In fact, I’m still draining their money by staying here in this condominium unit while they’re paying for my electricity and water bills, and the monthly amortization until 2022. I can’t even regularly clean the car or the unit that was given to me by my parents. I’ve been living like a teenager for the past decade of my life. I’m turning 32 in a few months time and still, I am like this. I am not yet an adult. I waste too much. Too much food. Too much money. To much electricity.

With tears flowing down my face as I’m typing days, I want to say sorry to myself and most specially my parents for I have let them down. I’m sorry for being a burden for the past few years.... To give you and Kenneth a comfortable life... It’s one of the things that I’ve been targeting since I was young. To pay you back the love that you’ve been giving me since I was born. But I guess I’ve been a complete failure. Aside from the occasional food and gifts, I haven’t accomplished anything yet. I don’t even know if I’m being a good doctor to all of you.

Will me sulking and crying like this change anything? No. Then what do I do? What’s the battle plan? You’ve won many skirmishes but you are failing this battle. Time is running out. Memento Mori. Sooner or later, you will die. You loved ones will die. The perfect time is now.

Make a very good habit. Weed out the bad ones. Follow a schedule. Follow a healthy lifestyle. Always remember that time is running out. Only you can control your fate. Sort out the things that you can control and the things you cannot. You cannot control what happens around you but you can always control how you can react to them. Bring your confidence back through improving yourself holistically. Be happy by loving yourself everyday. There’s still time. Time to fucking grow up. The past is the past. You can’t change it now. Your dream has been delayed for several years but it’s never too late.

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yourprayer · 7 years ago

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pop culture - chapter 1

“Adulthood in a town like Derry is even worse than childhood. The listless, empty ramblings of days dragging on in a town that felt like one-size-too-small-shoes sat heavier on the recently graduated than the younger children. Before you were eighteen and responsible for your own lunch money, you could spend your interminable afternoons exploring the surrounding environment, friends of friends abound. Escaping to the arcade and seeing the same films six times at the same theater was an acceptable amount of nothing to do at twelve years old. But when nineteen years hit Bill Denbrough and college acceptance letters didn’t, the sudden, overwhelming, nothingness of nowhere Maine became too heavy to bear.”

chapter 1 - june (wc 4.3k)

chapter list here

read it on ao3

want on the taglist?

By the time his mother came to get him for dinner, Eddie thought he might just lose his mind. As a child he was used to the long, isolated hours alone in his room, but after having spent most of his high school career with as much freedom as someone like Sonia could allow him, the day had been akin to torture. He was conflicted on how fast he should eat his meal; on the one hand, he was reveling in the ability to venture outside of his room, but on the other he wanted to get away from his mother as quickly as possible. When they finished, she sent him back up to his room, but did not follow to lock the door. He silently thanked God (or any substitutable deity) for this as he gathered his pajamas.

After a quick shower and shave, Eddie came back to his room, toweling his hair. He closed his door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed, hair a mess and towel in his hands. He sighed, his thoughts still plaguing him; no matter how many times he turned over the event in his mind, he could not put his finger on just what had bothered him so much. He thought maybe something has surprised him, perhaps a passerby in his peripheral, and he had just had an incredibly irrational response. But he couldn’t agree with that theory. He had never felt such a deep and penetrating paranoia before as he had felt in that moment. Worst of all, he could not identify where it originated from.

He was stopped short from pursuing his line of thinking by a soft plink! reverberating off his windowpane. Frowning in confusion, he stood up and crossed the room to pull back his curtain. The plink repeated, a small stone hitting the glass near Eddie’s face. He recoiled in surprise, and then frustration, as he looked at the slight chip in the glass. Peering down at the ground below his window, his anger evaporated at the sight of Richie Tozier on his perfectly manicured lawn.

Throwing the window open, Eddie called down to him in a hushed whisper. “Richie, what the fuck?”

“Eds, thank god you’re home!” Richie called back, his volume obnoxiously loud as usual. Eddie made violent shushing gestures at him, which made him drop his tone considerably. “I’ve been looking for you all day, come down and let me in.”

“I can’t, my mom’s in the living room.”

“Doesn’t this place have a back door?”

“It sticks, she’ll hear it.”

Sighing, Richie lolled his head back. “Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.” He grumbled, more to himself as he headed to the drain pipe that was flush with Eddie’s house.

“Rich- Richie, what in the fuck are you doing-”

“Relax Eds,” Richie huffed a bit as he pulled himself up. “I’ve got this.”

“If you fucking break my house, Tozier-”

“It’s fine!” Richie protested again, about three quarters of the way up. “Now either move aside or give me hand, will ya?” Eddie, of course, reached out to pull Richie in through the small space the window allowed. They got him in up to his midsection okay, but when Eddie stepped back to allow more room, Richie very gracelessly half-fell onto the floor, his gangly limbs catching him as some of Eddie’s potted plants crashed to the floor.

“Probably should have moved those before I came in, eh Eds?” Richie gave him a cheeky smile from his awkward position, his face level with a broken pot, the dirt from the plant strewn on his left cheek.

“Fuck you Tozier.” Eddie griped, crossing his arms. “I’m not helping you up now.”

“What, like this is my fault?” Richie quipped back, turning haphazardly to tumble into an upright position.

“I didn’t say you could climb through my window.” Eddie glared down at Richie, who was now sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, small clumps of dirt and a goofy grin on his face.

“Well you didn’t stop me, so…”

“Rich, why are you here. And why did you call earlier?” Eddie asked bluntly, afraid he wouldn’t be able to get a straight answer out of Richie if they kept up the banter for too long.

“Can the answer be to see my Eddie Spaghetti? I missed you today.”

“Don’t- okay you know what, no, that can’t be the answer. You know you’re not supposed to call my house, and if my mom finds you up here, we’re both fucked-”

“Why is that?” Richie cut in, standing up to be even (as he could be, the giant asshole) with Eddie.

“Because! You know how she is-” Eddie uncrossed his arms, gesturing broadly with them.

“No, I know she’d flip about this, dumbass, I’m asking why I haven’t been allowed to call you.”

The tone in Richie’s voice made Eddie stop short. For once, it was relatively serious.

“Don’t change the subject.” He narrowed his eyes.

“I would say this is relative to the subject.” Richie countered, eyes narrowing to match Eddie’s, mockingly of course.

“I’m not going to get into it right now.” Eddie gave up, looking down at his feet defensively.

“Then I’m not going to tell you my thing.” Richie shrugged, crossing to Eddie’s bed and sitting on it, legs crossed and propped up on his outstretched arms.

“Why the fuck not, Richie, I’ve been worried about you all day!” Eddie turned to face him, arms flying around again.

“Look, Eds, what I have to share is a tale most surreal. There’s a high likelihood you’ll not believe me.” Richie said in a mock-posh flourish. “So if you want to hear my wails of woe, you must repay me with one equally brash admission.” He looked Eddie dead in the eyes, expression mismatched with his tone.

“You’re not fucking around.”

“No. I’m not.”

The two sat staring at each other, a pact forming.

“Fine.” Eddie conceded, moving to sit next to Richie. The other boy immediately shrunk the amount of space he was taking up, allowing more room for Eddie on the bed. “... My mom isn’t letting me talk on the phone with anyone, and when she does, it’s only for a brief time.” He confessed in a small voice.

“Yeah, I gathered that, Doctor K. Why.” Richie looked intently at him. He knew he was being a little unfair, forcing Eddie into an admission. But as his friend he was genuinely concerned, and a little bit of stalling was helping him keep from exploding.

Eddie refused to make eye contact. “You know she’s never liked you guys.”

“Oh I am fully aware of that.” Richie snorted.

“She thinks I should be more ‘adult’, and I guess that means I should have more ‘adult’ friends.” He said bitterly, complete with angry air quotes. The sight would have been a little funny to Richie on a different day, but in this moment it actually made him a bit upset to see Eddie so sour.

“So she’s trying to get you to ghost us?”

“Yeah. You, in particular.” Eddie said quietly, still not looking at him.

“Well, that’s no shock either.” Richie chortled. “But that can’t be all there is to it.” He said after a moment of thought. “She still lets you talk to Bev, right?”

“Yeah.” Eddie said even quieter.

“That’s fuckin weird. I thought she hated Bev. Thought she was a slut.”

“She did. But after news broke of what her dad did, I guess she was a little forgiving about it…”

“I doubt it.” Richie shot a look at Eddie. “Eddie. Why doesn’t she let you talk to us guys anymore.” He said in a low, but firm tone.

“She thinks I’m gay.” Eddie barely managed, his voice a whisper.

“Are you?” Richie matched his volume. Eddie finally looked at him, eyes wide, expression almost unreadable. He was silent for a moment, and then it was over.

“One admission per day Tozier. Your turn.” He said, his normal, albeit diminutive, tone returning.

“Eds-” Richie protested.

“No. Conversation over. Why did you call me earlier?” Eddie pushed, looking more defensive than Richie had ever seen him. He may be an out of control garrulous kid, but he knew where to stop with Eddie. Sighing in defeat, he sat up, his shoulder brushing against Eddie’s and resting there.

“Like I said, this is gonna sound crazy.”

“I don’t care. You owe me.”

“... I called you because I didn’t know who the fuck else to talk to about this. And I swear to you, what I’m gonna tell you isn’t a lie, like it actually fucking happened, at least I think it did-”

“Richie.” Eddie placed a hand on his arm. “Just fucking say it.”

Richie paused, trying to think of the best way to tell his story. “... I was at home, all morning. Bored out of my mind, nothing to do. While I was fucking around, trying to find something to do, my side started hurting. I thought maybe it was that thing you told me about, gas or whatever-”

“Yeah, gas bubbles, they do that.”

“Right. Yeah, gas. Anyway, I thought it was gad but it wouldn’t go away and it kept getting worse, like it hurt so fucking back.”

“Rich, it sounds like you just had a bad stomach cramp.”

“No Eds, listen, it wasn’t that. I literally was in so much pain i couldn’t move, just laying curled up in my bed. That's when I first noticed it. My shirt was all bunched up, and when I looked down, I…”

Eddie looked at Richie’s midsection with worry. “You.. is there something wrong with your… stomach?” Eddie asked, desperately confused.

“At first I thought I imagined it, but it wouldn’t go away.” Richie barreled on. “So I mustered what strength I could and went to the bathroom, you know, to look at myself in the mirror. The one in my room never got fixed, by the way.” Richie added with a nervous laugh. Eddie’s concern grew with Richie’s countenance. Every word seemed to be sending him closer to a nervous breakdown. Eddie gently raised his arm to rub circles on Richie’s back, something he knew well would help calm his friend.

“Go on.” Eddie said calmly.

“So I took my shirt off, right? To get a better look at it. And it was- Eds, I was- I was gone.”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“A whole- section, of my chest.” Richie quickly traced an outline of the area on himself. “Eddie it was fucking see-through. Transparent. Invisible.” He whispered, looking at Eddie with desperation. “Everywhere it hurt, it had gone fucking clear.”

Eddie couldn’t keep his look of disbelief off his face. “Richie, what the fuck-”

“I’m not lying Eddie, I swear. I’m not fucking lying. I don’t know what the fuck happened to me. But it went away, like a couple minutes later. The pain went away and then I was back, look!” Richie quickly shucked his shirt off, ignoring Eddie’s squeaked protests. “Nothing!”

Eddie gulped, staring at Richie’s freckled chest. “Nothing.” He agreed quietly.

“I can’t make heads or tails of it Eds, it’s never happened to me before. I was so freaked, and I know I wasn’t supposed to call your house but, I just- I had to talk to you about it. I spent the whole day looking for you around town after you didn’t call back. I knew your mom would keep you from it.”

“Why did you come here last, dumbass?” Eddie challenged jokingly. Richie blinked at him.

“She said you were out getting your prescription, and I know that used to be our code, so…”

Eddie went red. “Oh. Right. No, I was actually out picking up my meds. But- good guess.” He mumbled.

“Look, I’m not joking around with you. This really happened. And I have no idea what to do about it.” Richie said, toying with the fabric of the shirt he still held in his hands.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it.” Eddie said grumpily, his head swimming a bit. Was it hot in here? “I’ve certainly never heard of that as a symptom for anything.”

Richie looked at him pleadingly. “You believe me, right?”

Eddie melted. “Yeah. I do.” He said quietly after a moment.

“Really?” Richie perked up, turning slightly to face him, one leg resting up on the bed between them. “Damn Eds, I thought it was gonna take a lot more convincing, and I hadn’t even brought out the puppy dog eyes yet!”

Those weren’t the puppy dog eyes?

“I do, asshole, don’t make me take it back.” He griped. “I- had something weird happen to me today too…”

“Like what?” Richie asked, perplexed.

“Well, nothing quite that painful, but… when I was walking back from the pharmacy, I got this feeling. This terrible, overwhelming feeling of dread, fear, and… well, I took off running. Just ran through town. I could’ve sworn someone was chasing me but… I tripped, and when I got back up no one was there. No one had been there the whole time. But it totally felt like there had.”

Richie furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like the same level of weird as mine.”

“No, no I don’t think it is. But… I don’t know Richie, it was fucking weird. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I can’t figure out for the life of me why I got so scared in the first place. It just washed over me, with no warning or stimulus or anything.” Eddie sighed. “I don’t know. But I believe you.”

“...Geez Eds. Aren’t we a pair.” They both fell silent, staring at the floor and pondering the story of the other. “Eddie?” Richie said after a moment, in his Serious Voice.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay over tonight? I know, I know, before you protest- your mom totally won’t find out, okay? I’m great at hiding.” Richie capped his plea off with a wink, and something in his demeanor made Eddie fold. He missed their sleepovers like crazy, and he was dying to spend time with his best friend. As scared as he was of his mom finding out, he decided it was a safe enough time to risk it. She had an early shift the next day, so they could get away with oversleeping as long as she didn’t come to check on him.

“Fine. But-” Eddie held up a finger as Richie started to bounce in celebration. “You have to clean that shit up.” He pointed at the pile of broken potted plants on his floor. “And buy me new ones.”

Richie smiled as he pulled his shirt back on. “Anything for you, Eddie Spaghetti.” He stood to go grab the trashcan as Eddie rolled his eyes and fell backwards dramatically onto his pillows. Richie then proceeded to scoop ceramic shards and root clusters into the trash bin.

“Damn shame about these, they were coming along nicely.” He noted, dropping another healthy agave into the bin. “Hey, I didn’t know you got a cactus, this one was nice.” Richie called over his shoulder as the flowering cactus found itself in the bin as well. Eddie’s head shot up, frowning at Richie and the bin.

He hadn’t.

______________________________________________________________

“Ben! Phone!”

Ben groaned, face screwed up as he was awaken from his deep sleep. Stretching an arm out, he pulled the covers off as he sat up on the edge of his bed. A quick glance at the clock told him it was half past eight, and he yawned. Too damn early to be up.

“Coming!” He called back, pushing out of bed and shuffling into his slippers. He walked sleepily to the hallway outside their kitchen, his mom holding the phone out to him absentmindedly as she focused on what she was cooking.

Taking the phone from her and holding it to his ear, he spoke. “Hello?”

“Hello? Ben?”

“Yeah. That you Stan?”

“Yeah. Listen, I need you to help me call an emergency meeting. I can’t get ahold of Richie and Bev never gave me her new-”

“Wait wait wait, slow down. It’s too early. Emergency meeting? What for?”

“It’s about Bill.”

“Bill? What’s wrong with Bill?” Ben’s stomach churned, remembering vaguely what Bev had said about seeing his hands.

“I’d rather we all discuss it in person, hence the meeting. His house, after dinner today, okay?”

“This is awful cryptic Stan…”

“I know Ben. but seriously, this is kind of an in-person thing…”

Ben sighed, gazing at the ceiling. “Okay. Who do you need me to call, Bev?”

“Yeah. And are you gonna see Mike at work today?”

“No, I’m off, but I can swing by.”

“Okay. I’m gonna call Eddie and see if he knows where Richie is, he’s not answering his phone.”

“Alright. I’ll let you know when I’ve gotten everyone. And Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Bill’s okay, right? He’s not like… in trouble or anything?”

“No, Ben, nothing like that. It’s, uh, it’s pretty strange. You’ll understand when he tells you.”

“Okay, fair enough. Are you with him today?”

“Yeah, I’ll be at his house. Call us here.”

“Will do. See you, oh around seven?”

“Try closer to six.”

______________________________________________________________

“Eddie. Eds. Spaghetti Man. Hey. Hey, wake up.”

“Hnnnng…”

“I know, I know. Tired boy. But your phone is ringing. I’d answer it, but I don’t think your mom will appreciate the concierge service.”

“Mmmnnshe’ll getit…”

“Well, it’s rang three times through and she hasn’t, so I wouldn’t put money on it. And I don’t exactly wish to expose myself, dearest Eddison, lest we be found out.”

“Gdamnit… fck… fuck. Okay.”

Eddie rolled over to see Richie, elbows resting on the edge of his bed, on his knees and looking intently at Eddie. The shrill sound of the phone was quickly pulling him out of his slumber, much to his dismay.

“There’s my Spaghetti Man. Mornings are rough, believe me, but you gotta get the phone. Otherwise I’m gonna go a little nuts. It’s been driving me bonkers.” Richie smiled, small and soft, but his irritation was clear on his face. Their phone was annoying as fuck.

Eddie sighed, throwing his covers off angrily. “God dammit.” Richie quickly scooted out of the way so Eddie could jump out of bed. He padded out into the hall, and after a quick scope, he called back to Richie. “It’s clear. She’s gone.” Richie followed down the stairs, and when they finally reached the bottom the phone stopped ringing.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Eddie sighed, leaning against the wall.

“I’ll bet you five bucks they call right back.”

The phone rang again. “Technically I did not agree to that, I owe you nothing.” Eddie blurted before rushing to the phone. “Hello?” He said, annoyed, as he picked it up.

“Eddie? Thank God, I was about to give up on you.”

“Stan?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, is Richie with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here. What’s going on?”

“I’m calling an emergency meeting-” Stan began, just as Richie blurted “Oh, is it for me?” and yanked the phone from Eddie’s hands.

“Hello? Secret admirer?”

“Tozier, for christ’s sake, why the fuck are you at Eddie’s?”

“The question, Stan the man, is why the fuck aren’t you at Eddie’s? We’re having a party, a bash without you!”

Stan could hear Eddie’s angry “No we are fucking not!” from over the line. “Beep beep Richie. Put Eddie back on the line.”

“Why, not happy to speak to me? I thought you loved my dulcet tones.”

“No, because I need to speak to someone who’s going to be serious right now.”

“I can be serious, Stanley, and frankly I’m insulted.” Richie fake pouted.

“Okay, well, seriously please inform Mr. Kaspbrak that we are having an emergency meeting tonight. At Bill’s house, six o’clock.”

Richie paused, his demeanor dropping. “What happened?”

“Something is going on with Bill. He wants us all there to talk about it.”

“Something like… what? Is he in trouble?”

“No, he’s not- look,” Stan said, clearly exasperated. “It’s weird and abnormal and way too long of a thing to say over the phone, okay? Just show up, and make sure Eddie’s with you.”

“Geez, alright, your majesty. We’ll be there.” Richie huffed. “Anything else? Would you like me to butter your crumpet while I’m at it?”

“Oh fuck off, Tozier.” The line clicked.

“What? What was that about?” Eddie pleaded from over Richie’s shoulder.

“Mother fucker hung up on me.” Richie sighed. It was more than a bit out of character; despite their constant bickering, Stan was one of his best friends, and hadn’t ever been so rude with him on the phone before.

“Did he say they were calling a meeting?”

“Yeah, at Bill’s. Tonight, six o’clock.”

“I don’t think I can go. My mom-”

“Will have to suck it up, you’re going.” Richie gave him another hardened look. “Stan said something’s going on with Bill, something weird- I mean, he was really upset. Fuckin hung up on me over it.”

“You’re gonna whine about that all day, aren’t you.”

“All day for the next two, just to spite you. But you really do have to come. I think- I think Bill might be… I don’t know. Experiencing our level of weird.”

“You don’t think it’s…” Eddie trailed off, suddenly going white.

It took him a second, but Richie’s mind caught up with Eddie’s train of thought.

“Oh God.”

______________________________________________________________

“So Stan wouldn’t tell you what this is about, no hints, just Bill needs us?” Mike inquired as his truck blundered down Bev’s gravelly driveway.

“That’s all I could get out of him.” Ben piped up from the passenger seat. “He was being cryptic as hell, wouldn’t tell me any details.”

“But Bill’s okay?” Beverly asked, gripping the handles of her purse in trepidation.

“Apparently.” Ben shrugged. They rode in silence the rest of the way to Bill’s house, each silently wondering what the hell they were in for when they got there. Stan’s SUV was already parked in the driveway, but there was no sign of Richie and Eddie’s bikes. Mike parallel parked on the street, killing the engine at Ben and Beverly climbed out. After the truck was locked up, the three went up to the door. Before they could even knock, Stan was throwing open the front door.

“Thank God you guys are here.” “Stan, what’s going on?” Bev pressed.

“I’ll tell you when Richie and Eddie get here.”

“Where’s Bill’s parents?” Mike said, noticing the lack of the Denbrough family vehicle in the yard.

“Georgie had a school play tonight. They’ll be out for awhile.”

“Georgie’s doing a play and Bill’s missing it?” Ben asked, incredulous. “That’s not like him at all.”

“I know. That’s how bad this is. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Wait- Stan. Please tell me this isn’t about what he said last night.”

Before Stan could respond, Bev was cutting in. “The fuck did he say last night?”

Mike sighed, leaning on the door frame. “He was supposed to come help Stan and me with the chores at the farm last night. When he finally showed up, like an hour late might I add, he was wigging the fuck out about some shit with his finger.”

Ben and Bev shared a look. “What about his finger?” Ben gave mike a quizzical look.

“Why don’t you let him tell you himself.” Stan said before Mike could continue. “Yes, Mike, it’s about last night. I don’t think he was lying. He wouldn’t let me go home after I dropped him off, he was so freaked out.”

Mike snickered. “You and I both know he didn’t want you to stay because of that.”

Stan went red.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What am I missing here?” Beverly asked, looking from Stan to Mike.

“Rich- Rich you’re gonna fucking- stop parking your bike behind me!” The three on the porch turned around just in time to see Eddie nearly toppled over by Richie’s cruiser, which the taller boy had left right in the path of the smaller one.

“Steady Eddie!” Richie laughed as he hooked his arms in Eddie’s armpits and hauled him into an upright position. “Too much to drink?”

Eddie’s angry response was cut off by Stan.

“There you are. Come on, hurry, we need to talk.” Stan stood aside so all the losers could enter, each with worried looks on their faces. “He’s in his room.” They went single file up the stairs, Richie the first to the door. He knocked lightly, and when he heard a feeble “come in”, he pushed the door open.

“Big Bill! There’s our guy.” Richie started in his cheery tone, a bit quieter than usual. “What’s going on with you bud?”

“We’ve been worried sick all day.” Bev said as she followed him in.

Bill sat on his bed, looking like a wreck. His hair was a mess and there were huge bags under his eyes, like he’d barely slept the night before. He was downright jittery- a word hardly ever used to describe Bill Denbrough.

“Jesus Bill, we know you’ve got a stutter but you don’t have to act like one.” Richie joked, noticing his friends jerky movements.

“H-hi guys.” Bill said weekly, ignoring Richie’s comment, as everyone filed into the room. Stan closed the door and came to sit on the bed next to Bill, placing a hand on his shoulder. Everyone took their seats on the floor, with the exception of Mike, who sat backwards in the office chair.

“Do you want to tell them what you told Mike and I, Bill?” Stan prompted softly. Richie shifted his weight nervously, sharing a look with Eddie.

“You guys p-promise not to l-l-laugh at me?” Bill muttered feebly.

“Of course not!” Ben offered over a chorus of agreements.

“Okay. Well. Here goes.” He swallowed nervously, glancing around at everyone. “I- I t-think something’s happened to me.”

“What kind of something?” Eddie asked softly.

“I think- I think it has s-s-something to do with the o-other night. At the qu-quarry.”

authors notes: yo yo yo welcome to the first chapter!! fair warning: the prologue was a bit long, the chapters are likely going to remain about 4k-5k in word length. again a huge thanks to my biggest champion for this story, the lovely sara @richiefreakingtozier, and thanks to everyone who is enjoying this so far!! if you wanna be updated don’t be afraid to ask to get on the tags list (it makes my heart soar when u do!!!) pls give this a reblog if u enjoyed it!!! <3 stay tuned, chap 2 soon!!!

tagslist: @richiefreakingtozier @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96

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blue-collects-things · 7 years ago

Note

ok IT book spoilers ahead so beware but stan kills himself as an adult and I'd like to imagine what it would be like if he struggled with suicide as a kid too. I also like to imagine what it would be like if bill walked in on him in the middle of an attempt. :)c

The Scent of Purple Hyacinth

Stan Uris x Bill Denbrough

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: suicide attempt, graphic descriptions of suicide, depression, anxiety

Author’s Note: This is something I’ve been kind of putting off for a while because it’s some pretty heavy stuff and I wanted to execute it well. The losers are about high school junior age (about 16/17) in this to give some perspective. It gets pretty graphic and I tagged that, but just be cautious please. My messages are always open if you need someone to talk to, to vent to, anything. Don’t stay silent. Also, I must have listened to Heal by Tom Odell and Oblivion by Bastille 400 million times each while writing this to get some perspective. Please enjoy.

Read it on ao3

The day that everything went to hell started out pretty normal, all things considered.

Bill had had a decent day, got to spend time with his friends and boyfriend, and only had a little homework to do after football practice. He was halfway home when he realized he left his history notes in his locker and needed them to study for the test tomorrow. He turned back around, hoping to catch someone who could let him back in. As he ran up to the front steps, Bill caught sight of the janitor tying a black bag full of trash and knocked on the main doors of the school building.

The older man fumbled with the keys on his ring momentarily before unlocking the door. “What are you doing here so late, Bill?” he asks.

“Hey, Gary. Forgot my notes,” Bill explains, “I’ll b-be back in a minute.” He rushes up the steps, taking them two at a time, to get to the third floor. He walks briskly down the hall to get to his locker and put in the combination. When he flings the door open, a piece of paper flutters to the ground. He crosses his eyebrows in confusion before bending to pick it up. He instantly recognizes the handwriting on the outside that his initials are written in as Stan’s elegant script. Bill unfolds it and reads the six-word note.

William, my love,I’m sorry.-Stanley

Something about this doesn’t sit right with Bill. He grabs his history notebook, slams the locker shut, not bothering with the lock, and sprints back to his car. He drives several miles above the speed limit to get to Stan’s house on the other side of town. He feels the panic ebbing and flowing with his bloodstream as he pauses at stop lights and gasses on green ones. He makes the near twenty minute drive in nine. He doesn’t bother with shutting the car door as he runs up the front steps of the Uris household. He thumps his fist against the front door and shouts, “Stan! Stan, a-are you in there? He-ello?” When there is no answer after ten seconds of waiting, Bill dashes to the side of the porch where a spare key sits under a pot of hydrangeas. He fumbles to fit the key in the slot but finally gets it.

After he shuts the door, everything inside is eerily quiet, save for the pounding blood in Bill’s ears. “Stan?” he calls out. Faintly he can hear the water running upstairs. So someone is home, he thinks, only worrying himself further. He climbs the stairs and figures out that the noise is coming from Stan’s room. “Stan?” he asks once more, pushing the door open gently. He notices immediately the adjacent bathroom’s door is shut. Bill passes the foot of the bed and trips over something, landing squarely on the floor. It is in this position he notices water leaking out from under the door.

“Hey, Stanny, are you in there?” Bill asks once he’s stood up. He tries to open the door, but it won’t budge. Not like it’s locked, but like something is pressed up against it. Worry renews itself in Bill’s body as he drives his shoulder into the door. He keeps pushing and pushing and pushing and finally whatever was lodged under the doorknob comes loose and Bill can get inside. In the process, he knocks over the chair he assumes was keeping the door shut.

And then he almost falls over again. Water pools around his feet, completely drenching his sneakers and the edge of his jeans. He notices with increasing horror that the water is tinted pink. His eyes slowly, too slowly, follow the water back to its source. The bath is overflowing and in it lays Stan, incrementally sliding under the water. His eyes are closed and the veins around them stand out so prominently, they look tattooed there.

Bill goes into overdrive. He rushes to the side of the tub, falling to his knees and turning off the water. “Stanley!” He smacks his hand against his boyfriend’s cheek and pulls him into more of a sitting position. “C’mon, h-honey, open your eyes.” Bill gets no response as he looks over Stan’s body. He’s still wearing his clothes, a long sleeved sweater and jeans. Bill delicately rolls up a sleeve and backs away upon seeing what was underneath, covering his mouth with his bloody fingers. “Chr-christ!” Stan’s arm is shredded, littered with old, white scars and new open wounds. A long slash runs from his wrist to his elbow. Bill feels like he might vomit as he looks around again, seeing the glinting of the blade Stan used in the other end of the tub. He also spots an open pill bottle labeled Eszopiclone, a sleeping pill prescribed to Stan’s dad.

Bill lets out a string of curse words and feels his eyes water as he fumbles his cellphone out of his pocket. He slides to the emergency screen and dials 9-1-1, hating how long it seems to take for them to answer. “911, what’s your emergency?” a woman answers after two rings.

“I th-think my boyfriend tried to commit s-s-suicide,” Bill says, choking out the last word, the tears in his eyes falling freely.

“Okay, I’ll dispatch an ambulance to your location. What is your address?” Bill rattles off the Uris’s address and waits for the next question. “Alright, the ambulance is on its way. Is he breathing?”

Bill dashes back to Stan and watches to see if his chest goes up and down. In his panic, he had not thought to check for breathing. He notices a rise and fall, however a faint one. “Y-yes, b-but very, v-very sh-h-hallowly.”

“What about his heart beat?” Bill lays two fingers against the hollow of Stan’s throat and waits for something. The pulse is slow. So slow, Bill can count five seconds between the beats. He reports this to the 911 operator who tells him to stay on the line. He hears sirens in the distance and soon he hears footsteps coming inside the house.

“Where are you?” a man’s voice calls out.

“U-up here!” Bill calls back. Everything starts to move in slow motion after that. The paramedics enter Stan’s bedroom and Bill moves out of the way. He watches as they lift Stan’s limp body from the bathtub and carry him out to the hallway where a gurney is set up. Bill follows behind as they push the gurney outside and lift him into the ambulance. “Pl-please, let me-ee c-come wi-hith you.” The paramedic closest to him nods once and helps Bill hoist himself into the ambulance. He watches on silently as the two men in the back tuck cannulas into Stan’s nostrils and bandage his arms several times over.

Bill doesn’t know how long it takes to get to the hospital. All he does know is that he prays the whole way there. He prays when he hasn’t in years, asking for Stan’s life. He bargains and pleads and begs that Stan will be okay. He is still praying as he is ushered out of the ambulance and follows after the gurney until a nurse stops him. “I n-need to kno-how h-he’s ok-k-kay!”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down,” the nurse says. He gestures towards a room full of chairs. “Take a seat and we’ll update you when we have information.”

Bill knows the nurse is right and deflates a little. “Pl-please,” he asks, “just make su-hure he’s okay.” The nurse nods and Bill goes to take a seat. He pulls out his phone again and calls Mrs. Uris. He sobs as he reports the news to her and tells her where they are. After he hangs up, he sends a blunt text to the losers club group message: stan is hurt, please come to hospital.

He clicks his phone off and feels the exhaustion of the day sink in. He dozes off before he knows what’s happening.

~ ~ ~

When Bill wakes up an hour later, he is surrounded, the near-empty waiting room now filled with his friends and some others. Bev is seated directly next to him and notices he’s awake first. “There’s no news,” she reports without Bill having to ask. He nods and buries his head in his hands.

“A-hare the U-urises h-h-here?” His voice comes out muffled.

“Yeah,” Richie says from across the room. “They’re talking to the doctors.” Bill notices with muted shock that Richie is crying silently, a steady stream of tears flowing down his face. In the next chair over, Eddie places his hand over his boyfriend’s and closes his eyes. “I’ve gotta get out of here. I’m going insane.” He pushes out of the chair and angrily walks towards the exit.

From the other side of Bev, Mike begins to follow after, but Eddie waves him down. “Just let him go. He needs to cool off.” His voice is incredibly tight and Bill rises from his own chair to sit next to the small boy.

“Ho-ow are y-y-you holding u-up? I kno-how Stan is your be-e-est friend,” Bill asks. He hesitantly looks up to see the incredulous face Eddie is making. “What?”

Eddie just chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. “Even when I should be the one asking you, you’re worried about everyone else. Jesus, Big Bill, how are you holding up? Stan is your boyfriend, for Christ’s sake. I don’t know what I’d do if that were Richie.” And suddenly, he breaks down, ugly sobs racking his tiny frame. Bill carefully places an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulls him closer. The other losers slowly surround them, Ben taking the chair on the other side of Eddie and rubbing slow circles on his shoulder, Mike coming up from behind and wrapping him in a bear hug, and Bev kneeling in front of them all, her hand delicately threaded through Eddie’s.

“I just wish he’d have said something to us,” Mike says, also crying. Bill has only seen him cry once and that was years ago, so it sends him over the edge. Soon all of them are crying and huddled together, dependent on each other for support. Eventually, Richie comes back, face a red mess from his own crying. Bev reaches out a hand for him to join them, which he takes and sits on the floor near Bill’s feet. They all have a grasp on one another, making sure that they’re all still there.

Distantly, Bill hears the squeak of shoes coming towards their group, but he doesn’t look up until he hears a small, “Ahem.” Donald and Andrea Uris stand in the hallway flanked by doctors. Mike is the first to go to them and hug Mrs. Uris, followed closely thereafter by the rest of the losers.

A doctor explains to them what they did: “Hello, I’m Doctor Rose Mendoza and this is Doctor Jarred Alexander. We’re two of the surgeons who worked on Stanley. I’m sorry we’ve had to meet in such circumstances.” She gives a sympathetic look before continuing. “We pumped Stan’s stomach and had to repair the damage to his arms. It also seems he gave himself a concussion, presumably from falling in the tub. We gave him a blood infusion and he’s doing well at the moment. It’s a good thing you caught it as soon as you did.” This last part is directed at Bill. “Had you not found him so early on, we’re not so confident he’d be alive right now.” Bill bites back a sob and feels Richie grab his hand on one side, Bev on the other.

Another doctor adds on to his colleague’s report, “He’s still under the anesthesia from the surgery, but it might take him a little longer because of the head trauma and excessive blood loss. I suggest that you go in there and talk to him, tell him about your past week at school, any plans you might have had for the weekend. Let him know you’re still there. He can hear you and he’ll wake up in his own time.”

“I’ll go first,” Richie offers. He turns to Bill. “Are you okay with that?” Bill only nods and Richie gives his hand a quick squeeze before letting go and following the doctors down the hall and to the left, disappearing into the sterile whiteness.

~ ~ ~

Stan can’t move or see, but he can hear everything.

He can hear the doctors telling his parents what happened and knowing that he failed to do what he set out to, hears them crying and feels their tender touches, hears the heart monitor beeping slowly, hears trays and and carts and voices passing by, though sounding far, far away.

Right now, he’s hearing a familiar voice say, “Hey, Stan the Man. How are you doing?” Richie, his mind supplies, feeling a little appalled it took as long as it did to recognize his friend. “Wow, what a dumb question, you’re obviously not doing too hot or else we wouldn’t be in here.” There is a silence and Stan hears Richie suck in a sharp breath and a gentle warmth encloses his left hand. “The doctors told me to talk and apparently I’m really good at that, so here goes nothing.” And Richie does talk, about school, about the photography club he’s in, everything. He tells Stan secret wishes and hopes and dreams, things he’s only shared with Eddie, he discloses.

I wish I could ask you questions and talk back, Stan thinks helplessly.

“You know, I wish you would have said something. We-” Richie stops and Stan can tell he’s trying to swallow the emotion rising in the back of his throat. “We’re so worried. I mostly feel like a shit friend for not noticing you were suffering.” And suddenly there is a choked sobbed coming out of Richie and he rises from the chair, taking his warmth away from Stan’s hand. “Bill is a mess. He won’t say anything, but I can tell. If you can hear me in there, Stanny, I want you to know we’re all here for you, but that boy would go through hell and high water to make you happy. Talk to him when you wake up because he loves you.” A short pause. “We all do.” And then the door opens and closes again, signaling his departure.

Stan notes Richie’s use of the word when and not if and a small shred of determination to wake up takes root in Stan’s heart.

~ ~ ~

Bev and Ben come in next. Together they tell Stan about how want to go on a road trip all over the country to visit all fifty states after they graduate. Ben wants to see the world’s largest rubber band ball and the Golden Gate Bridge. Bev wants to visit New York City to see whatever show is playing on Broadway and the fashion district. They talk about wanting to move in together and the kind of house they’re going to get.

Ben says he’s going to design it. A wide open kitchen with all the newest appliances where they can practice cooking and make pancakes every Sunday morning. There would be a big living room with plenty of couch space for losers club movie night. An office for Ben and a sewing room for Bev. A big garden where they grow their own veggies and fruits and seasonal flowers. There will be one big bedroom for them to share and plenty spare rooms for their friends.

They speak about wanting to adopt a dog, but can’t decide which breed they want. Bev really wants a black French bulldog and a Dalmatian, but Ben says only one dog. He argues that a golden retriever would be the best option. Either way, they can’t decide on a name. They want Stan’s advice because he always has insightful things to say.

I think Maisie would be good for a girl dog and Jackson for a boy dog. Or maybe you should name the dog based on what it looks like, he thinks in response, but of course they can’t hear him.

They speak energetically and Stan appreciates that; it’s a welcome distraction from his immobility. But he can tell that their laughter is forced because of the strain in Ben’s voice when he speaks and the nervous tapping of Bev’s foot against the tile floor. “Wake up soon, Stanley,” Ben says quietly, a sullenness like Stan has never heard filling his words. “We miss you.” Then someone leaves, the door opening and falling shut again letting him know.

The sudden fragrance of pomegranates and mangos filling his nose tells him that Bev is still in the room. She leans close, her body heat easing some of the chill Stan is feeling. “Please wake up,” she whispers, gently brushing some of his hair out of his face. She places a soft kiss that lasts for about three seconds on his forehead. He feels a drop of wetness fall there when she pulls away. “Please.” And then she is gone as well, taking with her the comfort of another’s presence.

~ ~ ~

Eddie and Mike come in together a little after the previous couple leave. Mike does most of the talking with an interjection from Eddie once in a while.

“On Saturday, the farm is getting some baby chicks. I was going to ask you guys over to help my dad and me sort them. There’s always too many for us to do in one day and we could always use a set of helping hands or six.” Mike chuckles at his own joke before talking about his farm more. The animals and what’s being planted and harvested right now. All the while, Stan can hear Eddie moving about in his tiny room. There is the sound of spritz bottles and the smell of cleaner fills the air.

“Eddie, what the hell are you doing?” Mike asks at one point, interrupting his own story.

Stan hears Eddie let out an exasperated sigh and wants to laugh at the sound. “I want this room to be germ-free when Stan wakes up so he can heal as quick as physically possible. Being sick won’t help anything.” Stan feels grateful for Eddie’s fussing and wants more than anything to hug his tiny friend.

Stan hears Eddie disappear into another room, cleaner bottle still going, and assumes there is an adjacent bathroom to his room. Mike leans closer to him, the comforting smell of his laundry detergent and aftershave calming Stan’s spinning mind. “I have a secret for you,” he says incredibly quietly. “When you come to, we’re going to be here to help you. We love you and want you to get better. Just remember, every step of the way, we’ll be there right beside you to catch you when you slip and to simply be in your company when you’re feeling good. Don’t forget that you have six personal shrinks at your disposal.” He chuckles melancholily, and Stan hears him swallow thickly. He wants to throw his arms around Mike. He wants to embrace all of his friends, but since he can’t, he adds it to his list of reasons to wake up. He is starting to understand that he doesn’t have to ache on his own, but it is okay to be hurting. “Get better, Stan.” He ruffles Stan’s curls and then the door opens, shuts, and there is silence.

Then, he hears Eddie flush the toilet and the sink water running. It is a while before the sink water turns off, but Stan is not surprised Eddie washes his hands that thoroughly, especially considering that he was just handling cleaning supplies. After the water stops running, Eddie comes back into the main room. Stan hears him come closer before laying his head on Stan’s chest and hugging him gently around the waist. “I- I love you, Stanny, we all do. Please wake up, but do it for your own sake, okay? Want to get better.” Eddie is tender as he mirrors Bev’s actions of pushing his hair out of his face. Stan hears a sniffle before the door opens and shuts again, leaving him alone once more.

~ ~ ~

It’s hours before someone visits Stan again.

He realizes offhandedly that visiting hours would’ve ended soon after he got admitted to his own room, but he still panics. What if they stopped caring about me? he can’t help but think. That’s stupid. They all literally came in here to tell you how much they love you, dumbass, another part of his brain counters. Yeah, all of them, he thinks.

Except for Bill.

Visiting hours, remember? He’ll be here. The rational part of his brain does a pretty good job of calming him down.

The nurses check on him periodically, taking his vitals and replacing the IV drip medication. A nurse, who introduces herself as Daisy, tells him that this is the first time she’s had to take care of a suicide survivor and that he should want to get better, that she’s seen all his friends’ faces, his mother’s tears, his father’s set jaw and clenching fists. Daisy says that he definitely has great things and people to live for, but the greatest one is himself. It makes him want to cry. How had he not realized that his friends would always be there for him, that this burden was not his alone to bear? Daisy squeezes his hand every time she checks on him, “To let you know I’m here when you wake up,” she explains once. She seems kind even though Stan can’t see her and for that kindness, he cannot wait to thank her.

It has been a few minutes since the new nurse, Dahlia, had taken his vitals for the morning shift of nurses when his door opens again. The room is suddenly filled with an overly sweet scent. At first, it feels like the smell is suffocating Stan, a feeling that he relates to being force-fed syrupy cough medication. After a bit, however, it is comforting, like the scent has been there all along. Whoever is in the room with him sets something down on the table next to him, the sticky sweet smell getting stronger, and drags out the chair on his right side. The person picks up his hand and places a gentle kiss on his knuckles before planting one on his cheek and another on his knuckles. Stan would recognize the smell of the shampoo with a permanent underlying tang of chlorine without the sharp, clean fragrance of familiar cologne.

Bill, my Bill.

“Hi, Stanny,” he says, a thumb brushing over Stan’s fingers. “I miss you.” And right out of the gate, Stan wants to burst into sobs. I miss you, too, he wants so badly to reply. I miss you so goddamn much. “It f-feels a little strange having a one-w-w-way conversation, but I’ll try my ha-arrdest just to talk.” There is a brief pause where Bill sucks in a sharp breath. “I w-went back to your hou-ou-ouse last night. I cl-cl-cleaned up the bathroo-hoom so your m-mom didn’t have to.” Stan feels a hot spiral of guilt drill through his stomach. I caused that. Bill had to see me like that. He wanted to say something, but Bill keeps talking. “I m-m-made dinner for m-me and your pa-harents but no-nobody could eat. We w-w-were all so w-worried for you Stan. We cou-houldn’t sleep either. I tried to sl-sl-ee-eep in your bed, but I j-just couldn’t sh-sh-shut my thou-houghts down. I e-ended up on th-he roof and sat i-i-in the same sp-sp-spot where I told you I l-loved you the first time. D-d-do you reme-hember that, Stanny? I stuttered e-e-even more than u-usual. I was so ne-hervous.” He chuckles and Stan feels himself wanting to smile. Of course he remembers; it was one of the best days of his life.

It was a blustery fall day in Derry, but that didn’t stop Stan from showing Bill his favorite spot to think when his brain got to be a little too much to handle. He had dragged him up through the attic, the two boys’ hands desperately clenched together. They claimed it was so neither of them fell but there was definitely an anterior motive. The wind had caused them to pull the hoods of their hoodies up to protect themselves from its harshness.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Stan had asked, looking out at the incredible view he got of Derry from this high up. He sat down, legs dangling off the edge, Bill following suit. He could see the spires of the Methodist church across town and the American flag that rose from the pole on top of the high school. The sun was just setting and the sky was shades of pink and purple and red. Stan could just tell Bill’s hands were itching to get out his watercolor pencils and draw it.

“N-not as b-b-beautifu-hul as yo-oo-oo-ou,” Bill said. His stutter seemed to have gotten the best of him. Stan whipped around to look at his boyfriend. Bill’s eyes were unwavering and staring lovingly at him. Stan smiled at how cute Bill was and extended his fingers towards his boyfriend so they could hold hands. They are silent for a moment, the warmth between them reflecting back and forth. Stan leaned his head on Bill’s shoulder when he said it, “I-I lo-hove y-y-you.” For the second time that night, Stan whipped his head around to look at his boyfriend. Bill wasn’t looking at him this time and his high cheekbones were alight with a bright blush.

Stan squeezed his hand and smiled as he said, “I love you, too” and meant it. They had only been dating for four months, but they both loved each other to the moon and back.

That was before It. Before the Deadlights.

Stan is brought back to the present by Bill sniffing. His voice is tight when he speaks again: “I l-love you sti-hill. You kn-know that, ri-right? I w-w-will always love yo-hou, Stanny. A-always.” Then Bill is crying horrible, body-wracking sobs. “I’m s-s-sorry. I’m s-so, s-so sorry. I’m sorry I di-hidn’t n-notice you we-here in pain. I-I’m sorry I didn’t a-a-ask you ho-ow you w-w-were doing m-more often. I’m s-sorry I di-hidn’t force you t-to ta-ha-halk about what ha-a-appened wh-when we w-w-were kids. I’m just s-so sorry for being a sh-shitty boyfriend and fo-hor everything else. It’s m-my fault. I-I’m sorry.” Bill’s final emphasized apology sends Stan over the edge. He wants to shout at the top of his lungs and cry and get angry and be upset all at the same time. It’s not your fault! It’s mine! It’s all mine! his mind screams.

Then, Dahlia comes back in to check on his vitals again. She introduces herself to Bill who gives a clipped greeting. “Lovely flowers,” she comments, removing her rubber gloves and tossing them in the trash when she’s finished with her examination. “What are they?

“Th-they’re hyacinth,” Bill responds curtly. After Dahlia leaves, Bill returns to his spot by Stan’s side. He sounds remarkably calmer when he speaks: “Do you know th-the my-hyth how hyacinth got its na-hame?” Stan can’t answer, but if he could he would still say no. “Well, the sun god, Apollo, and the god of the west wind, Zephyr, were competing for the affection of a mortal boy they both loved. His name was Hyakinthos. One day, Apollo was teaching Hyakinthos to throw discus and Zephyr got very jealous. He sent a violent wind their way that made the disc come back at Hyakinthos, which struck and killed him. The brokenhearted Apollo named the flowers the sprouted from his spilled blood hyacinth to remember him.” Whenever Bill told stories, he never stuttered. It was like an override function that allowed to him to speak without ruining the flow of his tale. Stan always loves to hear stories from his boyfriend and this time is no exception, only he wishes the story was a little happier. “Th-that’s why I got you purple hyacinth. I’m sure you sme-helled them when I came in.” Bill lets out a short laugh. “Purple hy-hyacinth means asking for f-f-forgiveness and symbolizes deep regre-het. I h-hope you can forgive me for what a terrible boyfriend I-I-I’ve been, not being able to see when the only person I’ve ever lo-hoved was hurting.”

And suddenly, Stan is very angry, Because how dare Bill think he was to blame for Stan’s fucked up mind? How could he think he was the reason for aftereffects of that demented, child-eating monster? For the past two days, Stan kept telling himself how he wants to wake up, but now he was going to try. He focuses all of his energy on moving something, anything. I’m coming, Bill. Hold on. He feels his fingers tingle and tries to squeeze them around Bill’s hand. When he succeeds, he hears Bill suck in a gasp. “St-Stanny, is that yo-hou, love? Can you h-h-hear me?” Stan squeezes his hand a second time and Bill lets out a teary chuckle. “God, I l-l-love you so mu-huch. I’m here when you wake up, o-okay?” Stan gives one more squeeze before feeling totally drained and slipping into the darkness at the back of his mind.

~ ~ ~

When Stan comes to, he is surrounded by his friends. He blinks his bleary eyes open and studies all the familiar faces in his room. They are chatting in hushed tones with one another so they don’t see him wake. He shakily lifts his left hand to get Richie’s attention knowing his loud mouth will get everyone else’s attention. His fingers gently brush against his friend’s bare wrist, making him jump. When Richie turns to see his friend awake, tears immediately spring to his eyes and a sad smile turns his lips upward. He lets out a few quick breaths, saying “Stan” on one of his exhales.

Then, there are five more pairs of eyes on him. They are all crying, even Mike who Stan had only seen cry a handful of times, which makes Stan cry as well. All the pent up emotions from yesterday, the day before that, all the way back to the sewers come flowing freely out. He tries to speak, but his voice pains him from so many hours of disuse. Bev rushes to the windowsill where a pitcher of water was being stored to keep it chilled and pours some in a cup for him. She delicately lifts it to his lips because his arms are shaking like leaves.

When he’s finished with his drink, Stan clears his throat a few times before beginning to talk: “I’m sorry.” And his voice is shaky, from the crying or something else, he doesn’t know. “I’m sorry you all had to go through that.”

Bill takes his previous seat and holds Stan’s hand like it’s going to break. “Sh, sh,” he hushes. “Wh-what do you have to be sorry a-a-about?”

Stan lets out a few more heartbreaking whimpers before clenching his eyes and drawing in a shaky breath to order his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you guys enough to tell you what was going on. You all- you just wanted to help me but I thought I could handle the horrors of my own mind by myself. I couldn’t.” Stan punctuates the awful explanation with a humorless laugh. None of his friends find that funny, though. “When It came to Derry and I was alone with that fucking clown, It showed me It’s true form.” Stan shivers as he recollects what happened that day.

They had ventured into the sewers to find Bev, the ominous bloody message sending them right into the heart of It’s lair. Stan, of course, was reluctant to descend underground through the house of Neibolt Street, but they had no choice. Bev was in danger and it was up to them to save her. They were almost all in the entrance way when Henry Bowers nearly killed Mike.

That’s when he heard it: Stanley, the wind seemed to whisper. He turned abruptly, his flashlight beam falling on another stretch of sewers. Stanley, come here, it said again. Against his will, Stan’s legs began to move towards the sound. He knew rationally that straying from his group was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop moving. His lungs expanded and shrunk rapidly as he entered an open chamber. All around him he heard the voice and the dripping of the pipes. We all float down here, Stanley. And then he was attacked. He got knocked to the ground and he tried to scream but he couldn’t.

“It opened It’s mouth and I saw-” Stan shudders as he retells the story. Bev places a grounding hand on his left shoulder and Mike stands by her to rub his fingers over the back of Stan’s hand. “I saw It’s true form. It was dark and cold and I felt like there was no hope left in the world. I felt so- so alone, like I’d never be happy ever again. And then you guys came and-” He draws in a shaky breath. “If you hadn’t pulled that thing off of me, I think I’d be dead or crazy.”

“Why didn’t you just tell us?” Eddie says, a strange tightness in his voice. He looks a little angry with Stan, but Stan doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah.” Ben contributes, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “We would’ve understood. We were all tormented by It. We wouldn’t judge.”

“But you don’t know!” Stan says, frustrated tears rolling down his cheeks. He feels Bill put his elbows on the bed and raise the hand he was holding to his lips. He was crying as well. “I got so paranoid after that. If you guys didn’t answer my text messages in ten minutes, I got worried that you’d gotten taken, or worse, that you were ignoring me.”

“Never,” Richie says. It’s strange that he had been so quiet until now, usually the one to command a conversation’s direction. “Never, ever, Stan. Do you understand?”

“I do now,” Stan replies, reaching to link his pinky with Richie’s, the only movement his shaking arms could allow. “But before, nothing could convince me. I just- lost all hope. Food didn’t taste like anything, so I stopped eating. Whenever I slept, I would only see It and the horrible things It showed me, so I only slept as little as I could get away with. I’d get anxious every time I stepped outside my house alone, like people knew that I was depressed and suspicious about everything. Then I started- started cutting to release some of that pain. It worked for a bit but I still wasn’t happy or at least not sad. And then yesterday happened.” He realizes he’s taking short, choppy breaths and that his friends are crying full force again. They’re all silent for a while, long enough for Dahlia and Doctor Mendoza to check on him. His friends are banished from his room while they take his blood pressure and talk to him.

“We’re going to give you some antidepressants,” Doctor Mendoza says, pulling out a pad and pen from her breast pocket. “And there’s a therapist that’s ready to see you whenever you get out. She’ll want to see you for an two hours twice a week to assess you. Until then, you’ll talk to the one we have on staff here. Okay, Stanley?”

“Yes,” he says confidently. “I want to get better.”

“Well, that is certainly a step in the right direction,” Doctor Mendoza says, a smile lining her lips. “I’ll get your friends back in here.” She leaves with a small “thanks” from Stan. He sees, now that the door is open, that his friends only crowded together right outside. He smiles wide and finally realizes that these people are with him every step of the way.

~ ~ ~

Stan is getting better. He still sees Iris, his therapist, twice every month, but that’s an improvement. Some days are bad, yes, when he can barely get out of bed because he feels hopeless. But these are the days when Eddie comes by before and after school to make sure that Stan is still taking his medications and talks to him and brings him homework. These are the days Ben brings over Lego sets that have a thousand or more pieces to distract Stan. These are the days when Richie and Bev bring CDs and dinner and sit with him while they all eat and listen to whatever artist is singing. These are the days when Mike brings over his dog, Mr. Chips, so that Stan can pet him for focus. These are the days when Bill ditches school or work altogether to lay with Stan and hold him until he feels whole again.

These are the days that Stan realizes he has two caring parents, five incredibly persistent best friends, and one exceptionally devoted boyfriend who all love him dearly. And it’s all Stan could ask for.

~ ~ ~

I just want to say two things before I wrap this up.1. To the anon who requested this: you have the patience of a saint and I wish I had me some of that.2. Please, please, please talk to someone if you feel at all like Stan did in this. Even if it’s not a face-to-face conversation, it will help. I promise.Have a request? Submit one here. See my masterlist here.

#don't bottle it up #you are not a burden #please talk to me or a trusted friend/family member #tw: suidice #tw: graphic content #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #stenbrough #stan uris #bill denbrough #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #benverly #bev marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #it 2017 #the losers club

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thebipartisanpress-blog · 5 years ago

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An Open Letter to Sen. Elizabeth Warren

Dear Senator Warren, If the Texas Democratic primary were held today, you would have my vote. I have watched with interest and growing admiration as you’ve worked your tail off on the campaign trail, talking to people, sharing your story, outlining your plans and showing the American people exactly what kind of detail should be communicated about what a candidate for the highest office in the land intends to do with the power we entrust them with. I cannot recall being more impressed with a political candidate. Your candidacy gives me, and many like me, hope that the next eight years might be entrusted into hands competent to guide this country through the challenges of the next decade. For the first time, when you took the debate stage Tuesday as the front runner, I saw you struggle to communicate a point related to your ideas. I'm speaking of course, about what has become the standard attack on your Medicare for all plan. The question is how you mean to deliver Medicare for all without raising taxes on the middle class. The reason it’s being asked is so that your opponents can point to your refusal to say whether taxes will have to be raised on the middle class and then call your answer evasive. In all honesty, even those of us with ears can understand why some people think it sounds evasive. We do, however, hear what it is you’re trying to say, and I empathize with you since the full answer doesn’t fit neatly into a debate stage soundbite. They know that, of course, it’s the reason they’re attacking that point. To many, it sounds like an attempt to avoid revealing a hard truth. I come at this from a different perspective, and I’d like to share that perspective with you. I come at this from the perspective of a man who was firmly opposed to single-payer health care, but one who changed his own mind by doing the math. When I hear you saying “I have made clear what my principles are here, and that is costs will go up for the wealthy and for big corporations, and for hard-working middle-class families, costs will go down,” I hear exactly what the math told me. The problem you run into is that you’ve done the math as well, and in order to do Medicare for all and keep it deficit-neutral, the money is going to have to come from somewhere. Although you intend to get Medicare for all done without burdening the middle class and low-income Americans with more taxes, who knows how the negotiations will play out when you start working on it in 2021? What would happen if you committed today that it would be done with no tax increase on the middle class, since that is your intention, and at the finish line, the only way to get it finally done was to add $10 per month to the Medicare deduction in everyone’s paycheck? We know exactly what would happen. The Republicans would start howling about “You get to keep your doctor!” So let’s look a little more deeply at the story told by your response to these repeated questions. As one of the foremost experts in the United States on consumer bankruptcy, you know medical expenses are far and away the most common cause of consumer bankruptcy in this country. You know that the average American spent $10,345 on health care in 2016 and it’s only gone up since then. None of your Democratic opponents in this race disagree that something has to be done to ease that burden on the American people, especially those living under last year’s $61,372 median income line, as health care expenditures eat through more than 17% of their total income. But! We are told, The United States can’t afford to pay for health care for all her citizens. The deficit would skyrocket! We would go broke in 10 years! Trillions of dollars! In one of the debates earlier this year, I even heard a Democratic candidate respond to the point that Canada is perfectly able to do it with something to the effect of “But they only have about 30 million to care for while we have hundreds of millions!” Yeah. No kidding. So do the math. Let’s start with basic math. What would it take to mirror what Canada is doing? Canada spends about $242 billion per year on their universal health care system. That money ensures that all 36 million Canadian citizens are covered by health care. This means that the system costs Canada $6,604 per citizen per year. How much does Canada spend on health care? | CIHI So what would a similar system cost us? First, since those figures came directly from the Canadian Government, we have to look at the exchange rate and see what that is in US Dollars. Right now, the exchange rate is .76, so that works out to $5,025 in US dollars.

There are currently 328.5 million US citizens, multiply that out and you arrive at the number. $1.65 trillion per year. Yes. See? I’m not pulling punches here. No one is asking for “free stuff” here, just a realistic examination of the costs.

There it is. That number they keep trying and trying to terrify us with. It sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? $1.65 T, trillion dollars. Boy, do they love to make it even scarier by naming the 10-year cost, not so subtly forgetting to make it clear that $17 trillion is what it would cost over 10 years, not per year. And of course implying that it’s $1.65 trillion more than we’re already spending, which of course it isn’t. And that last is the thing. How much more would it cost us to provide Medicare for all than it would to do what we already do? We’re already spending: $672 billion on Medicare $565 billion on Medicaid and $79 billion of the VA’s Budget is for Veteran’s Medical Care. All three of these programs would be rolled into the new system which covers everyone. SO. The first $1.3 trillion is already covered. That leaves a little less than $351 billion It’s clear that your intent is to show the large multinational corporations that since they no longer have to cover the portions of employee premiums many of them do, it makes sense to chip in a bit more to the pot to help get this done. And by raising taxes on big businesses and the wealthiest Americans, that extra could be covered without any extra burden on the middle class. But what if, imagine there was no other way to do it but to add a bit to everyone’s Medicare tax? How much would it take to generate? Another easy question to answer. There are right now about 142 million taxpayers in the US. If for some reason people don’t trust that you will find other sources of revenue to make up the difference and want to know how much would be needed, they can do the math as I did.

Now. What would most people rather do? Pay an average of $10,345 per year, or have an average of $95 per paycheck withdrawn saving them an average of $7,875 per year, putting $656 per month back into their pockets, while understanding that is the most that would possibly be needed to keep the entire thing deficit-neutral, even if you, Senator Warren, can't find at least some of that money elsewhere? How would you like that in a nice debate stage nugget? “You know, it is my intention to advocate to get Medicare for all done without raising taxes on the middle class. But as you can see from all the plans I’ve laid out, I’m realistic about things, first of all, that the President of the United States is not a dictator. So if, while I’m fighting to get every American covered by this single-payer plan without raising taxes, the only way we can get it through Congress is to ask the average middle-class taxpayer to contribute, you can be absolutely sure that I will not sign that bill if that tax increase does not represent a significant reduction in that average American citizen’s health care costs!” There’s my two cents, take ‘em or leave em. Once you get it done, come out to the Dallas area, and I’ll use some of my $656 to buy you a Michelob Ultra. You'll forgive me if I choose a beer with a bit more bite. Sincerely, Chris O’Leary Richardson, Tx. 3rd Texas Congressional District Content from The Bipartisan Press. All Rights Reserved. Agree or disagree with something in this article? Share it in the comment section and see what others think. Read the full article

#Warren

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superwholock-marvel-images · 8 years ago

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Through time and space (part 3)

Part one, part two

→ → → → → → → → → → → → → → → → ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← ← “Right then, Rose Tyler and Y/N Winchester, you tell me. Where do you want to go? Backwards or forwards in time. It’s your choice. What’s it going to be?” The Doctor says with a cocky smirk.

“Forwards.” Both you and Rose reply. The Doctor then asks how far forward and Rose goes with 100 years.

“Come on Rose, be a little more adventurous.” You tease. “I say a thousand years into the future.” The Doctor takes you 10,000 years in the future just to show off. You and Rose aren’t buying it.

“Right then, you asked for it. I know exactly where to go. Hold on!” The Doctor says messing with a few controls. When outside of the TARDIS you notice that you’re not on earth- but above it. A small smile forms on your face. “You lot, you spend all your time thinking about dying, like you’re going to get killed by eggs or beef or global warming or asteroids. But you never take time to imagine the impossible, that maybe you survive. This is the year five point five slash apple slash twenty-six. Five billion years in your future and this is the day…” The Doctor checks his watch as the sun flares and turns red. “This is the day the Sun expands. Welcome to the end of the world.”

“No way.” You say trying really hard not to sound shocked. The Doctor laughs and tells the two of you that the three of you should make way to wherever the other guests are.

On the way there, the Doctor gives you some details about what is going on at the moment. The steward stops the three of you, he’s suspicious- also blue. “But how did you get in? This is a maximum hospitality zone. The guests have disembarked. They’re on their way any second now.” The steward points out. The doctor pulls out a piece of blank paper and shows it to the steward.

“That’s me. I’m a guest. Look, I’ve got an invitation. Look. There, you see? It’s fine, you see? The Doctor plus two. I’m the Doctor, this is Rose Tyler and Y/N Winchester. They’re my plus one and two. Is that all right?”

“Well, obviously. Apologies, et cetera. If you’re on board, we’d better start. Enjoy.”

“What was that?” You ask in a soft tone of voice.

“The paper’s slightly psychic. It shows them whatever I want them to see. Saves a lot of time.” The Doctor answers.

“That’s one of the most ingenious things I’ve heard of.”

“We have in attendance the Doctor, Rose Tyler, and Y/N Winchester. Thank you. All staff to their positions.” The steward says interrupting the conversation between you and the time lord. The staff quickly gets into position. “Hurry, now, thank you. Quick as we can. Come along, come along. And now, might I introduce the next honored guest? Representing the Forest of Cheam, we have trees, namely, Jabe, Lute, and Coffa.” You weren’t expecting actual walking and talking trees, you’re a little surprised to say in the least.

The steward then announces the other guests, which you tune out because you’re thinking about Sam and Katie, and how much they would enjoy this. You pull yourself out of your thoughts before you go in to deep. “The Gift of Peace. I bring you a cutting of my Grandfather.” One of the trees say. She offers the three of you a potted twig. The Doctor pats his pockets looking for a gift, he can’t find one.

“Thank you. Yes, gifts. Er, I give you in return air from my lungs.” He says before gently breathing on them. He does this for all the guests, guess it works as a gift… the steward then introduces the last guest: the last Human. The Lady Cassandra O'Brien Dot Delta Seventeen.

“That is a mouthful.” You whisper in Rose’s ear. She smiles in response. Now you and Rose were expecting an actual human with limbs and things like that, not a trampoline of skin with a face on it.

“Oh, now, don’t stare. I know, I know it’s shocking, isn’t it? I’ve had my chin completely taken away and look at the difference. Look how thin I am. Thin and dainty. I don’t look a day over two thousand. Moisturise me. Moisturise me.” Cassandra says to everyone else before talking to her attendants. One of them sprays some form of liquid on her. “Truly, I am the last Human. My father was a Texan, my mother was from the Arctic Desert. They were born on the Earth and were the last to be buried in its soil. I have come to honor them and say goodbye. Oh, no tears, no tears. I’m sorry. But behold, I bring gifts. From Earth itself, the last remaining ostrich egg. Legend says it had a wingspan of fifty feet and blew fire from its nostrils. Or was that my third husband? Oh, no. Oh, don’t laugh. I’ll get laughter lines. And here, another rarity.” The other gift is a jukebox. “According to the archives, this was called an iPod. It stores classical music from humanity’s greatest composers. Play on!” You have to hold back your laughter when the trampoline woman calls a jukebox an iPod- there is a huge difference between the two.

🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝

You and Rose walk the ship together, but the two of you are unsure if you’re allowed where you happen to be. “Sorry. Are we allowed to be in here?” Rose asks the woman in overalls and a baseball cap.

“You have to give us permission to talk.” She answers. Rose looks a bit uncomfortable as well as confused.

“Er, you have permission.” The woman in overalls smiles ever so slightly.

“Thank you. And, no, you’re not in the way. Guests are allowed anywhere.”

“Okay.” Rose still looks uncertain about what is going on.

“What’s your name anyways?” You ask.

“Ruffalo.” The woman you’re guessing is some sort of maintenance answers.

“That’s an interesting name.” Ruffalo looks a little embarrassed. You then smile. “Its also fun to say. Ruffalo.”

“I won’t be long, I’ve just got to carry out some maintenance. There’s a tiny little glitch in the Face of Boe’s suite. There must be something blocking the system. He’s not getting any hot water.”

“You’re a plumber?” Rose asks in response.

“That’s right, miss.”

“They still have plumbers?”

“I hope so, else I’m out of a job.” Ruffalo says with a slight smile. You, Rose and Ruffalo talk for a little bit. You and Rose allow Ruffalo to go back to what she was originally doing. 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 The Doctor does something to Rose’s and your phones, now they can call or text from anywhere in time or space. Rose calls her mom to test it. You, on the other hand, send a text to Sherlock and John. “If you think that is amazing you should see the bill.” The Doctor says with a smile. You chuckle in response. Suddenly the ship shakes like an earthquake is happening. “That shouldn’t happen.”

“What was that?” You ask.

“Whatever it was it wasn’t a gravity pocket.” The Doctor then talks to the tree woman and she calls you and Rose the Doctor’s wives amongst a few other things that is a little awkward.

You and Rose walk towards Cassandra, only you veer left towards the jukebox. You then start messing with it seeing what songs are on that thing, you find songs you know and somehow get the jukebox working- you had to kind of hotwire it and insert a coin for it to work. Yellow Submarine by the Beatles starts to play. “I haven’t heard this song in many millennia.” The Face of Boe says startling you.

“Face of Boe, you frightened me.” You reply.

“Apologies Y/N.” The way how he talks is as if he knows you. You figure that he knew you five billion years ago if that was even possible. You and the Face of Boe talk for a while, Rose throws you the occasional glance but doesn’t say anything. For the first time since she’s known you, your guard is down and you’re not looking over your shoulder every ten minutes. You sway in time to the music playing, occasionally singing along. Metaphorically speaking you’re letting your hair down just this once. 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 Someone has planted robotic spiders on the ship to sabotage the systems and pretty much kill everyone, and the person responsible for the sabotages is Lady Cassandra. “I bet you were the school swot and never got kissed. At arms!” Cassandra commands. Her attendants raise their guns.

“What are you going to do, moisturize me?” The Doctor asks with an incredible amount of sass in his voice. You hide a smile behind your hand. You were going to say something to Rose about it but she’s nowhere to be found currently.

“With acid. Oh, you’re too late, anyway. My spiders have control of the mainframe. Oh, you all carried them as gifts, tax-free, past every code wall. I’m not just as pretty face.” You make a mental note to never trust a talking trampoline.

“Sabotaging a ship while you’re still inside it? How stupid is that?”

“I’d hoped to manufacture a hostage situation with myself as one of the victims. The compensation would have been enormous.”

“Five billion years and it still comes down to money.”

“Do you think it’s cheap, looking like this? Flatness costs a fortune. I am the last human, Doctor. Me. Not that freaky little kid of yours.”

“Hate to ask this but who are you referring to as the freaky kid? Me or Rose- both of us came with the Doctor.” You point out. Cassandra makes no comment in response. 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 After everything, it’s just you, Rose and the Doctor once again. The Doctor takes you and Rose back to your original time, and he tells the two of you that he is the last of his kind. His planet was destroyed in a war. The two of you tell him that he has the two of you.

Rose and the Doctor goes one way to get chips. You, on the other hand, returned to Baker Street. You had enough adventures for one day. You head up the stairs. “There you are Y/N I was wondering where you disappeared to.” John says with a smile.

“Are you going to tell us what you were going to say before you left?” Sherlock asks setting down his violin.

“Right I mentioned that. Where do you want me to start?”

“Preferably from the beginning.”

‘Fair, you better not tune me out or tell anyone. If you do I might shoot you.“ 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 -Flashback- Your mom was a hunter and she did a lot of hunting with your dad, but she never told him that she made a deal with a demon and her time was almost up. When you were born your mom only had three years and a half years left.

“John I need you to come get Y/N.” Your mom said into the phone one day. You didn’t hear what your dad said in response. “I see… please hurry though.”

“Mommy, what’s going on?” You asked looking at your mother with large innocent eyes. Your mom didn’t have the heart to tell you that she was about to get ripped apart by a hellhound.

“Nothing sweetheart, but will you do me a favor… I want you to clean up your room a bit.” You nodded slightly as your mom tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Whatever happens, just know I love you and I’ll always think of you.” You didn’t understand that your mom was saying her goodbyes to you, you thought that she was meaning something else.

You picked up your toys and then you left your room to tell your mom you were done- you nearly screamed when you saw all the blood that lined the walls and your mother’s body torn to shreds.

You were alone for three long hours, scared out of your wits. “(Mom’s name)? Y/N?” Your dad yelled when your family showed up.

Katie was the one that found you, trembling as well as crying your eyes out. Because your tears clouded up your vision you didn’t recognize your sister if anything she scared you more than you already were.

“(Nickname), it’s okay… I’m not going to hurt you.” Katie said trying to comfort you, without a lot of success. The boys had a little more experience comforting a scared toddler under their belts, Dean especially. She got up and walked away from you towards Dean. “Hey Dean, need your help… I think I accidentally made Y/N more scared then she originally was.” Katie then lead Dean to where you were. You had calmed down enough that you could at least see.

“Katie, how about you go help Dad and Sammy. I’ll get Y/N.” Dean said. Katie nodded and then took her leave. “Baby bug… you can come out now.” Your brother said coaxingly. You gave no form of verbal response, mainly because you had your thumb in your mouth. You did, however, shuffle forward a little bit. Eventually, Dean got you to come out of your hiding spot. He then picked you up and set you on his hip before carrying you to your room. He sets you down and takes off the backpack he was wearing and tells you to grab some of your favorite things and put them in the bag. Instead, you grabbed a different bag that looked pretty heavy for a toddler and held it out to Dean. “That isn’t what I asked you to do.” Your brother says slightly annoyed as well as confused. In an almost inaudible voice, you told your brother that your mom already put a bag together for you, you just needed to grab your stuffed animal friend and your blanket. “Grab them for me?” You nodded and grabbed your stuffed animal, your pillow and your blanket off your bed.

On the way out to the car you fell asleep against Dean’s shoulder clutching your stuffed animal friend to your chest. Your pillow and blanket are safely stowed in the backpack. “Got everything?” Your dad asked.

“(Mom’s name) had already packed most of Y/N’s things… as if she knew that this would happen.” Dean explained.

“She probably did… I mean she was a hunter after all.” -End of flashback- 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 “Six years later I first learned how to use a gun, and how to do stitches.” You say coming to an end of your explanation. “Started actually hunting when I was about eleven or twelve years old… I left hunting and came here after a bad argument with my dad, and I think you know the rest.” “That explains why you were worried about Rose. You thought the doctor was a shapeshifter.” Sherlock points out.

“Exactly.”

“What happened to your mother’s body?”

“Dad and my brothers gave my mom a hunter’s funeral, so basically, she was cremated.” Surprisingly it isn’t Sherlock that tries to tell you the supernatural doesn’t exist- it’s John.

“There’s no way in hell, that can be true.” John states folding his arms.

“Believe what you will, but I am telling the truth. Humans aren’t the only monsters in this world.” You answer rather calmly. “Now if you excuse me I have to go explain to my sister why I sent her a picture of a bitchy trampoline.”

“A what now?”

“You heard me just fine John, I don’t need to say it again.”

“I’m wondering what you mean by bitchy trampoline.” John clarifies. You pull out your phone and look through your pictures and find the picture of Lady Cassandra that you took. And hand your phone to John.

“That’s what I mean by bitchy trampoline… she’s one of the people I met on my most recent adventure with Rose and the Doctor.” John accidentally scrolls to the next picture: the Doctor throwing you an ‘are you kidding me’ look. “That’s the Doctor. I made him look at me when I took that hence the ‘are you kidding me’ look.” You then take your phone back and walk to your room about to troll your brother and sister.

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top1course · 5 years ago

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Does College Kill Creativity? 9 Types Of Intelligence

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Does college kill creativity, i was in a, restaurant, having dinner with my team and, one of the waiters are young guy, he was, watching what we do in, i felt that he was looking at us and he wanted to talk to us, but it was a little bit afraid and after the dinner ask for the bill, raffa death done, you walked up to me and, then I’m a big fan of you I follow you on, on YouTube, can I take a selfie, we took a selfie, and he said, can I ask you a quick question is Acure, and he said I’m going through a, going to go to college right now, and I just found out it, not something I wanted to do and, my parents, want to meet, to this is the, the pot that I have to take the Observer conservative, and they believe that you have to, Be successful in life, you have to have a college, you have to go to Universal, and he was, kind of confused, and he wasn’t sure what to do when he was asking me, dan what advice would you would you give me and said what what is it do you want to do he was actually thinking about, setting up a little online shop and selling merchandise online what kind of liquor is eCommerce business, and he was asking me what we should do in things I guess I gave him some, some advice, which, dan conniff, inspire me, to make this particular video, because, you think about college, first of all, just because you go to college, it doesn’t guarantee you, success in life, and I’m not saying go to college but don’t go to college, it depends on what is you want to do, If you want a good lawyer doctor engineer account and yes you need to go to college because you need that piece of paper, even to to get a job in order to even enter that profession, right but if you want to do a lot of things in 1980, 3, there was a psychologist, call Howard Gardner, any talks about that, human beings, we actually have, 9 different types of, intelligence, 9 different types of intelligence, so basically we have musical Canon Statics a linguistic, a mathematical, so you have like many many different types of intelligence, the what happens is, deepika, problem with, college is, the only focus on, what are two types of in college, so maybe you are not book smart phone call right, that you are not very good at memorizing, thanks because how do you pass the exams, how to get good grades, in school what you have to do, You have to be very good at memorizing.

Just a few days before the exam, but you lock yourself in a room trying to memorize all the answer, all the answers to multiple-choice and then you take the exam, you do okay and then two days later you completely you just, you forgot everything that you’ve learned, you’re not actually learning, you just trying to memorize those answers and make sure you get good grades you’re not you’re not, internalizing everything that you learn you have you done this before I know you have, i know I have right, so that’s one type of intelligence, but there’s some people, this is not very good at that very good with music, but I am, horrible with music, like, mike musical intelligence is like minus, 10, when I was a young kid young kid, i had a piano real piano at my Mi home in Hong Kong right, And my dad could pick play a little piano, so, my dad thought maybe you know maybe maybe, me I could also go to play the piano kind of, skill developed Mystic musical in in Asian culture, illumise mosquito angle player piano, less than, listen to send my son to this end Dan to learn piano what happens okay, we we we we sign up a class it would just about 5-10 minutes away from my home, and I would join the lesson, and the music teacher was teaching how to play the piano, play keyboards, techno, okay, i was so bad, the music teacher was so pissed, after about a few lessons, he was so pissed he was, using a ruler, right at a time Hong Kong tickets to get the kids so they do that fella play it would play so bad he would like, Hits, does Ohio do any wrong right, and I would, play the piano, i was playing and it was so bad, i would I would like those or I would be playing imagine, the teacher by Nick senzel playing and I’ll be like this, stop, i got fired from the school they have never fired anybody, we would pay them, talk to my mom, know your son, he would never go to play the piano we cannot have a student like this, it is a waste of time, but school they try to put you in this box yet did you have to, behave a certain way, to be successful, instead of thinking hey you know what, what are you good at, what are you what are you naturally good at, what are your strengths, but, school dozen, custom tailored ear, curriculum and teaching, based on your strengths your personality, Your passion, and your interest, that’s the biggest problem so, that’s why, who is designed to create, employees, is designed to be almost like, assembly line, it’s not designed for you to, the flourish to exercise, old exercise at Allen Solly creativity, so what I suggest all the young people would I told their the Young The Young gentleman and I will be seeing if I, like I would give you, is this, you could go to college perfectly fine if that’s what you want to do is that what you want to learn but, beyonder, you need to develop outer skill set in, and explore other, skillset Maybe, find a what are the things that you may be good at what are the other forms of of intelligence that, maybe you are not even aware that you are good at, and do that, a lot of my students, They.

Come to me because they want to learn, business skills they want to learn when I call high-income skills, gills, no not only could do your confidence, skills are not taught in college, but skills that could actually generate High income for you if you want to know more click a link here and, johnny Boy 2 hour, masterclass, where I’m going to teach you the number one, the number one skill to I believe that you need to understand, and master, if you want to be, be successful in life, that is not talk, college,

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weedconsortium2 · 5 years ago

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According to a September 3, 2019 report by Mike Adams, There are Two Things Happening Right Now That Could Force U.S. Government To End Marijuana Prohibition:

Is the United States on the verge of federal marijuana legalization?

Ready or not, marijuana legalization is on the verge of happening nationwide. Or so they say.

Although Congress really hasn’t made much progress on the issue of cannabis reform in the past nine months, some federal lawmakers still insist that the nation is close to tearing down the walls of marijuana prohibition in the United States, potentially before the end of the year.

From where I am sitting, however, it seems highly unlikely that the same grey-haired Congress that hasn’t yet managed to pull it together on a simple banking bill is all of a sudden going to rise up and legalize the leaf nationwide as its Christmas gift to the nation.

Sure, the SAFE Banking Act has a heck of a lot of sponsors in the House of Representatives — and more Republican support than you might imagine — but there is still no sign that Senate leadership, a crucial component to all of this bill passing business, is prepared to embrace any pot-related legislation.

As far as we know, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell still isn’t willing to make even the slightest move toward legal weed; however, there have been some wicked, unforeseen developments.

When Mitch McConnell made it his mission last year to legalize industrial hemp in the United States for the first time since 1937, he probably didn’t think for a second that it was going to inadvertently lead to marijuana legalization. But ending pot prohibition at the federal level might be the only way out of the conundrum that he has created.

You see, law enforcement can’t seem to distinguish between legal hemp and marijuana. After all these decades, the cops still don’t have the technology to tell the difference between the two plants. And that spells trouble.“

It is already causing a slew of problems in states across the nation. Here are three of the most pressing matters that might give Congress absolutely no choice but to surrender to marijuana legalization in the interest of public health and safety.

Reason #1: Police confused on how to distinguish the difference between hemp and marijuana.

In Hemp vs. Marijuana, the Law Enforcement Community is in a State of Confusion Over What Is Hemp and What Is Marijuana But these are high stakes, no pun intended.

What’s the difference between hemp and marijuana? Megan Mittelhammer examined the issue on August 22, 2019:

You might not think there’s a reason to know the distinction between the two leafy green plants, but a new Georgia hemp law just made it a little more important in the state. Marijuana is still not legal in the state, but law enforcement cannot accurately tell the difference between the substances right now. But, what really is the difference between hemp and marijuana?

The science: Marijuana and hemp come from the Cannabis plant but are different variations. Marijuana contains higher amounts of psychoactive THC and can be used for recreational or medicinal purposes, according to the National Center for Biotechnology Information. Hemp, on the other hand, contains 0.3% or less THC, meaning it doesn’t cause the same psychoactive effects. Hemp can be used in health foods, cosmetics and textiles.

Both hemp and marijuana can be used to create CBD extracts, but hemp has a higher concentration of the compound. CBD does not create the same high as THC and can be used for chronic pain and anxiety relief, according to Harvard Medical School. Both hemp and marijuana have extreme physical similarities.

The politics: It’s a confusing time for cannabis-users in the United States. It seems like every state has different regulations on the plant, and Georgia now has stark distinctions between marijuana and hemp. The 2018 Farm Act made hemp production and distribution legal on a federal level and left up to the states for regulation.”

The Associated Press also warned the public back in March 2019 that Legal hemp, pot’s look-alike, creates confusion for police.

However, this is not a new debate. Back on June 4, 2018, in honor of Hemp History Week, Jessica Walters at CannaMD explored the background of “marijuana’s controversial cannabis brother, hemp – a non-psychoactive variety of the cannabis plant, cannabis sativa.” The fact that distinguishing CBD from Marijuana Poses Current Challenges for Law Enforcement is a conundrum.

On September 10, 2019, Marijuana Business Daily highlighted one ambitious anti-cannabis governor targeted hemp, saying plant too close for police:

A Republican governor who strongly opposes cannabis legalization says that allowing hemp cultivation is just as problematic. South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem took her argument national in The Wall Street Journal, arguing in an op-ed column that law enforcement doesn’t have the testing capacity to discern between marijuana and legal hemp, which has no more than 0.3% THC.”

Reason #2: Fake Cannabis Vapes Leading To Health Epidemic. Fake vapes could force the federal government to change marijuana laws.

In an additional report by Mike Adams in Forbes, he accurately states that “People all across the United States are developing potentially life-threatening lung issues as a result of using marijuana vaporizers. There have been hundreds of cases reported nationwide where vape users have been admitted to Intensive Care Units of local hospitals for pneumonia-like respiratory infections. At the time that this article was written, there has been at least one death connected to this scourge. This health problem is a direct result of federal cannabis prohibition.

Just like the days when alcohol was outlawed in the United States, back when thousands of people died every year as a result of tainted liquor produced in the underground, black market criminal organizations are counterfeiting popular cannabis brands.

These knock offs are being sold all over the country — the only way to curb (or stop) this sort of thing from happening is to end marijuana prohibition at the federal level and allow weed to be taxed and regulated like tobacco and alcohol. It is conflicting state and federal law that has allowed the black market to swell into the monster that it has become.

So, if fake cannabis vapes end up spawning a vicious health epidemic that puts more Americans at risk of life threatening health issues, that might be enough to inspire the federal government to make a change. Let’s just hope that something happens, though, before more people end up sick or dead.”

CDC Says Number Of Possible Cases Of Vaping-Related Lung Illness Has Doubled, reported Joe Neel. While Vaping-Related Lung Disease Prompts Public Health Questions Across Cannabis Industry pointed out that:

With five vaping-related deaths leading national headlines, the industry examines hypotheses about this rash of illnesses. The perplexing narrative of vaping-related lung illnesses escalated into a full-blown national media frenzy last week with news that a fifth person had died from alarming pulmonary symptoms. While not every case of this mysterious disease is linked to concentrated cannabinoid cartridges (or even products sold in legal state cannabis markets), the question of what, precisely, is causing vaping technology to harm individuals has captured the American consumer’s attention.”

New York State Department of Health issued a warning against illicit-market vape products on September 6, 2019, including various branded cartridges obtained across the U.S. in recent years.

The state’s health officials pointed specifically to vitamin E acetate as a potential culprit. Even as the department was publishing its health advisory, a third death, this time in Indiana, was linked to vaping products; by the weekend, the death count had risen to five. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reported more than 450 other cases of vaping-related illnesses in 33 states.”

The dark-blue shading on this map represents U.S. states that have reported cases resembling the vaping-related lung disease. While health officials are targeting all vape products and technologies, the cannabis industry has its own vaping-related concerns alongside the tobacco industry.

A 2017 study published in ACS Omega by Jiries Meehan-Atrash, Wentai Luo and Robert M. Strongin from Oregon State University, titled “Toxicant Formation in Dabbing,” found ‘issues with terpene concentration in cannabis extracts and nicotine cartridges.’”

The national debate about vape cartridge and vaporizers is not new. Three months ago, Kenneth Morrow’s June 18, 2019 article What’s in Your Vape Cartridge.

Five months ago on April 5, 2019, Justine Griffin examined the vital cannabis question If smoking is bad, how can smoking medical marijuana be good? We asked doctors:

While smoking medical marijuana is touted for its health benefits, smoking still comes with risks. Doctors say they look forward to seeing more research on the subject as more states allow marijuana in smokable form.

When Gov. Ron DeSantis and the Legislature made it legal last month to smoke medical marijuana, they did it in the name of better health — the idea that thousands of Floridians would gain relief from a variety of illnesses. Yet it seemed to run counter to everything modern medicine says about smoking. Isn’t it really bad for you?

Physicians say yes: Smoking anything, be it tobacco or cannabis, comes with some risk. But the answer is more complicated”

Bottom lines:

Smoking and vaping both cause health concerns.

Law enforcement is confused about cannabis and hemp products.

Meanwhile, in addition to the FDLE, both the Boards of Allopathic and Osteopathic Medicine need to be more heavily involved in this medical marijuana conversation, both on the national and state levels.

But in addition to the two reasons mentioned above, I would argue that there is a third, vitally important reason that will force marijuana reform at a federal level.

Reason #3: Physicians-in-training are not prepared to prescribe medical marijuana. Therefore, a small number of Florida doctors are approving thousands of medical marijuana patients in Florida.

In November 2017, Drug and Alcohol Dependence, warned:

With even more states on the cusp of legalizing medical marijuana, physician training should adapt to encompass this new reality of medical practice. iui(1) While most physicians-in-training think education about medical marijuana should be required; (2) only 9% of medical schools have medical marijuana documented in their curriculum; and (3) education can improve physician preparedness to prescribe medical marijuana.”

How can we improve awareness of cannabis as a medicine within the medical community? The Society of Cannabis Clinicians offers the insightful Educating Healthcare Professionals About the Medical Use of Cannabis.

But right now, the state and national medical boards are not part of this vital cannabis conversation at all, and Florida recently discovered the abysmal fact that Just 89 doctors certify 94,850 Florida medical marijuana patients, report finds, as reported by Christine Sexton on September 3, 2019:

As the number of Floridians allowed to use medical marijuana continues to grow, new numbers show that a relative handful of doctors have been responsible for a majority of the patients approved for pot. Florida had 168,810 patient ‘certifications’ for medical marijuana between Oct. 1 and March 31, and more than half of them came from 89 doctors, according to a new draft state report on medical marijuana.

The report has alarmed members of a special panel of doctors charged with keeping tabs on the ordering patterns of physicians who can authorize patients to take medical marijuana. Panel members fear that if left unabated, medical marijuana will become the state’s next public-health problem.

Although members of the Physician Certification Pattern Review Panel of the Board of Medicine and the Board of Osteopathic Medicine were hazy about what sort of recommendations they should submit, with concerns stemmed from data showing that 1,207 physicians had active medical-marijuana certifications during the six-month review period, but just 89 of them were responsible for 94,850 of certifications. Put another way, 7 percent of the physicians were responsible for 56 percent of the medical marijuana certifications.”

Larry Dobrow closely examines this cannabis educational void in his September 16, 2019 article, Everyone says they know cannabis, but most professionals need an education: “For all the talk about how cannabis will transform the worlds of health and wellness, one impediment stands in the way of its ascendance: an education gap. Marketers and entrepreneurs of all stripes want to hop on the cannabis bandwagon as soon as possible, but many of them don’t know what they don’t know.”

This presents a highly problematic situation because Medical marijuana markets expanding at varying rates, with Oklahoma, Florida setting the pace as explained by Maggie Cowee on August 13, 2019:

While medical marijuana is legally available in 36 states and Washington DC, the fragmented nature of the industry – each state creates its own set of rules – means each market grows at a different rate. The new quarterly release of the Marijuana Business Factbook presents updated profiles of each state market, highlighting the growth occurring in each. An analysis of state markets that release patient counts on at least a quarterly basis reveals several key takeaways.

Namely that Florida is the second-fastest-growing market in terms of patients joining the registry, with registered patients making up 1.6% of the state’s total population. This leaves room for further growth, which may occur from the recent legalization of smokable flower and continued wide access to dispensaries.”

In October 2018, the U.S. showed a Record-High Number Of Americans Support Legalizing Marijuana, as reported by Lydia O’Connor, with 66% supporting legal weed. That’s roughly two-thirds of Americans, marking a record-high approval rate and a stance more and more Americans have taken this stance since 2000, when only 31% endorsed legalization, finding that:

Legal weed is now supported by a majority of Americans across various demographics. The record-high support comes in spite of the federal illegality.”

Additionally, Marijuana Policy Project’s resources on Medical Marijuana indicate that: “Because Congress and the DEA have failed to make medical cannabis legal — despite ample evidence of its safety and efficacy —polls consistently show that states have enacted their own laws to protect patients.”

For further information on medical marijuana in the U.S., view their informative Medical Marijuana by the Numbers and read the Medical Marijuana Briefing Paper.

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