#every moment leading up to the resurrection and everything that follows just shatters my whole heart. caleb really loves him so so much--

[dent-de-leon]

Thinking always of Caleb limping to Molly's side immediately after he was brought back to life. He doesn't spare a thought for his own wounds or the whole city decaying all around them, he just wants to get to Molly and bring him back. "Get him out of there." Caleb who died so close to where Molly's own body still lies, the two of them inseparable even in death.

And now Caleb is alive, but Molly's still gone, and he refuses to lose him again. "He's gone. Let him go. Let it all go." Molly who is once again lying lifeless in Caleb's arms, who always bleeds his own heart dry to save everyone else. Bloodied, naked--nearly lost to the rot and ruin of a city still desperate to devour him.

Thinking of Caleb cradling his Circus Man in his arms again, promising he'll be home soon. Laying his coat over the cold body, gently brushing aside a lock of hair. Reaching for the little lucky stone in his pocket, and daring to once again long for reunion--

[bloomingnono]

meant it. (part 2)

pairing: jeno x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: ~ 1.7 k

warnings: language (like one curse word akjds)

intro l part 1 l part 2

a/n: im so sorry for the long wait:( i wanted to make sure i did my best, and wrote something i was overall pretty content with! but here’s the second, and final part to “meant it”!! i hope you all enjoy, especially my dear 🍿anonie<3

also not me making major adjustments 5 minutes before posting💀

taglist of my loves: @luvlyjaemin @vera-liscious @lenaluvs

Your bed felt cold. The type of cold that left your body weak. And yet again, you found yourself fighting to let sleep consume you.

You hesitantly turned to your left side, hoping that maybe, this was all just one big nightmare. That maybe when you turned around, he’d be there.

But you were only met with the other side of your bare bed; your lamp casting an amber tinge on your snow-white sheets.

Four weeks had passed since those final words had been exchanged. He had left you broken.

To say you missed him was an understatement.

You longed for the way your heartbeat quickened at his sight. You longed for the way your stomach fluttered as your name effortlessly slipped out of his lips. You longed for his touch; the way his fingers lingered against your skin.

You missed him.

But at what cost? To hear those three empty words leave his mouth?

No. Never again.

It was unfair to Jeno. But most of all, it was unfair to you.

You didn’t deserve to be told such idle lies.

Especially not from the one person you would give up your entire life for.

Jeno was a naive soul; so sincere and trusting of what only met the eye.

Mistakes were a daily occurrence in his life; learning and growing from them as he paved his way through.

.

But the second you left, he knew he had made the biggest mistake yet.

.

On the night when everything ended, there was an inexplainable feeling of void growing within him.

He didn’t have a reason to smile, nor the energy to cry.

Unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, he felt incomplete. It left him numb.

Before he knew it, four weeks had already gone by.

Four weeks since he last held your frame in his grasp. Four weeks since he last saw the face he once fell in love with. Four weeks since he left you utterly broken.

But in those four weeks, Jeno wasn’t living. He was simply existing.

He was merely left in his world; his actions and their consequences, being his sole companion.

He knew it was unfair to continue to lie and prolong the inevitable. But, why did it feel so wrong? It was the right decision to choose... right?

‘To choose.’

It seemed like such a simple action. It was something we did on a daily basis; nearly every second of every day.

Yet it held so much influence.

Jeno had finally realized that now.

Everything in life was purely a choice.

.

Everything.

You lie on your bed, your mind lost in all the bumps and ridges that painted your cream-colored ceiling.

It was late into the night, the moon peeking its way through the slits of your window blinds. The silence was peaceful, yet deafening.

Despite the unsettling aspects of the stillness, you’re ready for it to devour you; yearning for that feeling of tranquility that you haven’t felt in weeks.

But just as you are about to give in, you’re abruptly interrupted by frantic raps on your front door. Jostling up into a sitting position, you force yourself off your bed to check and see who was causing such a fuss.

The knocks on your door persist, not allowing for a single moment of intermission.

Apprehension quickly overtakes your body, frightened at what could possibly cause such actions to befall at this ungodly hour.

You hesitantly grab your doorknob, carefully turning it and opening the door just a fraction of the way.

You are met with a hunched figure; their hands on their knees and their hair damp with —what can only be assumed as— sweat. Their labored breathing leads you to believe they had run here, and hastily at that.

After a few short-lived seconds, you carefully try to assess the situation; fear still coursing throughout your body.

“Can I help you..?”

The figure instantly tenses at your tone, as if taken aback by the sound of your voice.

You watch in confusion as they begin to catch their breath, and stand to their full height. Straining your eyes to try and identify their face, you’re left frozen at the single feature that was recognizable even in pitch darkness.

His eyes.

You instinctively take a step backward, distrusting your vision.

But your presumption reigns true, as the figure tentatively takes a step forward through the doorway; his face now fully illuminated by your foyer light.

.

Lee Jeno.

.

He seemed to be in a terrible state: his hair a mess from the sweat, his clothes violated by the wind, and his breaths still quite uneven.

You attempt to try and form a coherent sentence, but the words seem to die in your throat. You could only look up at him, staring blankly with your mouth hung open.

“Wha... What are you doing here...?”

“I came to see you. I needed to talk to you. Immediately.” His expression was unreadable, yet his tone held the familiar hint of desperation. “I miss you. I want— No. I need you back. Nothing in this world seems right when I’m not with you. I’m not who I am without you. I need you…”

The silence that follows is unbearable.

It takes a few moments for his words to sink in. You feel your eyebrows furrow in confusion, contorting your features into a frown.

But the confusion is quickly replaced with the dreaded feeling of anger. It swiftly fills your entire soul, kindling a flame. The one emotion you tried so hard to repress, viciously engulfs your entire body.

The words that had once died in your throat, quickly resurrect and force their way out of your mouth.

You find your voice again. However, this time, it is nothing but cold and bitter.

“Lee Jeno, I love you. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m still hopelessly in love with you, because I am. But you aren’t. And that’s why I let you go.”

The floodgates were finally opened. There was no going back.

“As much as I still loved you, and as much as it killed me to accept that you didn’t return those feelings for me anymore; I let you go. Want to know why? Because your happiness means so much more than my own. I let you go because I love you so fucking much.”

Jeno stares at you with wide eyes, unable to summon a statement that could somehow ease the pain in you eyes. “I-“

“No, listen!!” Your voice begins break, unable to keep your emotions at bay. The words flow out of your mouth quicker than your mind could process. “I wanted to blame you. I wanted to hate you and resent you so badly for everything you put me through, but I couldnt. Because I still fucking love you!!”

The last statement leaves your throat raw. But you persist.

“You really got some nerve, Lee Jeno.” You laugh humorlessly at the pure audacity, before turning back to him with a renewed flame.

“You left me absolutely shattered. And I couldn’t even hate you for it. I refuse to let you hurt me again. I refuse to watch, as the love for me floods out of your eyes again. I REFUSE!!!”

Every last bit of your energy is wasted on your final words as you scream them at the top of your lungs.

The angry tears streaming out of your eyes seem endless. Your whole body trembles with pure fury as you collapse to the floor, legs giving out beneath you.

Jeno instinctively scrambles to your side, supporting your fragile form with his own.

Too weak to fight against his hold, you allow yourself to be braced by him; the touch being all too familiar for your liking.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me?” You purposely avoid his gaze as you ask, your voice impossibly faint. You’re left completely exhausted; the anger quickly transforming into pure defeat.

There’s a moment of hesitancy. You feel the sharp intake of breath that he takes before the reply is given.

.

“I... love you.”

.

Those three words that you once adored, and now despised... Those three words that had eased all your pain, but now caused your suffering...

Those three words... were no longer hollow.

.

He meant it again.

.

A chill swiftly travels down from the top of your spine to the tip of your toes, leaving you senseless.

He promptly proceeds; the hesitancy in his tone now replaced with a new-found determination.

“I love you. And not because I have to, but because I want to.” Cold fingers gently grip your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. “Loving you is not merely a spark. Loving you is not lust or simple desire. Loving you is a commitment. I want to wake up every day, and choose to love you.”

There’s another moment of silence; tears of regret traveling down to drip from the point of his chin.

“I’m so sorry for... everything.” He chokes back a sob as the words get caught in his throat. “I loathe myself for being the cause of all this. I will never forgive myself for hurting you and... and I completely understand if you aren’t willing to forgive me either-“

Before he could finish, you crash your lips onto his; successfully silencing his statement. Tears continue to descend both your guys’ cheeks, unable to subside from the overwhelming sense of comfort that came with being in the others’ warmth again.

You sense a familiar arm snake around your waist, pulling you deeper into the contact. Your own arms loop around his neck, absorbing the touch that you had longed for, so intensely.

You pull away from the kiss, coming face to face with the love of your life.

.

“You have no idea how much I missed feeling those words.” The sentence is muttered, speaking to yourself more than anyone else.

But he heard them nonetheless.

.

You feel his slender fingers encase either side of your face, his cool touch sending a wave of shock throughout your body. Keeping your face steady in his hands, he slowly leans his forehead against yours.

With his eyes closed and without a single waver in his voice, the words slip out again.

.

“I love you.”

.

You soak up the comfort that alluded from such simplicity.

You know that you guys aren’t perfect. Nowhere near it.

But what mattered, was that you were in each other’s hold again.

.

.

Because you loved each other...

.

.

And you meant it.

end.

[sofreddie]

Altar

Summary: Being captured on a hunt, Sam is magically spelled to take Y/N. He always wanted it, but not like this.

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean, Cas

Warnings: NON-CON, dub-con, Smut, unprotected sex, breeding, pregnancy, sex spell, angst, fluff, little more smut

Word Count: 2,887

"Hey guys, I think I found us a case," Sam said, sitting down at the Library table with his laptop. Dean and Y/N groaned as they straightened in their chairs, waiting for Sam to deliver the briefing, "Might be witches."

"Fuckin' hate witches," Dean grumbled, running a hand down his face and standing abruptly, "Be ready to go in ten," he sighed, heading off to his room. Sam nodded, shutting his laptop and following.

Y/N sighed. They just got back from a hunt, literally a few hours before. She desperately wanted a break after back-to-back hunts across several states, keeping them away from the Bunker for over a month.

Hunting alongside the Winchesters was new to her. She had hunted for years, but more as an as-needed, weekend gig. They had happened upon each other when the Winchesters showed up on her werewolf case a year prior.

The three of them worked well together and the case was solved easily and quickly. Afterwards, with celebratory drinks in hand, the brothers had asked her to hunt with them.

Dean would flirt constantly, but it was harmless. It was clear the two of them were more instant friends than lovers of any kind. Sam - well, Sam was a different story. Everything about him screamed man and had Y/N yearning for him in every way.

But working with the Winchesters, getting a chance at the big leagues, living with them in the Bunker - it was all fantastic and she felt like she was truly making a difference.

But she didn't want to jeopardize that by pursuing anything with Sam. So she buried her feelings and hid them expertly, leaving no one the wiser that she felt anything more than comradery for the brothers.

Little did she know that Sam was head-over-heels for her from the moment he watched her roundhouse-kick a werewolf clear across the room. Y/N was a very 'what-you-see-is-what-you-get' kind of girl and Sam couldn't help but want her the more and more he spent time with her. She was everything he never knew he needed.

But with his past with women, he didn't want to risk it. She was special - precious, even - and he didn't want to taint her. Especially when it was clear she had no interest in him. So he allowed himself to be content with their close friendship and pretended it was enough.

Dean was in full panic mode. One second, the three of them were investigating a lead. Next thing, Sam and Y/N had just disappeared. There was no one around, no trace of them anywhere - and no way to find where they might be or who had them.

He cursed as he climbed in the Impala, pulling out his phone and dialing Cas while simultaneously sending out prayers to his Angel friend. He had to find them. He wouldn't let them die like the others. He had to save them.

Sam woke with a headache. He groaned, placing a hand on his forehead to try and ease the ache as he scrambled to his feet. He was in a dark room, the concrete walls around him slightly damp, the smell of decay filling his nostrils.

Before he could fully get his bearings, his head shot towards the sound of metal scraping as the door to his cell opened. He shielded his eyes from the blinding light before several shadowed figures flanked him.

A woman approached through the doorway, her elegance out of place in the dungeon-like surroundings.

"What do you want?" Sam croaked, his voice hoarse and throat sore from disuse. He remembered being on a case with Dean and Y/N.

Where were they?

The woman smirked, raising a hand towards him and uttering a few words. An eerie glow emitted briefly from her hands. Sam felt his body relax as he stood at his full height. He was aware of his surroundings but unable to control his body.

He watched, like a helpless prisoner, from within his own body as he followed the woman obediently, the flunkies she brought with her pulling up the rear.

"Don't worry, Sam," the woman offered a smile that would be considered charming and friendly if it weren't for the circumstances, "I promise you'll enjoy this part."

Another door opened and Sam followed inside once more. The sight before him nearly made his heart stop.

Y/N was naked, laying on a stone altar, surrounded by people in robes, candles and torches providing a warm glow to the room. He tried to scream, tried to rush to her, but his body wouldn't cooperate.

He couldn't stop the woman from placing a hand on his shoulder and chanting. He couldn't stop himself from removing his clothes and walking to the altar. He couldn’t stop the others as they joined the chant, their eyes on him and Y/N as he stood at the end of the altar looking her over.

Her eyes kept his and he could see they were wild, panicked, but her body dutifully lay still on the altar. Whatever was happening, they were both trapped and aware in their minds, unable to control themselves.

Sam sent a prayer out to anyone who could be listening, hoping someone out there wouldn't mind an IOU from a Winchester.

Sam found himself crawling up onto the altar, his cock suddenly hard and throbbing as he looked down at Y/N beneath him. Her hands were bound above her in iron shackles, stretching her out along the stone surface, her entire body laid bare.

His eyes roamed her appreciatively, his hands following the burning trail of his eyes. He tried to focus, tried to break whatever spell was cast upon him.

But his mind was distracted by the soft warmth of her skin, the needy whimpers that fell from her parted lips, the eager squirming of her body under his touch.

The chanting grew louder, like a Gregorian song, as Sam’s body moved of its own accord. He parted her legs, lifting them to either side of his hips, as he slotted himself between her thighs.

As he rutted his length against her, he could feel her wetness, her heat nearly scorching. A groan slipped past his lips and Sam wasn’t sure if that was the spell or him any longer.

He’d always wanted Y/N - fantasized about her more times than he’d care to admit. Seeing her like this was somehow both a dream come true and a living nightmare - not like this.

As the chanting grew louder, all Sam could see was Y/N. Without warning, he slid his length inside of her in one mighty thrust, the force pushing her up along the altar. His hands grabbed her hips and pulled her body down against him as he continued thrusting.

Her wails were a mix of anguish and pleasure and his cock twitched in response. It was over quickly, Sam’s body shuddering violently as he came hard, filling her with his seed until it leaked out around his cock, soiling the stone beneath them.

He was denied even the chance to enjoy the high as his body crawled back off of her, standing at the end of the altar and facing the robed figures in silence once more.

The elegant woman approached Y/N and placed a hand on her lower belly, her eyes fluttering shut as she muttered something under her breath.

“It is done,” she announced, turning to a smaller table by the altar and grabbing a goblet in which she mixed several ingredients, including her own blood. She raised the goblet in the air as she spoke to the congregation,

“To our Lord Chemosh!” she announced, holding the goblet high as she turned back to Y/N, “You will be the mother of a God,” the woman whispered, before starting her chanting once more, the goblet held tightly in her hands as the others in the room joined her chanting.

Sam’s muscles tensed in his whole body as he fought to break through whatever hold they had on him.

A slam of the door on the far end of the room revealed Dean and Cas, weapons at the ready. Their eyes scanned over Y/N and Sam with shock and worry and Sam screamed for his brother in his mind, but his body held still.

As Dean pierced the heart of the elegant woman - the last of the cult around them - Sam’s body fell in a heap to the floor, his world going dark.

Sam groaned as he came to, his head pounding once more. In a flash, his mind flooded with memories - of the cult, of the spell, of Y/N. He gasped, sitting upright and realizing he was in his bed at the Bunker. He sighed, wondering if it was all some bizarre dream.

He forced himself from bed, trying to shake the thoughts of the dream from his mind, and made his way down the hall. He followed the sounds of voices to the Library, finding Dean and Cas pausing awkwardly mid-conversation as he came into their view.

“You’re up,” Dean smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “How you feelin’?”

Sam lowered himself into one of the chairs, still trying to clear his foggy mind, “My head hurts,” he grumbled, brushing his hair back from his face.

“That would be the remnants of the spell,” Cas offered with a sympathetic smile.

“The spell?” Sam’s mind flitted back to his dream and his wide eyes shot to Dean, “I-it was real?”

Dean sighed, dropping his head and nodding, “Yeah. Turns out the coven we were after was actually a cult, trying to resurrect their dead God.”

“Y/N,” Sam breathed out, barely audible to his own ears as his pulse throbbed in his temples.

“She’s fine,” Dean said quickly, “She’s resting in her room.”

“B-but the spell…the altar-”

“She’s fine,” Dean insisted, placing a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“B-but we - I -”

“We stopped the spell before they could conjure Chemosh,” Dean stated, sharing a glance with Cas before turning back to Sam, “I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner.”

“She…she’s okay though? I mean, what happened…what I did-”

“She’s safe and healthy,” Cas confirmed, “They both are.”

Sam looked up in confusion in time to see Dean flash a threatening glare at Cas who merely shrugged in response, “He deserves to know.”

“She’s….I…” Sam felt the panic rise like bile in the back of his throat, “She’s pregnant?”

Sam watched as his brother and friend nodded their confirmation and his heart shattered. Before all of this, he wanted her. Not just in his bed, but in his life. He wanted a life with her.

But he had convinced himself that being with him would get her killed or worse, so he refused to let either of them cross that line, no matter how much they wanted it.

Now, however, in the wake of a spell - a goddamned spell - all of that came crashing down. She probably wouldn’t be able to look at him without reliving what happened, what he had done to her.

If only I fought harder.

If only I was strong enough to resist the spell.

“You two need to talk,” Dean stated firmly and Sam immediately shook his head, “Sam, listen to me, alright?” he waited until Sam’s red-rimmed eyes met his and Dean could see how hurt and broken he was, “I know you probably want to avoid each other like the plague after what happened. But you need to talk, figure out what you want to do about this.”

Sam shook his head once more - partly to deny Dean’s insistence, and partly because he wasn’t sure he could make a hard decision when it came to…this.

Sam rose from his seat, still shaking his head. Dean tried to reach out to him once more, but Sam backed away, a stray tear streamed down his face, before he rushed back to his room, locking the door behind him.

As soon as he was alone, his back slid down the door and he rested on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest as he sobbed, thinking every hope he had now died.

Three days later, Sam found himself standing in the Bunker hallway, his back braced against the opposite wall from Y/N’s bedroom door. It was late - sometime during the middle of the night - and everyone had gone to bed.

Dean came to him earlier that day, worried over Y/N. Much like him, she had been locked away in her solitude, not eating, barely sleeping. Dean had tried to take care of her, tried to get her to take care of herself, but nothing he did helped.

Sam, too, was ready to brush it aside, if it weren’t from the reminder from Dean that she was pregnant. With his child. Ready for it or not, Sam had a responsibility, to her and their child.

With a heavy breath, he forced himself from the wall, shuffling the few feet across the way to stand directly in front of her door. Before he could talk himself out of it, he raised a hand, knocking several times. Her whispered and broken voice echoed from the other side as she beckoned him inside.

Sam opened the door, slinking in quietly and shutting it behind him. He lifted his gaze, seeing her propped against the headboard of her bed, her knees tucked into her chest, her arms wrapped around herself protectively.

“Sam,” she whispered and he could see the shock on her face, “What are you-”

“You’re not eating,” Sam’s voice was gentle and hesitant as he looked at her with worry. She scoffed, turning her head to stare at the opposite wall, avoiding him. Sam licked his lips and took a few hesitant steps closer to the bed, looking down at her, “Y/N,” he pleaded.

“You should go,” she said sternly.

“Y/N,” Sam tried once more, sitting on the edge of her bed and reaching towards her. She shot off the bed in a huff, staring at him from across the room.

“Sam,” she sighed, “Look, I’m not mad at you, okay? I know this wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t my fault. But what happened,” she shook her head, taking another breath.

“I know,” Sam stood, swiping his hair back from his face, “But it did happen, Y/N,” he pressed, approaching her once more, “A-and now…” his eyes flitted to her stomach and his heart ached. Ached for what had happened, and ached to comfort her and have her in his arms.

“What am I supposed to do?” she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, looking defeated and broken and Sam felt his own eyes well with tears.

“We,” Sam said, rushing to stand before her, his hands grazing her elbows as he yearned to just touch her, “We can do whatever you want. But for what it’s worth,” he added with a soft smile as he lifted her chin to meet his gaze, “I want this. Definitely not the way it happened and I can’t change that. But, Y/N,” he licked his lips, noting he now had her undivided attention. It was now or never, “I’ve thought about this, about us, about a life together so much and I know you have too.”

“I thought you would have wanted to forget,” she admitted, her voice weak and body trembling slightly under his touch.

He smiled once more, crowding into her until their chests nearly touched, his gentle grazes on her arms more prominent, “I could never forget,” he insisted as his hands began ghosting over her arms and shoulders with teasing grazes, “How soft and smooth your skin is. The sounds you made. The look in your eyes. How wet and hot-”

“Sam,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering as his fingers trailed up her neck before he cupped her cheek.

“Let me show you,” he breathed out, his breath fanning over her neck teasingly, “How it should have been,” he pulled back to meet her eyes, “How I wanted it to be.”

At her approving nod, Sam was quick to get them both undressed, kissing her passionately the whole time. Once he had her bare and on the bed, he slowed down, taking his time to kiss and taste and tease every inch of her skin from her neck to chest to hips and thighs.

He had her coming on his tongue before he scissored her open, relishing the sounds she made as she came for him once more. Finally, he entered her, slow and smooth until he had no more to give. They both let out long, contended sighs at being connected.

Sam cupped her face in his hands, capturing her lips as he rocked within her, barely leaving her warmth before pushing back in again and again. He slowly worked them to climax, the two of them desperately clinging and grinding as they climbed the high together, finally tumbling off into bliss.

Settling in on their sides under the covers, they wrapped up in each other, kissing lazily as they came down from their highs. The future was scary and uncertain, but they knew they could face it together.

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content Part 2

Original Whumptober fic here

Bonus Content Part 1 here

Find it all on AO3 here

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Thanks for all of the support on the last chapter! I appreciate each and every one of the likes and reblogs and follows I’ve gotten.

Tagging @outtacommission again because Keith would not have been resurrected from the dead without his bribery.

Here is chapter 3 of this fic... see you next week for the conclusion!

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Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: referenced amputation, blood mention, referenced broken bones, self-esteem issues, suicide ideation, death mention, nightmares, abandonment issues

.

When he woke again, he was lying back down on the pillow, staring up at the blank white ceiling. For one, blissful moment, he didn’t remember the events leading up to him passing out again. But it all came crashing down on him an instant later, taking his breath away.

My leg.

My leg, my leg.

My arm, my face, my leg.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice was quiet, tentative. Not like him. “Are you awake?”

He wanted to roll over on his side and ignore him. Close his eyes, maybe go back to sleep, pretend that the world and this nightmare didn’t exist for a little while longer. The only reason he refrained was because he wasn’t sure if his stupid, wrecked body could actually manage it.

“What did you do to me?” It was only a whisper, and as slurred as it was, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was impossible to understand.

Shiro’s breath hitched audibly. If Keith had been looking at his face, he was sure he wouldn’t like the anguished expression that he would see there. But at that moment, he didn’t have the capacity to care.

“Do you want me to...explain...how it...happened?”

No. Yes. He didn’t know. He needed to know why him losing a leg had been the best option, but at the same time he wasn’t sure if he could handle hearing about it. In the end, he just lifted one shoulder - the one that actually listened and responded right away - in a shrug. 

Shiro shifted in his seat, leaning forward so just the tip of his white bangs were in Keith’s periphery. “I already told you that you...died. On that planet. So when we got back to the Castle, you dying again was a distinct possibility. We...it’s like Fallenta said. We had to get you into a pod, even though your...your left arm was broken, and your knees, especially, were a mess from where the console landed on them.”

He paused, rubbing his palms together. “We didn’t know what would happen. I was scared to death that some of those breaks wouldn’t be able to be fixed after the pod. I mean, we were headed to Tellima, but…” His head dropped. “We had no choice. That hole in your stomach...you were dying.”

Keith could almost imagine it - the frantic atmosphere in the infirmary, the blood everywhere, the desperate conversations escalating into shouts as they debated on what to do. He had no doubt that he really had been dying, that they had made the choice they thought was best. He just wasn’t sure if he agreed with that choice. 

“When you came out of the pod, once the stomach wound was healed enough for you to be stable, Fallenta started working on re-breaking the bones so that they could be set correctly. It was...awful.” The shudder was obvious in his voice. “I’m glad she was able to do it, of course, but I’m also glad that you were unconscious the whole time. Your arm was relatively easy. Your left knee...it took her hours. It was in so many tiny little pieces. And your right…”

Automatically Keith flinched at the reminder of what was no longer there. Of the scarred, chopped off stump that lay just underneath the blanket, and the way his leg just...ended. He could see the void where the rest of it should have been even now, if he were to look down. He was purposely avoiding it.

Shiro heaved a huge sigh. “Unfortunately, your right knee was shattered in a way that had been blocking the circulation in your lower leg the whole time. The tissue down there was...dead.” He paused again. “Keith, I’ve...trust me, I’ve gone ‘round and ‘round in my head ever since we...trying to figure out if there was something I could have done differently. And...I don’t think there was. We did what we had to do to save your life. I’m just...I’m sorry that we couldn’t save your leg, too.”

His leg was gone. 

Would he ever be able to walk again? Could they find a prosthetic for him like Shiro had, that worked as well as the real thing? Even if they did, how long would it take him to get used to walking on it? Just walking, not even counting anything like running, jumping, fighting. 

Fighting was what he did. It was the one and only thing besides flying that he was good at. He was crap with a gun, he couldn’t sit up in a sniper’s nest like Lance. He needed to be able to move. If he couldn’t, even just for the time that it took to learn how with a new leg and an arm that only half worked...

They’d replace him. What good was a paladin who was crippled? Who couldn’t pull his weight? As soon as Red woke up and found out what happened to him she would realize that he was useless now. And the Princess, the rest of the team...they already knew it. They were probably already looking for a new Red Paladin. How long would it be until they dropped him off on Earth, or on some Coalition planet? Probably as soon as he was healed enough. They didn’t have time to keep taking care of an invalid, they had a universe to save.

They did. Not him. Not anymore.

“Should’ve left me there.”

There was dead silence for a moment.

“What?”

Keith tipped his head back further into the pillow, eyes roving over the featureless ceiling as if he’d see something new. “I tol’ you not to come. I tol’ you to leave me there. You didn’t listen.”

“And now you’re alive.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Keith…”

His hands fisted in the blanket, jaw clenched in sudden fury. “Don’t ‘Keith’ me. Why, Shiro? Why am I alive? What is the point? You know what all this means.”

It meant he’d be alone. And he couldn’t...he couldn’t do alone. Not again. Not when he found a group of people that he actually cared about for the first time in so long. Not when he was just finally getting used to always having people around, always having someone to talk to or distract him from the thoughts that tried to consume him. Not when he barely survived it the first time. 

He’d rather be dead than alone.

Shiro sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “That life is gonna be hard for a while? That you’re gonna have to work harder than ever to get back to where you were? Yeah, Keith, I do know. I know more than anyone else.”

Oh.

Shiro must think he was so incredibly self-centered.

He was self-centered.

He should have thought about how acting like losing a leg was worse than dying would seem to the man who had lost an arm and kept going. But instead he was all caught up in how he was going to lose everything he had grown to love and rely on. Acting like the self-absorbed brat that everyone at the Garrison except Shiro had accused him of being.

“That means I also know how hard it is to accept,” Shiro was saying. “It’s going to take time to adjust. But you will, I promise, and I’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

Yeah, right. Keith didn’t know if he was lying to make him feel better, or if he just hadn’t yet realized or accepted that Allura and the rest of the team wouldn’t want to keep him around.

“Just...please, Keith. Please don’t say that we should have let you die. You don’t know…” His voice caught. “I’ve spent these last weeks hoping, praying that you would live. Scared out of my mind every moment of every day that you wouldn’t.”

Keith finally forced himself to turn his head toward his brother and saw him brush the back of his wrist across his eyes. Just that movement was enough to make his heart drop to his stomach. Shiro didn’t cry. At least not where anyone could see him. 

Slowly, he slid his hand out across the bed, palm up. A peace offering. It took only a moment for Shiro to take it, squeezing it so hard he thought a few more bones might break.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. And he was. Not for thinking it, but for saying it. He didn’t want to cause any more pain for any of his friends. 

That’s why when it was time for him to go, he’d do it quietly. No fuss. Don’t let them see your fear or your pain - he had learned that long, long ago. He was good at it. 

Shiro gave him a shaky smile. “It’ll be alright, Keith. I promise.”

Swallowing down the words that sprang to his tongue, he gave a nod. “Okay.”

.

.

The next morning Keith woke up to an empty room. In a way, it was a relief. They obviously didn’t see the need to watch over him and baby him twenty-four-seven anymore. But he was, for all intents and purposes, stuck. With no leg, he couldn’t just get up and leave the room whenever he wanted, head to the training room like he normally would in the morning. There’d be no training for him for a long time. 

Of course there was breakfast to think about, too, and he wasn’t sure whether to expect someone to bring it to him, or to bring him to it. Either way, he hated it. He had always hated being treated like he was helpless, and now it was even worse because he actually was helpless. 

He went ahead and made up his mind, though. No matter what their plan was, he had no desire to be carried through the Castle to the dining room where everyone would give him those looks of pity. Poor Keith. Can’t even walk by himself. It’s just too bad he can’t stay.

He was in the midst of pushing himself up off the pillows, trying to get his right side to cooperate long enough to get in an upright position he could balance in and trying to ignore the strange lightness of his leg, when the door opened and Pidge slipped in.

“Hey,” she said softly. Padding over, she perched carefully on the edge of the chair that first Hunk, then Shiro had occupied. 

Tucking his left leg up close to him - the knee creaking in protest at being used for the first time since healing - Keith cleared his throat. “Hi.” 

Silence fell, but it had never been awkward between the two. The introverted arms of Voltron. Pidge just gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes saying all the things he knew she would never actually be able to say with words. “It’s good to see you awake. I was really worried about you.” 

On the outside, she merely shoved her glasses back up into the bridge of her nose and sniffed. “You better not quiznakin’ ever do that again.”

Keith’s lips turned up at the corners for the first time since waking the day before. “Alright.” 

Besides Shiro, he thought he would miss Pidge the most of all. They got each other more than anyone else.

“So.” Straightening up, she whipped a tablet out of her hoodie pocket. “We’ve been working on a leg for you. The Tellimites have crazy good medical technology, so obviously we’re using their notes, but I’ve also been talking back and forth with the Olkari, because they’re, of course, crazy good with biological connections, and we’ve come up with a design that should communicate really well with your body and, essentially, work like the real thing.”

She launched into a detailed scientific explanation of how every inch of it worked, tapping and flicking through various diagrams that just looked like a plain prosthetic leg to him. He didn’t understand but a few words here and there, but he let her talk. This was one of her passions, and it was nice to let her be able to ramble about it for once without having to worry about being rushed. The way her face lit up was worth every second.

“So...what do you think?” Suddenly she sounded uncertain as she blinked up at him. “We definitely want your input on it. I mean, I suggested putting in a rocket booster, but Hunk pointed out that it would be difficult to control with only one. Lance wanted to add lasers that shot out anytime you stomped your foot, but that seemed pretty dangerous for like, running and stuff, so…”

It almost sounded like they expected him to still be fighting with this thing. Well, maybe he would. Eventually. After all, he wouldn’t feel right about just ignoring the existence of the war when the people he cared about were still out there fighting it, so he’d do his best to get back into shape. Maybe he could convince them to find a Coalition planet for him that had soldiers he could fight with someday.

It wouldn’t be the same as fighting with this team, his...his friends. But at least he wouldn’t be completely useless.

He met Pidge’s eyes and realized she was still waiting on an answer from him. Part of him wanted to keep his words to a minimum, not wanting her to hear his new speech impediment, but he swallowed his pride. “It, uh...whatever you guys come up with I’m sure will be great.” He actually hadn’t even been sure whether to expect them to work on it themselves, or put it off on the Tellimites or some other able species. It made sense, though, that Pidge and Hunk would want to jump on this opportunity to design something they had never gotten to do before. He forced a small smile. “But...yeah, let’s hold off on weaponizing it.”

Smirking, Pidge turned off the tablet and stuck it back in her pocket. “Alright, if you insist. Lance is gonna be super disappointed, though.”

“I’m sure.” He could hear the whining and complaining about how boring and unimaginative he was now. 

“So, I was supposed to ask you about breakfast…?”

Keith stared down at his hands. “Oh. Yeah. I don’...think I’m really ready to...try to move around yet, so…”

He was such a bad liar. But Pidge either didn’t notice or was being nice and pretending not to, merely nodding and standing. 

“Okay. I’ll tell Shiro, he’ll probably bring you a plate down here.”

“Thanks, Pidge.”

She turned back from the doorway and smiled softly at him. “No problem.”

.

.

The nightmares came that night.

And the next. And the next.

Snippets of things he didn’t remember during the day, and wouldn’t remember again when he woke. Alarms blaring. Lights flashing. A horrifying crunching sound, then crippling pain and a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

And then...nothing. No one came. No one heard him calling. He stayed there, alone and bleeding in the dark, until the pain became too much and he slipped away.

He woke with tears streaming down his cheeks and a scream on his lips that didn’t quite make it out into the still air of the infirmary, not knowing what he was even crying about other than the nauseating loneliness that weighed him down, pinning him to the bed. 

Forcing his right hand to be the one to clumsily scrub away the tears - because it was going to work, dang it - he gritted his teeth and pushed against the weight to flop over onto his side. 

Get over it. Get over it, get used to it, stop being such a baby. You’ve always known that this wouldn’t last. It’s a miracle they’ve stuck around for as long as they have. If you try to hang onto them they’ll just end up hating you before they leave. 

.

.

He got away with hiding in the infirmary for two days before Fallenta declared him well enough to be up and about, and Shiro and Allura showed up with the Altean version of crutches. They escorted him slowly down the halls of the Castle to the dining room, chatting amiably the whole way. Keith assumed it was meant to either distract him from his plight, or to keep themselves from staring and pitying.

“Hey, look who finally decided to join us!” Lance announced loudly as soon as he hobbled into the room. “It’s about time you were out of bed, Mullet-head.”

“What Lance means,” Hunk sighed, “is that it’s good to see you up, Keith.”

“That it is, Number Four!” Coran rushed to pull out his usual seat, and his smile was so bright Keith couldn’t even be mad about the special treatment. “You had us all worried for a while there, for sure!”

Swallowing, Keith fiddled with his spork, unsure whether he was supposed to respond. “Um...yeah. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Keith.” Shiro smiled at him softly, knowingly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He just barely kept another ‘sorry’ from escaping. Instead he nodded, picked up his spork with his left hand, and changed the subject. “So, uh...wha’s been going on lately?”

That was all it took for everyone to launch into tales of short missions in the Lions, repairs on Red, and alliances with Tellima. Keith barely remembered to keep eating his goo as he watched all of the animated faces and gesturing hands with a small smile on his face. It was good to be back among his teammates. They were so unlike him in so many ways, it was no wonder that he had never really fit in with them. But he cared about them anyway. They might not feel the same way about him, but he was so glad that they had become a part of his life. 

And now they wouldn’t be anymore. Scowling down into his bowl where no one would notice, he poked at the green goo. How did I let myself get so attached? Before Shiro, it had been many, many years since he had let himself care about anyone this much. He should have known better by then. Letting himself come to consider any person or place home was just setting himself up for heartbreak.

As much as he loved spending this last bit of time with them, he almost wished they would stop acting so natural, as if they weren’t getting ready to kick him out any day now. No one mentioned a search for a new paladin. No one said whether they were headed to Earth, or some other planet. 

He wasn’t going to be able to stand the suspense for many more days. They needed to just get it over with.

.

Later that night, after waking from another nightmare back in his own room, Keith stared at the bare walls, so lifeless compared to the other paladin’s rooms. Maybe I was always prepared for this moment, after all. Or maybe he had just been kicked out and left behind so many times that the ability to settle in was impossible for him no matter where he went. 

Struggling to sit up, he groped for the crutches and pulled himself to his feet. He wasn’t going to get back to sleep anytime soon, and no one had expressly forbidden him from venturing out on his own - not that it would have stopped him even if they had.

It took far too long to make it down the four hallways between his room and Red’s hangar. Walking with crutches used a whole new set of muscles that he wasn’t used to accessing, and trying to force his right side to carry that much weight was exhausting. He had to stop and lean against the wall, panting for breath, several times along the way. 

But he made it, eventually. He paused once more outside the door, debating whether or not he was actually ready to see the damage done to Red, before he sucked it up and punched the scanner.

He wasn’t ready. 

The great mechanical beast was lying on her side, a position that somehow managed to make her look vulnerable despite her hulking size. Her legs were splayed awkwardly as if she had just been dropped there. She probably had.

The worst part, though, was that her face was nearly unrecognizable. What had once been her muzzle was completely smashed in, there were spiderweb cracks across one of her dull grey eyes, and the other was missing altogether. 

Actually, he took that back. The worst part was the cold and the silence. 

No purr in his head to greet him. No eyes lighting up in recognition of her Paladin. No warmth filling up his chest and spreading out to his fingers and toes. With Red, there was always some kind of heat. Now, though, a shiver shook his body.

Clenching his jaw, Keith forced himself a few steps closer, until he could reach out, balancing precariously, and lay a hand against her warped, dented nose. It was cold, too. 

Suddenly tears sprang to his eyes for the first time since his panic attack a couple of days before. “‘m sorry, Red.” He stroked his hand over the metal, feeling all of the bumps that shouldn’t have been there. “I’m sorry this happened to you. You didn’t deserve it. You...you’ve always protected me, and…”

Tipping his head back, he took in the mess of a cockpit again, and this time he saw flashes of his nightmare. Something sharp pinning him to the chair. Blood dripping onto the floor.

One tear escaped, sliding rapidly down to his chin. “I don’t even know how I survived this. But if either of us deserved to survive, it’s you. Please, Red...if you can hear me at all...please don’t give up. I know I...I can’t fly you anymore, but…”

It hit him then, the brutal truth of that statement. He’d never fly her again. He might never fly anything again. He’d known it ever since finding out what had happened to him, but now it stabbed him through the heart, how much he was going to miss this semi-sentient alien ship. 

Before he knew it, he was falling none-too-gracefully to the floor, one hand planted in front of him while the other remained on her snout, crutches clattering loudly to the side. The tears came in earnest, then. “Red...Red I lost my leg. I...I can’t fight anymore, I can’t fly…I’m useless.”

He’d told her that before. That time, though, she had reassured him that no, he was her Paladin, he was a defender of the universe, not useless. Never useless.

But now there was no one to reassure him. Even if she had been able, Red would know the truth. He wasn’t her Paladin anymore, he wasn’t a defender of the universe. He was useless.

Next

[crxckedchxssis]

[  supernatural. misha collins. unknown. agender. ] bright light fading away CASTIEL has found themselves in a new unrecognized land. the last thing HE remembers before they were taken was MOVING ON FROM DEAN AND LEAVING THE BUNKER. they say back in those times they were known to be +COMPASSIONATE, however, also have their moments when they could be -AWKWARD and was always best recognized by SHATTERED HALOS, BLUE, GLOWING EYES, AND FALLING STARS. 

@zertheastarters​

BASICS

Name: Castiel

Nicknames: Cas (please not Cass!), Cassie (though he’s not particularly fond of this one), and the self-hating angel of thursday, just because :)

Age: Honestly? Who knows. He’s as old as creation, and we don’t know when that was in spn lore. He’s had lines like “in all my thousands of years,” though, so we knows he’s at least thousands of years old.

Gender and pronouns: Agender, usually presents as pretty masculine but has also had a female vessel before, so I headcanon that he Doesn’t Really Care. Uses he/him pronouns mostly, but feel free to use any pronouns for him, he’ll accept anything. 

Sexuality: Aspec, homoromantic

Species: Angel. Specifically a Seraph. if you’d like more information on angels in spn you can find detail on them here. You can also find Cas’ powers here, everything under Seraph abilities with the exception of time travel and teleportation (anything that involves his wings) are Cas’ current abilities.

Personality: Cas is driven by doing the right thing and his love for his found family. However, he’s also pretty naïve and has been easily manipulated into doing terrible things in the past, based on the belief that he was doing what was for the best. He’s determined, a good fighter, and is very compassionate. He’s also very awkward in social situations, doesn’t tend to understand social cues, etc. Has moments of being extremely soft and cute, but he’s also a complete badass, and can be kinda ruthless when he needs to be. He’s very smart! He used to be a soldier of Heaven who lead an army, and he’s very strategic because of it. 

HISTORY

You can find Cas’ backstory here but I’ll try to summarise the important stuff as best I can!

Met the Winchesters after pulling Dean from Hell. Was little more than a soldier of Heaven at first, did his job, followed orders, was basically emotionless. Started to doubt and feel the more he bonded with the brothers, especially Dean. Eventually rebelled against Heaven and their plan after Dean taught him the importance of free will.

Has died and been resurrected many times.

Lost the use of his wings when he was manipulated by Metatron to make all of the angels fall from Heaven, and to lock them out. He still has his wings, but they’re in very bad shape.

Has been to purgatory, heaven, hell, the empty, alternate universes... you name it, he’s probably been there (within the spn universe, anyway). 

Has been possessed by Lucifer.

Has been miserable for a very long time, to the point there’s a whole plot dedicated to how he will die when he finally allows himself to be happy. In the show, this happened when he finally confessed his love for Dean, but I’m bringing him from before then. 

Is in love with Dean, best friends with Sam, and a parental figure to Jack. 

MISC

Fucks up a lot but has also never done anything wrong ever.

Black oil slick coloured wings!

A grumpy soft boi who is also a complete badass.

Probably thinks this is all Chuck’s fault.

Has Dad Issues. Chuck/God disappeared for years and years while the angels continued to worship him and do things in his name, then reappeared inserting himself in the Winchesters’ lives, then revealed himself to be God and disappeared again, then eventually revealed that he’s been controlling everyone (except Cas, because he, for some reason, didn’t follow Chuck’s plan), then killed Jack, and unleashed the souls of Hell. So yeah... Dad Issues.

Is currently possessing the corpse of Jimmy Novak, and Jimmy’s death has been stated to be one of his biggest regrets.

Feels responsible for Claire Novak, Jimmy’s daughter.

Not good with references even though Metatron once gave Cas all of his knowledge on every story he’s ever read/watched etc. (which is pretty much all of them)

Loves bees and pop music.

He’s autistic.

I’ll be bringing him from the end of 15x03. He literally just walked out of the bunker at the end of the episode when he was brought to Zerthea, so his ‘break up’ with Dean is very fresh.

Probably more that I’m forgetting but I’ll come back and add stuff when I think of them!

[dailyaudiobible]

04/28/2021 DAB Transcript

Judges 8:18-9:21, Luke 23:44-24:12, Psalms 99:1-9, Proverbs 14:9-10

Today is the 28th day of April welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian still pretty much floating on cloud nine and enjoying that there's a new little princess in our family. So, China and Reagan are doing well and recovering. And sweet little Reagan, she is adjusting to a whole new way of being as she spends her second day, her second day with us outside of the womb. So, thank you for your continued prayers over China and ben and baby Reagan. Those of…of us who have experienced the coming, the arrival of children, then we understand that it's…it's a game changer, right? The page turns so quickly and all the sudden there's a whole new reality before us and it’s such a glorious beautiful, meaningful, purposeful time. And, so, thank you for your prayers over this little family as they begin to make these adjustments. And ss for all of us, we've gathered around this Global Campfire to take the next step forward in the Scriptures. I could just go off on many, many tangents just gushing. My heart is full right now with this arrival, but my heart is also full that we have gathered around this Global Campfire to take the next step forward in the Scriptures. For the last couple of days, we have been reading the story of the judge Gideon from the book of Judges. And we will continue with Gideon's story today from the book of Judges. We’re reading from the Good News Translation this week. Judges 8 verse 18 through nine verse 21.

Commentary:

Okay. So, it's pretty striking, jarring even, the magnitude of what we read in the Bible today. It’s like we’re reading this, and we read it and maybe some of these stories we know, or we’ve heard them many times. And, so, we read them but it's earth-shattering stuff, earthmoving stuff that we read about today. So, in the book of Judges we kinda reached the conclusion of the Gideon story. So, Gideon did lead the people to overcome the Midianites and brought peace to the land and they tried to make him king and he wouldn’t be King. And he was a judge for another 40 years and there was peace and then he dies. And then the level of injustice that follows this is staggering. So, Gideon has 70 sons. So, that's a lot of kids and probably they don't even all know each other but one of his sons, his name’s Abimelech and he's from a concubine that lives in Shechem. So, he would've definitely been considered kind of an outsider in the family, not really a true heir in the family. That’s how his other brothers would've looked at him. But once Gideon is dead he goes to his relatives in Shechem and is like, “do you want Gideon's sons ruling over you or do you want me?” Which…which eventually comes to the execution of the 70 other sons. Very tribal, very violent. I mean we can read it through our modern lenses and see the barbarity of it. And it's no less barbaric in a tribal time, but it is more common to attempt to completely and utterly wipe out your enemies by killing them and killing all of their heirs so that the very memory of them is lost so that somebody somewhere along the line can’t grow up and come kill you. But one of the sons escaped, Jotham, and eventually went up on Mount Gerizim. This is the amount of blessing by the way, the one that Moses spoke about, “go to mount Gerizim and recite the blessings of the covenant on Mount Ebal and recite the curses of the covenant…covenant. There…there like two mountains, to giant hills. I mean they’re mountains in that region, but they're not the kind of mountains we would consider the high mountains of the earth. But they’re two mountains and they sit between…well…Shechem is in the middle of them until this very day. Shechem, biblical Shechem, is called Nablus now but Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim are still there. So, Jotham confronts and then he runs for his life and as the story kinda draws to a close, we just see that the people after the judge Gideon dies they just go back and just slide away and go back to worshiping the baals, go back to doing what they think is right in their own eyes. This is the time that there in.

If we turn into the gospel of Luke, I mean the level of injustice at the execution of Jesus is like supreme over all because this is humanity putting God to death. I mean I know that's a jarring thing to think about, but that's what's happening. And, so, we see in the Old and the New Testaments supreme, like just how far humanity can go toward the way of injustice. Like, this is the outcome of just how deeply dark people can go. So, in both of those stories we could say like, there’s…these…this is the level of injustice that is hard to even fathom, but in the same reading today Jesus didn't stay dead. He rose from the dead. That's earthmoving stuff. Like, that's…that's what has landed our lives here today to be hearing this. This is the victory over the darkness. Jesus rising from the dead is essentially a rebirth into life. In fact, that’s not like a metaphor that I'm using, this is something that the apostle Paul will say, that Jesus is the first born into a new thing that God is doing upon the earth and Jesus is the first born into that new thing among many brethren to follow, which is us. I mean the resurrection is overwhelming to think about in the Bible, and we can see in the news, like when the new starts to spread among Jesus followers it…it's…it's unsettling, like this is impossible. Even though Jesus said this would happen, this is impossible. And yet, they very soon find out it's very possible and that affects their lives so profoundly that, although nobody wants to die, they have…they have lost…they’ve seen what's going to happen and they don't fear this and they're willing to give their lives for it, which they eventually do. So, as I was saying to us when we entered into like the garden of Gethsemane and the Last Supper and the arrest and we were moving into this territory gospel of Luke, I mentioned like, let's not blow by this. This is…this is that story. This is the story that changes everything. This is the story that has catapulted our lives to this moment. And, so, we certainly blow by the resurrection, we…we want to contemplate that and meditate upon it today and understand the implications of it in our faith today. This changes everything forever. That's not small. That's big.

Prayer:

Jesus, we thank You for Your life and for the example, for Your heart and Your compassion and Your kindness, Your willingness to rescue we who You love, even though we don't deserve Your love, even though we can't earn Your love. Even while we were Your enemies You still came for us. And it's…it’s just that kind of love, that kind of love is what reveals Your kingdom. And we confess that what we want to participate in that. We’re just not capable of that kind of selfless love without Your spirit within. So, come Holy Spirit and lead us on the pathways of love. Love conquers all, even death we are learning. And we learn from song of Solomon that love is stronger than death. And in our reading from the gospel of Luke You were dead and then You were alive. And we are invited into that story. So, come Holy Spirit Awaken us, that this might settle in the profoundness of it we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

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And that's it for today on Brian. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

This message is for Alivia of New Mexico. I heard you say you wanted to hear from the community regarding how you might consider responding to a marriage proposal from a person you've been with for about three years. You mentioned being confused and having a hard time bringing yourself to break up. I hope you will recognize that confusion is a red flag. The enemy of your soul is the source of your confusion and he's come to steal, kill, and destroy. Being unequally yoked is about two in connection who have separate destinations. One honestly wants to go in one direction and the other honestly wants to go in a different direction. When they are yoked together at best they go in a compromised direction, neither going in the direction they wanted to go. That results in regret and mourning the loss of true life purpose. I encourage you to show your man respect and honor by allowing him to go in the direction of his choice. If he truly loves you, he will want you to live in your calling. I encourage you Alyvia, do not compromise truthfulness. Trust God's perfect plan for your life. His plans are always better than we know, and we will never regret trusting the one true God and savior. There is so much we don't know. Maybe your man will come to accept Jesus as a savior and Lord. Regardless of that, it is best not to foolishly rush in but rather wait on the Lord. God is truly good. Father I pray you give Alivia faith to believe your word and courage to follow your direction trusting your love for her and your most excellent perfect plans for her life in place of any other focus. Thank you for seeing us through Jesus loving us and receiving our prayers. We are your children saved and sanctified through Jesus alone. Amen.

Hello daily audio Bible family from London this is Sarah from London and I'm here with my nephews. What's your name? Malachi. And how old are you? 6 years old. And what's your name? Simeon. And how old are you? 3. Yes. And I’ve…they’ve just listened to Ezekiel on the Daily Audio Bible family and they want to say hello to Ezekiel. Say hello to Ezekiel. Hello Ezekiel. How are you? How are you? And what do you think of the…his reading? It was really good and lovely. Yeah, Malachi really enjoys it…really enjoyed listening to the reading today. And, yeah, so…gonna say bye. Bye. Bye. Bye. I hope you're all doing well Daily Audio Bible family and stay blessed. Take care. Sarah from London.

Hey DABbers, this is Retaining Honor, and I am calling in this morning with prayers for Alavia from New Mexico. And your message just so touched my heart because that is…that is my story, and I am unequally yoked with my husband and it is the number one thing that I pray about because I am now raising our child and I feel like I am alone in my spiritual journey. And dear sister that choice is yours to make. You can have a good life with this man that you have chosen and that you described but if it is anything like my situation your entire life you may feel like you are having to choose between the man that you love and the God that you love and the God that you serve. And I…I have not always put my savior first. And I urge you to look at your eternity and to look at your heavenly Father and to put Him first in your life and to think about, that…that this will impact your future family. So, I am praying for you as you are deliberating on this decision. And I love you sister. And also, so many people prayed this morning for Ramona from California. And Ramona I am a 32-year-old with a 7-year-old son and your testimony, your prayer request so touched my heart that I am praying for you dear sister. I can see my son also telling me that it would be OK and giving that same advice. He and I are so very close. So, sister I am praying for healing for you, and I am believing in healing for you and...

Hi Alana from New Mexico. Hey this is also my first time calling __ and I'm in Germany. So, I understand what you're going through. I also myself just got out from a two-year relationship that was really confusing. And one thing that I will share with you is once you're confused, God is not an author of confusion. Even if you do not have the strength to do it, ask the Holy Spirit for help and trust me He will help you to make the very best decision and as a believer that’s a woman only a man that really loves God can love a believing woman. And, so, you have peace, so you are no longer in a state of confusion where you do not have peace of mind ask the Holy Spirit for help. And I go to God. Father, please help Your daughter make the right decision and help her to see what You are protecting her from and please give her peace of mind that passes all human understanding. I love you all this is also my first-time calling in. I really appreciate this program. You all have a beautiful day. Bye.

Hello everybody. Hey this is Anette Allison from Oklahoma City. It is so good to hear you guys. Let you know surgery on my foot went good. Not sure if I have more surgeries or buy more motorcycles the numbers are quite similar. So, anyways thank you all for…for your many thoughts and prayers from most people and Daysha and Sally. I love you two so much. Thank you. Getting ready to go on the 29th to go pick up my son Alex from Durango Colorado and I'm going to haul him from there to my house. I'm gonna clean up his legal work but he's doing super good, and he saved up all the money I mean in like record time to get all the legal stuff handled and he'll be free and clear real soon and I am so thrilled to have him home here just for even a little while. So, pray that everything goes well, the trip is non- eventful. And we're gonna bring our dog and we had to put a big dog down and it was just rough. So, anyways have a wonderful day everyone. Take care. Bye.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family I am about 3 1/2- or 4-year listener calling in from Chicago and requesting prayer. I…for two things. One, I'm faced with a pretty important and quite honestly really tough career decision and I could just use some prayer for clarity and guidance and…and faith and just again a really clear vision on the path that the…the Lord wants me to go as I make this decision. Secondly, just prayers for my son. He continues…he's 25 and continues grow into adulthood and is also being faced with some pretty important adult decisions and I just pray that he will also seek the guidance and confidence and…and clarity to make the best decisions for now and into his future. I really appreciate it and love you all and love this community. Thank you.

[chiseler]

VISAGE... VOICE... VITAPHONE

In Dimitri Kirsanoff's Menilmontant a destitute waif, betrayed and abandoned by the man who seduced her, sits on a park bench with her newborn infant. Beside her is an old man eating a sandwich. This wordless exchange is one of the greatest moments ever committed to film. Nadia Sibirskaia’s face reveals all of life’s cruel mysteries as she gazes upon a crust of bread.

The persistence of hope is the dark angel that underlies despair, and here it taunts her mercilessly. A whole series of fluctuations of expression and movement in reaction to anguish, physical pain involving hesitation, dignity, ravenous hunger, survival, self-contempt, modesty, boundless gratitude. All articulated with absolute clarity without hitting notes (without touching the keys). Chaplin could have played either the old man on the bench (his mustache is a sensory device!) or Nadia. And it would have been masterful and deeply affecting, but Nadia went beyond virtuosity and beyond naturalism.

She made it actual. And it was more than just a face. Sunlight travels across buildings at every second of the day; and the seasons change the incidence of light, too. Nothing stands still. Even déjà vu doesn’t attempt an exact rendition with the feel of a perfect replay.

***

Another face equates with pain—though a far more luxurious and decadent kind of pain, a visage summoning leftover ancient Roman excess or Florentine backstreets, the contortions of Art Nouveau with its flowers, prismatic walls and perennial themes of ripeness/rottenness, sadomasochism. While various directors have helped mold her naturally unsettling screen presence into nightmare visions, it’s Barbara Steele's vulnerability I tend to remember.

She is open and sensitive even as she materializes in the viewer’s mind as a kabuki demon one moment and a radioactive waxwork the next, a kind of alchemical transformation, an appeal to what Keats called negative capability—one’s ability to appreciate something without wholly understanding it; in fact, one’s ability to appreciate an object for its mystery.

“When did I ever deserve this dark mirror?” Barbara Steele asks me. “Clever you – I feel you’ve just twisted and wrung out an old bible to dry that’s been left somewhere outside lost in timeless years of…” She pauses. “…of rain.”

She made her Italian screen debut as a revenant.  And in so doing taught us all the eye is not a camera. It’s a projector.

Barbara Steele’s appearance in 1960’s Black Sunday is, even now, a shock of such febrile sexuality that it forces us to ask ourselves—why do we saddle her with diminishing monikers like “Scream Queen”? And, more fundamentally, why does her force of personality seem to trouble and vex every narrative she touches?

Of course, the answer is partly grounded in Steele’s unique physical equipment—and here I’ll risk repeating a clichéd word about those famous emerald eyes of hers: “Otherworldly.” As if sparked to life by silent-film magician Segundo de Chomón, the supreme master of hand-tinted illusionism. Peculiar even within the context of gothic tales on celluloid for the consumption of Mod audiences, flashing at us from well beyond their allotted time and place in history.

Barbara Steele is one of cinema’s true abominations—a light-repelling force that presents itself in an arrangement of shadows on the screen. No “luminary,”Steele is celluloid anti-matter; a slow burning black flame that devours every filament around it. Steele’s beauty is no accident of nature, even if she is, but in Black Sunday she gives a virtuoso performance by an artist in full command of her talent summoning and banishing it in equal measure in her dual role as mortal damsel in distress and undead predator released from her crypt. Filmmaking is the darkest and unholiest of arts (done right, that is), and for Mario Bava it becomes the invocation of beast and woman from the unconsecrated soil of nightmares. Steele remains the high priestess of the unlit and buried chambers of the imagination; the pure pleasure center of original sin and the murderous impulse buried just below the surface. She reminds us that existence itself is the highest form of betrayal and a continuing curse on us all.

Where Steele’s Italian films are concerned, we are watching silent movies of a sort. “The loss of voice for me has always been devastating…. It’s almost like some karmic debt…” Her sonic presence was eclipsed in a string of crudely, sadly dubbed horror vehicles, yes, including Black Sunday—no doubt aficionados of the great Mario Bava will object to my calling it a “vehicle.”  But whenever Steele appears, the storyline falls away. Anachronism rules. Not to mention the director’s exquisite sets, all keyed and subordinated to his ingénue’s stark loveliness (understood in black and white, molded by Italian cameramen into disquieting and sudden plasticity). Like a hot-blooded funerary sculpture made of alabaster, raven hair piled high, Steele’s already imposing height summons schizoid power, satanic sorcery—she’s Eros and Thanatos dynamically balanced. I’ve screened the film many times; and the famous opening sequence invariably leaves my otherwise jaded film students looking traumatized. (Just as a young Martin Scorsese was shattered by it once upon a time.) Barbara Steele’s defiant witch, spewing a final curse upon her mortal judges, pierces to the bone.

While Italian movies robbed Steele of her voice, they liberated her from what it had meant in Britain. Leading ladies in Brit films tended to be well brought-up young things, unless they were lusty and working-class like Diana Dors. Even at Hammer, where sexuality was unleashed regularly via bouts of vampirism, the erotically active roles usually went to continental lovelies (Polish immigrant Ingrid Pitt got her work permit based on Hammer’s claim that no native-born actress could exude such desire and desirability). Steele turns up all-too briefly in Basil Dearden’s Sapphire (1959) as an art school girl, the only kind of role that might allow for both intelligence and a certain liberated attitude. And Steele really was exactly that type. Her appearance is so arresting, you want the movie to simply abandon its plot and follow her into some fresh storyline: it wouldn’t really matter what.

In Italy, Steele suddenly became class-less and nation-less, devoid of associations beyond those conjured by the chiseled cheekbones and enormous eyes (convincingly replaced with poached eggs by Bava for a special effects shot). Her inescapable exoticism didn’t make sense in her native land, but that bone structure could suggest Latin, Slavic, or anything else. Omninational, omnisexual, but definitely carnivorous.

Generally remote with his actors, who were nothing more than compositional elements to him, Bava’s capricious move of selecting his female lead from a magazine photo-spread looks almost prescient in hindsight. Was it luck? Or, perhaps her now legendary eyes suggested a bizarre and beautiful leitmotif… to be destroyed, resurrected, and played endlessly on a register of emotions—extreme emotions, that is, tabooed delights.

Steele shares an anecdote about her director’s temperament and working methods on Black Sunday… “Everything was so meticulously planned that Bava rarely asked me for multiple takes. There was no sense of urgency or drama, which was rare for an Italian director…” I’m suddenly detecting deep ambivalence as she vacillates between little jabs at Bava (“He was a Jesuit priest on the set, somewhere far away”) and gratitude. “There was a tremendous feeling of respect, whereas in my earliest roles at Rank I always felt shoved around, practically negated by the pressure of production.

“Bava did go absolutely berserk once,” she goes on. “John Richardson, this gorgeous, sinewy creature, for some reason couldn’t carry me across the room. And I was like eleven pounds in those days. We had to do it over and over, twenty times or something, and whenever John stumbled or dropped me, the whole crew would be in hysterics. We were all howling with laughter, except for Bava – he went simply wild! Eventually, some poor grip had to get down on all fours, and I rode on his back in a chair with John pretending to carry me.”

If Black Sunday is a summation of spiritual and physical dread, it’s because Steele is everyone in this dream-bauble, everyone and everywhere, an all-consuming autumnal atmosphere. Which, of course, provides Mario Bava with something truly rare—a face and mien as unsettling as horror films always claim to be and almost never are. The devastation she leaves behind, her anarchic displacement, which has nothing to do with conventional notions of performance or “good acting,” is hard to describe. And here Bava earns his label of genius through compositional meaning—amid the groundswells of fog, lifeless trees and gloomy dungeons, Steele is an absence impossibly concretized in penumbras and voids. She is a force of nature never to be repeated.

Nightmare Castle (1965) starts off in Lady Chatterley mode as Steele cheats on her mad scientist husband (“At this rate you’ll wipe out every frog in the entire county,” is an opening line less pithy but more arresting than “Rosebud”) with the horny handyman. She’s soon murdered on an electrified bed, hubby preserving her heart for unexplained reasons while using her blood to rejuvenate his mistress. Then he marries her insipid blonde half sister (Steele again in a blonde wig) and tries to drive her mad. So we now have Gaslight merged with Poe and every revenge-from-the-grave story ever.

The identical twin half-sisters (?) bifurcate further: blonde Barbara goes schizoid, possessed it seems by her departed semi-sibling. Dark Barbara comes back as a very corporeal revenant, hair occluding one profile, like Phil Oakey of the Human League. Tossing the locks aside, she reveals… the horror!

Almost indescribable in terms of plot, character or dialogue, the film looks stunning, as chiaroscuro as Steele’s coal-black hair and snow-white skin. Apparently the product of monkey-typewriter improvisation, the story serves as a kind of post-modern dream-jumble of every Gothic narrative ever. You might get a story like this if you showed all of Steele’s horrors to a pissed-up grade-schooler and then asked them to describe the film they just saw. As a result, the movie really takes what Dario Argento likes to call the “non-Cartesian” qualities of Italian horror to the next dank, stone-buttressed level.

When I first met Barbara Steele about ten years ago, we somehow found ourselves sitting in front of a Brancusi sculpture here in New York City—I remember a filmmaker acquaintance joking afterwards: “Steele beats bronze!” Indeed, at 66 she was still stunningly beautiful, flirtatious, frighteningly aware of the power of her stare.

She was a painter in her youth, so it’s not surprising that, even as I visualize her in a voluptuous, cinematic world of castles and blighted landscapes, her own self-image is perennially absorbed by art—in the sense of André Malraux’s Museum Without Walls. She asks me to show her my paintings and when I dodge the subject out of shyness she offers:

A friend of mine just had a show of his art in a little cinema here – very small paintings, about 8 inches by 6 – and then they projected them onto one of their screens and they looked fantastic!  Size is everything!   Unless you were born in the Renaissance… then you were surrounded by silence and stone walls, shadows and glimmers of gold, and faces that are like spells they look so informed.

Steele speaks of her “old, suspicious Celtic soul,” her bitterness at having “flitted through movies par hazard,” and a newfound desire to make audio books (what colossal revenge!). It’s poetic really, this doppelganger, a ghost-like screen persona following her around. Whenever I think of the effect her movies have had on me, the following words by Charles Lamb leap to mind.

Gorgons and Hydras and Chimaeras – dire stories of Celaeno and the Harpies – may reproduce themselves in the brain of superstition – but they were there before. They are transcripts, types – the archetypes are in us, and eternal. How else should the recital of that which we know in a waking sense to be false come to effect us at all? Is it that we naturally conceive terror from such objects, considered in their capacity of being able to inflict upon us bodily injury? O, least of all! These terrors are of older standing. They date beyond body – or without the body, they would have been the same… That the kind of fear here treated is purely spiritual – that it is strong in proportion as it is objectless on earth, that it predominates in the period of our sinless infancy – are difficulties the solution of which may afford some probable insight into our ante-mundane condition, and a peep at least into the shadowland of pre-existence.

Even the wooliest metaphysics can be hard to separate from actual violence. Case in point: the night of September 22, 1796. Charles Lamb had his own brush with horror, when the future poet and author of children’s stories found himself removing a bloody knife from his sister’s hand. A spasm of matricidal rage that would land her in a mad house—and tending to prove, once again, the need for genres of terror and trepidation.  For a moment at least, Steele seems to agree, bowled over by the Lamb anecdote, literally screaming: “AND THAT NAME – LAMB – IT MAKES YOU THINK OF SUCH INNOCENT BRITISH LANDSCAPES!”  She’s a fairly solitary and introspective person on the one hand, capable of intense and unexpected eruptions of joy on the other, which may be why Italians have always embraced her—a shared gloomy zest for life, fatalism and pasta. There’s something intensely porous about her (as porous as film itself), which helps clarify her otherwise inscrutable tension with that shadow-self up on the screen, the one she so busily downgrades.

***

The thirties bustled with wise-cracking, fast-talking dames, probably not for any proto-feminist reason, but simply because the writers had a surplus of sassy talk to dispense onto the screen, and audiences liked looking at legs, so why not combine the two? Amid all the petite peroxide pretties, a few acerbic character actresses were allowed room, perhaps to make the cuties bloom all the more radiantly against them. Whatever the aesthetic logic, we can be grateful for it, since it gave us Ruth Donnelly and Winnie Lightner and Jean Dixon and a few other unforgettable shrews and wiseacres, adept as stage mothers, streetwise best pals of the leading lady, etc.

Aline MacMahon sort of fits into this category, but also destroys any category she sees with her laser vision. In Gold Diggers of 1933, she’s a Fanny Bryce type comedy showgirl, and in Heat Lightning (1934) she’s an ex-moll running a garage. In between, she played world-weary secretaries and put-upon mothers, taking any role and stealing the movie along with it. Rather than resist classification, she goes on the offensive, smashing down stereotypes and insisting on her own peculiar individuality.

Big and rangy in the body and hands, she had a strange, sculpted beauty, and was as luminous as Dietrich. Maybe more so: cameramen hit Marlene with brighter lights to make her shine out, whereas Aline was typically in the lead’s shadow. Her complexion is like the glass of milk in Suspicion in which Hitchcock planted a light bulb. That white. A sheet of paper passing before her face would appear as a dark eclipsing rectangle.

The law of photogenics insists that actresses hired to play the non-glamorous roles must be staggeringly lovely, but off-kilter and unconventional enough to fool the audience into thinking they’re seeing failed beauty. Aline’s unlikely photofit of attractive features resulted in a caricature of elegance and earthiness in precisely the wrong proportions, which makes her fascinating and alluring to watch.

The eyes are seriously big, saucers hooded by the heaviest lids since Karloff’s monster, resulting in long slits which strive to echo the even wider mouth, a perfectly straight line seemingly intent on decapitation. Like a horizon with lips. The chin cleft below catches the viewer by surprise. Were chin clefts on women more common then, or did studios screen in favor of them? The cheekbones have a graceful, yet powerful curve, so the face as a whole combines the qualities of an ice-cream baby and a crystal skull. All wrong, and alright with me.

Aline’s humor about her ill-assorted collection of perfect features was often played on in dialogue, so it’s pleasing when a role like the one in Heat Lightning admits that, for all her unlikeliness, she was indeed beautiful. More than a pretty face, too: her way with a snappy rejoinder distinguished her even in an era of exceptional wit and quicksilver delivery. And her essence, which radiated out whatever the role, was that of a philosophical, warm, smart, funny, sad woman: the essence of the age.

By Daniel Riccuito and David Cairns

[katherineshep]

Arcana: Post-book 13 theories

Officially: Arcana's plot is BEAUTIFUL. It's rare to find a game of that intense story and I love it completely. Book 13 blew up my mind and the more I think about it, the more ideas I have about what actually happened in Vesuvia.

-- BOOK 13 SPOILERS BELOW! --

In the newest updates we have the note "In the meantime, see the story from different angle" after every route. This and one good talk with my dear bro @voidslantern were the last straw for emergence of new theories.

Theory 1: There are multiple Apprentices.

If you don't even romance anyone, the game leaves you with a feeling that you must be in many places at once. This clearly is seen in the trial chapter: we talk Julian to confession about what he saw in the lab... or we do not and we go out of the dungeon with Nadia. More than that: Asra may be arrested with Julian, or there are both Julian and Nadia in custody, or Julian is in the cell by himself. Julian may surrender with different details and different trial speeches. We might save Julian in his lab or he might wake up in the palace. This all leads me to the thought, that somehow there are three different Apprentices, and three Asras, Julians and Nadias as well. And then there's Muriel who's defensive against Apprentice for some reason, and jealous (!) in Asra's route (he once said "It's always just you and him"), and there obviously will be a plot with him (I just don't know when), so there might be 4th Apprentice. And 5th with Portia.

What's important is that lots of the main plot spots are different and they exclude another route's events. I think every event in the game after Apprentice's death is affected by Arcana. Duplicates never meet, their paths never cross. Though, it's quite complicated to have multiple copies of people walking around, so that's where the second theory, most pleasant, is born!

Theory 2: Apprentice held the ritual of her own before Asra's one, and this shattered the Time and influenced her friends' will.

Bro said, that there is something wrong with time flow, like in Lucio's dining room. And maybe it's true. Maybe Ritual broke the Time itself, shattered the timeline to multiple variants. So Appentice may be trapped in some kind of circled queue of events with some variables changing - that's where multiple routes come from. Maybe Apprentice's last regret was that she could play everything out differently, but in that moment plague wasn't cured and she was dying. Maybe then she, as powerful magician (she was one at that time), consciously or not called out to any of The Arcana, and one of them listened. So the Ritual wasn't what Asra was doing with Lucio much later. Ritual was about how Apprentice made a deal before she died. Maybe she wanted to end the plague... then I wonder, what was her price for what she got. If she wanted to not only end the plague, but protect Julian, Asra and Nadia, she might have asked for them to have the chance to change something if they happen to be in really desperate state. I don't know what might almost dead person give to Arcana. Maybe it (whichever of Arcana heard Apprentice's plea) asked for her magic for her friends's salvation (and it was win for the Arcana because it would make Julian, Asra and Nadia possible contractors who will be given some magic to contact with another Arcana gods). Because, well, supernatural forces of that power can't do good for nothing. There always is a price.

I think Apprentice's plea to change something has pulled the whole bunch of following events like, you know, she wrote fate of her friends in that exact moment and they act by it. She sacrificed her magic for saving Asra - and he probably reached Magician who told him of the plague reason and/or about the way to resurrect Apprentice. Julian reached Arcana too (he's no mage, but as his pre-death state could be a catalyst, as Apprentice's magic could channel through him to the Hanged Man too!). Nadia is a bit different - she originally had the connection with High Priestess, so maybe Apprentice's magic didn't reach her. Or did it, but eventually? Nadia started seeing prophetic dreams, maybe that is what Apprentice's sacrifice gave her.

Common desire of these three to take down Lucio could influence the outcome of the ritual, and Asra could tell Lucio that only so few people, him and Nadia and whoever was on that dinner, are needed for ritual completion. But I think Asra couldn't devise this all alone, he got the clue from The Magician about this complicated, twisted magic. Asra lost his beloved person, he was devastated, and this was his moment of despair that triggered Apprentice's magic to connect him and Magician. Julian's desperate moment was when he understood that he had not found the cure and has no more time. And Nadia's one happened when she felt completely helpless, being suppressed by her husband.

Theory 3: Apprentice is a magical creation.

We don't know fully the capabilities of Apprentice and what she did before she died. Her "home" place is the shore (where Asra's childhood was, though it was told that Apprentice came from another city). She was working with doctors on the plague (like Julian did). I haven't found yet parallels with Nadia, but doesn't it seem weird that Apprentice shares some of her past with Asra and Julian?

Who is she? Is she really human? Is she only a girl trapped in circled events, or she's only a reflection of Asra, Nadia and Julian's fates, thoughts and hopes, some collective magical illusion-hallucination? Maybe in exchange of her friends' salvation she became a will-less puppet of some Arcana, when she died, and now she unwillingly pushes Asra, Nadia and Julian to connect to their Arcana gods - in a bargain she did not know consequences of? Or she did something of magical nature before her death and became one of the Arcana herself and now she's playing with there three? Maybe she originally was some Arcana that got bored, went to mortal plane in a girl's body and created a bunch of plots to have fun? Or even she was Arcana, had parted ways with other gods of her kin and they cursed her to all this life?

Theory 4: It all may be agony hallucinations of Apprentice.

Agonizing brain can create those things, and in the end Apprentice might be very well dying of plague now. Or these are agony of the Apprentice in the next wave of plague which is about to happen.

[daresplaining]

Some Thoughts on Daredevil #600

    Here’s to 600 issues of Daredevil (not counting mini-series, annuals, etc.)! As usually happens at these landmark moments, Marvel and the DD creative team celebrated with a longer-than-normal issue, which sparked far-reaching changes to Matt Murdock’s world. 

    The situation set up by this story arc is a grim one. Wilson Fisk has been elected mayor of NYC. Matt has been keeping an eye on him (and vice versa) as Fisk’s deputy, but has struggled in his every attempt to sabotage him. However, he has recently discovered a crack in Fisk’s law-abiding facade: a meeting that he has planned with the city’s prominent street-level villains. Matt, as Daredevil, gathers together a gang of heroes to crash the party. 

Matt: “We protect this city, we fight in its streets, we are New York. And now we’ll take it back from Wilson Fisk. Mayor or not, he has to go down. We agree on that.”

    Colorist Matt Milla still hasn’t quite gotten the hair color memo, because poor Jessica has lost her brown hair. It also would have been nice to see Colleen in this team-up, since Misty is there. But these are minor complaints. In a series that restored Matt’s secret identity and thus symbolically isolated him from many of his friends, it’s a powerful gesture, in this climactic issue, to see him engaged in this kind of a team-up... even if most of the people involved still don’t know who he is. It’s especially nice to see Maya (Echo) here, back in action alongside her former friends. Since her resurrection early in the run she has had a few really touching moments of reconnecting with Matt, and we hope to see more of her as the series continues. 

    Matt has pulled off similar plans in the past, and he has taken down Wilson Fisk in some thoroughly delicious ways, but in this instance, it ends up not being that easy. And we like that-- Fisk has been one step ahead of Matt for this whole arc, and it would have felt anticlimactic for such a simple, faulty plan to bring that to an end. Rather than catching Fisk red-handed, the Kingpin doesn’t show. The collected villains turn on each other, the heroes swoop in to prevent any unnecessary deaths... and then the cops arrive. 

Matt: “Damn. Damn. So much for the plan. Need to get down there, before someone gets-- Wait. NYPD. But that’s... Oh, no.”

    This scene, as exciting as it is, features a reappearance of the less-than-stellar Garney/Milla radar sense, which we’ve complained about before. 

    There has always been inconsistency, but generally, modern depictions of the radar sense don’t allow it to pierce solid objects. Here, we see Matt tracking the activity in the restaurant from outside, a blatant break with tradition that we’re not huge fans of. What makes even less sense is the arbitrary use of multiple colors. Since the radar depiction is a visual stand-in for non-visual perception, the different colors must represent something... but what? Texture? And in the panel where Matt notices the cops, his radar seems to be picking up on flat images and uniform details that he should have no way of perceiving. It’s a nonsensical, misleading approach to the radar sense, and a tragic departure from Paolo Rivera’s crosshatching design, which was used to great effect in volumes 3 and 4. We understand each creative team wanting to put their unique stamp on the comic, but come on... if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

    The police swoop in and grab the heroes and villains alike. We learn-- in a neat twist that, again, fits with Fisk’s behavior in the issues leading up to this climax-- that the proposed meeting was a trap, designed to round up the city’s crime bosses and get them arrested. As Matt has done again and again in this arc, he assumed nefariousness on Fisk’s part, and ended up shooting himself in the foot. While we know that Fisk is still a bad guy, and probably has all sorts of things up his sleeve, it’s always fun to see him play the good guy, just to see how cleverly he constructs the facade. And even more compellingly, Matt’s failure to accurately read his nemesis backfires on his friends. 

Wesley: “There were heroes there, too. Jessica Jones, Danny Rand, Maya Lopez, Luke Cage, Misty Knight and Marc Spector. Even Spider-Man.”

Fisk: “Spider-Man... and what is his name? Who is he?”

Wesley: “We don’t know. Just before the cops grabbed him, he sprayed that webbing of his around his neck. Sealed it up tight, like glue. They can’t get his mask off.”

    (Oh, Peter. He’s so... experienced at this secret identity thing.)

    It will be interesting to see how long they actually end up in jail, given the events of the rest of the issue. Hopefully, someone is babysitting Dani...

    One of our favorite moments in this issue is a little reversal. While Matt has failed again and again to properly read his opponent, Fisk knows exactly how Daredevil works, and where to find him. It’s a level of familiarity between hero and arch-nemesis that is highly compelling to us. It’s these kinds of details that make for the best hero/villain relationships. It also gives Matt a chance to do a badass pose on Fisk’s roof, which is always a plus. 

Fisk: “It’d be just like him. Come along, Wesley. Let’s go up and say hello.”

Matt: “Fisk.”

    There have been so many iconic fights between these two over the years that it’s increasingly difficult to do anything new with them. This fight is certainly a good one... but then, they all are, and this tussle probably won’t go down in DD history as one of their memorable battles. But it’s still highly enjoyable, and is enhanced by Soule’s excellent dialogue, which highlights the core of their conflict, and emphasizes just how long they’ve been having these fights. 

Fisk: “If my name weren’t Wilson Fisk, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. You’d be cheering that the mayor had found a way to get Owlsley and the others off the streets.”

Matt: “But you are Wilson Fisk. You are the Kingpin. And you’re the enemy of everything that matters about this city.”

Fisk: “No. I’m not. But I’m sick of trying to explain that to you.”

    But as was foreshadowed throughout this arc, Matt isn’t allowed a clean win. Fisk hits him with a sledgehammer so hard that it’s amazing he’s able to stand afterward, and then goes off to tell a crowd of adoring supporters how great he is. Again, we are given a look at Fisk’s faked (probably?) duality, as Soule is exploring it-- the idea of him playing the hero while still being a villain. This isn’t a new Kingpin concept, of course, but it remains a good one, and an engaging way of playing with the character’s complexity.

    Partway through the speech, the Hand arrive and shoot Fisk full of arrows, thus kickstarting the next story arc. The Hand are really neat when used well, so we’re excited to see where Soule takes them, particularly given their new connection to Blindspot. However, they are not this issue’s big surprise. We learn, as Matt is carted away by the cops, that with Fisk now out of the picture, the mayorship falls to his deputy...

Steve: “Matt Murdock is the mayor of New York City.”

    (Heck yeah!)

    This is really exciting, not only because of its implications for Matt’s life, but also because it has been a long time coming. Kesel wanted to do it back in the 90s, but the idea was shot down by editorial. Bendis teased the possibility, but it never actually happened, thanks to the events of the rest of his run. 

Guy: “They’re going to ask you to be the Democratic nominee for Mayor of New York City.”

Matt: “Huh.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #56 by Brian Michael Bendis and Alex Maleev

    And Waid’s speculative story in the 50th anniversary issue suggested that Matt had been/will become the mayor of San Francisco at some point, but we don’t get to actually see him in action. 

Foggy: “They remembered him from his original tour of duty here, when he and the Black Widow made the scene. [...] So when he came back, they had your pop running for office in no time. Busy boy, he was. Made lots of enemies.”

Daredevil vol. 4 #1.5, “The King in Red” by Mark Waid and Javier Rodriguez

    But we are finally getting Mayor Matt Murdock, and we cannot wait to see how that works out for him. 

    The issue’s secondary plot thread is possibly even more interesting than the Matt/Fisk shenanigans, because it’s all new. This thread follows Sam’s final battle with Muse... who is essentially a Blindspot rogue now, rather than a DD one. Their relationship is fascinating, with Sam’s quest to understand the nature of his own heroism/lack thereof paired with Muse’s frenetic lack of morality. They are both raw, emotional characters, and their interactions in this issue are stunning. We’re gonna miss Muse.     

Sam: “I need to understand, Muse. I need this to make sense. Why do you do what you do? Why do you hurt people? Why do you kill? Why?”

Muse: “You know why, Blindspot. It’s the same reason you want to kill me right now. It makes you better it makes you strong it shows them your power it says something it means something it solves your problems it gives you control you’re big they’re small it’s art it’s art IT’S ART!”

    This fight also hints that Sam’s connection with the Hand is far from over... and provides a glimpse at how his time training with them may have changed him.

Beast: “You know my power. The power of the Beast. I will give it to you once again. Just reach out... and take it.”

    While Sam refuses to kill for the Beast, this relationship will likely continue into the next arc-- which appears to be Hand-centric. Sam’s continuing evolution has been full of surprises, and we’re eager to see where this story takes him. All-in-all, this issue didn’t stand out as one of the most earth-shattering Daredevil stories ever told, but it was still thoroughly enjoyable, and did a great job of setting up some very exciting things in the future. 

    As an extra treat, the issue also includes a short, Foggy-centric story called “They Also Serve” by Christos Gage, Mike Perkins, and Andy Troy. This is merely the latest in a long line of Foggy-centric stories that celebrate his relationship with Matt. And there’s not a dang thing wrong with that, because they never get old. Matt and Foggy’s friendship exists at the very core of the comic, and its power and poignancy only increases as the years go by. Give us all of the Foggy-centric retrospectives. We will get misty-eyed every time. 

    We have only one complaint about this story, which is that Foggy... doesn’t really sound like Foggy for parts of it. 

Foggy: “This is gonna be so great! You have no idea how lucky you are, Murdock, ‘cause Foggy Nelson just happens to be the finest wingman in the history of wingmen. You just stand there looking handsome, strong, stoic... with a hint of tragedy, while I draw ‘em in with my oratorical virtuosity. Between my silver tongue, your looks, and the whole blind thing, you’re gonna need that cane to ward off the babes.”

    (Who... who are you, and what did you do with the real Foggy?!) 

    In fact, he sounds just like MCU Foggy. Which maybe shouldn’t have surprised us, because Christos Gage was also a writer for the first season of the Netflix show.  

    Despite this bit of weirdness, the issue is a nice look back at moments in Matt and Foggy’s friendship. It’s a trip down continuity lane, emphasizing just how long they’ve known each other and how much they’ve been through together.  

    All told, it’s a pleasant way to close out the issue, particularly given the rocky state of Matt and Foggy’s friendship throughout this run. 

[myssthyss]

(Re)Birth

Just a small ficlet about Myss’ resurrection, first moments, and first death. I had intended for it to be longer, but I’ll just make the rest a separate ficlet. Let me know if you enjoy it!

Burning. That’s the first thing she remembers. She remembers the fire in her lungs threatening to claw its way up her throat.

[....dian? Eyes up, Guardian.] A pause. She can hear whirring. [I... I did it. I can’t believe I finally found you!] 

Her eyes open as she pushes herself on all fours, every joint in her body cracking one by one. She blinks to clear the fog from her eyes, and is met with a small but bright blue light staring up at her from below.

[You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for you.] The little light says to her. [I’m your Ghost, and you... Well, I brought you back to life.]

Suddenly she’s very, very cold, causing a violent a shiver to rip through her. [Oh dear. I forgot we were up here. Let me see if I can find something.] A few moments later, the blue light - the - her Ghost - returns with a large light grey piece of fabric with a faded yellow pattern on it. Using whatever strength she can muster, she quickly wraps it around herself and takes a good look at the Ghost.

It’s a small white diamond, made up of smaller white diamonds, floating in front of her face. Each of the smaller white diamonds twitches every now and then, the back half of the whole diamond spins, and the blue light blinks.

“G-Ghost?” She manages through chattering teeth. “My Ghost?”

[Yes. I’m your Ghost.] The wind whistles through the structure they’re in, and the Ghost turns to look out the way it entered. [We should get going. I’ll explain everything on the way.]

She takes a brief look around where she woke, and discovers that it’s entirely metal, with some shattered glass panes allowing snow to enter above her head. If she looks high enough, she can almost see a seat. When she shifts to get a better look, she feels something cold move against her chest. 

She reaches in and fishes out a chain with a beautiful purple jewel on it. When she turns it over to further examine it, there’s some text that she can faintly make out.

Myss Thyss - Iris Commander

“Myss Thyss.” She repeats. 

The Ghost spins and floats over to look at the jewel, all four of its diamonds spiking out briefly. It looks excited. [That seems to be who you were.] It pauses, turning to look at her. [Would you like that to be who you are?]

She takes a moment, inhales a lungful of cold air, and smiles. “I’m Myss. Nice to meet you, Ghost.”

[It’s wonderful to meet you too, Myss.] A moment passes, and it seems like the wind has died down. [Let’s get moving. We have a long way to go.]

Myss begrudgingly gets to her feet, wrapping the fabric tightly around herself. She manages to avoid getting injured while exiting the structure which, upon closer inspection once she’s outside of it, appears to be a wrecked ship, with a few others nearby all bearing similar markings.

“W-what hap-pened?” She asks quietly. “Did... we all d-die?”

The Ghost sinks a little. [It seems that way. There was a big fight near Saturn a year or so ago that those ships were a part of. Looks like you escaped but didn’t survive the impact.] It turns back to her. [We won, though!]

A light but shaky giggle is elicited out of Myss as she trudges along in the snow, following her Ghost’s lead. She’s not sure why, but she trusts this little diamond to get her to safety.

“S-so, where are we go--” 

The snow breaks under her, and she begins tumbling, screaming as she falls. 

There’s many stomach-turning drops and various body-breaking impacts that she suffers on her way down. “I can’t die! Not yet!” She thinks to herself while she’s still conscious. “I just got here! I just found out my na-”

Then the world went black.

...

And the burning is back. 

Myss coughs violently as she inhales, making her way to all fours again. “I’m... alive... again?” She asks, and is welcomed by the Ghost below her face once more. She’s not sure how, but she can tell it’s not happy.

[You’re lucky I was able to follow you as you fell, Myss. I nearly lost you.] The top and bottom diamond are angled closer to its eye, mimicking eyebrows. 

“You can... bring me back?”

[I can. No matter how many times you die, as long as I can feel the Traveler’s Light, I can bring you back.]

“Is it going... to burn... this much... every time?”

[Probably. Sorry about that.]

It’s at this point that Myss notices that she’s on warm earth rather than rock or snow or metal. “Did I--?”

[That’s one way to get down a mountain, Myss. Though it’s not recommended.]

“Why not?” She chuckles, pushing herself to stand. “If you can bring me back, then it’s worth the extra effort to save time.”

[You have a point, I just don’t like seeing you get hurt.]

Myss smiles at her Ghost, pating the top of its diamond gently. 

It’s morning, and she’s surrounded by very large trees. Somehow, she still has the light grey fabric wrapped over her shoulders, and she pulls up the extra to make a hood.

“Well. We better get moving.”

Her Ghost looks ecstatic, spinning rapidly and floating up about a foot. [Absolutely. Follow me.]

[diaryofababychristian-blog]

My Testimony

I was the rebellious middle child of our family of five. My parents knew me as the selfish, sensitive, fearless, independent woman, who always insists on what she wants. I was born and grew up with a religious background and was a proud member of one of the most influential religions in the Philippines. Our family is very involved in church works, volunteering in almost all the activities hosted by the church & tirelessly inviting non-believers in evangelical missions and efforts.

Judgment Day or Jesus’ second coming is often discussed in almost every church service, which fixed my focus more on God’s wrath and how to avoid experiencing eternal punishment rather than God’s love, forgiveness and the significance of the cross. The word “grace” was a foreign word to me because we are taught that in order to enter heaven, we need to secure our membership and loyalty to the church, convert non-believers to our religion, and do good works. This idea of exclusivity made me hold on to my membership so I guarded it with my life, since this gave me the assurance of my salvation. My membership became my God instead of God Himself.

We were also taught that Jesus is not God, but a man who was simply used by the Father as a mediator in order for us to receive salvation. Since the doctrines were very heavy & centered on legalism and theories, which I admit, I’m not very good at; I resorted to not reading the Bible myself and laid my complete trust on how my previous church understood God’s Word. Unfortunately by doing so, this led me into a stage of complacency of my handpicked knowledge of the Bible, which are misleading and always taken out of context. I would also bash and compare other churches’ core teachings with ours, and label them as the false prophets that Jesus warned us about.

Being confident of my special place in heaven, I never bothered to pursue a loving relationship with God. My satisfaction rested on the concept of escaping hell but never understood that God is the greater treasure that I should look forward to. I only pray during church services every week, and barely communicate with God through personal prayers. Most of my major decisions in life were chosen by me; without praying about it first and seeking God’s approval, or even without my parents’ consent. But living as a daughter of one of the pioneers of our local church, I was pressured and did my best to keep a clean and spotless image for all to see. I was too afraid to bring embarrassment to my family and our reputation in the church that I started living a double life that was drawn to total disobedience to God and focused on feeding my selfish appetite.

By giving myself the ultimate control of my life, it brought me to a sexual affair with someone who was in a relationship. I easily fell into the trap of this deceitful man, who manipulated me to engage a secret relationship with him by telling me that he wants to pursue me. I slowly became emotionally attached to him, acting like a mistress by keeping our dirty secrets, and was honestly on the edge of falling in love with him. After a series of drama, he finally called it quits by telling me that he needed to be unfaithful to his girlfriend and plant guilt in his heart because, apparently, he needed to refuel his fire to pursue his girlfriend, since their relationship was on the rocks at that time. My heart shattered when I realized that I was used.

I would say that God allowed me to experience this kind of pain, enough for me to distance myself from going religiously to church, believing that God’s wrath is coming my way anytime soon. I found it hard to admit what I did, for the fear of exposure and losing my beloved membership. I was clueless about what to do for God to forgive me of everything I did to hurt Him. Basically, I underestimated His love and His ability to bestow mercy on my sinful past.

By the grace of God, He sent me good Christian friends who relentlessly invited me to Bible studies. I agreed to attend because at that point, I assumed that I no longer had anything to lose because God gave up on me anyway. I found myself attending Bible studies in CCF Makati with them more and more because somehow, it helped me discover some of God’s characteristics that I didn’t know of before. Slowly, I started understanding the importance of His blood on the cross, and how that is enough to receive forgiveness for my past sins. After weeks of encouragement, I opened and read the Bible by myself for the first time in my life. Day by day, the Holy Spirit would guide me through my devotionals and made me feel that God is really reaching out to me. Little did I know, God was slowly introducing Himself to me... He gradually lifted the veil on my eyes that hindered me from seeing a loving, gracious, beautiful God that He is. True enough, I’d say that I encountered God in a personal way.      

As I continued with my spiritual walk with Jesus, I still struggled to understand the concept of Jesus’ death and resurrection and why He really did it. Before, by just the sight of the shape of the cross, my eyes would automatically look away. I considered it as an idol, an object that is worshiped and is unnecessary. But praise God for giving me a brand new perspective of what was once a symbol of death and sin, now became a symbol of unconditional love and obedience, all because of Jesus Christ. It also helped me grasp this ultimate “public display of affection” during my first meeting with my discipleship group in Walkway in BGC two holy weeks ago. Understanding the weight of the cross has revealed to me a love so vast that I cannot even fathom. What Jesus did in the Calvary is something so beautiful that I cannot help but ignore. He paid a debt He didn’t owe to satisfy a debt I couldn’t pay.

Romans 8:38-39 says, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

He was thinking of me with every spit on his face, every whip on his back, every drop of His blood, every pound on the nails, every tear, and up to His last breath, He obeyed the Father whole-heartedly for me to taste this freedom that I am enjoying right this very moment. By fully embracing Jesus’ life as a worthy sacrifice to cover all my shortcomings with His perfect blood, this beautiful Truth freed me from living a sinful life I once enjoyed. This genuine peace and joy in my heart is the overflow of His love. A love that gave me a fresh new start, as I try my very best to live in obedience to God’s Word and bring glory to Him in every way that I can.

And exactly two years ago, after deciding to surrender my life to Jesus Christ and allowed Him to take the driver’s seat, I publicly declared my commitment to obey and follow Him through baptism. It was a moment of undeniable bliss and my heart is just overflowing with joy and happiness, and became a start of my boldness to share this experience with God and how He can restore a wreck like me.

By His grace alone, I was able to use my spiritual gifts of faith and encouragement to lift up my fellow brothers and sisters who find it easy to open their lives to me. I also maximize the skills in multimedia arts, in helping with the advancement of His Kingdom and to bless others as well. God also allowed me to serve in different retreats like CCF Metro West’s True Life Retreat, Secrets of the Vine Module 2 Retreat, and Friday Night Light, one of the singles ministries in CCF Makati. I am also actively using Facebook as a platform to spread the Gospel to my family and friends by posting Bible verses, short devotionals and inspirational posts in the hopes of reaching out to more and more souls that, I pray, will eventually lead towards a personal encounter with Jesus Christ.

As the first Christian in our home, I face persecution every now and then, but my hope rests in His palms, believing that Jesus is already victorious in all the battles that I am currently experiencing. Every time I encounter these kinds of challenges from my family, I just look up the cross and imagine what Jesus had gone through for me. That way, I draw strength from Him to face each and every persecution that I will be facing to protect my relationship with the Lord.

Not in a million years will I ever deserve His love that is sacrificial and free from what-ifs. I did absolutely nothing but You, Jesus, did everything for me. I deserve eternal death, but because of Your deep compassion, You allowed Yourself to endure the cross, and every pain that comes along with it. Thank You for seeing me as someone who is worthy to die for. Thank You for giving me a hope that I can be so much more than my brokenness, and made me feel that my soul means more to You than Your life itself.

My name is Jennifer Piñon, was once lost, blinded from the truth, a slave to sin and of the world, but is rescued, made-whole and forever changed by God’s amazing grace and pure love. This is not my story, but it’s a story of how God intervened to save my soul and was allowed to receive the true and authentic Gospel of Jesus. May all the praises be lifted high to the only One who deserves it all. To God be all the glory and praise forevermore.

[katherineshep]

Arcana: Post-book 13 theories

Officially: Arcana's plot is BEAUTIFUL. It's rare to find a game of that intense story and I love it completely. Book 13 blew up my mind and the more I think about it, the more ideas I have about what actually happened in Vesuvia.

-- BOOK 13 SPOILERS BELOW! --

In the newest updates we have the note "In the meantime, see the story from different angle" after every route. This and one good talk with my dear bro @voidslantern were the last straw for emergence of new theories.

Theory 1: There are multiple Apprentices.

If you don't even romance anyone, the game leaves you with a feeling that you must be in many places at once. This clearly is seen in the trial chapter: we talk Julian to confession about what he saw in the lab... or we do not and we go out of the dungeon with Nadia. More than that: Asra may be arrested with Julian, or there are both Julian and Nadia in custody, or Julian is in the cell by himself. Julian may surrender with different details and different trial speeches. We might save Julian in his lab or he might wake up in the palace. This all leads me to the thought, that somehow there are three different Apprentices, and three Asras, Julians and Nadias as well. And then there's Muriel who's defensive against Apprentice for some reason, and jealous (!) in Asra's route (he once said "It's always just you and him"), and there obviously will be a plot with him (I just don't know when), so there might be 4th Apprentice. And 5th with Portia.

What's important is that lots of the main plot spots are different and they exclude another route's events. I think every event in the game after Apprentice's death is affected by Arcana. Duplicates never meet, their paths never cross. Though, it's quite complicated to have multiple copies of people walking around, so that's where the second theory, most pleasant, is born!

Theory 2: Apprentice held the ritual of her own before Asra's one, and this shattered the Time and influenced her friends' will.

Bro said, that there is something wrong with time flow, like in Lucio's dining room. And maybe it's true. Maybe Ritual broke the Time itself, shattered the timeline to multiple variants. So Appentice may be trapped in some kind of circled queue of events with some variables changing - that's where multiple routes come from. Maybe Apprentice's last regret was that she could play everything out differently, but in that moment plague wasn't cured and she was dying. Maybe then she, as powerful magician (she was one at that time), consciously or not called out to any of The Arcana, and one of them listened. So the Ritual wasn't what Asra was doing with Lucio much later. Ritual was about how Apprentice made a deal before she died. Maybe she wanted to end the plague... then I wonder, what was her price for what she got. If she wanted to not only end the plague, but protect Julian, Asra and Nadia, she might have asked for them to have the chance to change something if they happen to be in really desperate state. I don't know what might almost dead person give to Arcana. Maybe it (whichever of Arcana heard Apprentice's plea) asked for her magic for her friends's salvation (and it was win for the Arcana because it would make Julian, Asra and Nadia possible contractors who will be given some magic to contact with another Arcana gods). Because, well, supernatural forces of that power can't do good for nothing. There always is a price.

I think Apprentice's plea to change something has pulled the whole bunch of following events like, you know, she wrote fate of her friends in that exact moment and they act by it. She sacrificed her magic for saving Asra - and he probably reached Magician who told him of the plague reason and/or about the way to resurrect Apprentice. Julian reached Arcana too (he's no mage, but as his pre-death state could be a catalyst, as Apprentice's magic could channel through him to the Hanged Man too!). Nadia is a bit different - she originally had the connection with High Priestess, so maybe Apprentice's magic didn't reach her. Or did it, but eventually? Nadia started seeing prophetic dreams, maybe that is what Apprentice's sacrifice gave her.

Common desire of these three to take down Lucio could influence the outcome of the ritual, and Asra could tell Lucio that only so few people, him and Nadia and whoever was on that dinner, are needed for ritual completion. But I think Asra couldn't devise this all alone, he got the clue from The Magician about this complicated, twisted magic. Asra lost his beloved person, he was devastated, and this was his moment of despair that triggered Apprentice's magic to connect him and Magician. Julian's desperate moment was when he understood that he had not found the cure and has no more time. And Nadia's one happened when she felt completely helpless, being suppressed by her husband.

Theory 3: Apprentice is a magical creation.

We don't know fully the capabilities of Apprentice and what she did before she died. Her "home" place is the shore (where Asra's childhood was, though it was told that Apprentice came from another city). She was working with doctors on the plague (like Julian did). I haven't found yet parallels with Nadia, but doesn't it seem weird that Apprentice shares some of her past with Asra and Julian?

Who is she? Is she really human? Is she only a girl trapped in circled events, or she's only a reflection of Asra, Nadia and Julian's fates, thoughts and hopes, some collective magical illusion-hallucination? Maybe in exchange of her friends' salvation she became a will-less puppet of some Arcana, when she died, and now she unwillingly pushes Asra, Nadia and Julian to connect to their Arcana gods - in a bargain she did not know consequences of? Or she did something of magical nature before her death and became one of the Arcana herself and now she's playing with there three? Maybe she originally was some Arcana that got bored, went to mortal plane in a girl's body and created a bunch of plots to have fun? Or even she was Arcana, had parted ways with other gods of her kin and they cursed her to all this life?

Theory 4: It all may be agony hallucinations of Apprentice.

Agonizing brain can create those things, and in the end Apprentice might be very well dying of plague now. Or these are agony of the Apprentice in the next wave of plague which is about to happen.