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dailyaudiobible · 1 year

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06/29/2023 DAB Transcript

2 Kings 15:1-16:20, Acts 19:13-41, Psalms 147:1-20, Proverbs 18:4-5

Today is the 29th day of June, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian and I am happy…happy to be here with you today, happy to be in this place that we make every day, the Global Campfire that we gather around and take the next step forward today. I am grateful. It is wonderful to be here with you and excited to take the next step forward. And that next step forward leads us back to where we left off and that happens to be the book of second Kings right now. Today we will read second Kings, chapters 15 and 16. And we are reading from the New English Translation this week.

Commentary:

Okay. So, we have a fascinating story that we encountered in the book of Acts today that invites us to explore the power of the name of Jesus. And this story surrounds seven sons of a Hebrew priest named Sceva. So, we can…we can fairly reliably assume that these seven sons of the priest Sceva knew their Hebrew tradition. They were the son of a priest. They very very likely knew the Hebrew Scriptures. And they weren't doing anything bad. They were going from town to town, attempting to practice exorcisms. So, the forcible removal of the daemonic presence from a person's life, setting them free. This is a good thing. But then they started attempting to cast out demons in the name of Jesus. And there's a bit of an irony in that that allows us to get a glimpse of how disruptive the times were around the message of The Way, the way of Jesus. Because we have traveled long dusty miles with the apostle Paul over the place and we’ve watched that most of the places that he went he faced very aggressive opposition to the message of Jesus and that opposition was always instigated by the Jewish religious people. So, it's ironic that we get a picture of Jewish religious people attempting to co-opt and use the name of Jesus in an exorcism. So, we have this picture. The seven sons are attempting to cast out a demon in the name of Jesus when they had an unexpected turn of events. The demon began to speak back to them saying I…I know Jesus and I am familiar with this Paul, but I am not familiar with you. Who are you? And then the demon possessed person leapt upon the seven sons and they got a straight up beat down. So, here's the thing. The name of Jesus has been used in all kinds of contacts for all kinds of reasons, even to invoke curses, but the name of Jesus doesn't carry within the syllables some sort of magic. There is power in the name of Jesus, but not without Jesus. And once the news of this encounter with these seven sons of Sceva started to spread around the villages and into the towns reverence for the name of Jesus fell upon the people. Many of whom knew plenty about sorcery and magic and spells and incantations, but it became clear that the name of Jesus wasn't in some form or fashion casting a spell to get something done. It was way beyond magic. And according to the book of Acts many came and confessed their different sinful practices and sorceries and surrendered their lives to Jesus, like burning their books of magic and instructions for the dark arts. And Bible makes sure to tell us the value of what was burned up - 50,000 pieces of silver. It’s actually 50,000 drachmas. And, so, just to like to have an idea. Like the drachma would be the price at this time of a sheep. So, like the value of a flock of 50,000 sheep. Or a drachma is like a day's wage. So, 50,000 workdays. So, the Bible is…is…is going to great lengths to show us that reverence for the name of Jesus fell upon the people in such a way that they were willing to walk away from what they had considered extraordinarily valuable. So, once again, there is power in the name of our Savior in the name of Jesus our Lord. Yes indeed. But the authority of Jesus comes into our lives in our true and utter surrender to His power and authority.

Prayer:

Jesus, we love you and indeed, there…your name is the name above every other name. And, so, we indeed believe that nothing is impossible in your name. But what is done in your name represents you. And, so, we cannot use your name to do things that you would not be involved. In the book of Acts today reverence fell upon the people. May reverence for your name fall upon us today we ask in your name, the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com, that's home base, that is indeed where you can find out what's going on around here.

And we got something coming up that is going on around here and I’ve been talking about it for the last couple of days. A week from tomorrow…tomorrow is the last day of June, guys. That's crazy. That’s six months down. So, tomorrow's the last day of June. A week from tomorrow will be the seventh day of July and that is our special day here in the Global Campfire community. It is a day that we call the long walk. And I’ve kinda talking about it. I mean, basically you carve out the day, we all do, I am, we all do and go somewhere beautiful. This is not a day that's a throwaway. This is not a day that's just a day off to get caught up on some things. This isn't anything like that. It's like a different kind of day than any other day of the year for most of us. It's a day to say this one, this day is for Jesus. This day is for my heart to spend with the one who loves me enough to lay down His life. I'm not going to find love like that anywhere else. I'm not gonna find that kind of commitment and loyalty in my technology or in my work, or in my job. I'm gonna go and I’m gonna say everything that's in my heart and I’m gonna listen. I'm gonna listen because maybe Jesus has been waiting all year for this one chance to have you without distractions. Give it to Him. Give it to yourself. Go somewhere beautiful. Go for a long walk. Let time stands still. Remember what it was like when you fell in love and you would go for long walks with your spouse or your significant. You go to these long walks all times of day or night. It can be 150° outside. It can be below zero. Like, we’ll do anything to be with the one we love. Time stands still. We’ll go out in the rain and make fools of ourselves as if this is fun because it is when you're playing with the one that you love. Go do that with God. See what happens. And while you are wherever you go, whether that be a couple of hours of driving to somewhere beautiful or whether that be a short walk or short little drive to a park, wherever you go, go somewhere beautiful. Go somewhere that you find beautiful. And as you're spending your day maybe you take a picture, or you shoot a little video or something. You can come back at the end of your day, which we will all do…like we’ll come back to facebook.com/dailyaudiobible, they’ll be a post in there for the long walk and we post our pictures and videos and stories inside that post and all the sudden we got like…I've been seeing it…because it's how I’ve seen it...I've seen it this way for years, I have sat and scrolled…like I don't do a whole lot of social media scrolling, but this is one special day and I scroll through all of them and it feels like the windows are opening up. Like, I get to see the day as it happened all over the world through the eyes of my brothers and sisters that I love. It's remarkable. So, make plans for that seventh day of July, a week from tomorrow.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, humble humble humble thanks. Humble thanks. We couldn't be here if we weren't in this together. There is a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app or there are a number of numbers you can call. In the Americas 877-942-4253. In the UK or Europe 44-20-3608-8078. And in Australia or that part of the world 61-3-8820-5459 is the number to call.

That's it for today. I'm Brian. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey DAB fam this is Jackson from California and I just wanna say I want to pray for the kid…I wanna pray for the kid today on June 22nd 2023 who prayed…or…who prayed…who asked for our prayers for help with their child __ to help his kids. And I just want all of you to pray for him __ leukemia and I __ leukemia. I just want to say thank you for praying for me and I want…and I want God to help that kid to…to make the parent to get strong, stop that parent’s divorce. Alright.

Hi today is the 23rd of June and I just heard the prayer, the woman that called in about her aunt finding her son dead in his car of an overdose with three young children. And my heart goes out to you because we just lost my oldest grandchild, my granddaughter who is 14. We just lost her mother to the same thing. This opioid addiction is…it…it is unreal and I send up prayers right now to all these young people, this generation of people that is addicted to these opioids, that they find strength in Jesus Christ, a new found strength in something other than the next high. They’re leaving behind generations of children without parents, and it is sad. But I cry out to You Lord Jesus Christ that change is coming. Change is coming in the name of Jesus, that they will stand firm in the faith, that they will turn their hearts to You Lord God. And we thank You God and we give You the glory, the praise, and the honor for it in Jesus’ mighty name. Amen.

Hello DAB family this is Adopted and Loved I've called a few times in before. I’m still going through this divorce. Our court date was cancelled, and I am just broken today. Just recognizing the level of rejection and just struggling in everything right now. And I just…I just want some prayer for…prayer for everything that's going on. Prayer for my wife, prayer for my kids, prayer for my heart, and that God would give me something to look at in the future just being able to have a promise I can stand on. I'm really looking. Thank you.

Hey DAB family this is Braun Phase this my first time ever calling in. I've been listening to DAB for about two years now. So, just kind of amazed me that this is my first-time calling in. But I just…I'm on a journey right now to pursue my wife. I currently have a girlfriend in mind who I've been with for eight years and right now I'm going through financial struggles and I'm going through…through transformation right now with the Lord. He's transformed me into a man that He knows I need to be for myself for my woman and just for the people around me. And, so, I'm really just going through a struggling stage right now and I'm…but I'm hearing God give me a huge calling on my heart to go pursue my wife, to go get my wife. So, that's what I'm doing and it's hard right now because, you know, my woman deserves everything. She's been through a lot with me. So, I just want to give her what she…what she deserves, and I just don't know how to go pursue my wife with little income right now. And I'm trying to get a new job and it's hard. Things are hard right now. Patience is probably the hardest thing right now but I'm currently fasting. I'm praying, and I just find myself complaining a lot and that's what He's showing me in this time of fasting. So, if you guys could just give me a prayer for that that would be spectacular. I really love my god and my woman. So, if you guys could just help me with that that would be great. I really want freedom right now and I've earned the forgiveness. Now it's just time to grasp the freedom. And that's what I want from God right now most definitely. Love you DAB. Have a good one.

This is…hey my name's Big Dog and I'm out here and Azula Texas __ Texas. I called in earlier and asked for some help, you know, some prayer for my family and so forth. I got a job. I got a pretty good job. My wife has just recently started reaching out to me. We've been separated for about two maybe three years. I last count. I still love her. I __ been married once. But if it's not meant to be I understand but I'm trying…I'm trying for dear life to make it work. I didn’t invest 26 years for nothing, right? I understand sometimes, you know, it doesn't work out, but I would like for that to continue. I would like to change that and make it better. I would also like to know if maybe I could get some help for praying for my prayers. My dad's 78. Cancer. My mom's 74. Same thing. My dad's a veteran, agent orange, all that good stuff, right? But I mean it's inevitable. They're old. But I'm just asking for just a little bit of support just a little bit. Please. If you guys could do that for me, I would really appreciate that. [email protected]. Love you all. Still listening, still praying. Thank you. Thank you, Brian.

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minzart · 3 years

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24 for any or all of your ocs ✌️

24. Where did their name come from? Does it have meaning?

JESUSCRIST-

Alright, alright, I'll limit myself to ocs I posted about so...we have:

Twst ocs:

Arthuro: this is very obvious,came from king Arthur, bc it's one of the two characters he's based on, the o in the end is just to seem diferent

Finnian: I actualy didn't think? I just thought of the name and boom, Finnian! But I guess it does reminds me of the word fin

Will: Will is my Yuusona, they basicaly have a base in one of the brother's Grim, one of them is Wilhelm, so I just shorten the name and tada! Will! And then I remembered "hey, isn't Will onw of the W.I.T.C.H characters?" And that's how Will is now nonbinary

Rpg Ocs:

Natalia: this name came to me when i thought "what is a very normal name?" Right after I saw a mlb art so yeah, Natalia it is.

Viktor: this guy, I was ready tucking trow him out of the window bc I couldn't think of a fucking name, then Just "fancy name.com" done. Viktor it is. Sounds fancy but the guy is a wreck and far away from being rich, ur welcome.

Kaleb: probably from Kaligolas, "what's a variant from Kaligolas? O yeah Kaleb sounds close enough" and Kaleb was born

Mathias: now, this guy is based on Sephiroth, so I knew I had to find a "bible name" or something like that, could have been something with "el", like Gabriel, but I wanted a name more... human ( I guess?), and then "... Matias? Saint Matthias? Isn't that a name that is in the bible at some point?" And I just checked and THe FUCKING IRONY IS STRONG NOT GONNA LIE. "Matthias was, according to the Acts of the Apostles, chosen by the apostles to replace Judas Iscariot following the latter's betrayal of Jesus and his subsequent death [from wikipedia] " HE WAS SUPOSED TO BE A VILLAIN UNTIL RYUU CAME ALONG-

Nico: his name was suposed to be Midas, bc the golden touch, greed and all that, but it just didn't fit his personality, so... "wasn't Santa claus Name Nicholas? He does wear red.... ALRIGHT NICO IT IS-" suffer from the truth Nuna, you love Santa claus

Helena: Helena of troia, starting wars... just... yeah...

Enrico: I HAD TO IMPROVISE, HE WASN'T EVEN SUPOSED TO EXIST, so no thoughts, head empty, came form teh abyss kinda deal.

Valdez:... blame Valdemar from the arcana. Now every villain doctor I do has to have a name starting with V

Titania: .... the fary queen. It just fits

Random ocs:

Xen: ... what is a short name for a character based on Majora and skull kid mix? Something with a letter that isn't used much...X... Xan? Xerecan? XEN.

Alice: Alice in wonderland aesthetic 👍

Amber (previously Sarah): Sarah was always a name holder until I got a better Idea, and now that I guess I have a very solid desing for her, Amber is basicaly bc of the color, wich makes sense once I introduce her new desing that has many warm tones

Einz (previously Etan): his name was Etan ink Zevel, I thought it would be fun to do a nick name with his full name and then I got Einz wich, in my opinion, sound way cooler than Etan for him.

Andrews: sounds fancy? Great. This one it is then. No thoughts, head empty

Kaligolas: from Caligula. Etu Brutus. Betraied and gone mad 👍 sound like a match for me-

#oc ask game #oc asks #I GUESS IT'S ALL OF THEM #andrews & kaligolas #minz rpg #minz ocs #twst ocs #oc xen

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danurso · 3 years

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I'm not sure if i'm going to keep writting

I'm the type of guy who likes to work in my stuff at my own lazy pace, which is why most of my stories take awhile to go out, but i loved to write them so i kelt working on them despite knowing how it's hard for me to keep a storyline going, but right now, i don't know if i can keep writting.

Recently i've lost my cat, which is something i know a lot of people go through, they lose their pets, suffer for a while and then move on, but my cat wasn't just a pet to me, he was my best friend and seemed to be smarter than a lot of the people that "care" about me.

On the last decade i saw family members die, my grandmother found out sye has cancer and my biological dad got covid, and yet, i couldn't bring myself to feel anything thanks to a tendency to build barriers to keep everyone out, the only ones i don't have barries with are my mother and my cat, which is why when i woke up a few days back with my mother crying saying he was dying i was devastated, i kneeled next to him watching him barelly being able to breathe and crying for i have no idea how long. Last time i felt like this was more than a decade ago when i lost my grandfather and my stepdad, my two father figues who raised me.

And of course, we have the irony as well, because my life is apoarently a very funny joke to someone. I've always dreamed of having a gaming PC when i was a kid and spend a lot of free time researching and planning how i would build my own when i had the chance, and a few weeks back i got that chance and bought everything i needed to build it. I was over the moon about it, could barelly sleep because of how excited i was, and then an hour after he dies, while i'm still crying and feeling worse than shit, the parts arrive for me to make my dream come true........are you fucking serious?

Not to mention the complete and utter slap on the face that my mother gave me, I don't blame her, she saw her usually cold son suffering like she hadn't seen in years, so she left and came back with a fucking new cat. I know she was panicked and just wanted me to feel better, but the moment i put my eyes on it my blood started to boil, i wanted to scream at her and ask what the fuck she was thinking, but since i'm not a braindead snowflake who thinks my feelings matter more than those of the poeple around me, i just took a deep breath and went to my room.

She brings the cat to me sometimes and gushes about how cute he is, but every time i look at it all i can feel is a slap on my face and a voice screaming on my head "HE'S FUCKING DEAD!!" My mom even told me the 'tragic' story of the cat, about how he's been on the adotpion home for a year now and nobody wanted him, how he went straight to my mom and how the lady said that "he was just waiting for her to come pick him up" which was nauseating for me to hear, she at the end said he was not the cat i lost but asked if i could love him as well, i've always been on a messed up emotional state, even more now than ever, but i've always been honest to her so i told her i wouldn't love it, She then started to cry and got angry at me, repeating his story and saying that now she would give it back to the adoption home, it once more pissed me off how she was angry because i didn't care about a new cat that she brought home a few hours after i lost the cat i saw being born and loved more than anything on this world. She was bluffing of course and the cat is still there, i don't get close to it but it seems to like my room so i usually keep it closed, and if it gets in i'll just gently pick him up and leave him on the corridor, i also usually give him food and water even thought i don't like him since again, i'm not a braindead snowflake, i might hate him but i'm not gonna watch him starve or treat him baddly, he's not at fault here so i treat him well while keeping the most distance i possibly can.

So yeah, i still feel like shit, i cry from time to time, i don't feel like getting up or eating, i have now a built PC but don't feel like playing on it, just got an heirloom on apex (because why the hell wouldn't i in this wonderful week?) And am not playing very much, and above all, i hadn't wrote a single word ever since i lost him, and i don't even know if i will keep on the writting.

Writting has been one of my biggest passions for years now, i've wrote enough stuff on private to fill almost three entire bibles, not counting the promots i post here, so i do want to keep writting, but every single day it gets harder to do anything i like, i haven't wrote a thing for any of my sotries and even for my OC's that i enjoy writting every now and then, so yeah, i wanna keep going but if you never see me posting again you already know why.

Sorry if this was a long post but i needed to get this off my chest, i feel like posts like these are stupid coming from me, but i at least wanted to clarify things in case i stop writting completely, i wanna try and keep going, once i get my head in place again i'll sit down and try to get some stories done, i love writting and i don't wanna stop, but in case i can't do it, i just want you guys to know you're all awesome, thank you for all the support and nice messages you left in my stories, they always make me smile when i'm feeling down. I hope i can make more stories you can enjoy in the future.

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papirouge · 3 years

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the absolute Irony of seeing rightoid Christian/Antis bitching about how brainwashed leftists are by popular culture when they're doing the same, but on the opposite spectrum???

All that frenzy about civil war, rebellion, overturning government, survival stick.. Do you think it came from a vaccuum? Don't you realize these too have been pushed by Hollywood, pop culture, Netflix, video game industry, etc. for decades? None of you are above this shit, you just think you *are* on the right side, that's all.

But for the most part, you ALL watch the same shitty movies, stupid degenerate paganist anime, play the same shitty games funded with American military money to make war cool & exciting. And also dehumanizing the ennemy. Unsurprisingly the zombie apocalypse genre has become very popular lately.... it's no coincidence.

Civil war is ugly guys. It's very obvious that Western millennials and zoomers have been so pampered to the point they do not grasp how awful it can be. I lost family members to civil war. So it's unbearable for me to see American or Western European twats getting a hard on while talking about getting rid of leftists and unbelievers during some phantasmagorical "retribution day". This is chaos. There won't be any right or left, patriots or government, right or wrong. Only violence. Lots of you have no idea of what you're talking about/calling into existence.

Everyday I'm seeing "Christian" foaming at the mouth at the thought of a civil war to kill leftists. Do you think it's healthy as Christian to entertain this energy? Don't you realize there's a demon behind this nasty spirit? Do you think God doesn't love these people? We were ALL sinners. If God was as righteous as you think you are (to the point of feeling entitled death to God creatures), He would have killed US before we had the opportunity to repent (arguing the lot of you did, which I'm getting highly doubtful)

When Jesus said to love our neighbor, do you think he only talked about people we liked? The Bible warns us there is NO POINT in showing love & compassion only the people we appreciate:

Matthew 5:43-48

You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

You make me ashamed to share the same label of "Christian". Everyday cussing and mocking and running your foul mouth. Lots of pagans behave much better than you do.

Yes we can be angry, yes words can override our thoughts, but some you made an entire mood and personality of cussing and mocking and entertaining toxicity. For what purpose? Do you actually PRAY for these people? Do you actually pray for PEACE? Or do you want to exercise your weird moral superiority complex of being Christian? We really need to inspect our ways before grabbing out keyboard and ask ourselves : is it really honoring God or my ego? Would you do or say the same thing if Jesus was sitting next to you?

I know some you have this black and white like of thought consisting of antagonizing anyone who doesn't think/live like you (leftists, pro vaccine, LGBT, communist, unbelievers, feminists, BLM, etc.) but the thing is...none of it will matter when shit hits the fan. Civil war is the definition of chaos. Your own family, comrade will snitch & turn on you to have you killed. You are all children with a big mouth, you wouldn't survive facing all this crap IRL, trust me.

This is not the Retribution Day some you imagine to be. We will ALL be victims of this. It's really irresponsible of you to entertain this toxic energy and almost call for it. None of it stands right to God. And you will have to give accountability for that on Judgement Day.

You might have all the guns in the world, but none of them wil save your life because you cannot save you soul with guns ; "for all who draw the sword will die by the sword". Learn to get right before God to get His protection rather than through worldly demonic means. These won't save you if God decides to make you die because of your rebelliousness.

Walk with the light of the Christ, not the flaming torch of satan.

#Yes I am angry #I just can't stand this brand of boastful Christians #they're rude mean nasty and pointless #papi watch #Christian

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fundielicious-simblr · 3 years

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(This is going to act as an update post on Zoe and her family, I'm trying to be more proactive about talking about the other kids in the 'heir' families that aren't the main characters. This also makes it so that I can do smaller updates when I do the big holiday family updates, so that the post itself doesn't become a dissertation 😂)

(Zoe's POV)

How fast time flies! Life in Oasis Springs with little JJ has and is fun, over time he’s made leaps and bounds with all of his learning and potty training. Whilst I helped teach my siblings, it definitely feels different with your own child. Every spill and accident means we’re just that much closer to having him be fully potty trained, which will be a big win for the both of us! We’re working on fluency with colours and letters, and after those are down we can start with bible memory!

(rest is under the cut! - got too long 😂)

With Francisco going off to work during the day, it took awhile for me to get used to being alone when we first got married. After having JJ it made it easier because I could just dedicate all my time to him during the day, my sister Priscilla moved closeby, so we’d see each other whenever we had the time. Now she’s got a baby of her own, we’ve been having to coordinate schedules to see each other. Annette comes down to see Priscilla for some twin time, and while she’s in town she’ll drop in to see JJ and I. It’s great getting to hang out with my younger sisters and being able to invest in their lives and keep our sister bond strong. Annette isn’t married yet and has no one she’s interested in, so she keeps herself busy with babysitting for the mothers in our church as well as investing in the lives of others and volunteering at various church camps. When she isn’t doing that, she’s visiting the siblings that are spread out everywhere, soon she’s planning a trip to see Beckett and Mandy out in Selvadorada on a short missions trip.

It’s great getting to sit down with Francisco when he comes home and getting to hear all about his work day. Obviously there are loads of things I don’t understand about his work with the military, but he’ll tell me what he can whilst explaining the complicated jargon. Sometimes he’ll get sent on short training expeditions out into the desert which have me worried sometimes, as you never know what can happen out there, but he always reassures me that he’ll be back safe and sound.

I’m still working on my music, I play at our church on the weekends so I’m always looking for ways to arrange the hymnals. In the new year I’ll be teaching at a music camp hosted by my parents church, so I’m working on different pieces for that. I’m almost done arranging a piece for a new recording that I’m doing for a small hymnal EP, so when JJ is doing his extended play time, I’m practicing on the keyboard that is in his room. Sometimes he’ll come and watch me play and is captivated by the music, it’s such a blessing to see his little eyes light up at the sound of music, I can’t wait until he’s old enough to begin learning.

Francisco and I had talked about expanding our little family and were excited to see what the Lord had in store for us, there were 2 or 3 times that I hoped I was pregnant but received a negative pregnancy test. To be really honest, it was very hard to want something and get a negative test result. I’ve spent time calling my mother and having her comforting voice was such a blessing to me during my quite teary phonecalls where I’m sure she could barely understand a word. After seeing my mother have baby after baby every year, and now seeing my sister and sister-in-law have children quite easily, admittedly it was hard to be content in my struggle whilst also being happy for everyone else. There were many times I ran to the Lord in prayer for contentment, and for patience as I wait for what he has in store for me, and it helped calm my heart.

It’s been great seeing Francisco as a father, he’s in love with parenting JJ and being a good example for him. He takes initiative with both correcting JJ and having a good teaching moment, as well as being the fun dad who loves to play outside. He tries his hardest to make sure he can come home and read JJ a bedtime story, but if he can’t make it then I gladly read to JJ at bedtime.

My sister Annette was over visiting when I felt like I should take a pregnancy test, and praise the Lord it was positive! I’ve prayed and prayed over again for this moment, and now that it’s here I feel overjoyed! Telling Francisco was the best part, he was so excited for us to grow our family. We took these pictures to announce to our friends and family about our new addition that will be joining us this winter.

With the joys of pregnancy come the trials, and by that I mean morning sickness. I’ve got it much worse this time round than I did with JJ’s pregnancy, meaning that on bad days Francisco has had to step up and do things that I would usually do. Good thing his mother made sure that both her boys knew how to cook and do their own laundry when they were teenagers or else this would be another trial for us to endure 😂

Another new thing I’ve had to get used to with this pregnancy is the size of my belly, with JJ I only really started showing in the 2nd trimester which is standard with your first baby. With this baby it seems that I started showing as soon as the pregnancy test came out positive, and since we know there’s only one baby in here, their positioning is more frontal that JJ was.

This pregnancy came right on the tail end of our time here in Oasis Springs, Francisco got his new orders and he’s being stationed out at a base near Windenburg! He got promoted right before his time here was done, so we all got to dress up and head to the ceremony, I must say, I love seeing him in his uniform! Living by Windenburg means I’ll be close to my sister Amira who lives there with her husband, I love that being able to move around every 2 years means that I get a chance to see different friends and family more regularly as the years change. When we’re on our way to Windenburg we’ll be stopping by newcrest for Harvestfest with my family, it’ll be so good to see everyone again before we head out to our new home for the next 2 years!

💛

(AN) The accidental irony in this post being military themed wasn’t planned but is unfortunate considering the recent events. This post would’ve gone up on Saturday the 28th, but unfortunately time and circumstances meant I couldn't bring myself to do much for a bit as well as not having access to my laptop. Early on saturday morning I found out that a girl that I knew was one of the marines killed in the Kabul attacks. I’m not in the military, I’m not even American, but she was stationed at the base in the country where I live and were deployed to Afghanistan from here not too long ago. Being a civilian I wasn’t as close to her as some of her fellow soldiers but we saw each other when my friends and I would hang out with our military friends on the weekends, she was truly a kind soul and her death as well as the others have shattered everyone’s hearts. It’s so jarring having to deal with the fact that a person that you used to see almost weekly is now gone, I jumped back into tumblr as a form of distraction and am hoping this helps keep my mind busy. My condolences go out to all the families and friends of those who lost their lives this weekend, and to everyone affected by these losses, please reach out to get help if you need it. May they all rest in peace.

#fundie sims #fundiesims #quiverfull sims #quiver full sims #modest sims #homeschool sims #sims 4 pregnancy #sims 4 military #sims 4 legacy #collins family #collins legacy #gen 3 #Francisco and Zoe #gen 4 #post #this was a very long update post for these two #think i might start doing one long update post for some side characters every now and again #It was a bit hard to edit and finish this for posting after this weekends news #i hope everyone who was affected can get the help they need

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madpanda75 · 4 years

Text

“Penance”

For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo--I’ve been loving everyone’s contributions to the challenge so I thought I would try my hand at it!

Jonas Nightingale x Reader for the Gags square ( my first Jonas fic! Warning-- I’ve never seen “Leap of Faith so please be kind)

Double Warning: This is SUPER NSFW. There’s BDSM, ball gags, fisting, squirting, forced orgasms, and a pinch of priest kink (even though Jonas is a “reverend” not a priest)

Hold on to your butts and get your splash guards out!

Sam Nightingale sat cross-legged in front of the pulpit. A frigid blast slapped her in the face and she silently praised whoever invented air conditioning. Rather than pitching a tent and sweating her ass off in an abandoned field out in east Jesus nowhere, the local pastor had insisted that she and Jonas use his church for their revival.

With a glint in her eye, she gazed down at her lap overflowing with dollar bills. Ten. Twenties. Fifties. Even a few hundreds from the wealthier church patrons. Every dollar counted, she could hear a cash register cha-ching in her brain. Ah, the simple-minded naivety of the Midwest. It was like taking candy from a baby. “Damn, Jonas.” She shook her head in amazement. “We made bank today. Who knew Nebraskeners were so generous? I swear you wave around a Bible and the promise of redemption in front of folks and the money flows.”

Her comments were greeted with silence. “Jonas?” She glanced up to see her brother lying on the front pew, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Hello? Earth to Jonas!” She grabbed her pack of menthols and chucked them at her brother, gaining his attention.

“Huh? Ya’ say something?”

“Uhhh, yeah.” Sam made a show of flipping through a large wad of cash. “Here I am drowning in Benjamins and you’re out in la la land. What’s with you today?”

Jonas shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You sure about that?” She walked over and knocked his feet off the pew, plopping down right next to him. “Cause you were distracted during the church service. I had to basically feed you your lines through the microphone. Please tell me you haven’t found your moral compass or something.”

He snorted a laugh. “Hell would freeze over before that happens.” Coming back to his senses, he spotted the sea of green nestled in his sister’s lap and whistled. “All that came from today?”

“Yep.”

“We should add an afternoon service if we stick around here. We’ll make twice as much.”

A dramatic sigh of relief below past Sam’s lips. “There’s the swindler I know and love. You had me worried there for a moment.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jonas grabbed the cash and began counting the bills when the door opened. “The Senior Bingo is being held around the corner in the rec room,” he said over his shoulder.

“Actually I’m looking for you,” a soft sultry voice called out. A voice that made Jonas whip his head around.

“It’s you,” he whispered and shot straight up out of the pew, the dollar bills in his lap now floating to the floor like confetti.

Sam immediately began to pick up the stray money while Jonas stood there, staring at you. You were wearing a demure, white cotton sundress that screamed virgin, but the ruby red shade of your lipstick purred vixen. His sister was right, he had been distracted and now that distraction was standing in the middle of the aisle. He could feel his pants begin to bulge at the mere sight of you biting your bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you said with an apologetic smile.

“Oh don’t worry about it.” Sam stood up and patted her brother on the back, noticing the way his demeanor changed the minute you walked through the door. “This guy has been out of it all day. Although I think I’m beginning to realize why.”

Jonas glared at his sister before turning back to you. “How can I help you?”

You fidgeted a bit, wringing the leather strap of your purse. “Actually, I was hoping we could speak in private, Reverend.”

“I’m gonna go check on that bingo. See if they have someone to call the numbers,” Sam said after an awkward pause. She gave Jonas a sly wink before walking out the door.

“Please have a seat.” Jonas ushered you to a pew. His heart was racing and sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. There was something about you that made him nervous. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was, you disarmed him completely.

He took a deep breath and tried to recover. After all he was the King of Sin. If he could con people out of money under the guise of salvation, he could certainly handle talking to a beautiful woman.

“I’m glad you came in today,” he said.

“You are?”

Jonas nodded his head and took a seat next to you. “I noticed you during the service. I could sense that something was weighing heavily on your soul.”

You looked down for a moment, hesitant to speak before finally confessing. “There is.”

“Don’t be bashful.” He reached out and patted your knee in reassurance, his thumb gliding across your skin. “You can trust me. I help all those who are lost and right now you look like a little lamb that has strayed from the flock.”

“I...I... struggle with the sin of lust,” you replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks turned bright red, nearly matching the shade of lipstick you were wearing.

Jonas felt his interest peak. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“I have certain...proclivities. I’ve tried to quell these dark desires, but I need help. My need is constant.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut.

Little did you know, you were an answer to Jonas’ prayers (if in fact he ever did pray). It had been ages since he had gotten laid and you were just his type. It was as if the heavens opened and a choir of angels were singing ‘Hallelujah.’ He cleared his throat. “I think I can be of service.”

“Thank you!” Relief washed over your face before you became serious. “But I have to warn you others have tried and failed.” You leaned forward, your knees now touching his. He could smell the seductive notes of your perfume: lotus blossom and black orchid. “Do you think you are up to the challenge?” you practically purred.

Jonas licked his lips and let his eyes drink you in from head to toe. He felt smugly satisfied noticing your heaving chest, the way your nipples hardened against the fabric of your dress. “Sure, I’ll guide you on my cock,” he thought.

But rather than make this blunt point and risk you running out of the church, disgusted. He gently cupped your face and stared into your eyes with a deep sincerity. “I can assure you, I won’t stop until we tame the fire that burns deep within you. I am relentless in my dedication to saving souls.”

What happened next sent shockwaves down the wily con artist’s spine. Parting your lips, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking and gliding your tongue against the digit. Jonas gasped, feeling you bite down on the meaty flesh before pulling off with a pop.

You tucked your purse under your arm and stood up, smoothing down your dress. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be in touch.” You went to the door before pausing and looking over your shoulder. “By the way, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” With an innocent smile, you left Jonas sitting there, completely stunned.

*****

The old secretary glanced up as soon as you walked into the church office. “The Reverend will be with you in a moment. Why don’t you take a seat.” She motioned towards a chair.

“Thank you.” You sat down and crossed your legs, admiring your new black Louboutin heels.

The sound of an old fire and brimstone preacher played from a radio on the secretary’s desk. “Fornication is not just a sin against another person. It is a sin against ourselves. It is self destructive and we must avoid it at all costs!”

You arched a brow at the secretary, who gave you a tight smile and turned down the volume. You couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. The irony of the sermon was not lost on you.

It had been three weeks since you met Jonas. You were in town for a few months visiting your grandmother and she insisted on dragging your butt out of bed to the sunrise Sunday service at her church. Luckily for you, instead of the regular reverend (who was as old as Methuselah), there was a handsome, charismatic guest preacher in his place. Having never been an avid church-goer before, you were quite taken with the eye candy professing salvation for all sinners from the pulpit.

After the service, you dropped off your grandmother at her bingo game and decided to have a little fun by giving into your more baser instincts. How else were you supposed to entertain yourself in a dusty dried up old town? You knew how to play the game. With your chaste couture and coquettish ways, you caught Jonas Nightingale--hook, line, and sinker.

Just then Jonas walked into the office, freezing in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. “Ms. Y/L/N.” He took off his aviator shades and smirked. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I know we had a session yesterday, but I think I need more spiritual guidance.” You ran a delicate hand down the slope of your neck and gave him a shy smile.

Jonas ran his tongue across his teeth, a low growl emanating from his chest. “Of course, please step into my office.” You stood up and followed him. Before shutting the door, Jonas turned towards the secretary. “Why don’t you get out of here and take a long lunch.”

“Are you sure?” the secretary asked, leaning over the desk to try and peek into his office.

“Absolutely. It’s been a slow day. Go out. Live a little.” Jonas sighed in relief, watching as she grabbed her purse and needlepoint. She was on loan to him from the church. The woman was your typical nosy, uptight old bat with a stick up her ass, but she made great coffee and would bring in freshly baked cookies every week.

As soon as the secretary left, he stepped into his office and locked the door. “I thought you were supposed to come by tonight. Just couldn’t wait, could ya?” he teased and removed his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top.

You bit your bottom lip, staring at his muscular arms. “I had to come here.”

“Oh you did?”

You blushed and fidgeted with your coat. “You see, I was very, very naughty. I was thinking about you all morning and I had to touch myself. I sinned, Reverend and you told me that those who disobey God’s laws must do penance.” You made a show of unbuttoning your coat and letting it fall to the floor, revealing that you were completely naked.

Jonas stalked up to you, looking like the big bad wolf. He walked in a slow circle around you, inspecting every inch of your flesh before stopping right behind you and grabbing your hips, pulling you flush to him. His lips brushed over your pulse point and all too soon he walked away.

With the crook of his finger, he beckoned you over to the chair in front of his desk. You obliged his silent request and sat down. Sinking to his knees before you, he planted a brutal, bruising kiss on your lips, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He pulled away and went over to his desk. “You remember the safe word?” he asked, opening a drawer.

“Bakker,” you replied.

Jonas chuckled. When you two began these escapades, you picked “Bakker” for your safe word. The last name of the infamous Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, two TV televangelists who were found guilty of fraud in the 80s. It was your subtle way of telling Jonas that you saw right through him and didn’t believe his act for a second. As long as your grandmother didn’t give him any money, his secret was safe with you. Besides, Jonas was just as much a freak as you were and he was the best sex you ever had.

Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out several items, one of them being a blindfold. “You know, I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle,” he purred as he covered your eyes.

A smile tugged at your lips. “You should know by now that I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t hold back.”

“Challenge accepted,” Jonas thought as he grabbed some nylon ropes. He grabbed your arms and began to tie them behind the chair.

Your pulse quickened in anticipation. “Tighter,” you demanded in a breathy moan.

He yanked the ropes taut making you gasp. “Let me be the judge of that,” he growled, biting your earlobe. He spread your legs, tying each one to the leg of the chair. Your pussy glistened as you were already wet from masturbating all morning. The scent of your arousal filled his nostrils and made his cock twitch.

Tied and blindfolded, you thought Jonas would get down to business, but he had a few more surprises up his sleeves. He took out a white ball gag with a leather strap and some honey. After squirting some honey onto the ball gag, he cupped your chin and forced your mouth open. “Don’t you dare spit this out,” he threatened, fastening the leather strap behind your head.

You felt the ball wedge between your teeth. The sweet hit of the honey coating your tongue. Jonas has done his research. He knew that the combination of the honey and the ball gag would make you drool, giving you that hint of humiliation you craved.

He sat back on his haunches and admired his work: the knots of nylon binding you to the chair, the way your lips wrapped around the ball gag, the rise and fall of your flushed chest. You were a work of art. Michelangelo had the Sistine Chapel and Jonas had you.

He knelt down and kissed the top of your right foot before slowly dragging his tongue up your leg, nibbling on your inner thighs and then trailing down your left leg, planting a final kiss on your left foot.

He parted your swollen pussy lips and licked your pink, quivering flesh, reveling in the way you whimpered and squirmed. When he wrapped his mouth around your clit, you jerked forward only to remember that you were restrained. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and lapping at your clit. Being blindfolded only heightened your senses and right now it felt like Jonas was eating you out as if you were an all you can eat pancake breakfast.

You threw your head back and moaned, trying to arch your hips to give him even more access to your core. He reached his hands up and began to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples until they swelled and ached in pleasure. Your thighs began to shake and Jonas knew you were close. One final tweak of your taut nipple and your orgasm rippled through you.

Jonas groaned and nodded his head vigorously, flicking against your nub as you rode out your ecstasy. “Jonas!” you wailed in a muffled tone, although the ball gag was preventing you from speaking much.

He hummed in contentment and smacked his lips together, tracing your entrance with a single digit. You squeaked in surprise.“Shhh,” he cooed. “Calm down, my angel. We’ve barely begun. How many fingers do you think you can take? One?”

You shook your head no.

“Two?”

You shook your head again. Jonas arched a brow, even though you couldn’t see him. He knew what you wanted. When he got up to five. You nodded.

“So fucking greedy.” He spread you even wider. “You think you can take it?”

You nodded once more and undulated your hips. He began to finger fuck you, starting with his index finger, thrusting into you hard and fast while pressing on your clit until you howled. The second finger, he scissored you, slowly stretching you out, stroking your walls, studying the way you whimpered and wailed. He slowly added a third digit, finding that secret spot within you that so few men ever find.

The buildup was unbearable as your hips stuttered forward, coming once more. Even though you were soaking wet, Jonas squirted lube onto his fourth finger firmly believing in the philosophy of, “the wetter, the better.” He slowly moved in and out of you, swiping against your clit.

With each digit he added, you came harder and harder. Tears slid down your face from underneath your blindfold. Your muscles began to spasm, your nerve endings tingled. Jonas cruelly laughed. “Look at you, creaming on my fingers like a little slut.”

You wailed out another orgasm in response. How long had you been sitting there? Hours? Your body experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. Every time you came, you loathed it. You craved it. You wanted him to stop. No, don’t stop! Don’t ever, ever, ever stop! You wanted more and more and more and that’s exactly what Jonas gave you.

After adding even more lube, he tucked his thumb into his palm, tapering his fingers and slowly penetrating you, pushing past the knuckles until his entire hand was deep inside you. Jonas had never fisted anyone before, but you had untapped desires within him that he had no idea even existed.

He began to rock his large hand back and forth. You sobbed in pleasure. You were stretched and filled to the brim, feeling tremendous pressure. You couldn’t catch your breath. Being tied, blindfolded, and gagged, all you could do was take it. While fisting you, Jonas leaned forward and began sucking on your clit.

Your muffled moans of “Oh fuck! Oh yes! Yes! Yes!” filled the room as he unleashed his torture on your slick, hot cunt. He crooked and wiggled his fingers, massaging your G-spot. You screamed in ecstasy. Your orgasm was earth shattering. You felt a gush of liquid and squirted all over Jonas’ face.

“That’s it, my sweet angel. Squirt for me,” he groaned, almost coming in his pants at the sensation of your sweet nectar all over his face, a puddle amassing beneath your chair.

Jonas slowly took his hand out, one finger at a time. He reached up and cupped your face, you could feel your arousal from his one hand, coating your cheek. “You’re not done yet. I want one more from you,” he commanded as he began to unbound you.

You meekly nodded your head. He gave you an open mouth kiss over your ball gag and gently lifted you up so he could sit down. You were still blindfolded. The sound of a zipper and rustling of his denim, alerted you that he had taken out his cock.

You rocked against his length, his crown rubbing against your overly sensitive clit. Moving at a snail’s pace, you sank down onto his cock. Jonas’ fingers may have been long and thick, but nothing could replace being filled by his cock. After your initial meeting, you quickly understand why the man exuded a prowess on the church stage, swinging his big dick energy at anyone with a pulse.

Jonas let out a strangled moan and grabbed your hips, encouraging you to fuck him.

You bounced up and down on his cock. He had given you so much pleasure and now you wanted to return the favor. You contracted your muscles, squeezing around him. Drool dribbled down your chin and onto your breasts from the combination of the honey and the ball gag. He lowered his head to lap it up and suck your nipples.

Smothered by your chest, he growled and gripped your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head lolled back. You loved this, being used as a sex toy. Your whole body screamed. Take me! Devour me! I’m yours!

The wooden chair creaked and was on the verge of breaking, but neither of you cared. “Fuck! Jesus! Jonas!” you mumbled, climaxing one final time, your vision fading to black while riding out your orgasm. Pain and pleasure melding together.

Jonas’ hips began to stutter. “Oh Y/N!” he moaned. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He grunted like an animal, pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum. His body tensed, coming so much that it seeped out of you and pooled around the base of his cock, creating a mess. Not that either of you noticed, you were both already plastered in sticky sweat

You went limp and melted against him, snuggling into the crook of his neck, mewling like a kitten. Once Jonas caught his breath, he pulled you away to take off the gag and blindfold. Gazing up at you with the sunlight illuminating your face, that feeling of disarmament overpowered him once more. He was completely at your mercy, bared to you. There was no escaping your trance.

This was meant to be your penance. Your punishment. But instead, it was Jonas that choked out one final word, “Amen.”

Tag List:

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @mgarner1227 @dreila03 @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarletsoldierrr @youreverycolor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @imagine-all-the-imagines @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg @crowleysqueenofhell @caked-crusader @garturbo @rachelxwayne @sarcastically-defensive17

#jonas nightingale #leap of faith #raul esparza #Raúl Esparza #jonas nightingale fan fic #jonas nightingale x reader #thatesqcrush kink bingo #kinktober

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 3 years

Text

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Crucifixion of Christ (John 19:17-30)

An old legend said that Calvary was at the center of the earth. So it was, really, for the cross was the meeting place of two eternities - a past eternity of grace and hope, and a future eternity of faith, gratitude, love and devotion. It is the center of the earth, too, because toward it the eyes of all believers turn for pardon, comfort, light, joy, hope. As from all sections of the ancient camp, the bitten people looked toward the brazen serpent on the pole at the center of the camp - so from all lands sin-stricken ones look in their penitence, and sorrow-stricken ones in their grief, toward the cross.

"Carrying his own cross, he went out to the place of the Skull (which in Aramaic is called Golgotha)." The first picture we see is Jesus leaving Pilate's judgment hall bearing His cross. The custom was that a criminal should carry to the place of execution, the cross, on which he should be fastened. The cross was heavy. Yet, as heavy as it was, the wooden cross was not all the load Jesus carried that day. We know there was another still heavier, for He bore the burden of the world's sin. The old prophet said, "All we like sheep have gone astray ... and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all" (Isaiah 53:6). It would seem that none of the apostles were with Jesus as He went out to Calvary. John was caring for Mary, whom Jesus had committed to His care. She, with John and other friends, were presently watching by the cross. Certain other women were in the crowd, lamenting with Jesus. These He comforted even in His own great-sorrow.

When He staggered under His cross, a passer-by was seized and compelled to carry His load. It would have indeed been a strange irony - had the man who carried the cross missed the salvation whereof it is the instrument and the symbol. The next picture shows us Jesus being nailed upon the cross. He was not alone, for two others were crucified with Him, although this was contrary to Jewish law. These were criminals, men suffering justly for their sin. Thus He was "numbered with the transgressors" (Mark 15:28, cf. Is. 53:12). They put Jesus on the middle cross, as if He had been the greatest of the criminals. This was the place of the deepest dishonor. As He hung there, He was at the lowest point of shame in the world, in the place of the worst sinner. This tells us that there is no known stage of sin or guilt possible on earth, down to which Jesus cannot, will not, go as Savior.

One of the criminals beside Him was saved that day, lifted up by Him out of his guilt and sin, and borne in His arms to Paradise. This shows us that no sinner is so low in degradation or condemnation, that Jesus cannot lift him up to glory.

But while we are looking at this one sinner who was saved that Good Friday, we must not fail to glance in sadness at his companion. He had the same opportunity for salvation that the other had, for he was equally close to Jesus, could hear His gracious words, see the blood dropping from His wounds, and behold His patience and compassion. Yet this man was not saved. He remained impenitent, though so close to the dying Redeemer. When people say they will take the chance of the dying thief on the cross, repenting at the last hour, they must remember that there were two dying thieves, equally close to Christ's cross, and that one of them was lost.

The next picture we see shows us Jesus Christ on His cross. "Pilate had a notice prepared and fastened to the cross. It read: JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWS." Jesus was indeed the King of the Jews, their own Messiah. He was also the King of the world. After He arose, He said that all authority was given unto Him in heaven and on earth. In the visions of the Apocalypse we see Him in glory as King of kings. He did not seem kingly that hour on the cross. It was a strange throne for a king to occupy. Yet it was His throne, and the crucifixion was the point of His highest earthly honor. There His glory streamed out as at no other time in all His life. The love of God shone from the cross. It is the power of the cross that is changing the world today and drawing lives to the Savior!

The rulers asked Pilate to change the title he had put over the cross. They wanted him to write only that Jesus said He was King of the Jews. They did not themselves wish to have it suggested that He was indeed in any sense their king. But Pilate refused to make any change in the superscription. "What I have written I have written," he declared. He spoke a deeper truth than he knew. He was making a record which would stand forever, and which in spite of all the injustice and dishonor of the day was true.

Just so - we are all writing, all the while, ineffaceably. What we have written, we have written. Every act we perform, every word we speak, every thought we think and every influence we give out - goes down to stay on the page. This is well when the things we do are good, right and beautiful things; but it is just as true when they are sinful and unholy things. We should lay this truth to heart and should live so that we shall write down in the inexpungible record of our lives - only things we shall be glad to meet a thousand years hence. We never have the opportunity to go over our records - to correct the mistakes we have made. As we write the words, so will they stand.

The next picture we see shows us the soldiers dividing the garments of Jesus among themselves. We can think of these men going about at their duty after that day, wearing the garments which Jesus had worn during His beautiful and holy life. We may carry the illustration farther, and think of ourselves and all redeemed ones - as wearing the garments which Jesus prepared for us that day on the cross.

The scene of the soldiers gambling for the scant possessions of Jesus, while the most stupendous event of all time was being enacted above their heads, suggests to us how indifferent the world is to the glory of God and the glorious things that God does. Men are irreverent and are unmoved by even the holiest things!

The next picture shows us a little group of the dearest friends of Jesus, standing near the cross, while He was enduring His unfathomable sorrows. His mother was there, and John, the beloved disciple. When Jesus saw His mother, His heart was touched with compassion for her, and He commended her to the beloved disciple, who from that time became as a son to her, taking her to his own home. In this scene we have a beautiful commentary on the Fifth Commandment.

Even on His cross, in the midst of the anguish of this terrible hour, He did not forget her who had borne Him, who had blessed His tender infancy and defenseless childhood with her rich, self-forgetful love. Every young person, or older one with parents living, who reads this fragment of the story of the cross, should remember the lesson and pay love's highest honor to the father or the mother to whom he owes so much.

The next picture shows us Jesus in His anguish of thirst. In response to His cry, "I am thirsty!" one of the soldiers dipped a sponge in the sour wine that was provided for the watchers and held it up on a reed, that it might moisten His lips. This is the only one of the seven sayings on the cross in which Jesus referred to His own suffering. It is pleasant to think that one of the soldiers gave a kindly response to His cry. This is the only gleam of humanity in all the dark story of cruelty and hardness enacted around the cross. It is a comfort to us to know that even so small a kindness was wrought for Him who has filled the world with the fragrance of His love, blessing so many millions of suffering ones.

For us the lesson is that we should train ourselves to deeds of thoughtful gentleness to all who are in distress. We remember that beautiful word of our Lord, that the giving of even a cup of cold water to a disciple in His name will not go unrewarded (see Matthew 10:42). There are thirsty ones coming to us continually, and countless are the opportunities of doing good to them in Christ's name. We should not fail to put the cup to lips that are burning with life's fever. Since Jesus thirsted on the cross and was refreshed, if only by so much as the moisture of a sponge filled with sour wine, He is quick to recognize and reward any kindness to one of His that thirsts.

The last picture shows us Jesus dying. He said, "It is finished!" Then He bowed His head and gave up His spirit. It was a cry of victory which fell from His lips. His work was finished. He had done each day the work given Him to do that day, and when the last hour of the day came there was nothing that He had left undone. We should learn the lesson - and live as He lived, so as to have every part of our work finished when our end comes.

But what was it that was finished when Jesus bowed His head on the cross? A famous picture represents Christ lifted up, and beneath Him an innumerable procession of the saints, advancing out of the darkness and coming into the light of His cross. There can be no doubt that He had such a vision of redemption while He hung there, for we are told that He endured the cross, despising the shame, because of the joy set before Him. "It is finished!" was therefore a shout of victory as He completed the work of suffering and sacrificing that the world might be saved.

#J.R. Miller #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #The Crucifixion of Christ #John 19:17-30 #September 21 #2021

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luxshine · 4 years

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The Great Supernatural Rewatch Project - Salvation

I started writting this in the middle of season 13 but RL and work and some mental health issues made me take a step back from fandom in general and well, I was also fearing this would be an unending job since the series JUST.KEPT. GOING.

However, now that the series is done (And omg, what a clusterfuck that was. My tallies are going to go insane if I get there) and thus there’s an ending in sight, I will do my best to finish season 1, and try and get the rest of the seasons in a more timely manner. Say, before they do the inevitable reunion and ignore the last episode completely.

(I’m going to be honest, part of the problem was that Supernatural used to be SO good back then, and when I see the new episodes I weep a bit inside. I can’t believe they were so much better at creating story arcs when they weren’t TRYING to create story arcs)

Of course, now we all know that Dean’s plots in general will not have a happy ending no matter what, and that makes that particular tally bittersweet. But there are STILL people who claim that nope, Dean was never mistreated by the writers and well, Jack damn it, I am not going to let that claim go without bringing numbers to the table. Hopefully, it won’t take me 15 years to finish (Because by then, I would be the only one caring I guess)

In any case, last lap for Season 1 and we begin with Salvation.

General stuff

A specific reason for me having rage quitted this episode in particular for so long: For some stupid copyright thing with Netflix, they don’t have Carry On My Wayward Son as the song for the final recap –at least in Netflix Latam. And Supernatural without Carry On My Wayward Son is no Supernatural. So I had to hunt my DVDs. Then my computer DVD player died. Then I decided to make 5 webcomics at the same time. THEN I decided to start doing illustration works, and three other projects and let’s just say I am a bit of a workaholic and leave it like that as the rest is not SPN-related.

Ahem.

Funny thing about the Road so Far –you know, besides being a LOT shorter than the ones we’re getting now- is that it focuses a lot more on DEAN at the beginning, while if you watch the show, well, we know most of those Dean scenes come from MoW episodes and not the actual mytharc. Another interesting thing is that if one believes those things to be chronological, it makes it as if the Colt had been with the brothers for a lot longer than half an episode, and that Sam’s issue with the visions is not that recent. Edition Magic everyone! Also, omg, they were babies when the series started, and how WEIRD is to see John looking at them with pride and smiling at Dean at some points.

Anyway, the recap and the epicness that is Carry On my Wayward Son ends and we start the actual plot.

Hello Pastor Jim. Goodbye Pastor Jim. And here Supernatural begins the long, long tradition of killing characters who could’ve been useful later on, and more importantly, that could’ve been the boys’s support system later on. While here it’s understandable since we need to show how dangerous and vicious Meg is –ah, irony that in about 8 seasons people will be rooting for her Redemption- it also makes the Hunters kind of useless. I mean, he has all that weaponry and only uses a knife? Sigh. Really, a waste. Pastor Jim as a concept was really intriguing –and I don’t think we’ve heard of any other hunter who was also a priest. Funny, when we have so many demons free now. There’s also the fact that when Pastor Jim claims that she can’t be in the church because it’s hallowed ground, she replies that “That might work with the minor leagues, but not with her” and I wonder… did we ever got a demon that couldn’t enter a church? Because right now out of the top of my head I can’t remember, and yet Pastor Jim was surprised but later no one seems to think it weird there were signs of demonic activity around his body. Another sign that, as engaging as the series was, once we start digging the world building, things fall apart very quickly.

Actually, if I may digress for a bit, here we have the very first look at Supernatural´s second biggest problem: killing support characters that may have been useful lately. Here it is because Kirkpe had this weird idea that Hunting would never be glamorized by the show/fandom and it would be a completely miserable and lonely existence. He also didn’t think that the series would survive past season 2. So, ok, killing the guy we only knew by throw away lines didn’t seem so bad. By season 13 every single recurring character had died at least once –and there were petitions to bring back I think every one of those who haven’t come back- it’s a big problem.

As I restarted writing, I also realized that the mere existence of Pastor Jim and his room of awesome research and weapons creates a problem in the future about the Men of Letters because… ok, so ONE member of the clerigy knew enough about demons and stuff to be a hunter and have THE Hunter as his main contact (John Winchester was sort of a legend back then. And he had also fell out of contact with many others so the fact that he and Pastor Jim were still friendly? Kind of interesting), but what about the rest? Did the Vatican have any contact with the British men of Letters or the American ones? And if so, what the hell did they think when suddenly ALL the Men of Letters disappeared? Ok, so that’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t matter right now as it won’t actually exist until much, much, MUCH latter, but see what I mean when I say that they didn’t plan anything and the lack of a series bible hurts the show more than it helped it thrive? I am realizing right now I could write a whole treaty on the Men of Letters and their non-relationship with hunters ONLY using this cold beginning and the Henry Winchester episode.

But this is not the time for that, so we get our title card and a very, VERY young Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

We move to John who is explaining off camera everything he knows about Yellow Eye´s plan. We can tell it´s not much as he thinks it came out of hibernation and that the whole attacking families is part of a cycle, but back then it was impressive how much he had managed to find out about this demon. We also know that it attacks exactly when the baby in the house is six months old, which brings us to this little jewel:

JOHN It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us.

SAM Families with infants?

JOHN Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday.

SAM I was six months old that night?

JOHN Exactly six months.

SAM So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me? So Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?

DEAN We don't know that Sam.

SAM Oh really? Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure Dean.

DEAN For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault.

SAM Right. It's not my fault but it's my problem.

DEAN No it's not your problem it's our problem!

Now, in the following seasons we will know that yes, it was ALL about Sam. But right now, the characters and the viewers don´t know that. We know that a lot of families were killed by the demon (That at this point was still “The demon” and wouldn´t become Azazael until later), and that he doesn´t take the children. So… how did Sam leap from “this demon attacks families with 6 month old children” to “It´s all about ME!”? He even ignores that Dean and John lost Mary for his last line, when he decides it´s his problem and not their problem. Also, and this is important for the “Dean is the most awful person to Sam” crowd… Dean immediately tells Sam that no, it´s not his fault. While he could harbor some ill feelings against Sam –and demon Dean, 8 seasons later, will voice them- at this point he is 100% on Sam´s side. There’s also a sideway glance from John to DEAN when Sam claims that everything is about him, and then I wonder exactly why, if John knew all about the fact that the demon chased six month old children specifically, he never resented Sam over it. One would think that given John’s love for Mary and deep desire to revenge, Sam would really be the outcast and the one only treated like a soldier (as he claims he was, but not really as we’ve seen), instead of Dean who was completely blameless in the whole thing.

(Also, this is the first time we see that Azazael´s plan didn´t make much sense IF we believed that Kirkpe had everything planned. But that´s a discussion for another time)

Anyway, John interrupts the argument to explain that while he has no idea what the demon is after (Another thing that later would be contradicted as he knew Sam had powers), but that he has managed to figure out his pattern of attack to the point that it even repeated it for Jessica’s killing (Even if much, much later, we’ll learn that it wasn’t Azazael the one who killed her, and Demons would completely forego the signs when attacking. Have I mentioned I miss the times when the myths made sense?) and the three of them pack up for their first real hunt together as they decide they will save the next baby on the demon’s list, in a town named Salvation.

Important thing to note: when John recites the demon signs, Dean immediately replies “that happened in Lawerence”. He remembers, quite clearly, what happened a week before his mother died even if logistically, at his age? He wouldn’t care nor notice. Sure, he remembers his mom’s death because that was traumatic. But random cow deaths before that? Weird show.

If Sam noticed or not the signs before Jessica died, we don’t know. John is the one who points out they happened.

After two gorgeous road shots where we see John’s truck being followed by Baby (yet another thing we lost, John’s truck. I know we needed to have the guys together all the time, but man, if Sam had inherited it, they would’ve been able to cover more terrain at times, have double the arsenal and maybe not being identified by everyone and their leviathan in season 7, but I digress), and just entering Salvation John stops, obviously spooked by something. As Dean stops behind him, they find out that Pastor Jim is dead, and John got a call from another hunter named Caleb to tell him. They assume it may be the demon they’re chasing, or maybe another demon that was looking for Pastor Jim specifically but that last theory is not very probable.

Here I have to pause to applaud Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s acting, as you can practically FEEL John’s despair at knowing an old friend of him died, and that HE was probably the cause for that death. A Winchester trait, of course, blaming themselves for everything bad that happens in their world, but unlike Sam’s early outburst, here it seems far more desperate. Of course, JDM had a lot more experience than Jared at that point, but I really wanted to make a note of it because we lost a LOT of that characterization for John, where he actually WORRIED about people and not just the hunt. Even as he decides the plan for finding out what baby the demon will take in a week, we can see him broken and confused. So much that while Sam calls him “sir” when receiving orders, Dean continues the conversation by calling him “Dad”.

John then declares that this ends now, obviously feeling responsible for what happened to his friend. A long shot from the flanderized man we’d hear about in future seasons who was infamous for letting his hunting partners die without so much as a second glance.

Also, and not to be mean to the writers, but in their endless accidentally making Sam unsympathetic, they made him say that there were too many children in the county that could be a victim and that it would take forever to check all of them. While I KNOW the intent was to make clear that they had a deadline of one week, it comes out weirdly as “I don’t want to do the footwork.” Seriously, writers should be careful with that.

Actually, let’s dissect that. Because I just thought of two ways they could’ve fixed it AND give us more info.

JOHN Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health centre in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week.

SAM Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?

JOHN We check em all that's how. You got any better ideas?

SAM No sir.

So, first way to make Sam not look that bad: Give the line to Dean. I wouldn’t like it specially, but hey, he’s the sidekick, not the hero, and so far he has only wanted to bail on ONE hunt because he wasn’t sure it was a supernatural hunt so he’d be better standing than Sam in that regard.

Second way: Make Sam say that YES, he has a better idea. Because the brothers ALREADY faced Max, so he could say they could look for a baby that was a bit “strange”, like, with poltergeist stuff going around. John could not believe him, but at least Sam would be being proactive.

In any case, they separate as John planned and we see each of them get into the hospital records. We get a glimpse of John’s collection of fake IDs, that include one for a Morgue forensic doctor, then Sam getting a homely nurse giving him files and him taking notes, and Dean… getting flirty with a very hot nurse.

And I make a point of the “Oh, look, Dean is an irresponsible womanizer” trope because once again the writers shoot themselves in the foot by showing the opposite of what they were telling (And no, this time I can’t blame it on Jensen’s acting and refusal to look at his female co-stars without respect).

WOMAN Hi. Is there anything I can do for you?

DEAN (smiling) Oh God yes.

She smiles and looks down.

DEAN (Holding up his ID) Only I'm uh....working right now, so...

The writers here make us remember that a) Dean is AMAZINGLY charismatic, as the woman IS flattered and seems interested, and b) That he will NOT dump his work for a quickie. We don’t even get a “maybe later” that could make him look as if he was really into her. It’s just that he flirts naturally, or at least, this is what we can infer now, as so far he hasn’t had any one night stand fling. The one time we saw him have a sexual encounter in the middle of a hunt was with an ex-girlfriend.

And again I have to wonder what was Sera Gamble’s intention with those scenes as yes, this was written by the same team as Faith, another episode where Sam’s good intentions tend to have a darker side, and gave Dean some amazingly cool scenes.

We don’t know what Dean says to the woman, as we cut back to Sam, coming out of the hospital just in time to have a very convenient vision of a woman, a nursery and a fire. Thankfully, the vision also comes with the useful audio hint of a train passing by, so Sam gets out his map and starts checking where that could be, which leads him to the house in his vision.

And by this point, we know we’re in the right track and this is an important Myth Arc episode, because Sam only has multiple visions in Myth Arc episodes, and he has one the moment he steps in front of the house in said vision. The gods of convenience smile upon him as right then and there a woman pushing a pram comes by, and he manages to talk to her, all friendly like by pretending to having just moved. Then Sam learns the woman’s name is Monica, her baby is Rosie, and Rosie is just six months old, exactly to the day.

Also, that she’s a very quiet baby and that it sometimes seems as if she was reading your mind. Oh, and that Monica really is blind to suspicious men asking her about her family with a face that reads “Oh shit, this is bad”.

Now, HERE is where the whole “five year myth arc” story falls completely. I mean, we already knew it was pretty unlikely it was real, given Kirkpe’s original interviews, but the mere existence of Rosie contradicts every single future story beat. Because if SHE has powers before Azazael goes into her house, then it means that the babies he was hunting didn’t get powers because of him, just that his blood either connected them (hence Sam’s very specific visions), made said powers far more powerful (quite likely), or made them a little bit more prone to violence/prideful behavior. All of those possibilities match with the plan of “raising” a new King or Queen of Hell, that would be faithful to Azazael, but are a bit iffy on the “finding Lucifer’s vessel” thing. Especially since we later learn that the Angels were also helping, and all Hell knew that Lucifer’s vessel HAD to come from the Winchester/Campbell bloodline due to Cain and Abel being the roots of said bloodline, and later pretty much everyone knew Sam was Lucifer’s vessel so the whole targeting a ton of kids, in particular after Mary’s death, is kinda weird.

Oh, Lux, you will say, it is because he wanted to hide his true intentions! No one knew that Sam had been feed demon blood!

Except that the important parties, namely Heaven and Hell, did. Michael had Heaven convinced of his orders, so even if a rogue angel found out that they were speed running the Apocalypse, said angel could be killed. And any demon who was against getting Lucifer back on top would be smart enough to keep quiet so, why the secrecy?

And again, ok, I buy the original demon blood kids being important to “hide” Lucifer’s vessel but… Rosie? What good would it do to Azazael’s plan to have a psychic 4 year old when Lucifer rose? Was “little four year old girl” a good match against a grown up hunter? What was Azazel thinking, if that was the plan all the time?

Now, I want to make clear this doesn’t make THIS episode or the Season-myth arc bad. This original “Boy King of Hell” storyline WAS good. It had a lot of potential, made sense for Sam and since it was before the days of the eternal “What is wrong with Sam?” seasons, there was no boredom of a repeat. It also set a very good question of what made a monster a monster, which would be explored a bit more in Season 2. And it was long before we realized Dean having a myth arc was a pipe dream, so there was no issue there either. It made sense.

But the fact that the writers kind of forgot about everything I just pointed out with Rosie’s scene to try and weld this to the “Heaven vs. Hell” storyline in season 4, and then just promptly forgot because Sam’s powers were then firmly connected to Azazael’s blood so they never came up again and even worse, we never find another psychic kid that could’ve been feed blood by Azazael THIS year that John was chasing him? (Since we know there were no other survivors from Sam’s generation, and later we have a scene that proves that there were no previous generations to Sam’s), it's kind of weird. Personally, I dunno about you, but maybe a return to this storyline in season 6 would’ve been a lot better than we got. Maybe.

By the way, I am not counting the Boy King of Hell story arc as a dropped plot for Sam yet, as we’re going to keep with this at least until season 3. Yes, now we know it didn’t go anywhere, but at the time, and for these episodes in particular, it was THE myth arc of Supernatural. So it can’t be counted as dropped plot yet.

In any case, Sam goes and tells John and Dean about his vision and… oh, boy do we have to move John’s reaction to Emotional Violence.

It’s not good.

But before he can do more damage to Dean’s psyche, Sam gets a call from our favorite demon, Meg. Even if he doesn’t recognize her voice immediately which is weird because a) he did throw her off a window and one would think that makes a girl memorable, and b) it’s not as he knows that many girls who would call him, despite Dean’s best efforts to get him a new girl.

Meg dismisses Sam and asks for John. She makes clear that she is not playing, that she knows he has the Colt and that he will kill every single person who has ever helped John unless he gives it to her that same day at midnight. And to the brothers’ surprise, John accepts those terms (Unfortunately not before we loss Caleb too. I have a lot less interest in Caleb as a character given that he has exactly half a line in the whole show, but it’s still it’s sad to see a guy so defiant even in the face of death go so soon).

Meg also points out that John having the Colt is a “declaration of war” which is interesting as it sort of implies that if he hadn’t gotten it, then the demons would leave him and the brothers alone. And I find that incredibly funny since… no they won’t. And Azazael would’ve been ok if Sam kept the gun anyway, given why they really wanted and once again I am putting holes on the idea that this was planned from the start, aren’t I?

In any case, John declares that Meg is a demon “or is possessed by one” which… ok? First and only time we get the possibility of a demon not using a meat suit. I don’t think this is a mistake, because after all, this is back before the guys faced demons in a normal basis so they could believe that they had their own bodies besides the ones they possessed (And, more importantly, before there was a retcon that made the brothers face and know about demons since pretty much ever). To be completely fair, as much as I love Jimmy and the whole Lucifer arc once it started to make sense… I would’ve been ok if vessels weren’t needed. It added a lot of complications and ended up making the brothers actual serial killers.

Ahem.

After that little gem of wisdom that will be ignored forever, John declares that he will be taking the gun to Meg to avoid more killing and we get another questionable line for Sam. And I am curious as to how to tally it as it’s the opposite of him wanting to leave the hunt, but it’s not that nice either:

DEAN What do we do?

JOHN I'm going to Lincoln. DEAN What? JOHN It doesn't look lilke we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die.

SAM Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over.

I mean, yes, it is true that the demon is coming for Monica (Well, actually, he’s coming for Rosie, the baby, but I will let that slip pass. Sam is not interested in married ladies), and that with the gun they can kill the demon but it’s not all they’ve got. By this time, Sam has already had his big hero moment when he exorcised a plane in free fall so they could do that, then chase the demon again and then kill it.

But what is jarring is how he hears “a lot of people die, OUR FRIENDS die” and he goes “yeah, whatever, we have a mission to fulfill”.

Which is precisely what later episodes will tell us John used to do, and was the reason why John was not exactly liked by the general hunter population. And at the same time, it’s an eerie reminder of Wendigo, where Sam is willing to let innocents die (his family friends, in this particular case, just as he heard Caleb choke on his own blood) in order to get his way (revenge on the demon that killed Jess. NOT revenge on the demon that killed his mom, since at this point, Sam is still on the “I never knew that woman” train of thought).

Sure, his mind is in the hunt, and that’s commendable because yes, in the long run, killing Azazael would save more innocents (And probably stop the Apocalypse, not that Sam or the writers at that time know it), but it is still strange to see our nominal hero simply not care for his friends’ lives. I mean, at this point WE don’t know about Bobby, so the closest to a parental figure that is not John that Sam had was Pastor Jim and he just DIED.

Worst part is, this could be solved really easy: Just have DEAN be the one who voices the complaint, and have “empathic” Sam mumble that there has to be a way to save everyone (Which, of course, John will mention in a second). It would make Dean look bad, sure, but we’ve been told once and again that Dean never, EVER goes against John plans. Which… not true, ut we will talk about that later. The scene continues, and John declares that he will go to Meg alone, with a fake Colt and while Dean thinks that that won’t work, Sam has a different complaint:

DEAN Yeah but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?

JOHN I just...I just need to buy a few hours, that's all.

SAM You mean for Dean and me. You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?

JOHN No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want....I want Mary alive. It's just....I just want this to be over.

And oh, boy. Do this four lines again hold so much weight.

First, once again, Dean seems to be worried for John (logically, he’s their dad), while Sam is making the weirdest line in the universe sort of work because he’s complaining that John is trusting them to kill the demon, something HE wants to do and not four seconds ago was saying they had to do, as if it was John shifting HIS job to Sam. Seriously, I don’t want to think the worst of Sam but when you take out Jared’s acting, the text doesn’t do the younger Winchester’s any favors.

And finally… John’s lines that encompass pretty much Dean’s philosophy in the following seasons. “I want to stop losing people we love” is pretty telling, but what comes next? He actually WANTS Sam to go back to college and not worry about the Supernatural. He actively agrees that Dean doesn’t have a home, and WANTS Dean to have one. It’s as close as love as we’ll see from John to Dean in Season 1, and it hurts. It hurts because we can tell he knows he won’t be there to see it… and now, in hindsight with the finale having aired, we also know Dean didn’t get that. (And to be fair, this is the John who did deserve Heaven. Not the flanderized version we’d get in the future)

Although, ironically, Mary got to be alive again, so… One out of three?

(No, seriously, it’s obvious the writers didn’t even remember this speech when Season 12 hit, much less Season 15)

Ahem.

Dean is sent to get a fake Colt, while Sam and John wait for him. If they talked about anything, we don’t know, but when they exchange guns, Dean voices what we all know is true:

DEAN You know this is a trap don't you. That's why Meg wants you to come alone?

JOHN I can handle her. I got a whole arsenal loaded. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets...

DEAN Dad... JOHN What? DEAN Promise me something. JOHN What's that. DEAN This thing goes south just...get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed all right, you're no good to us dead. JOHN Same goes for you. (There is a long pause) All right listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count.

SAM Yes sir.

JOHN Been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you boys now. It's your fight, you finish this. You finish what I started. Understand?

Again, I wish they remembered all they had to get rid of demons before, you know, killing everyone willy-nilly. I mean, I don’t even think I know what Mandalac IS but hey, John says it works, it works. And once more, Dean gets a line that makes clear he is the empathic, loving brother, when it wouldn’t have hurt Sam to say it. In fact, it would make clear that no matter what, he doesn’t hate John. But nope, Sam only acts like the soldier we’re TOLD Dean is, while Dean makes clear that for him, family is more important than revenge (And boy will that come to bite him in the ass later, not in the series, but in this same episode).

Also, I have to admit. When I started this rewatch, John’s final line was just a good moment for John to start letting go of his anger. Now? After that horrid finale? It hurts so, so much. But it hurts more because I KNOW that there’s no way it was intentional. Obviously, Kirkpe didn’t know the series would last 15 years, and I highly doubt Dabb remembered this scene when writing 15x20. But even so, it ends up being Dean’s epitaph. OUCH.

In any case, the Winchester separate again, and we go into act three. Get ready for the feels.

John Winchester hunting alone is a thing of beauty. Seeing him scope the place, check the water tank and immediately think of a plan? Makes me wish Jeffrey Dean Morgan had stayed longer on the show. Sure, John became an asshole, but in this episode he’s still not that bad, we still have no episodes that make clear he didn’t care for Dean, and wasn’t textually abusive. And I am willing to bet that if JDM had stayed, John would’ve evolved more to be a Bobby-like character. But well, What ifs is not why you came to this meta for.

As John is hunting, the brothers are staking out the house were they know Azazael will attack. And while they talk and decide that they have no way to get the family out (In a nice callback to how none of their excuses ever work) we get to this little gem of an exchange:

SAM I wonder how Dad's doing.

DEAN I'd feel a lot better if we were there backing him up.

SAM I'd feel a lot better if he were here backing us up.

Where once again we see where the brother’s priorities lie, and I wonder why the hell the writers ever thought they were writing Sam as an empathic character.

Because yes, Dean is wishing he could be out there helping his Dad, proving that for him, it has always been about the family. Not the hunting, but the protecting. But Sam doesn’t want to protect John. He wants John protecting Them. And helping them in the revenge hunt, not trying to save others.

Sure, we know the brothers are there to save an innocent mother, but John is also saving a ton of hunters and people who, in the past, were nice and open to the family. And it would’ve been so much easier to make Sam look better if he instead had said “I’d feel a lot better if we hadn’t had to separate” or something like that, that proved he saw BOTH missions were important.

Seriously, I do wonder why the writers made these choices, and I wish someone had asked this at cons.

We go back to John, who, really, Is an amazing hunter even if he is a horrible father. Also, I wonder if he got ordained at a web church, in order to be able to sanctify water. That would be such a John Winchester thing to do, and I do wonder why the boys never did it too. ANYWAY, he hands the gun to Meg, and to her ally that came so that we could have a scene to prove the Colt is fake as the ally shoots Meg.

As John says, Meg was lucky the gun was fake. And once again, I do wonder what the plan was if it WAS the Colt. I mean, Meg was Azazael’s second in command. Why would nameless demon risk killing her? Or did he kinow the gun was fake?

In any case, this makes the moment where we can be 100% sure that Meg’s meat suit 1.0 was dead. I mean, she could’ve survived the fall in Shadow, but a bullet to the chest? No way.

We go back to the brothers, and Sam breaks every single law of a procedural show by giving this great speech about how thankful he is to Dean for everything, and how he needs to say that “in case” something happened.

Dean is definitely not impressed and reminds him that the only one dying today is Azazael.

As we see John temporarily escape from Meg and her muscle boy, we go back to the brothers who see the demon omens start up so they get ready for the final fight.

The brothers manage to save Monica and her baby, despite the very understandable interference from Hubbard, the husband (I mean, you would not react nicely to two strangers intruding in your house and yelling to your wife to not go into the nursery room), however, before Sam can shoot Azazel, he disappears into smoke (A really interesting question here is, WHY did Sam wait to shoot and then wasted a bullet, but I digress).

Going completely against M.O, Azazael makes the CRIB burst into flames, but fortunately Dean has already gotten Rosie out of it so the brothers escape the flaming house. While Monica cries her thanks, Sam notices that Azazael is still inside, and tries to go after him, but Dean stops him because he is not going to lose his brother to the fire. By the way, I am not counting “Dean stopping Sam from going into a burning building” as “Dean forcing Sam to do something” since, uh, he was saving Sam’s life and it’s something anyone in Dean’s place would’ve done.

At the same time, we see John getting captured by Meg and her muscle boy because he didn’t think about getting a third escape route (But honestly? That was pretty much a plot necessity. John was HEAVILY prepared for that fight)

Back in the hotel, Dean is worried that John is not answering his calls, while Sam is furious that Dean didn’t let him kill himself by running into a burning house. They have a nasty fight that mirrors the one they had back in the pilot, but since it IS a fight between the brothers, you know the drill. We’re examining it under Violence.

Once Sam calms down, he tells Dean to try calling John again. Unfortunately, it’s Meg who answers and she tells Dean that they’re never seeing their dad again.

And we get the first “To be continued” for the series (Which to be honest, despite all the little continuity mistakes I mentioned here? Is still pretty epic)

Violence

Well, we had to run out of episodes where the brothers don’t fight each other at some point, didn’t we?

This fight, over Sam wanting to kill himself in his search for revenge, is a very neat parallel to the fight they had back in the Pilot, over Sam NOT wanting to even involve himself in the family’s search for revenge. Which I know it’s supposed to be ironic and a show of character growth since now Dean is the one saying that revenge is not worth their lives but… it falls a little bit flat because the reason why Sam is so gung-ho in killing Azazael is, once again, a very selfish one and the way in he expresses it makes it quite clear. (Again, I do wonder if the writers stopped to think about the implications of Sam only getting really into hunting when it was about him or his losses?)

But let’s start at the beginning:

SAM If you had just let me go in there, I coulda ended all this.

DEAN Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your life.

SAM You don't know that.

DEAN So what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?

SAM Yeah. Yeah you're damn right I am.

DEAN Well that's not going to happen, not as long as I'm around.

This right here? Is a nice summary of the relationship of the brothers for the whole series. Sam wants to do something stupid, like, say, running into a burning building, Dean is there to stop him before he hurts himself.

Also, let’s make clear the use of first person by Sam. It’s not “We coulda ended this”, as in the family ending the hunt, but “I coulda ended this”. Again, at this point, not something that is a problem, but considering hindsight, we can see how the writers are completely invested in SAM as a sole main character, and write him as such, while Dean is more of the sidekick.

In any case, the argument continues, still not escalating to violence.

SAM What the hell are you talking about Dean, we've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the only thing we've ever cared about.

DEAN Sam I wanna waste it. I do. Okay? But it's not worth dying over.

SAM What?

DEAN I mean it. If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing.

Important thing how Sam apparently forgot he left for four (two) years and wanted out of the family business, now that he is angry and into the revenge thing. It’s not “You’ve been searching for this demon your whole life”, which would’ve been correct AND a logical counterargument against Dean. Before this episode, Sam was supposedly the brother who understood that revenge was a way of living, while Dean is the one who was Daddy’s little soldier. But here, when it actually would matter to the narrative, it is as if Sam’s wishes for a normal life are completely forgotten and it’s Dean the one who understands that there’s more to living than revenge (Which, btw, is consistent through the season despite everyone claiming that Dean needs Sam to keep hunting. All season, Dean has been giving Sam outs, telling him it’s ok to quit)

And of course, Dean here proves that Sam is more important to him than revenge for his mother, as he is willing to never get to kill the demon as long as his family, his brother in particular, survives.

Poor Dean.

SAM That thing killed Jess. That thing killed Mom.

DEAN You said yourself once, that no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back.

SAM Don't you say that, not you! Not after all this don't you say that.

DEAN Sam look. The three of us...that's all we have...and it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together man...and without you or Dad....

Unfortunately, script doesn’t quiet convey the scene as there’s a LONG pause between “That thing killed Jess” and “That thing killed Mom”. Enough so that we can believe that Sam is using that second phrase not because he cares (in the Pilot he made clear he didn’t), but to make Dean get on board with the whole “I can kill myself if it means getting revenge” plan. In other words, once again, Sam is weaponizing Mary against Dean, and that is a really nasty habit the younger Winchester never quite shakes out of. Instead, Dean shows how he LISTENED to Sam back in the Pilot and repeats Sam’s words to him on the bridge.

Which is when Sam loses it and pushes Dean against a wall, Dean not defending himself at all, and yells that Dean has no right to say what Sam told Dean the very first hunt they had together after years of separation.

And of course, once Dean mentions their father, Sam starts calming down. NOT when Dean says that he’s barely holding it together, or that he only has them. Just when he mentions their father who is, in Sam’s mind, the one who can help him get revenge.

The fight ends, but Sam never once apologizes for what he said to Dean, nor for the fight. Which, by the way, contradicts his claim that Dean “always has his back”.

Emotional Violence

Whenever we have John on an episode, we’re going to have to talk about emotional violence and I kind of hate that because on one hand, I get how John could’ve been a very tragic figure that loved his sons but still wanted to avenge his wife, and not being the abusive bastard we know and don’t love that much.

When Sam and Dean explain about Sam’s visions, and how they started as nightmares but have grown in intensity, his reaction is quite subdued, but clear. He is not happy, but the problem isn’t the visions –for a man obsessed with the supernatural, his outward reaction to his younger son being a psychic is quite calm- but that they didn’t inform him of what was going on:

JOHN All right. When were you going to tell me about this?

DEAN We didn't know what it meant.

JOHN All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me.

DEAN dumps the coffee jug and cup back on the counter and strides toward JOHN.

DEAN Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad I called you from Lawrence all right? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.

JOHN You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.

And let’s be clear, John’s anger is not directed at Sam, it’s directed at Dean. “Something like this starts happening to your brother” is not “Something like this starts happening to either of you”. Which is also a show of how good an actor JOHN is in universe because WE know that he knew. Missouri TOLD him point blank that Sam was powerful and that he could have known that John was around during the Home episode. But here, he acts as if this was news to him when he could ALSO have told them what to expect if that happened. (Mind you, I am assuming that Sera Gamble knew or remembered about Home’s script when writing this and didn’t just forget or was unaware that John was supposed to know)

Now, all season, Sam has been complaining and yelling about how John doesn’t answer their calls, doesn’t seem to care what’s going on with them. So it’d be logical and in character for Sam to say something here. But instead is DEAN, Dad’s little soldier, the one we’ve SEEN obeying John without question finally have enough and talk back to his father with some truths. And it’s VERY interesting that his first complain is not that John didn’t care that Dean almost died, but that he didn’t reply when Dean called from Lawrence. One could almost infer that Dean expected John not to care if Dean died, but was honestly hurt that he didn’t care about a case that could’ve involved MARY.

John, surprisingly, sort of agrees. He does say “I’m sorry”, which makes him the Winchester who is quicker to say those words… but he still manages to make a threat against Dean “I am not too crazy about this NEW tone of yours”.

Making it clear that before? Dean never talked back. And John doesn’t like it when his soldiers talk back.

It makes it hard to believe John ever thought of Dean as his son and makes it very clear why Dean never understood Sam’s confidence that Dean was the favored one.

Speeches and Apologies

I considered not including this particular speech, but then I remembered that Supernatural is ALSO famous for their big emotional speeches, and this is Sam’s first, and also, Dean’s first time listening to someone he cares about give him the “I am saying goodbye because I am going kamikaze” speech and after all the drama in season 15, I guess it’s necessary to do some dissection.

It is important that despite all the things that Sam has done to Dean, the words “I’m sorry” are never uttered here.

SAM Dean...ah...I wanna thank you. DEAN For what? SAM For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And ah...I don't know I just wanted to let you know, Just in case DEAN Whoa whoa whoa, are you kidding me? SAM What? DEAN Don't say just in case something happens to you. I don't wanna hear that freaking speech man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except that demon. That evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?

This is not a bad “freaking speech”. I understand why Dean didn’t want to hear it, because it is like jinxing the mission (And, let’s be honest, it did), but it’s not a bad speech.

Except that, reading it again, it lacks one important part. Sure, Sam thanks Dean for always being there (Forgetting that, at least three times this season alone, he has accused Dean of not having his back and being unreliable. Which will ALSO be a constant theme in the series’s long run), but he never mentions the times HE did things that would be hard to back up. Which, again, I am not counting as a bad thing against him in this precise moment in time, since he is young, in his roaring roadtrip of revenge, and we’ve only know the brothers for a year, but it is the beginning of a series’ long crutch to make us forgive all of Sam’s sins without him actually doing the work to be forgiven.

On the other hand, it all goes to waste a bit later when Sam starts hitting Dean for the horrible sin of not letting him run into a burning building and kill himself so… it’s not really a “thank you for having my back” speech but a “You better remember, you never fight me and my choices are the best” speech in hindsight. Which… not good on Sam, no.

Double narrative standards

This episode is kind of balanced, except for that little moment where we’re supposed to think Dean is wrong for telling Sam that revenge is not worth their lives. So there’s not much to write in this particular segment.

Final Tally

Ok, back in the saddle. And after all that, I decided not to tally Sam’s little slip about not caring if their loved ones die as long as he gets to kill Azazael. Let me know if you disagree.

The count is still not good on Sam’s side, but as always, you are free to disagree with me, and dm me if you think I missed a tally or I should change one. If your argument is solid and canon based, I will listen to it and may change the numbers.

Numbers (or the TL;DR summary)

(Episode/Total so far)

Times Dean has lied to Sam or to a loved one: 0 / 0

Times Sam has lied to Dean or to a loved one: 0 / 3

Times Dean has been caught in a lie: 0 / 0

Times Sam has been caught in a lie: 0 / 1

Times Dean has hit Sam in anger: 0 / 1

Times Sam has hit Dean in anger: 1 / 4

Times Dean's lies or secrets have caused someone's death: 0 / 0

Times Sam's lies or secrets have caused someone's death: 0 / 1

Times Dean has abandoned (Or wanted to abandon) a hunt in the middle for his own needs: 0 / 0

Times Sam has abandoned (Or wanted to abandon) a hunt in the middle for his own needs: 0 / 7

Times Dean forced Sam to do something: 0 / 0

Times Sam forced Dean to do something: 0 / 7

Secrets kept by Dean: 0 / 1

Secrets kept by Sam: 0 / 2

Times Dean has blamed Sam for something: 0 / 0

Times Sam has blamed Dean for something: 1 / 4

Times Dean has apologized with words to Sam: 0 / 3

Times Sam has apologized with words to Dean: 0 / 2

Times Dean has respected Sam's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 7

Times Sam has respected Dean's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 0

Times Dean hasn't respected Sam's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 0

Times Sam hasn't respected Dean's boundaries and / or rules: 0 / 13

Times Dean has made fun of something Sam does or has: 0 / 6

Times Sam has made fun of something Dean does or has: 0 / 31

Times we focus on Dean's needs: 0 / 1

Times we focus on Sam's needs: 1 / 6

Arc episodes dedicated to Sam: 1 / 7

Filler episodes dedicated to Sam: 0 / 6

Arc episodes dedicated to Dean: 0 / 0

Filler episodes dedicated to Dean: 0 / 4

Arc episodes dedicated to both brothers (or to none): 0 / 2

Filler episodes dedicated to both brothers (or to none): 0 / 2

Dean's Dropped Plotlines: 0 / 1

Sam's Dropped Plotlines: 0 / 2

#Supernatural rewatch project #Salvation #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #not very Sam positive #John Winchester #Season 1 #Season 1 episode 20 #SPN #Supernatural meta

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djungelskogkin · 3 years

Text

I hold your hand in mine

West mourns for Dan in his own way.

Title and fic based on the Tom Lehrer song I Hold Your Hand In Mine

CW: Canon-typical violence, Canon-typical drug usage, Character death

It was gone. Their home at the mortuary. His life’s work. His newly born daughter. Dan.

Sitting in his latest shithole motel room, West had little left to do besides contemplate his failures. Being a fugitive of the law meant he could no longer afford the luxury of a basement laboratory. That setback, West told himself, was what had to be the logical reason behind the hollow pressure in his chest.

West was lethargic, a feeling he hadn’t had a day in his life to grow accustomed to. He wanted nothing to do with further perfecting his serum or finding new cadavers to test theories on. As he sat on the nausea-inducing floral bedspread, the former doctor began his nightly routine. West tied a rubber cord around his upper arm and plunged a needle into the container of Re-Agent he kept above the ever-present Bible drawer. Even on the run, he knew he was above false gods.

Plagued with, frankly childish, nightmares of recent events, Herbert was desperate to not close his eyes. He knew he was overdosing himself. He knew it was only a matter of time before his brain or heart suffered failure. Or spontaneously combusted.

Logic could not overcome the former doctor as he pushed the needle into skin. West felt a rogue tear seep out and make it’s way down his face as he remembered how Dan would hold him and help him administer his serum.

Dan. How he missed his ridiculous roommate. The man was a nuisance; a creature who couldn’t reach his brain (brilliant in his own right, but nowhere near West’s intellect) past his heart and what hung between his legs. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to have Daniel back.

Ah, there’s the irony. West let out a dry chuckle as his jittering hands reached for the finale of his nightly routine. There was no bringing Dan back. He was beyond saving, much like how Herbert felt now.

When the mortuary crumbled around them, West desperately dug through the rumble. His bloodied hands scrambled for purchase on anything. All was completely lost; the doctor looked at his chipped and broken nails with defeat. With one last sweep, Herbert spotted a beacon of hope. He reached for the familiar hand and pulled hard. Relief came with a sickening pop! as Dan’s arm was severed from the rest of his crumpled form.

Fresh parts fresh parts fresh parts fresh parts-

The mantra stained his brain. West knew if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have hesitated to find whatever Re-Agent survived. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Dan. With only his arm left, West understood that there was minimal data left to retrieve from reanimation. That was the logic he kept pressing into himself as he rubbed furiously at his eyes behind broken glasses. This was simply a scientific loss of study opportunity.

West knew then that he had to “get the hell out of dodge.” He wasn’t sure why the phrase came to mind, but it sounded like something Dan would say. Before fleeing, Herbert collected a large enough container to house Dan’s arm and supplies he deemed necessary for what he knew would be his last study.

While he was no embalmer, West felt that he had enough experience around cadavers to be an honorary graduate from mortuary school. The former doctor knew anatomy like the back of his hand and the chemical process to preserve Dan’s almost felt below him. Almost.

Under the dingy fluorescent lighting of the likely roach infested room, Dan’s arm looked magnificent. Cleanly severed at the elbow, West looked down at his last surviving tie, still blotched with long-dried stains from Dan’s blood. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if it really was his roommate’s.

It felt more poetic to believe it was.

Tracing a shaking finger down the length of the dismembered arm, West reached the hand. He held the weight and formed his fingers around ones which once curled inwards to meet. For a moment, Dan wasn’t dead. A trick of the light. A mean-spirited joke.

Rage demanded to boil beneath his collar. West craved nothing more than to be mad at the world. To be outraged. He wanted to throw the offensive arm. He wanted to hold it up and bite the fingers off. One by one. Until all that was left was severed bone.

But Herbert was so tired.

Even with Re-Agent coursing his veins, West had no energy for anger. He brought the hand closer, wishing desperately that under the cologne he couldn’t smell formaldehyde. Placing a gentle kiss across the knuckles, Herbert felt his mask crack.

He couldn’t go on like this. For all his anti-social grandeur and briskly cold demeanor, West could not survive without his assistant. His partner.

Resigned to his fate, Herbert stayed in the motel room with the last piece of his dear Dan,

And till they come to get me

I shall hold your hand in mine.

#reanimator #herbert west #daniel cain #danbert #fanfiction #gore (?) its mostly just the dismembered arm #first reanimator fic so I welcome feedback!! :)

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Next Cinderella AU part ahoy!

Conical hats were actually considered very fashionable during the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. What’s fascinating, however, is how they evolved into two very distinct and oddly opposing styles of hat: the stereotypical “Pilgrim” hat and the pointed hat that witches are generally depicted wearing! Around the turn of the 17th century, the most stylish variation of black conical hat was called the capotain, which is a cone, but with a rounded top -- the hat McGonagall wears in that top sketch is one of these types of hats (her dress is based on this design, which also features a shorter version of the capotain). The hats were originally fashionable among both men and women, but over time, one group of women that was most associated with wearing them were Quakers, a branch of Christianity that broke away from the Church of England and advocated quite liberated views for the era, such as the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, and a refusal to involve themselves in war. They also passionately believed that one didn’t have to attend church in order to be close to God and that one could practice one’s faith out in the world by living and dressing modestly and being active in charity work. (To learn more about the history of how the conical hat evolved into our modern image of “the witch hat,” check out this awesome fashion history video on the subject.) As one can expect, Quakers and Quaker women in particular were not well-taken-to by a lot of European society, especially by the religious movement on the opposite site of the political scale in Britain, the uber-conservative, Bible-purist Puritans. Many of these same Puritan-types got very involved in hunting witches both in Europe and in the Americas (the Salem Witch Trials are a perfect example). But yes...if one looks up pictures of historical clothing for Puritan men and/or “the Pilgrims” (A.K.A. the group of Americans that colonized Plymouth, who were Puritans), they very often wore a variation of the capotain! Although it’s been theorized by historians that the capotains worn by Quaker women ended up being associated with sin and therefore witchcraft, similar hats were also worn by the men who persecuted them. The hats were worn by both sides -- victim and accuser -- and yet most of us today look at the capotain and immediately think “witch” exclusively. Talk about irony.

Greensleeves is often ascribed as being commissioned by King Henry VIII for his second wife, Anne Boleyn (even Six the Musical references this)...but it actually was written in the later half of the 16th century, when Anne’s daughter Elizabeth I was Queen. So yeah, that’s sadly just an old wives tale. But it is a lovely song! The melody for Greensleeves has been remarkably long-lasting, even being rewritten as multiple Christmas songs over the centuries, including the still popular What Child is This?, which was written in 1865.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn very quickly threw on her mother’s green-sleeved yellow dress and as many warm wool petticoats as she could before fetching her white horse from the palace stable. She rode up through the gate in exactly twenty-five minutes, to find Orion on his black mare waiting for her. Carewyn was ready to ask Orion if everything was all right, but almost as soon as they’d left the perimeter of the gate, Orion urged his horse into a fast gallop.

“Come, my lady,” he cried over his shoulder, “let us chase that horizon!”

Carewyn had to send her horse charging forward in its own gallop to catch up with him. They rode right through the market and then out of the capitol altogether -- they avoided the road that led toward the Cromwell estate, dashing eastward. They weaved in and out of the rolling snow-capped hills, riding beside and around each other. The freedom of riding alone was enough to bring some life back into Orion’s cheeks, and Carewyn despite herself soon found herself smiling.

When they came to a stop at the top of a hill close to the northern border, Orion looked out over the edge with a handsome, endless gleam in his eye, like that of a sailor looking out to sea. Carewyn once again prepared to ask Orion if he was all right...but once again, Orion dodged the question.

“Do you see that eagle, overhead?” asked Orion.

Carewyn looked up. She did -- it was a truly handsome golden eagle, gliding in a circle through the air over their heads.

“I’ve seen eagles just like that nearly every day, up and down the border,” said Orion. “Shall we see if we can ride fast enough to overtake it in flight? Could we take flight as birds do, without ever spreading wings?”

“Orion...”

Carewyn brought a hand gently down on his arm.

“I know there’s something wrong,” she whispered.

Orion looked at her, his expression losing most of its levity and becoming much blanker and more inscrutable again.

“I understand if you can’t tell me,” she insisted softly. Her blue eyes rested on her own hand on his arm rather than his face -- with the intense concern she felt, she didn’t dare expose them further by looking straight into his eyes. “And I truly don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Your secrets are your own, and I know you have a reason for them.”

Just as I have mine.

“I only...I can tell you’re running from something...maybe even the thing you’ve being running from, every time you’ve come to see me, all these weeks...and I don’t know what to do, to protect you from what you’re so afraid of. Please...tell me what I can do.”

Orion’s black eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, rippling with many tiny flickers of emotion that were hard to properly identify -- pain? Affection? Anxiety? Evasiveness? Shame? Longing? Who knew?

At last the Prince of Florence brought a hand out to gingerly rest on top of Carewyn’s on his arm.

“Chase that eagle with me,” he said softly.

Carewyn looked up at Orion and then at the eagle overhead as it soared off toward the nearby woods. Then she gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.

“...All right.”

Dislodging herself from Orion, Carewyn steadied her grip on her horse’s reins and flicked them to make it gallop toward the woods.

“Well, come on, then!” she called over her shoulder with the strongest smile she could. “T’would be a shame if I out-rode you in a challenge you set yourself!”

Orion’s face broke out into a brighter, fond smile and he pursued her.

The two rode their horses down the hill and into the trees. Racing side by side, overtaking each other in their strides and then catching up again -- all while Orion smiled so fully and handsomely, and looked at her with such blazing midnight-black eyes -- was a joy that Carewyn had trouble putting into proper words. His expression was full of such silent, and yet unbridled joy -- free, in every sense of the word.

“You should be allowed to feel like that more often,” Orion’s words returned to her. “Free.”

You should be allowed to feel like that too, Orion, thought Carewyn. You deserve to feel this free all the time.

The two rode with speed until they’d finally lost sight of the beautiful golden eagle. Slowing their horses into a calmer trot, they then journeyed through the trees, enjoying the peaceful serenity of the chirping birds and the pools of sunlight scattered across the muddy, snow-dusted ground.

“I’ve never been out this far before,” Carewyn confessed, her almond-shaped blue eyes trailing over the interlaced branches overhead.

Orion looked at her out the side of his eye. “...This close to the border, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Carewyn caught a strange scent in the distance -- something vaguely like the fires she’d tend to back at the castle and the Cromwell estate.

“...Something’s burning...”

Orion nodded solemnly. “Bonfires. The Royaumanian and Florentine camps aren’t far from here.”

Carewyn looked at Orion, slightly startled. His gaze had wandered northward, but it was clear his mind was far from the trees his eyes were idly resting on.

“We’re near the war front?” asked Carewyn softly.

“Yes...” Orion glanced her out the side of his eye. “...Are you frightened?”

“No,” said Carewyn.

She looked through the trees in the direction Orion had been facing.

Jacob could be over there right now, she thought to herself. The idea of seeing her brother for the first time in nine years -- of hugging him again and seeing his relieved smile -- it made her feel like her heart was being squeezed.

Orion’s black eyes scanned her longing, but fearless face, before shifting back in the direction of the trees that obscured the path toward the war front.

“The scales are going to shift again, soon,” he whispered. He could feel Carewyn’s eyes on him again. “The two sides have constantly fought for dominance...lashing out ruthlessly and then retaliating, back and forth, until they’re forced to come to a stalemate, just to catch their breath. Then one lashes out again, and the precarious balance is thrown to the winds once more...”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with concern. “Orion...is something bad about to happen, out there?”

Orion closed his eyes. His father claimed he needed him, in order to lead the Florentine army in the two-pronged attack on Royaume...but it wasn’t unlikely that the King might make do and find someone else to fill that role...

“Hopefully not,” he said softly.

Carewyn reached out a hand and took hold of Orion’s wrist. Orion looked down at her hand and then up at her face -- she had trouble looking at him, but he could tell her eyes were rippling with concern. His heart felt like it was suddenly being harshly compressed, just to fit inside of his chest.

You wish to protect me from what I fear...but what I fear, I should wish to protect you from.

The King’s words returned to his mind.

“When you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

But how could he hope to protect Carewyn from the War and the cost it would demand? How could he hope to stop it, when his own father unknowingly would be sabotaging his efforts for peace? How could he live with himself, if he had to chain himself to the War the way the King had -- to fight against the Royaumanians he’d met and broken bread with as equals?

Orion took several deep breaths before speaking again.

“...My father wishes me to join him, at the front,” he admitted lowly.

Carewyn looked up, startled. “...Your father’s in the army?”

“Yes,” said Orion. “He’s...a high-ranking officer. He expects that I will follow his example and lead our ranks into battle.”

Carewyn considered Orion for a moment. “...You don’t want to.”

Orion’s eyes darkened significantly. “...I don’t want to.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, he pressed on.

“My father believes that the War can only be ended through force -- that justice can be only brought about by utterly destroying our enemy. But...I cannot believe that. I grew up on the border between Florence and Royaume. The town I’m from is so close that one could hop easily from one to the other. It caused some tensions, yes...but it also made it so that at first meeting, or even third or fourth, you never knew what side of the divide a person was on. And so I found myself constantly thinking...what is it that truly separates us? Is it morality? Is it values? Humanity? And yet I don’t think either side can boast having any of those things exclusively. It instead all comes back to a mistake made fifty years ago -- a land dispute that ended more violently than it should have. So many people have died, all because of that...and because neither King has decided to be the better man and choose forgiveness over vengeance.”

Orion bowed his head, his eyes closing solemnly.

“...My father asked me to help him lead the army, in an upcoming attack on the enemy forces -- one that he believes could end the War once and for all. But...”

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“...I couldn’t accept that burden...so I left.”

Carewyn didn’t respond. Orion scanned her face, trying to read her reaction, but it was proving difficult when she wouldn’t look at him.

Does she...disapprove? he couldn’t help but think. She did think he was Royaumanian -- she didn’t understand that he wanted to protect her brother, not prevent him from returning home...but how could he explain that to her, without...?

“I know that the War could end, if my father’s strategy succeeds,” Orion explained, trying to keep his voice level despite the anxiety he felt, “but this is only one strategy of hundreds, all of which have failed. And even if our side was victorious...however many lives I could potentially save by fighting, I would be snuffing out far more. I realize that this is my responsibility alone, and sometimes one must be willing to do what others will not, to reach their goal...but flowers bloom under sunlight and water, not blood. If we could avoid burning a forest to the ground, wouldn’t it then be easier to bring it back to life?”

“Yes...but if someone wants to set a forest ablaze, you have to act if you want to stop them.”

Carewyn’s response was very soft and solemn, but there was no anger or disapproval -- instead, to Orion’s immense relief, it sounded almost encouraging.

“If you believe that Royaume could make peace with Florence, then you need to speak out for it,” she said firmly. “If you see it and believe in it, that’s great...but you need to make others see and believe in it too, if it’s going to really come about. Talk to your father, make him see things as you do -- and if he isn’t able to, then...well, I’ll talk to Andre, and you and he can discuss it together.”

Her lips spread into a gentle smile and she gave his wrist a light squeeze.

“My own family may have profited because of the War, but the people of Royaume, the common man, would celebrate, if peace could come about without further loss. If Florence would also, then that’s a step in the right direction. There’s more than one way to fight for something...all it requires is enough courage to place one’s goal over whatever risks stand in their way.”

Orion stared at Carewyn for a long moment. As he did, the black of his eyes seemed to melt, gaining a warmer, softer light that resembled candlelight rippling in endless, dark water.

“...Carewyn...”

Before he could say anything more, however, there was a loud explosion in the distance. Carewyn’s horse reared back in terror, which in turn spooked Orion’s, and both Carewyn and Orion had to quickly calm their steeds.

“Whoa, whoa,” Carewyn whispered in her horse’s ear, “easy, boy...it’s all right...”

Orion stroked his horse’s mane with a slightly trembling hand, breathing in and out as he tried to steady his heart rate. He then looked at Carewyn with a more serious eye.

“...Perhaps we should make our way back to the valley. It’s not safe here.”

Carewyn looked northward through the trees again. “Do you think your father’s started the attack?”

“No. Coordinated attacks require both strategy and assignments, as well as the element of surprise. I’d say this is a skirmish between younger, less experienced soldiers -- and if so, it’s likely to run farther afield and cause damage outside the designated battlefield.”

Orion could see Carewyn still hesitating. Although there was no fear in her face, she seemed reluctant to leave -- likely thinking of her brother, more than the risk to her own safety...

After a brief flicker of uncertainty, Orion reached out a hand and took hold of Carewyn’s arm not unlike how she’d taken his earlier.

“From everything I’ve heard from you about your brother, I truly cannot see him not doing everything he possibly can, to look out for your well-being...including looking after himself.”

A second smaller explosion in the distance made Orion stiffen slightly, his fingers tightening that bit around Carewyn’s arm.

“...We should move out of harm’s way,” he said as levelly as he could.

Seeing the paleness of Orion’s face, Carewyn relented at once.

“Yes.”

Bringing a hand up onto Orion’s horse’s reins, she directed both of them around so they could start riding back out the way they came.

As they came around a cluster of trees, however, their attention was caught by the sound of the cry of an eagle and many snapping branches. Carewyn’s horse reared back again, just barely dodging a large clump of golden-brown feathers that collided sharply with the ground.

Carewyn once again rushed to soothe her horse. Orion quickly climbed off his horse and bent down to get a better look at what had fallen.

It was a golden eagle, just as brilliant as the one they’d chased into the wood -- perhaps even the same one. It was conscious, but clearly in pain when it tried to return to the air -- its left wing crumpled up against its side and covered in blood and what looked like grayish ash.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed.

“Gunpowder,” he said. “The poor creature’s wing must have been struck by a stray bullet.”

Once she’d successfully soothed her white horse, Carewyn likewise jumped off its back. She dashed over to Orion, hitching up the skirt of her mother’s gown as she went.

“Can you hold him?” she asked.

The eagle gave an angry-sounding cry, baring its sharp talons at both of them, and it tried to hobble away back into the air with its one good wing.

“I don’t think he wants our help,” said Orion.

Undaunted, Carewyn ripped off some fabric from her outer-most petticoat. “Well, he needs it, whether he wants it or not. Can you hold him, please?”

Orion looked at the eagle. Rather than try to grab it, he met the eagle’s eyes and tried not to blink. The eagle looked back at him with a piercing gaze. When Orion extended a hand, the eagle lashed out its talons again -- Orion withdrew, but didn’t flinch.

“Steady,” he said gently.

He waited a moment, keeping eye contact with the bird, and then tried again. This time he was able to move close enough to touch before the eagle lashed out with its claws again.

“Peace,” said Orion patiently. “We mean you no harm, feathered friend.”

Another loud explosion in the distance made both the eagle and Orion flinch.

“That one sounded closer,” said Carewyn, her voice faintly tense but as gentle as she could. “We need to be quick.”

The flames of his childhood home were returning to Orion’s mind despite his best efforts, and he shut them out as best he could, closing his eyes and breathing in and out several times. Once he’d reestablished his focus, Orion opened his eyes again.

The eagle looked from Orion to Carewyn almost critically. Finally, after Orion reached in for a third time, it let the Prince run a gentle hand over its back. Once the bird was calm, Orion then carefully extended its wing so that Carewyn could reach it.

“This will likely hurt him a little,” Carewyn told Orion. “Please hold him still, so he won’t fly away.”

Orion brought a hand around the eagle, which fidgeted and cried out indignantly, but did not claw or snap at them. With Orion holding out its wing, Carewyn was able to reach into its blood-soaked feathers and dislodge the bullet. The eagle gave an angry, pained cry, and Carewyn very quickly set about wrapping up the wound with the white fabric she’d ripped out of her petticoat.

“There,” breathed Carewyn, her red lips spreading into a smile. “That should help...”

The bird looked down at its wing, gingerly folding up against its side as it surveyed her with a very beady eye. With a soft click of her tongue against her teeth, she slowly extended an arm out, holding it very still like a branch.

“Climb on,” she cooed. “That’s it...”

The eagle peered Carewyn over, but after a long moment, it gradually scooted over and leapt up onto her arm. Its talons dug into the sleeve of her dress with strength, and it was heavier than Carewyn expected, but she with some difficulty just barely managed to hoist it up.

“Your talent with animals shines through again,” said Orion with a wry smile, clasping his hands lightly in front of him.

“You weren’t half bad yourself,” Carewyn said amusedly. She brought a hand gently along the eagle’s comb. “You’re a very handsome bird, aren’t you? You poor thing...”

“You there!”

Both Orion and Carewyn looked up in great surprise.

Striding through the woods toward them was a very tall middle-aged woman. She wore a black capotain hat and an old-fashioned black dress with a white ruff around the collar, and her graying brown hair was tied up in an austere looking bun under her hat. Despite her apparent age, her step was strong and her posture as straight as a general’s.

“What are you doing here?” said the woman very sternly.

Carewyn stood a bit uneasily, thanks to the weight of the eagle on her arm, but she nonetheless straightened up, resting a hand on the eagle’s back almost protectively.

“We’re merely out riding, madam,” she said, not impolitely, but still confidently.

The woman peered down at both Orion and Carewyn with an eye almost as critical as the eagle’s had been as she crossed her arms. Her height made it so she towered over both of them with relative ease.

“Well, through your riding, you have trespassed on my land,” she said stiffly. “And it seems you’ve claimed something of mine.”

Her eyes flickered over to the eagle on Carewyn’s arm, taking in the makeshift bandage on its wing. The golden eagle gave a loud shriek -- the woman extended her arm, and it leapt the distance, landing on her arm instead. The older woman did not struggle to hold it up the way Carewyn had.

Carewyn blinked in surprise. “Then...he’s yours?”

“Do you have others, like him?” Orion asked curiously.

The woman peered down at the bird on her arm with a look that was rather like a scolding, but still affectionate mother’s. “No -- he’s one of a kind. All the more reason why I’m pleased to see him safe, after coming so close to the enemy camp.”

The eagle bowed its head, its gaze flickering back over toward Carewyn and Orion. When another cluster of explosions rang out through the air, however, both the bird and Orion straightened up abruptly.

The woman looked northward, and then beckoned Carewyn and Orion after her with her hand.

“Come with me -- with the armies positioned just north of us and a band of Florentine bandits just south, the safest place at present to wait out this skirmish is my home.”

The woman introduced herself as the Baroness Minerva McGonagall. Carewyn felt like the surname was familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it in her memory. Regardless, McGonagall led Carewyn and Orion out through the trees. Only once they crossed the perimeter of the trees and McGonagall gestured toward the valley below did Carewyn and Orion see her country estate. It was odd that they didn’t spot it sooner, for although the valley seemed to cradle the small chateau, it was a rather beautiful and open estate framed by a wrought iron gate. The property itself was made of aged brick and stone with stained glass windows and overgrown with ice-trimmed ivy.

After holding out her arm so that the eagle perched there could jump down on the railing beside the stone stairs that led up to the front door, the Baroness invited Orion and Carewyn inside. As stern as she’d first appeared, she actually was a very kind host -- after Orion and Carewyn’s horses were settled in her stable, she escorted the two into the dining hall, where she served them some rose water and ginger biscuits. Once inside the house, none of them could hear the explosions from the battlefield -- it was as though the walls cancelled out all sounds from outside even though they must’ve been so close.

Seeing that the Baroness had no servants to help her, Carewyn insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen and washing them, so as to thank the older woman for her hospitality. Despite being reluctant to accept the help at first, McGonagall eventually accepted it, her lips upturned in a rather dewy smile as Carewyn left the dining hall.

“Your riding companion has a very kind heart, Your Highness,” she said, once Carewyn was out of earshot.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“...You know me.”

"Naturally,” said McGonagall. “You do very much resemble your grandfather -- and your father as well, I expect.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“We met once, a very long time ago,” said McGonagall rather curtly. “Your name would also be Cosimo, correct?”

“I am called Orion,” said the Prince, his level voice dusted with the slightest edge. “By both my lady, and otherwise.”

McGonagall’s eyes grew a little smaller. “She comes from the Cromwell family, doesn’t she?”

Orion’s eyes narrowed that little bit more, but he did not reply.

“I suspected it due to her eyes,” said McGonagall, “but with how gentle they were, I wasn’t sure.”

Her eyebrows rose over her narrowed eyes as she leaned forward slightly and rested her elbows on the table.

“You have quite a predicament before you, Orion,” she said dryly, interlacing her fingers beside her chin.

Orion clasped his hands on the table in front of him, considering the Baroness carefully.

“Yet you decided not to approach me about it until Carewyn left the room,” he said levelly. “Is it because you suspected I knew your true identity, and why your house has been so miraculously shielded from the War raging on your doorstep?”

McGonagall peered at Orion over her hands with something like wry amusement. “Florentines are generally more favorable toward magic than Royaumanians. And considering your grandfather shielded my family after my mother accidentally killed the King and we fled across the border...well, it would be in-character for you, especially.”

“And yet you returned to the land that the King of Royaume had died trying to claim?” asked Orion. “Why?”

McGonagall gave a dismissive shrug. “It was our home. Even if we had to cast and recast illusions every day to prevent anyone else from finding it again, that was a cost we were willing to pay. And one I’m still willing to pay today, to protect those who live here.”

McGonagall’s eyes were drawn to the hallway -- a young man with tanned skin and a sharp nose had just paused in the door frame of the dining hall. His arm was in a makeshift sling and wrapped with what looked like bandages made out of petticoat fabric. When Orion turned around, the young man stared him down with just as beady of a look as the golden eagle from before had.

“The skirmish has ended, Baroness,” the man said brusquely.

“I hope you haven’t determined that by casting any more transfiguration spells, my young apprentice,” said McGonagall with a slightly reproachful look.

The apprentice’s nose wrinkled sourly. “No. The explosions have just stopped -- they probably decided it wasn’t worth trying to fire their cannons blindly in the dark.”

“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Orion, you and Carewyn may leave when you wish. Though I would recommend you steer clear of the border. The bandits in these woods are Florentines, so I doubt they will harm you...but I cannot be sure how they would respond to a Royaumanian, especially one related to one of their wealthiest noblemen.”

Orion nodded. “I understand.”

“Make sure you bring her back to the palace safely,” said the apprentice, his eagle-like eyes still rather critical upon Orion. “It’s the least you can do, considering she doesn’t know the extent of the risk she’s taking, interacting with you.”

He swept down the hallway and out of sight, still holding his arm. Orion was a bit surprised that the Baroness’s apprentice knew where Carewyn worked -- but then, he recalled, he’d seen an eagle flying over his and Carewyn’s heads once, while they were walking through the market together, hadn’t he? Might it have been this man then, as well -- as it likely had, every time he’d seen an eagle while crossing the border?

McGonagall looked back at Orion, her expression a bit more solemn. “I understand your rationale behind not telling her of your identity, Orion...but remember -- deception is just like any magical spell. Even the most powerful ones in the world don’t last long.”

Orion bowed his head. “...I know.”

He knew none of this could last. He knew that once Carewyn knew who he was, everything between them would change, whether he wanted it to or not. He did think that Carewyn would understand -- he desperately hoped so -- but even so, it was sad to him, knowing that his happy times with Carewyn were doomed to be so fleeting...

“I just...want to enjoy my time with her as long as I can,” said Orion softly. “However fleeting it might be...even when it is over...at least then I can cherish the memory of those moments forever.”

McGonagall’s face grew a bit gentler, almost sympathetic. "I see...”

Carewyn returned at that moment, wiping her bangs out of her eyes with her arm.

“Orion,” she said, “it looks like the stars have come out.”

Orion looked out the window. The sky was dark with night and shining with stars.

“So they have,” he said with a soft smile. He turned to McGonagall. “Forgive me, Baroness...but might we sit in the valley outside your home for a short while, before we leave?”

McGonagall smiled. “Of course.”

Orion and Carewyn found a grassy spot in the crest of the valley where they could sit and look up at the stars. Upon learning that Carewyn hadn’t ever gone stargazing before, Orion lay back against the grass and pointed out each constellation above them to Carewyn in turn -- the hero Perseus, his enemy the Cetus, and his future wife Andromeda -- -- the divine twins, Castor and Pollux, otherwise known as a pair as Gemini -- and the queen Cassiopeia, which made Carewyn laugh, thinking of her friend, KC. Carewyn loved listening to Orion’s stories: the way he would vividly embellish every detail and go off on philosophical tangents in the middle was oddly endearing. After he told his first tale about Perseus, Carewyn was reminded of the Song of Roland, an epic about a similarly grand hero, and soon Orion would ask her to sing something in response to every story he told, however weak the connection was. When they reached Cassiopeia’s tale, Carewyn sang one of her favorite songs, Greensleeves.

“I have been ready at your hand To grant whatever thou would’st crave; I have waged both life and land, Your love and goodwill for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy; Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves...”

As before, Orion found himself closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Carewyn’s voice washing over him. At the end of this song in particular, however, when he opened his eyes, he found himself chuckling softly.

Carewyn raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Orion’s black eyes were sparkling like two miniature night skies as they ran over Carewyn sitting just below him. “It’s a lovely song, as always...but I have not ever seen my ‘star twin,’ so to speak, wearing green -- only ever black and blue. You, however...”

He took her hand so that he could extend her arm out like they were dancing, showing off the olive green sleeves of her dress.

“So it seems you are ‘my lady Greensleeves,’” said Orion with a wry smile.

“Oh, stop it,” Carewyn huffed, her cheeks burning as she withdrew her hand.

Orion laughed fully. It was the first time Carewyn had ever heard him laugh so openly before -- it was a soft sound in the back of his throat, like a chuckle, and yet so much brighter and warmer. Despite herself, Carewyn couldn’t fight back a full smile of her own. Her shoulder brushed up against Orion’s as she reclined back onto the grass, her body tilting slightly toward him as she looked up at the sky.

“...There’s a constellation called Orion, isn’t there?”

Orion smiled and traced the stars of the constellation with his finger. “Just there. Do you see his chest? And there’s his bow.”

“I see it!” said Carewyn excitedly. “His arm is arched back, right?”

“Yes -- he’s holding a club in his other hand. He was a great hunter, you see -- the greatest hunter, they say, aside from Artemis, Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt. Some say that he hunted alongside her. Others say she was his one and only love...and that she, likewise, never loved any other man, in all her days.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, Orion looked down at her. She was considering the constellation very carefully, looking oddly deep in thought.

Orion tilted his head to look better at her face. “Your eyes resemble a dark pool.”

Carewyn looked up, startled.

“They’re so deep and mysterious, I hardly know what is within them,” said Orion. “Yet I would dearly like to know, if you were willing to share their contents.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted back up to the sky uncomfortably.

“It’s just...I’m realizing that I don’t even know if Orion is your real name,” she murmured. “You said I could call you it...you did not say it was your name.”

Orion’s face became grimmer. His hands clasped over his chest and he too looked back up at the sky.

“...It’s not the name I was born with,” he admitted. “I chose the name myself, when I was young.”

The memory of the older boys at the workhouse shoving him, piling extra work on him, and mockingly bowing whenever he walked by rippled over his mind.

“Clear the floor for the Prince!”

“Why thank you, Prince Cosimo -- you’re too kind!”

“Does the mud add flavor, your Royal Highness?”

“When I was at the workhouse, my name...antagonized the other boys. So, to try to preempt the reactions, I started avoiding telling anyone my name. I would dread anyone ever asking.”

“Like when I asked you?” whispered Carewyn. Even though her eyes were averted, she was clearly very ashamed and upset.

Orion leaned against her slightly, offering her a gentle, reassuring expression. “No, Carewyn. I dreaded it when I had no answer I could give at all. It made me anxious...made me feel like I didn’t know who I was supposed to be...made it difficult for me to interact with much of anyone at all.”

He closed his eyes.

“But...after hearing the tale of the great hunter whose skill put him on the same level as a goddess...I decided that was who I’d be. I’d chase my dreams with just as much single-minded focus -- be just as free and strong of a man, by fighting the monster inside of myself.”

Carewyn looked up at Orion, her eyes rippling with sadness. “The monster inside of yourself?”

“Mm,” said Orion. “Mine is a frenetic beast. It makes it hard for me to think, act, or even breathe, when it’s particularly intense. It makes me question absolutely everything, including myself. It shouts so many things in my ears so loudly that I can’t move or react properly, and I have to break away from everything and everyone, just to silence it. Sometimes it even brings back bad memories that make the experience even worse.”

Carewyn was once again avoiding his eye, but it was largely because she was having trouble keeping her face stoic.

“...It’s terrible, when you feel like you can’t do anything,” she said lowly.

Orion didn’t speak. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to continue -- after a silence, she finally pressed on.

“When Jacob first went off to War...I felt so helpless. So...alone. And worse...I felt like that’s how I should be. Like I should be alone, and empty, and cold, and in pain, when Jacob was off at War suffering, while I’m stuck here.”

Her eyes darkened.

“There are times when...I think I still should be. Sometimes...well, it’s all the time.”

She closed her eyes, exhaled heavily through her nose, and then looked up at Orion with a firmer expression.

“...But I know I can’t afford to sit around and feel sorry for myself -- not when I need to be strong, for Jacob’s sake. So I don’t.”

Orion’s black eyes softened visibly, rippling with empathy. “No...you certainly don’t.”

He paused. His eyes ran over Carewyn’s face, trailing through her hair hesitantly.

“Carewyn...” he said at last, very softly, “may I...?”

He swallowed.

“...May I rest my head, on top of yours?”

Carewyn’s face broke into a very sweet, tender smile.

“Of course,” she murmured.

Orion shifted over and, very tentatively, leaned back against the grass so that Carewyn’s head rested in the crook of his neck and his cheek rested against the top of her head. He closed his eyes -- she felt so warm...

“I...realize that the beasts inside of us are ours alone to face,” said Orion softly, “but...should you need a hunter to help you beat yours back...I will be here.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with emotion as she stared up at Orion’s face. Her red lips slowly turned up in a smile that was full of pain, and yet also fuller still of love.

“And I will always help you fight yours,” she whispered. “If you need me...I will fight for you.”

Orion’s expression cleared, losing all tension as a smile pricked at the corners of his lips. He breathed deeply, his heart slowing to a wonderful peaceful beat as he took in the smell of her hair. Carewyn watched his serene, handsome face, and she found herself moving into him that bit more, just to get a better view. For that moment, it felt like the whole world outside wasn’t there -- that the War and the palace and the Cromwell clan and everything she was and wasn’t didn’t even exist...and in that moment, Carewyn realized...

If she was ever truly free, she would want to love the man called Orion with all of her heart.

14 notes · View notes

sourbat · 4 years

Note

Magseth 35 or 48

shackles

warning: language; implied sexual content

“Just you wait and see, Seth,” Magnus chimes with a low hum. He flops onto the cheap hotel bed, folds his long arms behind his head and utters another hectic cackle.

Seth merely glances at the reflection and can tell there’s no point in trying to butt-in once Magnus gets started. He waits for the opportune moment, when Magnus is done devising his fantastical conspiracies, then meets his stare in the mirror and says, “Right, Mags.”

“We’re so close.” Magnus kicks off a boot. “I’ve made the calls. Spoken with the man.”

“Uh-huh.”

Another boot flies into the air. In the reflection, Seth watches as Magnus jerks about, trying and failing to relax. It’s always a sight to behold. Seth’s seen some passionate men, but Magnus puts it to a whole other level. His wild hair drapes over each sharp, frantic movement, and once he catches Seth’s curious stare, misinterprets it as similar, unhinged interest. “He’s going to meet with us real soon.”

Seth nods at the reflection. “Sure ‘ting, Mags.”

“We’ll have Dethklok where we want them!” Magnus declares with a near crazed yell. He curls himself back up, sitting upright and following Seth’s movement as he breaks from the mirror. “I’ll finally…we’ll–”

Seth circles around the bed, not minding the groans of old springs that he’s since grown accustomed to. No hotel bed can compare to the plush mattresses of his glory days, but Seth finds comfort in knowing he’s sharing his bed with better company.

“We’ll get our revenge, yeah?” Seth finishes, plastering a cocky grin that riles up the taller of two, gets Magnus crawling to the edge of the bed, slipping away and reappearing behind Seth the moment he slides the closet shut.

Long fingers curl and dig into Seth’s shoulder. “I’ll make your brother pay.”

Seth feels the longing under the pressure, though he can’t say whether it’s for him, or for revenge.

It’s admittedly getting harder to tell with Magnus.

Seth glances down at the remains of the cheap suits he’s wearing, thinks of a time where he’d have maids throw Versace tops that had stains on them from a life of overabundance, and when it flashes to now, to Magnus breathing up his neck and telling him he’ll make him feel like a man again, Seth admits to himself that it’s getting harder for him to tell what he wants more.

There was a time where he’d obsessed over the prospects of getting his revenge on the band; more specifically, the woman Pickles hired to accost and tempt his now ex-wife. A nasty divorce and powerful lawyers left Seth with hardly anything, A few days later, he received a call from Mordhaus letting him know Amber and her lesbo-girlfriend were going to be handling Australia from here on end.

Revenge consumed his mind back then. Other thoughts, too. It was right about when Seth received his farewell basket from Dethklok, and those darker thoughts began to seep out the cracks of his broken mind, did Magnus appear before him. Right out of the shadows, and donning a handsome grin that reminded Seth of the bible. Something about the devil being handsome. Couldn’t remember the whole saying, but Seth could tell just by looking at him he was nothing but trouble, and considering Dethklok’s gift basket came with a loaded gun, was thankful Magnus had arrived just in the nick of time.

For a while, their obsession for revenge kept them together. They’d bitch and gripe about how Dethklok always had it easy, how much harder they had to work just to get some meager scraps of validation, only to have the band proceed to fuck the while they were down. Seth laughed when Magnus told him about the knife, and Magnus laughed at recited childhood memories starring a smaller, weaker Pickles. Seth told Magnus of his dream to win Amber back, to get back at that bitch Abigail. Seth told Magnus he didn’t even need Amber, because all women were disloyal anyways, so what was the point. Seth told Magnus not to worry about the gray, because it made him look cool. The eye made him look intimidatin’. No shirt? No problem.

Then something happens. Nine months pass, and neither of them are any closer than when they started. Sure, Mags gets a call from some unknown number, and if Seth is lucky, he catches a few words of the harsh graveled voice on the other line while Magnus takes notes and directions. They drive around to various states, pick up some folks so shady Seth spends the remainder of the drive eyeing the glove compartment with the hunting knife in it, preparing for the worst. They drop off the spooks in some undisclosed location, meet with even spookier names and faces that Seth can’t believe are real, and then they start all over.

“What’s wrong?” Magnus breathes the words into Seth’s neck. Hands slide under the bottom of his faded shirt, and the same probing fingers from before consume Seth’s senses. Magnus purrs a loving noise into his ear. “Come on,” he says, “tell me what you plan on doing with those women…”

He hasn’t thought about Amber for days. Hard to think about some useless woman when he’s got the dictionary definition of “tall, dark and handsome” tasting every inch of him whenever he has the chance. Weirdly enough, it's the same handsome fellow that’s making him think of her in the first place.

But that’s the problem, now. It’s almost been a year, and now Seth is over the divorce. He’s done thinking about whatever the hell Amber and that girlfriend of her’s are up to, and he’s sure as shit doesn’t want to think about them running Dethklok Australia. He doesn’t want to think about anything related to Dethklok. He’s sick of Dethklok, and if it weren’t for Magnus’ unyielding obsession, would have told the guy to “give it up,” and with the rest of their money, drive their asses Vegas. He wants to take Magnus to see his favorite burlesque show, use the rest of his money on a nice dinner, and maybe have a nasty threesome.

He doesn’t want to spend the last of his draining account recruiting stooges. He doesn’t want to spend another dime on Dethklok.

Hands wrap around Seth’s lanky waist. “Seth.”

Another blink, and Seth feels the weight of the band pressing against his back, but when he blinks a second time, realizes it’s only Magnus holding on to him. Slightly shaken, Seth shudders. “Take the lead, Mags,” he says through closing eyes. “Yer, uhh, really getting’ me rollin’. Keep talkin’ about what yer going to do with that Euro-dood.”

Magnus won't. Won't, or maybe can’t, but whatever the case, the guy’s obsessed with Dethklok to the extreme. Magnus talks about their rabid fans, but doesn’t see the irony when he spends late nights ranting about how he was wronged, how shitty each member is, how he’s got to get his revenge on them, gotta finalize his plans. He doesn’t seem to mind spending what little he has all in the name of revenge. Revenge for Dethklok. Seth’s asked a few times what those plans were, but never got a straight answer from Mags. It was then he knew he couldn’t say anything at all, because Magnus didn’t have a plan, and the second Seth dared to bring it up, risked losing the only thing that was currently keeping them together.

Not revenge…

“Soon, Seth,” Magnus sighs lovingly into Seth’s ear. His arms return around Seth’s waist, wrapping him into a gentle embrace. “Everything you wanted will come to fruition soon. I’ll make it happen.”

Seth says nothing, but gives a sound that Magnus takes for a sigh. He draws closer, taking blankets and sheets with him. Magnus gives Seth an affectionate squeeze, one that makes him want nothing more than to see Magnus happy, but also sends another dreaded shudder at the press of his hands, and is reminded of the shackles that keep Magnus locked in place.

The very thing he wants nothing to do with.

The only thing holding them together.

Dethklok.

#ficlet ask thing #thank you #magnus hammersmith #seth #i have never written this pairing before #hopefully this works?#magseth #implied ambergail

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weshallc · 4 years

Text

Happy St. Andrew’s Day. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading Bonfire Night! I haven’t put it on the usual fic sites as I knew I would mess about, and Tumblr folk are a patient bunch. I am going to rejig it so it stretches from Bonfire Night to Christmas (probably New Year at this rate) looking back over 2020.

Thank you for the lovely comments and support from @h4t08 @fourteen-teacups @thatginchygal @bbcshipper @roguesnitch @lovetheturners and new regular @aimee-jessica and @olafur-neal

I really don’t know what I have been doing with my time apart from washing my hands, measuring distances of 2 metres, sewing masks, swearing at the news, collecting Scotch egg and pasty recipes and building a pantry to hoard all my Brexshit preparation supplies.

Enough about me, so as it’s St. Andrew’s Day I thought I might give this another spin.

BERNS NIGHT (Revisited, just for fun)

Call the Midwife AU (Crown Jewels/Paddy and Bernie/Poplar-on-Tweaven)

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

“Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang's my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

“Will You Reconize me? Call My Name or Walk On By.” Don’t You (Forget About Me). Simple Minds 1985.

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the north star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then, Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now, do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet, the ceremony is over. It’s time for eating and drinking, something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn-haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. ”Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the sort of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar's daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored, Anyone who called the barmaid by name was bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But, she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea, he had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable she hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts, it was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights, or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when the wife and I took over she was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now, all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one, and now there was just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way. Under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I've met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don't mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More's the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a...”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can't imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks. She suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion don’t you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that. God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

#call the midwife #wee reblog #berns night #chapter one #more to follow llater #as in llama #not alpaca #desk top doesn't do flag emoji #found a saltire #and remembered to add extra song

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