#i mean it does make sense! different concentrations of alcohol and the such affecting people differently

[spaciebabie]

Its so strange watching you muse over how you'll act when drunk, thats such a "never drank before" thing to do 🤣 /lh

Just so you're aware, its a Thing where different alcohols can result in different types of drunk, you're not gonna feel the same from every drink. Like for example, whisky makes us crazy sleepy, its the chill drink, we're gonna end up dozing off on the couch after just one or two drinks, there is no energy or party from that shit. Wine (white) is our drink of choice and we're a mess on it, especially the strong stuff, we're a chatterbox and a weirdo on it and there's a brief window of time between the drink hitting us hard and the exhaustion hitting us hard where we dance a bunch and fall over a lot (the exhaustion isn't caused by the dancing, it'll happen either way and is completely inevitable). And vodka (our second choice in drinks, though still a definite favourite) makes us LOUD, we yell A LOT on that shit, whatever comes to mind, and we get pretty kooky on it, its the funnest drink for sure, if we're down to party (solo party with 30+ people in one body because we have no outside friends) vodka is the drink of choice for sure, the energy lasts the longest and the Vibes are great.

Similarly to this, different drinks get different hangovers. For us whisky has no hangover (mostly because we can't stay awake long enough to drink enough to cause a hangover), wine FUCKS us up and we feel pretty nauseous, and vodka makes us the endless void portal pit to another dimension where the residents demand food sacrifices and if the food stops coming they will start chopping heads, we eat EVERYTHING in our hangover munchie rampage, normally we cant eat unless we're craving the food but those munchies make us tear through everything in sight regardless of what it is, its an expensive disaster

Good luck finding out how you respond to various drinks, its gonna take a bit of experimentation and no it cant be done all in one night, that's a bad idea for sure

oh man! i did not know this. thank yall for the information :>

i definitely dont plan on going too hard on my first time dkjfdkfjdf im probably just gonna have a tasty wine and relax :]

[parkertech]

Tattoos & Tears — CHAPTER 4

a/n: on everybody's 18th birthday, they get a tattoo of their soulmate written on their wrist. for you, it's your best friend who you thought you got over. who even has a girlfriend of his own.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, jealousy, angst

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MJ was rudely awoken by the morning sun blinding her eyes. She mentally cussed it out in her head, before checking the time. She groaned at the realization that she had to get ready, and turned over patting Peter’s shoulder.

“Pete...wake up...” she whispered. It was Peter’s turn to groan, and he buried his face in his pillow, his eyes still closed. MJ giggled at how much of a couch potato he was being, before running her hand through his hair.

“It’s 7:00 Peter...come ooonn...” He only groaned even louder in protest. He could feel MJ’s body heat, and instead of it being comforting, he found it the opposite. He scooted slightly away from her, and sighed feeling the cool mattress under his skin.

“I don’t wannaaaa...the days gonna be full of boring lessons, and boring teachers, and boring people...”

“Yeah, everyone’s basically boring.” MJ replied. She jumped out of Peter’s bed, grabbing an outfit she left in his closet. “Well, besides your friends, of course.” Peter hummed and nodded in response while MJ left his room to his bathroom to take a shower.

With MJ’s last sentence, he was reminded of all his friends. MJ, Ned, Betty, Y/N...

Wait, Y/N!

He shot up from his bed, realizing he had a big priority on his hand today. All the memories of last night came back, and he mentally cursed himself all over again.

Okay, he needed a plan. That was his thing, that’s how he got MJ as his girlfriend. And that worked out. Even though he technically couldn’t check any of those things off...

Peter started making the list mentally. Okay, step one. Apologize for being a dick. Even if he wasn’t secretly sorry. It was Brad Davis for crying out loud! But that still didn’t mean he controlled you. Step two, basically be your bitch. That would soften you up a bit. Hand her the homework if she needs it, give her notes for the day, etcetera, etcetera. And if all else fails and you’re still mad at him, step 3. Leave her alone.

But what if he doesn’t want to?

No no, not about you, Peter.

If you were really mad, you would just need space to soften up. Then he’d try again. Peter took a breath, letting his plan sink in, before getting ready for the day.

MJ beat Peter to school, when she realized she was going to be late if she waited for him. As she was taking out all her textbooks and notes for her next class, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. She turned around, only to be cornered by Peter himself, who had a bright smile on his face.

“Hey, you.” He said cheery. MJ couldn’t stop the matching smile that came across his face.

“Hey to you, too.” Peter chuckled a bit before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. MJ’s cheeks immediately flared up, and she could tell she was blushing. There was a slight fire in her that she couldn’t put out if she tried.

But Peter didn’t feel it.

He was expecting the butterflies, and the flushed cheeks, but he felt nothing. The only thing he felt was a slight discomfort, as he pulled away with a confused look. He could hear tingling, and knew it was his spider sense.

“What’s wrong?” MJ asked. Usually he would continue his affection, but apparently today was different. Peter turned to look down a hall, and his spider sense turned off once he saw you.

Except you weren’t alone.

There you were, leaning against your locker with a bright smile on your face, laughing at something Brad Davis said. He had a casual arm leaning against the locker above you, and he was slightly towering over you. Peter also took in your appearance. You were hearing a white, long sleeve scoop neckline shirt, along with a dark blue denim skirt that stopped in the middle of your thighs. You had soft, yet gentle makeup on your face, and your hair was a little more neater today.

You were dressed to impress someone.

And that someone was Brad.

Peter grit his teeth a little, before turning back to MJ.

“Nothing, just thought my spider senses sensed danger.” MJ nods with an ‘oh’ face, before turning back around and continuing rummaging through her locker. Peter took this chance to look back up at you. Brad was now smiling at you, and he could see his eyes trail up and down your body. Peter’s chest grew tight, and he felt that familiar jealousy from last night, all because he was checking you out.

Jesus, why was he being so weird?

He knew it was a problem if he could address it himself. MJ shut her locker, and grabbed his hand. Peter took the hint, and walked her to her History class, but his eyes never left the not -so-subtle flirting Brad was doing. And he could tell you enjoyed it.

But little did Peter know, he was far from right.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peter looking at you. You knew you needed some kind of way to distract yourself. Plus, you needed to keep your lie going. You killed two birds with one stone, and pretended to be interested in Brad. You felt a little bad, honestly. Brad didn’t deserve to be lied to of such a thing, and it made you feel more guilty when you could tell he was into you.

It was easy to pretend to have the same feelings. You giggled at all his jokes, even if they weren’t that funny, maybe touched his bicep a bit, but that was it. The only thing motivating you was imagining it was Peter. You heard the bell rung, and turn to your locker grabbing one last book.

“That’s us. Do you wanna walk to class together?” See, if this were really Peter, you’d be a stuttering, blushy mess. But it isn’t, so you’re not. Brad smiles at your offer before nodding.

“Yeah, maybe we could also sit next to each other?” Brad really was too naive for his own good...you wanted to sit with Peter, but he was probably sitting in between MJ and Ned by now.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Brad waited until you locked your locker before walking down the sea of students to your class. It was silent except for his little comments, but it was a kind of peaceful silence. As promised, you and Brad took a seat in the middle next to each other.

Peter was occupied talking to Ned about his new Millennium Falcon LEGO set, until you walked in the room. With Brad. God, why is he always there?

He practically glared daggers at him, and he pulled a seat next to you. Of course, he was sitting next to you now. He only temporarily moved his eyes when the teacher came in to start the lesson. He stole occasional glances, and when the teacher assigned partners for a new project, guess who volunteered to be your partner?

“Okay, so we can continue doing this at my house?” You asked Brad. Peter growled a little. You just started talking to him and he’s already going to your house? Great.

MJ spotted his tense stance, and gently put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but nonetheless played it off.

The bell finally rung after what felt like an eternity, and MJ telling him to wait for her was the only thing stopping him from speeding away in annoyance. Him, MJ, Betty, and Ned, all sat in a table, across from each other. He expected you to sit next to them per usual, but he didn’t see any sign of you.

“Guys, do any of you see Y/N?” He asks. Betty’s eyes widen a little at the mention of your name, but she plays it off by looking around. She spots you a few tables down, and points.

“There she is.” He looked where Betty pointed. You had one of your notebooks open, writing away to it. Peter didn’t realize it, but he was admiring how your tongue poked out a little when you were very concentrated, and when you brushed your hair behind your ear because it was getting in the way. It showed more of your face, and for some reason that made his heart swell. As quick as the view was memorable, it became trashed the second Brad came into view. You looked up at him and smiled for what felt like the hundredth time that day. When Brad sat down next to you, he notice he had two trays of food, and handed one to you.

Get a load of this fucker.

Peter was full on fuming now. He could tell you were having fun with him, and it just made the anger in him rise even more. He knew the rest of the day wasn’t gonna be good if he kept seeing you two like this. Most of the lunch period was spent looking and glaring at you and Brad. Peter rarely payed any attention to his friends’ conversations, and only responded with one worded sentences. MJ noticed him being off, because she notices everything, and thought he was having a bad day. Maybe it was just this once. She decided to give him space. If something was wrong, he would tell her. She was certain of that.

“I’ll be right back.” He mumbled to his friend group. Betty and MJ eyed him, and Betty’s eyes widened when she realized he was walking to you.

Does he know? Did he somehow figure it out? Shit shit shit shit!

Peter sat across from you, which snatched your attention from Brad to him. You smiled at him while Brad just gave him a weird glance.

“Hey, Peter! What’s up?” He furrowed his eyebrows at how friendly you were being. Were you really going to act like last night didn’t happen? Or was he making it a big deal when it really wasn’t?

“Can I talk to you? In private?” He glared at Brad a bit, and it was very noticeable. You were about to call him out on it, before Brad intervened.

“It’s cool, I’ll just throw away our trash and let you guys talk, okay?” You nodded as Brad took your tray full of trash and his own, going over to the trash bin.

“So what did you wanna talk about?”

“I wanted to say sorry...for how I acted yesterday...” Peter’s aggressive demeanor was quickly turned into a shy one just by standing across from you.

“Oh, that? It’s okay, I was just in a snippy mood. Probably because of the alcohol.” It was easier to sugarcoat it instead of telling the truth. Eventually he’d wonder why you were so mad and figure it out. Peter wasn’t stupid, just not that observant.

“No, I feel like it was my fault mostly. I mean I’m the one that brought it up, even though I know I can’t control your love life, I’m sorry about that too, and I-“

“Peter I said I forgive you. It’s okay.” You stopped him mid rambling and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. His palms suddenly became sweaty and he placed them on his thighs instead of in front of him on the table.

“Okay. Cool. Yeah.” You nodded and he awkwardly nodded back, before going back to his seat. He joined in MJ’s conversation a little unwillingly, while Betty took her chance to sit in front of you this time.

“What was he talking about?” She whispered. You shot your head up from your notes and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What?”

“He doesn’t know, right? About your tattoo.” Your eyes widened and you looked around, making sure no one heard you.

“Betty! Ssh! Don’t say it so loud! No, he doesn’t. He was just talking to me.” Betty sat there staring at you for a few seconds before asking another question.

“When are you gonna tell him?” You scoffed and shrugged before turning back to her.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have to. The tattoo is probably wrong anyways.” Betty furrowed her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, why are you acting like it’s not a big deal?”

“Maybe because it’s not. A flaw could’ve happened, who knows.” Betty glared at you, obviously annoyed. How did you go from having a full on panic attack to acting like it’s nothing?

“Really? So being in love with him isn’t a big deal?” You clenched your jaw, just wanting her to stop. You didn’t want to think about anything of last night, and Betty wasn’t really helping.

“I was drunk, okay?” But you meant it.

“I don’t think you would have a full on breakdown about that, even if you were drunk.”

“Betty, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I’m hanging out with Brad, and I think I might actually be into him. I don’t want a stupid fucking tattoo to ruin that for me!” Betty was way more confused now. But she didn’t have the energy to argue. She rolled her eyes a little, putting her hands up in defense, before leaving the table and going back to Ned.

When school hours were over, Brad went over to your house as planned. MJ went over to Peter’s house as usual, except he wasn’t as enthusiastic about it. He’d rather be alone. With you.

That was all that was on his mind. You, you, you. He mentally scolded himself, constantly repeating that he had a girlfriend to focus on instead. To get his mind off of you, he decided to go through a Star Wars marathon with MJ. He ignored her protests and stayed silent, which was unlike him. He’d banter to her saying it’s overhated, but he didn’t have the energy today.

The distraction didn’t work, though. He knew literally every line, what was going to happen, yadda yadda yadda. It just made him more bored. Peter looked down at MJ spooned up beside him, her eyes closed and her breathing slow. He carefully and cautiously moved out of his place between the couch and her, and didn’t waste any time to put on his red and black spandex and jump out the window.

When Peter started patrol, it was near sundown. When he checked his phone, it was 12 in the morning. He knew MJ would be up by now, and the thought of that annoyed him. He didn’t know why, but now he kind of found the thought of hanging around MJ really negatively. It’s not her as a person, it’s hanging out with her as her boyfriend. As Peter stared at his bedroom window, his thoughts ran wild.

Did he want to break up with MJ?

Peter knew the answer but wanted to try and prove himself wrong. He knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t want to hurt MJ. Sure, breakups happen, but someone gets hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody. Especially someone as good as MJ. The thought of it made his eyes water. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut and groaning a little.

“Peter, is everything okay with you?” He heard his new A.I.—E.D.I.T.H. ask. He figured out a way to transfer E.D.I.T.H. to his suit, since the glasses Tony gave him were a bit too big. He never threw them out, of course. He wanted to keep some part of him, besides the suits he made for him.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, E.D.I.T.H.” He knew based off his annoyed and upset tone he was far from right.

“Your heart rate hasn’t been picking up whenever you’re around Michelle.” E.D.I.T.H. stated. Great, he was trying to doubt himself and here goes a computer who literally knows everything. “Is everything okay between you two? I don’t see you argue.” That last word made his mind flashback to yesterday. When he was on your fire escape. It made his heart clench in the worst way possible.

As if the poor boy hadn’t been thinking enough, he went deeper into his mindset. And the deeper he went, the more and more you came up. He saw your smile, how bright and happy it was. He heard your laugh echo in his head, remembering the corny science pun he told you that made him laugh too. He kept getting flashes of you looking at him, of him spending time with you at your place, and how every time you were around you made him smile. He felt that tingle in his stomach, and his hands getting clammy under his suit, and hearing his heart beat in his ear drums. All of this was obvious signs of nervousness.

Peter also thought about MJ. But her smile wasn’t that bright. Her smile didn’t make him mimic it. Her laugh didn’t have as much power as yours did. He saw their moments together, but MJ being replaced with you. He felt his heart tug painfully, instead of any nervousness, and all of a sudden the lightbulb in his head clicked.

“Peter?” E.D.I.T.H. called his name one last time. Peter’s voice cracked as he finally replied to her.

“No, E.D.I.T.H. Everything is not okay between me and MJ...”

———————————————————————

a/n: hehehe that cliffhanger

Taglist 🏷 (requests are open!)

@marvel4geeks @ladykxxx08 @chloecreatesfictions @joyleenl @witchything @pluckypete @yourneighbourhoodclown @whatareyouhidingpeter @elamvlfoy @trumpettay

[yukiwrites]

Meeting Again, Now and Forever

Thank you for the support and patience as always, @breeachuu! I hope you like it! >v<)

Summary: After getting acquainted with the Traveler, Venti approached her for help with something as important, or even more so, than with the issue with Dvalin: He wanted to find his long-lost love, Auria, who was undoubtedly also looking for him...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

__________________________

It hadn’t been long since the Stormterror Crisis had been dealt with (not to mention how the party had to bolt out of the temple before the illusion on the Holy Lyre wore off), so Lumine -- and, by extension, Paimon -- went to Angel’s Share to rest her weary bones for a bit.

The sight that welcomed her the moment she stepped in, however, shouldn’t have been surprising, but given the state of their goodbyes just a day ago, Lumine hadn’t expected to meet Venti again so soon.

“Ah, Lumine!” The youthful bard smiled brightly once he saw the Traveler step into the tavern, cutting his performance short as though he had already been about to bring it to a close. “Good timing!”

“... What do you mean, ‘good timing’? You look like you’ve been waiting to ambush us!” Paimon crossed her tiny arms defiantly as she flew behind Lumine to snark at the Archon.

“Little old me? Why, I’d never!” Venti giggled adorably before stepping closer to the duo. “To be honest, I wanted to ask a last favor of you, but given how we got separated after our… elegant exit, I waited here!”

The way he smiled brightly could deceive many people (especially elderly), but Paimon only growled and narrowed her eyes. “What do you want NOW, Tone-Deaf Bard? We already went all over the place to help with that dragon business-”

“Paimon, it’s okay.” Lumine waved to shut the little fairy up. “If there’s anything I can help with, of course I’d want to. Is it anything serious?”

Venti smiled in a mature yet lonely way that didn’t go well with his youthful appearance -- it was perhaps the smile of an immortal being as it was confronted with its own endless life. Or perhaps it was a way to make himself seem more mysterious; there was no way for Lumine and Paimon to know.

“Actually, I’m looking for someone.” He bobbed his head to the side, walking towards the counter to sneak some alcohol into his system. “Her name’s Auria. We kind of missed each other during some time of turbulence.”

“...” Paimon sat on Lumine’s shoulder as the Traveler stood beside Venti by the counter. “That’s it? No more hints? What does the Tone-Deaf Lady Friend look like? Where did you meet last? You’re not gonna ask Paimon to look for someone without saying anything, right?”

Bluntly ignoring the talkative little fairy, Venti turned his unmatching mature smile to Lumine. “She’s my special someone; the muse I drink my inspiration from -- the one who’s been with me the longest. I keep sensing her in the wind, but it’s like we always barely miss each other.” He twirled his fingers around as a tiny current danced within his palm before he closed his fist. “Will you help me look for her, Traveler? I’m absolutely sure she’s here in Mondstadt, so the search shouldn’t take long.”

Lumine took a few seconds to nod, somehow appreciating the new side of this mysterious god as she felt the affection that dripped from his words when he spoke of Auria. Paimon shook her head once she saw the Traveler accepting yet another ridiculous request, but even she was unable to fully voice her complaint after sensing the weight of Venti’s words.

“Really?” Venti brightened up like the sun, jumping out of his seat with a spring in his step. “This calls for another song! Lo and behold, as the best bard of the land plays for all of you tonight!” He bowed extravagantly before hopping to the stage he had been earlier, a lyre ready at hand.

Lumine laughed and clapped along with the other patrons, happy that Venti’s mood seemed to have improved.

From the outside of the tavern, a young-looking girl looked up at the starry sky, wondering why the wind seemed so unstable that night…

________

Auria had been hiding amongst the humans for 500 years while she waited for Barbatos to wake up from his slumber, so she was well-versed in dealing with people; though she wasn’t one to stay in a place for long.

“Hmm, what I mean is that… why is it so hard to catch up to a single bard? I hear whispers here and there of his whereabouts, but by the time I arrive, it’s like he’s carried by the wind!” Auria grumbled under her robe which concealed her body, “of course, that wouldn’t be strange, considering Barbar’s personality…”

Sighing, the fairy-turned-sylph looked up to the endlessly blue sky. She had heard through the grapevine about those bard contests -- innumerable, considering the amount of stories to be sung by the many traveling bards in the land -- and had ignored them for two years until she had heard who had been the winner for the third year straight: A young boy named Venti.

Curse her lack of attention! What good was it to possess the power of an Anemo Vision and be clueless about the words the wind carried?

“Hahh…” Auria sighed again, kicking the dust just for the sake of it. She had heard about how Dvalin had left Mondstadt -- which was Venti’s handiwork, no doubt about it. If only she had been there…

Holding back another sigh, Auria took a deep breath and, instead, slapped both of her cheeks to spur herself into action.

“Get a hold of yourself, Auria! Those 500 years of wandering and hiding weren’t for nothing!” She looked up at the fluffy clouds with renewed resolve. “I’ll find him and we’ll finally be able to be together again, just like old times.” She nodded to herself, as though talking herself into action had become a habit she cultivated through the centuries. “Okay, now that’s dealt with…” she looked around the wide prairie before her to check if there was anyone looking before crossing both hands over her chest. “Annd, transform!”

After Auria’s whisper -- word that was actually not needed for her transformation from sylph to fairy to work, but that she had grown fond of using due to Venti’s influence -- she was covered in sparkling dust, seemingly poofing out of existence.

A tiny form, smaller than even Paimon, emerged from the dust, flying about freely to be able to cover the distance to the city. She had changed to her original form of a fairy, before Barbatos had bestowed upon her the very first ever Anemo Vision which allowed her to retain a human-like form to live out the rest of her life beside him.

It took her a while to arrive at the city, as the sky was now covered in a blanket of stars. She poofed back into her human form behind an alley, feeling a weird stir in the air after she felt it caress her face.

It felt as though it was welcoming her into an embrace -- like it was ready to give her what she wanted the most: the hug and comfort of her beloved Barbatos.

“Oh…” Auria covered her mouth with both hands in surprise, her eyes misting with tears. “He’s here! Ven is here!” Her voice shook with emotion for finally being able to grasp Venti’s presence like one catches a petal in the wind.

She closed her eyes and intertwined her fingers in almost prayer, focusing all of her being into the Anemo energy all around her. If she could pinpoint the source of the wind… If only she could, then she would most certainly find Barbatos at the end of it.

All wind and freedom are born from him, so it was no wonder that if one pulled the thread of the wind, they would find Venti at the end of it.

However, it was easier said than done -- there was a high amount of magic energy; differing levels of Anemo and other Visions spread throughout the land to be able to pull at one without finding it entangled in another. It felt like Auria was learning how to knit by untangling yarn instead of weaving it into clothing.

She spent the night at an inn not too far from the most famous one in town as she needed to concentrate on her task, though if only she had walked half a block further… her fate might’ve been different.

________

The next morning, Venti, Lumine and Paimon left Angel’s Share to look for the bard’s special someone, though not without Paimon’s easily-ignored teasing.

“She loves the natural sound of the wind, so I’m sure she’ll be in a place where she can be surrounded by nature!” Venti twirled around himself to make a small whirlwind follow his steps, making dust and leaves dance behind him. “The prairie right outside town should be a great place to look, methinks!”

“Alright, then you can go alone, Tone-Deaf Bard! It doesn’t make sense for all of us to go together, after all.” Paimon shook her tiny legs in annoyance for being ignored after asking questions about the Tone-Deaf Lady Friend.

Lumine nodded in accordance, “yeah, it’s best if we split up. I’ll ask people based on the description you told me, so you should look for places she’d most likely be at.”

“Mhm, mhm!” Venti nodded brightly, taking Lumine’s hand on his before shaking it vigorously. “Thanks again for this, Traveler! Let’s find her pronto! I miss her so much!”

“No one asked, though…” Paimon grumbled beside the duo, puffing her cheeks so they were fit to burst at any moment.

Blinking with sparkling eyes, Venti looked in Paimon’s direction and smiled before giving her a cheeky wink and turning to leave. “Then I leave this area to you! Let’s meet back at Angel’s Share if we return empty-handed.”

After saying that, a current of soft green wind covered Venti, dissipating into warm specs of light once he safely warped himself out.

“Good riddance!” Paimon grunted, wobbling around Lumine before taking a deep breath. “Alright then, let’s go, Traveler! I’m so curious to meet the lady crazy enough to live SO LONG with that Tone-Deaf Bard that I can’t stop scratching myself!” The flying little girl scratched the back of her hand excitedly, wearing an evil smile unfitting to her adorable face.

“Heh,” Lumine smiled before turning towards the market. “Let’s first ask some innkeepers; they’re the best when it comes to dealing with new people.”

“Let’s gooo!” Paimon eagerly flew behind the Traveler.

________

At the same time, Auria gasped, feeling the thread of wind she had barely managed to catch, snap. “Oh, noo…” She grumbled. “Did he warp somewhere? He was just around here in the city, but now he’s flown far away…” Her voice sounded dispirited as her body lumped forwards, on the bed.

Well, technically, she didn’t know if he had flown ‘far away’, but since he wasn’t within her grasp anymore, she pouted adorably, digging her face into the pillow.

She had barely slept last night; she was also starving and tired of trying to untangle the mess of winds and magic around this big city… Pouting even more, Auria growled impatiently before taking a deep breath.

“I’m going… yeah, I’m going to buy something to eat. Bread! Sweets! Fuel for my weary body!” She psyched herself up by springing to her feet, raising both fists to the sky. “Let’s go!”

Soon she left the tavern without checking out -- she was playing on staying until she found Barbatos, after all -- taking only her money pouch and cloak with her as she headed to the marketplace.

No matter how many times she squeezed herself through the stalls, the sight was always marvelous. Humans were truly fascinating in their own pursuit of freedom: from house decorations to delicious food; there was nothing one couldn’t find in this place as long as they looked hard enough.

Auria gleefully bought a bag of baked sweets that looked much too large for someone her size to eat by herself, which warranted her some glances from the shopkeepers as she passed them. Nevertheless, Auria happily munched on a creamy donut as she started to make her way out of the marketplace.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a familiar sparkling dust, so she unconsciously followed it. Since it was just like what her wings in fairy form produced, she felt somehow akin to the flying little girl just a bit ahead of her.

The girl looked too big to be a fairy; not to mention her lack of wings, which cemented the fact that she was not one of Auria’s brethren. Still, Auria found her gaze following the little girl and the one she accompanied -- a young Knight of Favonius, from the looks of it.

Once the duo was out of sight, Auria realized she still had half a donut sticking out of her mouth, so she busied herself with eating it, making her way back to the inn. On the way there, however, she passed by the largest tavern, Angel’s Share, and shrugged before going in.

After all, it would be weird if one that held the title of Most Popular Bard of Mondstadt wasn’t known in such a big establishment. So, renewed with the power of sugar in her veins, Auria went inside with burning eyes.

“Excuse me, I want some information…” She walked to the counter, finding a beautiful flame-haired young man tending to the bar.

“Ask away.” Diluc said curtly, not raising his gaze from the cup he was drying.

“Do you perhchance know of a bard named Venti? He’s about this tall-”

“No need for a description; not only do I know of him, he performed here just last night.” Diluc looked at Auria, then to the piece of donut that fell from her mouth to the floor he had just moped in her surprise.

“He was WHAT? Here?! What?!” She almost let go of the bag of sweets, but managed to catch herself in time to prevent the tragedy. “But I’m just right- across the street? I can’t believe-” She widened her eyes the more she spoke, staring blankly into Diluc’s face.

After a few seconds of astonishment, she caught her breath with a gasp. “Do you know where is he right now? I must meet him!”

Diluc took a moment to reply as he circled the counter to get a broom. “He didn’t say where he was going, but he left this morning with the Traveler and that flying little girl that accompanies her.”

Auria knew who Diluc was talking about immediately. “That young knight of Favonius?” She mumbled more to herself than to Diluc, though he did nod in response.

“Yes.”

Squeezing the bag of sweets, Auria’s heart beat so hard it felt it was about to burst out of her chest. Was that the reason she was so drawn to them back at the market? Were the winds telling her to seek them out so she could finally be reunited with her love?

Her mouth agape as she breathed heavily, Auria’s face brightened with each passing second. “Thank you so much, master! I’ll- I’ll be back!” She quite literally flew out of the door, leaving only the sweet scent of her treats in her wake.

Diluc wasn’t even surprised about such things anymore, so he just finished his sweeping in silence.

________

“Huff, huff!” Auria panted as she turned the bag over into her open mouth to eat everything at once while she ran, clearly unafraid of choking. She quickly arrived back at the marketplace, though due to the sheer amount of people, it was hard to pinpoint a single duo.

Of course, the little not-fairy would be easy to find since she was such an odd sight, but that did not mean that looking would be effortless. Auria put herself on her tiptoes to look above the crowd, but ultimately decided that it would be easier to look from above.

She hurried to an alley and poofed into her fairy form, taking an easy flight high above people’s heads. Looking left and right, Auria flew not too close so as not to be spotted, but not too far so she would still be able to see clearly.

“There!” She pointed to the blonde knight far off in the distance, at the entrance to the pier. “It seems she’s talking to some people, so I’ll just fly down here…” Auria found a quiet spot behind some crates to poof back into her human form, immediately storming towards the place where she last saw Lumine.

She was so eager, she rammed into the young knight with everything she had the moment she took a turn, rolling on the ground in her arms. “Ow, ow, ow…”

“Lumine, Lumine! Are you alright? Who’s this crazy lady?!” Paimon pulled Auria’s cloak to take her off of the Traveler, failing miserably in moving anything but the hood she held on to.

“I’m alright, but-” Lumine shook her head, helping Auria sit up beside her. “Are you okay? Who are- wait… you look familiar.”

“Familiar? Have you seen this crook before, Lumine?” Paimon flew to Lumine’s side, widening her eyes once she took a good look at Auria. “Wait, it’s true! Aren’t you the Tone-Deaf Bard Lady Friend? You are, arentcha?!”

“Tone-deaf-” still dizzy from the collision, Auria massaged her forehead with a groan. “Tone-deaf…?”

“Don’t mind her.” Lumine waved her hand in Paimon’s direction, ignoring the ‘hey, what do you mean by that?’ from the emergency food. “You’re the one Venti is looking for, aren’t you?”

Auria’s eyes sparkled immediately, forgetting the pain and frustration as she took Lumine’s hand. “You know Venti?! Oh, thank the heavens! Do you know where he is? I’ve been looking everywhere for him!”

Lumine and Paimon exchanged surprised and pleased glances. “He just asked us to help him look for you. He left the city for a bit, but we promised to meet back at the Angel’s Share later this afternoon to report our findings.” Lumine nodded to the eager girl holding her hand. “Should we wait there together? It’s best if we stick close lest you two miss each other again.”

“Oh, would you do that for us? Thank you so much, sir knight! Thank you, thank you!” Amidst her emotion, Auria hugged Lumine as she laughed brightly to the point of tears.

“There, there,” Lumine smiled, patting Auria’s back so they could look each other in the eyes. “I’m Lumine, by the way. The one over there is Paimon, so no need for formalities.”

“That’s right! You’re thankful, aren’t you? You gotta tell us more about the Tone-Deaf Bard and how you two met and stuff!” Paimon bounced excitedly all around the two girls. “I need something to kick him in the shin with, keheheh…” She mumbled the last part to herself, snickering evilly.

“I truly am thankful!” Auria sniffled, then got up with Lumine’s help. “I would also love to hear how you two met Venti and what he’s been up to!”

“Sure,” Lumine patted the dirt out of her dress. “Let’s head back to the Angel’s Share.”

________

With each step Auria gave in the direction of the tavern she had left just an hour ago, the stronger her heart pounded. They haven’t seen each other in five hundred years, so the longing she felt to be in his arms was unparalleled.

She tried hard to listen to Paimon’s retelling of how they managed to save Dvalin, but the sound of her heart beating inside her ears made it difficult for Auria to do anything else apart from breathing. And even that was difficult, to be honest.

The wind was restless. Was Venti back? If so, was he already waiting for her? If not, would he take long? It was already the early hours of the afternoon, so he probably should be on his way… oh, Auria could hardly wait!

She didn’t notice, but her steps became quicker the more she approached the Angel’s Share, as though spurred by the threads of wind woven into a breeze. By the time she noticed it was hard to breathe, she was already running.

Her steps fueled by the swirling wind, Auria forgot all decorum and opened the door to the tavern with a loud bang.

The air entered from behind her into the building as though being sucked by a primal being; as though being rolled back into its beginning and end; as though it was simply returning to its master and servant.

The wind swirled around the two adorable twin braids, ruffling the little red cape that covered the small back.

Short of breath, Auria could only gasp as her eyes met Barbatos’ for the first time in a half a millennium. “Ven-” she stuttered, faltering on her feet as she reached out to him.

His clear, aqua eyes widened in surprise as he saw the wind usher her to him, a wide smile covering his face. “Auria!” He opened both arms and ran into her embrace, tackling her with everything he had.

“Ven- oof!” Auria opened her arms to welcome his lightning fast jump, squeezing him into her embrace as they wobbled backwards, falling on top of the incoming Traveler once again.

Paimon grumbled something about the Traveler pursuing a career of safety cushion, but neither of the two lovers heard her.

Auria’s clear tears rolled down her cheeks as she dug her face into Venti’s hair, rubbing her face on it as though to imprint him into her. “Ven! I missed you so much! Where,” she sniffled, “where have you beeen!” She sobbed.

“Hehe,” Venti smiled cheekily, rubbing his face on Auria’s chest as his own eyes itched with unshed tears. “Haven’t you heard my tunes? I was looking high and low for my one and only muse!”

Auria sobbed more, squeezing his neck into her embrace with such force he almost turned blue with lack of air. “I looked everywhere for you…”

“I know, Fairy.” He whispered her nickname in a loving voice, making Auria’s tears flow more intensely. “Thanks for being so good at finding me! What would I do without you, really…” he kissed her neck, then loosened his embrace so he could kiss her wet cheeks before trailing his lips to hers.

Paimon gawked at the sight, covering her eyes with a red face as the two young lovers shared their kiss of reunion, not even bothering to stand after they fell.

“Don’t, sniff, don’t even think about going around on your own again!” Auria dipped more tiny kisses onto Venti’s rosy lips, drying her tears the best she could. “We’ll stay together from now on, Ven!”

“I would have it no other way, Fairy!” Venti giggled brightly, using his frilly sleeve to dry his beloved’s faze. “Now there’s nothing that can separate us.”

[soukokuwu]

OSAMU DAZAI

dazai x reader ⚉ angst, mostly (slight swearing, as usual) ⚉ note: did not proofread this because i procrastinate so much, i’m sorry, hope it’s still okay ⚉ the ending is... happy/sad you decide ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ⚉

(also: this is an alternate scenario for my earlier dazai work! anyway, not my best by a mile, so constructive criticism is very welcome)

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

He had predicted this far, so why? Why was this scene breaking his heart even more than he thought it would?

You were hunched over on the sofa, head in your hands, elbows propped on your knees. Dazai was seated beside you and was as insightful as ever; he knew you were trying your best not to cry, not to show your tears.

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

Just moments before…

“Who the fuck is she?”

You had had enough of this. He had been coming home later than usual these few months, bringing back with him the stench of alcohol and the pungent smell of women’s perfume. Sure, you loved him, but enough was enough. Even you can’t stand sharing the one you loved with someone else.

At first you had thought that it was for a mission, but the month spread into two, and by the third you had given up. You had not once asked him anything about it, simply out of the respect and trust you had for your partner and his unconventional job – being one of the detectives at the Armed Detective Agency. You knew that meant sometimes cases were confidential, or that Dazai simply wouldn’t tell you about it to protect you. To ease his potential concerns, you never questioned him. But this was definitely different, and you knew it. This was no case.

You had made sure to check it out for yourself. You knew his favorite bar spot: Lupin. Thanks to being in a relationship with the most tactical person you knew, you had picked up some skills. One night, exactly two months ago, you had told him you would have to go out of town to visit your aunt, an easy lie to get away with since he didn’t care much of what you were up to by then. That night, you made sure to wait until you saw Dazai leaving the bar before you made your way in. It was way too risky to head in while he was still there. Even loaded with alcohol he would have mad observation skills and realize you were there. But of course, aside from making a new friend in the bar with which you had to praise your boyfriend and act like nothing was wrong in spite of what he’s been doing, you found next to nothing about Dazai’s secret affairs.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Not now, as you were choking yourself from holding back your tears. His voice was clear as day, and there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his reply. “One of the bartenders at Lupin” fell from his mouth, as nonchalant as ever. There, he admitted it.

As you looked at his face, it was as though you couldn’t recognize him anymore. This wasn’t the Dazai you fell in love with all those years ago. No, this person in front of you, he’s different. No way the Dazai you fell in love with would ever do this to you. You felt a tightness in your heart as you continued to wonder what it is that you had done wrong.

It killed you inside; remembering all the sweet moments that happened over the years. Every single memory that you remembered just felt like a knife through your heart.

“How long has it been?”

He chuckled, not sounding the least bit apologetic, “three months.”

“Fuck, Osamu.”

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

Dazai was still sat next to you, paying attention to your every movement. He noticed the way your shoulders were trembling, because try as hard as you may, you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing.

He knew how you were feeling, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort you. He loved you – and he still does – but he couldn’t admit that to you. Not after what you think he did. This was going according to plan, so why couldn’t he feel any sense of accomplishment? Instead, all he felt is anger and regret welling up inside him. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to turn back on his decision to push you away.

A penchant liar, a wanted man – Dazai knew he couldn’t be the person you deserved no matter how hard he tried. You deserved a better life than this. One with no threats, one where you didn’t have to look over your shoulder every time you stepped outside. He knew you wouldn’t leave of your own accord, so, he dealt with this the only way he knew how: lies.

For the past three months he had been frequenting Lupin, but as much as he wanted to push you away, he couldn’t actually bring himself to be intimate with another woman. No fucking way. No one could hold a candle to you. So, he thought of an alternative.

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

Exactly two months ago:

“Thanks for this.” Dazai could have gotten it easily himself, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught buying props for his ruse.

“And what exactly do you need it for? Can’t you just ask your girlfriend for hers?” His partner, Kunikida, grudgingly handed Dazai what he had asked for. Why on earth would he need women’s perfume? It wasn’t your birthday or any special occasion, that much he knew. Kunikida smirked, thinking it could be that maybe Dazai was being thoughtful for once and gifting—

“No, I’m done with her.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“It’s exactly as I said, Kunikida. Are you going deaf?”

As much as the blonde wanted to punch him, he held back, clenched fists by his hips. “You’re being an ass.”

“I know that.”

The blonde could feel the anger bubbling up inside him. He had seen them together, and as much as he and Dazai didn’t really get along, he had to admit that getting together with you was the one decent choice the guy has made in ages. He didn’t know you personally, but Dazai had been going on and on about you ever since you got together with him. All of a sudden, he realized what the perfume was for, and he scoffed at his partner’s cowardice.

“If you want to end it, just man up and break it off. Don’t you dare make her think she isn’t enough of a woman for you. She’s the best you could ever do.”

Kunikida didn’t have to ask to know what his partner was thinking. Asking him to get some lipstick and ladies’ perfume? He was just looking to make you think that he’s cheating on you. Whatever Dazai was planning, he definitely did not approve.

Dazai laughed in self-deprecation as he finally looked up to look Kunikida in the eyes. “You and I both know that if I tell her the real reason that she wouldn’t leave.”

Not wanting to hear any more of it, Kunikida stormed off, obviously against Dazai’s decision, but he also knew that he shouldn’t interfere in other people’s affairs, which only served to frustrate him even more. But before he could leave, he turned back to Dazai once more, “if you want to protect someone, protect them with your own two hands.” To which, of course, Dazai pretended not to have heard.

Later as Dazai up and left, he spotted a familiar figure in the alleyway, walking towards the direction of the bar. He sighed as he approached the man, not feeling up to his usual routine of annoying him to no end. “Whatever you want I’m not giving it to you, I’m about to go play some mind games, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be off.”

Left behind without being given a chance to say anything, the ginger scoffed and crossed his arms. “Huh? What’s this shitty Dazai talking about? I didn’t even know he would be here…”

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

“There’s nothing I can do anymore.”

Dazai snapped out from his thoughts as he processed what you were saying. He didn’t expect such a reaction, such… calmness in your tone. He almost thought he was dreaming. He lightly pinched himself on the arm. No, he definitely wasn’t dreaming. Slowly, he brought himself to look at you.

Your beautiful eyes were staring straight at him, as though they could see right through him. Of course, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. You were the only one that ever could. Rarely has anyone ever made him stumped, but if anyone could be an exception, it would be you. And now, you caught him off-guard with how stoic you were.

“What – what do you mean?” Dazai croaked out, eyes unblinking, fingers slightly twitching.

Then he heard her laugh a similar laugh, much like his self-deprecating laugh with Kunikida. “Exactly that.” And she proceeded to the bedroom, presumably to pack her belongings.

Somehow, Dazai felt his hands moving of their own accord, and pull her back. And as she stood next to him, he realized what went wrong.

She thought she knew everything. One thing that she got right was that he was deliberately pushing her away. But what she didn’t see through was the real reason why he did it. Because in her eyes, he only saw sadness. And he knew. He knew at that moment, she thought he had implied she wasn’t worthy. She thought she failed at bringing him joy. She thought that everything he faked to push her away was to send a message: You don’t cut it for me, you’ve failed at making me find a reason to live, and I got bored.

That was far from the truth, though, and Dazai couldn’t bring himself to confess. He knew that in doing so, it would not help him achieve his goal. So, he kept up the part he was acting, and gave her a deadpan smile, trying not to let his voice waver as he told her, “I’d appreciate it if you left as soon as possible. I’m expecting company.”

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

“Isn’t that…?”

Dazai looked at where Ranpo was gazing at and saw you there, with your long wavy hair in a ponytail, sampling flavors at the new gelato store in the corner of the street. He felt his heart skip a beat, not that he would ever let it affect him. Today he had a case to see to with his subordinate, and Dazai was trying his best to concentrate on said case.

It had been a year since that fateful night, and he’s been doing his best not to keep any tabs on you. Which was relatively easy, given the nature of his job. All he had to do was keep himself busy. Very busy. He also noticed that he couldn’t even joke about a double suicide with any of the women he usually would flirt with, but he dismissed it, refusing to think of this as an effect your departure had left him with.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled, before turning away to get back to the case on hand.

But before he could get away completely, Ranpo’s sudden exclamation caught his attention. Dazai couldn’t help but look, curious at what’s gotten him so surprised. Then, Dazai realized, you weren’t alone, as your hands reached out for someone else’s, dragging them with you toward the gelato store.

You had chosen a classic butterscotch flavor. Dazai had expected that, seeing as it had been your favorite since you were a child. But what he didn’t expect was to see you with someone, let alone someone he knew. As he watched you feed a spoonful of your favorite flavor to your new lover, Dazai felt his fists clenched tight, which Ranpo caught on to.

“Isn’t that…” Ranpo trailed off, this time referring to your companion. But then he decided it was maybe best not to pursue the matter so much. He was almost, if not more, insightful than Dazai was, and he knew exactly what kind of reaction he would get should he press the matter further. “Dazai, it was you who felt she needed to move on, no?” he reminded him.

“To keep her safe, not –” Dazai raised his voice before getting a grip on himself as he noticed he was attracting some attention from the people around him. Not to mention nobody aside from you had seen him as rattled as he was right now. ‘Not to let her fall back into it,’ he finished in thought to himself.

But to his dismay, as he shifted his attention back to you, he realized you and your lover both didn’t notice him, because your attention was on each other, and only each other, both of your smiles sickeningly sweet. All he could think of was how all that hard work, all those sleepless nights spent after you left, was actually going down the drain. Because he didn’t make you safer, no. If anything, his heart sank as he realized that he definitely pushed you into a more dangerous life.

Why would you do this? Why were you with him? Out of spite? No, Dazai knew you way better than that, and you weren’t so petty. That could only mean one thing – what you felt for your new man was genuine. And as he heard you exclaim your next sentence, hands tightly intertwined with your new lover’s, Dazai knew he was at risk of losing it.

“Let’s go to the beachside next, Chuuya!”

[cat-brodsky]

richard pipen is the worst pre-med student ever: death caps in the secret history

"Judy, what would you do if you had a hundred and three degrees of fever?” “I would go to the fucking doctor,” she said without looking away from the TV.

must i say anything else

This post may contain errors, and anyone is welcome to point them out.

@sadbabywltch gets a thanks for the inspiration

some context

"You studied medicine for a while, didn't you?” [Henry] said.

I knew this to be a prelude to some health-related inquiry. My one year of pre-med had provided scanty knowledge at best...

I’m going to cite some parts of The Secret History, but I cannot copy the entire text of the scene in question. If you haven’t read it, this scene won’t make as much sense.

This post contains extensive discussion of mushroom poisoning as a murder method, so consider yourself warned. This post also contains math and biology, so people allergic to either should turn back.

Richard Pipen knows absolutely nothing about medicine. And I intend to prove that.

on amanita phalloides

Aka, death cap. The most poisonous out of all known mushrooms - half a mushroom (30 grams) is enough to kill a grown human. If Henry had really done extensive research, he should know that - and he said that he has.

“You have no idea how much thought I've put into this. Even to the strain of poison. It's said to make the throat swell, do you know that? Victims are said to be struck dumb, unable to name their poisoner.”

He should also know that the throat swelling is a myth. A.phalloides cause gradual organ failure. Symptoms of poisoning occur twelve hours later, too late to seek treatment, and death generally occurs six to sixteen days after the poisoning.

He should also know that there are less toxic species of Amanita. For instance, Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) is a hallucinogen, and symptoms take only thirty to ninety minutes to appear. Considering that the entire friend group has already been taking drugs regularly, Henry could offer Bunny a lethal dose, ingest a small one, and seek treatment.

There is also Coprinopsis atramentaria - the common ink cap, or tippler’s bane. This mushroom is poisonous, even lethally so, if combined with alcohol. I don’t need to spell the murder method out.

But, of course, Henry is high Intelligence low Wisdom and obsessed with ancient history; if Claudius allegedly died via death caps getting mixed with Caesar’s mushrooms, then it must clearly be the best way to poison someone.

on advanced calculus

“Let's say we know, for instance, that x amount of the drug in question is enough to affect a seventy pound animal and another, slightly larger amount is sufficient to kill it. I've figured out a rough formula, but still we are talking about a very fine distinction. So, knowing this much, how do I go about calculating the rest?”

Quick reminder that Henry killed one dog and poisoned another.

I’m not going to do calculations on A.muscaria or any other method of murder - A.phalloides is what the characters were poring over. I’m going to explain the calculations as simply as I can, and then provide some references for those of you who are interested in biology.

The characters don’t have the internet available, but they have the whole college library, a virtually unlimited amount of money, and a town where everyone takes illegal substances at their disposal. What they need is a pharmacology textbook (to look up the necessary equations), a reference on poisonous mushrooms (to look up death caps), and perhaps a handbook on toxins. 

LD50 is what Henry is after - that is, “the dose required to kill half the members of a tested population after a specified test duration.” (I hope that the readers can already see that two dogs are not a large enough sample size.) LD50 is conveniently measured in mg/kg. We have the characters’ exact weights: Bunny is 86 kg, Henry is 97.5 kg.

Amatoxins are a group of toxins contained in A.phalloides, and the one that causes symptoms of death cap poisoning. LD50 of amatoxins in humans is estimated to be 0.1 mg/kg. Thus, Bunny would need to ingest 0.1*86 = 8.6 mg amatoxins, perhaps less, preferrably more, to be stone dead. Here I make an assumption that 0.05 mg/kg is not lethal; with Henry’s poor health, it might be. Henry would need to ingest under 0.05*97.5 = 4.87 mg to not be dead.

Oral LD50 for amatoxins in dogs is 0.5 mg/kg. Finding out the amatoxin content should be an easy calculation: X grams divided by 31 kg contains 0.5 mg. We know that X grams minus one gram failed to kill the other dog, so we can assume this is not low-balling the dose.

For the sake of ease, let’s say X = 31 -> 0.5 mg amatoxins in one gram of locally harvested, organic death cap. This looks close to reality. Per Yilmaz et al (2015) a death cap ingested by a patient contained 0.426 mg amatoxins per gram, and you can calculate that yourself.

And now a simple proportion:

0.5 mg (per gram) / N mg (lethal dose) = 1 gram / X grams (of mushroom)

Bunny: 8.6/0.5 = 17.2 grams (ingest more than that)

Henry: 4.87/0.5 = 9.74 grams (ingest less than that)

partway disclaimer

Of course, I wouldn’t stake my life, or anyone’s, on those calculations.

The toxin content of the A.phalloides can vary drastically depending on geographical location, season, maturity, etc. This could be remedied, I guess, by gathering a large amount of them, mixing them and chopping them into paste, then testing some of the mixture to determine LD50 and the amatoxin content.

From the data at hand, the exact content of amatoxins cannot be precisely determined. But, hey, Henry only needs to poison more dogs to find out!

and now for some more science

A.phalloides contains two main groups of toxins: amatoxins and phallotoxins, and also phallolysin. Phallolysin is not toxic if taken orally, so that’s out. Phallotoxins were found to have little contribution to death cap toxicity, perhaps because they are not absorbed through the gut. (Though it’s not certain whether the characters would have this information in 1982.) This leaves us with amatoxins.

Yilmaz et al (2015) describe a patient who recovered after ingesting approximately 0.32 mg/kg amatoxins (but after developing liver failure). This is why I’m assuming 0.05 mg/kg is non-lethal.

LD50 for amatoxins in dogs has been calculated for α-amanitin and methyl-γ-amanitin.

Garcia et al (2015) gives the amount of a-amanitin in different tissues of A.phalloides as follows (mg/gram dry weight): 0.67 to 0.78 in caps, 0.30 to 0.32 in stipes and 0.07 to 0.10 in volvas.

why richard is an idiot sandwich

Look, perhaps I’m misunderstanding what Donna Tartt has written, but Richard comes across as right for the wrong reasons. He’s right in that trying to non-lethally poison yourself with something so deadly as A.phalloides is a monumentally stupid affair. He’s wrong about everything else.

Faced with a simple calculation like the above, how does Richard go about it?

Equations about chemical concentration were never my strong point in chemistry, and they are difficult enough when you are trying to figure a fixed concentration in a suspension of distilled water; but this, dealing as it did with varying concentrations in irregularly shaped objects, was virtually impossible. He had probably used all the elementary algebra he knew in figuring this, and as far as I could follow him he hadn't done a bad job; but this wasn't a problem that could be worked with algebra, if it could be worked at all. Someone with three or four years of college calculus might have been able to come up with something that at least looked more convincing; by tinkering, I was able to narrow his ratio slightly but I had forgotten most of the little calculus I knew and the answer I wound up with, though probably closer than his own, was far from correct.

I didn’t know proportions required three or four years of college calculus. If the mushrooms are irregularly shaped, why not weigh them?

“It's a good try, but just by looking at it I can tell that it's insolvable without chemical tables and a good working knowledge of calculus and chemistry proper. There's no way to figure it otherwise. I mean, chemical concentrations aren't even measured in terms of grams and milligrams but in something called moles.”

There are different kinds of chemical concentration, and molar concentration is just one of them. “Something called moles”? A mole is, simply, an amount of substance that contains 6.02214076×1023 molecules (Avogadro number). This is sixth-grade chemistry. It’s also completely irrelevant here.

It’s a miracle Richard ever got into pre-med.

Henry, paraphrased: Oh, well, if I overdose - which I can totally figure out despite the fact that the symptoms take twelve hours to show when the damage is already done - I can just have some atropine. Atropine will totally counteract amatoxins.

...Never mind, Henry is also an idiot - though, at least, that is highlighted in-story. What does he plan on doing, drinking a whole bunch of atropine without knowing the precise dose he ingested?

“They are exactly opposite in effect. Atropine speeds the nervous system, rapid heartbeat and so forth. Amatoxins slow it down.”

No, they are not. To put it in plain English, amatoxins cause cell death - nothing about nervous system. Atropine basically counters the parasympathetic system, kicks your organism into fight or flight mode.

Do you know what atropine is an antidote to? Muscarine. It’s a compound found in certain mushrooms - such as A.muscaria, though only in trace amounts. Atropine and muscarine both bind to muscarinic acetylcholine receptors. Muscarine is not found in A.phalloides. Confusing amatoxins with muscarine is... I imagine it’s excusable if ancient Persian texts are your most recent source.

Oh, and one more thing while I’m at it.

“The Persians? I didn't know you read Arabic.”

In Persia (modern Iran), they speak Farsi, not Arabic. Oh, Richard. I imagine Henry took pity on him and didn’t correct the poor fool.

conclusion

There are two ways to engage with canon - from an in-story perspective (Watsonian) or an outside perspective (Doylist). I’ll leave you to discover what the third (Forsythian) perspective is.

From an in-story perspective, I am drawing the conclusion that both Richard and Henry are utterly inept at math, biology, medicine, and common sense; heaven only knows what “algebraic equations” they spent a good half hour going over.

From an outside perspective... well, if Tartt wrote all those errors purposefully, then it’s a nice bonus for any reader who knows basic medicine. If she didn’t, then I can fault her for not doing enough research. A middle ground is more likely: I’m certain that the 103F episode was intentional, but the Arabic in Persia wasn’t, since Henry of all people would lambast Richard for this error mercilessly.

half-assed references

Garcia, J et al. Determination of amatoxins and phallotoxins in Amanita phalloides mushrooms from northeastern Portugal by HPLC-DAD-MS. Mycologia, 107(4): 679-687. 2015.

Hooser, S.; Khan, S. Common Toxicologic Issues in Small Animals: An Update, An Issue of Veterinary Clinics of North America: Small Animal Practice: Ebook. Elsevier Health Sciences. 2018.

Tu, A.; ed. Handbook of Natural Toxins: Food Poisoning (1st edition). CRC Press.1992.

Wieland, T. Peptides of poisonous Amanita mushrooms. Springer-Verlag.1986.

Yilmaz, I et al. A Case Study: What Doses of Amanita phalloides and Amatoxins Are Lethal to Humans? Wilderness Environ Med. 26(4): 491–496. 2015.

[roguethewriter]

Writing Characters with Depression

Ah, mental illness representation! So accurate and diverse!

Said no one ever.

Depression is one of the mental illnesses that are slowly entering the mainstream and becoming less stigmatised. Still, media and literature get a lot of things wrong. You're reading this, so clearly you're interested in what they're doing wrong, so you don't do it. You want to give me a well-rounded amazing character with depression in which we can feel represented, right? WELL, THANKS ANGEL, LET ME HELP YOU.

A couple of things before we start:

‌This is mostly based on personal experience. Mental illness manifests and feels different for different people, so always aim to have a variety of perspectives.

‌Trigger Warning: We're going to discuss some aspects about depression that might upset and hit too close to home to some people, so proceed with caution.

‌I'm not going to go into detail about the symptons, causes and treatment, as this is not a medical manual, but a writing guide. So we'll be focusing more about positive characterisation of people with depression in literature/media.

Let's get to it. And why you're at it, have a Malteeser for everytime I say the D word here.

How depression might feel for someone who has it:

‌Lack of energy

‌A feeling of constant fatigue

‌Hopelessness, thinking things are never going to get better

‌Losing interest in things, even things you used to love

‌Inability to concentrate, even on simple tasks like reading something or watching a tv show

‌Not seeing the point of living

‌Feeling like everything bad that happens is your fault

‌Seeing things in a negative light

‌A lack of self-esteem and self-worth

‌Loss of sex drive

‌Feeling irritable

‌Feeling suicidal

How can it manifest?

‌Sleeping too much or too little

‌Eating too much or nothing at all

‌Being self-deprecating, even if it's in a funny way

‌Withdrawing oneself from social activities

‌Moving and talking slowly

‌Neglecting one's appearance, ie. Not showering in days, not brushing your teeth, wearing the same clothes over and over

‌Abusing substances like alcohol, weed

‌Self-harming

‌Quitting your hobbies

‌Having a messy room, or leaving dishes pile up as you're unable to perform everyday taks

‌Quick to snap and get irritable

This list is not exhaustive, and it's also good to do some research, but these are some clear common signs!

Now, let's go for the bad examples:

Common tropes of characters with depression that make me want to throw away the book/tv to the bin

‌The Oscar the Grouch type: Nothing will make this character smile. They are determined to be a negative nelly and have a big black cloud over their heads.

‌The Sleeping Beauty: how do we know they have depression? Well... They're in bed. People with depression spend all their time in bed, right?

‌The Emo Teen: they wear black, they have studded belts, they wear stripes and eyeliner and listen to MCR, and have a monotone voice... That means they're depressed, right?

‌The eDgY eDgE eDgEdton: Omg, they're depressed, that's so edgy and cool. They wear flannel and write angsty song lyrics with their marker over the wall. They flip tables and cry handsomely while smoking weed. That's depression, right?

‌The Undestructible Teen: Life is tough, parents are getting divorced and Jason has left us for stupid Leyla, but let's not address our problems. We'll cure our depression instead by partying everyday and chugging a bottle of vodka. Oh-oh, have we drunk too much? No worries! There are no consequences to our actions or any long-term impact to our health. We just need the Sensible Friend™ to call us out and we'll grow out of our depression, which brings me to...

‌The Miracle: Did they have depression in episode 1? Well, THEY'RE CURED NOW! And all they had to do is just a little pep talk and get out of bed!

WELL, TO THE RUBBISH BIN TO ALL OF YOU, OFF YOU GO!

Things to take into account when writing depression:

‌Depression is an illness, not a character trait. Although it's true that it shapes the way you think and view the world, depression doesn't define your identity, and people with depression have a personality outside of their mental illness.

‌There are many different types of depression. There is depression with psychosis, there is unipolar depression and then if it's paired with episodes of mania it's called bipolar disorder (comment if you'd like a post on that!). Also, depression can mix differently with other mental illnesses, such as anxiety disorders. Unipolar depression is quite common, but other types need more positive representation too!

‌People with depression still have sense of humour. In fact, some people with depression are actually some of the funniest people. Although depression can make you see everything in a negative light, humour is one of the best coping mechanisms. It can serve as a waybof deflecting attention from themselves so their loved ones don't get worried or making people laugh is the only thing that can lift up their mood. Whatever it is, characters with depression can still be the life of the party.

‌There is not only one way of going through depression. Some people are bed-ridden and have a complete lack of energy, but some people seem to be quite high-functioning, go to work, do the groceries, but feel miserable inside. Some people might even go through both things through their lifetime. The point is that depression affects everyone differently, and it varies according to the type of depression you have, your life situation, and even the stage in which you're in.

‌It's not just sadness. Sometimes, it's not sadness at all. It might be lack of energy, hopelessness, a sense of losing direction and purpose, and in the darkest of times, losing the will to live, to keep fighting. It's important to understand the spectrum of emotions if you're writing a character witj depression and not reduce it to just "a bad mood".

‌Depression is not always due to trauma. The majority of the stories of depression we hear is a person reacting to a major life event: the death of a relative, parents divorcing, losing a job... But sometimes there is not a real life trigger from depression. Sometimes, it's a chemistry imbalance or simply a hereditary cause (attach link). Some people with depression lead stable lives surrounded by loving people and still have the illness, and this creates a feeling of frustration and self-blame, because you feel you might be at fault for being depressed. This is something a lot of people with depression struggle with, but it's not widely talked about.

Okay, Rogue, so how do I write a character with depression?

Well, my little sweetling, let's do some Dos and Don'ts:

Dos:

‌Wonder why you want to write a character with depression. Is it to start a conversation? Is it to provide visibility and representation to the illness? Is it to show how the plot struggles have affected your character? Or is it just to give them "an edge" or make them somewhat interesting? Misrepresentation can be as bad as lack thereof so make sure you're doing it for good reasons.

‌Read own voices books and testimonials about people with the illness. When writing mental illness, most people go to the symptoms page on Wikipedia, but never think to research about how people affected by depression experience it. This will give you a bigger scope on all the different ways depression can affect a person, and will make your character less of a "manual mental illness" type.

‌Create hope for this character. Yes, things can go wrong when you have a mental illness, and suicide rates are high for people affected by them. We know those stories, and they are necessary that we're aware of them. But we also need positive stories. Chances are, someone with depression will read your story, and to see s character with a happy ending can give them a glimmer of hope that is so much needed during dark times. We need more positive stories about mental illness.

‌Use trigger warnings. Some aspects about depression (self-harm, suicide, substance abuse...) can hit too close to home for some people. It's important you warn your readers.

‌Make them interesting, please! Depression does not equal boring. Make them charming and funny and still hopeless, make them be surrounded by loving relatives and still feel miserable, make them be the most helpful friend or loving daughter and still be unable to help themselves. Giving a character depression is not going to be enough to make them interesting, so make sure they have a well-rounded personality.

Don'ts:

‌Romanticise the illness. Do you think depression is lying in your bed in your black clothes listening to Nirvana on loop? Then you're very far off. Although I previously mentioned depression looks different from everyone, things are likely to get ugly. Depression is more than drawing angsty black ink portraits in your sketch pad. It's having your eyes dry and hurt from staring at your phone screen all day. It's your bones aching from sitting on the sofa until 3am dying for some sleep yet being unable to move yourself to bed. It's blood streaming down the sink from brushing your teeth after not brushing them in days. It's the stale smell of the tracksuit bottoms you'be been wearing for weeks. It's your hair feeling like cardboard from all the product and dirt that's been accumulated after not showering for days. Yes, this all sounds tough, but that's because depression is tough and ugly for those who go through it. Show it.

‌Bash on medication. Some people take it, some people don't, but being negative about it in your content can put people off it, people who might actually need it.

‌Have the character "grow out of it". If they have depression in chapter one, they're very likely to have depression in chapter 10, or even in book 2. They might learn coping mechanisms along the way, but depression can take months, or even years to treat, so we won't believe you if you say they've been cured in 3 days. Or maybe:

‌They were depressed, but they have to save the world, so they grew out of it. Yeah, right mate, like if pep talks were that useful people would spend loads of money on therapy and medication. Riiiight. Your hero might eventually get up and save the world, but the depression will still be there, it won't get cured by saving the planet, it will be waiting for them at the end of the road, so be ready to write that.

‌Cure the character with a love interest. Ah, they had depression, until she came to their life. Now they are cured by love! Nah, mate, they will still struggle with depression even when they're madly in love with the most perfect love interest. Some people with depression have loving stable relationships, so this trope makes no sense.

In conclusion / TLDR:

‌Depression has a lot of different faces, not everyone experiences it the same way or is affected by it the same way.

‌It's not always triggered by life events; sometimes you get it and that's it.

‌It's more than just feeling sad.

‌Some people are quite high-functioning despite suffering from it.

‌Don't glamorise: show the good, the bad and the ugly.

‌Be consistent: if they're depressed in chapter 1, they won't be able to grow out of it in chapter 2.

‌Don't be negative about medication or therapy.

‌Use TWs for sensitive content.

‌Tell positive stories and give a glimmer of hope.

Wow! That's a lot, isn't it? You're probably thinking "this is hard to write!", and that's because it is. This is why I asked you to think why you want to do this. Hopefully it didn't put you off and you still want to give the community some good representation.

Anything I left behind? Any more posts like this you'd like to see? Hit me up with comments!

Good luck with your writing and please, hit me up with any questions or talk to me about your OCs and WIP about mental illness. Peace!

Useful links:

Nhs website on depression

Mind guide for depression

If you're struggling and need someone to talk to

[pharaohfontain]

Do you feel anxious for no reason? Are you endlessly worrying unnecessarily about your health, finance or life? Are you having panic attacks? Are you constantly on edge and anxious to the extent you can’t even concentrate sometimes? Do you find it difficult sleeping every night? Do you dream so much that you wake up exhausted? Are you constantly judging and micro monitoring yourself? Do you feel lightheaded when you stand up? Are you so tormented by the feeling of anxiety that you think you may be losing your ever loving mind? If you have answered yes to any 3 questions above, chances are you are suffering from one of the many forms of a condition called ANXIETY.

I have chosen to write about anxiety and depression as both are something that has affected me in life, the effects of these two mostly mental conditions prompted me to look around my society and wonder, was I the only one to be affected by this? Am I a special case? my studies have allowed me to understand that depression and anxiety are so prevalent in and around Accra that, I dare propose that 7 in 10 men in Accra suffer from these conditions and it is worsened because most people won’t dare talk about it.

They wont want to talk about it for fear of people’s reaction to their condition or simply for fear that they may be losing their minds so they keep it to themselves. In Accra Ghana there is a stigma on mental conditions or disorder of any kind, so most men in Accra (Both Ghanaian and foreigners in the country) find themselves dependent on alcohol or other forms of self medication just to have a good night sleep or even maintain normal routine.

Why have I chosen Accra as an area for this case study, I live and work in Accra, so naturally this will be a good and easy place in which to carry out research. I dont want to talk about Kumasi or Takoradi because I do not live there, I have spent a lot of time in and around Accra, I have spoke to so many people about this topic, so everything I say here is in most cases word for word the experiences and feelings of too many men within Accra.

For most people the feelings of anxiety especially gets so intense that they even end up going to hospitals, only for the doctor to inform them there is nothing wrong with them.

In many cases these Doctors misdiagnose the patient not because they ran tests on the individual but because the person complains of sensations, without test or ignoring their test which shows clearly that nothing is wrong with the patient, they will place the patient on drugs. Many times they will place these patients on high blood pressure drugs which creates new problems for the patient or worsens the case.

WHAT IS ANXIETY?

According to WEBMD.com the most common form of anxiety is the Generalized anxiety disorder (or GAD) which is characterized by excessive, exaggerated anxiety and worry about everyday life events with no obvious reasons for worry. People with symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder tend to always expect disaster and can’t stop worrying about health, money, family, work, or school. In people with GAD, the worry is often unrealistic or out of proportion for the situation. Daily life becomes a constant state of worry, fear, and dread.

These generalize anxiety then produces symptoms for the individual that is called panic attacks, these panic attacks can be expressed in a verity of ways; The person can find themselves with racing heartbeats for no apparent reason, they can find themselves sweating in a heightened sense of anxiousness for no apparent reason, they may develop a fear of crowded places, They may develop a hyper dream situation were they dream so much night that it leaves them fatigued in the morning, they may also develop insomnia(sleeping disorder), many advanced anxiety sufferers tend to feel fatigued throughout the day, have a feeling that they may pass out at random times or they may develop a belief that they are losing their minds from the enter affair. Basically the feeling of panic attacks brought on my general anxiety disorder is one where the suffer feels a continued sense of anxiousness and this is a most uncomfortable state of mind to live in, it is paramount to a hellish existence.

In most cases anxiety sufferers find themselves falling naturally into depression.

WHAT IS DEPRESSION?

Depression is a common illness worldwide, with more than 264 million people affected(1). Depression is different from usual mood fluctuations and short-lived emotional responses to challenges in everyday life. Especially when long-lasting and with moderate or severe intensity, depression may become a serious health condition. It can cause the affected person to suffer greatly and function poorly at work, at school and in the family. At its worst, depression can lead to suicide.

The most damaging part of this anxiety problem in Accra is that most men are not even aware that they are suffering from it, so many of them tend to use alcohol as a way to remedy the sensations in the short-term.

According to Healthline Media on http://www.healthline.com, Alcohol is a sedative and a depressant that affects the central nervous system. The first few years or months of using alcohol to manage your anxiety, you will find that drinking alcohol can reduce fears and take your mind off of your troubles. But once drinking is continuous like it usually is, you can build a tolerance to the de-stressing effects of alcohol, and this can make anxiety and stress even more difficult to cope with.

I believe that this is the real reason for the high patronage of bars, hence its high availability all over Accra. You just have to look around you and you will be awestruck once you fully grasp how frequent you will come across a bar all over Accra. Even more surprising is that no matter how small, rundown, big or expensive a drinking spot appears to be, from Sunday to Sunday there will always be men and women drinking from Sunday to Sunday.

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This is not to say that a culture of drinking alcohol is innately bad but after talking to a few people, it has come to my knowledge that most men in Accra today are drinking as a way to cope with the anxiety of living and working in the system, as most men in Accra go to bed and wake up unsure of where the next meal will come from.

Office workers in Accra account for about 30% of the workforce in Accra, the rest are small to medium scale business owners and business men engaged in many different businesses to make honest living. 90% of men in Accra including the office worker go through unbelievable stress that in most cases will cause anxiety and depression, as the system is one that we find constant inflation but the salaries and earnings seem to remain the same or in some cases even reduce.

Most men in Accra even those with wife and children go to bed and wake up with no idea where their next meal will come from, no retirement funds, no social structure that guarantees the children’s education, everything is depended on what the man of the house can bring home. It is sadly expected that this level of stress naturally will be attracted to men in a system like this.

Now we must understand that Ghana in particular is a system that does not really care about the well being of the individual human being, I mean this in the sense that we have no provision for human stress relief, no parks, no programs created with the sole intent of reducing stress or mental trauma in the system, this is the same issue in Ghana’s immediate Brother nation; Nigeria. All we have are the drinking bars and clubbing joints, it is only natural that most men within Accra will turn to alcohol as the major form of stress relief.

Most sickness that men suffer from within Accra can be attributed to an extra-ordinary consumption of alcohol and high stress, these two issues I feel are expressing a prior condition in men that the medical system in Accra have largely ignored. Anxiety can lead to excessive drinking, Anxiety is also a signal that your stress factor is out of control, I feel that if the medical system can start to treat anxiety as a serious issue and look for proper remedies for it, many men and women will be saved from more critical conditions that can come from drinking, high blood pressure brought on through stress of anxiety and also depression which can lead to suicide. I hope this article can open the eyes of all the readers so we can begin talking about this issue, and subsequently pressure our government into doing the needful to help the overwhelming amount of people in society suffering from anxiety.

14 TIPS TO HELP YOU CONTROL YOUR ANXIETY

Take a time-out. Practice yoga, listen to music, meditate, get a massage, or learn relaxation techniques. Stepping back from the problem of life helps clear your head.

Eat well-balanced meals. Do not skip any meals. Do keep healthful, energy-boosting snacks on hand.

Limit alcohol and caffeine, which can aggravate anxiety and trigger panic attacks.

Get enough sleep. When stressed, your body needs additional sleep and rest.

Exercise daily to help you feel good and maintain your health. Check out the fitness tips below.

Take deep breaths. Inhale and exhale slowly.

Count to 10 slowly. Repeat, and count to 20 if necessary.

Do your best. Instead of aiming for perfection, which isn’t possible, be proud of however close you get.

Accept that you cannot control everything. Put your stress in perspective: Is it really as bad as you think?

Welcome humor. A good laugh goes a long way.

Maintain a positive attitude. Make an effort to replace negative thoughts with positive ones.

Get involved. Volunteer or find another way to be active in your community, which creates a support network and gives you a break from everyday stress.

Learn what triggers your anxiety. Is it work, family, school, or something else you can identify? Write in a journal when you’re feeling stressed or anxious, and look for a pattern.

Talk to someone. Tell friends and family you’re feeling overwhelmed, and let them know how they can help you. Talk to a physician or therapist for professional help.

Are you suffering from anxiety? How do you handle the condition? Please share with us below.

Sources:

ANXIETY AND DEPRESSION ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA

HEALTHLINE MEDIA INC

WEBMD

ANXIETY the BIGGEST PROBLEM that MOST MEN in ACCRA GHANA don’t know they have! Do you feel anxious for no reason? Are you endlessly worrying unnecessarily about your health, finance or life?

[queen-bunnyears]

Soft Hands ~ Roger Taylor

So my inspiration for this piece was a small quote from an interview I found somewhere, I don’t remember where, but I copied it into my writing document. 

“I’ve really had a lot of trouble.  Blood everywhere and a lot of bandages. It’s a really intense stage act. It’s in no way laid back. It’s pretty high energy, and yeah, it’s pretty hard on the hands. At the beginning of a tour, especially if we haven’t been playing for awhile, your hands tend to soften up. It’s just a case of hardening them. After two or three weeks they harden up pretty well. At the beginning of the last tour it was really bad because we did a lot of double shows. That was tearing my hands to bits. I know a few other guys who get a lot trouble like that. Bonham tears his hands to shreds. The only way to get over it is to practice like hell two weeks before you come over to do a tour. Just keep playing all the time.” - Roger Taylor, 1975 Circus interview 

Wordcount: a little over 3.4 K

Triggers: Mentions of smoking, alcohol and sex. This is just lots of fluff.

Pairing: Roger x Female reader

The thrill of the bass, and the thumps of the drums filled up your body as you watched Queen play. The third concert of the tour was a grand spectacle, Freddie sung great, and the others were playing one of their best sets yet. The crowd cheered screamed and sung their hearts out. The energy was skyhigh, just like half of the people in the concert hall. You loved watching Queen perform, and seeing how their shows were different each night, how the crowd reacted just in another way, and how the intensity always hit the roof.

When Roger suggested you would join them for the America tour you were beyond excited. You wouldn’t have to miss Roger for a few months, and you were happy that he wanted you to come along. It was Rogers first tour with a girlfriend, and like Brian said, it would probably take some getting used to. Roger was notorious for sleeping with the groupies, and living his best life. You didn’t blame him, he was allowed to enjoy the benefits of being a rockstar, but ever since you two had decided to take on an exclusive relationship you were scared for tours. You did trust him, of course, but something inside you was a tiny bit scared, so you were happy you could join them while they were making history.

Freddie sat down at the piano, and with that movement it felt like the entire crowd held his breath. The energy stayed high, got even higher possibly, but there was a difference, they were waiting for what he had in store. He hit the keys, and you felt nostalgia hit your senses. Love of my life, don’t leave me.

The song wasn’t even that old, but it always gave you a flashback of your favourite memories with Roger. You looked to the side, to Mary, who had tears in her eyes. The song was so special, and your heart filled up with a love for the man playing the piano. How was he capable of writing such amazing songs, that were able to touch your heart in the first few seconds, grab it and not let go. You hugged Mary, and the two of you softly swayed to the song. When he played the last chords you smiled at her, knowing which song would probably come next.

The harmony hit you, and you laughed at how your favourite song got you and Mary immediately out of your intense feelings, and got you to dance a bit, and sing along with the boys. You focused on Roger, who was extremely concentrated to sing it perfect, and having the right timing when he had to start with the drums. He looked so hot, and you wanted to hug him tight, and kiss the living daylight out of him when he looked like that. Watching Roger, the songs flew by, and before you knew it Mary gave you a soft nudge.

“Come on Darling, we have to go backstage, we will get stuck in the crowd if we don’t go now.” She was right, they were starting the last song, and you wanted to be there when they got off stage, bursting with adrenaline. You walked towards the exit, Mary followed suit. When you two were outside you walked towards the backdoor, while you took the opportunity to light a cigarette. “They were good tonight, weren’t they?” You asked Mary, while taking the first drag.

“They are always good. But yeah, tonight seemed to be better than this afternoon, or last night. Everything just went a bit better, smoother and more fluently. They’ll probably be exhausted, I bet Freddie goes to the afterparty, gets high or drunk or both, and then heads straight to bed.” You searched for bitterness in her voice, but Mary didn’t sound angry in the slightest. Maybe that’s why they work out so well, because Mary won’t judge him.

“Doesn’t that annoy you? I mean, I would be annoyed if Roger does that.” You said softly, hoping that you didn’t insult her.

“No it doesn’t, not anymore. He is happy and it doesn’t harm him. And it is just the beginning of tour. He usually settles down after a week or two. At least a bit.” She smiled tiredly. “Besides, I can get my beauty sleep this way. I have seen the party’s I know what it’s like so I think I will just go to bed early tonight. Shall we go shopping tomorrow? I heard Los Angeles is great if you want to find some new things.” The two of you entered the backdoor, and walked towards backstage.

“Yeah lets, tomorrow is the last day we are in LA, so if we want to shop we will have to go tomorrow.” The last notes of Killer Queen filled the air, and the crowd applauded and cheered. The boys bowed and left stage, jumping with the rush, sweaty and intoxicated by the amazing show they had played. Roger ran towards you, and gave you a bearhug, before kissing you. He was filled with adrenaline, and you let it flow over you, kissing him back fiercely. You felt yourself melting underneath his lips, feeling the intensity when his tongue wandered over your lips and your tongue.

Brain patted your shoulder, and you let go of Roger, a bit ashamed of the public affection you just showed. You moved on to hug Brian and the others, before ushering them towards the dressing rooms.

“Go shower boys, you all stink like hell.” The other three laughed, and Roger send you a smile. “Will you join me, we could save water by showering together.” You laughed and gave him a peck on his lips. “Perhaps.” Brian and the others left, Freddie had his arm casually slung over Mary her shoulder. You took Rogers hand, wanting to walk with him to the dressing room. He flinched the moment your hand touched his, and you felt the last bits of the post concert flow leave your veins.

“Roger, what is it?” You looked at his hands and saw it. They were raw and bloody, with some blisters and small cuts. “It’s nothing, it will go away. Just don’t touch ‘m, or think of ‘m.” He shrugged his shoulders, wanting to go to the dressing room to shower. “Rog, we should clean these. This can get infected and it will last longer before the pain fades.”

He made a face at you. “I’ll just put some bandages on them, don’t worry about it love.”

You sighed, not wanting to pressure it. “It always happens when we start a tour love, I tear my hands to shreds in the first couple of shows.” He murmured, and he pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

Taking his hand carefully you looked at his bloody palms. They really had to be cleaned, and not in the alcohol that would spill over them at the after party, were Roger would almost certainly want to go. “Rog, I don’t want to pressure you, but at least let me wrap your hands with a bandage before the show tomorrow?” You tried to sound convincing, but not to much like you were his mother. Your ex had broken up with you because he said you were too much of a worrier about him, and you didn’t want that to happen with Roger.

He nodded, and you pressed a soft kiss to his hand, making a mental note to clean his hands later that night when he would come to the room drunk from the afterparty. He probably wouldn’t struggle then, and just let you take care of his hands in silence.

“Let’s go to the dress room Rog, you need to shower and the after party starts in half an hour.”

“Love, I don’t really feel like going to the party, shall we just go to the hotel room? Order champagne and such, maybe have a bath?” You looked up in surprise, almost dropping Rogers hand. Roger and you always attended the afterparty. This was the first time you joined him on tour, but even after the regular London shows or party’s from festivals or other shows you visited, he never missed a party. He would drink beer and take shots with you, wander around the rooms and talk to everyone, with an arm wrapped around you, keeping you close at all times. Roger loved the buzz after the show, all the people and the booze. Not that you could blame him, the parties were lots of fun.

“Just a night with the two of us, last two days have been super tiring with the double shows. But if you want to go or have already picked your dress that’s fine, we can just go and,-” You stopped his stream of words with a small movement of your hands.

“Don’t worry Rog, there will be plenty of parties in the future we can attend. Let’s go to the hotel then, shall we?” He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and slung his arm around you waist, leading you to the big dressing room. All the boys were there, freshly cleaned and talking to Mary and some random girls, probably fans or groupies. Two of the girls got quite nervous when Roger appeared in the opening of the door.

“We are heading straight back.” Roger announced, Brain and John looked up in surprise, while Freddie immediately got up out of his seat.

“You can’t, that’s boring darlings. Join us for the party, at least two small hours? We don’t have an afternoon show tomorrow so that’s no excuse. You two lovebirds can fuck all you want after, but you don’t want to miss this party. You haven’t even met Sharon, Eve and Laura yet.” He walked around the room in his extravagant manner, trying to persuade Roger to stay.

“Not tonight Fred, maybe tomorrow.” And with that Roger decided the subject was closed and that he wanted to leave for the hotel. “Have fun guys, see you tomorrow.” You waved and told everyone goodnight, shutting the door behind you.

The cab ride to the hotel was silent, your put your head in Roger lap while he played with your hair. The soft admosphere calmed you down, and made you feel a bit slow. The cab stopped at the hotel, and Roger paid the driver while you hopped onto the pavement. The two of you walked inside the hotel, and you felt just as overwhelmed as yesterday, when you first walked into the lobby. The hotel was glamorous, and when you saw luxury like this on their tour, you were reminded of how far Queen had come.

“Shall we order the champagne now, or in our room?” Roger asked, looking at you. “Let’s go to the bar and ask for a bottle.”

“Alright love.” Roger answered, giving you a small kiss on the side of your head. You walked to the bar, asking for a bottle of their finest champagne. The bartender spoke before you could ask.

“If you want glasses to take to your room, ask Mila in the kitchen. The glasses from the bar have to stay here.” You nodded and thanked him, Roger untangeled his arms from you, and went to the kitchen. You picked up the bottle of champagne the bartender gave you. He slightly leaned over the counter, his eyes set on Roger when he walked away.

“That is Roger Taylor right? From Queen?” He asked, looking curiously at you. Your relationship with Roger was public, but not too public, and you wondered if he knew.

“Yes he is. We just came back from their show.” You replied, giving him an inviting smile. He looked at you, studying your features.

“Then you must be Y/n. The pictures are always very blurry, but your hair and posture gives you away. Lucky girl, with him next to you. He really likes you, I can see that from miles away.” His kind words were nice to hear, often people tried to tell you Roger only wanted you for the sex, and tried to break you so you would snap and tell them the things they wanted to hear. This man was nice, you liked that.

“Thank you, that’s nice to hear. Well, I should go to the kitchen, check if Roger is behaving himself. Maybe I will see you again tomorrow.” He returned you kind goodbye, and went to help someone else.  

Roger opened your hotel room, and you followed him in, carrying the bottle of champagne, glasses and a small box of strawberries the kitchen girl told Roger he had to taste with the champagne. Roger wanted to carry the stuff, but you insisted it would hurt his hands even more, and that it wouldn’t be worth it.

“Let me draw a bath. Could you grab the towels and such?” Roger proposed, already going to the bathroom. You placed the bottle and the fruit on the table, and you started opening random cupboards to find a first aid kit. You heard Roger softly humming to himself while he filled the tub. When you two first saw your hotel room you were amazed by the huge bed, but when Roger looked into the bathroom he loved the bathtub. It was large enough for the both of you, and Roger wanted to take a bath in it from the second he saw it.

“Roger, they gave us beautiful strawberries!” You mused, while looking at the goods the girl put into the box. Little bowls filled with strawberries, some covered with chocolate. You put it with two glasses of champagne on a tray and walked towards the bathroom. Roger was filling the tub constantly testing the temperature with his fingers. You put the tray on the side table next to the tub, and went back into the bedroom. You remembered seeing a first aid kit in one of the cupboards, but you weren’t sure where you saw it. Searching through the stuff in the closet you found it behind your bathing suits, so you took it with you to the bathroom.

When you opened the door to the bathroom Roger was stripping of his shirt, and you stood still in the opening of the door, admiring the sight. He opened up the button of his pants, hissing softly when his sore hands went over the rough fabric. You put down the first aid kit, before walking up to him, and put your hands on his.

“Let me.” Your offer was by no means sexually intended, although Roger gave you a smile that made you shiver, but he kept quiet as he let you take off his trousers. He stepped into the tub, after closing the tap that was still pouring water into the bath.

“Well, aren’t you gonna join me?” He teased. You made your way over to the tub, stripping yourself of your clothing. Letting your underwear slide of your legs you looked at Roger sitting in the tub, looking up at your body with wide eyes. You slowly lowered your body into the water, in between Rogers legs, facing him, so you would have no trouble cleaning his hands.

“Come on, turn around love.” Roger asked, motioning for you to rest your back against his chest. “But I need to clean your hands Rog.” You answered, holding up the kit that you had placed next to the tub. “But I want to feel you first.” He hinted, softly touching your sides. “Not with those hands, it could get infected.” You told him, turning around so you could rest your back against his chest. He pouted slightly.

“I want to feel you come around my fingers.” He whispered in your ear, letting his hands slide to you back. You blushed heavily upon hearing his words, and he chuckled.

“We have been together for seven months now, and you still blush when I talk to you like that.” He grinned, knowing what his words did with you. You just reached behind you and grabbed a glass of champagne, handing it to him. By now you knew better than to respond. Roger was excellent when it came to dirty talk, and whatever you replied, he knew how to turn it around and make you fluster.   

“Let’s not let this overly expensive champagne go dull. Cheers, on the wonderful show you played tonight.” You tried to divert the topic. The glasses clinked when they touched, and you took a sip. The bubbles prickled on your tongue, and you found yourself actually enjoying the taste. The two of you put your glass on the table next to the bath. You were surprised by how this hotel seemed to have thought of everything, even small tables next to the bath to put your stuff on.

“It really is a lovely champagne.” You said, turning around to grab some strawberries. “I know something what would taste even better.” You practically heard his smirk when he said that.

“Roger we are in bath now, let me enjoy it before the water gets cold. I will clean your hands when we get out, and perhaps you can have a little taste.” You tried to sound stern, but didn’t really succeed. He chuckled softly, but listened to you as he just wrapped his arms around you in a hug, relaxing his body into the warm water.

“How would the afterparty be right now?” You wondered after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Roger let his thumb circle over your ribs.

“Probably boring without us. Why do you ask?” He questioned, scared you had wanted to go but didn’t dare to tell him.

“Just wondering. You know, I like the quiet for a change.” You turned your head slightly so you could look him in the eyes, smiling softly.

“Yeah it is nice. Strawberry?” The next ten minutes were filled with laughter, strawberries and some more champagne. Roger claimed he couldn’t touch the strawberries. “I am injured love!” So you had to feed them to him, a task you gladly performed.

“The water gets cold, shall we get out?” Roger asked. You shook your head, turning around to face him.

“Let me clean your hands first.”

“You can do that when we are out of the bath.”

“But it’s easier in  the water. I only have to clean ‘em. I’ll wrap your hands tomorrow before the show. Come on Rog, don’t be annoying.”

“Okay Love.”

You gently took his hands and washed them clean in the water. You grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, pouring a bit on a washcloth and gently cleaning his wounds with it. Roger hissed at the contact and the sting of the alcohol on his hands.

“Christ that hurts.” He cursed, pulling his hand back.

“Don’t be a baby Roger. It will hurt a lot more if it gets infected.” You said, taking his hands again.

“You are lucky you are naked right now so I can’t focus on thinking about witty replies.” Roger threatened chuckling. You ignored his comment and gave his hand a final sweep with the cloth.

“See, all done. That wasn’t so bad wasn’t it?” You cooed, patting his blonde hair.

“Can I get a get better kiss?” Roger asked with a smile on his face. You softly kissed his fingertips, before bringing your face closer to his so you could kiss his lips. You pressed a featherlight peck on his lips, pulling away before Roger got the chance to deepen the kiss.

“Let’s get out of the bath.” You teased, stepping out and wrapping a towel around you. “I might even let you fuck me now you’ve been a good boy.”

“What did you say?” Roger choked on his words and quickly climbed out of the bath, almost slipping in his rush.

“I think you heard me perfectly.”

[tailahjanbash]

The Christian, Mental Illness, and The Cure

Mental health has been a topic that has been circulating around culture and around the church a lot in 2019.

As a girl, I struggled with an eating disorder. I had anorexia for about a year. I weighed around 95 pounds, and hardly ate anything. I remember feeling ugly, worthless, and trapped inside a body I hated. The thing was, I had been a Christian my entire life. I knew Jesus loved me, I loved him back, and I knew that he healed people… but I never personally invited him into my mess. As a result, I suffered from mental illness.

I vividly remember being in a worship service, lifting my hands and surrendering every area of my life and pain to Jesus. In that moment, I physically felt weights being lifted off of me, and I knew my eating disorder was gone. I didn’t know it at the time, but The Lord had cast an oppressive spirit out of me.

As Christians, it’s absolutely possible to go to church every week, know all the stories, believe and still. be. oppressed.

So why are there so many Christians tormented by mental illness, if Jesus already conquered every sin, death, and disease?

Some people might argue that it is because we live in a fallen world. There will always be pain and sometimes we just have to suffer. But this completely undermines scripture and the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross. When we come into agreement with our mental illness or pain, we are saying “Jesus, you died for me so I could get into heaven, but your sacrifice wasn’t powerful enough to take away the pain of this world.”

Yes, we live in a fallen world. Yes, life is going to be hard. Will we face difficulties? Absolutely. But we are promised that we will overcome, because the true word of God says:

The Lord will cause your enemies who rise against you to be defeated before you. They shall come out against you one way and flee before you seven ways. Deuteronomy 28:7

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:10

But the question still remains:

Why are there so many Christians tormented by mental illness, if Jesus already conquered sickness and death?

There are three common reasons that I have found:

1. We are not empowered by the Holy Spirit – We talk so much about God the Father and King Jesus, but the third part of the God Head is often overlooked in the contemporary church. The Holy Spirit. He is a person and he is a gift. The Holy Spirit empowers us, strengthens us, and delivers us from sin. We are instructed to undergo two baptisms—water baptism, then baptism of The Holy Spirit (Luke 3:16). That means simply praying and inviting the Holy Spirit to come and fill you.  It is impossible to live the Christian life fully when we are apart from the power and the presence of the Holy Spirit.

You will know when you have been baptized in the Holy Spirit because you will be filled with new power. You will be able to operate in the spiritual gifts that the bible describes in 2 Corinthians 14, you will have the power to be able to live in freedom, and to command the Enemy to leave. You will begin to develop the fruits of the spirit (Galatians 5:22-23) and hear God’s voice.

If your relationship with God feels dry, powerless, or stagnant, that is a good indicator that you are in need of the Holy Spirit. It is also important to note that being baptized and filled with the Holy Spirit is NOT a one-time thing like water baptism can be. There is the initial asking/baptism experience with Him, but we have to continuously be filled with the Holy Spirit. This means asking the Him to fill you daily.

2. We are uneducated about deliverance. Deliverance ministry is a ministry of the church that concentrates on spiritual freedom. When we study scripture, we learn that there are demons, they constantly work to oppress humanity, and that we must be on our guard, ready to fight and conquer the schemes of Satan. (Ephesians 6:12, 1 Cor 16:13-14).

Deliverance ministry often happens when the afflicted person takes a step back from their situation and realizes that they cannot keep living this way. The oppressed Christian realizes they need rescuing from compulsive sins or behaviors they cannot stop committing or have little control over, such as alcoholism or a drug addiction.

In my case in 2017, I was horribly tormented by anxiety. I reached a point where I could not take it anymore. I had panic attacks every single day and tried taking supplements and different forms of “self-care” remedies. They did not work.

I finally went to my spiritual mentor and told her that I had been ridden with deep anxiety for months.We prayed together and a demonic spirit of anxiety left my body. Since that day, I have not had panic attacks and am no longer bound to anxiety. I have total and complete healing from that mental illness.

Many times, especially when someone initially goes through deliverance, it looks like what I did–partnering with a spiritual leader or mentor who is filled and empowered by the Holy Spirit and breaking off demonic strongholds by the power of prayer. Deliverance is a serious step towards freedom, and those seeking it should be fully accepting of the lordship of Jesus in their life and ready to turn away from their sin.

3. We do not take authority over the enemy. A lot of Christians pray, plead, and hope that God will someday take their illness away instead of standing ground and taking authority over the spirits attacking their mind. This of course, comes after deliverance once that bondage has been broken and you have freed yourself from the oppressive spirits.

Imagine your teacher gives you an assignment to complete. She has given you all of the instructions on how to complete the project, but you refuse to read the directions and instead have a melt down and send her countless emails begging her to complete the assignment for you. Is your teacher going to do that? Doubtful.

Why do we do that with God? We refuse to read our bibles—the instructions for how to live a free and whole life—then beg him to take away our torment. Will he do it? If you wish and hope and pray, I mean He’s God… He can. But if you continue to sit back and let the enemy bully you, you will never grow in your faith. When we refuse to learn spiritual warfare, we live a life of spiritual immaturity and compromise—you will survive but never be able to thrive. You will be powerless over every wave the enemy throws at you and be swallowed up in torment.

The good news is, that is not what God has intended for your story.

The bible tells us to take every thought captive (2 Cor 10:15). We are to call out those invasive, compulsive, and negative thoughts and cast them back into the pit of hell where they belong.

Christians must understand that their identity is royal because they are a child of God and are not subject to any kind of torment from the kingdom of darkness.

You have all authority and power over the enemy because the king of kings lives inside of you.  When we don’t know our identity in Christ and who He says we are, we allow darkness to push us around.

    Part 2: Examples from the Bible

Pastor and theologian Neil T. Anderson writes, “Christians who think demons were active when Christ was on earth, but their activity has subsided are not embracing the whole counsel of God in light of what His word says, nor are they facing reality.”

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:10-12

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. 1 Peter 5:8

If demonic forces are not actively trying to oppress believers, why would Paul instruct us to wear the armor of God and continuously fight against our enemies?

Now that we have established that there are spirits, the bible continues to go into even more details about the kinds of spirits that attempt to torment us.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control. 2 Timothy 1:7

We see from this verse that fear/anxiety is not simply a chemical imbalance, but a spirit. Does your body have a physical reaction to the Spiritual climate? Absolutely. That is why psychologists can only tell you what is happening in your body once that anxiety enters. It cannot explain how or why anxiety got there. A Harvard Medical article stated, “Nerve cell connections, nerve cell growth, and the functioning of nerve circuits have a major impact on depression. Still, their understanding of the neurological underpinnings of mood is incomplete.”

Neurological scans and doctors can only tell you the physiological affects that mental illness, in this case depression, can cause you. Their best guess is either the mental illness was passed down genetically, or that it is the aftermath of trauma.

Can I tell you something, friends? We are not just bodies. You are a complex being, made up of a spirit that God breathed into, a soul that contains your will and emotions, and a physical body. All of these work together and affect one another. They are not separated but work together and make up YOU!

Scripture tell us that generational curses are the cause of illnesses passed down throughout our families, and that they are not only physical but spiritual (Exodus 34:7) . They can be broken by the power of Christ through deliverance, and we can receive total and complete healing. This doesn’t sound like science and faith bumping heads, but actually explaining one another!

When you really think about it, it makes so much sense. They work together because He is the author and creator of our body, spirit, soul and science.

If we write off what the bible says about mental illness because it wasn’t around when modern medicine was, then we are undermining Gods word and authority. We are picking and choosing aspects of the bible to believe and parts to throw away. When we do this, we are saying that the bible is not truth, but just good teaching that we can pick and choose where to apply and where to ignore. In other words, it is being your own god.

The Bible does not shy away from talking about mental illness, so the church shouldn’t either.

Scripture actually tell us not to be afraid 365 times! One for every day of the year. Jesus even tells us not to be anxious about our lives! (Matthew 6:25-34)

If we are instructed not to be anxious, but instead to cast out fear, then this means that we have dominion over it!

The bible even goes beyond depression and anxiety—it discusses insanity, confusion, madness, epilepsy, self-harm, and suicide. These are only a few references that I could find quickly.  The scriptures do not tell us that these people only had medical issues, but spiritual ones, and that these mental illnesses came from unclean spirits, or demons. Ref: Isa 61:3, 2 Tim 1:7, 1 Sam 16:14, Matt 4:24, Mark 5:5

Throughout the gospels of Jesus, multitudes of mentally and physically ill people were brought to Jesus and he rebuked demons out of them. We see this in the cases of epilepsy, Tourette’s, self-harm, even crippled people were physically healed by Jesus simply rebuking a spirit out of them. From this we learn that demons can cause mental and physical illness. Do they cause every single form? No, some people that were brought to Jesus were just sick. But the same resolution was found every time a sick person, mental or physical, was brought to Jesus: he healed them.

And that same healing is available to you through Jesus.

The Young Boy With Epilepsy (Matthew 17:14-20)

And when they came to the crowd, a man came up to him and, kneeling before him, said, “Lord, have mercy on my son, for he is an epileptic and he suffers terribly. For often he falls into the fire, and often into the water. And I brought him to your disciples, and they could not heal him.” And Jesus answered, “O faithless and twisted generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him here to me.” And Jesus rebuked the demon, and it came out of him, and the boy was healed instantly.

Then the disciples came to Jesus in private and asked, “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” He replied, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

There is SO much to unpack here, we don’t have time to get into all of it. But BELIEVING for the healing is what caused this young man to be healed of his mental illness. The disciples all followed and loved Jesus, but they did not have any faith that he could cure the young man from epilepsy! Jesus then rebukes his followers and calls their generation perverse because they didn’t believe he could cure the disease.

So often, we are the disciples in this story. There was a season of my life where I was overwhelmed with severe depression. During those days, the darkness felt more real than the presence of God. It wasn’t until I cast out that spirit of heaviness that l could see that I was believing the lies it fed me: My sorrow was too great for God to take away. That I was unlovable and meant to be alone. That God hated me, and my depression was punishment for being a bad daughter.

What lies have you adopted?

We must see through the lies of the enemy, even when our emotions and mental state seem so out of control and wounded. People are in bondage to the lies they believe, which is why we must reject every statement about ourselves that does not align with scripture. We do this by reading the word and learning about who he says we are.

This is why Jesus says, “You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.” John 8:32

I do want to bring up medication briefly, because I know there will be questions and people will probably make inaccurate assumptions.

I am not telling anyone to go to their kitchen and dump out their medicine or neglect what their physicians have told them. Doctors, medicine, and therapists can be wonderful help, but they are not the hope.

In the words of pastor Henry Seeley, “I’m not here to give you medical advice. But I believe that God has more for you than just spending the rest of your life dependent on medication. Medication might take a season, and that’s okay, that could be part of the journey for some of you. But if I went to the doctor, and the doctor told me there was something wrong and I need to take Tylenol every day for the rest of my life, I would question what that kind of advice that is. Because that is acknowledging that something is wrong, but rather than fixing what is wrong, we are just going to cover it up so you can cope for the rest of your life.”

Part 3: Walking In Freedom

What does it look like to practically walk out everything we just discussed?

We must be filled with the Holy Spirit daily

We should seek deliverance and spiritual freedom if we notice there are areas in our lives that are not submitted to and ruled by The Lord Jesus.

We must put on the armor of God daily (Ephesians 6)

We should spend time daily reading the bible, worshipping, and praying in the presence of God.

We must stand firm, speak scripture over ourselves, and pray against the enemy when the attacks come.

All of these steps can be accomplished by having a healthy and vibrant prayer life. The more time you spend talking with God the more truths he will reveal to you about the journey you are on.

One of the pastors at our church said something profound the other day. He said, “The dark places where the church doesn’t go and spread the gospel, will come to infiltrate the church.”

I heard the Holy Spirit say, “That is what has happened to my church with mental illness.”

My heart broke when I heard that. And I began to work on this blog post.

As the church, we must be vigilant followers of Jesus who do not conform to the thinking patterns of our culture and society. We must take the narrative back and view contemporary issues through the lens of the one we are following, who IS truth.

Our world is so starved of the truth right now—we are constantly lied to in news, media, politics, and religion. We cannot follow the world and choose to be our own source of truth. We have seen where this has gotten our world. Mental illnesses, addictions, racism, divorce rates, murders, suicides, and terror attacks have continued to rise. People are lost and in despair because they do not know healing is available to them. What is the church going to do about it?

Are we too busy bickering about if mental health is a spiritual issue? The differences between doctrines? We have the answer, we have the healing, we have wholeness because we have Jesus.

His sacrifice was so powerful, it erased sin, death, sickness, and disease. When Jesus rose from the dead, it was so you didn’t have to cope and live with mental illness. He overcame it so you could have life to the full!

If you are still waiting for the healing, then it is for a reason and that reason will be revealed in His perfect timing. But hear me when I say, the healing will come as long as we seek Him and seek spiritual freedom.

It’s okay to not be okay, but it’s not okay to stay there. We have a hope greater than and outside of medicine, doctors, or a diagnosis. We have Jesus.

[harlowtm]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟎𝟔: 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐘 // @gallaghertasks​

“ ---  i need someone who knows me to go in there and tell them i’m  NOT  in denial .  .  .  because i’m not. ” 

THERAPY.  THERAPY.  THERAPY. realistically this probably shouldn’t have been the first time lennon was seeing a professional.  she was an emotional person with high sensitivities and a low pain threshold.  she also had a vast need for attention and a strong,  overwhelming urge to give it. it seemed,  however,  that none of this would be discussed.  the therapist had their own script to follow.  it felt more like  DAMAGE CONTROL  than caring,  but lennon didn’t mind.  she made the job easy.  in the script that follows,  T  is in reference to the therapist speaking and  L  is in reference to Lennon. 

T:  did  you  know  either  of  the  victims  :   amelia  taylor  or  cassie  snyder  ? L:  i actually did not know either of them. T:  how  have  your  sleeping  and  eating  patterns  been  ? L:  i mean . . .  DIFFERENT  than prior to the incident,  but i’m not sure that it’s related.  it might be my own internal battles that began around the same time,  but i know that’s not what i’m here about,  so we can talk about that a different time. T:  do  you  find  yourself  thinking  about  the  event  even  when  you  don’t  want  to  ? L:  YES,  but my only reason for thinking about it is hearing other people talking about it.  i mean i guess i think about the people i care about here and i care if they were affected by the deaths,  AND  i think about how i couldn’t imagine what i would do if it was them.  T:  what  are  the  most  frequent  images ?  L:  my loved ones being found,  getting that call,  or having someone tell me the news . . .  what that would feel like,  what kind of break down i would have,  if i would recover,  and  SOMETIMES  as screwed up as it is,  i picture myself in their shoes.  partially because i don’t know the girls,  so i don’t know if they deserved it,  not that anyone deserves that,  but i just mean,  that i sometimes wonder if i deserve that.  if i deserve to be that person that was found.  i mean,  i try really hard to be a  GOOD  person,  i just feel like i’ve been falling short lately,  so that’s me being hard on myself.  i also kind of wonder if anyone would  CARE  if it were me . . .  if  HE  would care . . .  if  SHE  would be as distraught.  [ laughs nervously ]  i’m rambling,  let’s move on.  T:  do  you  avoid  thinking  or  talking  about  the  event ?  L:  ummm . . . yeah.  i do,  actually.  i thought i was just doing things to try and help other people keep from thinking about it,  but i guess regardless of my motive or intent,  that still translates to  ME  not thinking about or talking about the event;  avoiding it.  yeah. T:   do  you  avoid  going  places  or  being  in  situations  that  remind  you  of  the  event ?  if  yes  ,   what  are  these  places  ? L:  i avoid certain places that remind me of certain situations,  it’s just not this one.  i mean i haven’t been to the scene of the crime to see if it’s been cleared because the last time i happened to pass by there it was roped off, but i know what it’s like to avoid things on  PURPOSE  and this is not that.  T:  do  you  have  nightmares  about   the  event  ?   if  yes  ,   please  describe  these  nightmares  to  the  best  of  your  ability  .   L:  uhhhh,  yeah,  i guess.  i see a an unclear version of where the murders happen,  i see a body covered with a white sheet,  and then i’m getting closer and closer and closer and it feels like a never-ending hallway that keeps stretching.  i never actually make it to the body.  i start going faster and faster,  but running in heels in  GRASS  is nearly impossible even in a dream,  so i can only go so fast,  and it’s not fast enough and . . . sometimes it looks like someone’s about to lift the sheet,  like i see a hand kind of cross the frame and reach for it,  but i always wake up before that.  isn’t that a little bit crazy ?  it’s really bizarre.  it’s a crazy dream.  T:  do  you  feel  easily  startled  or  anxious  ?  give  examples   L:  no,  not really.  not that i can think of,  no. T:  do  you  worry  about  being  harmed  or  feel  “on guard” ?  give  examples  .   L:  like  ---  physically ?  oh,  in general.  i guess not.  i mean i scare easy,  but that’s just a character flaw.  scary movies and i don’t get along. T:  do  you  feel  detached  or  “numb”  ?  how  so  ?  L:  i’m so overly empathetic,  and i feel everything very deeply,  all of the time,  it’s  LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE  for me to do that even if i wanted to. T:  do  you  feel  shame  or  guilt  about  the  event  or  about  problems  related  to  the  event ? L:  when i see the grief everyone is going through,  it makes my own personal grief outside of this situation feel really  SMALL  and that makes me feel ashamed and guilty,  but i guess it’s like that saying goes . . . just because the person next to you is in a body cast doesn’t mean your broken arm doesn’t hurt.  or something like that. T:  what  do  you  think  is  causing  this  shame  or  guilt ?   L:  outside of being overly empathetic,  i think i often find it easy to blame myself.  it’s something i have to talk myself out of often.  i’m just so used to feeling like i have to be the care taker,  or like,  i am a means to an end,  fulfilling a role for someone else,  and i’m  NOT.  i don’t consider myself an insecure person,  but i think that the shame and guilt are being caused by the fact that someone  HAS  brought up insecurities within me recently and made me feel like a fuck up,  like i’m less than . . . it sucks.  99.9% of the time i’m pretty certain that i’m great.  self - love and all that is very important to me.  you gotta practice what you preach,  y’know ? T:  do  you  find  that  you  act  irritable  or  angry  ?   L:  i’m  EMOTIONAL,  but i wouldn’t say either of those two things come up.  maybe occasional anger wiith myself.   T:  in  what  ways  ?   L:  i honestly don’t even know.  that’s pretty much where my insight starts and ends on that matter,  honestly. T:  do  you  act  oppositional  ,  act  out  sexually  ,  or  abuse  alcohol  or  drugs ? L:  ummm,  no ?  i feel like a lot of people have recently and i hang out with people,  so by pure association,  i guess so.  otherwise i wouldn’t say that anything has changed about my behavior or alcohol intake, etc.  if anything,  i’ve been feeling  LESS  sexual lately,  so if you’ve got a pill for that,  definitely hook a girl up.  ---  i’m kidding.  i’m  ABSOLUTELY  kidding.  okay. 

PTSD SCREENING:

You scored a total of  10

People who've scored similarly to you on this quiz for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) may sometimes qualify for the diagnosis of PTSD. When symptoms of PTSD are in this range, they may sometimes impact a person's everyday life, making normal activities -- like work or school -- more challenging than for others. Keeping one's focus and concentration on the task at hand can sometimes be difficult for people who've scored similarly to this.

T:  how do you feel about your results ? L:  i mean . . .  i don’t agree,  personally.  i know you’re the professional,  so chime in any time and tell me about my trauma,  but i don’t  FEEL  like i’m traumatized.  i don’t know.  like,  i’m pretty okay.  that might be screwed up considering what everyone else is going through,  but it’s the truth.  and i’m happy to be there for them throughout this trauma-inducing time. 

GRIEF QUIZ:

You scored a total of  23

People who have scored similarly to you have sometimes had complicated grief. Complicated grief is characterized by a preoccupation with thoughts of the deceased or lost loved one, searching and yearning for the deceased or lost loved one, disbelief about the death or loss, and having difficulty accepting the death or loss.

T:  how do you feel about these results ? L:  so like i said,  i didn’t know the people who died . . .  but the questions just ask about people leaving,  so sure,  i’ve had people left,  i’ve left people,  etc.  so i answered based on those things.  but for example,  one of the questions asked how often i see the person who left stand in front of me.  i’m  NOT  seeing dead people,  there’s no sixth sense thing going on,  BUT  the person who left me came back into my life recently,  so i literally,  physically,  occasionally seem him standing there and i answered accordingly.  does that make sense ?  it’s been a long time.  i’ve come to terms with my grief.  i’ve cried,  i’ve wallowed,  i’ve healed,  i’ve moved on.  mostly.  truly. 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under a Vanilla Sky prt 22 full draft

Cleared to leave the medbay, Lance hadn't stopped since. Every time Keith turned around, Lance was off doing something else again. He felt like a parent who's toddler had too much speed, and knew that tying their child up would only lead to questions and deep judging stares. Sometimes all it took was a tick for Lance to vanish. He'd turn around for a single tick, then look back to find Lance gone as if he'd been teleported away by Kosmo. Keith's heart wasn't sure it could take it. The half-Galra was also at a loss as to what Lance was doing with all his time. The Telula was down for repairs for at least two movements, and their was absolutely no way he was letting Lance use Daehra's pod to run missions. He rather be stuck in the house they were using listening to Zak improve his A.I's intelligence by singing to it. He'd never heard Zak sing, but listening to him read the same damn thing to his computer in the most monotonous of voices... It'd made him question all choices that had led him to the moment. Having lost Lance again, Keith closed his eyes and counted to ten, opening them slowly as he let out a sigh. Blinking to adjust his eyes to the bright light overhead, he jumped when he realised the object of his affection was standing right in front of him "What the quiznak, Lance? Where did you go?!" Smiling like he wasn't arsehole, Lance rocked back on his heels "I had to help with the party. Now that I've "recovered", the Queen is holding her first royal ball since the Galra were defeated. Remember?" Groaning Keith was tempted to close his eyes and open them to a different Lance. Daehra had mentioned Annla had stolen Lucteal to help with her party. He didn't realise Lance was involved, and now that he knew, it all made sense. Lance used to be a social butterfly, not so much now, but he'd be involved because he liked Annla "Keith! How could you forget? We're the guests of honour. You're the guest of honour" "That's exactly why I forgot" Mumbling the comment, Lance smacked upside the back of his head. The look on his face told Keith he'd heard every word "I don't see why I have to go. She barely knows me" "You have to go so I don't lose my temper or lose control. Think of it as a favour to Daehra" "Why are you going to lose your temper?" Taking Keith by the arm, Lance pulled him over to the wall closest to the passage the were in "Annla was sold by her father to the men who... She was supposed to go through what I did. I don't care if he's the king of this planet, every time I think about what he did, I want to slit his throat. So you're there to make sure I don't" Keith vaguely remembered Lance mentioning something like that. But it'd been a long few quintants, even longer now that they staying off the Telula and in the house he'd bathed Lance in. Daehra ensured them they were safe below grounds, yet Keith couldn't get used to it. The whole city had been carved into a cave system where ever street looked the same. That fact may have slightly contributed to how often he kept losing Lance... that and his sense of direction below ground... He'd never admit how often he'd found himself directionally misplaced "Look, we don't have to go" "We do have to go. It's only one night, then it's over. We can concentrate on getting the Telula off ground. There are people out there requesting help and aide, we've had messages come through, and there's only so much work I can redirect to the rest of them team. You know Zak and Tobias aren't people people... aliens. And now we're a hunter short because Lasandi decided to find his happily ever after with that girl he met on his last mission. I don't even know how he ended up there, but instead of hunting her he's marrying her. So tonight, we smile, we ignore the overwhelming urge to stab people and we accept their hospitality" Scolding him like a mother would a child, Keith found himself smiling despite his dislike of parties. As for Tobias, he'd seen even less of him than he had Zak, and Lasandi... he wasn't even sure if he'd met him. Honestly, Lance had been his soul focus. Only Daehra had taken the time to get to know him, leaving Lucteal to attempt to chase him off. That meant there were like... three? crew members he'd forgotten existed, plus that other bounty hunter that he couldn't remember the name of. Quiznak only knew if she was coming back... Fuck. He was even worse at this than he'd thought. In order to work as a team some level of trust was required. He'd totally decided he was staying by Lance's side without thinking about his team or the fact that so many of them seemed to be too busy to socialise or were simply moving on... if Daehra and Lucteal decided to stay on their home planet, Lance would fall apart because his whole team would fail to exist anymore. He didn't want to let Lance down, not that he was beginning to realise how much he'd slipped by by being obsessed with Lance. No wonder Lance thought everyone left him... "Alright. For you" Lance coughed, Keith enjoying throwing him off kilter so easily "Thank you. Plus, there's going to be drinks so if it's too terrible we can get drunk and forget the whole thing" That sounded like a terrible plan. He didn't want a repeat of Lance seizing in front of him, especially when he didn't know combining the drugs he was using with alcohol. Lance had promised he'd cut back, but when he was medicating himself, Keith had no idea if that was true or not. Whatever happened that night, he'd have to keep his wits about him. * Forced into the bathroom, Keith emerged scrubbed from head to toe as he dragged his feet. Being an official occasion clothing had been provided for both of them. Lance's clothes consisted of a red loose tunic styled shirt with a braided golden belt, accompanied by a pair of tight black pants. The garb didn't exactly match his boots, but those pants made Lance's arse look glorious. Not that Keith would mention so. His own clothes were exactly the same, except his shirt was black. The pair of them being ex-Paladins was still novel for the planet. Lance had tried his hardest to smile when Daehra had presented them with their clothes, yet Keith could see right through his expression. The red of the shirt much like the red of the blood all over that room in the outpost. He'd offered to swap, only for Lance to wave him off. Finally dressed, Keith marched over to where Lance was sitting, crouching down in front of him in order to remove the blades he was sliding down the sides of them "If I can't carry my blade, you can't carry yours" "Don't touch them!" Snapping hard, Keith pulled his hand back "Lance?" Placing both hands on Lance's knees, Lance drew a shaky breath "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap" "It's alright. I know you're nervous now that it's time to head to the party, but it's going to be ok" "I know nothing's going to happen, but I don't feel safe in big crowds. Anyone could be an enemy..." Keith knew that feeling all too well. Clear Day coming to mind embarrassingly. Lance deserved happiness and a night of distraction "Then let's make a deal. One blade. I'll carry the other. That way if something does go down, we're both prepared" "I..." Lance started to object, Keith releasing his right knee in order to fish the knife out of Lance's right boot "One blade. I'll be with you, so I'll be there to have your back" "You make me sound so pathetic" "You're not pathetic. Now, where has all that enthusiasm over partying gone? Free drinks? Alien princesses..." "I don't want an alien princess... An alien prince is bad enough" Opting to take the comment as "Lance wants to be with him" rather than "Keith is a giant pain in the quiznak", Keith quickly kissed Lance's forehead before he could object. Lance spluttering as Keith rose to stand, slipping the blade up his sleeve in order to offer his hand to Lance "Let's get this done" Leaving Kosmo behind, Keith paused to slip the confiscated knife into his own boot before leading Lance into the underground ballroom. Lit by a mix of generator powered lights and weird fluid filled lanterns, the basic colours of the various decorations and evening wear to take on a grey scale like the grey of the stone it'd been carved out of. Feeling Lance tense, Keith leaned in to whisper "Are you alright?" "Yeah... I don't like grey rooms... so many shadows... plus, everyone in the space can feel what we feel... I'm fine, Mullet" It'd been years. How much longer was he going to be teased for sporting a mullet... which it totally wasn't. If anything Keith should be the one teasing Lance over being a lanky goofball, because at least that was true "It'll be ok. If it gets too much, we can leave early" "I know. God. I need a drink" "Let's find Annla first. Is Lucteal going to be here?" Jerking his chin towards the dance area, Lance shifted closer to him as he whispered "He's here somewhere already. The king's sons have to meet and greet. I don't know why though, they all live together and know each other as it is..." "You know, you're sounding far too much like me" "Shoot me now" "Don't make me get those finger guns out" Nudging him with his elbow, Lance relaxed "Thanks. I can't believe how nervous I am" "Yeah, being nervous and moody at parties is my job. Do you think the food's any good?" "Maybe? It should mostly be from the aid supplies we delivered" "Then it should be edible. Food first, then we'll find you that drink" Snorting at him, Lance pulled away "You're making this sound like a mission. Does your brain ever turn off?" "Probably. And probably as often as yours" "Oh! Sick burn. I'm going to need some water for that" Crossing his arms, Keith pursed his lip. He wasn't falling into the trap of insulting Lance back. Not until he understood his triggers better "Whatever. I'm going to get something to eat. It's up to you if you follow me or not" Taking two steps away from Lance, Lance launched himself back to his side, taking Keith by the arm "Fine. You win. Just don't... vanish on me" "Trust me, I'm not going anywhere" Finding Daehra near the buffet, the woman was preparing food for both of them as they approached. Dressed in a flowing white dress with turquoise belt around her waist, she looked completely different from her usual "uniform" she wore upon the Telula. He'd never thought she was pretty in that way before, but she had her own charms as she smiled at the pair of them "I was wondering if I was going to need to send Lucteal down to find you two" "Come on, Dae. You know it takes time to make all this look good. And Keith is a total bathroom hog" Wrinkling her brow, Daehra looked confused "A hog?" "It's like this ugly pig from Earth" "Keith is rather attractive. You think so yourself. Why would you call him this "hog"?" Lance blushed deeply, taking a plate of food from Daehra as he tried to ignore both her and Keith. At least he now knew Lance had told other people they thought he was attractive "It's an Earth thing. And if anything, Lance is the bathroom hog. You should have seen him back on the castle. He was late for almost every morning meeting because he needed his "beauty sleep", or was in the middle of a face mask" Daehra pulled a face at "face mask" "Leandro once gave face mask. I do not understand them" "Dae, it makes your skin feel amazing. You said you didn't mind" Daehra shrugged, handing Keith the second plate of food in her hold "I can't believe this. You're both betraying me. Fine. See if I ever offer to do face masks with either of you again" Sounding pouty, Lance seemed actually hurt as he took a step backwards. Great going. He was trying to make Lance relax, not feed his anxieties more "It's alright, Lance. I'm sure Coran would be up for face masks" "Keith, he literally tried eating the cream for it the first time we did them! I learned then that he'd never appreciate face masks" Keith got that Lance was on edge, but he was sorely tempted to snap back at him. It wasn't his fault he wasn't into face masks, and at least he was making an effort to lighten the mood. Sighing at both of them, Daehra gestured to the buffet "Please eat and drink as you will. The king's speech will come later, first we dance. Our Queen is also most eager to meet you. Now, I must return to work. Please try not to fight, we all feel it when you do" Leaving them together, Keith scratched the back of his head with his right hand "I think we just got told off" "So do I. I shouldn't have snapped. The truth is, I haven't spoken to Coran for months. Even before Allura day, it was kind of strained... we were both grieving for Allura in different ways, and he'd just got Altea back. I didn't want to bring him down" Moving away from the table and towards the edge of the wall so they were out the way, Keith's mind was ticking over "Wait. You haven't talked to him about Allura's powers, have you?" "Only the initial tests you were all there for" Which concluded Lance was Lance, with traces of Allura's quintessence lingering in his cheeks. The levels slowly dropping away as the quintants passed "But wouldn't he know whatever was going on with your body? You said she didn't bring you back right, wouldn't Coran be the best to ask?" "You know how he'd get if he knew I died. Besides, what am I supposed to say? "Hey Coran, I know I'm little late to the party, but I don't know if I'm in my own body, and if I am, what the quiznak did Allura do to me?". Yeah. No. That's only going to upset him. I can... cope" "You're not coping. You're barely living. Look, if it's about seeing him, I'll go with you. We can both talk to him" "Keith. No. Ok. I don't want to talk about this here. I don't want to talk about it all" "Lance..." "Keith, please. I am begging you not to do this here. I know it ate Shiro up to find he'd been cloned. I don't want you suffering" "My suffering is fine. I already looked at the medical texts I could get hold of when Allura started feeling ill. I couldn't help her, and I can't change this stupid body" "Your body isn't stupid" "Fine. I can't fix the mess that my body is. Ok. There. Are you happy, something else you can add to the "Lance is fucked up pile". I need a drink" Shoving his plate of food at him, Lance forgot all about his anxieties as he stalked away from Keith. Watching him go, Keith resisted the urge to simply rush after Lance and apologise. Maybe the timing wasn't right, but he was sick of it never being right. Lance said he wanted to get better and to do better, but it felt like things were slipping away. Like the time they'd spent alone together was now resulting in fights because Lance insisted on working himself until he dropped. Unsure what to do with himself and his two plates of food, Keith wondered if it was rude to dump the contents on the weird rocky plants poking out of carved recesses where the wall met the floor. Deciding it was, he'd made his mind to place the plate on the buffet table, and hope someone took it, when Zak and Lucteal walked over to him. Tucked under Lucteal's arm, Zak's laptop reminded him much of Pidge he temporarily forgot she wasn't actually there "What did you do to Lance?" "Hello, Lucteal. Zak. I did nothing to Lance. He said he needed a drink and left" "He's in pain. I can feel it" "Lucteal, he's working on stuff. He needs space and time. I know you think I'm the enemy here, but I'm not. If I could have been there to save him from what he went through, I would have done in a tick. He never once even hinted at anything being wrong. So I know you hate my guts because you have a crush on Lance, but he says he isn't ready to date and you need to accept this. I don't want to hate you. The whole team means the absolute world to Lance. Now, are you going to have another go at me, or are you going to stand here and be civil" Pulling the laptop out from under his arm, Lucteal pushed it at him. Zak quick to leap to the rescue of the device as Lucteal growled "We were good before you came. He was good. You hurt him. I will go to him" Caught between the two of them, Zak looked like a scared field mouse. Keith wasn't Lance's keeper. He couldn't tell Lucteal to stay away from Lance. That was something Lance and the "Dick Head formerly known as Lucteal" had to sort out for themselves. With Zak now his only companion, Keith held his plate of food out towards the alien "Here. Eat this" Taking the plate, Zak looked as enthused over the food as Keith was. The pair left to stand there like socially awkward rejects as neither of them made to move or knew what to say. It was half a varga before Keith saw Lance again. Having passed his plate to Zak, the violet haired alien had placed both of them on the buffet before scuttling off with his laptop back to the Telula. Still standing in the same spot, he was in the perfect place to watch as Annla dragged Lance towards the dance area. The little princess clearly in control as the background music grew louder and people started to whisper about the pair. Reaching the centre of the space, Lance bowed down to Annla who let him take both her hands as she stepped up onto his feet. Curious as to what was coming next, all eyes were on the pair as Lance started to waltz, Annla giggling as he span and stepped effortlessly. The sight was adorable, like a father teaching his daughter to dance, leading to Keith being slightly jealous he wasn't the one over there dancing with Lance. Confused by the strange dance, no one joined them. The song coming to end without injury. Stepping off his feet, Lance bowed as Annla curtsied. Another thing that seemed to confuse her people. Annoyed with himself for not moving or clapping with the others, as Keith found his feet Lucteal found Lance. Lance way too ok with dancing with Lucteal. Lance didn't even like being touched, and yet he was right there with Lucteal's hand in his and the Dick Head's other hand on Lance's hip where it had no place being. Taking it slowly, Lance talked Lucteal through the steps as Daehra and a woman who could only have been her sister, started dancing with Annla. With the three sisters dancing, more of their kind moved to do the same. Keith's irritation only growing as he watched them all smiling and laughing. He wanted to be there next to Lance. He wanted to be dancing with Lance and making him smile just for him. * Lance didn't want to dance with Lucteal. Not when Keith thought he was still mad at him, and not when he could feel his own emotions simmering far too close to the surface. Having sought him out after he'd left Keith's side, Lance had cursed his stupid stubbornness when Lucteal had cornered him near the doorway to the room. He was tempted to leave the party, but Keith was going out of his comfort zone for Lance's sake. He'd taken his second blade and promised to stay by his side, only for Lance to be the one to walk away. Having downed two or three glasses of whatever was being served as alcohol, as fast as he could, he knew he really needed to suck it up, but the buzz of whatever was in the alcohol was serving to worsen his temper. Forced to listen to Lucteal almost slander Keith, Lance had been grateful when Annla came running over to him. Taking her hand in his, the tiny Princess scolded her older brother for upsetting Lance, ordering him back to his post. Being sent packing, Lance wished he had the words to make Lucteal understand that he wasn't looking for a relationship. He wasn't looking to be touched, or for more... it was just that things were different with Keith. Keith didn't pursue him like that. He was soft and gentle, reassuring without relying on badmouthing Lucteal or under handed tactics. It had to hurt for Lucteal to see them together, for Keith to be the one Lance finally let his guard down for. But he'd thought Lucteal had finally taken the message the last time they'd spoken about the matter. He couldn't love Lucteal like that. There was no special spark. No burning desire. He valued him as close friend and trusted team member, yet there was just nothing there for him. Staring up at him with her black eyes, Annla wore a strange look on her face "Adults are complicated" "That we are. I'm sorry you had to see and feel all that. I've talked to him before about his feelings, yet we keep having the same conversation" "He knows you cannot love him. He simply wishes to be with you nonetheless. He was most scared when you fell ill. He prayed to the gods for your recovery" Annla's words stung, her small shoulders slumping response to the unexpected pain. He hadn't been ill. He was simply his own worst enemy, especially when it came to admitting that he was anything but Leandro to his team. They didn't want Lance, but Leandro who could lead them in battle and through every situation. The leader who was proud of his team, and placed their accomplishments before his own advancement. He'd been awful leader, especially when forced to burden his team with relief missions because of the damage to the Telula. Seeing the princess so sad, he loathed everything he was forcing her to feel. Annla was too small, too full of life, to be tainted by his negativity "I know. He's an amazing friend to me. Now, would you like to dance with me, my lady?" Annla's face lit up, before falling "I do not know your dancing" "That doesn't matter. Do you think you can keep your balance if you stand on my feet?" "On your feet?" "Yep. It's an Earth custom. We danced like this at my home. When I was young, I'd stand on my mother's feet as we danced. Once we grew bigger, our cousins, nieces and nephews stand on ours until they learn the steps" Annla drew her brow, her lips turned down "That sounds like a silly custom. Why stand on someone's feet?" Snorting, Lance nodded. It probably seemed incredibly alien to the alien princess "It probably is, but what if I told you we could dance like the princesses we used to have back on Earth? A waltz is one of the finest dances one can partake in" "Like a princess?" That got her attention. Nodding again, Lance gestured to the dance area with a half bow "May I have this dance?" "I want to see this princess dance" "Alright, I'll have you know I'm not bad at dancing" "I don't know. I have not seen you yet" Dancing with Annla had been fun. Her eyes sparkled as he led her around the floor, throwing in a few spins for her benefit. He'd almost been sad when it came to end, but Daehra was already making her way over and then Lucteal came out of nowhere, apologising and asking to dance. Not wanting to ruin the mood, he danced with Lucteal, forcing himself not to stare back at the questioning eyes upon them. The feel of the man skin against his, his hand on his hip, the way he moved so they were far too close. He couldn't. They were so close to the end of the song, but he couldn't do it. Nausea pooled in the base of his stomach, more due to the phantom feelings Lucteal's presence was starting to stir. He could feel the heat of Klearo's breath against his ear as Lucteal exhaled. The two mixing and swirling without permission. Breaking the dance, his eyes prickled with tears as his chest tightened. The fake smile on his lips sliding as forced himself to bow, before fleeing from the royal ballroom. Clawing at the hem rubbing against his throat, Lance felt as if he couldn't breathe. The looming grey walls surrounding him seemed to grow ever closer as he lost his way in them. Panicked and scared, his hands moved from his throat into a self hug, his steps growing more and more unsteady until he was grabbed him behind. Screaming he lashed out, smacking his head against his would be attackers face as hard as he could, before twisting his way out of the hold and ducking low to grab the knife out his boot. Bringing the blade up, his eyes widened at Keith. Blood dribbling down as he pinched his bleeding nose "Shit, Lance!" Releasing he'd been about to gut his best friend, the knife fell from his hold as he staggered back "I... I'm sorry... Oh god, what have I done..." Backing away, Lance wanted to flee. He couldn't breathe, and now he'd hurt Keith. The one thing he'd been terrified of happening since Keith had come back into his life "Lance... it's ok. It was my fault for grabbing you so suddenly. I tried calling out to you, but you didn't seem to hear me" He hadn't heard Keith at all "I'm sorry..." Reaching out his free hand, Lance shrank away from it. His fear leaving him curling in on himself as he fell to his knees "Lance..." "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." "Hey... you're ok. I know you didn't mean it" Lance's poor addled brain wasn't able to focus. His chest felt tighter by the tick, tears starting to flow down his cheeks as he panicked further. "Lance, it's ok. You're ok" Whimpering as Keith knelt down in front of him, he raised his hands to protect himself from the blow that never came. Instead of hitting him, Keith's arms came to wrap around him, his friend pulling him into a tight hug. The millions of invisible tingles across his face and lips lessening as Keith's scent soothed his soul. The way he whispered the words so close to his ear felt so different from when anyone else did the same "I've got you. Shhhh, you're ok now. It's just me. It's Keith. Shhh... I've got you... you're ok" Letting out a hiccuped sob, Keith relaxed his hold. All Lance could smell was the coppery tang of blood in the air from where he'd hurt Keith "Lance, I know you can't control that fear, but I need you to breathe with me. You're going to pass out if you don't slow your breathing" Unable to follow Keith's instructions, Lance took nearly a varga for the haze in his brain to settle enough that he could breathe. His chest heaving like he'd run a marathon, his whole body exhausted as he came back from his panic attack. Blinking through the tears to see a world of grey beyond Keith, he threw himself into the half-Galra's hold, his face buried against Keith's neck as Keith started to rub his back in soft circles "Are you back with me?" Nodding, he was too drained to much "Alright. That's good. So good. I'm going to pick you up now. I've got no idea where we are, and I think we should probably get out of such a public area" He didn't want anyone to see him like this. Not even Keith. This is why he'd avoided touch. He hated it. He hated how males left him particularly on edge, even when he trusted them his body couldn't accept their touch. Not close like it'd been. Lucteal had spent so many nights talking with him, that he... he should have felt how uncomfortable Lance had been while they'd danced. Carried however far Keith had made it, the room he opened his eyes in was much more appealing yellow. The sky outside was what he'd call a Vanilla white, while the room they were in was a close shade yet not the same. Setting him down on a rather solid wooden bench Keith sat next to him, gathering him close and rubbing his right shoulder as Lance tried to calm further. As his breathing evened out, he was nearly falling asleep from exertion when Keith's voice came out of nowhere, causing him to jump "You still awake?" "Yeah... I'm sorry..." "It was my fault for grabbing you. I acted without thinking" "I hurt you..." And he'd nearly done so much worse "You didn't mean to, and you hit my cheek more than my nose, so it's fine" "It's not fine. I had my blade, I was ready... ready to kill you..." Sniffling sadly, he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and die "Because you were scared. I understand" "You shouldn't have to understand" "Lance, you're not the only one suffering from PTSD. Trust me, I understand. I... did the same thing to my mother once. I was having a nightmare and when I woke up, I was so disorientated that I tried to go her. So, yeah. I get it" "That doesn't make me feel any better" "I'm just trying to tell you that you're not alone. Can you tell me what triggered it? Was Lucteal?" Nodding, fresh guilt curled in his gut "It was him. I mean it was, but he didn't do anything wrong. It was my stupid anxiety, then... when he touched me... things started coming back. It was like I could feel Klearo on my skin. His breath against my ear as he tortured me... I'm so fucking stupid. I couldn't even enjoy one fucking party without freaking out like a fucking nut job" "Hey, no. You're not stupid" "Don't you ever get sick of telling me that? All I do is fucking cry... I'm so tired of crying. I'm so tired of being tired and angry" "You're doing better" "How!? How am I doing better?! I keep fucking falling apart, Keith. I take too many drugs because I can't handle all of this. I'm just so tired. I want to be back out there... out there made some kind of weird sense..." "It made sense because you didn't have to feel all these things, but you need to let yourself feel them. If you keep bottling it up, you're going to explode" "You don't understand" "Then tell me. I'm staying around, no matter what you think" "But I'm fucked up" Lance couldn't think of any other way to say it "A little. You're hurt, angry and confused. But you need to feel everything or you'll never be able to move past it. I know you're strong. I know you love working with your team, and that you love the work you do. And just because the Telula is down, doesn't mean you won't be able to continue when everything is repaired" "Should I? I don't even know anymore. I was so fucking angry when you showed up. So disgusted and scared you'd find the truth out. That you'd leave... because I'm dirty" "I'm not going to lie, it hurt. I know I dropped the ball as far as friendship went, but I never wanted to not be friends. God. I've been in love with your dopey Cuban arse for so long that I don't know how not to care for you" Giving a sniffled laugh, Lance could only conclude Keith was crazy "I... I had so many feelings for you, before you left. That's why I was so mad that you kept missing everything to hang out with the Blades. I didn't know how to feel, because I liked Allura as well... and everyone thought I was always the stupid seventh wheel" "If any one was the seventh wheel, it was the mice. They were only ever handy when it came to fixing wires in the castle" "They were Allura's friends" "And that was about it" Letting silence fall between them, Lance soaked in Keith's warmth. He was completely screwed and over his head. Too tired to stop himself and too hurt to remain cautious "If I said... that I still... that I was falling for you... what would come next?" "Then I'd ask you to be my boyfriend" "I don't know if I can do that... there's stuff you don't know..." "Then I'd ask you to be my boyfriend and we'd take things slow like we have been" "Keith..." "I know you're confused, and still healing, but like I said, you need to let yourself feel" "Stop the drugs?" Keith kissed the top of Lance's head "Yeah. The red and blue pills. That yellow injection is a hugely addictive pain medication they only administer to ease people passing. It changes your DNA. It changes your quintessence. You're scared of your body, but those pills are only making whatever Allura did to it, even worse" Lance shook his head "No. They help. They stop it" "They stop it because they're destroying you. They're making these anxieties worse. We agreed to lessen them, but... they're going to kill you because you're body is being constantly poisoned" "You don't understand..." "Lance, I promise you. I'm not making this up. I had them scanned so I could understand" "My body... I can't even call it human anymore. I don't feel comfortable in my own skin" "Then we'll get help. Whatever it takes, we'll figure this out together" "How do I know you won't leave?" "Because you're my boyfriend, dummy" Lance gave a wet laugh "You didn't even ask" "I know you want to be with me, and when you're ready to label it, you'll let me know. I don't want to pressure or rush you" "You've put up with me like this for a fucking phoeb" "And I'll still be here even if it takes deca-phoebs. You're my best friend. I don't want to go back to how things were before. I fell in love with you when we were shitty brats, and now I want to fall in love with you all over again" "You're a total sap" "No. I'm still as awkward as hell, but being with you feels natural. Most of the time my words don't come properly, and I get frustrated, but I want to be better for you. You're not a mind reader. If I don't force myself to find those right words, then how am I supposed to make you understand?" "I don't know if I can understand... I think... something broke in my head... maybe a lot of things" Whispering the words sadly, his heart was over joyed that Keith wanted to be boyfriends, while every other emotion was being a dick and ruining the moment of it all "Then we'll figure it out. Mr-Bad-Arse-Bounty-Hunter-Leandro" Shaking his head, Lance wasn't sure if he wanted to be a bounty hunter after seeing his captures hacked to pieces. His mind still couldn't banish the sight of all that blood "Leandro can't be a bounty hunter... not like that" "Then we'll find a new government, one with a stable and correct prison system" "Keith, there's no such thing... everyone thinks themselves more and correct, even as they destroy the world around them. I want to take them down, but I don't know what to do if we do. I want to keep helping... that's all I want to do" "Then we'll establish our own way of doing things" "We can't do that. Besides, I'm technically on the run as it is. I'll probably end up cut to pieces too" "You're not going to end up like that. I'm pretty sure we can do something about Erathus having a warrant out for your arrest. I'm a prince according to you" According to almost everyone except for Keith. It was simply how the Galra hierarchy worked. Krolia and Kolivan stood at the top of the Galra kingdom "You're a royal pain in my arse, you idiot" "They do say it's contagious" "Are you calling me an idiot" "The biggest quiznakking idiot in the universe, but you're my quiznakking idiot" "You're a dick" "I know. You've told me" "Good. Make sure you don't forget" "I won't. Do you feel like getting out of here?" "I can't be bothered moving" Laughing softly, Keith made his heart jump at the sound "Neither can I, if I'm honest. Reckon they'd notice if we sleep here for the night?" "We're supposed to be at the party" "We went. That's good enough. Are you warm enough in here?" He was plenty warm with Keith's arms holding him tight "Mmm, you're like a personal heater" "Consider it a special Lance privilege" "Can we go back to the Telula? I don't want to fall asleep in here... not knowing where we are" "Of course we can. I can't guarantee I can find our way back, so it might take a while" "How far did I run?" "More like how fast. Here, I'll piggy back you" "I can walk" "You're practically already asleep. No complaints" "I can do it" "I known you can, but you're exhausted. I want to do this" "Carry my pathetic arse around?" "Carry you, and you're not so pathetic arse around for the rest of our lives" "Don't say that... I might have to hold it to you" "Then it's a promise"

[belleterrecountryclub]

Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer?

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

By Sam Weinman

few months ago Golf Digest set out to answer a question almost as old as the game itself: does alcohol make you play better, or worse? The experiment and resulting video with three too-eager participants, was illuminating, comical, and fairly conclusive: a little bit of “swing oil” has some residual benefits owing to a decrease in tension and inhibition. Too much, however, leads to deteriorating focus and coordination, and then you just stop caring about advancing the ball at all. A subsequent experiment with marijuana yielded similar results: some weed might take the edge off and loosen up your swing, but anything more than a little becomes counterproductive.

That brings us to our recent experiment exploring the effects of meditation, structured like the first two, but also plenty unique. Here, too, we submitted three golfers of varying playing ability to a series of golf tests while interspersing the influence of an outside element—beers and tokes became 15 minutes of meditation. The difference is that while meditation does induce some immediate physiological effects and boasts several long-term health benefits, we’re still talking about a rather nuanced exercise that is difficult to quantify. And if you really wanted to measure it well, best to do it over a few months instead of a couple of hours. Still, a few hours is what we started with one day this summer, and I, along with colleagues Keely Levins and Ben Walton, was selected as one of three golfers who would spend the day hitting golf shots and meditating to see what type of difference we’d see. Although Keely and Ben had limited experience with meditation, I’d recently begun dabbling in no small part because mindfulness, as it’s also known, has been hailed as perhaps the best way to temper the freneticism of our modern lives. And no doubt I was a worthy candidate: a digital editor who spends his days tethered to one electronic device or another, a father of two high-energy boys, and someone who can overthink everything from family dynamics to what club to hit off the tee. As I said in the video, I first told my wife that I thought meditation would help because, “I run pretty hot during the day.” “No,” she corrected me. “You run hot all the time.”

So in terms of how a few minutes of meditation a day can calm the mind and harness focus, I was already sold. What I hadn’t explored, and what we sought to discover that day, was how it might affect one’s performance on the golf course. Plus, we saw it as an opportunity to debunk misconceptions about meditation — what exactly it is, what you do, and why it might mesh well with the mental and emotional demands of golf.

The day was broken into segments of three different golf challenges—driving for distance, approach shot accuracy, and putting—followed by brief sessions with meditation teacher Jonni Pollard. Pollard is the founder of a meditation app, 1 Giant Mind, and a personal mentor to a roster of clients that includes corporate executives and professional golfers. With a clean-shaven head, an Australian accent, and an affable manner, he spent the day convincing us of the ways meditation can not only help us think clearer on the golf course, but at work and home as well.

Among Pollard’s central arguments is that for all our technological progress, the human body has remained virtually unchanged from man’s earliest days fending off regular physical threats, which is why we process stress the same whether it’s an unpleasant email or a bear attack. This disconnect between how we live now, and the biological constraints of our bodies and brains, can explain why we often feel scattered so much of the time, and why even the mundane stresses of everyday life can elicit profound physical reactions.

“This is the little glitch in our system,” Pollard said. “We are entrenched in a dysfunctional state of defensive living because the way we’re living now is so far removed from how we’ve biologically evolved.”

What does this have to do with our ability to hit a drive in the fairway? Plenty, actually, because the same forces that leave us feeling frequently disjointed also factor into our performance on the course.

Almost every golfer has to negotiate the chasm between the shots he’s capable of producing, and the those he actually hits. We’re too quick, we’re too distracted, we’re worried about the pond on the left—when the result falls short of our potential, it often emanates from somewhere between the ears. By contrast think about the time you mindlessly hit a shot on the range and it soars perfectly off the clubface; or when you rake in a conceded putt from afar without even trying, and it rolls straight into the hole. It’s precisely because you “weren’t thinking” that it worked out so well.

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

“What it does is it hits factory restart and restores our natural capability,” Pollard said. “Our natural capability is there and we need to allow it to be there, so what is the thing that’s inhibiting it? From my perspective it’s the hyper stimulation of the thinking mind.”

Which is not to say that each meditation session sets you on a path to a truer golf swing. Not exactly at least. As the afternoon unfolded, my driver carry improved, but my approach shots were looser, and my putting stayed about the same. To think of meditation as some type of performance enhancer in deep-breathing form is to misinterpret the underlying machinations at work. As Pollard said, when you meditate for 20 minutes, focusing on your breath or a mantra and allowing outside elements to recede into the background, it’s similar to doing a set of bench presses at the gym. The act itself may make you stronger, but it’s really repetition and time that allows the effects to take hold

“The conversations I like to have when talking about meditation is one, it’s really wonderful to alleviate short term the symptoms of stress,” Pollard says. “But also it creates the internal infrastructure for us to be able to become resilient in this life, rather than feel like life is taxing you.”

Beyond technical improvement, what we really detected was an underlying sense of calm, noteworthy on what could have been a stressful day. Although Keely played college golf, Ben and I were not used to the strain of having every shot measured so precisely. Throw a handful of cameras and a crew of about 10 into the equation, and under normal circumstances I’d question if I could even draw the club back. But after each session with Pollard we began to mind the attention less, and distractions subsided. “It became easier to be over the shot,” said Keely. “I had this odd sense of detachment to where it was going, like I didn’t want to look at the result. Not every shot was great, but there was some freedom and ease in not feeling painfully invested in how straight my drives were flying.”

This is what Pollard means when he describes the “infrastructure” meditation helps construct. Scientific studies of meditation have shown that the practice strengthens the pre-frontal cortex portion of the brain responsible for concentration, focus and problem solving while shrinking the amygdala section that triggers our panicky “fight or flight” response. So even though I didn’t hit the ball markedly better that day, the ingredients were all there to do so—I was more focused, less fatigued, not nearly as wrapped up in the shot I just hit or the one still to come.

And therein lies the real breakthrough, because golf is nothing if not an opportunity for self-sabotage. You start a round poorly, you stress over wanting to play better. You start out playing well, you wonder how long it will last. Pollard and other meditation experts like to say that the practice improves “present moment awareness,” which is a variation of the old golf cliche of “taking it one shot at a time.” Roll your eyes if you must, but think about how much easier the game would be if your mind were free of competing narratives and you just played.

Our Max Adler played a round of golf last year with Sadghuru Jaggi Vasudev, a spiritual leader with millions of followers and a surprising affection for golf. Adler attended one of the guru’s workshops to better understand how Eastern practices like meditation can translate to athletic performance. Sadghuru, too, emphasized the value of getting out of your head.

“People trip on their own minds,” Sadghuru said. “They need to create a little distance between what they think and what they do.” So, to get back to the original question: Does meditation help you become a better golfer? The short answer is yes. The longer answer might be encapsulated by an experience from a few weeks after our session with Pollard, when I developed a wicked case of the shanks.

For about 10 days in the heart of the golf season, I had a hard time hitting an iron or wedge without the ball screaming off the hosel right into some unspeakable place. Golfers who’ve experienced the dynamic know no more maddening affliction, and in the grips of it, I couldn’t hit a simple 30-yard pitch without panicking. Then I recalled an exercise we learned with Pollard for right before address. We’d stand behind the ball, place both hands on the grip of the club, and take in a deep breath before proceeding. For an entire round, I did this over every shot —a mini-meditation session that attempted Pollard’s version of “factory restart.” My head clearer, my breath slower, the panic receded, and solid contact soon returned.

So if you’re asking, no, I don’t think you can measure the efficacy of mediation by saying it will drop this number of strokes from your score. But what I have noticed is that it can work to flush out our worst instincts—both on the course and everywhere else. I, for one, need all the help I can get.

Source: golfdigest.com

The post Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer? appeared first on Belle Terre.

[hannahindie]

Breathe - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping. Word Count: 2,083 Square Filled: Fatal Illness Summary: A year earlier, the reader finds out exactly what’s going on and has to make a difficult decision. That decision affects her present day life with Sam and Dean, and she has to decide what to do; keep herself at arm’s length, or let Dean in. A/N: This is the second part of my SPN Angst Bingo Card, hosted by @spnangstbingo. It will be seven parts, and the schedule has already been posted. It will post twice a week (Monday and Friday) until it wraps up. **Disclaimer for this particular chapter: I don’t know much about cancer. My life has been affected by it way too often, but the information I wrote here I got from the Mayo clinic website. I may be taking some liberty with it, simply because I don’t have super in depth experience. I apologize ahead of time if it isn’t 100% accurate.

It was beta’d by the ever fantastic and my writing soulmate @trexrambling: “This ending was damn straight perfection, Han.”

My beautiful twinny, @pinknerdpanda: “I need MORE!”

And my dear, sweet angel baby @masksandtruths: “ Damn it, you are breaking my heart....again.”

Thanks to all three for helping a girl out so that her words make sense. I owe a lot to all of you.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know.

One Year Earlier…

Growing up, I watched my parents hunt. Their parents were hunters, and their parents’ parents were hunters...it is just what my family does. Well, what it did. I don’t have a large family, and hunting doesn’t really promote a flourishing family tree.

I saw my parents die. I watched the larger than life werewolf tear them apart, I heard my father scream for me and watched as he threw his gun as close to me as he could get it before its yellowed teeth clamped down on his throat. I stared at my hands as they grabbed the gun, as if they belonged to another person while they wrapped around the cool metal and pearl handle and squeezed the trigger. I remember being carried from the woods and placed in the backseat of a stranger’s car, the fear that had wrapped around my heart turning into a numbness that lingered for years after the fact.

So the feeling that is coursing through me now in this too sterile room, the rubbing alcohol burning my nostrils, is familiar. It’s familiar and terrifying and I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of; the fear itself, or the numbness that I know is coming.

“You have what is called small cell lung cancer, or SCLC.” She pulls an x-ray from a manila envelope and places it on the display. I don’t know much about human anatomy, but I’m pretty sure my chest shouldn’t look like it does. “As you can see, you have a pretty significant tumor in your right lung, and it has grown into the space between your lungs and your heart. If you look here-” she points to two darker areas- “there are separate parts to the tumor, in two different lobes.”

I know she’s speaking English, and that so far she’s keeping it pretty simple, but I can’t help but look at her like she just babbled at me in Ancient Greek. “So...what...what does that mean?”

She turns off the light to the display and pulls a stool over next to me, “It means that, out of the four stages that you can possibly have, yours is a IIIB. Each stage has different features that qualify it...right now, yours meets all three features. It has also spread to the lymph nodes near the carina, which is where your windpipe splits into the left and right bronchi and in the space between your lungs.”

This sounds bad, and of course it’s bad, it’s lung cancer, but I’m only thirty. How does this happen? I take a shaky breath in an attempt to steady my voice, “Is there any good news at all? Because right now it feels like you basically just handed me my death certificate.”

“Honestly, I don’t have much, and I’m sorry. The good part of all of this is that it’s in the limited stage, which means it’s only in the one lung and the lymph nodes affected are on the same side. It also hasn’t spread to any other organs. That is incredibly lucky, because only about one out of three people catch it this early.” Her small smile falters, and I brace myself for the other side of this shit sandwich. “However, the five year survival rate of small cell lung cancer compared to non-small cell...it’s drastically lower.”

“How much lower?”

“Ms. Y/LN, I need you to keep in mind that these survival rates are only an estimate, they can’t predict what will happen to any individual person-”

“How much lower?”

“The five year relative survival rate for stage III SCLC is about eight percent. But we can treat it, we have options. They are limited, but they are options, and there has been some success.”

The rest of the conversation is a blur. She hands me pamphlets and offers me a glass of water, displaying a kindness I'm sure she's gotten down to a science in this line of work. I know what she’s saying is important, she’s listing medicines and writing scripts and explaining that we can get chemotherapy started right away, but I don’t hear it. There is talk of procedures that will make it easier to breathe, but right now it’s taking everything I have to force myself to keep going, to focus on the air coming in and going out. Her words are fading into the background as the same thought keeps screaming, drowning out everything else.

I am dying.

Now…

Every so often, Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. They don’t linger; it’s almost as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still in the back of the car. He hasn’t mentioned what happened back at the hotel, and I’m hoping he forgets about it. However, as I watch his eyes flick up to the mirror again, I know he won’t.

I scoot up and lean on the back of the seat, “So, uh, Sam, what’s up with this ghost, anyway?”

I see Sam’s massive shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, “It’s pretty straight forward. The hotel actually used to be a mansion owned by a doctor, who was married with eight children. The doctor was well known and seemed to be liked by everyone in town, and honestly his life was pretty normal until his children started dying suddenly. Like clockwork, the children became horribly sick, in order from youngest to oldest, and within three weeks all eight of them had died. Rumor was that the wife had something to do with it, but at the time there was no way to prove it. Shortly after the last funeral, the doctor didn’t show up to open his practice, which was very unusual. His nurse called the police, and when they arrived, the front door was open. The doctor had been killed, and his wife was nowhere to be found. To this day, no one knows what prompted the deaths of the children, or why the doctor was killed. No one ever found her.”

I settle back into the seat and look out the window at the scenery passing in a blur, “That’s uplifting.”

“Well, you asked.”

I don't answer, and the car falls silent aside from the rock music playing softly in the background. I quietly flip my bag open and shuffle through the books and papers, searching for the little box that so far has given me life. My fingertips rest on the Altoid can and I flip it open, grabbing a pill and a mint at the same time. Can't be too careful when it comes to covering up my lies.

“Hey, can I get one of those mints?” Dean's hand pops over the back of the seat and I lock eyes with him in the mirror. He's testing me; like Sam, he's catching on.

“Sure.” I drop one in his hand, popping the actual pill into my mouth as I smile and snap the tin closed. His eyes narrow for just a second, then his gaze drops back to the road.

I'm tired. My head drops back onto the cool leather seat and I let my eyes slip shut. My chest hurts, and it feels like someone is sitting on my sternum. I concentrate on breathing, careful to make it sound normal, like I'm not struggling to get enough air. I wonder how long this is going to drag on, how much more time I have.

The car begins to slow and I open my eyes as we pull into a gas station. Dean immediately goes for the gas pump so, before he has a chance to settle his sights back on me, I walk quickly into the convenience store.

“What's going on?” I jump and nearly drop the bag of Combos I am contemplating, then glare at the guilty party.

“Jesus, Sam! Can you not? And what do you mean, ‘What’s going on’?”

He crosses his arms and tilts his head, “You and Dean have been weird. What happened before we left the motel?”

I roll my eyes as I make my way towards the drinks, “Nothing happened. And could you define weird? Because the only interaction we've had since we left the hotel was him asking me for a mint.”

“Exactly!” Sam gestures wildly, his voice still loud even though I can tell he's trying to whisper. “You guys talk all the time. Music, movies, food. You're like the female version of Dean. You guys haven't spoken the entire time. It's weird.”

I grab a Coke, then turn to face Sam. He's looking at me expectantly, and I sigh, “Nothing happened. I'm just tired, and I'm sure he's tired, and that's it. We left the room like ten seconds after you, there wasn't time for anything to happen. Cool your jets, would you? It's fine.” I walk towards the counter, “They've got some organic snacks over by the chips, make sure you get some so you aren't cranky later.”

I grab a couple other snacks as I make my way to the counter, pay, then walk outside and toss Dean one of my last-second purchases.

“Oooo, teriyaki lime jerky. Someone knows the way to my heart.” He pulls the nozzle from the tank and it clunks into place on the pump. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I shrug and lean against the car, “I am truly a gift. You should probably appreciate me more.”

Suddenly, he's directly in front of me, his moss green eyes burning into mine, and then his hand is on my waist. He's close, so close I can smell the shampoo he used this morning and the faint mix of toothpaste and the motel coffee he called breakfast. “I would like very much to show that appreciation.” He smiles, and for a second I am tempted. Oh, am I tempted.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this-”

He tilts his head, and his eyes do that squinty thing he does when he’s thinking about what to say. What I want to do is reach up and smooth the worry wrinkle between his brows, trace the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but instead I hold my ground. Barely, but it’s held.

“No, you talked about this...and I let it go, because I mean...you’re right. Our lives,” he scoffs, “our lives are fucked up. People like us die young and we die bloody. And if we are lucky enough to live to the ripe old age of sixty, we also live long enough to see everyone we love killed. And it sucks, God, it sucks, but it is what it is. But I’m tired of that, alright? This-” he gestures between us- “this is worth it. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt it since Omaha.”

Omaha. Low blow, Winchester.

“Is this really the time to discuss this? As lovely as this gas pump is, this isn’t exactly a romantic way to bring it up.” He is still staring at me, his mouth set in a determined line, and for a moment I want to tell him to quit making that face, that his lips look better when he smiles because they’re full and pink and beautiful, but that would not help this situation. Instead, I sigh, “Omaha was a mistake, Dean. It was fun, but...it was a mistake.” His hand drops from my waist and I would take all the cancer in the world if it meant I never had to see that look on his face again. If I thought my chest hurt before, it is nothing compared to what it feels like now.

His tongue darts out and wets his lips, the bottom one catching between his teeth as he stares at me. It looks like he’s going to argue with me, and there’s a little part of me that is begging him to fight for it, for us, to convince me that my plan is garbage, but instead he walks away. He’s opening the driver’s side door by the time Sam gets to the car and looks at me quizzically.

“You okay?”

I clear my throat, “Oh, yea, I’m fine.” I climb into the backseat and settle in against the door. The car starts with an echoing roar, and he accelerates out of the lot faster than is necessary.

For the rest of the drive, his eyes never look up into the rearview mirror.

Read part 3 HERE.

Like what you see? Would you like to see more? My Masterlist is here!

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda  @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes  @deanssweetheart23  @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-babydoll @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion @myloveforyouxx @atc74 @mrsbatesmotel53 @there-must-be-a-lock @masksandtruths @thelittleredwhocould @jotink78 @amanda-teaches @ilsawasanacrobat @squirrel-moose-winchester @mjdoc90 @anticipate1003 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mindsunleashed @mogaruke @speakinvain @linki-locks11 @wildlandfox @rhochradel

Dean Only: @akshi8278 @valkyrieslament @lavieenlex @highonpastries @wholelottajackles

Breathe: @rosethesupernaturalhunter @bitchof707official @waywardbaby @demondeantrash

SPN Angst Bingo: @thekarliwinchester @emptywithout @winchesterxtwo @aubreystilinksi @castianityislife02

[archivewineamo]

SHE WEARS A DISGUISE.                       this headcanon post is going to include triggering content, DOMESTIC ABUSE / PTSD / DEPRESSION / SUICIDE ATTEMPT / MISCARRIGE & ANXIETY. please for your own sake don’t read if this is something you know it’s triggering for you.

Now, I think it’s important to explain why I even decided to make this post, well, Tanya’s second husband, Daniel, abused her since the start of their relationship, continuing out through their marriage. He was very controlling, didn’t see the wrong in handling her as he wanted and found the most suitable. He has been close to killing her multiple times. The reason why I felt it was important to make this post it’s because it’s something that forms her a lot from the happy girl she once was. She’s around twenty-eight when she first met Daniel and their relationship continued for over three years. Under this time she went through so much trauma, the trauma she bearly was able to process. 

Not only did he physically and psychologically abuse her. During this time Tanya found out she was pregnant but she never gave birth to a child, she had a miscarriage in week 17 after Daniel came home and took out his aggression on her.  

PTSD: 

PTSD : Essentially a memory filing error caused by a traumatic event.

Symptoms for PTSD can weary between persons but I’ve chosen to list the symptoms that fit in for Tanya. 

Panic attacks/anxiety/depression/mood swings

Difficulty falling or staying asleep

A sense of a limited future

Frequent periods of withdrawal into oneself

Flashbacks (Acting or feeling like the event is happening again)

Nightmares (either of the event or of other frightening things)

Feelings of intense distress when reminded of the trauma

Feeling suicidal

Guilt, Shame, embarrassment or self-blame

Misuse of alcohol/drugs/gambling and/or food

She was diagnosed with PTSD two years after her divorce with Daniel, she, after everything was settled, decided she needed to see someone to talk with, she needed to process everything she had been through and even if people might have wished she’d talk to them, she found a psychologist that worked for her. 

Of course her PTSD work against her every day, there are small things that can get her to freeze, the sound of glass breaking, loud banging, a door slamming and things like that. Things that take her back to what happened and make her re-live it again. 

She blames herself a lot for what happened because if she could have been better, if she could have done more, maybe it wouldn’t have happened, maybe she and Daniel actually could have been happy. These thoughts are something that brings her down every day and even if people repeat over and over again that it wasn’t her fault, she will always think so, that’s always what he said. 

Before she got medication and a proper diagnose on paper, she used alcohol to self medicate, which wasn’t good in the long run, even if alcohol calms her down and she can drink a lot of it, she only drinks when she knows she needs to be somewhere where many people are and have to spend a long period of time with them. When she got her medication though she actually listened and started taking it instead of using wine to make herself calm down and thankfully the medication worked out for her, it made her calmer, it made her be able to sleep which she couldn’t be more thankful for. 

DEPRESSION: 

DEPRESSION : a Medical illness that negatively affects how you feel, the way you think and how you act.

Symptoms for Depression can weary between persons but I’ve chosen to list the symptoms that fit in for Tanya.

Feeling sad or having a depressed mood

Loss of interest or pleasure in activities once enjoyed

Changes in appetite — weight loss or gain unrelated to dieting

Difficulty thinking, concentrating or making decisions

Thoughts of death or suicide

Her depression started a year after she started to date Daniel, by then they were engaged and she started to realize that she wasn’t just feeling blue. She was actually starting to see that she was getting depressed. Not only had she limited contact with her friends and family which made her even more anxious about how things would turn out. Having someone in your life that constantly tells you that you’re not good enough make you low, it makes you feel like you’re not worth anything. 

She loved painting, she studied the history of arts in school but as soon as she got together with Daniel that interest fell of things she enjoyed. It wasn’t worth it when she never found that thrill anymore. The canvases that was usually filled with flowers or bright colors was just filled with how she felt, dark, sad and it just didn’t make her feel any joy anymore. 

Okay, so Tanya lost a lot of weight when she was together with him, he always had an ideal image on how she should look, pointed out what food habits she had and made her eat more healthy which caused her to almost stop eating completely. She struggled a lot with her weight and still does when she’s older. The real change from when she was younger is that when she got older she learned to handle it, she actually started to enjoy eating again and that’s thanks to Rosie. 

Tanya is a lawyer and sadly this affected her work more and more, concentrating on her work got harder and harder and in the long run, she knew it wouldn’t work out, thankfully enough she works for her father’s company so he practically forced her to take a vacation, to gather her thoughts.

Thoughts of suicide began in her marriage and she was so very ashamed to admit that to anyone. Sometimes she held her breath under the water in the bathtub, sometimes she debated on swallowing extra many pills but she never went through with it, she wanted to spare everyone from that. 

SUICIDE ATTEMPT:

SUICIDE: Death caused by self-directed injurious behavior with an intent to die as a result of the behavior.

Everyone show different symptoms of wanting attempt Suicide, i’ll list the one that fit in with Tanya. 

Hopelessness: Feeling a deep sense of hopelessness about the future, with little expectation that circumstances can improve.

Sudden calmness: Suddenly becoming calm after a period of depression or moodiness can be a sign that the person has made a decision to end his or her life.

Withdrawal: Choosing to be alone and avoiding friends or social activities also are possible symptoms of depression, a leading cause of suicide. This includes the loss of interest or pleasure in activities the person previously enjoyed.

Making preparations: Often, a person considering suicide will begin to put his or her personal business in order. This might include visiting friends and family members, giving away personal possessions, making a will, and cleaning up his or her room or home. Some people will write a note before committing suicide. Some will buy a firearm or other means like poison.

Tanya after her marriage with Daniel started to get better, her medication helped, she talked with the people she needed but she still felt hopeless, she was so damaged by then she didn’t really feel a future for herself. She could feel herself getting calm at the feeling of not having to re-live the memories every day, the possibility that she could finally get some peace. She started to pull away from her friends and family, at least a little to make sure that she could do all preparations in peace. 

She wrote up a will, divided all her money and every possession to make sure everyone would make it. Most money was divided between Donna, Rosie, and Sophie since they are the only persons she really has to share everything with. She packed her clothes, organized everything in boxes so no one would have to come to her apartment and take care of those things. 

She wrote letters, a lot of them, especially for Sophie. One for every year, one for every moment she’d miss. There was one for her first heartbreak, her first true love, the first time she’d apply to college when she would get married when she had her first child. She wrote one for every single moment, giving her advice and expressed her love for the girl. Because even if Tanya had decided to end her life, she wanted Sophie to live her life to the fullest. 

The last thing she did was to set up a college fund for Sophie, one where she placed over the appropriate sum of money so she could go wherever she wanted. That was most important for her, to make sure Sophie had the best future she could have. 

When the day came, she had prepared everything, everything was laid out, drink in hand, notes tucked away on her bed, gun on the table. It was by pure luck that her father decided to pop in unannounced that night, saving her from that fate and got her proper help. 

ANXIETY: 

ANXIETY: a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome.

People have different symptoms of anxiety, I’ve chosen to list the one that fit in with Tanya. 

Rapid breathing

Rapid heart rate

Difficulty focusing or thinking clearly about anything other than the thing you’re worried about

Feeling hot or cold

Sensation of choking

Shaking or trembling

Like you might understand all of this leads up to a lot of anxiety for Tanya, she prefers to keep her feelings to herself, especially knowing how much it would hurt the people around her to discover how she had been feeling.

Her doctor got her prescriptions for sedatives and Xanax which she prefers to not use but she still carries them around in her bag if she ever would need them. Even if she mostly can keep her anxiety in line, she gets caught by surprise by it often, especially when she had a long day and things just remind her of Daniel. It can be a smell or a sound that causes her to react and have an anxiety attack. 

She has told Donna and Rosie about her anxiety so they know when she needs to be alone for a while or just take a long walk when they aren’t around and they come back and can’t find her. 

She has found ways to make sure her anxiety doesn’t blossom to a panic attack, painting actually become a hobby of hers again when she got the right medication and could start focusing on the things she loved to do again. Painting made calmer and she could just relax for a while. Singing makes her incredibly happy, dancing even more so. She could find happiness in life again, happiness that she could deal with even if she went through trauma. 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Darkness Within (15/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [AO3]

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CW for this chapter: alcoholism

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Fifteen

I am the dark.

Sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by pretty much every book he owned and every single notebook he had ever written in, his computer sitting on a chair beside him, Joseph looked at the enlarged print-out of Belle’s question sheet that he had made and sighed. The sheet was now covered in post-its and bits of sticky-tape where he had been trying to translate all words that made no sense, and he had finally made a breakthrough. Unfortunately, it was not a very encouraging breakthrough.

Having identified one of the languages that the entity was using to communicate as 5th century Scots Gaelic, he had got to work on translating it and researching what other languages were in use around the world during the same time period and before; languages that were not Latin, because he would have been able to identify that. Hebrew and Aramaic had turned up nothing, so at least he could work by a process of elimination if nothing else.

He had, however, managed to translate the Scots Gaelic with the help of a few forums of contemporary Scots Gaelic speakers and the theses of various academics who’d studied the evolution of the language.

I am the dark.

That was exactly what he wanted to see, a nice happy message. He knew that he was never going to translate it and find that the entity was completely benign and just wanted a cup of tea, or something similarly mundane, but that was really rather ominous.

He scanned over the paper, studying each of the squiggles of gibberish for anything similar. For a moment he wondered if the words looked so strange because the entity was attempting to write down words from languages that either had no written alphabet, or was transcribing words from languages with a non-latin alphabet into letters that Belle would recognise. Perhaps it was time to start going by the sounds, rather than the sight. He grabbed the laptop and found a phonetic translation program. Contrary to popular belief, Joseph was not as technologically illiterate as a lot of people liked to think that he was, and despite the Catholic church’s attachment to tradition and holding on to the past, it was not at all technophobic when it came to its research. The entrenched perception was something that Gold and Joseph had often found useful when they had been investigating together, especially the cases that were more obvious frauds. No-one ever expected the mild-mannered priest to get out a computer and start fact-checking.

Whilst he was waiting for the program to do its work, he hefted the tome of Arthurian mythology onto his lap, flicking back to the bookmarked page for Nimue. With a character who had been around for so long and undergone so many different interpretations, it was virtually impossible to work out precisely which one that the entity was referring to. The name had been scrawled at the very bottom of the page, ostensibly beneath the question ‘what are you looking for?’ The connection, the broken bloodline… Gold had said that he thought it was his own bloodline that had been broken, and that they would find any clues in his family tree rather than Belle’s.

What are you looking for?

The bloodline was broken.

Nimue.

Joseph sighed and rubbed his forehead against the rapidly oncoming headache that was beginning to bloom there.

Could it be that in the midst of all the Arthurian mythology and all the legends that had sprung up about it, Nimue had been a real person back in the depths of history? Could it be that it was her bloodline that the entity was looking for? He had already worked out that he needed to go back several centuries in order to work out where all this had begun, so now it was time to take a different tack. Enough of the stories and the legends and the books of mythology that had been written and re-written so many times over the years. Enough of the various different interpretations of the character, as a seductress or as a benevolent Lady of the Lake, an enemy or an apprentice of Merlin, a benefactor of Arthur and Avalon. Leave aside the fiction and get down to the facts, whatever they might be.

He shut the book with a definitive thump and turned back to the computer as it beeped to show a new incoming message on Skype. It was a contact request from Belle French.

Joseph hesitated before opening the message. Thus far, all he knew about Belle had come from Gold, and whilst he had been thinking that it might be useful for him to talk to Belle herself about her experiences, he had not mentioned that to Gold yet. Gold had obviously given Belle his name and she was seeking him out for herself. At least it showed that she was taking an active interest in solving her own problem, he supposed, but something made him wary.

He clicked on the message.

Hi Joseph, sorry if I’m overstepping a mark in contacting you directly but I thought it would be easier than having Rum passing messages all the time. If you’d rather go through him as a sanity check/to stay further removed from the case, that’s fine. Kind regards, Belle.

Perhaps against his better judgement, he accepted the contact request.

It’s very nice to meet you, Belle.

He sat back, waiting for her next message, and he wondered what it was that had made her seek him out personally. He was still going to pass all his findings on to Gold; for simplicity’s sake if nothing else. He didn’t want to be having to keep track of whom he had told what to, considering that sometimes he had trouble keeping track of what day of the week it was. Having a juicy mystery to keep his mind occupied had certainly helped his mental state in the last few days, but right now, despite having made something of a breakthrough, he was itching to open the whisky bottle, just to take the edge off and let him concentrate further on what he was doing. The phonetic translation program turned up nothing, just even more gibberish than he was already dealing with.

Joseph frowned, and took the results of his research, running them through the program to translate it back. Perhaps there was something he could work with there. It was of secondary importance really, because it was clear that Nimue was the key to the whole thing. The entity wouldn’t have been so violent when writing her name if it wasn’t important. A simple Google search had not revealed much in terms of anything new, all the entries on the first few pages were all to do with the character or with various beauty companies of the same name. Probably wanting to evoke the image of the eternally beautiful Lady of the Lake. There was nothing obvious about a real person called Nimue, either in the present day or back in the annals of time. Of course, going back to the era before the Internet was always going to pull up some interesting results, but Joseph had hoped that he could at least find something to be going on with. Skype pinged again with a message from Belle.

How’s it going? Sorry, I don’t want to sound pushy. I’m just interested. The Thing’s been quiet lately so we don’t have any more information to go on and I don’t want to try and goad it out in case something bad happens.

Joseph smiled; he liked how she called it the Thing, and he replied to her.

You seem worried by its silence.

I am a little. It’s been a constant presence and annoyance until I moved here and when I first got here, it was very active. The sudden quiet is unusual.

Well, I’ll let Gold know as soon as I have anything.

Although Joseph was not suspicious of Belle in and of herself, he thought that perhaps it would be better to keep the details that he had uncovered between himself and Gold; who had more of a day to day handle on the situation. He did not want to inadvertently arm the entity with knowledge that could make it harder to tackle in the long run.

Thank you so much. I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into this, but it really means a lot. This has been affecting me my entire life, and the thought that I might finally be free of it is a hopeful one.

Joseph thought back to the details that Gold had already given him about Belle’s life, right back to the prediction that the psychic had made to her pregnant mother. The entity had been with Belle since before she was born, but it had not been passed through her bloodline, or else the black cloud the psychic had seen would have been present around her mother as well, not just the child. His fingers paused over the keyboard as a theory occurred to him. It was just a thread, something very faint, and he had no way of knowing whether pulling on it would pull him down a rabbit hole that he didn’t want to visit. Finally he decided to bite the bullet and go for it.

Belle, did your parents ever go to Scotland before you were born?

There was a long pause, and Joseph was beginning to think that he’d jumped in with both feet far too quickly and she was thinking that he was some kind of weirdo. Well, he had no idea how much Gold had already told her about him so she might already think that he was some kind of weirdo.

Not as far as I know. My aunt lived there for a couple of months though. That was in the seventies. She died before I was born so I can’t really elaborate much.

Suddenly a whole new line of enquiry opened up before him. Scotland was the one link he had. Gold had been born there, a member of Belle’s family had lived there, and the entity spoke an ancient Scottish language. It was a tenuous link, but it was a link nonetheless. He only hoped that Gold’s research into his own family tree would prove fruitful. It was becoming ever clearer that this entity was linked to the both of them.

Another message from Belle arrived.

Is everything all right?

I have absolutely no idea, Joseph replied honestly. It looked like he was going to have to go to Scotland.

Well, good luck. And thanks again.

You’re welcome.

Belle’s icon became unavailable, and it was clear that the conversation was closed. Joseph wondered if he would ever meet her in the flesh. He’d looked her up online after Gold had mentioned her, just as Gold himself had, and he had seen the grainy photo with the shadows under her eyes belying something much deeper and darker at work beneath the surface. He shook his head. He was getting far too close, far too involved, and the last time that had happened, it had brought about a catastrophic end to his career. It had often been said that Joseph’s problem was caring too much. He wanted to help people, he always had, and that coupled with his interest in the supernatural had been what had led him to the priesthood and his particular niche calling within it in the first place. When he had been defrocked, he had vowed never to get involved again, but here he was, not only getting involved but considering the possibility of getting more involved.

The last time he had got involved, too involved, someone had ended up dead, and he really did not want that to happen to Belle. He was going to have to keep his distance, but at the same time, the mystery kept drawing him in, kept him wanting to help and wanting to solve it. All he could hope was that he had learned from his mistakes and would be able to avoid repeating them.

Never underestimate an entity. It was one of the cardinal rules of dealing with demons and evil forces, and it was one that Joseph was determined not to do again. If he had to confront this one, then he would take all the necessary precautions and then some. With any luck, it would not come down to a confrontation. He had never really liked that word anyway, with its foreboding connotations of a final battle between good and evil when really, he was just a messenger in the grander scheme of things. With any luck, they could work out what the entity was and how to appease it. Gold would be able to find out about his family’s history with this entity, they would be able to put it back on the right track peaceably, without the need for an exorcism.

Only God could help them if it came down to that.