#Wine of Morning

[wutbju]

More about Bob Jr.'s sickness and the resulting novel:

In the spring of 1950, the same year the film studios were opened, Bob, Jr., was confined to his bed with a serious case of pleurisy. In the Jones tradition, he refused to lie in bed for weeks without something constructive to occupy his time. Simply to lie still and recuperate was as remote an idea to him as trapping lions in darkest Africa. For years he had been toying with a plot for a Christian novel. His heavy administrative duties and speaking engagements all over America and in foreign countries had blockaded any attempts to put the ideas on paper. While his body was building up new strength, he would put his mind and imagination to work. This was the chance he had been waiting for, but he had hardly expected that it would come to pass in this fashion.

[stainedglass-sketchbook]

Getting domestic in Waterdeep (gale would have the fanciest lounging around robes)

[sophsun1]

#same energy aka the aftermath of dealing with evan 'chaotic bi' buckley #what makes this even funnier is that he's talking about each of them to other

[visceravalentines]

small town, sunday night

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

a discarded scene from a longer fic. Bo's pretty sure by now you know who you belong to, but he oughta make sure, just in case. on ao3 here if you wanna.

2.4k words. porn with plot if you squint. extremely dubious consent. Stockholm syndrome. forced exhibitionism, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, emotional manipulation. tried out something new where the narration is written more in Bo's voice and i'm interested to see if that works for you or nah so lmk.

The whole family’s gathered in the den on a Sunday night. It ain’t tradition, not really, it’s just that if everyone’s gonna get together it’s gonna be on Sunday. 

Nobody felt like cookin’ and he don’t trust you ‘round the knives yet, so Les picked up some fried chicken from the Kroger and Bo said grace and you behaved yourself like a nice young lady, and now everybody’s sittin’ in front of the television drinkin’ beer and watchin’ football like some kinda all-American family. 

He’s got you sat on his lap in a sundress that belonged to some other bitch before you. It don’t fit you right, barely covers your ass, but that’s fine by him. His brothers keep eyeing you like you’re the skin mag by the cash register. He'll let ‘em look; in fact, he wants them to look. Plus it freaks you out, makes you press yourself against his chest in search of protection and boy, if that don’t make him wanna laugh out loud. He’s all too happy to oblige, wrappin’ you in his arms and whisperin’ sweet sugary bullshit in your ear. You’re servin’ yourself up to him on a silver platter and you don’t even realize it. 

He snags the six-pack off the side table and hands it to you, watches you wrestle a beer from the plastic ring and pop the tab for him without being asked. 

“Good girl,” he says, and kisses your cheek when he takes the can from you. You're bein’ such an angel today that it’s got him nostalgic for that bitch with the bad attitude. He wonders if she's gone for good or if he could dig around in that pretty head of yours and find her. “You want one?” 

You hesitate. He watches you do the math. You know by now you can’t get somethin’ for nothin’, but apparently you think you got plenty to give because you nod quietly. 

“G’on.”  He dangles the six-pack in front of you and lets you pick one for yourself. He watches the way you set your lips on the rim of the can, watches your throat bob as you swallow. Your gaze shifts uncertainly to him and he winks at you. You almost—almost—give him a shaky little smile. 

You adjust yourself in his lap, tug on your dress, try to get comfortable. He rests his chin on your shoulder and waits for you to settle. He likes the smell of his soap on your skin, even if it makes him miss the animal stench of you from before. Bringin’ you home was a good call. You clean up sweet and so far you’ve been learnin’ your lessons real well. Shit, he’s almost proud of you. 

Once you’ve mellowed out, sippin’ on your beer and pretendin’ this is where you wanna be, he slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips twitching at the hem of your skirt. He watches you frown and glance down at his hand and then back up at the TV like you think you can ignore him. He pushes your skirt up an inch or so and bites back a smirk when you shift and squeeze your knees together, shooting an anxious glance in the direction of his brothers. 

“Somethin’ wrong, baby?” he whispers. You answer with your eyes, give him this pleading look that makes him want to tear that dress off you right here, right now. “You’re alright. Watch the game.” 

Reluctantly, you turn back to the TV with this blank expression on your face that tells him he has your full attention. He moves his hand between your legs and gives your waist a hard squeeze when you stiffen. When you glance at him again he treats you to an ice-cold smile. 

This is a test, girl. Better hope you got a shot at passin'.

You’re bare beneath the dress ‘cause what would you need panties for, and he worms his hand between your thighs until his fingers find that soft, warm center of you. You jerk like a mare tryin’ to shake off a fly, but you don’t make a sound. He probes until his middle finger slips like silk into your slit almost up to the second knuckle and Jesus, girl, you’re so wet it makes his mouth water. This is why he never listens to you, because you don’t even know that you’re lying when you do it. 

He eases his finger out of you and back in deeper, watches your lips part but no sound come out. He does it again and your lashes flutter like a doll’s. You’re sittin’ still as a statue for now but he’s gonna break you. Promise. 

“You been so good, baby girl,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His thumb prods at your clit and you strangle the life out of a gasp as it tries to sneak into the room. “Wanna make sure you know how much I appreciate you behavin’ yourself.” He rubs that sweet spot in lazy circles and savors the way your back arches slow, so slow, tryin’ so hard to keep it a secret that he’s finger-fucking you ten feet from his family. 

You think they don’t know, huh?  You think they don’t see you’re nothin’ but a slut?  Maybe you oughta think a little less.

You get that look on your face like you’re determined to take back control of yourself but you belong to him, girl, that body is his. When he pushes another finger into your pussy your toes curl on the arm of the chair and this little moan makes it out alive and both his brothers were raised huntin’ so they know what a creature in distress sounds like and all the sudden, you’re the Sunday evening special. 

“Well looky here,” Les says, and wolf whistles. 

Your eyes go wide and you cover your face with your hands and Bo can’t help it, he breaks into a grin. He thought he’d wrung all the shame right outta you by now, but apparently he thought wrong. 

You peer over your fingers at him with tear-filled eyes and this time, you might just be cryin’ for real. You look so betrayed it makes him sick, makes him wish he could take it back just so he can do it to you again. 

“’S alright, baby, they’re just lookin’,” he coos.

“We are most certainly lookin’,” Les agrees, and ordinarily Bo would smack him, but the way your lip quivers makes his dick twitch. 

“Pretend they ain’t even here,” he says low in your ear. “Unless you like that sorta thing. You like bein’ watched, honey?  You some kinda slut?”

He already knows the answer even if you don’t. He can tell by the way that sweet little cunt keeps spasin’ around his fingers like somethin’ dying. And you don’t deny it, just keep beggin’ him to stop with those big doe eyes. He don't gotta work hard to pull your focus back to that ache between your hips. All it takes is a little spit on his thumb, a little less friction on that poor swollen clit, and you’re melting in his hands. 

“I’m just showin’ ‘em, baby,” he whispers. “Just makin’ sure they know you’re mine.” 

He collects your wrists with his free hand and pulls them down to expose your face. You make a sound, some kinda protest, but you don’t fight him off like you used to. That girl’s been buried six feet deep inside you and you’re all that’s markin’ her grave. 

“Hey Vince. Do me a favor?”  Bo tosses his head towards the camera sitting on the coffee table where he left it, a brand-new roll of film ready and waitin’ inside. His twin snatches it up without question and puts his goddamn gift to good use. 

You’re fightin’ it hard, makin’ him work for it, but he knows your body better than you do by now. When you cum, you try to hide it, bitin’ your lip and screwin’ up your face. But you can’t keep that pussy from grippin’ him tight, throbbin’ like your life depends on it. You squeeze his hand. A whine sneaks out of your throat and he catches it in his mouth, swallows it whole, savors it to the last.

You slump against his chest, let your head roll into the hollow of his shoulder because it's got nowhere else to go. You're soakin’ his shirt, soakin’ his hand. You're made of water, girl. Maybe that's why you make him so goddamn thirsty. 

“Well she’s a delight,” Les says, slaps his thighs, stands up. “I'm gonna head home ‘n jerk off unless you gents need anything.”

He has the gall to reach for one of the Polaroids Vince is layin’ out on the coffee table like playing cards and Bo hisses through his teeth. 

“Leave it. I ain't handin’ out souvenirs.”

Les rolls his eyes and slinks off like a stray mutt. Vincent looks for a second like he might make a case for himself, but thinks better of it and rightly so. He hands Bo the stack of photos and creeps back downstairs where he belongs and now it's just you and him and the TV static. 

You're stiff as a board in his arms but you're clingin’ to his shirt with all you got so which is it, woman? He kisses your temple and starts shufflin’ through the pictures. Mama's favorite son ain't immune to the charms of the pornographic and most of them center on the view up your skirt, the curve of your ass, your juice shinin’ on his knuckles. 

But there's one, just one, of your face lookin’ up at him. With these big, round eyes fixed on him and your hands cupped together in front of your chest. You look like you're prayin’, girl. Like you're worshiping him. 

He licks his lips, looks down at you. You’re starin’ straight ahead into space, head on his chest, tits swellin’ against the bodice of that dress as you breathe deep in and out. He can tell you're searchin’ for the way back to that place you used to go, safe and warm without him. 

You can't find it. It ain't there anymore. All you got is what you got.

“Can we go to bed?” 

He’s surprised you’re speakin’ to him. Your voice is low and rough from the tears. You don't look at him until he tucks his finger beneath your chin and tilts your face up. There's somethin’ bright and broken in your eyes like glass. 

“Please.”

He hates givin’ you what you want, doesn't want you gettin’ the wrong idea about who's in control here. He can't be spoilin’ you any more than he already has. But he prizes that look of relief and gratitude you give him when he's generous. That little furrow between your brows that melts away when he's good to you. 

“Sure, baby.”

There it is. You slump against him beneath the force of your relief and fuck you for the way his hands move to hold you without him thinkin’ about it. 

He don't carry you to bed. You're not a goddamn princess no matter what you might think of yourself. But you drop that dress that ain't yours to the floor and crawl naked into his sheets and when he climbs into bed beside you, you inch your way over ‘til you're pressed up against his ribs. 

He can barely hear you breathin’. You're hardly even there. The old you would be rippin’ into his stomach, thrashin’ fit to snap your own spine. This new bitch, though, she’s manageable. Sweet, even. 

Probably you don't mean for him to hear it but something like a sob sneaks out of you and it gives him butterflies. He rolls onto his side and slings his arm around you. 

“Don't cry, now. You're alright.”

You shrink into him, make yourself small and bite-sized. You need him so bad and he knows it, figures you’re startin’ to figure it out too. What would you do without me, huh?

“Was I too mean, baby?” You choke on those tears and he bites his lip. “I'm sorry…you forgive me?”

You whimper, can't commit. It ain't your fault you're stuck tryin’ to make sense of it all, ‘specially with him feelin’ you up like he is. He can't keep a straight face, grinnin’ into the back of your neck. “I just got carried away, showin’ off my girl.” He pushes his hips against your ass. “You are my girl, right?”

A breath shudders through your body. You arch your back, don't even know you're doin’ it. He wraps his hand around your throat like a collar, nice and snug, squeezes just a little to get you back on course. “I asked you a question. You got an answer for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I'm your girl.”

Your voice breaks and whew, he's got blood rushin’ every which way. “Tell me you forgive me.”  

You don’t respond. He tightens his grip just beneath your jaw, brings his lips to your ear. 

“Fuckin’ answer me, huh?  You forgive me?  I gotta hear it, baby doll, or I’ll be up all night.”  

His fingers dig into your flesh. He can feel you shaking like a leaf in the wind with fear or fury or something else he can put to use. He’s grindin’ against that ass, just about ready to flip you facedown and fuck the sense back into you, when you finally give him what he wants. 

He always gets what he wants, baby. Haven’t you figured that out by now?  

“I forgive you,” you rasp, and he loosens his grip and feels your tits press against his arm as you suck in air. 

“Ain’t you sweet,” he says, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head, and when he rolls back an inch or two you scoot right along with him until your back is flush to his chest again, and that’s fuckin’ hilarious, huh?  Just can’t get enough. 

He lays in the dark and feels your breath on his knuckles, feels it hitch, feels it slow, feels it mellow out and go feather-soft, and before he knows it, he’s out like a light. 

You wear him the fuck out, girl.��

[winethorn]

(pls send tea recs i have like five different variations of earl grey and am starting to get worried) >-<

also kinda gave up on the emoticons for this one they were just too hard 😔

[faaun]

what draws you back to your country what draws you back to your land when i was a kid i told myself if i ever left iran i'd never go back 2 years into living in the UK i started looking at news on iran again 10 years in and i visited it for the first time again and today i heard an iranian mother talk in farsi to her child on the train to london the way my mother used to and i wanted to cry i wanted to ask her whether they're still cutting the mountaintops whether the lakes are still drying today i showed the person i was with pictures of waterfalls and palaces and forests and snow-white north something odd pulls me back with increasing force i can't ignore it ever again

[veinsfullofstars]

🍷 Kirbtober 2024 Day 22: Ship or Hangout 🍷

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Daroach and Dark Meta Knight overindulging on “fancy grape juice” together, their faces brightly flushed from the several bottles standing empty around them. The thief sits with a glass held loosely in one paw, laughing and resting the other paw on the unmasked knight’s head as he lays sprawled over Daroach’s torso, disgruntled but not particularly inclined to move, his wing lazily draped over them both. END ID.)

“Ha! Who's the *hic* lightweight now, sunshine?”

“Mmrrghshuddup. Smartass rat with your stupid pretty mouth stupid mmghngh..."

Previous Day | Next Day | Prompt List (made by @/paintpanic)

Started on 10/02/24, finished on 10/03/24. | Kirbtober 2023 Comp

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

something special = anything valentines day related from gifts to dinner to dates to watching a special movie; anything you do specifically because its valentines day

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 4

Prompt: O65 - you dont think that was just lemonade in your glass do you?

AO3 or read below:

The volume in the great hall had reached a clamorous level; the buzzing din and the blood pounding in Ginny's ears, mingled until she was sure the noise was going to drown her.

She tried to catch her breath; her Quidditch robes were suddenly too tight, making her efforts pointless. The sea of students surrounding her was nothing more than a blurred, faceless mass.

A touch on her hand, so light she shouldn't have been able to feel at all, brought her surroundings sharply into focus.

“You need to eat,” Harry said quietly.

Wordlessly, Ginny nodded. She kept her eyes on her plate in front of her, refusing to let them wander to the Ravenclaw table at the opposite side of Hufflepuff. The toast Harry had placed in front of her was swimming in butter. It felt dry as cardboard as it protested its journey down her throat.

She reached for her glass, swallowing a mouthful of sugary-sweet lemonade that did nothing to ease the dryness.

“There's no need to be nervous,” Harry said, using the same quiet tone that Hermione was directing at Ron across the table. Words that were only meant for one person. “If you lose, everyone will blame me… Everyone should blame me.”

His words sparked a fire within her that had been dangerously close to dwindling out a moment before. Ginny looked up sharply from her crumb-covered plate. “We're not going to lose!”

“Right,” Harry agreed at once, one corner of his mouth twitching, threatening a smile as his eyes met Ginny's. “So there's nothing to worry about, is there?”

She felt one side of her own mouth tick up. “Who said I was worried?”

Harry's smile bloomed fully, and the sight did more to ease her nerves than any encouraging words would ever be able to. His smiles had been frustratingly infrequent since the incident with Malfoy; every one that Ginny had managed to coax out of him felt like a victory all of its own. She suspected this one was for her benefit.

“The only thing you should be worried about is how you’re going to deal with your horde of admirers once you win the cup for Gryffindor.”

Ginny's laughter escaped her without her permission, as did the words she spoke next, “and will you be among them?”

Harry took a bite of his crumpet in a very obvious attempt to delay answering. His eyes flicked across the table to Ron, who was too busy listening to whatever soft words of encouragement Hermione was whispering to him to pay attention to what Ginny and Harry were doing.

He swallowed the crumpet. “I'll be the Head of the Ginny Weasley Fan Club.”

It was probably indecent to smile as widely as she currently was in the face of the biggest match of her life.

“Well,” she said, now breathless for entirely different reasons. “Given that my win is a foregone conclusion, I hope you're ready to take the responsibilities that come with your new position very seriously.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but his gaze was steady, unwavering where it met Ginny's. “The season will be over; I'll have plenty of spare time to dedicate to it.”

“You don't have to convince me.” She laughed again, despite the way her stomach was twisting itself into knots. “The job is yours, if you want it.”

Their eyes remained fixed on one another. If the students around them had been faceless to her before, it was like there was no one there at all anymore; like they were the only two people left in the world.

“I'm just letting you know,” Harry said quietly, no longer smiling. “In case anyone else was interested in the position.”

Ginny's voice dropped to barely a whisper. “No one else is being considered.”

A beat of silence stretched on for what could have been eternity for all she knew. Harry didn't look away. She wasn't sure she would be capable of doing so even if she'd wanted to. Whatever this thing was that had been building between them was teetering dangerously close to a precipice and she was about to fall–

“Ginny!”

Dean's voice broke the spell that had fallen over them with jarring abruptness. Harry blinked, and then his attention turned to the half-eaten crumpet on his plate.

Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, Ginny turned in the direction her name had been called from.

“Are you ready to go down?” Dean asked.

Ginny didn't need to turn back to Harry to know he'd tensed beside her.

“You go ahead,” Ginny said smoothly. “I’ve still got some toast left.”

“You can eat on the way,” Harry said quickly. “You should probably take the others down before they get too deep in their own heads.”

She hesitated, wanting to protest the suggestion of leaving Harry up here, alone, while the rest of them went down to the pitch, yet knowing his logic was sound. Ginny's eye met Katie's further down the table, a short nod was enough to instruct her to gather the rest of the team and begin ushering them out of the hall.

Hermione's hand wrapped gently around Ron's forearm, guiding him from the table. Harry stood, and Ginny followed him, wishing she could recapture the moment they’d been so forcefully removed from.

“You've successfully boosted my confidence,” she said as they made their way towards the door. “Consider your Captain duties fulfilled.”

“That wasn't me,” Harry said with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You don't think that was just lemonade in your glass, do you?”

“That little trick won't work twice,” Ginny assured him, unable to summon her own smile now their moment of separation was here.

It didn't matter, she promised herself, forcing a grin despite her mouth's reluctance, the match – and Harry's detention – would be over soon, and once she had the cup, everything would fall into place.

[al-the-remix]

I know nothing about 911 but seeing all the bucktommy posts makes me really interested, if you don’t mind could you give a short introduction of the ship/which episode(s) to watch for them? Thanks!!

Hi! So the ship is a very new one and they don't have a lot of screen time yet, so their relationship only appears in season seven, episodes: 7x3 to 7x6 and then 7x9 and 7x10. Tommy Kinard as a side character also shows up in episodes 2x9, 2x12, 2x14 (in an off-screen capacity) and 2x16.

As for the introduction, the lore with this show runs sort of deep, but as condensed and simplified as I can give it to you: the decision to introduce bi!Buck and Tommy and his love interest was made very last minute (like as the first few episodes of season seven were coming out kind of last minute...) as the tv show switched networks from FOX to ABC and was working with a protracted season, (10 episodes in stead of 18), so this first season you see them together in has a very "let's see how well this works and if the general audience approves of it" kind of vibe.

Obviously, it worked for me! And the general reception has been good. Personally, I find their dynamic fun and genuine; the show runner was aiming for a non-heavy coming out story with a romcom twist, which I think they succeeded at. Buck (or "Evan" as Tommy calls him) is sort of the obvious favourite of the show in the audience and the writer's eyes, he's gotten a lot of development over the years, but has stagnanted recently on the romance side of things and also in his professional development, (which is partly the fault of the writers and partly just bad luck with maintaining actors). So I think a lot of fans are excited to see him "off the hamster wheel", as they say, in the love department. This opens up the possibility to explore other plot lines with him as a character in his professional life and personal life now that hes in a steady relationship.

Tommy we don't know much about yet, other than he was deeply in the closet when we first see him in the season 2 flash-back episodes. He's not initially a very warm, welcoming, and accepting person, but it's implied that a lot of that behavior was influenced by his environment and poor upbringing, and he is quick to make amends and befriend the main characters when he's shown to be in the wrong. He used to be in the army, and is a fan of cars, martial arts, and rom coms. The way he talks in the season seven episodes makes it clear that he's done a lot of self reflection since we've last seen him (and since he's come out). He's shown to be an open and honest person who does his best to show up for the people he cares for, and once Buck is in his line of sight, all that attention is turned his way.

I think with this ship what people are most excited about is the potential it demonstrates: Buck as a character is someone who's been on an aggressive misson of self discovery and understanding, he's been actively looking for a romantic partner to have a committed, mature relationship with, he's someone who's willing to give a lot of himself away to his partner and is desperately hoping to have that attention and affection mirrored back at him.

What little we know about Tommy so far makes it clear that he's mature and willing enough to be that person for Buck: if it works out and the writers allow him to be. I just really enjoy what little I've seen so far, and with the show being back to its regular 18 episodes next season and Tommy pretty much confirmed to return, I'm interested and invested and hopefully in where they may take this relationship next.

Also I feel like I need to add if you're going to engage with the fandom specifically for this ship, do it through the #bucktommy tag on tumblr, because it's a real mine field out there right now, lol.

[wutbju]

This one has a surprise. Can you see it?

"Wine of Morning," with scenes of bloodshed, shipwreck, intrigue, murder, love and redemption, filmed in color, provides one of the most moving gospel messages that this reviewer can recall.

Produced by Unusual Films, a Bob Jones University enterprise, it features a huge cast, magnificent settings and gorgeous costumes. And it provides a tremendous spectacle of life in the time of Jesus from Nazareth, to Cana of Galilee, to Capernaum, Jerusalem, Cyprus, Antioch and Caesarea.

The two-hour production is based on the novel, "Wine of Morning," by Dr. Bob Jones Jr., university president. It deals with a fictionalized story of Barabbas, the man freed by Pilate in response to the cries of the mob in preference to Jesus - and on whose cross Jesus died.

AWARD WINNER

The film has won international recognition, was the first to win all four top awards of the National Evangelical Film Foundation and was shown at the International Congress of Motion Picture and Television Schools at the International Film Festival in 1958.

Its technical excellence has been featured in a number of manuals and textbooks, particularly the realistic results achieved in the storm and ship wreck scenes.

Director Katherine Stenholm, who won the 1953 National Evangelical Film Foundation award as outstanding director, and whose remarkable career with Unusual Films is told in some detail in another feature on the studios in this edition, makes her talent clearly evident in this moving production.

Produced on campus, with a cast of students and faculty members, it stars Al Carter as Joel, called Barabbas; David Yearick as Prince Manaen; George Hennix as Omah; Bob Jones III as Dysmas; Bob Jones Jr., Pontius Pilate; Thomas Woodward, King Herod Agrippa; Howard Burns, Joseph, the carpenter; Jack Buttram, Stephen; Vincent Cervera, the Paul, Apostle; Katherine Helmond, Irene of Cyprus; Joan DeVolk, Myra, an Egyptian dancer; and Robert Pratt, the father of Dysmas.

Did you see her?

MIRACLES DEPICTED

The latter as Jonathan proves to be the man let down through the roof and healed by Jesus. The audience is witness to other miracles, either on screen or seen through the eyes of the film's characters. Jesus is never glimpsed as being recognizable -- always as a shadow, a hand, a portion of His robe and then, in the scenes at the time of the crucifixion, as an identifiable figure, but still unrecognizable as a cast member.

Most powerful scene, to the reviewer, is Prince Manaen's story of redemption as told to the mature Joel, offering him hope that he, too, may be saved.

Years earlier Joel had turned from Jesus at the time Jesus attended the farewell dinner given by Levi, the tax collector, after the latter was called by Jesus as a disciple.

Joel then becomes actively involved as revolutionary seeking with a small organization headed by the powerful and wealthy Prince Manaen "to drive the brutal and tyrannical Romans from our lands."

After six months of training, Joel becomes a full-fledged and hardened "freedom-fighter," with only occasional pangs of conscience for the deeds that are performed in the cause of freedom. And he becomes Barabbas, who preys on the wealthy as they enter Jerusalem to provide funds to finance the campaign for freedom.

RICH IN COLOR

The story moves even more quickly now. Tragedy follows tragedy, climaxed with the scenes before Pilate. Certainly the greatest spectacle in the production is that where Pilate's retinue descends a great staircase while the mob clamors in the street.

But all the color is rich.

Opening on shipboard during the storm, the mature Joel re views his days in Galilee as he returns after many years to his native land. One sees the child romping in scenes of great pastoral beauty in rural Galilee, a boyhood that jumps into maturity when he falls in love with Irene of Cyprus -- already bethrothed to his best friend Stephen.

The first miracle is that of the transformation of water to wine at the wedding feast.

But Joel, an orphan, finds life unbearable with Irene the bride of his best friend and he goes to Capernaum to work for Jonathan (before the latter is the beneficiary in another miracle), With Jonathan healed, Joel no longer seems needed and he becomes a revolutionary.

Opulent Eastern luxury in the palace of the Prince, in Pilate's chambers and in the home of the wealthy father of Irene are contrasted with the humble homes of Jonathan, of Stephen and others. Even food, all of the smallest details, have been researched and provide a historically correct recreation of the days of Jesus and the years following.

The title? It comes from the letter written by Joel to the widowed Irene (after Stephen had been stoned) as he tells her of his conversion, his joy in his new faith and concludes: "I am drunk on Wine of Morning." Soon afterward, captured as he walks with Paul, we leave Joel in a cell in Herod's palace, content to die for his faith if it is so decreed, or to go forth and preach the gospel if he is freed.

The death of Herod before Joel's execution decree is signed leaves his fate in doubt, but not his faith.

[eli-am-confused]

“Fancy meeting you here~”

“Sheila this is my dinner.”

@the-pipster-pin got me thinking about them again.

[mixelation]

If you could give any species of animal pharyngeal jaws, (that doesn't already have them) what species would you pick?

me hot women big tiddy deidara

i think geese should have this power. i don't think it would be a good idea i just love chaos and also evil

[abogwitchnamedsage]

𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆?

[silverskye13]

skye how ya doin, you having second thoughts? /t

Oh that's embarrassing.

I like to call that maneuver, "Getting wine drunk on a work night and losing all ability to use the silly little apps on your phone."