#murphy around children? a blessing in some scary way.

[withprotest]

   she’s staring at him but not in the way that would make murphy retort something rude about it like he’d have done if it was 10k or some other child. he knows what she’s staring at, no doubt the white hair and stubble stands out a lot more than the blue patch of skin covering one side of his face. who would think he’s the damn savior of the human race? when she comes closer, murphy scoots over out of habit and eyes her cautiously, noting the rather innocence still lingering in her gaze. ❛ it’s not polite to stare, kid.❜  there’s an edge to his tone yet without malice. perhaps she was sent over to see how well the odd newcomer would react towards children or perhaps she was just bold and brave to come introduce herself.

starter | @receivd

[queenshelby]

Just Friends - Cillian Murphy Imagine

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: SMUT

Words: 5034

Foreword:

I have never written anything for an actual person. For my own comfort, I will not be referring to Cillian’s actual family and, instead, I have created two small biographies for the Reader and Cillian.

Biography:

The Reader:

The Reader is 24 years old and recently moved to Dublin with her 5 year old son, Max in order to take up a fantastic job offer.

Max’s father isn’t interested in a relationship with his son and separated from the Reader pretty much as soon as she found out that she was pregnant. 

The Reader is a novelist and editor for the Irish Times. 

The Reader’s interests include books, listening to records, theatre and attending live music gigs. 

The Reader has a close relationship with her grandmother who is 65 years old and a writer herself. She also lives in Dublin with her second husband, who is originally from Galway.

 Cillian: 

Cillian is 42 years old in this story. He is divorced from his wife Siobhan and has two kids, Charlie (6) and Hendricks (8).

He lives in a town house in Dublin and shares custody.

In this story, he finished filming Season 4 of Peaky Blinders about three months ago, which is when the Reader first met him.

---------------------------

JUST FRIENDS

Three and a half months ago you moved to Dublin to take a position as editor at the Irish Times. Initially, the move was daunting to you as you were a single mother and moving your son to a different preschool concerned you.

Fortunately, your grandmother was living in Dublin as well and offered to help you with looking after your son, Max. She was a retired novelist herself and you always had a close relationship with her. Having her around was a blessing.

Over the years, you also met some Irish writers and established good relationships with them. Therefore, finding friends in Dublin was not an issue.

One of your best friends was a play writer from London and was working in Ireland at the time, promoting her theatre play called ‘Blessings’. She introduced you to a bunch of people, most of which were working in the entertainment industry in some way or another.

Whilst all of your new found friends were a fair bit older than you, you related to them. You had interests in common and most of them had children, just like you. They understood that sometimes plans had to be cancelled and flexibility was limited. Having children is a commitment which many of your younger friends didn’t understand. You weren’t interested in late nights because a young child meant early mornings. For this reason, you would much rather attend a dinner and board game night as a opposed to a night club.

And this is how you met a very interesting man named Cillian. Three months ago, your friend Orla invited you to a board game night with a couple of her friends. Cillian was pretty much the only other single person in attendance and, since this was a board game that had to be played in teams of two, you and Cillian were paired up with him.

He was funny and smart and very attractive. You had a good time that night and even won the game with your combined knowledge of random trivial facts.

He was a fun person to be around and you had several common interests.

Over the next few months, you spent a fair bit of time together, mostly with other friends but sometimes alone when your friends were doing things as couples with their partners.

Just recently, you went record shopping together and the weekend before last you and another friend of yours would take all of your kids to Dublin Zoo for the day. Your son Max developed a great friendship with Cillian’s youngest son Charlie. Playdates were a common occurrence.

While both of you separately explored the dating world, you really enjoyed Cillian’s company as a friend and he enjoyed yours and you would often chat about the mishaps you encountered and laugh about them. Dates gone wrong was one of your favourite topics.

The last relationship Cillian had was with a co-worker, which was far from ideal. They’ve met on set of one of his movies about a year after he divorced from his wife, but things didn’t go as planned and the relationship didn’t last. It ended about four months ago, being just one month before you met.

The last relationship you had was over a year ago and it also didn’t last as your boyfriend couldn’t deal with the fact that you were a single mum and that your son always came first.

For Valentines Day this year, your friends set up dates for each of you. It was disastrous. Neither of you were interested in committing at this point and you both were rather flustered about your friends’ efforts after you both had told them not to bother.

You were happy singles.

Theatre Night

As happy singles, you decided to go and see your friend’s new play ‘Blessings’ with some of your other friends on the night you all managed to be child free for once. It took a while to organise but was worth the effort.

‘Hi Max, how was preschool?’ Cillian asked as he opened the door to your townhouse for Cillian while you were in the bathroom, putting up your hair.

Max met Cillian numerous times and got along with him very well. After all, Cillian had a son the same age as Max.

‘Good. Do you want me to show you what I made?’ Max asked while you waived at Cillian from the bathroom.

‘Absolutely, show me’ Cillian said with a smile as he followed Max into the living room.

‘Look’ Max said as he held up two paintings.

‘Wow, is that a T-Rex?’ Cillian asked, causing Max to nod with excitement.

‘That’s very cool…he looks super scary’ Cillian added just as there was another knock on the door.

It was your grandmother who was here to pick up Max for his sleepover at her house.

You opened the door and asked Max to get his bag from the living room which you had packed for him earlier.

‘Nan, this is my friend Cillian’ you said as you introduced Cillian to your grandmother.

‘Hello Cillian, I am Margot. I loved Grief is a Thing with Feathers. It was such an intense play’ she said, knowing right away who he was despite the fact that you had never mentioned him to her before.

‘Thank you Margot and I loved By The Sea, it was a fantastic book’ Cillian responded. He read the book after you told him about your grandmother. Your writing style was very similar to hers and he always loved a good book.

‘Oh thank you very much. Now Max, are you ready?’ your grandmother asked.

Max was ready and you said goodbye, giving him a big hug and thanking your grandmother for looking after him for the night.

While Cillian waited in the living room, you finished your make up and slipped on your shoes.

‘Thank you for picking me up. I really have no idea where this place is’ you said as you grabbed your bag and the two of you were heading out of the door.

‘Any time Y/N, it isn’t far from here actually’ Cillian said.

As you were walking to the Arthouse Theatre you talked about all sorts of things, music, childcare and books.

It was a cold night in Dublin and you were probably underdressed for the occasion.

At the Arthouse Theatre you met up with another two friends of yours. They were both married, to each other, and shared three children. Luckily for them, they had a baby sitter that night.

The play was amazing and you all enjoyed it with a few glasses of wine which were served at the theatre. Cillian had good taste when it came to wine and you usually sought his guidance on what to order.

After you left the theatre, you felt awfully hungry. You hadn’t eaten dinner that night.

‘I am starving, is anyone else up for Pizza?’ you asked your three friends, including Cillian

‘We would love to, but only have a baby sitter until 9pm, sorry’ Amanda said, explaining that she and her husband had to head home fairly soon.

‘What about you Cilly?’ you asked.

‘I would love some Pizza, let’s go to Pizzinis’ he said.

Both you and Cillian said goodbye to your friends and made your way to Pizzinis.

As usual, it was packed and there were no table available.

‘Wanna grab them take away and go back to my place? I’ve got wine and you can show me this new album you were talking about earlier’ you said.

‘Sounds good, let’s do that’ Cillian said before ordering two pizzas.

More than Friends

You arrived at your apartment about 30 minutes later and Cillian put on some music. He found this new Irish band he liked and you were really keen to hear them.

‘Hmm Indie…I like it’ you said as he connected his i-phone to your speakers.

‘Wine?’ you asked as you grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf.

‘Yes please and thanks’ Cillian said as he put the pizzas on the table.

‘I was meant to ask you, how was your Valentine’s date?’ Cillian asked before taking the first bite of the pizza.

‘Oh god, don’t remind me on it please’ you said with a laugh.

‘That good ey? What happened?’ Cillian laughed.

‘He was weird. He basically left after I told him about Max’ you responded.

‘I think that sometimes guys your age might be a bit freaked out by the fact that you have child. I can’t say that I blame them. I couldn’t imagine myself becoming a step father when I was in my 20s’ Cillian said.

‘He was 32’ you responded.

‘Well maybe he was just weird and you are just unlucky when it comes to dating’ Cillian laughed.

‘Yeah, maybe…I am just over dating’ you said…’What about your date?’ you asked.

‘Pretty average. I mean she was nice but had no sense of humour’ Cillian said.

‘Oh what, wait…she didn’t laugh at your Irish jokes?’ you laughed.

‘Outrageous I know. I mean how could she not?’ Cillian joked.

‘Here is to failed dates’ you said as you held up your wine glass for a toast.

‘To failed dates’ Cillian responded with smile.

Over the next hour or so, Cillian and you finished both pizzas and talked about books, including the book you were currently writing, music and embarrassing things your kids had done.

Quite music was playing in the background by then while you talked and laughed together until Cillian brought up a specific book he had read recently, written by a writer named J A Hanson, which he said reminded him on you in a way.

‘I have read all of her books and I really wish I could write romance as well as her’ you said.

‘Her books aren’t exactly romantic’ Cillian responded.

‘Her storylines aren’t romantic, but the character she uses in all of her books involves herself romantically with several other characters throughout the series. The way she writes makes you relate to the character even in these intimate moments’ you explained.

‘She is 60 and probably speaking from experience. I have read in a paper a few months back that she had quite an interesting and adventurous youth in the 70s and 80s’ Cillian said.

‘Free Love…Yeah, I have read this too’ you laughed. ‘Perhaps I just need some inspiration to get over my block, otherwise I will never finish this damn novel’ you said as you poured yourself some more wine.

‘You don’t have to answer this, but when was the last time that…?’ Cillian asked and, before he could finish his question, you interrupted him.

‘That I had sex? Gosh…well over a year ago’ you responded, causing Cillian’s chin to drop.

‘Over a year? Seriously? I mean, surely, a woman like you would get plenty of offers…’ Cillian said, not knowing what else to tell you.

‘A woman like me? What do you mean by that Cilly?’ you asked with a slight giggle.

‘Well, you are attractive, smart and funny. You would get a fair bit of interest’ Cillian responded.

‘So, you think I am attractive?’ you asked with a smirk, causing Cillian to choke slightly on his wine. He regretted what he had said almost instantly, causing awkwardness between you.

‘Well yeah, I think you are an attractive woman’ Cillian said quietly. ‘In a totally objective way of course’ he added, while, just in this moment, you observed his facial expressions.

You observed him drop his eyes to your lips as he said it, and then lower to the place where your shirt opens at the collar, the buttons undone to below your collarbone.

He pressed his lips together. ‘I think I should probably get go…’ he said, and, before he could finish his sentence, you leaned in and kissed him suddenly, like the peck you give a boy you like on the school bus the second before you jump up and get off – a brief bravery without a plan.

He was caught by surprise.

‘Y/N’ he said and, before he could say something else, you apologised to him for what just happened.

‘I am sorry Cilly, I don’t know what just came over me’ you said.

‘It’s alright, I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was inappropriate’ Cillian said.

But, with Cillian’s response, you couldn’t leave it alone and asked ‘So, you don’t think that I am attractive?’ you asked, giggling slightly with some embarrassment.

‘Any man who thinks that you aren’t attractive is clearly blind. But, with that being said, it doesn’t matter what I think, you are 18 years younger than me and it would be wrong for us to take this further. Despite, I don’t want to fuck up our friendship’ Cillian said calmly.

You didn’t know what to say to his comment and, instead of using any words, you ran your hand gently over the side of his perfect face while biting your lip.

‘Just one kiss between friends then, we can blame the red wine after’ you whispered as a comfortable hot feeling washed over you. You felt some sort of attraction towards Cillian since the moment you met him, but didn’t want to admit it to yourself, let alone to him.

‘I don’t know Y/N’ Cillian said as you leaned closer towards him and pressed your lips onto his. You knew he was reluctant but he didn’t push you away.

To the contrary, as you kissed him, his hand came up in a rush to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. Within seconds, his tongue slipped between your lips, whispering over your teeth and began dancing with your tongue.

You noticed the brush of his stubble on your cheek, the press of his lips on yours and the way his mouth tasted, a mix of minty gum and red wine.

It shouldn’t have been so hot, but it was. The taste of him, the smell and flavour, and it made you whimper in your throat. You knew this was one off and you didn’t want this moment to end.

‘Are you ok?’ he asked after he pulled back a little and paused. He was scanning your eyes and there was a cautious considering from his side. You could tell that he was surprised about what had just happened.

‘Yeah, you?’ you said as you couldn’t help yourself but stare into his baby blue eyes.

‘Yes’ he said as he cleared his throat slightly.

There was an awkward silence in the room and you couldn’t stand it.

You build up all of your courage again and leaned over him, pressing your lips onto his once more.

Cillian didn’t hesitate then.

His tongue slipped right back into the same spot than before, before his lips then moved over your face and down to your neck, leaving gentle bites and kisses.

Cillian’s hands were busy touching you at the same time his lips were trailing over your neck.

One of his hands was in your hair at the back of your head while his other hand was moving down to press the small of your back so that your body was pulled forward into his.

As you were exchanging passionate kisses, you could feel the shape of him, the firmness of his body against yours, your legs pressing into his and his chest pressing into your breasts. You could also feel his erection through his jeans, hard as anything, rigid and warm against your tummy.

By this time, you wanted more than just kisses.

‘Sleep with me, just that once’ you whispered.

‘I can’t Y/N, you are 24, it is not right’ Cillian said pulling away from you.

‘It’s just sex Cilly, I am old enough for that’ you laughed.

‘Yes, but I don’t want this to ruin our friendship’ Cillian said.

‘It won’t. There are no strings attached, it’s just sex. Unless you don’t want me’ you responded. ‘Although I think you do’ you giggled as you ran your hand over his pants, feeling his erection.

Your comment made Cillian chuckle.

‘This is a one off, alright?’ Cillian asked, causing you to nod.

‘One off…and it stays our little secret’ you said before smashing your lips back onto his for another minute or two.

After you exchanged more passionate kisses you stood up.

‘Common, I show you my bedroom’ you said cheekily, taking his hand and guiding him towards the bed.

‘Can you help me with this please’ you asked, turning around to face the bed. Your back was now facing Cillian and you pulled your hair aside so that he can open the zipper of your dress.

Cillian unzipped your dress carefully, exposing your black lace underwear.

As you pushed your dress down onto the floor, Cillian began kissing your back and neck, while running his hands over your breasts and stomach, all the way down in between your legs.

You let out a brief moan before turning around to face him and help him pull his t-shirt over his head, exposing his perfectly shaped biceps.

Looking into his eyes, your hand glided gracefully, for once, past Cillian’s belt buckle and into the holy crevice of his Calvin Klein briefs. His cock was hard and ready.

You moved it between my your slowly, relishing his obvious eagerness.

You used the other hand to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, shortly after which he pushed them down to the floor while your other hand never left his warm and hard cock.

After the jeans came off, Cillian pressed his lips back onto yours while using his skilled hands to unclip the back of your bra. The bra also landed on the floor within seconds.

‘Lie down’ he whispered into your ear. You obliged and crawled onto the bed, facing him.

He loomed over you, climbing on to the bed as you scooted backwards further so that he could straddle your hips while you pushed up against him, wanting the rub and friction against you.

Cillian kissed you passionately as one of his hands moved in between your legs.

He could feel your body tensing up as he ran his fingers over the top of your panties

After all, he knew that it had been a while since you’ve been with anyone. He knew to take it slow and give you some reassurance.

‘Just relax’ he whispered into your ear with his thick Irish accent as he edged his fingers over the lace of your panties, his hand leisurely rubbing up and down the length of your squirming crotch, until he pulled your underwear aside and slipped two fingers inside of you.

You could feel your mouth widen and a loud moan escaped you as he teased the full mound of your clit. The stroke of his thumb was purposeful and steady on your firm, dripping pulse while his fingers plunged in and out of you, sinking further and further.

You held onto him tightly as the slipperiness he found made it easy for him to penetrate you with his fingers. You were so wet.

You shuddered at the pattern, shocked to find it could still stun you, unlocking newfound levels of moisture and desire, even when you began to meet the repetition of his thrusts. You naturally tilted and buckled beneath him.

As he was pushing his fingers in and out of you, he trailed kisses down your neck while your hands clutched at his shoulders, scratched down his back, held him tighter to you as I screamed into his skin.

Cillian’s breath grew more desperate and rugged.

‘It seems like we should take these off’ he said, causing you to nod with anticipation.

‘Don’t move’ Cillian ordered as he lowered himself on the bed while removing your lace undies.

Within seconds, Cillian’s lips were an inch away from your crotch, where he painted your inner thigh with tiny and soft kisses.

Cillian pushed your legs apart gently and you knew what would be next. You have read about this many times but this was the first time any man had gone down on you before and you were nervously biting your lip.

You tried hard to relax as Cillian’s lips finally reached your entrance, tasting the evidence of how much you wanted him.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned as his head dove between your legs. His tongue prodded you softly, short licks against your clit.

Instantly, all restraint and reservations you had vanished. You were relaxed completely as his tongue danced and writhed inside of you.

With each skillful stroke, your thighs clenched. But you still needed more and he read you just right; he didn’t stop as you pushed yourself up the bed. Instead, he held you steady, causing you to look down at him and watching his eyes widen as they met yours, reacting to the rush of your wetness.

‘Cillian, oh god…you need to stop, I am so close’ you moaned, not wanting it to be over. You never came more than once so you wanted to feel him inside of you first.

‘That’s good, just let go’ Cillian said quietly with a grin before he continued and slid two fingers back inside of you while whirling his tongue over your clit.

You couldn’t hold on any longer, no matter how hard you tried. Your exhales began to emerge as deepening sighs and you leaned my head back and lived out the fantasy that had flashed through your mind all along.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned as your back arched and a rush of ecstasy flew through your body. You grabbed onto Cillian’s hair as he sucked every drip from you as your orgasm flooded your body.

As you came down from your orgasm, Cillian shuffled himself back up the bed, kissing you passionately.

You could taste yourself on his lips and you were ready for more.

‘I want to feel you’ you whispered after your lips drifted apart and while reaching for Cillian’s hard cock.

‘Do you have a condom?’ he asked, causing you to nod. You had purchased some before your Valentine’s Date, just in case you needed them.

You reached for the bedside table and opened the pack of condoms, handing one to Cillian.

Cillian was quick to get rid of his briefs and put on the condom, before positioning himself on top of you, in between your legs.

He shuddered a great rushing gasp of breath as he entered you. He couldn’t believe how good you felt, so tight.

You felt him push into you then, slowly and carefully, filling you completely.  

‘Cillian’ you moaned as you held onto him tightly as he slowly began to move.

With every thrust, you gasped, whimpered, soft mewling noises, begging for more.

You felt him all the way to your belly button and screamed out with pleasure, your hands taking the heat as he thrusted fast and deep.

As he picked up his pace, you got louder, groans becoming moans becoming shouts, and the bed frame thumped against the wall, louder and faster and louder and faster.

‘Oh god, don’t stop’ you moaned, his skin slapping against yours.

‘You are so beautiful’ Cillian said in between his moans before pulling out of you slowly and lifting up your legs above his shoulders.

He knew exactly that, this way, he would be reaching your g-spot while he was fucking you.

You were slightly surprised by this position but were flexible enough to run with it.

As he entered you again slowly, you let out a loud moan.

‘Fuck’ you moaned in between the high-pitched noises that escaped you.

‘Does this feel alright?’ Cillian asked, wanting to ensure that you are comfortable.

You nodded eagerly and whimpered a shaky ‘yes’ as he continued to thrust into you. He was right at your g-spot and you could barely control yourself.

He slowly picked up the speed and you could feel another orgasm coming on as the tip of his cock kept hitting your g-spot over and over again.

‘Cillian, oh my god, don’t stop…’ you moaned as you held onto his arms tightly.

You began to shake heavily as your orgasm washed over you and tears of joy escaped your eyes.

‘Fuck, Y/N’ Cillian groaned loudly as he felt your walls tightening around him. The sensation coupled with the sounds you were making sent him over the edge and he almost came in sync with you.

As soon as he came, you released your legs from his shoulders and he collapsed on top of you, kissing you passionately.

You could still feel Cillian pulsing inside you when the sudden oddness of what you had done washed over you.

‘Are we ok?’ Cillian asked as he slowly pulled out of you and removed the condom, disposing of it discreetly.

‘I think so’ you said shyly.

‘Good…because I really enjoyed this’ Cillian said as he ran one of his hands over your cheek gently.

‘Me too…plus, I’ve got some inspiration for my book now’ you said cheekily.

‘I am glad to having been of assistance. Make sure you credit me in the end notes’ Cillian said jokingly.

‘Hmm, if I did, it may become a best seller…Sex Scene Inspired by Cillian Murphy’ you said with laughter, causing Cillian to laugh also.

‘I should better get home’ Cillian said as he was playing with your hair. He really didn’t want to leave, but he felt as though it was inappropriate for him to stay the night.

‘You can stay here if you like…’ you offered, but Cillian declined.

After all, this was supposed to be a one off. You are nothing more than friends, or are you?

You accepted Cillian’s decision to leave and weren’t upset by it. You enjoyed your time with Cillian and slept well that night, snugging up in the doona which smelled like his aftershave.

Finishing the Book

The next morning, you got up early to begin writing the intimate chapter of your book. This was the chapter you had struggled with for a while and you finally felt comfortable writing it. If readers would know that, in this particular scene of your book, you were basically reliving your night with your friend, Cillian Murphy, that would be scandalous.

So, you decided to make sure that no one would ever find out about your little adventure.

Unfortunately for you, your grandma seemed to have a good sense of what was going on.

She was on time as usual and dropped Max back at your house at 10am.

‘Had a good night my dear? I can see you are working on your book.’ She said.

‘Yes nan, the play last night was lovely. It has given me some inspiration’ you said.

‘The play has given you some inspiration to write about orgasms?’ your grandmother asked with laughter as she read the screen on your lap top.

‘Nan! Oh my god, don’t read what I am writing’ you said with embarrassment.

‘Oh dear, it’s alright. Believe it or not, I used to write novels myself with a little hint of filth now and then. But, somehow, I don’t think that it was the play that gave you the inspiration to write this little naughty chapter. By looking at the bruises on your neck, perhaps it was your friend Mr Murphy who gave you this inspiration?’ your grandmother said with sarcasm.

‘Nan, no Jesus, please’ you said as your face became flushed.

‘Don’t be embarrassed dear’ your grandmother said. ‘It is good for you. I mean, he is handsome and I saw the way you looked at him yesterday evening…and the way he looked at you’ your grandmother continued.

‘There is nothing between us nan, we are just friends’ you explained with total embarrassment.

‘Alright dear, whatever you say’ your grandmother said, not believing a single word that came out of your mouth.

‘I better go, I have lunch with Alma later… I love you my dear’ your grandmother said before heading out of the door.

‘Love you too nan’ you said.

 WHO WANTS A SECOND PART OF THIS?

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Such a Softer Sin (Chapter fifteen)

(Chapter one)     (Chapter two)     (Chapter three)     (Chapter four)  

(Chapter five)     (Chapter six)     (Chapter seven)     (Chapter eight)

(Chapter nine)     (Chapter ten)     (Chapter eleven)     (Chapter twelve)

(Chapter thirteen)     (Chapter fourteen)

Bar fights, nurse Lila and some fluff.

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Three days had passed by since Lila witnessed the twins beating the crap out of each other for barely any reason. Things had returned mostly to normal. Their playful teasing banter had returned and they were at ease with each other once again. She was back to being called ‘love’, ‘sweetheart’ and even ‘m’girl’. After Murphy had slipped up a few times with saying it, he came to realise that there was no way she hadn't heard him at least once and she never mentioned it, she never acted like she didn't like it. It made his chest swell with...something. He wasn't quite sure but it was nice. The only thing that hadn't gone back to normal were the twins affectionate touching. After what they did, the felt like they had no right to do that anymore, more so Murphy. He was half expecting the girl to turn around and say she couldn't forgive him after all and leave at any moment. He didn't talk about it though, at least not to her. She had asked they all move on from it after all. He had spoken to his twin about it though and Connor had told him to just count his blessings and move on, just like Lila wanted. So he was trying.

Lila was lay on her belly in Murphys bed, her legs swinging a little behind her as she read one of Connors books from his pile; Titus Andronicus by Shakespeare. It had always been her favorite play by the man and she was pleasantly surprised to find it in Connors pile. She never would have pegged Connor as a reader, any of the boys really. But living with them had made her learn a lot about the twins. They were similar in a lot of ways, they were twins of course. They walked the same, they were so synchronised it was insane, lighting smokes the same way at the same time, taking shots at the same time. When they told their dramatic stories, they finished each other sentences, and they’d often speak in unison. Sometimes it was like they were one person split in half. But they weren't. They also had very big differences which most people never really got to see as they didn't get close enough to notice. Connor loved to read, Shakespeare was one of his favourites much to her delight, he loved his movies, especially the westerns that Murphy loved to take the ever loving piss out of him for. He loved cars although he had never had the pleasure of owning one. He preferred cold weather to hot and he liked his pizza with mushrooms on. Murphy loved music, mainly rock or grunge, he loved anything art based, especially lowbrow art pieces and photography. He had told her how he always wanted to try his hand at photography but he could never afford a camera. He wasn't much of a reader but he actually loved to write, much to her surprise. He wouldn't tell her what he wrote though and he seemed weird and secretive about it and she got the distinct feeling that even Connor might not know about it. Maybe he feared his brother would rib him for it, but she knew Connor wouldn't. Connor appreciated any literature from plays, novels and even poetry. She hoped maybe one day Murphy would share his work with her and even his brother. He preferred warmer weather to cold and he liked his pizza with pepperoni.

The twins were sat on Connors bed, writing a letter to their Ma which she thought was fucking adorable. She knew the twins rang their mother at least once a week, and if they missed calling her at that exact hour, she would call them instead, usually giving them shit. Yet they still liked to write to her. Lila turned the page of the book, engrossed in her reading, and she could vaguely register the twins bickering as they snatched the paper from one another to write something down. She was sure by this point the letter probably didn't make any sense. Her ears perked up when she registered something being said about the boy's birthday coming up on Friday. They hadn't mentioned it to her yet, she figured they wouldn't. It would be obvious on the night as she imagined they would go out to McGinty's and have a good old knees up. But she wondered if they wouldn't tell her beforehand so she wouldn't buy them something. They always acted so weird about her buying things, even groceries. She didn't mind, she didn't have rent or bills to pay now and she wanted to help out when she could, but they always got so fucking offended when she did. She smirked to herself as she continued to read, already forming an idea in her mind about what she could get them. She had been able to save up her cash since she had nothing to pay with it and surprisingly, McGinty's paid really well, even with it being a part-time job. She got paid overtime for working weekends too and by now she had a nice amount of money saved up, and she couldn't think of a better occasion to spend it than to treat the boys for their birthday. She just needed to keep it a secret and with Connors gift, she would need to enlist Rocco's help. She’d have to threaten him to keep his mouth shut though, but luckily for her, he had seen how scary she could be when she had the fight with Murphy.

Rocco had been coming over every day which was nice, the four of them made quite a group. The boys were off for a week, paid leave, since some of the machines in the factory weren't working and needed emergency repairs. So she had a whole week with them. She was excited but she still felt ever so slightly awkward. She had noticed how the boys had distanced themselves physically. Hell at this point Rocco was more affectionate since he hugged her whenever he saw her, yet the boys never did anymore. She hadn't hugged them either, she figured that they were not affectionate anymore because there was too much water under the bridge. When they used to be affectionate, she didn't think anything of it, she thought it was because they were close friends. But now she knew better, it was because they liked her as more than a friend and now too much had happened for them to want that with her.

She glanced over to them just in time to see Murphy smack the pen out of Connors' hand petulantly and Connor looked ready to throttle him until Lila burst out laughing. They turned to watch her, their annoyance melting and turning to smiles as she sat up and closed the book.

“You two are like children.” She snorted as she stood up and stretched her arms above her head. She was still only in Murphy's shirt, they'd had a lazy day today and the boys were only in their jeans.

“Are not.” They both muttered, making her huff a laugh. She missed how their eyes were drawn to her legs when the shirt rode up her thighs as she stretched. She glanced at the clock, seeing it was time for her to get ready for work and she grabbed her jeans, shimmying into them. The boys were silent as they watched her intently. She grabbed her dark green tee and turned around, pulling Murphy's shirt over her head before slipping hers on instead.

“Elle est foutrement belle (She’s fucking beautiful).” Connor muttered in French, his eyes not leaving Lila despite the words directed at his brother.

“Je sais, je veux mordre à pleines cuisses (I know, I want to sink my teeth into her fucking thighs).” Murphy murmured, looking at her like he was about to pounce on her as he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. Connor looked at Murphy incredulously at his bold words before he barked out a laugh and shook his head. He wasn't fucking wrong though, Connor felt the same. Lila turned around to face them again as she took her hair down and ran her fingers through it. Murphy was grateful, he hoped she would wear it down today.

“You know I hate it when you two do that shit.” She huffed as she gave them a pointed look.

“Ye don’t like French love? Most lasses love it.,” Murphy gave her a wicked smile that actually made her blush a little, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the boys as they shot each other sly smirks. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head at him.

“I’m sure they do. I’m glad you two villains use your superpowers for evil and not for anything good.” She snorted, making her way to her boots. The boys laughed as they stood up, each grabbing their owns shirts and getting dressed. Lila sat on a chair and put her boots on, lacing them up.

“Wouldn’t call it evil per se, would you Murph?” Connor smirked, noticing the way Lilas' eyes were drawn to him and his brother as they dressed.

“Nay brother, the lasses seemed te love it. They all seem te find God soon enough after.” He cackled, making the girl blush more and snort loudly as Connor rumbled a laugh.

“You two are impossible, seriously.” She grinned, pinching Murphy's side as she walked passed and causing him to yelp a little. Connor grinned at him, he always loved it when the lass picked on his brother and not him instead. Murphy just shot him an indigent scowl.

The walk to McGinty's was uneventful, apart from the usual bickering from the twins and the occasional smacks across the others head over Lilas' shoulders. Connor clipped her head by accident one time and Murphy took great delight in telling him he was an awful person for it, knowing Connor felt guilty about it. Connor almost retorted with how he had done so by accident, whereas Murphy had manhandled the poor lass so rough that he had left marks on her. Because yes, Connor had seen the marks his brother left on their lass and it had taken his immense amount of self-control and restraint not to put his fist through his stupid twins face. But he didn't, and he didn't because Lila had asked him that day not to hurt Murphy. She hadn't used words, but with the look and shake of her head when Connor was ready to well and truly put Murphy in his place, he knew she didn't want him to hurt his brother.

They sat at the bar and watched Lila work with such ease, the boys questioned if she was born in an Irish pub and forced to work there as soon as she left the womb. Not long after they got there, Rocco had joined them, sitting next to Murphy as they all drank and had a laugh. They had been there for only an hour when the boys suddenly felt a sense of foreboding, making the hairs on the back of their necks prickle up. They glanced to each other, knowing they both felt it, a change in the air. Something was coming, they didn't know what but trouble was definitely on its way. Rocco didn't feel the same sense of foreboding as the brothers, but he knew them well enough to pick up on their energy that shit was about to hit the fan. The twins had this way of somehow knowing when something was going to go wrong. The boys were shocked when they glanced to Lila to see that she too had felt it. She stood tense, her usual smile gone as she glared at the doors like she just knew something was on its way to fuck up everyone's night. When she turned to look at the twins, they knew she definitely felt it too. It never ceased to amaze them how she always seemed to be on the same wavelength as them, just like how she knew about the telepathy even though they never mentioned it. It was like the three of them were linked somehow, not as strong as Connor and Murphy's connection, but it was still there. The other people at the bar seemed oblivious to the trouble that was coming their way but the boys and Rocco sat tense and waiting, Lila back to watching the door.

It opened with a bang and six rowdy guys filtered in, they looked like some kind of college frat boys and they were being loud and obnoxious. Five of them went to sit in a booth, laughing loudly and being generally annoying. They were all so out of place and they were all drunk already. A muscular blonde guy walked over to the bar, he gave Lila a very obvious once over with a cocky smirk and she bristled. She held back the urge to snarl at him. She couldn't muster up her usual smile like she did for all her other customers. There was something off about this guy and his friends, she could just feel it. Murphy went to jump off his stool, ready to pounce on the fucker for looking at Lila that way, it was obvious she was uncomfortable with it. His rage had missed simmering and boiling and shot straight to murderous. Connor gripped Murphy's forearm, making him stay seated. It wasn't that he thought the lass would be upset if they intervened. He knew this wasn't like before, this was unwanted attention. But he had no intention of making a scene just yet with the other five just there. He knew he and Murphy could take them, they also had Rocco to have their back and he didn't doubt for a second that the other patrons of the bar would help, not with how much they had grown to love Lila. He just wanted to hold off on the impending bar fight that he could taste on his tongue.

Murphy growled, the sound rumbling from his chest and Connor squeezed his arm tighter in response as a warning. The pair were glaring at the man as Rocco watched on, waiting for the brothers lead.

“What can I get you?” Lila asked, disdain dripping from every word she said. The boys were close enough to be able to hear her. The man seemed unfazed by her tone and he licked his lower lip, still smirking at her.

“Six beers and six shots of whiskey. Oh… and your number.” He grinned cockily. Lila pursed her lips and quirked a brow at his boldness to almost demand her number but she didn't say a word. She gave him a sickly sweet smile that left the twins and Rocco all looking a little confused at her sudden change of demeanor. She set about making the drinks and the boys watched in horror as she scribbled something on a napkin. Surely she just hadn't actually given the prick her number? She handed it to him and he looked all too pleased with himself, that was until he glanced at it. He tossed the napkin at her and she smirked, watching him scowl at her.

“Really? ‘Go fuck yourself’? What happened to service with a smile bitch?” He scoffed at her. The word bitch seemed to linger in the air and Murphy was ready to tear Connors arm off if he didn't let the fuck go. This time it was Connor who growled.

“How about service with a ‘go to hell’?” Lila sneered at him. She knew she was being rude but she didn't care.

The man's eyes darkened as he glared at her.

“Now listen here you little whore, you-” It was as soon as the second offensive word left his lips that Connors' hand released his brother, almost as if he was releasing a wild dog on command to attack, and Murphy flew out of his seat instantly. He charged at the man, knocking him right onto his back as Murphy's fist collided with his face, over and over again whilst he yelled all kinds of curse words and offensive terms. It was all a blur, a flurry of movements and Lila stepped back looking shocked. The man's friends ran over and Connor was on one in an instant, Rocco on another. Another man grabbed Murphy, throwing him off the guy who was now unconscious and Murphy got a punch to the face.

“Murph!” Connor yelled, he started to run over to him but was intercepted by one of the men, he got a punch to the gut but he recovered quick enough to lay the asshole down. Murphy was fighting viciously with the man who had punched him, he was a big fuck but Murphy was relentless in his anger. Watching his brother being hurt only served to fuel the fire inside of him. A few other regulars at the bar jumped in, helping the boys out, and it felt like as quick at it had started, it was now over, with six knocked out assholes lay on the floor.

Lila looked between the boys, Murphy's nose was bleeding and she hoped it wasn't broken and Connor had a wicked black eye already coming through and he was clutching his side as he tried to breathe. Murphy went right over to his brother, the both of them not needing words as they checked in with one another. They were fine, they won and they'd most certainly live. It wasn't their first bar fight and they doubted it would be their last. Rocco had managed to come out with only a sore jaw and the other patrons were unharmed since they had outnumbered the men in the end. Lila was almost in shock. In all her times working in bars, she’d never witnessed a bar fight before, especially not ones with people she cared about in the middle of it. The boys looked at her, making sure she was okay, and she snapped out of her stupor. She darted off into the back of the pub and the boys’ hearts sank, feeling like she was upset with them. They sat in a booth with Rocco and suddenly Lila was there again with a first aid kit. Relief flooded them as she opened it, looking from one to another as if deciding who to treat first. She looked worried and sad and they hated that look on her angelic face.

“Murphy first lass.” Connor muttered, reaching out and squeezing her hand. None of them thought about how it was the first physical contact they'd had since the awful night, there was too much going on to even register that.

Murphy looked to Connor with a frown. He knew Connor didn't say to treat him first because he was worse, it was just what Connor did. He always looked out for Murphy like a big brother. Always putting Murphy first. Lila stood in front of Murphy, dowsing some cotton swabs with alcohol. She took his jaw gently and tilted his face up to hers. He blinked up at her, admiring her beautiful face. He just wanted to grab her and throw her on the table to claim her. Watching that pricks eyes roam her body like that, coupled with the adrenaline from the fight, it made him a little horny if he was honest. She lifted the swab but hesitated like she didn't want to hurt him, he could read her like a book as she furrowed her brow and looked at his bloody nose.

“It’s alright m’girl, just do it.” He encouraged, giving her a grin. It hurt, of course it did, but he always felt better after a good fucking fight. To unleash the anger that was always bubbling at the surface inside of him. He and his brother often enjoyed the adrenalin of the fights and afterwards they always felt almost giddy. Lila soon realised this too as Connor had got up with Rocco and was talking and laughing to the others in the bar animatedly.

She wiped his nose and he winced a little. It turned out his nose wasn’t broke, but there was a gash on it that was oozing blood. Her frown deepened as she cleaned it.

“I’m sorry Murph.” She whispered regretfully as she cleaned him up. Murphy quirked a brow at her as he looked at her confused.

“What for love?” He asked softly, one of his hands reaching out and winding around the wrist that was holding his jaw lightly.

“If I wasn't rude to him…” She sighed, setting the swab down as she got some butterfly strips and put them over the gash. It wasn't too deep to require proper stitches.

“Hush now girl, ye didn’t do a thing wrong. He was a wrong’un, I know ye felt it too. He woulda found a reason te cause trouble anyway.” He said sincerely, pinning her with his intense gaze. She let go of his face and stepped back just a little and Murphys hand trailed down her wrist to her hand, linking his fingers with hers. It was obvious that seeing him and his brother getting roughed up a little had upset her.

She glanced down to their hands and noticed his bloody knuckles and frowned once more. She moved to sit opposite him, their hands still linked. She let go to grab more swabs and pour alcohol on them, taking his hand carefully as she cleaned his knuckles as gently as she could. It stung like a motherfucker but he didn’t let it show. He just watched her quietly as she worked, seeing the concern she had for him all over her face. It made his heart ache. When she was done, she stood up and he did too. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, winding a hand into her hair. He felt her relax in his arms and squeezed her a little. When she moved away, she looked up, searching his face to make sure he was okay.

“We’re fine m’girl, been through worse aye? Just look at Connor.” He smiled reassuringly, she turned to his brother across the bar who seemed to be having way too much fun reenacting the fight with the others and she snorted a little. She glanced back up at Murphy and he could see some of her worry melting away and he smiled brightly at her. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking it affectionately and her hand came up to his. He half expected her to push his hand away so he was pleasantly surprised when her hand just lay over his and she leant into his touch.

“We’ll always defend yer honor love.” He smiled mischievously at her, making her huff a laugh. She moved away and shoved him lightly.

“Go, send the next patient over.” She smiled ruefully at him. He was glad he’d made her smile. She had no need to worry about him or his brother. He stepped forwards, placing a soft caring kiss on her cheek. His lips lingered for a moment and she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth spread through her body. She’d fucking missed this with them. He pulled away almost regretfully and gave her a smile before he went off and told Connor to get his sorry ass over to her.

Connor sauntered over, a buzz in his veins from the fight. He flashed her a dazzling grin as he sat down.

“Do be gentle with me nurse Lila.” He smirked cheekily at her, making her huff a laugh at him and shake her head. She took his chin in her hands like she had done to his brother, tilting his head to examine his face. He had a black eye but no cuts to his face.

“Up.” She demanded, gesturing for him to stand so she could check his ribs. He complied and lifted his shirt, he was bruising already. She carefully ran her fingers over his ribs and he shivered at her touch. It didn't hurt too bad and after a few pokes, she concluded nothing was broken. But she wasn't a doctor so what the fuck did she know? She sat in the booth and took his hand, making him sit as she cleaned his knuckles like how she did to Murphy. She was silent and Connor watched her carefully. He could see the whole thing had affected her.

“Talk te me lass.” He pleaded softly, looking at her worried. She glanced to him and scoffed, seeing how concerned he was.

“Are you kidding me? You and your brother get roughed up and you're worried about me?” She asked incredulously, shaking her head.

Connor frowned and stood up, pulling her up by her hand to stand with him. She blinked up at him as his hands came to either side of her face, making her look at him. His gaze pierced her, pinning her in place with those blue eyes.

“Me and Murph will always worry about ye, make no mistake sweetheart.” He said seriously, no mirth in his eyes or tone. She took a shaky breath and nodded, looking down unable to hold the weight of his gaze. He leant forward and placed a sweet kiss to her forehead, and much like Murphy had, his lips lingered for a moment and she felt the familiar warmth once again. When he moved away he gave her a beaming grin.

“Ready te play nurse te Roc now? Only his knuckles need lookin’ at but, between you and me, I think he’ll milk it so the pretty nurse can dote on him.” He chuckled mischievously, making her roll her eyes playfully.

“Send him over.” She snorted, batting Connors arm softly. He gave her one last smile before he walked off.

“Aye Roc! Nurse Lila will see ye now!” He cackled loudly, making her shake her head.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28

[eliceislandent]

Back In The Saddle

Back In the Saddle:

I went to bed way too late. I got my second wind at 9pm and ended up staying up until 3:49am. I was working on my horror script for a little, then watched the movie BARBARIAN as a palette cleanser. Gotta say this movie was quite entertaining — with the caveat that the underlying reason for the horror was downright awful.

However, as scary movies go it was original (-ish.) There are shades of Fede Álvarez’s DON’T BREATHE. Part of what makes BARBARIAN feel fresh and surprising is the way writer-director Zach Cregger chose to tell the story. It was like a puzzle where you keep finding new pieces in the box. High recommend for you horror fans.

(A special nod to the editing here. Done with a deft touch by Joe Murphy. There are two cuts in particular that I don’t want to go into detail on for fear of ruining the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but they work in a way that impacts the viewer as only movies can. After the first cut, I was instantly disappointed I hadn’t seen Barbarian with an audience. It’s the kind of scene movies are made for, and why the best experience is still a dark movie theater.)

After the movie ended, I read some of the Lee Child novel I am into, but it still took another hour to fall asleep because I was still thinking about the movie, whcihis the mark of any good story. It sticks with you.

I finally dozed off just before 4am.

Fortunately, my wife is home today so she was able to get the kids up and at ‘em this morning (usually I am the early riser who makes breakfast). I woke up at 8:17, and rolled out of bed about ten minutes later.

Also fortunate is the fact that our children are all feeling better, one well enough to return to school. As a parent you can’t think quite straight when your kids are sick. Thank God for the blessings of good health. So off to school the middle child went, not without some protest once she realized her two siblings were staying home.

Sorry, kiddo.

Took the next couple of hours to ease into the day. I made breakfast for Nic and myself, then we cleaned up the house and tended to the laundry list of requests from the two children still home sick today. My son’s catchy sing-song way of asking for something — a melodic “I waaaaaant” — is heard so often that we’ve taken to responding to it by echoing it in our own octave ranges.

Finally, around 11:15am I turn to the writing. I remember like 20 years ago Kevin Smith did one of the first daily blogs I ever read. He used to write about the minutiae of his day in hourly detail. This included him discussing what he was working on and more importantly how he was going about getting his work done with a young family at home. I found it fascinating. I take a lot of inspiration from that, and from the Steve Martin autobiography, “The War Years” which is among my favorite books on having a career creating art that entertains people.

Stephen King says that audiences love to read about people working. I suppose it’s because as Studs Terkel once intuited work is something we all do.

Another of my favorite books on writing is “Working Days,” Steinbeck’s journals from when he wrote The Grapes of Wrath. It shows Steinbeck, one of the great masters of the craft, doing his work in the most routine and ordinary of ways.

As writers today are fond of saying: “butt in chair, fingers on keyboard.”

One reason I like that book, and a blog like Smith’s is they deglamorize the art of writing.

Writing perhaps more than any other of the art forms requires deglamorization. Dance, painting, or sculpting say, seem to be imbued with a sense of elevation, of rising above it all. Writing on the other hand seems to require a declination. You have to get down and dirty. You have to strip everything away, get quiet, and let the imagination roam free to explore the limits of who and what you are writing about. If done right you wallow in flaws and failure. Not just those of your characters by design, but your own by default.

So then, enough delay, off to the day’s work.

I am still working on the few chapters leading up to the book’s ending. Though I prefer to write without an outline in first draft, there comes a point where the ending is in sight. At which point I write to that ending. Typically, a climactic scene takes shape in my mind and I attempt to steer the characters toward it.

During revisions, I am adjusting and tightening and shaping the character’s moves to get there so that (hopefully) the story keeps the audience guessing, enthralling them until the final showdown.

The goal is to be unputdownable.

Like all great books.

One of my favorite feelings in life is being caught in the grip of a good story (book, movie, tv show).

Everything else fades away.

You know the feeling. It’s that moment when you finish a chapter or an episode and you know you are going to read/watch the next one. It’s usually around this time that the excuses start to form in your head as to why you are going to be late for work tomorrow — or not go in at all. Heck, I’d skip work for a “Gone Girl” an “Exodus” or “The Dead Zone” any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

To the ink mines then. I will see you on the other side.

[shananaomi]

2016.

hi. i haven’t been around these parts much this year, but i couldn’t quite let this one go by. 

here’s last year’s.

[note to self at end of 2017: you deleted anything you didn’t feel up to answering, so maybe go find a complete version if you’re into that sort of thing now.]

What did you do in 2016 that you’d never done before?

Went to Paris, then drove around the French countryside in a tiny car, just as I’d imagined ever since seeing Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown, as a little kid. (Fewer haunted chateaus, more champagne.) Ran a 10k and only truly hated the last mile of it. Watched my wife run a marathon. Finally started reading Harry Potter, but only made it through 2.5 books before it...scared me too much to keep going. 

Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year?

Last year: I vowed to prioritize watching more TV shows by and about women, and largely stuck to this and its corollary “no more whiny white guys.”

Also, in answer to the question about what I wish I had done more of in 2015, I said (pre-Hamilton, I should add): I’m sure it means something that every year my answer to this is write. It means I’m never satisfied, right?

Today on Twitter I said: has there ever been a year my resolution was not "write more; complain less"?

Also, per @yayponies, we are going to #GetFitToFightFascism. 

Did anyone close to you give birth?

Several people we love now have more children! And several more are about to.

Did anyone close to you get married?

I...don’t think we went to any weddings this year, or missed any big ones.

Did anyone close to you die?

2016 was definitely the year for crying over people who felt so close it stabbed inside to know they were gone, from Bowie to those killed in Orlando to George Michael.

What countries did you visit?

France! It was beautiful and also intense, like more of a city than even New York but in less space and smaller streets. In many ways the general nervousness and militarization reminded me of New York City post-9/11. 

What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016?

A sense of safety, both personal and global.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

In order to avoid getting a spinal tap or going on a scary-sounding drug to reduce high pressure in my skull, I got a personal trainer, finally stopped eating anything and everything I wanted, and lost 30 pounds. Then I sort of plateaued, or in fitness-speak, maintained that weight successfully for the last 4 months while magically continuing to wear ever-smaller clothes. I’ve set a goal for at least 10 more pounds by the time I turn 40 in April, because that was a random thing I told myself a year ago I could try to do but sounded impossible at the time. 

But I also discovered that I fucking love hiking and even running outside and generally feeling stronger. And before 2016 totally and completely went to shit, I knew looking back that would be my biggest story of the year: I finally put real work into my body, and it was worth it.

What was your biggest failure?

Outside of the never-ending churn of work emails, I have become a terrible, almost entirely absent correspondent. I almost never reply to emails any more, and even text messages often go unanswered. I am so ashamed of this behavior I can barely type it out, honestly, and yet it is somehow the greatest tiny step to take in any free moment I find or set aside for specifically that purpose. 

If I have failed at some point or many to write you back, know it was certainly not because of anything you said, or didn’t.  

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I did something of a mid-year review on my birthday where I wrote about the medical mystery in my brain that dominated the end of 2015 and first half of this year. I’m very lucky; another few rounds of check-ups found my high pressure situation so reduced it was basically now undiagnosable. Also I avoided having a spinal tap, thank fucking god. My great USC Eye Institute doc left for another city but I have a follow-up in January with a guy who basically wrote the book on neuro-ophthalmology so we’ll see whether a true second opinion changes any of that. 

What was the best thing you bought?

It’s not that I don’t like working out with other people. Wait, yes it is. I survived a month of boot camp in 2015 out of sheer stubbornness but hated myself and my body more by the end of it than I’d ever thought possible. But in a one-on-one situation, it turns out I can just channel all that stubborn perfectionism into something meaningful. It was a massive investment, and one I plan to continue in 2017, but there is really no question to me that it was worth it.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

My wife. Did I mention she ran a goddamned marathon? In that and so, so many other ways, she is so much stronger than she thinks or believes and inspires me every day to keep going.

Where did most of your money go?

Trainer, rent, car payment, student loans. Mostly all those old familiar beasts. 

What song will always remind you of 2016?

“Youth,” Troye Sivan. Sitting by a pool in Palm Springs listening to him sing and writing about him and feeling pretty goddamned blessed. 

not a bad view to get serious on a deadline.

Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder? Sadder. There’s just no other way to say that. 

ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner!

iii. richer or poorer? We’re being more careful about money now than we have at times in the past, I’ll put it that way.

What do you wish you’d done more of?

Always: write. But I need to think a little more specifically about what that means for me right now. I run a major media outlet at which I could theoretically write almost anything, but almost never do. Part of what I most miss writing about is queerness and sexuality, but I am not totally sure what, if anything, I want to write for OUT. Should I write fiction? Should I be trying to write and report other, more politically focused pieces (either about entertainment in some way or not)? Should I do something with this TinyLetter I signed up for but have yet to use? Should I write more Tumblr posts? 

Oh yeah, and when am I going to do this? It’s not that I have no time, but I don’t have huge swaths of it either just sitting around waiting to be claimed. I can do this, if I really focus and prioritize. Having some kind of goal type thingie or vision here would obviously go a long way. 

What do you wish you’d done less of?

Crying.

How did you spend Christmas?

Writing George Michael’s obit. 

this is the ridiculous family photo we took on a street near my parents' new house - just before my phone buzzed with the news of George Michael's death. i'm just completely heartbroken. our first conversation, first date, first I love yous - all owe something big to our gay guardian angel, as we always called him. thank you George for being queer and angry and so, so, so beautifully talented. thank you.

What was your favorite TV program?

Save Pitch!

What was the best book you read?

Probably Julia Child’s memoirs, the perfect pre-France guide and also a reminder that a woman can find her way to a whole new life no matter her age. I also adored my old friend Tim Murphy’s novel Christodora. Highly recommended.

What was your greatest musical discovery of 2016?

This should fairly be answered Hamilton, since it took me a while to decide I was ready to jump in even if I wasn’t sure when I’d get to see it. I’m in. All in.

What did you want and get?

To spoil my wife silly on her 40th birthday, including a slightly early trip back to Paris in honor of our first conversation being about her trip there on her 30th. I am traditionally the distant second place present-giver in our relationship, but I think I adequately stepped it up this time.

What did you want and not get?

For our happiness to be as simple as finding the perfect present. A country I felt confident loved us back. My dog to feel as peaceful and calm and quiet as she does when she’s not in Los Angeles. For all the words and thoughts inside my brain to magically appear on a screen or the page without having to find the time or peace to make sense of them.

What was your favorite film of this year?

I did vow to do a better job of seeing films this year, especially big ones that I needed to consider how much work-time to devote coverage to, so maybe that’s why I feel like I have a surprisingly strong, solid list here to choose from. I don’t think I saw Spotlight until 2016, when I watched it back to back on a plane before All the President’s Men. (Don’t yell but: Spotlight was better.) I absolutely loved Arrival and Loving. I don’t plan to give into the weird backlash cynicism about La La Land, which I found delightful if not exactly epic.

Ultimately I think my answer here is that Moonlight and Hell or High Water touched my soul and heart and made me think the most. They are both, in distinctly different ways, about the deep, lasting curse of poverty. In Hell or High Water, Chris Pine’s character eventually offers this terse motivation for a deadly bank robbing spree he has undertaken with his brother: “I’ve been poor my whole life, like a disease passing from generation to generation. But not my boys, not anymore.”

For whatever reason, I’m thinking now about how some people have compared Moonlight to Brokeback Mountain. (I would have compared the latter to Loving, actually, in that they both turn very much on the passionate decisions of reticent white men acting on emotions they cannot figure out how to name.) I guess what people are saying is that Moonlight is also a groundbreaking film about sexuality, but to me what was always missed about Brokeback is that it was a film about a poor man’s sexuality. 

Moonlight very pointedly creates a new possible dialogue to model in conversations about being black and queer - when asked what a faggot is, Chiron is told, “‘Faggot’ is a word used to make gay people feel bad.” And it asks an even harder question: can sexuality and our expression of it ever be separated from the sheer human need to survive other, perhaps unrelated or perhaps more complicated and threatening circumstances of race and class?

I guess I had some things to say about movies this year. 

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 39, and one of the only long form pieces I wrote this year actually covers that territory too! 

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Sigh. A Clinton presidency. That’s not one thing, it’s a million, but that’s the goddamned point, isn’t it?

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016?

Last year I said: I’m damned determined for 2016 to be the year of the lipstick.

And actually I did pretty well on that count. Also I bought some impressively ridiculous over-the-knee boots that I’ve worn almost every day since. 

What kept you sane?

Was I? I still feel pretty unhinged, honestly. My staff and colleagues were actually a consistent source of stability even when there were major changes in that world, too. (Part of CBS basically sold us to a different part of CBS.) 

But each and every day: my wife. This marriage is the best and most important thing I will ever do in my life, and whatever “work” it may be, it pays back in sustaining my existence a hundredfold. Coming soon, allegedly: a podcast and/or Insta live series with me and @yayponies called Marriage Is Hard. (No it’s not.)

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Oh hey, I finally got to introduce my wife to Chris Pine when we bumped into him at the reception after the Loving premiere/screening. (Sorry-not-sorry for the utter LAness of that sentence.) I kind of hate reintroducing myself to people I interviewed years before, but in this case: worth every moment of internal awkwardness. He has very strong feelings about cinematography, you guys. And projectionists. And cheesy grits.

What political issue stirred you the most?

I am sickened by the fact that young trans and gender-nonconforming folks are bearing the brunt of the right-wing’s latest scare and hate tactics. I am not scared for my marriage headed into a new administration; I am terrified for their lives. 

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

America. All of us.

Who did you miss?

I miss...people. I miss Sunday potluck dinners like Ray and I threw in college, the kind that were just about people having a safe space but then really about organizing, but I’m still not sure how to create those in our lives right now in a way that doesn’t create more anxiety for us than it relieves. I’m putting this here in hopes some other folks might have an idea. Maybe I’ll even be bold enough to put it in its own post. 

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016.

"I’VE BEEN PLANNING WHILE YOU’RE PLAYING.” -- Jenny Holzer

We saw this at the Broad. Jessica did a better job of writing about it.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

Raise a glass to freedom Something they can never take away No matter what they tell you Raise a glass to the four of us Tomorrow there’ll be more of us

What is one photo that represents a moment you want to remember?

Here we are on an impossibly beautiful day in Paris after one of the best meals of my life, grinning like fools and taking photos that don’t even look real. 

even as we were taking this photo I knew it would look super fake. but it's not! I mean that palm tree was definitely brought in special but it was there when we went to pick up our bibs. oh yeah, we're running a 6k-but-probably-more-like-8k through the streets of Paris tomorrow along with about 35,000 other women. (and by running I mean trying not to fall too far behind the pack.) #laparisienne

[lovestructionworld]

“Ashes to Beauty...Literally LFM #33 June 14, 2017

“ASHES TO BEAUTY...LITERALLY”

When I was four years old my father left my mother and our home. From that time on, until he died, he lived four hundred plus miles away in South Bend, Indiana.

I absolutely adored my father. He would visit every three months. When he would come, it would be all I could think about for the week prior to his arrival. And as soon as he walked through the door, I struggled having fun with him, because I so dreaded Sunday evening, which was his regular departure time. As he was leaving, I would beg him to stay and then be racked with depression once he was gone. The pain of it was torture.

When in town visiting, my Dad would stay with my mom and me. I would sleep with him just to be as close as possible. In the mornings, I would sit on the edge of the tub to watch him shave and comb his hair. He would tickle me all the time and was very affectionate, always hugging and kissing my cheeks. I always felt safe when He visited. I was a true Daddy's Boy.

By the time I was a teenager, my father's issues became more and more apparent and my tears dammed up as I learned to block the pain of his leaving. I can remember starting to enjoy my friends and really not wanting to be around him.

Passively sowing judgment in my heart toward my Dad and his flaws became the norm. I reaped a harvest of trouble from this judgment of him, even though he "seemingly" had the more apparent issues.

When I became an adult, he wanted me to visit him to go fishing, but I always found a reason for not making the four hundred mile drive. Even though I was a Christian, I figured he wasn't good to me, so why should I be good to him, completely immaturely bypassing "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Little about me was golden with so much pain.

When my Dad passed away over 15 years ago in South Bend, Indiana, I barely shed a tear. Matter of fact, I know it sounds terrible, but I was relieved. Ouch! It’s true! I took the trip up to attend to his body. He had wanted to be cremated, and the Funeral Director said it was illegal for me to transport his ashes across state lines. They had to send them to me via U.S. Mail. And when his ashes arrived at the Franklin, Tennessee Post Office, it was like I was picking up a used car part off of a wreck at a junk yard. I had zero emotion. I even saw a friend at the Post Office and made a joke about my Dad's ashes to his horror.

My Dad's ashes stayed in my utility vehicle for over 30 days. I forgot that they were in the back until a friend asked me where I had scattered his ashes. He rebuked me strongly, when he found out the ashes were still in my vehicle. I laughed at Bob that day.

So, I made a quick plan to spread his ashes over some body of water on my way to Murfreesboro, Tennessee for a business meeting. I didn't care which one...lake, pond, puddle, whatever. It was what he wanted, but a pain to me. And I knew I was wearing a suit to a business meeting that day, making it convenient for me to gitter done, funeral style.

I found a small public lake and removed the box from my car. It was an extremely windy day, which was a little scary with me scattering ashes. The wind was straight-line wind blowing out of the north (a sign) in one direction making an easier aim of it, which was good.

As I walked out to the edge of the water, a thought (Holy Spirit's Voice) occurred to me to ask God for my Dad's anointings. I wasn't real sure what anointings were at the time. I had heard of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob each giving their sons their blessings. But what I heard was "anointings". So, I held the box of ashes, maybe with a little tear in my eye, and said a prayer to God on behalf of my Dad. Arrogantly, I thanked God for the "little" bit my Dad had and I might get...anointing wise.

I had angled myself in such a way that his ashes would easily fly out across the water away from me. I drew the box back as one would draw back a Frisbee to fling and then I fffllluung his ashes up into the air.

Now two days prior, I had bought a brand new pair of $175, black, Johnson and Murphy, cap-toed shoes. I was so proud of those shoes and the first scuffs on the bottom of the soles happened that day. As soon as I sent my Dad's ashes flying, the wind made a strong and abrupt change of direction sending the ashes directly down and backwards. You guessed it. My new pair of Johnson and Murphy’s were covered in the grayish white ash of my Dad. My suit was relatively free of ash, but my shoes looked as though I had been walking in snow. So much ash had fallen on my shoes, that small bone fragments were even inside and along the crevices making my walking prickly.

My immediate reaction was panic and to throw out multiple expletives, because I was so grossed out! Sadly, I was crying more about my brand new shoe condition and the hideously disgusting moment I was in, than the loss of my Dad. I bounced around kangaroo-like and in panic for several minutes as I attempted to bang the ash off of my shoes not wanting to risk his ashes getting on my hands. I finally gave up. My shoes were so dusty and there was no way to clean them except with a faucet and paper towels. The moment was absolutely surreal!

I dejectedly started walking back to my Ford Explorer and suddenly the Holy Spirit strongly spoke to me within my spirit and said, "I've given you your father's anointings". There was a pause, only for a few seconds, and then the dam of my pain broke. I stopped and began crying harder than I had ever cried up until that point in my life. The deep wailing went on and on for several minutes. But little by little, I was realizing the magnitude of what the Holy Spirit had just done for me. My tears that had been from pain were now flowing from joy. The Holy Spirit began speaking to me, that what I had experienced was an event generated out of heaven for me and from Him. My shoes weren’t the real target. God had blown his breath into the ashiest part of me, my wounded soul, and began a process of beautification (healing and deliverance) in me toward my that day.

As I reached the car, the Holy Spirit also began impressing up me that no man's life is a complete waste and that even though my Dad had extreme issues, he was still valuable to God and had been gifted by Him. While sitting in my car, I remembered that my Dad's passions were as a writer and speaker. He constantly wrote about everything for which he cared, and his monster, home made desk was covered with yellow legal pads inked with his ideas. He loved to speak and prepared for his great moment by attending Toastmasters speaking club meetings for years. He always dreamed of changing society with pen to paper and great speeches. Presidents Nixon, Carter, Reagan and Bush Sr. all had an opportunity at reading my Dad's mail because he would boldly send his thoughts directly to the White House. I'm surprised the Secret Service didn't pick him up for questioning. Ha!

I got tired of hearing my Dad talk about all "that stuff" when he was alive. On this windy day, all I knew was, I had my Dad's anointing and it felt good to me. I could feel my faith for this "anointing" welling up inside of my heart.

The Holy Spirit had miraculously filled in the huge fatherly quality and quantity time gaps with His power. What should have passed down to me day by day from my Dad, but didn't, had made the leap across my anger and time disconnects associated with my Dad.

What solidified the miracle were my past feelings about "creative writing", "grammar" and "public speaking', given that my high school and collegiate experience was filled with literal dread of them. But, I had been given a surety of this newly given anointing.

Takeaways

There are some takeaways of this story that will be beneficial to you, if you find yourself in the same condition as I used to be. You see, I use to dread Father's Day too. But now, I look forward to them, because my soul is healed from my precious father's wounds.

Know this about my Dad. Physical abuse by my Grandfather became too much for him. And at 16 years old my Dad ran away from home having put my abusive Grandfather in the hospital for several days. This event stunted my poor Dad for 57 more years until his death. My Dad was a son meant to do great things, but his wounds, generational sins and judgement toward his Dad locked him down into habitual, barely bridled anger that was explosive. His father's sin passed down to him. Scripture says, God "visits the iniquity of fathers on the children to the third and fourth generation". This means sin isn't just haphazard. The enemy meticulously plans it and if the non-repentance door stays open, the devil and his dark forces can attack you and your children until someone repents and says, "the buck stops right here".

You will find revival in the following words. When I originally wrote them, I felt as though I was flying through the clouds with Jesus holding my hand on one side and The Father holding my hand on the other.

No matter what kind of Dad you've had, honor him for whatever good attribute you can find. Instead of being bitter at your father and his issues, repent by finding something positive. Embrace it, even if it is just one thing.

Never stop taking care of you father, no matter how poor of a Dad he's been. Give to your Dad even when he hasn't given to you. This will help stop the sowing and reaping cycle of judgment ("visiting sin") that might be keeping the spirit of misery empowered within your family. To do this you must allow the Holy Spirit to restore your heart to your Dad as written in Malachi 4:6.

Also, be, for your children, who you would have wanted as a child. If you have recurring issues affecting your children negatively, do something about it. Get some inner healing. Rejoin a church. Make solid men friends at church who know how to raise children and ask to be mentored by them. Humble yourself. Start pursuing God more deeply and your kids will start drafting off of your pursuit.

Repent to your wife and children for your past failings as a husband and father...all of them! If you are so blinded that you can't see your issues, ask the Holy Spirit to show them to you and trust me, He will be faithful to make them clear. Just know that if the blindness moves into "denial", the destruction of your family is imminent unless you make the right move.

Change!...for the good. "Set your face like flint" to reach your spiritual destiny here on this earth for you and your children's sake. Be a true patriarch, unshakable, strong, a wing of protection and shade under which your children can be at rest and peace no matter how hard marriage or life gets, like our God is to us. True fathers never, ever, never, ever give up, disconnect or run from the pain that can be associated with "family". And when you fail…forgive yourself and let Jesus wash you in His blood.

All of what I've just said is achievable only by the breaking of one's self-will and the bending of both knees to the Trinity...God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit...the perfect relationship. Just because you are a Christian doesn't mean this has happened.

Today, I still have the shoes (See Below). They've been resoled at least six or seven times and I'll NEVER throw them away. They'll always be covered with the memories and anointings of my Fathers.

I really do miss my Dad. The loving feelings I had for him as a child have fully been given back to me, through healing and deliverance. I wish Dad was still here. I would show him off to all my friends if he were still in his earth-suit, and I'd drive the 400 miles to take him to some fishin' hole on the water he loved so much.

[allwicca]

Pagan publishing in a changing world: an interview with Anne Newkirk Niven

By: Terence P. Ward FOREST GROVE, Ore. — Pagan magazine publishing might be considered a cottage industry, with a rich tradition that extends back to the days when newsletters were created on photocopy machines and shared ad infinitum among friends. BBI Media might not be operated out of an actual cottage, but it is one of the last remaining publishers of Pagan-focused print magazines in the United States, and it isn’t exactly an empire, either.

“We work out of our basement,” said Anne Newkirk Niven, whose company puts out both Witches & Pagans and SageWoman magazines. “People are surprised when they call and I answer the phone. It’s just my husband, my son, and me.” BBI Media has never been the sort of company that is headquartered in a gleaming tower with the CEO’s corner office providing a command view of the world below. It is more like a shining soapbox, a place where Pagans with something to say have been able to find an audience.

Through a number of magazine titles and a wide variety of blogs hosted at Pagansquare.com, Niven has provided opportunities for Pagan writers who may or may not be ready to publish an entire book.  She offers an opportunity for thoughtful discourse in a world where reaction often outpaces cognition.

Niven is unable put a date on when she first identified as Pagan, but estimates that it’s been about thirty years. “I’m an eclectic polytheist Witch,” she said. “I do think that different gods have agency, but I have a great fondness for the God and Goddess.”

She considers the fact that her livelihood is based on serving the Pagan community a great boon. “I’m very, very lucky and fortunate,” she said. “I’m sure a lot of people would like to dedicate their professional life to Pagan practice. It’s a great blessing.” “I had a copy of SageWoman, and cold-called the publisher,” she explained. The timing was right. The publisher “had just had one printed upside-down and backwards,” and was ready to try someone new.  After successfully printing it right-side up for several issues, Niven learned that the publisher had “hit hard times.”That blessing came in the form of opportunity or, as she put it, “I got into it by accident, but not entirely by accident.”  Niven was seeking clients for her husband’s printing business, and hand-printed ‘zines were all the rage at the time.

“I offered to buy the magazine with an inheritance from my mother,” Niven said. Three years after making that purchase, Niven took on editing responsibilities, as well, starting with issue 25. SageWoman now has 90 issues published, with Niven editing all those since.

“Don’t quit your day job,” Niven said, as a warning to anyone who wishes to follow in her footsteps. “You won’t draw a salary for a long, long time.”

Anne Newkirk Niven

Building upon SageWoman, a number of other titles have been created over the years: PanGaia, New Witch, Blessed Be, and Crone were all created as BBI periodicals. SageWoman and Witches & Pagans are the only two now being published by the company, and Niven said that there are no plans at this time to create any new titles.

What’s stayed the same through all the titles and all the years, Niven said, is the desire to “tell our stories to each other. Inspirational, relatively upbeat stories. That’s why we’re still around.”

Surviving as a magazine publisher alongside the internet is no small feat. Doing so while serving a Pagan community that is undergoing massive change adds another layer of challenge. “Paganism is more varied and complex” than when the first issue of SageWoman hit the stands, Niven said. “It was very Wicca-flavored, at least the West Coast Paganism I’m familiar with.”

She went on to describe a Paganism steeped in hippie counterculture, protests, and peace movements. It was in opposition to anything that had a whiff of “establishment” to it. “Now, we’re everywhere. Some are working on Wall Street, at least one is in the presidential administration, and there are Pagans in every profession. I even know several Christian ministers who are Pagan. It is no longer scary to say you are a Witch or Pagan,” she added, although acknowledging that the fear still exists in some areas.*

“In a sense, we’ve won,” Niven said, noting that she began this work in the heyday of Jack Chick, the Christian comic artist who died last month. “We no longer have to convince people that we aren’t going to sacrifice their children and cats; that’s no longer a mainstream belief about us. Mostly, we’re seen as harmless goofballs.”

As the number of Pagans has risen — Niven guessed that there are ten times as many as when she started on her path — being seen as “goofballs” is a “sea change” from when most people, as she said, “thought we were evil, or didn’t know we exist.”

She hopes that BBI publications has helped in some way.

While perceptions of Paganism among members of the general public have changed, so too have Pagans changed in how they view themselves. Recalling a time when nearly all Paganism was Wiccan influenced, Niven said, “In the ’90s, we thought it was the ‘old religion’ with an unbroken lineage. Metaphorically yes, but literally no. We now have more sophistication about our roots. That’s important, because it keeps fundamentalism down.”

A 1995 issue of PanGaia published a lengthy article debunking of the trope that nine million women were burned during the so-called “Burning Times.” Niven said that she is still quite proud of that piece. She did add that she likes the song that Charlie Murphy wrote about it, but said that “there are no winners in the victim Olympics.”

Awareness brings its own issues. Pagans, particularly Witches, are now a regular part of Hollywood entertainment. While that in part helps to normalize the idea of Paganism, there are consequences. “I get asked for spells like body-switching from time to time,” Niven said, not to mention requests for instant wealth. “I would have used that myself!” she said.

Today, Paganism has many branches that stem from Wicca, and many more that do not. Polytheists and Heathens do not always consider themselves Pagans, based on what they feel the overarching values associated with that label are. Niven thinks Paganism “resembles first-century Christianity,” in that there are many factions and a fair bit of theological squabbling.

“It’s very cool, and totally healthy,” she said.

Niven hasn’t been a member of an established group in quite some time, and in that way mirrors most of her readers. “I think about Paganism 60-70 hours a week,” she explained, “and at the end of the day, it’s time to have dinner, watch television or play a game.” Repeated surveys have shown her that most readers of BBI magazines also worship largely on their own.

“Back in the day, there was a theory that one became a Witch by saying so three times. Self-initiation is absolutely a thing. There’s no pope setting the rules.” In addition, most Pagans and others stuck with that label tend to bristle at the idea of hierarchy, she has observed.

In a sense, Niven thinks that the trend toward solitary practice is an historical aberration born of the current culture of individualism. “In a hundred years, or 200, it might transform again into set of more socially-controlled religions, and that probably wouldn’t be a bad thing.” Witches, however, will likely always have a solitary role to play, living on the edges of society and providing wisdom and healing to those who seek it.

Continuing to publish on paper also makes BBI Media stand out. “Paper is becoming a premium product,” Niven said, calling it an underrated technology that’s easy on the eyes and doesn’t require a power source. “Comparing paper and digital is like comparing cabbage and a banana,” she said, “they just don’t taste the same.”

Niven feels that paper is superior for long-form writing, and that’s what is mostly what is presented in her magazines. The bloggers at Pagansquare.com tend to write shorter pieces, which is suitable for that medium. Digital is much better for information such as phone numbers, where a search function makes the data more usable.

CC BY-NC-ND by emanuela franchini

Niven believes that there will always be an audience for paper. “The ecological footprint of digital is not zero,” she said, and BBI publications have been printed with soy ink on recycled paper for far longer than most people knew about those options. There’s also a number of her readers that prefer to peruse the magazines while in the bath, which can be tricky when using a tablet.

BBI became one of the last publisher of print Pagan magazines in North America last year, when Circle Magazine’s final issue was published. She attributes that not to any failing on the part of Circle’s staff, but to a difference in mission. “[Circle Magazine] was never their main ministry. Publishing is all we ever do. We don’t hold services, give degrees, consecrate, or initiate.”

What the hardworking people at BBI Media do instead is provide a platform for mostly positive pieces on Paganism, in all its many forms, including for people who don’t want to be called Pagan at all but would like to be heard by those who do.

[Author’s Note: This interview took place prior to the recent presidential election, and does not reflect any events that have occurred since that time.]

Terence P Ward

Terence P Ward is a moneyworker, journalist, Hellenic polytheist and convinced Friend who lives in the bucolic Hudson Valley with his wife, five cats, and multiple household shrines.

  The post Pagan publishing in a changing world: an interview with Anne Newkirk Niven appeared first on Familiar Territory.

from Pagan publishing in a changing world: an interview with Anne Newkirk Niven

[lovestructionworld]

Ashes to Beauty...Literally LFM #29 June 5, 2016

“Ashes to Beauty...Literally”

These are a few pertinent scriptures to the testimony below:

-Malachi 4:6 "He will turn the hearts of the parents to their children, and the hearts of the children to their parents; or else I will come and strike the land with total destruction."

-Luke 1:17 "And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous--to make ready a people prepared for the Lord".

-Isaiah 61:1-4 "The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion--to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations." Emphasis Added

ASHES TO BEAUTY...LITERALLY

When I was four years old my father left my mother and our home. From that time on, until he died, he lived four hundred plus miles away in South Bend, Indiana.

I can still remember spending that first night away form my father at my Grandmother's house, which became our home for several years, until my mother was able to get on her financial feet. I don't remember crying over my Dad leaving the first time. So, I must have awakened the next morning to the first of thousands of days with no man in my life.

I was too young to understand "divorce", "single parent family", and "broken home". I wouldn't be aware of the chasm of fatherlessness I had endured for at least twenty more years, because being without a father became my almost daily normal. I wasn't aware of what I missed.

Early on, my father would only visit, irregularly, every three or four months. At the time, I absolutely adored my father. When he would come, it would be all I could think about for the week prior to his arrival. And as soon as he walked through the door, I struggled having fun with him, because I so dreaded Sunday afternoon, which was his regular departure time. As he was leaving, I would cry and beg him to stay until I couldn't see his license plate. And for that night into the next day, I would be racked with depression. The pain of it was torture and created deep, hidden wounds within my soul.

When in town visiting, my Dad would stay with my mom and me. I would sleep with him just to be as close as possible for those short few days. In the mornings, I would sit on the edge of the tub to watch him shave and comb his hair. He would tickle me all the time and was very affectionate, always hugging and kissing my cheeks. He loved to fish, which eventually became a love of mine, because that's what we would do during many of his visits. And I always felt safe when Daddy was around. I was a true Daddy's Boy.

By the time I was a teenager, my father's issues became more and more apparent, and my tears dammed up as I learned to block the pain of the emptiness and of his leaving. I can remember starting to enjoy my friends more and really not wanting to be around him. Many, many times I commented to myself inwardly, as well as verbally to others, "I'm never going to be like my Dad".

Passively sowing judgment in my heart toward my Father's and his flaws became the norm. I reaped a harvest of trouble from this judgment of him, even though he "seemingly" had the more apparent issues. I'm thinking Jesus' vision corrective teaching on the 'specks' and "planks" would be appropriate here.

When I became an adult, he wanted me to visit him to go fishing and pushed me hard for this, but I always found a reason for not making the four hundred mile drive. Even though I was a Christian, I figured he wasn't good to me, so why should I be good to him, completely bypassing "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Little about me was golden with so much pain. I eventually cut off relationship with him and within a year, he passed away. It was the second worst decision of my life.

I barely shed a tear at the news of my Father's passing in 2001. Matter of fact, I know it sounds terrible, but I was relieved. Ouch! It’s true!

I took the trip up to attend to his body. He had wanted to be cremated, and the Funeral Director said it was illegal for me to transport his ashes across state lines. They had to send them to me via U.S. Mail. And when his ashes arrived at the Franklin, Tennessee Post Office, it was like I was picking up a used car part from a junk yard. I had zero emotion. I even saw a friend at the Post Office and made a joke about my Dad's ashes to his horror.

My Dad's ashes stayed in my utility vehicle for over 30 days. I would only think of them as I would turn a corner and hear them bang off of the opposite wall in the storage area. I eventually forgot that they were in the back until a friend asked me where I had scattered his ashes. He rebuked me strongly, when he found out his ashes were still in my vehicle. I laughed at Bob that day.

So, I made a quick plan to take and spread his ashes over some body of water on my way to Murfreesboro, Tennessee for a business meeting. I didn't care which one...lake, pond, puddle, whatever. It was what he wanted, but a pain to me. And I knew I was wearing a suit to a business meeting that day, making it convenient for me to gitterdone funeral style and to get Bob off my back.

I found a small public lake and removed his box of ashes from my vehicle. It was an extremely windy day, which was a little scary with me scattering ashes. But, I could tell the wind was straight-line and blowing out of the north in one direction making an easier aim of it.

As I walked out to the edge of the water, a thought (Holy Spirit's Voice) occurred to me to ask God for my Dad's "anointings". I wasn't real sure what anointings were at the time. I had heard of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob each giving their sons their 'blessings'. But what I heard was "anointings". So, I held the box of ashes, and maybe with a little tear in my eye, I said a prayer to God on behalf of my Dad. Arrogantly, I thanked God for the "little" bit my Dad had and I might get...anointing wise.

I had angled myself in such a way that his ashes would easily fly out across the water away from me. I drew the box back as one would draw back a Frisbee to fling, and then I fffllluung his ashes up into the wind.

Now two days prior, I had bought a brand new pair of $175, black, Johnson and Murphy, cap-toed shoes. I was so proud of those shoes and the first scuffs on the bottom of the soles happened that day. As soon as I sent my Dad's ashes flying, the wind made a strong and abrupt change of direction sending the ashes directly down and backwards. You guessed it! My brand new pair of Johnson and Murphy’s were covered in the grayish white ash of my father. My suit was relatively free of ash, but my shoes looked as though I had been walking in snow. So much ash had blown back onto my shoes that small bone fragments of my father's were even inside and along the crevices of my shoes making my walking prickly.

My immediate reaction was panic and to throw out multiple expletives, because I was so grossed out. Sadly, I was crying more about my shoe condition, than the loss of my Dad. I bounced around kangaroo-like and in panic for several minutes as I attempted to bang the dust off of my shoes to know avail. So, I started using my hands to try and brush off the ash. I realized, "now my hands had my Father's ashes on them". I finally gave up. My shoes were so dusty and there was no way to clean them except with a faucet and paper towels, which were no where in site. OMG...the moment…was absolutely surreal!

I dejectedly started slowly walking back to my Ford Explorer and suddenly the Holy Spirit spoke to me within my spirit and said, "I've given you your father's anointings". There was a pause, only for a few seconds, and then the dam of my pain broke. I began crying harder than I had ever cried up until that point in my life. This was an event generated out of heaven. My shoes weren’t the real target. God had blown his breath...His life giving Word...into the ashiest part of me, my wounded soul, and He began a process of beautification (healing and deliverance) in me toward my Dad. I could even feel a measure of healing within my vehicle as I pondered what had happened to me.

And as I sat there, God began impressing up me that no man's life is a complete waste and that even though my Dad had severe issues, he was still valuable to God and had been gifted by Him.

I remembered that my Dad's passions were as a writer and speaker. He constantly wrote about everything for which he cared, and his desk was covered with yellow legal pads inked with his ideas. He loved to speak and prepared for his great moment by attending Toastmasters speaking club meetings for years. He always dreamed of changing society with pen to paper and great speeches. Presidents Nixon, Carter, Reagan and Bush Sr. all had an opportunity at reading my Dad's mail because he would boldly send his thoughts directly to the White House. I'm surprised the Secret Service didn't pick him up for questioning. Ha!

I tired of hearing him talk about all "that world changing stuff" when he was alive. On this windy day, all I knew was, I had my Dad's anointing and it felt good to me.

This was a new feeling, given that my high school and collegiate experience was filled with dread of creative writing, grammar and public speaking. But, could I really have a heart, like my Dad, for writing, speaking and changing the world for the better? It seemed impossible, but I knew what had happened was a miracle. The Holy Spirit had sealed it with his obvious power move. He assured me of what he was going to do, even in all my fear. The enemy came to steal the passing of this anointing to me from my Dad. But Holy Spirit swooped in with His powerful love to take back what the enemy had stolen...So awesome is our God!!!

The moral of the story is this as you soon celebrate Father's Day 2016, you have all been given different kinds of fathers. Some of your fathers have been the kinds of men they should have been and other haven't. If the latter, honor your Father for whatever good attribute you can find. Instead of being bitter at your father and his issues, repent by finding something positive. Embrace it, even if it is just one thing.

Never stop taking care of you father no matter how poor of a Dad he's been. I absolutely regret cutting off my Dad, even though I had every worldly right to do it. Remember, your children are watching and so is your God.

Give to your Dad even when he hasn't given to you. This will help stop the sowing and reaping cycle of judgment that might be keeping the spirit of misery empowered within your family. To do this you must allow the Holy Spirit to restore your heart to your Dad as written in Malachi 4:6. Ask the Holy Spirit for this restoration with tears and watch Him begin to move.

And be for your children who you would have wanted as a child. If you have recurring issues affecting your children negatively, do something about it right now. Don't wait! Get some inner healing. Rejoin a church and begin serving. Make solid men friends at church who know how to raise children and ask to be mentored by them. Humble yourself. Start pursuing God more deeply and your kids will start drafting off of your pursuit. If you are refusing this, Google "Scripture", "Millstone" and "little ones".

Also, repent to your wife and children for your past failings as a husband and father...all of them! Change!...for the good. "Set your face like flint" to reach your spiritual destiny here on this earth for you and your children's sake. Be a true patriarch, unshakable, strong, a wing of protection and shade under which your wife and children can be at rest and peace no matter how hard marriage or life gets, like our God is to us. And when you fail…let Jesus wash you in His blood and forgive yourself.

If you are a Dad, who presently lives far away from your young children because of marital separation or divorce, find a way to move within a few miles, even if it costs your 50% of your salary. There isn't ever any excuse not to continue being a close by, active and nurturing parent. Two weeks out of the year on summer visits isn't enough. Every other weekend is difficult on your children, as well. There isn't an expectation of young children to sacrifice themselves for their parents in scripture. But, the opposite can be said of the parents of young children. There is a huge difference between a biological sperm donor and devoted father. Geographic distance creates the former and is the beginning of the disconnect between Father's and their children.

I've heard it often and flippantly said, "the kids will be better off if we divorce or if they divorce". These kinds of statements are what leads to the situations I've just mentioned above. What really makes children better off is having their fathers willing to honor their marriage vows no matter what severe issues arise with their wives. Children need Dads to find Jesus and humble themselves. Children always, always get the short end of the stick within their parents broken marriage. They pay the heaviest price for their parents new found, so called "freedom". I've experienced this and I've witnessed it among my friends and family. I'm concrete on the subject and am immovable from giving up these positions. Holy Spirit could have me bring to bear one hundred scriptures right now to prove this point. But so often the desire to alleviate pain overrides scripture in a believers mind.

All of what I've just said is achievable only by the breaking of one's self-will and the bending of both knees to the Trinity...God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit...the perfect Father/Son relationship. Just because you have said, "I believe in Jesus", doesn't mean this has happened. Christianity is a process and journey more than a one time event...per the "work out your salvation" scripture (Philippians 2:12).

Today, I still have the shoes as you can see below. They've been resoled at least six or seven times and I'll NEVER throw them away. They'll always be covered with the memories and anointings of my Fathers.

I really do miss my Dad. The loving feelings I had for him as a child have fully been given back to me, through healing and deliverance of the Holy Spirit. I wish Dad was still here. I would show him off to all my friends, and I'd drive 400 miles to take him to some fishin' hole on the water he loved so much.

Brian