#Blessed Are The Meek

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 5

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You wipe the Commander's face and stand with the cup, brush, and blade. You go to the sink to clean it all up and put it away. As you do, you hear him shifting in the water. You've already set out his soap and shampoo on the ledge. The smell of it laces the air. 

You glance at the door, wondering if you should go. 

"You will wait and have a towel ready."

His order is taken as diligently as any other. 'Yes, Commander' and you take the bath sheet from the rack, standing by the wall and staring at your sleeve. He sighs as he lingers in water, drawing out the tension.

When he stands, water slaking noisily from his body, you come forward and open the bath sheet. He steps over the wall of the tub and waits. You wrap it around him and he finally clasps the top.

You recoil and move aside. He passes you and you roll up your sleeve to pull the stopper from the tub. You don’t return to the bedroom right away. You give him time before you near the door, head down.

“Would you like your tea?” You ask the floor.

He sits on the side of the bed. He reaches for the thick tome on the round table beside the wooden frame. He lifts the bible and flutters through the gold-edged pages. You listen to the noise but refocus on the cold hardwood.

“Even piety cannot outweigh the law,” he says, “did you chance a verse or two, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, Commander.”

He snaps the book shut, clutching it between his hands. He runs his thumb along the spine and leans forward. He stares at the cover then hurls it at the wall, making you flinch as it falls onto its pages.

“Tell me then, what did you read? Before?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t believe he truly cares. This is just what the men do. They play on their power, pulling the strings of the women they made into puppets. You won’t tell him of the cheap novellas that kept you company in a tub very much like the one in the next room or the fantastical tales of dragons and magic that first awakened your love of literature. 

“I am not the woman I was before. I cannot recall.”

He sits up and leans his head back, “you are just like every other woman. You say what will do you best, but never the truth.”

You don’t argue. He is right, but he does not admit why. That if you do speak honestly, you will be sent to the wall or worse.

“Or maybe you read nothing at all. Maybe you were the sort to watch a screen until your head turned dull. Or spent your time with a bottle of liquor…” he presumes as he scratches along his neck. “Certainly, there wasn’t much time for reading with a son to rear, eh?”

You try not to falter. Is it a lucky guess or does he know? He could. Surely, if he wanted to know who you used to be, he could find that out.

“Tea,” he orders bluntly and lifts his legs onto the bed, sprawling wide so the bath sheet slackens around his legs.

“Yes, Commander,” you affirm, twisting sharply as you fight to keep your nerves from boiling over. It is a test. One you must pass.

🌫️

The Commander dismisses you as he sits thumbing through the bible’s bent pages and sipping his tea. You leave him with the soft clasp of the doorknob behind you. You wade through the dark and down to the first floor. You resume your seat on the bench, drawing your legs up as you lay on your side.

It is stiff and uncomfortable. You feel the knot forming in your neck already but you are too tired to worry about it. You sleep shallowly, cramped and rigid, until you are awakened by the creak of the stairs.

You sit up with an effort. Your neck screams and your shoulder blades throb. You lean on the wall for just a moment as you muster the strength to stand. The pain is almost inhuman. You knew you would regret sleeping on the bench but you hadn’t much choice.

You rise and brace your hip without thinking as you face the Commander coming down the stairs. He wears only a robe in the pale light of early morning. It cannot be more than four.

“I called for you,” he stops on the middle step.

“Apologies, Commander.”

“Why are you down here?” He sneers.

“I… I did not know where else–”

“Hush,” he demands curtly, “you think too much and say more.”

You lower your chin in submission. You swallow your standard acquiescence and wait for further reproach.

“Upstairs. This house is frigid, I require another duvet. Find one.”

He goes back up as you hesitate to follow. You ascend, step by step, tamping down a whine as each lift of your foot zings up to your neck. You go to the narrow closet door and open it, revealing a spare blanket. You bring it with you and enter through the open bedroom door.

The Commander is abed already. You approach him and throw the duvet across the bed, grunting through your teeth. You tug the corners straight and he reaches to grasp your wrist. You pause, his touch almost stinging.

“You may sleep across my feet, like a dog,” he snickers, “it would do better than that bench for your decrepit bones.”

You stay still, not daring to rip your arm away from him, “Commander, I don’t mind–”

“It is not up to you. Go on, dog, take your place.”

He lets you go and you stand. Your eyes burn with humiliation as you sidle towards the end of the mattress. You put one hand down, then the other, climbing up on all fours like an animal. You lower yourself onto your side, back to him as you stare at the dark doorway.

“Just like a loyal old bitch,” he remarks as he jostles the bed, kicking you from beneath the blanket, “aren’t you?”

“Yes, Commander,” you force through your tight throat.

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

Constantly thinking about The Peace of Rome being directly opposed to The Peace of Christ. For the empire, peace is order. And order is kept by oppression of classes and groups of people. For Jesus, peace is wholeness. And is made by actively going into situations of conflict and urging and helping to create a way towards peace. But that is dangerous. And the cost is often persecution, revilement, and slander, And yet blessed are the peaceMAKERS not the peaceKEEPERS.

The good life belongs to those who are the peacemakers, because they will be called 'The Children of God.' The good life belongs to those who are being persecuted for the sake of doing what is right, because theirs is the kingdom of the skies. The good life belongs to yall when people insult you and persecute you and spread evil lies against you on account of me. Celebrate and shout for joy, because your reward is great in the skies, and because this is how they persecuted the prophets before you.

[strwbrryhtl]

Blessed are the Meek that Seek Absolution - Chapter 1

Claudia was bored.  

So very bored. 

She had been sat in her home for what felt like ages, staring out the window as she worked her knitting needles and a ball of string between her fingers for the last three days.  

You’re not allowed out of this house, not while there’s thieves around. 

The words of her father kept ringing in her ears as she focused on a planter on the corner of the street. Of course it was easy for him to say that, he was a man who didn’t know what it was like to need some sort of constant protection. Her only protection was the four walls and front door she was surrounded by. Held in by a deadbolt and iron key, her father was “protecting” her from the group of men who had lately cleared out the towns bank, the train station when the army train came in with payroll, and as of late last night, the ferry where her father would spend hours playing poker.  

As she thought more and more about how her father practically forbid her to do anything without some sort of security, she felt the wood of her knitting needle begin to splinter before breaking in her hand. She looked down at the broken wood of the needle and sighed. Her whale bone ones had broken under stress as well and her father kept buying her the cheap wooden kind given to children who were learning how to knit.  

“Damn it,” she mumbled and shoved the blanket, or maybe a scarf, she was working on with its yarn back into the basket next to her chair and took the now useless needles and walked into the hallway. “Elizabeth?” She called to the maid and stared down the hallway before looking down the stairs and down at the foyer where the older woman came out, her sleeves rolled up as she was preparing supper. “Elizabeth, my needles broke.” 

“I can go out once the roast is in the oven and get you a new set,” Elizabeth called out and Claudia shook her head.  

“I want to go, I haven’t left the house in ages.” 

“You went to church on Sunday.” 

“That’s not leaving the house if I immediately get to come back,” she huffed and began to walk down the stairs. “The store is only down the street.” 

“If you leave the house you know your father will lose his head and have both of ours,” Elizabeth called and placed her hands on her hips as the younger girl sat on one of the last stairs and looked at her, her brown eyes set with determination as she grabbed her boots. “Claudia DuPont, I can still take you over my knee.” 

“I’m nearly twenty-three, you’d treat me like a child still?” 

“When you act like one,” Elizabeth retorted as Claudia stood. Both women were close in height and Claudia stood in front of her maid and straightened her back out. “Your father-” 

“My father is on a business trip on the ferry, probably over in Saint Denis by now,” Claudia said, her eyes still on Elizabeth as she went to grab her small purse. “Won’t be back until the morning.” 

Elizabeth sighed and watched as Claudia made her way to the door. “Sun sets in an hour, be back by then and come in through the kitchen since I don’t have the key to that deadbolt,” Elizabeth said and held her hands up in slight defeat. She had taken care of Claudia since she was a small girl, since her mother had died of scarlet fever and cared for her as the child she never had. She knew Claudia was a smart girl, her father paid for only the best tutors. But what Claudia gained in academic knowledge, she heavily lacked in the social realm. Claudia thought she knew how to be polite and poised, her father had sent her to a finishing school in New York where all the well kept girls were taught. But teaching only gets one so far, Elizabeth knew that, and Claudia was too stubborn to realize that her book knowledge wasn’t something that would always translate socially.  

“I’ll bring you back some treats!” Claudia said and raced to the door, skirting past the kitchen table that Elizabeth had been working at and quickly slammed the door behind her. She took in a deep breath of the Blackwater air, the smell of wildflowers and lake filling her nostrils almost greedily. If she could, she’d walk barefoot to the store so she could feel the grass underneath her feet. She wanted to hike her skirts up and feel the budding flowers rub against her calves while the plants traveled further up her thighs. She wanted nothing but to feel nature since she couldn’t even go and enjoy the isolation of the garden that Elizabeth tended.  

Walking to the store was the only solace she had, so for now she would have to revel in what she was given.  

Claudia greeted the shop keeper as she went inside and grabbed the chocolate that she knew Elizabeth favored, it came from a factory out in the Carribean that she thought her father had mentioned doing business with. She never cared much to pay attention to what her father did, just that he provided for her. As she turned down the aisle to where she would find quality knitting needles, she stopped in her place as she saw a man around her age with a blooming red spot on his shoulder. He stood in front of the string, his gloved hands mindlessly going over what she could only assume was thread he needed for stitches.  

“’Scuse me,” she mumbled as she approached the man, glancing up at him as she kneeled down by his knee and grabbed two sets of needles, one whale bone and the other turtle shell. “You have a spot on you,” she said as she stood back up.  

“You’re observant,” he scoffed and she turned her nose up slightly. She didn’t think it rude to be observant. “Trying to find thread to fix it.” 

“You don’t use thread, you use strings for instruments. Won’t absorb the blood back into your body that way.” 

The man looked down at her, pushing the brim of his hat up slightly. “Where’d you learn that?” 

“That new magazine, National Geographic. They ran an article published by some doctor in Massachusetts,” she said and smiled at him, proud of knowing the information. “Plus, using the strings makes it easier to pull the suture out when it’s time.” 

The man looked down at her and just nodded, looking back to the thread in front of him and then around. “This store have something like that?” 

“I’ll show you,” she said and quickly turned on her heel and went further down the aisle, pointing to the shelf where the coil of string was stored. “One coil should be enough to fix up a whole person. Magazine said that also,” she said and watched as the main painfully grabbed the string with his wounded arm. “Do you have someone to help you with that?” 

“I’ll be fine, thank you for at least showing me what to use,” he said and she looked up, noticing how his teal eyes were surrounded by bloodshot.  

“What happened?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“What happened to you?” 

“Miss, that’s not really your concern now is it?” 

“Well...well no but I’m a curious woman,” she huffed and held her hands in front of herself.  

The man rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Fell off my horse, she got spooked by something and threw me.” 

“Sorry to hear that, I haven’t ever rode a horse but I know they’re supposed to be smart.” 

“Oh she’s smart alright, smart in all the ways that count,” he chuckled and took a deep breath as he felt a wave of pain go over him. “Listen, miss, really thank you for your help but I need to get this taken care of.” 

“You can’t sew your shoulder by yourself,” she said as he went to the register and she followed him, holding her skirt up slightly so she wouldn’t trip. “Let me help you...I’m real good at sewing.” 

He turned to her, his mouth pressed in a thin line, and he let out another groan of pain. “Fine...fine,” he said and slammed the string in his hand down on the counter. Claudia smiled, feeling like this was a small victory for her and she turned to the clerk.  

“Put his purchase on my father's bill please,” she said and held up her own items before shoving them into her bag. She glanced outside and noticed how bright it still was, she could fix this mans shoulder and still be home in time for supper. “What’s your name?” she asked and followed him outside, looking down at her hands as she unraveled the string and bit off the piece she would need.  

The man sat down and took his hat off, placing it on his knee before unbuttoning his shirt enough to expose his shoulder. “Arthur Callahan,” he mumbled and watched as she stood behind him. “What about you?” 

“Claudia DuPont,” she said and took a needle that he held out to her and she took a deep breath. “You got something to bite down on? This will hurt a bit.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled and rubbed his eyes tiredly and she swore she heard him wince. “Just...sooner this is over sooner I can go rest.” 

“Very true mister,” she said as she threaded the needle and looked down, watching as he took his glove off and bit down slightly on the fingers. Men and their need to seem in control, she thought. Claudia leaned slightly against the bulk of his body and carefully pushed the needle into his skin, moving as quickly as she could to sew the small cut shut. It wasn’t like her needlepoint, which was always done with precision, but it was enough to heal someone. After a few minutes she leaned down, her hair brushing against the back of his neck as she bit the string off once the final knot was made and she turned, spitting some of the blood out of her mouth.  

“Didn’t hurt that much,” he mumbled as she moved away from him and pulled his shirt back on. “Thank you Miss Claudia.” 

“You’re welcome Mister Callahan,” she said and wiped her mouth, watching as he turned to her and put his hat back on. “You should get a bath, have a girl rinse the blood off,” she said and looked up at him. 

“I probably will,” he chuckled and looked out at the small harbor. “Can I walk you home? To say thanks for what you did.” 

She felt her cheeks burn slightly and she shook her head quickly, staring down at her hands. “No...no that’s okay,” she said and looked back up at him. “I live in that house on the hill, the brick one,” she said and pointed, not realizing his eyes trailed quickly up to where her finger landed. “You...you can buy me a meal at the local restaurant if you want one day...as long as you’re still in town that is.” 

“I’ll be in town for a while, I’ll take you up on that,” Arthur said and tipped the brim of his hat down towards her. “Get home safely Miss DuPont, you don’t know who is out in these streets.” 

“True, very true Mister Callahan,” she said and stumbled slightly as she walked back towards her house and she smiled at him. “I’ll see you,” she said and waved, holding her bag to her side as she quickly ran up the path that lead to the house on the hill.  

As she entered the house through the kitchen door, she smiled at Elizabeth who only gave her a stern look. “I said be back by sunset.” 

“Sun is still out, and here’s the chocolates you like,” she said and smiled at the older woman as she put the chocolate bars on the counter. “You’re welcome.” 

Elizabeth mumbled something before catching Claudia’s arm as she went to go back upstairs. “What’s on your mouth? Looks like blood,” she sighed and reached up to wipe the small streak off of Claudia’s cheek.  

“Oh...oh I helped some man out in the store, had a wound from falling off his horse.” Elizabeth kept her eyes on Claudia who rolled her eyes. “Go down to the store tomorrow and ask the clerk, Alexander. He saw the whole thing.” 

“Don’t be getting someone else's blood in you, don’t need you contracting tuberculosis,” Elizabeth mumbled and let her go. “Go wash up, supper will be done shortly.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Claudia said and rolled her eyes, but as she walked up the stairs she smiled, thinking of the man she helped and how his teal eyes matched her teal yarn. Maybe she would make a scarf after all.  

New fic! This is going to be a take on a younger Arthur and OC, taking some time between his loss of Eliza and Isaac and the events we see in the game. I'll be cross posting to AO3 eventually but for now wanted to get started on tumblr.

Tag List:

@photo1030

AO3 Link

[fogaminghub]

Hey, gamedev pals! 🌟 If you're diving into Red Dead Redemption 2 and need help with "Blessed are the Meek," look no further! Our Gold Medal guide is packed with tips to help you get those crucial headshots and escape like a pro. 🐎💥

✔️ Achieve Gold Medal  

✔️ Improve your accuracy  

✔️ Keep Micah safe  

Find all the details in the link!

[dutchieliciousplans]

When you on your way to piss off the entire camp but you realize you just here to keep Dutch happy 😌

Arthur tried to stop me but I couldn't refuse a chance of blowing something up that ends up in a massacre in strawberry ✌️

[fierysword]

[psalmonesermons]

Lessons from the Beatitudes Part 3

Blessed are the Meek

Matt. 5:3 “Blessed are those who recognise they are spiritually helpless.

The kingdom of heaven belongs to them.

4 Blessed are those who mourn.

They will be comforted.

5 Blessed are those who are gentle (meek). They will inherit the earth.

6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for God’s approval.

They will be satisfied.

7 Blessed are those who show mercy.

They will be treated mercifully.

8 Blessed are those whose thoughts are pure.

They will see God.

9 Blessed are those who make peace.

They will be called God’s children.

10 Blessed are those who are persecuted for doing what God approves of.

The kingdom of heaven belongs to them.

- God’s Word Translation

The Blessing of God

The Beatitudes or ‘Blessed Sayings’ means ‘blessed is’ or ‘happy is’. Happy unfortunately has lost its meaning in modern times and is now used for a superficial moment of contentment. Someone has said that if would mean much more if we could qualify it by saying. “Oh how incredibly happy!” It means supremely blessed or fortunate. The One who is doing the blessing has our absolute good as his highest interest.

When God blessed Adam in Genesis 1:22 and Abraham in Genesis 12:2-3 he meant that everything else around them would be working together to bring about God’s favour.

We should live in a favourable and prosperous state that is not based on worldly circumstances but on divine conditions. These conditional blessings are frequent in Hebrew scriptures, including the wisdom literature, especially the Psalms (Job 5:17; Ps. 1:1; 32:1-2; 33:12; 41:1; 106:3; Prov. 8:34; 28:14).

The Beatitudes contrast Jesus' values with the values of the world

Jesus’ Values vs World’s Values

Poor in spirit Self confident, complete

Mourning Pleasure seeking, hedonistic

Meek Proud, self importance

Hunger for God Self made, self reliant

Merciful Assertive, forceful

Pure in heart Hidden, secretive

Peacemakers Competitive, aggressive

Persecuted Popular, crowd pleasing

Like most of Jesus’ teaching the beatitudes are contrary to the values that the world offers [1]. Leaders must serve if they want to rule; if they want to live they must first die; if they want to receive then they must to give away; if they want to be made worthy they should first recognise their unworthiness; if they want to be happy they first need make others happy.

Blessed are the Meek

In the church today there is little emphasis on humility or self-emptying. There are many Christian books on how to be happy, how to be successful, how to overcome problems, and so on. But sadly there are very few books in print on how to empty ourselves, how to deny ourselves, or how to take up our cross.

There are numerous commands about humbling ourselves (Matt. 18:4; 23:12; James 4:10; 1 Pet. 5:5).

The first step in experiencing humility is to turn our eyes away from ourselves and to look to God. It is the vision of an infinitely Holy God in all His sinless purity and perfection that enables us to see ourselves as sinners. To seek humility, we do not look at ourselves to find our faults, but to the perfection of God. Jesus invites the weary and overburdened of this world to take upon themselves his yoke and discover that he is “gentle and humble in heart.”[2]

People are increasingly aggressive and unkind (including Christians) to each other. There is a real need to nurture a gentle and kind spirit.

Ephesians 4:2 Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.

Colossians 3:12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

Titus 3:1 Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, 2 to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men.

๏ Meekness is learning to be kind

๏ Meekness is learning to not take offence

๏ Meekness is is not being angry or aggressive

๏ Meekness is not allowing people to affect our mood

Meekness should not be confused with weakness. Jesus didn’t let people control him. He was quite willing to confront and challenge. He wouldn't let them ‘make him king’, he overturned the tables when His Father’s house was being desecrated, he strongly denounced the Pharisees because of their hypocrisy.

Meekness does not mean that we fail to challenge, correct, rebuke or speak the truth in love.

2 Timothy 4:2 Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage — with great patience and careful instruction.

‘For They will Inherit the Earth’

Psalm 37:11 But the meek will inherit the land and enjoy great peace.

To inherit the land has a twofold application, present and future.

Those that are at peace with themselves will be at peace with their surroundings. The world will be enjoyed and appreciated so much more when we have a tranquil spirit.

Romans 8:6 The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace;

Isaiah 26:3 You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you.

His kingdom principles define and shape us. This is the meekness to which Jesus calls his followers. It is the meek who will “inherit the land and enjoy great peace”. It is those of a ‘gentle spirit’ (NEB), not the grasping or the greedy, who will receive from life its most satisfying rewards. The aggressive are unable to enjoy their ill–gotten gains. Only the meek have the capacity to enjoy in life all those things that provide genuine and lasting satisfaction.[3]

One day the earth will be transformed where the children of God will live. Those who are transformed by Christ will inherit the earth.

Amen

Personal prayer

This was a joint teaching from Pastor Paul Meiklejohn and Charles Green

[1] The NIV Application Commentary, p223

[2] New International Bible Commentary, Matthew chapter 5. Electronic version.

[3] Ibid

[tacthescribbler]

I apologize for the audio quality, but I had to do this myself because I couldn't find what I wanted anywhere on the internet. This is, as best I can tell, a remixed version of "Blessed Are The Meek" created for Red Dead Online. Every time I heard it in-game, I couldn't help but gush over the fiddle. And the fiddle only kicks in when there are sufficient enemies about, so any time you kill them, poof! No more fiddle. I turned off all sound effects and dialogue in my audio settings, played the Red Ben Clempson bounty, died repeatedly until I got the track I wanted, and then hung out in the train for around an hour and a half to let the music play. All while streaming to a throwaway Twitch channel so I could download the VOD, rip out the audio, and trim it down. Because I own the game on Xbox and know nothing about ripping audio files from PC games. Was it a long, far more involved process than it needed to be? Yes. Was it worth it? Absolutely. But I have almost 6 minutes of writing/work/driving music! I also plan to get all the Moonshine Shack songs, and I might try snagging the other combat tracks, too. If I missed any relevant tags for this one, let me know! The music itself isn't mine, but I edited this specific clip. Credit for original music goes to Woody Jackson.

[truesonsofthelivingword]

The sluggard Whale yields to oppression, and to hide himself from shame and danger, down begins to sink... Now a scoff, and prey, this tyrant dies, and (his own dole) feeds with himself all companies.

John Donne, The Progress of the Soul

(Even before whale falls had been observed, poets were sluts for the symbolism of a whale fall. Imagine John Donne hearing that there are all manner of wormy creatures who love nothing more than to feed on the carcass of the mightiest beast of the sea...)

[shiningthelightministries]

Bible Study - Blessed Are The Meek

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 7

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

The Commander drives through the streets of the capital. You are as you always are. Eyes down and forward. You touch the grey cuffs of your smock and a wash of dread flows through you.

The weight in your chest sinks further as he comes to a stop. A guardian approaches the car and opens your door. You’re ushered out onto the street. You don’t look back as the tires roll away and you’re left without explanation.

The man makes no move to seize you. He merely directs you onward towards an unmarked door at the side of a tall brick building. Not a word between you as he gestures you inside.

It is brighter within. You follow long bending hallways, pure white walls and unscuffed floors. On and on until you are stopped again. Another door without number or word. He opens it and lets it fall open.

“Go inside. Sit.”

You obey. The door remains open as your footsteps echo in the empty room. You sit in the single chair across from a long curved table. While the chair you claim is cold and hard, those behind the table are cushioned.

You perch on the edge and wait, examining the featureless walls. You twine your fingers together and squeeze. A sterile smell dries your nose as the blankness reminds you of somewhere else. Some time else.

The beeping of machines, the chatter of staff, the sweeping of shadows from doorways, a nurse with a clipboard calling for the next to triage. A child against you, shivering and sobbing against your shoulder. Your son, clinging to his mother, needing her, trusting her.

Another door opens. Three men emerge and claim the seats behind the table. Your vision comes to focus. You don’t know any of them but they are dressed prim like most Commanders.

Your name echoes around you. Not ‘martha’, not ‘woman’, no, your name.

“Is that you?” The man in the center asks.

“Yes,” you answer, your voice catching in your throat.

A pen scratches on paper. The next question. Birthdate? Birth place? Medical conditions? Each answered in confusion. Why do they need to know all this. They’re just sending you to die.

“Children?” The man on the right prompts.

“One.”

Silence. Waiting. You continue.

“A son.”

“Would that be Elijah. Commander of Nalor County.”

“That is his name, I am unable to confirm his title,” you reply in a wisp. A commander? Your some is just the same, torturing women, living off their suffering. 

“You have been a martha to Commander Shelby for how long?”

“I believe four years, but I cannot confirm for sure.”

“You aided his wife in her labour?”

“I did.”

Your neck trickles with sweat and your hair stands on end.

“During which, she died.”

“Yes.”

“And you would agree with the physician’s diagnosis that this was an unpreventable death?”

“I can only take his word. I was there to assist. I am not trained in that practice.”

“And when was your last menstruation?” The man on the left takes over.

You hesitate. You wet your lips with your tongue.

“You do still have a cycle?” He prompts.

“Two weeks ago.”

“And it comes routinely?”

“Yes.”

The men are quiet. They look at each other and then the papers before them. They nod and stand up. They say nothing else before they leave you. You frown. There is little use for an old woman who bleeds like a stuck pig.

You stay as you are. You wait. Your ears ring in the static silence. When at last footfalls approach, you do not look up. The guardian tells you to stand and you follow him from the room.

You are taken to another, again left alone. Two women in tan enter and bark at you to undress. They help, moreso strip you with tugs and yanks. Once you are naked they lay you on the metal table. They force you to bend your legs. You do not fight, too stunned to resist.

They poke and prod between your legs, a single digit slid inside, feeling around until they are content. They take your clothing and leave you, shivering and bare. You sit up and stare at the wall.

Another woman in brown enters. She nears with a parcel and puts it beside you, placing a pair of blue suede shoes on top. A simple word; ‘dress’.

She remains and watches you peel the paper back to reveal the blue dress, a fresh shift, stocking, and cape. You pull each piece on and the aunt helps impatiently, snapping into place the blue cape. You look at her but she will not meet your eye. She is not much older than you.

“Go out. The guardian will guide you.”

You cross the room, shuddering as you try to understand what is happening. It does not make any sense. This whole damn world has no sense.

You go out into the hall and the man in gray leads you on again. You walk with him, not behind him, this time. To what end, you are now completely unsure.

[strwbrryhtl]

Blessed are the Meek that Seek Absolution - Chapter 2

Arthur sat in his hotel room of the Blackwater Saloon and stared at the wall, his breathing heavy after he had one of the girls working the washrooms sew his shoulder shut. The girl didn’t seem to mind, she kept talking about things she had going on for her around town as she dug the needle and string into Arthur’s flesh. He was a natural born listener and the girls talking helped to distract from the pain of his shoulder being fixed.  

He knew he should eat something, but there was a feeling in his stomach that was gnawing at him and the idea of putting anything into his body made that feeling churn his stomach like butter. He was feeling broken, his body aching and his soul feeling broken. Too much had happened to him in the last few months to even make him think about getting better. He had left the men who raised him, saying he needed space after what had happened to his family. They knew, they knew Arthur would come back to them once he was healed. But Arthur didn’t know how long it would take for him to heal.  

How do you heal when your family was murdered? When innocent lives are ripped from the earth too soon? Reaching over to his satchel, he pulled out an envelope and pressed the paper to his nose. It still smelled like her house, of fresh flowers and spring air. He kept the letter pressed to his face for a few minutes before pulling it away and opening the letter inside.  

Dear Arthur, 

Isaac is so excited to see you for his birthday next week. I bought him some books at the general store, he likes them more for the pictures. He’s taken an interest in animals recently and you’d be proud of how kind he is to everything he sees in nature. Hopefully you still have Boadicea, Isaac would love to learn how to ride.  

The money you sent has been helpful, hopefully soon we can move to a town that is safer. All of us, not just Isaac and myself. I hope you’re able to come be a father, Arthur. I think we’d all like that. 

We’ll see you soon, safe travels, 

Love Eliza and Isaac. 

Arthur stared at her handwriting, how his sons name was written in her cursive and how excited she was to become a family. A real family, something they both had wanted. But that letter was three months old now, his son didn’t get the chance to turn five years old and Eliza never had the chance to move to a safer town.  

All Arthur Morgan could think about was finding and killing the bastards who ripped his family away from him, all for ten lousy dollars that he had sent so his son could have new clothes.  

“Mr. Callahan, you want some dinner?” An older woman’s voice called out and Arthur sighed as he got his shirt on and went to the door. “We’re serving roast beef tonight, renters get first take.” 

“I’ll be down shortly ma’am,” he said and smiled at the woman and grabbed her arm gently as she went to walk down the stairs. “Can you tell me about some of the people in town?” 

The woman looked at him with her eyebrow raised, turning to face him. “Which people?” 

“This girl helped me at the general store and put my purchase on her account, DuPont something?” 

“Oh Claudia DuPont, lovely girl,” the woman said and her eyes softened. “Her father is William, he works in construction and has lumberyards all over this part of the country. Shipped the poor girl off to a boarding school in New York when her mother died about ten years ago,” she sighed and shook her head. “Claudia is nice though, if you ever meet her father don’t let his presence dissuade you about Claudia, she’s more like her mother was than her father thankfully,” she said and pat Arthur on the arm before going downstairs.  

Arthur watched the woman leave and he turned to go back into his room. Claudia’s father worked in construction and had multiple lumber yards around the country was something he could at least report back to Dutch and Colm, it would help get the two of them off his back for awhile while he was trying to grieve. He didn’t want to admit that he was part of the group of men going around and robbing the rich businessmen, but if it put extra money in his pocket it didn’t bother him that much. He went to the desk in the corner of the room and quickly wrote out what he learned about Claudia’s father before addressing the letter to Tacitus Kilgore. The letter always ended up where it needed to be, and Arthur knew the job was done when he went to get a paper a few days later.  

Going downstairs, he left the letter with the barkeep and sat down at a table in the corner, rubbing his shoulder as he watched the life of the saloon around him. Men were either winning or losing money at an alarming rate, girls were walking around asking if anyone wanted company. Once his food came, Arthur stayed in his place and watched the bar life around him, politely declining anyone who came to join him and he instead focused on the food in front of him and the pain in his shoulder.  

He couldn’t believe how stupid he was to get stabbed. The lie he told Claudia wasn’t a complete lie. He did fall off his horse, he just happened to be chased by someone trying to steal her. He was better in gun fights anyways and was just thankful that he was able to reach for any sort of weapon in time. Looking out the window, he watched Boadicea across the street, eating some sort of feed that the stable provided for her. That horse was one of the last things he had in life that made him happy, she had been with him through thick and thin and he couldn’t imagine what he would do without her.  

“Mr. Callahan, you have a letter,” one of the girls said as she came to clear Arthur’s plate and he thanked her quietly, reading over the handwriting that he quickly recognized as Hosea’s. 

Going to be brief, Arthur. Dutch and Colm are no longer on terms. I know before there was barely good terms but now it’s turning into a possible war. Dutch killed Colm’s brother, accidentally he claims, and now Colm is going to try and run all the jobs we were going to. 

Stay safe and avoid any O’Driscoll members that may be floating around in Blackwater. There’s going to be a raid at the pier when a few of the poker ferry's come in. Join in if you want but know that those men are against us now.  

H.M. 

Arthur sighed as he read over Hosea’s quickly scratched out letter and he shoved it into his pant pocket as he stood up.  

Maybe a raid at the pier would help get his mind off his grief.  

Tag List:

@photo1030 @lunawolfclaw

A03 Link

[castratedtestimonies]

The Beatitudes are the ONLY blessings Christ speaks in the Bible.

If you reject the beatitudes of Jesus in the name of the Old Laws (the laws of the Old Testament, which Jesus declares ended and irrelevant), then you do not follow Jesus. If you hate the homosexual, or the faithless, or the whore, or the tax collector, or the person who eats bacon, or the person who eats shrimp, you are no different from a pagan.

What makes us Christians is our faith in the blessings of Christ. Christ says, "It is accomplished." This marks the new covenant. The laws of the Old Testament, therefore, are abolished.

The Beatitudes in the Gospel Luke...

Blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are you that hunger now, for you shall be satisfied.

Blessed are you that weep now, for you shall laugh.

Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you and revile you, and cast out your name as evil, on account of the Son of man! Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets.Blessed are you that hunger now, for you shall be satisfied.

Blessed are you that weep now, for you shall laugh.

Blessed are you when men hate you, and when they exclude you and revile you, and cast out your name as evil, on account of the Son of man! Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven; for so their fathers did to the prophets.

The Beatitudes in the Gospel of Matthew...

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so men persecuted the prophets who were before you.

[sordidamok]

Republicans do not care what the Bible says about anything. This has been obvious for decades. They're especially opposed to anything Jesus said.

Hey Republicans-I think you need to read this a few 100 times

[fierysword]

The compassion of God the Mother insures that she loves the weak and dispossessed as well as the strong and beautiful. We do not have to be wonderful according to external norms to elicit her love, for this is freely given by virtue of the maternal relationship itself.

God looks upon all with a mother's love that makes the beloved beautiful... The absolute mystery of the unoriginate origin of the universe has the character of a mother's compassion... Freely and abundantly giving life, she continues to be intensely involved with creation, caring, fostering, training.

She Who Is by Elizabeth Johnson