#WHERE IS MY REGAL PROPHET BABY

[articwolfclawartist]

My boy… look at how they massacred my boy….

[threepandas]

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The worst part about knowing the end? Is the beginning and middle. The waiting to change. The hoping it can. Days, spent with the low fear, ever churning, that it will all make no difference. Your actions. Your plans. The hopes you have placed in Fate's fickle hands.

Entering the Creche at an awkward age, too soon to be Legend, too late to be Peer. I was destined to be an adult by the time Anikin arrived. Getting up there, by the time the Order fell. Not yet old enough to be an Elder... yet destined to never live long enough to see such an age.

Obviously, I refused.

Looked around, locked eyes on the closest most manageable Character Of Relevance and took a chance. After all, was it not? The Jedi WAY? To inconvenience the Sith at every turn? So... first Crecheling, then Initiate, then baby Padawan Me, tracked the poor man down. Hunted him for SPORT.

Meditate with me, Knight Dooku! Can you teach me about this or that, Knight Dooku? What is the correct use of seashell tongs in formal dining, when attending a formal feast with the aristocracy, during this specific religious holiday, Knight Dooku? (No, no, on the moon not the planet.)

Congratulations on you Mastery! Master Dooku!

Pushing and shoving my way into his life. Persistent, much to everyone's amusement, and his baffled chagrin. It was like befriending a fussy, regal looking, semi-feral cat. Force knows, for all his training, he's terrible at casual interactions. He was older them me, yes. And Mentor of sorts, certainly. For a time. But? We became... friendly? I like to think? I certainly chased him down enough.

He's a dramatic and awkward man, Yan, and he'd be lost without us; Sifo, Nu, and I. Occasionally Yoda, but that does come and go. Not to metion... well... his Padawans. (Damn it, Yan. They can't read the subtext from your pointed silences! Use your WORDS.) The sort of man who is... sturdy, but brittle. Like an old, unbending tree.

Which makes it all the worse, when the pressure becomes too much. Because it does not merely crack. No. No, such men? They shatter in terrible and unpredictable ways. Unbreakable right up until they are not. Unending right up until the crash.

It is...? Both tragic and hilarious, in a that way, that Yan should live surrounded by so many prophets. Yet he does not, can not, and never will see the end coming. Surrounded by legends, both old and new. Born with every marker for greatness. Yet he...? He will be considered little more then a footnote, in someone else's history. At best.

And the worst part of his Fall? The absolutely worst part? Is the Light I still feel, each time I look at him, the GOOD I know is there. Resolute and noble, dignified and full of grace. A diplomat. Expert swordsman. Makes magnificent tea. The driest wit imaginable. He... he is YAN. Not Count Dooku. Not some Sith Apprentice. Just... just Yan.

My friend.

I meditate on it a lot. The Force gives no clear answers. Still, I do try, sitting in the gardens. Tucked away several stories up, past the considerate veil of several sweeping branches. I never did succeed in figuring out which planet the tree hails from, I suspect it might be either a long dead one or some small moon. It's a truely lovely, sturdy, thing nonetheless.

Far below, younglings shriek and play growl. Running carefree, to work off energy before evening meditation. Each a tiny blaze of starlight dancing at the edge of my vision.

A bit bright, I note, but nothing concerning.

The Halls of Healing will have to increase my prescription again. My glasses are no longer blocking enough... I sigh. Considering that. My sight? Is at least partially genetic. While I may be predominantly human, just because someone looks human passing, doesnt mean they genetically are one. My ancestors were, to put it mildly, a bit... Mandalorian.

Where their was a will, there was apparently, a way; And now I pay the price for it. It's honestly a miracle they never "married", as it were, themselves into a genetic dead end. Some sort of metaphorical space mule scenario, as it were. Yet? Despite all that seeming success? Luck is not eternal. And should you keep gambling? Eventual you will roll poorly.

I was that poor hand. That unfortunate luck. Loved of course. Expected even. My parents both wanted and were delighted by me. But? I screamed. Could not bear to be near people. My inheritance? A truely unfortunate luck of the draw. When combine with Force Sensitivity? My eyes reacted to "Light" poorly. Very, VERY poorly.

They were blinding to me. A mere child with no shields to speak of, no Force training to push BACK with. Like being force to look direct at the sun, again and again. It HURT. Because I could See.

Where others saw merely flesh? I saw deeper. Not infalliblly, not perfectly, I was hardly some omniscient god, but... oh. Oh. The world was so Bright. So LUMINOUS. The Force swirling and burning and flowing. In everything, from humble to grand. People shine, and yes, it is beautiful. But it also? Hurts. Because it IS, ultimately, being forced to stare directly at bright, ever shifting, sometimes flickering LIGHT.

I have a lifelong disability. Can not FUNCTION without my filtering shade glasses.

Or, if you are one of the ignorant assholes, who even NOW still seek to use me? I have what you might call? A"gift~☆".

According to Healer Che, it was some highly recessive trait. (From a planet I honest didn't even know I had heritage on, much less could find on a navigation system.) A subterranean people, due to the truely ungodly surface conditions. VERY sensitive to energy signatures and light. Which...? When you slap on a whole NEW super special Force sensing ability? Filtered through the same brain? Wires unfortunately crossed.

It could have happened it anyone. Unfortunately, it happened to me. Now I'm effectively blind around large collections of sentients. Or Life in general, depending on the intensity. To say NOTHING of Force Nexus! Dear merciful FUCK, that was the sort of accident only you make ONCE and then NEVER again. I was lucky to keep my vision. At all. Full stop.

Sifo was not so lucky. His Visions being neither natural nor kind. The Force seizing him again and again, to plunge him into vivid scenes of carnage. Death and horrors in the home he so loved. I would would be forced to, should I fail, see the Fall of the Order once. But Sifo? Oh... oh, dear Sifo...

Sifo, had seen it fall ten thousand times.

Even Yan did listen to him. Not truely. But there is camaraderie, in the horrors. In whispering, "it's not their fault", through choking tears. Forgiving the victims that will one day kill us. There is... a certain, heavy, sort of friendship... born of pressing your foreheads together, fingers intertwined, knuckles white with terror, as you shudder in the dark.

I think it helped, helps, that he has someone, who believes him. Anyone. Not just humoring him, the mad man sprouting prophecies of doom. But truely believes him. Knows he is right. And that if nothing is done? Everyone will die.

But... BUT! It CAN NOT, be Kamino, Sifo. Not that, never that.

In the dark, I remind him of prophets, seeking to avoid their visions, and instead? Ensuring the worst, comes to pass. Defense, Sifo. Escape. We are JEDI. Do not let fear blind you, to who you ARE. Do not let it take down a path of darkness.

I wrap him in the Light. Tuck my Force presence close, like I'm hiding him again my side, a youngling tucked into the safety of my robe. Shhhh, my friend. It is okay to be afraid. I am too. We can do this together. We are not alone. I believe you.

We are the pillars of his mental health, Yan and I. It concerns the healers greatly. The council. Honestly? It concerns me. But what can I do? No one else CAN help Sifo, until the first take the step of recognizing he is not, in fact, insane. He is a perfectly SANE man, reacting in entirely reasonable ways, to unspeakable Nexus born horrors. Slowly cracking under the isolation and grief. A jedi pushed and pushed, far past the point lesser men would have broken.

And if? He need a woman young enough to be his one of his student's, to rely on? So be it. I am a Knight now, I can handle it. (I have been handling it, since the incident. Since I was a Crecheling. Where the fuck were all of YOU? Ah, that's right. Calling him insane. Making things WORSE.)

I breathe out slow and controlled. My meditation is getting me no where. Rising, I carefully hop down, using the Force to slow my fall, much to the awe of various Crechelings. I can not help but smile. Was I ever that small? So easily impressed? I bow to my tiny fellow jedi. Delighted, they scramble to bow back. Thrilled to show off how grown up and serious they are, how well down they can do it.

Reaching out with my senses, I look for Yan, politely avoiding doing more then the briefest brush as I reach past others. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. There are hundreds of such searches a day. Some clumsy and heavy handed, from Crechelings or Initiates. Some soft as brushing strands of silk. Knights or Masters, looking for friends, looking for students where the should not be.

The Temple feels alive, noisy even, when you know how to feel it.

Ah, there he is! Heading from the High Council's cha-Grief. Horror. A gutting pain that numbs and spreads.

Caught off gaurd, I am sent reeling. Stumbling, without grace, over my own feet into a nearby wall. Glad for it, as I desperately grab at my chest and wheeze, drawing the alarmed attention of nearby Knights and Guards. Because... because, the other direction? Had I stumbled in the other direction, I would have hit the railing. Fully doubt I... I would have been able t-too.... oh Force-!

It takes entirely too long to seperate my emotions from Yan's. To realize what's happening. My panic feeding into the pain. My pain feeding into the panic. Yan. S-Something happened to Yan! I manage to gasp it out. P-please! S.. Someone! Go! Go check on Master Dooku!

The world spins as I try to force air into my body. It refuses to come. Whatever horrible pain Yan is in, leeching down our connection. Into me. Hurting. Made so, SO much worse, by my having been actively looking for him. I close my eyes, teeth gritting, and trying to stop digging my nails into skin. I-It won't help. There's nothing physically there.

But it hurts! God, does it HURT!

It feels like my WORLD has been shredded. My heart, crushed, cruel and slow in my chest. H-he's having a panic attack. Has to be! Or-! Or being attacked! I d-don't... don't KNOW!

A passing Master has hurried over, now kneels next to me. Various Knights pushing whatever calm and safety the can at me. No one is quite certain what will help. But they try. Desperately, stubbornly, resolute to the last... they TRY.

Breathe with me, begs the Master. Pressing my hand to his chest. Just copy my breathing. Help is coming. Release what pain you can, into the Force. We will help you. Let us help you.

I try.

Desperately, I Try.

The Healers end up having to give us sedatives, Yan and I. Sifo ends up... worse. The entire event triggering another, nasty, round of visions. He is incoherent. Trapped. Staring up at the Death Star from the surface of Alderaan, through countless eyes, begging to be heard. His soul, small and desperate, replaying the end, over and over. Even as he tries to protect what souls he can from the inevitable.

He cries for this too. They won't believe him, I know. Even as he thrashs and begs. For the lives of the innocent to be spared, for monsters to hold their fire. I will though. I will. I always do.

But Sifo will be lost for days. Yan, however? As he sits, on the bed, just the other side me? Sits stiff and properly. Blankly. As the healers words wash over him. I doubt a single on has registered. Of the three of us, I am the only one even remotely functioning. Yet... yet I still, don't know what has happened.

Nodding one last time to the healer assigned to me. Promising that yes, I will most certainly rest. I slip my my bed and sweep over to stand next to Yan's. The Healer's concerned and frustrated. He knows Yan's not listening. But has to try. I shoot him a strained, closed lipped, smile. Quietly take charge of my unresponsive friend.

The Healers relief is palpable. Our notes and instructions are not terribly dissimilar. Rest, food, no missions or upsets. Got it.

Gently, I guide Yan from the Healing Halls. Alarmed, that he let's himself be led. He never let's himself be led like this. Insists he is no invalid, to be coddled. Yet... here he is. Mind a thousand parsecs away.

Bringing him to his rooms, I key in his code then gently guide him to his favorite chair. Lightly guide him down into it. Not... not once, during the entire walk back, has he responded to anything. I am beginning to grow afraid.

Fussing, I drag up that terribly pretentious Serranian musician, on his music system. The one I can't stand. I am worried. Sacrifices must be made. Boring and insipid music fills the room. Very fancy! Come on, Yan. This is his new piece! Don't you want to comment on it? Come, tell me why it's so much better then the racket youngling blast these days. I'll call you an old man...

Nothing.

Worry growing, I begin making his favorite tea. Digging out his special occasion snacks. Something, anything, to get a reaction. As things brew, a sound too wounded to truly be a laugh, chokes it's way out of him.

"Xana-...My..." he starts. Stops. Normally sharp mind refusing to obey him, as he tries to summon words. He looks lost.

"My Grand-Padawan is dead." His voice is brittle, alien sounding in his mouth. I nearly drop the plate of snacks I was carrying over, in response. Horrified. "He was supposed be returning a knight. Qui-gon was.. was so proud of him. Adored him. This has destroyed him. Will destroy all of us. I... I have lost everything."

No. No, you have NOT.

Striding forward and all but dumping the plate on the side table next to him, I reach for my friend with both hands. With my Force presence. I refuse. No, damn it! I Will NOT lose him. Not like this, not TOO this!

Listen. LISTEN to me, Yan Dooku. So help me Stars, Gods both big and small, you will not succumb to this!

The greatest lie the Dark has ever told, is that it will make things better. That it can help you with your pain. Would Xanatos want his death to destroy you? Would the child of your child, want his legacy to be the ruin of everyone he loved? It is okay to grieve. You NEED to grieve. But remember you Padawans. Remember their Padawans.

Your Lineage still lives, Yan Dooku.

It is hurting, mourning, but ALIVE. Don't you dare run from it in your grief. You are better then that. I am here. Sifo and Nu are here. Yoda, is here. We will carry this pain together, okay?

Closing his eyes, he let his head rest more heavily against my hands. Dampness darkened his eyelashes, but no true tears formed or fell. He didn't seem to have it in him. Not yet. His hands though... his hands? Shook as they slowly, haltingly, like a droid with seizing joints, reached out for me.

I moved from leaning over him to sitting on the arm rest of his fancy Serranian high backed chair. That he didn't even grumble over me "abusing his furniture" by putting weight on the arm rest like this? Gods.

Leaning into him, I wrapped my arms around his head and shoulders. Like a shield against the universe. Used the Force to pull the tea, finally done, and pour it into a nice cup. Properly of course. See, Yan? I remember your lectures. Here, drink.

He... did not.

Just leaned, sagged against me, as he shuddered with grief. Hands wrapped around a cup of fragrant tea. Music filling the air. Tucked safe inside my Force presence, as best I could.

In... Out... In... Out... There was a slight stutter to it, a hitch, that in a less controlled man? Might have broken into a sob. But... instead, Yan meditated. That first cup going to waste. The second following, as it slowly went cold. Needs must, though, and tea? Can be replaced. Yan can not.

Emptying wasted cups, I poured more. Rested my head atop his own. Matched his breathing as I slipped into a light meditation with him. The room was quite enough. The position not terribly comfortable. But honestly? We'd both meditated under worse conditions, and it had been... A DAY.

To put it mildly.

I didn't like the look of Yan's Force Presence. It was like a fault line had been struck. Spreading terrible spiderwebbing cracks in otherwise sturdy stone. I was no mind healer... really, not a healer at all, I was a Seeker, but? I had learned a few tricks. After all, not every child I had found? Was found in a safe and loving home. Most weren't, honestly.

You learned to soothe, as a Seeker. Learn how to help. Children, after all, don't know Light from Dark. They just know that if they reach for the magic in their head? Bad things go away and good things tend to happen. Sometimes they hurt themselves by accident. Sometimes they hurt themselves... because the alternative was worse.

"You know, my dear? Some days I think you are the only Jedi with any compassion left. The boy never should have been sent there. Not for his trials. The lives of others are not a child's test. And to be asked to face one's own family? It... it was cruel."

Yan sent his cup around me, to rest on the side table, before gently tugging me down into his lap. He hugged me close, like a child squeezing a stuffed animal for comfort, face buried in the crook between my shoulder and neck. Like he was hiding from the world. I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes closed.

We were both... so tired, weren't we. This was nice.

"When did it all become about proving ones purity? One's superiority of morals? We are supposed to help people. Not lord over them. If I wished to do THAT, I would merely need to return to Serrano. Become a Count. You and Sifo are the only one who seem to understand me."

"I think I would go mad, without you."

Yes. I worry that you would, Yan. I worry that you would.

[spiltscribbles]

Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!

~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌

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A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!

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Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their  wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone. 

And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified  essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life.  A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.

Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.

It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half  a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”

When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.

Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon  could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.

Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably  tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.

“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.

Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.

It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.

And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.

The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.

“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”

“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”

Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”

“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s  favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.

“You enjoying the legends then?”

Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”

“OH?”

“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”

Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.

“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.

“And what did he choose?”

Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”

And oh.

It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.

“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”

Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.

“Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night, Eliza,” he replies,  feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.

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~My FIC Index~ 

Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!



[constellations-and-energy]

Constellations-and-energy’s Herb Correspondence List: A-F

*This series will consist of 4 parts. Can be searched by tags #herb correspondence A-F; G-L; M-R; S-Z respectively*

*DO NOT INGEST ANY OF THE HERBS THAT YOU ARE NOT SPECIFICALLY FAMILIAR WITH AND HAVE RESEARCHED THOROUGHLY, AS WELL AS DISCUSSED WITH A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL*

**Marks poisonous plants and health concerns. I did my best but still CHECK BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING 

SOURCES: Herb Grimoire, The Smart Witch, Magickal Uses of Herbs A-G, A-Z Herb Use, Personal experience

A

Acacia: Protection, Psychic Powers, Love Spells, Money Spells, Secret Love

**Aconite: Magickal wash for ritual tools & space

Acorn: Good luck, Protection, Wisdom, Personal Power

Adam and Eve Root: Attracts Love

Adder’s Tongue: Silences Gossip/Slander, Healing

African Violet: Spirituality, Protection, Healing

Agar Agar: Joy, Success, Household Blessings, Attracts Opportunities

**Agaric: Fertility

Agrimony: Protection, Sleep, Overcoming Challenges, Dispelling Negative Emotions

Ague Root: Protection

Alder: Divination, Decision Making

Alfalfa: Prosperity, Anti-Hunger, Money

Alkanet: Purification, Prosperity

Allspice: Money, Luck, Healing

Almond: Money, Prosperity, Wisdom

Aloe: Protection, Luck

Althea: Protection, Psychic Powers

Alyssum: Protection, Moderating Anger

Amaranth: Healing Heartbreak, Protection, Invisibility

Amber: Protection from Harm/Outside Influences/Psychic Attacks, Mental Clarity and Focus, Transforming Negativity into Positive Energy

Ambergris: Enhancing Dreams and Psychic Ventures, Attracting Men

Anemone: Health, Protection, Healing

Angelica: Exorcism, Protection, Healing, Visions

Anise: Protection, Purification, Youth, Protects Against Nightmares

Apple: Love, Healing, Garden Magic, Immortality

Apple Bark: Leadership, Negativity, Power

Apple Blossom: Preference, Good Fortune and Perfection

Apricot: Love

Arabic Gum: Spirituality, Purify Negativity and Evil

Arbutus: Exorcism, Protection

Arnica Flowers: Increases Psychic Powers

Arrow Root: Purification, Healing

Asafetida: Exorcism, Purification, Protection

Asparagus: Male Sex Magic

Ash: Protection, Prosperity, Sea Rituals, Health 

Aspen: Eloquence, Clairvoyance, Healing, Anti-Theft

Aster: Love

Astragalus Root: Protection, Energy

Avens: Exorcism, Purification, Love

Avocado: Love, Lust, Beauty

**Azalea: Happiness, Light Spirits, First Love

B

Baby’s Breath: Everlasting Love, Happiness and a Pure Heart

Bachelor’s Buttons: Love

Bakuli Pods:

Balm of Gilead: Love, Manifestations, Protection, Healing

Balmony: ‘Difficult to Find’ Magic

Balsam Fir: Strength, Breaking Up Negativity, Insight, Progress Against Goals, Bringing About Change. 

Bamboo: Protection, Luck, Hex-Breaking, Wishes

Banana: Fertility, Potency, Prosperity

Banyan: Luck, Happiness

**Barberry: Digestion and Antiviral

Barley: Love, Healing, Protection

Basil: Love, Exorcism, Wealth, Flying, Protection

Bat’s Head Root: Wishes

Bay: Protection, Psychic Powers, Healing, Purification, Strength, Wishes

Bayberry Bark: Money

Bean: Protection, Exorcism, Wart Charming, Reconciliation, Potency, Love

Beech: Wishes

Bee Pollen: Wishes, Happiness, Divination, Improves Literary Skills, Place a leaf of beech between covers of Book of Shadows to increase inspiration

Beeswax: Traditionally used for making candles, decorative seals, natural polish, protective finish, and use as a base for herbal salves

Beet: Love

**Belladonna: Visions, Astral Projection

Benzoin: Purification, Prosperity

Bergamont: Money, Prosperity, Protection from Evil and Illness, Improving Memory, Stopping Interference, Promoting Restful Sleep

Be-Still: Luck

Betel Nut: Protection, Banishing

Bilberry Bark:

Birch: Protection, Exorcism, Purification, Cleansing

Bistort: Psychic Powers, Fertility

Bittersweet: Protection, Healing

Blackberry: Healing, Money, Protection

Black Cohosh: Love, Courage, Protection, Potency

Black Haw: Menstrual Pains

Black Pepper: Banishing Negativity, Exorcism, Protection from Evil

Black Walnut: Access to Divine Energy, Bringing the Blessing of the Gods, Wishes

Blackberry: Healing, protection and money

Bladderwrack: Protection, Sea Spells, Wind Spells, Money, Psychic Powers

Bleeding Heart: Love

**Blessed Thistle Herb: Strengthens Energy, Digestion

Bloodroot: Love, Protection, Purification

Blowball: Love, Wishes

Bluebell: Luck, Truth

Blueberry: Protection

Blue Cohosh: Stomach Cramps, Labor Pains, Arthritis

Blue Flag: Money

Blue Violet: Love, Inspiration, Good Fortune, Protection from All Evil

Bodhi: Fertility, Protection, Wisdom, Meditation

Boneset: Protection, Exorcism

**Borage: Courage, Psychic Powers

Bracken: Image Magic, Money, Protection

Brazil Nut: Love

Brewer’s Yeast: Facial Mask Potions

Briony: Image Magic, Money, Protection

Brimstone: Dispels or Prevents a Hex On You, Destroys an Enemy's Power Over You

Bromeliad: Protection, Money

Broom: Purification, Protection, Wind Spells, Divination

Buchu: Psychic Powers, Prophetic Dreams

Buckeye: Divination, good luck, and attracting money & wealth

Buckthorn: Protection, Exorcism, Wishes, Legal Matters

Buckwheat: Money and Protection

Burdock Leaves: Removing Negativity. Purifies and cleanses the tissues

Burdock Root: Protection and Healing.

Burnet: Protection, Consecration of Ritual Tools, Counter Magick; also used to magickally treat depression and despondency

Butchers Broom: Wind Spells, Divination, Protection, Psychic Powers.

Butterbur: Love divination, Increasing Sense of Hope and Faith.

C

Cabbage: Luck

Cactus: Protection, Chastity

Calamint: Soothes Sorrows,Recovery from Emotional Pain, Increase Joy, Restore a Bright Outlook on Life

Calamus: Luck, Healing, Money, Protection

Calendula Flowers: Protection, Legal Matters, Psychic/Spiritual Powers

Camellia: Riches

Camphor: Chastity, Health, Divination

Caper: Potency, Luck, Lust

Caraway: Protection, Lust, Health, Anti-Theft, Mental Powers

Cardamon: Lust, Love

Carnation: Protection, Strength, Healing

Carob: Protection, Health

Carrot: Fertility, Lust

Cascara Sagrada: Legal Matters, Money, Protection 

Cashew: Money

Castor: Protection

Catnip: Cat Magick, Love, Beauty, Happiness

Cat’s Claw: Vision Quests, Shamanic Journeys, Money Drawing

Cat Tail: Lust

Cayenne: Dealing with separations or divorce, Cleansing & purification, Repels negativity, Speeds up the effect of any mixture to which it is added

Cedar: Healing, Purification, Money, Protection

Cedar Berries (Juniper Berries): Anti-theft, Repelling snakes

Celandine: Protection, Escape, Happiness, Legal Matters

Celery: Mental Powers, Lust, Psychic Powers

Celery Seed: Mental and psychic powers, Concentration

Centaury: Snake Removing

Chamomile: Money, Sleep, Love, Purification

Cherry: Love, Divination

Cherry Bark: Lust, Direction, Frugality, Favors, Invisibility, Magickal potency

Chervil: Brings a sense of the higher self, Placing you in touch with your divine, immortal spirit, Helps in making contact with a deceased loved one

Chestnut: Love

Chia: Protection, Health

Chickweed: Fertility, Love

Chicory: Removing Obstacles, Invisibility, Favors, Frigidity

China Berry: Luck, Change

Chili Pepper: Fidelity, Love, Hex breaking

Chrysanthemum: Protection

Chives: Protection, Weight Loss

Cinchona: Luck, Protection

Cinnamon: Spirituality, Success, Healing, Power, Psychic Powers, Astral Projection, Lust, Protection, Love

Cinquefoil: Money, Protection, Prophetic Dreams, Sleep

Citronella: Draws friends to the home, Customers to the business, Promotes Eloquence, Persuasiveness, and Prosperity, Protection, Cleanses the aura, Encourages self-expression and creativity, Brings clarity to the mind, Repels insects and deodorizes

Cloth of Gold: Understand Animal Languages

Clove: Protection, Exorcism, Love, Money

Clover: Fidelity, protection, money, love, succes

Clover (Red): Put in baths to aid in financial arrangements, Lust potions, sachets or incense for money, love, fidelity, success and luck, Protects and blesses domestic animals, Used in consecration of ritual tools made of copper

Club Moss: Protection and power

Coconut: Chastity, protection, and purification

Coffee: Helps to dispel nightmares and negative thoughts and to overcome internal blockages. Provides peace of mind and grounding.

Coltsfoot: Wealth, prosperity, and love

Columbine: Love and courage, Grow in the garden to attract fairies, Use in spells and charms to increase courage in stressful situations.

Comfrey: Magickal uses include money, safety during travel, and any Saturnian purpose

Copal Resin: Love, purification

Coriander: Love, health, immortality, and protection

Corn: Protection, divination, good luck

Cornflower: Sprinkle over the area where you and your mate argue the most to alleviate discord and strife

Cotton: Fishing magick, rain, protection, luck, and healing

Cowslip: Treasure finding, youth, concentration, focus, and house & business blessing

Coxcomb: Protection

Cramp Bark: Used for protection and female energy.

Crowfoot: Love, Use in rituals & ceremonies associated with marriage and Handfasting, engagements, and rituals involving commitments and sacred binding vows

Cubeb Berries: Love, lust and adding fire to spells. Use in sachets for love & sex.

Cucumber: Chastity, fertility, and healing

Culvers Root: Purification

Cumin: Fidelity, protection, exorcism

Curry: Protection

Cyclamen: Fertility, happiness, lust, and protection, Reinforces romance between consensual partners and increases potential of a relationship carrying into the next incarnation

Cypress: Associated with death and mourning, stimulates healing and helps overcome the pain of loss, Calmness and tranquility

D

Daffodil: Love, Fertility, Luck

Dahlia: Regal-ness, Receive Goodness.

Daisy: Lust, Luck

Damiana: Lust, Love, Visions

Dandelion: Divination, Wishes, Calling spirits

**Datura: Hex breaking, Sleep, Protection

Deerstongue: Lust, Pyschic Powers

Devil’s Bit: Exorcism, Love, Lust, Protection

Devil's Bone Root: Sexual attractiveness, Warding off negative energies

Devil’s Claw: Protection, Dispelling unwanted company

Devil’s Shoestring: Protection, Gambling, Luck, Power, Employment

Dill: Protection, Money, Lust, Luck

Dittany of Crete: Manifestations, Astral projection

Dock: Healing, Fertility, Money

Dodder: Love, Divination, Knot magick

Dogbane: Love

Dogwood: Wishes, Protection

Dragon’s Blood: Love, Protection, Exorcism, Potency

Dulse: Lust, Harmony

Dutchman’s Britches: Love

E

Ebony: Protection, Power

Echinacea: Strengthening spells

Edelweiss: Invisibility, Bullet-proofing

Elder: Exorcism, Protection, Prosperity, Sleep

Elder Black Bark: Exorcism, Protection, Peace, Prosperity, Healing

Elder Black Fruit: Leadership, Monogamy, Popularity

Elecampane: Love, Protection, Psychic Powers

Elm: Love

Elm Slippery Bark: Love, Understanding, Divination.

Endive: Love, Lust

Eryngo: Traveler’s luck, Peace, Lust, Love

Eucalyptus: Healing, Protection

Evening Primrose: Love, Attracting faeries

Euphorbia: Purification, Protection

Eyebright: Mental/Psychic Powers

F

False Unicorn Root: Lust spells, Protection for mother and baby

Fennel: Protection, Healing, Purification

Fennel Seed: Strength, Vitality, Sexual virility, Prevents curses/possession/negative problems

Fenugreek: Money

Fern: Rain making, Protection, Luck, Riches, Eternal youth, Health, Exorcism

Feverfew: Protection

Fig: Divination, Fertility, Love

Figwort: Health, Protection

Flax: Money, Protection, Beauty, Psychic powers, Healing

Fleabane: Exorcism, Protection, Chastity

Foxglove: Protection

Frangipani: Promoting openness in those around you, Attracting love/Trust/ Admiration

Frankincense: Protection, Exorcism, Spirituality

Fumitory: Money, Exorcism

Fuzzy Weed: Love, Hunting

[shirtlesssammy]

13x01: Lost and Found

Welcome to season 13! Who’s ready to wallow in meta despair with us?

Dean's Emotional Arc

Dean began the show as a dutiful son, motivated by his devotion to his father, and his father's revenge-fueled quest to avenge Mary's death. He would later approach the monster-hunting as fate, legacy, a calling, a hero's task, or a cross to bear. He's flirted with the concept of being a hero. Certainly it was something he saw in his dad for many years and something he sees for himself from time to time. Now, it's “just a job.” It's straightforward, no bullshit. The joy and romance are entirely removed from Dean's hunting experience now that Castiel is dead and his mother is (according to him) dead. Grief has cut out the childlike joy that’s always been such a delightful dimension of Dean.

All About Beginnings

The season opens to Metallica’s “Nothing else matters” - a poignant tune, and significant for more than just its lyrical meaning. Dean started out in season one connected to Metallica - before Supernatural found its musical identity in classic rock. Starting the episode with Metallica really brings the focus in on Dean. Pair this with Dean’s dream/vision while he was knocked out by Jack (of his mother burning on the ceiling) and we get the sense that the narrative is coming full circle with these two references to the first episode. While we thought we had closure over Dean’s mom’s death after Azazel’s death, we may be led to expect some additional closure regarding Lucifer. After all, it was Lucifer’s desire for escape that caused Azazel to create his little army in the first place. Dean’s mission as a hunter, in many ways, began with the loss of his mother. Season 13 is tying back to that original mission, and hopefully will build off of that. The show’s arc “Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.”

Jack’s Powers Profile

Glowing eyes

Glowing healing ability

Sonic scream

Ability to highly manipulate his body / rapid aging

Powers manifest instinctively when threatened

Factions in Heaven

Another possible theme we may continue to see is the continued existence of factions in Heaven. The two angels present two views as they look at Castiel’s body. One side implies that Castiel deserved to die and humans are garbage and the other insists that Castiel deserved better and humans are worthy of respect. Heaven may not be a uniform enemy even though Hannah - Castiel’s more recent ally - is dead.

Jack

I really liked Jack’s portrayal. He’s shocked, confused, and easily joyful. (See: candy.) His thumbprint is nothing - straight lines, a blank slate. HE’S a blank slate and we’ll be toying with the nature versus nurture arguments as we move through his storyline. He says at one point that his powers don’t feel entirely like him - like that piece of Lucifer in him is almost an outside force that he’ll have to contend with in the future.

Speaking of outside forces, I wonder about this line: “I remember when the bad woman burned. I remember when the universe screamed.” He never gave a straight answer about being able to open the universe rifts. I wonder if there’s more to that puzzle. What if it wasn’t Jack - or wasn’t entirely Jack - that opened those rifts? Why is the universe screaming?

As far as Jack and Castiel goes, I am beside myself with glee for Dad!Castiel. They’re both aliens plopped into Earth before they’re ready. And they both have the capacity for deadpan humor. “I'm on a chair. On the floor. On planet earth.” Yes, give me several hours of Castiel and Jack’s observational humor, please.

Regarding the prophetic vision Castiel was given by Jack...last season I speculated that Castiel lied to Kelly about the vision he’d received. Surely Castiel wouldn’t be so gullible as to be swayed by a vision of a world without pain or suffering. Wouldn’t Cas know that was impossible without curtailing free will? However, at the funeral Jack hears Sam say that he wishes that the people they lost end up in a place without suffering. Jack, at this stage, is drinking in EVERY last detail. He already seems to look up to Sam. I think the seeds of the “pain free” world may have been planted by Sam in this first episode.

Then:

Nothing else matters.

Now:

We pick up right where season 12 left off. The son of Satan is imprinting on Sam and our dear, broken Dean springs into action --his best defense-- and pulls his gun and heads inside the house to track and kill the one thing he believes does still matter.

He finds Sam and Jack -and fires his gun at Jack without hesitation. Sam’s able to tip the gun away, but Jack didn’t take to that particular meet and greet. We get to see his powers when he roars and zaps Sam and Dean into a Nephilim Bubble of Don’t Shoot At Me, knocking both brothers out cold.

The title card! It’s quite eye-grabbing (ha,ha). I love the eagle-eyed bloggers that noticed the inverted cross --it went by way too fast for me to catch.

After the title card, we revisit Mary defending her boys against Lucifer, only this time before she can throw a punch, she is consumed by fire. Dean wakes with a start. Was this a Jack induced vision? In any event, the brothers head out to chase the missing nephilim.

Meanwhile, at Pirate Pete’s Jolly Treats, two teenage boys prep for the day by frying up some delicious spicy butt fries. They get an early customer at the drive-thru: a naked Jack imprinting on the pirate statue. One of the boys suggest the other call his mother --the local sheriff.

Sam and Dean are on the road looking for Jack. Two things I noticed here when I first watched it: the lense flare --which turns out others noticed as well, and the dusty state of Baby. Oh, and Dean breaking when he thinks about Cas being dead.

(Let’s talk about the missing scene here. Before they leave to track down Jack they have to bring Castiel’s body in from the gravel yard. They’ll carry it together, perhaps. Or Dean will insist on doing it himself. Sam will volunteer to go upstairs and find a spare sheet while Dean watches over the body. They’ll cover it and linger for a moment, wanting to do more. But Jack is out in the world and the longer they wait, the higher the chance that he’ll slip away. So they hurry away, leaving that still, sheet wrapped form behind on the quiet table. Anyway. I’m just going to be over here crying and rocking in the corner.)

Back at the lake house, two angels arrive to find Castiel laid out on the table. They exchange unpleasantries about Cas and remark on the fact that Kelly is dead and Jack is gone.

At the sheriff’s department, Jack finally has clothes, and an audience who finds his strangeness fascinating. Sheriff Barker asks Jack questions, trying to piece together his story. He knows nothing more than his own first name, the fact that his mother is in heaven, his father is missing, and that the bad woman burned. “I remember the universe screamed.” The sheriff nods in bafflement understanding. Her son, Clark, sums up his thoughts as well.

Sheriff Barker takes Jack’s thumbprint, and heads off to run it through the system. Jack and Clark are left alone, allowing Clark to attempt to buddy up to a new hook up. Jack’s not “wasted, lit, chonged, blitzed, blasted, blazed, baked, or stoned.” He’s...hungry.

I’d also like to add my own first impression of Clark, which fits nicely with all the meta on Clark=Dean/Clark is totally into Jack. I noticed his red jacket, very reminiscent of Rebel without a Cause.

The boys arrive at Pirate Pete’s. While Dean calls Jody for help, Sam heads inside to inquire into Jack’s whereabouts. Once inside Sam runs into a drunk woman and gets confirmation that Jack was at the restaurant. He calls Sheriff Barker and gets further confirmation that he’s currently at the sheriff’s station. The sheriff gets confirmation that something isn’t quite right with Jack.

A jump in time reveals Dean with bloodied knuckles, and the drunk woman hanging all over the Impala. She asks Dean about his hand and then regales him with a story about her college roommate, Becky, a “giant super-bitch.” “She’d take things and break things, and piss people off and just do whatever she wanted, no matter who it hurt.” Sam interrupts her fascinating story, and they head out to the station.

At the police station, the sheriff notices flickering lights and goes to investigate. She finds her son and Jack in the break room eating large amounts of candy. Jack is officially too cute to stay cute. They are so cruel to us. We’re instantly protective of the newest Winchester and that’s just going to make it hurt that much more when things go south later this season. As he’s showing the sheriff how he zaps the candy machine for free food, Jack is suddenly hit with a blast of angel radio. The sheriff reaches out to help him, and he blasts her into unconsciousness. Oops. He then takes off under a shower of sparks, much like our first meeting of Cas all those years ago. I initially thought he couldn’t understand the angels, but I guess he’s just overwhelmed by the voices? Jack makes it to another room only to meet with the dude that tried killing him earlier. Sam tasers him before he can harm Dean. Sheriff Barker quickly follows, but is speechless.

Sam settles into a cell and Dean gets cuffed with a deep sigh. Just another day in the life of Dean Winchester. The sheriff looks down at the weapons piled on her desk (shockingly few but maybe she didn't find them all) and asks for a little clarification.

“My name is Dean Winchester,” Dean says with a dead-on stare reminiscent of last season's mirror speech. “We kill monsters. Have you ever seen a horror movie? Like that.” It's delivered quietly, without show, lines spoken but not felt. Sheriff Barker asks if Jack is a human or something...else. “Jack is a nephilim. He's half human and half angel. Angels are real, too,” Dean says, looking away. (Boris: I saw meta on Twitter (but can’t find it now!) that Dean told the truth here, and the sheriff released him. The truth set him free --something he needs to maybe learn for when Cas comes back.)

Jack wakes at Dean's mention of angel and looks around. Sam's sharing his cell and is wearing his Sam Look of Concern™.  Jack immediately spins around, eyes glowing at the threat. It's a damn good thing Sam's the one sharing Jack's cell because he doesn’t attack. Instead, he asks if Jack is alright. “I was scared,” Jack confesses, “and when I'm scared things happen.” Jack confesses that he was scared by loud, angry voices (we assume angel radio). Sam and Jack both relax, staring each other down. Jack asks Sam to tell them that he's sorry.

Sam wonders how it is that he's talking to Jack, seeing as how Jack's only a day old. Great question! We've all been wondering that. It turns out that Kelly – in her conversations with her fetus – warned him that he'll be in danger as soon as he's born, so he ought to skip the infant and child stages and head right on to young adulthood. Man, kids sure do grow up fast these days. Jack doesn't understand his powers. They feel both like a part of himself and like something else – something “not me”.

Sam skips right past this intriguing fact and asks Jack if he can open up a portal into another world again. That's a big nope from Jack. He remembers doing it but as for whether or not he can do it again...he kind of avoids answering that question. Instead, he'd like to focus on finding his father – Castiel. I SQUEAL YOU SQUEAL WE ALL SQUEAL FOR DAD-STIEL. Jack chose Castiel to be his father because FAMILY DON'T END IN BLOOD. (Incoherent glee from me at this point). Anyway, all squeals get put aside because Sam has to break the news to Jack that Castiel is dead.

Outside the Sheriff's Department, three angels show up – the lead angel is the drunk woman from Pirate Pete's. Well played, fake-drunk angel. Well played.

Dean heads to Sam and Jack's cell. He gave Sheriff Barker The Talk and the Winchesters are now free to go. Dean wants to head someplace quiet where they can gank Jack in peace. Sam tells him that Jack isn't evil and furthermore, they need Jack. Their conversation is cut short by a commotion in the front.

Drunk angel is holding Clark Barker hostage, an angel blade at his throat. Sheriff Barker sweeps in, ready for guns blazing, but Dean tells her that her gun is useless. Drunk angel agrees to let Clark go as long as Sheriff Barker shoots Dean. Dean, she argues, isn't a hero. “He's Becky. You take things and break things and piss people off and just do whatever you want no matter who it hurts.”

Dean tells her that he's rubber and she's glue and that whatever she says will just bounce off him and stick to her. Meanwhile, back with Jack and Sam, angels bust into the jail. Their eyes glow blue, Jack collapses in pain at the sound of angel radio, and the angel holding Clark makes her move. She knifes Clark in the gut, drops him, and Dean moves in on her. In the jail, the other two angels rip off the cell door and march in to kill Jack. Sam does his damndest to defend Jack, Dean gets his ass kicked by drunk angel, and Jack gets pounded by angel number three.

Sam gets kicked in the face so hard he spits blood and draws an angel banishing sigil with it because he’s Sam Fucking Winchester. The two angels attacking Jack and Sam disappear. Golden veins of energy shine briefly from Jack's throat as he recovers from the beating. In the front office, Dean gets the upper hand on drunk angel and asks her why they're here. They want the “golden ticket” because Jack can do “almost anything.”

“Anything?” Dean asks and drunk angel INSTANTLY knows what he's getting at. She tells him that he can't bring Castiel back.

Castiel is “All the way dead,” she tells him. “Because of you.” She punches Dean down physically as well as emotionally then and busts back to the jail, where Sam stands guard over Jack. “Another one,” she moans, seeing Sam. She looks at both Winchesters and then holds out her blade, apparently surrendering. When Sam reaches out to take it, she stabs Jack swiftly in the chest. Sam kills her and then Dean and Sam look on as Jack pulls the blade from his chest. It's bloodied.

“I'm fine,” Jack says, as surprised as any of them.

Afterward, Sheriff Barker heads off in an ambulance with her son Clark (who is going to be fine). Dean and Sam perch on the edge of the Impala and survey Jack who's sitting Forrest Gump style on a bench – no doubt processing his extremely bloody and violent first day of life. Sam tells Dean that they should bring Jack back to the bunker and to his surprise, Dean agrees. Sam wants to teach him; Dean wants to keep him close until they figure out how they can kill him.

“At least there the only people he can hurt are you and me,” Dean says.

Now that all those chess pieces are in motion we finally stop for a moment to mourn. They arrive back outside the cabin and while Dean rummages in the trunk, Sam asks him “if he's sure.” He's referring, of course, to burning Cas's body. Dean's sure. Cas is dead. Hope is gone. Life is over. The world's a cold, dark, friendless place. I'M NOT WALLOWING IN SORROW, YOU ARE. Sam wonders if Chuck might help but Dean shuts that down too. He already tried.

At last we flash back to outside Pirate Pete's, just before Dean suddenly shows up with bloody knuckles. He refused to go inside with Sam so he could find a quiet place to scream-pray to Chuck. Dean angrily prays, “I need your help. You left us. You went off. You said the earth would be fine because it had me and it had Sam but it's not. And we're not. We've lost everything. And now you're gonna bring him back. Okay? You're gonna bring back Cas. You're gonna bring back Mom. Even Crowley. Because after everything that you've done you owe us, you son of a bitch.” He pauses. Looks around and then punches the pirate sign off of the back door of the restaurant. “Please,” he begs. “Please help us.” When he gets no response, he heads back to the car.

We flash back to the present where Dean and Sam stand by the car. “God's not listening,” Dean tells Sam. “He doesn't give a damn.” Dean stalks off with an axe to chop down enough lumber to build a pyre for two. Sam and Jack visit Kelly's body upstairs. Later, downstairs, Dean visits Castiel's body. He slowly pulls back the sheet and looks down on Castiel's still face for a moment before covering it again. He takes the curtain down and tears it, wrapping Castiel's body in the winding cloth.

Later, as evening settles around them, Dean splashes fuel on the laden pyre. Sam asks Jack if he would like to say anything but Jack isn't sure what to say. Sam tells him that you say “Thank you. You say you're sorry. You hope they're somewhere without sadness. Pain. Somewhere better. You say goodbye.”

“Bye Cas,” Dean says. “Bye Kelly. Bye Crowley. Bye Mom.” Yes, goodbye Mom. :( Dean's convinced that Lucifer killed her instantly upon arriving in the parallel universe. Dean throws the lighter into the pyre and it bursts into flames. Together, they all say goodbye.

At last, we jump to the parallel world. Mary's on the run when Lucifer cuts her off and slaps her down. He chortles at her and teases the possibility of killing her. And then he tells her that he needs her and spares her life. Dun dun DUN.

No Quotes Matter:

I tried to shoot the monster, Sam. It's kinda what we do.

There's no such thing as weird. Everyone's normal in their own way.

So what are you, some kind of superhero?

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[dfroza]

wrongfully accused and jailed

but delivered by an act of Light

from Today’s reading of the Scriptures for the 8th day of 2020 in the book of Acts:

[Peter Under Heavy Guard]

That’s when King Herod got it into his head to go after some of the church members. He murdered James, John’s brother. When he saw how much it raised his popularity ratings with the Jews, he arrested Peter—all this during Passover Week, mind you—and had him thrown in jail, putting four squads of four soldiers each to guard him. He was planning a public lynching after Passover.

All the time that Peter was under heavy guard in the jailhouse, the church prayed for him most strenuously.

Then the time came for Herod to bring him out for the kill. That night, even though shackled to two soldiers, one on either side, Peter slept like a baby. And there were guards at the door keeping their eyes on the place. Herod was taking no chances!

Suddenly there was an angel at his side and light flooding the room. The angel shook Peter and got him up: “Hurry!” The handcuffs fell off his wrists. The angel said, “Get dressed. Put on your shoes.” Peter did it. Then, “Grab your coat and let’s get out of here.” Peter followed him, but didn’t believe it was really an angel—he thought he was dreaming.

Past the first guard and then the second, they came to the iron gate that led into the city. It swung open before them on its own, and they were out on the street, free as the breeze. At the first intersection the angel left him, going his own way. That’s when Peter realized it was no dream. “I can’t believe it—this really happened! The Master sent his angel and rescued me from Herod’s vicious little production and the spectacle the Jewish mob was looking forward to.”

Still shaking his head, amazed, he went to Mary’s house, the Mary who was John Mark’s mother. The house was packed with praying friends. When he knocked on the door to the courtyard, a young woman named Rhoda came to see who it was. But when she recognized his voice—Peter’s voice!—she was so excited and eager to tell everyone Peter was there that she forgot to open the door and left him standing in the street.

But they wouldn’t believe her, dismissing her, dismissing her report. “You’re crazy,” they said. She stuck by her story, insisting. They still wouldn’t believe her and said, “It must be his angel.” All this time poor Peter was standing out in the street, knocking away.

Finally they opened up and saw him—and went wild! Peter put his hands up and calmed them down. He described how the Master had gotten him out of jail, then said, “Tell James and the brothers what’s happened.” He left them and went off to another place.

At daybreak the jail was in an uproar. “Where is Peter? What’s happened to Peter?” When Herod sent for him and they could neither produce him nor explain why not, he ordered their execution: “Off with their heads!” Fed up with Judea and Jews, he went for a vacation to Caesarea.

[The Death of Herod]

But things went from bad to worse for Herod. Now people from Tyre and Sidon put him on the warpath. But they got Blastus, King Herod’s right-hand man, to put in a good word for them and got a delegation together to iron things out. Because they were dependent on Judea for food supplies, they couldn’t afford to let this go on too long. On the day set for their meeting, Herod, robed in pomposity, took his place on the throne and regaled them with a lot of hot air. The people played their part to the hilt and shouted flatteries: “The voice of God! The voice of God!”

That was the last straw. God had had enough of Herod’s arrogance and sent an angel to strike him down. Herod had given God no credit for anything. Down he went. Rotten to the core, a maggoty old man if there ever was one, he died.

Meanwhile, the ministry of God’s Word grew by leaps and bounds.

Barnabas and Saul, once they had delivered the relief offering to the church in Jerusalem, went back to Antioch. This time they took John with them, the one they called Mark.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 12 (The Message)

A chapter paired with the first chapter of Haggai in my daily reading of a chapter from each Testament of the Bible (along with Psalms and Proverbs each day)

[Caught Up with Taking Care of Your Own Houses]

On the first day of the sixth month of the second year in the reign of King Darius of Persia, God’s Message was delivered by the prophet Haggai to the governor of Judah, Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, and to the high priest, Joshua son of Jehozadak:

A Message from God-of-the-Angel-Armies: “The people procrastinate. They say this isn’t the right time to rebuild my Temple, the Temple of God.”

Shortly after that, God said more and Haggai spoke it: “How is it that it’s the ‘right time’ for you to live in your fine new homes while the Home, God’s Temple, is in ruins?”

And then a little later, God-of-the-Angel-Armies spoke out again:

“Take a good, hard look at your life.

Think it over.

You have spent a lot of money,

but you haven’t much to show for it.

You keep filling your plates,

but you never get filled up.

You keep drinking and drinking and drinking,

but you’re always thirsty.

You put on layer after layer of clothes,

but you can’t get warm.

And the people who work for you,

what are they getting out of it?

Not much—

a leaky, rusted-out bucket, that’s what.

That’s why God-of-the-Angel-Armies said:

“Take a good, hard look at your life.

Think it over.”

Then God said:

“Here’s what I want you to do:

Climb into the hills and cut some timber.

Bring it down and rebuild the Temple.

Do it just for me. Honor me.

You’ve had great ambitions for yourselves,

but nothing has come of it.

The little you have brought to my Temple

I’ve blown away—there was nothing to it.

“And why?” (This is a Message from God-of-the-Angel-Armies, remember.) “Because while you’ve run around, caught up with taking care of your own houses, my Home is in ruins. That’s why. Because of your stinginess. And so I’ve given you a dry summer and a skimpy crop. I’ve matched your tight-fisted stinginess by decreeing a season of drought, drying up fields and hills, withering gardens and orchards, stunting vegetables and fruit. Nothing—not man or woman, not animal or crop—is going to thrive.”

Then the governor, Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, and the high priest, Joshua son of Jehozadak, and all the people with them listened, really listened, to the voice of their God. When God sent the prophet Haggai to them, they paid attention to him. In listening to Haggai, they honored God.

Then Haggai, God’s messenger, preached God’s Message to the people: “I am with you!” God’s Word.

This is how God got Zerubbabel, Joshua, and all the people moving—got them working on the Temple of God-of-the-Angel-Armies. This happened on the twenty-fourth day of the sixth month in the second year of King Darius.

The Book of Haggai, Chapter 1 (The Message)

the Temple on earth has become the daughters & sons of Love who have found themselves in Light by welcoming the entrance of the Spirit (inside, Anew)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, january 8 of 2020, the 19th day of Winter

[mysnarkyslytherinsecret]

I just thought of something sad. I'm picturing a neglected child Severus and, well most children who are neglected (physically; who go without food) tend to hide food. Now all I'm thinking of is baby First Year Sev pocketing food from the Great Hall and hiding it under his pillow in his dorm.

Severus had never seen so much food in his entire life.  Even the meager grocery shop down the street (where he’d nicked more than a couple loaves of bread when there was no money and his stomach has won out over his sense of morality), was a pittance in comparison.

He ate as slowly as he dared, hiding bits of food in his napkin when he felt no eyes on him. Oddly enough, he had barely any appetite, though he gorged himself anyway.  Lucius Malfoy had known his name! Severus had swelled with pride at that.  Pureblooded families stuck together, even disgraced Pureblooded families it seemed.  Probably due to how few offspring there were.  He knew at once that his mother had called in a favor. Abraxas Malfoy, who his mother had spoken about in reverent tones, had come through.  But first thing first.  Food.  As much of it as he could carry back to his dorm room without being spotted.  Severus had already managed a halfway serviceable Stasis Charm earlier that evening while practicing spells with Lily.  They would show Hogwarts who the best first year students would be.  He was certain that Lily, with her knack for instinctive magic, would be a natural at charms.  She practically breathed magic.  Severus’ magic, however, was always so reactive- only when he’d been provoked to the breaking point, which sadly never took long.  The first time he’d tried the Stasis Charm, he’d burnt his subject (a discarded crisp) to ash.  However, with enough control over his emotions, he was able to get it to levitate in the Stasis Bubble quite well indeed.

Severus was glad that he’d set aside part of his trunk to be a pantry.

He’d read about the feasts at Hogwarts, of course. He’d dreamed of them while sitting on the roof and looking at the stars in the summer, his father thundering with drunken rage in the house below.  He’d imagined the flavors he’d sample when he’d forced himself to shove something putrid and boiled down his throat without any sauce to mask the earthy flavor of rot.  He’d seen pictures on the front page of the Prophet, the one that his father did not know his mother had a lifetime subscription for, as she burned them in the stove as soon as both she and Severus had read them.

But now, under the guise of wiping his mouth on his napkin, Severus instead ferreted away plenty of food, folding the napkin into his pockets (his mother had done the Undetectable Extension Charm work on them), and strode off to his dorm, hoping to get there before anything got too mashed up.

He did not see the outstretched foot on the ground.

Severus fell on his face, instantly feeling the wetness of various pilfered food items staining through his robes into his underthings.

“Hahahaha, looks like you’re already off to a terrible start as a wizard, Snivellus!” shouted the boy with the crazy black hair and Gryffindor robes- a boy who Severus recognized from the train.  His looks were unmistakeable- his thick, regal hair and nose were obviously inherited from the Black family, so he must be the black sheep of the family with some star name or other, as the Blacks were wont to do.  Another Gryffindor boy, who had flat, black hair, but who was apparently halfway through the motion of trying to make it look messy, joined in laughing, and Severus soon felt his face go scarlet with shame. He looked up to see that Lucius was looking back at him, his mouth half-curled into a sneer.  Severus could see his status going up in smoke after less than a day. 

His mother was going to be so disappointed in him.

He turned back to the jeering Gryffindors, his fury pouring from him in waves, and pointed his wand.

“STUPEFY!” he shouted, and both of the boys flew back so quickly that they slammed against the far wall and stuck there. Severus stood with his legs spread out, his head bent forward. He breathed in slowly, feeling his heartbeat going back to normal.

A hand rested on his shoulder and Severus looked through his greasy hair at the handsome seventh year Slytherin.

“Impressive,” Lucius said, his proud face still filled with mild surprise, “My father was right, you are one to look out for.  As for you two….ten points from Gryffindor…each.  I daresay that Gryffindor is starting out at a negative this year.”

With a chuckle, Lucius turned and let Severus catch up to him.

“My…robes,” Severus mumbled, still feeling a bit of humiliation as the mess dripped coldly down his leg.

“Do not worry,” Lucius said, waving his hand dismissively. “Use the House Elves. When you get back to your room, just call for Hogwarts House Elf Room Service, then tell them what you want. They also deliver midnight snacks if you find yourself peckish, though don’t overuse them or you’ll get scolded by the professors. Not Slughorn, though.  He’ll just take some of it if he catches you.”

Severus knew he was staring with his mouth agape, but Lucius seemed amused by this.

“You’re rather skinny, Snape,” he said with a soft chuckle that sounded undeniably cultured. “I should hope you take ample advantage.”

Snape smiled, then, and he could feel the joy growing in his heart, even if it was small and tentative and he did not know if it would last.  He would have food whenever he wished, and he had successfully convinced Malfoy that he was worth mentoring.  Plus, it didn’t hurt that those two Gryffindors were still stuck to the wall, their respective pride more bruised than anything else.

Severus had an entire hot fudge sundae before going to bed, his eyes only opening halfway through the night when a House Elf popped into the room with his clean and pressed school robes hanging on a cedar hanger.

Severus smiled as he drifted back to sleep.  Oh yes,  Slytherin truly was the best House after all.