#and John is child coming out of age in a world full of terrors

[we-dont-like-it-here]

the more I listen to Ma//levolent the more I think that John and Arthur exist in different genres

[cloudlessly-light]

The love you gave me (One-shot)

A/N: Another not smut fic?! I've been in a angsty mood and today I watched Minimal Loss and this idea came to me and I couldn't get it out of my mind, so here we are.

Title: The love you gave me Summary: I can take it.

She’s said those words before. Aaron just didn’t know the full story why. Word count: 3,1k Rating: Mature Warnings: Child abuse, abuse, SA (nothing detailed), mentions of abortion, Emily Prentiss needs a hug, angst, hurt, Protective Aaron Hotchner

“I can take it.” She knows that the team is listening, knows that he is listening. They can’t come in, they can’t risk the lives of innocent children, children who didn’t know anything but life inside a cult.

“I can take it.”

She grew up in violence. Of course, as a young girl she didn’t realize how wrong it was. She didn’t know that having your arm pulled hard enough that she was sure it would be pulled out of the socket when getting the answer wrong, or the slap to her cheek when she talked back or the quiet tears on her mother’s face, was wrong.

No, Emily learned that violence was a form of love from a young age.

She can’t remember the first time her father had turned his violence against her. There was a memory, vague and blurry that she thinks was the first time, but she can’t be sure. She’s four, running down the stairs in a frilly dress that her mother had insisted on, it’s pink and white and everything Emily didn’t want. And then she trips, tumbles down the stairs and right into the housekeeper that’s trying to save her fall. In the chaos she accidentally knocks over a pot, sending dirt all over the floor and her dress.

“Emily!” Her father’s voice booms as he comes out from the study, dark eyes narrowed into splits as he watches the mess before him. “Stupid girl.” He grabs her arm and drags her to his study, muttering the entire way.

The bruises on her arm take a week to fade.

What she does know is that it doesn’t stop, no matter how much she tries to be the perfect daughter, he would always find a reason why she wasn’t good enough. She’s eleven when she starts to accept that she never would be what he wanted. And it is a piece of her lost.

Sometimes she would look at herself in the mirror. Everyone told her that she looked like her mother, but her eyes, they were strikingly like her father’s. The same dark orbs, the same shape, and she hates it. Because every time she looked in the mirror, she saw him staring back at her, scrutinizing her, finding everything that was wrong with her. She didn’t want his eyes, because she didn’t want to see the world like he did.

She’s twelve when he twists her mother’s arm hard enough to break it and as she sits with her in an emergency room and listens to her mother’s lies to the doctors and nurses, she swears she would be better than her.

“You’re pathetic!” Her father spits the words in her mother’s face.

Emily has watched the whole thing, her mother’s arm still in a cast as he blames her for being late after a meeting. She would watch her mother sometimes, wonder how the woman who with a single look demanded respect in a room full of people, could look so meek standing in front of her husband.

His hand raises and Elizabeth flinches before he’s made contact. And it’s enough for Emily to stand from the kitchen table, palms flat on the smooth wood.

“Don’t!” She screams and she can see the terror on her mother’s face, wide eyes as she shakes her head in fear. But she doesn’t care, she wasn’t going to watch him hurt her mother again.

“Who do you think you’re talking to in that tone?” His voice is cold but his focus switches from his wife to his daughter. He grabs her and she stands firm. When his hand raises again she closes her eyes.

“I can take it.”

At thirteen her parents separate but it’s too late by then.

They move to Italy soon after and she finds Matthrew and John, finds solace in their friendship, thinks that she might have found something real. The night John drinks too much and she finds herself in a situation where she feels unable to say no, she loses another part of herself.

“Who’s the father?” Matthew asks even though he already knew, had seen the looks between his friends, heard their awkward attempt at flirting.

“It doesn’t matter.” She twists her fingers in her lap, nervous as she sits in his bedroom. She doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want him to leave her. “I can’t keep it.”

To her surprise he takes her hand and squeezes it.

“We’ll figure it out.”

They don’t. They’re kids dealing with something most grown ups hope to never experience. When their priest tells her that she wouldn’t be welcomed back in the church, she watches as her best friend loses his faith. That’s something that would stay with her for longer than she cared to admit.

“This will be uncomfortable.” The doctor says as she lays on a cold table in a city outside of Rome, far away from home.

“I can take it.”

Her mother gets stationed back in the states not long after and she ends up going to high school in the country she had longed for. It’s a new start for her and she vows to forget about the last few years of her life. It works, compartmentalizing something she’s excelled at for as long as she could remember. She graduates with honors and gets accepted into Yale.

She meets Jacob not long after and he’s nice and loving, funny and smart. She starts to think that maybe not every man was as horrible as she had grown up believing. She falls in love, more like crashes into it so fast she doesn’t notice the changes in him. It starts with a few casual comments about her clothes, too much of this, too much of that. Slowly they get worse, comments about her body that make her feel ashamed and small. So she goes on a diet, because he was right, she had gained a few pounds.

When he tells her she’s doing it to get attention from other men she makes the mistake of laughing, because to her that was absurd.

“Do not laugh at me!” His hands wrap around her shoulder, and when her back collides with the door hard enough to rattle a picture frame she only stares at him. He didn’t mean it, she thinks. Because this was Jacob, sweet, caring, funny Jacob.

He hit her for the first time only a few months later and with that he takes another piece of her.

“This is your fault, you made me do this!” He actually looks sad and she thinks that he’s right, he loves her.

“I can take it.”

When her friends find out they press charges and it’s the end of her relationship with Jacob. She thinks it’s going to be her last relationship ever and instead she focuses on school. She graduates college and works toward the goal she’s had for most of her life. The FBI.

A few years passes, and then she gets the opportunity to work for Interpol and she jumps on it. It was easy falling into the character of Lauren, in some ways she’s been playing different people her entire life.

What she doesn’t count on however, is the feelings that Lauren gets for Ian, that the version of herself that is Lauren falls in love with him. He’s dangerous and thrilling and everything she knows she shouldn’t be attracted to. At least this time she knew he was violent, but she could be violent too.

She doesn’t tell her team about the violence in their relationship, doesn’t tell them that sometimes after he’s had one too many drinks he would find her and take out his anger on the world on her. She doesn’t show the bruises or marks he leaves on her skin. She goes to the hospital in secret when she think her ribs are broken, sits in the ER alone. It’s another piece of her lost and she wonders if maybe this is what she deserved.

“Does it hurt?” He slurs as he forces himself on her, his hand fisting her hair so tightly she’s afraid he’s going to rip it out.

“I can take it.” She grunts out through clenched teeth and bleary eyes.

Then she moves back to DC, meets Aaron and for the first time in her life she finds something true, something precious. She falls in love with him.

He doesn’t know about her past and she doesn’t tell him. The way he loves her is different, it’s bigger and more secure and at times she isn’t sure how to handle it. Because to her love had to be painful, or it wasn’t real. Sometimes she picks a fight just because, and she steadies herself for harsh words or fists but they never come. Instead he holds her when she’s sad, listens as she rants about the injustices of the world, laughs at her mistakes in the kitchen. He loves her in a way she didn’t think existed.

He slowly starts to put her back together again, the pieces she once thought were lost somehow coming back until there’s only small tears left and not gaping holes. He loves her and she loves him.

“You don’t talk about your father.”

They’re in bed and the question comes out of nowhere.

“Neither do you.” She says softly as she lays halfway on top of him, stealing some of his warmth.

“You know why. He wasn’t a good man.” He gently brushes some hair out of her face and watches as she smiles sadly.

“Neither was mine.”

In Colorado everything goes wrong. There’s a raid. Nancy is shot even after she had told the other woman to stay put and somehow Benjamin Cyrus finds out that they work for the FBI. Correction, one of them, and Emily wastes no time taking the blame when she sees Cyrus zeroing in on Spencer, because in her mind there wasn’t a question. She needed to protect Spencer, needed him safe.

The first hit feels like going back in time, somehow the pain now feeling worse than it had been when her father had slapped her and she falls back to the floor she has tried to get up from. He kicks her and she feels her ribs break, new injuries over old ones and she cries out. The sound of the mirror breaking reminds her of that vase when she was four, the crack loud and she sees dark eyes in her mind, eyes like her own, eyes that terrified her at four.

When Cyrus throws her against the wall she can’t help but to think just how similarly Jacob had thrown her against the wall in his off-campus apartment once, the feeling the same, the pain in her body still familiar. She gets up, plants her feet against the stone floor because she knows what she has to do.

“I can take it.”

The slap comes almost immediately, stinging and making her ears ring as her vision goes blurry.

“Pride comes before the fall.”

She anchors herself for the rest of it, protects her body the best she can as she finds that place in her mind where things doesn’t hurt as much. When he finally stops she knows that she’s done her job, has protected the people in the compound. She thinks she passes out soon after, because when she opens her eyes she’s on a bed, hands numb from having them tied behind her back. It’s dark out, she had no idea how long she had been out for, but she knows that Aaron and the rest of them were coming.

Her entire body protests as she lifts her foot to pull on the blinds. She breathes through it, even when the pain almost knocks the air out of her.

“I can try and get the women and children into the basement but I need to know when you’re coming.”

Luckily they can hear her and as soon as she gets confirmation she knows that her only hope is Kathy, the woman who called them there in the first place. Somehow, they make it and when she hugs Spencer she doesn’t care that her ribs crack or the way pain radiates through her, because he was alive, they both were.

A few days later she’s home with Aaron, lying in bed as he takes care of her. A concussion, three broken ribs, seven stitches in her arm and a lot of bruising, that’s what Cyrus had done to her. She can see the anger on Aaron, knows that he wants more than anything to take away her pain.

“I would have killed him.” He says it softly, but there’s a tension in his jaw. “If you hadn’t told us not to come in, I would have killed him. And if the blast hadn’t killed him, I would have killed him after.”

“That’s not you honey.” She thinks she’s slurring slightly, the pain medications and lack of sleep making her drowsy. “You’re not violent.”

“I would have.” He says it with such confidence, but even then she knew he was lying.

“You’re not like them, not like the others.” She mumbles, brain hazy and unfiltered.

“The others?” His eyebrows knit together as he sits on the edge of the bed, his hand in hers.

“The others who hurt me.” Her voice is barely a murmur as she gives in to the medications and the rest she desperately needs and falls asleep.

Aaron never thought he’d love a woman like he loved Emily. After Haley he didn’t think he’d ever fall in love again. And then comes Emily, strong, resilient, stubborn, amazing Emily. She sweeps him off his feet, makes him believe in something that he thought he lost. She’s unlike anyone he’s ever met, hard to read to the point of frustration at times.

He realizes why soon after they’ve moved in together. He finds letters, unopened but sent by her father. When he asks her about him she shrugs him off, but not without getting a vacant look in her eye he hates.

It didn’t take a profiler to understand that her relationship with her father wasn’t a good one. But then she comes home angry, starts a fight that he knows has nothing to do with him, but still manages to push his buttons. He stands up from where he had been sitting and she jerks back, her jaw clenching and for the first time he sees fear in her eyes. It’s just a flash, gone as quickly as it came but he understands a little more now.

He doesn’t think she knows that she sometimes flinches at loud noises or backs away if they’re arguing, but he notices every single time. It breaks his heart that she has this fear inside of her, something so engraved in her that it’s like second nature.

And then the compound happens and he hears her.

“I can take it.”

He’s about to go in, doesn’t care that Rossi is telling him no or the fact that he would probably get all the people stuck in there killed. Because Emily was in there, being hurt.

“I can take it.”

The way her voice sounds, detached and monotone, nothing like the Emily he loves forces him to see reason. She was protecting the people in there with her and he would not risk their lives as well as hers, for his own benefit.

He doesn’t leave her side at the hospital, sleeps in an uncomfortable chair for two nights because he refused to leave. And then they get home and she’s high on medications and for the first time she lets the words slip, confirms what he already knew. It didn’t hurt any less.

“You said something last night.” He starts slowly, carefully because he doesn’t want to force her to talk about something she’s not ready to share. But he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“I did?” She slowly lifts her coffee mug to her lips, the slight pull making her ribs ache. She had refused any more medications, didn’t want to take them unless absolutely necessary even when Aaron had insisted.

“Yes.” He reaches for her hand and she takes it happily, always finding comfort in his touch. “Actually it was more of… an admittance.”

“What did I say?” She sees the worried look on his face, the anxiousness that rarely cracks through his hard shell and she can feel her heartbeat speed up.

“You said that I wouldn’t hurt you, like the others.” He watches at the realization comes over her, first confusion, then anger, sadness and embarrassment. And he hates it, hates all of it. “I already knew.”

“W-what?” She isn’t aware that there’s tears in her eyes until he wipes one from her cheek, “How?”

“I just, I figured it out.” He keeps his voice soft, waits for her to react, to get angry or walk away. But instead she’s gripping his hand tighter, so tight the bones shift and his fingers turn white. He barely notices.

“I’m sorry.”

Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t that and he quickly moves from his chair to kneel beside her chair, not caring that it hurts his knees.

“What?” He feels his heart break when her chin trembles and a few more tears make their way down bruised skin.

“I’m sorry for not telling you.” When his arms wrap around her she lets herself fall into his embrace, into the warmth of him. She falls into the safety of him, of the man who would never hurt her.

“Do not ever apologize.” He presses a kiss to her temple and speaks quietly against her skin. “I’m sorry there was no one there to help you.”

She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, didn’t realize that she’s soaking his shirt as she lets out years of emotions she’s refused to feel. But he’s there, her unwavering support, the man who put her back together again without even knowing it, the person she couldn’t see herself being without.

“You helped me heal, in ways I didn’t even know was possible.” She cups his face in her hands and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s not until she pulls away that he notices the shine in his eyes. “The love you gave me, it healed me.”

“You healed me too.”

It wasn’t a conversation that was over, it wasn’t something that magically healed just because he knew. But it was a start, the start of Emily talking about it, acknowledging it.  

But it was a new beginning, and for that she was grateful.

[dayscapism]

Read this instead of Harry Potter - part 2/ 3:

Middle grade/children's books recommendations under the cut:

Part 1 - Adult books

Part 3 - Young Adult (YA) books

★ Greenglass House by Kate Milford: Mystery set in a cosy inn on a mountain only accessible by a cable car. The innkeeper's adopted son, Milo, wants nothing but to relax during the winter holiday, but guests start arriving earlier than expected. Each guest comes with a strange story connected to the house, and when objects start going missing, Milo must decipher clues and untangle the web of deepening secrets and ghosts the old house and the guests hide.

When You Trap A Tiger by Tae Keller (middle grade, standalone, magical realism): When a girl named Lily moves in with her sick grandmother, a magical tiger out of Korean folktales suddenly arrives and Lily unravels a secret family history. Full of magical artefacts, magical deals, and courage.

Aru Shah and the End of Time by Roshani Chokshi (series): Aru Shah is the daughter of an archaeologist and lives in the Museum of Ancient Indian Art. She is dared by her classmates one day to light a lamp that is said to be cursed, and she gets herself tangled in an adventure of ancient demons, antiquities, gods and time. Mythology, adventure, Riordan's #OwnVoices line.

Paola Santiago and the River of Tears by Tehlor Kay Mejia (trilogy): Paola's mother is constantly warning her about La Llorona, the wailing ghost woman who wanders the river banks at night, looking for people to drag into the waters. She and her friends know to avoid the river, but one night they set a meeting in the river to watch the stars, and a paranormal adventure ensues. Full of Mexican folktales, science, and magic. Part of Riordan's #OwnVoices line.

Amari and The Night Brothers by B.B. Alston (trilogy): Amari can't understand why his brother's disappearance isn't all over the news, why no one seems to care, why is this being so easily dismissed? Then one day she discovers a briefcase in her brother's closet, through which she discovers a secretive magic organization. She enters a competition to join the organization, so she can find out what really happened to her brother, but every department hides another secret. For this, she must learn about all sorts of magical creatures like mermaids, dwarves, magicians, yetis and weredragons, even though she only just learned about their existence. Meanwhile, an evil magician threatens the entire world. Mystery, secret agency, black author & black representation, middle-grade version of Men in Black. A ton of people recommend this one.

The Girl Who Drank The Moon by Kelly Barnhill (standalone): Every year, the people a baby for the witch of the forest as a sacrifice, an act that will keep her from terrorizing them. The witch, however, is actually kind and gentle, and confused about these babies. She rescues them and delivers them to families on the other side of the forest. But one year, she accidentally feeds a baby moonlight, filling the child with extraordinary magic. So she raises her instead as her own. The years pass and the people of the town are set on killing the witch, and the now 13-year-old magic girl must protect those who protected her. There's a swamp monster, a tiny dragon, and lots of magic.

The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly (duology): A 12-yo mourns the death of his mother, high in his attic bedroom, surrounded only by his books. But the books have begun to whisper to him, and he listens. Taking refuge in his imagination, fantasy and reality begin to melt together, and soon he finds himself in a world of monsters and heroes, ruled by a king who keeps secrets in a mysterious book. Autumnal, horror, fairy tales, coming-of-age & loss of childhood innocence. Often recommended for fans of Over The Garden Wall.

Hedgewitch by Skye McKenna (quintet, British): Cassie Morgan hasn't seen her mother in seven years. Cassie is left trapped in a dreary boarding school, she spends her time hiding from the school bully and reading forbidden story books about the faerie world. She is determined to find her mother though, so one day she runs away from school. She is chased by a pack of goblins, and with the help of a flying broom, she escapes and finds herself in a cosy, magical village full of witches, who protect the country from the dangerous faeries and where she discovers the real history of her family.

Every Heart a Doorway (The Wayward Children Series) by Seanan McGuire (novellas, mystery, urban fantasy, LGBTQ+ rep): A school for children who have at one time slipped into magical worlds found in the back of wardrobes or under the bed, through rabbit holes and wells, but who have returned to the magic-less world and now seek a way back to that fantasy land. But it's not so easy when there's darkness lurking around each corner...

Shady Hollow Water by Juneau Black (children's, series, mystery, cosy): In this village, woodland creatures live together in harmony, until a curmudgeonly toad turns up dead and the local reporter has to solve the case.

Nightbooks by J.A. White (duology): A boy is imprisoned by a witch in a library, and must tell her a new scary story each night to stay alive.

The Frost Fair by Natasha Hastings (historical fiction): This is about a girl who makes a dangerous wish at the Frost Fair in order to bring her brother back from the dead. But the fair is not what it seems... Set in the 1680s in London, with Christmas vibes, and adventure. It's a heartwarming story. For fans of the Hogwarts founders era.

Seraphina and The Black Cloak by Robert Beatty (series, historical fiction, mystery): Serafina is part of the downstairs people of a grand estate. She must always be careful to not be seen by the rich folks upstairs. But then children at the estate begin disappearing, and only she sees the culprit. She will have to forge an alliance with one of the rich kids to uncover the identity of the culprit before it's too late. Dark forest setting and magic legacy.

There's a Ghost in This House (children's, picture book, short). "Hello, come in. Maybe you can help me?" Ghosts, Halloween, humour.

The Enchanted Castle, Five Children and It by E. Nesbit, illustrated by H.R. Millar (children's, middle grade, classics, British): Tales about magical adventures in the everyday world. In the first tale, children dig in a sandpit and find a bad-tempered fairy who grants one wish per day. In the second tale, three children stumble over a mysterious house and discover an invisible princess and a magic ring.

If you want something really nostalgic, here are books that came out before or are contemporary to the Harry Potter books:

★ The Earthsea Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guin (YA, series): Yeah, I know this obvious recommendation as this series was a direct inspiration for HP. It has a wizard school setting, a coming-of-age narrative, discussions of how gender plays into access to wizard education, ancient artefacts, shadow monsters, good triumphs over evil, and much more. Plus Le Guin was a raging feminist and anti-capitalist, a powerhouse of her time, and she is a wonderful example of someone who had internalized biases and even wrote them into her books but eventually grew as a person and became an advocate.

★ Percy Jackson by Rick Riordan (middle grade/YA, series). Another obvious recommendation. Anything by Rick Riordan has that very classic middle-grade adventurous vibe. His characters are really well done too, particularly the protagonists; great ADHD/neurodivergent representation and you'll learn a lot about mythology (Riordan is a teacher, after all). The first books can have some dated stuff in them (like having the obligatory coming out storyline for the gay character, plus some problematic racial and ethnic stereotyping with characters in the Heros of Olympus series), but he has grown as a person and writer since. I'm told his later books (Magnus Chase, Trials of Apollo) are much better written. Most of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians hold up pretty well though, and the series is literally about a marginalized group of kids battling to dismantle the system that oppresses them. There's also a magical school/camp these kids go to, lots of mythological creatures, riddles, prophecy, epic battles and more. Riordan launched an #OwnVoices initiative to highlight middle-grade books written by authors of diverse cultures. Great for fans of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them too.

★ Howl's Moving Castle (YA, trilogy) & Chrestomanci (children, series) by Diana Wynne Jones. Howl's Moving Castle is wizards but makes it banter and is so cosy and quirky, you will not miss Hogwarts or the four Houses' common rooms at all with this one. And the Chrestomanci series is literally about wizard bureaucracy.

Kiki's Delivery Service, written by Eiko Kadono and illustrated by Akiko Hayashi (childrens/middle grade): You've watched or heard of the excellent Ghibli film, right? Well, this is the book it's based on. It's a coming-of-age story about a little witch who ventures into the world and opens a delivery little business in a small town. It's cosy and cute and a little bittersweet. It's about growing up, about work, about mundane things with a touch of magic.

★ Coraline, Neverwhere, The Graveyard Book, Good Omens, The Ocean at the End of The Lane, and anything by Neil Gaiman. One of the great writers of our time. With this author we often get themes of death and mortality, found family, discussions about growing up, literature, good vs evil and so much more. (Highly recommend the TV show adaptations of his works too.)

★ Anne of Green Gables by M.L. Montgomery (childrens/middle grade): A traumatized, orphan redhead girl accidentally gets adopted by a family of two old siblings who live on a farm on Prince Edward Island in Canada. It doesn't have magic or a magic school but it is very cosy and atmospheric and we do spend time at a day school. The protagonist is some type of neurodivergent, is feisty and a little feral, and obsessed with stories and magic. This book is mostly about growing up, childhood and love. (Also, highly recommend the Anne with an E adaptation.)

★ Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket and Brett Helquist (childrens, series, illustrated): Three recently orphaned kids, the Baudelaire, have the unluckiest stream of adoptions when his greedy uncle gets rid of each of the possible adopters. Full of trauma discussion, children's resilience and resourcefulness, and a nastily evil but fun antagonist.

★ The Spiderwick Chronicles by Tony DiTerlizzi and Holly Black (childrens/YA, series, illustrated): Plot: three siblings find a mysterious field guide in the attic of an old mansion they've just moved into. Through this discovery, they find a magical and dangerous parallel world of faeries. If you love the herbology and care for magic creatures classes of Harry Potter, or the dark forest of Hogwarts, this is great for you. Great for fans of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them too.

★ Bridge to Terabithya by Katherine Paterson (childrens/YA, standalone): Childhood whimsy, magic, castles, monsters, etc. Discussions of grief & death, friendship & family. Warning: this is a sad book that will probably breaknyour heart. Best to go in without knowing much about it.

The Golden Compass (His Dark Materials trilogy) by Phillip Pullman: Ok, this author has been accused of sending mixed messages to the trans community on Twitter. He basically said that he supports trans rights but he's also against people coming after Rowling on Twitter. There's not much news about his current stance and support, but he has since shown support for banning conversion therapy for gender and not just sexual orientation (which the UK has been trying to do). So I think we're good with him? If you know more, please share! With that out of the way, these books are about Lyra, a little liar feral girl who lives in a parallel world to ours where your soul takes the physical shape of an animal. She embarks on a journey to the cold far North, to save one of her friends and gets tangled in a religious war. The world-building in this series is excellent. It's set partially in Oxford and our world too, and although it's not a perfect series, it has some interesting ideas and magical artefacts. I can't judge if the representation of Romani people in these books is problematic or not (there's an analogous fictional ethnic group in the books), but it's also something to consider.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer (middle grade/YA, series): If you like Draco and wish his character was done justice by the author and the narrative, this could be your new favourite protagonist. A brilliant criminal mastermind, Artemis Fowl kidnaps a fairy, a dangerous magical creature, which thrusts him into a riveting adventure of a hidden faerie world. Great for fans of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Eragon by Christopher Paolini (YA, series): For fans of Charley Weasley or Newt Scamander, this book is about a chosen-one farmer boy who finds a dragon egg in the forest and is thrust into a plot of destiny, magic, legendary swords, power, and dragon-riding.

Larklight by Phillip Reeve (middle grade/YA, trilogy, sci-fi, steampunk): In a magic house orbiting beyond the Moon, a mysterious guest arrives and adventure ensues.

★Inkheart by Cornelia Funke (YA/middle grade, quartet, illustrated): What if the characters could literally walk out of the book you're reading? The adventure! Well, that's exactly what happens to the protagonist of this book when her father reads her a book. This is about the magic of books, imagination & stories. The antagonist is the same archetype as Voldemort.

Magyk by Angie Sage (YA/middle grade, series, illustrated, British): Orphan kid, quirky characters, clever charms, potions and spells, and uncovering a mystery.

Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce (YA, series): Daine's knack with horses gets her a job helping the royal horsemistress. But Daine's talent is downright magical; horses and other animals not only obey but listen to her words. Adventure, high fantasy, great for fans of Hagrid & Newt Scamander.

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle (YA/childrens, quintet series): A strange visitor comes to Murry House and beckons three kids into the most dangerous and extraordinary adventure.

Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy by Douglas Adams (middle grade/YA, series, sci-fi): A dynamic pair begin a journey through space in a galaxy full of eccentric fellow travellers aided only by a sarcastic field guide. Full of British humour.

Happy reading!

★ Books I've read and personally recommend.

Supporting Sources:

https://www.aspiraldance.com/middle-grade-and-young-adult-books-to-read-instead-of-harry-potter/

https://missprint.wordpress.com/2022/09/01/back-to-magic-school-harry-potter-alternatives-booklist/

Goodreads for synopsis.

[icarusthelunarguard]

 This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter. Better yet! Check out “Heart of the Game, Fredonia” and see if they can sell you those D12’s with the symbols on them. Tell them “Shujin Tribble” sentcha. And “Hail, Hail, Fredonia!” Home of the Blue Devil!

Continuing the Spooky-Month theme, we’ve generated a random list of horror movie titles and are going to make up a new plotline for each one. If you already know these movies, just know that we’re not sorry in the least.

Aries 

In your movie titled, “Ginger Snaps”, you find yourself in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, NY in the mid-1950’s. Two groups of young men with slicked back hair are approaching you; They're all redheads. Suddenly music by Leonard Bernstein sings out of a window adorned with the Puerto Rican flag. Can you sing and dance your way out of this rumble in the concrete jungle?

Taurus 

The year is 1986 and you find yourself in a musical recording studio. You’re the engineer working on the album, “Fore!” by Huey Lewis and the News. The band members are in isolated rooms when an overhead waterline breaks, spilling over the high voltage circuits for the building. Can you escape without being electrocuted? Can you get the band out too? Find out at the end of the 93-minute feature, “Jacob's Ladder”!

Gemini  

Your movie is, basically, just… “Being John Malkovich”, but set in the early 80’s with a new musical soundtrack. Can you pilot a John Malkovich bio-mech suit while listening to Ska music in the musical-thriller feature release, “In the Mouth of Madness”. Let’s watch it at the drive in and find out.

Cancer Moon-Child 

You and your friends have driven out to an old wooden shack of a house in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. The trees surrounding you whisper in the breeze. Dead leaves keep splattering against the door and windows. There’s an old, creepy book with a face on it and a trap door to the cellar, chained and padlocked shut. Suddenly everything goes quiet! Deep footsteps can be heard on the wooden porch just before a shotgun blast tears off the lock. As the door opens, the silhouette of the most glorious chin in the world is revealed. Can you overcome… “Cabin Fever”? Opening Halloween Weekend. 

Leo 

You find yourself crouched behind a wooden crate in a blocky world with footsteps around you. You’re wearing dark military gear with a matching headband. A muted green glow on your wrist tells you what you’re needed to do: sneak into this facility, find some highly secretive intel, and bug out before you’re spotted. Will you avoid all the patrols and CCTV cameras in the world of…. “Whisper”? 

Virgo 

This is more of an Art Piece than a Horror Movie. Think “Saw”, but with the snobbiest wine taster you’ve ever known. Duct Tape them to a chair; ankles to neck to wrists, and have them watch in horror as their glass of wine sits on a table, out of reach, about to have the most vile desecration done to it. Because suspended over it, on a string, is a brick of ice - moments away from dropping into it. Welcome to…. “The Cube”!

Libra 

She’s out there. You know she is, but you can’t know where. Flitting from tree to tree, mocking you. Daring you to find her. Imitating people’s voices that almost sound like people you knew. Even making comforting sounds to distract you. Your only weapon of defense… a pocket full of corn kernels and raisins. Welcome to the terror of… “The Crow”. 

Scorpio 

A first-person view’s Coming of Age story. You’re terrified, looking back and forth wildly. You know where you are - you’ve seen all these landmarks before when your mom drove you to the bowling alley with her for league days. But now you’re on your own. Your Huffy 5-speed bike under you as you look for the right road to get there… or will you chicken out and try to find your way home? Can you find your way without a map before your classmates find you? How will you survive… “A Nightmare on Elm Street”?

Sagittarius 

It’s April. You’ve put off all the math until the last minute thinking you’ll be able to get everything done in time. But Midnight is fast-approaching and you don’t know where your tax deductions box is. You need to make it through, “Friday the 13th”! Released direct to video because no movie theatres would screen it!

Capricorn 

Poor fifth graders, trying to grow up and be the Top Dogs of the school. They thought it’d be easy. They… Thought… Wrong. They’re outnumbered Ten-to-One with littler students who intend to make their last week of classes Hell on Earth. Welcome to the next chapter in…. “The Frighteners”!

Aquarius 

Join us in a mild-mannered office, with a mild-mannered man, doing a mild-mannered job. Meet “Carl”, lead animator on one of the most popular childrens’ Saturday Morning Cartoon Series of 1969. But he’s trying to hide secrets from his Quality Checker. Smeared motions, missing facial features, wrong character placements from wide to close shots… Will he get paid this week, or lose his job? Follow Carl’s terror as he is… “Haunted”, by Hanna Barbera Studios.

Pisces  

You were paid last month, but something’s wrong; you’re running out of time for your monthly auto-payments. The New Year’s party time was great, but now you’re literally paying it off with your life. Welcome to March as you try to survive… “28 Days Later”!

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Discord and BLUESKY.

(Calling out @scoobydoomistakes specifically on this one!)

[dweemeister]

Woman in the Moon (1929, Germany)

By the end of the 1920s, humanity could envision a world where spaceflight might be possible. Several decades before that, the science fiction books of Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, and others thrilled viewers with promise of adventure and the unknown. Also capturing that interest in space would be Georges Méliès’ film, A Trip to the Moon (1902, France) – even if you have never heard of this film, you may be familiar with its most iconic frame. A Trip to the Moon is one of the first science fiction films ever made and, for the 1900s decade, among the most innovative of its time. Though other filmmakers around the world dabbled in science fiction, the genre never truly took off until mid-century.

One of the few filmmakers bringing a sense of spectacle to sci-fi silent films was German director Fritz Lang, best known today for Metropolis (1927) and M (1931). Because of its release in between Metropolis and M, Woman in the Moon tends to be underseen and undermentioned. But, like Metropolis and A Trip to the Moon, it is a silent film exemplar of science fiction. It is a remarkable piece of entertainment in its second half, even as it wastes too much of its runtime on a tiresome subplots that involve gangsters and romance. When Lang brings his showmanship during the crew’s trip to the Moon, the results are unlike any other filmmaker working in cinema at that time.

Businessman Helius (Willy Fritsch) meets with his friend, Professor Mannfeldt (Klaus Pohl), to discuss developments over Helius’ plans to journey to the Moon. The mission was inspired by the Professor’s hypothesis that the Moon, “is rich in gold” – something that has attracted the mockery of his fellow academics. In the shadows, an unidentified gang sends a man calling himself “Walter Turner” (Fritz Rasp) to spy on Mannfeldt and Helius. More trouble comes to Helius when he learns his assistants Windegger (Gustav von Wangenheim) and Friede (Gerda Maurus) announce their engagement. Helius, who has never confessed his love for Friede, finds himself in an awkward romantic bind in the events leading up to launch. On launch day, Helius, his assistants, and Professor Manfeldt board the Friede. But their crew complement includes two others: Walter Turner (who threatens his way onboard) and a stowaway child, Gustav (Gustl Gstettenbaur).

Thea von Harbou, Lang’s wife from 1922-1933, wrote the screenplay, adapting her book The Rocket to the Moon. Just a quick glance through her filmography recalls a number of great Lang-von Harbou collaborations: Dr. Mabuse the Gambler (1922), the Die Nibelungen saga (1924), and Metropolis. She truly is one of the great screenwriters of early cinema, but Woman in the Moon is an underwhelming display of her talents. Von Harbou mires with its Earth-bound scenes, and Woman in the Moon reaps no benefits from its spy subplot. There is a straight science-fiction story buried somewhere in this overlong 169-minute film, but von Harbou overstuffs her screenplay with the potential sabotage of the rocket to the Moon. Never does the viewer feel that Lang’s astronauts are in danger of being blasted to smithereens in outer space or that “Walter Turner” will ever succeed in whatever murderous plots he has hatched. Isolated from whatever themes Woman in the Moon wishes to present, the love triangle that slowly overtakes the rest of the film always feels vestigial to this overcooked story. Compare this overwrought, yet underwritten romantic drama to Metropolis, where the relationship between Gustav Fröhlich’s Freder and Brigitte Helm’s Maria outlines perfectly the tension of their society’s industrial hierarchies and the geography that separates the classes.

Woman in the Moon truly defies gravity only after its launch and touchdown on the lunar surface. The cinematography team led by Curt Courant (1934’s The Man Who Knew Too Much, 1938’s La Bête Humaine) capture the terror of early spaceflight better than some of the more expensive American sci-fi productions would in the 1950s and ‘60s. The speculative lunar sets – which look more like Méliès’ vision for A Trip to the Moon than anything recognizable from the Moon – tower over the movie’s intrepid astronauts as they explore this lifeless (unlike Méliès’ vision) celestial body.

The screenplay, camerawork, production design, and special effects seen in The Woman in the Moon come from the most widely accepted scientific theories of the late 1920s concerning astrophysics and the nature of the Moon. Where some aspects might feel dated (that includes the appearance and breathable atmosphere of the lunar surface and the submersion of the rocket into water before launch), others are prescient. The explanation of how the rocket’s flightpath is so prophetic that it seems as if Thea von Harbou and Fritz Lang sat in on an Apollo mission briefing by NASA. Woman in the Moon also contains the first countdown to launch seen in a sci-fi film (yes, the launch countdown is an invention of Woman in the Moon), as well as a multistage rocket that jettisons parts of the rocket as it exits Earth’s atmosphere. Prior to launch, the rocket’s assembly in a separate structure before transportation out to the launchpad – where it will blast off to space. For a film released in an era that did not make much use of seat belts and Velcro, the utter violence and human disorientation of a rocket launch requires the astronauts to strap themselves into their bunks and hold onto surface restraints.

The frantic editing and startling cinematography of these scenes, coupled with the film’s undercurrent of distrust and ulterior motives, are a Lang staple during the most technically accomplished scenes of his filmography. It is there in the worker montages of Metropolis, the elaborate assassination scene of Dr. Mabuse the Gambler, and the horrific battle sequence of Die Nibelungen: Kriemhild’s Revenge. Those Lang hallmarks find their way late in Woman in the Moon, well past the point where they might have been effective in alleviating the film of its structural issues. Though Woman in the Moon might not be as influential as any of those aforementioned movies, Lang’s propulsive sense of action is apparent in the film’s second half. Like a silent era John Frankenheimer, Lang is in full control of the film’s tension – knowing when and when not to apply these techniques to heighten the viewer’s adrenaline.

Not nearly as a widely-discussed for Woman in the Moon is its final moments. The film’s concluding dilemma is startling. It precipitates into a situational solution that does not grant a narrative resolution. Are Lang and von Harbou attempting to comment on the lengths of selfishness, of the tension intrinsic between science and human avarice that can endanger others? Or is it more cynical of scientific discovery and technological progression than it might appear? Woman in the Moon wastes too much time on its romantic triangle before even approaching questions as nuanced as these.

However one interprets this, Woman in the Moon – more popular with general audiences than film critics and those noting that Universum Film AG (UFA) executive Alfred Hugenberg was beginning to align himself with the Nazi Party – arrived in German theaters at a time of political upheaval. Among the politically inclined, Woman in the Moon proved divisive: leftists derided its alleged Nazi subtext and the Nazis approved of this depiction of a technologically advanced, forward-thinking Germany. Shortly following Hitler’s ascendancy to German Chancellor in 1933, the Nazis banned A Woman in the Moon and seized the film’s rocket models due to how accurate its depiction of rocketry was. At this time, the Nazis, with a team led by Wernher von Braun, were deep into researching the V-2 rocket – the world’s first long-range guided ballistic missile.

Detractors of Woman in the Moon dismissed Lang and the film as curios of Germany’s cinematic past. With synchronized sound films all the rage since 1927, Woman in the Moon proved to be Lang’s final silent film. Today, the movie is Lang’s final epic, before he transitioned into a career leaning heavily on film noir. The scenes of greatest interest to silent film and sci-fi fans arrives deep in the film, after too many stultifying conversations and lovelorn looks from the main characters. In its greatest spurts, Woman in the Moon’s scientific speculation heralds a future beset by self-interest, yet heaven-bound.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Death of John the Baptist (Mark 6:14-29)

We have here at the very beginning a serious case of conscience. One would say that Herod was past having such fits of remorse, as his life was so wholly bad. But in even the worst men, conscience is not apt to be entirely dead. At least Herod's conscience was only asleep, and when He heard of Jesus gong about the country, working miracles, it seemed to him that it must be John the Baptist, whom he had so tragically beheaded, and who had been raised from the dead. Herod's friends tried to quiet him, assuring him that it was not John returned - but a new prophet, who was doing these wonderful things. However, Herod's fear could not be quieted, his remorse was so great. "No, it is John, whom I beheaded; he has risen!"

Conscience is our best friend - so long as we live right. But if we sin, it becomes a torturing fire. We may think we can easily forget our sin - but conscience refuses to forget. Lady Macbeth, in Shakespeare's play, said that all the perfumes of Arabia could not sweeten her murderous little hand. Visitors traveling in Scotland are shown a stone with a spot of blood on it which, it is said, will not wash off. If we would be surely saved from the terrors of the accusing conscience, we must live so as to have the approval of conscience in all our acts.

John the Baptist was a wonderful man. The story of his death is most tragic. It seems utterly inappropriate that a man so noble, so worthy, who had done such a good work - should be brutally killed to gratify the resentment of a wicked woman. For it was Herodias who really caused the death of the Baptist. As wicked as Herod was, he would not have killed John if it had not been for the evil woman - who never could forgive the preacher for reproving her sin. The part that Herodias played in this crime - shows her in a most pitiful light. She was a disgrace to her gender. From the time John spoke so plainly against her sin - she was determined that he should die for it! Herod protected him from her plots, but she bided her time.

A "convenient day" came, by and by, and Herodias set herself to accomplish her purpose. It was Herod's birthday. A great banquet was in progress - Herod and the principal men of his kingdom were feasting together. Wine flowed freely, and when the king and his guests were well under its influence, Herodias sent her daughter into the banqueting party of drunken men. A true mother shields her child away from all that would dishonor her. Now, in order to bring about John's death, this mother was ready to degrade her own daughter.

The record says that Herod was pleased by what he saw. He called the girl to him, and in his drunken mood gave her a promise. "Ask me for anything you want, and I'll give it to you." She was shrewd enough to demand an oath of him, lest when he was out of his wine he might refuse to do what he had promised. "And he promised her with an oath: Whatever you ask I will give you, up to half my kingdom." A man under the influence of strong drink will pledge anything. Many men in such moments have made promises which it has cost them dearly to keep.

The child did not know how to answer Herod, what request to make of him; so she ran to her mother in a dutiful fashion and asked her, "What shall I ask for?" Perhaps the child was thinking of a palace that the king might give her, or of some wonderful gems that she would like to wear. But she could not herself decide what to ask. The words in which the mother answered her child's question showed the terrible wickedness of the heart of Herodias. "The head of John the Baptist!" she said. At last the moment had come for the full revenge of Herodias. But think of a mother asking her own child to do such a terrible thing!

The story moves on swiftly, and at length the closing in the tragedy is enacted. The girl herself must have had a cruel heart to go so gleefully to Herod with the request which Herodias had put into her mouth. "What have you decided to ask of me?" inquired Herod. "I want you to give me right now the head of John the Baptist on a platter!" was the girl's answer. The king was shocked and grieved at receiving such a request. How could he grant the girl's request? He shrank from the crime - but in his cowardice he dared not show his hesitation. His courtiers would laugh at him if he did. He must be brave, whatever the cost might be. Anything that belonged to him he was under obligation to give to the child - he had said he would; he had sworn it. But John's head was certainly not Herod's to give to anybody.

The king trembled at the request. He was about to say to the girl that he could not give her what she asked; but here was his oath - he could not break that, so he said to himself. His princes and courtiers would laugh at him if he showed tenderness of heart in such a matter of sentiment as this. So he sent for an executioner and had the great preacher killed in his dungeon, and his head brought on a platter and given to the girl. Herod had kept his promise; but there was murder on his soul.

"How could Herod have refused," asks one, "when he had taken such an oath?" It was a sin to make such a rash promise, and still a greater sin to seal it by an oath. We should never pledge ourselves to do anything which another may ask of us until we know what it is. To keep a promise made thus - may require us to sin even more grievously. But if in a moment of foolish rashness we pledge ourselves to do something sinful, we are still not required to do it. We should break our promise - rather than do a wicked thing. In this case Herod ought to have broken his oath. He knew this - but he was afraid of the laughter of his guests, and committed a horrible crime rather than be a man and refuse to do the thing which he knew to be wrong.

Amid all the dark crime and shame of this story - one figure stands out noble and heroic, splendid in character, unspotted in whiteness, strong in faithfulness. We are inclined to pity John, as the victim of such a crime. But our pity should be rather for those who robbed John of his life, while for him we have only admiration. John seemed to die prematurely. He was only about thirty-three years of age. He had preached but a year or so, and was then cast into prison, where he lay a long time. It seemed that he was but only beginning his life work. We can think of his disciples and friends lamenting over his early death, and saying, "If only he had lived to a ripe old age, preaching his wonderful sermons, touching people's lives, advancing the kingdom of God, giving blessing and comfort to people - what a blessing he would have been to this world!" But here we see his splendid life quenched probably before he turned thirty-three.

Was it not a mistake? No! God makes no mistakes. "Every man is immortal - until his work is done!" One thing we know at least - John's mission was accomplished. He was sent from God to introduce the Messiah to the people. He did this, and did it grandly. The best life need not be the longest - it must be one that fulfills God's purpose for it. If we do God's will for us - we have lived well, whether it be for eighty years or for only a few years.

John died in a very sad and tragic way, died in a prison, at the hands of a common executioner; yet there was no stain upon his name. He had kept his manhood unspotted through all the years. Men would call his work a failure; it certainly was not a worldly success. Yet it was a fine spiritual success. Jesus said that among all men born of woman, none was greater than John. Earth's failures, may be heaven's truest successes.

The life of John the Baptist is rich in its lessons. For example, he hid himself away - and pointed the people always to Christ. He was willing to decrease - that Christ might increase. When his popularity waned and he was left almost alone, with scarcely any friends or followers, he kept as sweet and worked as faithfully as when he was everybody's favorite. He was heroic in reproving sin, even in a king. His whole life was noble. Forgetting himself, he lived for God in the truest and most complete way, unto the end.

[fanficsrusz]

I WANT TO KI__ YOU CHAPTER TEN - DARK! JOHN WICK

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-Con, Non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Being Restrained, Breeding, everything bad.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU FIND ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGERING, THEN DO NOT READ. BY CONTINUING TO READ FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH ALL OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS. I DO NOT ACCEPT ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU FEEL TRIGGERED BY THE FOLLOWING CONTENT SINCE THERE HAS BEEN PLENTY OF WARNINGS. IF YOU FEEL LIKE ANY OTHER WARNINGS SHOULD BE ADDED THEN PLEASE POLITELY DM ME AND I WILL ADD THEM.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Summery: After failing to fulfill his contract, John takes a liking to y/n and his liking soon turns into a dark obsession

I want to ki__ you playlist

A/n: It feels like ages since I updated this story but I'm finally back. I wasn't too sure what I wanted to happen in this chapter but hopefully i've done okay.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I look forward to reading all your comments and feedback. If you liked this chapter then please reblog it. That is how writers like myself are able to spread out work to other people, especially because there have been a lot of issues with tags lately. Thank you ❤️

Chapter one 

<<< Chapter Nine          Chapter Eleven>>>

Love is confusing. It comes and goes instantly. There is no warning, no sign of when it  will suddenly strike. It’s unpredictable, untamable and it’s scary. Love never says 'I want'. Love asks 'What do you need?'. Love asks 'How can I help you?'. Love listens with patience and empathy. Love is demonstrated in how someone takes actions to care and make self-sacrifice where necessary. Love says 'Let's thrive together.' Love offers a helping hand, a full heart and an open mind. Love is warmth. Love is safety, the thing that makes you forget about everything else in life. Love is John.

John offered y/n those things. He gave her what she needed, what was best for her. He took away all the bad things in her life, all the things that kept her up at night. She no longer had to think about when her next paycheck would come and worry if she had enough money in order to afford the rent. She didn’t have to worry about every little noise she heard outside or the distant screams that she was sure was a cry for help. 

But at what point does love turn into obsession? 

John only meant her good. He didn’t mean to scare her, to hurt her and deep down y/n knew that. In some ways, she loved him too.

The longer she stayed with John, the longer her thoughts constantly drifted to him; he was her everything. Insanity stole into her mind like a deranged thief, taking what was important to her, adding new dangerous ideas, seeding a new personality and muddling up the rest. 

New sparks of ideas that once she would have dismissed as bizarre started to grow roots, deep roots, they started to make sense in one revolutionary eureka moment after another, cascading out of control, luring her further and further from the self she once knew, until she was so deep that she no longer recognised herself, making new connections in her new distorted reality that she grew to love. 

After a while, her mind had formed an inescapable maze, a prison without walls.

Y/n held her hand over her mouth, the other rigidly clutching the white of the shirt she wore, her eyelids shut so tightly that they began to fidget and shudder from the force, as if the very corners of her eyes were being pricked with a needle, crying silent tears that ran past her plump, red cheeks and over her knuckles until finally dripping onto the floor with as much a sound as the woman's hushed agony.

She stood paralyzed in fear, the scent of perturbation invaded the room. Her terrorized feet refused to move and all her hands agreed to do was to stay covering her frightened face. Yet the excited buzz in her stomach continued to grow, the deep burn from inside that John had put there.  

She hated that she loved it, that she loved him. He was insane, delusional, a man driven by his own sick desires and she was nothing more than a stepping stone that helped him achieve his goals. But she couldn’t help but fall for him. However, she was scared; there was such joy and so much pain. 

Before John, y/n had only ever really loved two men, and they were so very different to each other. John was some holy blend of them both. So, she was happy to have met him, she just wished it was under different circumstances but she had never wanted any form of eternity until now, she never saw the point, until John. 

y/n lifted her head and stared into her distorted reflection of the metal cooker topper. It wasn't even shiny, yet she could tell from her reflection that she was a mess. John stood behind her, watching her every move carefully but his eyes still lit up with love and admiration for her. He admired everything about her, from the way the breeze blew her hair to the softness of her voice. To John, she looked like some kind of water sprite even when she thought she looked terrible. 

As y/n watched the twisted smile form on John's face, fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn’t doubt the feelings she had for him were there to stay, reminding her of its existence every time she opened her mouth to breathe, but it was getting hard for her to deny.

The panic started like a tightening of the chest, as if her muscles were trying not to let another breath in, but instead to die. Her tiredness made her head hang limp like wet laundry on a cold still day. She felt like every muscle was giving into gravity and she couldn’t control it any more. Then the breathing came, shallow, lungs unable to move much against her suddenly heavy ribs. Her mind became static, thoughts making no sense, repeats of horrors once forgotten. 

Beneath her feet the wooden floor felt soft, not as much as even a firm carpet, but not right for oak planks. y/n moved to the turn around, her back sliding against the edge of the counter, her legs brushing against the mildewed cupboard door. It was hard to make out the details of the room through blurred eyes, but after a while she could make out the features of the room. It was the same as it ever was, just abandoned, old, dusty. 

Forgetting the floor she tried to move forward forward, "I can’t- I can’t" Her only response was the creaking of a door moving lazily in the breeze. It was all too much for her: John, her emotions, her new life - she couldn’t cope. 

y/n staggered backward, her mind swirling, her breaths shallow until she fell in a heap to the floor.  On the way down she knocked over a vase but y/n didn’t even notice. All she was aware of was the loud crash that filled her ears and then the warmth around her.  John was a blur as he ran towards her, eyes wide and voice muffled through the ringing in her ears. 

She felt it break - her sanity, much like the vase that also fell onto the floor beside her.  Her last shred of normalcy shattered into a million pieces. The shards laid on the floor glittering in the sun, who knew breaking down could look so beautiful. She knew there was no hope in trying to put them back together, so she wouldn’t even try. she just sat there staring at John as his lips moved but no noise came out.

At first there was only silence, a misty haze upon the horizons of her mind. That's where she normally kept everything, in her mind. That was until now. She could feel the hard painful lump in the back of her throat as the tears continued to fall. Slowly her breathing hallowed itself and a small but intense pain struck the top nerve in her head. Before she knew it there was shouting, they were hers, yet they seemed so distant and she couldn’t even make out what they said.

Her remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending her plummeting over the edge and into the darkness. Hysterical sobs shook her small frame, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. She fought to reclaim control over her body, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within her chest but the calm never came.

“y/n!” John shouted over and over, trapped in a mantra as he tried to get her to answer him but all he got was cries.

John slowly pulled her closer to his chest,  wrapping his arms around her tightly before he gently squeezed. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. The world around her melted away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. Wrapped in a warm swaddle of his chest and arms, y/n’s tears seemed to die down, as if his hug was a sort of medicine to her pain. She didn't want to leave. It felt as if when she was in his arms all her pain went away - mental and physical, mostly the depressing pain.

John had never seen y/n cry like that, so deflated. Her loose shoulders still shook softly, her hands hanging limp around him, making no attempt to conceal or even wipe away her own tears. Aside from her reddened face she was so grey looking and her hair was dishevelled. John had seen others cry like that, normally when they begged for their lives before he killed them, and in every case it was a transition from a person with hope to one without. It was how they all begged for their lives; It was how John had cried when he lost his child; it was how John cried the day his wife passed. It was a kind of crying that showed the child underneath, that the pain had cut right back through the protective layers acquired in maturity.

“Don’t cry, Princess-” he placed a soft kiss onto her forehead and knelt down onto his knees as he brought her closer to his chest, “-everything will be okay, i’m here”.

Even Though y/n could hardly breath between her sobs, she reached out and hugged John tightly, a hug so warm yet so different from a motherly embrace and y/n felt her mind slowly calm. How could it be that she hadn't seen John’s love for what it was before? Pure. Unselfish. Undemanding. Free. She felt his body press in, soft and warm. This was the love she'd waited for, prayed for. She inwardly thanked God and hugged all the tighter. A love like this was to be cherished for life. 

When they finally parted after several minutes, tears stopping and breathing normal, y/n felt his absence as a cold wind, wishing she could keep him wrapped around her like a well worn sweater for always.

John smiled and held her at arm’s length, his eyes softening as he watched the way she brushed her tears away from her reddening cheeks. 

“Feel better?” he asked and y/n only nodded, unable to form any words under his gaze. 

“Good, let’s get you cleaned up” y/n cocked her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about until she followed his gaze down to her arm.

A deep wound was sliced in the flesh of her lower left arm. It heavily oozed out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. y/n lightly pressed her index finger against the center of the cut and sucked in a sharp breath as the pain spiraled all across her body. She wasn’t even aware of the cut caused by the vase until that very moment. Colorful spots contoured the sides of her eyes and y/n  had to bite her lip from the pain of it all, the adrenaline that numbed her pain slowly fading away.

“Ow” she whimpered out and John pulled her finger away. 

“Stop that” he whispered and pushed his arms under her armpits, lifting her from the floor. y/n said nothing as John led her to the bathroom again and gently placed her onto the side of the bath. She watched as John shifted through the cupboard, pulling out different bottles of medicines before finally turning back to her. 

John gently lifted her arm and turned on the tap, holding it under the running water. The water enveloped her as closely as her own skin. Every new sore stung  as John tipped a bottle of TCP up-side-down before he poured some over her cut. y/n winced as the pain swirled without mercy, penetrating to the cells that should have been protected by smooth skin but lie open and raw. 

y/n hissed at the pain and John hated to see her like that but it was the only way to avoid infection. 

“Sorry” John simply said, eyes not leaving the cut as he softly dabbed it with a cotton bud, wiping away any blood that remained in the cut before examining it for any more glass fragments that may be hiding inside. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through her veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside her as she stared at John. 

“Why don’t I hate you?” she blurted out and John seemed to tense at her words. 

“What?”

“I should hate you. You- you raped me” her voice grew quiet with every passing word and John stopped his movements, turning the running water off before turning his gaze to her - firm and stoic. 

“I didn’t - rape you” he said sternly and y/n bit the inside of her cheek as she looked down at her cut again. “Didn’t  you want it? Didn’t you want to have sex with me?” he asked after several seconds of silence.

“I - I don’t know. That’s what’s confusing me.”

John exhaled heavily and moved to sit next to her on the side of the bathtub. 

“Did I hurt you?” his voice was low, much like a child who had been told off and y/n shook her head. 

“No -” y/n turned slightly, facing him and grabbed onto his knee as she drew reassuring circles with her thumb. “-You didn’t hurt me. You never have. I just don’t know what to feel right now. I should hate you but I dont and I know you're mad at me and-”

“You think i’m mad at you?” John interrupted, reaching his hand up to grab onto her hand, stopping her movements. y/n stilled for a moment in his touch until she felt him push her away.

"I can feel the pain that swirls in your brain, y/n, the confusion. All the stories you keep telling yourself as if they hold answers. They don't. People do things because their emotions are driving them that way... all those things that hurt you, princess, had nothing to do with you at all”

y/n lips formed a tight smile as she played with her fingers. She couldn’t explain her thoughts, her feelings, her fears. They stirred together in her head and threatened to boil over at any second and John only made it worse; his eyes showed the kind of gentle concern her grandfather used to have yet his actions said something different. 

John laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and instead of flinching like she usually did, y/n  was soothed by it. He had spoken with a soft voice that calmed her more by the way it was said rather than the actual words. It felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of his care. How could she not fall in love with him now that she could see how much he truly loved her? 

“I just don’t know what to feel. It’s like I love you but I know it’s wrong. You hurt me, scared me, took me away from my life, yet I don’t want to go back-” she inhaled deeply, “I just don’t understand what I feel. Normally I can talk to someone about my issues and they could give me some advice but I’m pretty sure this isn’t something that most people go through” she chuckled softly, her heart sinking as she felt John shift beside her. 

“I never intended to hurt you” he whispered before standing up.

y/n’s eyes followed John as he moved, his normally stoic face having turned into a frown before he disappeared out of the bathroom. Y/n sat there, staring at the empty doorway for a second, preparing herself to follow before John quickly re-appeared.

Her eyes formed half crescents as she stared at the face she had grown to love but her smile dropped and heart sank when her eyes caught the glint of the knife he held in his hands. 

“John?” she croaked out, breath catching in her throat as she pushed herself to stand, taking a step back. She didn’t understand. Was he going to hurt her? She had just confessed her emotions to him and now, this?

“I’m sorry” he said softly, his hand lifting almost robotically whilst he stepped forward. y/n closed her eyes, her heart stopping as she waited for everything to be over, to feel the knife sink deep into her skin but it never came. 

Instead she felt his presence linger just in front of her before John did the unthinkable - he shoved the knife into y/n’s hand.

 y/n opened her eyes slowly, her eyes wearing a puzzled expression as she studied John's sunken eyes that were trained on the floor. She held the knife, twisting it under the artificial bathroom light, her confusion exaggerated by the dark shadows around her eyes as she glanced at the weapon in her hand.

 Although rust had already set in on the handle of the knife, the blade was strong and jagged - more than enough to hurt John or even kill him. She had the perfect opportunity to do it, to end everything and go back to her old life.. She could already see him in a pool of darkening blood, it would be so easy. 

“I don’t understand - I” y/n started

“I want you to stab me - hurt me, just like I hurt you” his voice was quiet and his eyes never left the floor. y/n glanced upward to look at John as he stepped closer to the blade. Y/n’s mouth pursed but remained slightly open and loose. Her eyes were fixed as if she was staring into a dark abyss and she slowly blinked. 

With a shaky hand, she lifted the knife, holding the pointed weapon to John’s stomach. She knew exactly where to stab for it to be fatal - she had learned a lot as a nurse. It was now or never; she had to make a choice. All she had to do was push the knife forward and it would all be over.

TBC

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[runawaymarbles]

5, 22, 26, 38, 30 for the ask game ;)

5)     Samjess, Sameileen, Samruby, Samcas, or someone else?

Okay here’s the thing. I know the answer is Sameileen. I am angry on Eileen’s behalf for what the show did to her. However, I never actually saw more than one or two episodes with her in them, so I’m going to have to go with Samruby because Ruby was a fucking boss.

22)   John Winchester? I need your Thoughts.

Throw the whole man away. 

Okay. In all seriousness. If I was trying very hard, I might be able to understand a man who realized that the world was full of horrors and who didn’t know how to deal with that, and who tried to train his children to defend themselves against said horrors while also being unable to let one go, and how that would lead to a lot of rationalizing and paranoia. And I can understand how a man like that might get to a point where he sends his children into danger because he believes they can handle it-- after all, when he was a child, he was sent into a warzone, right, clearly kids can survive that and come out stronger (like he obviously did) while still loving his children dearly. I can understand the sunk cost fallacy of the whole thing, because if he ever gives up or ever slows down he’d have to confront the fact that he’s done some pretty messed up shit. And that he can do all that while still loving his children, while still wanting them to be safe, while still dying for them. If I was trying very hard, I could imagine that headspace, and write a few drabbles about it.

But also.... throw the whole man away.

26)   Pre or post-hell Dean?

Post. For the gay.

28)   Do you actually like spn or did you simply imprint upon it at a young age and you live here now?

I genuinely liked it when I watched up through season eight, and parts of season nine. I started hating it around season ten. I still hate it, but I love the fanon.

30)   Make up a fact about a character and convince me it’s true.

Rufus Turner and Bobby hooked up once and only once. It was after a hunt, they were really stressed, they were drunk and going for a threesome but the girl bailed. They agreed to never, ever talk about it again, and both look back on that with horror. (Bobby because of his internalized homophobia. Rufus because he likes to think he has higher standards.) Both of them live in terror that one day the other will bring it up, and Rufus is really irritated that Bobby was possessed when Rufus died because he had always been planning to make a deathbed joke and go out the winner.

SPN ASK MEME

[tinyshe]

Story at-a-glance

There are 10 steps that every tyrannical government has followed. We are now at step 10. Once the 10th step locks into place, there will be no going back

The 10 steps toward tyranny start with the invocation of a terrifying internal and/or external threat. From 2001 onward, that threat was terrorism, which was used as the justification for stripping us of our liberties

With the declaration of COVID-19 as a global pandemic, we entered step 10, where emergency powers and laws are used to strip remaining freedoms from the people, censorship is enacted and certain kinds of speech is criminalized

We must get involved and fight to enact state legislation that protects against continued erosion of freedom and reestablishes rights and liberties

The Daily Clout platform was created for this purpose. It allows citizens to lobby already drafted, turnkey bills to their legislators

This is the article in full:

Naomi Wolf, a former adviser to  the Clinton administration, is a prolific author and Yale University graduate.  She also received a prestigious Rhodes Scholarship that allowed her to complete  her Ph.D. in English and literature at Oxford University in 2015. Eight years  before that, she wrote a book called “The End  of America,” which is the topic of this interview. “The End of America” was published  in 2007. At the end of this article, you will find a playlist of three videos  in which she reads select chapters of the book. You can also download  the first and last chapters for free on the publisher’s website,  chelseagreen.com.1A Prescient Warning Already in 2007, Wolf warned us of  where we were headed. In her book, she points out that would-be tyrants are  found on both sides of the political spectrum. We must not get locked into  generalizations about political affiliations, because they simply do not give  us a truthful picture of who the enemy is. While Wolf and I could be said to  be on opposite sides of the political spectrum, Wolf being a long-time  progressive while many would view me as a conservative, our views are in  perfect alignment when it comes to the issues of protecting American freedom  and liberty.We are [now] at Step 10. I've been trying to warn people,  tirelessly, as much as I can, that we are at Step 10 and that once Step 10  locks in, there is no going back. ~ Naomi WolfIn “The End of America,” Wolf lays  out the 10 steps toward tyranny. These steps have been followed by virtually  all would-be tyrants, be they on the political left or right. They were  followed in Italy in the '20s, Germany in '30s, East Germany in the '50s, Chile  in the '70s and China in the '80s. “They all took the same 10 steps, and they always work,” Wolf says. “I warned people  that when you start to see these 10 steps, you have to take action, because  there is no way to recover once things go too far without a bloody revolution  or a civil war. We are [now] at Step 10. People have said, since I wrote that book   in 2007, ‘Tell us when we're at Step 10.’ I've always said, ‘Things are bad,  they're getting worse, but there's still hope.’ We're literally at Step 10 now.  I've been trying to warn people, tirelessly, as much as I can, that we are at Step  10 and that once Step 10 locks in, there is no going back.”We’re in the Final Step of  the Implementation of Tyranny.The 10 steps toward tyranny start  with the invocation of a terrifying internal and/or external threat. It may be  a real threat or an imagined one, but in all cases, it’s a hyped-up threat.  From 2001 onward, that threat was terrorism, which was used as the  justification for stripping us of our liberties. Ultimately, that wasn’t effective   enough.“There was still freedom in the world. People were not saying, ‘ISIS  exists; therefore, I'm going to give up my First Amendment liberties, my Fourth  Amendment liberties, my Second Amendment liberties and so on.’ Sadly, this  medical crisis — which is now not a pandemic in many states and countries, it's  an endemic; it doesn't meet the formal definition of a pandemic — was the  perfect excuse for leaders to usher in Step 10,” Wolf says. The last and final step in the  implementation of tyranny, Step 10, involves the creation of a surveillance  state where citizens are spied upon, and critique of the government is  reclassified as dissent and subversive activity. Step 10 The surveillance state is now  being rolled out in the form of vaccine passports, while certain kinds of  speech are said to be dangerous and freedom of speech is being criminalized. Needless  to say, the mainstream press is an important part of this scheme. “The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation have essentially bought up  the western press and coerce them, bribe them, into following the party line,  brought up by the CDC and so on,” Wolf says.“Toward the end of the steps, which is Step 10, is emergency law,  [which is a] subversion of the rule of law, also called martial law. We're  here. I'm [in] New York State. We're under emergency law. Every 30 days, I get  an email saying that tyrannical Governor Cuomo has extended emergency powers,  even though in Columbia County where I live, there are only eight deaths a  month with COVID, average age 85, which is older than the average American life  span. It's not a pandemic where I live, but I'm living under emergency   law, which means the legislature has no power. The governor can do whatever he  wants. It’s the same in Massachusetts, same in California — 49 states, all  states except Alaska, are technically under emergency law. This is terrifying. You get what you're seeing, which is governors   deciding, or the federal government deciding, that you can't assemble, you  can't worship, you have no medical choice, the coercion of vaccine passports,  your child can't go to school, your young adult can't get a college education  if they don't agree to an experimental vaccination. You get suspension of the right to property. You can't run your   business — 110,000 restaurants have closed. You get a suspension of freedoms of  speech. People are being deplatformed left and right and there are movements in  Congress to criminalize what had been First Amendment protected speech. You get the invocation of martial powers and there's no end to it.   Literally, with Massachusetts emergency law, I have no rights. I have no  ability to lobby the governor. With New York’s emergency law, I have no  representative with the power to end emergency measures. The governor has to  end emergency measures, [and] he's the one who benefits from them. It's  catastrophic. We're seeing a complete takeover of American rights, freedoms and   bodies by Big Tech, which is up double digits to triple-digit billions since  the pandemic began. China has moved in to … establish its role as the global  superpower under the guise of this pandemic, buying up community groups,  elected officials and the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, which are flooding  K through 12 education … community groups [and] universities with money to  engage in COVID education — which means a strict party line [narrative] that is  aimed at destroying what's human about us and what's free. That's it in a  nutshell. It's unbelievably terrifying.”What the COVID-19 Passports  Are Really AboutWolf was recently interviewed by Fox News’ Steve Hilton  (above), in which she warned that mandatory COVID-19 passports will spell  the “end of human  liberty in the West”:2,3 In essence, they’re a  precursor to the social credit system that has already been implemented in  China. The vaccine passes have already been  rolled out in New York, where Wolf lives. Surveillance is nothing new, of  course. We’ve been digitally surveilled for years, through social media  platforms, Google and all manner of “smart” technology. Since the early 2000s, Google and  Facebook in particular have been data mining online users. These data, then,  have been applied to deep learning computers, giving them unprecedented ability  to predict the type of messaging triggers that will create the maximum amount  of fear — and thus compliance. There’s also every reason to  assume that this information has also been shared with people like Bill Gates,  who largely controls the World Health Organization. If it wasn’t for the WHO,  we would not be in this situation, because it was the central organization with  the authority to declare a global pandemic, and keep it in place long past its   natural expiration date. They actually changed the  definition of “pandemic,” removing the requirement of mass casualties, and if  it wasn’t for that, COVID-19 simply would not qualify as a pandemic. The Pandemic Is Hypothetical  at BestWolf points out that COVID-19  dashboards, such as Johns Hopkins’ COVID-19 tracking project that mainstream  media keep citing, cannot tell us anything about who’s actually getting  infected, or who’s dying. We don’t even know if they are showing real or made  up data.Wolf, being the CEO of a tech  company, builds digital dashboards based on government data, so she knows what  she’s talking about. You have to have the raw datasets. Since none of the  dashboards provide the raw data, nothing can be verified. “Basically, they can  dial up cases, which are positive PCR tests, or dial them down,” she says. So,  the entire pandemic narrative is unverified.We do know, however, that the CDC  has shifted influenza and pneumonia deaths to COVID-19 deaths, and tens of  thousands of Americans die from these conditions every year. When lawmakers in  Minnesota audited death records, for example, they found a 40% over-attribution   of deaths to COVID-19. Then there’s the PCR test scandal.  Not only have laboratories everywhere been using excessively high amplification  cycles resulting in staggeringly high false positive rates, but they also do  not account for duplicate tests. If you get a positive test, and test once a  week until you test negative, each positive test result you obtain is counted  as a separate “case.”“We literally can't know if there's been a pandemic, there's so  much faulty attribution, inflation of numbers, and so on,” Wolf says. “Those numbers, I  can't stress enough, have never been audited ... We have to do a freedom of information request in Britain to take  a look at the raw data sets that are being fed into the Office for National  Statistics, COVID dashboard. We looked at where the data were flowing from for  the Johns Hopkins dashboard, which again, was used by every major university,  every major news outlet. One of the data providers was a hedge fund! … I know something else about APIs. It is virtually impossible to,  in real time, get hundreds of thousands of reports from hundreds of thousands  of doctors, hospitals, CVS and Rite Aid, feeding into a live digital dashboard.  I keep asking the developers to show me, ‘How did you do this? It's virtually  impossible.’ There's no answer, there's crickets. Literally, we don't know if the dashboards are just dialing up and   dialing down infection rates. Everyone's taking for granted that these must be  real numbers, but there's no evidence that they are real numbers. I'm willing  to stand corrected if there's a FOIA and we see the raw data sets. But right  now, it is a hypothetical pandemic.”Collusion by Tech CompaniesTech companies have also engaged  in what Wolf likens to criminal collusion. She explains:“In March of last year, for the COVID-19 response project, Zoom, NASDAQ, Nintendo, Microsoft, Amazon — all the people who benefited from the lockdown  — coordinated so that wherever you go on the internet, across platform to  platform, you see these alerts about COVID-19, warnings about COVID,  instructions about COVID, and of course, censorship … if you run afoul of the  narrative about COVID. I run a tech company. The question, when you run a tech company, is how do you get people to not do things in the real world, and do things on your  platform? That's the business model. If people are gathering in churches, gathering in real school   rooms, if they're going for walks together, go on picnics, having dinner  parties, going to clubs, that's an opportunity lost to Microsoft and Google and  so on. But if they can drive you indoors, terrify you from being around other  people, or make it unlawful to be around other people through these emergency  powers that restrict assembly [then they can profit] … Digital learning curriculum were turnkey, ready to go. Suddenly,  it was like, ‘Oh, kids have to be at home and do distance learning.’ That's a  $300 million industry for just one company that creates digital curriculums.  They're not going to let go of that. I think we are in a small loop of six tech companies [and] the  Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, having bought legislators in China, who's  up 32% while the economies of the West have crashed, and that's the fight that  we have to fight.”The Legalization of Tyranny. Few people realize that dictators  such as Mussolini and Hitler came to power in legal working democracies. They  became subverted and rules of law were rewritten in such a way as to allow  these leaders to legally take over. That's one of the primary dangers we now face  in the U.S., because at the end of step 10, the leader obtains the legal   authority to become a tyrant.“This is especially true of the National Socialists,” Wolf says. “They kept  passing a set of laws called the Enabling Acts that are very much like the laws  that are being passed now. They criminalized certain speech, created a  surveillance apparatus for citizens … and they did this lawfully. They were  elected, and they passed restrictive law after restrictive law. Then, once democracy was fragile enough, it really only took six   months for thugs to beat up opposition leaders, union leaders, the outspoken  and clergy. After that, everyone was too scared to speak. We're seeing the same  thing happen now, but faster. It's very scary that China has created a white paper — the World   Economic Forum has it on its website — that maps how biofascism, as I call it —  vaccinations, the managing of people's bodies, biometrics and health — is being  launched as a way to control civic engagement, governance, private life,  assembly and every other aspect of human life, to bring about super-fast  totalitarianism. That's why focusing on legislation is something I've been doing   with my company DailyClout, very seriously, because if we don't pass laws  immediately to make unlawful some of the things we're seeing, there will be no  more hope for us.”Using the Legal System to  Save the Law. One strategy of totalitarianism  that must be fought through legislation is the requirement of vaccine  passports. “Once these are launched … people like you and I, Dr. Mercola,  will be switched off of society. ‘Oops, my vaccine passport is positive. I   guess I can't go food shopping for my family.’ ‘I said something critical of  biofascism on Dr. Mercola's show, so now my child can't get into school.’ Just  as in Israel, people who are critics are being surveilled [and] marginalized  from society. It has turned into a two-tier society. If you choose not to get   vaccinated, then you're really in a marginalized minority in an apartheid  state. The more we know about these vaccines, the scarier it is to have  coercion that is social. It's also illegal. In America, we have the Americans  with Disabilities Act. It means it's illegal to even ask me anything about my  medical status. You can't ask me if I'm pregnant. You can't ask me if I'm  disabled. You can't ask me if I have diabetes or HIV. You cannot ask me   anything. By definition, these intrusive measures are unlawful. We have to use  the law to save the law, basically. In Michigan, there's an edict from the  governor that 2- to 4-year-old children have to be masked. This is child abuse.  Science doesn't support it. Unlawful, tyrannical laws are being passed across the country  under the guise of emergency measures, and stupid people going along with it,  like in Congress, I'm embarrassed to say, because I voted for Biden. We have to  fight before we are living in fascist regime where every move is tracked and  we're marginalized from society.”The Courts Are Our Last Hope,  And They’re Now Under AttackOne area in which “The End of  America” excels is helping you understand is that the United States was founded  by people who had repressive societies. Their goal was to prevent such a  repressive society from emerging again. The founders had to personally reckon  with criminalized speech, arbitrary arrest, state sanctioned torture and even  murder.So, at great personal sacrifice,  they signed the Constitution. Had they lost the Revolutionary War, they would  all have been executed, so the stakes could not have been higher. As a result,  our founding fathers constructed a carefully balanced system to make sure no  tyrant could ever come to power. We’re now facing a scenario that  could obliterate that delicate balance, namely the Biden administration’s call  to “pack the court,” i.e., add, in this case four, additional Justices to the  Supreme Court. We’re now facing a shift in our  legal structure that will allow for the legalization of tyrannical reign and  “legally” override the carefully constructed governmental balance between the  legislative, executive and judicial branched that has previously served to  prevent tyranny in the U.S.This three-tier branch, constructed to safeguard  our freedoms, is under direct attack, and this is NOT a partisan issue. Not by  a longshot, and everyone needs to wake up to this fact. It’s an issue of  freedom versus tyranny.“Absolutely,” Wolf says. “Sadly, this is clear. That's why I'm saying progressives have to  wake up … I worry very much about the role of China in this, because I think  we've seen that some people connected to the Democratic Party have close ties  with members of the Chinese Communist Party. That is just established fact. I'm not saying that the tyrants are on the left. In Britain, it's   Tories cracking down on liberty, holding the country under house arrest. In  Australia it's conservatives, in Canada it's Trudeau, a liberal. This isn't  partisan. But in America, we do have to face the fact that this administration  is drunk on power and has some bad actors aligned with it, including Silicon  Valley. They are crushing conservative voices, kicking them off of public   platforms in addition to voices critical of the COVID narrative. They're also  moving at warp speed to use their own phrasing about something else to lock in  power in a way that is against everything our founders set in place — the most  beautiful, delicate system of checks and balances any human beings have ever  created; an ideal of people all over the world who want freedom and balanced  accountable government. Yeah, packing the Supreme Court is a horrific tampering with some   of the last checks and balances that we have … I can't believe I keep saying  thank God for the conservatives on the bench. But these days, I have to say it,  and I'm ashamed. But thank God, because they were the ones who in California  said ‘No, you cannot keep people from assembling to worship. That is a  violation of the Constitution.’ They're our last hope. The courts are our last hope. It is   catastrophic, and I see other scary movements against accountable democracy  that are being put forward by this administration. Among them, President Biden is not saying to the blue states: ‘You   have to give up your emergency powers. You have to open up. You can't control  people in their homes, you can't force people to have vaccinations and you  can't keep people from assembling and worshipping.’ These are all violations of their constitutional liberties. He's   not saying that. That's a complete failure of leadership, if not worse. My  people have to rise up and face it. Conservatives have to face cleaning up  their own houses … What's at stake is everything, and we all have to unite  across party lines and save our Constitution and make these people accountable,  whatever their party [affiliation].”Urgent Call to Action The good news is, the would-be tyrants have not won yet. That said, we have no  time to spare. We have no time to remain idle, hoping it will all just go back  to normal on its own. The answer is peaceful mass civil disobedience.“There's hope in mass peaceful civil disobedience … when things  are really dire,” Wolf says. “My favorite story is about the singing revolution of Latvia,   Lithuania and Estonia, in which they were under the grip of the Soviet Union, a  massive tyrannical monolith. They all decided to just peacefully gather on a  highway that extended the length of their three countries and sing. They kept peacefully disrupting business as usual in their cities,   making it impossible for work to continue, for traffic to go on. They sat down,  they linked arms and they sang. Over time, they just wore down the Soviet Union.  That's a beautiful model. Same thing with Dr. Martin Luther King. His was a  peaceful revolution of civil disobedience.”This strategy is time-consuming,  however, so be prepared to stand your ground for as long as it takes. It can  take months, years even, when you have nothing else in your arsenal. Peaceful disobedience  is the primary strategy in armed countries as well. As mentioned, we must also  rally behind legislation that prevents the alteration of laws that safeguard  our freedoms.Join the Five Freedoms  Campaign!To that end, Wolf has started the Five Freedoms Campaign, which you can find on her Daily Clout website. The campaign focuses on creating legislation to preserve key  freedoms and prevent emergency laws from infringing on our freedom to assembly,   worship, protest and engage in business. Legislation is also being crafted to  open schools, remove mask mandates and eliminate requirements for vaccine  passports.“We've had overwhelmingly high levels of support,” Wolf says. “I hope your  followers will also join us. We hired a really distinguished lawyer who is drafting  model legislation. She has finished the new vaccine passport bill and we've  gotten state legislators in Maine, New Hampshire and Michigan to sponsor to  pass that legislation. I'm sending out the request for 47 other state legislatures to   adopt this model legislation. Contact me, I'll come out, I'll speak to your  legislature. We'll do a rally, we'll do a press conference, as we're doing in  Maine on April 27. We've got to pass these bills. Then she's going to work on an omnibus bill to make all five   freedoms inviolable so that no one can pass mask mandates as they did in  Michigan today. No one can force vaccine passports as they're doing in New York,  so that we can get our freedoms back.”Wolf and her team are making this  interactive process as easy as possible by posting good model bills on  dailyclout.io, and proactively drafting much-needed bills. Many state  legislators are not lawyers, and they don't have lawyers at their beck and  call. Citizens can now send these model bills to their legislators, knowing  that they’ve undergone legal review and are ready to be passed. You can also go  even further than that:“You can tell us the bill you want. We can upload a campaign for that bill. We can hire our lawyer to draft a model bill and then you can pass  it. What we've been doing is gathering names and zip codes, so that we can add  real voters to this piece of model legislation in real states and send it to  real state legislators and say, ‘Look, the supporters are all there. All you  have to do is pass this.’ It's a fantastic intervention in the political process, restoring   real democracy. It's why we founded Daily Clout, but it's beautiful to see  hundreds and hundreds of people from all walks of life rushing to give us  support and resources, to become members and give us donations, which we  appreciate, so that we can keep our lawyer busy creating these draft bills.  It's not just for this issue. Once we get our rights and freedoms back,  whatever [citizens] want, we can draft a bill for you, and you can [call on  your legislators to] pass it.”Limiting Emergency PowersAnother facet  that needs to be addressed is governors’ emergency powers. Some states have  been locked down under emergency power for more than a year, which is insane,  considering we’re not in an emergency and haven’t been for many months. These  emergency powers need to be limited in some way, as they are at the heart of  all this unlawful behavior. As explained by Wolf: “Emergency law basically suspends  the Constitution of the United States. As I've said elsewhere, the Constitution  doesn't say all this can be suspended if there's disease. We've been through  typhus, cholera, smallpox, HIV, Spanish flu, polio, tuberculosis — disease   after disease, without ever having emergency law extended without review month  after month. We've had world wars fought  without emergency laws. We were attacked on our soil without emergency law  being declared in New York state after 9/11. There's no justification for it. It's  against everything we believe in. It's unconstitutional.” So, one of the  five freedoms Wolf’s campaign focuses on is the restriction of emergency laws.  New Hampshire has become the first state to pass a bill that accomplishes this.  It reforms emergency law such that the Governor’s emergency powers cannot be  indefinitely extended without review by the legislature. They also passed a  bill that guarantees freedom of worship, and another bill that ensures  emergency law cannot be invoked indefinitely in any future crisis.4“We've now passed along our model ‘No vaccine passport’ bill to   the New Hampshire legislators,” Wolf says. “If they can do it in New Hampshire,  with our help, with your help, they can do it across the country. But we need  to get that model legislation out to every legislature and mobilize that  grassroots movement to pass the end of emergency law. I mean, look what's happening in New York State. It's insane. Fourteen  state legislators are trying to get Governor Cuomo to end emergency law. But as  our laws are written, Governor Cuomo has to be the one to end his own emergency  law. There're a huge amount of lobbying that has to happen for these   legislators to understand that there are eyes on them, that they're accountable.  I'm going to be reporting and … hopefully millions of people will be following  and helping to pass these laws to get back our rights.”Daily Clout Empowers Citizens  to Lobby for Freedom. To be clear, the Daily Clout is  not a lobbying group. YOU are the ones lobbying your legislators. Daily Clout  simply provides the needed assistance so that you can do that easily and  effectively. “It's such a beautiful effort, because you'd have to come out and  say, ‘The people of New Hampshire have no right to pass their own legislation’  in order to oppose an effort like this,” Wolf says. “We're not a special interest. It's just the  people. It's the people of New Hampshire, people of Maine, passing their own  legislation. I do hear, consistently, that Democrats won't help, that in many   states with their democratic majorities, it's going to be difficult if   Democrats don't reach across the aisle and add their names. I'm sending out the  call to Democrats to support this legislation. I'm going to warn everyone, speaking as a former political   consultant, that the party that embraces the restoration of freedom is going to  be the party that wins in 2022 and 2024. There's no question about that. This  is going to be a winning issue. People know something is terribly wrong, but they don't know what   to do. This is a completely unprecedented assault on liberty. With my many  years in national politics, I know what to do. This is why we developed Daily  Clout. If you show up with a turnkey piece of legislation and some turnkey  supporters, that's a very quick fix for a really catastrophic crisis that has a  legislative solution. As long as there's still legislatures, we can pass good  legislation at the state level. At the federal level, it's going to be harder,   because there isn't any balance right now. I'm very inspired there's so many people serving at the state   legislature level who are really decent citizens, who are not partisan hacks. People  who really ran to help their neighbors and help their communities and who are  not wholly owned by China, Big Tech or whatever, and who want to do the right  thing. I could be wrong, but in two weeks [since we launched the Daily   Clout site] we've already been invited to address state legislators and draft  legislation for three, and that's without any marketing budget or anything but  platforms like this, where I say it's available. We started Daily Clout because citizens didn't have a platform to   be effective at lobbying for their own issues. This is a turnkey platform that  does that for them. I designed it that way. I designed it, as a former  political consultant, knowing that the way things are set up, ordinary citizens  don't have a seat at the table. There is no easy way to engage in civic action.  

This makes it easy, makes it digital and people are using it.”How to Use the Daily Clout Site.So, how do you get involved?  First, go to  dailyclout.io and sign up to become a paying member or free subscriber. You will then receive an email explaining how to use the Five  Freedoms Campaign.

Presently, there is a model “no vaccination passports” bill   that you can send to your state legislator.There’s also a feature called  BillCam, where you can see who your state legislator is by entering your zip  code. Daily Clout will also email you links and explain how to find your state  legislator. If you provide your name and zip code, which will remain  confidential, your state legislator’s contact information will be included in  the email.“We're creating a widget right now to attach your name and zip   code to the model bills so it goes right to your state legislator, showing that  the bill already has support,” Wolf explains. “But in the meantime, you can look up any bill on BillCam. Those are  bills that have already been introduced or passed. There are ‘No vaccine passport’ bills, for instance. We're   showcasing them on BillCam. It's already set up, so you can just tweet it to  the sponsor, tweet it to representative. You can Facebook it to your community.  It already goes through social media and you can show support by ‘voting on it’  in the widget on BillCam as you share legislation with your community.”Once you’re a subscriber or  member, you’ll get regular updates about happenings around the U.S. and  community events. They’re also installing a widget that will allow you to meet  with like-minded people in your state who want this legislation passed. Lastly,  you can write to Daily Clout and ask them to draft a bill. A lawyer will then  be assigned to draft it for you.“Right now, we're focused on the Five Freedoms Campaign, but there  is that functionality. You can write a blog and explain the bill that you want.  You can send us a video and explain what your issue is, and all of this goes to  shining a light on the legislators. They're not used to having a light shone on  them. That really does drive outcomes. Those are the steps that you can take,” Wolf says. We’ve already seen how effective  this strategy can be, with New Hampshire passing three bills to protect  citizens’ freedoms. “I never want to take credit away from legislators working hard to  pass bills, but I know that we helped,” Wolf says. “I know that our lawyer has been in close  touch with some of those state legislators in New Hampshire and provided  language that we pay for, so that those legislators would have a turnkey bill  to act on.”Hundreds of people also wrote to  New Hampshire’s Governor Christopher Sununu, urging him to lift the mask  mandate, which he recently did. Knowing that the Daily Clout would report on  the outcome of that campaign, he not only felt the political pressure, but he  also knew he had support from his constituents. So, please, use this unprecedented  opportunity to get involved, in any capacity that you can. Your freedom, and that of future generations, hinge on  our getting involved and fighting for it. Last but not least, to understand  where we are and how we got here, I strongly recommend reading “The End  of America.” In the video below, Wolf reads select  chapters from the book. You can also download  the first and last chapters for free on the publisher’s website,  chelseagreen.com.5 

[thisblogisalsoboundforglory]

WHAT I HAVE BEEN READING LATELY

Kage Baker’s Company Series

In the Garden of Iden

Sky Coyote

Mendoza in Hollywood

The Graveyard Game

The Life of the World to Come

The Children of the Company

The Machine's Child

The Sons of Heaven

The Empress of Mars

Not Less than Gods

Nell Gwynne's On Land and At Sea

Black Projects, White Knights: The Company Dossiers

Gods and Pawns

In the Company of Thieves

Ø  Science Fiction written by a woman with Asperger’s. Wildly uneven. Main protagonist is female, but there are lots of POV characters, male and female.

Ø  Big ideas.

Ø  Lots of adventure, some action.

Ø   Small doses of humor.

 Neil Gaiman

Good Omens (with Sir Terry Pratchett)

Neverwhere

Stardust

American Gods

Anansi Boys

The Graveyard Book

The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Ø  Neil’s books are a road trip with Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and a baggie full of sativa.

Ø  Ideas are incidental. The Milieu’s in charge.

Ø  Adventure happens whether you like it or not.

Ø   Cosmic humor. The joke’s on us.

 Connie Willis’s Oxford Time Travel Series

Firewatch

Doomsday Book

To Say Nothing of the Dog (and the novel that inspired it – Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat)

Blackout/All Clear

Assorted:

The Last of the Winnebagos

Ø  Connie loves her historical research. Blackout/All Clear actually lasts as long as the Blitz, but anything in the Oxford Time Travel series is worth reading. Doomsday Book reads like prophecy in retrospect.

Ø  One idea: Hi! This is the human condition! How fucking amazing is that?!?

Ø  Gut-punch adventure with extra consequences. Background action.

Ø   I’d have to say that Doomsday Book is the funniest book about the black death I’ve ever read, which isn’t saying much. To Say Nothing of the Dog is classic farce, though. Girl’s got range.

Neal Stephenson

Snow Crash (After the apocalypse, the world will be ruled by Home-Owners Associations. Be afraid.)

Cryptonomicon

Anathem

Seveneves

Ø  Neal writes big, undisciplined, unfocused books that keep unfolding in your mind for months after you’ve read them. He’s a very guy-type writer, in spite of a female protagonist or two. Seveneves, be warned, starts out brilliant and devolves into extreme meh.

Ø  Big. Fucking. Ideas.

Ø  Battles, crashes, fistfights, parachute jumps, nuclear powered motorcycles and extreme gardening action. Is there an MPAA acronym for that?

Ø   Humor dry enough to be garnished with two green olives on a stick.

  Christopher Moore

Pine Cove Series:

Practical Demonkeeping

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror (Okay, yeah, Christmas. But Christmas with zombies, so that’s all right.)

Fluke (Not strictly Pine Cove, but in the same universe. Ever wonder why whales sing? They’re ordering Pastrami sandwiches. I’m not kidding.)

Death Merchant Chronicles:

A Dirty Job

Secondhand Souls (Best literary dogs this side of Jack London)

Coyote Blue (Kind of an outlier. Overlapping characters)

Shakespeare Series:

Fool

The Serpent of Venice

Shakespeare for Squirrels

Assorted:

Island of the Sequined Love Nun (Cargo cults with Pine Cove crossovers. I have a theory that the characters in this book are direct descendants of certain characters in Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon.)

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal (So I have a favorite first-century wonder rabbi. Who doesn’t?)

Sacre Bleu

Noir

Ø  Not for the squeamish, the easily offended, or those who can’t lovingly embrace the fact that the human species is pretty much a bunch of idiots snatching at moments of grace.

Ø  No big ideas whatever. Barely any half-baked notions.

Ø  Enthusiastic geek adventure. Action as a last resort.

Ø   Nonstop funny from beginning to end.

 Ben Aaronovitch’s Rivers of London Series

Rivers of London

Moon Over Soho

Whispers Under Ground

Broken Homes

Foxglove Summer

The Hanging Tree

The Furthest Station

Lies Sleeping

The October Man

False Value

Tales From the Folly

Ø  Lean, self-deprecating police procedurals disguised as fantasy novels. Excellent writing.

Ø  These will not expand your mind. They might expand your Latin vocabulary.

Ø  Crisply described action, judiciously used. Whodunnit adventure. It’s all about good storytelling.

Ø  Generous servings of sly humor. Aaronovitch is a geek culture blueblood who drops so many inside jokes, there are websites devoted to indexing them.

  John Scalzi

Old Man’s War Series:

Old Man’s War

Questions for a Soldier

The Ghost Brigades

The Sagan Diary

The Last Colony

Zoe’s Tale

After the Coup

The Human Division

The End of All Things

Ø  Star Trek with realpolitik instead of optimism.

Ø  The Big Idea is that there’s nothing new under the sun. Nor over it.

Ø  Action-adventure final frontier saga with high stakes.

Ø  It’s funny when the characters are being funny, and precisely to the same degree that the character is funny.

Assorted:

The Dispatcher

Murder by Other Means

Redshirts (Star Trek, sideways, with occasional optimism)

Ø  Scalzi abandons (or skewers) his space-opera tendencies with these three little gems of speculative fiction. Scalzi’s gift is patience. He lets the scenario unfold like a striptease.

Ø  What-if thought experiments that jolt the brain like espresso shots.

Ø  Action/misadventure as necessary to accomplish the psychological special effects.

Ø  Redshirts is satire, so the humor is built-in, but it’s buried in the mix.

  David Wong/Jason Pargin

John Dies at the End

This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don’t Touch It

What the Hell Did I Just Read?

Ø  Pargin clearly starts his novels with a handful of arresting scenes and images, then looses the characters on an unsuspecting world to wander wither they will.

Ø  Ideas aren’t as big or obvious as Heinlein, but they are there to challenge all your assumptions in the same way that Heinlein’s were.

Ø  Classic action/adventure for anyone raised on Scooby-Doo.

Ø  Occasional gusts of humor in a climate that’s predominantly tongue-in-cheek.

 Jodi Taylor’s Chronicles of St. Mary’s Series

Just One Damned Thing After Another

The Very First Damned Thing

A Symphony of Echoes

When a Child is Born*

A Second Chance

Roman Holiday*

A Trail Through Time

Christmas Present*

No Time Like the Past

What Could Possible Go Wrong?

Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings*

Lies, Damned Lies and History

The Great St Mary’s Day Out*

My Name is Markham*

And the Rest is History

A Perfect Storm*

Christmas Past*

An Argumentation of Historians

The Battersea Barricades*

The Steam Pump Jump*

And Now for Something Completely Different*

Hope for the Best

When Did You Last See Your Father?*

Why Is Nothing Ever Simple*

Plan For The Worst

The Ordeal of the Haunted Room

Ø  The * denotes a short story or novella. Okay, try to imagine Indiana Jones as a smartassed redheaded woman with a time machine and a merry band of full contact historians. I love history, and I especially love history narrated by a woman who can kick T. Rex ass.

Ø  The ideas are toys, not themes. Soapy in spots.

Ø  Action! Adventure! More action! More adventure! Tea break. Action again!

Ø  Big, squishy dollops of snort-worthy stuff.

 Laurie R. King’s Mary Russell Series

The Beekeeper's Apprentice

A Monstrous Regiment of Women

A Letter of Mary

The Moor

Jerusalem

Justice Hall

The Game

Locked Rooms

The Language of Bees

The God of the Hive

Beekeeping for Beginners

Pirate King

Garment of Shadows

Dreaming Spies

The Marriage of Mary Russell

The Murder of Mary Russell

Mary Russell's War And Other Stories of Suspense

Island of the Mad

Riviera Gold

The Art of Detection (Strictly speaking, this is in the action!lesbian Detective Kate Martinelli series, but it crosses over to the Sherlock Holmes genre. If you’ve ever wondered how Holmes would deal with the transgendered, this is the book.)

Ø  Sherlock Holmes retires to Sussex, keeps bees, marries a nice Jewish girl who is smarter than he is and less than half his age and he’s mentored since she was fifteen in an extremely problematic power dynamic relationship that should repulse me but doesn’t, somehow, because this is the best Sherlock Holmes pastiche out there. Mary should have been a rabbi, but it is 1920, so she learns martial arts and becomes an international detective instead. Guest appearances by Conan Doyle, Kimball O’Hara, T.E. Lawrence, Cole Porter, and the Oxford Comma.

Ø  Nothing mind-expanding here, unless the levels of meta present in a fictional world that is about how the fictional world might not be as fictional as you thought come as a surprise to anyone in the era of tie-in books, films, tv, interactive social media and RPGs.

Ø  If these two geniuses can’t catch the bad guys with their dazzling brilliance, they will happily kick some ass. Adventure takes center stage and the action sequences are especially creative.

Ø  Amusement is afoot.

 Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next Series

The Eyre Affair

Lost in a Good Book

The Well of Lost Plots

Something Rotten

First Among Sequels

One of Our Thursdays is Missing

The Woman Who Died a Lot

Ø  In a world where Librarians are revered and Shakespeare is more popular than the Beatles, someone has to facilitate the weekly anger-management sessions for the characters of Wuthering Heights, if only to keep them from killing each other before the novel actually ends. That someone is Thursday Next – Literature Cop.

Ø  Mind-bending enough to give Noam Chomsky material for another hundred years.

Ø  Adventure aplenty. Action? Even the punctuation will try to kill you.

Ø  This is a frolicsome look at humorous situations filled with funny people. Pretty much a full house in the laugh department.

 Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series/City Watch Arc

Guards! Guards!

Men at Arms

Feet of Clay

Jingo

The Fifth Elephant

Night Watch

Thud!

Snuff

Raising Steam

Ø  If this were a game of CLUE, the answer would be Niccolo Machiavelli in Narnia with a Monty Python. Everything you think you know about books with dragons and trolls and dwarves and wizards is expertly ripped to shreds and reassembled as social satire that can save your soul, even if it turns out you don’t really have one. Do not be fooled by the Tolkien chassis – there’s a Vonnegut-class engine at work.

Ø  Caution: Ideas in the Mirror Universe May be Larger Than They Appear

Ø  The City Watch arc has plenty of thrilling action sequences. Some other of the fifty-million Discworld novels have less. Every one of them is nonstop adventure. Most of the adventure, however, takes the form of characters desperately trying to avoid thrilling action sequences.

Ø  Funny? Even though I’ve read every book in the series at least ten times, I still have to make sure I have cold packs on hand in case I laugh so hard I rupture something.

[alwaysmarilynmonroe]

When most people hear the name, “Veronica Lake” usually one of three things comes to mind – that incredible peek-a-boo hair, the Film Noir’s with Alan Ladd or possibly Kim Basigner playing a Miss Lake lookalike in L.A. Confidential (1997) – fun fact, she won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for that role. Although, with Veronica’s heyday being well over half a century old, that’s sadly usually as far as it goes.

However, with the Classic Hollywood Era being hugely timeless and forever coming back into fashion, the genre is becoming less of a niché subject and more Stars are on the public radar. If you’re a long time Vintage Lover like myself, you’ll be aware that unfortunately, a lot of our favourites don’t have many books written about them, or if they do, they’ve been out of print for a number of years and can be hard to find, or very expensive. Therefore, when I came across the news that Dean Street Press were publishing a reprint of Veronica’s Autobiography, which was first released in 1969, I was absolutely ecstatic! As most who know me are probably aware of my love for Blonde Bombshells, it may not be as well known that Veronica is my other favourite, after Marilyn.

There have only been two books published on Veronica, which I must add, astounds me – and one of them is this one which was co-written by ghost writer Donald Bain, who sadly passed away in October of 2017. The other is by Jeff Lenburg and I am fortunate enough to have both. However, Lenburg’s book is fairly controversial as he takes a lot of his information from Veronica’s mother, who claims a lot of detrimental things about her daughter – yet was estranged from her for many, many years. I think it’s actually being reprinted this summer and I will read it again, but would definitely advise new fans to stick to Veronica’s own words.

The republished version of Veronica’s Autobiography features a new cover with a stunning publicity photo of her in Ramrod (1947) which was directed by her then Husband, André de Toth. The book is a shiny paperback, with a non crease format, so even when you’ve finished reading, it will be in great condition and can take pride of place on your bookshelf! At 215 pages and 27 chapters, it’s not a huge length, but definitely a substantial read and full of personal anecdotes from the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Broadcaster and writer, Eddie Muller adds a new Introduction and his following words really stuck with me, their relevancy still to this day does not go unnoticed,

“I’ll point out instead that while the public has granted Sterling Hayden, a legendary boozer and hash-head, a legacy as a heroic, larger-than-life iconoclast, it has branded Lake’s life after Hollywood a steady downward spiral of abasement, worthy of only pity. Blame a cultural double standard that applauds reckless rebellion in men but shames it in women.”

As the chapters do not have titles, I’ve decided to write down a snippet of information which sums up the pivotal points and various timelines in each section.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1:

– Starts in 1938 and traces Veronica’s move to Hollywood with her mother, step-father and cousin on the 4th of July. Veronica enrolls in the Bliss Hayden School of Acting and has her first role in a movie as an extra in RKO’s Sorority House (1939).

Chapter 2:

– Veronica’s signature peek-a-boo hairstyle is unintentionally created on the set of Forty Little Mothers (1940) by Director, Busby Berkeley who stated, “I still say let it fall. It distinguishes her from the rest”.

Chapter 3:

– Director, Freddie Wilcox sets up Veronica’s first Screen Test, whilst at home her step-father suffers a collapsed lung.

Chapter 4:

– Veronica joins the iconic William Morris Agency and recounts her knowledge of the infamous Hollywood Casting Couch and how she turned away from the many advances.

Chapter 5:

– Veronica meets her first husband, John Detlie and has her named changed by Producer, Arthur Hornblow Jr., who, after a second Screen Test, decides to cast her as Sally Vaughn in her breakout movie, I Wanted Wings (1941).

Chapter 6:

– Focuses on the location filming of I Wanted Wings (1941) from August 26th 1940 in San Antonio, Texas.

Chapter 7:

– Continues filming in Hollywood for I Wanted Wings (1941) and elopes to marry her first husband, John Detlie.

Chapter 8:

– Veronica discusses the first 8 years of her childhood and her move to Florida in her teen years and the two schools she attended in Montreal and Miami.

Chapter 9:

– Recounts various appearances in Miami Beauty Pageants as a teenager.

Chapter 10:

– Returns to 1941 with the release of I Wanted Wings (1941) and focuses on the worldwide phenomenon of the famous hair. Also finishes with Director Preston Sturges hiring Veronica for the role of The Girl in Sullivan’s Travels (1941).

Chapter 11:

Veronica shares the news of her first pregnancy with her mother and how her third trimester would coincide with the physical demands of filming Sullivan’s Travels (1941).

Chapter 12:

– Covers the filming of Sullivan’s Travels (1941) from May 12th 1941 and the revelation of Veronica’s pregnancy. It’s simply incredible when watching the film all these years later to come to the realization that she was between six to eight months pregnant!

Chapter 13: – The filming of This Gun For Hire (1942) and The Glass Key (1942).

Chapter 14:

– The filming of I Married A Witch (1942), So Proudly We Hail! (1943) and The Hour Before The Dawn (1944). Veronica also discusses the deterioration of her marriage and the tragic loss of her second baby, Anthony, who died a week after being born two months prematurely.

Chapter 15:

– Veronica divorces John and retells various anecdotes of the Hollywood Lifestyle in it’s heyday in the 1940s.

Chapter 16:

– Veronica discusses the filming of Star Spangled Rhythm (1942) and also her dating history during this period. She shares some fascinating stories of various celebrity anecdotes which include such Stars as, Errol Flynn, Katharine Hepburn, Howard Hughes and Gary Cooper.

Chapter 17:

– The filming of Bring On The Girls (1945), Duffy’s Tavern (1946) and Hold That Blonde! (1945). Veronica recalls marrying her second husband, Andre de Toth and shares a moving story from her visit to The White House in January 1945.

Chapter 18:

– The filming of Miss Susie Slagles (1946), Out Of This World (1945), Ramrod (1946), The Blue Dahlia (1946), Saigon (1947) and The Sainted Sisters (1948). Veronica and Andre expand their family as she has her third baby, a boy named Michael. She also talks about her and Andre obtaining their Pilot Licenses and how the death of her step-dad deeply affected her.

Chapter 19:

– Features a highly entertaining story of Veronica flying her plane, whilst carrying her forth child, in her fifth month of pregnancy. With her on board is her secretary Marge, who up until then had never flown before.

Chapter 20:

– Veronica gives birth to her forth baby, a girl named Diana and talks about the turmoil of her relationship with her mother, who decided to sue her for, “lack of filial love and responsibility” and over $17,000.

Chapter 21:

– The filming of Slattery’s Hurricane (1949) and Stronghold (1951). Veronica discusses her frustration with Andre’s prolific spending, which results in them filing for bankruptcy and ultimately, the deterioration of their marriage.

Chapter 22:

– Veronica moves to New York in 1951 and continues her acting career through various television appearances and the stage. She enters her third marriage to husband, Joe McCarthy, which she admits was volatile from the start and they divorce after just four years, in September 1959.

Chapter 23:

– Covers the years 1959 through to 1961. Veronica discusses her time taking a job as a cocktail waitress – which contrary to popular belief, she actually quite enjoyed. She also talks about the traumatic accident which resulted in a severely broken ankle, which caused her inability to act for two years.

Chapter 24:

– Delves into her relationship with Andy Elickson, a Merchant Seaman, who she met during her time working in the Martha Washington Hotel and focuses on the period between 1961 and 1966. She also writes about a high note in her stage career; appearing in Best Foot Forward in 1963.

Chapter 25:

– Veronica discusses her move to Miami from New York in 1966.

Chapter 26:

– The filming of Footsteps In The Snow (1966) and Flesh Feast (1970) which was then known as Time Is Terror and was originally shot in 1967.

Chapter 27:

– Ends in October 1967 with Veronica discussing her reading performance of The World of Carl Sandburg, which she describes as one of the, “finest moments” of her life.

______________________________________________________________________________

Veronica’s words are full of honesty, she does not sugar-coat her flaws and her anecdotes convey a great sense of humbleness towards her career and lots of self criticism to her talent, the latter which saddens me. I’ve noticed many of the great Stars rarely seem to have any belief in themselves. If only they could see how loved and appreciated they truly are. However, her loyalty and generosity towards her close friends and even acquaintances does not go unnoticed. It’s refreshing to see her be able to share her own story, without various opinions and conspiracies that have grown over the years being included.

Overall, there’s only two downsides that springs to mind. Firstly, as the book was originally published in 1969 and finishes at the end of 1967, we’re missing the six final years of her fascinating life and tragically nothing can be done to change this. Of course no one is at fault, it’s just a shame that those last years will remain mostly a mystery to us. It would have been wonderful to read about her time in England. Lastly, in the original edition, a number of pages featured very rare photos of Veronica throughout her years, including her own comments. Sadly, only a small version of the cover photo reappears at the end of the newly republished book. I’m assuming this is down to cost and or copyright, but it would be nice to see these rare treasures reappear in the latest edition for fans that are not fortunate enough to also own an original copy.

Ultimately, Veronica always maintains her true self and comes across as not a Screen Icon, but just like one of us – albeit with some extraordinary Hollywood stories. She’s simply, and I mean this in the most complimentary way – a human being. It’s been almost a decade since I discovered Veronica, eight years in fact and I for one have not only became even more endeared to Miss Lake, but, I have also developed a warm space in my heart for my fellow 5’2″ little lady, Miss Connie/Ronni Keane.

Lastly, a huge thank you to Dean Street Press for believing in the popularity of Veronica and so wonderfully reprinting hers and Donald Bain’s special words for us all to enjoy.

For anyone who wants to see more of Veronica, I’ve amassed a fairly large archive of photos over the years which can be viewed on my blog devoted entirely to her; missveronicalakes.

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For inquiries or collaborations contact me at;

meganmonroes@icloud.com

Veronica: The Autobiography of Veronica Lake; Book Review. When most people hear the name, "Veronica Lake" usually one of three things comes to mind - …

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For one quote/ one shot to be posted Oct 21st, my quote below; “Listen,” he said at last, softly. “Do you hear?” At first I heard nothing but the rushing of the wind, and the trickle of rain, dripping through the holes of the roof. Then I heard it, the steady, slow thump of his heartbeat, pulsing against me, and mine against his, each matching each, in the rhythm of life.” My thanks to @notevenjoking and @balfehueghlywed for organizing this one shot, I hope you like it.

Jamie walked through the house in silence. His sneakers touching the marble floor like a caress as he approached the front door with great anticipation. When the knob turned the massive front door opened with a quiet whoosh and closed with a respectful silence he promised to abide when he arrived from Scotland five months ago. The woman who owned the house and agreed to sponsor his junior year had one unbreakable rule, do not wake her in the morning. When the door was closed, Jamie’s smile could be seen in the next county. His forward flip off the top step was fueled by his exceptional muscle density, tender age of seventeen, buckets of testosterone, and pure joy. It was time to go bask to school.

Miss Abby was many things, a best selling author, sixty years a single woman, kind and interested in Jamie’s life and an exceptional cook. She provided a list of chores each week with a monetary value next to each. If Jamie needed money he could finish any or all of the chores and make enough to sustain his teenage life. Jamie would put a checkmark next to two or three of the chores and do the rest of the list without a mention. Miss Abby showed her gratitude with huge sumptuous meals that her athletic border consumed with gusto. At ten o’clock every night Miss Abby locked her study doors and worked all night.

Jamie jumped into his VW bug and shot toward school, his friends, his girlfriend, and the legendary coach John DiBiaso. It was the reason he was here playing for Catholic Memorial. Scouted as a sophomore in Scotland, he was doing his junior and senior year in Boston. He would be offered a full scholarship from any number of schools and then go pro. No one doubted it. He was that good.

Jamie was passing out smiles to all that wanted one today as he made his way into the building to drop his load of books. His friends gathered around him, joking and lying about getting laid over the holiday and telling stories about how drunk they got at this party or that. Jamie joked right back until his attention was pulled away by wild black curls, crazy gorgeous eyes, and a caboose that made his knees feel weak.

“Hey, who’s that girl?”

“Ye mean miss world-class ass or the other one?”

“Yer an idiot Sean, see you guys at practice.”

The day took control of his brain and the curly lass was forgotten. When a slim body dropped into a seat next to him at lunch he felt his body respond like a starving man.

“Where ye been lass? Been lookin for ye all morning. If ye don’t give me yer hot kisses soon I may die right here in this chair.”

Jamie leaned toward Geneva tickling her ear with his breath, making her squirm and run a hand down her hair to smooth anything he disrupted. She looked straight ahead as if he wasn’t there. Come lass, now.” Jamie dragged Geneva to the bleachers where they could kiss unobserved and he could grind into something she would never give. He walked into fifth period holding his jacket in front of him.

Claire was an even mixture of stark terror and excitement over going to a real school. She never anticipated so many students her age crammed into one building. No matter which hall she took it felt like she was fighting a wall of people who didn’t seem to notice her. By third period, she was exhausted. “Damn uncle Lamb, I told you Everest was a better school, certainly less crowded for Christ's sake.”

The only redeeming feature of this school was that giant boy in the hall this morning. He smiled at her and she shot down the hall feeling a bit dizzy. Five minutes later she met the second redeeming feature.

“Hey, luscious!” The boy leaned into Claire like he wanted to eat her, causing her to flinch and try to get away. Out of the crowd came a head of strawberry blond hair and a fist to the young man’s chest that stunned him long enough to get away. The girl grabbed Claire’s sleeve and pulled her out a side door.

Once outside, Claire turned her face to the sun, filled her lungs with fresh air, and opened her eyes to sparkling emeralds and a smiling face.

“I’m Geillis and you are a strange one aren’t ye.”

“What?”

When the bell rang Claire lurched forward apologizing to her new friend that she was late for testing. Claire launched herself back into the throng of students only to crash into an unexpected wall, hitting her head and bouncing backward. Warm hands caught her mid-flight.

“What the bloody hell…!” Her hand flew to her head as she looked up at a face that sucked the air out of her lungs and completely rebuilt her life goals in under a second.

“This collision is entirely yer fault lass, but yer British, so yer forgiven… Sassenach. Tell me yer name and I will pretend it never happened.” He smiled down at her and she saw the humor in his Hollywood handsome face. Claire struggled to regain her composure and remember what launched her into the hall in the first place. Still rubbing her head she looked up at his face again looking confused.

“I need to find the office sir can you point the right direction?”

“Sir? For that slip of the pretty tongue, ye get my company all the way there. Come, I will show ye.”

He grabbed her hand in the crowd of people and let it go when the hallway became passable. “Here is the office lass. Now, when ye see me next I expect a hi Jamie for my troubles.” He turned on his heel and jogged down the hall until he disappeared.

“Miss Beauchamp! We are delighted to have you here this semester. I know Lamb from college and promised to test you into the right school and grade. Shall we begin?” The guidance counselor looked down at the girl hoping this would not drag on all day. He was anxious to pawn her off on a lesser school where academic achievement was not expected or encouraged. He placed a test booklet in front of her with an answer sheet and a number two pencil. He wished her luck and quietly backed out the door. His first few strides felt like a temporary stay of execution by boredom. Too many parents and guardians had exaggerated the superior intellect of their children, and charges, over the years when the truth was an unremarkable, mediocre student who would never aspire to anything above the median. This girl spent the last five years in a remote location in Egypt, without running water or plumbing, and no schooling. That alone made her remarkable, as an oddity, but certainly not an academic superstar, which is the only interest he had in humans under thirty years old.

The heavy door to his office clicked shut and he exhaled his relief at being alone. He sat down and put his feet up wondering what he would order in for dinner tonight. Sometime later a sharp knock brought the counselor jerking awake from his nap. He pulled the door open to receive an answer sheet from his secretary. He looked at the clock and thought, impossible. When he looked down at the scores his face fell off, the jowls went slack, the mouth opened with a hanging lower lip, and he balled the sheet up and threw it in the trash.

“She obviously cheated, although I can’t imagine how. Oh, who cares, assign her to Park West and call them to expect a student tomorrow. What the devil is wrong with you?”

His secretary was anticipating a three-alarm academic emergency grab for this gifted student, instead, he dispatched her to a remedial high school where her brilliant mind would be stomped to death by a staff of teenage baby sitters who wouldn’t know gifted intellect if it slapped them across the face.

“No problem boss. I’ll take care of it.”

The door slammed behind her as the counselor went back to his nap.

June Dawe sat at her desk ruminating over the options of doing what’s right and risking her job or turning off her life force so she can do what she is told and be safe. Fortunately for Claire, June still had a passion for education and every student within these walls. She dialed each of the gifted teachers finding four who could meet with Claire right now.

“Claire, dear, come with me. We have a meeting on the second floor with your new teachers. Don’t be nervous child, the hard part is over. I believe your teachers will be very interested in helping you.

Jamie was on the field stunning his teammates with the deadly accuracy of his arm. He gave it all in practice just like his father taught him and the coach was blown away. Christian Memorial won the state championship this year and coach DiBiaso would bet a year’s salary it was in the bag for next year as well, as long as Jamie Fraser was playing. A whistle toot sent everyone running for the warmth of the locker room.

Jamie’s curls were still wet from the shower when he dropped into his car and zoomed toward home. It was getting dark but he saw an unmistakable silhouette ahead. A crazy mass of curls and an ass the angels only dreamed of. He jerked the VW to the side of the road and called out to the girl waiting in the bus line.

Claire smiled and waved, making Jamie feel weird suddenly. What was this then? He was completely baffled by her response, or lack thereof. That half-hearted wave was meant for a cousin or a neighbor. Jaime got out and gently pulled her from the line.

“Come Sassenach, I’m drivin ye home.”

“I like the bus, but thank you.”

He listened to her voice and heard sincerely. This was no female trick like Geneva was famous for. That little snip of a person was responding with honesty and complete lack of interest in him. Hold up, his mind was screaming. Never happened before, ever! He watched her shivering in the cold of the Boston night. He was intrigued and approached her again.

“May I speak with ye for a moment Sassenach?”

She looked at him like he lost his mind but she stepped out of line and walked over to him. “What?”

“Could I impose on ye lass, for yer company? I like the way ye talk and I’m missin my family tonight. Would ye talk to me while I drive ye home, please?”

Claire watched his eyes sparkle under the street light and felt a tractor beam pulling her toward him. He opened the car door for her and she breathed in his masculine scent and watched him fall into his seat. There was an awkward silence between them as each questioned what they were doing in this car together on this frigid night.

Jamie pulled over and looked down the block of historic brownstones. “Which is yer house Sassenach?”

“I will point to it if you tell me what Sassenach means.”

“It means outsider lass. Because of yer accent. And yer house?”

“Why is it so important to know which is my house?”

“So I know where to pick ye up in the morning for school.”

“Right here is fine, thank you. I really hate that bus.” Claire jumped out of the car and walked swiftly down the block, cutting across someone’s front lawn like she owned it. Hearing the car pull away she returned to the sidewalk and continued to her front door.

Miss Abby sat across from Jamie, enjoying his pleasure over her meal. She noticed a small flare in his eyes indicating conscious thought every few minutes. A bad test grade maybe, a fight at school, bad practice, the possibilities were endless. She had faith that Jamie would figure it out…what ever it was.

Claire could not remember ever being this exhausted. She had tested all afternoon and the questions got more bizarre and complex until she was finally released. Her bloodshot eyes watched the four teachers as they huddled over her answer sheet stealing glances at each other and then her. They seemed very happy when they let her leave asking her to join them again tomorrow morning. Claire ran in the crisp late afternoon air, just needing space and solitude. She fell in line at the bus stop and was lost in her memory of the afternoon. Until she heard the burr of the cutest boy she had ever seen.

The teachers encouraged her to choose a topic she found interesting and design a unique study that could be presented at the international science of the future competition. They promised it would be a boost to her studies, ivy league invitations, scholarships, and notoriety to make friends at school. She laid on her bed with a scrubbed face letting her mind wander. She saw an arm and a torso in movement as a ball was lifted and thrown. She saw the angles rush in and equations for mass and energy and distance. Her heartbeat jumped 30 beats per minute and she smiled in the dark. She had her hypothesis, experiment, measurement, testing and eventual modification of her hypothesis. She needed a test subject that was good enough to study.

Claire sat up and turned her desk light on so she could write her ideas down before she forgot them. She needed to study something other people wanted to know, whatever that was. She was still working on her study outline the next day when Geillis invaded her space and mind during lunch. Claire was fascinated by the backstories on all the popular kids, mostly from rich families or athletes.

“The transplants do pretty well too.” She noticed Claire’s eyebrows go up. “Transplants are kids in the exchange program that come from other countries. Catholic Memorial recruits gifted students from all over the world. Guess there’s a shortage of home-grown jocks and scholars. Like them,” Geillis nodded to the side where Jamie and Geneva were flirting with each other. “Those two are transplants from Scotland and on the top of the food chain at this school. Geneva is academics and Jamie is, well you know.”

“No! I don’t know. What is he?”

Geillis smiled indulgently at Claire, “Jamie Fraser is our star quarterback. I thought you knew him the way you face-planted his chest yesterday in the hall and then walked away with him.”

Claire was staring at the couple with their heads close together, giggling and kissing. “No, I don’t know anything about him. But he did drive me home and pick me up for school today.”

“Well, I’m anxious to hear all about it,” Geillis’s eyes twinkled wickedly and she scooted closer to Claire.

Claire was given her schedule of classes and struggled to find the new rooms hidden by the throngs of bodies crushed into the halls between classes. She was happy they were a grade higher than her original schedule. At least she wouldn’t be bored.

She found her homeroom, full of long desks with clumps students scattered around. She sat alone and pulled out her study outline. She didn’t like this room and felt like people were watching her. She tried to ignore it and get some work done. When the bell rang Claire’s head jerked up at the clock. Throwing books into her backpack she ran around the corner to the door and there he was. Jamie was talking with a group of guys and he opened the door so she could zoom past.

A fly on the wall could tell the world that Jamie was being raked over the coals and severely punished by his girlfriend Geneva who wanted the rides to school with “the little twit” to stop, permanently. The show of affection in the lunchroom was Geneva’s perfectionism, not showing weakness to the world. Jamie was just happy the fighting was over and realized his mistake when he pulled her outside for serious kissing.

“Get your filthy hands off of me, ye whore.”

“So it’s a whore I am now.”

“Stop giving that idiot rides to school where ye park and people can see ye both get out. If you insist on being a bleeding heart ye can give her a ride home if she gets picked up at least three blocks from the school.”

“Will there be anythin else, Geneva?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “no, that’s all.” Geneva turned around and left Jamie standing outside. He watched her smile and wave at someone and realized she was hellbent on looking perfect 24/7 no matter the cost.

Jamie sat in the bleachers and the cool afternoon made him feel more like himself. He thought about Geneva, the prettiest girl in the world he decided when he first got to this school. The fact she came from Scotland and would return home for the summer was a bonus. He decided she was perfect but she wouldn’t give him the time of day at first. After his first game, she was all flirty smiles and agreed to a date, they hit it off. She was here because of her academic achievement and Jamie had a snapshot in his head of the two of them, he in a Greenbay uniform next to Geneva in a white lab coat. He knew she was fading in the picture and he forced himself to look at it. He didn’t like the girl she was today but decided to cool it a bit before breaking it off with her. Maybe she’ll come around.

Claire pushed the door open and saw Jamie’s VW waiting against the curb. He leaned over and popped the door for her.

“Here.”

“What’s that for?”

“I am paying my share of gas and happy to do it because I hate that bus.” He said no three times and finally pointed at the glove box. Claire was happy he let her do her part and her effervescence came bubbling up as she talked about her study outline.

“My friend said you play football, is that true?”

Jamie’s head looked sideways at an innocent face asking a serious question.

“Yea.”

“I got approval for my study outline so it’s time to find my subject. I know it’s a lot to ask but I hoped you could introduce me to some of the top players. I only need one person but I anticipate a lot of no’s. So, could you, please?”

Jamie stared at her through the red traffic light and left turn arrows waiting for the joke that didn’t come.

“What sport does this test subject have to play?”

“Football.”

Jamie’s head was starting to hurt, “I’ll see what I can do.”

His little friend Claire was a walking contradiction, at least to his limited exposure to girls. Did she even realize who he was, what he meant to the team and school? He was out of sorts from the weird day with Geneva, and no football until next year. He needed some aspirin and a list of chores.

Claire was doing homework in the kitchen and ran for her ringing phone.

“Hello, a…Claire. My name is Geneva Dunsany. I am calling about my boyfriend Jamie Fraser and the fight you caused between us today. It isn’t right to accept a ride to school with someone else’s boyfriend. Ye may look like a twelve-year-old boy but it doesn’t look good coming to school with my boyfriend. Hello! That bitch hung up on me…click.”

Claire stared at the phone and wondered if her crush on Jamie was noticeable. Her face turned bright red with embarrassment and she threw her phone in her purse. The next morning she taped a piece of cardboard to the streetlight with a note to Jamie.

I can’t ride with you anymore so I’m on the hateful bus. You are very nice, Geneva is a bitch. See ya superstar.

Jamie was livid at Geneva’s audacity. This was not going to fly. Thanks for making this easy for me, Geneva. Wait…did the Sassenach call me superstar? He swung a U-turn and went back to grab the sign before heading to school.

Geillis was bent at the waist, laughing uncontrollably at what Claire had done. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. Shit, that’s the bell, we’re going to be late.” The two of them ran to their classes where Claire could grieve the second-biggest loss of her life. At least that is what it felt like today.

The rumor that Jamie broke up with Geneva went around the school like wildfire. Jamie tried to talk to Claire several times but she would smile politely and move along.

The life seemed to go out of Claire. She requested a postponement of her project until next year and applied to test out of junior year so she could get this stupid school behind her. Uncle Lam had prepared her academically but did squat about teaching her to guard her heart.

She had gained a position in a social group at school and many of her friends were leaving for the summer. Somewhere during the hug-fest she looked up at the bluest eyes on the planet and felt her heart slip into her throat. They stared at each other and Claire waved and smiled at him. Jamie held his phone up and snapped her picture. Looking back at her he saw the tear roll down her cheek.

“My God lass, what’s happened to ye,” he said quietly. “Claire!” Jamie sprinted toward her but her bestie Geillis saw her pain and pulled her out a side door and straight to her car.

Jamie had one last stop to make before parking his car in storage for the summer and flying home. He pulled Claire’s cardboard note out of the trunk and penned a note, taping it to the streetlight.

“See ye in three months Sassenach. I told the bus driver yer a terrorist so it looks like ye will be comin with me next year.”

Geillis handed Claire the note and watched the emotion play out in her eyes. It was time to find the beautiful swan in her friend and let the doting boys at the clubs and beach do the rest.

Miss Abby’s new book was published over the summer and number one on the bestseller list. She was scheduled for book signings and interviews for the next six months but that did not stop her from waving to Jamie when she spotted him at the airport.

Jesus Christ Jamie, you got better looking over the summer, didn’t think that was possible.

“How was football camp?”

“It was great.”

“Have you still got your arm?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear there’s a new man in my life?”

“Really?”

“No.”

When Jamie got up the next morning Miss Abby was off on an eight-week signing tour and he still walked down the marble floor silently.

He was so excited to see Claire and hear about her summer. He pulled the VW to the side of the road and gorged on a pretty girl with long silky black hair talking with a robed man holding a newspaper. Jamie admired her hair and curves while watching for Claire. A breeze slipped under her hair letting it dance around her face as she turned around with familiar golden eyes. His mouth dropped open, eyes big as saucers, then she smiled at him. Jamie jumped out of the car and hugged her. All he could do is stare at her and shake his head.

“Ye grew up over the summer, did ye nae.” He could not help himself so he blatantly studied her from head to toe making her giggle. She was stunning, centered, and comfortable in her gorgeous skin. Before he could stop himself he touched her cheek. Yer skin is like a pearl Sassenach, it glows. She smiled at him with warmth in her eyes.

“I���m glad my friend is back. I really hate that bus.”

They walked toward the school and Jamie stole glances whenever her head was turned. “Sassenach, can we go to dinner or coffee tonight. I really want to catch up and hear about yer summer.”

“I would love to! Soon. I have a prelaunch meeting tonight.”

“It’s the only night I don’t have practice,” he sounded disappointed.

“Maybe we can do it next Monday.” Her smile dazzled him, her curves made him weak and he was astounded by the size of her breasts. He wanted to run his finger…

“See ya superstar”

Jamie wanted her to stay so he could finish his examination of her body changes. When she walked away he got an eyeful of her round ass. That works too, he thought.

Football made Jamie’s world circular. His star was on the rise, pretty girls were always around him hoping to be noticed, handshakes from teachers, and reporters flocked to him after every game. Claire watched him from a distance, cut out every article about him, and felt every heartbeat was for him alone. He was her kryptonite and the only time of day that mattered was the fifteen-minute ride to school.

Claire was putting the finishing touches on the equipment she would use in the kinesiology lab. The video guys that signed on to work with her were testing their camera angles and making changes she requested.

Claire opened the door to let the first subject in and saw Jamie leaning against the wall. She smiled,“what are you doing here?”

Ye asked me for an introduction to the best football players that might be test subjects. I searched high and low but there’s no one better than me. I have proof…see?” He held a torn out article from the paper “Best High School Quarterback In The Country.” The other blokes willna be comin. Just me. I changed my homeroom to work with ye. Are ye ready lass.”

Claire was smiling for several reasons. He was hands-down, the best possible test subject, he would honor his commitment to the study, and she gained an hour each day with him. She was thrilled.

A month later Geillis leaned her back against the lockers and read the article about Claire winning entrance to the science competition. There was a picture of Jamie mock throwing the football and about one hundred wires attached to his arm, the video guys behind two cameras and Claire recording data on her clipboard.

“Wow, you guys are really crammed in there and it looks uncomfortable. How did you get Jamie to agree to this?”

“He volunteered after he told the other guys not to come.”

Geillis didn’t pay attention to much unless it hit her on the head. She had a minute and a half to think about it before the next cute boy pinched her, or pulled on her hair. Claire ran a comb through her hair and slammed her locker.

“Why don’t I get attention like that?”

Geillis folded the paper back on the picture and watched Claire’s face look confused. She continued folding until only Jamie’s face was seen. Claire’s gaze went from the picture to Geillis’s eyes. “Why are you always so cryptic Geillis?”

Claire shook her head and walked to her next class. Geillis stood staring after her wondering what could make the big-man-on-campus volunteer so much time?

Jamie’s tension was mounting as playoffs grew near. He was aware of the scouts and recruiters in the stands for every game, multiple videos capturing every single move, good or bad. He wanted more than anything to win the championship again for the coach, his father, Miss Abby, and every single person who had cleared the way for him.

Jamie looked for Claire who was never hard to find due to all her equipment and team buzzing around her. She was behind a camera with a huge protruding lens. He looked directly into it and for a full minute, he let his face tell her how much he needed her now.

Claire saw Jamie’s eyes like he was right in front of her. She felt him reach across the field and touch her cheek. Hot tears pressed into her eyes and she blinked hard to clear them. Then he moved out of frame and she stood up as he ran back to the line. She wiped her face quickly and took some deep breaths before getting back to her work.

After spending so much time together this past semester he had become her dearest friend as well as her secret love interest. On warm days, she would meet him on the field after practice and they would talk about their families. Claire could picture Scotland so clearly in her mind when Jamie talked about his home. Most times he made her laugh but sometimes she felt his deep yearning for his family, his isolation from the seat of his heart. When she told him about her parent's death and being raised by Lam in Egypt, he was silent until she finished. He pulled her to her feet and gave her a hug that shot fireworks off in her brain and she clung to him.

It was a slow, steady climb to a trusting friendship, unencumbered by passion that often precludes a deep understanding of the other. They were the oddball couple/not a couple at school, protected from teasing and gossip by the unwavering respect that Jamie commanded. It was Claire’s pink bubble.

The game was close to a mercy-rule point difference where the coaches would end the torture. Coach DiBiaso called Jamie in to run a play that was complicated, and so far, only done in practice. If it worked, it would be a miracle. Jamie called the play in the huddle and then altered the position of two players knowing he would catch hell from the coach but seeing no alternative. Many worried eyes flicked at Jamie’s as they ran to formation. The play went perfectly and the game was called for their 48 point lead.

Jamie found Claire in the lab looking at the new video. “Are ye ready soon lass, should I wait?”

“Two things, I am done for the night. Second, I have one more test to run and then we’re finished with testing.” She smiled at him sincerely. I would be grateful for a lift home tonight. She packed up and shut the computers down, and flicked the lights off.

Jamie picked up her camera case and led the way to his car. “How do you manage to carry this heavy case to yer house Sassenach? Why won’t you let me know where ye live? I know every other detail about ye and it’s makin me feel hurt, right here.” He was joking but the truth was thinly veiled.

“Don’t be ridiculous Jamie, there are two feet of muscle in front of your heart so it can’t be hurt.”

He put his hand on the back of her neck, one of his favorite friendly touches that made Claire feel warm inside.

“This last test I have is an hour and a half so we have to do it after school. Just let me know the best day with your busy schedule.” She looked up at him, “it will be weird not seeing you every day after that. It has been fun and the data is better than I could ever have imagined. Thank you, Jamie.”

“Yer welcome lass. I know it will help football in some way, and you, so it was an honor. Which driveway might I pull in?”

Claire looked up nonchalantly like this was an everyday occurrence, “three houses on the left.”

Claire said her usual see ya tomorrow and piled out of the car, lugging her case up the steps of her brownstone. He felt so close to her sometimes but…he didn’t know what he was feeling lately. If she would just give him a sign she wanted more it would be so easy, he thought. But she never did.

Jamie had hundreds of colored wires stuck to his shoulder and arm as he completed the last test.

“I only need ten more minutes of your time superstar. Shirt off please.” Claire was clinical and no-nonsense as she grabbed a container of white goo. When she turned around her face was just six inches from his naked chest. She gasped and her eyes roamed his muscled chest, nipples, then up to his thick shoulders and finally his face and those beautiful eyes.

Jaime agreed to help Claire and possibly the sport of football but he rarely felt like anything more than a test subject to her. He was very confused about the Sassenach but in his honest moments, he realized she wasn’t into him as a boyfriend and while every other girl in school wanted to drop their panties for him, Claire seemed impervious to his stardom.

Claire looked at his face and worried he was feeling exploited. She touched his hand and felt a jolt of lightning not expected. After clearing her throat she asked quietly if he was alright to continue. Jamie was forming the word no in his mouth as his eyes swept across Claire’s face. In that second he saw it. The blush, dilated pupils, open lips, pleading eyes. He couldn’t identify each of the signs but he was a keen observer of what happens to a girl when she wants to kiss.

“I’m fine to go on Sassenach.”

“First position please,” said just above a whisper. Jamie drew his arm back in a mock throwing position. Claire dipped the tip of her finger into the white goo and placed a dot of the liquid every three inches. She weaved in and out of Jamie’s space with her goo and ruler and then stood between his raised arms and bent legs to add drops up his torso, neck, and chin. Jaime stared straight ahead struggling to gain control over his desire to drop his arms and finally touch her. He felt cold goo drip onto his cheek.

“Goddammit,” she whispered. “It’s almost over, I promise, please don’t move.”

One of the graphic techs ran over with a stool and wet cloth and helped Claire stand on it to remove the drip. Jamie watched her intently. Her mouth barely inches from his, arms raised to his face, she moved around him so carefully and so close he could feel her breath on his face.

“Lights gentlemen.” Jamie heard the whir of the cameras coming to life, he saw the light pulse that Claire directed at his throwing side. “Go ahead Jamie, give me all you got.” He was ready to lose it when she said that but he attempted to complete his throwing motion while she encouraged him.

Jamie was breathing hard from the proximity to Claire when one of the techs called out to stop.

“Claire, his sweat is distorting the picture.”

Claire climbed back on the stool and held his face as she dried his sweat. Her eyes lowered to his and he saw the jolt go through her. I’m sorry lass, he thought, but I’m comin for ye and I canna stop. He lowered his arms which encircled Claire and he watched her eyes close as if she wanted nothing to interrupt the feeling. He pulled her closer to him, lips an inch from each other.

“Release your team Sassenach so I can kiss ye.”

“Um, um, that’s a wrap for tonight. Thank you, gentlemen, out, everybody out!”

When the door closed behind them Claire was ready to get down from the stool.

“Stay,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them and then pressed his lips to hers, quickly losing his battle for a slow chaste kiss and forcing her lips open to allow his tongue. He knew she had experience with kissing by the way she angled her head and breathed. Whoever he was, Jamie thought, I’m gonna kiss away every memory of him.

Claire pressed her lips to Jamie’s and got lost in the sensation she had dreamed about for the past year. She knew she should be worried but could not think of a single reason why.

Jamie watched her face. The arousal was obvious making him want to dance a jig around the lab. Her slight smile and sparkling eyes were magnetic and he wanted to lose himself in them. Claire reached for the wet towel and started to wipe the dots off his arms and torso. They said nothing and Jamie watched her hands and the towel touch his skin. She held him to her with one hand while she wiped the dots from his torso and neck. She pulled his face down to wipe the dots on his face and he crushed her to him. He broke the kiss but kept his face an inch from hers and when she looked at him he whispered, “Surrender Claire.”

Claire’s heart took off like a rocket and she had not seen it yet after an hour of kissing. She vaguely considered saying something but that would prevent more kissing so she just smiled and lifted her face to his.

“We should go Sassenach.” She fell against him and whimpered. He put his arm around her and walked her to the door. Looking down at her, “Ye dinna turn anythin off yet.”

“Hmmm?”

He chuckled at her expression, “come, lass, ye need to turn all this off before we go.”

When they were walking to the car, Claire leaned into Jamie and felt his arm around her. He walked her to the door of her house and kissed the breath out of her. He decided she may have kissed before but that was all. He pulled her hands to the back of his neck and felt the length of her press into him. That was too much for Claire who backed up and said goodnight rather quickly.

Jamie’s joyous exuberance was not to be denied and he launched his body into a front flip off the fifth step, landing and laughing at the honking and hooting motorists.

Claire had a permanent smile as she got ready for bed. She wondered if Jamie was thinking about her and if he wanted to kiss again. She shot a text off to Geillis C: U up? G: Bed, cramps, no C: get better, Jamie kissed me like a million times tonight The phone rang.

********************************* I filled my lungs with a deep breath of fresh mountain air and exhaled smiling. I was lost in my daydream, memories actually, of my first year at Catholic Memorial. I have not thought about those people in years. I felt a chilling wind blow across me and climbed out of my hammock picking up my books. It smelled like rain. I watched the trail for my wonderful husband to return. When the cloud above ripped open I took refuge in the tent.

I fell back on the foam rolls and sleeping bags carefully laid out for a reunion of souls and giggled to myself. I offered him two choices, an extravagant weekend at a resort, or camping high in the mountains. Knowing his choice already, I had the camping gear stacked in the corner of the utility room, ready to go.

“Where might the love shack be?” He ran his hand up my back making me shiver.

I tried to whisper my answer because his face was millimeters from mine but he couldn’t wait and kissed me dizzy. He ran his hands all over my body making me shake for him. My reflective state of mind brought back every gasp and gaze on the way to paradise before we left.

I smiled and stretched in the warmth of the tent until the first drop of water hit my forehead. The eyes flew open and I saw a line of water drops lined up on the roof of the tent waiting for their turn to fall. “Shit.” I put my biggest bowl under the drips and considered driving back down the mountain to purchase a new love shack. It would have to wait for this rain to stop and the return of my heart with his stringer full of fish no doubt.

I heard banging outside and unzipped the tent flap barely seeing his outline in the downpour. A cooler flipped open, a clunk from a stringer of fish, and footsteps in the mud. My God, I thought, this impromptu camping trip was supposed to be beautiful weather, a calm lake, and two days to forget the world.

I called out to leave his sopping clothes outside and scrambled out of my halter top and shorts. Jamie poked his head in smiling with pure joy and took the towel I offered. “Ye ordered the weather from Scotland did ye? Ah, I know ye did, it’s why yer my favorite wife Sassenach.” His eyes raked over me from end to end as he prowled closer and whispered, “it’s one of the reasons.”

He had been away at football camp for six weeks and we were hungry for each other.

“Do I smell like fish Sassenach?”

“I don’t care. Come here, love.”

Sometime later I laid in Jamie’s arms with my head on his chest.

“Listen,” he said at last, softly. “Do you hear?” At first I heard nothing but the rushing of the wind, and the trickle of rain, dripping through the holes of the roof. Then I heard it, the steady, slow thump of his heartbeat, pulsing against me, and mine against his, each matching each, in the rhythm of life.

The palm of his hand slid down my body from my shoulder to my knee. I was drifting in my euphoria, eyes closed, remembering how Jamie claimed my body in the last hour, rather roughly I might add. It’s about possession, and dominance, I think, and it calls to a place deep in my soul making me submissive, a slave to his pleasure and my arousal climbs to the stroke range. When that part of Jamie comes out it is he who wakes up with bloody scratches and bruises. It’s like date night for the neanderthal in each of us. I giggled at that thought and forced my eyes open.

The look in Jamie’s eyes made me want to weep for him. “What’s wrong love?”

“Yer comin with me to camp next year Sassenach, I insist. Some of the guys brought their wives, and some had a kid with them! I felt jealousy for what they had and then I got…grumpy.”

“What? You are the best quarterback in the entire country,” I kissed his cheeks, eyes, and throat as I talked, “you do not get grumpy.”

“Well, accordin to the team, if ye dinna come with me next year, they arna comin.”

He rolled me on top of him, “tell me yer comin next year, Sassenach.”

“I’m coming next year to spring training, and every year after that, so help me God. You are the only star in my sky James Fraser.” I let the tears fall because I was overwhelmed at the moment.

“There should be ample room for one tiny star then? When you are ready?”

“Of course Jamie, but two tiny stars or even three might be better. Do you agree my love?”

Jamie blinded me with his smile and wrapped me in his warmth.

“That will be just fine Sassenach.”

[sergeantfcx]

BASIC INFORMATION 

FULL NAME : John “Jack” Fox  MEANING :  JOHN | HEBREW, “GOD HAS BEEN GRACIOUS”  FOX | GAELIC, “SON OF THE FOX”  MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : Jack, Sergeant, Fox, The Idol  GENDER & PRONOUNS : CIS-MALE, HE / HIS  ETHNICITY : Italian / English 

DATE OF BIRTH / AGE : January 9th, 1811 ( 34 years old )  ZODIAC SIGN : Capricorn - pragmatic, ambitious, disciplined. ORIENTATION :  Jack is gay, a fact known to precious few. He comes from a well off family, who still harbor hopes that he’ll come back from the Arctic and settle down with a wife--he hasn’t yet worked out the language to tell them that it isn’t going to happen, that he has absolutely no sexual or romantic interest in women at all. He’s never really been in love, but he never does anything half-heartedly, and possesses all of the loyalty of a golden retriever. MARITAL STATUS : Single.  OCCUPATION : Sergeant in Her Majesty’s Royal Guards CURRENT LOCATION : H.M.S Promethean 

BACKGROUND 

PLACE OF BIRTH : Somerset, England  RESIDENCES : He went straight from his parents house, to Sandhurst Military Academy, to postings in the Seychelles, Egypt, and now the Promethean. He rents rooms when he’s in England--nothing special, as he never really knows when he’ll be posted somewhere new.  RELIGIOUS VIEWS : Church of England, casually. After coming back from Egypt, he has little to no faith in any kind of religion.  EDUCATION : Minimal. He and his brothers had tutors growing up, but he was an active child and there were always things to attend to on the farm, so none of it really stayed with him. He also graduated from Sandhurst--he took his military training far more seriously, and it made him a good soldier.  LANGUAGES SPOKEN : English, a few stray words of French, military terms in Arabic, and conversational Italian.  FAMILY :  PARENTS | RICHARD FOX, ELISABETTA ROSSO. Jack’s parents met while Richard was trying to buy mares from Elisabetta’s family in Tuscany, and they’ve been genuinely in love ever since. He has a good relationship with his mother, but there’s always been tension between father and son--Richard would have liked Jack to stay closer to home, to help his older brother run the farm, which Jack summarily rejected as a plan for his life. Since coming back from Egypt, the relationship is thawing somewhat--Richard is happy to have a hero in the family.  SIBLINGS | TOM FOX ( Older Brother ), SAM FOX ( Younger Brother ). They have a pretty good relationship--there is some resentment because the two of them had to pick up the slack at home, so that Jack could roam the globe with the military and play hero. They’re both settled with children of their own, and wish that Jack would come to that point in his life, for the sake of his own happiness.  OTHER FAMILIAL RELATIONS : He has a large extended family in Italy that he only really knows about through the letters his mother writes and receives, and he has two aunts with their own families in London. He’s never really felt like he fit in their circles, so he keeps the contact with them pretty minimal.

APPEARANCE 

FACECLAIM : Luca Marinelli HAIR COLOR / STYLE : He’s the only dark haired Fox son, and favors wearing his hair just a little bit longer than is probably permissible by military regulations. It’s constantly flopping in front of his eyes, and he’s constantly tucking it behind his ear as a kind of nervous tick. He can take or leave facial hair--it depends on the posting. In Egypt he had no scruff / beard, onboard the Promethean he’s letting it grow out. EYE COLOR / SHAPE : blue / green, almond shaped  HEIGHT : 6′0  BUILD : tall, with a lot of lean muscle.  SPEECH STYLE : The proper king’s english--with a little bit of a country accent. If he’s stressed out or frustrated, he puts less emphasis on speaking “correctly” and uses a lot of slang. The military drilled “speak only when spoken to” into him, and so he tends to be more of a listener, in conversation. RECOGNIZABLE MARKINGS : He’s a soldier who’s seen combat action! He has a lot of scars, and most of the time he can’t remember how he got them.  BEAUTY HABITS : If he’s in the field, and depending upon where in the field he is, he doesn’t bother with much more than shaving. If he’s at home, he’s kind of vain about his hair and will make sure it’s laying how he wants it, will fuss a little more with his facial hair. He knows that his looks kind of go hand in hand with his status as an “idol”, so he cares about them perhaps more than he should.

PERSONALITY 

TROPES : THE RELUCTANT HERO, BELIEVING THEIR OWN LIES, GLORY HOUND, WHAT THE HELL, HERO?, THE CHAINS OF COMMANDING  INSPIRATIONS : T.E. Lawrence ( Lawrence of Arabia ), Apsley Cherry-Garrard ( Falcon-Scott Expedition, The Worst Journey in the World ), Marcus Aquila ( The Eagle, The Eagle of the Ninth ), Solomon Tozer ( The Terror ), Edward Little ( The Terror ), Odysseus ( The Illiad, The Odyssey ), Eleanor Guthrie ( Black Sails )  MBTI : ENFJ  ENNEAGRAM : THE ACHIEVER  HOGWARTS HOUSE : GRYFFINDOR  ALIGNMENT : NEUTRAL GOOD  POSITIVE TRAITS : Loyal to his friends and the men underneath of him, charismatic, all the daring and courage of a classical hero.  NEGATIVE TRAITS : he cannot shake the spectre of the ambition that lingers in the pit of his stomach, he is incredibly adept at lying / changing a narrative to fit what he needs it to be, and justifying his own actions. HABITS : Jack is constantly tucking stray locks of hair behind his ears, pulling at the brim of his cap, and pulling at the strap of his rifle. Sitting still for too long makes him anxious and uncomfortable.  HOBBIES : Jack actually likes studying military strategy, planning for possible contingencies. He’s a great marksman and enjoys practicing with a rifle, riding horses, caring for animals in general, and he also enjoys anything that doesn’t require him to stand still / at attention. USUAL DEMEANOR : Cheerful, gregarious, and reserved in equal measure--as every good hero, and ever good soldier should be.

HEALTH 

PHYSICAL AILMENTS : Part of his ambition, his heroism, involves pushing his body to its limits and sometimes past them. He has the aches and bruises of enthusiastic over-exertion, but at this point in his career it’s more of an annoyance than anything else. He used to be the kind of person that would ignore physical ailments, but he’s improving on that front.  NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION : Jack was directly involved with the death of Tamati, and he lives with all of the psychological repercussions of that event--it mostly manifests in insomnia, moments of disassociation, and a guilt that pretty much never leaves the forefront of his mind. He’s also a habitual liar. PHOBIAS : Ghosts, which is a very recent development. He’s also deathly afraid of his secret being found out, being revealed to the people he cares about. ALLERGIES : None. SLEEPING HABITS : Jack has nightmares, and a lot of anxiety about putting himself in a position of vulnerability, so he generally forgoes long periods of sleep. He gets a couple of hours when he can, and habitually drinks coffee to keep himself going.  SOCIABILITY : Jack is incredibly outgoing! He’s an idol, an ideal that people measure themselves to, and he loves having that attention for the most part. More recently, he’s been having a hard time remembering how to be a social being--it’s easier for him to battle his demons alone, without having to explain anything to anyone else. ADDICTIONS : Smoking, occasionally. Coffee. Lying is becoming a real problem for him, a real addicting defense mechanism.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Matthew 26:14-25 a Sermon by Bishop J.C. Ryle

Then one of the twelve, who was called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests, and said, "What are you willing to give me, that I should deliver him to you?" They weighed out for him thirty pieces of silver. From that time he sought opportunity to betray him.

Now on the first day of unleavened bread, the disciples came to Jesus, saying to him, "Where do you want us to prepare for you to eat the Passover?"

He said, "Go into the city to a certain person, and tell him, 'The Teacher says, "My time is at hand. I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples."'"

The disciples did as Jesus commanded them, and they prepared the Passover. Now when evening had come, he was reclining at the table with the twelve disciples. As they were eating, he said, "Most certainly I tell you that one of you will betray me."

They were exceedingly sorrowful, and each began to ask him, "It isn't me, is it, Lord?"

He answered, "He who dipped his hand with me in the dish, the same will betray me. The Son of Man goes, even as it is written of him, but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would be better for that man if he had not been born."

Judas, who betrayed him, answered, "It isn't me, is it, Rabbi?"

Jesus answered, "Yes, it is you."

We read in the beginning of this passage, how our Lord Jesus Christ was betrayed into the hands of His deadly enemies. The priests and scribes, however anxious to put him to death, were at a loss how to effect their purpose, for fear of an uproar among the people. At this juncture a fitting instrument for carrying out their designs, offered himself to them, in the person of Judas Iscariot. That false apostle undertook to deliver his Master into their hands, for thirty pieces of silver.

There are few blacker pages in all history, than the character and conduct of Judas Iscariot. There is no more dreadful evidence of the wickedness of man. A poet of our own has said, that "sharper than a serpent's tooth is a thankless child." But what shall we say of a disciple who could betray his own Master--an apostle who could sell Christ? Surely this was not the least bitter part of the cup of suffering which our Lord drank.

Let us learn, in the first place, from these verses, that a man may enjoy great privileges, and make a great religious profession, and yet his heart all the time may not be right before God.

Judas Iscariot had the highest possible religious privileges. He was a chosen apostle, and companion of Christ. He was an eye-witness of our Lord's miracles, and a hearer of His sermons. He saw what Abraham and Moses never saw, and heard what David and Isaiah never heard. He lived in the society of the eleven apostles. He was a fellow-laborer with Peter, James, and John. But for all this his heart was never changed. He clung to one darling sin.

Judas Iscariot made a reputable profession of religion. There was nothing but what was right, and proper, and becoming in his outward conduct. Like the other apostles, he appeared to believe and to give up all for Christ's sake. Like them he was sent forth to preach and work miracles. No one of the eleven appears to have suspected him of hypocrisy. When our Lord said, "One of you shall betray me," no one said, "Is it Judas?" Yet all this time his heart was never changed.

We ought to observe these things. They are deeply humbling and instructive. Like Lot's wife, Judas is intended to be a beacon to the whole church. Let us often think about him, and say, as we think, "Search me, O Lord, and try my heart, and see if there be any wicked way in me." Let us resolve, by God's grace, that we will never be content with anything short of sound, thorough, heart conversion.

Let us learn, in the second place, from these verses, that the love of money is one of the greatest snares to a man's soul. We cannot conceive a clearer proof of this, than the case of Judas. That wretched question, "What will you give me?" reveals the secret sin which was his ruin. He had given up much for Christ's sake, but he had not given up his covetousness.

The words of the apostle Paul should often ring in our ears, "the love of money is the root of all evil." (1 Tim. 6:10.) The history of the Church abounds in illustrations of this truth. For money Joseph was sold by his brethren. For money Samson was betrayed to the Philistines. For money Gehazi deceived Naaman, and lied to Elisha. For money Ananias and Sapphira tried to deceive Peter. For money the Son of God was delivered into the hands of wicked men. Astonishing indeed does it seem that the cause of so much evil should be loved so well.

Let us all be on our guard against the love of money. The world is full of it in our days. The plague is abroad. Thousands who would abhor the idea of worshiping Juggernaut, are not ashamed to make an idol of gold. We are all liable to the infection, from the least to the greatest. We may love money without having it, just as we may have money without loving it. It is an evil that works very deceitfully. It carries us captives before we are aware of our chains. Once let it get the mastery, and it will harden, paralyze, scorch, freeze, blight, and wither our souls. It overthrew an apostle of Christ. Let us take heed that it does not overthrow us. One leak may sink a ship. One unmortified sin may ruin a soul.

We ought frequently to call to mind the solemn words, "What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and lose his own soul?" "We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out." Our daily prayer should be, "Give me neither poverty nor riches. Feed me with the food that is needful for me." (Prov. 30:8.) Our constant aim should be to be rich in grace. Those who "will be rich" in worldly possessions often find at last that they have made the worst of bargains. Like Esau, they have bartered an eternal portion for a little temporary gratification. Like Judas Iscariot, they have sold themselves to everlasting perdition.

Let us learn, in the last place, from these verses, the hopeless condition of all who die unconverted. The words of our Lord on this subject are peculiarly solemn. He says of Judas, "It would have been better for that man, if he had not been born." This saying admits of only one interpretation. It teaches plainly, that it is better never to live at all, than to live without faith, and to die without grace. To die in this state is to be ruined forever more. It is a fall from which there is no rising. It is a loss which is utterly irretrievable. There is no change in hell. The gulf between hell and heaven is one that no man can pass. This saying could never have been used, if there was any truth in the doctrine of 'universal salvation'. If it really was true that all would sooner or later reach heaven, and hell sooner or later be emptied of inhabitants, it never could be said that it would have been "good for a man not to have been born." Hell itself would lose its terrors, if it had an end. Hell itself would be endurable, if after millions of ages there was a HOPE of freedom and of heaven. But universal salvation will find no foot-hold in Scripture. The teaching of the word of God is plain and express on the subject. There is a worm that never dies, and a fire that is not quenched (Mark 9:44.) "Except a man be born again," he will wish one day he had never been born at all. "Better," says Burkitt, "have no being, than not have a being in Christ."

Let us grasp this truth firmly, and not let it go. There are always people who dislike the reality and eternity of hell. We live in a day when a morbid charity induces many to exaggerate God's mercy, at the expense of His justice, and when false teachers are daring to talk of a "love of God, lower even than hell." Let us resist such teaching with a holy jealousy, and abide by the doctrine of Holy Scripture. Let us not be ashamed to walk in the old paths, and to believe that there is an eternal God, an eternal heaven, and an eternal hell. Once depart from this belief, and we admit the thin edge of the wedge of skepticism, and may at last deny any doctrine of the Gospel. We may rest assured that there is no firm standing ground between a belief in the eternity of hell, and downright infidelity.

[aion-rsa]

Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

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Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page to see what the best horror movies on Netflix are at your convenience.

Is it Halloween when you’re reading this? If not we’re still close enough with fall here and the month of October almost upon us! It’s the time of year where we like our drinks spiced with pumpkin or apple, our flannel light, and the movies we consume scary. And lucky for you there are more than a handful of worthwhile scary movies on Netflix.

There is nothing quite as fun as embracing the spooky, the creepy, the scary, and things that go bump in the night. Thankfully we have horror movies to help us down these paths. If you ever find yourself in need of a thrill or a chill, check out some of the best horror movies on Netflix, we’ve gathered here.

Enjoy your tricks and treats.

Looking for the best horror movies on Netflix UK? Click here!

As Above, So Below

We know what you might be thinking: a found footage horror movie? Yes, this was one of the later adherents to a genre craze that got run into the ground during the 2000s and early 2010s. However, As Above, So Below is the rare thing: effectively creepy. With a crackerjack premise about the real Catacombs of Paris being a secret gateway to Hell, the film casts an energetic Perdita Weeks as a modern day Indiana Jones in a Go-Pro helmet. She and her colleagues make the unwise choice to go off the tourist-guided path in the catacombs, which is home to the remains of more than 6 million people who died between the early middle ages and 18th century.

But once deep below the City of Lights, the film’s dwindling protagonists find themselves crawling beneath a wall with the words “Abandon all Hope Ye Who Enter.” And things just get bleak from there. This is a ghoulish good-time for those who are willing to indulge in the gimmick storytelling.

Apostle

Apostle comes from acclaimed The Raid director Gareth Evans and is his take on the horror genre. Spoiler alert: it’s a good one.

Dan Stevens stars as Thomas Richardson, a British man in the early 1900s who must rescue his sister, Jennifer, from the clutches of a murderous cult. Thomas successfully infiltrates the cult led by the charismatic Malcom Howe (Michael Sheen) and begins to ingratiate himself with the strange folks obsessed with bloodletting. Thomas soon comes to find that the object of the cult’s religious fervor may be more real than he’d prefer.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter

Some kids dream about being left overnight or even a week at certain locations to play, like say a mall or a Chuck E. Cheese. One place that no one wants to be left alone in, however, is a Catholic boarding school.

That’s the situation that Rose (Lucy Boynton) and Kat (Kiernan Shipka) find themselves in in the atmospheric and creepy The Blackcoat’s Daughter. When Rose and Kat’s parents are unable to pick them up for winter break, the two are forced to spend the week at their dingy Catholic boarding school. If that weren’t bad enough, Rose fears that she may be pregnant…oh, and the nuns might all be Satanists.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter is an excellent debut directorial outing from Oz Perkins and another step on the right horror path for scream queens Shipka and Emma Roberts.

The Evil Dead

1981’s The Evil Dead is nothing less than one of the biggest success stories in horror movie history.

Written and directed on a shoestring budget by Sam Raimi, The Evil Dead uses traditional horror tropes to its great advantage, creating a scary, funny, and almost inconceivably bloody story about five college students who encounter some trouble in a cabin in the middle of the woods. That trouble includes the unwitting release of a legion of demons upon the world.

The Evil Dead rightfully made stars of its creator and lead Bruce Campbell. It was also the jumping off point for a successful franchise that includes two sequels, a remake, a TV show, and more.

Gerald’s Game

We are living in a renaissance for Stephen King adaptations. But while there have been many killer clowns and hat-wearing fiends getting major attention at the multiplexes, the best King movie in perhaps decades is Mike Flanagan’s underrated Gerald’s Game. Cleverly adapted from what has been described as one of King’s worst stories, Gerald’s Game improves on its source material when it imagines a middle-aged woman (Carla Gugino) placed in a terrifying survival situation after her husband (Bruce Greenwood) dies of a heart attack during a sex game.

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By John Saavedra

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The Shining: 5 Things Jack Torrance Taught Us About Social Distancing and Quarantine

By David Crow

Handcuffed to a bed in their remote cabin in the woods, Gugino’s Jessie must face the fact no one is coming to save her in the next week… more than enough time to die of dehydration or the wolf prowling about. Thus the specter of death hovers over the whole movie, seemingly literally with a monstrous shade emerging from the shadows to bedevil Jessie each night. A trenchant character study that frees Gugino to show a wide range of terror, determination, and finally horrifying desperation, the movie delves into the shadows of a woman haunted by trauma and demons almost as scary as her current situation. Almost.

The Gift

Who knew Joel Edgerton had it in him?

The Gift is the Australian actor’s writing and directing debut and it doesn’t disappoint. Edgerton stars as Gordon “Gordo” Mosely. He’s a nice enough middle-aged man if a little “off.” One day while shopping he runs into an old high school classmate Simon (Jason Bateman) and his wife Robyn (Rebecca Hall). After their brief encounter, Gordo takes it upon himself to start dropping off little gifts to Simon and Robyn’s home. Robyn sees no problem with it at first. But Simon becomes disturbed, perhaps because of the unique past Simon and Gordo share.

Many horror movies understand there must be a twist of some sort or at the very least an unexpected third act. Even still The Gift‘s third act switch up is particularly devastating because it’s so mundane and logical. The Gift ends up being an emotional drama disguised as horror.

The Girl with All the Gifts

Just when you thought there was nothing left to be done with the zombie genre, in comes a shocking and original idea… one that has sadly grown only more scary in 2020 with regards to The Girl with All the Gifts. A brilliant little indie from Colm McCarthy, this underrated gem imagines a zombie apocalypse as something closer to a viral pandemic that lasts for generations…. and one where a vaccine is always just out of reach.

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Evil Dead Movies: The Most Soul Sucking Moments

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Zombie Comedies Ranked

By David Crow

Thus enters the class of Helen Justineau (Gemma Arterton). Years after a fungal infection ravaged the planet, turning the infected into “hungries” (breathing zombies), their offspring have shown a creepy ability to retain the ability to think, learn, and love… even as they crave living flesh.

Hence the students in Helen’s class, including her favorite Melanie (Sennia Nanua). The child is special… too much so when it’s believed her biology could create a vaccine that would spare anymore humans turning “hungry.” But to harvest her body, the military will drag Helen and Melanie through an urban hellscape which has reduced London to an abandoned refuge for Hungries and feral children who likewise hunt uninfected humans for food.

The Golem

The Golem is such an awesome monster from Jewish mythology that it’s hard to believe they don’t make more movies about him. Well now they have. The Golem isn’t a straight-up remake of the 1915 movie of the same name so much as it is the next step in the evolution of this grim mythological beast.

During the outbreak of a plague, Hanna (Hani Furstenberg) will do whatever it takes to defend her community from outside invaders. Unfortunately, and in true fairy tale fashion, the creature she conjures up to defend her community quickly develops a murderous mind of its own.

Green Room

Green Room is a shockingly conventional horror movie despite not having all of the elements we traditionally associate with them. You won’t find any monsters or the presence of the supernatural in Green Room.

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31 Best Horror Movies to Stream

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

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The 13 Best Horror Movie Themes

By David Crow

Instead all monsters are replaced by vengeful neo-Nazis and the haunted house is replaced by a skinhead punk music club in the middle of nowhere in the Oregon woods. The band, The Aint Rights, led by bassist Pat (Anton Yelchin) are locked in the green room of a club after witnessing a murder and must fight their way out.

Horns

A horror vintage for a distinctly acquired taste, Alexandre Aja’s Horns is a bizarre fairy tale for adults. As much a revenge fable as a typical chiller, this movie which put “Harry Potter in Devil Horns” is actually something of a grim love story based on a novel by Joe Hill.

Daniel Radcliffe plays Ig Perrish, an outcast in his local community who wants nothing more than to forever be by the side of his lifelong love Merrin (Juno Temple). After her brutal unsolved murder prevents that, Ig swears he’d sell his soul to get revenge.

Funny thing is the day after he makes such a proclamation, horns begin growing from his forehead. The greater they grow, the easier it is to get sinners around him to confess their most hidden shames, and indulge in others. But with the clock ticking before he becomes a full-fledged demon, and his soul is presumably claimed by Beelzebub, there is only a narrow window before he can get revenge while raising a little hell.

Hush

In his follow-up to the cult classic Oculus, Mike Flanagan makes one of the more clever horror movies on this list. Hush is a thrilling game of cat-and-mouse within the typical nightmare of a home invasion, yet it also turns conventions of that familiar terror on its head.

For instance, the savvy angle about this movie is Kate Siegel (who co-wrote the movie with Flanagan) plays Maddie, a deaf and mute woman living in the woods alone. Like Audrey Hepburn’s blind woman from the progenitor of home invasion stories, Wait Until Dark (1967), Maddie is completely isolated when she is marked for death by a menacing monster in human flesh.

Like the masked villains of so many more generic home invasion movies (I’m looking square at you, Strangers), John Gallagher Jr.’s “Man�� wears a mask as he sneaks into her house. However, the functions of this story are laid bare since we actually keep an eye on what the “Man” is doing at all times, and how he is getting or not getting into the house in any given scene. He isn’t aided by filmmakers who’ve given him faux-supernatural and omnipotent abilities like other versions of these stories, and he’s not an “Other;” he’s a man who does take his mask off, and his lust for murder is not so much fetishized as shown for the repulsive behavior that it is. And still, Maddie proves to be both resourceful and painfully ill-equipped to take him on in this tense battle of wills.

Insidious

Insidious is the start of a multi-film horror franchise and a pretty good one at that. Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne star as a married couple who move into a new home with their three kids. Shortly after they move in, their son Dalton is drawn to a shadow in the attic and then falls into a mysterious coma from which they can’t wake him.

It’s at this point that the Lamberts do what horror fans always yell at characters to do: they move out of the damn house! Little do they know, however, that some hauntings go beyond mere domiciles.

The Invitation

Seeing your ex is always uncomfortable, but imagine if your ex-wife invited you to a dinner party with her new husband? That is just about the least creepy thing in this taut thriller nestled in the Hollywood Hills.

Indeed, in The Invitation Logan Marshall-Green’s Will is invited by his estranged wife (Tammy Blanchard) for dinner with her new hubby David (Michael Huisman of Game of Thrones). David apparently wanted to extend the bread-breaking offer personally since he has something he wants to invite both Will and all his other guests into joining. And it isn’t a game of Scrabble…

It Comes at Night

Surviving the apocalypse comes with a certain amount of questions. For starters, what do you do after you survive a global pandemic thanks to your secluded cabin in the woods…and then someone comes knocking? That’s the situation that the family consisting of Paul (Joel Edgerton), Sarah (Carmen Ejogo), and Travis (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) find themselves in in It Comes at Night.

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When Paul and his family come across another family in the woods seeking shelter and water, they hesitantly welcome them in. But this soon proves to be a dangerous decision. Having guests in the real world is annoying enough to deal with and it only becomes harder when you suspect that any one of them could be sick with a highly-contagious, utterly fatal illness.

Paranormal Activity

Ignore the sequels. Yes, you know they’re bad and we know they’re bad. But long before “the Ghost Dimension” (whatever the hell that means), there was this eerie surprise hit that started it all. A movie which was estimated to be the most profitable movie of all time in its day–earning $193.4 million worldwide on a budget of $15,000–Paranormal Activity put Blumhouse Productions on the map and is still a supremely affecting piece of atmosphere.

Presented as the true story of a young, and not wholly likable, couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat), the film follows the pair as they attempt to document the bumps they’re hearing in the house at night–only to discover a demonic presence and some repressed memories for one party. A still brilliant exercise in sound design, tension, and the uncanny ability to trick audiences into believing what they’re seeing is actually happening, this remains the best found footage horror movie ever made.

Poltergeist

Before there was Insidious, The Conjuring, or a myriad of other “suburban family vs. haunted house” movies, there was Poltergeist. Taking ghost stories out of the Gothic setting of ancient castles or decrepit mansions and hotels, Poltergeist moved the spirits into the middle class American heartland of the 1980s. With a smart screenplay by no less than Steven Spielberg (and, according to some, his ghost direction), Poltergeist finds the Freeling family privy to a disquieting fact about their new home: It’s built on top of a cemetery!

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By Sarah Dobbs

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By Don Kaye

You probably know the story, and if you don’t you can guess it after decades of copycats that followed, but this special effects-laden spectacle still holds up, especially as a thriller that can be enjoyed by the whole family. Fair warning though, if your kids have a tree outside their window or a clown doll under their bed, we don’t take responsibility for the years of therapy bills this may inflict!

Red Dragon

The often overlooked other child of the Hannibal Lecter movie family, Red Dragon is no The Silence of the Lambs, no matter how much it wishes it was. Nor is it as visually evocative or luscious as Ridley Scott’s decadent Hannibal. Nevertheless, we find this prequel to both films to be at least worthy of association with the former, and ultimately more satisfying than the latter. A definite attempt to reshape Thomas Harris’ first novel to feature the Lecter character into a Silence of the Lambs clone, Red Dragon still has quite a bit to enjoy.

At the top of the list is of course Sir Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal for the third and final time. Definitely his hammiest iteration of the character, even a campy Hopkins is impossible to resist given the not-so-good doctor’s droll wit or distinct taste palate. Director Brett Ratner’s framing around Lecter is competent enough, and he wisely gets a superb supporting cast who can overwhelm any shortcomings.

Edward Norton is a compelling lead FBI detective; Philip Seymour Hoffman is delightfully repellent as a tabloid journalist who suffers a terrifying fate; and Ralph Fiennes roars as the serial killer who inflicts that fate on Hoffman. It may be no Manhunter–Michael Mann’s first adaptation of the source novel–but Red Dragon‘s the one on Netflix. So love the one you’re with!

The Silence of the Lambs

If you are only going to watch one Hannibal Lecter movie, this is the all-time masterpiece which remains the sole horror movie to win an Oscar for Best Picture. An absolutely gripping thriller even 30 years later, Jonathan Demme’s movie is an all-time great because of stellar performances and a sharp screenplay told by an even sharper eye.

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By Ryan Lambie

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By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

Here is the movie that kicked off the serial killer craze in Hollywood during the ’90s. Yet more than the gory details, what lingers in the mind are little things like an opening sequence that introduces Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) as the lone woman on an elevator full of FBI ubermensches, or the way Anthony Hopkins breaks his unrelenting stare to mispronounce “Chianti” with dripping disdain for the Yokel sent to interview him. Every facet of this movie works, and thus it hasn’t aged a day. We do recommend watching it with a side of fava beans, though.

Sinister

One of the better Blumhouse chillers to come out of the 2010s, Sinister is the case of a brilliant elevator pitch meeting a superior pair of talents in director Scott Derrickson and star Ethan Hawke to bring it to life.

The setup of the movie is simple: There is a pagan demon god who will consume the soul of any nearby children whenever someone sees him. And not just him, but recreations of his image on walls. And wouldn’t you know it, true crime journalist Ellison (Hawke) just moved into a house with an attic full of home movies stuffed to the gills with Bughuul. And Ellison’s daughter is right downstairs. Uh oh.

Sleepy Hollow

As much a comedy as a horror film, Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow should always be on the table when discussing October viewing options. After all, this demented reimagining of Washington Irving’s classic short story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” never forgets the selling point is to have them rolling in the aisles. And more than a few heads do just that.

As a film with the most varied and imaginative uses of decapitation, Sleepy Hollow cuts a bloody path across Upstate New York. In fact, despite its American setting, we might as well confess what Sleepy Hollow really is: a modern version of a Hammer horror movie.

Burton incorporates all of his favorite tropes here: The intentionally stuffy faux-British acting (even though all the characters are of Dutch descent); the exaggerated and formal clothing; more than a few heaving bosoms; and lots and lots of gore. This film is so perfectly macabre and gleefully grotesque that you might even be forgiven for not noticing at first glance how dryly funny and deadpan a place this Sleepy Hollow tends to be.

Splice

What if Dr. Frankenstein banged his monster? That is just one of several creepy elements to Splice, a weird psychosexual sci-fi/horror hybrid. Directed by Vincenzo Natali and starring Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley as the world’s worst scientists, Splice follows two not-so-smart doctors who attempt to play God by creating an entire new species of creature they name Dren (Delphine Chanéac).

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At first a computer-generated child with alien eyes and a roping tail, Dren soon grows from girl to young woman, seducer to… well, something even more unexpected. Weird, unpleasant, and ultimately unshakable like that one bad dream, Splice plays with ideas of identity, gender, and parenthood.

Sweetheart

Don’t let the name fool you, Sweetheart is very much a horror movie. What kind of horror movie, you ask? Well, after a boat sinks during a storm, young Jennifer Remming (Kiersey Clemons) is the only survivor. She washes ashore a small island and gets to work burying her friends, creating shelter, and foraging for food. You know: deserted island stuff.

Soon, however, Jenn will come to find that the island is not as deserted as she previously thought. There’s something out there – something big, dangerous, and hungry. Sweetheart is like Castaway meets Predator and it’s another indie horror hit for Blumhouse.

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is a fantastic little satire on the horror genre that, in a similar fashion to Scream, is packed with laughs, gore, and a bit of a message. When a group of preppy college students head out to the backwoods for a camping trip, they stumble upon two good-natured good ol’ boys that they mistake for homicidal hillbillies.

Their quick, off-the-mark judgment of Tucker and Dale lead to these snobs getting themselves into sticky, often bloody, and hilariously over-the-top situations. Tucker and Dale vs. Evil rides a one-joke premise to successful heights and teaches audiences to not judge a book by its cover.

Under the Shadow

This 2016 effort could not possibly be more timely as it sympathizes, and terrorizes, an Iranian single mother and child in 1980s Tehran. Like a draconian travel ban, Shideh (Narges Rashidi) and her son Dorsa (Avin Manshadi) are malevolently targeted by a force of supreme evil.

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This occurs after Dorsa’s father, a doctor, is called away to serve the Iranian army in post-revolution and war-torn Iran. In his absence evil seeps in… as does a quality horror movie with heightened emotional weight.

Underworld

No one is going to mistake Underworld for high art. That obvious fact makes the lofty pretensions of these movies all the more endearing. With a cast of high-minded British theatrical actors, many trained in the Royal Shakespeare Company, at least the early movies in this Gothic horror/action mash-up series were overflowing with histrionic self-importance and grandiosity.

Take the first and best in the series. In the margins you have Bill Nighy and Michael Sheen portraying the patriarchs of warring factions of vampires and werewolves, and a love story caught between their violence that’ shamelessly modeled on Romeo and Juliet. It’s ridiculous, especially with Scott Speedman playing one party. But when the other is the oft-underrated Kate Beckinsale it doesn’t matter.

The movie’s bombast becomes the movie’s first virtue, and Len Wiseman’s penchant for glossy slick visuals, which would look at home in the sexiest Eurotrash graphic novel at the bookstore, is its other. Combined they make this a guilty good time. Though we recommend not venturing past the second or third movie.

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[dcschain]

HIGH NOON OVER CAMELOT. | not accepting.

@cllgood​ said: Recognise, believe and embrace the White.

What difference a week can make, dry like sand in his teeth. What difference and none, here. What difference manhood makes. He feels it all, this weight. A weight, impossible to swallow, from his shoulders to his throat to his chest, in the depth of him.

The difference is this: he is an adult, now, and so terribly a child his father spent a few moments simply looking at him, and at his face, that jaw that hadn't found its sharpness yet and the stubble that was barely growing in. Two years younger than when Steven Deschain had driven his dagger into Cort's calf and nearly severed the vein there for good, and Cort had yielded. But he had limped. For the rest of his days, Cortland Andrus had worn the Deschain's victory in his gait. Cort, whose skin more starkly than any book of genealogies held the names of all the gunslingers who had proven the worth of their blood.

Gilead welcomed him differently now back from Mejis. After the flags were raised back to their full height and the tears – of grief now unspent of joy of relief at their safe return – had been dried, he had caught himself alone for a moment in the Great Hall, which until then had been a terrible mystery and a space of relative power.

Gilead knew. The stones knew, and the earth knew, even if the words of ritual had not yet been spoken in the Great Hall, though they had been spoken on the Proving Grounds, and the blood spilt, and the bird buried. All acts of terrible significance. All acts that recognised Roland for who he was and is, an instrument, the last one to be left. The land knows, the city whispers, the men inside it do not understand the rituals they so mechanically perform. A thing lost that will never be found again. The power crackling and terrible, and left without teeth, left with too many teeth, left with violence.

Words, words, are what give places their meaning. Words of speech, of gesture or of legend. Words of gazes, and of touch. Spaces that absorb the different meanings and change their faces like a magis changes names. Westr'd Hall. Hall of the Grandfathers. Rendezvous.

Secret, secret, sacred.  

In an empty Great Hall they had told their tale to Steven Deschain, and Robert Allgood, and Christopher Johns. Steven with the thoughtful silence and Robert with the arms crossed and the thumb to his upper lip, and Kit with the clicking of needles and the illegible expression, focused on his knitting.

They had told the whole tale save for the most important part. The Bend, still safe in Roland's room, safe to prey and tease and eat. Eat to its rotten heart's content. So much suffering to drink from. So much pain to nourish and nurture into anger and into hate. So much of it.

Because of it, because of it calling and waiting and needing, he had been the last to leave the room, even after his father had stepped outside. He had stood, and were he someone else perhaps the walls would have bled some truth to him. But the walls, and the marble busts on each shorter side of the great room, were silent. Perfectly still.

Only Steven Deschain had not left immediately as Cuthbert, Alain and their fathers filed out, wanting to celebrate in earnest the return, but he had stopped just past the doorway. And Roland certainly had known this, because the footsteps on the wooden floor behind him had stopped and then stilled, and the sentence Steven's footsteps had been spelling had breathed for a semi-colon, and Steven in that space had turned, and looked at his son's shoulders, and thought him a man at last. And the pride was indescribable. And the terror was indescribable. And seeing his own death reflected to him. Seeing the shape the land's soul will take, once his blood has stopped flowing.

Steven knew then that his blood was more likely to spill in great waves, rather than thunder to an end under the yoke of old age. A hunch. One of the many, the same hunch that told him Roland had not said all of the truth, but had been leaving parts of it still unaccounted for, strewn along the trail in chunks of drying driftwood. Water where there was none. Trees soaked to the bone in a desert that rarely if ever knew rain. White rock. Water where Gan willed it, and water where it was not a natural thing. Steven had parted his lips to speak and then had closed them.

All princes are their father's deaths. That was a truth he had learned from Henry the Tall's cracked, wheezing lips.

“Come now, Ro. Your mother be waiting for supper.”

His father's voice which called him away from this empty, cold room. Not a kind voice. A voice of tired nights and even more tired days. A voice smeared with blood and mud, caked with sand and the bitter saltwater.  

“Be kind to your mother,” an afterthought.

The same mother he can't help but look for, now, in the crowd. She stands to the side of the old cracked throne, her hands tight in each other and nobody beside her.

His father stands in front of the throne of the Eld, which has not been used in many and many-a years and still is kept, old and decrepit, like a terrible omen of what is to come. A reminder for all kings and queens of Gilead that this is where it ends, this is where the power truly lies.

The wood will rot. The wood will always rot.

History unfolding, he the speck of dust at the centre of a tapestry so big it eludes any definition of size. The width of it, the length of it, the miles of it: stretching beyond and behind him. From the centre, tall and terrible and dark, to the end of it, a Perfect Circle. Time began at the Tower, and time ended there. The speech his father had given him the evening before in his office in the cold in the quiet, where he had given him the Bend and his father in return had given him his birthright and his legacy, the knowledge of the Tower.

He is slow, but he is not stupid. And while he perhaps cannot understand the far-reaching, endless implications of what moments like these hold, even in such solemn silence, he knows enough to know that something is decided here, every time a new ceremony happens in the footsteps of the previous ones. Like when he stood at the top of the same hall he is standing in the centre of now, above with the eyes of a newborn hawk babe, the dances underneath intricacies his mind could not see clearly. But he understood: when Gabrielle Deschain moved from her lover to her husband, she did so with Power, and its passage, coiled tight inside her. Marten Broadcloak who had brought the death of Henry Deschain and in time would bring the death of his son also, and the death of the woman he had danced with, Gabby o'the Waters, Marten who had watched beneath the flickering candles as ka walked relentlessly amongst them, crimson-robed. And he had smiled that thin bloody-eyed smile of his, sharp like a knife. Gears moving at the relentless, maddeningly-slow pace of the patiently cruel.

He stands at the other end of this hallway of people. The other gunslingers, the distant family, his maternal uncle and grandfather come from Arten, his tet-mates, Vannay. Cort still lies agonising in his bed, Roland is the first, and only, gunslinger the teacher will not be able to see take the mantle of the title.

And at the end of it all, Steven Deschain, tall and still, with his big irons, and his blue eyes. It is only them, and the mother slightly behind Steven: chained, trapped, burdened and saved by one another. The room could be as empty as it was after the palaver they held with the Tet of the Gun. The room could be as cold.

Steven Deschain gestures to his son.

“Hile, Childe.”

Gabrielle inhales sharply. He does not hear it, but he sees it behind his father's shoulders.

Roland cannot call this fear. But when he slowly walks forward towards his dinh his father his king his feet feel barely on the ground, each step he crosses a precipice, a rickety bridge, a boy pleading for his life and knowing his death all in one breath and a father knowing the taste of the most terrible price.

Other worlds.

His gaze low, his breath tight. His body does what he cannot be aware of: it breathes, swallows, sweats, pumps blood through him, walks. Everything else, is this: the shape of the wood beneath his knee, the soft murmuring that's now turned to silence in the Deschain's booming voice that beckons his son and his destiny to him.

He kneels before his father. In the flickering electric light Steven Deschain is all things and none, the true soul of the land, and his son is nothing but the avatar of his own pride. Roland closes his eyes and exhales.

“Tursa-thea para pan, dinh-soh?”

He swallows again, and then opens his eyes, to voice his answers as he's learned them.

“An dria eld, an para eld. An para childe.”

“Pan-childe?”

“Kes-kas-ma’sun.”

“Pan-childe?”

“Kes-kas-dash-khef-okvi.”

“Pan-childe?”

“Visa-dinh-sai-kas.”

“Tursa-thea pa?”

“Kian epissin dinh cha albion cha dinh-sai.”

“Pai-thea?”

“Gilead-Roland ka, Dinh Steven-dinh-soh, Dinh Henry-dinh-soh, Dinh Arthur-ka-dinh-soh, Gilead-dinh. Afe albion Gilead cha Eld hedro ka. Afe Cam cha childe-dash-khef hedro ka.”

Maybe he answered too fast. Maybe an inflection was wrong. Maybe he forgot the words. Maybe. Maybe. His father has paused, paused longer than he ought to, and Roland's neck aches with the need to look up, to him.

Another second passes, longer than a century. Then, the clinking of Steven Deschain as he unbuckles his gun belt. Gabrielle Deschain sinks her nails into the flesh of her palms. On the other side of the throne, Kit Johns and Robert Allgood exchange a look.

Roland knows what this sound means. He knows it as well as those who see the gesture, the brief low murmur that ripples across the crowd. He does not understand it, but he knows it.

And he looks up, to meet his father's face. His father holding the guns of the Eld, and meeting his eyes, and nodding slowly.

“An-eld-gansa-thea, dinh-soh. Rise, first bondsman to my bosom. Recognise, believe and embrace the White, who holds above us all.”

Roland does as he is told. In the silence, the dumbstruck silence, of a Great Hall that should be embracing a city's joy, and instead must bear witness to history unfold. Definite. Terrible. Destruction, beginning. Destruction, that here begins to crush lungs.

Steven fastens the belt, and the holsters, and the guns, around his only child's hips. His hands come to Roland's shoulders. Then he pulls him in, to kiss him twice on each cheek, and Roland feels his father's lips wet where they press against his skin.

When Steven turns his son, his heir, around, to face the crowd before them, to lift his arm high, hand around his wrist, in triumph, the cheer erupts as sudden as the thunder, becomes deafening. In a glimpse, Roland catches Gabrielle Deschain over his shoulder, who smiles as she weeps.

“Do you understand, then, what you’ve done?”

Where there’s rustle of pages there cannot be words. Words have no room here. Words have no weight, no colour, no conscience. Words are what breath is not: meaning. Meaning, beyond the arbitrary significance of ribcages lifting lowering, catching oxygen, keeping alive.

Words cannot be denied. Words are a sacred, terrible thing. Words unlike breath have finality, for breath is gone by sunset, and with them heart. But words demonstrate the true futility of time. Where breath fails to ensure eternity, the poets have already won.

“Steven. I be talking to you.”

“Bob, if I no longer had command of my own faculties, I’d make sure you’d be the first to know.”

“That ain’t what Handsome's saying, Steve. Come now.”

Come now. Steven arches an eyebrow -- because either Kit picked that up from him or he from Kit. That brief consideration pressed to the wider still plane of his thoughts. How often they’d all shared words, broken them amongst each other with their crumbs on their hands, wiped the red stains from the cup of shared wisdom. What point is there in defining this vocabulary of blood? It’s been so long, anyway. Where did the first word originate between them, how can that even be quantified? In the womb, in the web, in the heart of the Tower. Perhaps there. Impossible to know with any surety, impossible to deny when presented with the facts, the true witnesses of hearts. Like the great first breath of Gan, so the cycle repeats itself even in small bursts, of mannerisms and friendship. Whoever made the world made them, too, and made them in its image. To repeat is to share. To share is to break bread, be holy with love. An act of creation with every shared glance. So the web tightens. So it always, always tightens.

“The boy’s been given the guns, Steve. There ain’t no turning back from that.”

“Yes. I know, Kit. I believe I am aware of the implications. I was the one who made the decision, after all.”

Robert scoffs and moves, away from the slit window he was leaning his back against, with his arms crossed. As he walks towards Steven’s desk, the light drips through to frame him as he is, tall and barrel-chested, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His ceremonial cape’s folded neatly on one of the chairs in the study. The glint of the rings on his hands taps against the bridge of Steven’s nose and trembles across his forehead, as Robert splays his palms on the wood to lean forward. He throws shadows onto Steven’s workspace, and Steven pulls back, pen still in hand, to frown.

“All things can be read two ways,” Robert says, ignoring Steven’s furrowed brow and the way he caught his breath about to protest, “and by Gan’s sake, Steve, the first reading of it is clear to me. Word will reach Farson soon, if it hasn’t already, now she’s back.” Too far. In the blue glint under Steven’s brow, Robert swallows and corrects his course, “and all I can see is him and his mongrels saying that this be you renouncing dinh-ship in all but name. That you recognise you're unworthy of the Eld’s guns. That a boy, no matter how fucking talented, be more worthy of those guns than the dinh of our own fucking city.”

“When my father, Clearing take him, bequeathed me the horn, ’twas not seen as an act of cowardice.”

Kit’s turn: he rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse. The horn ain’t the guns, no matter the siguls that’re written on it. And Henry didn't have Farson to contend with.”

They know that twitch, imperceptible, that comes with the jaw clench, the way it circles the right eye, the way the mouth twists slightly, the way it is like the shadow of something unknown and terrible, terrible, underneath the edge of the water. They know it. He sets his pen down, and exhales hard enough to make his upper lip tremble.

“You could’ve at least discussed it with us, Steven. Before making the decis--”

“Here is my second reading, Robert. Thee’s said it yourself, there’s always two sides to all things. All world is prophecy to thee, ka-mai, and riddle. You’ve given me one reading, and damn those who choose to read it that way. But I won’t have you two clucking like hens or courtiers. I carried thee, Robert, didn’t I? When the poison was making you vomit your own fucking blood, didn’t I promise thee I’d have you see our white spires once more, and the Lady Louise? Didn't I hold fast to that promise? Was I not dinh to thee then, as I am now?”

Robert steps back. The desk creaks when he lets it go, the sound dusty, dry. Old. He and Kit exchange a look. The look of children. At times the truth is in Steven Deschain's eyes a brilliant silver, ice-cold. The truth of fathers, and of kings.  

He’ll have them beside him, and he’ll have them behind him, but to have them in front of him, three angles of a shape, is as difficult now as it ever was. With an exactness Steven understands as thin as the sharp edge of his hunting knife, Robert speaks the truth that ka tells him, which is not the truth of kings but the truth of fools. One side, another side, one base. Reality made dim when all can be read, even the things beyond its shimmering veils, and nothing extrapolated, and its truth, as always, a matter and manner of perspective. What else can they do? Their very language an ocean of meanings, branches holding words that are everything, and nothing as a consequence. Under the yoke of their roles their skin trembles a terrible colour. Not black nor crimson-red nor white. A person can get lost in these winds of meaning. Where the holiness of their roles ends is where the true unknown begins, where beyond the meaning of their power, White-keepers, lies something that raises much too much dust and is unclear and therefore cannot be read. In the West slowly does the low hum of war welcome violence. And it will be a wave soon enough. And it will be thunder.

DA. DATTA. DAYADHVAM. DAMYATA.

“So here is your damnable second reading. The guns be instruments of cam, and they be forged from the Eld's sword.”

“We don't need a history lesson, Steven.”

“I won't take kindly to being interrupted right now, Kit.”

Kit opens his mouth to retort. And Kit closes it.

“And Roland be of my blood. Of Eld. And no matter what storm is coming, blood don't lie. It never has. Sometimes it be the last thing we have left. I gave him the gu--”

“You gave him the guns because you ain't stretching the power thin, but you're reinforcing it. Spreading it out, so it covers more ground. Like a girdle. Because if ka let Ro pass his test of manhood so early, it means there be greater things in store for him yet. And blood don't lie.”

Robert knows then from the expression Steven pulls that Steven had not realised that, either. He barks out a laugh, at Steven's startled eyes, at his slow blinking.

“Yes. Yes, Bob. I suppose you're right.”

He marvels. It is something the barracks never took from him and never will. Robert Allgood marvels, in the simplest ways, at the simplest things. And he marvels now when the reasoning behind Steven's gesture unravels in his and his dinh's hands, and he marvels not at the riddle solved or at the the way power tonight has been vested, transformed and transmitted, but rather at the web of meanings that he can see, now, beneath all the things, beneath the truths they've shared. Where the water flows, the rock breaks. Where the wind blows, the tree yields.

But it is not Robert who names it. It is Christopher.

“Aven kas.”

Where ka dictates, the wind follows. Here now real more than ever, more than anything. More than them and their words and their guns, and their eyes and their father's faces. A strength that breathes in everything there is. In another world, it is called synchronicity. A thin dim border, trapped between coincidence and fate.

“Ai. Aven kas.”

Kit uncrosses his arms to say something, but the knock on the door interrupts him. Steven furrows his brow. None of them expected interruptions, this evening, when he is about to seek Roland and bring him for his first night at the Club. His Roland, his Ro-darling. A boy of only fourteen.

And besides, those who know him and his character know not to disturb him when in a meeting with his tet, and they would be the only ones to seek the Gilead-dinh out at this hour.

“Who is it?”

“Rosalie, dinh-sai.”

Especially Rose. But it barely sounds like her. A tremble that's never there in the way she says dinh. The three of them exchange a glance.

“What is it, Rose?”

“Sai, may I come in? It-- it's urgent.”

He opens the door to wide eyes, and a face that still hasn't understood in full what its mouth will have to say now. When Steven sees her, Rose doesn't speak for a few seconds. Her jaw is trembling.

“What fashes thee, girl?” Kit asks from behind Steven, a sentence he's never had to say to Rosalie who told them of their sons' death with a closed jaw and cold eyes. But now, past her dinh's shoulder, she barely knew he was there, knew it but only on the surface level of things. What is inside her knows nothing but how to speak the words and then everything else, perhaps, will return after the shock has slipped back from outside of her to inside of her.

If Cort saw, he'd beat her black and blue. But Cort no longer holds Power over her. The Deschain does.  

“Rosalie.”

Her dinh calls her terror to order.

“It's... it's the Lady Gabrielle, sai. I don't know how to say it. Belle found them, I-- and Ro', and, and... the boy, and--”

Steven allows for no more room for her tongue. He grabs her shoulder, and the grip is tight enough it kills the sentence dead. What's left of it wheezes in her speechlessness.

“Where?”

“Her rooms. But sai, sai-- She's dead, she's already dead.”

If he hears he doesn't listen. Robert stops in front of her, and touches her where Steven gripped her. She blinks under water.

“Go find Joe, Rosalie. Lock down Lady Gabrielle's apartments. We ought to keep this as tightly under wraps as we can. Can thee do this for us, Rosie? Hm?”

She nods, swallowing hard. Robert pats her shoulder once, turns to follow Kit and Steven, turns around again.

“Was it Ro', then?”

“Yes. He's already admitted to it.”

Admitted. The word leaves bitter ashes, makes his lips curl in a snarl.

“Ay-yi. Poor boy. So we dance to the song, don't we all? What a rotten song it be, sometimes.”

He inhales very slowly, and halfway down his throat, the air breaks and cracks against the tears he didn't know were there. Robert swallows hard.

Kit and Steven didn't wait for him, and he has to quicken his pace to catch up.