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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 2

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~3,500 Summary: Outbreak day and adventures in babysitting. Lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut

Content Notes & Warnings: Man, oh, man, the Last of Us girlies are thirsty! This part follows the game/show fairly closely so there shouldn't be too many surprises. Just to forewarn you, this chapter includes a teenager fantasizing about a grown ass man (explicit, but short,) canon violence, & character death.

Austin 2003

You usually didn’t get into the school spirit, especially when it came to football. You played in the marching band at halftime, but weren’t usually invited to the afterparties. It was your senior year and the Bulldogs were headed to the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. So when your best friend invited you to a celebratory bonfire after the game, you figured it was probably the last chance you had to make fond memories of the place.

You drank a few beers while Cheryl and her boyfriend made out on the blanket next to you and listened to Mike Zurowski try to give an inspiring speech about how they would dominate the state championship. But after the first string running back took off his pants and streaked across the highway you decided you’d better leave before someone called the cops. You were just heading out when your phone rang. It was Joel Miller. You felt butterflies in your chest, wondering why he would call you so late.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetpea, It’s Joel. I didn’t wake you, did I?” he sounded tired.

“No,” you said. “We were out celebrating the big game. I was just heading home. What’s up?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to call so late,” he explained. “I’ve got to go see Tommy–is there any chance you could come keep an eye on Sarah? She’s already in bed, I just don’t want her waking up in an empty house.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. Of course it was for Sarah, it was the only thing that made any sense.

“Give me about 10 minutes. I’ll have Andy and Cheryl to drop me off.”

“You’re an angel,” Joel sighed.

“I’ll see you soon.”

The short drive was surprisingly harrowing; you nearly got pancaked by a fleet of firetrucks and emergency vehicles. You guessed some folks had partied a little too hard.

Joel already had his keys in hand as Andy dropped you at the curb. Thankfully, he seemed to be in too much of a hurry to notice you still reeked of Lone Star beer, despite the mints Andy kept stashed in his glove compartment.

“Thanks again,” Joel said, meeting you at the door. “Be sure to lock up behind me. Make yourself at home; help yourself to anything in the fridge. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Joel,” you said. “Drive safe; I think the drunks are out.”

You went to the kitchen and checked the fridge. You contemplated helping yourself to another beer, but decided against it. The Millers didn’t drink soda, but they always kept a few cans of Diet Coke on hand for you. You took a seat on the couch and turned on the television.

About half an hour into reruns of Dawson’s Creek, a car alarm started going off. You ignored it at first, but it just kept going. Finally you switched off the television and turned to peer through the blinds onto the street.

“What the hell is going on out there?” You murmured to yourself; finally the alarm went silent.

You climbed the stairs in the darkened house to check on Sarah, cracking her door open just enough to find her sleeping soundly in the bed. You closed the door softly. Your gaze drifted down the hall, lingering on the door to Joel’s room. A little voice in the back of your mind told you to turn around and go back downstairs, but he had told you to make yourself at home.

You tiptoed down the hall and put your hand on the knob, turning it slowly. The door creaked on its hinges as you pushed it open. You froze, listening intently, but all you could hear was a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance. Your heart was pounding as you stepped into the room.

There was an exercise bike in the corner, a full laundry basket with used towels and worn clothes spilling on the floor. You had never been in a man’s room before. Even at home, your mother devoted considerable effort to cleaning up after your father and brother. You noticed a framed picture of Sarah on the cluttered dresser along with an oscillating fan and radio. The bed was unmade, a striped quilt and dark sheets looking comfortably rumpled and inviting. You took a seat on the bed, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips. Against your better judgment, you laid down.

The bed smelled faintly of sweat and old spice. You closed your eyes and rolled over, pressing your face into one of the pillows. You liked the idea of sharing Joel’s bed. Not now, but in a few years. You’d be 22 when Sarah graduated from high school, Joel would still be in his early 40s. That wasn’t so unthinkable, was it?

A weight settled onto the bed beside you, warm and firm. A soft whisper of a moan by your ear. Your right hand followed the path of his as it snaked over your waist and between your legs. You reached behind you with your left, fingers twisting in thick curls. His breath was warm and his beard tickled the delicate skin of your neck as he kissed you. You felt safe. You felt peaceful. You felt loved.

You leaned into him as his mouth traveled across your shoulder and down to the top of your breast. You opened your legs so he could slip inside you, fingers stroking through your hot folds up and down and up and down as hips rocked into you. You felt a knot tightening in your belly. You wanted to feel him there. You pressed back into him. Your toes curled. You were so close; you were already so full of him, but you needed more. Just a little more.

You jolted out of sleep at the sound of the front door opening. Your face felt hot and flushed with sleep with one hand stuffed down the front of your jeans–how embarrassing. You pushed yourself up and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was after 2 in the morning. You had no idea what had kept Joel out so late, but you did not want him catching you in his bed with your hand down your pants. You jumped up, re-ruffling the sheets as quickly and quietly as you could before slipping out of the bedroom.

In the hall, Sarah’s bedroom door was open and her bed was empty. From the top of the stairs you could see the front door had been left hanging open as well.

“Shit,” you gasped, pounding down the stairs. “Fuck! Shit. Sarah! Sarah!”

You spotted her in the neighbor’s yard, dragging their dog toward the house by the collar. It was fighting her hard, like it didn’t want to go.

“Sarah!” you screamed. Your heart pounded as you ran to her. “What the hell are you doing?!”

The dog finally managed to slip its collar and took off down the street.

“Mercy!” Sarah yelled, lunging after the dog. “Mercy got out.”

You grabbed Sarah by the arm, harder than you intended. As you stood there on the dark street, there was a deafening roar. You looked up to see a plane flying low, too low. A wave of icy dread washed over you.

“Leave it! Get back in the house!” you yelled, pushing her in front of you as you rushed back to the house. “Now!”

Once you were inside and had locked the door, you took a breath. Sarah rubbed her arm with a frown. You felt terrible, realizing you had really scared her.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to yell. I just got scared.”

“What are you doing here?” Sarah asked. “Where’s my dad?”

“He had to see your Uncle Tommy,” you explained. “He didn’t tell me why, but he asked me to come keep an eye on you.”

Sarah went to the living room and grabbed the remote from the coffee table to flip on the television. The station that had been playing reruns earlier was now nothing but static. She began to scroll through the channels, still nothing.

You screamed at the sound of a key scraping in the lock and threw your arms around Sarah. The front door swung open, Joel and Tommy were on the other side.

“Jesus, you girls alright?” Joel asked.

“We’re fine,” Sarah sighed in relief. “You just startled us.”

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“There’s been an accident,” Joel said, breathlessly, pushing Sarah up the stairs. “Tommy’s going to take you home. Sarah, go get your backpack, come on.”

You remembered the morning of September 11th–sitting in the auditorium as the kids with parents at Camp Mambry got called out of the room–all the teachers would say was there had been an accident, a plane crash.

You watched with increasing anxiety as Joel disappeared up the stairs with Sarah. No more discussion.

“Come on,” Tommy said, ushering you out of the house. “We gotta go.”

You had met Tommy only a few times, but you knew him by reputation. He had served in the Gulf War and spent over a year in Afghanistan before an honorable discharge. Given that he was such a hothead, you sometimes wondered about the honorable part.

“What’s really going on?” you asked, as he climbed into the cab of the truck beside you.

“I don’t know,” he said, starting the engine and peeling out of the driveway fast enough that you grabbed on to what your mother referred to as the ‘Oh, Shit’ handle above the door. Somehow that answer managed to scare you even more.

“Are we going to be okay?” you asked.

“You just get inside and lock your doors,” he instructed.

You thought you heard a scream and turned to look out the rear windshield, straining your eyes in the darkness, but there was nothing.

“You got a basement?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah.” You met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Get in it,” he instructed. “You grab whatever food and water you’ve got. Take your family down there and seal up the windows and doors, you hear me?”

You nodded. You were shaking. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you wiped them away with the cuffs of your sleeves. You felt like you were going to be sick. Tommy’s driving didn’t help; he took the turn down your street hard enough to slam your body into the passenger side door.

“If they don’t listen to you, you make them listen,” Tommy warned. “Or leave them.”

You nodded. Tommy pulled into your driveway, slamming on the breaks just shy of running into the back of Paul’s Jeep.

“Get your keys out now,” Tommy instructed, he flipped on the overhead light as you fumbled through your purse with shaking hands. “Get inside, quick.”

You sprinted up the stone path and steps to the door. The porch light was off and you scrambled to get the key in the lock. After a few seconds the door finally swung open and you glanced over your shoulder to see that Tommy was still parked in the drive.

As you turned back, you realized Paul was standing in the hallway, but he didn’t look right–his head cocked to one side as he watched you. There was something in his mouth. He was covered in blood. It coated his arms and dripped from his chin, staining the white and gold of his football jersey.

You screamed. Paul ran at you, slamming into you like a freight train. You threw your arms in front of your face as he snapped at you like an animal, grabbing for your throat. You screamed again, trying to fight him off–he grabbed your breasts with both hands, like he wanted to tear them from your body. You knew you were going to die; you kept fighting anyway.

There was a deafening bang…

The next thing you were aware of, you were in the bed of Tommy’s truck. It was dark except for the headlight beams stretching out across a deserted cotton field.

“She ain’t family. Doesn’t mean she’s sick; I’m just saying we don’t know.”

You blinked, willing your eyes to focus. Tommy and Joel were standing at the tailgate speaking in hushed tones. Tommy had his rifle in his hands, not aiming it, but still too close for comfort.

“I know,” Joel said. “But she goes to school with Sarah–been with her all night. If she’s sick…”

“Sarah,” you started to panic, trying to push yourself up. Everything hurt; your arms felt like jello. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Daddy,” a soft voice called from inside the cab of the truck.

“You stay in the truck, baby,” Joel yelled. “Don’t come out here.”

You smelled metallic, copper penny. You were covered in blood. Whose was it? Your momma’s? Daddy’s? Paul? Your chest hurt from where he had grabbed you. He was so strong. How had you gotten away? Your eyes drifted back to Tommy’s gun.

“Do it,” you said.

Joel and Tommy both froze, realizing for the first time that you had been listening. That you understood they were debating what to do with you. Paul had tried to kill you; Tommy had killed Paul. Your parents, you realized, were almost certainly dead. And whatever happened to them, that was making people go crazy and hurt one another, would happen to you, too.

“Do it,” you repeated. You didn’t want to die, but if you were going to hurt someone, maybe even Sarah.

“Please. I’d do it myself, but I’m scared.”

“Shit,” Joel sighed, lowering the tailgate of the truck. “C’mere, Sweetpea. Come here, let me take a look at you. You’re gonna be alright.”

You inched forward on hands and knees. Joel ran his hands over your arms, your face, your neck, you weren’t sure what he was looking for. He took an extra moment, adjusting the collar of your shirt to examine the bruises blooming across your chest, probing them with his fingertips. You realized it was the first time he had touched you, not rough, but insistent, hurried.

“Open your mouth,” Tommy instructed, shining a flashlight into your face, still holding his rifle in the other hand.

You blinked against the bright light, opening your mouth.

“If she’s got it,” Tommy concluded. “She doesn’t look like the others.”

“You stay down and hang on,” Joel instructed, slamming the tailgate closed; he and Tommy got back in the truck. “We’ll head north and cut across toward Barton Creek.”

The road back into town was rough, but once you were back on the main drag things got a lot worse. Most folks were running and screaming–others had gone violent, feral, grabbing on to whoever they could reach and tearing them apart.

You were terrified that one of them might jump into the bed of the truck. You grabbed onto the handle of the big toolbox and hunkered down as best you could, squeezing your eyes closed while Tommy struggled to navigate through the chaos.

By some stroke of luck, you were thrown clear of the wreckage when the truck turned over. You must have had a concussion–you lost consciousness for a moment–your head was screaming but you were alive and as Tommy hauled you up by the collar of your shirt, you were able to get your feet under you and stand.

“Come on, girl,” he said with surprising tenderness. “You got this.”

Your vision cleared; Joel was digging Sarah out of the wreckage of the truck. Her ankle had been pinned, probably broken, and wouldn’t bear weight. You stumbled toward them and ducked under Sarah’s arm to help support her as Tommy went around to the other side of the truck to retrieve his rifle.

“Look out!” you screamed, watching helplessly. Tommy dove out of the way as a police cruiser slammed into the overturned truck. The officer inside slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving.

“Don’t look, baby,” you reached to cover Sarah’s eyes. “Don’t look.” You had read how seeing human remains could really mess a person up. You didn’t have time to wonder how what you had seen tonight would affect you.

“You go!” Tommy called from the other side of the wreckage. “I’ll find another way through.”

You and Joel started down the sidestreet supporting Sarah’s weight between you. You turned down the adjoining alley, trying to get away from the crowds and the chaos, and nearly ran straight into more carnage. Joel froze in place; there on the other side of the alley one of those things–you wondered when they stopped being human–was, well, you could only think to describe it as feeding. Like a vampire. You had never really cared for Tom Cruise. But its victim was still alive. He saw you, reached out for help with a low moan.

“Here,” you whispered, lifting Sarah’s weight into Joel’s arms, slowly, carefully. “Here.”

“Don’t,” Joel hissed back, holding Sarah in his arms like a new bride.

“Go,” you said, taking another step into the alley.

You didn’t know what you were going to do, but you had to do something. If sharing air and close contact with these things is what made you sick, then you were already dead. But Joel and Sarah still had a chance.

Then the thing sat up. You met its eyes and it met yours and you knew whatever it was, it wanted you. You had fucked up.

“Go!” you called, sprinting back through the alley after Joel and Sarah. You were just a few feet behind them with the thing closing in fast.

You did have one advantage that perhaps even Joel or Tommy did not. Like every girl you knew, you had devoted a considerable amount of your brain power every day to planning what you would do if there were a predator after you.

You followed Joel through the back door of an abandoned bar, pushing tables and tearing down stools into the path behind you as you went. The thing stumbled and clawed its way through–one leg jutting out at a sickening angle, but it still kept coming impossibly fast and unfeeling.

As you followed Joel’s path through the kitchen you used the extra seconds you had bought to push the standing cooler in front of the swinging door. It took all of your might–adrenaline flooding your body. But as you raced from the kitchen, you could hear the thing forcing its way through your blockade.

You heard a shot, staring down the road at a humvee and a soldier, but even with the thing chasing you clearly dead, he didn’t lower his gun.

“Take her,” Joel said, handing Sarah off to you. “Stay behind me.”

You lifted Sarah, she was too big to be carried like a child, but you cradled her with her legs looped around your waist, covering her head with one hand.

“What about Uncle Tommy,” Sarah said.

“He’ll be fine,” you said. “We’ll go back for him.”

The soldier was talking on his radio, you strained to listen, but your hearing hadn’t recovered from all the gunfire. Then the soldier was lifting his gun.

“Run!” Joel shouted. “Run!”

He was turning toward you and you turned to run, but then you heard the shots. Joel slammed into your back. You tried to hold on to Sarah, but you fell–all the wind knocked out of you–rolling down the hillside.

You pushed yourself up from where you had landed on your belly. You saw Sarah on the ground a few feet away, a dark stain spreading across the front of her shirt.

“No,” you chanted, scrambling toward her on hands and knees. “No, Sarah.”

Sarah moaned as you drew her head into your lap and pressed your hands into her belly.

“I have to,” you cried, pressing down hard. “I’m sorry. I have to.”

You didn’t even notice the soldier had followed you to finish the job until you heard the second shot and saw Tommy standing beside Joel with the rifle, the dead man at his feet.

Then they saw you, struggling to keep Sarah’s blood inside her. Joel lunged at you, pushing you off her. Sarah cried in pain as he tried to lift her. You watched as life drained out of her and she went limp in his arms. You felt cold. You felt sick. You felt numb.

“You’re hit,” Tommy said, kneeling down beside you. You didn’t know what he meant until he pressed his hand into your shoulder and searing pain ripped through your body.

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo

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jeremiah-fisher · 2 years ago

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you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「epilogue — yn, reader insert」

. . .

FEBRUARY

If I close my eyes and block out the noise around me, my mind swells with the memories of summer–out on the beach, sharing a sundae on the boardwalk, sitting around a bonfire singing along to nostalgic tunes.

Every morning, I sit at my desk and do this. Or at the very least, I attempt to. Some days are more successful than others.

I don’t know why I do it exactly. A part of me seems to invite the motion, beckons it closer until I have no choice but to give in. Summer in Cousins was more than five months ago. It’s winter now and I still cannot seem to shake it off.

This happens every year – this restive yearning – for time to go back. Back and back and back until it lands on the part I love most – my feet swimming through grains of hot sand, the sun on my back, my favourite person in the world calling my name.

I miss him; and I miss his brother, his mother, and all our friends. I miss everything.

“Okay, okay, everyone. Let’s calm down, shall we? You are all much too loud for 9 in the morning.” Mrs. Hurst pins her eyes on the group of boys at the back who are fussing over their Nintendos. “Boys, take a seat, please. We’re having a pop quiz today.”

The admission garners an appropriate response from everyone, including myself – a loud and collective protest. The boys start us off by groaning out, their deepening voices practically drowning out us girls who are mostly on our phones.

“But, Miss!” One boy – Silas – shouts. “It’s Valentine’s Day! We can’t have a pop quiz on Valentine’s Day!”

Mrs. Hurst straightens a stack of papers at her desk and smirks without looking up.

At a height of 5’10, our advanced calculus teacher is the tallest of all the female teachers in school. She’s also the smartest and funniest. More often than not, if you passed by her class, you would hear students laughing rather than crying, which given the title of the course she teaches is a completely valid reception.

“Who says?”

Silas frowns. “I dunno. Cupid?”

That little quip earns him more laughter and the black-haired boy eats it up like a delicious custard.

Mrs. Hurst walks up to him with a paper in her hand and places it face-down on his desk. Her semi-long, purple painted fingernail taps quickly on the sheet. “If Cupid swings by during the length of this quiz, all of you can tear up your papers. Deal?”

Silas’ frown deepens but he slumps down in his chair anyway. He knows he can’t win against Mrs. Hurst. Even though she is super cool and unlike our grouchy World History teacher, Mr. Peet, Mrs. Hurst is nothing if not adamant about her examinations. Pop quizzes especially. She says, in a lot of ways, they help her more than us. Because by making us do them, she can figure out which parts of the course we all need more help with and then she can allot more class time to that.

All of it makes sense, but we still hate it.

Once the quiz starts, Mrs. Hurst starts a timer. We have twenty minutes to complete five questions. There’s even a bonus question on the second page, which I promise myself I’ll do because I need the extra credit – no matter how miniscule.

Fraiser Mont accepted me as a student to their biotechnology program last month, but as it stands, any major dip in my GPA means I stand to lose the acceptance, a scholarship, and any chance of making sure I do right by my boyfriend. Jeremiah worked so hard to get in; into the school I wanted. I can’t devastate him by losing everything. I can’t do that to myself either.

Around the time I reach the fourth question, there are seven minutes left on the timer and I’m sweating it. Mrs. Hurst catches me lifting my head twice and panicking, and although she gives me a warm smile, it’s not nearly enough to silence the war raging within the middle of my chest.

I scramble to wrack my brain for the answer, to calculate the right answer as speedily as possible, when suddenly, there is a knock at the door. Mrs. Hurst walks towards it, her heels knocking hard against the floor, and opens the door to reveal two girls wearing an assortment of reds, whites, and pinks. On top of both their heads are halo headbands, and on their faces are smiles brighter than the sun piercing through the classroom window and hitting my desk just right.

“Hi, Mrs. Hurst!” Girl #1 greets. I recognize her as a freshman student on the junior girls basketball team. A few times a month, us varsity girls will coach them on our off-time. It’s a long-standing tradition at Helmshire High. “We’re here to deliver valentines!”

Mrs. Hurst appears flabbergasted. “Chloe, I thought you girls weren’t coming by until the second period.”

Chloe’s expression transforms into an awkward, almost apologetic state. “Sorry, Miss H. Principal Sri sent us out early.”

The girl next to her, whom I don’t recognize, smiles charmingly and holds out a single, red rose for our teacher. “Here you go, Miss H! Happy Valentine’s Day!”

A few seats away from me, Silas’ chair scrapes obnoxiously against the floor as he stands to his full height. Everyone turns to stare at him, including Mrs. Hurst, who watches as her student actually rips up his pop quiz. With that, everyone else follows and then it’s an uproar of students giggling in their seats while Mrs. Hurst shakes her head at us. The smile on her mouth speaks to the opposite of anger.

“Alright, girls,” Mrs. Hurst urges Chloe and her friend into the room. “Go spread love.”

The girls get right to it. Their skirts whip around the wind of their fast motions as they race around the classroom passing out roses, cards, and candy grams. The boys make an uproar every time one of them receives anything whilst the girls are deadly quiet, with some gossipping behind curved hands about who received the most flowers. In the end, Mehwish Odubi receives ten perfectly stemmed roses and a heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates.

Most of the girls congratulate her, including her best friends, but it’s obvious that not everyone is happy for her. It’s to be expected. Jealousy is a wretched thing. And so is envy.

I’m tearing my quiz in half when the second girl – who I now know is named Xinyi – runs back outside to grab something by the door. As soon as she comes back in, both the boys and the girls explode with questions and hollers. And as Xinyi starts to walk towards my desk smack in the middle of the classroom, the noise reaches an unbelievable level I’ve only heard before in concerts.

Xinyi grins as she hands me a bouquet of fresh daisies. “These are for you,” she says. “From a not-so-secret admirer.”

My classmates rush to encircle me, crowding my desk with their bodies and wide eyes and curious tongues. Emery leans into me, the strong scent of his cologne invading my nostrils, to peer openly at the bouquet in my arms.

“Who are these from?” He asks.

There is a card taped to the side of the bouquet but I don’t need to read it to know exactly whom these very specific flowers are from. The only mystery lies in how he got them to me in the first place. Not when he’s all the way in another state.

“Um,” I start, catching a few eyes, “these are from my boyfriend.”

“Daisies? On Valentine’s Day?” Emery tsks. “That’s weird as fuck.”

Mrs. Hurst chooses that moment to pipe in with, “Language, Emery.” Her heels sound off against the floor as she steps up to my desk. A few students scamper away with Xinyi and Chloe heading out of the room altogether. To me, my teacher says, “YN, these are delightful.”

“Thank you,” I smile, meaning it. I run my fingers along the tops of the flowers, my heart swaying and swelling and crying with love. I don’t know what strings he pulled to be able to get these to me, but I’m so happy.

As Mrs. Hurst starts to tell the class about a rescheduled pop quiz – much to Silas’ dismay – I find a moment to snap a photograph of the bouquet. I send Jeremiah the picture right away, with an ‘I love you,’ then I post the image to my Instagram feed with a caption I know my friends will clown me for later.

Jeremy: i’m the only guy in class who got cheeseburgers with his rose hehe

Jeremy: i love you too

Jeremy: forever and ever

. . .

MARCH

“Where’s Mom?”

My father raises his head from his Kindle to smile at me. His cup of steaming coffee sits idle next to him. He probably brewed a fresh pot. And knowing him, this is his third or fourth cup of the day. “Mom went out to visit Tanya,” he tells me. I try to remember who Tanya is and come up empty. My father seems to notice and chuckles to himself. “Her esthetician.”

“Oh,” I mumble, taking a seat at the dinner table. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“I’m taking a mental health day.”

My left brow rises in surprise “That’s a first.”

My father picks up his coffee and takes a sip. It’s pitch black. He never uses cream or milk. Whereas my mother cannot live without it. “It was needed.” He smiles over the rim of his cup. “So, senior year. How’s it going?”

I groan and lean back in my chair. “Do we have to talk about that?”

“As your father, it’s my responsibility to annoy you with these kinds of questions. So, yes.”

“Fine.” I stretch my palm out on the table. Our old, four-seat table we bought so many years ago and have had so many dinners on. I used to hate sitting here because it meant my mother would sit across from me and scrutinise every morsel of food I put in my mouth that wasn’t utterly vital to my health. Then after dinner was over, I would sneak snacks into my room and munch on them while binging Pretty Little Liars or The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. The memories embedded in the wood of this table are not all happy ones, and there is still so much crap my mother and I have to work through, but a part of me – a pretty big part – is glad I can still sit here with her because it means there is a chance for things to get better. “Dad… can I ask you a question?”

He sets his coffee back on the coaster. My father is the only man I know who uses an actual, honest to goodness coaster. Even when his wife isn’t around. “What about my question?”

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “We’ll get to it.”

He chuckles and nods. “Alright. Shoot then, kiddo.”

I brace myself for the inquiry sitting on my tongue. It’s a question which has bugged me for months, even since the start of last summer when my mother dropped the bomb on me prior to my first day of work at the country club. My mother was the one I spoke to about it when I could, but when it came to my father, I seemed to avoid it. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was scared to know what it meant in his words. Because it may have felt more real. “Why did you ask Mom for a divorce last summer?”

Almost immediately, my father clams up. I watch it happen before my very eyes – the way the wrinkles around his eyes tighten, the shakiness of his pupils, and the deadset tone of his frown. He appears ten years older then. Ten years worse for wear.

“Dad…” I coax, levelling my voice so he doesn’t shut me out. That part of myself I get from him, so I’m well-acquainted with how it looks and how it perseveres. “I deserve to know. Mom just dropped that news on me one day and I spent the whole summer being confused about your relationship with her. You two love each other more than anybody. I always thought you did.”

“And we do,” my father sighs, his shoulders sinking. He chews on his bottom lip for a second before letting go. “I will always love your mother. She’s my best friend.”

“So then…?”

“We were struggling with conflicting ideas about our futures,” he explains, craning his neck to look out a window. “When your mother and I met, we were both new to America. She was from her country and I was from mine. My grandparents had already been living here for close to a decade. I would visit them for holidays every year so I was more familiar with places like Detroit and Chicago than your mother was with any part of this country. This didn’t make my family happy. They wanted me to be with someone from here, someone truly American who could help me establish myself in business. But your mother… she was who I truly wanted.

Because of that, a rift grew between my family and us. I tried to make space for her and they shut her out. Those were the times I wished more than anything that my parents were still around. I knew they would support my decisions the way my grandparents and my siblings didn’t. Eventually, I left my family and your mother and I moved to Portland. Things were a bit better then, when you girls were just kids. But then…”

“Esmé got pregnant.”

My father nods. “Yes. Your mother was distraught. Not only about what Esmé was going to do, but with the way it would look to my family. They would blame her for being a bad mother. And then they did.”

“But you fought for her. I remember that. You told Grandpop to go to he–”

“We don’t need to rehash that,” my father chuckles, his eyes less stressed than before. “The point is, your mother became a verbal punching bag and that took a toll on her. I told her not to interact with my family but she did. She wanted you girls to know your great-grandparents and your aunts and uncles. But doing that led to her making choices I didn’t always agree with. Especially when it came to you.”

I swallow. The motion is a bit painful as the memories flood back in. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“But you weren’t always, and that wasn’t right. What your mother did… forcing you to be the perfect daughter… I got sick of seeing her treat you that way. I knew that the only way to wake her up from the madness was to go to an extreme. I told her that I would leave her if she didn’t make things right with you.”

The truth punches me right in the gut.

“Dad… I… I don’t know what to say.”

My father reaches out to pat the back of my hand. “I love you more than all the love in the universe, kid. And I love your mom and sister, too. I love our family. But sometimes, families have to give each other ultimatums. If only to wake someone up.”

“So you weren’t really going to…?”

He shakes his head and leans back. “No, not at all. I love your mother. I made a vow to stay by her side. I would never break it.”

My eyes water and I sniffle from the emotions built up in my chest. “Mom loves you, too.”

“I know,” he smiles. “The two of us are miserable without each other. Even when we fight.”

My father lets me return to my room at the conclusion of our conversation. But not before making me promise that he can take me out for ice cream tonight so we can talk about how my senior year is going. By the end of it, my heart feels so light that I’m looking forward to it. We still have our sports nights and the odd days when he decides to cook and makes me his sous-chef, but this can be a new tradition.

Back upstairs, I start to pick up my paint brushes so I can continue working on the art piece for Susannah’s birthday next weekend when my phone lights up with an incoming call on FaceTime. I answer it straight away when I see who’s calling.

“What’s up, blondie?”

Taylor scrunches up her face whilst Belly barks out a laugh. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“But, why? You are blonde again.” I smirk at her, teasing just to see her irritation fly in three-fold. “Is it permanent?”

“She was talking about going auburn yesterday,” Belly explains.

“Ooh,” I say, “with your freckles that would be so cute!”

“That’s what I said, too,” Belly agrees, nodding along.

“I’m not going auburn anymore, FYI. Mommy said it wouldn’t suit me,” Taylor adds in. “Plus, blonde is always popular. I’ll fit right in with all the girls in my sorority when I go to Finch.”

“Speaking of sororities,” I sing, falling back on my bed and holding the phone over my face. “Why do you wanna join one anyway? The pledge process alone kills people.”

“Not my sorority. They’re all about caring for animals and the environment. The worst thing I would have to do as a pledge is feed goats or something.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Taylor flicks stray hair off her face. “I read about it on Facebook.”

I turn to Belly. “Bells, are you joining this sorority?”

Belly shakes her head. “No way! When I go to college, I’ll be in a dorm with a roommate.” She bows her head. “There’s still so much time before college. I don’t know why Taylor’s thinking about it now.”

Taylor jumps to her own defence. “I need to be prepared, Belly. Sororities don’t just accept anyone, you know? They have standards.” There’s a momentary pause when I think Belly will respond but then Taylor is asking me a question. “YN, you should think about joining a sorority. Fraiser Mont has a really good one. Most of the girls from there go on to marry super rich guys. Like, Wall-Street guys. The ones who wear designer suits to work.”

I shake my head, too. “Nope. Not for me.”

“Why?”

“It’s not my thing. I don’t want to pledge my allegiance or whatever to some girls club. I’d prefer being in a dorm on campus and having a roommate, like Belly.”

“Won’t Jere join a frat, though?”

Taylor has me there.

Jeremiah has his heart set on joining Kappa Tau – an exclusive hockey-based fraternity ten minutes off campus. He learned about it from a few guys who were also gunning to join the hockey team at Fraiser Mont.

None of them were on scholarships, but they wanted to try anyway. Including my boyfriend who was giving after school practices his absolute best every week. So much so that I hardly spoke to him these days and we mostly texted, which wasn’t like us but in the grand scheme of things, it is a small sacrifice.

I lick my lips. “He wants to, yeah. I don’t know if he will.”

“Well, he should. Jeremy’s the kinda guy who’d do well in a frat.”

In a way, I know Taylor is right but it still irks me. Everything I know about fraternities – even the few good things – eventually circles around to all the horrors. The lives lost. The students and families scarred. My father’s friend’s son had to leave his university because his frat scared him so terribly that he couldn’t bear the thought of staying. So I worry for Jeremiah, and I feel bad for hoping he will change his mind and just get a dorm when I know that isn’t what he wants.

We talk for a bit longer then I’m back to hanging out on my phone alone. I answer a few texts about a party tonight, reply to Esme who has sent me a Dropbox link to pictures of Anya at her first ballet recital, and then, as I’m about to head into TikTok, an incoming call barges in.

Jeremiah’s face lights up the screen and I smile giddily as I go to answer it with equally cheerful fingers tapping along.

“Hey–”

“I’m so fucking mad,” Jeremiah interjects, his voice thundering through the speaker. I tighten my grip on my phone. “Fuck, I wanna punch something.”

That grabs my attention. “Jere, what’s wrong?”

“Better question is, what isn’t wrong.”

“Is it your mom? What hap–”

Jeremiah seems to fall back against something and it doesn't take me long to ascertain that it must be the beanbag chair he keeps in the corner of his bedroom. I’ve spent so many nights curled up on it, pretending to read but sneaking glances at him as he sat on the floor playing video games. “I was running drills when I got a call from my mom’s nurse,” he explains, frustration evident in each decibel of his voice. “Apparently, my dad couldn't get out of a last minute meeting to pick her up from the hospital. How fucked is that?”

“Wait, Susannah was in the hospital again? Why?” Deep down, I know why and I hate myself for asking why but when the question flows out of me, I can’t take it back.

Jeremiah sighs. “They’re monitoring her. She’s… weak. So now she has appointments twice a week.” He grumbles under his breath. “They didn’t even call my dad first. They called me. Because I’m her emergency contact. That’s how much she trusts him. Can you believe it?”

The ache in my chest threatens to rise up and choke me. I curl my toes in, and inhale slowly. “No. That’s so messed up. I’m sorry.” I swallow down the new pain in my throat. “How’s Susannah now?”

“She’s resting. Or sleeping, I guess. Said she was exhausted.” Jeremiah grows quiet for a minute and when he speaks again, my heart shatters. “Mom told me she’s sorry for being a burden.” He chokes on a sob, and the way it makes me feel is the worst kind of sadness there could ever be. “How can she think that she’s a burden? She’s my mom. I would do anything to keep her with me.”

“I know you would.”

“And she… she said she wants a caretaker. A hospice nurse. Laurel’s helping her look for one.”

A hospice nurse? I don’t know much about them but one quick Google search tells me everything I need to know.

Hospice nurses are special nurses who take care of people who have six months or less to live. They provide information, take care of the patient, and help the grieving family through a difficult time of loss. I’ve known Susannah doesn’t have much time left but hearing this, the reality of it and what it means about now and the future, it hurts. It’s the most depressing thing in the world.

I wipe my eyes and hope Jeremiah cannot hear my cries through the phone. The last thing he needs is to worry about my sorrow when he has enough of his own.

For a few seconds, I hone in on his breathing, listening to it intently. Jeremiah and I are always talkative, always the type of people who have something to say, but right now, I know silence is better. So I wait. And I wait and wait until I think it’s enough.

Then, ever so gently, I murmur, “Jere?”

He seems to breathe in through his nose. And he doesn’t hold back his tears at all. “I can barely recognize her some days. And sometimes… it’s scary to look at her. At her face. She doesn’t look like herself… like Mom…”

I reach down to pinch my thigh, to ground myself. “She’ll always be Susannah. The cancer can’t take that from her. She won’t let it.”

He sniffles. “I wish you were here.”

I don’t hesitate when I go, “Okay,” then stand to my feet and grab my overnight bag from my closet. The one I put together for moments like these when time would be scarce.

“Huh?”

I grab my phone charger and stuff it in my bag. Then I grab my jacket and scarf and walk out of my bedroom. I can hear the television playing downstairs, a comedy channel, and my dad’s telltale laughter. “I’ll drive down,” I tell Jeremiah. “And I’ll pick up pizza and wings along the way. From Anderson’s.”

“YN…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain it to my dad. It’ll be fine.”

“But don’t you have that big chem test on Monday?”

My heart swarms with love for him. I had mentioned it in passing. Jeremiah doesn’t usually remember stuff I tell him, especially not dates, but he remembered this. “I’ll find time to study when I’m there. See you soon, okay?”

He sighs, but it’s a relieved kind of sigh. I can imagine him smiling. “Okay.” I start to say goodbye when a thought occurs to him and he adds on, “Don’t forget: honey garlic and sweet chilli wings.”

Playfully, I let out an uncharming scoff of disbelief. “Who do you think I am? Like I’d forget your favourite.”

He giggles, and that lights me up from the inside. “Love you.”

“The feeling’s always mutual, Jeremiah Fisher.”

. . .

APRIL

“Mom,” I groan as she hands me yet another red-toned dress. “Please. I can’t put on another dress. I’m tired!”

My mother shakes her head at me as she deposits another two dresses in my arms. In utter frustration, I pout at her like a child, and she gives me the old ‘do as I say’ look she has perfected over the years. I grumble under my breath then shut the door to the dressing room.

I wouldn’t mind putting on another few dresses if it didn’t mean that I had to stand and wait for my mother and sister to discuss it over the phone before we could make a decision. Esmé had work and even though she was supposed to drive up this weekend, she couldn’t so now I’m stuck with my family spinning me around like a doll.

I don’t know how to tell my mother I have a dress picked out already. It was the first one I saw when I walked into this shop. The very last mannequin in the window was wearing it. It's very light, almost baby blue in colour. The bodice is extravagant with 3D flowers littered across; and the skirt is long, sparkly, and made of a soft tulle. It’s also off-the-shoulder, too, which I know Jeremiah loves to see me in.

After everything we have been through since last summer, I want to be able to tell my mother what I want without worry or fear. But I can’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because I hate making her think I don’t love what she loves for me. Esmé never gave our mother the chance to see her attend prom. This great, big, flashy all-American high school event she had watched in the movies growing up. She always told Esmé that she wanted to take her dress shopping someday, stand behind a camera on prom night snapping photographs, then staying up late wondering if her daughter was having fun with her friends.

If I say ‘no’ to her now, I’d be just like my sister.

With a sigh, I open the door to find my mother on the phone with Esmé. She turns around as I make my way towards the grand mirror in the hallway between the rows of dressing rooms. I stare at myself through the glass, wondering why no shade of red seems to suit me. Or maybe it’s the fact that my emotions hate all these dresses besides the one I’m hung up on.

“Esmé, what do you think?” My mother holds up her phone to show my sister the dress I’ve adorned.

Esmé’s voice comes out a bit crackly, but I can tell from her tone alone that she isn’t exactly fond of it. “I’m sure you can find something better.”

While my mother and sister converse, the dress calls out to me again, and for some reason, I don’t hold back and let the silent voice pull me in. A store clerk follows me, supposedly to ask me if I need any assistance, and when I tell her I want to try the dress on the mannequin, she happily obliges. Then it’s in my arms and I’m debating if walking back to my mother with it is worth the conversation we will have.

I’m surprised when my mother comes to me.

“Oh, that’s beautiful!” My mother gushes, her fingers gently caressing the fabric. Her eyes find mine. “Let’s have you try it on.”

I hold my breath the whole time I’m in the dressing room, then I struggle to breathe as I walk out. My mother isn’t on the phone with Esmé anymore and it seems to get quieter around us despite the moving bodies of other girls searching for the perfect prom dress.

My mother lays her eyes on me and I’m taken back to that time in the fifth grade when my whole class performed Christmas songs in the school gymnasium and my mother couldn’t stop smiling at me, grinning from ear-to-ear as if she had never been happier in her life.

“YN, this dress…” her words seem to leave her as she stares at me.

Nervously, I pat the skirt, trying to straighten out the fabric. “Is it okay?”

“Better than okay. It’s perfect, sweetheart. You’re beautiful.” My mother touches the top of my head and smiles warmly. “Let’s get it wrapped up, hm?”

I’m buzzing with newfound excitement as my mother swipes her card at the register. I want to hug her so bad, though I’ve done it twice already. If I do it one more time, I think I might just latch onto her like a koala.

“Okay, done,” my mother says, turning on her feet to smile at me. “Let's put this in the car then drive to that Viet place you love.”

My eyes widen. I’m probably happier now than I was when I saw the dress. Food can do startling things to the human mind. “Roxanne’s?! Really?!” I haven’t eaten at Roxanne’s in years. Probably since I started high school. It’s the best Vietnamese restaurant in the whole state. The restaurant isn’t even called ‘Roxanne’s,’ but that’s what our family calls it since the owner – Roxanne Bui – became friends with us since we visited the place so much. After my mother became obsessed with my weight, we stopped going altogether.

My mother nods, her excitement seemingly equal to my own. “Yes, really. Let’s go.”

We start to head for the door. In my head, I’m dreaming of all the dishes I want to order, especially bahn koht. I reach for the long, golden handle belonging to the door when the opposite side opens and reveals someone I wasn’t expecting to see. Or rather, I was hoping I wouldn’t see.

Even though Ashlyn and I share two classes this term and one last term, the last thing we do is talk. After returning from Cousins, and still not receiving a response from my supposed best friend, I gave up hoping that we could figure us out. I don’t know what happened with us, whether I said or did something to push her away or if her wanting Jeremiah for herself more than she wanted a friendship with me became too difficult to ignore. Regardless, our friendship is gone, and I don’t think either of us wants to find it again.

Still, when her eyes catch mine, I smile and she gives me a smile back, and then I leave the boutique feeling freed.

. . .

MAY

Nona, Susannah’s hospice nurse, is exceptionally talented at painting fingernails. So much so that when I show up at the Fisher residence at 11 AM on the Saturday morning before prom, ready to spend the next few hours hopping from one place to the next with Susannah, Nona lets me know that she will do our nails from home. The night before, Susannah had thrown up multiple times and that had left her visibly weak.

The effects of the cancer are evident in every part of Susannah’s body. Despite the number of times I have seen her since the summer, even the times I was too scared to, seeing her now is the worst of all.

Her hair, once so bright, is a tangle of blonde strings barely sticking to her head. I only see it when she doesn’t wear her wig, which she has grown accustomed to doing a lot more often. Her face is sunken in, too, and her skin has lost most of its colour. Nona is constantly placing blankets and shawls around Susannah’s shoulders to keep her warm and somehow, it’s never enough.

It’s only her smile that’s the same. The one thing which never changes. The cancer will never take that from her. I see it in everything, in all the ways she tries so hard for Conrad who is quieter now than he was in the summer, for Jeremiah who smiles back at her as if nothing has changed at all, and for me, too, who ends up crying in the bathroom whenever the emotions catch up to me.

“Nona, do you know how to do a blow-out?”

Nona perks up at Susannah’s question. Her legs, smaller than both mine and Susannah’s, rush over to my side to inspect my hair which I’m still drying using one of Jeremiah’s old t-shirts. I smile at Susannah. I can’t believe she remembered how much I wanted a blow-out for prom. We used to talk about it all the time.

Susannah loves to talk about anything feminine, and growing up, Belly and I took full advantage of this fact. Whenever our own mothers didn’t want to talk about the girly stuff, we would race to Susannah, plopping down on the sofa bed in her room while she got ready for a night out. Laurel would already be dressed whilst Susannah would still be figuring out which earrings best went with her dress. Often, she would give Belly and I a turn choosing her jewellery. I always liked picking her necklaces best because she had so many pretty ones.

One time, Belly was with the boys at the mall when I had broken my ankle, so all I could do was sit around and talk with Susannah while she peeled tangerines for me at the dinner table. I was colouring in a picture of Cousins Beach which I had spent so long drawing, and Susannah was telling me about prom.

“I was very popular in high school,” Susannah had said. I believed it. I could see Susannah being the most popular girl at school. The one all the girls wanted to be and all the boys wanted to be with. Susannah had that thing about her that made you want to be in her presence as much as possible because her goodness was so good that some of it spilled onto you eventually. “I had many offers for prom.”

I grinned at her as I held my red brick pencil crayon. I was going to use it to colour in the mailbox at the end of my house. “Really? Who did you go with?”

Susannah beamed at me as she popped a slice of orange into my mouth. “Thomas Capaldi. He was the most beautiful boy in school.”

Susannah was always doing that, calling boys ‘beautiful’ instead of handsome. She said that some boys were like that. The word ‘handsome’ couldn’t encompass the breadth of their appearance. Thomas Capaldi was beautiful the same way she thought her husband was, and Conrad was, and Jeremiah was, and Steven was. Susannah said that if you loved someone, they became beautiful to you because you saw them as a whole instead of just in parts.

“Did he bring you a corsage?”

Susannah nodded. “A pink rose. I think I have pictures somewhere.” Then she got up to grab her laptop where she kept all her old pictures, but I was already back to colouring. When she came back, I had a question for her.

“Susannah… do you think a beautiful boy will take me to prom even if I’m not beautiful?”

“Oh, honey,” Susannah said, gently running her fingers through my short hair. My mother had made me cut it short, just under my chin, a week before. She was tired of cutting bubblegum out of it since that summer I grew obsessed with the candy and almost always dragged it into my long strands. “The best kind of beauty is in a person’s heart, and beautiful people always find each other. And you know what? You’re so beautiful inside and out.”

I smiled at her. Whenever Susannah said anything, it felt like fact. Like the best kind of truth. I believed her so quickly that I forgot about the sadness that led me to my question in the first place. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon colouring so many pictures that we had to throw some of them away in the end. Susannah kept my first one, though, the one of Cousins Beach and the next weekend, she had it hanging up in a frame in the family room.

“I can definitely try my hardest, hon,” Nona says, turning to Susannah who gives her instructions on where her hair tools are kept.

When she’s gone, I ask Susannah a question that has been playing on my tongue ever since I arrived at her house. “Did you eat today, Susannah?”

Her smile is hesitant. She nods, slow and quiet. “I did. I had a blueberry muffin.”

“Do you want me to make you something?” I ask quickly, thinking about how a blueberry muffin isn’t nearly enough for her. I bite my bottom lip to keep my tears at bay. I wonder how many meals she has skipped or hasn’t been able to keep down. “I can order in, too.”

“Jere’s bringing food later,” she explains, giving me another smile which doesn't reach her eyes. “He’ll end up eating too much before tonight, that boy.”

I let out a breath. “Okay.”

Susannah reaches out to touch my hands. I shuffle closer to her so she can hold me any way she wants. Her fingers are frail, but her palms are warm. Her eyes full of hope as she brings them to mine. “Take lots of pictures at your big dance. I want to see them all when you get back.”

“I will. I’ll take so many pictures, you’ll get sick of seeing them.” Susannah laughs and I laugh, too. “I’m a little nervous.”

“What about?”

“I… I don’t know. I just am.”

I don’t know how to tell her that if I don’t do prom perfectly, I might end up hurting her. Belly had had her junior prom last weekend and Conrad had messed it all up. Jeremiah told me about it, whilst Belly couldn’t talk about it for more than a minute before clamping up. Even Taylor couldn’t get her to open up about it. All any of us knew was that Susannah had basically pushed Conrad into taking Belly then he had hardly made an effort to make her happy when they got to her prom. He tried to blame it on being tired from college classes, but we all know how Conrad has been ever since Susannah got sick again.

Susannah squeezes my hand. I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders as a result. “It will be the best night ever.”

I nod because believing her is the most natural thing in the world. I believe her when she says I’m beautiful, when she says Jeremiah loves me most, and when she says will get better. Because believing her is the only way I can still hold onto any hope that she’s right.

. . .

Jeremiah and I are in the back of the limousine he and his friends ordered a few weeks ago, and he won’t stop sniffing my neck. I keep pushing him off but he’s like a puppy. The other girls in the limo are busy with their own dates and their own friends, and I’m the kind-of-sort-of outsider with a boyfriend who’s latched onto her for eternity.

I open my Instagram to see a bunch of new posts from friends. The uppermost post is from Aiden. He has an arm around a gorgeous girl in a purple dress and he’s kissing her cheek while her eyes squeeze shut. The caption reads, we’ll be @ mcdonald’s later.

Quickly, I double-tap on the post then type out a short comment expressing my excitement for both of them. I only met his girlfriend briefly before I left Cousins, but from what I knew of her, she’s sweet and exactly his type.

I turn my phone towards my boyfriend. Jeremiah lifts his head to look at what I’m showing him. “Aiden’s having his prom tonight, too.”

Jeremiah makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. “Why’s he on your Insta?”

“Because we’re friends,” I respond, pulling my phone back so I can slide it into my purse. “And you should be thanking him. He knew I was in love with you and pushed me in your direction instead of keeping me for himself.”

This seems to strike a chord with my previously lazy boyfriend. His mother had been right–all that Pakistani food had made him lethargic, but suddenly, he has enough energy to bring me closer to him until I’m practically in his lap. He places his lips on the top of my ear, soft and gentle, though his words speak to the opposite. “There’s no way in hell he could’ve had you. You’ve always been mine.”

“Not always…” I tease, giggling as he takes a bit of my ear in his teeth and pulls. Then he starts kissing down the back of the same ear, hitting all the spots which make me sigh out for him deliriously. I scrunch up the fabric of his pants, trying not to moan out loud. “Jere, we’re–”

He sinks his teeth into a patch of skin just below my jaw. Then, his whisper flows right over it. “Always.”

. . .

JUNE

The call arrives early in the morning. Too early. Early enough for the sun to be missing from the sky. Enough for my heart to beat so wildly in my chest that my mother refuses to let me drive when I try to rush out of the house shaking and sniffling in the driveway in just a big t-shirt and shorts.

My mother never speeds. Not ever. Even if she’s late for an appointment. But this morning, she does. She speeds and she crosses two red lights without a care. All the while, I’m glued to my phone with Steven on the other line keeping the speaker on.

I don’t call Jeremiah even though it’s the only thing I want to do. I hear his frantic voice in the background, trying to make Conrad tell him what’s going on, but his older brother is quiet as ever.

At the hospital, the nurse upfront doesn’t let me go to Susannah’s room. I try to explain that I’m a family friend but she isn’t having it. It isn’t until Steven comes down to sneak me in that I finally make my way to the third floor where Susannah is. The moment I see her, I find myself freezing at the doorstep.

There is barely anything left of her, of Susannah Beck, the most beautiful person there ever was. All I can do is stare at her, from where she can’t really see me, between all the people she’s surrounded by.

Steven walks up to his mother and Laurel immediately brings me into the group, settling me next to Jeremiah who is holding Susannah’s hand so tight that I’m afraid it may break.

“Susannah…” I whimper, trying my best not to cry but when Belly lets out a sob from behind me, my own tears rain down my reddened cheeks. “Please…”

Jeremiah falls to the ground, sobbing into their intertwined hands, while Mr. Fisher sits with his own hands on his face on the sofa chair closeby. Conrad is staring out the window, his shoulders tight and worn down from the anguish of so many months of this.

It hurts so much. It hurts more than anything ever has before. I try to think of a pain worse than this, of a broken bone or a cut lip, and nothing, absolutely nothing compares to the pain of watching the person you love most take their final breaths.

Susannah smiles, and it’s so bright that the rising sun behind her pales in comparison. Her hand squeezes Jeremiah’s, and her soft, blue eyes cast over all of us one by one. At this point, my mother is standing by Laurel as she trembles with sadness. “I’m so happy I got to live a life where I was so loved,” she says, trying to smile some more so we all feel it, know it, the way she wants us to know it and know it forever.

All year, I dreamed about us – the mothers and the kids – being together again – like we were in Cousins. But not like this. Never like this. And I know Susannah feels bad about that, too, even in her last moments, she wishes she could have done better by all of us.

A tear slips out of her right eye and melts against her pillow. Conrad is by her side now and he wipes it away for her. Susannah holds his gaze for a moment, telling him something the rest of us cannot decipher. Then she turns to us again.

“Always love each other and don’t forget me,” she says. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” we all murmur, so many whispers in a room so quiet that they sound like screams. But if they’re anything, they’re the promises we will keep forever.

Susannah takes a breath, satisfied. Then she gives us another smile. “I think I want to sleep now,” she says, and the words are so weak, they hardly make it out of her parched lips.

“Mom,” Jeremiah cries, somehow knowing, somehow hoping against, the last words his mother ever speaks. Conrad comes around to grab him by the shoulders, and I move away to give the brothers space to mourn their loss. “P-Please… Mom…”

And then, we are all crying.

#the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher #you and me #tsitp #jeremiah fisher x reader #conrad fisher #belly conklin #fan fiction #jenny han #jeremiah x reader #tsitp x reader #jeremiah x you #fanfic #jeremiah fisher fanfic #tsitp fanfic #tsitp x yn

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odditycircus-2002 · 2 years ago

Text

When You and Jimmy Crystal Married

You didn't notice the tension with your band much as you and Jimmy were busy with the media losing their minds over your and Jimmy's engagement. You and Jimmy were soon swarmed with paparazzi taking pictures, live interviews, and interviews for magazines. For a few months, you two were the hottest topic; whatever you were doing, somehow someone brought up your engagement.

If you're being honest, you were kinda getting sick of that sort of attention. Yet, Jimmy on the other hand was more or less thrilled by the attention, reasoning how great this whole thing is for both of your reputations, including your band's.

All of this is not to mention how busy you were with planning your wedding for the next few weeks. You hoped for something small and intimate, with close friends and family invited. Granted, he wanted to go big with it, inviting over all sorts of theater bigwigs and celebrities, business associates, and reporters. He wanted almost clinical perfection, from the seating arrangements down to the napkins. You didn't really get much of a word in the planning, and when you try to bring it up, Jimmy would assure you he just wanted to give you the whole shaboodle.

"I just want to make this big day perfect for you."

And you believed him.

Of course, he didn't stop you from choosing your bridesmaids/best man. Despite the unseen strain with some of them, that didn't stop your friends/family from being excited for you to be getting married. Or you have a bachelorette party including a bonfire, some (slightly) illegal fireworks, and nearly everyone getting blown up by said fireworks if it weren't for the fact you were near an ocean. Needless to say, you may have singed yourself slightly.

You couldn't have been more ready to explode as you clutched your bouquet of sunflowers and (Favorite Flower). Your attention is fixed on Jimmy, waiting at the altar so you may officially call each other husband and wife. Despite having your (happily crying) father walking you down the aisle, you had half a mind to break from his grip and sprint to the altar as your beating heart demands of you. On the other hand, you were glad to have your father holding on to you because, you could've sworn your knees vanished into thin air, leaving them like jelly. You're also pretty sure you may vomit from how many knots and butterflies manifest in your gut.

Luckily, you didn't, as you made it to the altar just fine. Although, you could barely remain still as the officiant went through the usual spiel. All the while Jimmy gives you a soft and loving look into your heart eyes. He's able to smoothly speak his vows to you, in contrast to you, who more or less stuttered out yours with plenty of passion. Jimmy shouldn't be surprised, but he's caught off guard when the officiant that he may kiss the bride only for you to literally sweep him off his feet to plant a big kiss on his lips. He isn't complaining though as he just kisses back in response, much to the delight of both your friends and families. You also could've sworn that one of your cousins shot off a confetti cannon from the sounds of a BOOM followed by raining confetti, which mixes in with the thrown rice.

You were able to invite your band/friends and some family members, including your parents. In fact, you and Jimmy first met each other's folks at your wedding! Jimmy's folks were more on the stoic side, his father being a tall wolf with all the warmth of a marble statue and his mother being that of a regal queen. You felt talking to them was like talking to the cool kids back in high school, only this was with in-laws.

Your folks were very much the opposite, as they were pleased as punch to finally meet your dear Jimmy. In fact, it was your father who straight-up bawled when he witnessed you and Jimmy tie the knot while your mother basically held him, also teary-eyed. They welcomed your husband with open arms into the family, given how he's one of them now. Well, until either death or he breaks your heart, your father jokes with a smile that seems just a bit too friendly. A smile that made your new husband choke back on a whimper, but you laugh off.

You didn't think much about your father's threat/joke during your honeymoon with Jimmy on his yacht while out at sea to enjoy the tropical islands. Such as enjoying dining with your husband while watching the breathtaking sunset, before cuddling up to him as you both stargazed and chatted for hours. Jimmy claiming as much as he loves sunsets and sunrises, they don't compare to rising and setting with you every night. You damn near tackled Jimmy off the boat when you embraces him.

During that trip, you and Jimmy would go snorkeling at the coral reefs and scuba dive to an underwater city occupied by more aquatic folks for sightseeing. You and Jimmy loved being able to watch an entire aquatic performance underwater including, glowing squids, octopi playing drums, and dolphins doing acrobatics.

enjoyed all the perks at a resort where you were determined to try EVERY activity offered there, much to your husband's chagrin as you dragged him to every single one. That's not to say he hated them all, as he did enjoy the couples dancing class, marimba, and spa. He never thought he'd enjoy a seaweed wrap so much! He always loves hearing you sing as well, so karaoke hours weren't so bad as well, given how pride would swell in his chest as he watches you perform up on stage, sometimes singing songs with him in mind, making him fall for you all over again.

"That's my wife up there!"

You once heard Jimmy shout after you finished a song, causing you to smile widely and give a sheepish laugh.

Not surprisingly, you also would drag him up to the front of the crowd to sing a duet with you as you gaze deeply into one another's eyes.

Although he won't admit it and will take it to his grave, he did work a bit even during your honeymoon, specifically whenever you two were separated or you were too occupied to notice. He justifies to himself it wasn't too much though! Just a few minor emails and phone calls here and there, and helping out with some last-minute details, that's all! Besides, what you don't know won't hurt you...

After your honeymoon, things were more or less the same with both you and your band, you would say. Granted, you and your band sometimes would squabble amongst yourselves over financial, marketing, or creative differences. You also couldn't help but notice how YOU were getting a lot more attention from the public over your bandmates. Sure, you were always more or less the face-man of your band, but the fact this attention was also pushing your friends to the sidelines is something else. But you could easily talk with your husband to help fix this situation.

Right?

Playlist while writing:

"La Vie en Rose" Cover by Emily Watts

"I'll Never Not Love You" by Michael Buble

"Everything at Once" By Lenka

"Trouble is a Friend" by Lenka

"Love the Way you Lie" By Eminem and Rihanna

#Sing #my last post was actually gonna be longer but I broke the character limit for that. I know #Sing2 #My writing #jimmy crystal #sing jimmy crystal #reader insert #x reader #Jimmy crystal x reader #sing 2021 #sing illumination #Sing movie #sing 2016 #reader headcannons #reader hcs #Crystal Wolf #Sing Illumination

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honor-of-apostates · 2 years ago

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Magic Schools

Below the break you will find the various different magical schools you will find on Honor of Apostates! Unlike the other glimpses into the lore that we've provided, we've included the entire guidebook page for the different schools and levels within that school.

Interested in playing a legendary magic user? Keep following us for a glimpse into the canon list, where the legendary magicians of the site will be found!

School of Nature

Rooted within the faith of The Keepers and in turn the natural world, this school of magic is heavily focused on elemental magic. There are some that have found ways to bend this magic into the realm of conjuration and alchemy but as a whole these branches are looked down upon. It is possible to learn these magics without having to be a member of The Keepers, although due to the secretive and protective nature that The Keepers have regarding their knowledge, this is also extremely rare.

Nature Novice:

A novice magic user within this school would be able to harness basic elemental spells, like controlling a babbling brook or being able to conjure small licks of fire at their will. Novice magic users would also be able to conjure small animal spirits for a brief amount of time. They would also know basic alchemical spells as well as basic poultices and potions.

Nature Intermediate:

An intermediate magic user within this school would be able to harness a deeper understanding of the elements of the world at large. They would be able to manifest groundwater from the earth, and be able to control a bonfire. Intermediate magic users would also be able to conjure animal spirits for a longer amount of time, these would appear to be more corporeal than those of novice users and may even be able to be controlled. They would also know more intricate alchemical spells and more stable poultices and potions.

Nature Expert:

An expert magic user within this school would be able to harness elements nearly at will. They would be able to control and disrupt the flow of rivers, manifest fire, and even make the earth shift. Expert magic users would have the ability to conjure animal spirits that would last until their concentration was broken or the animal was 'slain'. These animals would appear real, and could even go and do their own bidding for a time. They would also have an expert understanding of alchemical spells as well as craft nearly peerless poultices and potions.

School of Darkness

Rooted within the beliefs of The Children of Aogusm, this school of magic is heavily focused on control and dominance of both fellow humans and the world as a whole. There are few aspects of this school of magic that benefit beyond the use of the individual. A selfish practice, the users of this school are always seeking to prove themselves as better than the next.

Darkness Novice:

A novice magic user within this school would be able to conjure simple illusions to either obscure their presence or help to persuade someone to side with their cause. Because of their basic grasp of this skill, most would be able to see through this attempt, and for that reason most magic users only focus on using illusions to disguise their paths or themselves for brief periods of time. Novice magic users would also be able to manipulate freshly dead bodies for a brief period of time, often used as a distraction or a chance to gather information. They would also know basic divination spells, and have a slight ability to enchant items with short lived buffs.

Darkness Intermediate:

An intermediate magic user within this school would be able to conjure more complex illusions. They are able to be more convincing in their manipulations of a person's thoughts but when the effect wears off the person affected would know a spell was the cause of their thoughts. The quality of their illusions is much greater than a novice, and often lasts longer. Intermediate magic users would also be able to manipulate corpses of the dead both recent and a few years dead. Because the control is more lasting, intermediate users often use the dead as servants or lookouts. They would also know more complex divination spells and be able to create enchantments that last longer.

Darkness Expert:

An expert magic user within this school would be able to conjure illusions that seem effortless and almost at the will of the gods themselves. It is said that they can make their suggestions into the minds of their targets appear like ideas formed naturally not by force. Expert magic users would be able to manipulate both corpses and skeletons of the long dead to do their bidding with long lasting spells. This makes it so the expert magic user could send undead servants off to either fight or fetch what they require. The further away they get from the magic user, the easier it is to sever the connection and in turn terminate the spell. Even as an expert, great concentration is required for necromancy of that potency. They would have an expert understanding of divination spells and be able to create enchantments that would be both long lasting and extremely potent.

School of Light

Rooted within the beliefs of The Archon, this school of magic is heavily focused on order and the protection of those the user deems worthy. With abilities rooted in such selfless magic, there is a subset of magic users within this school that have learned to wield light itself as well as conjuring aspects of holy warriors that fight alongside them. Most magic users within this school look upon spells as prayers to the Archon and only use the power if it could be of benefit to another.

Light Novice:

A novice magic user within this school would be able to create a shield of light for a brief period of time. At this level the shield would be able to protect from some projectiles as well as hand to hand combat but would not be able to stop arrows or swords. Novice magic users would also be able to summon a brief flash of white light that would be more of use in a distracting capacity. Their conjuring ability would be slight, able to manifest a quick shaft of light that might resemble a figure. They would also have a basic knowledge of healing magic, being able to mend small cuts and aid in fighting infections.

Light Intermediate:

An intermediate magic user within this school would be able to create a shield of light that would last for a longer duration and be able to repel slow moving attacks with weapons. The shield and it's duration would be based upon the amount of attacks sustained, and would be bright enough to bring attention to its existence. Intermediate magic users would also be able to summon a bright column of light that will not only serve as a distraction but can also knock unprepared combatants down. Their conjuring ability would be greater and grant them the ability to summon a slight warrior or the vestige of a weapon of light for a brief period of time. They would also have a greater understanding of healing magic, being able to mend larger wounds as well as mending broken bones.

Light Expert:

An expert magic user within this school would be able to create a shield of light that would last for as long as they can focus on its existence, with the shield being able to repel most attacks and projectiles. The duration of this shield is reliant heavily on the concentration of the user, and if it is broken the shield as well will fall. Expert magic users would also be able to summon a knight made of light to either fight alongside them or for them in battle. This figure would be able to stand and fight against the finest knights of the realm, although strong it is fragile, shattering like glass with the right attack. They would also have an expert understanding of healing magic, being able to heal grave wounds to the point of bringing a person back from the brink of death seemingly effortlessly on the magic user's part.

#honor of apostates #original rp #jcink #jcink buzz #jcink premium #site buzz #fantasy rp

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welcometothemurdercapital · 2 years ago

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The Bonfire

Fem!Reader X David

A/N: The last installment of the Date Night stories, Date Night, Night at the Arcade, and Overlooking the City. This took the longest because I find David the hardest to write for, so I hope I did him justice and didn’t mess with his character too much.

Date night with David

David was the clear leader of the boys and had a reputation around the boardwalk as the stern guy with a ‘too cool for anything’ attitude. The boys were a staple on the boardwalk and David could always be seen in the middle of the group silently watching people pass or gearing up to cause trouble. Very few were actually brave enough to step up to the boys, but David was especially intimidating with his nonchalant attitude and confident demeanor.

Whenever she was with the boys, particularly when she was saddled up behind him on his bike or under his arm as they walked, people would look at her with either looks of jealousy, usually those who found the boys attractive, or confusion, probably wondering if she was with them by choice. She didn’t pay them any mind as they had no idea what was going on between them.

David wasn’t a fan of copious amounts of PDA, but he had no issue staking his claim on her whenever they were on the boardwalk. There was no question of who she ran with and everyone, even the surf nazi’s, knew not to fuck with her. Occasionally someone new to town or a tourist would try their hand at flirting or let a gaze linger for too long and David would appear from seemingly nowhere and make it known she was taken. Whether or not they ended up on a flyer depended on how respectful they were to the rejection.

Despite his tough attitude, she knew he could actually be affectionate; in his own way. He didn’t show his affection in traditional ways, hand holding or public kisses, but he showed it in ways that were uniquely David. He showed it in how he always made her feel safe, cared for, and protected. Even when she couldn’t see him, she knew he was nearby based on how people reacted to her. People always seemed to give her space and no one seemed to give her any grief. She never had to want for anything because if she just mentioned something, that she was hungry or that she liked something she saw in a shop, then suddenly it appeared before her. David was a great provider, for both her and the boys, and it was one of the many reasons she loved and respected him.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from her night with him as he could be unpredictable. He had once taken her for the classic dinner and a movie date, but he ended it with moves that made her thankful there was no one else in the theater. Another time he had taken her to the local lovers lane where they spent the whole night just talking and cuddling against his bike. David could turn things on a dime so she always had to be on her toes with him

“So where are we going?” He was being uncharacteristically quiet, and it was slightly unnerving her. He wasn’t nearly as energetic as Paul or Marko, but he still carried a dominant energy that included telling her what to do or what he had decided they were going to do leaving zero room for discussion or debate. There was none of that tonight; he just led her to his bike and they were off.

“You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” He called back never taking his eyes off the road in front of him.

“I would hope not with the amount of reminders you’ve been given recently.” She felt his chest bounce with his quiet laugh but he didn’t answer her question.

He pulled off the road into a small clearing between the trees. Probably any other time she would’ve been more wary of being in the forest in the dark, but she always felt safe with David, with any of the boys, and knew that he would protect her from anything that would try and harm her.

“Here we are.” He pulled up to a small clearing and killed the bike. She knew they were at a popular spot for bonfire parties due to its seclusion. Her eyes scanned the bonfire space, taking in the various chairs, blankets, and coolers of food. The whole scene was very un-David like and it threw her off.

“Did you do all this?” He looked around and did a half shrug, which was more in character for him.

“Sort of, the occupants were dinner. I just messed with a few things here and there. Mostly getting rid of the bodies- not the most romantic.” He downplayed his involvement, which didn’t surprise her. Despite enjoying attention on him, she knew he thrived when people stared at him, he often downplayed things he did.

“So, you do have some sort of concept of romance.” She was merely teasing him; she’d seen his romantic side countless times through his small gestures. He was always very conservative with his words, opting to show his love through actions. There hadn’t been a night that had gone by where she didn’t feel his love.

“Don’t let the boys know.” He smiled at her. She loved his genuine smile; it was so soft and genuine that she melted every time she saw it.

“Come on, this is the cleanest spot.” He said sitting on the log and gesturing her next to him.

She watched as he dug through the various coolers to find food and drinks, laughing to herself as he cursed the previous owners.

“Can’t even have decent beer. Cheap assholes.” He muttered pulling out a can of Drewrys extra dry beer. Once he was satisfied enough with what he found, he passed her a hot dog and can of beer. Not her usual diet, but thieves can’t be picky.

They ate with idle conversation, David mostly complaining about their taste in food, but she didn’t pay that any mind; she was just happy to be with him.

“I like this.” She said cuddling into his neck, breathing in the heady scent that was uniquely him; cigarette smoke, gasoline, ocean air, the slight tang of copper, and his own unique musk.

“What? Eating other people’s food? I’m not sold on this bunch. I mean, honestly, who puts mayonnaise on a hotdog.” He sneered looking at the hotdog in his hand causing her to giggle. “They made for better food then they actually brought with them.”

“No, your softer more carefree side.” She smiled at him. “I understand you often have to corral the others and be the voice of reason, but I truly love when I get to see this side of you.” He smiled down at her and sweetly pressed his lips to hers.

“I love you.” He said softly. Her smile widened and she brought her hand up to cup his jaw and kissed him again. She lightly tugged on his short beard hairs causing him to moan into her mouth. It had initially surprised her when she figured out he was into hair pulling, but she took every advantage of it she could.

“I love you.” Out of all the boys, David said ‘I love you’ the least so she couldn’t help it whenever her heard it, her heart would skip a beat before going crazy. She didn’t mind that he didn’t say it often though, much like Paul’s constant horniness, Marko’s proclivity for fighting, or Dwayne’s quiet demeanor; she loved David for exactly who he was any she wouldn’t change a thing about him.

“So you’re happy? With us I mean.” He threw his arm over her shoulder and brought her flush against him. He was comfortably soft underneath all his layers and she nestled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Unbelievably so. It’s almost surprising to find such comfort and stability in a place full of grifters, drifters, and runaways.” She quietly laughed. When she had arrived in Santa Carla, what felt like ages ago at this point, she had no idea what was waiting for her. She never would’ve imagined this would be her life with four great men who loved her and looked after her. What was supposed to be a short stop on her journey turned into a permanent home and she thanked her lucky stars everyday.

“Good.”

“Where did that come from?” It wasn’t like him to bring up emotions and matters of the heart.

“I just wanted to make sure. We’re not the traditional hot guys all the girls want. I know we all just want you to be happy.” She stared at him in disbelief as she tried to process his words.

“I know you can’t use a mirror, but you guys are the epitome of the hot guys that all the girls want. You must not be aware of all the dirty looks I get whenever I’m around you.”

“Too busy glaring at all the guys who stare at your ass.” He retorted.

“Well it’s true. You guys are all fucking hot. That said, I’m incredibly happy not just your looks, but your personalities. You guys are the greatest people I know and I wouldn’t trade you for anyone in the world.” She said trying to convey how much honesty and conviction she was feeling through her words.

David was silent for a while as he stared at her, almost as if he was reading her thoughts. Eventually a slow smile grew on his face and he shook his head.

“This is getting too sappy.”

“You brought it up.” She defended. He nodded in concession before grinning at her.

“We could always fuck right here.” David suggested with a wiggle if his eyebrows, looking more like Paul than himself. She wasn’t even surprised by the quick turn in conversation. He wasn’t one to dwell on emotions for too long.

“Oh yes,” she began sarcastically, “all this dried blood in such a mood setter.”

“Doesn’t bother me at all.” He shrugged as he easily pulled her into his lap.

“No surprise there. However, I’d like to think I’m a little classier than that.”

“Oh really? Need I remind you about that one time on the boardwalk on those tables where-”

“Alright, alright. I get it. Not the classiest woman out there.” She said clamping a hand over his mouth to stop his little trip down memory lane. She could feel his grin behind her hand. Once she was sure he wouldn’t continue, she dropped her hand to see him still grinning at her.

“I’m just saying, I’m always available.”

#the lost boys david #david x reader #tlb david #david the lost boys #kiefer sutherland #David tlb x reader

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gladerscake · 4 years ago

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Tipsy

(Gally x Reader)

Fluff, fluff, come and get your fluff! I’ve always had a soft spot for unplanned confessions, so here’s my take on it. Enjoy!

Bonfire night. You always loved those. Those rare yet precious moments where all the gladers, including yourself, had a chance to unwind, have fun, and forget about the horrors that lurked beyond the maze walls. For just a few hours, you could let your worries trickle away and divert your focus to the few things that brought you genuine happiness. The crackling of the fire, the soft rhythmic beat of the makeshift drums, your friends and their laughter as they cracked stupid jokes and stumbled around after having a few too many sips of Gally’s secret recipe.

You chuckled under your breath as your gaze trailed down to the jar in your hands. The taste wasn’t something your particularly enjoyed, but the drink served its purpose well enough. It helped you relax, elevated your mood, gave you a light yet plentiful buzz that made you feel all warm inside. A part of you was positively curious what was in it, but even after being close friends with Gally for months, the tough Keeper of the Builders still kept it under lock and key, and not even you could pick it open. Maybe one day he would tell you…

“Come on, Y/N, it’s a serious question!”

Minho’s slightly slurred words reached your ears as he sat propped up on a log across from you. Newt, Frypan, Winston, Clint, and Jeff were all close by as well, forming a little chatting circle.

Your brows quirked upwards as you realized you had completely missed the last few minutes of the conversation, including whatever Minho had asked.

“I’m… Sorry? What question?” You tipped your head to the side, intently eyeing your friend.

The Runner rolled his eyes, pairing it with a playfully annoyed grunt as his dark eyes fixated on you.

“Is nobody here your type? No one at all?”

You blinked in surprise. You must’ve been really caught up in your thoughts, because you had no idea how things had veered in this direction. The slight buzz you had acquired suddenly had very little power over the nervousness that grew within you. In a fervent attempt to subdue it, you took another hasty sip from your jar before letting out a strained laugh.

“What’s it to you, Minho? Are you just upset that I don’t have a crush on you, or…?”

Minho scoffed, shaking his head “Nah, I’ve already had plenty of time to accept that sad and unfair truth, process it, and move on.” Nonetheless, a mischievous grin grew on his face “I just wanna know! There’s like forty shanks here, and you’re not into anybody? Not even a little bit? I’m sorry, but I find that a little hard to believe!”

“Yeah!” Winston piped up, shifting a bit closer with palpable interest. “There has to be someone!”

“Come on, we won’t tell!” Frypan chimed in as well, taking a hungry bite of his bacon strip. “Who is it, she-bean?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and it definitely wasn’t just the drink’s fault. The sudden inflow of attention from the boys and their urge to pry into your heart and see who occupied it made you want to curl into yourself, hide your blushing face, and avoid that question at all costs. Not only because you didn’t feel nearly drunk enough to openly discuss it with your friends, but also because you knew the answer…

You swallowed, thickly, as you stole a quick glance at the only guy capable of making your pulse quicken, your stomach fill with warmth at the sight of his content smile, your skin erupt with goosebumps at his smallest touch. Your closest friend, who you have had the carelessness to fall for, deeply and thoroughly… Gally.

The burly boy had just finished wrestling one of his fellow builders, another unsurprising and easy victory for him, and slumped down on a log a few feet away from you and the guys, evidently deciding on having a break. You fought back a grin as you watched him wipe a few beads of sweat off of his forehead and adjust his dark brown leather wrist guard before taking a swig of his renowned drink. You couldn’t recall a single instance where you didn’t find him attractive. To you, Gally had no bad angle. Everything about him drew you in like an unseen force, making you see him in a light that was hidden from everyone else.

“Helloo…? Earth to Y/N?”

“Who are you staring at?”

Newt and Minho’s voices quickly returned your attention to them, your gaze darting away before anyone had a chance to follow it. Thankfully so.

“No one! I-I just really don’t know what to tell you guys!” You released a nervous chuckle, taking another sip, slightly bigger than the last.

“How about the truth?” Minho cackled, his eyes already a little bloodshot. “You know what, it’s fine, you don’t have to give us the name! You can just… describe him, or something?”

You scoffed to yourself, averting your eyes to your half-empty jar. How would you describe Gally? Tall, muscular, devilishly handsome in his own unique way, forever hard-working and responsible, strict when he needed to be, but still fun to be around and talk to. Someone who made you feel so completely safe, like nothing and no one could harm you as long as he’s around. On cue, you began to feel your heart beating faster thinking about him, and once again, you tried to drown it out with another gulp of the mystery substance.

“Right.” You rolled your eyes at the Runner “Let me just describe him to all of you, because you surely would never figure it out!”

“So there IS someone! Ha!” Frypan exclaimed, comically fist-bumping the air, rapidly causing you to realize the mistake you had made by admitting to it.

“I knew it! We all knew it! Is it one of us?” Winston asked in a half-joking manner as the others chortled.

“You wish…” You muttered, doing your best to ignore the burning of your cheeks while scooting slightly backwards in an involuntary attempt to remove yourself from the situation. Fortunately, Newt noticed the tension pervading your form, and being the kind and compassionate friend he was, took it upon himself to come to your rescue.

“Oh, lay off of her, would you?” The Second-in-Command delivered the guys a halfheartedly warning glare “Let the lady have her secrets. Even if there is someone, it’s really none of our bloody business, is it?”

Despite still itching to prod further, Minho decided against it with a defeated groan, putting his palms up in a ‘whatever’ motion.

You exhaled in relief as the boys finally moved on to another topic, a small appreciative smile curling your lips as you mouthed ‘Thank You’ to Newt. The lanky boy merely chuckled, sending you a friendly wink as he brought his jar back up to his lips for another sip.

Before you knew it, another hour had passed, and by that point you knew you were sufficiently tipsy. You were more giggly than usual, finding even the silliest of your friends’ jokes funny, the warm buzz spreading throughout your limbs and making you a bit lightheaded. You were about to reach for another jar that Minho had at the ready for you, when your eye was once again caught by Gally.

Sitting down on the ground, his back leaning against the log, broad shoulders relaxed as he stared at the dancing fire, seemingly deep in his own thoughts, his expression reading tranquility. The golden radiance of the flames cast a beautiful glow onto his freckle-littered skin, the bright specks reflecting in his bluish-green eyes. In that moment you swore he looked even more gorgeous than usual and you just couldn’t bring yourself to look away. You wanted to go over there, to sit next to him and feel him swing his strong arm around your shoulders, like he had done plenty of times before, to bask in his comforting scent of earthy musk and sawdust. You wanted to, but in the state that you were in… You didn’t know if you trusted yourself to be close to Gally without blurting out the truth about the nature of your feelings for him. You weren’t entirely sure whether he saw you strictly as a friend or not, you believed there was a chance that he might want to be something more too, but… it was risky. In the event of him not returning your affection, your friendship would inevitably be put in a rather tricky and uncomfortable position, and that was the last thing you wanted.

On the other hand… What if he did return it? What if he had been contemplating making a move as well and just didn’t think you would want him that way? What if the only thing stopping you from getting everything you wanted was your own hesitation?

Maybe it was the drink providing you with that bit of extra courage you desperately needed, or maybe your silent yearning for him was beginning to feel too unbearable, but the very next moment, with a hushed ‘Excuse me’, you felt your feet carry you over to the unsuspecting builder.

“Hey, where are you going?” Minho’s face was plastered with confusion as you suddenly disappeared from his sight. Newt swiftly grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could follow you, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Leave her, mate. She knows where she’s going.”

Your heart paced faster with every step you took towards Gally. You didn’t know how much you were ready to tell him, had no perfect words prepared, but it didn’t bother you, not enough to make you think twice and turn around while you still had the chance. You just wanted to be near him, and as for the rest… in your slightly liquor-hazed mind, you decided to let fate decide.

The Keeper’s shoulders twitched in surprise as you quickly lowered yourself down to sit next to him, a touch of a nervous grin tugging at your lips “Hey, you…”

Though your appearance was sudden, Gally welcomed it, gladly. He always enjoyed spending time with you. You eased his often overworked mind, made him smile, your presence filled him with a warmth and comfort he could never associate with anyone else. Mostly because no one else made him feel that way for as long as he could remember. You were special to him, entirely special, and he frequently wished for the day he would have the guts and the words to tell you how much you meant to him… he hoped that day would come sooner rather than later. It’s been a few months since he came to the realization that his feelings for you had grown beyond just friendship. He had no idea what to do with it, but deep in his heart, he knew he wanted something to change between the two of you. As fun as pining from a distance was, he could feel every fiber of his being calling out for more.

A gentle smile, one that was exclusively reserved for you, brightened Gally’s features as he turned to look at you.

“Hey there, princess.” He quickly took notice of your flushed cheeks and slightly hazy, yet sparkling eyes “Having fun?”

You felt the weight of his strong arm upon your shoulders as he nonchalantly wrapped it around them, just like you had predicted he would do, a soft giggle escaping your lips at the gesture “Just a reasonable amount…”

Gally chuckled in response “I’d hope so. Why’d you leave the guys?”

You pursed your lips, pausing as you tried to come up with a reason. Though you and Gally were close, you usually hung out with the others at Bonfires, while he tended to stay close to his builders, mostly to keep an eye on them and make sure they didn’t get too drunk.

“Oh, it was just getting a little… noisy?”

Gally’s eyes glinted with amusement “Yeah? Was Minho laughing too hard at his own jokes?”

You released a light laugh at that, the sound of it bringing a content grin to Gally’s lips. He loved being able to make you laugh without ever really trying.

“Something like that…” You grinned in return before resting your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself a moment to revel in his closeness.

Although it wasn’t the first time you’ve done that, the feeling of you leaning into him in such a way made the builder’s heart palpitate, bringing a treacherously vivid blush to his cheeks. On instinct alone, he gently pulled you closer, almost tucking you into his side with underlying protectiveness.

You swore you could stay just like this, all night and all day. Safe and warm under Gally’s arm, his earthy scent and the barely audible sound of his steady breathing coating you with absolute serenity. He was the only one who could make you feel like that. The only one you wanted to hold and be held by.

Without you even realizing it, the words tumbled from your mouth on their own, before you could consider them “You’re so wonderful… I love being with you, I want….” You drew in a small breath before finishing your thought “I want to be with you…”

It was quiet, just a small murmur against his shoulder, yet Gally heard it clearly, and it hit him with the force of an avalanche. The softness of the words you so effortlessly breathed made his cheeks engulf in a deeper red, his heart leaping up to his throat. For a moment he thought he had misheard you, that his own relaxed mind was playing tricks on him, but… he didn’t mishear. You wanted to be with him? If you meant it the way he thought you did, then this night might take an unexpected turn and make him the happiest he’s ever been. However, as much as he wanted to hope for the sincerity of your statement, something within him was nudging to believe it was merely a side effect of your mildly intoxicated state.

He tipped his head towards you as he fought back the burgeoning blush on his cheeks and pulled on his best attempt at a lighthearted grin, trailing his gaze over your smooth features “How many have you had, princess?”

You giggled at his question, knowing full well your words had not been caused solely by that. A part of you wanted to panic at the reckless confession you let escape you, but what could you do? Apologize? Say you didn’t mean it? Take it back and jump away from him? None of those options appealed to you, so you settled for the only remaining one. Which was acting like everything was completely normal.

You mustered a grin to match his own, looking up and meeting his inquisitive gaze “One…”

Gally quirked a skeptical brow, coaxing yet another giggle from your lips, right along with the truth “Okay, three, but that’s not-“

“Three?” Gally chuckled, incredulously, shaking his head. He had to admit, he was impressed by your ability to stomach his concoction so well, but he knew, better than anyone, that three was more than enough. It was confirmed as soon as he noticed the way your eyes were beginning to droop. If only he knew that it wasn’t the drink making you drowsy, but the comfort and warmth you felt from his embrace…

“Alright, I think it’s time to get you to bed, huh?” He stated rather than asked, promptly taking his arm off of you and pulling himself up to his feet.

The immediate loss of his contact made you frown, your forehead creasing in protest “What? Noo, I’m fine, I’m not even sleepy…” Alas, just as the last word left you, you had to cover your mouth as you felt a yawn coming up, betraying you completely.

Gally laughed, deeply, offering you his hand to help you get up “Nice try. Now, come on, let’s get you to your hut, before I have to carry you.”

‘Wouldn’t be the worst thing…’ your mind echoed as you, reluctantly, complied, taking his calloused hand and letting him pull you up.

After a short walk to your hut, Gally followed you inside, wanting to ensure you were okay and had everything you needed before you went to sleep. He watched with a small affectionate smile as you climbed onto your bed, stretching out and releasing a soft hum. You hadn’t realized how tired you really were until you laid down, your snug pillow cushioning your head.

“Okay, maybe I am a little sleepy…” You mumbled, quietly, already feeling like you were about to doze off.

Gally’s smile grew as he approached the bed, covering you over with your blanket and tucking you in with ginger care. Your hushed words from before still reverberated in his head. He couldn’t just forget about them, he wanted to know exactly what you meant, but he knew now wouldn’t be a good time to bring it up. You were tired, and tipsy, and you needed to rest. His questions could wait until tomorrow.

Your heart melted at the way he took care of you, like he always did. Always there to make sure you were comfortable and safe, it was one of the things you appreciated about him most. No one else treated you with the same heartfelt attention he did.

“I meant it, you know…”

The builder’s eyes widened at the faint sound of your voice. Apparently he didn’t have to wait to bring it up… you were already doing it for him. He swallowed, resting his arms on either side of you as he sat down on the bed, his intent gaze meeting your slightly clouded eyes.

“Meant what…?”

“You know what…” Your delicate hand timidly reached down to cover his larger one “What I said… about wanting to be with you. I meant it, Gally…”

He wanted to take your words to heart, wanted nothing more than to believe you, wanted to envelop you in his arms and tell you how long he’d waited for you to tell him that, but… He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, Gally brushed his knuckles over your smooth cheek with utter tenderness, leaning down just enough for you to hear him as he whispered “Well, if that’s true… then you’re gonna mean it tomorrow just the same. And then, maybe, if you still feel like it… you can tell me again.”

“But I-“

“Shh.” Gally softly interrupted, ceasing the moment to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, the feeling causing your eyes to flutter closed.

You couldn’t fight your sleepiness for much longer, but you didn’t want him to leave. Not now, especially not now. Just as he was about to draw back and get up, you promptly caught his wrist, preventing him from moving away.

“Y/N…?” Gally looked at you with a mix of confusion and longing as you clutched onto him, your eyes brimming with affection.

“Stay…? Please?” You breathed, quietly, every part of you wincing at the thought of letting him go.

Gally tried to fight it. He really tried. He wanted to be strong, unfaltering, do what he was supposed to and leave… but how could he, when you were pleading for him to stay? As much as he wanted to do what he thought would be the right thing, your exhausted yet hopeful eyes and vulnerable tone didn’t leave him a chance. He couldn’t refuse you. He never could.

With a deep intake of air, Gally scooted over, carefully laying down next to you and wrapping his arm around you, his breath hitching as you immediately cuddled up to his side, hiding your face within the crook of his neck.

You couldn’t be happier that he gave in, you could only imagine how much it would’ve hurt if he had chosen to go. It only took you a few seconds to let your hand rest over his broad chest and fast-beating heart, the warmth of his body soothing and lulling you to a peaceful slumber.

“Goodnight, Gally…”

The builder released a soft sigh, holding you closer. His lips pressed to your temple as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face “Goodnight, princess…”

A blissful smile curled your lips, your consciousness slowly drifting away. You weren’t worried about what the next morning would bring. Gally would be right there with you, and that had to mean that he wanted it just as much as you did. He had nothing to worry about either. You would still mean it tomorrow. And every day after that.

Tags: @seldomabsent @obsessivelycapricious @ultraintrovertedgryffindor @maraudersimp @abundantxadorations @izzymultifan @magnoliabloomfield @willseyebrows @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @anniemylennox @gallysonegoodlung @joemomma2121 @lattsgocaps @sherbertscarrothead-2

#the maze runner #tmr gally #gally imagine #gally x reader #gladers #tmr #gally tmr #gally x fem!reader #gally x y/n #tmr gally imagine #gally x you #gally fanfic #gally #tmr imagine #will poulter

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piscesseer · 2 years ago

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Origins & Celebration of Winter Solstice

History & Cultures Celebrating Winter Solstice

Predating Christianity by centuries, ancient Winter Solstice celebrations included rituals of light and fire which helped with winter’s ominous gloom and recognized brighter days ahead. Many present-day Christmas traditions are originally tied to the ancient holiday of Yule and other ancient celebrations of the return of the Sun. Even many Christians are celebrating by burning Yule Log, decorating their tree, and caroling, which can be traced back to Norse people.

“In pre-Christian Scandinavia, the Feast of Juul, or Yule, lasted for 12 days celebrating the rebirth of the sun and giving rise to the custom of burning a Yule log.” (Huffington Post)

There are many traditions associated with Yule, but most commonly the celebrations consist of feasts, caroling, drinking and dancing. Yule has been connected to the norse god Odin. One of Odin’s many names is Jolnir, which means Yule One. The burning of the Yule Log would ward off evil spirits. There was also the eating of the Yule Boar in honor of the god Freyr, associated with harvest and fertility.

We can sort of assume that through the years and years and years of the game of Telephone, we ended up with the more well-known modern celebrations of Christmas. Even Hanukkah is celebrated as a festival of light. No matter what you want to call this time of year, messages of joy, hope, peace and a chance for new beginnings are celebrated. For people of nearly any background, the time of the winter solstice is to gather with family and loved ones. Using the return of the Sun, you can transform your life in a positive way. Celebrate joy no matter what that looks like for you. It’s a time to recognize hardships and adjust to them or let them go. It’s a great time to release negative energies and self-limiting beliefs.

Ways to Celebrate

Traditions to practice during Yule:

Feast! Bake cookies, make cinnamon cakes, gingerbread and anything with apples! Drink something warm like hot chocolate, mulled wine or apple cider. Roast meat, dry fruit and drink eggnog. Anything that makes you feel warm and cozy! Just take a moment to be grateful for what you have and cheer for prosperity and abundance in the upcoming year!

Burn a Yule Log!

The Yule Log dates back to solstice celebrations and bonfires. The origin calls for the burning of the log for Twelve Nights. Place a piece of firewood, preferably found from the woods, into the fireplace to burn during the holidays. Place nice smelling and symbolic herbs into the fire. Some modern traditions call for writing things down that they want to rid themselves of for the year and burning them. The Yule Log brings luck and fortune for the next year.

No bon fire or fire place? Place a piece of wood on your altar and light candles around it to symbolize the same things.

Cleanse your home. Do a quick clean-up and cleanse with the incense or herbs of your choice.

Contribute to charity. Find a way to give back and make someone’s winter a little brighter.

Types of spellwork you can do:

happiness, hope, peace, love, strength and world healing

You can also use snow in your magic!

Decorate your altar and home for Yule.

This time is a festival of fire and light, candles can represent the Sun. Bring light back into your home and life with candles and faerie lights.

Incorporate the colors of the season!

Green, Red, Gold & White

Use symbols of the season like snow and ice.

Find the plants and herbs: apples, chamomile, cinnamon, evergreen, holly, ivy, juniper, mistletoe, oak leaves, pine, pine cones, poinsettias, rosemary, sage and wintergreen.

Animal symbolism with bears, deer, reindeer, owls, ravens, crows, snow geese, and wrens.

Work with the stones diamond, emerald, ruby, garnet and bloodstone.

Decorate a Yule or Christmas Tree. It’s a pagan solstice custom to hang decorations on a pine!

Read my full article here.

#yule #winter solstice #celebrations #christmas #posts by me

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ofcloudsandstars · 4 years ago

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Summer Solstice {Litha} Fantasy Feast

It’s here!! Nearly in the final hour!! Have been wicked busy but still dedicated to fulfilling my self imposed duty this year to upgrade all of my 2016 fantasy feasts. It brings me joy each year seeing people reblog my old feasts especially as those posts did help me to visualize and manifest incredible magical celebrations with friends. However as time goes on my standards unfortunately get higher and my tastes more elaborate so I felt it was time to redo my Summer Solstice vision. I hope this post with included recipes below get you in a hot summery mood!

Here are the previous feasts this year: Winter Crossquarter, Spring Equinox, Spring Crossquarter (And here was Litha 2016)

In the read more there are the recipe links and additional explanations on personal symbolism and of course the image credits! I also always plan my feasts to be vegan inclusive for those with dietary restrictions but also aim for all the food to be somewhat local which matters in these seasonal feasts since it’s celebrating local nature. Anyway there is something for everyone here.

1: Starters The ideal Summer Solstice feast to me is a mad fiery pagan bonfire bbq. If we are talking about a celebration honoring the fiery sun, summertime and food, my mind goes to a grill. However most BBQs can end up getting heavy quickly. Therefore the starters are a bit light. There will be charred vegetable skewers, steamed seafood, shrimp cocktail and jalapeno poppers. Honorable mention would be blistered padron peppers.

Garlic Herb roasted Shrimp with homemade Cocktail sauce recipe Balsamic Grilled Veggie Skewers Recipe Seafood image Source (I would ideally want to serve just steamed seafood. The image is from a Paella recipe which is very summery but Paella is definitely a main dish and not a starter).

Jalapeno Poppers Recipe Blistered Padron Peppers Recipe

2: Sides The bread choice for this feast will be focaccia with sundried tomatoes and garden herbs. Other dishes will be charred bell peppers, and a refreshing cucumber tomato salad.

Chili herb tomato focaccia bread recipe (vegan with olives image source) Homemade Roasted Bell Peppers Recipe Cucumber Tomato Salad Recipe

3: Mains The grill would provide a selection of food, but the main feature would be marinated barbeque ribs. The plant based option would be stuffed grilled bell peppers with smoked paprika.

Stuffed Bell Peppers image source (there’s no vegan recipes online that I find satisfying so I would prepare this with sautéed pinto beans with red onions in tomato sauce, smoked paprika, coriander and topped with a dash of chili flakes and oat crème fraiche). Marinated Ribs Source (Beer-b-q ribs recipe)

4: Desserts Summer is the fruity season!! We start to see more fruits in season towards the Summer crossquarter harvest, yet Summer Solstice sees strawberries and in some regions melons start to ripen. Other fruits I associate with this sabbat are light citrus flavors from Lemon, Grapefruit and Lime. Also since I was raised in NJ a regional summery treat we have are orange creamsicles. It’s a dreamy creamy citrus delight and has a special place in my heart so I feel like since it evokes summer so well for me it deserves a spot here. For each sabbat dessert I have a tart of choice, a cake of choice and a special dish. The tart for Summer Solstice is torn between a fresh strawberry tart and a lemon meringue, but I would ultimately choose a lemon meringue tart with flamed mallow topping. The cake would be strawberry shortcake, and the special dessert would be an icecream cake (could change flavors per year but would mostly be orange creamsicle). Alternatives provided would be ice cream cookies as they are easy to make with vegan options/dietary restrictions and in different variety of flavors to suit peoples pallets. Also if you are in a region where it’s available, definitely a watermelon fruit salad. Watermelon was such a big part of summer in NJ but in England its like out of region so it’s mostly strawberries over here.

Curly Dock and Strawberry Balsamic Tart Wondersmith recipe Simple Strawberry Shortcake Recipe

Lemon Meringue Tart Icecream Sandwiches source (simple ice cream sandwich recipe) Icecream Sandwich Bars vegan Orange Creamsicle Icecream Cake Recipe Strawberry Shortcake Icecream Cake (I was obsessed with these icecream bars as a kid)

5: Drinks Fruits really make their way into everything during summertime and the drink selection would reflect this. Only thing not pictured here would be an elderflower fresh mint iced tea which will be cooling and refreshing to counter act all the hot and spicy foods. Other than that of course the main non-alcoholic drink will be lemonade! For the alcoholic selection I would love Strawberry wine, boozy melon bowls and grapefruit shandies (shoffenhofer tastes like summer on tap it will change your life). The spirit of choice will be tequila. Something about tequila is so fiery, summery and solar. I would make spicy mezcal sunset margaritas and flamed tequila shots.

Dragon Lemonade Holder Strawberry Wine Recipe Grapefruit Shandy Recipe (Shoffenhofer) Boozy melon Bowl (the Recipe is for Subak Hwachae which is a Korean boozy bowl with Soju) Spicy Sunset Margarita Recipe

6: Treats Final part!! You can tell I am a very sensory person and one thing that made celebrations and holidays memorable as a kid were always the treats you walked away with. The little candies, snacks and tokens. If I were to have a celebration with a whole community including kids I would include some of these. Summery sweets for me were salt water taffy, fruity gummies (especially shark gummies), sticky sun drops on paper and fruity candies with melon, strawberry and citrus flavors. For savory options I would love spicy and smoky treats from fiery chili chips to smoked paprika crisps.

Salt Water Taffy (Recipe) Shark Sour Gummies Fruit Candy Selection Flaming Hot Party Mix

________________________________

If you made it this far thank you so much for reading it all!! Hope I put you on a visual sensory experience for the summer. I would love to hear what dishes and foods you associate with the summer solstice or summer time in general.

You can check my litha tag for more ideas or my correspondence list for why I associate certain things with this time of year.

________________________________

Image Credits: Litha Art by Julia Nikitina Bonfire Party Lemon Beeswax Candles Summer tablescape Bonfire gif Grill Gold and Red tent Flames Fire Dancers Fire Breather Gif - From me actually! It was my first summer solstice party and there were fire breathers. I took this video. Bilbo Baggins Birthday (Lets be real, the ultimate summer solstice party would be that shire party) Fruit Bowls Fireflies gif Flaming Shots Grapefruit Cocktail Beach Sunset

#summer solstice #litha #feast #aesthetic #food #recipes #blog litha #ultimate magic cookout #long post #vision board

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angeltheproxy · 3 years ago

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Thought I'd try something different and try to write some headcannons. I'm including my OC in this because i want to write some stuff for her. Enjoy!

Summer activities around the mansion

Fishing:

The pond near the mansion is an amazing fishing spot

Its only a ten minute walk away, and filled with a ton of fish

Including a few monsters

Many tall tales were told of nearly catching the beast (a 20+lb catfish)

The creeps that usually go fish are Jeff, Masky, Hoodie, Toby and Angel but sometimes Sally comes too

One of the older creeps helps Sally bait her hook and unhook the fish she catches

Inevitably, every year at least once someone gets dared to eat a worm

Inevitably, every year at least one person is stupid enough to do it

Always a lot of pictures taken with catches great and small

All around a good time

Swimming:

Somehow the creeps convinced Slender to get a pool

Most of the creeps either swim or lounge by the pool

Jane, Ben, Masky and Hoodie, and LJ usually just chill out on the side

Jeff makes it a mission to splash everyone

Ej doggie paddles and nobody can convince me otherwise

Although Angel can't swim, she is more than happy floating around in a float ring

Until she gets flipped by Jeff

Panic ensues until someone pulls her up

Slender is forever reminding everyone to put on sunscreen every hour or so

All around fun for almost everyone

Bonfire:

After a long summer day, as the sun goes down and the air cools, a bonfire is started

Music, drinks and snacks are abundant, as well as stories and laughter

Smores are a popular campfire snack, as well as popcorn and hotdogs

Drinks of choice are usually some sort of soda or beer

Someone always ends singing the Campfire song song from SpongeBob

And everyone else usually joins in

Toby, Jeff and Angel usually end up throwing things in the fire or lighting the ends of sticks

Masky usually has to try and keep them from doing it

"You're gonna hurt someone or burn the whole forest down!"

Sometimes it becomes a camp out, other times they just sit around until dawn

Sometimes people fall asleep, and usually end up getting pranked

Everyone's favorite way to spend the summer nights

Thank you for reading this! This is my first time doing headcannons so i hope you enjoy. I may do more of these, but for now thank you for reading :)

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #summer #ticci toby #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #ben drowned #laughing jack #jane the killer

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

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No Grave - Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian)

Anonymous said:

Hello, Hope you’re having a good day! Just was that you’re looking for requests for the Mandalorian? If that’s not the case then feel free to disregard this ask! I was wondering if it would be possible to request a fic in which Mando is injured and he needs to call upon the help of his old friend, the reader, who he doesn’t want to bother but can’t fix himself so they just sorta patch him up, coo over Baby Yoda and are just really happy to see him? Just a tropey af & fluffy af fic? Thank you sm

AN: First, you’re so polite?! I love you! Second, I love your request but this leans into more romance than you described because I’ve been listening to Hozier. I hope that’s okay! Also, I call him Dyn Jarren, as Pedro Pascal leaked!

The fall from the Jawa’s trading post broke him in more ways than one.

Dyn Jarren had been in pain before. Training in the tribe had acquainted him with every weakness of the human body, his body. Before that, on Mandalore, on his home in the Outer Rim, he had been shown the human capacity for cruelty and the faces of his people twisted up in agony. The entirety of his life, every curve of every path, had been marked by some sort of pain. It was the one constant; no matter what planet, bounty, or standard year, hurt, in some capacity, lingered around each corner.

Yet, Dyn Jarren had never felt pain like this. It felt like his entire body was set aflame, burning from the inside out. The slash in his arm was much deeper, much longer than he had thought and his head was still ringing from the fall. He laid in the dirt with his eyes closed, carefully moving his fingers and toes to make sure he wasn’t paralyzed. Thank the Maker he wasn’t, but each micromovement brought with it a new wave of strained misery.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to sit up. The moment Dyn curled his abdomen and used his arms to support himself, his chest screamed in pain. Broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. What a curse it is to be so attuned to his body’s every ache. He reached up and pulled his left shoulder back into its socket. The bones made a horrible scraping sound that was only drowned out by his grunts of pain.

“Chit!”

The curse fell from his lips when he sat back. After a few labored breaths, he laid down in the spot where he had landed hours before. He would have stayed there too, spread out on the dark earth, if it wasn’t for a small ‘coo’ that reached his ears. In a flash, a spasm so quick that his wounds shouted in angry protest, the Mandalorian looked to the side and met the shining, expectant eyes of the Child.

“Ugh,” Dyn moved to stand and he felt his legs shake beneath him. The Child cocked it’s small, green head to the side with its large ears turned down. “What?”

The Child only gurgled and the Mandalorian sighed heavily. The breath stung his lungs and he bit back a groan. Each step he took a new sharp stab raced through his body. Dyn looked out along the horizon, saw the setting sun, and nearly fell to his knees.

They needed to find shelter. Maybe, if he could make it, they could stay at Kuiil’s moisture farm. Although, he had put enough on the older man, taken too much of his time. Staying at his hut would put him, his freedom, and the Child at risk. Dyn looked behind him and watched the nursery pod following after him. The Child’s eyes were wide, almost all-seeing. A twinge of guilt racked the Mandalorian’s chest.

He had taken the job and here he was, bleeding, stumbling to some intangible end. Without a ship, he was stranded, with a child no less, on a desert planet, dying slowly. At the thought of death, he fell. The impact knocked the wind out of him and his armor did nothing to dull the sting. He rolled onto his back and let out a groan.

The pink-orange sky was now fading into a wonderful purple color; and for a moment, the pain ebbed away. For a moment, Dyn forgot where he was and why he was there. For that perfect moment, he was back with the tribe. He was outside, watching the orange flames of a bonfire raging up towards the night sky. He saw the faces of the people who had taken him in, raised him, and trained him.

He saw Y/N.

He saw the eyes, the face he knew better than his own. He saw the familiar grin and felt the heat that Y/N never ceased to stir up within him. The memories danced in the darkness of his mind, reminding him of a time when he smiled. When had he last smiled? When he was a Foundling? Maybe? When was the last time he saw Y/N?

Ever since Y/N, ever since he left, Dyn had thrown himself into the job. Bounty hunting became all he did and all he told himself he wanted. Yet, it was still Y/N he thought of when faced with the sunset. Especially one as beautiful as the one that danced above him now.

Dyn felt wetness slip from his eyes when he moved to sit up, but he wasn’t sure for which ache the tears were shed. A surge of pain ripped up his side as he leaned back against the rock face. The Child watched him, ever curious eyes glinting under the soft light of dusk. He let his head lull against the stone as he studied the green creature. So much strangeness and death surrounded the little being; including himself.

In spite of that, he was compelled to keep it alive. He shifted once more, grunting through the ache of his body, and aimed his hand at a nearby bush. With the simple flick of his finger, flames roared out of the canister at his wrist. The brittlebush went up in flames and, he hoped, it would burn long enough to keep the Child warm.

It cooed at the sight of the fire, clapping it’s little hands together in joy before looking back at Dyn. For a second, the creature looked...sorry. The Mandalorian leaned back against the rocks and sighed. He lifted his hand once more, but this time, uttered a simple command.

“Show me Y/N.”

The image he didn’t let himself look at opened. A hologram of Y/N’s form, a digital portrait of the one person Dyn could not let himself have. At least not in this life. Life on the road, a life of killing, a life of pain...that was no life. No, not this life; part of him would be happy to leave it behind.

Dyn heard a small set of footfalls as he studied the picture, but he was too lost in memories to care. No longer did he care how long he had left to live. All he knew was that he wanted to see Y/N one last time. Slowly, like falling asleep, the Mandalorian closed his eyes. The burning pain that once gripped his body gave way to cold darkness as the Child shuffled closer to the glowing image with all the wonder of a young soul.

Dyn woke up scared for the second time in his life. Warmth was everywhere, kissing every inch of his body. The pain was gone, replaced by the sun. His skin felt tight under the rays of light and he could feel the heat gathering on his cheeks. The last time had had the sun on his face…

On instinct, he reached up towards his face. When his palm met the flesh of his face, he yanked his hand away. It was as if the softness stung him. His face was a reminder of everything he had swallowed, pushed down, and ignored for years. Now, it was exposed and every feeling was bubbling up to the surface.

“You’re up.”

Dyn swung his head to his right and swore that he was dreaming. He must be because Y/N was there, looking at him with those eyes. It must all be some fevered dream. Whatever infection his wounds had fostered were now taunting him. It had to be that.

“I don’t want to know what happened,” Y/N said, hands raised as if to stop Dyn from speaking. “And I really don’t want to know why you have a baby with you either.”

“How did you get here?” Dyn was almost surprised by the sound of his own voice, unaltered by the modulator in the helmet. Yet, that was the least shocking thing to him in the moment. He was still caught on Y/N.

“You sent me a beacon,” Y/N said simply. “Wasn’t hard to find you then. All I did was look for smoke plumes.” Y/N gestured to the burning bush, now blackened by the heat and acting as a new playground for the Child.

“I didn’t send for you,” Dyn said, dark eyes glued to the Child. Y/N scoffed and Dyn looked over at his...friend? Could they even call each other that?

“I’m here anyway,” Y/N snapped, and Dyn tore his eyes from the Child to look up. “What? Do you…” Y/N now looked at the Child and then back to Dyn. “You think that little thing called me? On your comm? Does it even know how to use a transmitter?”

Dyn’s face flushed as his last-night thoughts returned to him. “I thought I was going to…”

“What?” Y/N shuffled closer. Sand was kicked up by boots and Dyn remembered all to vividly what had happened. He had opened Y/N’s file, the portrait, and, with it, her information. Dyn glanced over at the Child once more who, almost smiling, looked from the Mandalorian to Y/N, then back again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dyn grumbled and started to get back to his feet. “I have to-”

“You have to stay still,” Y/N interrupted, hands extended and gently pushing down on Dyn’s shoulders. The touch sent Dyn back to a room, on a planet, to safety and warmth. He could almost feel the softness of a bed below him the moment Y/N met his gaze. Y/N must have felt it too, because the touch was pulled away before Dyn had a chance to savor it. Instead, he was left with a question gnawing at his mind.

“Why did you come?”

Y/N sat back on the dirt, staring at Dyn with curious eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that the Child stumbled up and pulled on Y/N’s sleeve, Dyn was sure he would have gotten an answer right then.

With the Child, Y/N got distracted. Dyn watched the scene that unfolded before him with unabashed awe. Y/N, carefully, took the Child up in arms and the little creature snuggled close. For a second, Dyn forgot that they had to be on the run; that the Child was part of a hefty bounty. Dyn, in that moment, saw another sunset and Y/N’s smile.

“It’s fifty years old.”

“What?”

Dyn raised his brows, pointed them towards the Child still swaddled in Y/N’s embrace. “That is fifty years old.”

“I don’t…”

“Some species age differently,” Dyn repeated what the guild droid had said and gauged Y/N’s reaction. The Child, however, seemed wholly unaffected by the knowledge.

“But it’s...it’s a child, a baby.” Y/N rambled, now holding the Child out in the air. It squealed softly and kicked its feet in the air. “Fifty?”

“Fifty,” Dyn echoed. Y/N’s head shook and similarly shaking hands lowered the Child to the ground. Y/N’s eyes met Dyn’s and, for the first time in a long time, he saw worry in them.

In the months they had spent together before...before everything, Y/N hardly worried. Dyn had made bounty hunting look like an art and Y/N did not fret over what he did. There was to point, Y/N couldn’t stop him. Dyn was going to do what he wanted anyway.

Y/N never asked about what wrongs he did, whose name would be presented in a bounty puck when he brought back to the house. That was what Dyn liked about Y/N. Never once did the world of bounty hunting collide with the realm of what he once knew as home. Y/N was his perfect escape; a haven he would crawl back to every time.

That was why he had to leave. In his life, all Dyn knew was pain. He couldn't risk dragging Y/N into that. Not then and definitely not now. Not even when Y/N was looking at him like that, with those eyes that haunted every sunset he saw. Or would ever see.

“Why did you come?”

Y/N held his gaze before leaning close to him. Dyn’s breath caught at the closeness but was soon released as Y/N peeled a bacta patch off his arm. “Your arm is healed. I did what I could about your ribs when you were passed out.”

Dyn stayed silent, watching Y/N sort the medical supplies laid out. The way Y/N’s hands traced packages and sorted them nearly hypnotized Dyn. He was tempted to drop the question, let them just be. Let them just be together for whatever time they had. It was too tempting.

“Why did you come here, Y/N,” Dyn asked once more. He reached out, his now bare hand grasping Y/N’s wrist. There was no hesitation as Y/N pulled away from the touch.

“Why do you think I came here?” Y/N snapped coldly. Any friendly warmth that once laced Y/N’s voice was gone. The Child, now sat at Dyn’s feet cringed, as if the tone of the words hurt some part of its being.

“I don’t,” Dyn replied, “I thought it was clear that-”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dyn,” Y/N said softly, all the fire that laced the voice gone. Y/N looked up from the medical supplies and met his gaze. “I don’t ask many questions about...why you do what you do. Please, don’t ask me.”

Dyn wanted to protest. He wanted to tell Y/N that he fell into bounty hunting; but that was a lie. He had chosen bounty hunting over everything so he could control the pain that had been so intertwined with his life. He had chosen it over everything. Even his relationship with Y/N.

So, he decided, he could grant Y/N that one wish. “Alright.”

“Vor'e,” Y/N murmured and the use of Mando’a caught Dyn visibly off guard. “What? Have you become unfamiliar with your native tongue?”

“I haven’t heard it in a long time. Some phrases are lost to me now.”

“I said ‘thanks’,” Y/N explained teasingly. Dyn nodded, letting the word find purchase in his throat before speaking up again.

“Vor'e, for coming here.” Dyn watched as that smile he loved spread along Y/N’s features. It lasted only for a second before fading like sunlight.

“I fear I’ve done all I can.” Dyn nodded and moved to sit up fully. His ribs no longer screamed with searing pain and his arm held no ache.

“And that’s more than enough.” Y/N frowned and started to pack what supplies were still strewn about the dirt. Dyn watched but forced himself to peel his eyes away. He had to focus on what tasks lingered. Namely, getting the Child off this planet.

“I could fly you out of here,” Y/N suggested, so quickly it was as if Dyn’s thoughts had been spoken aloud. “Get you and…” Y/N pointed to the Child, “this little one out of here.”

“No, no,” Dyn started to get to his feet. “You’d be in danger and-”

“You don’t think I can handle myself?” Y/N asked, hands on the hips, and standing before Dyn with all the confidence he wished he could bottle to keep at his side for whenever he needed it. Mostly, he wished to keep Y/N.

“I don’t know if I can handle...this,” Dyn gestured to the Child that now stood between them. It’s wide eyes peered up at them with a small, smug smile on it’s green lips.

“Really you-” Dyn met Y/N’s eyes and the words fell into silence. “Really?”

Dyn nodded and leaned down to scoop the Child in his arms. It cooed in response and Dyn swallowed hard. Y/N reached and rubbed a careful hand against the creature’s cheek. Dyn watched Y/N, dark eyes adoring and soft.

“Well, if this little one did send for me, you owe it quite a lot.” Y/N was still looking at the Child and Dyn was wholly enraptured with Y/N.

“My life,” Dyn said softly, his breath stirring the hair on Y/N’s head. The couple met eyes and Dyn felt his heart go weak. What a curse it is to be so attuned to his body’s every ache. “And I owe you.”

Y/N frowned and pulled away from Dyn. Leaning down, Y/N grabbed the Mandalorian helmet from the dirt and handed it to Dyn. He took it with his free hand, his eyes tracing the lines of Y/N’s face. He was preparing for a goodbye, perhaps the last goodbye.

“You can repay me by not leaving a grave for me to find.” Dyn let out a forced chuckle and shook his head.

“You know that no grave could keep me from you.” The words came back to him like an instinct. They flowed from his lips with the same ease he set a trap or aimed his rifle for a killing shot. Those words were part of a ritual, a life that Dyn had almost had; a life with Y/N.

Y/N did not speak. Dyn felt his stomach drop and curl at the quiet. Instead of speaking, Y/N stepped towards him, pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dyn wanted to drop everything and reach for Y/N; but the Child gurgled as Y/N pulled away. The skin of Dyn’s lips still tingled from the kiss.

Dyn watched Y/N walk away, medical supplies trailing after. The ship in the distance was small, a ship that Dyn once knew well. A ship that he hoped to know well again. Maybe after all of this, after the bounty...after the Child… Dyn looked up from the green creature in his arms and back at Y/N’s form. He could see the features of the person he loved as Y/N faced him once more.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” Y/N shouted. The wind carried the phrase to Dyn’s ears and he closed his eyes as the sound of his native Mando’a speech warmed his soul. He did not have to ask what the words meant. He knew what Y/N said in his heart; a phrase he could never lose to time or trial.

Dyn watched Y/N take off before putting his helmet back on. The sun’s heat no longer graced his features, instead glinted off of the beskar steel. Dyn looked back to the Child in his arms. Its eyes were wide and Dyn sighed.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

2K notes · View notes

yoonia · 5 years ago

Text

Blood Moon Rising | 10

‘As beings from ancient times, the Vampire Clan has undergone numerous changes to thrive in the Modern Age after surviving the Ancient Blood War. As a part of the traveller family in his clan, Jimin has parted ways from the coven until the day his Lords warned him of the lurking danger from inside the clan. And all so suddenly, he was pulled out of his solitary, only to have given the responsibility he had never wished to have, along with the threats that come as a part of the deal.

Born as youngest yet having lost so much, you have given your family your loyalty, your protection, and had been given their love and support that had become the only thing that keeps you going. But what happens when the only people you have put your trust in only repay you with betrayal?’

➥ Character | Jimin x reader

➥ Genre | Supernatural!au, Vampire! Jimin, Werewolf!reader, Angst

➥ Ratings & Warning | PG-13; character death, involving an act of murder (no blood or gore involved)

➥ Word count | 6,2k words

➥ Part of The Shifters Series | Glossary | ⤎ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ⇢

➥ Masterlist

The next part of the journey covers the vast grassland and the thick rainforest which takes nearly three times further than crossing the No Man’s Land. Yet with Jackson on his motorcycle, Jimin moving with his Vampire speed, while you are running in your wolf form, the journey doesn’t feel like it takes as long.

Just as predicted, your group reaches the next safe house at the edge of the rainforest just an hour before midnight. With the leftover of this morning’s meal packed up inside your bag, added with a few smaller animals which you had caught before reaching the camp, you have enough meal to fill up your dinner with.

Finishing your meal earlier before the two males, you decide to leave the camp for a run. Just a simple exercise for your wolf while marking your surroundings to make sure that you will be safe to stay in the camp tonight. Once again, it takes twice as long to reassure Jimin that you will be alright on your own.

“I won’t be long. I promise,” you manage to convince him, until he finally relents and lets you go after leaving a few wonderful sparks on your skin when he touches your wrist.

Once again, Jimin is left to spend some time along with Jackson in the camp while you are away. Jimin never takes his eyes off of the Hunter even as he is finishing his meal, curiously studying the tattooed man as the other is focused on devouring his dinner.

“So tell me,” Jimin starts, putting his plate away. “Why is a Supernatural Hunter such as yourself doing all of this—helping us? How did you end up hanging out with a Werewolf and doing favours for them?”

Jackson’s eyes snap up towards Jimin, giving him an unreadable stare as he finishes the food he had just bitten. “I don’t. Not just any Werewolf,” he says while licking his fingers clean. “Just her.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jimin grows even more curious. “Why her?”

The Hunter calmly straightens his back. “Children of the Hunter families were trained since the early age of seven. Including myself,” he tells the Vampire, starting the whole story with his eyes on the bonfire in front of him. “I was seven when my Dad handed me a weapon for the first time, and it was also then when I first started learning about creatures of the night—about Vampires and Werewolves, Shifters and all the likes of you. I was ten when they sent me off to hunt for the first time. Alone.”

Jackson stops briefly, rubbing the stubbles on his chin and grinned at the memory. Yet there is no joy in his eyes when he continues his story, “My family released me in the woods where a pack of wild wolves resided in. All they gave me was a silver spear, small enough for my small hands to hold but big enough to wound another living being. I was only advised to survive the night, to come home with a kill, no matter what I would encounter in those woods. Nobody would follow me as I passed through the darkness, nobody would save me if danger would appear. It was the first real life practice for me, and also a test to see if I was worthy enough to be a Hunter.”

It is hard not to listen and grimace at the Hunter’s story. Jimin cannot exactly remember where he was when he was merely a ten year old boy, or what he was doing then.

Centuries and decades have passed and it felt like his childhood was a completely different life to what he has now. He had no knowledge of his birth parents aside from the stories told to him by his Lords, and he was kept in the safety of the clan’s fortress, under the Lords’ wings, as he was trained to recognise and to use his powers properly.

He simply cannot imagine what it was like for a ten year old young boy to be released in the wild, to hunt, with only a single weapon in hand, and without a single chaperon staying close as his aid.

“It was dark, and I was trained to follow the tracks, to hide in the shadows. So I didn’t make any torch or fire, only depending on the bright moonlight and the stars above to help me find my ways,” Jackson continues, grabbing Jimin’s attention back to his voice. “And then somehow, I ended up finding myself at the bottom of the cliff. They came when I was resting, just as I was sitting down with my back pressed against the rocky walls. They were wild wolves, regular animals, all four of them. But compared to myself back then, they were massive,” he laughed bitterly with a far away look in his eyes, as if he is back on that cliff and back to that night.

“I tried my best not to provoke them. Yet I still prepared myself for the battle, holding my spear in my hands to defend myself the best I could,” he says, raising both of his hands and clenches tightly, making a move as if he is holding the spear the way he did then. “The first wolf which attacked me ended up having my spear ripping its stomach. I felt it in my hands when the spear pierced through its skin and muscles and made the tear. And then I got cocky, already set to kill the second as it came jumping at me. I lost my hold on the spear when the second largest wolf bit on it, giving a chance for the other two to aim at my throat as I was left defenseless.”

Jimin narrows his eyes while Jackson grows tense at the memory. The Hunter keeps his dark eyes trained on the flame, his rage at the situation is glowing from his eyes.

“I kept my eyes open, waiting for their final attack. And just then, right when one of them came close to my face, a giant white wolf caught it by its throat, instantly killing it. I could only watch when they turned to face the bigger wolf. I watched them fall to the ground one wolf at a time until the fight stopped and everything went silent.”

Jackson smiles. His eyes begin to glow with a different kind of emotion the moment he recalls that night in his memory, the night when he first met you.

“I instantly knew she was a Werewolf, both from her size and the golden glow in her eyes. When she was done, she only sat across from me, watching me without shifting or moving. I was the one who made the first move. Too amazed to say anything, surprised at the fact that the monster that my family warned me about had just saved my life. The next thing I knew, I poured the remaining water I had left in my possession to clean her fur from all the dead wolves’ blood.”

Jackson’s eyes find Jimin’s as he stops, smiling wide at the Vampire as he continues to talk about you. “Ever since then, I would spend my daytime training with my family and the other Hunters, and then I would sneak out into the woods, catching up with her on her night runs and listened to her tales about the monsters and everything she knew about the other creatures of the night. She told me all the secrets that my predecessors have failed to tell me about, all parts of history that most humans had missed out on. And that was how I got to know more about the likes of you, and her. And I began to know that maybe we’re not so different, after all. We became friends ever since.”

Jimin studies the Hunter closely and wonders loudly, “Why did you decide to keep being a Hunter then?”

Jackson gives a shrug. “I had to. I am bonded to them by blood. And being in the inside is the only way for me to know what the Hunters are planning to do, and it makes it easier for me to warn her, and those I know, if they are being targeted.”

Jimin looks away, nodding knowingly when he begins to understand about the Hunter more as they continue to speak. “I see.”

“You have another question,” Jackson suddenly says, still looking at Jimin as if he is the most interesting creature he has ever seen.

“I do,” Jimin hesitantly answers him, looking around to expect you coming through the trees any moment now. “What about ____? I saw her pack mark still clear on her arm, so she is definitely not a rogue. So why is she being haunted by her own kind?”

Jackson’s jaw visibly tightens, his eyes glare with fume as fiery as the red flame. Yet his voice stays even as he shakes his head. “I’m afraid that is not my story to tell,” he says grimly. “Just like how your story is not for her to tell.”

“What do you mean?”

Jackson looks at him, giving him the kind of look which almost makes Jimin believe that the Hunter could look straight into his mind. “You’re also being chased by your kind, aren’t you?”

Jimin can only answer him briefly with, “Yes.”

“May I know why?”

Jimin only gives him a tight smile. He had shared his story with you, but only partly. Only about the part where he had caught a group of Vampires planning a rebellion, without explaining the reason why he is the only one who can stop it from happening. “One day. Once I know that my secrets won’t put you or her in danger, I will tell both of you everything then.”

Jackson only responds with a grin, looking pleased to hear the answer. “Fair enough.”

Jimin was still up and sitting next to the fire when you returned, and had only agreed to have some rest after you insisted for him to do so.

Everyone had decided to take turns to stay awake and keep watch, as it has been decided that the group will start moving before the break of dawn. Even though the camp is located at the land’s border, the rainforest still spreads out a few miles away, giving enough shades for Jimin to move on daylight. You have offered to take the first turn to watch the camp, before Jackson woke up and took your place.

You have only managed to doze off for a few hours before waking up, finding Jimin awake and sitting by the fire while Jackson is nowhere around.

“Where’s Jackson?” you ask him, feeling groggy as you stretch and sit up from your makeshift bed. Jimin looks at you warily and smiles.

“He offered to go out and hunt us some food so we can move early,” he answers you before scooting aside to give you a place to sit down with him.

“And why are you awake?”

Jimin smiles and looks away. “You know it’s hard for me to sleep. I had enough rest already from that short nap,” he says, before looking at you again. “And I’ve found it more interesting to watch you sleep.”

“Huh, shut up,” you scoff, though it is hard to stop the heat from rushing up to your cheeks. You can feel his gaze on you and it is easy to tell that he is trying to hold his chuckles down. Before he could continue making you blush like crazy, you decide to change the subject. “So I heard that you’ve been having some bonding time with Jackson.”

You can feel his smile before you see it. “You heard? Did he tell you about it, or did you listen in on our guys talk?”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to tell him the truth with a chuckle. “I never went too far during my run. I heard most of the things you talked about. Spare me.”

“It’s alright if you did eavesdrop on us,” he chuckles.

You cannot help but grin. “Good. Cause I’d hate to miss out on some bonding moment.”

“Speaking of bonding moment—” Jimin starts, though he bites his lips for a moment as if he is wondering if it would be okay to continue before asking, “What’s waiting for you when you get back? You don’t have to answer it if you’re not ready to share, but—what are you coming home to? Your family? Mate?”

Your breath is caught when you think about them. Reaching to your chest, you press a palm over your heart as you begin to tell him part of the story you are ready to share. “Hopefully, my parents. They were—hurt, when I left. And I didn’t exactly leave voluntarily without seeing them. I was kicked out of the pack before I could find out if they were safe. The only thing I knew was that I could feel the pain they were going through when it happened and everyone stopped me from seeing them,” you carefully speak to him, the words take effort to come out as the wound is still fresh.

“Why?” Jimin narrows his eyes, and you can see his rage brewing when you look at him, allowing him to see the hurt in your eyes. “Did they accuse you?”

Nodding your head cautiously, you try to answer him without revealing too much of your identity. “I was a warrior in my pack, because of my father,” you tell him, deciding not to add—’because I have an Alpha mantle that wasn’t supposed to be mine’—and continue, “As one of the pack’s leading warriors, I had to represent the pack. Sometimes I would travel and go to places alongside my father, or I would go out with any ranked wolves as they visit other packs or attend any event that has to do with our pack’s business. I had been travelling for a few months when I got back the night before it happened, and my parents were attacked at night, when nobody was expecting anything to happen. I tried to rush to their bedroom to safe them, to know if they were alright, but—”

Your older sister’s face comes back to your mind, along with her screams, “The Alpha and Luna has been poisoned—She did it! It was her!”

“Someone accused me of being the one responsible for it. I had no proof to defend myself and they believed the accuser because they were the one who spent their time with the pack members more than I did,” you rush in. You don’t even notice how emotional you have become until Jimin reaches out to grab your clenched hands and wipe your tears.

Raising your face to look at him, you find him looking at you with a deep gaze, looking as if he is hurting for you.

“I—I didn’t run away immediately after. I tried to fight to get through to them, but someone sent guards to capture me. Even the warriors who had been travelling by my side on my last journey was nowhere around to defend me,” you continue with an exasperated sigh. “Chaos happened hours later, pack members rebelling, a riot on the streets, buildings and homes burning. I didn’t even know how it all started since I was placed behind bars. But in the midst of the chaos, someone helped me escape. I got hurt when I was captured and while I was escaping—”

Your mind comes back to when you ran inside the orphanage when you were heading to the borders, to the kids that were crying because of the fire while you carried them to safety.

“—and, well, you know the rest. I had no idea how I got to the cave but something had led me to it. Being there gave me time to recover and prepare myself before I could confront the pack again.”

Jimin is still holding your hands when you are done. You look up to him to find him tilting his head, his eyes falling on your shoulder. “How about your mate? Where is he?”

Your eyes grow wide when you realise that your oversized shirt had fallen over on one shoulder, revealing the mating mark that is beginning to fade into a normal scar.

“I, uh—” you carefully pull your hand away from his grip and pull your shirt back up. “I met my mate years ago, during my visit to a neighbouring pack. He was the son of their Alpha. We mated soon after and moved in together in a cottage right outside of his pack land while both of us were training. He was the second son and was on the second place to become the next Alpha. Even if he was not the future Alpha, he was still an heir, and he was still training with his brother to be his second. Meanwhile, I was preparing myself to either become a Head Warrior or a Luna.”

Your smile grows when you think about him. His lean body that still stood tall and strong compared to any regular Werewolf, due to the alpha blood in his veins and the training he had to endure since he was still young. His kind smile and bright eyes, his strong hands that were delicate whenever he touched you. His mind—his beautiful mind—that was always filled with love, beauty, and peace.

“Even then, we could easily imagine living life as a regular couple, no ranks, no responsibility of taking over any of our packs. He had his brother and I had an older sister. Neither of us was first in line and he was more interested in art while I was more interested in travelling and seeing places.”

You are grateful that Jimin is still holding one of your hands, because the moment your mate’s face shows up in your memory, your whole body begins shivering in sadness.

“It happened only less than a year after we mated. He was patrolling one night with his older brother, his future Alpha, when a group of rogues attacked his pack. Out of instinct, he protected his brother and was terribly wounded,” your voice comes out shaky when you tell him all of this, and Jimin tightens his hold on your hand just as the first sob comes out of your throat. “I tried my best to nurse him back to health, but his wounds were too severe and I lost him—only a week later.”

Without any hesitation, Jimin pulls you into his chest, holding you tight as you break apart from the memory of your dead mate.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he whispers to you before he lets you cry against his shoulder. “From what I know about Werewolves and their Fated Mates, it is a miracle that you survived it. I’ve witnessed Werewolves who perished or turned feral after losing their Mates. Meanwhile, here you are, stronger than ever, not only surviving the loss but also the ordeal you had to face in your pack. He would have been proud of you. I know I am.”

Sighing against his shoulder, you close your eyes and remember how close you were to losing yourself. You still remember the pain you felt when your mate went down from the attack, how you could feel each pain he suffered from his wounds and how torturing it was to watch him becoming too weak to heal and deteriorating right before your eyes.

Then you suffered even more pain when the bond between you broke apart the moment he passed away. The only thing keeping you from turning berserk or dying along with him was your parents’ love. How they took you back into their home, held you every single night you were hurting, and they kept you sane by reminding you of your powers and what you were capable of.

They had allowed you to use your pain and anger to focus on your battle and alpha training, and to share all the love you had by spending your days with the children, joining your mother as she worked in the daycare center with the pack’s children and at the orphanage to care for the little ones there.

It was after that moment, once you managed to survive the loss, when you had decided to begin travelling, to focus more on the pack’s business and train harder as a Warrior. All because your parents had refused to give up on you.

Which is the reason why you refuse to give up on them.

Jimin holds you until you slowly calm down, until you are finally out of tears and you pull away gently with a regretful smile. You can tell that he is reluctant to let you go, while you immediately start missing the warmth from his embrace. So you decide to move closer to him while both of you fall silent, the cracking sound of the bonfire becomes a relaxing music to keep you both company.

“We have something similar to mates for Werewolves. More like a life companion, to be exact.” Jimin starts speaking to break the silence. His tone is light, as if he is trying to pick you up from the gutter you had put yourself in for sharing about your dead mate. “We don’t have a certain name to call them with. Some call these life companions as ‘Soulmate’, our ‘Fated’, or our ‘Beloved’. Some just choose to stay plain and simple and call each other as ‘Husband and Wife’.”

Jimin’s smile slips through when he suddenly remembers those passing moments when he witnessed Lord Seungwon and Lord Dahlia used those nicknames to call each other, both lovingly during the good days and with bitter touch of sarcasm while they were bickering to one another.

“They are not always Vampires, these life companions. Sometimes a human could be a Vampire’s Beloved when it is fated for them to be one. Though in their case, mating becomes quite—complicated.”

“Have you found yours?” you ask him, gently, when he suddenly looks as if he is lost in a memory.

A small smile comes to his face. “I thought I did.”

He falls silent for a moment. But you say nothing, giving him time to indulge in his memory before he starts again. “About a century back, I travelled to a warm country where it was still reigned by a kingdom. I arrived at the capital city at night, completely estranged in the new place. And just when I was looking for a place to stay, that was when I saw her. She was an entertainer, a dancer. She danced at the center of the town, where people would come out to gather at nightfall, barefoot and all. She looked so beautiful that I fell completely entranced by her presence.”

Jimin has a smile on his face when he remembers her, while his eyes are looking far away.

“She saw me then, watching her. But neither of us spoke to each other until I came to see her again a few nights after. I couldn’t get her out of my mind that I just had to return there, to watch her entertain the crowd. But I couldn’t say hello before I could manage to get myself settled in the city. She was so nice and warm, like summer. So petite that I wanted to just tuck her into my coat to protect her. And we always had a few great conversations every time I came to see her again.”

Jimin’s smile turns from fondness to sadness, and his eyes turn glossy the moment he stops. Taking a deep breath, he carries on with his story. “A month later, we became lovers. She never knew who I was then, or what I was, until we were together for a year. I still fed solely on blood back then, and I looked and behaved completely different compared to how I am now. I could only move around at night and would only feed on other humans or animals whenever I was not with her,” he explains. “She began to get curious about the way I looked, about why she had rarely seen me eat a regular meal and why I would only want to see her at night. When she first found out, I had thought she would run away from me. But she didn’t. She told me that ‘love overcomes fear’, and I believed her. For the first time in my long, lonely life, I felt content and so much in love.”

You had been unknowingly smiling to yourself as you were listening to him speak, as you imagine what kind of happiness he found then. The same happiness you felt when you first met your mate. But just as he takes another break, his gaze turns dark. And so does yours. You instantly know that something went wrong when he starts gritting his teeth.

“What happened?” you ask, almost regretting it when you can feel his heartbreak before he says anything.

His frown deepens and his face looks dark as he reminisces the uneventful fall of his love. “I had warned her to stop dancing in public because I was able to provide for the both of us. But she refused. She said dancing was something she could never live without and that her life would not be complete if she had stopped. I should’ve tried harder to get her to listen but I couldn’t,” he breathes deeply and huffs the air out of his chest. “One night, she came home later than usual after dancing. I was out on a hunt so I couldn’t come to pick her up. She was attacked, robbed by a homeless man and was left bloody and beaten on the side of the street.”

The image you have of what she encountered that night makes you gasp with a shock. Followed by a growl when anger builds up inside your chest.

“When help got to her, it was too late. I came back to find her dying on a healer’s bed,” Jimin’s voice starts shaking, both with despair and anger. This time, you are the one to reach out and hold his hands. “I only knew that I couldn’t lose her. She was supposed to be my Beloved. She could have been my soulmate. Those were the thoughts that came to me when—”

There is no need for him to tell you what happened next. “So you turned her.”

“I—” he bites his lips, but then a deep hissing voice comes out from him. “I did.”

The anger that he is emitting starts to subside, and it is quickly replaced by guilt. “Turned Vampires wake up with blood thirst and when they are turned against their will, they will not have the ability to control the hunger and their new power. That is why most Turned Vampires fail to survive or end up losing their sanity from the first few nights since the time they are awake, unless their sire is there to train them and get them ready by providing them with blood until their lust is controlled enough. I had looked into her mind to see that she had refused to lose me, and I have found her desire to live eternally with me, so I decided to grant her wish, thinking that she would be ready. But when she woke up—” he chokes, and his voice breaks. “The moment she woke up, she first noticed the change in her physique before she felt the hunger. So her first reaction was a huge panic, disbelief, confusion, all mixed into one.”

Jimin pulls one of his hands from your grip and runs it through his hair. He begins pulling his strands of hair when he hears her voice echoing deep inside his head, wishing that he could erase them from his memory. And then he remembers the pained look on her face when she felt the hunger taking over.

‘What have you done to me?’

“And then the hunger came,” he said, gritting his teeth once more at the painful memory of his Beloved. “She was in so much pain because the hunger was too much for her to bear. And she had no idea how to control it. But she refused to feed. No matter how much her body needed it to be able to survive, she kept refusing. I had even given her blood bags so she wouldn’t have to go out and put herself in danger or accidentally harm any humans. But she kept refusing. I always found her in the corner of her room, curled into a ball while crying out in pain and begging me to make it stop. I couldn’t—I couldn’t make it stop and I couldn’t make her feed. I was so desperate and so angry at her, at myself, at the situation that I just fled. I—I left her that night.”

“Jimin—” you want to reach out to him when he starts weeping. When he has both his hands on top of his head, pulling his hair so desperately with so much emotion rolling out of him. But you clench your hands on your sides instead to give him some space.

“I—” he sighs. “When I came back, she was gone. I have no idea how she escaped from the room when I had locked her in, but I haven’t yet to figure out her powers then so she probably lost control of it. It took me all night to find her. She was far on the other side of the city when I finally caught up with her. She was in an alley between some old shops, and there were—” he swallows thickly, taking deep breaths before he can continue. “There were bodies, human bodies. She had hunted them down, dragged them there and drank their blood until the very last drop. She was still sucking a man dry when I reached out to her.”

The images return into his head. He is seeing the dark alley again. Then he sees her, his lover, face paled with her eyes turning deep black with a vengeance and her fangs buried deep in a man’s throat. The man himself had lost his blood and had fallen limp in her hands. She barely noticed him there, barely heard him as he came closer with his hands stretched forward at her while calling for her name. But when she finally did, she was not the same woman he once loved.

“When she saw me, she dropped the dead man like she would to a rag. At first, her eyes seemed so empty, so dark. Those black eyes were looking at me as if she was Death herself and there was no expression on her face except for the look of a Vampire being sated. Then a moment passed and she blinked, and her eyes returned to normal. She looked bewildered at the situation, and the setting she found us in.”

‘What have I done?’

“She cried and cried, and she started screaming. I couldn’t even tell between her cries and her wild, bitter laughter when she started yelling at me, blaming me that I had done it to her. Telling me that I had made her—”

‘A monster. You have made me into a monster! Why did you do this to me? Why?’

Jimin lowers his head, still with his hands entangled with his now messy hair as he describes the night to you, allowing you to see the images he said through his words. “She refused to accept her new reality and her new life. She refused to live a life as a monster that I had turned her into.”

‘I don’t want to live like this. I can’t, Jimin. I can’t. I’m not a monster.’

“And then before I could do anything, she leaned down, taking a silver stake that was there in one of her victims’ pockets and stabbed herself on her chest.” Jimin grimaced as the pain returns to him. All the pain of watching the woman he loved losing her sanity before she fell into her demise right before his very own eyes. But the pain that stays with him the most would always be those last few words she said to him.

“To have believed that you had someone willing to take you into their lives despite knowing what you are then finding out that they have such a deep thought and hatred of your kind in their mind is worse than any kind of betrayal. I thought she had accepted me for who I was, that she had looked past what I was to be able to love me the same way I did her. Yet in the end, it just turned out that she had never seen me as anything else but that. A monster. And to know that it was how she had seen me through those years we were together—”

You let him fall into another silence and look away. You wait until his breathing settles down before you reach out to retrieve the drinking flask from Jackson’s bag. The boy can protest all he wants if he finds out that you had taken it out of his belongings without his permission, but you cannot care less about it. Taking the small glass he used during dinner, you pour a hefty amount of liquor from the flask which you hand to Jimin next.

“She’s not wrong though,” you say to him, pulling his attention back to you, making him glance towards your side before his confused eyes land on the drink you are giving him. He takes it away from you while you quickly pour your own glass with the same drink to the brim.

“I mean, we are monsters. According to those humans, at least. Between me and you, we’re just weird creatures who are defining our purposes. You are supposed to be nothing but a bloodsucker—even though you’re no longer feeding on blood—while I, a beast. But look at us. We dined with roasted rabbits and deer meat, fought off a boy Hunter, and we’re now drinking a bottle of liquor that does nothing to our bodies.”

Looking at you with wide eyes, Jimin seems astonished for a moment, before he sees your smirk and returns it with a chuckle. “We are merely pathetic creatures compared to other monsters of the night, aren’t we?”

You give him a nod and tap your glass on his. “I guess we are.”

Your conversation comes to a halt when both of you take your drinks together. But this time, the silence is void of tension.

“So—” Jimin speaks next once he is done with his drink. The liquor merely gives him the pleasure of warmth and none of the tipsiness he would have liked, but it is enough to help him relax after his sob story. “Who among us won the pity party?”

“Hmm—let’s see. We were both betrayed by our family and our own people. I got myself a dead mate just after our mating and you got an alleged mate who called you a monster—” you hold back a bitter laugh when you hear Jimin snickering beside you at the mention of his sad story, and continue as if nothing happened. “I don’t know, I’d say we’re even.”

“Huh, I guess we are. I personally think that the pup actually wins this one. At least we were both adults when we were betrayed by our fates. The kid barely started his teen years when his own family sent him out to his death,” Jimin plainly states.

With a scoff, you slap a hand onto his chest. “Don’t call him a pup.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Jimin looks at you, bewildered. “But that’s how you call the kid!”

You merely snicker, “I get to call him that for raising him.”

“Exactly,” Jimin chuckles. “He’s technically your kid. So—a pup.”

Your lips curl into a smile. As if exchanging your sad stories had opened up something new between you and Jimin. Something that makes you feel comfortable to joke around with him. “He’s practically an infant if compared to our ages combined, isn’t he?”

“Please don’t talk about age,” Jimin deadpans, shaking his head.

“Why?” you look at him with a grin. “Do you hate to be reminded of how old you really are?”

“Knock it off!”

You open your mouth and ready to throw another banter when you are interrupted. The sound of someone clearing his throat makes you and Jimin turn your heads to see Jackson, coming up from the line of trees with a few small animals in his hand and a grin on his face. “Hey, Mom, Dad? Are you done bickering already? This kid has extra meat to feed you with and I’d rather walk around to find some more than to watch you quarrel like an old couple.”

The Hunter pleasantly laughs when he is only responded by a deep snarl and a long growl.

Disclaimer: All works are written by myself. Any copyright infringement, reposting on any other social media or website, and any act of plagiarism will be dealt with legal action

#jimin scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin angst #jimin x reader #bts jimin #park jimin #bts scenario #bts fanfic #kpop scenario #kpop writing #kpop fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader

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atths--twice · 5 years ago

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This Town

The lead up and the aftermath to what happens in the field in Our Town.

My friend on Twitter asked for a story about this moment in Our Town. Hopefully you enjoy it. ❤️

Scully pulled up to the Kearns residence, finding it curiously dark, seeing as how Mrs. Kearns had recently phoned Mulder, scared and begging for help.

The chilly wind blew through the trees as she stepped out of the car and turned on her flashlight. Walking to the front door, she rang the bell, calling out for Mrs. Kearns. Receiving no answer, she withdrew her weapon and continued around to the back door, worry and fear beginning to niggle at her.

Mrs. Kearns’ car was still there, but finding the back door open, her concern increased. Perhaps she was hurt somewhere in the house, though Scully began to fear the worst when Mrs. Kearns did not respond to her calls. As she began to search for her, the fierce wind pulled the back door shut with a slam, causing her to jump.

Her search revealed nothing. Mrs. Kearns was not there and Scully did not like this feeling. Something was wrong and Mrs. Kearns was in danger. Her phone rang and she took it from her pocket.

“Scully.”

“Scully, Chaco’s not here,” Mulder told her, and she sighed.

“Yeah. Mrs. Kearns is missing too, Mulder. I think someone’s been here. The power’s been cut and the back door was wide open when I got here, but her car is still out back.”

She heard footsteps behind her and before she could say anything, or call out for help, she was struck with something and she fell to the ground.

______________

She came to lying face down on the backseat of a moving vehicle and panic seized her. Her mouth was taped shut and her hands were bound. She could feel and smell blood and her head ached terribly. Looking around, she saw that it was Chaco driving the car.

“Don’t bother trying anything funny,” he said, and she started to breathe hard. “We will have you sorted out in no time.”

She did not know what that entailed and she was terrified to find out. The car began to slow down and soon they stopped. He turned off the car and got out, coming around to pull her from the back. She went limp and slid from his grasp, but he quickly pulled her up, pushing her toward what she believed was a large bonfire.

People were gathered around and she could make out at least two tables laden with large pots. As she heard Chaco’s words, she realized what was happening in that field, and revulsion pooled inside her.

They killed Mrs. Kearns and ate her remains.

A large man in a mask stepped close to them, and Chaco was pulled from her. She was grabbed by two people and forced to watch as he was strapped to a primitive guillotine. Horrified and unable to do anything to help him, she watched the masked executioner raise an ax and cut off Chaco’s head. Bile rose in her throat and she had to swallow it back down.

His headless body was being dragged away and then she heard the words that made her knees go weak.

“Bring her over.”

The two people holding her, pushed her toward the guillotine and another pushed her head down, securing it in place with a metal bar and locking it in place. She began to breathe fast, her heart racing. Prayers seemed pointless, and yet she ran through them all, calling out for help when she knew none was forthcoming.

Through her limited range of sight, she could see the ax. She knew she was going to die; no one would stop this from happening. The ax was raised, and now she was frantic, her breathing ragged as she waited for its inevitable fall.

Two gunshots rang out and there was instant pandemonium. The executioner fell heavily to the ground, as Scully continued to breathe fast, worry and fear making room for relief, her heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears.

Through the crowd of people, she saw Mulder quickly moving towards her and she knew she would be safe. He was there, he had found her. Dropping beside her, he unlocked the metal bar that held her in place, and as she sat up, he stared at her.

“Are you hurt?”

“Mm-mm,” she assured him, as he reached for a corner of the tape and gently pulled it from her mouth. She briefly closed her eyes and took a few deep, relieved breaths.

She looked down as the realization of what nearly happened began to settle inside of her. So close. So close to dying.

“You all right?” he asked, as he gently pushed her hair back, his fingers pinching a stubborn piece stuck to the blood on her forehead, his thumb grazing her temple and his fingers moving into her hair.

In that moment, in the gentle way he spoke and his soft touch, she was struck again by how he was so different than any man she had ever known. She could smell the adrenaline and fear on him, and knew it must match her own. He was also angry, she knew it, and yet… his touch was extremely gentle as his eyes searched her face to make sure she was okay.

Nodding reassuringly at him, he stood up and she followed, her hands still bound. He lifted the mask off the dead executioner and they stared at one another in disbelief when they saw it was Sheriff Arens.

Looking up, they saw Jess Harold lying a few feet in front of them, apparently also deceased, as the townspeople scattered across the field.

“They killed Chaco, Mulder. The sheriff cut off his head and they dragged his body away. He killed him like it was nothing,” she said quietly, shaking her head as she looked down at the sheriff.

“They killed those people they felt were a threat to their way of life,” he murmured and then glanced at her. “Oh shit, Scully. Come here.” He helped her to stand up and took a pocket knife from his coat.

Opening it, he slid the cool blade gently between her hands and cut her binds, letting them fall to the ground. Putting the knife back in his pocket, he checked her wrists, rubbing them softly with his thumbs.

“You’re not hurt?” he asked again and she shook her head. He moved a hand to push her hair back and grimaced at her wound. “You’re bleeding. Or you were.” He touched it lightly and she closed her eyes; the spot and his touch very tender.

“Chaco hit me with something, it knocked me out cold,” she said, opening her eyes. “Mulder, they ate Mrs. Kearns. Killed her and ate her; all of the people who were here tonight.” He sighed and dropped his hand from her face.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding as he looked down at the two dead bodies. “Jesus Christ.”

He took out his phone and walked a few steps away from her, sighing loudly as he spoke. He gave his badge number and said they needed a crime scene investigation team and the coroner. He told them their location and hung up the phone.

She rubbed absentmindedly at her wrists, listening as he spoke, her thoughts on something that was still troubling her.

“They should be here soon. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, nodding to her hands.

“Yeah.” She stopped rubbing them and shook her head. “I don’t understand something, Mulder. Why they would cut off the heads first? If they were boiling the people and eating them, and then rather casually tossing their bones in the river, I have to say, why the need to cut the heads off first?”

“Chaco had them,” Mulder said, shaking his head in disgust.

“He what?!”

“He had four heads locked in an ornate cupboard. Four, including George Kearns. The eyes and mouths had been sewn shut. He must have preserved them somehow and kept them there as trophies.”

“Oh my God,” Scully breathed, staring at him, her stomach turning over.

“Yeah,” he sighed with a sharp nod.

The crime investigation unit arrived, cordoning off the area, and collecting evidence. The coroner and deputy sheriff came to take their statement and collect the bodies of Sheriff Ahrens and Jess Harold.

“I can’t believe this,” Deputy Arnold kept saying, his hat in his hand as he ran his other hand through his hair. “I had no idea. How could he do this? Cannibalism? All those people disappearing? Sweet Jesus…” He covered his mouth and walked away from them quickly, vomiting and retching, the thoughts too overwhelming.

The fire department was called out to ensure that the remnants of the large fire was completely extinguished before everyone left the field.

“You should have let the firemen check your injuries,” Mulder told her as they walked to the car, his hand on the small of her back.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she sighed. “My wrists are okay and my head is just a little bit sore.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder, I assure you, I’m fine.

He nodded with a sigh, though the pressure of his hand increased slightly. She smiled slightly as his presence and the familiar feel of his hand on her back made her feel safe and grounded.

At the car, he opened the door for her and turned around. Smiling her thanks, she made to get in when he stopped her. Reaching out, he brushed her hair back again, staring at her cut. She gripped his wrist lightly and nodded, letting him know once more that she was fine. He nodded with a smile, his thumb stroking her temple as he stepped back.

Neither of them looked back as they silently drove away, the lights from the fire trucks lighting the dark night. She closed her eyes as thoughts of how close she had come to dying weighed heavily on her mind.

“Let’s get out of this town,” Mulder said softly, breaking the silence, and she shivered as she nodded in agreement.

She could think of nothing better than leaving this town and never coming back.

#x files fanfic #x files #msr #hurt and comfort #fear and worry #during and post Our Town #care and comfort

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riverfxle · 6 years ago

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Bonfire | Riverdale Headcanon

Summary — the readers first bonfire with the Riverdale crew.

You had moved into Riverdale in late July and became fast friends with everyone. It was now September and you were nearly buzzing in excitement because the days of September—October were your months and your friends didn't know that yet.

Cheryl and Toni arrived at your house to find everything decorated in burnt orange and brown tones. Also your favorite fall candles burning brightly in every room.

You came out of your bedroom wearing fall inspired clothes — we'll use that term loosely as it is still a bit warm outside. A moment of silence passed before Cheryl broke it, "We are so going shopping after school — finally someone appreciates the best season of them all." She said in her dramatic way before dragging you out the house with Toni trailing along, laughing.

As the month progressed you had figured out that your friends didn't celebrate the harvest season... Which made you want to reconsider them as your friends.

Except they loved bonfires so they were good again in your book.

Cheryl offered to host it as her house was closer to the woods.

Jughead and Archie demanded that there be smores — they had somehow planned it where Archie would bring the chocolate and graham crackers whilst Jughead was in charge of the marshmallows. The 200 count bag of marshmallows. You couldn't figure out where he found so many.

Betty offered to bring blankets since the weather was turning cooler.

Veronica got speical hot chocolate mix sent over from New York, including personalized mugs for everyone.

You had even managed to rope in Sweet Pea and Fangs which made Toni really happy because apparently they're suckers for hot chocolate and marshmallows.

Cheryl got the fire going with the help of Archie and everyone sat on the blankets watching the flames.

You were squished in between Sweet Pea and Fangs, who were nearly crying as Jug flung a flaming marshmallow at Archie. It went out before it hit him of course but it was still hilarious when Betty scolded him for throwing it. Which sent everyone into another round of laughter.

Everyone sipped their hot chocolates and went around telling stories, weird stories or funny stories and even some not very scary ones contributed by Archie.

You all found out that Toni could actually sing really good, except Fangs and Pea who already knew. Which caused the Choni duet of the century.

In the end, everyone fell asleep by the simmering fire. But that night was full of laughter, a weird High School Music sing along, amazing hot chocolate and really good friends.

You couldn't wait for to see what the rest of fall held.

[ A/N : This is starting my fall series, well it's not really a series but I'm really ready for fall and love stories based on cute things you do in fall so stay tuned because I have a Sweet Pea imagine that is adorable. ]

#riverdale #southside serpents #riverdale serpents #jugheadjones #sweet pea #toni topaz #fangs fogarty #archieandrews #cheryl blossom #veronica lodge #bettycooper #riverdale headcanons

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danielpico · 8 years ago

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Walter Russell

Space and the Hydrogen Age By Walter Russell

Walter Russell: musician, painter, sculptor, architectural designer, philosopher, and natural scientist; Walter Russell dropped out of school in grade 8 in order to help support his family. Always sensing a deep inner connection, he became aware of his genius no matter to what endeavor he turned his hand, becoming a world class pianist, artist, sculptor, writer, architect and figure skater. As his awareness of the true nature of man grew, he knew that anyone could do likewise.

In 1921, Russell experienced a 39-day cosmic illumination. From what he learned in that experience, coupled with studies in traditional science, he formulated the “Russell Cosmogony,” through his books The Universal One, The Russell Genero-Radiative Concept, The Secret of Light, and A New Concept of the Universe. Though scoffed at by the scientific community of his time, he was later to be recognized for identifying new elements in the Periodic Table and work that is now being echoed in quantum physics.

In 1926, Walter Russell published The Universal One, his first book of Russell Cosmogony, sending out copies to over five hundred leading world scientists. The many diagrams in that book included these Russell Charts of the Elements, in which he predicted the position of elements that were missing in the Mendeleef Chart, including the radioactive elements.

Walter Russell’s comments on the ‘Vacuum’ : “The greatest error of science is in relation to space. Science thinks of space either as a void or as an ether through which solids of matter travel. The fact is that space travels with its solids, for each solid is surrounded by a minus zero equal-and-opposite vacuity of the plus zero which we call matter. Matter floats in these insulating spatial counterparts. Positive electricity is accountable for the solids and negative electricity is accountable for the space. All matter comes out of space by the action of positive electricity and is returned to space by the action of negative electricity. White-hot suns come from the blackness of cold space and cold space radiates from hot suns. The matter of space consists of holes surrounded by corpuscular solids, while the matter of solids consists of small dense cores surrounded by vast tenuous holes of space. The very purpose of the hot suns is to act as crucibles for melting the raw materials which the Creator needs for expressing the idea of the universe. Contrarily, the very purpose of space is to cool the melted matter set out in order that it may become conditioned for the complex expressions of Creation. The two-way interchange between spatial holes and material solids is continuous.”- Walter Russell.

Walter Russell presented to the world new theories such as the fundamental principles of energy dynamics, the nature of matter and the progression of the evolution of matter, and the depiction of the universe as a continuously changing, creating effort sustained by the systematic work effort of the energy of light which all matter is composed. His depictions of universal laws was expansive enough to be considered a complete cosmology. Today his works are known as Russelian science.

Russell portrayed the principles of the unity of universal law in a way that brought many highly considered theories into direct conflict, or rather incompleteness, such as some of the fundamental principles derived by Newton. He presented a new view of the periodic table of elements that led him to the prediction of the existence of plutonium which was still unknown to mankind and soon after discovered, (as well as elements which are still unknown to mankind but have their mathematical placement in his charts) as well as the creation of heavy water which is required for the process of releasing nuclear energy. Russell’s periodic table has not however been adopted fully despite these discoveries, as it indeed defies a great deal of current scientific thought, primarily the nature of the evolution of matter and the unified wavelength principle which his table is based.

Such conflicts have left the work of Russell somewhat in the category of obscurity as his cosmology, while complete in itself, would require upon its academic and scientific acceptance not only the upheaval of many scientific theories, but also matters such as the nature of God. The connections between matters that many consider religious has left many to dismiss all of his material.

Besides his scientific contributions, Russell was successful in a wide array of fields as well, including the fine arts, architecture, business, and of course writing. He was friend and advisor to many prominent historical figures such as the president of the United States and gave many lectures across the nation about the connection between these universal principles and the applications of such knowledge to human life. Russell’s literary works can be found at the University of Science and Philosophy

Walter Russell delivered this address, below, at the Hotel Pennsylvania in New York on May 13, 1939, at the annual convention of The Eastern Electronic Association:

Hydrogen is the most plentiful substance that the sun generates in its outer atmosphere , and the most plentiful of our outer atmosphere beyond twenty miles. Our oceans are inexhaustible storehouses of voided hydrogen, which can be regenerated to active hydrogen. I shall talk to you tonight about the reality of space as an equal partner with the solids of matter, which float in it. I shall also talk to you about the hydrogen age which is at our door, for an intimate knowledge of space is also at our door and it is that knowledge of space which will give us our hydrogen age. Also it will give us our new cosmogony. In fact, the very secrets of life and death, which have eluded man for ages, lie within a knowledge of space.

This subject is very timely because of the concern of the present generation over the fuel problems of future generations. One of our distinguished scientists delivered an address recently, which was pessimistic in regard to future progress. My talk tonight is not only a more hopeful answer, but it is also a general protest against the expanding universe theory, which modern science has conceived out of misinterpretations of natural phenomena. This idea that the universe is committing suicide has grown out of the unbalanced, one-way theory of the universe created by modern science, which investigates matter to form its conclusions and as yet knows practically nothing about space. With a knowledge of space, the dying universe, and its authority in the unbalanced second law of thermodynamics would be impossible.

Our distinguished scientist said that we had nearly reached the end of the tremendous progress of the last century. In fifty years from now, he states, we would be going on about as now with only slight improvements. In fifty years our oil supply will be exhausted; our coal will last for a thousand years, but we will probably not be able to get more work out of a pound of coal than we do now. Hence our enforced stoppage of progress.

Let me quote him: “There are, I think, no other possible sources of power of comparable cheapness. When the oil and coal are gone, we shall get our power directly from the sun through solar motors, or wind mills, or tidal machines, or else directly through growing and burning plants.”

Unlimited Hydrogen: the Cheapest and Best Fuel

It is very saddening to hear such an eminent scientist repeat the fears of past ages of men who insisted that we would have to go to bed in the dark when the whales were all killed. But sadder still is the lack of vision of all the scientists who fail to see an unlimited supply of hydrogen, the cheapest and best fuel the world has ever known, waiting for man to use it. Hydrogen is the most plentiful substance, which the sun generates in its outer atmosphere, and the most plentiful of our outer atmosphere beyond twenty miles. Also, our oceans are inexhaustible storehouses of voided hydrogen, which can be regenerated to active hydrogen. Before the whales were all killed, man’s intelligence gave us kerosene and gas, then coal and gasoline. Before these are exhausted, his intelligence will give us hydrogen.

Do you realize what the coming of hydrogen in plentiful quantities would mean to the world? Let me stimulate your imagination by picturing an ocean liner manufacturing its own fuel, as it is needed, from either the water under it or the air above it, in one room of the capacity of one or two of its coal bunkers. It would not even need storage space for extra supply, for the hydrogen generators would be in the very fire chambers under the boilers. Do not tell me that there is no hydrogen in air, for if you do, I will tell you that there is none in water. Water, air, hydrogen, and oxygen are not things; they are conditions of the light of the sun and the dark of space from which they sprang.

We Must Know the Secrets of the Structure of Space

Through knowledge, we can supply the conditions that will give us hydrogen by voiding nitrogen as simply as we can supply the conditions that yield those elements by voiding water. By knowing how Nature blankets our earth with miles of hydrogen above the nitrogen and how the sun produces the conditions for making its huge hydrogen bonfires, we can do likewise. To acquire this knowledge one must know the secrets of the structure of space, for space is just fifty percent of the universal potential, a fact which science has not yet suspected. Science already knows the chemical relation of hydrogen to water, but it has never suspected the spatial relation of hydrogen to nitrogen, which forms 88% of the lower part of the insulating blanket that we call air.

When this spatial relation is known, it will have so great an effect upon the new world of its making that a new chemistry will be ushered into our civilization, a chemistry which will take spatial pressures into partnership with material ones, as it should. After all, the upper-earth hydrogen blanket is separated (and also insulated) from the surface-of-earth oxygen by the nitrogenous strata of a valence equaling the two. Nitrogen can therefore be easily voided and replaced by incandescent hydrogen, such as is found in the sun’s upper atmosphere.

Elements of Matter Are Not Permanently Existent

To comprehend my meaning, you must disabuse your minds of the idea that the elements are permanently existent, for they are not. Metals are entirely voided in their salts, oxides, and silicates, and both hydrogen and oxygen are as entirely voided by water as sound is voided by silence. There is no such thing as transmutation of one element into another. One never can become another for each is voided when another condition makes its continuance impossible and another one possible.

Hydrogen flames leap for thousands of miles into the sun’s atmosphere, yet there is no hydrogen at all upon the sun’s surface until the time of its leaping into flame. If the amount of hydrogen which explodes from the sun’s surface in one week existed upon the sun, there would be no sun. It would explode. The sun generates hydrogen and burns it simultaneously, and an ocean liner could do the same.

Elements are not things; they are conditions. Produce a certain condition which is the pattern for hydrogen, or carbon dioxide, or sodium chloride, and they appear from space into which they continually disappear when the conditions are favorable, exactly as apples appear as the solids of apples and disappear as the gases of apples when conditions favor each stage of each cycle.

Science has already discovered the conditions necessary for producing hydrogen by voiding water, but by the primitive, cumbersome, and expensive method known as electrolysis. If the sun could speak, it would be very satirical about the inability of humans to perceive so obvious a thing as the sun’s method of solving its fuel problems in plentiful fashion.

Elements Are But Different Conditions of Light Pressures

The trouble with humans is in forming wrong conclusions in relation to Nature’s expressions. We think, for example, that elements are different substances and that each substance is permanently existent as such. That is not true. Elements are but different conditions of light pressures. They are the raw materials for the fashioning of Creation’s images in the patterns controlled by light waves. They appear when the pressure necessary for their conditions appear and disappear when those pressure conditions cease. Every element in each octave occupies its own pressure position in its wave. Each element seems to be a different substance as the electric pressure conditions of each position in each wave of matter changes. However, it is not the substance that changes, it is the condition of the substance.

Voidance and re-creation is one of the simplest and most obvious principles of Nature. I cannot imagine how it has escaped discovery during the centuries. Oxygen, for example, is voided when you breathe it in. You produce a condition that calls for the pattern of carbon dioxide, and oxygen, as raw material, is as voided as though it never was. Iron, likewise, voids oxygen and oxygen voids iron by rusting. And so it goes all down through the octave waves.

The True Nature of Space

The greatest error of science is in relation to space. Science thinks of space either as a void or as an ether through which solids of matter travel. Sir Oliver Lodge tried to find a drag in this ether caused by the earth’s passage through it, but could not; therefore, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing there. The fact is that space travels with its solids, for each solid is surrounded by a minus zero equal-and-opposite vacuity of the plus zero which we call matter. Matter floats in these insulating spatial counterparts. Positive electricity is accountable for the solids and negative electricity is accountable for the space.

The potential of solids is unequal, volume for volume, to the space that surrounds it, but space and its solids as wholes are equal to each other in potential. This makes the condition possible for performing what science calls work, which necessitates a high and low potential for inter-oscillation. The centripetal power of gravity in great whirling nebula as expressed by positive electricity is winding energy uphill into those hot balls of fire, which hang in cold space by those two black arms in each spiral nucleus. Gravitation, uphill flow of energy, and positive electricity are the same thing.

Likewise, the two fiery white arms of such nebula are unwinding the cosmic clock by the centrifugal power of negative electricity, which science calls radiant energy. The black arms represent as great a force as the white suns, for matter is formed from them. Our scientist friend says that the second law of thermodynamics is as firmly established as the law of gravitation. That could not be possible, for gravitation is an uphill flow of energy, and believers in the second law of thermodynamics refuse to concede the possibility of a simultaneous equal and opposite balance between the uphill and downhill flow of energy. In fact, that law is based upon the belief that energy flows only downhill.

All matter comes out of space by the action of positive electricity and is returned to space by the action of negative electricity. White-hot suns come from the blackness of cold space and cold space radiates from hot suns. The matter of space consists of holes surrounded by corpuscular solids, while the matter of solids consists of small dense cores surrounded by vast tenuous holes of space. The very purpose of the hot suns is to act as crucibles for melting the raw materials which the Creator needs for expressing the idea of the universe. Contrarily, the very purpose of space is to cool the melted matter set out in order that it may become conditioned for the complex expressions of Creation. The two-way interchange between spatial holes and material solids is continuous.

Space has a structure that gives crystal forms to its solid counterparts. Each pair of solids in the universe is not only separated by its spatial envelope, but is insulated by space from contact with other solids. For this reason, it is impossible for two particles of matter actually to come in contact with each other. Also, the path of every two solids in the universe is controlled by two foci, which keep the entire universe in balance. One of these foci represents density and the other one represents vacuity.

Absolute Balance in Nature

The most conspicuously obvious thing about all cause and effect in this universe is Balance. The second law of thermodynamic reeks with unbalance. It has no place whatsoever in Nature. Every effect in Nature is based upon the wave and the wave is absolute in its balance. There is nothing in Nature outside of the wave; therefore, there can be no unbalanced thing in Nature.

The entire universe of motion is expressed by positive and negative electric opposites, which thrust away from each other in just the reverse manner from that which the Coulomb Law sets forth. Positive electricity charges through gravitation. The falling rain charges and heats the earth. Negative electricity discharges through radiation. The rising vapors discharge and cool the earth. Both expressions are equal and opposite. Expansion cannot exceed contraction. Each is actually the cause of the other. They spring from each other and their continuity constitutes a cycle, which could be recorded thus: heat radiates, radiation expands, expansion cools, cold generates, generation contracts, and contraction heats.

A New Cosmogony

Time will not permit further development of this idea, so I will conclude by saying that the hydrogen age could be here within a year or two if it were not for the tremendous resistance set up by modern science to the most obvious simple truths of Nature. I know these secrets of space, which will give hydrogen to science, but my cosmogony is so radically different from that of modern science that every attempt to give voice to it meets with the usual fate of those whose ideas do not fit conventional patterns.

In order that it may not be lost to the world, I have put all this knowledge of space and the electric octave wave from which all things come into a book called The Cosmic Plan.1 Any scientist who comprehends the principles laid down in that book can produce hydrogen the way the sun produces it, or the way space enfolds our planet with it.

There are principles laid down in that book which will make a new world, but it cannot be printed until I can print it at my own expense because publishers submit my manuscripts to orthodox physicists for their approval of it. They might as well submit a book by Galileo to the Pope. The Cosmic Plan is a new cosmogony, which differs as much from this present one as the Copernican cosmogony differs from its Ptolemaic predecessor. Naturally, the orthodox believer in the theory of the dying, one-way, unbalanced universe will not approve of a theory of a two-way, balanced, living universe.

Scientists regard me as sort of an interloper in their difficult field, and I do not blame them a bit. As a sculptor I would feel the same about a physicist who thought he could revolutionize sculpture. They call me a mystic or an intuitive with a keen imagination, a person who does not use the recognized legitimate research laboratory methods of gaining knowledge.

The Universe Is But One Thing: LIGHT

I might say in reply that my laboratory is God’s whole big universe of all Nature, which I have observed as a thinker and found to be very simple. I see it as a whole, not as many separate parts. To me, the universe is but one thing—light, which is expressed in octave waves of light patterned into different conditions of light, which we call the elements of matter. I do not regard the elements of matter as different substances. To me they are but different conditions of the one thing, which the two opposed electric forces have divided into pairs of many seeming opposite expressions of the one thing from which they sprang.

I see no reason why man should not produce hydrogen the same way that Nature produces it. He has all the tools with which to do it when he but acquires the knowledge of Nature’s methods.

Seeming Complexities Confuse Truth is Simple

Scientific observers of grains of sand in laboratories are handicapped by the kaleidoscopic multiplicity of things in their separate universes. They see their many things complexly instead of simply. Hence we find a preponderance of scientists who are merely photographers, mathematicians, statisticians, measurers, and quantity surveyors. There are too few thinkers in science and those who do think see things too complexly. Let me give you an example. Einstein once said, in effect: “It may sometime be shown that matter emerges from space, to again be swallowed up in it.”

To other physicists, this seemed a very liberal and radical statement. But to me, it sounded as though a man, looking at the sun, were to say: “It may sometime be shown that the light which vitalizes things on this earth has its origin in the sun.”

I wish to leave with you this one idea—that we are still primates, hardly out of the jungle, and hardly yet able to think. Anyone who tells you that we are near the end of the great progress of the last century is not taking into account our extreme youth as human thinkers. We still have so far to go that the progress of the last century will seem as nothing as compared with what will immediately follow a more intimate knowledge of space.

What Would happen If We Combined Quotes From Walter Russell and Viktor Schauberger As If EACH Were Having A Conversation?

Compliments: Esa Ruho’s Blog (nice work on everyone who put this together, btw!) FDG.

Viktor Schauberger: “Our work is the embodiment of our will. The spiritual manifestation of this work is its effect. When such work is properly done it brings happiness, and when carried out incorrectly it assuredly brings misery. Humanity! Your will is paramount! You can command Nature if you but obey her!”

Walter Russell: “You may command Nature to the extent only in which you are willing to obey her. You cannot intelligently obey that which you do not comprehend. Therefore I also say, ask of Nature that you may be one with her and she will whisper her secrets to you to the extent in which you are prepared to listen. Seek to be alone much to commune with Nature and be thus inspired by her mighty whisperings within your consciousness. Nature is a most jealous god, for she will not whisper her inspiring revelations to you unless you are absolutely alone with her.”

Viktor Schauberger: “Even in earliest youth my fondest desire was to understand Nature, and thus to come closer to the truth; a truth that I was unable to discover either at school or in church.”

Schauberger: “To Be or Not to Be: In Nature all life is a question of the minutest, but extremely precisely graduated differences in the particular thermal motion within every single body, which continually changes in rhythm with the processes of pulsation. This unique law, which manifests itself throughout Nature’s vastness and unity and expresses itself in every creature and organism, is the ‘law of ceaseless cycles’ that in every organism is linked to a certain time span and a particular tempo. The slightest disturbance of this harmony can lead to the most disastrous consequences for the major life forms. In order to preserve this state of equilibrium, it is vital that the characteristic inner temperature of each of the millions of micro-organisms contained in the macro-organisms be maintained.”

Walter Russell: “The underlying principle of Balance in Nature’s One Law is equality of interchange between the pairs of opposites in any transaction in Nature.” [Beauty is] “Perfection of rhythm, balanced perfection of rhythm. Everything in Nature is expressed by rhythmic waves of light. Every thought and action is a light-wave of thought and action. If one interprets the God within one, one’s thoughts and actions must be balanced rhythmic waves. Ugliness, fears, failures and diseases arise from unbalanced thoughts and actions. Therefore think beauty always if one desire vitality of body and happiness.”

Russell: “Periodicity is a characteristic of all phenomena of nature.”

Viktor Schauberger: “Nature is not served by rigid laws, but by rhythmical, reciprocal processes. Nature uses none of the preconditions of the chemist or the physicist for the purposes of evolution. Nature excludes all fire, on principle, for purposes of growth; therefore all contemporary machines are unnatural and constructed according to false premises. Nature avails herself of the biodynamic form of motion through which the biological prerequisite for the emergence of life is provided. Its purpose is to ur-procreate ‘higher’ conditions of matter out of the originally inferior raw materials, which afford the evolutionally older, or the numerically greater rising generation, the possibility of a constant capacity to evolve, for without any growing and increasing reserves of energy there would be no evolution or development. This results first and foremost in the collapse of the so-called Law of the Conservation of Energy, and in further consequence the Law of Gravity, and all other dogmatic lose any rational or practical basis.”

Schauberger: “The majority believes that everything hard to comprehend must be very profound. This is incorrect. What is hard to understand is what is immature, unclear and often false. The highest wisdom is simple and passes through the brain directly to the heart.”

Walter Russell: “Knowledge in not acquired from without but merely recollected from within. The recollection of knowledge from within is an electro-magnetic process of thinking Mind which is as exactly under man’s control as is the generation of the same power to turn the wheel.”

Viktor Schauberger: “…As time passed I began to play a game with water’s secret powers; I surrendered my so-called free consciousness and allowed the water to take possession of it for a while. Little by little this game turned into a profoundly earnest endeavor, because I realized that one could detach one’s own consciousness from the body and attach it to that of the water. When my own consciousness was eventually returned to me, then the water’s most deeply concealed psyche often revealed the most extraordinary things to me. As a result of this investigation, a researcher was born who could dispatch his consciousness on a voyage of discovery, as it were. In this way I was able to experience things that had escaped other people’s notice, because they were unaware that a human being is able to send forth his free consciousness into those places the eyes cannot see. By practising this blindfolded vision, I eventually developed a bond with mysterious Nature, whose essential being I then slowly learnt to perceive and understand…”

Walter Russell: Naturally, the entirety of the secrets of Creation were mine to know as a complete and consistent cosmogony, which knowing enabled me to envision the universe as a whole. Underlying the creative process of the universe was a fundamental principle of such simplicity that I felt that I could gather the great scientists of the world together and give them that entire principle in a few minutes, for I had been aware that for decades science has been searching for such an underlying principle, which would apply to all phenomena.”

“This I prepared to do by purchasing a textbook of science to familiarize myself with the present state of scientific knowledge, for before my illumination I knew nothing whatsoever of science. To my amazement I found that the entire cosmogenetic theory of science was so unlike God and Nature, that, while reading it, I felt that these laws, hypotheses, and other conclusions could not possibly have been written by men of our day, for they were so far afield from fact they seemed more like the conjuring of ancient sages who told of the flat earth upheld at its four corners by huge elephants as their cosmogenetic concept.”

Viktor Schauberger: “Today’s science thinks too primitively; indeed it could be said that its thinking is an octave too low. It has still not ventured far enough into the realm of energy, and its attitude has remained development was necessary, for how else should a misguided humanity perceive the true interdependencies?”

Walter Russell: “Every pair of opposites is divided by an equilibrium which is a balance between the two, but that balance is nit either of the two. Sodium-chloride is an equilibrium which voids both sodium and chlorine, for neither is present in it. Likewise, water is the equator which voids hydrogen and oxygen. All opposites of all kinds extend from a mutual equator which is their common unity, and to that equator they must eventually return in order to repeat. Every pair must become one in order to again become two. Men and women do not escape this two-way reciprocatve law. Each becomes what the other is. Both are always compromising each other’s unbalance. If the two unbalances are equal and opposite, each type will survive and grow mentally, spiritually and physically. If the two unbalanced mates are unequal in their opposition, the penalty is degeneration – mentally, spiritually and physically. The quality of one mate is a compromise with the quality of the other. The pattern resulting from this spiritual, mental and moral development is compromised for good or bad by every contact between them – no matter how slight. This is true even outside the sex union.”

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The Macrobiotic Genius Of Walter Russell

By John David Mann

“The Times of July 21 [1930] contains an article stating that Walter Russell challenges the Newtonian theory of gravitation. This artist, who is admittedly not a scientist, goes on to say that the fundamentals of science are so hopelessly wrong and so contrary to nature, that nothing but a major surgical operation upon the present primitive beliefs can ever put them in line for a workable ‘cosmogenetic synthesis’… “It seems to me it would be more fitting for an artist of Mr. Russell’s acknowledged distinction in his own field, to remain in it, and not go trespassing on ‘ground which even angels fear to tread’.

“For nearly three hundred years no one, not even a scientist, has had the temerity to question Newton’s laws of gravitation. Such an act on the part of a scientist would be akin to blasphemy, and for an artist to commit such an absurdity is, to treat it kindly, an evidence of either misguidance or crass ignorance of the enormity of his act…”

· Dr. John E. Jackson, The New York Times, August 3, 1930.

“Dr. John E. Jackson’s letter to you, a copy of which he graciously sent to me, is a perfectly natural letter of resentment for which I do not blame him in the least. “It is true that I have challenged the accurateness or completeness of the Newtonian laws of gravitation, and will just as vigorously attack the other “sacred laws” of Kepler, and any others, ancient or modern, that need rewriting…“I am sorry an artist had to do it, but Sir Oliver Lodge said that no scientist could make the supreme discovery of the one thing for which science is looking and hoping. He said that such a discovery would have to be the ‘supreme inspiration of some poet, painter, philosopher or saint’…“Newton, for example, would have solved the other half of the gravitation problem if he had found out how that apple and the tree upon which it grew got up in the air before the apple fell. I challenge the world of science to correctly and completely answer that question…”

· Dr. Walter Russell, The New York Times, August 17, 1930.

“I now wish to modify my statements and criticisms, for, since writing that letter, my viewpoint has somewhat changed… “What I considered to be the overnight inspiration of a ‘crank’ might be, instead, the result of an intelligent and prolonged study of Nature.” “I am immensely intrigued by Russell’s ‘two-way’ principle, for it gives this universe of motion a meaning to me that it did not have before. In fact, we know very little of the why of anything…” “Why did not some scientist think of this instead of waiting 300 years for an artist to tell us about it?… I invite the collaboration and criticism of my fellow scientists at large to join me in this… If Russell is right, and he surely thinks he is, his claim that science needs ‘a major surgical operation’ is justifiable…”

· Dr. John E. Jackson, The New York Times, November 9, 1930.

Dr. John E. Jackson was furious. What educated person would have the audacity to challenge Newton and Kepler? For months the debate raged in the New York Times’ “Letters” page. Prompted by the release of an artist’s heretical views on science, Nature and the universe, the Times’ 1930 filibuster culminated in Dr. Jackson’s dramatic reversal—what began as a caustic attack was transformed into a call for his colleagues’ support that had the fervent ring of religious conversion. Dr. Jackson, whoever he was, had caught a glimmer of the genius of Walter Russell. But in the end, Dr. Jackson notwithstanding, the world of science did not embrace Walter Russell, nor have sixty years of progress changed that position. Today, despite the wide sphere of contacts and influence generated by Russell and his wife and colleague, Lao, their teachings largely await unearthing. However, the time for that rediscovery may be at hand; for the Russells’ vision suddenly has burning relevance to an acknowledged urgent matter of global health. And the role of advocate for the Russell perspective may best be fulfilled by those in the macrobiotic movement—for the macrobiotic world view and Russell’s practical cosmology have much in common.

Cloud Over the Ozone

Our story begins some ten miles above the Earth’s surface in the stratosphere, home of the planet’s ailing ozone skin and birthplace of the emerging global awareness of the limits of man’s technology. In 1974, two scientists at the University of California made an announcement that shocked the world. When Drs. Sherwood Rowland and Mario Molina warned of possible global ozone depletion, they touched off a controversy that was to involve scientists, industry, policy-makers, the press and the public. The “Ozone War,” as it came to be called, was principally responsible for ushering in a new era of planetary policy.

Fifteen years later, the ponderous gears of human response are finally grinding into action. Aimed at coping with the infamous “ozone hole, a spate of local and global policy-making is pushing its way forward in an unprecedented atmosphere of international cooperation. Rep. Al Gore (D-TN), the seasoned environmental advocate who helped uncover Love Canal and has stalked the Greenhouse effect for years, recently introduced legislation to ban production of CFCs (the chemical generally thought responsible for the ozone crisis) within 5 years. As Gore observed this February:

“The political sentiment is changing very rapidly… I think people are mad about this and ready for dramatic action.” But are they the right actions? Not according to Walter Russell, who predicted the ozone dilemma 35 years ago—a full 20 years before the Rowland/Molina research made headlines—and ascribed it to an entirely different cause.

If Russell’s views were correct, then the chlorine chemistry of CFCs is not the prime culprit, and no one is looking in the one direction that matters most. In fact, according to Russell, there is one overarching solution to the atmospheric emergency: stop making nuclear stockpiles— immediately.

A Different Scenario

The year is 1954. Sherwood Rowland’s ozone prognosis is two decades in the future; Three Mile Island is a quarter century still to come. To most of us, the “Greenhouse effect” connotes little more than a better way to grow tomatoes. The word “ecology” scarcely exists in the mainstream lexicon. This is the year atmospheric bomb testing has begun, both by the Soviet Union in Siberia and by the United States on the Bikini atoll. John Wayne and a company of actors and movie personnel are filming a Western in Nevada, and emerge from long days’ of shooting covered with radioactive fallout. Years later, it will be discovered that nearly all of them have just received a death sentence. But all of that is many years away; for now, most of us are caught up in the promise of Eisenhower’s “Atoms for Peace.”

This year, Walter and Lao Russell write their warning in a privately circulated newsletter to their students: Oxygen and radioactive stockpiles cannot coexist. Digging up the Earth’s heavier elements, concentrating their reactions and releasing their products into the atmosphere is a recipe for disaster. Three years later the Russells publish a book, Atomic Suicide?, whose principle message is that the development of the nuclear weaponry and industry, if allowed to continue, will eventually destroy the planet’s oxygen.

“The element of surprise which could delay the discovery of the great danger, and thus allow more plutonium piles to come into existence, is the fact that scientists are looking near the ground for fallout dangers and other radioactive menaces. The greatest radioactive dangers are accumulating from eight to twelve miles up [in the stratosphere]. The upper atmosphere is already charged with death-dealing radioactivity, for which it not yet sent us its bill. It is slowly coming, however, and we will have to pay for it for another century, even if atomic energy plants ceased today.” (Atomic Suicide?, page 18.) Later in the book, they predict that the oxygen-destroying effects of radiation would not be noticed “until the late seventies.”

Atomic Prophesies

It was an uncannily accurate forecast: ozone depletion was first noticed over the Antarctic in 1982 — and scientists have since concluded that it first appeared in 1979. But then, as now, the Russells’ voice received little notice.

The somber prediction of Atomic Suicide? was not the first time Russell had gone out on a limb with scientific prophecy. His spiral charts of the atomic table, copyrighted in 1926, predicted the discovery of the transuranic elements Plutonium and Neptunium, as well as the now-familiar elements of “heavy water, Deuterium and Tritium”—years before they were isolated in research labs.

Some have claimed that the 1926 Russell charts (for which he later received an honorary doctorate from the American Academy of Sciences) and his years of New York City lectures on the subject led directly to the laboratory research that resulted in these elements’ later discovery. It is difficult to document such a claim at a half century’s distance, but this sequence certainly is feasible. Russell himself evidently exerted considerable energy for years urging the research labs of Union Carbide, Westinghouse, General Electric and others to verify his atomic findings.

In any case, the exclusion from the mainstream of Russell’s charts is perhaps one of the most unfortunate snafus in the history of science. For in neglecting to credit Russell with these pivotal atomic discoveries, the world also lost track of the other side of the Russell equation: the larger scientific understanding in the spiral charts, the pragmatic warnings that accompanied them, and the breathtaking scope of macrobiotic thought his life and work revealed.

Who Was Walter Russell?

Russell’s stunning achievements in science were but one facet of a career that was unconventional, astonishingly successful, dazzlingly versatile and unabashedly mystical. Often called “the 20th Century’s Leonardo” and “the man who tapped the secrets of the universe,” Russell maintained that a firm grasp of nature’s universal principles would permit anyone to excel in any area of endeavor; thus genius was all human beings’ birthright. His own accomplishments exemplify this belief. A largely self-taught Renaissance man, Russell carved out his first successful career as an artist, achieving international reputation in such diverse fields as portraiture, poetry, sculpture and architecture.

His accomplishments as a portrait painter and sculptor, in particular, won him commissions from dozens of era notables, such as Mark Twain, Thomas Watson (the founder of IBM), both Roosevelts (Teddy and FDR), and Thomas Edison. He also designed buildings and urban layout—New York City’s famous Hotel Pierre, for example, is a Russell creation. Forays into the world of athletics earned him prestigious awards in figure-skating, horsemanship and race-horse training. To Russell, such bravura performance was significant mainly for its value as a demonstration that Divine Law and Balance could be tapped by human effort, and the world of art was only a starting point. Russell’s yearning to imbue the social fabric of his era with principles of universal justice led to his long association with the Twilight Club, a contemporary “think tank” of artists and social philosophers.

Through the Twilight Club, whose direction he assumed in 1895, Russell formed bonds that were to endure throughout his life; in the early decades of the century the work of the Twilight Club members, under the influence of Russell’s teaching of Divine Law and Universal Order, produced a virtually endless procession of social innovations, such as the creation of child labor laws and child welfare laws, Better Business Bureau and the elimination of sweatshops.

The Living Universe

It was in science, however, that Russell left his least known and perhaps his greatest legacy. While steeped in the discoveries and frontiers of his own time, Russell’s science essentially is a thorough reworking of a Taoist or pre-Socratic world conception in modern terms. Freely blending mystic and religious imagery with rigorous mechanical logic, Russell’s scientific cosmology is rooted in the idea that all phenomena, from star systems to atomic systems, arise from the same infinite source to live, grow and die by precisely identical processes. Hence, there is no fundamental difference between animate and inanimate matter in Russell’s universe—all are living manifestations of God’s universe.

“All bodies in all the universe are the same in all respects, whether they are electrons, cells, rocks, metals, trees, men, planets or suns. All of them live and die in the same manner. All breathe in the charging breath of life and breathe out the discharging breath of death. All of them compress heat and polarize when they breathe in, and expand, cool and depolarize when they breathe out.” (Atomic Suicide?, p. 9.)

Thus, Russell’s universal mechanics hinges on a reinterpretation of the ancient “unified field” theorem of yin and yang. Life—not only biological life, but the existence of planets, gases and metals as well—is caused by increasing compression; and death, by expansion. These two processes, which he also terms “charging” and “discharging,” are not seen as separate forces but as opposite stages and directions of one process, much like the winding up and subsequent unwinding of a spring. Life dominates every form from its inception to the point of maximum compression, when the spring cannot be wound any tighter; compression then begins to decrease, radiation assumes dominance, and the process of releasing life’s charge—of dying unfolds.

To Russell, the elements of matter are also living entities in various stages of birth, growth and decay. “Carbon, the basis of organic life, is the expression of matter at maturity; elements of higher atomic weights are already dominated by the aging side of the pendulum’s swing. In the heaviest elements, the force of decay reaches near-total dominance over the force of life—thus radioactivity is death incarnate.” [See sidebar, “The Spiral of Elements.”]

The Secret Life of Plutonium

The key to grasping Russell’s understanding of radioactivity and ozone is the realization that all the elements, like all life forms, are ideally suited to existence within their own natural, local ecology. Thus, all the elements, when left in their natural dimension, serve beneficial and life-giving purposes, including Urium—later dubbed “Plutonium.”

Put another way, each octave or dimension of matter has its own natural pressure zone. [For an explanation of the octave idea, see the sidebar, “The Spiral of Elements.”] The five elements of organic life (C, H, N, O and Si) all need the normal pressures found at the Earth’s surface to exist normally. The natural dimension for the supercompressed, naturally radioactive elements (radium, uranium, plutonium, et al.) is deep underground, where they are widely dispersed in solid rock.

Here, far from being deadly or poisonous, they actually have made possible organic life on Earth’s surface: through billions of microscopic explosions, they have gradually caused the surrounding rocky crust to break down and release water and other lower-octave elements—something like a geological compost. “Water and soil are decayed and dying rock. They are, literally, dead rocks. Out of death in Nature life springs… Think of the hundreds of millions of years Nature has to work to decay solid rock and metal planets sufficiently to create enough decayed surface, and an atmosphere, for organic life to become possible. The radioactive metals made that possible. Radioactive metals are dead and dying bodies. They belong underground just as dead animal bodies belong underground. They are not poisons in their own environment… Man makes them poisonous by removing them from their purposeful environment.”

“Just as the slight decay of an overripe peach will not hurt you, while a fully decayed one might kill you, so, likewise, the ‘overripe’ chemical elements of the earth which are not too far from carbon [potassium, selenium, iodine, etc.] will not hurt you, while the further they are beyond carbon the more deadly they become, and the more impossible it is to guard yourself from their quick death.” (Atomic Suicide?)

In short, said the Russells, the only structures naturally suited to exist together with the radioactive elements are rocks. Even concrete, durable metals, “glassified” tombs or salt bedsstructures presently considered to contain high-level radioactive wastes—will eventually decay in proximity to the concentrated pressures of such supercompost. The soft tissues of the fourth and fifth octaves, including our bodies, vegetation and the atmosphere itself, certainly cannot endure such a powerful unwinding.

So, then, what would happen? In Russell’s estimation, the lighter pressures of the stratosphere would retain the majority of radioactive fallout, and would be the first region that would reveal the wholesale destruction of oxygen. That’s oxygen, not just ozone: if played through to the end, the last act of the nuclear drama would see the disappearance of all oxygen on the planet, whether as ozone, water or the O2 we breathe. In this context, the ozone hole, as serious as it is in its own right, emerges as an early warning sign.

Our Depleted Personal Ozone

In addition to destroying ozone, Russell’s logic would also seem to predict other early effects, including the destruction of oxygen mechanisms within our bodies; for the body concentrates far more radiation within its tissues than exists freely in the atmosphere. Dr. Tim Binder, a leading spokesman for the Russells’ work, has postulated that “radiation may affect the oxygen-ozone in our white blood cells that is one of the principal [immune system] mechanisms used to destroy pathogens.” This line of thinking may already have been confirmed. For decades, a body of surprising data on health and radiation has been observed by a number of researchers, notably Dr. Alice Stewart in England and Dr. Ernest Sternglass in the US. Their figures show that long-term, relatively low-level level radiation may wreak up to 1,000 times more biological havoc than currently accepted “risk levels” predict. The mechanism responsible for this dramatic trend was first discovered in 1972 by a Canadian researcher named Abram Petkau, and has since been confirmed by other researchers. [This issue’s article by Sara Shannon details the Petkau effect and its dietary implications—Ed.] The little-publicized “Petkau effect” occurs through the creation of highly reactive oxygen molecules with a “negative charge” (the negative ion O2). But according to Russell, Nature produces no such thing as a “negative charge.” All matter, he maintained, exhibits both charging and discharging properties; and all charges, whether of male or female polarity, are positive. In Russell’s terms, what Petkau observed is not a “highly reactive negative ion” but a changed form of oxygen that is abnormally balanced towards discharging its energy rather than charging—unwinding rather than winding.

Thus, what Petkau first documented in 1972 and what Rowland and Molina first suggested two years later may prove to be precisely the same symptom, only on different scales. Perhaps we are already suffering from internal “ozone depletion;” or put another way, perhaps the Earth’s ozone crisis amounts to radiation burn—Gaia herself is already suffering from the Petkau effect.

Rx For Disaster

A problem without solutions is not worth unearthing, and Russell’s life was centered on practical solutions. As an immediate measure, Russell recommended that all nuclear stockpiles be dismantled and their materials dispersed in deep desert trenches. His reasoning here is three-fold. First, the goal ought to be to return these elements to their natural context—that is, underground—where they originally were harmless. Secondly, concentrating them in massed piles is a big mistake: they should be widely dispersed, as they occur in nature. Thirdly, remote desert regions should be selected as an added precaution, assuming that it will take some time for us to master Russell’s atomic mechanics sufficiently to repatriate the volatile materials properly and, if possible, correct the existing stratospheric damage.

The key to such proper treatment may lie in the intriguing science of atomic transmutation, which holds that elements can change into one another freely within normal conditions (i.e., not requiring the tremendous heat and pressures of a high-tech particle accelerator.) Also like Georges Ohsawa, Russell asserted that low-energy, “table-top” transmutation of elements was eminently possible.

Fueled by an early conviction that the civilization of our present time would require new sources of energy, Russell developed an approach to derive free hydrogen from the atmosphere through atomic transmutation. [The recent claims of several teams of scientists to have achieved “table-top” nuclear fusion may finally have provided mainstream evidence of this claim; as of this writing, not enough information has been released to evaluate the nature of the news-making discoveries—Ed.]

Other energy sources suggested by Russell’s work include devices using the winding-up “life principle” of nature, rather than the winding-down “death principle” exemplified by explosive technologies of combustion and atomic fission. In other words, Russell maintained that so far we have employed only half the possibilities the two-way universe presents. Examples of such technologies include an “implosion engine” and a logarithmic solar amplifier. [Forthcoming issues of Solstice will report on the present state of several of these technologies—Ed.] This is a radical concept; it is not hard to see why the great electrical science pioneer Nikola Tesla once told Russell he should “lock up his work in a vault in the Smithsonian for a thousand years” to keep it for future generations who might be developed sufficiently to understand it.

Challenge to Science

Meanwhile, back at the labs of established science and the chambers of policy-making, it is highly unlikely that anyone is talking about Russell’s assessment of the problem—let alone his suggestions for solving it. Achieving such a discussion is an undertaking even more ambitious than it would first appear. For scientists to consider the hypothesis, they will have to face its author. And taking a hard look at Dr. Walter Russell may not be a pill much easier for science to swallow in the 1990s than it was in the 1930s.

This is not hard to understand. For one thing, in the eyes of most scientists Russell always remained an artist—a non-scientist. Moreover, his work is not merely unconventional: it overturns many of the cherished tenets of science. But what makes Russell’s work so difficult for mainstream acceptance is that it spurns all divisions between physics and metaphysics, and proposes a comprehensive, logical explanation for God and atomic physics in the same breath. What are scientists to make of a man who writes:

“What is Atomic Energy? In answering this question let it be remembered that God is love, and that this universe is founded upon love. Every action and its reaction in Nature must be in balance with each other in order to carry out to the purposeful intent of the Creator.

As we suggested earlier, those involved in macrobiotics may be best positioned to understand the scope and practicality of Russell’s views, and thus to help break ground where established scientists hesitate to tread. A pivotal question, then: how has Russell fared in the macrobiotic world?

Walter Russell and The Macrobiotic Movement

Considering the sheer scope of his vision and his remarkably practical understanding of the yin/yang principle, Russell would seem to cry out for macrobiotic attention. In fact, many of his most radical scientific positions have been echoed by the macrobiotic science of Georges Ohsawa and Michio Kushi. For example, Russell contended that matter is not held together by an attracting force generated from the center of mass, but by compression generating from the outside toward the center. This view, one of the Russell statements that flies most abruptly in the face of accepted scientific tenets (and the one that got Dr. Jackson’s goat in 1930), is echoed precisely in Kushi’s cosmology, where conventional “gravity” is discarded in favor of centripetal “Heaven’s force.” Moreover, the Russells’ application of the yin/yang principal to physical entities, human relationships and the social order seems extraordinarily direct and simple to grasp, and as such would seem a valuable complement to the macrobiotic health/dietetic tradition.

While he did not proselytize any specific dietary regimen, he was meticulous in his own personal habits. (For example, while he maintained a prodigious work schedule, he carefully rotated projects so that his focus changed to a different problem or medium every two hours—a rhythm known in macrobiotic circles as corresponding to the energy cycle of acupuncture meridians.) To his strict adherence to natural law he credited his legendary ability to work long hours with ceaseless good humor and without fatigue—quintessentially macrobiotic ideals, which he maintained until his peaceful passing, on his birthday, at the age of 92.

The following passages from his 1957 Atomic Suicide, shed some light on Russell’s views on diet and health:

“The blood is of first importance of all the elements which compose the body. The nervous system could be entirely paralyzed and the body would still function, but the blood has deep instinctive awareness of its existence, and the body which does not have a happy, rhythmic blood condition cannot possibly retain its normalcy.

Even the food one eats should be ‘happy.’ It should be cooked with love and eaten joyfully, and there should be a joyful realization of love in one’s deep breathing and exaltation during the process of taking food into one’s body. The food you eat becomes blood and flesh of your body, and the manner in which you eat it, and your mental attitude while eating it, decides your blood count, the balance between acidity and alkalinity of your digestive machinery, and your entire metabolism. Your Mind is you and your body is the record of your thoughts and actions. Your body is what your Mind electrically extends to it for recording.” Curiously, though, his work has elicited little recognition even from within the nominal macrobiotic movement. This is a significant loss for a community purporting to be ever on the lookout for Western cultural and philosophical roots: for Dr. Walter Russell may well represent the apex of what the West has to offer in original macrobiotic thought.

Two notable exceptions to this record of macrobiotic neglect have been the writings of Jerry Canty and the educational efforts of Dr. Tim Binder. Canty—a long-time student of the Russells and himself a bit of a maverick even within the world of macrobiotics—has drawn heavily on the Russells’ work in his own books, The Eternal Massage, The Sounding of the Sacred Conch, and the privately issued Spiral, Lord of Creation. None of them has really entered the “macrobiotic mainstream” (though The Eternal Massage enjoyed a fairly wide readership in the 1970s); they stand today as several of the lesser known but most challenging and adventurous books in the macrobiotic literature. Binder, a naturopathic doctor whose client list includes John Denver and other well-connected environmental advocates, has studied and championed the Russell teachings along with macrobiotics, the climate crisis/soil mineralization thesis of John Hamaker, and other vital fields of perspective.

Where Canty introduced Russell’s thinking to a venturesome circle of macrobiotic students a generation ago, Binder is now emerging as the Russells’ leading contemporary standard-bearer. Recently appointed president of the Russells’ University of Science and Philosophy in Swannanoa, Virginia, Binder has undertaken the massive project of reintroducing Russell’s revision of science. Next month (June 2-4), Binder and the University host an international symposium at Aspen, Colorado, entitled World Balance, aimed at exposing the core of Russell’s teaching and related perspectives both to the larger scientific community and to the public at large.

While his own interests naturally lean towards matters of human health and diet, Dr. Binder has thrown the University’s focus and resources full-force into documenting and publicizing the possible ozone-radiation link. For Binder recognizes the irony of the situation: the imperative of the ozone crisis may provide the opportunity at last for the world to reconsider the thinking it rejected 60 years ago.

In Pursuit of Evidence

As the centerpiece of this effort, Dr. Binder is coordinating a thorough scientific effort to test, verify and document radioactivity’s role in ozone depletion. Combining an exhaustive review of existing literature with new laboratory experimentation, the project owes its impetus in part to Binder’s frustrated efforts to obtain accurate data from past observations.

Last year, to explore mainstream views on the possible radiation-ozone connection, Binder visited the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in Boulder, Colorado, where he spoke with NOAA researcher George Mount. He was told, “Oh, yes, we know that radiation destroys ozone, but we don’t consider it significant.” Pressing further, Binder learned of an earlier “insignificant” government finding: “during the bomb tests in the 60s [before the ban on atmospheric testing drove the detonations underground] they found a 2 percent reduction in ozone [emphasis ours].” Given the current alarm over a global reduction of 1.7 to 3 percent, 2 percent would certainly seem to us to be “significant.”

Binder was told that a review of this data was in process; when he later tried to obtain this information in print, he received reports with figures that contradicted Mount’s statements. [Subsequently, we contacted Sherwood Rowland’s office at the University of California; Sherwood himself was out of the country, but we spoke with one of his associates about the possible radiation-ozone connection. Offhand, he didn’t see how radiation would be likely to have this effect, though the hypothesis apparently had never been suggested to him before.] Commenting on his investigations, Binder offered this conclusion: “As the government is now reviewing the old data on the 60s’ testing, it sounds like they are reconsidering the nuclear connection to ozone destruction, but don’t want to tell [us] about it yet.

Beyond Ozone: The Human Factor

Shortly before her passing in May, 1988, we had the opportunity to meet Mrs. Russell at her mountaintop home in Virginia. The moment we met she looked directly at us and said, “I’m so glad you’ve come. You know, we really must do something about this ozone hole. The Doctor and I warned about this in 1954; nobody would listen to us then. Now the situation is absolutely urgent.”

Oddly, despite the dire nature of her subject, there was nothing dark or gloomy in her words nor in her demeanor. Her measured statements emerged in a melodious flow that was at once precise and comfortable; they seemed uplifted by a quiet, unshakable faith. We sensed a conviction that all events fall into their natural time and place, with ultimate benefit for the whole.

Later that day, she addressed the assembled group: “There is one central answer to all these terrible environmental problems, and that is a change in the nature of human relationships.Ó It was impossible not to understand what she meant, and agree. Thoroughly versed in her husband’s cosmology and scientific perspective, Lao Russell held that technical solutions alone, no matter how cosmologically conceived, would not bring about the changes so urgently needed. That change, she taught, would come about only through the transformation of human beings, that we might realize our awareness of the infinite Source, the Law of Balance, and the Divine potential in ourselves and in each other. In a 1986 message to her students she wrote, “Only the power of Love put into practice can put an end to all of the violence. Love will not come into the world until mankind understands Who and What he is. When he does understand, he will know that when he destroys another, he is in truth destroying himself.” The modern bull in the stratospheric china shop, whatever its identity may prove to be, is tearing holes in more than the ozone and its underlying biological fabric. It has already begun to clear away a stagnant web of parochial policies and human priorities. Perhaps it will even have the force to open a gap in our staunchly entrenched view of the world and our role within it.

The cloud over the ozone may yet reveal a silver lining. If it succeeds in prompting a closer look at the heretical macrobiotic science of Walter Russell, it may open a window to a two-way universe—a universe seen in an altogether different light.

WALTER RUSSEL ARTICLE: SIDEBARS

An Early Warning

August, 1954. “It will not take many years to utterly destroy the… encircling protective walls which surround this planet and protect the earth from burning up by the sun’s hot rays,” Walter and Lao Russell, Newsletter of the University of Science and Philosophy.

April 6, 1989. “Scientists reported yesterday that for the first time they have detected an increase in “biologically relevant” levels of ultraviolet radiation reaching the ground as a result of the ozone hole over the Antarctica. This is the first indication that the depletion of ozone… is beginning to cause the potentially harmful effect that has long been predicted.” (Washington Post)

A Riddle Wrapped in an Enigma

In a way, the abrupt emergence of Russell’s astonishing hypothesis is in keeping with the peculiar tradition of the ozone story, a tale rife with riddles and ironies. “One of the most striking features of the ozone controversy [is] the extent to which ‘outsiders’ played a crucial role in identifying the threats to the ozone layer.” (The Ozone War, page 11.) It was James Lovelock, now famous as the author of the controversial Gaia Hypothesis, who first found CFCs persisting in the stratosphere. Making the historic measurement required an ultra-sensitive device. Unable to obtain any funding for the research (he was dismissed as a “crank”), Lovelock built the delicate tool himself, using his family’s “grocery money.” Ironically, Lovelock thought the chemicals might serve as useful “tracers” for atmospheric study, and said they posed “no conceivable hazard.” “I bombed,” Lovelock frankly admits. “It turned out I was sitting on a time bomb.” (The Ozone War, page 9.)

Sherry Rowland, who while on a “fishing trip for new ideas” happened to hear early rumor of Lovelock’s measurements at a conference coffee klatch, was no more a part of mainstream ozone research than Lovelock. In fact, he was not an atmospheric scientist at all, but a chemist specializing in, of all things, the chemistry of radio-isotopes. He and Molina, a young research assistant fresh from receiving his PhD, never imagined that their study would plunge them into the eye of a national cyclone of controversy.

If Russell is right, and manmade nuclear reactions prove to be at the root of stratospheric ills, then Sherry Rowland’s involvement provides one further irony: prior to his becoming interested in the fluorocarbon work that led to the ozone finding, he was funded by the Atomic Energy Commission. His area of research? — the chemistry of atoms produced in nuclear reactions.

Russell the Artist

The story of how Dr. Russell came to sculpt his famous bust of Edison is an example of his legendary versatility. At the age of fifty-six, Russell had been an accomplished painter, but had never handled clay in his life. As President of the Society of Arts and Sciences, he felt compelled to make good on a commission for the bust, which a fellow artist had accepted but was unable to complete. He promptly got some clay and wired Mrs. Edison that he would go and do it himself—akin to a great conductor suddenly picking up the violin for an unrehearsed recital. “It was a very unwise thing to do, perhaps, because with such a great man as Edison as my subject, I might not have survived a failure,” he later remarked. “But I never let the thought of failure enter my mind… The inspired belief that I should do this thing as a demonstration of my belief in man’s unlimited power made me ignore the difficulties that lay in the way. So I went to Florida with a mass of clay, but on my way down, I spent the entire time absorbed in inspirational meditation with the Universal Source of all inspiration.” The resulting sculpture was to be one of the great mileposts in his career; other commissions followed immediately, producing busts of Franklin Roosevelt, General Douglas MacArthur, Thomas Watson, George Gershwin and Leopold Stokowski, and finally a twenty-eight figure monument to Mark Twain and the famous “Four Freedoms.

Russell the Social Reformer

Founded 20 years earlier as an “ethical and moral movement to bring culture, character and the Brotherhood of Man principle into world human relations,” the New York-based Twilight Club brought together a network of such luminaries as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Mark Twain, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Walt Whitman, Edwin Markham and Alexis Carrell. (Alexis Carrell wrote Man The Unknown—a perennial favorite in macrobiotic circles—during his association with Russell and the Twilight Club.) Russell’s long collaboration with Thomas Watson, another Twilight Club member and the founder of IBM, led to the introduction of moral standards and ethical principles in the world of business. In his first of many meetings and lectures for IBM personnel, Russell said he was “shocked” with the “jungle philosophy of every man for himself” that then permeated the business world, and he effectively replaced the philosophy of “business is business” with the concept “that equal interchange of goods and services between buyer and seller is the keynote of tomorrow’s business world.” (The Man Who Tapped the Secrets of the Universe, p. 24-25.)

During the Depression years when so many businesses failed, IBM continued to thrive. When asked the secret of their success, Watson replied, “Go talk with Walter Russell.”

Abandoned during the WWII years, the Twilight Club was later revived as the University of Science and Philosophy at Swannanoa, Virginia. After Russell’s passing in 1963, his work was carried on at Swannanoa by Lao Russell, his co-equal partner in work as in marriage.

A Living and Dying Universe

Walter Russell often asserted that God’s universe “is a two-way, not one-way universe.” The death force or “winding down” principle is familiar to us as the force of entropy, the famed Second Law of Thermodynamics. The Law of Entropy states that all systems gradually lose energy (that is, energy becomes less organized and therefore unavailable to perform work) through dispersal of heat; hence, the universe is destined to die a “heat death.”

Russell disagreed, and detailed the mechanics of an opposite, balancing force—the life-organizing force, which he also termed “generoactive.” This force is the answer to the riddle of Newton’s apple, to which Russell alludes in his 1930s Times letter. (Years later, Buckminster Fuller coined the term “syntropy” to describe entropy’s complement.) Russell also likened these twin forces to the charging and discharging of a battery, or the winding and unwinding of a spring. How rapidly or gradually a system unwinds after reaching maturity depends on a variety of factors, principally its degree of balance within its local environment. Thus the relaxation and dissolution of life may occur as slow fermentation, decay, a burst of flame or an explosion.

“We do not say that a decaying tree, which takes fifty years to go back into the ground, is exploding. If you burn it, however, the flame is a series of quick explosions which will do in two hours what Nature intended should take fifty years.” (Atomic Suicide?, page 23.)

Central to Russell’s scientific conclusions is this observation: the state of rest, the source from which all life arises and to which it ultimately returns, is the “normal” state (to which Russell often refers as God, Mind or Magnetic zero.) In other words, it takes increasing effort to “wind up” into greater density (to live), while it takes literally no effort at all, once a system reaches maximum compression, to unwind again—to die. Most significantly, the force of the unwinding/death phase is proportionate to the total effort expended in winding up to that point.

For example, it may take many years of consuming steak and ice cream, perhaps along with exposure to chemical contaminants, to reach the condition disposing one to bowel cancer. The effort expended by the individual, the food industry, the chemical factories and even the cattle involved, are considerable; at the point of maximum compression (when the body cannot hold itself together any tighter) that mass of effort reverts into a forceful, effortless unwinding. What goes in, must come back out. To arrest the course of the disease at this point requires a tremendous, renewed exertion of compression and life effort, commonly observed as the “will to live” factor or, in macrobiotic thought, as the capacity to self-reflect and change one’s personal habits.

In the case of human illness and dying, such a reversal through renewed compression is often possible, just as it is possible to arrest the burning of a tree with cold water, or to slow fermentation with salt. It is not so easy to halt the unwinding process of gunpowder, an electrical short-circuit— or the decay of radioactivity.

The Spiral of Elements

As in the life of his contemporary Georges Ohsawa, the modern founder of the macrobiotic movement, Russell was absorbed in his later years with both the cosmic meaning and the immediate dangers of atomic science. Also like his Oriental counterpart, Russell vividly and brilliantly expressed his grasp of universal dynamics in a spiral chart of the elements.

Russell’s atomic charts placed all the atoms as points along a continuous spectrum of increasing compression, much like the notes of an ascending musical scale. The musical simile is not casual: Russell’s atomic scale is harmonically organized in octaves, with the inert gases (helium, neon, argon etc.) acting as the “keynote” of each octave. (Not surprisingly, Dr. Russell was also an accomplished composer.)

Russell held that the hydrogen octave, far from being the beginning of the atomic scale, was in fact preceded by three “inaudible” atomic octaves, yielding a full spectrum of nine octaves. These first three octaves, involving wavelengths too vast to measure, would be beyond the threshold of physical sensing (that is, beyond detection by normal instruments of science). It was the lack of this knowledge, Russell contended, and the misconception of hydrogen as the first element that forced scientists to view deuterium and tritium (which he had originally called Ethlogen and Bebegen—now well-known as components of the “heavy water” used in today’s nuclear reactions) as isotopes of hydrogen instead of true tonal elements in their own right. (“Isotopes” might be compared to the “accidentals”—sharps and flats—of single musical notes.) On the other hand, he asserted, that many of the higher octave “elements” in fact are but isotopes of higher-octave versions of carbon.

Carbon, lying in the center of the fourth octave, is held to be the balance point of perfect stability and the mature expression of the entire spectrum, and as such serves as the basis for organic life. Russell pointed out that roughly 98 percent of organic life forms are composed of carbon and four other elements (hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen and silicon) which all are grouped together with carbon in the fourth octave (except silicon, a transmutation of carbon in the next octave up, which forms the basis of the Earth’s crust and of soil). In a sense, the “purpose” of the entire atomic spectrum is to create carbon life forms.

The further one compresses past carbon, the more readily will the pressure and heat of compression explode into decay. The supercompressed elements of the 7th, 8th and especially 9th octaves (radium, plutonium, etc.) are simmering at the breaking point—hence the tremendously explosive pressures of the radioactive metals.

Encountering the Russells

On a quiet afternoon in 1979, I sat in a coffee shop preparing my Kushi Institute lecture for that evening. As I sipped my coffee—I was allowed to, after all, I was a teacher I was interrupted by two friends, both “senior” teachers. (This particular coffee shop served as a hangout and meeting place for macrobiotic teachers.) They joined me and began discussing the usual topic of the day: How to get everyone else to eat macrobiotically so as to establish one peaceful world.

One of the seniors noticed my recently acquired book, Dr. Walter Russell’s The Secret of Light, lying on the table beside me; and they asked me who Dr. Russell was and what the book was about. After the first few sentences of my reply, they both proceeded to criticize both the book and its author for a good half hour. In the Boston macrobiotic community where I lived at that time, I soon learned, to mention the Russells and their work was like admitting that you did not understand the unique principle of macrobiotics. The philosophical and scientific works of the Russells were (and perhaps still are) considered unclear, confusing and impractical. I, like my fellow students and teachers, certainly did not want confusing or “foreign” philosophical ideas to disrupt our established belief system concerning the nature of macrobiotics. As far as we were concerned, the macrobiotic truth existed here, and only here, in our little community. The sun flag was raised high, and I was dedicated, loyal, stubborn and very confused. So, I laid the Russells’ work aside, along with all else that did not fit into my small world of dogma.

Several years later, being a little older, not necessarily a little wiser, but a whole lot more curious and frustrated with apparent inconsistencies and impracticalities in my own understanding of macrobiotics, I secretly began to explore the works of Dr. and Mrs. Russell. At first I became more confused and found myself resisting, especially when I read such bold statements as, “Opposites do not attract,” or “Like attracts like.” Wait a minute, I thought. Maybe my macrobiotic friends were right about Russell—there do seem to be inconsistencies here. I soon discovered that the inconsistencies I was encountering were not in their works, but in the limitations of my own prior understanding. Gradually a new comprehension began to open up.

Their words penetrated deep into my soul. They were honest words, words of wisdom, of love, and they were steeped in the unifying principle of macrobiotics. Their expression was extremely clear and to the point. The message was practical and not at all confusing. There was nothing there to instill guilt or fear.

They spoke of the difference between knowing and thinking, and how we all know all there is to know, yet do not always admit it to ourselves. Dr. Russell was a perfect example of one who knew. He had very little formal education, and used this to his advantage. Through inspiration he became an accomplished scientist, philosopher, artist, sculptor and musician.

They spoke of how we as human beings can reinspire others, yet can only be inspired by the One. And most of all, for me, they explained the mechanism and process of the logarithmic spiral—the foundation of macrobiotics. The more I absorbed their understanding, the more it seemed to add to rather than detract from or conflict with my prior macrobiotic learning.

Through the years that followed I began to incorporate their understanding of macrobiotics into my own teaching and counselling, always with the thought that I would meet Mrs. Russell some day. For the past eight years I traveled throughout the United States, teaching and encouraging people to study the Russells’ works, and giving out the address of the University of Science and Philosophy. During this period I had not once contacted the University to introduce myself. Why? I have no idea. In 1987 I moved to Charlottesville, Virginia from New York. Why? I have no idea, other than it seemed to be the proper move for me. I soon learned that the University of Science and Philosophy was only a twenty minute drive away. I called the University and introduced myself, and said I would like to meet Mrs. Russell; I was given an appointment.

Days later, I drove out to Swannanoa with John Mann, who had recently relocated Solstice from upstate New York to Charlottesville. [Editor’s Note: Why had we abruptly relocated? We had no idea.] Arriving at the requested time, I introduced myself to the staff and they said they would inform Mrs. Russell that I was there. I stood among a group of approximately twenty other visitors and watched as the most elegant lady I have ever met began to descend the carpeted stairs.

We had never met, yet she recognized me in the crowd immediately, and invited me upstairs. As we sat, she proceeded to tell me my life story in detail, from the beginning to the present. She spoke as if she knew me when I was a child. She did! And that wasn’t all she knew—for she, too, was a living example of her and her late husband’s philosophy. We spoke for a few hours on many subjects. She told humorous stories about Dr. Russell and herself as if he were still alive. “He is!” she said, “You can never die!” She spoke with a simple, quiet conviction that was utterly disarming, and I felt as if I were in the presence of honesty incarnate. Meeting Mrs. Russell was an experience I will cherish forever.

· Steve Gagne Editor’s Note: Mrs. Russell was a perceptive person. Early in our conversation, she looked straight at us again and said, “This started in 1954.” She was referring to the ‘54 University Newsletter, no doubt; but she spoke so emphatically, Steve and I could not help glancing at each other—could she have known that we were both born in 1954? She smiled. Later, she abruptly turned to us and nonchalantly commented, “You know, Dr. Russell never smoked cigarettes or drank coffee.” Bingo, I thought.

RESOURCES:

“Atomic Suicide?” (1957, 304 pp.), discusses the nature of matter and its relation to the world of spirit. It also provides a broad introduction to Russell’s general cosmology. One fascinating section is devoted to excerpts from the contemporary

popular media about the dangers of nuclear power. A lengthy introduction by Lao Russell includes a biographical essay on Russell’s life. (Solstice Library)

“The Secret of Light” (1947, 288 pp.) is a thorough exposition of Russell’s cosmology, more completely and systematically presented than in Atomic Suicide? (Solstice Library)

“The Man Who Tapped the Secrets of the Universe,” by Glenn Clark (1953 edition, 57 pp.), is a short, highly accessible biography. (Solstice Library)

“Home Study Course.” Available from the University, this is a thorough, comprehensive course of study of the Russells’ work in all its dimensions. (See ad this page for the Home Study Course and other Russell books.)

RELATED BOOKS AND LITERATURE

“Holoscene” (formerly “Spiral, Lord of Creation”), by Jerry Canty; 144 pp. Canty’s most thorough explanation of Russell’s work to date. Available directly from Canty in photocopy for $25 ppd. Jerome Canty, Box 5256, Chico CA 95927.

“The Atomic Age and The Unique Principle,” Georges Ohsawa. Written towards the end of his life, The Atomic Age presents Ohsawa’s most incisive perspective on the atomic frontier and the 20th century challenge. (Solstice Library)

“World Crisis Solutions Foundation Newsletter,” issues 1-4. Written by Dr. Tim Binder, these four newsletters contain brief overviews of some of Dr. Russell’s insights and Dr. Binder’s efforts to pursue the radiation/ozone-depletion connection. The Newsletters also contain condensed articles on a variety of other vital health and environmental issues. $20 for set of four. NW 169 Blodgett Camp Road, Hamilton MT 59840 (406) 363-4041.

“The Ozone War,” Lydia Dotto and Harold Schiff, Doubleday & Co., 1978. A fascinating account of the discoveries and controversies surrounding Sherwood Rowland’s work with the Ozone Hole.

“Protecting the Ozone Layer,” Chapter 5 of The State of the World 1989, Worldwatch Institute, NY.

[END]

Editor’s Note:The following article originally appeared in Solstice magazine, May 1989. Solstice magazine is now defunct. Reproduced here with the express permission of Randolph Byrd. Please see Appendix A. for a description of “Project Argus,” which was the high-altitude atmospheric nuclear weapon testing during the 1940s and 50s that created artificial radiation belts (Van Allen) of charged particles ringing the earth. See also MindNet Journal, Vol. 1, No. 51 for a detailed description of these artificial radiation belts and their intended use by Project HAARP for communications and weather modification. MindNet Journal, Vol. 1, No. 28 further details the dangers of HAARP and the logical outcome of the predictions made by Walter Russell in the following article. It is this editor’s opinion, as well as a number of other writers and researchers, that HAARP is a possible delivery system for worldwide atmospheric mind control of all humans.

Walter Russell

Walter Russell is known as the “Man Who Tapped the Secrets of The Universe,” “The Modern Leonardo,” and “The Most Versatile Man in America.”

Gifted as a poet, painter, sculptor, author, musician, architect, scientist and mystic, Walter Russell’s impact on early 20th century spiritual and scientific thought was impressive. His original and unique Periodic Table of the elements accurately predicted the location and characteristics of four undiscovered elements. It wouldn’t be until years later that these elements deuterium, tritium, neptunium and plutonium were detected by laboratory researchers.

Tesla urged Russell, “Bury your ideas in a vault for a thousand years to await the unfolding of human consciousness to comprehend your vision.” Curiously, Russell developed this Periodic Table while in a heightened state of awareness. In fact, Russell’s first “illumining” occurred in May 1878 when he was just seven years old. From then on, periodic enlightenments convinced Russell that God was teaching him “increasing innersensory perception instead of the outersensory perception of man’s education concepts.” (1)

This state of heightened awareness inspired his work and philosophy throughout his lifetime. When Russell was fourteen years old, the disease Black diptheria seemingly destroyed his throat and cut off his breathing. Doctors pronounced the illness fatal with a prognosis for death. In “The Story of My Illumining,” Russell wrote, “Then, again, came the great Light which had come to me in my first illumining and I arose from my bed to the great amazement of my weeping parents and to the doctors who found that throat functioned as properly as though it were perfectly healed.” Russell spent several weeks drawing and writing about the basic nature and structure of the universe. He sketched out the basis for the structure of atomic, solar and stellar systems, as well as the connection between sound, light and matter. His family thought him mad and fit for a mental institution, but the family doctor disagreed. The physician did not comprehend the complex thoughts that Russell was committing to paper, but he knew that Russell was definitely not crazy.

Walter Russell’s inspirational awareness developed throughout his life. Russell wrote, “From that moment on, I fully knew that God had a purpose for my living to manifest Him by a life of demonstrating the power of man who knew God in him and worked knowingly with Him. This I fully knew, but I did not fully know of the transformation of unfolding man into his next Cosmic Age until the seventh full illumining of 1921, when my years were seven times seven. Up to this time my cosmic severances were forty-three.”

In his brief autobiography, Russell renders an account and explanation of the illumination experience: “Usually the cosmic illumination has a duration of a few minutes or hours, leaving an aftermath of a few day, but no matter how brief it is, it completely transforms one into another higher being. My usual period through life has been about ten days following the first intensive few hours, but this 1921 period lasted for thirty-nine days and nights, beginning on May 10th and ending June 19th.”

Russell continued: “The illumination into Cosmic Consciousness is an entirely spiritual experience and is the ultimate goal of all mankind, which completes the unfolding of the man-idea on earth. All down through man’s unfolding it comes gradually to all people. Every inspiring thought which comes to you is a partial illumination. The geniuses of the world are those who have had the greatest number of spiritual inspirations.”

Walter Russell was born in Boston on May 19, 1871 . Although Russell garnered only a fifth grade education, along with five years of art school, his genius is legendary. He could play the piano before he could walk. He found that whatever he wished to know, he could learn just by desiring it in his heart. As a member of the benevolent Twilight Club, Walter Russell worked for the betterment of mankind in the tradition of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Mark Twain, Walt Whitman and Oliver Wendell Holmes. The Twilight Club’s philosophy of good works bore fruit in such notable service organizations as the Rotary Club, the Lions Club, the Boy Scouts of America, and eventually Russell’s own University of Science and Philosophy he founded with his wife Lao in 1948. Lao was a prodigy in her own right. She began reading and writing at age three, penning fairy stories soon after, and sketching professional-level paintings when just eleven. Educated by private tutors, she later traveled extensively abroad, always curious about what the diverse peoples of the world desired from life. In addition to working with various charitable organizations, she founded a British magazine devoted to health and fitness. After reading a biography of the groundbreaking work of Walter Russell, she contacted him. Lao was 33 years younger than Walter, but the two of them teamed up in both marriage and as co-founders of the University of Science and Philosophy. Lao had devoted her life to changing the thinking of the world, and used her abundant talents and intellectual fortitude to write books that have inspired thousands of people all over the world (2).

During his lifetime, Russell inspired many of the best and brightest of the bold, free-energy researchers. Russell met Nikola Tesla to discuss their respective cosmologies. Although Tesla did not accept many of the tenants of relativity in vogue at the time and apparently never made the connection between matter and energy, he believed in the possibility of free and unlimited energy. After listening to the creative wisdom in Russell’s teachings, Tesla urged him to, “Bury your ideas in a vault for a thousand years to await the unfolding of human consciousness to comprehend your vision.”

Like Tesla and T. Henry Moray, Russell believed in the transmutation of elements. Russell stated, “All dimension is an illusion, an appearance, due to rising potential, which must disappear into its inevitable sequence of lowering potential and again appear in endless cycles of appearance, disappearance and re-appearance. The efforts of man to transmute one element to another must be governed by this principle, and not upon the theory that another substance will be obtained by knocking out one electron.”

In fact, Russell apparently demonstrated the transmutation of gases in a research laboratory at the Westinghouse Lamp Company on September 30, 1927. Witnesses observed what appeared to be the transmutation of hydrogen and oxygen to nitrogen, and then nitrogen back to oxygen and hydrogen. (It has been decades since scientists thought transmutation occurred by “knocking out one electron.” Recent research has achieved low energy transmutation by adding one or more protons to the nucleus.)

Walter Russell died in 1963, but his philosophical and visionary work is carried on by the University of Science and Philosophy. The University was established in 1957 due to the insightful effort of a few great philosophers. The December 1994 issue of the university’s Science Journal published a report filed by the Russell Science Research (RSR) Colorado team of Ron Kovac, Toby Grotz, and Dr. Timothy Binder. Titled, “A Report On The Russell Science Research Team’s Transmutation of Nitrogen into Lithium and Helium,” the abstract is authored by electrical engineer and team member Ron Kovac.

In a 1992/1993 attempt to verify Walter Russell’s 1927 effort at transmutation, the RSR team states that they succeeded when they produced fluorine from water vapor. According to the report, “The first generation experiment utilized water injected into evacuated quartz tubes which were subsequently heated, placed in magnetic fields, allowed to cool while in the magnetic field, and then qualitatively analyzed with an emission spectroscope.”

“The externally applied magnetic fields established shaped potential gradients within the quartz tubes that, according to Russell Cosmogony dual-polarity control gyroscopic plane of rotation concepts, would reshape/reconfigure the atoms centripetal/centrifugal vortices to produce the appearance of a different atom’s transmutation!” (3) A July 1994 test of the transmutation with a computerized mass spectrometer (also called a residual gas analyzer) apparently confirmed the results “as indisputable and can be easily reproduced in any sophisticated laboratory.”

In the philosophical tradition of the visionary Russell, the Science Journal of the University of Science and Philosophy published a report on a purportedly free-energy device designed by inventor/researcher Paul Raymond Jensen. Jensen writes, “I have built a transformer which supplies more power to its load than is drawn from its primary source. I named this device The Unidirectional Transformer (UDT) because the magnetic reaction of the load current does not affect the magnetic action of the primary circuit. The free-energy action of the UDT follows directly from the laws of magnetic circuits.”

Jensen describes his device in detail and offers the information therein free to the public. However, Jensen hopes that “no one will attempt to patent and control this type of transformer. The time on Planet Earth is 15 minutes before midnight; there is no time left to waste. Free-energy technology is not meant to be controlled by vain and greedy parasites who wish to use a gift of God to exploit their fellow man. Free-energy technology represents a spiritual transition of the human race. Free-energy is not meant to be owned, period!” The spiritualist and scientist Walter Russell would heartily agree.

Tesla’s advice to bury Russell’s visionary philosophy for a thousand years was a bit dramatic. It is time to let those universal processes articulated by Russell propel scientists forward in their efforts to create a new non-polluting and sustainable technology.

END 1. The Cosmic Plan, originally printed in 1953 as the Russell Cosmogony, has been republished by the University of Science and Philosophy under the title, A New Concept of the Universe: A Brief Treatise on the Russell Cosmogony.

via: https://frankgermano.wordpress.com/walter-russell/

#Walter Russel #ciencia

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