#it reads way too ‘guy who hasn’t had a science class in a decade trying to write a science guy’ unnatural

[adelaidedrubman]

[ CLEANSE ]  our muses have sex in the bathtub from this prompt list + faith/jenna

notes: *scrambles in on the literal last day of pride month with the faithjen fic i swore i would post before its end* omg hiiiiiiiii hi hii. requested so long ago i won’t leave anyone on the hook for it even by my timeliness standards but. it’s here  wordcount: 4k (almost) even  warnings: NSFW, naturally. soapy boobs and thigh riding and all. bliss and cult stuff mentioned in passing. undertones of passive aggressiveness, less than healthy relationship dynamics, and emotional repression. local woman won’t just tell her girlfriend she smells like shit and she misses her but needs her alone time after work. faith smells like shit trutherism implied. (maybe to the point of unsanitary warning, but not really.) probably chemistry inaccuracies even with the intentional vagueness. prose over dialogue heavy. editing is not my strong suit, nor is conciseness

Jenna didn’t mind the smell of bliss, really. 

At any stage in the production process. 

A floral perfume heavied by its own decay, as the leaves dried. Fruit rotting and baking beneath unforgiving sunlight. 

Antiseptic saturated air that stung Jenna’s nostrils with its chemical burn on the most gentle, tentative inhale as plant matter dissolved. A bite deepened by the dry, earthy crackle of burning leaves, the heavy stench of gas coughed and spit from bunsen burners ignited by unsure, newly trained hands. 

A subtle brine beneath it all as the product was poured and stirred into vats of preservatives to be stowed away, like sea air that had soured. 

She didn’t mind the smell. She really didn’t. If anything she liked it. 

It meant things were rolling along successfully, after all. She particularly liked when she could pick up a note of each individual scent at once. Smoothly blending together, yet as distinct upon inspection as the stages of the process itself. A sign her lab was becoming a well oiled machine. 

No, she didn’t mind the smell of bliss. 

She did, just a bit, mind that it clung. 

That it settled heavy into every fiber of her hair and clothing to follow her. That it managed to find her nose no matter how tightly sealed her mask, the creeping knowledge lurking in the back of her mind that it surely seeped into the soft pink tissue of her lungs as well. 

She sighed at the thought, peeling off the last of her clothing and dropping it into the hamper — one built just for her, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a biohazard container, with its plastic lining and sealed lid. 

And it might as well be, she thought, soles of her feet adjusting to the lightly glossed grain of the hardwood as she slipped out of her shoes and stepped towards the bathtub. 

Not that she minded that either. 

The mere fact that she had a proper, safety proofed bin to dump her potentially contaminated clothing in was a stark improvement from her former research lab days. As was the fact her laundry would ultimately be left to someone else at the conclusion of her long work day, taken care of by one of the Project members assigned to do their part by washing and returning her clothes. (And far be it for her as a neutral observer to question the group’s organization of labor.) 

Jenna rolled and cracked her neck as she tugged at elastic band and allowed her hair to fall freely, trailing fingers along ends dried and frayed from exposure to the harsh chemical smoke. Another reminder of the unavoidable damage Bliss production did to her body. (But what kind of scientist would she be, if she wasn’t willing to put her own body on the line as readily as anyone else’s?) 

She brushed a hand through her curls, then brought the fingers to her nose, inhaling the lingering scent of latex and disinfectant. She glanced down at her palm, tracing eyes along the powdery residue settled in its creases. 

Very much like her old research lab days, in the way it wore on her body. 

But better in every other sense, really. 

Better in that she was making real progress with her work, not jammed up with red tape. In that her journey from work to home was a short stroll down the hall of the Conversatory’s manor rather than just shy of an hour’s worth of bumper to bumper traffic to creep along all of ten miles. That her home had a deep clawfoot tub to soak the day away in, as opposed to the tiny shower stall of her old studio apartment. 

Yes, superior by every measure she could conceive, she assured herself as she turned the knob of the faucet, mixing a blend of bath oils into the water as steam rose. 

It was its own small bit of chemistry: mixing a concoction that would soothe and moisturize without settling into greasy film, building a sweet and potent perfume that didn’t too closely resemble the honeysuckle nectar of Bliss flowers. 

And a particularly pleasant application of the science, warmth of the water melting the tension from her muscles as she slipped into the tub. 

She sank down, dipped her head back to submerge, splashed water over her face before rising to sit again, droplets trickling down her back. 

She rinsed, repeated the motion. 

A creak of rusted hinges crying out in complaint cut through the soft sloshing of bath water to draw Jenna’s attention towards the opening door, joined by a gentle hum in a slow searching rise and fall, as if attempting to find harmony with the metallic screech. 

Jenna tilted her head to better view her intruder, identity well known to her before her cheek ever pressed against cool porcelain. 

Faith continued humming under her breath, smoothing out the tune with the settling of the door back into its frame at the gentle press of her fingertips, padding footsteps weaving left and right in something of a half dance on her path towards the tub. 

It was Faith’s own way of slowly washing off the day, Jenna thought with an amused smile, the gradual easing out of the public persona into something more organic and relaxed — and no less captivating. 

Faith’s song bubbled into a laugh (muted, not rising with the pitch it did around others) as she bent at the waist to hover over the tub. Jenna met her with a low, flat hum of her own and a wordless nod of acknowledgement. 

Faith held the silence, reaching a hand out to drop dried flower petals to float atop the water. Not Bliss flowers — a collection from their private gardens. A smattering of primroses and poppies. She was well aware of Jenna’s stance on compartmentalizing. That Bliss, however pleasant, was business, the very business she was washing herself of at the end of her shift. 

Basket emptied and set aside, Faith smoothed her skirt to prop herself seated at the edge of the tub. She leaned down to skim her fingers along the water — crowding Jenna’s senses with the syrupy perfume of Bliss that clung to her as she did. A more natural, softer version of the scent, lacking the sharp chemical notes, but familiar enough to wind the tension of work back into Jenna’s muscles nonetheless. 

“You shouldn’t,” Jenna said plainly, gesturing with her eyes to the fingertips cutting ripples through bathwater. “Touch the water directly,” she clarified. “Because of the chemical residue, that is. Miniscule risk of harm, but not absent.” 

Faith pulled back, blinked slowly. Then dropped her head with eyes closed, corners of her mouth stretching outward to allow a full and bright ringing laugh to spill from rosy lips.  

A bit of residue, Jenna thought. 

“From the Bliss, Jenna?”

A nod. “And every ingredient that goes into its production,” she answered, stretching her arms to rest along the sides of the tub. “It’s less dangerous than the sum of its parts, in ways.” 

“There’s nothing I could possibly fear,” Faith dismissed, propping herself on her hands and lifting to spin on the porcelain ledge, draping her legs over the width of the tub with heels propped on the opposite side. “Not from the Bliss. Not from being near you.” 

Jenna sighed, lifting her hand to trail damp, quickly pruning fingertips along the length of the woman’s leg in subtle acquiescence, feeling the small scrapes and caked dirt texturing the skin, signs she’d spent the day hard at work herself. 

It was its own form of exposure risk Faith faced. Working with the end product. Being in the public eye. One Jenna couldn’t as easily mitigate with rigid safety protocol. 

“It’s not about feeling fear or not,” Jenna countered, straightening her spine to sit more upright. Closer, she could smell past the perfume of Bliss to the subtle musk of sunbaked sweat. “It’s a… practical risk analysis. Strict probability.” 

Faith giggled, softening again, but with a practiced dismissiveness all the same. 

“Is that really all you can think about?” Faith questioned, now dipping a foot into the bathwater, flakes of dirt dissolving from the calloused skin to float alongside the petals as she rolled her ankle to stir. “Let’s be more practical by saving time and bathing together, then.” 

“Practical doesn’t always mean efficient,” she answered plainly. “Again, the risk of —” 

Her words were cut off by a sudden splash from Faith dropping her feet to the base of the tub, pulling her dress over her head in the same fluid motion.

Ah. So it was that kind of soft prodding suggestion, the kind Faith gave to signal a foregone conclusion — a particularly unavoidable one, it seemed, given she apparently hadn’t been wearing any underwear beneath her dress.

Jenna sighed. 

“I don’t anticipate it will actually make things faster, either,” Jenna offered, affectionately placing hands at the backs of Faith’s legs to steady her nonetheless. “I think if anything it will lengthen the time we spend —”

“I hope it does,” Faith interrupted, settling atop Jenna’s lap. “I wish this moment could stretch on for eternity,” she said, wrapping arms around Jenna’s neck. “I wish it could last long enough to make up for every second that I’ve missed you.”

With that Faith leaned forward to close the remaining distance — a firm, steady pressure until she was seemingly satisfied Jenna’s lips would remain still, then melting into something more fluid and delicate. 

“I have missed you, Jenna,” Faith parted ever so slightly to whisper against her lips. “I miss you, when we have to spend so much time apart.” 

Well. As far as Jenna was concerned that was as good a qualitative factor for consideration as any, enough for her to stop bothering with explanations in favor of brushing aside the lightly misted curtain of blonde hair to kiss along Faith’s neck, subtle saltiness of dried and rewetted sweat clinging to her tongue. 

But her nose nudging against golden locks also jostled loose a fresh perfume of honeysuckle, thickened by dewdrops of bathwater splashed onto her hair. 

A pleasant smell, but not conducive to the head space Jenna sought — one temporarily, clinically insulated from the Bliss. 

Jenna reached past Faith to lift the handheld showerhead from its brass mount, raking fingers along Faith’s scalp and her head to tilt back with a dreamily defeated sigh, “Well, we should at least be productive about it then, shouldn’t we?”

Faith’s fingers did not seem particularly set on productivity as they stirred to trace the curves of Jenna’s body, brushing featherlight along the dip of her collarbone and down to caress her chest, then seeming to disappear and reappear to tease along her thighs. 

It would be better, to not have to rush it, Jenna thought to herself as she willed her own hands to work lathering shampoo into blonde hair rather than reach towards the places she truly longed to touch. 

She didn’t like to rush anything with Faith. 

She liked to sit with the sensations, savor each unique ache and dizzying jolt of pleasure she stirred inside her. She wished she could do so then and there, forget anything else to spend the rest of the evening basking in her. 

But with the lurking nuisance of a rigid schedule tugging demandingly at her attention, Jenna reluctantly kept her attention focused on bundling a bar of soap into a washcloth to methodically slide along Faith’s body, despite the shiver fingers brushing far too lightly along her inner thigh brought in turn.

Until delicate phantom touch congealed into a more solid pressure, fingers involuntarily squeezing down on the nipple they’d been teasing as Faith tensed and shuddered with Jenna bringing the showerhead’s stream evenly between her legs. 

“Mm,” Jenna intoned in something between an observant hum and an aroused moan. “Enjoying that, are we?” 

Jenna paused just a single heartbeat longer to savor Faith’s shaky sigh of affirmation before angling the showerhead away to rinse the suds clinging to splayed legs instead, then shift upward to continue washing away sticky sweet Bliss to dilute in pooling water. 

Faith shot her an indignant look that in turn quickly faded into pleading, slant of her brow rising to soften its furrow. 

“I was enjoying it,” she answered, an extra breathy huff accompanying the soft ring of her words that Jenna knew meant angry warning no matter how sweetly it was dressed up, the sharp chemical bite beneath the perfume. 

Yes, she recognized it just as easily as she recognized the punishing intent buried in the teasing slide of her fingers, staying spaced at such distance so as to avoid pressing against the places she ached most. 

It was what first attracted Jenna to Faith, that too gentle conniving, as candied as it was calculated. It would be ungrateful, hypocritical to allow herself to feel frustration — to feel anything but admiration — for it now. 

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to keep you from enjoying yourself,” Jenna replied calmly, bending forward to just barely grind herself against Faith’s teasing hand as she set aside the showerhead and squeezed a glob of shampoo into her palm. “But unfortunately I can’t be of much assistance at the moment.”

“But don’t you want to make me feel good?” Faith questioned, pressing a line of kisses to the ridge of Jenna’s jaw, threading the fingers of her free hand into Jenna’s hair. “Don’t you want to —”

“If I only had the time,” Jenna answered, briefly intertwining their fingers in the tangle of her curls as she worked in shampoo. “But I certainly won’t be offended if you use the opportunity to take care of yourself, while we’re together. I’d quite welcome it.” 

“I want you to make me feel good,” Faith amended in sing-song, finding something between arguing with Jenna and expanding on her own statement as she worked her fingers faster, still without allowing them to make proper contact. “I want —”

“A compromise, then?” Jenna replied, sliding her right leg beneath Faith’s so that she straddled the left. “Go ahead,” she said with a flex of her hips to grind upward, coaxing Faith to meet the pace. “Use me as you’d like.”

Faith gave a pouty humph of complaint, breaking into a sharp intake of breath as Jenna placed the hand not busied with working in conditioner at Faith’s hip to guide her along the length of her thigh, angling her knee upward so that the blonde slid down her leg. 

“J-Jenna,” she gasped, loosening the hand in Jenna’s hair to grasp the ledge of the tub, other hand flexing to curl just barely inside Jenna with the same tense of her body. 

Jenna answered with no more than a vague hum, leaning back against cool porcelain to sturdy herself as Faith rocked against her, admiring how drawn out, soft strides slowly exploring the friction offered by Jenna’s thigh gradually grew shorter, more forceful and snappy. 

The rate of the heavy breaths falling against the crook of Jenna’s neck followed a similar pattern, and she indulged herself a moment to slide a thumb along the gentle dip beneath Faith’s lips to feel the heat as she lifted the washcloth to her neck. 

And blessedly, the strokes of Faith’s hand kept pace, giving Jenna just enough stimulation for pleasure to crest in the backdrop as she dutifully continued the task of washing herself. 

A task that was no longer completely unassisted — Faith’s spare hand reached to join Jenna’s as she dragged her washcloth down to her chest, idly caressing and rolling a nipple beneath the now deeply shriveled pads of her fingers, just enough teasing pressure to make warmth flush along Jenna’s skin, mirrored in the hot pitch of Faith’s cheek pressed against hers. 

The water itself felt set to boil — logically, it should have long past grown tepid during their luxuriating soak, but as it sloshed and licked its way up Jenna’s ribs from the force of Faith’s movement it brought nothing but delicious heat she so desperately wanted to sink down into. 

“How much — mm, how much longer, Jenna?” Faith panted out in a plea as melodic as it was breathless, as impatient as it was gentle. “Before you can pay attention to me?” 

“There’s never a moment you don’t hold my attention,” Jenna cooed with a kiss to Faith’s shoulder. “I promise it will be undivided very soon.”

She punctuated the statement by submerging her washcloth to brush between her thighs, taking the opportunity to cover Faith’s hand with her own, guiding it to quicken, increase force. 

Jenna allowed herself one more impractical indulgence — turning and craning her neck to brush her lips against Faith’s as she hiked her free leg to prop atop the tub’s ledge. 

And she admittedly drew out the task of running the washcloth along the length of her leg for longer than was strictly necessary, savoring the gentle vibration of Faith’s eager moans against her mouth, the way the angle drew her tighter around lithe fingers, made her cling to the pleasure from their strokes. 

And the warmth of the water soothed away any tension threatening to settle into her muscles as they clenched harder, the delicate, fluid movement of Faith’s fingers quickly conducting the symphony towards an inevitable crescendo. 

Still, it took more effort than it should have to lower her leg back into the water, pull away from their kiss. 

“I only have one part left to wash, love,” Jenna whispered, ragged and low. “Do you need me to finish things up for you, so I can have my leg back?” 

There was an ‘mmhm’ hummed against Jenna’s jaw as lips kissed up towards the apples of her cheeks. 

“Go on and say it, then. Tell me, in that lovely voice of yours,” Jenna used her last bit of calm patience to press, pulling back to admire the sight of her lover — face flushed to match the primroses petals floating in the water and clinging to her skin, bare chest heaving. “Tell me what you’d like from me.” 

“I want you to touch me,” she said in layers of dreamy sighs like spun sugar melting in the water. She angled her hips towards Jenna as if to direct her attention, gentle suggestion finally sharpening itself into a proper demand. “I want you to make me cum. Now.” 

It was all Jenna needed to appease, bringing her thumb to Faith’s clit without delay and brush aside damp, wispy blonde curls to stroke. 

The perfectly calculated angle at perfectly calculated pressure, the familiar contours of swollen flesh she used to gauge just how near she was to the edge, the expected burn in the expected places of her flexing arm as muscle memory did its work. 

Down to a science.  

Pink flush painting itself in brighter blotches on Faith’s face before crawling down to spread along the slight curve of her chest, the damp glisten of her brow that was fresh beading of sweat rather than bathwater, the telltale ripple of muscles at her middle in racing buildup as the jerks of her hips grew more erratic, the increase of the subtle drumming of her pulse in the the wrists resting atop Jenna’s collarbones as nails dug into her shoulder. 

And there it was — a last gentle coaxing of Jenna’s exacting touch, all it took for her lover to find that long sought release with a surrendering toss back of her head and drawn out gasp, faint twitches of her finish barely detectable reverberating against Jenna’s leg as she rode it out. 

And with the rush of the accomplishment, Jenna felt the need she’d allowed to fall to the backdrop quickly reassert itself, snatching the reins of her rational senses to drive her to grind determinedly against the hand between her legs, the fingers inside her slowly returning to life to resume a light, unsteady stroke, climax weakened tremble only increasing the thrill.

A thrill so strong that pushing herself to her own finish was just as easily done — a well-timed snap forward and downward drag of her hips, the last spark she needed to saturate every hungry nerve ending into overload. 

Her ears burned and whooshed with the sudden rush of blood, so full with pressure it felt as if she’d dipped her head back to submerge in water. It faded, slowly, the heat in her chest flaring to a cool rush of relief as she came down. 

As Jenna began grounding herself back into her body, she found the tightness had eased from her muscles entirely, tension worked away more thoroughly than the longest and most relaxing of soaks in a hot tub could ever grant her. 

Which was quite fortuitous, because with no more internal heat to dominate her senses, she could feel just how much the bathwater had chilled since they had abandoned the pretense of cleaning up. 

A final pleased sigh fell past Jenna’s lips as she shifted the leg Faith straddled to slide beneath her so that she rested between them, giving her final unwashed limb a quick, lazy wipe with the washcloth tightly wadded in her fist, followed by a hurried splash to rinse before she stretched the leg forward and used a toe to pull the plug from the drain. 

Then one last strain of her limbs to reach for the towel hung to the side, pulling Faith in closer as she wrapped it around them. 

“Consider me thoroughly corrected,” Jenna broke the comfortable silence to muse as she pulled slightly back, pressing her forehead against Faith’s. “You proved your point about the value of bathing together.” 

She trailed her gaze down to the subtle, satisfied smile curving along Faith’s lips as she brought the towel to drape over the blonde’s head. 

“Oxytocin, dopamine, norepinephrine,” Jenna recited as she rubbed terry cloth against blonde locks. “And a steady stream of serotonin in the comedown,” she mused, sitting back to blot gently at her own curls. “All chemicals released in the body from orgasm. And that greatly benefit the human brain — improving mood, cognition, and productivity. An efficient use of time, in the end, all things considered.” 

“And is that all?” Faith pressed, the furrow of her brow in would-be hurt betrayed by the delighted twinkle in green eyes. “What about the closeness it brings us? The human connection?” she offered. “Don’t you think there’s something more, something deeper to it than just chemicals?” 

“I failed to state a crucial axiom,” Jenna replied apologetically, lifting Faith’s hand from atop her shoulder and holding it between them. “There’s nothing deeper in the world to me.” 

She brought the hand to her lips, pressing a kiss just above the knuckles. 

“And I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to raise my oxytocin levels as effectively as you.” 

Faith shook her head as if in tired resignation, but Jenna caught the soft upward curve at the corners of her mouth in understanding, vanishing from her field of vision in the same heartbeat as she pulled Jenna back into her, tangling their limbs together and reclining. 

Such a brilliant woman, so perceptive. Such a privilege, to catch those glimpses of incisive, profound understanding she would carefully dress up as she moved through the day with eyes on her, pretense slowly washed away as the world faded to nothing but they two. 

Enough of a marvel that she felt justified in allowing herself to linger, to let the minutes tick away lazing with Faith snuggled at her side. 

Because there really was no one who raised her oxytocin levels quite as effectively. 

No one she’d rather have her brain rewired to facilitate enduring social bonding with, no one she’d rather anoint with every indication of adoring commitment in present sociocultural practice. 

“I love you too, Jenna.” 

More than anything, there was no one she’d rather wash the day off with.

[adapembroke]

Reading Tarot Like The Magician

My first exposure to Tarot was through a Tarot workshop I inadvertently took with Rachel Pollack while I was in graduate school. Rachel Pollack is a Tarot luminary who was an influential figure in the Tarot revival in the 1980s. Tarot was a very different art before the 80s. My work exists, in part, because of the work she did blending Tarot with modern psychology. Her book Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom was for people of her generation (and mine) what Modern Tarot by Michelle Tea is for people starting out today.

I had no idea Rachel was famous in the Tarot world when I met her. To me, she was a science fiction luminary, and I was too busy gushing about taking a class with someone who had just published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction to notice that her workshop was on the Tarot card the Hanged Man.

My school was a magnet for hippies, pagans, and weirdos, so I was probably the least Tarot-literate person in that workshop, but when she held up a well-loved copy of the Hanged Man card and started describing the connections to religious and mythological figures and ideas in the card--Odin, Osiris, Jesus, Mohammed, Odysseus, the Tree of Life--I was enchanted. Utterly. As soon as I could, I ran out to a New Age store and bought a pack of Tarot cards, and that deck of cards is sitting on my desk next to my computer as I write this almost a decade later in their worn and tattered blue velvet bag with a crescent moon pressed into it.

When I stepped into that class, I was still in Fool time. I was exploring, wandering around, didn’t know what I was doing. In the moment when I became enchanted, I stopped being the Fool, and I started being the Magician.

Become Enchanted

Now there’s something a little bit odd about what I just said, isn’t there? I said that I became the Magician when I became enchanted, but aren’t Magicians the ones who do the enchanting?

Yes, this is true, but before you can enchant anyone, you must, as Lee Morgan says in A Deed Without a Name, first be enchanted.

Why is that? And what does it mean to be enchanted? When you have been enchanted, you have fallen under someone’s spell, the way people in the old stories fell into Fairy, falling out of one life, one time and into another. Your life has changed. Your story has changed.

A spell at its most simple is a story. When a witch casts a spell, they are telling a story that, for example, a few herbs, a spoon of honey, a little lemon, and a cup of hot water will make your sore throat go away. When you decide to sip the tea, you are entering into that story. You are giving that story permission to change you.

Sometimes, the story isn’t powerful enough to change you. The herbs are wrong or your sore throat is too far advanced to be helped or the witch hasn’t told a story that convinces you it will work.

Perhaps, the witch doesn’t believe the spell will work themselves. In that case, they have failed to step into the story they’re telling themselves before trying to pull someone else in with them.

Now, when I talk about belief, I’m not talking about faith. Faith is the belief in things you haven’t seen or experienced for yourself. Witchcraft is a practice, not a religion. We do the things we do because they work for us. A witch who successfully enchants the person with the sore throat is usually a witch who has suffered a sore throat themselves and drunk the tea and discovered it works.

This is why you must first be enchanted to be the Magician. You must experience the story for yourself before you can tell it to someone else.

Creativity Is Magic

When I was in graduate school, I lived in Silicon Valley. I was new to the Valley, and I was curious about where I lived, so I decided to write my thesis novel on technology startup culture. As part of my research, I joined a hackerspace. A hackerspace is the punk rock granddaddy of co-working spaces. Co-working spaces are the Millennial stepchild of office parks. I wrote my novel surrounded by young CEOs who were trying to build companies. These companies were so young, so new, there was nothing to them but a slick website and a business card. Usually, the CEO was the only employee.

At first, it seemed kind of funny to me that these guys were calling themselves CEOs.

How can you be the chief anything when there’s only one of you?

Then one day I was at my friend Dave’s company’s launch party. I’d like to pretend it was the kind of Silicon Valley debauch you hear about in the news, but the guests were mostly members of his family. His mom made deviled eggs. If the party hadn’t been held in an office park, I would have thought it was a graduation party. In a way, it was a graduation party. Dave had graduated from the hackerspace to an office park.

During the party, Dave told me something extraordinary: “The hardest thing about starting a company is that it’s all in your head. In your head, it exists, but it can’t live there. You have to make it real for other people.”

That’s what the business cards and the fancy titles and the deviled eggs were all about. They were ways of making his company, which only existed in his dreams, real. They were about telling a story and making it real enough that people could believe it without faith.

The Fool is just an idiot with a dream. The Magician is the next step in the creative process. You become the Magician when you fall in love with an idea and try to make that dream real, when you take the image in your head and start making lines on paper, when you stop running a melody around in your head and start singing, when you pick up a deck of Tarot cards and attempt to become a reader.

Turning a dream into reality requires creating something out of nothing. If you know your physics, you know that you can’t get something from nothing. Only a Fool could believe it’s possible. To get something from nothing is magic. Literally. That’s why the Major Arcana is called the Fool’s journey. Every magician starts out as a fool. Magic is the art of bootstrapping a dream into reality, taking something that only exists in your head and turning it into something other people can interact with. Outside of the witchy world, we call it “creativity.” There is absolutely no difference between creativity and magic.

Magic Is Power, Directed

Now, let’s look at the Magician himself. He is wearing white robes with a red cloak. White is the color of innocence, and red is the color of experience. He is still fundamentally inexperienced, but he has enough experience to put it on like a costume. Over his head is the sign of infinity, which symbolizes unlimited potential. He holds a wand in his hand like a lightning rod, ready to channel power from the universe. It is a white wand, again a symbol of innocence. He doesn’t yet fully understand the powers he’s dealing with, and his action is just a little bit foolish, like someone literally trying to catch lightning.

On the table in front of him are a pentacle, a cup, a sword, and a wand. These are the symbols of the four elements and the suits of the minor arcana.

The pentacle corresponds to the element earth. By having power over the pentacle, the Magician has power over practical things such as work and finances, and power over the earth. He can ground. He can do magic that changes his circumstances in concrete ways.

The cup corresponds to the element water. Water is the element of emotions and creativity and the heart. By having power over the cup, he has power over his emotions and the emotions of others. He can tell stories and create art that make himself and others feel a certain way. The sword corresponds to the element air. Air is the element of the mind. By controlling the sword, he has power over his mind and the minds of others. He can use thought and reason to bring others over to his point of view.

The wand corresponds to the element fire. Fire is the element of passion. By controlling the wand, he has power over his passions, his energy. He can direct his energy toward the things he desires, and he can inspire others to join his cause, as well.

Flowers are everywhere on the Magician’s card. This card is fundamentally a card of growth. The person who is in a Magician phase of life—or whose Soul Card is the Magician—is someone who is primarily growth oriented. The Magician is the eternal student. Unlike the Fool who studies any old thing, the Magician has channeled his interest and study into becoming powerful in one thing.

When the Magician comes up in a reading, it might mean that the person being read for needs to focus their power, particularly in a creative direction, or that they are in a time of life when becoming empowered should be a focus for them. Either way, like the Fool, this card is fundamentally an optimistic one. It is time for the querent to become enchanted.

This post was originally published on Aquarius Moon Journal on 21 January 2019.

[enkelimagnus]

HaMakom

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2146 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

In the plane to Riga, once Sam has fallen asleep, Bucky and Zemo find themselves in an atypical conversation: what is it like, to fight beside a god when you are yourself a believer?

Read on AO3

Part 25 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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“I wonder, James, what is it like, to fight beside a god when you are yourself a believer?”

Bucky looks up from where he was staring, a fine wrinkle on Sam’s skin, at the corner of his right eye, a mark of laughter and joy.

He meets Zemo’s eyes then. Zemo still looks tired, but he also looks awake, interested, ready to talk. Bucky sighs. Of course he is. There’s no getting any peace and quiet with a man like Zemo around, desperate to open you up and play with the inside of your brain like you’re nothing but a science experiment.

The question itself is too pointed and specific for a time like this, but it’s not surprising.

“Who says I’m a believer in anything?” He asks, voice sharp, with a hint of threat. He doesn’t like talking about religion, not with people like Zemo, not with anyone. How would Zemo know he’s Jewish anyway?

“Your files,” Zemo replies smoothly, undisturbed. “They report you called out for three people as you were tortured. The good Captain, Steve Rogers. Your mother. And God.”

Bucky shudders. Of course they would have recorded that. It’s the kind of leverage that could have proven useful if he took even longer to break than expected. And of course Zemo would know. This might actually be another attempt to show off.

Hasn’t he done enough already? Proven that he knew Bucky in the same way his Hydra handlers did? Is he that desperate to make sure Bucky’s aware that he has too much control over him, that he can make Bucky fold back into the role and space of the Asset?

“A lot of people call for God when they die, Zemo.”

The man hums. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

It’s a sharp needle of a rhetorical question. After all, Bucky’s made his own number of hurtful pointed remarks. He guesses he can take that one. It doesn’t sound like an insult, though. They’re both aware of what he’s done, and Zemo doesn’t seem to be that disgusted by it. After all, he’s a killer himself. Commander of a paramilitary death squad…

Bucky saw those skills at Buccaneer Bay, he saw the ease with which Zemo killed those bounty hunters. And that was after eight years in prison. Zemo is nothing if not competent, and Bucky can appreciate that. When you can look past the murder, it’s a beautiful, skillful display.

The Soldier would still have torn him apart, had they met in the field. There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind.

“So, what is it like, to meet the God of Thunder?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. So it’s about Thor.

“Thor’s not a God,” Bucky replies. “He’s just a man. A strong, powerful one. But a man nonetheless. He bleeds.”

“Is that the sum of a god to you?” Zemo asks, sharp eyes still on Bucky. “A person that doesn’t bleed?”

Oh, he wants to talk, he wants to have a conversation. He’s trying so hard to get Bucky to talk to him. A desperate, lonely man. Eight years in solitary confinement must have been torture to someone like Zemo, who obviously is no loner.

Bucky decides to humor him. “That’s actually it,” he starts. “God can’t have a body. Because God is everywhere at once, all the time. If he had a body he’d have to be in one single place at one single time. And God is omnipresent, and omnipotent. Unlimited, by definition.”

The words come easy. They’re words he pulls from the back of his mind, from the unsullied memories of his childhood, from Hebrew school and its Torah commentary lessons on Thursdays at 4pm. He’d run from his secular school to the little room at the back of the synagogue, where only the Romanian kids ever came, and they’d lovelingly insult each other in Yiddish until the class started.

Zemo leans forward, a bright light of interest in his eyes, resting his chin on his hand, watching him intently. “Yesodei haTorah also says that if there were many gods, they would have body and form, like entities are separated from each other only through the circumstances associated with body and form,” he replies and Bucky can’t help but stare at him.

The Hebrew words sound off on his tongue, but he sounds like the kids from down the street who went to the German synagogue, too, the annoying ones whose mom didn’t like Bucky’s.

“Thor could be a god. Because if he is the god of something as specific as thunder, he would have a body,” Zemo continues.

Bucky just keeps staring, for a long moment. He didn’t think Zemo would know this. He didn’t think Zemo would know this and be able to answer, to debate it properly, using the quote and the name of the text. He didn’t think Zemo actually wanted a complex conversation with him. But if he wants it… Bucky’s gonna give it to him.

“He could also just be a prophet. A prophet given the opportunity to show God’s miracles on Earth, through his physical form. A mouthpiece, of sorts,” Bucky replies to that. “But there is a whole species of Thor’s kind out there. There is no such thing as a species of prophets.”

Fucking hell, he hasn’t felt this steady, this self-assured in decades. This is something he remembers, something he knows. Something Hydra never got to touch. Something they never got to twist against him like they did everything else. He’s missed being certain, he’s missed being an authority on something, even if he’s far from an authority on the works of Rambam.

“Doesn’t the Talmud say there were hundreds of thousands of prophets?”

Bucky shakes his head. He was expecting that answer. “Maybe, but it still doesn’t make it a species. Being a prophet isn’t an innate biological property. It’s a result of specific personal spiritual and ethical achievements. The Shechinah doesn’t rest upon you because you are of a specific genetic makeup, or of a specific people. There were gentile prophets too. You can’t breed a race of prophets.”

Zemo nods after a moment, holding up his hands. “You know more about this than I do,” he admits and Bucky rolls his eyes. It’s unlike the man to admit defeat in a verbal debate.

“Says the guy who quoted the Mishneh Torah to me.”

He hasn’t pulled from his childhood lessons from Hebrew school in forever. It feels strange, but good. No one has asked something like that of him in years.

Zemo shrugs. “I have an interest. I dabble, you might say. Knowing what people believe in is interesting to me. It gives me an excellent window into their psyche. We are shaped by what we believe.”

“You don’t seem like the type who believes.”

Zemo has a slow, low chuckle. Bucky’s skin erupts in goosebumps at the sound. “I believe in human ingenuity. I believe in science.”

Bucky snorts at that. “Of course you do,” he mutters. “You’re that sort of guy.”

Zemo raises an eyebrow at him, sharp brown eyes trained on Bucky, the corner of his mouth turned upwards slightly. He’s enjoying this. Unsurprising. Metaphysical debates seem perfect for Zemo’s spank bank. Bucky would be lying if he didn’t admit he was enjoying it as well.

“And what sort of guy is that, James?”

He’s one of the few who know his identity, who have met him while fighting alongside Steve in the 21st century that call him that. He admits he appreciates it. Zemo doesn’t force him into familiarity.

Once upon a time, he’d told him to call him Bucky and not James. Now he’s thankful Zemo has decided that request had an expiration date.

“The... atheist, crazy into evolutionary science and philosophy sort,” Bucky supplies. “Wealthy intellectual. Too much time on his hands.” He means it as a small poke at Zemo’s ego.

Zemo opens his hands in a sign of acceptance. “What can I say? My family was royalty, and I’ve spent the last eight years in a prison cell, all by my lonesome, except for the company of some literary treasures. I believe that qualifies me for ‘wealthy intellectual with too much time on his hands’. Besides, you seem to also enjoy evolutionary science and philosophy. Do not blame me for finding a common ground between us.”

Bucky huffs again. “It’s not exactly a niche interest.”

They fall into silence for a moment, the engine of the plane a comforting, soothing white noise.

“I don’t believe,” Bucky says after a moment. “I stopped in 1945 when the Soviets had me. I kept screaming his name out of habit,” he mutters. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that back, but I don’t think I want to.”

“Who wants to believe in a God that would make you suffer in such horrifying ways?” Zemo punctuates, nodding quietly, understandingly. “The fall of Sokovia and my family’s passing didn’t make me stop believing. I don’t think I ever really did. Perhaps, as a child… The same way one might believe in Father Christmas. I grew out of it.”

Like one grows out of shoes.

“What are you? Catholic?”

There’s another nod. Bingo. Though it wasn’t that hard of a guess. After all, Zemo’s European royalty. At this point, Bucky would have been surprised if he was anything else. Still, knowing things, being able to figure it out, feels good. He gets where Zemo’s penchant for analysis comes from.

“The Zemo line has Habsburg blood,” Zemo adds, as if Bucky asked for his pedigree. “Catholicism is nearly a genetic marker at this point.”

Bucky makes a slight face at that. “Habsburg. Those were the inbred ones.”

The man chuckles again, low and compliant. “I hear it has the tendency to happen, when people insist on reproducing with members of their own group,” he mutters, inhaling deeply. “I will not defend the stupidity of that part of my family tree, distant as it may be,” he adds on an exhale.

“Testament to your intelligence, then.” Bucky hums and looks back out of the window.

Catholicism. The only reason he was really in contact with it was Steve. Steve was Catholic. Like Zemo, it wasn’t something he actually believed in. He said grace because his mother taught him to, he went to church on Christmas and Easter and on the other important holidays. His priest must have been highly entertained by his confessions.

“For what it’s worth,” Zemo starts again, circling back. “I do agree with you that, if he exists, God isn’t a man like Thor. Or a man like Nagel.”

Bucky’s eyes snap back to the man’s face. He is serious, dark. There isn’t a hint of regret in his expression. Zemo’s eyes meet his.

Maybe he hadn’t been dead set on killing Nagel when they’d walked into his lab, but hearing him call himself a god for what he’d done, what he’d made, that had been the deciding factor. Bucky doesn’t need to ask to know. He agrees wholeheartedly.

The serum shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t have existed in the first place. It had only brought horror into this world. Without it, there would have been no Red Skull, no Zola, no Winter Soldier program, no experimenting on Isaiah Bradley.

From the second it enters your veins, your life is forever changed. First, the pain. Then, the uncontrollable senses and heightened feelings, all of it overwhelming you and making you dangerous to yourself and to others. And then, you become a weapon. Someone’s weapon, or something’s. And judging from the fact the Power Broker is racing to recreate the serum, the market for that kind of weaponry still exists.

Bucky is thankful Steve got to live a full life, free of his medical conditions. But the list of good ends there, and he’s not sure it’s worth it, even for someone he loves.

Despite it all, if someone came to him offering to cure him, to take the serum out of him, he doesn’t know what he’d say. The one thing he doesn’t hate about it is how easy it makes protecting the ones he cares about. He can take a bullet for them, and he doesn’t have to worry too much about it. He can stay awake, cut off his rations, give away his coat or his water for a while. Sacrificing his own comfort for those he loves has never been this easy.

“The serum isn’t a gift from God. It’s a human creation,” Zemo keeps going, as if he doesn’t believe Bucky gets what he means.

Bucky hums. “Horror always comes from humans. At least in my experience.” And fucking hell he has plenty of that.

There isn’t a single piece of proof of God’s existence, or Satan’s existence, he’s ever seen in his days of being the Soldier.

[act-addict-actors-matchups]

@ne-nene-ne said,

[1/2] Hi~ May I pls have a matchup? I'm a ♏, ISFP, 5'0 fem w/ medium length dark hair & eyes. I like wearing sweaters/sweatpants a lot! I love to draw & sing especially! I'd sing softly to my s/o if we're close & alone together. I often take endless pics of the sunset bc it's so pretty! Tbh I'm a loner. I'm shy, quiet, awkward and I like my alone time. I'm friendly and good-willing towards others nonetheless! I've been told I have a positive aura. I'm more chill, silly & playful w/ family!

[2/2] I can joke around w/ them! I have a short temper but I forgive just as quickly. I can be hard on myself bc I feel it's necessary to improve. I'm an appreciative person so I'll say "thank you" like 1000 times lol! I highly value family & honesty! My ideal s/o is someone family-oriented, devoted, and genuine. Bonus points if they're funny too! I'd like someone who I can slowdance to soft, jazz music w/. My love language is Acts of Service! Tysm! Take your time, stay healthy & stay safe! ❤

✧ Thank you so much for requesting a matchup love. Tumblr is not letting me tag you so hopefully you’ll see this. 😔 I wish you well during this challenging time. Hope you keep safe as well! 😷

I’d match you with: . . .

➜ HOW YOU TWO FIRST MET ; Juza Hyodo is that typical cold guy in school that everyone is lowkey scared of. That’s how he seems from outside anyway. You were asked by your biology teacher to borrow the books for the class’s current lesson from the library on the spot so you took a beeline for the shelves as fast as you could. But for god’s sake all the books were placed at the topmost part of the science shelves. You stood there for a good minute while glaring at the books overhead. You knew you were damned for good since there were no chairs nearby that were available and the librarian was nowhere to be seen. You stomped you feet in annoyance until you felt a looming presence behind you. A tall one. When you turned around, you saw Juza grabbing the books at ease and handing it to you. You thanked him quietly which surprised him because you actually didn’t quiver with fear or panic in his presence??? and you genuinely thanked him?? It was not usual for him to hear someone express their gratitude towards him. Even the cashiers from sweet shops he’d like to visit secretly we’re scared of him for heaven’s sake. After murmuring a little “‘S nothing.” he walked away. And that was the end of it. Or so you thought. The second time you met the purple haired boy was in a cafe. You were patiently waiting in the line for this so called Peanut Butter Pound Cake S'mores. According to your friends, it was one of the best desserts the cafe ever had. To test that theory, you decided to check the dessert yourself. Everything was perfectly normal until a young teenage boy of average height with fluffy pink hair and light blue eyes bumped into you, spilling a little of his drink on you. Yes, I’m talking about Muku. Baby boy was so scared and flustered, he apologized to you multiple times like crazy. Luckily it wasn’t anything hot so you didn’t burn yourself. Giving the boy a soft smile, you said it was fine and he shouldn’t worry about it. But he is a kind-hearted and modest boy with the motto "doing one good deed each day" so of course he offered you to give some of the Chocolate-Caramel Sandwich Cookies he had ordered before to apologize properly. Normally you would’ve reject the offer but with the way he was looking at you, you couldn’t find the heart to do so. While waiting for your order together, you learned what the boy’s name was and that he came here with his cousin. When you heard that the first image that popped into your mind was a soft looking person just like him you. After you got your order, the two of you made your way towards their table. And with that, your previous thought was thrown out of the window just like that. There he was, one and only Juza Hyodo, the person who helped you in the library, was sitting in a chair, quietly munching on one of the many sweets in front of him. When Muku announced that he was back, his eyes shot up to him and then shifted towards you. Yeah, it was awkward. Nevertheless, you tried to offer the tall boy a smile, which he just nodded his head, cheeks tilted pink to get his sweet tooth exposed to someone from school. After you sat down, Muku began to explain how he accidentally bumped into you and spilled some of his drink on you. Juza got the picture and said nothing. Though, gradually he started to become more comfortable. Before you knew it, you befriend the young teenage boy with fluffy hair. You told Muku how you two first met, which he only exclaimed how cool his cousin was and how the scene was just like from a shoujo manga. So yeah, your friendship with Juza started that day and slowly but steadily developed into something more. You would see him at school and chat with him, give him snacks to eat together on the rooftop etc.

➜ PERSONALITY COMPATIBILITY ; Let me just start of by saying that you two are really similar in terms of personality. A loner who is shy, quiet, awkward, likes alone time yet still friendly and good-willing towards others? Yeah, you get to point. When you're dating someone who has almost identical personality traits as you, reading them becomes easier. Juza is honest and critical of himself but is more than willing to work hard on it to improve himself and so are you. You two motive each other become better versions of yourselves, constantly pushing forward hand in hand ad I think that’s a beautiful thing in a relationship. You two have the same values. He deeply values his comrades and family so he would love it whenever he saw you getting along with Muku or Kumon. He’s very protective of those he holds dear, so watching you interact with them and care for them as if they were your own family would make him fall for you even more. The same goes for him as well. He’ d try his utmost best to get along with your family. Physical affection is OUT the window in the first start of your guys' relationship though. And when you guys DO start attempting physical contact, he'd be so stiff. Baby boy really hasn’t had a lot of experience in regards to how to treat others with affection outside of his family. 🥺 but deep down, Juza has a soft side. He’s a bit shy with showing his affections, but he tries his utmost best to convey his love to you― one of them being if you ever needed him support with ANYTHING honestly, he’ll always make it known to you that you have his full support and that he’s always right beside you through everything.

➜ SHARED ACTIVITIES ; With an delinquent-like appearance that often gives people a "scary" impression of him, I feel like Juza would rather spend time inside rather than outside. For those with a serious sweet tooth, baking, especially with a lover has a double benefit: It engages the two of you in an activity you probably don't do often, and you get to enjoy something delicious afterward. You two make an especially decadent dessert when you're feeling ambitious, or simply break out a boxed mix if you're short on time — or baking skills. At first times, there is a lot of trial and error and you guys end up getting covered in flour and such, a cheeky smile present on your face. These are usually the times where you get to hear Juza’s rare laughs as he joined in your joy. Feeling too lazy to bake something? Have a candy tasting. Satisfying your sweet tooth is a foolproof way to survive. Stock up on different colors of Starbursts, Gummi Bears or Worms, Sour Straws, Hi-Chews, and whatever else you are craving— and then eat your way through the rainbow together. Bonus points if you’re lounging off your sugar coma with a movie on the couch afterwards, he doesn’t particularly mind what kind so it’s totally up to you which genre you want to watch. This one is technically not a date but sometimes you, Juza, Muku and Kumon play board games. Depending on how competitive you are, this idea can be a little dangerous. (looking at you monopoly.) But it’s always a blast to spend time with people you love and cherish.

➜ ZODIAC COMPATIBILITY ; Juza’s birthday is on September 27, which makes him a Libra. When Libra and Scorpio come together in a love match, they tend to make a very emotionally connected and mutually satisfying union. Though Scorpio is a brooder who can get lost in the confusing welter of their own emotions, Libra’s proclivity for balance and harmony helps keep Scorpio even. Scorpio can return the favor to Libra with their characteristic powers of focus, a trait that Libra usually lacks. These two are very compatible due to their similar needs in a love relationship: Libra is the Sign of Partnership, and Libra is happiest when in a well-balanced and intimate relationship, while Scorpio thrives on emotional and sexual intimacy with their mate. These two Signs can make a very loyal, close and satisfying partnership. What’s the best aspect of the Libra-Scorpio relationship? The power they find in unity. They can accomplish a lot, whether they come together for a cause in the business or romantic sphere. They are both winners and they won’t give up, making theirs a relationship that takes care of business.

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Director’s Commentary- Love for You, Violet wants to go to the Garrison

My commentary is in bold <3 

Violet stood in front of them with a wide smile. “Well, today a lady came to talk to our science class and guess what?” Her fathers looked at each other with amusement then at her. This part with her talking was funny to write because I had to keep it in a little kid voice. So it always feels awkward reading over her little recap because it’s supposed to be in an eleven year old’s voice. “She was from the Garrison! She came and talked to us, and I already knew the stuff, but then she had a simulator for a ship! And everyone failed, but then I went last and they were making fun of me but guess what? I was the only one to finish it! The lady figured out who I was and she said I was basically already admitted! You guys just have to fill this out!” She revealed the packet and smiled up at them.

I imagined that the whole time she was recapping, Keith and Lance were both like... slowly feeling this wave of terror. It’s something that should have been obvious to them, but it wasn’t and now it’s blindsided them. But the expressions on their faces made her excitement disappear almost immediately.

Papa took the packet and flipped through it. “What? No. No way.” Obviously Lance takes it the hardest because he lost the most when he left. He’s the one hit by the trauma more than the others, at least in his immediate family.

Dad pulled out a chair and sat down. “Vi…. You want to go to the Garrison?”

She looked between them and her ears started flicking nervously. “Well… yeah.”

“Why?” That was Papa. He sounded angry. “We spent so long trying to come back to Earth and now you want to go and… be at this place?”

Violet felt a mixture of fear and anger bubbling in her, but she wasn’t sure which she wanted to indulge, so she tried to keep herself calm. That bit felt a little older than her, but I wanted to show this fear of not being allowed into this ideal place and the fear of her parents not letting her as well as the anger over the fact that they seem so against it and so angry because it just seems that everything has made them angry. “I wanna go to the Garrison because I’d fit in. They’d know who I am, I wouldn’t get bullied all the time. I’m good at it! Aunt Pidge taught me about the codes, Uncle Hunk taught me the machinery. I can speak in three alien languages! The Garrison is the perfect place for me and what I can do!”

“No! No, you’re not going there!” Papa shouted. It sucks, but the truth is parents don’t always handle things in the best way. Lance is very much not handling this calmly or appropriately. He’s just panicking. Charlie and Oliver froze on the floor where they were playing with some toys. And I’m also trying to slowly show the way the kids are all seeing this and kind of getting used to it in a way? Or at least it’s a norm that shouldn’t be. 

“Lance, calm down,” her dad said. He looked at Violet and sighed. “Violet, that school… you know it means you wouldn’t live with us anymore, right? And you’re only eleven. You have a whole year to think-”

“I don’t need to think!” she snapped. “Sergeant Bloom said I could be let in anyway. I thought you’d be proud of me. I’m the first person ever to beat the simulation on the first try!”

“Sweetheart, that is amazing,” Daddy said. “But you have to understand, a lot of things happened to us at the Garrison. They also haven’t exactly.... talked to her about it in depth, you know? The last thing we wanted was for you-”

“You already went! This is my choice, not yours!” she shouted.

“Violet, lower you voice,” Papa said, giving her an angry look. “You’re scaring your brothers. So this part. Although Lance is the one blowing it out of proportion, he’s using this moment to turn the blame on Violet and in a way try and stifle the conversation. Not a good thing. But again. Lance hasn’t been at his best at this point. You’re not going to that school.”

He reached for the application on the table, but Violet lunged forward and snatched it away. “No!” she shrieked. “You’re not taking it!” In my head that bit was very frantic.

“Violeta Esperanza vas a estar castigada!”

“Fine! Ground me! I don’t care!” She scowled and stomped her foot. Violet’s really good at being stubborn which she gets from both of them. “I want to go to the Garrison! I’d be good at it! People wouldn’t think my ears are weird there! Space was my home, and just because you guys want to pretend space never happened, it doesn’t mean I do!” I think the last line was a huge slap for both of them. Because honestly that is what they’ve been doing. And Violet also correlates space to happiness while Earth, to her, is to blame for her parents becoming the way they have. 

Daddy got up from the chair and held out his hand. “Give me the application, Violet.” Violet looked at him, clutching the packet closer. “When’s the deadline?”

“She just said to give it to Mrs. Singfiel when you filled it out,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Okay. We’re gonna talk about it. No more screaming. Give me the application. Let’s give this a week, okay?”

“Are you lying to me?” Violet asked, tears already beginning to streak down her face.

Daddy knelt down and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’d never lie to you, Vi.” She sniffed and gave him the wrinkled packet. “Go to your room. Take your brothers.” At this point Keith is remaining calm because well, for one, he wasn’t hit as hard by leaving Earth as Lance. He’s tired from work, and really, he’s trying to keep things calm before the inevitable blow up with Lance when they talk it through. Because the whole time the only one saying no has been Lance. Keith is more just... confused and trying to catch up. 

Her stomach flipped at that, but she did as she was told. She knows that “take your brothers” means they’re gonna argue. And she feels to blame for this argument. She gave the boys some of her old toys to entertain them then cracked the door open.

“-me the fucking bad guy, huh?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Daddy said.

“We’re not letting her go there.”

“Why not?” Violet chewed on her lip. “She wants to go. It’s safe there. She’s not going to go AWOL like we did. They gotta remember the whole reason they got blasted into space wasn’t because the Garrison sent them, but because they snuck out of the classes and found a robot lion. There’s no war to worry about-”

“When we came home, I thought it meant we could leave the Garrison behind us,” Papa said. Violet carefully opened the door a little more to try and peek out into the dining room. “She’s supposed to make her life here, Keith.” At this point, they kind of all have these individual idea of the best Earth life. And it’s all clashing. 

“Her going to the Garrison doesn’t mean she’s gonna leave and live on Pluto, Lance! She’s not trying to leave us, she’s trying to find her place! And she’s right, she’d be a great pilot or specialist or whatever the fuck she wants to fucking be. She has experience, she knows the languages, she was born in space! How could we have ever expected her to not want to be part of the Garrison?” I’d like to think that because Keith was the one able to actually have her, he has this softer side than he ever did with anything. For him, it’s like, “My kid is gonna be great at whatever they want and I’m supporting them.” Even when it makes him scared or unhappy. It’s a closer bond because this is all so unique and new to him (family). 

“After all the shit that came from that fucking place-”

“You met me there. We were there when we found out about Voltron.”

“And we got sucked into space for over a decade,” Papa hissed.

It was quiet for a while. “We fell in love. We had… we had Violet and we got married and we had kids. Lance, you can’t… erase the bad from something without erasing the good. Like it or not, the Garrison- space- is always going to be part of Violet. I’m not going to be the one holding her back.” I wanted this part to kind of. Show the clashing between Keith and Lance. How things are starting to unravel. And it’s kind of a big punch that Lance has all this anger and hate and fear towards the Garrison while Keith has it in his head as the root of how he started his family and found love in many ways. This back and forth was one of my favorite things to write because there’s an underlying argument there too. 

She saw him sit at the table and he started writing on the packet. Papa was staring at him with a weird look on his face. “If you want to keep her close, you can’t shut down her dreams,” Daddy said, leaving the pen on the table. “I’m taking a shower.” For Keith in this story, showers are always his way of getting away while at home. Especially after arguing with Lance. 

[anistarrose]

The Fishtank Between Time and Space (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan doesn’t think much of the pet axolotl Ford left behind… until he realizes hardly anyone else can see it.

Word Count: 2100

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653508

***

Stan initially figures it’s just a weird pet of Ford’s, simple as that. After all, Ford was okay with him adopting a possum and tying a knife to it when they were kids — little pink salamanders are frankly very normal, by the standards of Stanford Pines.

(Not to mention by the standards of the town that is Gravity Falls. Ford could’ve caught all kinds of disturbing creatures out there in the woods, like a feral gnome or a literal sentient fire... or like something that Stan hasn’t even laid eyes upon, only knowing of its existence from the creaking and rattling noises he always hears when venturing through the forest at night. But thankfully, Ford hasn’t invited any rabid beasts or dark entities that Stan knows of into his house, and Stan’s grateful for that.)

But the salamander — the “axolotl,” Stan learns after finally breaking down and doing some basic research — always feels just a little bit off, in a way he sometimes struggles to put his finger on.

He thinks it’s all in his head, how the beady eyes always seem to be fixed on him. How it never seems to stop smiling. How he’s never once seen it eat, even though the food pellets he gives it never seem to accumulate on the bottom of the tank.

He doesn’t know a whole lot about axolotls in general, and on the basis of that ignorance, he convinces himself that the salamander Ford left behind is perfectly normal.

Until one day a few months after Ford’s disappearance, when something rare happens — he has company other than the usual tourists.

It’s just Boyish Dan Corduroy, hired with some of the first spare cash Stan has had in a long time to come in and fix a few squeaky doors. But he takes his time lumbering through the living room on his way out, which sets Stan on edge. None of the secrets he’s hiding are possible to uncover from this floor of the house, but habit keeps him anxious. Throughout the rare times in his life in which he’s had a residence to call his own, visitors have almost always meant bad news.

Dan’s gaze lands on the fishtank, which has been diligently maintained as a healthy environment for salamanders even though the rest of the room is an unorganized mess. (There are a lot of jabs you could take at Stan’s character, but for whatever reason, he’s developed a soft spot for Ford’s old pet.) As always, the axolotl’s eyes stay fixed on Stan, even though the lumberjack is closer.

“You keep this tank pretty clean,” Dan notes. “You gonna buy some fish or something soon?”

“Well, I’ve already got the —” Stan pauses, realizing he’s not sure how to pronounce axolotl. “The salamander.”

Dan presses his face close to the side of the tank, inches from where the axolotl sits, gills twitching. “Really? Where?”

“You serious? It’s literally right in front of your face — that thing with the pink frills and the beady eyes?”

Dan steps back from the tank, throwing an arm behind Stan the clap him on the back. “Ah, I see what you’re doing! It’s a new attraction you’re testing out on me — the invisible salamander! Good one!”

“Are you — are you fucking with me? Can you really not see —”

But Dan’s already leaving. “Good luck with the Murder Hut business!” his voice boomed from the porch outside. “I’ll tell everyone to come visit your invisible friend!”

Stan whirls around back towards the tank. “Do you know what the fuck that was?” he asked the axolotl. “Who’s really pranking me here — Dan, or you?!”

The axolotl offers no reply, and Stan feels like an idiot for the brief moment in which he’d genuinely expected one.

“Maybe Ford did some weird occult shit to you, and you didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Stan mutters, shuddering slightly as he thought back to all the cracked prisms and X-ed out eyes he’d discovered in his brother’s house. “Or maybe I’m going crazy and hallucinated you all along.”

A bubble comes out of the axolotl’s mouth, rising to the top of the tank before bursting with a satisfying — and very real-sounding — pop.

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Stan tosses a handful of food into its tank, and trudges back to his bedroom upstairs.

There was one rule that Stan very quickly established as he began to run the Muder Hut — or the Mystery Shack, as he was thinking of renaming it — and that rule was not to keep anything genuinely supernatural around, unless it was vital to getting Ford back.

But the axolotl… well, it’s still up for debate whether it really is magical, but Dan hadn’t seemed like he’d been joking, and Stan’s pretty sure that if he was going to hallucinate, he wouldn’t imagine into existence a real salamander that he’d never heard of before with perfect accuracy.

Stan doesn’t want to get rid of it, though. He’s gotten used to the axolotl’s company and the routine of caring for it, even though its eyes still weird him out from time to time. And it’s already been around for months without showing any malicious tendencies, so… would there really be any harm in keeping it around?

***

Months, years, and then decades pass, and Stan’s relationship with the axolotl stays more or less the same. He feeds it and cleans its tank, it smiles at him, and he feels just the tiniest bit less lonely. It’s not much in terms of companionship, but Stan is happy to take what he can get. He talks to it sometimes, telling it about all the places he’s searched for Ford’s journals and all the roadblocks he keeps hitting while he works on reactivating the portal, and it always looks so encouraging.

But two things happen during those years — the first being that Stan becomes convinced that something supernatural is going on with that salamander.

Business is booming so dramatically that he can hardly handle it all on his own, and he goes through several handymen and cashiers before eventually firing each one. Almost all of them comment on the empty fishtank at one point or another, gesturing right towards the spot where Stan can see the axolotl floating, clear as day.

He definitely wonders if he really is hallucinating it after all, but then the second interesting thing happens: someone else notices the axolotl. Several someones.

“I didn’t know you had any pets besides the goat, Mr. Pines!” Soos exclaimes on his second full day working at the Mystery Shack, smooshing his face up against the side of the tank. “What a weird fish!”

Stan is so caught of guard that he doesn’t even think to explain that it’s actually a salamander. “Uh… yeah. It sure is.”

Soos frowns. “Something wrong, Mr. Pines?”

Stan folds his arms, shaking his head even though his mind is racing. “Me? I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to spot the shy little guy, since it usually likes to… you know, hide from strangers. Now, were we going to try and fix the golf cart, or not?”

And that’s the end of the axolotl discussion with Soos, over as quickly as it had begun. During the rare occasions Stan leaves the Mystery Shack, he always instructs Soos to feed it, and the axolotl always seems happy and healthy when he returns. He cannot for the life of him figure out why he and Soos seem to be the only two people in the world who can see it, but eventually he gives up on wondering. A mystery like that would’ve always been more of a question for Ford, anyways.

When he hires Wendy, it takes a while for him to realize that she can see it too. She spends so many weeks passing by the fishtank and not commenting on it that when she finally brings it up, Stan nearly spits out his coffee.

“Where’d you get that salamander, Mr. Pines? My science teacher is looking for a class pet, but everyone just keeps suggesting boring stuff like hamsters.”

“Uh… it came with the Shack. Two-for-one kinda deal, you know.”

“Darn, I was hoping you fished it out of the lake or something. Then I could’ve just gone and caught one myself.”

A few years later, when the twins arrive for the summer, Stan’s heart aches as he watches them discover the fishtank for the first time.

“Hey, Dipper, come check this out! Do you know what kind of animal this is?”

“Whoa, is that an axolotl? That’s so cool! I think I read that in Aztec mythology, they’re associated with the god of twins!”

“Really? Then you’ve just made the perfect new summer pals, Mister Axolotl!”

“Don’t tap on the glass like that, Mabel. You might scare it.” Dipper notices Stan watching them, and immediately starts firing off question after question. “Where did you get it? Do you ever show it to tourists? How long have you had it? How long do axolotls live? It looks pretty small — is it still a juvenile? Do they ever get bigger than this?”

Stan sighs. “Kid, I didn’t even know how to pronounce the world ‘axolotl’ until you showed up today. All I know is how to keep it fed — anything else, and you’re better off looking it up at the library or on a computer or wherever.”

“Well, you at least know where you got it from, right?”

Stan scoops a spoonful of food into the tank, avoiding eye contact with Dipper as he headed back to the gift shop. “I do, but it wouldn’t be the Mystery Shack if I didn’t keep a few secrets, would it?”

Dipper groans. “You’re no fun.”

***

When the axolotl disappears, it hits Stan harder than it should.

Even after thirty years of taking care of it, he never quite thought of it as his pet. It always struck him as more like a roommate, if anything — a lovable little freeloader who came in on its own terms, and stuck around only because it liked the place. Stan’s never given any thought as to why, but he’s always just felt weirdly certain that it could leave at any time if it wanted to.

And now, it has.

So he can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault. If he didn’t clean the tank enough, or cleaned it too much, or wasn’t fast enough noticing or resolving the situation with the lobster Mabel dumped in the tank.

Maybe it wasn’t anything he did. Maybe the axolotl just got bored of watching a man spending thirty years lying to tourists, forging his own brother’s signature, failing to learn quantum physics, and ultimately accomplishing absolutely nothing worthwhile.

Eventually, the kids notice and ask him, and this time he can’t spin it as a secret he’s keeping. He genuinely doesn’t know.

***

After Weirdmageddon, Stan’s memories are a two-thousand piece puzzle scattered across a tabletop, and he thinks he’s starting to fit some of the edge pieces together again, but there are still more gaps than connections. He remembers that the people who have been doting on him and showing him pictures are his family, and he remembers that he loves them and trusts them to help restore him to his former self, but progress is just… so… slow.

He doesn’t remember why they say he saved the world. He’s pretty sure they’re stretching the truth a little, but after seeing the way Ford’s face fell when Stan first asked why everyone was calling him a hero, he’s decided not to correct them.

So what if he doesn’t feel heroic? If it makes his family feel better, he’ll keep it to himself — it’s the least he can do, considering how many tears they’ve already shed for him.

But the first morning after his alleged act of heroism, while trudging through the ramshackle ruins of (he thinks) his house — a flicker of motion from behind cracked glass catches his eye.

The fishtank is nearly drained of water, but a familiar salamander sits in the puddle at the bottom, beaming at him. Stan blinks and rubs his eyes, wondering if he’s still dreaming, but then —

It speaks to him, in an ethereal and musical voice that resonates oddly in his ears, like he’s hearing the echo before he hears the words themselves.

I am so proud of you, Stanley.

“For what?”

Everything.

It dissolves into a froth of tiny, pink, glowing bubbles, which burst one by one as they float towards the top of the tank, and then the axolotl is gone.

***

(End notes:

So one day a few weeks ago, I just randomly woke up thinking “what if the Axolotl was only visible to the members of the Zodiac?” and several bouts with writers’ block later, here we are! Thoughts/comments/reblogs are welcomed as always!)

[duckfalls]

Duck Falls Au

Chapter 1: Into the rift!

Story written by @selwolf concept from @jasminechibipup

Dipper and Mabel were hiding. They looked around for the one after them. Hiding back against a thick tree.

"I don't see her.. How about you Dipping sauce?" Mabel asked her brother.

Peeking around the other side of the tree he shook his head.

"Nope. We must have lost her!" Dipper told his twin with a grin.

"Yes!" Mabel squealed, "We're gonna win!"

Dipper rolled his eyes, "Not if you keep yelling Mabs.."

"Oh.. right."  She giggled putting her hands over her mouth.

As they both talked something climbs out of the tree quietly behind them. A smile coming to its face as it crouched behind the twins. Slowly bowing its head to their ears.

"Oh indeed… Mabel.. Dipper.."  the figure chuckled right behind them.

Dipper and Mabel let out loud screams turning to the person, they were loud enough to send birds around them into flight.

Meanwhile at the Mystery Shack.

A black haired woman was teaching an online lecture of forensic science. Ford standing beside her as he helped her with her online lecture. Both blinking when they hear the screams. The woman then snorts some and is soon overcome with laughter.

"Well looks like they were found." The woman laughed and looked to an exasperated Ford.

"Yes it seems so.. though when she finds them why is it this happens?" Ford sighed pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well.. you did teach Rhadaz the art of sneaking up on people." The woman smirked back at him. 

Said woman turned to him fully and takes his hand gently causing him to look to her blushing.

"Why don't you go out and check to make sure she hasn't given the twins a heart attack? I'll be fine with the lesson from here." She said looking up to Ford.

Ford looked into her eyes and smiled leaning down to lightly kiss the hand holding his.

"Of course Hamiko. Though I promise nothing if more yelling is heard." Ford chuckled softly before turning to leave.

"Try to be gentle Ford they all are only kids." She called out after him.

She loved her makeshift family. She really did. The kids having grown dearly on her, after her adoption of Mabel and Dipper, after the accident that took the lives of their birth parents when they were two. Sure she had had her own problems. Being a single mother, trying to get a good job with her best friend at her side. But when she had started her first big job ever at the orphanage. They had become hers. Plus her daughter had taken to them like they were her birth siblings. How could she not take them in.

Plus afterwards she learned they still had one relative one by the assumed name of "Stanford Pines". Though it soon came out he wasn't Stanford but suppose to be dead twin Stanley. It took sometime. But they all soon fell into a routine. But one day.. Ford had come back. Sure he had been a dark brooding man. But he was good with the kids especially the timid and shy Dipper. But not only had he won the twins over. He had won her daughter's heart too. 

Her daughter had been cold towards men. Even Stan was given the cold shoulder for a year before she finally warmed up to him seeing him care for the kids. But Ford had managed it in just a couple weeks. She had found out while she was getting ready to make breakfast when Hamiko had walked into the living room and did a double take seeing the teen sleeping soundly leaning against Ford's shoulder lightly hugging his arm as Ford seemed to have stayed up all night reading.

The dark haired woman sighed a smile gracing her face at the memories and softly shakes her head, "What am I going to do with them all?" 

Chuckling the woman turned back to her computer and continued on with her lecture. Purposely ignoring the class chat about her moment with Ford, and the worried questions about the screams. She would let them draw their own conclusions. It added spice to the class at least. The thought made her smirk with mischief and chuckle some.

Meanwhile Stan was giving a tour while everything was happening. The screams from the kids had startled the customers. He made a big buck off that claiming it was the ghost of some dead kids never seen again in the woods.

"Come back soon! We might even have some ghost kids to show off!" Stan yelled as people looked around fearful and got to their respective cars quickly.

"Ha! If I knew that would make them throw their wallets at me I would have set something like this up sooner!" Stan cheered as he counted all the money he made.

"Stan you better be joking." Another woman came out from the back room wearing a Mystery Shack employee uniform but a puma tail flicking irritatedly behind her, her green cat-like eyes narrowed at him.

"Oh c'mon Fejeus! Did you see their faces! That was priceless..!" Stan laughed loudly.

"Stan that was the kids! What if something actually happened to them!?" The puma tailed woman groaned face palming.

"I'm sure their fine Fej. Rhadaz went out there with them! She wouldn't let anything happen to her 'siblings'." Stan huffed with a light eye roll.

Fejeus narrowed her eyes at him before taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. Rubbing her head and looks to him again.

"Then you wouldn't mind going to check on them right? I'm busy reorganizing the stock room you've been neglecting for.. oh.. 30 flipping years!" Fejeus hissed at him.

As much as she loved Stan, she was still irritated with his hoarding like tendency with the back rooms with both fake crap, and his knockoff nicknacks. 

Not only that but the young twins were like her kids in some way. When her best friend had come to her a decade ago asking for her help to adopt the young twins she had sadly denied her friend. But after meeting them despite their young age she felt the pull to them. Like they needed her just as much as Hamiko. 

To say she was protective was a bit of an understatement. She knew she was super protective over them and Rhadaz. Stan knew it too. From the way he sighed nodding even confirming it.

"Alright! Alright! I'll go! I'll go..!" He sighed, putting the money away and stands up cracking his back some.

"You know you worry to much Fej.." He sighed again. 

"Yeah.. I know.. but it would just bring me some peace of mind knowing it's just them messing around babe.." Fejeus sighed before hugging Stan who hugged her back tightly.

"I get it babe.. Don't worry I'll be back with the kids in no time!" Stan grinned and kissed Fejeus softly.

Fejeus kissed him back and purred slightly into it.

"Your distracting me.. go and get the kids you goof." She chuckled as she turned and walked away back into the back.

Stan sighed and chuckled softly before heading out and blinks seeing Ford walking to the front door as well.

"So Hami got worried about the squirts too?" He chuckled seeing Ford's face.

"Yes.. it seems I might have taught Rhadaz a bit too much or rather well about being stealthy.." Ford sighed, going outside.

Stan started laughing loudly, "Oh this is priceless! They got scared.. because of Rhadaz sneaking up on them?? Rhadaz the quiet lil dormouse? Miss couldn't hurt a fly?" Stan started laughing more. 

"C'mon bro. You know that she wouldn't do anything to even spook a fly." Stan grinned at Ford, who in turn glared at his brother. This caused Stan to just blink and look to him.

"Geez it was just a joke. I didn't mean it like that. Rhadaz is just the type of kid to kinda just sit back. Thinking she could sneak up on the twins IS funny though." Stan amended.

Ford sighed some and looks up as they walk deeper into the woods.

"That's why I teach her Stan. So she can handle any situation.. She is special to me just like Dipper and Mabel. Plus she asked. I couldn't say no to her after that." Ford explained.

"Yeah yeah… I get it Poindexter." Stan smirked to Ford some gently elbowing his side. To which Ford lightly shoved his brother before laughing and running some ahead.

" Oh now your gonna get it Sixer!" He laughed running after his brother.

Back with the twins.

Mabel was clutching her heart gasping for air, her twin mirroring her. Though they heard laughing and both look to the nineteen year old on the ground laughing hard.

"Oh man you guys should have seen your faces!" The teen cried out between her laughing fits.

Dipper looking to her glared half heartedly speaking up, "Sis really? That was not cool!" 

Mabel nodding her agreeance before looking to the girl.

"Rhadaz how did you even find us!? We were like ninjas when we were hiding!" Mabel cries out.

Rhadaz sits back up snickering and grins looking back to them.

"You both were pretty loud guys it wasn't hard to climb the tree and spook you from behind. Better pay better attention to your surroundings." The older girl advised.

She then stood up stretching and yawning, "Anyway we should head on back. Mom and the others might not have liked those screams you belted out. They may send out a search party after that."

"They wouldn't have to be worried if you hadn't scared us half to death!" Dipper huffed and frowned.

Rhadaz rolled her eyes and smiled a bit moving her hair out of her right eye. Then looks to Mabel and smirks.

Grinning Mabel got close to Dipper. Then yelled glomping him to the forest floor. 

"Tickles!" She yelled tickling Dipper's sides.

"Ah! Haha! N-noha! Mabel! Haha!" Dipper laughed as he and Mabel rolled around on the ground.

Rhadaz laughed some watching them goof around but blinked seeing a small light. Frowning she looked more to it her eyes widening. A rift was starting to open up.

"Mabel! Dipper! We have to head home now!" She said firmly getting the two kids attention.

"Huh?" They managed in unison before a loud rip sound was heard.

Gasping the twins felt like they were being pulled back. Looking back to where the sound occurred their eyes grew wide in fear.

Rhadaz quickly grabbed Mabel's hand yelling, "Mabel grab Dipper now!?"

The young girl with her free hand grabbed Dipper's hand, soon after the pull and wind picked up greatly from the rift as it finally gave way into its full force. Pulling in anything it could.

'Dad didn't say anything about this possibly happening again!' Rhadaz thought frantically keeping a strong hold on the tree she clung to trying to pull both twins to her.

Then it happened her eyes and head snapped up and looking back hearing Dipper's scream of terror. Turning just to see his hand slip from Mabel's and him fly right into the rift.

"NO!!" Both girls screamed in dismay.

Rhadaz shaking looking back and Mabel crying for Dipper as he reaches out for them screaming as he goes through.

Mabel crying looks back to Rhadaz. Rhadaz eyes widening and cries out as Mabel rips her hand out of Rhadaz's and flies back into the portal too.

"I'm coming bro-bro!!" Mabel yelled as she went through the rift.

Rhadaz screamed again. Her heart shattering. No.. no this isn't happening. She felt her world shaking. 

They were gone.. both her younger siblings. Gone. Tears blinding her as she looked back at the rift as a scream of her own came out louder than before. She failed her siblings the ones she was supposed to protect had just been sent to some other dimension! Possibly one filled with man-eating monsters. 

She heard yelling. She turned to the sound seeing both Stan and Ford running forward. Faces full of terror. Had they seen her mistake? Did they see her fail to save her brother and sister. She turned back to the rift. It was starting to close. Now it was just a matter of choice.

Looking back she saw Ford's eyes widening seeing her face. Seeing her make her choice. And then.. she let go.

She let go and actually started running towards the rift full force. She may have failed to protect her younger siblings from this rift. But she would be damned if she wouldn't follow them and protect them wherever they may have ended up.

Ford and Stan's instincts had taken over when they heard the next two rounds of screams. They had started running faster than most would think men in the late 50's to 60's would when they heard the familiar sound of a rift opening. Just like it had taken Mabel the one time the previous year after Weirdmagedon. But they knew that of all the kids were there there would be a bigger problem.

Getting there and seeing Dipper be the first victim of the rift hit both Stan and Ford in the gut hard. Seeing Mabel throw herself into it after her brother they felt their hearts shattering. But seeing Rhadaz look to them with a look of pure determination and pain. To see her turn and run to the closing rift last second. They both screamed out in agony getting there too late.

Huffing and puffing Stan fell to his knees where the portal had been. Ford frozen into a statue like state.

They were gone.. all three of them.. 

"Ford… Ford what the hell are we gonna do..?" Stan croaked out.

Ford still standing there in shock blinks and looks back to Stan. Then to were the rift was and anger burned through him. And he turned starting to walk the long trek back to the shack. Knowing both Hamiko and Fejeus would be angry and heartbroken too. But he knew what he was going to do. He was going to bring back the portal project. He was going to find them. And bring them all home safely.

"We're going to find them Stanley." Ford said his voice broken, tears falling.

"We're going to find them no matter what or when the dimensions. We're going to find them. And we're going to bring them home." Ford said.

'That's a promise. I will not let them see and deal what I had to for 30 years in that hell.' Ford thought to himself as he walked.

Stan got up and looked back to where the rift had been and looked away a few tears falling before he wiped them away and turned following his brother. 

It could take a while. But they were determined to find the kids. No matter what. They would die trying to find them if that's what it would take. And that was the silent promise both elder twins made.

"We will find them" Both Stan and Ford said with firm voices as they headed back to the Shack with heavy lead feeling hearts.

[oblio-k]

whom are your st ocs!!! tell me stuff

ive got!!!! a lot!!! because i have no self control! 2.5 crews n a bonus OC i made for my sibling’s oc crew. im going to ramble about All Of Them given this opportunity here they are under the cut.

My first (all OC) crew is the USS August AKA The USS Rejects. Basically starfleet’s former ‘best’ got shoveled onto one ship after they outlived their use. 

Captain Hyrel, a gender-neutral Axanar, is like the parent of the whole crew and refuses to court martial any of them even though they beg them to. Used to be really good at winning battles during various wars, but then gave up and said they would only take peaceful scientific missions from there on out. They’ve got a lil human son (Hyrel Jr.) they rescued when he was a baby.

Commander Petrov ‘J’ Jorge is their first officer, human dude. He was a model officer on his way to being Captain when a first contact mission went horribly wrong and he was left permanently disfigured with a head injury that completely altered his personality. Has anger management issues and wants to quit, but Hyrel won’t let him. In love with a Romulan centurion he met in neutral space.

Lt. Commander T’kae, vulcan lady. She hates J and really wants to be the first officer, but Hyrel won’t promote her. Impatient with her 2 superiors and is usually fed up with the crew, though she’d die for any of them.

Ensign Saurvin, my disaster vulcan boy!! He’s been promoted and demoted a lot, and has completely rejected logic and embraced emotion. Gets into fights a lot but cares a LOT about his friends, starts a little club on board for crewmembers who are too different from the rest of their species. He’s engaged to a Ferengi and plans to quit starfleet as soon as his bf becomes a Daimon so they can travel the galaxy together and have a blast.

Doctor Stovek, not the CMO, human/vulcan hybrid dude who resents his human heritage and hasn’t spoken to his human dad since his mother died a decade ago. Close friends with T’kae and they both try to follow the path of logic together. Refuses to join Saurvin’s club.

Counselor Fer Xeandi, betazoid guy who can’t help but read everybody’s thoughts. Really friendly and outgoing, and has a crush on J.

Ensign Kaya, betazoid/ullian hybrid girl. Fresh out of the academy and is very shy and quiet. Has a lot of family issues (her betazoid dad is really sick, she doesn’t talk to her mother, and her twin brother hates her and convinces the rest of their betazoid family to disown her) due to her not having any telepathic ability at all. She’s Saurvin’s best friend and a member of his club.

Chief of Security Arcus Nyo, a caitian dude who has a LOT of fur and is big. He hates Ensign Saurvin because Saurvin makes tons of cat jokes around him to make Kaya laugh. Has a massive crush on the chief engineer, Aaraa, and everyone knows it though he insists it’s not true. Loves arachnids a lot, owns some tarantulas & stuff in his quarters.

Chief Engineer Aaraa, an Aaamazzarite guy. Kind of quiet but firm when giving orders. His quarters are absolutely coated in his webbing which is disgusting to almost everyone but Arcus. Has no idea what a spider is, but boy does he love them when he finds out. His eventual dream is to retire, get married to Arcus, and live out the rest of their days happily on a tarantula farm.

CMO Sokaa Eri, a human woman raised by a human and vulcan couple. She’s really sweet but also terrifying when she wants to be. Deals with so much all the time, she needs a vacation but refuses to take shore leave out of fear that someone will die on board without her there.

Nurse Kive Idor, a mostly Bajoran man. His grandfather was a Cardassian, he assumes. He was raised by a Cardassian woman named Ricana Idor in Federation space after his parents died in a transport shuttle accident. Really doesn’t like being called by his first name, and doesn’t care for Bajoran culture, even though his mother made sure to teach him all about it and encouraged him to follow it if he wanted to.

SECOND CREW i made after watching ds9, the USS Akira ! A bunch of useless gays are gathered onto one ship by a captain who actually listens to his first officer when told not to go on an away mission, every time.

Captain Niko, human dude. Literally says “Oh, if I wasn’t such a nice person I wouldn’t have picked up so many strays.” and surprisingly no one around him wants to kill him for saying that because he is just a nice person. Joined starfleet to get away from his physically abusive father to try and find a faraway planet he could start a new life on, was accidentally really good at being an officer and before he knew it he was being promoted to Captain and being sent on a long exploration mission. Found and adopted a Vulcan boy, Sarin. Won’t go on dangerous missions because he doesn’t want to leave Sarin without a father.

First Officer Commander Onarog, ferengi dude. Very smart and hardworking, but not very good with social skills. Very perceptive and can always tell when someone is upset. Niko likes joking he should have been a counselor.

Second Officer Lt. Commander Qihata Xirad, a Bolian girl. She’s very friendly and loves gossip. Likes surprising people but doesn’t always realize when someone isn’t in the mood. Excitable and has a big crush on one of the nurses, Kezrell.

CMO, Meneha Adado, betazoid. Quiet lady who keeps to herself and uses her telepathy to figure out how her patients feel. Has a wife and kids on Betazed that she visits sometimes, misses. Niko’s oldest friend, but respects his wishes for her not to read his thoughts and find out about his past.

Chief Engineer Taiggok. Orion male, very nervous and doesn’t like talking to anyone but his team and the bridge crew (when he has to). Very strong, and his favorite thing is to go back to his quarters every day to take care of his pet salamander.

Chief of security, Lt. Zac Ramirez. Human/orion hybrid guy, but hides the fact that he’s half orion. Kind of withdrawn, but is best friends with his second in command and really wants to befriend Taiggok.

Security officer, Lt. jr. Vimio Zh’raqass. Andorian, they’re always by Zac’s side and are very excited. Don’t realize that they’re in love with Zac, just think they really want to be his best friend. Worries about their friends a lot, has no clue that Zac isn’t fully human.

Nurse Kezrell, an unjoined Trill girl. Is absolutely terrified of the thought of being joined. She actively avoids other Trill and falls in love with every pretty girl she sees.

Science officer, Lt. Terim. He’s a Xindi-Reptilian, and is handsome, since i was using a character generator and it said a xindi-reptilian that everyone thinks is very handsome. Thoughful/kind dude who will gladly try to cheer up anyone. Loves a friendly tussle, is very handsy with people he’s friends with, and is close friends with Onarog.

Ensign Genna, a Xindi-Arboreal. She’s always tired and is very forgetful and often confused, though she tries her best. Is friends with Terim, and tries to be friends with the rest of the crew. Is too tired to notice that her fellow ensign is in love with her.

Ensign Zura Jejo, a Bajoran girl. Pretty fearful and depressed, misses Bajor a lot. She’s really scared of Yeoman Loket, since he’s mean to her because her station is right next to his. Gets really flustered around Genna, and prays to the prophets that one day Genna will notice.

Yeoman Loket Arlat. A Cardassian man exiled after being framed for murder. Niko saved his life and he feels he owes the Captain a debt in return. Says that he’ll leave after he returns the favor, but Niko refuses to put himself in harm’s way so he’s been there for years. Pretty much like Niko’s second son. Is pretty mean to everyone but Niko and Sarin.

Bonus non crew member: Commander Rutora, an exiled Romulan who failed a huge mission. Stole a warbird and after meeting Niko and falling in love with him he follows their ship around and acts like a nuisance. Ashamed of being in love with a human and keeps promising to kill Niko, but can’t bring himself to.

The OC members of my ‘next generation’ style ship, the USS Nobility, where i gather up all the canon kids and stick them on one ship and fill in the blanks with OCs:

My life and love, my baby boy and darling Bug Man, CMO’s Assistant Doctor Yek. He’s an original species I made up called a Parasitoid, based on parasitoid wasps. Big bug boi who wears a life support suit because he comes from a class Y planet he can’t reveal the location of. Is married to Mekor Dukat and has a small lizard/bug hybrid baby with him, Saint. He would do anything for his family and doesn’t follow his people’s tradition of killing their chosen hosts and returning home. Wants to find a nice planet far away from Cardassia to raise his family.

Acting Ensign ‘Checkers.’ A two-spirit teen who comes from an alternate universe after the ship hits an anomaly. Is the fusion duplicate of Janeway & Chakotay after a transporter accident, but won’t tell anyone because they don’t want to interefere with the timeline. The entire crew adopts them.

Ensign Hoji Andu, nervous Bajoran man who joined starfleet to explore, but feels guilty about leaving Bajor and his two older siblings, who are the Cardassian/Bajoran hybrid twins (named Irza Miyo & Moha) his mother had during the Occupation. He and his father weren’t the best to them, and he regrets it and believes they hate him. He promised his mother he would look after them before she died.

Lt. T’rea, vulcan woman who is an engineer, but also acts as an unprofessional therapist for the rest of the crew when she has spare time. Very much misses her wife who lives on Vulcan, though she’d never admit it.

BONUS OC for my sibling’s crew of beautiful women who could annihilate me, a kind Vulcan man, and my nonbinary goblin who deserves an ass kicking

Ensign Alek Ch’zei, a Cardassian/Andorian hybrid who loves flirting and has yet to find a temperature they find comfortable. No one likes them because they’re rude, keep fighting people, and won’t shut up. The vulcan lieutenant (a dude named Stafuck) dates them on and off to explore emotion and a lack of Logic. When Stafuck reaches his pon farr and the Captain starts worrying because they’re too far from Vulcan, Alex unzips their shirt and goes ‘don’t worry. i’ve got this’.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Intent/The First 120 Hours

Cycle 8, Day 11

Everyone always wants to know what chemo (technically maintenance chemo) is like, and I try to give an accurate portrayal, However, the truth is, even with the lighter touch and my new Hunter S. Thompson drug-fueled lifestyle (actually, after reading “Gonzo Girl,” even at my most heavily-medicated, I’m not in the same league), you’ll feel physically and mentally funky (and there’s always that nasty injection site pain from the Marizomib). The good news is, with Marizomib, fatigue is the most-noted downside (I wrote about that previously, but fatigue, I’ve learned, isn’t really exhaustion, it’s when consciousness is painful), so I usually get a full night’s sleep. Thanks to a quasi-legal medical substance, the chemo hangover is cut down significantly, and you wake up feeling, almost too good. So, yeah, in my false sense of recovery, I did push myself a little too hard and sprain something in the bad leg, so I'm spending today on the couch, thanks to that nasty rubbery leg of mine. I try to keep active and fit, but it isn't always a reasonable goal. So, today; rest; tomorrow, more-achievable goals, like going up and down stairs without a deathgrip on the rail.

Anyway, the point of this writing project is to provide some sort of useful data in an easily-digested form, so I thought I’d give a few pointers on surviving the first 120 hours after a terminal (we'll discuss it) cancer diagnosis (with the warning that it’s from my perspective, but what works for me may well be fatal for you; use your own judgment). I’m not talking about self-care or organizing your prescriptions - that’s later in the process. I’m going to tell you what I wish I’d known to survive the first four or five days after the diagnosis (non-medically). This is about how to subtly shift your thinking from "I'm gonna die" to "I'm going to scream into the gates of the Underworld like I own that fucker," which, based on personal experience, might be the necessary attitude to putting off that particular scenario.

1. Do what you need to do, emotionally. One of the shittier things able-bodied people do to new cancer patients is tell them to buck up, or be positive. Folks, if this goes South, I will experience cachexia. Most survivors are sterilized and have long-term health issues related to treatment. You wouldn’t tell someone who’s about to march into the jaws of hell to smile, especially if they’ve just had a seizure or are in pain. If you have to drink a bottle of whisky and drunkenly call an ex, now’s the time, you might not get it later. I think I spent a day dry heaving and lying in bed before I really came to my senses. Do what you have to, but do it quickly because you are now on the clock.

2. Find appropriate help. Just as not all cancers are created  equal, not all doctors are created equal. Again, according to Briish stastics, “medical misadvenure” is the third leading cause of death. Having said that, even though I insist on the very best for my glioblastoma, that’s because there isn’t much of a middle ground between “survivor” and “dead” with that. If I get lung cancer or colon cancer, I may not be quite as picky. I’ve talked previously about finding good oncologists, and, as recently noted, they’re usually not motivated by money. And be creative in where you get information; two friends from the Mesozoic contacted me to ask for help with their parents who have glioblastoma. It seemed odd to me that I’d be asked about, especially since one of these friends is a practicing physician. I try to give everyone accurate, well-researched advice, and I hope I did then, but it still feels like there’s somehing wrong in the universe when I’m somewhat knowledgeable about how to handle a crisis. We’ll ignore the self-contained, Zen koan-like irony of that statement in a guide to what to do.

3. Find new friends/join a support group. I don’t know if it’s just brain cancer patients - I don't know if it's just brain cancer patients or all cancer patients, but your previous support group (or key members of it) will be conspicuous in their absence. In my case (and another person I've read of), I heard back from a bunch of random people I literally hadn't heard from in decades (in a few cases). I get an awful lot of passing privilege, but, so far, any time I've dropped the "C" word - it's immediately changed the nature of our interactions. So far, overwhelmingly, people have been kind, or positive, which is great, but it does get grating after a while that any time the phrase "and what do you do?" comes around, there's a stilted shift. You know who absolutely could not give less of a shit about your new medical label (unless you're having a seizure)? Other cancer survivors and patients.  And - bonus - they'll actually be able to give you far more accurate and up-to-date info on your disease and/or financial or social resources that might now be at your disposal than I know about. I'm indebted to my old friends from the Mesozoic who showed up to cheer me on in my hour of need (extra kudos to Laura and Julie), but I owe an unrepayable number of favors to the Leukemia Kids (okay, that's the Young Cancer Support Group, but most cancer patients under 40 are lymphoma or leukemia patients/survivors, hence my name)(sorry if you guys don't like it, I'll think of a better one ASAP) who helped me get past that (sort of, I still need all the help I can get). I did not do that, but, in retrospect, it was a massive mistake I didn’t.

4. Prepare for drama - your life is about to become a bad Lifetime Television Special, and it does affect different people in different ways - I know one brain cancer survivor whose husband left her  - and you’re going to be doing this while experiencing an amount of fear you’d previously been unable to imagine; the full 31 flavors.  You will be - initially - completely overwhelmed by terror. I'd recommend seeing a shrink (I do); all the prescription pads will come out for this one. The bad news is, even if you beat this thing, you don't ever really get over it. I've talked to late-stage breast cancer survivors who say the same thing; even after years of clean scans, the anxiety and fear never fully leaves (it certainly hasn't for me, though, but I'm not even a year out of a five-year deal).

5. know the difference between terminal, incurable, chronic and fatal. I remember which step on the stairway I was on - the third or fourth - when Mad Scientist told me those six words, over the phone (I was traveling at the time), "I'm so sorry, it's stage IV." The world swung, because I suddenly knew not only that I would die soon, but exactly how (that's a really horrifying thing to consider, I wrote one of my fist essays - posted around here, somewhere - to try and capture that sensation). Fatal diseases are like a car crash - they'll kill you. Terminal illnesses are defined by Wikipedia (and I like their definition, since the traditional definition has involved how, subjectively, soon/quick the disease is likely to kill you) as, "an incurable disease that cannot be adequately treated and is reasonably expected to result in the death of the patient." You'll note a lot of weasel words in there that make this nice, elastic definition my favorite, but the phrase I like to hang on is, "adequately treated." Chronic diseases are the ones that last three or more months (or something like that; I did take an intro pathophysiology class that involved knowing the instructor's definition of "acute" and "chronic"). Chronic cancers - like mine and a lot of recurrent leukemias - are ones that require five consecutive years without metastasis or recurrence before you're declared "cured." It's telling of the quality of my medical team that, as far as I know, none of them have ever said the words "fatal" or "terminal" in my presence.  Instead, I've been given a series of treatments that really suck (check this blog for any examples you'd like), but, I'd so far rate as "adequate" in that they've kept the disease at bay (for those of you working out, step-by-step along with me how to save yourself or a loved one, that statistic is progression-free survival. I'd imagine, based on how a new immunotherapy has gotten to round 3 just in the nine months I've been in treatment (technically, treatment ended back in February, I'm in "maintenance chemotherapy," but since I have to be in the infusion center every Tuesday, and I have to remain wary of potential problems/side-effects/etc. it's just easier to think of myself as still being in chemo). And most cancers are, technically, incurable. We might have a definitive treatment of some sort, but since it's ultimately caused by damaged DNA, and we can't repair or zap every single rogue cell in your body, most are just genetic time bombs. And, since I've survived the first tumor, a lot of medicine seems to have swung back to reclassify a lot of very treatable (but not curable, apparantly) as either chronic or having that potential. I like to use the idea/metaphor I saw another science writer use; it's like heart disease or diabetes; it'll take a lifetime of management and monitoring,  but it may not, necessarily kill you. In other words, you've received a helluva strong first blow, but, even with the gravest prognosis, you might be around for a longer struggle (and time) than you'd thought.

6. Use statistics as guidelines, not rules. This was a big one for me. And it doesn't mean you shouldn't use statistics, or automatically dispute them, but realizing the GBM median life expectancy included both 20-year-olds and 90-year-olds who dropped dead of heart attack and people who refused (or were not candidates) for other treatment. Again, there's a lot of luck involved in this, at every single point, but you can - mentally and physically - prepare for pain, or  hardship, or potential heart problems (and react and treat such things). You can't really prepare for cancer recurring or metastasizing, apart from writing your own eulogy (which, come to it, I suppose this is a part of).

7. Decide right now if you want to live or go gentle into that good night - This is far, far more important than you might think, because both the medical industrial complex, your disease, and the basic, horrible logistics of this situation are going to be beyond exhausting. There's a lot of luck here, but, from minute 1, I have had one thing going for me:  complete, near-psychotic commitment to actually staying alive.  And that's what it'll take (sadly, in more than a few cases, much, much more will be required).  You're going to have to charm, cheer, cajole, finagle, and, in some cases, con people like there won't be any consequences, because, if you're unsuccessful, there won't be. And this will give you the required attitude to deal with some of the higher-ups you'll meet in medicine (and scream at them, if necessary).  Again, full honors to all my various clinicians and support staff over the years who have never made me feel trapped or impotent by my immediate sitaution, but, at the same time, if any of the sort of arrogance and contempt I've heard of from other folks (including doctors) was actually warranted on behalf of modern science and medicine, there would be no fatal diseases. Again, I'll happily write glowing testimony on behalf of the people treating me, but I've met too many patients who feel like refusing treatment because they're too dejected or frightened to go on, and their doctors or insurance are still charging them (why that's still allowed is largely due to the fact that modern medical insurance is an entirely artificial industry created to meet no demand, and enabled by Richard Nixon and Edgar Kaiser)(again, I'm making none of that up). I'd urge everyone to get up, remember that dead men, women, transgender, non-binary, (and anyone I'm forgetting), do not pay bills; hopefully that'll give you the sort of needed psychological boost to get off your butt and demand more. It's not a sustainable life strategy, but until the end of your illness is in sight, Malcolm X's statement, "By any means necessary" should be your mantra.

8. Don’t lose hope - Believe me, it seems weird for me to write it, and it might very well be warranted in more than a few cases, but I did ask myself, once, why I'd be on the phone the next morning ordering and organizing my prescriptions (orchestrating what substances should be in me on which day is now a more daunting logistics task than the D-Day landings), instead of just sitting quietly in a comfy chair until it was all over (that's still always a temptation), and all I can say is, I guess it was enough to motivate me through another day. And another. And another. And, in the meantime, another treatment has made it to trials, for, wait for it, recurrent GBM (which is what I'll have if the Warlocks miscalculate using the lunar calendar)(no longer a joke; each treatment period is 28 days). I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna get miserable, and not all of us will make it (Hell, measles has a death rate, which, there,  that sensation of realizing measles can be fatal, is what a TIA feels like).

9. Mourn your old life, don’t waste time trying to get it back. I made that mistake between Tumor #1 and 2. I'm not making it again. I realize I can only write for myself, which was the horrifying realization that came to define my existence - no one, as far as I can tell, has written a decent, current, useable guide to avoiding the reaper when your number's up. So I guess I'm going to have to stay alive long enough to do that. Also, I don't know if anyone out there's outlived their own life expectancy, but I've already done it twice, and there is no more amazing sensation - no matter what else your life looks like.

[dostigator2016-blog]

The BestMarriages Story

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The BestMarriages Story

The BestMarriages Story

We’ve been colleagues and small business partners seeing that 2000, functioning and getting BestMarriages, one of the many largest young couples counseling stores in the Vancouver, Canada spot.

But it hasn’t always been that way.

Before BestMarriages, we were the two part of a good counseling party in Vancouver called Lighthouse Therapeutic Offerings. After reading through John Gottman’s book Often the Seven Ideas for Making Marriage Work, Darren burst to the office at some point and says, “This will be the way to go. It seems sensible and, being a guy, it seems like practical without too “touchy feely.

Lawrence read the idea and agreed upon. He had been recently a marriage as well as family specialist for 10 years and, though he sensed like having been helping husbands and wives, there was some thing missing. Darren was a new comer to the game, previously had no idea ways to help adults, and ended up being trying just about every method in existence without much success.

At the time, we were both gaining trained seeing that business motor coachs, and the big-deal back then was going to a) create a brand concerning one thing along with b) a bit more try to be every thing for everyone. All of us jumped for this bandwagon and even told each of our group which we wanted to target being a matrimony and romance counseling heart.

Our mates disagreed. They will didn’t consider that couples counselling exclusively can be profitable to be a business. That caused a bit of a divorce and soon parted ways with our colleagues. BestMarriages was born.

Our goal is to be pleasurable, practical, plus provocative, for that reason our very first tag line had been, “Feel for instance trading as part of your marriage for just a new you? Now you can. Swap out your marriage devoid of changing your other half.

We built a website, purchased billboards, bandaged our buses, and put substantial signs outside the house our office. We wanted to generate couples treatment method accessible, standard, and not a scary practical experience.

Then we’d to get skilled, and extremely fast, especially due to the fact we were at this time calling alone “marriage therapists. So we reach the road that will Seattle meant for Level a couple of Training latvian girls in Gottman Method Husbands and wives Therapy. We had just accomplished Level 4 Training in DVD, practically on the way now there.

We made to complete Stage 3 Training and got all of our certification, from a technical perspective making us all Certified Gottman Therapists. We then “Gottmanized everything in your practice from assessment practice to the concurrence we implemented. It worked so well and we were feeling way more in charge and proficient as trained counselors.

Couples enjoyed the new technique, too, and also our industry grew instantly. We’re just simply two standard guys who seem to love the Canucks and Seahawks, so we appeal to clients (especially men) who else may also think that counselling isn’t for the coffee lover. Humor and even storytelling absolutely are a big component of what we do.

Even as established each of our practice, there were a burning desire to accept the Gottman Choice Canada over a grander scale. Our detto has always been “Go big or go home, and we became Grasp Trainers for that Gottman Organisation. In the last 21 years, toy trucks presented the very Gottman Strategy over 95 times across Canada, together with couples workshops and specialized medical trainings.

We often travel with wives exactly who help us all present The particular Art and Science of Love couples classes. When these types of not with individuals, we tale that we’ve become very good roommates and friends, residing in more resort rooms together next we have with this partners.

Nevertheless working with each other this very long hasn’t been not like a marriage. We now have our perpetual problems, along with we’ve was required to use the Gottman Method to to deal with them. For instance , we had any disagreement not long ago about regardless of whether to offer a training in Montreal.

Lawrence wants to expand to have spreading BestMarriages across The us. Meanwhile, Darren likes to continue being close to property so he could pursue his / her hobbies, just like four wheeling and camping on ends of the week. And the exercise was going to always be over Darren’s favorite long weekend, Victoria Day.

Many of us each dug in together with defended the positions. When we were taking part in the game Chance, Lawrence can be all over the globe and Darren would be stockpiling means in one nation. Eventually, Lawrence asked Darren to accept her influence. He or she offered to offer an extra holiday to Montreal following the training to acquire some fun. Darren is all about pleasure, so he was in, and we went for it all.

Well, they have lucky many of us did, given that the training will be selling away, and some of our wives are actually joining united states, so now it could fun and possibly not stressful.

Often the Gottman Way hasn’t basically been the facts to the achievement of our industry and business model. It’s also been the secret for the success one’s marriages, who have both continued over two decades.

[gracewithducks]

“God was always present.” - Dan Peters (Revelation 7:9-17)

Everything changed in the third grade.

 Up until then, Danny had lived a pretty happy and contented life. He was the oldest of three stair-step brothers, part of the boomer generation, born into middle America during that season of optimism following the second world war.

 His parents were happy – not wealthy, but comfortable, and very happy. They fell in love young; his mom had actually dropped out of high school when they got married, and Danny was born about a year later.

 His mom was, well, “Mom,” keeper of the home and all things maternal. His dad was a Protestant pastor – not the kind of pastor who gets famous, who writes books and has radio shows and gives TV interviews, but the kind of pastor who loves God and loves people, who serves faithfully in a lot of little churches, who nobody ever hears about – except the people in those churches, the people whom he loves and who love him back. Danny remembers one of the churches of his childhood, saying, “I know now it wasn’t very big, but to me, it was huge. And I always remember, at the end of the service, I would take dad’s hand and walking with him down the aisle.”

 “God was always present,” he would say. “God was always present, in our home and in our lives.” God’s presence, God’s love, was taken for granted, in this simple days of childhood faith.

 But everything changed in third grade. Because that was the year that Danny failed.

 Well, they tried not to call it “failing,” at least not to his face. Held back, they said.

Repeat a year, they said. But he knew what it meant: it meant he’d failed. It meant he didn’t get to on to fourth grade with all his friends. It meant he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t smart enough, he hadn’t tried hard enough – and he’d have to do third grade all over again… and it meant that, for the rest of his years in school, he would be in the same class as his little brother.

 God was still there. But so, too, was that voice of doubt inside his head.

 As Danny grew, he started to question himself, started even to hate himself. He felt too big, clumsy, never good enough… and though he still believed in God, his faith had changed – from a childlike walk, hand-in-hand, to an intellectual exercise; God was something to be debated, not someone to be loved.

 Dan entered college, where he fell in love… and that love gave him new life. Although it took time, he started to see himself as someone worthy of love. He blossomed, growing into himself; he studied, and he realized that – when he worked hard, when he didn’t give up before he even started – he actually was a very smart guy.

 He became a teacher.

 And, for most of his career, he taught the third grade.

 Third grade, he knew, was a powerful year – a year when everything can change. It’s the year when school, for too many kids, stops being fun and starts being an endless parade of disappointment and frustration. It’s the year of cursive writing and multiplication and division and reading comprehension – it’s a year that matters. And it’s where he knew he was needed, where he knew he needed to be.

 Mr. Peters was a good teacher. He was famous for his big belly laughs and – back when such things were allowed, for his great big hugs. His classroom was full of books and reading nooks, goldfish and hamsters, and motivational posters. He wasn’t perfect – in fact, his temper was also famous; he was known to throw pillows and books and even chairs across the room, whenever his class disappointed him and pushed him a bit too far. But they were never afraid of him. They knew he loved them. And even when he got angry, it was because he loved them too much to give up on them. He was – for many of his students – their favorite teacher ever.

 A few lucky students got to have him twice – not because they failed, but because, when a job opened at the middle school, Mr. Peters decided to try something new. He knew that, just as important as third grade are those crucial middle school years: when kids are trying to decide what kind of people they’re going to be. So he moved from third grade to six and seventh grade math and science… and the motivational posters came with, and so too did a shelf full of Dan’s favorite books. Even in math and science classes, he was committed to reading to his students every day. He knew that too many kids were falling out of love with learning, and he also know – and it broke his heart – that too many kids didn’t have anyone who read to them at home. So he read to them: he read, “Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry” and “A Day No Pigs Would Die,”“Sarah, Plain and Tall” and “The Giver” and “The Bridge to Terabithia.” And he loved his students, and they knew it.

 In the meantime, Dan was coming back to the faith, the faith that had meant so much as a child. He studied to become a lay preacher in his church; he attended bible studies and led classes and chaired committees, and he challenged his congregation to dream: how can our church become a haven for these kids, the kids he loved so much, especially those kids who went home to an empty house every day?

 And somewhere along the way, Dan rediscovered the good news – the good news he’d heard so many times before, though it never quite sunk in: he discovered the good news of grace. “I realized that God loves me,” he said. “God loves me, and if God can love me, maybe I can figure out how to love me, too. God doesn’t care about my failures, about my clumsiness and my mistakes. God will always love me, no matter what – and it’s that good news that let me start to love myself.”

 And that was the good news that he preached, when he could, and that he shared with his life: that God loves you, too. He proclaimed that love every day, with his actions in the classroom, and he proclaimed that love at home, to his own family, and he proclaimed that love with his whole life.

 And maybe you’ve guessed by now that Dan Peters was my dad. He died of a heart attack when I was fourteen years old – when he was preparing, at long last, to follow the call into ministry that he’d been wrestling with since childhood, ever since the days when he walked down the aisle of a little United Methodist Church hand in hand with his dad.

 For a long time, it seemed doubly cruel that my dad died right when he was getting ready to commit his life to God’s work. But what I’ve come to realize, more and more over the years, is that my dad’s life was already committed to God’s work. Even now, more than two decades later, I hear from his former students: long since grown, now as adults, they still remember Mr. Peters, the guy with the rainbow suspenders and a great big heart, who taught them to love reading, who helped them through a rough time, who loved them until they could finally figure out how to love themselves.

 Saints come in many forms. And my dad is one of the saints I am thankful for today.

 Throughout this fall season, we’ve been sharing the stories of many different saints: people of faith who, by their faithful living, had an impact on the world. But today, the stories hit a bit closer to home. Today, we give thanks for the saints in our own lives: for parents, and teachers, and preachers, and neighbors, and grandparents, and aunts, and uncles, and children, and grandchildren, and friends – today we give thanks for John, Elaine, Tom and McKayla, for Dan and for Carl, and for all those others we name in our hearts – for people who’ve shaped us, who’ve encouraged us, who’ve shown us what unconditional love is all about.

 In our scripture for today, we catch a glimpse of hope: as we hear John’s vision of the saints in glory, the faithful ones who’ve passed from this life and who now sing praises next to the throne of God. “They hunger no more, and thirst no more,” we are promised. “The sun will not strike them, nor any scorching head, for the Lamb is their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

 The ones who love us – they aren’t really gone. Their story hasn’t ended; it goes on, at the feet of Christ. Those who loved God, who glorified God on earth, are bathed in God’s glory on the other side.

 God is with them, and God is with us, so in God’s love and presence, we are together still.

 I’m not the kind of person who sees visions often. But back in my first year of ministry, I had one. I was praying, and all of the sudden, I could see myself at God’s banquet table. And my dad was there. And my kids – who weren’t even conceived yet – my kids were there, too. I couldn’t see their faces, I didn’t know their names, but I knew they were there, that we were there together. And it was this gift, this beautiful and peaceful moment, this promise: that my dad was safe in God’s keeping, and so was I, and so would my kids be, too, and we were connected – across time and space, we were connected; the thread of love is too strong to be severed by death. And one day, I do believe, we will sit together at that table: my dad, and my kids – all of my kids. And there will be so, so much love, and so much joy, and so much peace. That’s the promise, and the hope, that we cling to today.

 Friends, we are all unique. We carry different griefs, and we have different passions, different skills, different gifts. But we are all loved, all beloved of God, and all called to be saints. My hope, my prayer, is that we will be faithful. Be the saints that God created you to be. Love God, as best you can. Love one another, not just within these walls, but out in the world. Love with words, love with actions, love in truth. Let your light shine – let the light of Christ shine through you – because all of us have the power to change lives and transform the world.

  We thank you, Lord, for the saints in our lives. We thank you for all those who have loved us, and who we’ve loved, for all those saints who’ve shaped us and made us who we are today. Give us the courage to be the saints you created and called us all to be: to love you and to love others, and to really believe that who we are, what we do, matters. Grant us your peace today; in Christ’s name we pray. Amen.

[gaiatheorist]

“Reintroduction of apex predators.”

(My head is playing the 2am game again, there are dozens of things I should be concentrating on, but I’m busy going mad. It’s fine, I usually come back eventually.) 

2am-ish. “Bleurgh. Ick. Cold. Timesit?”

Yes, ‘Bleurgh’, and yes ‘Ick’, that’ll be the wine. Yes, ‘Cold’, because I’d fallen asleep on the sofa again. ‘Timesit?’, bollocks, I didn’t put my phone on charge, so there’s an on-screen reminder that a pending update couldn’t be installed overnight. I hate phone updates, I always worry that something will go wrong, which is ridiculous, because I haven’t ‘always’ had a mobile phone, and there must, logically, be a way to un-install an update if something does cock up. It’s just after half past three now, so it’s taken me about an hour and a half to convince myself that ‘nothing bad will happen’ if I update my phone. Not that updating my phone would stop OTHER bad things from happening, I’m not THAT mad.

The sensible thing to do if you wake up at 2am on the sofa would be to go to bed. I’m not sensible, and, since the brain haemorrhage, there’s been even more of the “Ping! Wide awake!” malarkey. It is a behaviour I need to change, and, yet again, I failed to do so. (Side-thought about setting up a GO TO BED screen-saver on my phone?) I’m differently-mad to my friend, who called around for a cup of tea after his eye test this week, we share some similar traits, and we’re open-ish with each other. He wakes up every single morning crippled by confusion, processing the fact that he’s one of billions of bipedal beings on the surface of a spinning rock, and, every day, it takes him ‘hours’ to shake off that confusion, and regain some semblance of functionality. In a way, I’m glad I just wake up in the middle of the night, with hundreds of fragments of nonsense-thought running through my head, because his existential anxiety every morning sounds awful. (Waking up at 2am, knowing it’s going to knock-on my sleep pattern again, and immediately checking the internet to see if anything has happened is awful, too, but I’ve normalised it to an extent. It’s my awful, I’m used to it.)

We’re similar in that I knew where his post-vasectomy anecdote was going as soon as he started it, I guessed the ‘masturbating with a bag of frozen peas clamped to his testicles’ part, but the ‘while the police raided the house next door for cannabis’ twist was a surprise. We talked non-stop for an hour, about what utter chaotic twats we were two decades ago, about the times he’d driven the ex and I home out-of-his-mind drunk, bouncing off kerbs, that I couldn’t remember, because I was also out-of-my-mind. He couldn’t remember the time he’d stayed at our old house, and put his foot THROUGH one of the stairs. We both remembered disgusting days of just not going to work, and arsing about. We both remembered the Ouija board, his unflattering nickname for one of my friends, and how unpredictable-unstable our weird little pre-bubble group was. We’ve concluded that we were twats, and we’re trying not to be any more.

Part of his twattery was multiple affairs, his wife is an absolute stoic, and keeps taking him back, they’ve divorced twice. He’s married her 3 times, and she was his third wife, I think. Other people’s business, isn’t it? After one of the affairs, she banned him from associating with us, like she was a grown-up, and we were teenagers, leading him astray. I became ‘Her!’, and the focus of her hate, more so than the ‘other women’ he was having affairs with. (To clarify, there was never any of that between us.) I’d forgotten about being ‘Her!’, but, apparently she hasn’t, and still resents me. I’ll live, but now sort-of-understand why I don’t have his actual mobile number, he only ever contacts me on Fakebook, AND he deletes the chat-messages. “She’d go mad if she knew I was here.” For fuck’s sake, unwittingly duplicitous-complicit in a married man’s sneaking-about.

I went the long way around that, didn’t I? There are several escaped crickets having a little adventure on my living room carpet, I really ought to pick them up.

OK, I woke up at an unreasonable time, and did what I shouldn’t have done, in checking the news, to see if anything had happened. With me, that’s a hang-up from September 11th, I’d been ill with a migraine, and missed the news, I plunged into obsessive-panic about not missing ‘The News’, which, back then, was on the TV, there was one computer in the house, which took about a century to boot up, and then the rest of your life to connect to the dial-up. How times have changed. I’m not the only one doing it these days, logging on, and hoping for the best, but acknowledging that there is the possibility that something catastrophically ominous is on the horizon. Please, please, let me find something in the news that’s not Him, or Her, like the lovely nun yesterday. 

Lettuce? I don’t buy it as a matter of course, the father-in-law used to plant millions of the ‘butterhead’ bastards on the allotment, horrible, floppy-limp things, full of mud and slugs, for years my fridge was guaranteed to contain mud and slugs. “Here, lass, I’ve fetched you a lettuce!” I don’t like lettuce all that much.

Wikipedia? OK, it’s a side-swipe at people telling huge great big massive lies, but the ‘many hands make light work’ approach is encouraging. A chain is only ever as strong as its weakest link, but so many links could effectively knit truth-chain-mail. Too relevant, though, too linked to real-time events.

Bullshit Barbie? No thanks, I read that yesterday.

I flicked through, looking for something that wasn’t ‘that’, ready to be witty, or engaging, or insightful before some knobhead invariably weighs in with “How is this news?” That’s the fucking point, knobheads, we’re aware of the news, which is why we’re also looking at “10 ways to tuck in a shirt.”, or whatever, with courses as heavy as these ones, we absolutely need palate-cleansers as well. The ‘breaking’ banner will pop up if something happens, in the meantime, we’ll read the fluff, and the filler.

It would appear that it’s not working, though, the distraction-method. I clicked on an article about a proposal to reintroduce lynx in Northumbria, thinking that couldn’t possibly have any “We’re all fucked!” connotations. (Except if you’re a roe deer, apologies to any roe deer reading this...) I can see the logic, the lynx would be brought in to control the roe deer population. The deer haven’t done anything ‘wrong’, they’re just being deer, you know, making more deer, eating leaves, making more deer to eat more leaves, when the tree really needed those leaves, to photosynthesise, and keep us all breathing, and such. The local farmers don’t want the lynx, because they worry for their livestock, and I’m relatively certain there’s probably some knobhead setting up Fakebook pages that say lynx eat babies. (Note ‘relatively’, and ‘probably’, I talk shit, but I’m not Bullshit Barbie.) 

It’s not the ‘people refusing to accept science, because it threatens their lambs’ thing, it was one phrase, used repeatedly. ‘Apex predator’ (Food-chain, chain-mail, my head is misbehaving, but that’s why I’m rattling it all out here, to purge my cranium of these thought-snippets.) Apex predator, top of the food-chain, it’s nature’s way, because most creatures on this revolving rock don’t have access to family planning. Oh. The thing at the top of the food-chain, or food-pyramid, or food-web, depending on how they’re teaching it now eats the things below it. (Fucking hell, woman, park THAT Gaia Theory, this potential catastrophe for the planet ISN’T a global phone-update, move away from the rats-and-cockroaches ideation.) 

Nature does its thing, or, at least it did, until we started trying to boss it. We’re twats, some more so than others, we kill things we have no intention of eating. We kill each other. We bugger about with the environment, and then complain about lettuce. We, in the UK have eradicated most of our apex predators, what chance do a handful of nappy-eating foxes have of controlling the rabbit population? (Especially if people in silly clothes carry on with their ‘sport’.) We ate all the dodos, and all of that particular kind of turtle, we’re killing the fucking BEES, and we all know how that ends. (Removes tinfoil hat.) 

We have new apex predators, and we need to figure out how to keep ourselves as safe as we can, because these new apex predators don’t behave in exactly the same way as the ones we’re used to. The ‘bubbles’ are electronic versions of stone-age tribes’ perimeter-spikes against sabre-toothed tigers. (I don’t know, I’ve already told you I never paid attention in History, sometimes I used to pick my ear until it bled, so I could get out of class to see matron for a plaster.) I’m dithering around a vague notion that our greatest weapon is the truth, but also dabbling with the idea that our strength is our number,  not in the same way as animals produce ‘spare’ young, because they know some will be eaten, though. We are little, but there are lots of us, aside from good guys always coming last, we DO need to remember that we’re human, in the face of this inhumanity, the first big collection of little things that stoops to the level of the new predators is on a very shaky foundation. 

This thing will run its course, as all things do, we just need to remember to show our arses to bears, and punch sharks on the nose, not the other way around. Personally, I’d prefer this fuckpuddle to be mopped up with paper rather than projectiles, and soon, because this limbo-uncertainty is exhausting us, and sending us mad. Nobody’s going to pop out from behind the sofa with a hidden camera crew and shout “Fooled you, you’ve been part of the biggest reality TV experiment ever!” We need to watch and wait, keep ourselves and each other safe.

[dostigator2016-blog]

The BestMarriages Story

New Post has been published on http://zwordpress.com/?p=595

The BestMarriages Story

The BestMarriages Story

We’ve been colleagues and small business partners seeing that 2000, functioning and getting BestMarriages, one of the many largest young couples counseling stores in the Vancouver, Canada spot.

But it hasn’t always been that way.

Before BestMarriages, we were the two part of a good counseling party in Vancouver called Lighthouse Therapeutic Offerings. After reading through John Gottman’s book Often the Seven Ideas for Making Marriage Work, Darren burst to the office at some point and says, “This will be the way to go. It seems sensible and, being a guy, it seems like practical without too “touchy feely.

Lawrence read the idea and agreed upon. He had been recently a marriage as well as family specialist for 10 years and, though he sensed like having been helping husbands and wives, there was some thing missing. Darren was a new comer to the game, previously had no idea ways to help adults, and ended up being trying just about every method in existence without much success.

At the time, we were both gaining trained seeing that business motor coachs, and the big-deal back then was going to a) create a brand concerning one thing along with b) a bit more try to be every thing for everyone. All of us jumped for this bandwagon and even told each of our group which we wanted to target being a matrimony and romance counseling heart.

Our mates disagreed. They will didn’t consider that couples counselling exclusively can be profitable to be a business. That caused a bit of a divorce and soon parted ways with our colleagues. BestMarriages was born.

Our goal is to be pleasurable, practical, plus provocative, for that reason our very first tag line had been, “Feel for instance trading as part of your marriage for just a new you? Now you can. Swap out your marriage devoid of changing your other half.

We built a website, purchased billboards, bandaged our buses, and put substantial signs outside the house our office. We wanted to generate couples treatment method accessible, standard, and not a scary practical experience.

Then we’d to get skilled, and extremely fast, especially due to the fact we were at this time calling alone “marriage therapists. So we reach the road that will Seattle meant for Level a couple of Training latvian girls in Gottman Method Husbands and wives Therapy. We had just accomplished Level 4 Training in DVD, practically on the way now there.

We made to complete Stage 3 Training and got all of our certification, from a technical perspective making us all Certified Gottman Therapists. We then “Gottmanized everything in your practice from assessment practice to the concurrence we implemented. It worked so well and we were feeling way more in charge and proficient as trained counselors.

Couples enjoyed the new technique, too, and also our industry grew instantly. We’re just simply two standard guys who seem to love the Canucks and Seahawks, so we appeal to clients (especially men) who else may also think that counselling isn’t for the coffee lover. Humor and even storytelling absolutely are a big component of what we do.

Even as established each of our practice, there were a burning desire to accept the Gottman Choice Canada over a grander scale. Our detto has always been “Go big or go home, and we became Grasp Trainers for that Gottman Organisation. In the last 21 years, toy trucks presented the very Gottman Strategy over 95 times across Canada, together with couples workshops and specialized medical trainings.

We often travel with wives exactly who help us all present The particular Art and Science of Love couples classes. When these types of not with individuals, we tale that we’ve become very good roommates and friends, residing in more resort rooms together next we have with this partners.

Nevertheless working with each other this very long hasn’t been not like a marriage. We now have our perpetual problems, along with we’ve was required to use the Gottman Method to to deal with them. For instance , we had any disagreement not long ago about regardless of whether to offer a training in Montreal.

Lawrence wants to expand to have spreading BestMarriages across The us. Meanwhile, Darren likes to continue being close to property so he could pursue his / her hobbies, just like four wheeling and camping on ends of the week. And the exercise was going to always be over Darren’s favorite long weekend, Victoria Day.

Many of us each dug in together with defended the positions. When we were taking part in the game Chance, Lawrence can be all over the globe and Darren would be stockpiling means in one nation. Eventually, Lawrence asked Darren to accept her influence. He or she offered to offer an extra holiday to Montreal following the training to acquire some fun. Darren is all about pleasure, so he was in, and we went for it all.

Well, they have lucky many of us did, given that the training will be selling away, and some of our wives are actually joining united states, so now it could fun and possibly not stressful.

Often the Gottman Way hasn’t basically been the facts to the achievement of our industry and business model. It’s also been the secret for the success one’s marriages, who have both continued over two decades.

[dostigator2016-blog]

The BestMarriages Story

New Post has been published on http://zwordpress.com/?p=627

The BestMarriages Story

The BestMarriages Story

We’ve been colleagues and small business partners seeing that 2000, functioning and getting BestMarriages, one of the many largest young couples counseling stores in the Vancouver, Canada spot.

But it hasn’t always been that way.

Before BestMarriages, we were the two part of a good counseling party in Vancouver called Lighthouse Therapeutic Offerings. After reading through John Gottman’s book Often the Seven Ideas for Making Marriage Work, Darren burst to the office at some point and says, “This will be the way to go. It seems sensible and, being a guy, it seems like practical without too “touchy feely.

Lawrence read the idea and agreed upon. He had been recently a marriage as well as family specialist for 10 years and, though he sensed like having been helping husbands and wives, there was some thing missing. Darren was a new comer to the game, previously had no idea ways to help adults, and ended up being trying just about every method in existence without much success.

At the time, we were both gaining trained seeing that business motor coachs, and the big-deal back then was going to a) create a brand concerning one thing along with b) a bit more try to be every thing for everyone. All of us jumped for this bandwagon and even told each of our group which we wanted to target being a matrimony and romance counseling heart.

Our mates disagreed. They will didn’t consider that couples counselling exclusively can be profitable to be a business. That caused a bit of a divorce and soon parted ways with our colleagues. BestMarriages was born.

Our goal is to be pleasurable, practical, plus provocative, for that reason our very first tag line had been, “Feel for instance trading as part of your marriage for just a new you? Now you can. Swap out your marriage devoid of changing your other half.

We built a website, purchased billboards, bandaged our buses, and put substantial signs outside the house our office. We wanted to generate couples treatment method accessible, standard, and not a scary practical experience.

Then we’d to get skilled, and extremely fast, especially due to the fact we were at this time calling alone “marriage therapists. So we reach the road that will Seattle meant for Level a couple of Training in Gottman Method Husbands and wives Therapy. We had just ucranian women accomplished Level 4 Training in DVD, practically on the way now there.

We made to complete Stage 3 Training and got all of our certification, from a technical perspective making us all Certified Gottman Therapists. We then “Gottmanized everything in your practice from assessment practice to the concurrence we implemented. It worked so well and we were feeling way more in charge and proficient as trained counselors.

Couples enjoyed the new technique, too, and also our industry grew instantly. We’re just simply two standard guys who seem to love the Canucks and Seahawks, so we appeal to clients (especially men) who else may also think that counselling isn’t for the coffee lover. Humor and even storytelling absolutely are a big component of what we do.

Even as established each of our practice, there were a burning desire to accept the Gottman Choice Canada over a grander scale. Our detto has always been “Go big or go home, and we became Grasp Trainers for that Gottman Organisation. In the last 21 years, toy trucks presented the very Gottman Strategy over 95 times across Canada, together with couples workshops and specialized medical trainings.

We often travel with wives exactly who help us all present The particular Art and Science of Love couples classes. When these types of not with individuals, we tale that we’ve become very good roommates and friends, residing in more resort rooms together next we have with this partners.

Nevertheless working with each other this very long hasn’t been not like a marriage. We now have our perpetual problems, along with we’ve was required to use the Gottman Method to to deal with them. For instance , we had any disagreement not long ago about regardless of whether to offer a training in Montreal.

Lawrence wants to expand to have spreading BestMarriages across The us. Meanwhile, Darren likes to continue being close to property so he could pursue his / her hobbies, just like four wheeling and camping on ends of the week. And the exercise was going to always be over Darren’s favorite long weekend, Victoria Day.

Many of us each dug in together with defended the positions. When we were taking part in the game Chance, Lawrence can be all over the globe and Darren would be stockpiling means in one nation. Eventually, Lawrence asked Darren to accept her influence. He or she offered to offer an extra holiday to Montreal following the training to acquire some fun. Darren is all about pleasure, so he was in, and we went for it all.

Well, they have lucky many of us did, given that the training will be selling away, and some of our wives are actually joining united states, so now it could fun and possibly not stressful.

Often the Gottman Way hasn’t basically been the facts to the achievement of our industry and business model. It’s also been the secret for the success one’s marriages, who have both continued over two decades.

[dostigator2016-blog]

The BestMarriages Story

New Post has been published on http://zwordpress.com/?p=628

The BestMarriages Story

The BestMarriages Story

We’ve been colleagues and small business partners seeing that 2000, functioning and getting BestMarriages, one of the many largest young couples counseling stores in the Vancouver, Canada spot.

But it hasn’t always been that way.

Before BestMarriages, we were the two part of a good counseling party in Vancouver called Lighthouse Therapeutic Offerings. After reading through John Gottman’s book Often the Seven Ideas for Making Marriage Work, Darren burst to the office at some point and says, “This will be the way to go. It seems sensible and, being a guy, it seems like practical without too “touchy feely.

Lawrence read the idea and agreed upon. He had been recently a marriage as well as family specialist for 10 years and, though he sensed like having been helping husbands and wives, there was some thing missing. Darren was a new comer to the game, previously had no idea ways to help adults, and ended up being trying just about every method in existence without much success.

At the time, we were both gaining trained seeing that business motor coachs, and the big-deal back then was going to a) create a brand concerning one thing along with b) a bit more try to be every thing for everyone. All of us jumped for this bandwagon and even told each of our group which we wanted to target being a matrimony and romance counseling heart.

Our mates disagreed. They will didn’t consider that couples counselling exclusively can be profitable to be a business. That caused a bit of a divorce and soon parted ways with our colleagues. BestMarriages was born.

Our goal is to be pleasurable, practical, plus provocative, for that reason our very first tag line had been, “Feel for instance trading as part of your marriage for just a new you? Now you can. Swap out your marriage devoid of changing your other half.

We built a website, purchased billboards, bandaged our buses, and put substantial signs outside the house our office. We wanted to generate couples treatment method accessible, standard, and not a scary practical experience.

Then we’d to get skilled, and extremely fast, especially due to the fact we were at this time calling alone “marriage therapists. So we reach the road that will Seattle meant for Level a couple of Training in Gottman Method Husbands and wives Therapy. We had just ucranian women accomplished Level 4 Training in DVD, practically on the way now there.

We made to complete Stage 3 Training and got all of our certification, from a technical perspective making us all Certified Gottman Therapists. We then “Gottmanized everything in your practice from assessment practice to the concurrence we implemented. It worked so well and we were feeling way more in charge and proficient as trained counselors.

Couples enjoyed the new technique, too, and also our industry grew instantly. We’re just simply two standard guys who seem to love the Canucks and Seahawks, so we appeal to clients (especially men) who else may also think that counselling isn’t for the coffee lover. Humor and even storytelling absolutely are a big component of what we do.

Even as established each of our practice, there were a burning desire to accept the Gottman Choice Canada over a grander scale. Our detto has always been “Go big or go home, and we became Grasp Trainers for that Gottman Organisation. In the last 21 years, toy trucks presented the very Gottman Strategy over 95 times across Canada, together with couples workshops and specialized medical trainings.

We often travel with wives exactly who help us all present The particular Art and Science of Love couples classes. When these types of not with individuals, we tale that we’ve become very good roommates and friends, residing in more resort rooms together next we have with this partners.

Nevertheless working with each other this very long hasn’t been not like a marriage. We now have our perpetual problems, along with we’ve was required to use the Gottman Method to to deal with them. For instance , we had any disagreement not long ago about regardless of whether to offer a training in Montreal.

Lawrence wants to expand to have spreading BestMarriages across The us. Meanwhile, Darren likes to continue being close to property so he could pursue his / her hobbies, just like four wheeling and camping on ends of the week. And the exercise was going to always be over Darren’s favorite long weekend, Victoria Day.

Many of us each dug in together with defended the positions. When we were taking part in the game Chance, Lawrence can be all over the globe and Darren would be stockpiling means in one nation. Eventually, Lawrence asked Darren to accept her influence. He or she offered to offer an extra holiday to Montreal following the training to acquire some fun. Darren is all about pleasure, so he was in, and we went for it all.

Well, they have lucky many of us did, given that the training will be selling away, and some of our wives are actually joining united states, so now it could fun and possibly not stressful.

Often the Gottman Way hasn’t basically been the facts to the achievement of our industry and business model. It’s also been the secret for the success one’s marriages, who have both continued over two decades.