#righteous indignation on an otherwise peaceful man is a good look

[heyclickadee]

Staring down a fully armed imperial assassin and scolding him like a child remains one of the hottest things Shep Hazard has ever done.

[ultra-creepy-fucker-things]

Seth is not the Villain

A major theme of Star vs. the Forces of Evil is its anti-colonial and anti-racist message, something which, in discussions of the ways the show fails, is often brushed aside in favor of criticizing the shipping and put in the same category of "unimportant subplot that gets in the way of what we, the viewers, actually care about". I disagree, as I believe that the story Star vs. was trying to tell, if told well, would have been a very important one to get out there, especially to the target audience of children seven and up. 

Unfortunately, the show's anti-racist message fails in ways that aren't deeply discussed in mainstream criticism, and that go largely unexamined by the fandom. One way this message fails is in how the franchise depicts the Septarian. 

One message of the show is that the way mewmens view monsters--as violent, dangerous scoundrels that only exist to hurt the supposedly innocent mewmens--is false. In reality, monsters just want to live their lives in peace, and most of the crime and violence mewmens experience at monster hands the result of either desperation or miscommunication.

This would be all well and good, but unfortunately, this show is not consistent with this message.

Enter the septarians- a race of anthropomorphic and borderline immortal lizard men who seem to be everything that the show expects us to believe other monsters aren't. Of the named septarian characters in the show, all three are antagonists, and only one, Rasticore, gets anything resembling sympathy; the other two, Toffee and Seth, are treated as purely, uncomplicatedly evil, with no redeeming qualities. Toffee's actions may have been acknowledged as the right thing to do, but the show otherwise fails to give any acknowledgement that he could possibly be in the right; he is depicted as cunning, manipulative, and cruel; he makes Ludo into a puppet, he murders Comet for reasons the show fails to elaborate on, he is brutally and graphically melted alive onscreen, and no one morns for him once he dies. While the show does, eventually, come around to his views on magic, it is clear that the man himself is still viewed as wholly undeserving of sympathy. Looking at The Magic Book of Spells, this doesn't get much better. 

Solaria introduces us to the septarians, but we get our first trustworthy glimpse at who they are in Eclipsa's chapter, where former cannibal warlord Globgor puts them among monsters who " feel they are superior to the Mewmens and want nothing but the destruction of [their] people and [their] magic", and describes them as "particularly cunning and full of righteous indignation" with "no ability to forgive or forget, carrying the grudges of their forefathers as if they were their own". Now, while Seth pops up here and there throughout the book, it's hard to say how accurate the words of Globgor and Eclipsa are through those appearances, because his actions are described in the vaguest of terms; he loses an all but stated to be rigged election to Pemma during Cresenta's time, leads a rebel faction during Estrella's, and fails to respond to Comet's invitation.

Now, it isn't hard to see that a lot of this is a way to communicate Toffee's ideology and goals to the audience without having him just state them, as Comet notes during her chapter that Seth's views are popular amongst younger septarians, a category which Toffee most certainly falls into. Given that, it is reasonable to believe readers of the Magic Book of Spells are meant to assume that Toffee considers septarians to be superior, that he wants the destruction of mewmens, that he has no ability to forgive or forget and is acting on the grudges of his forefathers, not because he himself ever expresses any of this, but because he is a septarian and that is what we are told septarians are like.

And that poses a problem for the show's core message. 

The message of the show is that monsters aren't a violent, murderous, mewmen-hating monolith, that the actions of people like Ludo and Meteora don't represent the majority, and yet when it comes to septarians we are expected to throw that message away.

In order to follow canon as it is intended, you must fail to absorb one of the show's core themes. And, sadly, many people have. Many fanworks parrot the same stance on septarians that canon gives us, holding within them both the idea that monsters are in truth peaceful and kind, that depictions of them as violent and cruel are lies, while simultaneously accepting wholeheartedly that this one subset of monsters are violent and cruel because that is what the show tells us. 

Thinking critically about media, especially media for kids, is important, and a part of that is being able to tell not just that a story has failed, but how. Many people know full well that Star vs. falls short of it's potential, but some common criticisms and rewrite ideas reveal that these fans don't truly get it, with countless critics and authors suggesting that Seth should have taken Mina's role in the last season or casting him as the villain in their fanworks. And, the thing is? We don't have to do that. We don't have to criticize canon only to double down on the most insidious of its mistakes. Just because the show treats septarians as everything it says other monsters are not doesn't mean we have to believe it. We don't have to accept that Toffee is worse than Mina, or that Seth is as bad as Solaria. We don't have to cast Septarsis as the villain in our fanworks. We can take the lessons Star vs. attempted to teach but failed to live up to and stick by them stronger than the show ever did.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

26th May >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saint Philip Neri, Priest 

   or

Wednesday, Eighth Week in Ordinary Time.

Saint Philip Neri, Priest

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Philippians 4:4-9

Think about whatever is worthy of praise.

Brothers and sisters: Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again:  rejoice! Your kindness should be known to all. The Lord is near. Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

   Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me. Then the God of peace will be with you.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7, 8-9, 10-11

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

I will bless the LORD at all times;    his praise shall be ever in my mouth. Let my soul glory in the LORD;    the lowly will hear and be glad.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

Glorify the LORD with me,    let us together extol his name. I sought the LORD, and he answered me    and delivered me from all my fears.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

Look to him that you may be radiant with joy,    and your faces may not blush with shame. When the poor one called out, the LORD heard,    and from all his distress he saved him.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

The angel of the LORD encamps    around those who fear him, and delivers them. Taste and see how good the LORD is;    blessed the man who takes refuge in him.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

Fear the LORD, you his holy ones,    for nought is lacking to those who fear him. The great grow poor and hungry;    but those who seek the LORD want for no good thing.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

John 15:9b, 5b

Alleluia, alleluia. Remain in my love, says the Lord; whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

John 17:20-26

I wish that where I am they also may be with me.

Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and said: “Holy Father, I pray not only for these, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And I have given them the glory you gave me, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me. Father, they are your gift to me. I wish that where I am they also may be with me, that they may see my glory that you gave me, because you loved me before the foundation of the world. Righteous Father, the world also does not know you, but I know you, and they know that you sent me. I made known to them your name and I will make it known, that the love with which you loved me may be in them and I in them.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Wednesday, Eighth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the feria (Wednesday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Sirach 36:1, 4-5a, 10-17

The nations will know that there is no God but you.

Come to our aid, O God of the universe,    look upon us, show us the light of your mercies,    and put all the nations in dread of you! Thus they will know, as we know,    that there is no God but you, O Lord.

Give new signs and work new wonders.

Gather all the tribes of Jacob,    that they may inherit the land as of old, Show mercy to the people called by your name;    Israel, whom you named your firstborn. Take pity on your holy city,    Jerusalem, your dwelling place. Fill Zion with your majesty,    your temple with your glory.

Give evidence of your deeds of old;    fulfill the prophecies spoken in your name, Reward those who have hoped in you,    and let your prophets be proved true. Hear the prayer of your servants,    for you are ever gracious to your people;    and lead us in the way of justice. Thus it will be known to the very ends of the earth    that you are the eternal God.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 79:8, 9, 11 and 13

R/ Show us, O Lord, the light of your kindness.

Remember not against us the iniquities of the past;    may your compassion quickly come to us,    for we are brought very low.

R/ Show us, O Lord, the light of your kindness.

Help us, O God our savior,    because of the glory of your name; Deliver us and pardon our sins    for your name’s sake.

R/ Show us, O Lord, the light of your kindness.

Let the prisoners’ sighing come before you;    with your great power free those doomed to death. Then we, your people and the sheep of your pasture,    will give thanks to you forever;    through all generations we will declare your praise.

R/ Show us, O Lord, the light of your kindness.

Gospel Acclamation

Mark 10:45

Alleluia, alleluia. The Son of Man came to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Mark 10:32-45

Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem and the Son of Man will be handed over.

The disciples were on the way, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus went ahead of them. They were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. Taking the Twelve aside again, he began to tell them what was going to happen to him. “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and hand him over to the Gentiles who will mock him, spit upon him, scourge him, and put him to death, but after three days he will rise.” Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to Jesus and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” He replied, ‘What do you wish me to do for you?” They answered him, “Grant that in your glory we may sit one at your right and the other at your left.” Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the chalice that I drink or be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” They said to him, ‘We can.” Jesus said to them, “The chalice that I drink, you will drink, and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right or at my left is not mine to give but is for those for whom it has been prepared.” When the ten heard this, they became indignant at James and John. Jesus summoned them and said to them, “You know that those who are recognized as rulers over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones make their authority over them felt. But it shall not be so among you. Rather, whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you will be the slave of all. For the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[lotornomiko]

Dark Enchanted Forest AU Six (Not safe for warning)

The usual warnings apply for violence and rape and other dark themes....

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137747/chapters/63588682

  It can’t get enough of her, not that of the sweet warmth of the woman’s flesh embracing him, Emma of Mist Haven wet if not willing, her quivering insides this maddening tease. The Dark growls as though the woman, its Light, is purposefully provoking it, every tempting inch gathered up in its arms. It leaves her seated on the Dark One’s lap, the back of her thighs slapping against his, as she is made to bounce in place atop that rigid length. The Dark controls that too, claws and hook digging into her hips as it guides her into a pleasing rhythm that is in sync with that of its own.

Its a desperate having of her flesh, the Dark One’s hunger an appetite so voracious and fathomless that one time isn’t enough. Nor two, nor three, the Dark having an untold millennia of repressed urges to work out on its Light. It gathers its Goddess to it, makes more than just their groins come together, the Darkness enjoying feeling the press of all that femininity against its contrasting maleness. That supple shapeliness, the sway and the bounce of both bottom and breasts, the Dark’s breath catching in its throat as just how perfect a fit these bodies were.

“We were made for each other.” The Dark states with a strained rasp of its voice. It laughs then, wild with its giddy excitement, almost taunting the Light that stays locked inside Emma of Mist Haven’s flesh. The Darkness can see it though, curled up as it is inside her, the Light still ever so brilliant even in its moment of shame. Its long past the point of hiding, of managing any kind of distance, the Dark having at last laid claim to one and only thing it has ever clamored so desperately for. That ephemeral gleam, that shining beacon of warmth, the coveted Light everything that the Darkness is not, so pure and so holy, so loving and so good. Driven mad with the desire to have it, and have it for itself ONLY, the Dark has always striven to steal all that is the Light from this world.

From the gifts that the Light has given them, to the being itself, the Dark has laid siege, corrupting the children, those humans that the Light so adored, into wreaking havoc and pain, spreading misery with the worst of those destructive urges, and still the Light had held faith in them. Had LOVED them, more blessings given instead of taken, the Light intent on inspiring growth on all levels so that the people of this world could flourish instead of flounder. She gave them love, both the feelings and the acts to go along with it, and a self righteous fury to see an end to suffering and perversions. It gave them hope, and with it belief, but more than that, it had let blossom the seeds of peace in every heart that it had reached.

The Dark had taken those ideals, and made a mockery of them all, birthing violence in place of the Light’s love. Perverting man, and their nature, encouraging their every last destructive impulse, and giving them the free reign to sin at will. It was a clashing of natures, that imbalance in the world, a never ending game of cat and mouse, that had all culminated to a head on that fateful dawn, the Light cornered and seemingly caught, and the Dark had been as delirious then as it is now.

It was more than than just the euphoric, it was downright perfection, the Light caught and held fast, with no escape in reach. Swallowed up entirely this time by the Dark’s embrace, that beaming brilliance could only falter before it, it’s shine weak but not dulled by its disgrace. It-She wept with a silent voice, a million and one sorrows repressed, and even that did the Dark revel in, curling metaphorical fists around every bit of the light’s essence. Much like it had tried all those many, many years ago, the Dark curling around and consuming, drowning the Light with the depraved depths of its zealous wants, the forest a prison to them both.

Caught, both the Light and the woman, that Emma of Mist Haven, let loose with a repulsed cry, a strangled sound of revulsion that was accompanied in volume by a glow that would be blinding to anything else. To the enamored Dark, with its unnatural sight, and greedy, grasping nature, it was just one more thing for the having. That beautiful gold color, and that indignant squeak, both a part of the Goddess that the Dark might actually cherish. Such a soft feeling was colored in shades of black, the Dark Nemesis of the Light perverting the very feelings inside it, that attraction, that lust, a deep rooted obsession that might have passed for love, if stripped of all the things that had twisted it so. Instead of a gentle and kind touch, it was a covetous one intent on possession, the Darkness taking from the light again and again.

It wept inside, as love itself was perverted and made foul, the Light unable to feel any of the warmth that should have been inherent in such an act. Instead it was left cold, joined together to this monster as it was, the Dark One leeching from it and the woman, all their strength and vitality, leaving the princess, Emma of Mist Haven half swooning in the Dark’s embrace. She’s so close to passing out, and yet some terrified part of her holds on, Emma of Mist Haven being ridden for all she’s got, every last quiver, and every breathless sound, her body a trembling temptation that the Dark finds irresistible.

She is its Goddess made real, that fleshly body able to allow the Light to truly feel every bit of the Dark’s possession of it. Everything from the impudent hand roaming over her, to that hook rubbing its blunt curve behind her, to the lips that press an ardent worship, and the teeth that bite down with the intent to mark, the Light and Emma of Mist Haven are made HIS. Both halves of the Goddess try to protest, even deny such an irrefutable truth, but the Dark knows better. Proves it with every stroke of its flesh inside the Goddess’ body, his hips starting to pick up an urgent speed, as that frenzied and familiar need grows in intense sensation.

Close and closer yet, the Dark pulls on the princess’ hips, plummeting her down the length of him, every solid bit, Emma of Mist Haven letting out repulsed cry at that frantic a having. She’s seated fully in place on it, the Dark One doing a deep grind inside her, loving the way her insides quiver and convulse. The Dark has fast learned the sweet spots of her body, its Goddess for all their hate and revulsion, unable to resist the repeated stroke against such a place. Anymore than she can resist the hook that now presses its cold metal to her clit, that feverish bundle of nerves quick and eager to make the rest of her body full out betray her.

With that cry, and an arch of her back, Emma of Mist Haven goes wild, writhing in place upon the Dark. Its ebony eyes take in the sight of her, the light like a halo around that glistening skin, as the woman wriggles about, the frantic whine of her voice a herald to the light inside her that seems close to bursting, sparkles of it all about them both.

The Light itself is staggered in place, left almost shattered and reeling from the orgasmic feeling that has taken over its host. That flesh shared, the Light doesn’t just observe what is done to it, but actively feels, that ephemeral being made to participate in every debauched second. It doesn’t get easier the second or third time around, each climax forced on the pair, making boundaries blur, the divine and the earthly merging together, to truly come steps closer to becoming as one. What then will they be, truly neither the Light, nor Emma of Mist Haven, but something uniquely its own. And still a slave to the Dark One, to its other worldly lust, that beast made insatiable in one man’s flesh.

The Light, struggling as it with the unwanted pleasures forced upon it, looks up into the Darkness, past those twin pools of merciless ebony, to search for the man inside. There’s shadows everywhere, even in the deepest recesses, the Light’s glow not able to truly burn them away. There’s not much of anything besides that inky blackness that covers over everything like waves, no bit of color or even hope to be found, that for a second the Light thinks that the Dark has swallowed down completely the soul inside its human flesh.

Its a guiding presence, the light, and searching for that one bit of goodness to try and empower. It’s not an effortless hope it can offer, and distracted as it is b y the feel of the Dark moving about, that sharp slap of flesh, and the desperate breath rasping in an ear, the Light can only flicker uncertainly, as its wicked counterpart rouses itself ANEW.

“No!” It hears Emma of Mist Haven’s feeble attempt at a protest, might even echo it, as the feel of that cock as rock hard as ever, starts to draw the Light back to the situation at hand. Trembling and made ever so tired, the Light wonders if this will ever end, beaming a bright brilliance in angry accusation, and that is when she sees it, sees HIM. Buried so deep inside, as to be non existent, and covered in that dark tar like substance, his eyes are the one bright spot of color in an otherwise black world.

That vivid blue, so like the sky on a bright summer’s day, once seen that strong color cannot be forgotten, those eyes so soulful and wounded, and weighted down with his sacrifice. The Light looks at Killian Jones, and though there is sin in him too, there is also a goodness that speaks volumes for the man’s inner character. In that split instance of consideration, the Light deems the man worthy, extending its glow toward him, closer and closer, in an attempt to draw him out of that black mire he has been left to slowly rot in.

Killian Jones looks at the light that is racing its way towards him, and feels a long thought abandoned emotion. He feels HOPE, bright and effervescent, and the man would be lying if he claimed to not feel afraid, Killian so used to the Dark always winning, always beating him back. Swallowed down into that darkness, the fear of being disappointed again, almost has him sink down into those tarry pits completely, but then a voice joins with the light. A scream, that no, and it all comes flooding back to him, the desire and the will power, the same driving force that had led him to save and sacrifice so much to save his Alice, that child who had held only a small fraction of the power that was coming towards him now.

To save just that small ember, Killian Jones had been selfless, determined, and ruthless. Had gone to just about any length, and come away broken as a result, the victory he had been handed coming with such an immense cost, the horrors that the man had been forced to endure the Darkness using his body for, leaving their open wound upon him. It has been festering all this time, the man surviving but just barely, Killian Jones hanging on but losing his sanity bit by bit. Only slivers of his self remain, and most days, he doubts even those as real, Killian Jones reaching out, lifting his arm out of the black quick sand of misery he’s been trapped in.

With fingers extending towards the light, Killian Jones reached towards that bright glowing beam, felt its nurturing warmth upon their tips, the light seeming to flicker. He cried out a desperate no, lunged forward as best he could, making a grab for that golden colored purity.

For one second the Light faltered, distracted as it was by the Dark’s amorous attentions. By the mouth moving over it, by the hand sculpting flesh, and the thick, plunging rod that pulsated in warning before it abruptly erupted. The Light felt Emma of Mist Haven’s worry, the protest there as that hot gush of seed overflowed inside her.

It was then that it happened, that Killian Jones pulled free enough from that tar, to lay his hand on the Light. She gasped, he gasped, Emma of Mist Haven too tired and weak to truly understand what was happening. Just that she was SO hot, from the inside on out, and the Dark One’s satisfied smile, had abruptly twisted into a distorted fit of fury and rage, it’s hand suddenly locking fingers around her throat, cutting off the princess’ air. She gagged and she choked, making a grab for the Dark One’s wrist, unable to stop the abuse, and thinking she was about to die. As sparkles burst in her otherwise darkening vision, the last sight Emma had, was that of the Dark One’s eyes, and the flecks of blue leaking into them.

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

To Be Continued.

Apologies, but it ended up a very short chapter. ._. Also with apologies to Huntress who I hope won’t kill me for the plot twist I wouldn’t spoil her on, and to Paige, who had been hoping for a Light POV this chapter. I didn’t get to do that the way I had hoped...I had other stuff from the Light, including more back story, that I guess will have to wait for some other future chapter or two...

The plot twist...is actually meant to play out slowly and over many chapters. How many I do not know. X_X

Originally I tried to start this as the Light’s POV, but realized the way the three measly paragraphs I had were shaping up, it was going to be a very short chapter, not even a page, cause I realized I was writing something that was better suited for the end. Only...I ended up completely trashing those three, and writing the end a different way for this chapter anyway…

It still ended up a short chapter though...but not as short as it almost was. So I guess I am happy!

Oh also wanted to thank Tulio for his naughty gift art of the Dark With Emma! And yes, it sorta inspired the position they were in at the start of this chapter! XD

Laters!

---Michelle

[dfcfanfics]

Righteous Indignation Miraculous Prompt, Pt. 2

...Said The Spider To The Fly

Standing in the entranceway to his own house, Chat Noir did his very best to look natural and not at all nervous.  Standing next to him, Ladybug gave him a small smile, but he could see that she was also feeling a bit edgy.

“You okay, my Lady?” he whispered to her.

“I think so.  I’m just... not sure if we should be doing this alone.  Whatever this is,” Ladybug whispered back.  “Some kind of... business proposition?”

“I’m not sure, either,” Chat agreed.  “It surprised me a lot when we saw his advertisement, asking us to meet with him.”

“What do you think he could want?” asked Ladybug.

“Well... I do know that Agreste Enterprises does handle fragrances... maybe they’d want to develop a Chat Noir counterpart to--”

“You mention that other fragrance, you lose a finger,” snapped Ladybug.  

“One with an infinitely less offensive advertising campaign,” replied Chat, hastily.  “But there are so many possible things that--”

Nathalie approached the two of them, interrupting their conversation.  “So sorry to keep the two of you waiting,” she stated.  “Mr. Agreste will see you now.”

~----~

“Ah!  Greetings, Ladybug, Chat Noir.  It is a pleasure to meet Paris’s finest once again,” bubbled Gabriel, clearly in an upbeat mood.  

As he rose to meet them and shake hands, Ladybug replied, “Likewise, Sir,” in a small voice.  Chat returned the handshake with a curious look on his face, but covered it well.  

What is up with HIM today? he wondered.

“Obviously,” Gabriel began as he retook his seat, “the two of you saw my advertisement.”

“It was pretty hard to miss.  A half-page in both Le Figaro and Le Monde, asking us to contact you?” noted Ladybug.  “That must have cost a small fortune.”

“Not so much as you might think.  I know people at each publication, and, after all... you two do not have telephone numbers or email addresses one could look up,” shrugged Gabriel.  “I did not know if the two of you read either newspaper, but I felt sure that someone each of you knew would see it if you did not.”

“It worked as you planned it,” Chat smiled.  “Maybe we should set up some sort of how-to-contact system... but that’s for another time.  What can we help you with?”

“I will not waste your valuable time,” Gabriel stated, shifting into business mode.  “I owe each of you a large debt of gratitude; several, actually.  The two of you were responsible from freeing me from one of those foul Akumas, and Ladybug, you in particular saved the very life of someone very dear to me.”

“And to mmm... um... it was my pleasure,” Ladybug stammered.  “All in a day’s work.”

“Nevertheless,” continued Gabriel, “I have been watching out for an opportunity to return the favor and do the two of you some great good.  And I believe that I have found one.”  He sat back in his chair.  “I witnessed the media circus surrounding that tawdry little fragrance advertisement, freeloading off of your good name and reputation.”

Ladybug’s head sank in frustration.  “Yes,” she hissed.  “I have nothing but love for this city and the people in it... but in their case, I will make an exception.”

“That advertisement was completely wrong,” Chat agreed.  Wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, fantasy material for my next three years, wrong, wrong and wrong, he thought.

“I am intimately familiar with the business world, as you might imagine,” Gabriel mused.  “No stranger to battles over copyright and trademark, legalities of parody and homage and fair use, struggling to protect ideas and imagery which I hold dear.  And in pondering this, two points occurred to me.  One is that nothing is preventing other companies from piggybacking off of this, creating entire product lines of bastardized merchandise with your names and faces all over them.”

He turned towards Chat Noir.  “I do not know if yours would be as... inappropriately sexualized as your partner’s, young man, but would you be comfortable with Chat Noir’s Clumping Kitty Litter hitting grocery shelves?” Gabriel smiled.  “I can see it now.  Chat Noir Says ‘It’s So Easy On My Paws!’ on the label.”

“Uggggh,” groaned Chat.  Ladybug suppressed a giggle, feeling sympathetic.

“And the other point is that, not to be rude in any way... but the two of you are children,” noted Gabriel.  “I struggle with these sorts of legal difficulties weekly, and even I need to retain staff to make proper sense of it.  Am I correct that the two of you are without such representation?”

“I... I have a lawyer working with me on the fragrance case,” Ladybug replied.  “Not so much on the overall problem that you mentioned.”

“Well, while tearing the roof off of a building may be an adequate form of stress relief...” Gabriel continued.

“No one has proven that,” snapped Ladybug, a little more quickly than she’d intended.

“Of course not,” grinned Gabriel.  “Though no jury would possibly convict.  If I had powers such as yours and someone wronged me so thoroughly... no corner of the Earth would be far enough for them to run.”

“All right... we have identified the problem.  What are you proposing?” asked Chat.

“In a nutshell... officially sanctioned merchandise would go a long way towards protecting the marketplace from knockoffs and similar trash.  I am proposing a business partnership between the two of you and Agreste Enterprises; one that would provide both legal protection for your names and images and control over what goes out into the world featuring them.”

~----~

“Please... continue,” said Ladybug, looking unsure.  “I do hope you know, Mr. Agreste, that the last thing that Chat and I want to do with our powers is to make money off of them.”

“Very much understood!” Gabriel backpedaled.  “I would not have dreamed otherwise.  I would gladly direct a significant percentage of all revenues to the charities of your choice, rather than to either of you directly.  Not that I would know to whom to write a check... or what accounts you could deposit them into.”

“What kinds of products are you thinking about?” asked Chat, his curiosity piqued.

“I would start slowly at first, were I your business advisor in this,” Gabriel rattled off.  “An officially authorized set of fragrances would be an excellent start, to crowd that impostor off the market.  I am envisioning clothing lines, an area in which Agreste is an industry leader; casual logoed wear for children, let us say, or even infants. ‘Baby-Bugs and Kittenwear’ branding comes to mind for the latter.”

“Go on...” Ladybug ventured.

“Beyond that, we would have to see what the public’s response would be.  My staff is highly trained at identifying what customers are hungry for,” Gabriel replied.  “Also, you would have our legal staff at your disposal for related issues.”

“About that,” Chat jumped in.  “All of that sounds well and good... but it also sounds as if we’re signing over the legal rights to our own public personas.  What control would we retain over how those are maintained, or the quality of the products, for instance?”

Gabriel stared back at him, mildly impressed.  “You speak as if you have some experience with such matters, young man,” he said.

“Without disclosing things that I cannot say out loud... I’m not entirely a stranger to that kind of thing,” allowed Chat.

“Fair enough,” smiled Gabriel.  “The two of you are minors, obviously.  And since I doubt that either of you would feel comfortable bringing your parents into negotiations...”

“My father doesn’t know that I do... this,” Chat blurted out.  Ladybug shot him a look, but it was already spoken.

“I assumed as much,” Gabriel answered.  Ha! he gloated, internally.  Valuable information for me to tuck away.  Whomever his father may be, that is some poor sap that we may find a way to exploit...  

“Leaving our families out of this...” Ladybug said, evenly.

“Agreed.  It would take some finesse to find lawyers and notaries who could hammer out the details accordingly, so... it may be possible to put it on paper, or portions of it may be more of a handshake deal between us,” ventured Gabriel.  “Agreste Enterprises would maintain some legal control over the Ladybug and Chat Noir trademarks until you reach maturity, at which point you would be more capable of renegotiating on your own behalf.”

“I cannot hand you full peace of mind on a silver platter,” Gabriel allowed.  “As with all business negotiations... there would be some element of trust on both sides.  I would imagine, for instance, that the prospect of the heroes of Paris openly denouncing Agreste’s products would be sufficient impetus for us to maintain our end of any deal.”

~----~

Ladybug turned to Chat Noir.  “I’m... not sure what to think about this.  How about you?”

Chat scratched his head.  “I’m not sure, either.  On the one hand, it sounds like a positive way to keep things like that sex-bomb ad from happening again, and get more responsible merchandise into our fans’ hands, but...”  He turned to Gabriel and asked, “Can we have some time to think this over?”

“Absolutely, my boy.  Take all the time you need,” Gabriel assured him.  “Though do note that I cannot control who might flood the marketplace with more tawdriness while you’re considering my offer.”

“All right.  Thank you, Mr. Agreste.  We will give this full consideration, and I will speak with... whomever I can about it.  We will be in touch,” smiled Ladybug.

“Likewise.  Thank you for reaching out to us like this,” agreed Chat.

“Absolutely my pleasure,” Gabriel beamed.  “I do hope that we can reach an agreement.”

As he watched the two of them leave his office, Gabriel sat back in his chair... and grinned a particularly sinister grin.

Yes... go out and speak with your parents, or some dime-store lawyer, he smiled to himself.  Weigh the pros and cons.  And then, when the next sleazy product hits the airwaves, you two will come running back... and willingly hand over to me control of your financial futures.

As Sun Tzu might have said... when frontal assaults fail, sometimes an oblique angle of attack is best.

And this one... you will not see coming.

[trivialqueen]

Here’s the next section of that original story. 

As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British.  I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men. 

St. Sebastian’s was a world class hospital with some of the worst aesthetics he’d ever seen. The exterior was in an uninspired brutalist style. The interior had been remolded several times since the early 1960s, but only ever with an eye toward function and technology, never design or comfort. The cardiothoracic ward, known as Harvey, was as bland as the rest of the hospital, but with the extra unattractive feature of ghastly aqua accents throughout. As if that was a substitute for style. Felix leaned against the nurses’ station, feigning interest in a chart. It had been over a week since his introduction as Director of Surgery. In the subsequent ten days his true role in the hospital had spread like, well, gossip in a hospital. He’s the Dread Pirate Roberts here for your jjjoooobbb!! The rumors were absolutely true, but he didn’t want to let that on. To make an accurate assessment of viability and redundancies he needed to see the hospital in action, not performance. Changes were only as good as their usefulness and longevity. So whenever possible he preferred to observe as inconspicuously as a man of his height could. This tended to involve a lot of pretending to read and “sneaking”.

Even if he wasn’t half secretly overseeing a major shakeup in the hospital, being the Director of Surgery meant he bounced from ward to ward far more than his colleagues did. Which was how he found himself on Harvey that afternoon. He appreciated the challenges that this brought, it tested and stretched diagnostic muscles he’d not used since deciding a specialty, but it also ate into his time as a surgeon. He’d accepted a more administrative position as it was the next logical career move, but in his heart, he was a doctor first and foremost, a bureaucrat a distant second. His pantomime reading of one of Paul Elliot’s old transplant cases was interrupted by a sandy haired teen with a strong Belfast accent.

“It’s ma Dad, he needs help.” A quick survey of the room told him two things: one, no one was collapsed on the floor, meaning the Dad in question was already a patient in a bed, and two, none of the CT consultants, or even a registrar, were in the immediate vicinity. The boy was talking to him.

“Who’s his consultant?”

“Ms. Hale.” The boy fairly spat.

“Then I suggest you wait for her.” She was likely doing something maverick and self-righteous, but he had no doubts she’d be back.

“She doesn’t know a damn thing what she’s doing! She’s done like fifteen tests on ma Dad and all she says is ‘wait and see’. Now you tell me to wait! I’m sick of waiting. He’s in pain, real pain.”

“Alright.” He could at least do something about the pain, if nothing else.

Sofia Grace Hale had a scrivener’s hand, surprising for a doctor. It was large, round, looping, and very legible, unlike his own tight, scratchy scrawl. ‘Abdominal pain’ jumped out from the meticulous notes. Most of Mr. Patrick Baxter’s ailments were CT related and not necessarily caused by his MS– the dilated aorta first among them. Ms. Hale was undoubtable chasing all of their causes and symptoms, but the abdominal pain… well he could check on that. It would also make the teen happy, hopefully, if he could even answer one question.

“Mr. Baxter, my name is Felix Magnusson, and I’d like to do a few tests regarding your abdominal pain, I’ll be arranging for your transfer to our general surgery ward, St. Irene’s.”

Ms. Hale’s red tassel earrings matched her lipstick and made her double take particularly dramatic as she passed Mr. Baxter, his son Kevin, and the porter taking them to the third floor.

“Where are you taking Mr. Baxter?”

“Down to Irene.” Her coffee colored eyes widened and that fire he’d seen during their first meeting began to smolder. She had eyes that could lead a man to hell. Perhaps one day she might look at him without an indignant flame in her gaze. But until then he would warm himself by the fire in her eyes.

“What?”

“He needs an ultrasound.”

“Why isn’t he having one here?” She crossed her arms under her breast as she glared up at him. Even in her high heels her head only came to about his shoulders. To keep eye contact she was forced to crane her neck slightly. Which she did, pale throat exposed, creating a lovely long line down her neck to her décolletage, where he resolutely refused to look, no matter how tempting.

“There seems little point in taking up a CT bed when his problem is clearly GS related.”

“Clearly GS related? The worst pain is in his chest, and the echo shows a dilated aorta.”

“I’ve read your notes. He also has severe abdominal pain. So, what’s your diagnosis?”

She wanted to scream. That arrogant bastard. That absolute arschloch. ‘What’s your diagnosis?’ like she was a bloody F1. God, his tone. ‘Was ist deine diagnose?’ It was that same clipped, ‘I don’t think you have this in you’ tone her clinical skills lead at Tübingen had taken with her. Except he was speaking English. And she wasn’t a F1 anymore. She was a consultant, goddamnit.

(The worst part was, of course, the fact she didn’t have a diagnosis. Not yet anyway, and that uncertainty made her feel even more like a bloody first year all over again. ‘Was ist deine diagnose?’ ‘Keine Ahnung.’)

“I’ve ruled out ischemic heart disease but I’m still waiting on his blood pressure.”

“That is not a diagnosis.” Her eyes flamed beautifully. Her temper was quick and exquisite.

“I’m well aware! As I said, I’m waiting on his test results.”

“The patient was admitted thirty-six hours ago, and you don’t have a diagnosis yet. Surly a change of tact can only assist in figuring this out.” He cocked a brow, his supreme confidence in his own ability shining in his eyes, the quirk of his lips. He took a step closer to her, forcing her head back further, as if he wanted to force her to look away. She wouldn’t. She’d hold her ground and his gaze, even if meant he put her in Anuvittasana to do it. She could catch a whiff of his aftershave, something with sandalwood in it. He smelled of it, hospital, fresh laundry, and perhaps faintly, of old books.

“Is it common elsewhere to steal other consultants’ patients? Or is this because you think you know everything?” He stared at her a moment, tongue moistening his thin lips before he spoke.

“We are both consultants, are we not?” He could see her hands flexing at her side, as if she was thinking about strangling him, and he could taste her anger, capsaicin hot.

“Yes.” She spat out from between cayenne colored lips.

“then surly Mr. Baxter can be our patient. Now let me see what I can learn about the GS part of our current problem, hm?” And with that patronizing hum in his throat he left. Left her in the hallway struggling to keep from screaming, her breath coming in choppy, short burst.

She really did not like that man.

He heard her before he saw her, the determined click of spike heels on linoleum making the announcement: Gird your loins. The moment Mr. Baxter was back from his ultrasound she was at his bedside, chart in hand.

“Your blood pressure is constantly going from high to normal-”

“Of course, it is Love, you keep bothering me. Now, I don’t wanna be rude…” His tone suggested otherwise as his gaze raked down her body, coming to rest on her legs with appreciation. “I’ve lived with this condition for fifteen years; you’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know.” She did have stunning legs, but that did not give the man the right to stare like that. Felix could feel his jaw tighten as he watched patient and consultant converse.

“Right, Jeyne, I’d like to do a blood culture and another echo, please.”

“Love, you’re not listening to me. You’re wasting your time running these bloody tests.” Ms. Hale was very clearly listening to the man, her back was visibly tense from across the room, spine straight and hard as steel. She gave him a curt nod and walked away, his eyes following her with a lascivious grin spreading across his face. He caught her eye as she brushed past him down the hall, for once that burning anger wasn’t directed at him. Once the click-click of her heels was out of earshot he released the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding. The glower he knew he wore, however, remained.

The ward was mostly dark as he made his final rounds for the evening. Meetings had taken up most of his afternoon, bowel resection aside, and had pushed any patient follow ups or paperwork into late in the evening. Most of the residents on the ward were asleep, with a few readings or playing on their devices, providing patches of light throughout the otherwise dim floor. Mr. Baxter was asleep, looking almost peaceful. He snagged the man’s file and retreated to the better lighting of the nurses’ station.

“She said I could sit here.” The voice almost startled him, if he was the sort to be startled. Kevin Baxter sat at the nursing station, text book and papers spread about him in messy piles. Felix felt his fingers twitch, itch to straighten them up, keep them from jumbling together or with anything important still on the desk.

“Who did?”

“Sister Jacobs. Gotta do my homework somewhere.” He held up a battered German language primer.

“Ah! Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“Ich verstehe nur Bahnhof.” He could only smile at his response. There was always something deliciously ironic about complaining that one did not speak the language in idioms of the language.

He’d learned Latin at his father’s knee, and learned it perfectly, for his father would not have settled for anything less. It was both his personality and his profession, as a professor of classics and philologist. English had come quickly in school and become his primary language when at ten he’d been sent to boarding school. He’d learned French first, having tested out of the Latin classes, followed shortly by German. At the time French had been the easier language to pick up, but after quickly realizing that speaking it frequently would require interacting with the French, he’d not pursued it beyond conversational. His mastery of German had been improved tremendously the year he spent in Heidelberg but since his return to the UK it had fallen by the wayside, reading skills aside. He still enjoyed keeping up with his former colleagues’ research. He now also had a stack of publications by S.G. Hale sitting on his desk to peruse.

“Deutsche Sprache, Schwere Sprache.”

“Ja, und ich mag es nicht. Es ist eine mean, hateful Sprache.”

“If you need help, Ms. Hale is a fluent German speaker, she went to school there.” The boy pulled a face. “Do you always work at night?” He was not interested in hearing the boy complain about one of the hospital’s more talented surgeons because his father had a particularly difficult case to diagnose; sifting out preexisting MS symptoms from the new ones, causes still unknown.

“It’s the only time we get any peace, when he’s asleep. Then it’s like everything’s… dunno, normal, I guess, whatever that means.”  He sounded so old for one so young. Felix followed the boy’s eyes as they rested on his father, who was still resting as peacefully as one could in a hospital bed. I could not be easy for either of them, as far as he could tell there was no one else in the Baxter household at the moment except Patrick and Kevin. Being primary caretaker and a teenager was no easy task. “It’s become secondary progressive, hasn’t it?” His jaw clenched.

“What makes you say that?”

“Cuz it’s obvious,” The boy said in that way that only teenagers could. “The migraines, the flashing before his eyes, the coughing like he’s got consumption, the going crazy mad for no reasons.” Felix felt his body tense. This was new information. Important and new. Given how consistently condescending and rude he’d been to Ms. Hale while simultaneously ogling her admittedly very fine legs and even better backside, he’d assumed the man had always had a bad temper. That it was a personality trait, not a symptom.

“He’s not always had a temper?” His mind buzzed with new connections.

“Just lately. Why?”

“Do your homework.” The Baxters might complain about excessive tests but he was fairly confident the next two would provide all the answers they needed.

She was too old for this shit. Sofia Grace did her best to stifle a yawn before going to speak to Mr. Baxter. She’d been up entirely too late trying to figure out his diagnosis, but she’d finally made one. It was a pity that as her vice of choice, she’d developed a tolerance to caffeine so high that the amount necessary to actually keep her awake would also, quite possibly, kill her. But given how Mr. Baxter rankled her with his distain and condescension she knew that her blood would undoubtedly be pumping in now time. Straightening her blouse, she approached his bed, Kevin had already left for school it seemed.

“Good morning, Mr. Baxter. My sincerest apologies for it taking so long, but I think I’ve come up with an explanation for your symptoms.”

“No need, Love, really.” It was a dismissal but not nearly as rude as his usual attitude.

“Sorry?” In fact, he looked rather resigned.

“Catecholamine.” A baritone voice in her ear supplied. Sofia Grace felt herself jump out of her skin. She wheeled around. There, standing in her personal space was Felix Magnusson. Tall as ever, as immovable as a brick wall, and radiating a warmth from his chest that made the rest of the room feel chilly. She’d had no idea he was on the ward, let alone able to stand directly behind her.

“What?”

“I’ve explained it all to Mr. Baxter already,” He continued on, as efficient as ever, pulling out a CT scan from its large brown envelope with flourish. “It accounts for all the symptoms and really, it’s blindingly obvious when you really think about it. I feel a little ashamed for not realizing sooner.” He held the scan out in front of her, he was so close to her back and his arms were so long that she only needed to lean back slightly into his chest to see what he was looking at. “Textbook Pheochromocytoma.” There was indeed a tumor on the adrenal gland and up into the chest cavity, partially around the diaphragm. The pain, headaches, palpitations, elevated heartrate and blood pressure… all the signs and symptoms. The dilated aorta was a problem, but not related to the other symptoms. It really was a general surgery problem, Hurensohn! He lowered his arm but didn’t step back from her.

“So, what do we do now?” It was the first time the man in the bed had looked up at her with anything other than contempt.

“Well,” his MS did complicate things, he wasn’t wrong when he’d asserted that. They’d have to determine if he was fit for surgery, speak with the neuro and physio specialists, get a theatre slot if he was determined fit or wait longer if he wasn’t.

“There’s a procedure. We have a slot in theatre this morning.” She did step away from him then. They needed to have a discussion, now. And it couldn’t be in front of Patrick Baxter. Her fingers itched to grab him by the tie (burgundy silk against a pale blue shirt and navy suit) and tow him away from the bed.

“Mr. Magnusson, could I have a word?” Keeping her tone light and professional was a challenge. They’d only worked together for two weeks and Sofia Grace wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t developed a twitch in that time.

“Just a moment, Ms. Hale.” He didn’t quite hand wave her away, but it was close. God grant me the strength to deal with condescending men. “There’s a theatre slot this morning; would you like us to call your son?” Magnusson was hard to read, but this look was particularly inscrutable.

“No, not till after. If that’s possible. He’s got a maths test today and doesn’t need more worry than he’s already got.” Ever so slightly the lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed as he studied the man in the bed.

“Mr. Magnusson, if you don’t mind?” It took some effort to steer him away, mostly with herself to keep from grabbing him by the tie to do it. Instead a firm hand on his elbow did the trick, only making her feel slightly like a tiny tugboat, although instead of bringing a Nordic cruise ship out to sea, she was dragging a Swedish surgeon over to the light box.

           “You’re just assuming he’s fit for surgery!” She hissed.

           “The Neuro and Physio specialists seem to agree with me.” He hung the scan on the viewer, turned it on, and then reached into his breast pocket for his glasses. Resolutely not looking at her.

“So, let me get this straight,” Sabrina had suggested that he wasn't awful, but she’d just let him get under her skin. And then he did shit like this. “You talked to Stewart and Noah before you talked to me about our patient?” He ignored her. Outright.

“If you’re still concerned, let’s get a second opinion.” He turned and spotted Griffin Richards walking across the ward, cup of coffee in one hand, a stack of files in the other. Sofia liked Griffin; he was an excellent GS surgeon with a flair for the upper GI. He was committed to helping people and passionate about the NHS. Patients came first and she’d only ever seen him play politics to that end. He was a good colleague, even if his personal life was a bit of a shambles. Discreetly she peeked at his hands, no wedding band this morning. So, he was on the outs with his wife this week.

“Ah, Mr. Richards, would you be so kind as to act as arbitrator?” He waved Griffin over politely.

“For what?” He asked, giving Magnusson a wary look but gifting her with a warm smile. He was a handsome and charming man; it was easy to see how he got his wife. It was only a shame that it didn’t seem like he was able to keep her.

“Pheochromocytoma on the adrenal gland that has attached itself to the diaphragm.” Magnusson used the ear piece of his glasses to point to the tumor.

“Mr. Magnusson seems keen to slice and dice, despite the fact the patient has MS.”

“And you would do what exactly, Ms. Hale? Key hole through the chest?” It was a valid option, but he said it as if he might have said, “Try crystal healing?” Griffin put on his own glasses and studied the scan quietly for a moment, sipping his coffee.

“Well if it were my patient, given the position of the tumor, I would suggest you and I operate together.” Another smile, this one less charming as he’d just sold her out. Magnusson was smiling as well, thin lipped and smug as hell.

“And there’s our answer,” he tapped the scan with his glasses, “a CT/GS collaboration, as I was saying. Thank you, Mr. Richards. I’ll see you on the ice, Ms. Hale.” And with that he walked off. Just like that. Sofia knew she was gawping, but she couldn’t help it, the arrogance of the man left her speechless.

Dieser Arschgesicht!

Well, perhaps not entirely…

Ms. Hale was already at the sink when he arrived for surgery. She was in pale blue scrubs today, unlike the wine-colored ones he’d first met her in, her dark curls covered by her floral cap. She didn’t look up at him as she scrubbed her hands but gave him a slight nod as he took the faucet next to her to begin his own cleansing ritual.

“I have reasons for wanting to do a keyhole procedure on Mr. Baxter, it’s not just a ‘CT’ thing or whatever you seem to think. If we do keyhole-”

“We’re doing this open procedure, Ms. Hale.”

“But there’s a risk of-”

“The theatre is set up.” Her cayenne lips pursed into a stubborn line. Her face was already so expressive, but with her mouth painted bright red it was impossible not to look at her lips. They were full, with a cupid’s bow, and clearly holding back several things she’d like to say. Her eyes said them for her, sparking as she gave him a last look before heading off to get her gown and gloves on. If she was half as dynamic of a surgeon as she was as a woman this was going to be quite the operation.

Perhaps it was because she had a scalpel in her hands, but Magnusson was at least inclined to follow her instructions while they were in theatre. He retracted when asked, clamped where she needed him to clamp and generally stayed out of her way as she dealt with Mr. Baxter’s diaphragm. She also didn’t need to look up from her work to know that he was watching her every move with a critical eye.

“Enjoying your foray into Cardiothoracics?” He’d declined the suggestion of background music, leaving nothing to fill the silence except for either one’s thoughts or small talk. And Sofia Grace never much liked being alone with her own thoughts.

“Believe it or not, I was not considering my life lacking in any way for not spending time playing with people’s hearts. What is it about CT surgeons thinking the heart is the only organ in the body?” She’d meant it as small talk, a reference to the fact he was currently assisting her. But nope, he was gunna be an ass about this too. Jesus H. Christ and a windmill full of corpses what is his problem?!

“To be fair, it is kinda important.” He didn’t look up and neither did she as she finished off the last stitch she needed, and they could transition from the more CT oriented to GS oriented surgery.

“It likes to think that, certainly.” He said, picking up a scalpel. “Whereas the kidneys just get on with their job, filtering toxins out and letting the body function. Efficient, beautiful, and secure enough in themselves that they don’t need to shout about it.” Normally she would argue that picking a favorite or most important body part was a stupid endeavor. Most of the organs in the body were necessary and linked together in ways that pulling one out of the system without compensating for it would lead to problems in a variety of other areas. There was no one organ that was better than any other body part, there was only what needed to be dealt with immediately or later to ensure quality of life.

This being said, if he was just going to talk shit because he had some weird hang-up about CT surgeons, she’d double down for the heart. (It was her favorite organ, even if picking favorites was stupid).

“So indispensable you can lose one and still survive.”

“Hack a piece of kidney off and it’ll just grow back,” He picked up a scalpel, “the minute the heart breaks it becomes a useless piece of tissue. And then of course there’s the fact we can now replace a faulty heart with a machine the size of a cigarette packet.” He shot her a look over the top of his glasses before he started cutting, she could almost see the smug smirk behind his surgical mask.

“And in some cases, Mr. Magnusson, it seems as if people can survive without any heart at all.” She met his eye steadily, arching one brow defiantly. He stared at her for a moment. Somewhere behind her, someone sounding a lot like Dan Flannery whispered, “Ooo burn.”

“We need to keep moving.” He muttered awkwardly, getting back to the task at hand.

A hit, a very palpable hit.

They worked in silence after that, only the beeps and pings of the machines and occasional request breaking up the quiet.

“BP is plummeting.” Magnusson reported calmly. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to do open surgery in the first place.

“If we had gone with the keyhole procedure-”

Which we did not so I fail to see the usefulness of that comment.” He snapped, voice cold and quick and sharp.  Brooking no retort.

“We did not go with the keyhole procedure because you decided that we shouldn’t, not because we mutually agreed this method. You decided what was best for this procedure, without listening to my reasons, I might add.”

“I am trying to concentrate, Ms. Hale, if you don’t mind?” Out of respect for Mr. Baxter she bit back the rest of what she wanted to say. At least for the moment.

“It’s funny that of all the words to get lost in translation, partners, seems to mean nothing to you.” Mr. Baxter was now Pheochromocytoma free and on his way back to bed for his recovery.

“What?” Magnusson looked at her sideways as she began washing her hands beside him at the sink. Thoroughly washing her hands gave her something to focus on while she tried to find the right words. There were so many things she wanted to say. Most of them rude. But as therapeutic she’d find it to smash his face in and curse him out, it wouldn’t change what she needed to have changed. Word on the street was he would be staying at Saint Seb’s for the foreseeable future, she needed to play the long game, not for immediate gratification.

“In addition to unilaterally deciding on the method of today’s surgery without consulting me, your CT specialist for this surgery and Co-consultant. You also figured out some significant information about our shared patient and did not tell me.” He stopped washing his hands to stare at her, hands raised slightly, allowing the soap and water to drip down his long forearms to the floor. “No, instead, you went straight to the patient himself and explained everything, leaving me in the dark, and then looking like a complete ass with my dick in the wind trying to discuss his condition without the full picture. To compound this, you swoop in and make me look even more stupid in front of our patient. A patient who already had limited regard for my expertise and position as a Doctor.” She turned the faucet off with her elbow and flicked the excess water from her hands into the sink with a flourish before turning to face him. He was staring at her intently, square jaw working but his mouth wisely closed.

“You complain that I make arrogant, rash decisions and that surgeons who make decisions for their own ends are a menace. Next time you work with me, you either keep me in the loop and treat me as an equal or find someone else to handle your heart.” She didn’t wait for his response, instead she grabbed a towel from beside him and brushed past, leaving him alone in the scrub room.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

The Last All-Clear: (7)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story is a series following the premise: “Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him… What would he do?”

Formatting note: Bolding in Jamie’s letters = underlining

Previously:

(Part 1) September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail 

(Part 2) December 3, 1942: Comb and Glove 

(Part 3) 1943: Blood and Whisky | (Part 4) 1943-1944: Gifts and Ends

(Part 5) June, 1944: The Road | (Part 6) June, 1944: The Ditch  

(7) Samhain, 1946: Inverness

“Did you have many scots in your charge during the war?” Frank asked quite suddenly. I was more happy to change the subject from his kilted spectre, which, while surely utter nonsense, had given me chills.

“Yes, there were quite a few! There was one in particular,” I added, unable to stop the grin from blooming across my face at the memory. “He was a piper in the third seaforths. He couldn't stand being stuck with a needle. He was—” 

I stopped, the implication suddenly settling over my shoulders like cold, creeping damp. Not a non-sequitur, then?  

His expression did nothing to suggest otherwise, nor his flat, “Right,” as he averted his gaze. 

Why, you bloody bastard! 

“What is it, exactly, ah...” Carefully. Oh-so-carefully. “...that you're asking me, Frank?”

He didn’t even miss a beat. “When I saw that chap staring up at you, I thought he might be someone you'd nursed. Someone who might be looking for you now. To reconnect.”

“To ‘reconnect?’” My breath shortened and for one wild moment, I felt the hands of panic around my throat. How could he have known? was the unbidden thought. 

“It wouldn't be unusual,” he was saying, quite gently. “It wouldn't be surprising if you'd sought some comfort, or—” The anxiety vanished as my senses returned, along with my absolutely righteous indignation. “Are you asking me— If I've been unfaithful?” 

It was hardly the worst fight we’d ever had, but it was the worst we’d had in a long time, made still worse by occurring during the ‘honeymoon’ we had both wished to perpetrate. Yes, it was tense and volatile, but at least it moved rapidly, through the near-accusations, the retractions, tender reassurances and, inevitably, to sex—the Randall fix-all. Or, rather, the Randalls-mutually-agree-to-pretend-that-it fixes-all. 

Long after Frank was asleep, though, satiated and carefree, I lay awake, privately seething. That he would have the audacity to even suggest such a thing when I’d never so much as kissed another man since I married Frank, let alone— 

Still, something still caught in my mind: ‘If you’d sought some comfort...’ 

It was only a harmless flirtation, I reassured myself, before scoffing, because that made it sound cheap, and wasn’t at all what it had been, in any case! But what had it been? We’d never touched in any way that wasn’t perfectly chaste. He’d never found his way to my bed in the secrecy of lonely nights, as so many others did in camp. I didn’t even know his full name or fully what his face looked like, for Christ’s sake. 

And yet, Danton had been very important to me, for that brief period during our time together: we had been friends. I had sought comfort in his company, many times, and he had given it, with his words and his good drink, his attention and encouragement. Hell, I doubt I would have stayed in France through the end of the war, without his friendship and the gentle support he unendingly gave; without the solace he brought to my lonely, doubting heart in those days. 

I stared at the ceiling, wondering—not for the first time—what ever became of him. There was that terrible fight between the tents, when he’d said those things and I’d stormed off in a rage that became a sobbing breakdown in the privacy of my tent. As much as he hurt me—deeply, viciously, even with so few words—I did regret, later, that I hadn’t sought him again and tried to talk things through. That cold, cruel disdain had seemed so out of character, even at the time. Surely, if I’d gotten in his face, forced him to speak to me with the sort of candor that was integral to our friendship, we might have reached some sort of rapprochement. But I’d only ever seen him again in faint glimpses across camp. After that, he was gone. People said he just up and left, one day, never to be heard from again. 

‘Someone who might be looking for you now. To reconnect.’

Well, and if there WERE someone come looking for me, Frank, I silently spat as I rolled onto my side away from him, he bloody well wouldn’t have been a Scot. 

2 0 2 4   

Passing strange, it was, to arrive back in Inverness this afternoon. Odd on the one hand, of course, to compare it with the Inverness of old; but stranger still to traverse its streets with money in my pocket and proper clothes on my back, my steps certain. You’ll have read by now of my wretched experiences here of seven years ago, not one of which I should ever wish to repeat (though I give you leave to tease and laugh about them for as many years to come, as ye wish).

Suffice it to say, I found myself murmuring a prayer of heartfelt gratitude for being able to stride boldly up to the innkeeper’s desk to give them my custom; for the money to hire a room (and by no means the cheapest in the place); for knowing precisely how to operate the hot water geyser and how I might go about seeing to my supp /

/     Forgive my artless interruption, but I must immediately explain that I had been writing the above while sitting at the desk in my second-floor chamber. Some whimsical soul had thought to situate it at the window, overlooking the square and the fountain beneath. A pretty aspect, to be sure, though the night is foul and thundering, at present, and hardly anything to be seen at all. 

On that point, I couldna have been more wrong, for there ye were, Claire, right before me in the window of the inn across the street, brushing your hair. 

Christ, the joy that coursed through me was so immediate, so complete, I couldna rightly say if I was crying or laughing. It’s likely to have been some of both, but as I say, I wasna paying much heed to anything save you, glowing in the lamplight as ye wrestled and tussled with that brush. How I’ve missed that sight, mo nighean donn: you and your great curly wig, both! I ken well that I laughed, the sound loud and full and bursting, when ye suddenly brandished the brush in a fit of pique when it caught in a tangle. I didna need one bit to peer at the reflection of your lips to ken precisely what it is ye said. Jesus H—RRROOSEVELT Christ! with that pursed, growling R that makes ye sound like a wee, angry bulldog, and at which I can never help but chuckle in delight. I leaned elbows on the desk and sat my face in both hands like a schoolboy, half-covering my mouth as I grinned like one, too; as I watched my sweetheart across the way. 

It shouldna have been altogether a shock, I suppose. I kent you were in town, for I’d come to Inverness to see you, or rather, to see ye safely gone through the stones tomorrow; and yet I canna express what the gift of that unexpected sighting did to fill my heart. It was more than two years since the last time I’d laid eyes on ye, and that memory marred by blood and fear. So, to see ye suddenly there before my eyes, all alight ? I shall cherish that image, always.    

Ye might think it a strange thing to mention, Sassenach (I wonder if I ought to scratch it through, altogether), but to my own shock, I found myself feeling a trifle sad on behalf of Frank Randall, of all people. For, while I hold no great fondness for the man, he is a man, after all, a man who loves you; and how many years has he, too, waited through wartime and separation for a peaceful life with his wife? with the very woman in that window?  Ye chose me, I remind myself, with no little relief and satisfaction: with a free choice between us, I was the one you wanted. Still, I found that I pitied him your loss; that you’d be gone from him forever, first in body and later in your heart, after tonight. 

That is to say, I pitied him right up until the moment I saw the selfsame bastard coming up the street in the storm, at which time all soft, generous consideration was replaced with purest loathing for everything from his hat to his umbrella to the manner of his gait. 

The electricity cut off suddenly enough to be startling, and from the corner of my eye I saw your own light vanish as well. The work of the storm, I should expect. I fumbled for a candle in the desk drawer (when did I become so blind and helpless in the dark, I find myself wondering), and by the time I’d gotten it lit, I could see that you were about the same business, slowly illuminating your room with candle after candle. It was even more breathtaking, to see ye by candlelight again, silk and curl alike sparkling with gold as ye moved about.  

You should know that the moment I saw the door behind ye open, I stood and closed the curtain. The both of ye deserved privacy, this last night. Besides, my jealous imagination would more than manage on its own, I’m afraid, without newsreel footage of the event.

Besides, my brown-haired lass, I shall see ye again on the morrow. 

2 0 2 5   

I have seen ye this day, Sassenach, though not entirely under the circumstances I expected. 

You’d told me, once, that you’d gone to the stones with Frank at sunrise of that morn, and had returned on your own to Craigh na Dun later in the afternoon to gather your wee plants. Hoping to occupy my time until after midday, when I would drive out to the vicinity of the hill to lay in wait, I put on my coat and scarf (your Christmas gift, remember?) and passed the time out on the moors. 

There was naught I cared to hunt, but I hadn’t the mind for it, in any case. I just wandered, unsure if my thoughts would ever settle. There was no task to be done on your behalf, this time, as much as I might prefer otherwise, nothing to be done at all, save wait. I only wanted to see your last moments before ye touched the stones, so I’d ken for certain. Hour after hour, I walked, trying to enjoy the gusting winds and sounds of the animals and trees, but finding little comfort therein. 

Only, just after noon, when I was nearly back to the outskirts of town, I heard the sound of a Car approaching, coming in my direction, and then there ye were, driving fast around the bend in the road. At once, I felt the gripping of horror, for it was so much earlier in the day than I’d anticipated, and I kent I should never be able to get to my own vehicle in enough time to reach the stones before you. 

As I beheld you in all your glory, though, driving that automobile at terrifying speed, and looking absolutely thrilled for it, the fear vanished and peace settled at last. It was alright. That was the way I wished to remember ye these next years in which you’ll be truly gone, mo chridhe; not you vanishing before my eyes, perhaps screaming—as I did— when the stones pull you into their terrible embrace. No, not that: only you, dressed in white, your hair flying free in the wind and your face glowing with inner joy as ye drove off toward our life together. For today, mo chridhe, is the day we met. 

April 16, 1948 

2,557 days

His breath was white against the dark of the wee hours, coming in gasps of exertion as he made his way up the frost-covered faerie hill, heavy-laden in more ways than one. 

He hadn’t often been able to bring himself to write in the diary, since he had left Inverness. It wasn’t that it was a bleak or unhappy time, on the whole. Much like the two years prior, he had both his employment and his personal projects to keep him well-occupied; and even in the quiet moments, there were countless books to read, rides to take, long walks to be had, and prayers to say. 

But as the months wore on, as the days on the calendar began ticking closer and closer to this day, his waking thoughts were plagued by dark thoughts more and more, those that had tormented him so unrelentingly in the earliest days since coming through the stones: that he himself had been sent to a year misaligned with Claire’s own life, and that she might well do the same. In the end, he’d been meant to go to 1941, to be there in that ditch with her and see her rescued. It was a comfort, to be sure, that his steps had been ordained, but that was the very thing: what if she and the bairn were likewise meant, somehow, for some purpose unknown, to be elsewhere? He had given her up with no doubt in his heart that a better life awaited her on the other side of the stones, but who was to say that such a place and time should be—

Let it be with me, Lord, he prayed for the millionth time as he emerged from the wood empty-handed and took up a place of waiting before the terrible stones. That her better life would be now, here, with me. Let it be 1948. 

Dawn broke, in golds and pinks across the horizon. The birds in the nearby wood began their twittering chorus, joyously heralding the start of the new day. Back in 1746, it would be sunrise, as well—the redcoats would be arriving—she would be running up the hill—

Minutes passed. 

And passed. 

An hour. 

Grant her to me again, he begged, his back and his heart aching with the pain of every passing second as he waited, give me once more this rare woman, and I will love her still better than before. I swear it by all that I am. 

Eight o’clock. 

Please.... Please....

Ten o’clock

He was in the grass on his knees in the center of the circle, palms upturned 

Let her place be with me.

Noon

Tell me what I must do to make it so; what I must give in return.

Tell me.

Just tell me and I’ll do it. 

Three o’clock. 

Give me strength, he prayed unendingly as the evil whisperings of doubt crowded around his heart.  Give me the strength to wait beyond the time of hope. Guide my steps to her as you did before. Give me the strength to find her. 

Sunset.

“Lord, that she might be safe,” he wept aloud over shaking hands, despair he hadn’t known since 1746 rending him apart, “wherever she is. Wherever she has gone, she and the—”

A crack like the sting of a whip rent though the world. 

His legs hadn’t even fully straightened before he caught her. 

[marshhayden93]

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[dailybiblelessons]

Tuesday: Reflection on the Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Roman Catholic Proper 22 Common Lectionary Proper 17

Complementary Hebrew Scripture Lesson from the Latter Prophets: Isaiah 2:12-17

For the Lord of hosts has a day  against all that is proud and lofty,  against all that is lifted up and high; against all the cedars of Lebanon,  lofty and lifted up;  and against all the oaks of Bashan; against all the high mountains,  and against all the lofty hills; against every high tower,  and against every fortified wall; against all the ships of Tarshish,  and against all the beautiful craft. The haughtiness of people shall be humbled,  and the pride of everyone shall be brought low;  and the Lord alone will be exalted on that day.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture from the Latter Prophets: Jeremiah 3:1-14

[Israel is the northern kingdom and Judah the southern one.]

If a man divorces his wife  and she goes from him and becomes another man's wife,  will he return to her? Would not such a land be greatly polluted? You have played the whore with many lovers;  and would you return to me?    says the Lord. Look up to the bare heights, and see!  Where have you not been lain with? By the waysides you have sat waiting for lovers,  like a nomad in the wilderness. You have polluted the land with  your whoring and wickedness. Therefore the showers have been withheld,  and the spring rain has not come; yet you have the forehead of a whore,  you refuse to be ashamed. Have you not just now called to me,  “My Father, you are the friend of my youth— will he be angry forever, will he be indignant to the end?” This is how you have spoken,  but you have done all the evil that you could.

The Lord said to me in the days of King Josiah: Have you seen what she did, that faithless one, Israel, how she went up on every high hill and under every green tree, and played the whore there? And I thought, “After she has done all this she will return to me”; but she did not return, and her false sister Judah saw it. She saw that for all the adulteries of that faithless one, Israel, I had sent her away with a decree of divorce; yet her false sister Judah did not fear, but she too went and played the whore. Because she took her whoredom so lightly, she polluted the land, committing adultery with stone and tree. Yet for all this her false sister Judah did not return to me with her whole heart, but only in pretense, says the Lord.

Then the Lord said to me: Faithless Israel has shown herself less guilty than false Judah. Go, and proclaim these words toward the north, and say:

Return, faithless Israel,    says the Lord. I will not look on you in anger, for I am merciful,    says the Lord. I will not be angry forever. Only acknowledge your guilt,  that you have rebelled against the Lord your God, and scattered your favors among strangers under every green tree,  and have not obeyed my voice,    says the Lord. Return, O faithless children,    says the Lord,  for I am your master; I will take you, one from a city and two from a family,  and I will bring you to Zion.

Complementary Psalm 119:65-72

You have dealt well with your servant,  O Lord, according to your word. Teach me good judgment and knowledge,  for I believe in your commandments. Before I was humbled I went astray,  but now I keep your word. You are good and do good;  teach me your statutes. The arrogant smear me with lies,  but with my whole heart I keep your precepts. Their hearts are fat and gross,  but I delight in your law. It is good for me that I was humbled,  so that I might learn your statutes. The law of your mouth is better to me  than thousands of gold and silver pieces.

Semi-continuous Psalm 58

Do you indeed decree what is right, you gods?  Do you judge people fairly? No, in your hearts you devise wrongs;  your hands deal out violence on earth.

The wicked go astray from the womb;  they err from their birth, speaking lies. They have venom like the venom of a serpent,  like the deaf adder that stops its ear, so that it does not hear the voice of charmers  or of the cunning enchanter.

O God, break the teeth in their mouths;  tear out the fangs of the young lions, O Lord! Let them vanish like water that runs away;  like grass let them be trodden down and wither. Let them be like the snail that dissolves into slime;  like the untimely birth that never sees the sun. Sooner than your pots can feel the heat of thorns,  whether green or ablaze, may he sweep them away!

The righteous will rejoice when they see vengeance done;  they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked. People will say, “Surely there is a reward for the righteous;  surely there is a God who judges on earth.”

New Testament Epistle Lesson: Titus 1:1-9

Paul, a servant of God and an apostle of Jesus Christ, for the sake of the faith of God's elect and the knowledge of the truth that is in accordance with godliness, in the hope of eternal life that God, who never lies, promised before the ages began—in due time he revealed his word through the proclamation with which I have been entrusted by the command of God our Savior,

To Titus, my loyal child in the faith we share:

Grace and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Savior.

I left you behind in Crete for this reason, so that you should put in order what remained to be done, and should appoint elders in every town, as I directed you: someone who is blameless, married only once, whose children are believers, not accused of debauchery and not rebellious. For a bishop, as God's steward, must be blameless; he must not be arrogant or quick-tempered or addicted to wine or violent or greedy for gain; but he must be hospitable, a lover of goodness, prudent, upright, devout, and self-controlled. He must have a firm grasp of the word that is trustworthy in accordance with the teaching, so that he may be able both to preach with sound doctrine and to refute those who contradict it.

Year C Ordinary 22, Catholic Proper 22, Common Lectionary Proper 17: Tuesday

Selections are from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from New Revised Standard Version Bible (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Image Credit: Saint Titus (Kosovo, 14th c., S. Nicholas church, of the Pech Patriarchate), an anonymous public domain work, via Wikimedia Commons [retrieved August 17, 2016].

[northamptoncouplestherapy]

Who says the good guy always wins?

Even if you put in a grueling 40 (plus) hour work week, cook dinners, change diapers, and coach your kid’s soccer team, guess what? You may still not get it right!

Despite your best attempts (and successes) at showing up for your family in roles you may never have witnessed your father in, it’s entirely possible you’re still coming home to an angry wife, feeling criticized and unappreciated or seen.

To make matters worse there seems to be no end in sight and nothing you can do to fix it. The bar keeps getting raised. The target keeps being moved. Peace, it seems, is ever elusive and your partner increasingly impossible to please or distant. Nothing you do or say seems to help, so you say nothing.

For many men, the tendency to become quiet and withdraw in conflict is born out of a well-intended desire to focus on the positive, a propensity towards not wanting to escalate things further or increase the discord with their spouse. For others, it’s an involuntary reaction to stress, a logical form of damage control that nature has hardwired into you and Gottman’s research supports this.

As a man, you are consistently more likely to stonewall then your spouse. In fact, 85% of Gottman’s stonewallers are male. Stonewalling, a Gottman term occurs when a listener withdraws from an interaction, refusing to participate or engage, essentially becoming as unresponsive as a rock.

And when it happens there’s a good chance your body has gone into diffuse physiological arousal (or DPA in the Gottman lexicon). The most immediate symptom you’ll notice is an accelerated heart rate, but DPA will also cause an increase in sweating, elevated stress hormone production, and as a result an impairment in your ability to think clearly and process information.

One of the hardest things about DPA and flooding is that the symptoms that it triggers in men tend to escalate women and their vulnerabilities.

Once entangled in this devil’s snare of gridlock and disrepair, your partner will perpetually come to you from a stance of desperation, growing increasingly critical and relentless with her complaints, and in turn, you will be vulnerable to shutting down or blowing up. Stonewalling and DPA breeds pursuit, which then fosters more stonewalling and DPA. Simply put, you get quiet, and she gets loud; it’s a vicious cycle and a lonely one.

Being largely on the receiving end of a litany of complaints can result in feeling like there is little room to bring your own experience, she’s always beating you to the punch, and so you go unseen.

In fact, I’d argue that to be a man in our society is in many ways an inherently lonely stance. A code of silence pervades male culture stating that it is not masculine to talk about feelings. Can you imagine what a different world it would be if you were given permission to express the passion and range you have for sports or politics in the context of an intimate relationship?

These very tendencies that can make you predisposed to closing yourself off from your partner are deeply rooted in our society, where boys and men are not encouraged or socialized to talk about their emotions or to display vulnerability. In fact, there is ample evidence to support that these emotions are beaten right out of you from a very young age.

So it seems, even if you are well-intentioned, you may very well miss the mark and find yourself on the outs with your partner and utterly at a loss.

The bitter irony, from what we see at The Northampton Center For Couples Therapy, where we treat over one hundred couples per week, is that this inherently isolating experience is an epidemic. Breeding a silence that creates the illusion of separateness amongst men.

When you come from a land where nobody utters the words of emotions, there can be no language. And with no language — connection will slowly erode. It’s a setup for both sexes. She is speaking in tongues, and you will feel that you have none.

I’m going to let you in on a secret — while it may seem like you have no power to please her, you have enormous influence to create change and save your marriage.

The good news is there are concrete research-based tools that you can learn and apply to your relationship right now, putting you and your partner on the path to reconnection, healing, passion and play.

You may very well be tired, and feeling increasingly ineffective, but if you apply these five tools research shows your load will lighten, and the tide will turn for the better.

1. Accept that you’re not the fixer (or the breaker) of your relationship:

It’s not uncommon to fluctuate between deep shame when hitting your partner’s disappointment and as Gottman puts it, self-righteous indignation. Often, it comes from an incredibly understandable desire to want to fix things and a tendency towards inflated responsibility when you fail. The reality is far more complicated, and it’s okay not to know what to do and feel at a loss. Have compassion for yourself and your partner — nobody is total to blame here and fixing things must be a team effort.

2. Give yourself (and her) permission to take breaks:

If your flooded or in fight-or-flight mode, taking a time-out is critical. Couples often subject one another to exhausting windows of fighting in a desperate desire to find a resolution. The paradox is that this frequently worsens things. There is an art to taking a good time-out, which, will require thoughtfulness on your part at a time when you are agitated, but a poorly initiated time-out runs the risk of escalating your already panicked spouse. Calmly tell your partner when you are overwhelmed and reassure her that you care about what she is saying and want to revisit the issue. And once calm, make sure you’re the one to re-initiate otherwise issues will remain unresolved and fester.

3. Look fear in the face:

While it may go against every fighting bone in your body, often, the most powerful thing you can do during a fight is to look into your partner’s eyes. If it’s consensual, you may even initiate holding her hand. The physical act of turning towards one another can greatly reduce the amount of fear and aggression between both of you. And if you are stonewalling, she may even find your touch tremendously reassuring while you remain silent. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but a hug can be a haven to an angry and frightened spouse.

4. Repair, repair, repair:

According to Gottman, the difference between the “Masters” and the “Disasters” of marriage isn’t that the Masters fight less, it’s that they repair more. And interestingly, repair effectiveness is not based on the type of repair you do, so there’s room to be yourself. Try initiating an apology, using humor (not sarcasm), or suggesting that you start the conversation over while putting your hand on your partner’s shoulder and lowering your voice. Research shows that repair is most effective when implemented quickly, so best to err on the side of making amends when you sense things begin to go awry.

5. Seek help early:

Seeking couples therapy is a sign of health, not dysfunction. Sadly, only 19% of couples seek help — and of those that do, couples therapy has an 85% success rate. In other words, the majority of couples who attend evidence-based couples therapy, or emotionally focused therapy, regain a happy, healthy relationship, with resources and tools to help them maintain it for years to come. Finding a Gottman Method Couples Therapist who specializes exclusively in couples therapy could be the best investment you will ever make in your relationship.

Modern heterosexual marriage is calling on both men and women to be in partnership in ways that pose new and complicated challenges. However, with these demands, there is the potential for a richer and deeper connection than ever before. Keep your sons in mind as you learn to do something so brave and unfamiliar, and know that even when it feels hopeless, you have the power to create change that is lasting and paves the way for your children and their families to come.

[gcldxnbcy]

before the storm || c x j

TAGGING ; jace wayland herondale & clary fairchild

LOCATION ; the new york institute

Jace felt a little lost from his place behind the inquistor’s former desk - the desk of the head of the new york institute. it felt like it had only bee minutes ago before she’d informed him that he’d been placed in charge temporarily and that she was needed elsewhere. in her absence, and the absence of both aldertree and lydia branwell, he’d been the obvious choice. his insistence that ALEC was the best - and only - man for the job had been met on deaf ears. so now here he stood, paperwork piled up in front of him, and he wondered - not for the first time - what finding out the truth about his parentage would mean for him. before it had felt like a curse, an ALBATROSS looped around his neck, weighing him down, and now the responsibility of being a herondale - while enlightening - was reminiscent of the weights of former. thankfully a knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts and he called out for them to come in, straightening up and then visibly relaxing when he saw that it was just clary. a familiar face was a R E L I E F .

clary a lot had happened while she was gone. simon had found out - and really, that was on her ( she should’ve told him - why didn’t she ? ), and apparently jace was a herondale. a HERONDALE. as in shadowhunter royalty herondale. a fact she’d only found when she’d re-entered the institute, after being called back, fearing the worst. making her way to the office, the mantle held by some many ( 2 of which had betrayed them - pardon her paranoia ), she knocks on the door. opening it and seeing jace - sat a desk. “hey.” she leans against the door briefly, before closing it. not sure if she should address the unspoken, instead opting for the simple - “how are you doing? with everything? news travels fast in the shadow-world.”

Jace knew it was a loaded question. if anyone knew what it was like to have your world turned upside down overnight, it was clary. in typical jace fashion, however, he didn’t let the clouded haze of his thoughts bleed into his facial expressions. “i’m processing.” he replied simply, moving away from the desk and crossing over to her. it felt odd sitting behind the desk ; like he didn’t belong. he was a S O L D I E R , not a politician. everyone with a brain knew than alec was better suited for the job than he was. “i told the inquisitor that it should have been alec. i didn’t ask for the job - i don’t even want it.” and that was the worst part, wasn’t it? alec had killed himself for this job, to earn the respect of the clave, and it had been handed to H I M with nary a thought. he didn’t blame his parabati for being discouraged, even angry. it was understandable. “but we have bigger things to worry about, like two dead shadowhunters.”

clary with her experience of being valentine’s daughter, and then jace’s sister, and then no longer jace’s sister ( and somewhere along the way her father had indirectly murdered her mother ) - she knew what it was like for one’s life to be upheaved. noticing the ring now hanging from his neck, she could only assume she’d missed a lot. and she had no idea how to approach comforting him, considering their fluctuating relationship status. reaching up one hand to his shoulder and letting it rest there. just silent comfort. “i didn’t want to be a shadowhunter at first. but we grow and change and - circumstances change.” she takes a breath, and her eyes go wide. “wait - TWO dead shadowhunters? what happened? is it the circle? i thought the members were disbanding without valentine.”

Jace nodded grimly. while he appreciated clary’s efforts to comfort him, there was a time and place for such things and with shadowhunters getting their runes carved out? This W A S N ‘ T it. everything else would take a back seat. “they just brought them in. stratham and levifold; i trained with them, grew up with them. it wasn’t shadowhunters that did this – it couldn’t be.” It made him sick, thinking of their mutilated bodies with runes removed. no shadowhunter would do something like this, not even a circle member. “they were killed by downworlders.. a vampire bite, and wolf claws.” there was no telling just what – exactly – had spurned these attacks but jace had a feeling they weren’t over. not by a long shot. “..if downworlders are killing shadowhunters, that’s an act or war.”

clary “oh my god. - jace, i’m so sorry.” ever a new tragedy, a new threat. if it wasn’t valentine, it was the clave’s newest audit. if it wasn’t the clave, it was the downworld apocalypse they’d tried so hard to prevent coming to light. and it had happened anyway - despite their many new brushes with death, murderous and otherwise. “but we can’t assume all the downworlders are involved in this. they’re good people - like simon, and luke, and maia.” she crosses her arms over her chest. “do we know anything else?”

Jace crossed his arms loosely over his chest. the inquisitor’s words burned through him and spilled out from between his lips, though he wasn’t E N T I R E L Y sure he believed them. “right now, everyone’s a suspect, clary. shadowhunters are dead, we can’t be too careful. you && I both know that simon, maia, luke, they wouldn’t hurt anyone.” he straightened up. “we’ll get them to submit to dna testing, just to clear them. “ it was the only thing that made sense, wasn’t it? covering their bases, ensuring there was no room for speculation? “luke’s already here, he’s being tested downstairs.”

clary none of this settled with her. not the murdered shadowhunters but - dna testing their friends? “you brought luke in?” there was always a spark of righteous, or what what she believed to be righteous, indignation coursing through her. waiting for an opportunity to be given into once more. crossing her arms a little tighter over her chest. “jace - you’re not serious about this. i know you and simon haven’t always gotten along but - he’s not a killer. and how are you planning to bring all of the downworlders in brooklyn to the institute?”

Jace didn’t back down, only his jaw clenching in the slightest as any sort of a reaction. “luke agreed to come in to clear his name. no one wants another uprising, clary.” it’s true, he knows it’s true, and while the clave might take some extreme precautions, it was a necessary evil. “simon lewis wouldn’t hurt a kitten.” jace responded with a snort, eyes rolling – albeit fondly. while he wasn’t a huge fan of clary’s best friend-turned-boyfriend, of that he was sure. “but it’s not about what I know or what you know.. this is bigger than the two of us.” he withdrew from his pocket the prototype from R&D, extending one of them out to her. as he did so, his pocket vibrated. he didn’t know yet, but another body had been found.. this one slain by the blade of a seelie knight. “this will enable GPS tracking chips. it’s quick, painless, and will exonerate anyone who I S N ‘ Tguilty of any crime. no one will need to come in. look, I get it, you’re new to this… the clave might seem harsh but it’s for their protection as much as it is for ours.”

clary an eyebrow raising as she takes the object that’s extended to her, running her thumb over it in an attempt to deduce what it is. and looking up at jace with wide eyes at the explanation. “tracking chips?” scoffing indignantly as she lays the prototype down on the table. “so we’re herding the downworlders like pets now?” just because the downworlders have more demon blood than us, she wants to quip. prejudice is universally the same - in the mundane world, the shadow-world, the downworld. everyone is just so afraid all the time. “ THIS is how you start an uprising, jace.”

Jace safely tucked the tracking device into his pocket as he shook his head. she didn’t understand – how could she? “it’s accountability. we can be tracked by our runes; it’s the same concept. just trust me, you’ve been a shadowhunter for five minutes. they know what they’re doing.” he reminded her, glancing down at his phone when it buzzed again. his stomach sank when he saw the flashing alert; it was never anything good. “come on.” there was no time to argue with her as he grabbed his seraph blade, quickly leaving the office and heading out into the apex. there were people scattered everywhere huddled around their phones and his eyes scanned the room for his grandmother. spotting her over by another gurney, his stomach flipped. that sick feeling still sunk over him even after when he’d confirmed that it wasn’t alec or izzy – wasn’t his family. someone important to him. “still think this is a bad idea?” he grit out, eyes flashing as he straightened up, back ramrod straight. gaze turned to clary as if to say ’ SEE? ’ - voice low, barely a murmur. “how many people need to die before you get it?”

clary “five minutes -” she starts, before her phone buzzes too. a simple alert. she knows what this means - the institute is going into crisis mode. another body’s been discovered. walking out with him, she grabs her small seraph blade from where she stored it in her belt, walking out with jace. and it was just as she expected - another body. their runes stripped, apparently by the work of a seelie blade. it’s a gruesome sight, and it does command some empathy. but she stands her ground -

the downworlders were innocent apart from a fringe group. mass fearmongering was not the answer. she doesn’t appreciate jace’s pointed glance - matching it with her own. “how many times have shadowhunters said that emotions do nothing for us and still live in fear? downworlders can be peaceful.” she keeps her voice low. “so yes, jace, i still think this is a bad idea.”

Jace the time for conversation was over. the inquisitor had given her orders and arguing wasn’t much of an option. his back was straight and his chest tight, such as it usually was whenever imogen herondale was around. he could still remember the icy look in her eyes and how it had T H A W E D when she’d realized who he was. she was his family. for someone who’d changed last names three times in the span of a summer it was a relief to finally have some answers; to know who he was supposed to be. herondales were resolute and they were firm, and he wanted to prove that he was W O R T H Y of being one – that he was worthy of that pride she was so sure his parents would have had in him. yet that pride took on an acidic taste as simon was locked away in prison, maia accused of murder, and yet another shadowhunter body turning up dead. it was only after imogen had left that he felt like he could breathe again – that the expectations of being a herondale, of proving he was more than the monster valentine had been bound and determined to create, had shifted off of his shoulders. he’d just arrived back at the institute and had slipped into his room as he tugged his shirt off, lobbing it into a laundry basket as he ran his fingers through his hair. prove it, she’d challenged, prove that you’re not in love with clary. && with every bruising kiss against her lips, every roll of his hips and scratch of his nails, he’d done just that. hadn’t he? it hadn’t meant anything, yet he still felt as if she’d come out of things with the upper hand. it was a disconcerting feeling. a sigh dragged out between chapped lips as he moved to leave the room, faltering when he nearly crashed into someone in the hallway. clary. “huh. I figured you’d be with your boyfriend.” while his words are matter of fact, there’s no inflection behind them; it’s simply an observation. he might not like simon all the time but he makes clary happy and that, jace can’t begrudge him. he can’t begrudge any of them a spark of happiness, not with the past few weeks they’ve had.

clary time moved irreconcilably fast in the shadow-world. bodies were dropped, and threats were made, and revelations were every other day. and it was exhausting. not the kind of sweat prickling down her back, physical exhaustion - although it was coupled with that too. the kind of ‘sometimes i don’t want to get out of bed’ exhaustion. because some days, despite the pace of the shadow-world, move uncharacteristically slowly. dragged out in suffering and longing and uncertainties until the eventual conclusion of the latest threat - until they can all breathe easy again. perhaps for just a night, or just a few hours, but it’s enough. today had been one of those days. she’d thought that she should stay in the institute tonight, in light of everything, and that simon would be fine without her. and she, in turn, would be fine without simon. ( it was also, selfishly, out of the desire to just be alone for a while. alone with her thoughts in the dark until she fell asleep. ) walking tiredly down the halls of the institute, she finds herself narrowly missing a collision with jace. she was quite literally exhaustion on her legs. “you could say we agreed to be apart tonight. it’s been a really long day. for both of us.” she cracks a tired smile. “how are you doing with everything? i didn’t see you at the showcase.” a stupid question really. especially after their day, and the recent revelations.

Jace wondered if the exhaustion etched onto her features reflected his own. while today might not have been a battle, it hadn’t been a V I C T O R Y either. seven shadowhunters were dead; seven families devastated with no sense of justice or absolution in sight. their murderer was dead and wouldn’t be tried for her crimes. kaelie. a shudder washed over him. he’d always thought that he’d been a good judge of character but he was starting to think otherwise. she was a murder. but then again, so was he. “a bar filled with downworlders all itchingto take a bite out of me?” he raised his eyebrows. “pass.” hands came up to run through his hair, all too aware that he had forgotten to grab his shirt on the way out. the training room wouldn’t have cared; present company, however, he couldn’t speak to. “I’m fine. we’re shadowhunters – it’s business as usual.”

clary hadn’t known kaelie - the murderer, seemingly found hanging over max lightwood with a knife to his angelic rune. she makes a mental note to ask if izzy’s okay later, how she’s handling it, seeing her little brother like that - she knows how the fear of losing someone in your family, someone you love, can immobilise you in it’s permanence. ( especially when the number is dwindling. ) “they’ll realise that it wasn’t your fault, one day. you have maia on your side now.” as she had been there when simon and maia had been released, at her own insistence, she knew that it was impossible for all downworlders to resent jace for an atrocity he didn’t set out to commit. he set out to save them all. it was VALENTINE . valentine was to blame. they had to see that one day - maybe when the dust started to settle. only now noticing jace’s attire, or lack thereof - only assuming that he’d sought out to do what all good shadowhunters did without fail; take refuge in training. push down emotions. “being a shadowhunter doesn’t mean you can’t be a human being, jace.” the age old debate of emotions. strength or weakness? help or hinderance? it was so destructive not to feel - despite how much of a hypocrite that makes her.

Jace had heard the same argument made countless times. it wasn’t your fault. you couldn’t have know. sure, he might not have, but that didn’t change things. it didn’t change how he felt; it couldn’t. “it doesn’t matter whose fault it was. I’m the reason their friends, their family, are dead. it’s not something you just get over.” a shrug accompanies his words. if the situations were reversed, he’d probably feel the same kind of anger. when it comes to the people he loves, logic goes out the window. “we lost a lot of good people today; people I’ve known my whole lif, trained with. just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve doesn’t make me inhuman.” he’s tired, maybe more-so than he even realized, and there’s not much else he can say. “i’m a soldier, we’re in the middle of a war. if i let my emotions get the best of me, people would get hurt. I wouldn’t be able to do my job. ” more people. people his job it was to protect. “maybe emotions aren’t a weakness, but they’re not going to bring them back either.”

clary the whole situation is devastating. jace’s innocence, and his guilt, and how he was right in some manner - emotions weren’t going to bring those shadowhunters back. they weren’t going to bring the downworlders back that valentine slaughtered either. ( they weren’t going to bring her mother back. ) and no verbal response quite seems adequate - she’s familiar with this displacement approach to blame. although never as severe as jace’s current situation, sometimes she was blamed for her father’s actions. or treated as an accessory to them simply because she shared his blood. her runes weren’t working - she had to be lying. she went to the iron sisters - she was clearly involved in some evil plot by extension of her father. and so she takes comfort in doing one of these few things that came naturally to her these days. taking careful steps towards jace, until she’s standing close in front of him, and wrapping her arms around him. and maybe he’d push her off, or act as though he was fine. but if this helped - even for a moment, in her eyes, it would be worth it. “i’m sorry.” for everything, in extension. for being the catalyst, for the dead shadowhunters, for the soul-sword - for everything.

Jace only realized after clary’s arms had circled around him that they hadn’t been this close to each other in weeks. not since valentine’s revelations – the first time, not the most recent, not since he’d convinced himself that loving her, W A N T I N G her, made him weak and challenged everything he believed in. even when he’d thought that she was his sister, he’d never seen her in that light. she’d always been something more and he’d hated himself for not being able to look past it. now things had changed; she wasn’t his sister, he didn’t have to feel bad for the way he felt { had felt } about her. yet even in its change, there was hesitancy. his hands clenched into fists at his side, unsure if he’d even remembered to breathe as he caught a whiff of her shampoo. emotions are a weakness. clary is your weakness. his subconscious mocked him as his arms loosened from their rigid state, wrap carefully around her – as if she might turn to ash beneath his fingers like most B E A U T I F U L things he’s ruined. “me too.” he murmured, grip tightening so slightly that it would be hard to notice unless you were paying attention. he was hurting, but so was she; misery always did love its company.

clary when his static, stoic posture remained as she’d hugged him - she feared she’d made a terrible mistake. her nature was tactility - to comfort through touch, like her mother always had when she scraped her knee on the steps leading up to the loft. and kissed her goodnight - told her to have sweet, oh so mundane dreams. but jace’s nature, it had become apparent, was quite different. between valentine and the shadowhunter culture - it didn’t surprise her. but it did upset her. that they felt emotions were something to be fought, to be feared because of the havoc they could bring in their conquer. and with their situation - their always uncertain relationship status, seemingly forced comforts after they’d been so unsure of where they stood ( lovers to siblings to friends ? ) - a hug should be out of bounds. ( but that defied her nature . ) when his arms start to move, and wrap around her, she regards it as the only victory of the day. this was progress. it had to be. standing there quietly, in his hold ( that tightened gradually - another small victory ) , it was like the day could finally come to an end.

[linda-charlie-bloom-blog]

Smiling at Fear

A while back, Linda and I attended a weekend retreat led by Pema Chodron, a long-time practitioner of Buddhist meditation and the principal teacher at the Buddhist center, Gampo Abbey in Nova Scotia. The retreat was based upon the teachings of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, a Tibetan teacher of Buddhism and author of many books, including Smile At Fear, which happened to be the theme of the retreat. Both Linda and I have been long-time fans of Pema’s work and her books, especially the best-seller, When Things Fall Apart, which seems to have been written precisely for these times.

So naturally, when we heard about the retreat, which was held at a huge pavilion in the Bay Area city of Richmond, we signed up for it, and not a moment too soon. Despite the fact that the event was being held in a building that accommodates 3,000 people, we just barely made it in before it sold out. The hotel that the sponsoring organization had contracted with for the special room rate however had sold all of its rooms that had been reserved for the retreat. After many phone calls and much time on line, we were able to find a nearby hotel that had rooms available and we reserved one for the weekend.

At the end of the first evening, we drove to our hotel and because it was dark and there was a detour on the road, I found it difficult to follow the directions and because of a number of wrong turns that I made, it took us about three times longer to find our way to the hotel than it should have. I made a verbal note to Linda to get an early start the next morning to make sure that even if we got lost again, we would make it in time for the opening meditation.

It was a good idea, but fate it, seemed, had other plans for us. After having breakfast at a nearby restaurant, we got on the road, with plenty of time to spare and I proceeded to get us even more lost than we had been the night before. Still, I wasn’t worried since we had left early enough to deal with any unplanned meanderings and still make it in time.

When after about fifteen minutes going in what turned out to be the wrong direction, it became obvious to us both when we ended up at a dead end, that my instincts, which are not always 100% reliable, had unfortunately failed me and it was time for another game plan. The question was, “Now what?”

Although I was totally unfamiliar with the terrain, I declined Linda’s suggestion that we might consider asking someone for directions. No need to do that. I did what any other man would do in a similar situation, one in which he had absolutely no idea of where he was or how to get to where he wanted to go. There was of course no need to ask anyone for directions. Yes, my instincts had just failed me, but there was no reason to believe that they would fail me again. After all how often does lightning strike twice in the same place? One misjudgment was fluke; two would be a near impossibility. Besides I was really sure this time that I knew the way. Linda was beginning to have her doubts, but bless her heart, she gave me another chance.

Well, you’ll be shocked… SHOCKED, to hear this, but it soon became apparent that I was wrong again. Unbelievable! But apparently not to Linda who once again asked me with great patience and mindfulness if I might want to reconsider my decision to not ask anyone for directions. By now it was getting late and there was a serious possibility that we might be late for the morning meditation, and come straggling in after it had begun, with the room absolutely quiet, and we would destroy the stillness and conscious breathing of the 3000 punctual yogis who would be sitting in perfect posture being perfectly mindful, immersed in the joy of perfect consciousness. No doubt, all of them would open their eyes just long enough to see who it was that was interrupting their blissful state. It would be planted in everyone’s awareness that I was the one who was responsible for breaking the perfect peace of the room and clumsily, tardily, exposing my unenlightened self.

With all this going through my mind, it was clear to me that it would probably be a good idea to take Linda’s advice and pop the question to someone who might know more than I did about the local terrain, which probably would have been anyone over three years old that happened to be in the vicinity. I went into a nearby convenience store and asked the clerk for directions. As luck would have it, he knew exactly where the pavilion was and provided me with very clear and simple directions to the facility. I got back in the car, no longer feeling anxious or distressed, and headed for the pavilion.

It looked like we were going to make it on time after all. When we began to see signs directing cars to the retreat, I knew that we were home free, or so it seemed. Unfortunately, this was not to be the case. Four blocks from the pavilion a flashing red light appeared up ahead accompanied by a clanging bell. The two cars in front of me stopped at the railroad crossing that was literally less than twenty-five feet in front of me.

My mood immediately got dark again with all kinds of very unenlightened thoughts and urges coming into my mind. In an instant, I went from perfect peace to perfect frustration.

I checked the time. We still had nearly ten minutes before the first session began and we were so close to our destination. Even if the train took five minutes to pass we would still have enough time to get to the parking lot and make it inside before the meditation began. No problem, except for one thing: The train turned out to be by far the longest train that I had ever seen in my life, maybe the longest train in the world. It took more than five minutes, more than ten minutes, more than fifteen minutes. It took over twenty minutes for that train to pass and for the crossing bars to finally lift to let the drivers in what had now become an incredibly long line of cars to restart their engines and resume their travels.

My initial reaction to all this was to be possessed by a frenzy of impotent outrage. In the midst of my expletive-filled rantings, Linda, gently but in a way that pierced my wall of anger, reminded me of three things that for some unknown reason, I was fortunate enough to be able to actually hear, that stopped me and my rantings cold in my tracks (almost literally!). One: There is nothing that we can do about this situation. Two: It is temporary and at some point it will end. Three: We came to the retreat to experience peace, greater awareness, and acceptance of the experience of the present moment.

My initial reaction was to feel the urge to redirect my anger towards Linda –How dare she deprive me of my righteous indignation and of the pleasure of feeling like a victim of unfair circumstances! Then in the next moment, I saw the ludicrousness of my reaction, given the circumstances of our situation. And I saw things from the perspective from which Linda was viewing them.

We had been given an opportunity to practice what Pema had spoken about in the previous night: to be able to bring a mind of openness, acceptance, and non-judging awareness into all of our experiences, not just those that go in accordance with our plans. Not because this was the right thing for us to do, or because there was some reward that we would get for being mindful, but simply because to do otherwise was a certain prescription for continuing to create pain and suffering, something that I had just experienced a vivid taste of. I looked at Linda. She wasn’t distressed at all. She was smiling, not at fear, but at the ridiculous spectacle that I had made of myself in thinking that if I got upset enough, reality might change. My anger melted in that moment and I experienced a feeling of incredible gratitude towards Linda and a release of the frustration that I had been feeling. In what seemed like a moment later, the last train car finally passed, and the gate lifted. I started the car and we drove into the parking lot which was only about 100 yards away. The five minute walk from our parking spot to our seat inside of the pavilion was delicious. I realized about halfway to the building that I must have been smiling, because nearly everyone that I passed with whom I made eye contact, seemed to be smiling back at me. I smiled through the morning meditation and I’m smiling now as I write these this.

I’m remembering the words of Swami Satchidananda, who was fond of saying that we can’t stop the waves from coming, but we can learn to surf.

Hang ten!

[tj-van-heerden]

Judgment of God

God is a God of justice. For this reason Jesus had to suffer and die on the cross to provide us with forgiveness of sins, otherwise we would have been guilty of our sins and forever be separated from God. God judges his people. In the resurrection we will not be all the same, but will have different levels of glory according to how we lived. God rewards and judges us according to our deeds, what the attitudes of our hearts were, what our thoughts were, what we said, and what we did. This is also the reason that some people go to Heaven and some go to Hell when they die, and also why only some people will be caught up in the rapture. Others will be left behind.

Matt 5:22 [WEB] But I tell you that everyone who is angry with his brother without a cause will be in danger of the judgment. Whoever says to his brother, ‘Raca!’ [an Aramaic insult] will be in danger of the council. Whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of Gehenna [or, Hell].

Matt 10:14, 15 14  Whoever doesn’t receive you, nor hear your words, as you go out of that house or that city, shake the dust off your feet. 15  Most certainly I tell you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for that city.

Matt 12:36, 37 I tell you that every idle word that men speak, they will give account of it in the day of judgment. 37  For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.”

Matt 23:33 You serpents, you offspring of vipers, how will you escape the judgment of Gehenna [or, Hell]?

Mark 6:11 Whoever will not receive you nor hear you, as you depart from there, shake off the dust that is under your feet for a testimony against them. Assuredly, I tell you, it will be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for that city!”

John 3:18, 19 18  He who believes in him is not judged. He who doesn’t believe has been judged already, because he has not believed in the name of the one and only Son of God. 19  This is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the light; for their works were evil.

John 5:28, 29 28  Don’t marvel at this, for the hour comes in which all who are in the tombs will hear his voice, 29  and will come out; those who have done good, to the resurrection of life; and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of judgment.

John 12:48 He who rejects me, and doesn’t receive my sayings, has one who judges him. The word that I spoke will judge him in the last day.

John 16:7, 8 7  Nevertheless I tell you the truth: It is to your advantage that I go away, for if I don’t go away, the Counselor won’t come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you. 8  When he has come, he will convict the world about sin, about righteousness, and about judgment;

Acts 10:40-42 40 God raised him up the third day, and gave him to be revealed, 41 not to all the people, but to witnesses who were chosen before by God, to us, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. 42 He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that this is he who is appointed by God as the Judge of the living and the dead.

Acts 17:31 because he has appointed a day in which he will judge the world in righteousness by the man whom he has ordained; of which he has given assurance to all men, in that he has raised him from the dead.”

Rom 2:4-10 4 Or do you despise the riches of his goodness, forbearance, and patience, not knowing that the goodness of God leads you to repentance? 5 But according to your hardness and unrepentant heart you are treasuring up for yourself wrath in the day of wrath, revelation, and of the righteous judgment of God; 6 who “will pay back to everyone according to their works:”✡ 7 to those who by perseverance in well-doing seek for glory, honor, and incorruptibility, eternal life; 8 but to those who are self-seeking, and don’t obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, will be wrath, indignation, 9 oppression, and anguish on every soul of man who does evil, to the Jew first, and also to the Greek. 10 But glory, honor, and peace go to every man who does good, to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.

Rom 2:16 in the day when God will judge the secrets of men, according to my Good News, by Jesus Christ.

Rom 14:22 Do you have faith? Have it to yourself before God. Happy is he who doesn’t judge himself in that which he approves.

1Cor 4:5 Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and reveal the counsels of the hearts. Then each man will get his praise from God.

1Cor 11:32 But when we are judged, we are punished by the Lord, that we may not be condemned with the world.

2Cor 5:10 For we must all be revealed before the judgment seat of Christ that each one may receive the things in the body according to what he has done, whether good or bad.

2Thess 2:8-12 8 Then the lawless one will be revealed, whom the Lord will kill with the breath of his mouth, and destroy by the manifestation of his coming; 9 even he whose coming is according to the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, 10 and with all deception of wickedness for those who are being lost, because they didn’t receive the love of the truth, that they might be saved. 11 Because of this, God sends them a working of error, that they should believe a lie; 12 that they all might be judged who didn’t believe the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness.

Heb 6:1, 2 1 Therefore leaving the teaching of the first principles of Christ, let’s press on to perfection—not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works, of faith toward God, 2 of the teaching of baptisms, of laying on of hands, of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.

Heb 9:27 Inasmuch as it is appointed for men to die once, and after this, judgment,

Heb 10:26, 27 26 For if we sin willfully after we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remains no more a sacrifice for sins, 27 but a certain fearful expectation of judgment, and a fierceness of fire which will devour the adversaries.

Heb 10:29-31 29 How much worse punishment do you think he will be judged worthy of who has trodden under foot the Son of God, and has counted the blood of the covenant with which he was sanctified an unholy thing, and has insulted the Spirit of grace? 30 For we know him who said, “Vengeance belongs to me;” says the Lord, “I will repay.” Again, “The Lord will judge his people.” 31 It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.

Jas 2:13 For judgment is without mercy to him who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.

Jas 3:1 Let not many of you be teachers, my brothers, knowing that we will receive heavier judgment.

1Pet 1:17 If you call on him as Father, who without respect of persons judges according to each man’s work, pass the time of your living as foreigners here in reverent fear,

1Pet 4:5 They will give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead.

1Pet 4:17 For the time has come for judgment to begin with the household of God. If it begins first with us, what will happen to those who don’t obey the Good News of God?

2Pet 2:4 For if God didn’t spare angels when they sinned, but cast them down to Tartarus [Tartarus is another name for Hell], and committed them to pits of darkness to be reserved for judgment

2Pet 2:9 the Lord knows how to deliver the godly out of temptation and to keep the unrighteous under punishment for the day of judgment

2Pet 3:7 But the heavens that exist now and the earth, by the same word have been stored up for fire, being reserved against the day of judgment and destruction of ungodly men.

1John 4:17 In this love has been made perfect among us, that we may have boldness in the day of judgment, because as he is, even so we are in this world.

Jude 1:6 Angels who didn’t keep their first domain, but deserted their own dwelling place, he has kept in everlasting bonds under darkness for the judgment of the great day.

Jude 1:14, 15 14 About these also Enoch, the seventh from Adam, prophesied, saying, “Behold, the Lord came with ten thousands of his holy ones, 15 to execute judgment on all, and to convict all the ungodly of all their works of ungodliness which they have done in an ungodly way, and of all the hard things which ungodly sinners have spoken against him.”

Rev 14:7 He said with a loud voice, “Fear the Lord, and give him glory; for the hour of his judgment has come. Worship him who made the heaven, the earth, the sea, and the springs of waters!”

Rev 18:9-11 9 The kings of the earth who committed sexual immorality and lived wantonly with her will weep and wail over her, when they look at the smoke of her burning, 10 standing far away for the fear of her torment, saying, ‘Woe, woe, the great city, Babylon, the strong city! For your judgment has come in one hour.’ 11 The merchants of the earth weep and mourn over her, for no one buys their merchandise any more:

Rev 18:20 “Rejoice over her, O heaven, you saints, apostles, and prophets; for God has judged your judgment on her.”

Rev 19:2 for his judgments are true and righteous. For he has judged the great prostitute, who corrupted the earth with her sexual immorality, and he has avenged the blood of his servants at her hand.”

Rev 20:12, 13 12 I saw the dead, the great and the small, standing before the throne, and they opened books. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged out of the things which were written in the books, according to their works. 13 The sea gave up the dead who were in it. Death and Hades [or, Hell] gave up the dead who were in them. They were judged, each one according to his works.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

26th May >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Saint Philip Neri, Priest

   or

Wednesday, Eighth Week in Ordinary Time.

Saint Philip Neri, Priest

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Philippians 4:4-9

If there is anything you need, pray for it.

I want you to be happy, always happy in the Lord; I repeat, what I want is your happiness. Let your tolerance be evident to everyone: the Lord is very near.

   There is no need to worry; but if there is anything you need, pray for it, asking God for it with prayer and thanksgiving, and that peace of God, which is so much greater than we can understand, will guard your hearts and your thoughts, in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, fill your minds with everything that is true, everything that is noble, everything that is good and pure, everything that we love and honour, and everything that can be thought virtuous or worthy of praise. Keep doing all the things that you learnt from me and have been taught by me and have heard or seen that I do. Then the God of peace will be with you.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 33(34):2-11

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see that the Lord is good.

I will bless the Lord at all times,    his praise always on my lips; in the Lord my soul shall make its boast.    The humble shall hear and be glad.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Glorify the Lord with me.    Together let us praise his name. I sought the Lord and he answered me;    from all my terrors he set me free.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Look towards him and be radiant;    let your faces not be abashed. This poor man called, the Lord heard him    and rescued him from all his distress.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see that the Lord is good.

The angel of the Lord is encamped    around those who revere him, to rescue them. Taste and see that the Lord is good.    He is happy who seeks refuge in him.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Revere the Lord, you his saints.    They lack nothing, those who revere him. Strong lions suffer want and go hungry    but those who seek the Lord lack no blessing.

R/ I will bless the Lord at all times. or R/ Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Gospel Acclamation

John 15:9,5

Alleluia, alleluia! Remain in my love, says the Lord; whoever remains in me, with me in him, bears fruit in plenty. Alleluia!

Gospel

John 17:20-26

Father, may they be completely one.

Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and said:

‘Holy Father, I pray not only for these, but for those also who through their words will believe in me. May they all be one. Father, may they be one in us, as you are in me and I am in you, so that the world may believe it was you who sent me. I have given them the glory you gave to me, that they may be one as we are one. With me in them and you in me, may they be so completely one that the world will realise that it was you who sent me and that I have loved them as much as you loved me. Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, so that they may always see the glory you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. Father, Righteous One, the world has not known you, but I have known you, and these have known that you have sent me. I have made your name known to them and will continue to make it known, so that the love with which you loved me may be in them, and so that I may be in them.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Wednesday, Eighth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the feria (Wednesday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Ecclesiasticus 36:1-2,5-7,13-19

Lord, let the nations acknowledge you.

Have mercy on us, Master, Lord of all, and look on us,    cast the fear of yourself over every nation. Let them acknowledge you, just as we have acknowledged    that there is no God but you, Lord. Send new portents, do fresh wonders,    win glory for your hand and your right arm. Gather together all the tribes of Jacob,    restore them their inheritance as in the beginning. Have mercy, Lord, on the people who have invoked your name,    on Israel whom you have treated as a first-born. Show compassion on your holy city,    on Jerusalem the place of your rest. Fill Zion with songs of your praise,    and your sanctuary with your glory. Bear witness to those you created in the beginning,    and bring about what has been prophesied in your name. Give those who wait for you their reward,    and let your prophets be proved worthy of belief. Grant, Lord, the prayer of your servants,    in accordance with Aaron’s blessing on your people, so that all the earth’s inhabitants may acknowledge    that you are the Lord, the everlasting God.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 78(79):8-9,11,13

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, and look on us.

Do not hold the guilt of our fathers against us.    Let your compassion hasten to meet us;    we are left in the depths of distress.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, and look on us.

O God our saviour, come to our help.    Come for the sake of the glory of your name. O Lord our God, forgive us our sins;    rescue us for the sake of your name.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, and look on us.

Let the groans of the prisoners come before you;    let your strong arm reprieve those condemned to die. But we, your people, the flock of your pasture,    will give you thanks for ever and ever.    We will tell your praise from age to age.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, and look on us.

Gospel Acclamation

1 John 2:5

Alleluia, alleluia! Whenever anyone obeys what Christ has said, God’s love comes to perfection in him. Alleluia!

Or:

Mark 10:45

Alleluia, alleluia! The Son of Man came to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. Alleluia!

Gospel

Mark 10:32-45

The Son of Man came to give his life as a ransom for many.

The disciples were on the road, going up to Jerusalem; Jesus was walking on ahead of them; they were in a daze, and those who followed were apprehensive. Once more taking the Twelve aside he began to tell them what was going to happen to him: ‘Now we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man is about to be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes. They will condemn him to death and will hand him over to the pagans, who will mock him and spit at him and scourge him and put him to death; and after three days he will rise again.’

   James and John, the sons of Zebedee, approached him. ‘Master,’ they said to him ‘we want you to do us a favour.’ He said to them, ‘What is it you want me to do for you?’ They said to him, ‘Allow us to sit one at your right hand and the other at your left in your glory.’ ‘You do not know what you are asking’ Jesus said to them. ‘Can you drink the cup that I must drink, or be baptised with the baptism with which I must be baptised?’ They replied, ‘We can.’ Jesus said to them, ‘The cup that I must drink you shall drink, and with the baptism with which I must be baptised you shall be baptised, but as for seats at my right hand or my left, these are not mine to grant; they belong to those to whom they have been allotted.’

   When the other ten heard this they began to feel indignant with James and John, so Jesus called them to him and said to them, ‘You know that among the pagans their so-called rulers lord it over them, and their great men make their authority felt. This is not to happen among you. No; anyone who wants to become great among you must be your servant, and anyone who wants to be first among you must be slave to all. For the Son of Man himself did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[northamptoncouplestherapy]

Who says the good guy always wins?

Even if you put in a grueling 40 (plus) hour work week, cook dinners, change diapers, and coach your kid’s soccer team, guess what? You may still not get it right!

Despite your best attempts (and successes) at showing up for your family in roles you may never have witnessed your father in, it’s entirely possible you’re still coming home to an angry wife, feeling criticized and unappreciated or seen.

To make matters worse there seems to be no end in sight and nothing you can do to fix it. The bar keeps getting raised. The target keeps being moved. Peace, it seems, is ever elusive and your partner increasingly impossible to please or distant. Nothing you do or say seems to help, so you say nothing.

For many men, the tendency to become quiet and withdraw in conflict is born out of a well-intended desire to focus on the positive, a propensity towards not wanting to escalate things further or increase the discord with their spouse. For others, it’s an involuntary reaction to stress, a logical form of damage control that nature has hardwired into you and Gottman’s research supports this.

As a man, you are consistently more likely to stonewall then your spouse. In fact, 85% of Gottman’s stonewallers are male. Stonewalling, a Gottman term occurs when a listener withdraws from an interaction, refusing to participate or engage, essentially becoming as unresponsive as a rock.

And when it happens there’s a good chance your body has gone into diffuse physiological arousal (or DPA in the Gottman lexicon). The most immediate symptom you’ll notice is an accelerated heart rate, but DPA will also cause an increase in sweating, elevated stress hormone production, and as a result an impairment in your ability to think clearly and process information.

One of the hardest things about DPA and flooding is that the symptoms that it triggers in men tend to escalate women and their vulnerabilities.

Once entangled in this devil’s snare of gridlock and disrepair, your partner will perpetually come to you from a stance of desperation, growing increasingly critical and relentless with her complaints, and in turn, you will be vulnerable to shutting down or blowing up. Stonewalling and DPA breeds pursuit, which then fosters more stonewalling and DPA. Simply put, you get quiet, and she gets loud; it’s a vicious cycle and a lonely one.

Being largely on the receiving end of a litany of complaints can result in feeling like there is little room to bring your own experience, she’s always beating you to the punch, and so you go unseen.

In fact, I’d argue that to be a man in our society is in many ways an inherently lonely stance. A code of silence pervades male culture stating that it is not masculine to talk about feelings. Can you imagine what a different world it would be if you were given permission to express the passion and range you have for sports or politics in the context of an intimate relationship?

These very tendencies that can make you predisposed to closing yourself off from your partner are deeply rooted in our society, where boys and men are not encouraged or socialized to talk about their emotions or to display vulnerability. In fact, there is ample evidence to support that these emotions are beaten right out of you from a very young age.

So it seems, even if you are well-intentioned, you may very well miss the mark and find yourself on the outs with your partner and utterly at a loss.

The bitter irony, from what we see at The Northampton Center For Couples Therapy, where we treat over one hundred couples per week, is that this inherently isolating experience is an epidemic. Breeding a silence that creates the illusion of separateness amongst men.

When you come from a land where nobody utters the words of emotions, there can be no language. And with no language — connection will slowly erode. It’s a setup for both sexes. She is speaking in tongues, and you will feel that you have none.

I’m going to let you in on a secret — while it may seem like you have no power to please her, you have enormous influence to create change and save your marriage.

The good news is there are concrete research-based tools that you can learn and apply to your relationship right now, putting you and your partner on the path to reconnection, healing, passion and play.

You may very well be tired, and feeling increasingly ineffective, but if you apply these five tools research shows your load will lighten, and the tide will turn for the better.

1. Accept that you’re not the fixer (or the breaker) of your relationship:

It’s not uncommon to fluctuate between deep shame when hitting your partner’s disappointment and as Gottman puts it, self-righteous indignation. Often, it comes from an incredibly understandable desire to want to fix things and a tendency towards inflated responsibility when you fail. The reality is far more complicated, and it’s okay not to know what to do and feel at a loss. Have compassion for yourself and your partner — nobody is total to blame here and fixing things must be a team effort.

2. Give yourself (and her) permission to take breaks:

If your flooded or in fight-or-flight mode, taking a time-out is critical. Couples often subject one another to exhausting windows of fighting in a desperate desire to find a resolution. The paradox is that this frequently worsens things. There is an art to taking a good time-out, which, will require thoughtfulness on your part at a time when you are agitated, but a poorly initiated time-out runs the risk of escalating your already panicked spouse. Calmly tell your partner when you are overwhelmed and reassure her that you care about what she is saying and want to revisit the issue. And once calm, make sure you’re the one to re-initiate otherwise issues will remain unresolved and fester.

3. Look fear in the face:

While it may go against every fighting bone in your body, often, the most powerful thing you can do during a fight is to look into your partner’s eyes. If it’s consensual, you may even initiate holding her hand. The physical act of turning towards one another can greatly reduce the amount of fear and aggression between both of you. And if you are stonewalling, she may even find your touch tremendously reassuring while you remain silent. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but a hug can be a haven to an angry and frightened spouse.

4. Repair, repair, repair:

According to Gottman, the difference between the “Masters” and the “Disasters” of marriage isn’t that the Masters fight less, it’s that they repair more. And interestingly, repair effectiveness is not based on the type of repair you do, so there’s room to be yourself. Try initiating an apology, using humor (not sarcasm), or suggesting that you start the conversation over while putting your hand on your partner’s shoulder and lowering your voice. Research shows that repair is most effective when implemented quickly, so best to err on the side of making amends when you sense things begin to go awry.

5. Seek help early:

Seeking couples therapy is a sign of health, not dysfunction. Sadly, only 19% of couples seek help — and of those that do, couples therapy has an 85% success rate. In other words, the majority of couples who attend evidence-based couples therapy, or emotionally focused therapy, regain a happy, healthy relationship, with resources and tools to help them maintain it for years to come. Finding a Gottman Method Couples Therapist who specializes exclusively in couples therapy could be the best investment you will ever make in your relationship.

Modern heterosexual marriage is calling on both men and women to be in partnership in ways that pose new and complicated challenges. However, with these demands, there is the potential for a richer and deeper connection than ever before. Keep your sons in mind as you learn to do something so brave and unfamiliar, and know that even when it feels hopeless, you have the power to create change that is lasting and paves the way for your children and their families to come.