#source: it came to me in a vision like a twisted prophet

[itsdefinitely]

coug h

[unabashedrebel]

Bad Ideas Come at Night

{Following: Reassurance}

The best thing you can do, the only thing you can do, is find the source of corruption and destroy it. The words he spoke to his daughter earlier in the morning hung heavily on his mind.

Night had descended upon the Vale. War torn and ravaged from the endless assault of the Black Empire. Even in the hours reserved for sleep and unsavory deeds the song of steel clashing against steel echoed through the not-so-sleepy fields. Proving that even in the dead of night there was no solace to be had.

It was near impossible to find a quiet clearing, untouched by the K'thir, or the creatures they had corrupted, much like themselves, to become servants to a grandiose scheme. But Kirollis was no stranger to how it went. He had fought the same chaos many times, and many times prevailed against the encroaching darkness. N'zoth, perhaps the biggest and baddest of all the Old Ones combined, was no different.

Rather, it wasn't himself he worried for. Soriya was in danger, a fierce motivation for the over-protective father. An impossible situation in which, try as he might, she was unable to untangle from the current pandemic. He had to do something, anything, to ease the burden for her. He couldn’t stand to sit idly by, watching, as the nightmares and visions ate away until she was but a shell of the woman he had come to be so proud of.

Looking up toward the starry night sky, Kirollis muttered out with a certain fondness reserved for only one person, “I hope you’re watching. I’m sure you would have had a much simpler solution to all this, you know.” He spoke softly to the thought of his long passed wife.

Stupidity was something he was known for, whether professionally or recreationally, but every now and again he had an idea so boldly idiotic that even he questioned whether his sanity was intact. Often spurned by the idea of a loved one hurt, heroic action, or a chance to play at savior, as he often did, and that was exactly what brought him to the outcropping. Exactly what drove him to the brink of madness without even a whisper of malcontent from invasive voices or prophetic nightmare.

"You out there?" He called out in the empty field, his eyes calmly shut, letting the walls of mental wards and barriers drop with a concerted effort of will. An action he quickly regretted as the hairs at the back of his neck began to stand.  "This is me calling. Your favorite pain in the ass."

It went against every fiber of his being, every instinct, every logical thought that he had. Calling out to the very thing that had sewn nothing but destruction, chaos, and dismay. The very thing that had almost killed him a few years ago, that threatened to destroy his city, that he fought tirelessly to defeat- while leaving the sanity of everyone else intact. Memories were thick in his mind like an overgrown forest, reminiscing about the past. All the horror of a few short years ago rapidly returning. 

But his daughter was in trouble... and he needed answers. The single thought that cut against every other like a heated blade against butter.

"I know you're loving the state of the world right now. Must feel awfully empowering, huh? I'm a little put-off, I'm not going to lie, all this Black Empire jazz and you didn't even come to say hi?" He called out once more, hoping the Faceless would grace him with an answer.

The wind that brushed against his neck was cold, a chill clinging to it that was unnatural and eerie, like something long dead was standing near enough to breathe across his skin. There was no answer at first, as if whatever it was he called to took great effort to come around, to focus on where and when Kirollis was. But slowly the focus shifted, Their eyes turning to the war ravaged planet.

The rogue bit at the innards of his cheek as the familiar feeling of dread caressed the nape of his neck. His calls answered far quicker than anticipated… but then again, they had always come when he called.

<You believe We are somehow to blame for the mess that has been made here? You believe We enjoy watching what is Ours being plagued by what is not of Our making? Have you truly thought so little of Us in Our time away?>

"Not at all." He countered in that smooth and charismatic tone that had been perfected over the years. "If I've done my reading correctly, and I often do, there was even a hate club for good ol' Million Mile Stare."

Something Unseen came to sit beside him, more a feeling of a presence than an actual body of any kind. It was smoke, at best, an outline of what could have been a person but certainly was not in any way human. 

<You have not written, you have not called. We had begun to believe you no longer wished to remain Our friend, Kirollis.> The voice mimic’d the rogues' own words from long ago.

Kirollis’ emerald gaze snapped open, drawn to the figure at his side as he found the spiritual medium successful. Unbothered by the ethereal presence, in spite of the shiver that ran up the length of his spine at the utterance of Friends. A common title the creature loved to call him. Even if they were anything but.

"Well, we didn't leave off on the best terms. You know, you tried to kill me, I killed your champion. It tends to put a rift in any relationship. But cheer up champ- I come offering an olive branch."

If They could smile, They would. <You believe Our Champions do not remain? We find this thought to be...entertaining to Us.> Which was spooky enough in of itself, but They went no further into explanation, content to sit near the rogue in silence. 

At the mention of an olive branch, however, the form rippled and shifted - as if They were turning to look directly at him.

<We do not require peace, Kirollis. What is that you need? For certainly you would not have called on Us for any other reason than dire need.>

A low, deflated rumble emanated from his throat at the mere suggestion of a third round against the Faceless entity. It scared him, unlike most things did, but despite fear he remained stoic like a stone. Unwilling to give any ground, or weakness, that the creature would undoubtedly seize upon. 

Sidestepping the irrelevant commentary and pleasantries Kirollis jumped right into the heart of the matter, struggling to admit his obvious weakness to an enemy, he persisted, "My daughter..." He cleared his throat before continuing, "One of yo--... Something is messing with her and I need to know who or what."

<Ah,> was Their response, the wind stirring around the curious exhale. Silence fell around them, the air itself seeming to pull closer, to tighten as if pressure was building. They remained quiet and unfocused as They searched the Many for a name. 

"Just give me a name. I know you're well connected. Just give me a name and you'll have earned a favor from yours truly. Your favorite pain in the ass." He repeated the self-proclaimed title.

The air tightened to the point where it might be difficult to draw in a full breath, but before suffocation could occur, it released, the noises in the distance slowly bleeding back in. 

<We desire all that you love to remain safe, Kirollis. Understand Us you may not, but We understand the need to protect One's own Child.> They paused before the form shifted and for a moment, it looked...well, human. Two arms, two legs, with glorious horns crowning the top of Their head.

The entire experience was unsettling, as he stood, next to an enemy by nature, asking for a favor. Standing still, with his eyes ahead, he dared not look at the Faceless entity beside him. He waited on baited breath in that lingering silence the entity had left him with.  As the air became thin around them, and the worst of his thoughts began to race through his head. Finding nothing but sweet release as he gasped in a full breath.

<You look for Qi'vik the Dream Eater. One of the mantid queen’s younger paragon. It who seeks favor with The Beast Below The Waters. It seeks to taint the descendants of the Spirit of the Winds. We do not know why it comes after your child as well.>

Qi'vik, Kirollis quickly committed the name to memory as he tried his best to work through the rest of the cryptic statement. It endlessly infuriated him how a cypher was needed every time he spoke to a creature of the dark. But, even still, this was one of the most concise answers he had ever received. It was nothing short of disarming how quickly and easily the Faceless had granted his request. Uncharacteristic of their conniving nature. 

He questioned it with a sharp look cast toward the shifting shadow. "That's it? No brands? No marks? No requests of fealty?... just like that?"

The form shifted to look at him once more, what was clearly a face without eyes or any other distinguishing marks flickering in the midst of that curious mist. No mouth, no nose, no ears - a mockery of what a face should be. <What point would it serve to have you swear Us featly when you will seek to break it as quickly as you can? What good are you to your daughter with Us in your heart of hearts? There is no place for Us there, Kirollis. She already occupies it, We can see.>

A heavy lump was swallowed by the Sin'dorei as the piercing speech chilled him to the bone. How aptly it understood what he tried to hide. What he never wanted it to know. What he went through great lengths to safeguard. The only thing that would shake him from his perch and back into the pits of insanity and stupidity: Love.

The air was chilly around the space They stood in, but it was not so cold that it hurt. Yet. <We do not like it when Others try and claim what is Ours, as this star is and as it will be. Perhaps not in your lifetime, perhaps not in your child's. Perhaps We do this out of love for you.> If They understood what love was, that very well could have been the twisted truth.

Kirollis stood frozen under the weight of such a statement. How this fascination of him continued to grow over the years. The last creature in the cosmos that he would ever want to catch the attention of was right beside him. Studying him. Trying to gain his favor, his understanding. But the reason why eluded him to maddening degrees all on its own.

Without further delay he pushed those thoughts free from the recesses of his mind. He had what he came for, the name of the offending creature. There was no time to dally on the why or the price that would inevitably come from the short exchange. 

"I'm not as ignorant to think that there's no price... but I'm not going to linger long enough to let you change your mind." He muttered with a relenting voice. "That was all I needed, 'friend'."

The mist seemed to go static at that declaration of friendship, thin though it may be. There seemed to be a great deal left to unravel about the extraplanar entity, and yet no real time in which to do so. <We ask not, We want not. We desire only to see that which you love protected. If We can assist further, know that We await your call.> Without further ado, the mist disappeared, warmth returning to the air surrounding the rogue. Yet there was a final and gentle brush of coolness against his cheek before They faded back to wherever They'd come from.

"Sure..." The elf lied as the unsettling weight pressing against his stomach subsided as the mist receded away into nothingness.

{Written alongside @we-the-faceless​ !}

[girlactionfigure]

Superman: From Cleveland to Krypton

The Man of Steel's Jewish roots

Coming over from the old country, changing his name like that. Clark Kent, only a Jew would pick a name like that for himself. —The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon

Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the two ordinary young men who created an extraordinary hero, lived 12 blocks apart from each other in Cleveland. The pair collaborated on stories for their high school newspaper and shared a passion for science fiction and pulp comics. It was the 1930s, and comic book publishing was in its infancy. Like many young Jews with artistic aspirations, Siegel and Shuster yearned to break into this fledgling industry. Comic book publishers actively hired Jews, who were largely excluded from more “legitimate” illustration work.

The 1930s were also, arguably, the most anti-Semitic period in American history. Nazi sympathizer Fritz Kuhn of the German-American Bund led legions of rabid followers on marches through many cities, including Siegel and Shuster’s hometown. Radio superstar Father Charles E. Coughlin of the pro-fascist Christian Front was one of the nation’s most powerful men. And Ivy League colleges kept the number of Jewish students to a minimum, while country clubs and even entire neighborhoods barred Jews altogether.

So Siegel and Shuster began submitting treatments under the pseudonym Bernard J. Kenton, just to be on the safe side. Throughout the Great Depression, the two boys scraped together every penny they could just to cover postage. Shuster sketched on cheap brown wrapping paper.

From these humble beginnings, Shuster and Siegel carved out a character that embodied their adolescent frustrations, served as a mouthpiece of the oppressed, and became an American icon. Many years later, Jerry Siegel recalled the birth of Superman:

The story would begin with you as a child on far-off planet Krypton. Like the others of that world, you had super-powers. The child’s scientist-father was mocked and denounced by the Science Council. They did not believe his claim that Krypton would soon explode from internal stresses. Convinced that his prediction was valid, the boy’s father had been constructing a model rocket ship. As the planet began to perish, the baby’s parents knew its end was close. There was not space enough for three people in the small model craft. They put the baby into it. The mother chose to remain on the doomed planet with the man she loved, and die with him. Tearfully, hoping that their baby boy would survive, they launched the craft toward the planet Earth. Shortly, Krypton exploded and its millions of inhabitants were destroyed.

The idea of for this new superhero came to them in 1934. It would take another four years before Superman would be transformed from a feverish dream to a full-fledged hero. In 1938, Detective Comics, Inc., was looking for a character to launch its new magazine, Action Comics. They paid young Siegel and Shuster $130 for the first 13 pages of Superman. Action Comics #1 came out in June of that year. The issue sold out, and a star was drawn.

In a brilliant stroke, Shuster and Siegel gave their superhuman hero a secret identity, that of an all-too human reporter, the meekly mannered Clark Kent. Practically speaking, this notion of “double identity” allowed for almost endless storyline twists and thematic depth. On another level, it added considerably to the “mythology” that would eventually accrue around this fictional crime fighter. Clark’s shyness undermines his courtship of his co-worker, the gutsy Lois Lane. Siegel and Shuster later admitted that the shy Clark struggling for a date reflected their own social challenges.

Superman #1 was published in the summer of 1939. Across the Atlantic, in Germany, Adolph Hitler was exploiting his nation’s economic and social ills by scapegoating Jews. Living in a country that had stripped them of their citizenship yet perversely obstructed their exit, German Jews resorted to desperate measures. Just as the baby Superman was sent away from Krypton to avoid the mass destruction of his people, many Jewish children were sent on the Kindertransports to seek safety with families in England.

After the attacks on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, America entered World War II, and so did Superman. In Siegel and Shuster’s comic, Clark Kent tries to enlist in the Armed Forces, but he fails the routine medical examination,. Clark accidentally uses his X-ray vision to read the next room’s eye chart. Distraught, he muses, “I’ve got the most perfect body the world has ever known, and through a sad trick of fate, the army turns me down as hopeless!” This feeling of desperation and despondency was felt across the country. As news of the Nazis’ murderous Holocaust plan emerged, American Jews felt utterly powerless to help their European brethren.

Word of Superman and his ethnic undertones did not escape the enemy’s notice in real life. Josef Goebbels, the Nazi minister of propaganda, denounced Superman as a Jew. In April 1940, Das Schwarze Korps, the weekly newspaper of the Nazi S.S., attacked the comic and its Jewish writers:

Jerry Siegel, an intellectually and physically circumcised chap who has his headquarters in New York. . . The inventive Israelite named this pleasant guy with an overdeveloped body and underdeveloped mind “Superman..

Here were Nazis wringing their hands over a cartoon character cooked up by a couple of boys across the sea. Yet this ideologically driven rant actually touched on something vital–the importance of Shuster and Siegel’s Jewish heritage.

Superman #1 begins with a brief synopsis of the hero’s escape from Krypton, which draws heavily on Jewish sources. Superman’s journey closely reflects the story of Moses. Like the people of Krypton who faced total annihilation, the Israelites of biblical Egypt faced the murder of their male offspring. To ensure her son’s survival, Jochebed places Moses in a reed basket and sets him afloat on the Nile. Her desperate decision is clearly echoed by Superman’s father, Jor-El, who launches the little rocket ship containing his son into outer space.

Moses and Superman are eventually discovered and raised in foreign cultures. Baby Moses is found by Batya, the daughter of Pharaoh, and raised in the royal palace. Superman is found by Jonathan and Martha Kent in a Midwestern cornfield and given the name Clark. From the onset, both Batya and the Kents realize that these foundling boys are extraordinary. Superman leads a double life as the stuttering, spectacle-wearing reporter whose true identity no one suspects. In the same way, for his own safety, Moses kept his Israelite roots hidden for a time.

Superman’s original name on Krypton also reveals biblical underpinnings. Superman is named Kal-El and his father Jor-El. The suffix “El” is one of the ancient names for God, used throughout the Bible. It is also found in the names of great prophets like Samuel and Daniel and angels such as Michael and Gabriel. We may never know whether Siegel and Shuster were aware of these precise Hebrew translations; nevertheless, the name could not be more apt.

While the invincible Superman may have stood the test of time, the lives of his creators were not as triumphant. From the beginning, Siegel and Shuster were so busy they had to hire assistants, but while DC Comics was making millions, Superman’s creators weren’t sharing the wealth. The two men were paid a salary, but their initial payment back in 1938 had included all rights. They had sold their percentage of a goldmine for $130 and were eventually fired from their own creation.

Lawsuits followed. None were successful. Siegel and Shuster tried and failed to create new characters. Their names were familiar only to comic book aficionados. Then, rumors began to circulate in the early 1970s that a big budget Superman movie was in the works. DC Comics received $3 million for the rights to film Superman. Once again, Siegel and Shuster were left out of the equation.

This time, the two men tried a new approach. They bypassed their lawyers and went straight to the media. Newspapers across the world picked up the story of Siegel and Shuster, the poor boys who’d created an American icon, made DC Comics rich — and were now penniless and forgotten. That Shuster was now going blind added to the story’s poignancy.

Legally, DC Comics owed Siegel and Shuster nothing, but bad publicity was costing the company dearly. A financial settlement was reached, and the names “Siegel and Shuster” appeared in Superman comics once more. In 2006, Superman returned to the big screen, and not a moment too soon–in today’s world, we need a hero more than ever.

[ts-virgil-angst]

17 with Patton? Oh my gosh.

TW: trauma, yelling, deceit (he’s not in it much but he’s still there), mutilation (mostly talk), anything else just shoot me an ask

Genre: idk man there’s just a lot happening here.

Word Count: 3270

Summary/Prompts: “AmI The Villain?”

Notes: It’s a long one lads so buckle up. This one will also have no sequel. Probably. It kind depends on if I can think of anything else. Also Logan’s OOC because I’m rusty.

—–

Patton wasn’t sure there were many positive things Master Roman had said about him. There was, of course, the odd day when he was feeling lenient with his affection. And Roman was always giving him praise. But as for honest to goodness, heartfelt positive compliments? Those were few and far in between.

However! Patton was pretty sure Master Roman always meant it when he called him a hard worker. That was something Patton had always been and prided himself in. He was always there when it mattered most. In fact, that was just what he had been saying before giving him his mission for the day.

“Go to the other side of the wall,” Master Roman was saying, the rooftop breeze swaying his hair. Somehow, he never managed to look anything but regal. “Bring me any intelligence you can gather in a day. Do not disappoint me.”

“As you wish, Master.” Patton bowed deeply before turning on heel, the wings on his shoes springing out he leapt off the building, soaring through the air.

It always amazed him, every time he did it, just how beautiful the city was. Almost entirely made of large, grand buildings and statues. Gold and silver and platinum lined each structure gracefully and seemed to stretch on for forever. Patton would never get tired of looking at the city from above. There was something about a bird’s eye view that made it so much more to him. Seeing everything that he had helped build was awe inspiring every day.

Master Roman had a vision for the world to be beautiful. He was very set in his way and standards for what he considered beauty. Patton was just lucky enough to fit the bill.

Patton sighed, his good mood waning as he approached the Wall. Built nearly as tall as Master Roman’s Command Tower, the High Wall kept out all of the Unwanted. The Unwanted were, well, unwanted. They were unwanted by unwanted by society, unwanted by themselves, and most importantly, unwanted by Master Roman.

He braced himself as he set down on the Wall, taking in a deep breath of filtered air before slowly letting it out. The other side of the Wall was…sub-par to say the least. Everything was low and flat to the group. Houses, unlike in the Command, were squat little shacks that looks like they’d be knocked over with gentle breeze. The buildings here barely hit two-stories, and everything was drab and grey. Patton could hardly bare the barren and dying fields the Unwanted called home, but if Master Roman wishes it, then he would endure it. Besides, it wasn’t all bad.

With one final breath, he stepped over the edge, sliding down the smooth white structure before letting the wings of his shoes come out as neared the bottom. Dust was kicked up as he landed, and Patton let out a meek cough. No matter how many times he had to come out here, he was never used to the low quality of air.

As always, like a prophet, Virgil was standing there, ready to greet him. Even when Patton had first started to come out here for Master Roman, Virgil had been there at the Wall, greeting him and sequestering him away to a quiet place. Even though Patton had never met him and couldn’t be sure of his trustworthiness, he was sure that he could take care of himself. As gentle as he tried to be, he was more than capable of being tough.

“Welcome back,” Virgil signed, a small smirk on his face. As always Patton worked not to stare at the scars on his neck. Near as he could figure, something had attacked Virgil when he was younger causing him to become mute. That was one of the things that they silently agreed on: no personal questions. “Have a nice trip down?”

“You leave my shoes alone.” For whatever reason, Virgil liked to rag on his flying shoes. It wasn’t his fault he could fly on his own; only a few people were born with magick in their blood and sadly he wasn’t one of them.

Together they moved out of the open field surrounding the houses close the wall, moving toward the main street, then moving quickly into the closest house. He knew as well as anyone it was better he not be seen by most of the residents. It was best if he didn’t have to fight them—especially so early into his trip here. Even if he were to change out of his nice clothes or hide his clean hair, there was still something inherent about him that would let anyone know he was from the Command.

“So, how have you and the hubby been?”

“Logan?” He smiled again, shutting the curtains and plopping down at the kitchen table, kicking out a chair for him. “He’s fine. Still not your biggest fan.”

“But are you even a fan?”

Patton knew that he could, he would laugh. “Not particularly.”

“But you put up with me anyway,” Patton sang, furiously batting his eyes. Virgil rolled his, leaning back in his chair. “So, what’s new here?”

“You always ask the same question and I give you the same answer: nothing. It’s the same shitty hovel as always.”

“And you always know that that’s not at all what I mean.”

“Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you.” He stopped for a second, looking out the window. There was a shuffling sound coming from the door. “Watch out for Logan—” The door slammed open and Logan was silhouetted by the for just a moment. “—he’s a little pissy with you.” And in that moment, Logan rushed from the door, faster than Patton thought he could possibly move, and punched him out of his chair.

The impact sent him flying across the room and crashing into wall, shaking the entire house. Logan was there, above him, his glasses askew from the punch, gripping his shirt and pulling him up. “You have some nerve showing your face here.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Logan,” Patton kept his voice calm and level as he spoke. “Please let go of my shirt.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell that asshole you call a leader is doing to us.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Let go of my shirt.” In his peripherals, Patton could see Virgil get up from the table and close the door, the natural light falling away.

After a moment, Logan let go him, stomping away to the other side of the small house. “Your stupid, ignorant, self-involved, narcissistic sociopathic dipshit of a leader has started to send his armies here. It’s so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you’d recognize the little government peons if you saw them, wouldn’t you?”

With a flick of his hand, colorful smoke began to tumble out from his palm forming images—images of people he recognized. There was Dee, the creepy man in charge of tactics. There was Joan, Roman’s main source of entertainment, though Patton wasn’t quite sure what they did in terms of the army. And, of course, there were dozen move faces he recognized from the militia even if he couldn’t put names to faces. Weirder still, they weren’t in uniform. They were disguised in baggy, grey-brown clothing, dirt smeared and a little ragged.  

“I—I don’t—”

Logan clenched his fist, the smoke disappearing with it. “You don’t what? Understand? Then let me spell it out clearly for you: Roman is planning on trying to wipe us out. Again.”

“I—I—”

Virgil clapped drawing both of their attention. Without Patton even noticing, he’d moved from the door to the table again, sitting with his legs swinging. “Patton, you’ve never personally done anything to hurt us, but we won’t hesitate to fight you if need be. I know you worship the ground Roman walks on but understand that the reason I can’t speak is directly because of him.”

“What do you mean?” Patton was reeling. There was so much to take in from just that one image. This shouldn’t have been happening. There was no reason for Master Roman to do something like this.

Logan started pacing, hands opening and closing into fists as he walked. “When Virgil was younger—when we were children—Roman himself came down from his tower to slaughter us himself. Virgil was lucky, I supposed. He was only mutilated.”

“No, I-I don’t believe you.” His voice was shaking as he looked up at Logan. He was a lot of things, but for as long as Patton had known Logan, he’d never been a liar and was always offended when called one. And even now, the anger in his voice…there was no way he was faking it.

“Take off those rose colors glasses and see the world for what it is, you privileged jackass.”

Virgil hopped off the table, placing a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder. He turned toward Patton, looking a little sad. “It’d be best if you left. We can’t risk a bigger fight breaking out here, so close to the Wall.”

Patton didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and was flying the second he got out of the door. Normally he walked away from Virgil and Logan’s place and closer to the wall before taking off, but this time—this time he needed to go. He needed to get as far away as possible from them and this place.

Even though he knew that Virgil and Logan weren’t fond of Master Roman, it was never explicitly stated. Never said in their many friendly debates about the Wall and Command because they knew Patton loved his home and his leader. He knew because no one outside the Wall liked Master Roman. Sure, he wasn’t the kindest to the Unwanted, but that wasn’t really his fault. The Unwanted were just unlikable by nature. Except for Virgil and sometimes Logan. But there were always excepts to the rules.

As he passed through the barrier, he landed hard on the wall, nearly twisting his ankle. He couldn’t be flying distracted, even if there was so much to think about just from that short visit. Virgil must have been mistaken though. There was no way Master Roman was so cruel as to mutilate a kid. There was just no way. It wasn’t in him.

Patton thought back to the sad look Virgil had given him as he Patton what had happened and when he rushed out of their home. The resigned look of someone who had dealt with pain and anger and was used to it.

Maybe… Maybe there was some truth to his story.

No, no! That couldn’t be. He owed everything to Master Roman. For his wonderful life and his good job and a home that didn’t lean or leak in bad weather. He had saved him from being an Unwanted. Saved him from that dreadful life. There was no way he could be a murderer let alone a child mutilater.

With two quick steps he launched himself from the wall, flying over the city once more. He couldn’t go back to quickly or else he’d have to face Master Roman’s anger, but he could hover around the city for a bit before returning.

As he flew over the city, admiring the want the gold glittered and the silver shined, he noticed something odd. People were generally everywhere this time of day. It was prime shopping time, the sun was in just the right position to provide enough shade to relax in outside, and there were always people outside practicing their magick. But right now, there was no one enjoying the shops or parks. There were just rows and rows of people on the main street in dirty clothes moving slowly.

He dropped to some of the lower building, peaking over the edge as quietly as possible without getting caught. Squinting, he looked over their face and then, with a gasp, pulled his head back over the edge. They were soldiers dressed as the ones he’d seen outside the Wall had been, imitating the clothes of the Unwanted.

No, no, no. This could have been. The Unwanted were a nuisance at best, taking up space that could be used for agriculture. But to send an army in disguise out…

This was Dee’s doing, he thought to himself. There was no way Master Roman would approve of such an underhanded tactic. It had to be him.

With his ankle still soar, ended up tripping over the edge, careening toward the group, but righted himself in time to land gently in front of Dee. He was heading the line toward the northern gate, sitting in a tent and going over some papers.

“A pleasure to see you as always,” Dee said before Patton could get a word out. “While I love your never-ending optimism and cheerful little notes, but I don’t have time.”

“What is this, exactly?”

Dee glanced up at Patton, smirking at his slightly haggard appearance. “Been crying recently? What over this time? Saw puppies that were too cute?”

Patton quickly wiped off his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying. “No. Just… Just tell me what this is? If you did this without Master’s permission—”

Dee laughed; his head tilted back. “Without his permission? My dear Patton, I may not be as close to him as you are, but I am all about self-preservation.” At Patton’s blank look, he sat up in his chair, perusing the papers again. “No, Patton. He knows very well what I’m doing because he ordered me to do so. Of course, there’s no reason you shouldn’t know. Leo! Tell the next group to leave.”

“Why? What have the Unwanted done now?”

“What have they done? Nothing. They exist still, I guess. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Patton turned on heel to leave, the new information whirling around in his head. It just didn’t make sense. For the longest time Master Roman had expressed no interest in it. He said that there was no way to use the people, so he couldn’t truly be bothered by them. That was what he had said whenever Patton came back from his visits. He only sent him over there to make sure there was no plans of breaking down the Wall. And for as long as he had been going, there had been none. Virgil wouldn’t have given him an explicit warning, but he would have done something to let Patton know—and he never had. They weren’t content to live the way they did, there was just nothing they could really do to change it.

Patton took to the skies again, suddenly conflicted about which way to go. For the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to the Tower. For his entire life, he had never really questioned what Master Roman asked him to do and everything he did always felt so harmless. Check on the Unwanted. Give the army this tech. Take these shoes and keep an eye on the citizens. It never felt like what he knew it was now: espionage.

As much as it pained him, he knew what he needed to do. He flew back across the border, sneaking as quietly as he could manage. He couldn’t risk Dee seeing him on the Command side or the soldiers on the Unwanted side.

Quietly, he worked his way through the field, picking out Virgil and Logan’s house out of habit. He opened the front door closing it quickly behind him, only to feel a hand around his throat. His eyes barely had time to adjust to the change in lighting, but he knew it was Logan.

“You have some nerve showing your face here.”

“I—” Patton gasped, looking around the room, surprised to see more than Virgil. A few people he recognized from his fly-bys over the place and some he’d never seen before. “I know. I c-came to warn you.”

“About the army? Because we know.”

“N-No. There’s—” He tried to gasp again, but his vision was going dark, black blossoms blooming in his eyes.

He heard a clap and then suddenly Logan’s grip got tighter, then was gone. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing. Virgil appeared in front of him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why did you come here?”

“There’s—” Patton let out a deep sigh. “There’s hundreds of them. Dee is letting them in, in small groups. Magick users, regular soldiers, and both.” At that he heard a few gasps around the room. “Dee is a highly trained tactician and he’s leading them. I’m sure he gave them instructions before sending them over, but I don’t know what it is.”

Virgil lifted Patton’s head up, gazing at his neck before sighing. “Why are you telling us this? You know that we won’t sit by while they attack.”

“I know. I’m—I don’t know. I guess I was hoping that warning you would help somehow?”

“Do you think this can make up for what you’ve done to help them?” Logan’s voice was full of venom as he spoke.

Patton looked up at Logan before casting his eyes down again. “No, I don’t. But I want to help. I want to be able to make up for my mistakes. I didn’t know that he was planning this.”

“Didn’t know or didn’t want to know?” Another person spoke up from the back. Patton vaguely recognized him as one of the few Unwanted who looked clean. His name-tag read Emile Picani.

“I didn’t want to.” Patton shifted folding his legs underneath making sure to keep his hands visible. “I never stopped to question all of the things I did. Or all of the terrible things I’d seen. I brushed them off, forcing myself to think that they were necessary. But they weren’t. Your trauma wasn’t necessary, Virgil. The constant policing of the people isn’t necessary, here and the Command. The aggression and wanton abuse everyone here feels and experiences everyday isn’t necessary. I never stopped to ask am I the villain because I was never made to feel that way.”

There was silence as he glanced around but Virgil was smiling. He was the only one, in fact, as he stood and held out his hand. Slowly, Patton took it, allowing himself to be hoisted from the ground.

Virgil didn’t let go as he signed, “Do you swear on your life you will help our cause? To help us in our mission and to do everything in your power, no matter the consequences?”

Patton couldn’t be sure if he would. Even though his view of Master Roman had changed, there was still a part of him that wanted desperately for what he learned to be a lie. He shook himself mentally. He had to do this—if only to make up for all the things that he had let happen.

“I swear.” As the words passed through his lips, he felt something burning on his on his skin, like words being cut deep with a knife. When Virgil pulled his hand away, a feather in beautiful rainbow colors was iridescently shining on his arm. It was beautiful.

In his head, a voice he’d never heard before said, “Welcome to the resistance, Patton.” Virgil was smirking, but unlike every time before, he could tell there was true joy and playfulness behind it—and it was then he knew the voice belonged to Virgil. “Welcome to the resistance.”

—– 

@wikkedwolff @mira-jadeamethyst @genderqueerwriter @raisin-oatmeal-cookie @finiteframe3 @frustratedwaffle @queerweare @zoeyheys @analogically-prinxiety @polysandershell @prinxietys @jadorefreedom @inalandofmythandtimeofmagic @thebaagelboy  @vampyrsarah  @deafinitelyfangirling  @agentflash18 @gaysaxaphone  @winds-and-stardust @the-laarmy  @cisnesincorbata @fugitive-angel @netzoflix @paragonofsophistication @angsty-anxxiety @kentato-kenreblog @hells-angel-hevens-demon @antisocialili @saltequeen @theanxofthethomas @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @miniritzcrackers @ninjas-forever @citygjrl @maizieandbirds @thesmallestalien @stjernemaskin @deathshadowrules @nessie-drawgon @misty2-0 @kenanscloud @tea–ghost @massivehoagiepastahumanoid @aznasalon @lilreadergurl @fury-of-rome @spooky-ash-because-its-halloween @cosplayingdisn3rd @lunareclipse-13 @probablysomeproblems @choppedfestdelusion @julia-loves-cupcakes @aropicanipie @seukizuo 

[my-analogical-heart]

Am I The Villain? (Patton)

TW: trauma, yelling, deceit (he’s not in it much but he’s still there), mutilation (mostly talk), anything else just shoot me an ask

Genre: idk man there’s just a lot happening here.

Word Count: 3270

Summary/Prompts: “Am I The Villain?”

Notes: It’s a long one lads so buckle up. This one will also have no sequel. Probably. It kind depends on if I can think of anything else. Also Logan’s OOC because I’m rusty.

---

Patton wasn’t sure there were many positive things Master Roman had said about him. There was, of course, the odd day when he was feeling lenient with his affection. And Roman was always giving him praise. But as for honest to goodness, heartfelt positive compliments? Those were few and far in between.

However! Patton was pretty sure Master Roman always meant it when he called him a hard worker. That was something Patton had always been and prided himself in. He was always there when it mattered most. In fact, that was just what he had been saying before giving him his mission for the day.

“Go to the other side of the wall,” Master Roman was saying, the rooftop breeze swaying his hair. Somehow, he never managed to look anything but regal. “Bring me any intelligence you can gather in a day. Do not disappoint me.”

“As you wish, Master.” Patton bowed deeply before turning on heel, the wings on his shoes springing out he leapt off the building, soaring through the air.

It always amazed him, every time he did it, just how beautiful the city was. Almost entirely made of large, grand buildings and statues. Gold and silver and platinum lined each structure gracefully and seemed to stretch on for forever. Patton would never get tired of looking at the city from above. There was something about a bird’s eye view that made it so much more to him. Seeing everything that he had helped build was awe inspiring every day.

Master Roman had a vision for the world to be beautiful. He was very set in his way and standards for what he considered beauty. Patton was just lucky enough to fit the bill.

Patton sighed, his good mood waning as he approached the Wall. Built nearly as tall as Master Roman’s Command Tower, the High Wall kept out all of the Unwanted. The Unwanted were, well, unwanted. They were unwanted by unwanted by society, unwanted by themselves, and most importantly, unwanted by Master Roman.

He braced himself as he set down on the Wall, taking in a deep breath of filtered air before slowly letting it out. The other side of the Wall was…sub-par to say the least. Everything was low and flat to the group. Houses, unlike in the Command, were squat little shacks that looks like they’d be knocked over with gentle breeze. The buildings here barely hit two-stories, and everything was drab and grey. Patton could hardly bare the barren and dying fields the Unwanted called home, but if Master Roman wishes it, then he would endure it. Besides, it wasn’t all bad.

With one final breath, he stepped over the edge, sliding down the smooth white structure before letting the wings of his shoes come out as neared the bottom. Dust was kicked up as he landed, and Patton let out a meek cough. No matter how many times he had to come out here, he was never used to the low quality of air.

As always, like a prophet, Virgil was standing there, ready to greet him. Even when Patton had first started to come out here for Master Roman, Virgil had been there at the Wall, greeting him and sequestering him away to a quiet place. Even though Patton had never met him and couldn’t be sure of his trustworthiness, he was sure that he could take care of himself. As gentle as he tried to be, he was more than capable of being tough.

“Welcome back,” Virgil signed, a small smirk on his face. As always Patton worked not to stare at the scars on his neck. Near as he could figure, something had attacked Virgil when he was younger causing him to become mute. That was one of the things that they silently agreed on: no personal questions. “Have a nice trip down?”

“You leave my shoes alone.” For whatever reason, Virgil liked to rag on his flying shoes. It wasn’t his fault he could fly on his own; only a few people were born with magick in their blood and sadly he wasn’t one of them.

Together they moved out of the open field surrounding the houses close the wall, moving toward the main street, then moving quickly into the closest house. He knew as well as anyone it was better he not be seen by most of the residents. It was best if he didn’t have to fight them—especially so early into his trip here. Even if he were to change out of his nice clothes or hide his clean hair, there was still something inherent about him that would let anyone know he was from the Command.

“So, how have you and the hubby been?”

“Logan?” He smiled again, shutting the curtains and plopping down at the kitchen table, kicking out a chair for him. “He’s fine. Still not your biggest fan.”

“But are you even a fan?”

Patton knew that he could, he would laugh. “Not particularly.”

“But you put up with me anyway,” Patton sang, furiously batting his eyes. Virgil rolled his, leaning back in his chair. “So, what’s new here?”

“You always ask the same question and I give you the same answer: nothing. It’s the same shitty hovel as always.”

“And you always know that that’s not at all what I mean.”

“Actually, there was something I wanted to tell you.” He stopped for a second, looking out the window. There was a shuffling sound coming from the door. “Watch out for Logan—” The door slammed open and Logan was silhouetted by the for just a moment. “—he’s a little pissy with you.” And in that moment, Logan rushed from the door, faster than Patton thought he could possibly move, and punched him out of his chair.

The impact sent him flying across the room and crashing into wall, shaking the entire house. Logan was there, above him, his glasses askew from the punch, gripping his shirt and pulling him up. “You have some nerve showing your face here.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Logan,” Patton kept his voice calm and level as he spoke. “Please let go of my shirt.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell that asshole you call a leader is doing to us.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Let go of my shirt.” In his peripherals, Patton could see Virgil get up from the table and close the door, the natural light falling away.

After a moment, Logan let go him, stomping away to the other side of the small house. “Your stupid, ignorant, self-involved, narcissistic sociopathic dipshit of a leader has started to send his armies here. It’s so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you’d recognize the little government peons if you saw them, wouldn’t you?”

With a flick of his hand, colorful smoke began to tumble out from his palm forming images—images of people he recognized. There was Dee, the creepy man in charge of tactics. There was Joan, Roman’s main source of entertainment, though Patton wasn’t quite sure what they did in terms of the army. And, of course, there were dozen move faces he recognized from the militia even if he couldn’t put names to faces. Weirder still, they weren’t in uniform. They were disguised in baggy, grey-brown clothing, dirt smeared and a little ragged.  

“I—I don’t—”

Logan clenched his fist, the smoke disappearing with it. “You don’t what? Understand? Then let me spell it out clearly for you: Roman is planning on trying to wipe us out. Again.”

“I—I—”

Virgil clapped drawing both of their attention. Without Patton even noticing, he’d moved from the door to the table again, sitting with his legs swinging. “Patton, you’ve never personally done anything to hurt us, but we won’t hesitate to fight you if need be. I know you worship the ground Roman walks on but understand that the reason I can’t speak is directly because of him.”

“What do you mean?” Patton was reeling. There was so much to take in from just that one image. This shouldn’t have been happening. There was no reason for Master Roman to do something like this.

Logan started pacing, hands opening and closing into fists as he walked. “When Virgil was younger—when we were children—Roman himself came down from his tower to slaughter us himself. Virgil was lucky, I supposed. He was only mutilated.”

“No, I-I don’t believe you.” His voice was shaking as he looked up at Logan. He was a lot of things, but for as long as Patton had known Logan, he’d never been a liar and was always offended when called one. And even now, the anger in his voice…there was no way he was faking it.

“Take off those rose colors glasses and see the world for what it is, you privileged jackass.”

Virgil hopped off the table, placing a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder. He turned toward Patton, looking a little sad. “It’d be best if you left. We can’t risk a bigger fight breaking out here, so close to the Wall.”

Patton didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and was flying the second he got out of the door. Normally he walked away from Virgil and Logan’s place and closer to the wall before taking off, but this time—this time he needed to go. He needed to get as far away as possible from them and this place.

Even though he knew that Virgil and Logan weren’t fond of Master Roman, it was never explicitly stated. Never said in their many friendly debates about the Wall and Command because they knew Patton loved his home and his leader. He knew because no one outside the Wall liked Master Roman. Sure, he wasn’t the kindest to the Unwanted, but that wasn’t really his fault. The Unwanted were just unlikable by nature. Except for Virgil and sometimes Logan. But there were always excepts to the rules.

As he passed through the barrier, he landed hard on the wall, nearly twisting his ankle. He couldn’t be flying distracted, even if there was so much to think about just from that short visit. Virgil must have been mistaken though. There was no way Master Roman was so cruel as to mutilate a kid. There was just no way. It wasn’t in him.

Patton thought back to the sad look Virgil had given him as he Patton what had happened and when he rushed out of their home. The resigned look of someone who had dealt with pain and anger and was used to it.

Maybe… Maybe there was some truth to his story.

No, no! That couldn’t be. He owed everything to Master Roman. For his wonderful life and his good job and a home that didn’t lean or leak in bad weather. He had saved him from being an Unwanted. Saved him from that dreadful life. There was no way he could be a murderer let alone a child mutilater.

With two quick steps he launched himself from the wall, flying over the city once more. He couldn’t go back to quickly or else he’d have to face Master Roman’s anger, but he could hover around the city for a bit before returning.

As he flew over the city, admiring the want the gold glittered and the silver shined, he noticed something odd. People were generally everywhere this time of day. It was prime shopping time, the sun was in just the right position to provide enough shade to relax in outside, and there were always people outside practicing their magick. But right now, there was no one enjoying the shops or parks. There were just rows and rows of people on the main street in dirty clothes moving slowly.

He dropped to some of the lower building, peaking over the edge as quietly as possible without getting caught. Squinting, he looked over their face and then, with a gasp, pulled his head back over the edge. They were soldiers dressed as the ones he’d seen outside the Wall had been, imitating the clothes of the Unwanted.

No, no, no. This could have been. The Unwanted were a nuisance at best, taking up space that could be used for agriculture. But to send an army in disguise out…

This was Dee’s doing, he thought to himself. There was no way Master Roman would approve of such an underhanded tactic. It had to be him.

With his ankle still soar, ended up tripping over the edge, careening toward the group, but righted himself in time to land gently in front of Dee. He was heading the line toward the northern gate, sitting in a tent and going over some papers.

“A pleasure to see you as always,” Dee said before Patton could get a word out. “While I love your never-ending optimism and cheerful little notes, but I don’t have time.”

“What is this, exactly?”

Dee glanced up at Patton, smirking at his slightly haggard appearance. “Been crying recently? What over this time? Saw puppies that were too cute?”

Patton quickly wiped off his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying. “No. Just… Just tell me what this is? If you did this without Master’s permission—”

Dee laughed; his head tilted back. “Without his permission? My dear Patton, I may not be as close to him as you are, but I am all about self-preservation.” At Patton’s blank look, he sat up in his chair, perusing the papers again. “No, Patton. He knows very well what I’m doing because he ordered me to do so. Of course, there’s no reason you shouldn’t know. Leo! Tell the next group to leave.”

“Why? What have the Unwanted done now?”

“What have they done? Nothing. They exist still, I guess. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Patton turned on heel to leave, the new information whirling around in his head. It just didn’t make sense. For the longest time Master Roman had expressed no interest in it. He said that there was no way to use the people, so he couldn’t truly be bothered by them. That was what he had said whenever Patton came back from his visits. He only sent him over there to make sure there was no plans of breaking down the Wall. And for as long as he had been going, there had been none. Virgil wouldn’t have given him an explicit warning, but he would have done something to let Patton know—and he never had. They weren’t content to live the way they did, there was just nothing they could really do to change it.

Patton took to the skies again, suddenly conflicted about which way to go. For the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to the Tower. For his entire life, he had never really questioned what Master Roman asked him to do and everything he did always felt so harmless. Check on the Unwanted. Give the army this tech. Take these shoes and keep an eye on the citizens. It never felt like what he knew it was now: espionage.

As much as it pained him, he knew what he needed to do. He flew back across the border, sneaking as quietly as he could manage. He couldn’t risk Dee seeing him on the Command side or the soldiers on the Unwanted side.

Quietly, he worked his way through the field, picking out Virgil and Logan’s house out of habit. He opened the front door closing it quickly behind him, only to feel a hand around his throat. His eyes barely had time to adjust to the change in lighting, but he knew it was Logan.

“You have some nerve showing your face here.”

“I—” Patton gasped, looking around the room, surprised to see more than Virgil. A few people he recognized from his fly-bys over the place and some he’d never seen before. “I know. I c-came to warn you.”

“About the army? Because we know.”

“N-No. There’s—” He tried to gasp again, but his vision was going dark, black blossoms blooming in his eyes.

He heard a clap and then suddenly Logan’s grip got tighter, then was gone. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing. Virgil appeared in front of him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why did you come here?”

“There’s—” Patton let out a deep sigh. “There’s hundreds of them. Dee is letting them in, in small groups. Magick users, regular soldiers, and both.” At that he heard a few gasps around the room. “Dee is a highly trained tactician and he’s leading them. I’m sure he gave them instructions before sending them over, but I don’t know what it is.”

Virgil lifted Patton’s head up, gazing at his neck before sighing. “Why are you telling us this? You know that we won’t sit by while they attack.”

“I know. I’m—I don’t know. I guess I was hoping that warning you would help somehow?”

“Do you think this can make up for what you’ve done to help them?” Logan’s voice was full of venom as he spoke.

Patton looked up at Logan before casting his eyes down again. “No, I don’t. But I want to help. I want to be able to make up for my mistakes. I didn’t know that he was planning this.”

“Didn’t know or didn’t want to know?” Another person spoke up from the back. Patton vaguely recognized him as one of the few Unwanted who looked clean. His name-tag read Emile Picani.

“I didn’t want to.” Patton shifted folding his legs underneath making sure to keep his hands visible. “I never stopped to question all of the things I did. Or all of the terrible things I’d seen. I brushed them off, forcing myself to think that they were necessary. But they weren’t. Your trauma wasn’t necessary, Virgil. The constant policing of the people isn’t necessary, here and the Command. The aggression and wanton abuse everyone here feels and experiences everyday isn’t necessary. I never stopped to ask am I the villain because I was never made to feel that way.”

There was silence as he glanced around but Virgil was smiling. He was the only one, in fact, as he stood and held out his hand. Slowly, Patton took it, allowing himself to be hoisted from the ground.

Virgil didn’t let go as he signed, “Do you swear on your life you will help our cause? To help us in our mission and to do everything in your power, no matter the consequences?”

Patton couldn’t be sure if he would. Even though his view of Master Roman had changed, there was still a part of him that wanted desperately for what he learned to be a lie. He shook himself mentally. He had to do this—if only to make up for all the things that he had let happen.

“I swear.” As the words passed through his lips, he felt something burning on his on his skin, like words being cut deep with a knife. When Virgil pulled his hand away, a feather in beautiful rainbow colors was iridescently shining on his arm. It was beautiful.

In his head, a voice he’d never heard before said, “Welcome to the resistance, Patton.” Virgil was smirking, but unlike every time before, he could tell there was true joy and playfulness behind it—and it was then he knew the voice belonged to Virgil. “Welcome to the resistance.”

[ramon-balaguer]

Do You Know my Jesus?

https://www.facebook.com/REBT.D/posts/4095564410487302

Do You Know my Jesus?

No seriously, My King & God, Do You Know Him, Jesus The Christ? Now, I’m Not talking about Jesus to cutting your grass, painting your home or replacing your roof… I certainly Not talking about the Jesus "exclamation mark" Christ the Bostonians often yell out to make a point. No, no, no… And I’m Not talking about the prophet or Messiah or messenger God sent to guide Israel for a short time and was eventually replaced by a “last” prophet named Mohammad who while high on opium in some cave got visions of Judaism and Christianity to create Islam…

I’m Not even talking about the man called Jesus the Mormons through the revelation after the Holy Bible Revelation according to Joseph Smith (the other “last” prophet) who while high on weed had a vision of an angel he called Moroni and wrote the Book of Mormon to create the church of Jesus Christ and Latter-day Saints. Their Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary and the one and only god the Father who was once a man like present day human beings, but who lived on another planet and sent his semen by his spirit to spiritually inseminated her and therefor Jesus inherited godly powers as His son. When I found out I wasn’t following the real Jesus, I was totally undone. I had long left Catholic private school I attended and Catholicism my family raised me in to run the streets and women as an atheist and eventually landed in the Mormon cult and subsequently dibbled and dabbled in Islam (Yes, they have a Jesus too, mentioned above as one of many prophets) having read and studied the Koran or Quran at least 5 times cover to cover while serving in the US Army.

The hard work of making Jesus fit my brain, answer when I called, and label me righteous was a full-time job that robbed me of peace. When I finally fell into the loving arms of the real Jesus, I began a genuine relationship with the Savior of the world—the One who died for me. He is everything He promised and so much more. Our culture presents us with so many versions of Jesus, letting us make Him in our own image, as oppose to us in His image and likeness. Maybe you’ve come to depend on a false Jesus and didn’t even realize it. If you are struggling to find peace, read about these false Jesuses with an open mind. Consider what Jesus said about Himself and test your beliefs against the Truth from Holy Scripture.

Here are 10 false versions of Jesus people keep falling for:

1. Mean Jesus Perhaps this image of Jesus comes from social media and the rants we see from devoted churchgoers. Maybe it is our constant news sources bickering over who is better or what is Right & Wrong. Or it could be you had a hellfire and brimstone pastor growing up, and this became your earliest depiction of Jesus. Mean and angry, full of wrath, ranting and raging about how Sin would destroy you (it will, if you remain in it and reject Jesus). But balance this image of Jesus with the story of the little children gathering to him, with His compassion for the Lazarus’ sisters, with His dealing of the woman at the well to forgive her and her to reject Sin and share The Good News. While Jesus called out Sin when He saw it, He was never cruel it except that one time with the Pharisees and Sadducees in His House of Praise, Prayer & Healing. Jesus, the Lamb, went to slaughter so that you would be free from His Wrath.

2. Political Jesus How would Jesus vote? Since there were no Democrats or Republicans in His day, we don’t know. What we do know is that He loved and would Never Vote against Himself or His Father. I other words, he would Not Vote for Satan and his followers or folks for killing babies or justifying illegal activities or any manner of Sin. But the apolitical Jesus took the side of those in need and that my friends is what we The Church should be doing and Not trying to depend on the government to do for US.

Today, we are all in need in one form or another, and we all need Him. As a believer in Jesus Christ, He is on your team. He is for you. He is for your redemption. He is for your Sanctification. He died for you while you still Sinned. Right or left, wrong or Right, He is for you. He is patient with us as we learn and grow and understands the frustrations that we face with both the Republican and the Democrats and especially the Sin Sick Socialist Lying Leftist Liberals. He walks with us through the valleys, and He delights in our newfound wisdom and growth.

3. Genie in a Bottle Jesus Your wish is not necessarily His command. That the Oprah Winfrey kinda Jesus. We’re often mystified when we clasp our hands tightly together and summon Jesus to answer our every request…and nothing happens. We become deflated by what we believe is unanswered prayer, allowing our faith to increase or decrease by what we perceive.

If you’re a parent, chances are you desire a good relationship with your child. But if your child asks for $10,000 and you say no, does that mean they stop believing or depending in you and the relationship is destroyed? Of course not. In the same way, you must consider what you are asking of Jesus. What are your expectations and motives? And are you still going to Believe in Him even when you don’t get your way?

4. I’ll Teach You Jesus. Imagine what your relationship with your child would look like if these were some of the requirements: You will meet me at 5:00 every morning, I don’t care if you didn’t sleep. Now tell me what you want. I may or may not give it to you. If you have been completely impossible to deal with, I might sprain your ankle or give you a brain tumor to teach you something. Laughable? Sure. But how many of us believe in this works-based and punishment-loving Jesus? He died while we still Sinned. He came to bind up the brokenhearted, not break our hearts and spirits to keep us in line.

5. You Look Like You Can Take It Jesus. “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Do I look like I can handle the Big C “cancer” or even the lil c “COVID19″ the left has left many in fear of or the lung disease doctors have given up on my brother-in-law is dying from and dealing with? Or the Black Lives Matter and Antifa domestic terrorists’ Stealing, Killing and Destroying Democrat ran cities the “leadership” there allows? Or bankruptcy, or a natural disaster, or the death of a child? Do I even look like I could handle an itchy rash or ingrown toe nail much less a combat related wound or Divorce?

Scripture teaches that we can’t handle anything apart from Jesus Christ. Far from doling out sickness or discomfort or tragedy, He promises to be with us in times of need, Not to mention at all times to Never Leave us nor forsake us. In our weakness, He shows Himself strong and makes us stronger by His Spirit.

6. I Couldn't Care Less Jesus. Sometimes we feel like He is nowhere to be found. We call, and there is no answer. This Jesus is not the Compassionate Christ who laid down His life for ours. Still, in times of heartache, it is hard to understand why He doesn’t answer. Or at least, we don’t know or understand His answers. He has shown me it is okay to question Him. My most favorite prayer in these seasons? “Lord, help my unbelief.” One of the shortest but most impactful and helpful prayers in The Holy Bible.

A relationship with Jesus is a journey. There will be ups and downs. He can take the heat—He proved that through the cross. It is okay to ask why. He always shows up, every time. He said in this life, your life, you will have troubles, but be of good cheer, He has overcome it ALL. Ask, Seek, and Knock. He will answer.

7. Church Jesus The Law is Holy and Good, but it doesn’t make me Holy and Good. No more than the full nice 2” clerical or ordained minister’s collar I wear from time to time. No matter how good a church and it’s teaching of the Word of God, it does not make me Holy. Paul reminds us, do not neglect the assembly (Hebrews 10:25). Yes, hold each other up, hold each other accountable, and by all means encourage one another. But if the pew is shaken, guess what shouldn’t be? You and Jesus. Your relationship with Jesus is separate and not dependent on the church (body of Believers congregating in a place), But The Church, You, Yes, You. No matter what unexpected challenges happen in “the church,” you and Jesus should still be on solid ground. He is the Solid Rock of our Faith, Salvation and ALL.

The church is made up of imperfect people, while Jesus is Perfect and Holy.

8. Rule-Play Jesus This Jesus and I have been super tight for many years. I obeyed all the rules. I even laminated a list and used color-coordinated markers to check off my accomplishments, believing they counted me worthy, while Not writing down my failures and Sin so as Not to remember them or the wretched man I am. Beloved, Salvation is the Cross plus nothing. The thief on the cross was asked only to Believe and that very hour he was Saved. There was really nothing left for him to do. He couldn’t attend a service, memorize Scripture, sing in the choir, take a meal to a neighbor, volunteer, or wash feet or the altar clothes. He was made Righteous because he said Yes to Jesus.

There was no other requirement to fulfill. Circumcision? No; Water Baptism by full or even partial immersion, pouring, sprinkling or even the mystical and unseen Fire Speaking in Tongues Baptism? Nope!  There is nothing that can make the Perfected Work of the Cross anymore Perfect than the Perfect One our God, The Son and Lord Jesus The Christ. Your yes to Jesus counts you as Righteous. Toss out the rules of religiosity and bask in the refreshment of relationship. But stay connect and Sin Not so as Not to lose the salvation you gained as a Born Again Believer; or rather remain Not in Sin that His Grace may abound. God forbid.

So don't get it twisted, Jesus does have a Rule Book He Lives and Plays by, it's Called The Holy Bible or The Word or His Word... Because He Is The Word. Just remember, that all the Rules and Laws Given fall under His Two Greatest Commandments to Love Him with ALL your Heart, all your Soul and all your mind. And the second is like unto the first, You shall love your neighbor (Family and friends or everyone) as yourself.

9. Confused Jesus A couple years ago I went to a pastor and asked some questions about the Sermon on the Mount. The pastor laughed and said, “Yes, ours is not to understand. Ours is just to obey. Jesus was a confusing guy.” I lived with this, heavy on my heart. It would be two more years before I heard a sermon by another pastor and was undone by the revelation that Jesus was not confusing, except to unbelieving hearts and minds. 

My Jesus fulfilled the Law and set us free from this heavy burden of condemnation. Jesus did died to set me and yes, you free. There is nothing confusing about Him, this and His Word. Not Confusing, No Contradictions and No Controversies. We walk free from condemnation in the grip of grace.

10.  If/Then Jesus This is the most elusive and deceptive Jesus. If I do such and such, then Christ will do what I expect. But Jesus cannot be manipulated, and our works do not make Him move; our Faith does. Our good deeds do not make Him love us more and our bad deeds less. In fact, NOTHING can separate us All Sinners and Saints alike from His Love (Don’t get that confused with our ability to lose His Salvation and therefor Separate or Sever ourselves from Him). Again and most Importantly, nothing can separate us from the LOVE of JESUS.

The belief that “If I do or do not do, then Jesus will or won’t do” is a Jesus of colossal works. This Jesus keeps us in bondage to busyness and striving that keeps us apart from the good nature of my Jesus Who just simply Loves. He Is Love. He Loved perfectly so that we might be together for eternity. That was all. Simply Jesus.

Was there even a twinge or flutter in your spirit? One that said, “Oh, that is the Jesus I have been serving?” I know as I came to a place of Knowing, Understanding and Loving the real Jesus, my God, I saw pieces of the false Jesuses falling away and more of His natural and good character shining through to make me more like Him.

Will you pray this prayer with me?

Jesus, I said Yes to You. Thank You for Saving from this world and myself, the clutches of Death and the Devil. I Love You with ALL my heart, soul and mind; and live to Serve You. I want Only You First and Foremost in my Life, Heart, Soul, Mind and Spirit. The real You. All of You. You promised that if I seek I will find. Help me seek the Truth in ALL things and keep my eyes wholly fixated on the True and Holy You to Love and Serve You ALL the more and to  love and serve fellow Believers and others all the more. Amen. 🥰🙏💘 #REBTD 😇

[kadian-theodosia-xanthos-blog]

Envy is Everything Chapter 1

Tink-a-link. I stepped into Distant Encounters, the light of the setting sun illuminating the dusty thrift store. The assortment of knick knacks blankly stared at me as I walked past looking for a large calligraphy set. I got to the back of the store where a glass display case detained my objective. A noise made me drag my eyes up to the source of it. A large woman with graying eyes, a side effect of too many emotion potions, raised her also graying eyebrows at me. I gave her a sheepish smile and cleared my throat. "How much for that?" I asked pointing at the set. I glanced at the bedazzled lanyard hanging around her thick neck. Celeste it read. She continued to stare me down making me fidget until she sighed heavily getting a rusty from behind the counter to, hopefully, unlock the display case. I gave her a puzzled look since she hadn't answered my question. She removed the set from the case and handed it to me still saying nothing. Celeste walked around a shelf of cracked porcelain dolls and disappeared for a few minutes, leaving me to stand awkwardly at the display case. She returned with two spiral notebooks. My confusion grew with each passing second. "$10 please." She told me. "What?" I asked almost dropping the calligraphy set. "The notebooks are $5 each and with 2 of them your total is $10." Celeste explained. "Oh, of course." I realized that my head wasn't in the conversation. I pulled a $10 bill out of my wallet. Before I could ask about the price of the set again she started shoving me towards the front door, past the previous knick knacks. Then I was outside on the street with the door closed and locked behind me. "What just happened?" I said to the empty street. A stray cat meowed in response before staring at me like the woman did. I hissed at it before heading in the direction of my apartment. Once home a wave of exhaustion hit me like the tsunami on Japan in 2010. I settled the calligraphy set and notebooks on my cluttered desk and fell asleep just before I hit the bed. That night’s dreams were even stranger than usual. The typical terrors invaded my dreams, clawing at my sanity again with frenetic brutes from my past. A salmagundi leviathans with serpentine bodies, gnarled hands, floating severed heads with fanged yellow teeth, and many other ghastly apparitions. Amidst the onslaught of devils I saw something truly monstrous. My eyes were completely froze. It was the sliver of hope in my Pandora’s Box, with curly black hair and ice blue irises inside of black eyeballs. They were often described them as icy comets floating in deep space. He turned his head finally acknowledging that I was there. I froze, recognition flashing on his pale face. If I remembered correctly the name that he went by in that incarnation was Rook “The Raven Sword” Saxon.  This incarnation was from the 1920s in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was strange that he recognized me since in the last incarnation that we were together I looked very different. I guess when you’re soulmates you just know. Pure hatred and loathing engulfed his face and he lunged for me. I bolted out of sleep covered in a gelid sweat. Leaping from my bed, I bounded to my desk and took out the calligraphy set, knowing that I wouldn’t be sleeping for awhile. The box was simple enough, just a typical cardboard box. The contents were the same as any other calligraphy set as well except for the weird rattle I heard in the plastic. Placing the contents of the set on the desk, I ripped apart the the plastic sending a cylindrical object flying across my bedroom. My eyes widened as I stared at it: I feared that it had been damaged or worse. A few beats passed before I went over and picked the object up. A light purple crystal was the mysterious object. Something told me not to mess with it anymore but of course it was just a friendly suggestion courtesy of my conscience. I shook the crystal and a sloshy sound came from inside of it. Puzzled, I put a hand on each end and twisted. To my surprise the ends moved like the way a screw does. “What the hell?” I inquired outloud. I continued to twist until half of the crystal portion came off completely. It was a pen; a calligraphy pen to be more specific. The pen looked much better than the calligraphy pens today with the rough grip and uneasy flow ink. I brought it closer to my face for further inspection. The design was 200 years old at least but the pen itself looked to be only 5 years of age. I turned it to see every angle. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It read 3:49 AM. I went back over to my desk and grabbed one of the notebooks. Opening the polka-dot cover, I started to write when a stream of ink started to float around my room, my level of puzzlement rising. It stayed suspended in the air for a few minutes before gravitating towards the rest of the ink. The blob had formed a large glob and started shaping itself into that of a human. “Welp, I’m dead.” I stated bluntly. The ink began to define itself, making all the nitty gritty details of the humanoid. The humanoid was the other half of my soul, Phoenixis the god of wrath. It was the incarnation from my dream. I hate prophetic dreams worse than dandelions. Nix’s (his nickname) comet eyes, full of loathing, narrowed at me but he didn’t move. “What’s the matter, your insides still liquid?” I stabbed. Then his face softened, followed a faint scratch on my hardwood floor behind me. “Great.” I said sarcastically. Turning around slowly, I tensed anticipating some kind of monster but all that was there was the cat that had meowed at me outside of Distant Encounters. “Oh it’s just…” I started before the cat jumped up in my face, scratching and biting. I could hear Nix’s familiar laughter at my predicament. Black fur clouded my vision. “Don’t just stand there, help me!” I demanded but it was rather muffled so I probably sounded like the Swedish Chef from The Muppets. His laughter finally ceased. “Temperet.” He commanded with a hint of real magic lining the word. “Let me guess not your average cat based on that locution.” I said not really caring about his answer for my rhetorical question. I started the search for my first-aid kit in case I had anything that needed tending. Sitting down at my desk and pulling my mirror closer to inspect my face, I remarked. “What’s the matter cat got your tongue?” “I am not human. I never was. Over every incarnation I tell you this. So why do you keep expecting me to act like one?” He finally spoke. “ Sorry just trying to make polite conversation. By the way, your soul may not be human but your body sure is so get off your high horse before you fall and break every single bone in that human body of yours.” I snapped. “Why you planning to finish me off, Sweetheart? Nix snapped back. “Only if you want me to.” I said sweetly. He rolled his eyes. “What stray did you pick up this time?” I said closing the first-aid kit since none of the scratches were worth worrying over. Nix ignored me. If he was going to be like this the whole time I’d end both our suffering and kill him now. A little thing you should know about the world I live in, almost everyone is born with a number somewhere on their body. This number indicates the amount of previous lives we had endured. I mean experienced because not all lives are horrific. Most people seem to have a 3 or 4 but occasionally there is a 10 or so usually they tend to disappear relatively quickly. I wonder where they go, hm? My number isn’t really a number: it’s an infinity symbol. Nix has the same sign. How about we just call it a sign to save confusion for something complicated like math. The bulb in my desk lamp when out. “Oh Satan bless it! I should throw out this fickle thing!”I said sounding like an old woman. I walked out of the room into the dark hallway and flipped on the switch. The door to the apartment opened as the light turned back on to reveal my roommate and best friend, Elisheva Ramon. She was holding a box of donuts from the bakery that she works at. The treats from Heavenly Magic were just like, if not better than, the food of the gods. Trust me I would know. I heard Nix come out of my room behind me reminded me of the onslaught of rules in the roommate agreement that I signed 72 times. She had set up a very long list of “basic” rules and regulations to make sure everything was orderly. One of them happened to be if we invited anyone over to alert the other member of the domicile, in order to prevent any unnecessary encounters. Elisheva started ranting to me about how I should have told her, how I should have this and that, blah, blah, blah. Cue insane amount of eye rolls now. Now would be a good  time for that cat to start clawing my eyes out. Thankfully after 10 agonizing minutes she stopped and handed me the box that I was probably drooling over. Elisheva gestured to Nix, saying that he could have one too. “Yeah, right,” I muttered. I picked a Boston Creme donut with chocolate icing, licking all the chocolate icing off the top. A black ball of fur came soaring into the kitchen. My eyes shot daggers at it. The cat did a backflip into the air and disappeared in a flash of light. The three of us turned away so we wouldn’t be blinded by the mini sun. When we had turned back a dark haired pale slender figure was where the cat was supposed to be. “Diablo gato!” Elisheva shrieked ducking behind the kitchen island. I facepalmed saying, “Like hell I would let any kind of demon in my home.” The lights flickered again. “What kind of power source are you using? This stuff works worse than the stuff in 1922.” Nix said looking around the kitchen. The human version of the cat sat down crossed legged on the floor. “Spurious energy source!” I complained. I went outside to give the leaning lamppost a good kick. This usually gets the magic flowing again for some reason. Elisheva and Rook followed closely behind me out to the edge of the property with the the first rays of dawn peeking through the sea of buildings. A woman was walking down the sidewalk wearing a sweatshirt to keep the chill off her. I looked at the woman's face. It was the woman from Distant Encounters, Celeste. Turning to the post, I told Elisheva to go back inside to see if the magic was showing a constant flow. She did as I asked, hopping up the stairs back inside. Rook hadn’t seemed to notice her even though the clicking of her stilettos would at least spike someone’s curiosity to glance in her direction. I glanced at him then. His icy eyes were closed but they were moving under his eyelids as if they were searching for something. “The magic that you spoke of,” he paused. “It’s quite anomalous.” Rook finished opening his eyes. “That’s because it’s about as artificial as this.” I told him taking a mint out of my jacket pocket and tossing it to him. Rook caught it and popped it in his mouth, nodding. The clicking stopped. I whirled around taking a step back, almost into Rook’s booted feet. “We meet again Theodosia, goddess of envy, and Pheonixis, god of wrath.” Celeste said looking at us each in turn. A red flag started waving just behind my eyes. How could she possibly know who I really was just by a single meeting? “Thea, it’s alright.” Rook said. “ This woman is a descendant of the man that saved me from dying during our last joint incarnation.” He clarified as if that would make the fact that she knew our real identities any less of a reason to raise alarm. The door to the building opened letting out Elisheva. She bounded back down the cinder steps, “It’s good.” She said taking in the situation with her dark eyes. “Elise, stay there.” I told her. Elisheva and I locked eyes and I knew that she wouldn’t. Ya know, she listens about as well as a rock. My eyes widened and I gave her frozen jazz hands. “Elisheva can come along as well, if she would like?” Celeste interjected. I glared at her. “No, Elisheva cannot come if she would like. Now, let us be going.” I shook my head and asked. “Where are we going? And why are we going there with you?” I air jabbed my pointer finger at Celeste. “He may trust you but I sure as flapjacks don’t.” As soon as I had stopped yapping at how I distrusted Celeste all four of us were enveloped in a blue light. We had been Zipped! Once the room had been starved of the blinding light, Rook observed. “It didn’t matter if we wanted to come and take the job offer freely. Your instructions were to shepherd us hear regardless of our protests or approvals.” Celeste nodded indifferently. The room had many layers for court officials, each row a level higher than the last. Every level had colored flags hanging over the edges of the front, most likely to exhibit the  difference in rank between the levels of court officials. At the opposite end of the colossal room was, quite possibly, the judge. He was in a depression in the wall that was enclosed by the same stones that made up the pews. The flag that draped off the front of his booth was pale white and outlined in blood red with the presidential crest; a golden eagle with its wings spread wide ready to could fly off the banner, emblazoned in the center. The setting of the meeting makes me uneasy due to the resemblance to that of a 16th century courtroom. I’ve been on the receiving end of their so called justice. I was able to get my own justice when their howls of pain erupted from the burning court room like the crimson flames. I shook my head dragging it out of the Dark Ages. We were herded down the room until the judge’s box was upon us, the eagle staring us down with its golden, beady eyes. The eyes of the official were much like that of the eagle, although I would take the eagle over the officials, at least I knew what to expect from the eagle. “Welcome to those that have accepted our gracious offering of employment,” came a booming voice. “This is a job that has been assigned to you because only you can do it. You have been chosen by the magical force that we have come to rely on.” The voice definitely belonged to a man, unless puberty messed up and hit a poor woman with the wrong stick. It resonated throughout the courtroom by sound magic. In the early 2000’s scientists had predicted that the world would run out of coal by the year 2050 and they were almost right. Unfortunately, we ran out halfway through 2045. The world was in the third world war for the remaining coal. (Technically the fourth, hello the War on Terror) Real magic has been around since the beginning of everything. That’s what the gods were created from and have to obey. Yes even gods have to obey rules, we can’t just do what we want willy-nilly. The alternative energy source that the world has come to rely on is artificial magic. It's much easier to use and contain but not as powerful as actual magic. “Hey, can I get the MoJo incantation?” Elisheva inquired slowly raising her hand. “You are here to get employment not to play games.” Rook snapped. MoJo is like early 21st century WiFi for our almost mid 22nd century technology. I turned around and looked at Rook. The look on his face told me that he was also remembering the 16th century. During that time he was a member of the court sometimes saving people’s lives by persuading the king that they needed to be punished justly, not simply executed. Other times his persuasions had the opposite effect. The king would condemn to death a simple farmer that had stolen some seeds for payment crops. I put my hand on his arm to silently tell him it was going to be fine. He nodded, shaking my hand off and facing the source of the voice. “What does the job entice?” Rook bellowed at the box. “It is quite simple. All you must do is go back and stop a few mass murderers.” The voice replied. ELisheva cocked her head her dark ponytail swinging to the side. “Go back where?” She bubbled. “You’re concerned where you would be going but not the whole ‘stop mass murderer’?” Celeste chuckled. “Enough, please allow me to finish with the details Miss Lyda.” A small man materialized in front of us. He had a pot belly that was emphasized by how he stood, opposite slouch. He wore a robe styled like that of priest with the colors of the presidential flag. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the last two creators of mankind. Would the rest of you come and meet them please?” 5 other people came out into the aisle, 3 were male and 2 were female. Rook stepped up next to me. The two of us surveyed them all in turn not knowing whether to embrace them or attack them. The 5 of them starred us down just as intensely. “Kadi, you don’t have to intimidate every person you meet.’ Elisheva said poking me in the ribs. “Elisheva Ramon how ya doin?” She held out her hand in hope that one of the 5 would shake it. “They aren’t much into the whole friendly greetings thing there, Elise.” I told her pulling her hand back.

I am with everyone but no one wants me

A goddess of sin in every era

I have been cast down from above with he who is forever my enemy

But also my love

A man that looked about 23 had recited part of a poem that I had written to be able to identify myself as Theodosia by any of the other gods of sin. My only response was a simple nod.

I am killed by my love in every life

Strings stronger than fate are what tether us

Sewn into everyone’s souls is that of my essence

I am also a sin

A 15  year old girl finished the rest of the poem. Nix had the same response. ‘It really is you!” A 27 year old woman with purple eyes crushed the two us into a bear hug. I would know those eyes anywhere. They belonged to the goddess of pride, Verena. Each god had some kind of physical attribute that was colored to that of our sin. I have green eyes because the color associated with envy is green. “Sid get over here and say hello to our old friends.” She told a guy about the same age as her with light blue eyes. The god of sloth, Isidor. “Well it’s certainly been awhile. The Holocaust was it?” He said. I nodded looking back at Elisheva. Her reincarnation number is 4. During the Holocaust she had experienced it through the eyes of two people. My sister was her second incarnation where she had been killed by disease in the Theresienstadt ghetto. Elisheva’s third incarnation was my daughter in that same ghetto. It was a miracle that either of us survived birth since a few of the Nazi soldiers thought it would be hysterical to tie my legs together when I went into labor. Any time the Holocaust is mentioned Elisheva would get really angry or scared as if she was remembering anything from that time. It happened 200 years ago so I had my doubts that her soul would remember it, but considering how traumatic it was even to me. Her soul will never forget anything that happened there. She didn’t even look bothered by it, thankfully. “Let me see if I can do this correctly.” Elisheva said. She pointed at each person in turn. “Verena, goddess of pride.” The woman with violet eyes. “Isidor, god of sloth.” The man with light blue eyes. “Ogden, god of gluttony.” A teenage boy with a slight pink complexion. “Keyshia, goddess of greed.” A blonde teenage girl. “Jotham, god of lust.” A man with red hair. Elisheva then looked closely at me and Rook as if she needed any additional thought to who Theodosia and Pheonixis could be. She pointed at me and said. “Theodosia, goddess of envy.” Her eyes examined Nix trying to find where his color distinction for being the god of wrath was. He pulled back his black hair to reveal his pale forehead and a small orange circle just above his brow. “Pheonixis, god of wrath.” Elisheva finished. “Do you all still have your marks?” I asked putting my hair up so it would be easier to reveal mine. They all nodded moving to show us. Verena had her infinity symbol on her left hip. Isidor had his on the right side of his abdomen. Ogden’s was on his right shoulder. Keyshia’s was on her left wrist. The symbol on Jotham was on his left ankle. Nix held out his right hand and I pulled back my left ear. All the symbols had been accounted for. “Am I supposed to reveal mine too?” Elisheva asked. I shook my head at her. “What exactly are you asking of us?” I asked. “We are asking you to go back in time and stop mass murderers from killing. The first place you would be going would be Victorian London when Jack the Ripper roamed the streets a free man until the day he died.” (fill in word for president here) informed us. I pursed my lips thinking it over. I was hesitant since I was his 5th victim out of 7. “Would all of you be joining us?” Nix asked. “Yep.” Jotham answered. “Can I have some time to think it over?” I inquired. “But, of course. We wouldn’t want you to do something against your will.” He answered. I bit back the comment about being brought here without any of our consent. “Now best be on your way. You three have a lot of thinking to do in not a lot of time. Tomorrow at 10:00 am is when I would like your decision please.” He instructed with a wave of his wrinkly hand. With that simple gesture the three of us were back in front of the apartment complex.

[nonameinanytongue]

Review, Game of Thrones 7.07: The Dragon and the Wolf

“And when it came at me I didn’t think about the world. Not at all. As soon as it opened its mouth the world disappeared for me, right down its black throat.”

‘The Dragon and the Wolf’ is the show’s longest episode to date, but it doesn’t feel it. From the all-star meetup at the Dragonpit, the ruin where the dreams of the Targaryen dynasty withered away to nothing, to the tender fairy tale sex scene between Jon and Dany, it moves with understated grace toward its appalling, inevitable conclusion. Along the way, it lives where the show has always lived: in conversation.

Seeing nearly every one of the show’s main players gather together to hash out the fate of the Seven Kingdoms (AND FUCKING CONFIRM CLEGANEBOWL) is a real joy. Daenerys’s entry on dragonback feels sadly prophetic as Drogon sets foot in the place where his last stunted ancestors lived and died, and the looks of terror on the faces of Westeros’s great and powerful at their first glimpse of a wight feel like a bitter condemnation of all the backstabbing and bloodshed that filled the series’ first six seasons. Here, finally, is the enemy. It’s a somber moment.

Even Cersei is shaken to her core, which makes her false pledge to march north and her lunatic unwillingness to listen to Jaime’s pleas to honor it all the more sickening. With nothing left but an empty dream of power and one last child to ruin, she chooses to turn her back on the only war that matters and keep playing the dismal, ruinous power games that have already cost her everything. The horrible moment in which she debates unleashing ser Gregor on her twin and lover feels like watching something vital break, like a green branch splintering and twisting. Whatever genuine love existed between them, it’s dead now.

Lena Headey has always been one of the show’s strongest performers, and her portrayal of Cersei as a damaged, vulnerable woman emulating the system that broke her has never felt more timely or more poignant. Her childlike chant of “I won’t hear it, I won’t hear it!” when Tyrion tries to offer his condolences over the deaths of her children is as bottomlessly sad as anything the show has delivered to date. I don’t think it’s much of a reach to say that to Cersei, sold to a drunken rapist by her father, tortured and humiliated by the church and her subjects, stripped of the children into whom she poured all her love and hopes, the act of accepting another person’s feelings as real has become something dangerous, an invitation to loss and the helpless terror of love.

In the North, Sansa and Arya confront that same terrible void and choose to trust in one another rather than turn their backs on reality. The buildup to Littlefinger’s groveling, miserable death in the great hall of Winterfell feels, in total, needlessly complicated and obtuse, full of feints and double-feints and resolved by Bran at an arbitrary moment, but the emotional material along the way has been strong and the conclusion is ugly and difficult to look at. Littlefinger was perhaps the show’s most emptily ambitious character, a man for whom power and status were an end unto themselves, whom nobody liked or trusted, who envied everyone, coveted everything, and nursed a hollow place inside himself until it grew to fill his entire being. Watching his long and terrible game, the source of so much of the series’ bloodshed, implode in the space of moments is like watching the pus ooze out of a zit ignored for too long. In the end, he was so much less than the sum of all his scheming.

The rapprochement between the sisters Stark is a breath of fresh air. The easy chemistry between actresses Maisie Williams and Sophie Turner makes the whole muddled story feel worthwhile as two people who might easily have been led into conflict by their traumatic pasts take a long, hard look at themselves and choose another path. It’s that kind of relief that gives the finale, with its comparative lack of spectacle and chaos, so much power. Consider Bran’s vision of Rhaegar and Lyanna, so clearly and so tenderly in love, marrying in secret by the riverside. The grisly casus belli that sparked Robert’s Rebellion is transmuted in an instant into a symbol of hope.

And speaking of hope, life, and love, Jon and Dany finally fuck. Bran’s narration of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s story over the moment they lock eyes across the threshold of Daenrys’s cabin has a raw, almost elemental power. “He loved her,” he says softly, “and she loved him.” There, in Daenerys’s bed, among the twining limbs, is the antithesis to the threat from beyond the Wall. Stopping the dead might require an army, but what binds people to fight for their comrades, their country, their families against such an abomination is love. The world of the living has to be a place worth, well, living in.

Which brings us at last to the arrival of the army of the dead and the Night King’s destruction of the Wall. Think back for a moment. How many episodes, how many seasons have ended with a triumphant, awe-inspiring shot of Daenerys and her dragons, her armies, her fleets? The choice to end this one on a gruesome mirror image can hardly be an accident. As Tormund and Beric flee the ruination of the great barricade which has kept humanity safe for millennia, as the reanimated Viserion soars above the icy wreckage, the Night King on his back, and the numberless dead trudge into Westeros, how do those stirring spectacles of Dany’s military might transform?

Perhaps this horror, in the end, is what we’ve always been cheering for.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: exactly 6,000! WHAAAAAT Sam x Reader Warnings: language, mentions of blood and total darkness, anxiety and fear, some creepy imagery Summary: The Winchesters, Cas, and Crowley try to figure out how to break the spell and the wall of thorns. A/N: Heroic Sam, demons, angels, creepy apparitions... what more could you want in a MIM update? We're nearing the end of this tale. I think the next part (Part 17) will be the conclusion. This is part of a series! Read the other parts here! 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

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Sam was collapsed on the hood of the Impala, staring silently at what had once been Crowley’s earthly headquarters, but now was only a tangle of impenetrable thorns. The trio could see massive slabs of concrete and twisted metal entangled in the wall of vines, some with thick woody trunks grown straight through them, suspending them stories above the crumbling ruins. Sam’s hopelessness was making Dean feel far worse than his anger had.

“Well, Crowley… I’ve gotta hand it to you. I thought you had gotten us into some shit before, but you have taken it to a whole new level. Because you have ‘Mommy issues’, now Y/N is stuck in a fucking fortress of thorns in an apparently unwakeable sleep,” Dean said, shooting another glare at the demon, whose jaw was still red from where Dean had slugged him. “Your personal prophet plan didn’t quite work out as you hoped, did it?”

“Blaming me isn’t going to solve any of our little problems,” Crowley retorted, scowling at Dean and then following Sam’s gaze toward the mess of rubble and barbs. “Damn. You know, I really liked that throne room,” he lamented.

”Little problems?” Dean repeated, aghast.

Crowley shrugged. “Medium-sized problems,” he said.

Dean’s jaw clenched. “You can go to the bottom of the ocean… you can go back in time; you’re going back in there,” Dean said, pointing angrily at the demon.

Dean paced angrily in a tight circle. “Demon warding. Great! That’s just fan-fucking-tastic. What are we supposed to do now?”

”Would you both please shut up?” Sam said forcefully. “How is any of this helping?” Sam looked between the two of them in exasperation. He couldn’t keep his eyes from your prison for long, and was soon staring at the forest of thorns again.

Crowley took in the expression on the younger Winchester’s face and narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong with you, Moose? You look like you’ve dropped your ice cream sundae.”

A muscle in Sam’s jaw twitched but he didn’t look at the demon.

Crowley looked at Dean and raised his eyebrows. “Seems to be taking it a bit hard, doesn’t he? Is there something I’m missing?” he asked.

Dean took a few purposeful steps closer to the King of Hell. When he spoke, it was with a quiet but dangerous tone. “Listen to my brother and shut the hell up,” he warned. “I’m calling Cas.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, goodie… And what exactly do you think the holy tax accountant will be able to do that I can’t? His aching conscience and soulful looks aren’t going to break through that.”

Dean ignored him and shut his eyes, bending his thoughts to the angel and hoping that Castiel would hear him. In a few seconds there was the gentle fluttering sound of his wings. Cas appeared next to Sam and his gaze was immediately fixed on the ruins of Crowley’s former headquarters. When he turned his stare to the demon, his expression was of trembling fury and bewilderment.

”What have you done?” His deep voice was accusatory.

”Nice to see you too. New trench coat? Can’t be a new tie…”

Cas grabbed Crowley by the collar of his suit coat, his voice shaking with anger. “Explain,” he demanded, teeth clenched, his face inches from Crowley’s, who only peered back defiantly and attempted to look unconcerned.

”It’s the fairy tales, Cas. It’s Rowena,” Dean said strongly. He put a firm hand on the angel’s shoulder and Cas released Crowley begrudgingly. Crowley straightened his tie and jacket for what felt like the millionth time that day.

”Cas,” Sam’s voice came from behind him. “Please tell me you can go in there,” Sam pleaded, desperation in his eyes. “Y/N is inside.”

Cas’s eyes snapped to Dean’s face, which was dark and heavy with a furrowed brow. Dean only nodded as if to say it was true.

Castiel’s lips parted and for a moment he couldn’t find his voice. When he did, it was regretful. “I’m sorry. There must be some angel warding…” he trailed off.

”I told you,” Crowley said snarkily.

”Shut up!” Dean growled at him again.

Sam looked crushed and his eyes dropped to the ground, unseeing, as he imagined you laying in the middle of all that chaos. He only hoped that your slumber was dreamless…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Endless black, and only the rippling of the cold water you were standing in; you found that no matter what direction you turned, how far or fast you ran, how loud you screamed, there was nothing. There were only the lonely echoes of your own desperate voice. And now there was the quiet splashing in the distance, just beyond sight, that was freezing your already frigid feet and raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

Instead of this place of emptiness, of gentle waves of water, being peaceful, you felt like you were being smothered, like someone had dropped a heavy, wet piece of black velvet over you. No matter how you struggled, you were caught. The air was oppressive and damp. And the quiet splashing continued.

You could feel yourself beginning to tremble. You took stock of yourself. What did you have with you? Your shaking hands fumbled over your wet jeans and shirt; nothing. You had nothing. Your pockets were empty. You looked down at your bare feet, ghostly beneath the water.

Your breath frosted in the air, crystallizing in a foggy vapor just past your lips, and still the quiet noise came closer. You took a few strides backwards and for a moment all was still except for the gentle lapping of the water at your ankles.

But then it was there again. And closer.

Your shoulders were quaking now and you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or fear.

Frosty tears stung the corners of your wide eyes. “H-h-hello?” you ventured. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears, cast back in a pitchy echo. The splashing sound grew louder and you tried to retreat but with each step backward you swore it was moving closer more rapidly, as if whatever it was knew you were trying to flee.

Your eyes darted around frantically in the blackness. There was no sense of space here, no sense of time.

Out of your peripheral vision, a shape began to grow and it was clearly the source of the splashing sound; footsteps. At first you couldn’t make yourself turn and face it. It was a shadow somehow darker than the surrounding nothing, and your fear was paralyzing. You knew in your gut that this was some new horror from the pages of brothers Grimm. You clenched your fists, willing, hoping, praying that your fingernails digging into your palms would snap you from the depths of this—this what? This dream? Was this a dream?

Your brain whirred trying to think of the last thing you remembered, trying to come to grips with where you were, this unexplainable place, with whatever was approaching and then—as if a pale spotlight had turned on the approaching shadow began to materialize.

There were broad shoulders, but they were hunched and unbalanced at an unnatural angle. One foot was being dragged by a leg that seemed to bend at a point much lower than the knee and your lips fell open with horror as your eyes fell on the face. It distorted and bloated, with crimson pouring from a wound on the skull. The rivulets of blood were streaming down the side of the head, down the neck, and dripping into the water. What you could see of the eyes was cloudy and unseeing, but still the figure progressed toward you steadily. Your mouth hung open and if you had any breath in your lungs you would have screamed. You shuffled backwards, the sloshing sounds of your hurried feet covering the dripping of the blood into the water and the disturbing cracks coming from the figure.

You realized that something was clinging to the clothes, the skin, the lips of the approaching figure—unmistakably a young man—and you puzzled as you recognized it to be grains of sand. It was falling from the hair into the water as he came closer, one hand extended toward you, groping at the air, and the other hanging lifeless by his side.

You scrambled backward blindly, unwilling to look away despite the urge to be sick from the sight of the wound and what was clearly a walking corpse, inexplicably broken and covered in sand. You suddenly felt your heel step backward onto nothing, the floor dropping out beneath you and as you began to lose your balance, to fall back, you could see that still the figure advanced. You sucked in a breath through a frightened gasp as you plummeted down into the dark water, which swallowed you up in a frigid, silent blanket, all sound deadened for a moment.

But the most peculiar thing happened.

No sooner had you fallen down, broken the surface of the water and been consumed by it, than you somehow suddenly emerged into the air--somehow standing again on your feet, though gasping for breath and drenched to the skin. Your hair hung lankly, clinging to your neck. Streams of water poured from you and created ripples on the surface of the cold water you were again standing in. You scanned frantically around you for the figure but found yourself again quite alone. Your eyes were frozen wide, racked with terror, with confusion, with hopelessness. You doubled over and pressed your palms through the water flat onto the solid floor. “What IS THIS?!” you screamed. And you could hold out no longer and you cried into your hands, the gentle dripping of water from your skin onto the surface a surreal soundtrack to your collapse.

But then… you stifled your sobs with a gasp, as you again perceived another sound. There was a splash somewhere in the distant space, as of something falling into the water…

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, this is fun.” Crowley’s voice broke the silence in the interior of the Impala. “Can we stop off at a strip club?” he quipped, leaning slightly forward to look at Dean in the driver’s seat.

When he received only silence in response he turned to look at the angel in the backseat next to him. “‘The Winchesters, an angel, and the King of Hell took a road trip’,” he said. “Sounds like the beginning to a good joke, doesn’t it? Or perhaps a really bad one…”

Cas turned and gave him a fierce stare. “I do not understand how you can be so cavalier at a time like this,” he growled.

Crowley scoffed. “Demon,” he said.

”Cas?” Dean said from the driver’s seat, glancing in the rearview mirror at the angel. Cas looked up expectantly. “Now,” Dean said.

“Now what?” Crowley asked.

Clink.

”Oh, you little weasels!” Crowley’s face burned beet red in anger as he stared down at the handcuffs now on his wrists.

”Demon cuffs,” Dean said. “I believe you’re already familiar with those,” Dean said.

”This is outrageous,” Crowley spat. “Did you dimwitted woodland creatures forget that we’re on the same side here? Same goal; kill the witch!”

”Yeah, well, until this is all over you’re going to have a little extra jewelry, your highness,” Dean said brusquely. “And did you honestly think we would just walk you into our place, completely unchecked? How stupid do you think we are?”

”I still think this is wrong,” Sam said quietly.

Dean’s jaw tensed and he glanced over at his brother, hunched and pale in the passenger seat. Dean hesitated. “I know…”

Sam’s eyes turned toward his big brother and Dean felt like he had been punched in his stomach. “How could we leave Y/N behind?” It was almost a whisper, and Dean was keenly aware that Crowley was listening intently.

He cleared his throat, hoping Crowley couldn’t see the tortured look in Sam’s eyes. “I know. But we need a plan, and for that we need resources and a safe place to figure this shit out… and that’s the bunker.”

Sam gulped, though it did nothing to dislodge the tightness in his throat. Cas reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

”We will figure this out,” he said, his deep voice calm. Crowley eyed the action.

”There is something else going on, isn’t there?” he said. “Moose?” he prodded, leaning forward.

Sam ignored him, keeping his eyes turned out the window, though they were unseeing. He couldn’t get the thought of you alone in that fortress out of his mind. And he had a horrible feeling that whatever state you were in, wherever your mind was—knowing Rowena—it would not be peaceful.

_ _ _ _ _ _

”Sit down,” Cas said, carelessly shoving Crowley down into a wooden chair at one of the tables.

”I have to say,” Crowley said, glancing around, “I expected more.”

Dean glared at him. “If you’d like we can take you to your previous accommodations.”

Crowley pursed his lips. “I think I’m fine here,” the demon replied.

”If you have something helpful to add, speak up. Otherwise, shut up,” Dean barked.

Sam rushed back in from the library with a stack of books and papers as high as he could manage and dumped it onto the center of the table. “I’ve pulled everything I could find on spell work and powerful texts. Maybe there will be something in one of these that can help us figure out how to break the spell.”

”I’ll pull everything I can find on arcane or magical botanical species. Perhaps we can find some solution for the hedge of thorns,” Cas added. He rushed from the room and Crowley watched him go, looking unconcerned.

Dean grabbed the top book and tossed it at the demon. “Here,” Dean said. “Make yourself useful.”

Crowley caught the book in his cuffed hands and cast an hateful look in the brothers’ direction, but he bit back whatever venom he had been considering spitting and simply opened the cover.

Sam and Dean both grabbed books and were soon hunched over them too…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean pushed back from the table, teetering on the back two legs of his chair. “Another dead end,” he said, slamming the heavy cover of the volume in front of him closed. “You having any luck, Sammy?”

Sam shook his head, but didn’t tear his eyes away from the text in front of him. Crowley’s eyes were on Sam’s face, narrowed in study.

”Hey,” Dean barked, noticing Crowley’s gaze. “Research. Go!”

The King of Hell narrowed his eyes in dislike at Dean and took one final look at the younger brother before doing as he was told and flipping the page in front of him.

Dean sighed and ran his hands over his face. “Hey,” he said. “Wasn’t there a—a dragon in the Sleeping Beauty story? I mean—not like the dragons we’ve fought before with the gold and the virgins but an actual, giant, reptilian dragon?”

”Not in the original story. That was a Disney addition,” Sam said. His tone was blank and empty as he closed the file in his hands and began to reach for another.

”Huh,” Dean said, turning the corners of his mouth down and nodding. “Well, that’s good news for once.”

Suddenly Sam looked up as if lightning had just struck him. “The original story,” he murmured. “I’m an idiot!”

Dean glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “Sam?”

Sam’s eyes whirred from side to side just like the thoughts suddenly rushing through his brain. “The original story, Dean!” His hands flew to the piles and stacks of books in the middle of the table and he was shoving them aside, digging for a specific volume, heedless to the cascading piles of paper.

Dean watched in perplexity. “Whoa. What? What is it?”

Cas apparently heard the commotion and came in from the library where he was having little luck with the ancient botanic texts he had pulled from the shelves.

”In the original story, Briar Rose, the—the princess who is cursed—is supposed to die when her finger is pricked. But this wise women, or a fairy depending on the translation, is able to soften the curse so that she and the kingdom fall into this unwakeable sleep for a hundred years,” Sam explained, his face eager and fixed on Dean’s.

Dean shook his head. “Ooookaaay… help me out here, Sammy. I’m not getting it.”

”I’m certainly not waiting around one hundred years for my prophet,” Crowley scoffed.

”Your prophet?” Cas growled, giving the demon a threatening glare.

”Shut up!” Sam yelled. “The prince—the one who finally makes it through the hedge--“ Sam suddenly stalled out. Despite his realization a sudden new fear had seized him.

”What? What is it?” Dean urged, confused now by the stunned expression on Sam’s face and frustrated by his silence.

Crowley was the next to speak in a knowing tone. “I’ll be damned,” he uttered. He laughed at his own phrasing. “Well, that couldn’t be more true…” he said off-handedly to the angel, who only continued to glare at him in dislike. His eyes drifted back to Sam, who was still lost in an internalized whirl. “I knew there was something you weren’t telling me…”

Dean cast only a sideways glance at the King of Hell before turning his eyes back to Sam.

”We don’t have to look for some obscure solution to break the spell,” Crowley said, throwing his book aside. “We just have to get Moose to his Moosette.” He sat up straighter in his chair, the handcuffs still on his wrists clinking against the wood of the table.

Cas turned his cobalt eyes to the younger Winchester. Sam was still refusing to look at anyone.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Crowley started, “but, ‘true love’s kiss’ will undo everything.”

Dean sat back heavily in his chair and ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw, the weight of this new development sitting profoundly on his chest. He turned to catch the angel’s eyes. “You think?” he asked, anxiety written in the lines on his forehead.

”If Rowena manifested the spell based on the text,” Cas replied, nodding seriously, “it should work.”

Crowley turned and pointed back and forth between Dean and the angel. “You know I’m not talking about you two, right?” He said with a cheeky grin.

Dean rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Alright, that’s enough,” he snapped. Crowley only looked more pleased with himself. “What if she changed it? I mean she changed the spinning wheel to the rose thorn. Could she have changed the thing that breaks the spell too?”

Cas looked unsure. “I don’t know. The spinning wheel was merely the vehicle by which the curse was delivered. It wasn’t an important part of the story. Perhaps that’s why she was able to change it.” Cas leaned on the table with his hands. “This—this is an important part. I think it would have been much more difficult to change,” he said. He was looking at Sam, trying to read his expression. “It should work.”

Sam stood abruptly and the wooden chair legs groaned as they slid on the cold tile floor. He paced the length of the room. “Assuming...” he started, but he faltered.

Dean watched his little brother helplessly. “Assuming?” he prodded.

Sam froze in his frenzied pacing. “Assuming it’s—“ The fear that had seized him was palpable in his chest. He felt it with every beat of his heart. Sam knew without a doubt that he was in love with you. He knew it with every fiber of his being. But what if—what if he couldn’t wake you? What if he kissed you and you slept on? That would be… beyond devastating… It would mean not only that he would perhaps have to live without you, but that what he felt was not returned…

Cas approached Sam, easily reading the chaos in his eyes. “Sam.”

Dean puzzled over his little brother’s distress and Crowley only looked on passively.

”You have nothing to fear,” the angel said. “Do you not truly understand why Y/N left in the first place?” Sam’s eyes lifted to Cas’s face and there was still doubt and turmoil in them. “Y/N left here, where she was safe and happy, because she believed she was endangering you. She cared more about protecting you than any risk to herself on the outside from Heaven or Hell or the nightmares that plagued her.” Cas put a hand firmly on the younger Winchester’s shoulder. “If that is not true love, than true love does not exist.”

Sam shut his eyes and seemed suddenly exhausted. His shoulders hung heavily on his frame and he heaved in several breaths. When he opened his eyes again the turmoil seemed to have subsided somewhat.

”Not to ruin the moment after such a moving speech,” Crowley said, “but we still have a teeny little problem. How are we going to get Moose to his Moosette in one piece when she is surrounded by a hedge of thorns that seem intent on tearing apart anything that comes near it, hmm?”

There was a tense silence, and Cas was about to return to the botanical texts in the next room when this time Dean sat up straight and a smirk grew on his face. “We’ve got one thing they didn’t have in the Brothers Grimm,” he said.

Cas tilted his head in a question and Sam and Crowley peered at him in curiosity.

”Flame throwers,” he said with a grin.

”Flame launchers?” Sam repeated. “Dean, did you forget about the part where this is an enchanted hedge bound with powerful spell work? I don’t think brute force is going to work here!”

Dean was already on his feet, starting to rush farther into the bunker. Sam followed quickly on his heels. Cas watched the brothers rush from the room with curiosity but only came and stood over Crowley, his brow dark.

”It won’t be brute force,” Dean said over his shoulder. He stopped and thought for a moment and shrugged, conceding a little. “Okay, it might be a little bit of brute force. But I’m thinking we make a little modification,” he said, a grin glued to his face. He pushed open a door and flicked on the light, going straight for a trunk near the back of the storage area. He thrust the lid open and pulled out two ceramic jars. He looked at his brother expectantly and wiggled his eyebrows. “Eh?”

Sam wasn’t sure how to react. “Holy oil?”

Dean nodded. “Holy oil!” His expression was barely suppressed exhilaration.

_ _ _ _ _ _

”A holy oil flame thrower?” Sam repeated, again at Dean’s heels as the two of them rejoined the demon and the angel.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and nodded as he took in the containers in Dean’s hands. “It’s not a bad idea,” he said.

Sam let out a wry laugh and gestured to the demon. “See! Crowley thinks it’s a good plan, Dean! Isn’t that some kind of red flag?” he insisted.

Cas was conspicuously quiet as Dean looked at him for support.

”Okay, come on, Sammy! It’s holy fire! It’s—it’s gonna be ‘holy inferno!” Dean said. Sam gave him another exasperated and questioning expression. “It’s like superheated, concentrated God power! Are you tellin’ me you think this isn’t gonna cut right through that hedge?”

”I don’t know but I don’t think we should just go blasting in there and burning everything to hell! Y/N is IN there, Dean!”

”Well, she can’t die,” Crowley interjected with a shrug.

Sam gave him a fiery glare. “That doesn’t mean we should maim her!”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh and set the holy oil down on the table with more force than was necessary. “We’re not going to maim her. Nothing is going to happen to Y/N,” he said. There was determination in his green eyes. “Sam, I’m just trying to come up with a solution here. You got a better idea? Does anyone?” he asked, looking again to Cas and Crowley. “Cas? Anything in those botanical texts we should know about?”

Cas’s brow only furrowed farther.

”A fruitless search,” Dean said, nodding, gesturing to the angel.

”Well… I wasn’t searching for fruit…” the angel said.

Crowley rolled his eyes and Dean could only pinch the bridge of his nose.

Dean looked to Sam, again almost deferring to him to lead, a rarity. ”What do you want to do? We could sit here and bang our heads against these old moldy books and dusty files for God-knows how long. And there is no guarantee that anything in any of these,” he said, grabbing the nearest hard cover, “is even going to help us. In the meantime, we could be here long enough for Rowena to figure out some other way to come and murder all of us. And then what?”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he averted his eyes to the floor. He heaved a heavy sigh that seemed loud in the thick silence. “Alright,” he conceded. And he hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean slammed the trunk and looked at the duffel bag near Sam’s feet. “You think it’s enough?” he asked.

Sam’s gaze was already fixed on the towering tangle of thorns. “It better be,” he said.

Dean shouldered the bag. “Alright. Let’s go,” he said. Sam stopped him with a firm hand on his chest.

”Whoa. You’re not going in there,” he said.

”Why the hell not?” Dean replied, grit heavy in his voice.

”There’s no reason for two of us to go. It just needs to be me,” Sam said. His eyes were intense and Dean studied his unyielding expression.

”What if you need back-up?” Dean asked, but he unshouldered the bag and place the strap in Sam’s outstretched hand.

”Back-up getting torn to pieces?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. “I think I’ll manage. Besides—if I can’t make it in there, there’s no good you can do.”

Dean’s brow darkened. “I could pull you out,” Dean said seriously. The way Sam now avoided his eyes did nothing to soothe Dean’s worry.

“Just—stay here with Cas and watch out for Rowena,” Sam said, hanging the strap of the make-shift flame thrower loaded with holy oil on his other shoulder. “I have a feeling once this starts she’s going to show.”

”If I know my mother, she’ll be here as soon as there’s blood drawn,” Crowley said. “And speaking of, I’d like to be freed from these shackles now. It won’t do much good having a powerless demon here in the fight with the witch, now will it?”

Dean’s jaw clenched and Sam saw the muscle twitch. He looked to the angel who nodded and Dean produced the key to the demon cuffs and unlocked them from Crowley’s wrists warily.

Crowley stretched and cracked his knuckles, immediately conjuring a glass of Scotch. Cas glared at him. “What? What’s a show without refreshments?”

Dean shook his head and turned back to Sam. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find the right words. “…Be careful,” he said.

Sam nodded. “I will.” Cas gave him a reassuring nod and with that he turned and started toward the hedge.

”Oh, and Sam,” Dean called after him. “If something does go wrong, you better believe I’m pulling your ass out of there. Okay?”

Sam said nothing and tore his eyes away from his brother’s, doing his best to swallow down the lump in his throat.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You shivered in the damp darkness. Your arms you wrapped about yourself as tightly as you could in an attempt to trap some heat near your frigid core. Droplets of water from when you had plunged into the water still clung to your skin, blending in among the goose bumps peppering your arms.

Your shivering as a result of the cold blended with newfound terror as you again heard something moving, rushing through the water in the distance. There was much more noise than before and you wondered if you would become prey to multiple horrors now.

You’d given up on running away. Your backward plunge into the dark water and subsequent peculiar emergence had been so terrifying and disorienting that you didn’t dare to move your feet from the solid ground they were now on.

All you could do was wait.

You strained your hearing to its limit, realizing with horror that the splashing noises were very clearly footsteps. Something was walking toward you in the still water again.

But the sound was coming from all around you. A splash in front of you would sound just after one to your right and left, and then more noise from behind you overlapped and followed. It was the unmistakable sound of many things taking dragging steps through the water, a circle of unknown entities closing in about you.

Your shaking became uncontrollable and fearful tears rolled down your cheeks from wide eyes. But all of a sudden the splashing stopped. The watery footsteps stopped. Your breathing was audible and ragged in your throat. Your breath frosted just beyond your lips and hung in the dark air in a could.

Your turned from side to side, peering around you, expecting something to lunge out of the pitch blackness at any moment.

But the only perceptible something was now the steady, quiet drip drop of water from all sides. It was uneven and matched the sound of the drops of moisture that still occasionally fell from your sodden hair into the water with a lonesome plink. You weren’t sure if this quiet sound was more or less terrifying than the watery footsteps.

You didn’t have long to wonder.

In another moment, the first entity came into view. And then another. And then another… until there was a circle of nine surrounding you. The source of the dripping was explained as they hovered just over the surface of the water. Rivulets of blood mixed with water dripped down their feet and fell onto the dark pool, creating expanding ripples.

They were ghostly pale with blank dead eyes. Despite the lack of any reason, you were certain that all those blank eyes were boring into you and you wished you could look away. Unsettling smiles on the faces of some revealed teeth that resembled fangs, sharp and threatening. Others only stared into you expressionless.

Your heart was whirring in your chest and you felt each beat painfully in your fingertips and your toes. The thundering of your blood was suddenly deafening in your head. All you wanted to do was escape. How could you?

The nine began to drift closer, still alarmingly solid before your eyes. You were surrounded. Where could you go? What would they do to you when they reached you? You didn’t even know what they were… Spirits? Demons?

They closed in closer and closer and now your ragged breathing was so shallow and hurried you felt as though you weren’t breathing at all. Suddenly you felt as if you were watching yourself from above. Any moment you would be torn to pieces in this place where space and time didn’t seem to exist. And then what? Would you emerge again to do it all again? To fall prey to the next horror?

Suddenly you seemed to snap back into yourself with a gasp and as you spun around you found yourself again alone, though reddish clouds drifted lazily around you from the drops of blood that had fallen into the water, proving to you that you hadn’t imagined it.

You turned again in the same spot, glancing in paranoia around you only to be met with the same expansive, crushing darkness… until…

Something was suddenly different.

There was a crackling sound and your peripheral vision perceived a change, an orange and red glimmer. Fear gripped you again, freezing your heart, but it soon faded inexplicably as the glow grew. It was warm and familiar.

You squinted at the distant spot, finally uprooting your feet and trying to move closer, but you couldn’t close the gap. As the warm spot of dancing color grew there was a sudden pinhole of vibrant white that shot toward you into the darkness like a lance of light. You raised an arm to shield your eyes from the sudden contrast but your eyes grew in amazement as you studied this ray.

You raised a tentative hand and hesitantly reached for the bolt of light. You gasped when it illuminated your hand and studied the broken shadows thrown from your fingers blocking the light. Your eyes darted back to pinhole and you realized in wonder that it was still growing, widening, vibrant oranges and reds crackling and dances around the edges. The ray of light streamed through the darkness and you thought it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

As you bathed in this curious streak of light you noticed something floating in its illumination, dancing in the air the dust. A fleck drifted toward you and you opened a hand to let it fall on your palm.

You examined the little fleck that sat delicately in your hand and pressed a finger to it. It crumbled and smeared leaving a shadow of grey charcoal on your palm. “Ash…” you wondered aloud. Was the blackness burning away?

As your mind whirred and puzzled the hairs on the back of your neck stood upright and you heard a whisper which was somehow both deafening and faint at the same time. All it spoke was your name.

You knew that voice. Even in that echoing whisper you knew that voice. “Sam,” you said into the darkness. “Sam!” You stared again at the expanding pinhole, now a window into blinding light, and a feeling you thought you would never have again swelled in your chest; hope.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam let out a pained yell as thorns dragged over his upper arm, tearing it open in long gashes, which immediately sent blood running down over his forearm and hand, staining his skin crimson in rushing streams. He heaved some deep breaths, coughing in the smoke, staring at his injuries and trying to push down the pain in his arm. He turned the blaze of holy fire pouring from the end of the make shift flame thrower in his hand to the vine that had just grappled at him. The wood groaned and screamed, steam poured from cracks that looked like veins running up and down the thick bark until they split and blackened before carrying the fire up the stem like molten metal. Sam shielded his soot smudged and sweat-drenched face from the new burst of flames and retreated a few steps.

He watched anxiously as the flames grew and the vines slowly seemed to draw back. A rain of debris from above pelted him and he stumbled backward as the chunks of stone and concrete grew in size, falling from their places caught in the vines above. A timely glance up and Sam threw himself to one side as a chunk of stone and rebar the size of a compact car came crashing down.

Flecks of rock and sparks flew in the whirl of smoke, some striking his face. Sam’s chest heaved in the hot air but he pressed forward again.

The holy fire was working.

[hopelesslyshippingthem]

Got another request, Bumblebee Power Rangers AU where Blake is the broken black ranger and dropout also outcast who was forced to kill her own team after they fell to there corruption so she guards a dying Zordon with Winter who was the white ranger and Yang is a a highschool senior alongside Ruby and Weiss who stumble upon the place and become the new Power Rangers much to Blake's anger since she has PTSD and is betting bad memories.

Before you read, please note that this will be getting a FULL FANFIC. This will be in the Shipping Bin, but the rest of the chapters will be under an individually titled fanfic.

Running. Running. Running. Blakecouldn’t run fast enough in her fear, her helmet catching the debristhat sprayed her from the exploding dirt. Her legs burned from howhard and fast she was moving, but she couldn’t stop. She had to keepgoing. She had to get to the others.

“Coco! Pyrrha!” She shoutedthrough the communications system in her helmet, her voice laced withthe panting of growing fatigue. “GUYS, IT’S AN AMBUSH, PLEASECOME IN!”

How could she have been so blind? Howcould she have agreed to split up like this? If anything happened tothem, she would never forgive herself.

The monster behind her roared, makingthe earth below her feet shake, nearly knocking her to the ground.Blake had to fight, but it would cost her precious time to do so. Shewanted to keep running, but combat was inevitable; she could do itnow, or hope that she wouldn’t collapse when she tried to fightlater.

Blake turned, standing her ground asshe looked up at the creature, her visor already working to scan forweak points, her hand flexing as she started to materialize herweapon.

“Ahhh… Kitty cat.” Itgrinned at her, a toothy smile of fangs greeting her. “Wannadance?”

Blake sized up the mutated Roman,barely able to recognize his signature hat and blue eye under thehideous changes. What had Cinder done to her own right-hand man? Itwas unforgivable.

Suddenly, a yowl of a wild cat filledthe air, Blake’s panther mecha leaping at her foe. She could feel howit wanted her to keep running, and after a nod to her loyal partner,she heeded it. She still needed to find Jaune, Cardin, Pyrrha, andCoco. She needed help.

“Winter! Winter, come in!”She shouted, heading into the woods that her visor could sense theothers were in. “Damn it, Winter! Now is not the time todo your fucking brooding, lone-wolf, Batman bullshit! I need yourhelp!”

-

“Blake, wake up. Hey, hey!”

Blake shot awake, swinging her fists ina panic, already shouting in fear. “Get away from them! Leavethem alone!”

Another set of hands struggled to catchthe incredibly fast strikes nearly to fast to track. And yet, theywere keeping up with her flurry of attacks. “Blake! It’s me,”the voice urged, slowly becoming less hazy as the fog of nightmarelifted. “Winter. Blake, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

Blake finally stopped fighting,blinking in her half sat up state, finally seeing the older woman inher dimly lit vision. She could hear how wildly she was pantingstill, feel her heart pounding violently in her ears, but she couldstill hear the agonized shrieks of the others over it all. She couldstill feel her blade sinking into them. She could still see them deadbefore her.

“Get away from me.” Blakehissed, her feline ears flat on her head.

“Lights, on.” Wintercommanded, leaning away from the younger girl slightly.

The lights came on with surge of power,flooding bright light where the emergency lights had barely allowedsight previously. The pile of blankets that Blake had been sleepingin was strewn violently all over what seemed to be a bedroom, sixbeds filled the room, their color coded fitted sheets exposed fromhaving their matching blankets stolen. The walls had picturesplastered all over them; some from cameras, others that were handdrawn, and some were posters that seemed to be a mix of varioustastes. Both Blake and Winter were in the very center of the room,where a large area of formerly open space had been claimed by whatseemed to be a nest of clothes and blankets, Blake atop it all.

“Blake, please,” Winter beganin an imploring voice. “relax. It’s me.”

Those amber orbs were ice cold, theirgaze haunted and full of distrust. “Exactly. Just go away. Don’tyou have a happy family to go home and play with?”

Blue eyes narrowed in frustration.“That’s not fair, Blake.”

“Yeah, well look who’s talking.”

Winter stood, throwing up her hands inexasperation. “Blake, would you just stop this? I’m allowed tobe concerned about you and check on you. I’ve told you god knows howmany times that you would be more than welcome to live in the mansionwith me and my family.”

“You,” Blake spat theword out like venom, “are not my family. I buried my family. I’mguarding my only friend, and he’s dying. You lost being able to callyourself my friend, let alone family.”

No matter how many times she had heardit, Winter always felt those words like a knife in her heart.“Alright, Blake. I’m checking on Zordon, and then I’ll go. I’llbe back later to check on you again.”

She turned and left the room, enteringwhat seemed to be a command room. The panels and monitors seemed tobe flickering slightly, their power tied to the slowly fading lifesource of their guide. Winter halted in front of a tube of milkyglass, placing her hand on it and willing it to become clear.

Inside lay a wizened, old figure, hisskin a sickly white, his face covered with wrinkles. She watched hischest rise and fall slowly, recalling how he used to be strong enoughto project an image of his face onto that very tube to help teachthem how to save the world, guiding them to become better people.

With a tired sigh, Winter removed herhand, the glass once more that opaque, milky hue. If he could regainconsciousness, she knew he would be so disappointed in her. Shewondered if like Blake, Zordon would be unable to forgive her. Wouldhe take away the power that had been given to her? Strip her of whatmade her a ranger?

Winter turned back towards the exit,looking at the old spray paint that shouted names at her in variouscolors. In yellow was Jaune, pink was Coco, Cardin written in blue,Pyrrha in red, Blake in black, and her own name in white. Closer towhere her morpher would teleport her back to the cliffs, all sixcolors were used to write in various handwriting joined into onemessage; We are the Super Dweebs!

A tiny smirk tugged at her lips like italways did, tinged with a sharp stab of regret. If she could take itall back, she would. She could still remember how Blake looked whenshe had found her in that cave, crying. She never could forget it,not even after three years of wishing she could.

-Winter walked in a daze through thetrees, her white wolf helmet held loosely in her hand as she blanklystared up at the bright, sunny sky. It was such a beautiful day; sowarm, and clear. And it was all a terrible lie. If this was aHollywood film, it would be a bleak, overcast day, probably with athunderstorm booming around her. But there was no prophetic fallacyin the real world, no matter how much her life seemed like a druginduced action movie.

She didn’t want to go to the cave, shetruly didn’t, and yet her feet refused to change their course. And soshe marched on like a zombie, staring at the sky, feeling tearswelling up in her eyes. What was it going to be like for her now?What would she do? Hell, what could she do? No one would believe thetruth, and nothing could ever change it. Silence would remain thebest option.

Her head limply moved to look in frontof her, staring at the cave as hot tears finally fell from her blueeyes, leaving trails along her porcelain skin. How she wanted to runfrom there. Winter wanted nothing more than to flee to her home, andnever come out of her room again.

A sob echoed from the cavern, andwithout a moment of hesitation, Winter dropped her helmet, runninginto the shallow cave as quickly as possible. She didn’t care if itwas a trap; she knew that voice. Her legs refused to stop until shecame upon the end of the cavern, light filtering in from a large holein the ceiling to illuminate the scene before her.

Blake knelt on the rocky floor, herbody bent forward, her entire posture that of a broken spirit. Herarmor was gone, revealing her normal clothes covered in dirt andblood, her body shuddering and heaving with sobs. Even her ears wereslightly limp in despair. Laying around her in large swatches oftheir own blood were the other rangers, their bodies twisted,mutated, covered in what seemed to be veins of red that lay undertheir skin, helmets strewn around the cavern. The source of thecorruption seemed to be from stones that were jutting from terriblewounds, as if they had been violently stabbed with them. What Winterfound most horrific, were the eyes of the corpses; they werecompletely black, soulless. Shells of the lively teens they had oncebeen.

Her boot scuffed the rocks as she tooka stumbling step forwards, Blake slowly looking up at her. Thetortured, dead seeming amber orbs locked with horrified ice blue,both of the crying teens staring at each other for several seconds.Finally, Blake took in a shuddering breath, her eyes showing just howlost, broken, and utterly betrayed she felt.

“Winter…..” She choked outthrough sobs, the pain in her voice damning to the older woman.-

Winter choked on a sob as she coveredher mouth, desperately trying to push away the horrible memories. Nomatter how much it hurt her, how could she blame Blake for hatingher? She quickly walked to where the path abruptly ended, her morpherglowing and encasing her in a white light, taking her to the cliffside so she could go to the Schnee Tech headquarters and bury herselfin her work.

-

Yang walked along her sister andfriends, Ruby chattering happily with Weiss as she and Nora debatedthe finer points of which Mortal Kombat game was a blight to thefranchise. While she held fast that it had to be Mortal Kombat vs. DCUniverse, Nora was adamant that it had to be Mortal Kombat SpecialForces. To be fair, both had been great ideas gone terribly wrong.

“Ooooh. Look, guys.”Ruby called out, pointing at an old cavern. “Isn’t that thehaunted cave?”

Yang followed the finger, frowning.“Eh…. Yeah. I think it is.” For some reason, it alwaysfilled her with a deep dread. “We should go, though. This placealways creeped me out.”

Weiss nodded, shifting uncomfortably.“Yeah. I second that.”

However, Nora and Ruby scoffed. “ButYaaaang,” Nora started, “what’s so creepy about acave?”

Weiss grit her teeth. “It’s… notwhat’s creepy about it, but what it’s associated with. Three yearsago, four high schoolers and a middle schooler went missing from ourcity.” A bit of color drained from her face. “My sister,Winter, was friends with them. She came home one day a mess, cryingand saying that something had happened in the cave, and that no onecould find her friends. Cops found their blood and really weirdcrystals in the cave, but no bodies. Winter wasn’t really ever thesame afterwards.”

Yang nodded. “The middle schoolerwas in my art class. Really quiet Faunus girl. I think her fosterfamily didn’t even report her missing for like, a week. Apparently,they hadn’t noticed she was gone or something; I can’t reallyremember. They lost the ability to foster after that, if I rememberright.” She grinned playfully. “Guess the feds don’tapprove of people not noticing that foster kids are missing likethat.”

Ruby frowned slightly. “I barelyremember that.”

Yang scruffled her sister’s hair. “Youwere like…. eleven or twelve. It was a lot, and Dad tried to keepyou from hearing about it.”

Nora blinked. “Wow. I never evenknew about that.” Her gaze went back to the cave. “Thatsounds… awful. Finding your friends dead. Or even just losingthem.”

Weiss worried her sleeve absently,nodding. “Yeah. Winter became really buried in school work, andwith Grandpa’s company when she finally starting being able to bearound other people again. She never talks about it with anyone, noteven me, really.” Her eyes glanced at the cave again. “Weshould go. It’s really creeping me out.”

The others all eagerly agreed, walkingquickly from the cave, altering their course to the cliff side.

-

Blake walked around the command center,her tired eyes looking from monitor to monitor, trying to figure outhow to save Zordon. Ever since that day, he had fallen into a coma,and deteriorated steadily over the years. She had to reverse hiscondition somehow, but she didn’t even know what had caused it. Howcould she save him from an unknown enemy?

Her foot caught on a grate, trippingher slightly. Her mind was filled with images of the cave, hearingthe screeches of her team, then grunts of their corrupted bodies asthey attacked her. She tried to push herself back up, but she foundherself back in the cave, her helmet far from her as her gloved handsshook violently.

Blake turned, seeing Coco walkingtowards her, the red veins glowing eerily along her neck, face, andher pink armor. Her normally playful brown eyes were black, void ofeven the whites.

“Coco….?” She whimpered,looking at the others as they started twitching on the ground. Thiswas a horrific nightmare- it had to be.

“No… No, no, please,” shebegged, backing away from both Coco and Jaune as they drew theirweapons on her. “please, guys! It’s me! It’s Blake! Wake up,PLEASE WAKE UP!”

“Wake up… Wake up…” Blakefound herself whimpering in a trembling voice, shaking with GambolShroud in her hands, the barrel pointed at no one. Once again, shewas back at the command center, wild eyed and afraid. “Wake….up….”

She thought she heard something behindher, turning to be met with Cardin as he bared down on her in thecave, the crystal pulsing as it jut out from his throat, his vacantexpression making her skin crawl. The blood colored crystal seemedalive, the shifting reds turning to sickly maroon, then to anunsettling greyish purple. It looked like anime blood gone horriblywrong, and like any other normal person, Blake found herselfunwilling to hurt her own friends; even if they seemed like they weregoing to kill her. “Please, don’t…. Don’t come any closer…Cardin, please? Please, don’t…” She sobbed, her weapon almostfalling from her shaking hands.

Suddenly, Blake felt something clip hershoulder painfully hard, making her stumble. She glanced behind herto see Miló embedded in the rocks, turning back to see a black eyedPyrrha straightening up from throwing it at her, the crystal’scorruption spreading like a virus over the red armor on her body.

In that moment, Blake knew that Winterwasn’t coming. No one was going to save her from her own friends; thepeople she admired, and considered her family. If she was going tosurvive, she was going to have to save herself, and to do that, shehad to do the unthinkable. The unbearable.

“I…. I’m so…. so sorry….”She sobbed, looking at Pyrrha through the haze of tears. She wasfourteen years old, fighting a battle no one knew existed, and now…

Now she would have to kill her ownfriends.

Her hands were barely able to hold herweapon, turning to face Coco. “Pl-ple-ease… Forg-g-gi-veme…” She begged as her barrel trained on her, pulling thetrigger with a scream of sorrow.

A shot rang out from the commandcenter, Blake snapping out of the flashback in a blind panic. Shespun around almost wildly, shaking and crying as she tried to locateher attackers, finding herself utterly alone in the command center.She fell to her knees, curling her body into a ball as she sobbed.How could she go on like this; always not quite sure what was real orin her head?

A soft metallic clinking moved towardsher along the grates, not halting until a hard force gently brushedagainst her shoulder.

Blake reached out a trembling hand tostroke the cool metal of her zord, the once gigantic creature nowonly the size of a house cat. Ever since she had lost her team, itwouldn’t return to it’s normal size, and after so long in isolation,it was her only comfort. A metallic mewl escaped it, and Blake pulledit into her arms, holding it close.

How could this go on? How much longeruntil she well and truly lost her mind?

In her pain, she didn’t notice theflicker of color that appeared in Zordon’s tube. She didn’t see howthey glowed faintly. She didn’t see the red, pink, yellow, or bluelights that seemed to watch her as they hovered in the frosted tube.She didn’t see how they moved upwards and vanished.

-

“Yang, just come back, okay? It’sreally dangerous!” Weiss pleaded, clearly worried.

“She’s right, Yang. Just come on!”Ruby called out.

“C'mon, I wanna do it next!”Nora goaded, almost bouncing with energy.

Yang was walking along an old fallentree, arms stretched for balance as she swayed on the very unsteadywood. It wasn’t like she was even using it to go anywhere; the treejust had fallen to lay mostly over the edge of the cliff side,precariously attached to the earth by dead roots, nothing below butthe water of the ocean far below.

Yang slowly spun around on the wood,hearing Nora cheer her on while Weiss and Ruby gasped and begged herto come back. Even though there was another few yards of tree left,she felt like she had pushed her luck enough already, slowly makingher way back to the cliff. Carefully, she stepped on the creakingtimber, halting when her balance left her.

After a deep breath, Yang took threemore small steps, and then jumped onto the sturdy cliff, standing upwith a grin. “Ta-da!”

“Okay, my turn!” Noragleefully cackled, scrambling up onto the wood with a wide grin.

Eagerly, perhaps a bit too eagerly,Nora bounced along the wood, not caring how it creaked ominouslyunder her very overly confident footsteps.

“Nora, please stop it!” Rubypleaded.

Nora turned around and grinned as ifshe wasn’t currently risking a free fall to her own death. “Oh,come on. This thing’s been here for–”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”Weiss interrupted angrily. “I don’t care how long it’s beenthere; it’s rotting, and could easily choose today to stop beingthere for you two assholes to walk on!”

Yang shrugged at Weiss apologetically,“I like the rush.” She turned back to Nora. “Butseriously, come back. You’ve done it better than me, okay? You win.”

Nora shook her head. “I wanna go abit further. Just relax, okay?”

“You are walking on a rotting,dead tree that is hanging off the edge of a cliff, pushing your luckagainst gravity, and the fucking ocean.” Weiss snapped, hervoice high pitched with fear as her arms gestured wildly. “It’spretty hard to fucking relax!”

Nora waved her off absently, takinganother bouncing step towards the end of the log, whistlingcheerfully.

A sudden cracking sound made all ofthem freeze, horror choking them before the three on the cliffstarted screeching at Nora in near unison.

“Nora, move it!”

“Hurry up, you dolt!”

“Please hurry!”

Nora turned and dashed back as fast asher balance would allow, jumping as the log snapped in half,plummeting down into the ocean below. Her feet hit the grass near theedge, and Weiss’ hand grabbed her shirt to pull her even further ontoland, both of them falling over from how hard Weiss had yanked. Forseveral moments, nobody said anything, until Nora started laughingalmost gleefully. “That was fun! I wanna do that again!”

Weiss growled before lunging at her,slapping her arms and shoulders in fury. “You fucking dolt!You could have died, and you want to do it again?! Are youdense, or just have a death wish? Never, ever, ever, ever dothat to us again!”

“Awww, but I like doingthat!”

“What, giving me a damn heartattack?!”

“Okay you two.” Yang sighedas she pulled them apart, Nora still giggling. “That’s enoughinsanity for one day. Who wants to go get ice cream?”

Ruby and Nora instantly brightened up.“Ice cream!”

“Awww yeah. Ice cream, baby!”

“Fine.” Weiss seethed, givingNora one last slap on her shoulder.

Nora threw on an overly dramatic lookof agony, holding her arm. “She beats me! Domestic aboose!”

“Come on, you two act like an oldmarried couple.” Yang teased, watching Weiss use a humorlessdeadpan glare at her, Nora distracted by something drifting in theair in front of her. Probably a bit of some plant, or a feather.“Last one to town buys the ice cream.”

All of them leapt to their feet, racingtowards the path that would take them down to the town again. Rubypushed herself to try to gain a lead against Yang’s long legs,finding instead that the distance only grew by the second. Why didher sister have to be the tallest of them?

“Gangwaaaaaaay!” Noracalled, her voice approaching at an unnaturally fast pace.

Everyone looked back to see Norahaphazardly flying through the air, the large half ring of barkflying behind her telling everyone that she had tried to use it tosurf her way down the grass. And, it was also clear that she hadfailed horrifically. Ruby dove out of the way of the bark, Yangwatching her friend in dumbfounded shock as Nora flew towards her,arms milling uselessly. When they finally collided, they both hit theground and rolled a few feet before coming to a halt, groaning inpain.

“Yang!” Ruby called, hurryingto her sister.

“You fucking dumbass!”Weiss shouted in exasperation, stumbling over to Nora. “Areyou just that desperate to die today?!”

Nora hissed as she sat up, nursing herleft arm with a wince. “Yeah… I guess you’re right. Not agreat idea.”

The moment Weiss gingerly touched theinjured arm, the other girl flinched and hissed from pain. “Yang,I’m not a doctor, but her arm could be dislocated, or sprained. Orbroken.”

“Not broken. Done that before. Ithink I jammed it on the ground from my totally amazing and plannedlanding.”

Yang sat up and glowered at Noraslightly. “That’s what you get for being a damn chaoticneutral.”

“Better than a neutral good anyday.”

Ruby sighed irritably. “Okay, thisisn’t a campaign, guys. Party alignment aside, you need a doctor.”Nora booed at the remark. “So ice cream is postponed, I guess.”

“Won’t somebody think of thechildren?!” Yang gasped mockingly.

“Uhhh, guys? What’s that?”Weiss questioned in a confused tone.

Everyone looked at her before followingher line of sight to a strange multi-hued light in the trees. “Ummmm,I got nothing.” Yang admitted. “It looks like a ball ofChristmas lights, don’t ya think?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ruby nodded.

The lights twinkled at them almostinvitingly, then split into four different colored lights quitesuddenly, the four girls all very apprehensive at what it could mean.For a moment, all was still, until the lights zipped towards them atan irrational speed, all four of them trying to hide behind theirhands or arms from any possible harm.

It took several moments of waiting forany sort of impact before Ruby realized that nothing had happened toher, slowly peeking out behind her arms to see the lights blinkingaround in front of them at an insane speed. She barely registered theothers also growing both bold and curious enough to look as well asshe watched the lights. They blinked to life in front of them, eachone in front of a different girl for only a moment or two beforevanishing again, only to reappear in front of a different girl. Itwas as if they were appraising each of them for something, trying tofind something before moving on to another one.

The red one blinked back in front ofRuby, but this time, it stayed visible, floating in the air quietlyas the other lights continued to flit from girl to girl. Finally, theyellow light came to rest in front of Yang, leaving the blue and pinklights to flicker between Weiss and Nora. The blue light pausedbefore Nora one last time, as if deciding on something, before itflashed back to Weiss, the pink one taking its place.

The lights glowed brightly in front ofthem, hovering in the air before them as if simply waiting, but noneof them knew what they were waiting for. Each of them glanced at eachother for reassurance, as if trying to double check that they weren’tinsane.

“I’m gonna touch it.” Yangwhispered cautiously, as if worried that the yellow light wouldsomehow hear her and attack.

“Yang,” Weiss hissed back,“be careful.”

Very hesitantly, Yang reached up andgingerly wrapped her hand around the light, exhaling the breath shehadn’t known she had been holding. She felt it solidifying in hergrip, flattening. When she opened her hand again, it was a clearyellow stone disc, edged in gold instead of the bright light. Theothers followed suit, each perplexed as the orb of light transformedinto the discs of stone, looking at them intently.

As Ruby held her red disc up to the skyto look through the jewel like stone, she heard Nora chuckling a bitnervously. “W-well… That was a bit anticlimactic.”

Suddenly, a sharp tug hit Nora in thechest, causing her to double over slightly, aggravating her alreadybattered shoulder.

“Hnnn!” She heard Yanggrunt, knowing that it wasn’t only her.

A soft glow wrapped around each ofthem, each light the color of the gem they held, and in a flash, theywere gone.

-

Winter sighed in her meeting, listeningwith only half interest to the members of the board, uncaring of howthe company stock value had climbed sharply in the last month. Theonly thing she cared about hated her, and she was incredibly tiredfrom fighting off several armed robbers the night before as the whiteranger. If it wasn’t frowned upon, she would be more than content tosimply doze off in the meeting room.

A sharp tug hit her chest, causing herto openly flinch. The room went silent as the speaker paused, alleyes on her. “Miss Schnee, are you alright?” She inquired.

Winter frowned, blinking as she foughtthe pull of her morpher to the command center. It took her a fewmoments to get control of herself before she gave them a politesmile. “Forgive me, but I feel unwell. I must go. I trust thatyou have everything in hand?”

They all nodded and assured hervaliantly as she collected her paperwork, giving them a final nodbefore leaving the room, heading to her office. If her morpher wascalling her, then it might be Blake. Her blood went ice cold;something could have happened to Blake, and she had to get to herfast. She was always the one that was using it to morph and toquickly get to the base at night when she felt the tug in her soulfrom Blake having a nightmare; it had been years since she had felt atug like this.

Winter passed her secretary as shemarched sternly to the oak door of her office, watching her perk up.“Melissa, clear my schedule for today, if you don’t mind. I’mfeeling rather I’ll, and I just received an urgent message from mysister.” She lied calmly.

“Right away, Miss Schnee. Shall Icall your driver?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.Klein is taking time off, and I can get a taxi. The air might do mesome good.” Winter smiled kindly, casually ignoring the factthat the city air smelled like hell.

If Melissa also thought of that samepoint, she never acknowledged it. “Of course. Do feel better,okay?”

Winter didn’t answer as she entered heroffice, closing the door behind her for privacy. Hurriedly, shereached to the back of her skirt for her morpher, the small powercoin and holder hidden in plain sight on her belt. She gripped it andgave it a firm pull to remove it, holding it in her hand beforelifting it into the air. There was a bright flash of white light, andthen Winter was gone.

It took only a few moments before shewas in the command center of the ancient craft, frantically lookingaround. “Blake? Blake? Blake, where are you?”

-

Ruby had never been more afraid in herlife as she was now, kneeling on what seemed to be metal grates,trembling as she looked around her new surroundings. She could seeher sister and their friends also nearby, clearly just as lost as shewas at this strange turn of events. There was a huge glass tube amidmonitors, control panels that had writing in a very odd language setinside of metal surfaces. She half expected an alien to walk out atany second and demand them to take it to their leader.

It was utterly bizarre to see suchmovie set like objects around them, and Weiss was half wondering ifthis wasn’t all some incredibly elaborate prank. But who would havethe desire, let alone resources, to employ such a prank on them? Itwasn’t like Vale was a particularly wealthy city, and her family waseasily one of the most prominent in at least a four state radius.There was no one that she could even consider being the culprit.

“Guys?” Yang whisperednervously, motioning for the others to come to her location.

Weiss felt like her footsteps were fartoo loud in the metal grates, ducking behind the control panel by theblonde with her friends. “Where are we?” Her voicewas shaking so badly.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She heardboth Nora and Yang reply soothingly. It didn’t help her to calm downat all.

“Yang,” Ruby hissed, “howare we gonna get out of here?”

“I’m not sure. But we’ll be okay.I promise.”

Weiss knew that Yang had no right tomake such a promise, but all that she could do was try to calm themdown.

A bright flash of white light lit thefar area of the grates before footsteps tapped the surface. All ofthem hid closer to the panel, scared.

“Blake? Blake?” A voicecalled out in worry. “Blake, where are you?”

Weiss knew that voice, standing upquickly. “Winter? Winter!”

Winter froze at the voice, jaw slightlyagape as her sister came bolting out from behind one of the securitypanels to hug her tightly. “Weiss?!”

“Winter, did you get trapped heretoo?”

Winter leaned back slightly even thoughshe had her arms wrapped around the smaller frame. “How did youget in here?” Others stepped out from where her sister had comefrom, the elder girl clearly even more confused. “No one issupposed to be able to get in here.”

“These stupid lights brought ushere. Well, they’re coins now, but they were lights.” A voiceshe recognized as Nora’s grudgingly answered.

Winter felt her body go ice cold,shaking her head. “No… That’s impossible. The coins were…..they’re lost. You need to show me them, Weiss.”

Weiss pulled away from her sister.“What do you mean? You’re familiar with this place?”

Winter held her hand out, her blue eyesfull of panic. “The coins, show me! Now!”

As Ruby began to hold hers out, asecond voice made itself known from the shadows.

“Don’t move. I will shoot, and Ihave very good aim.”

A cat Faunus stalked out with a deadlygleam in her amber eyes, her ears flat against her head as thestrange gun remained leveled on Weiss. The only one who moved wasWinter, planting herself between the girl and the group of frightenedteens.

“Winter, move.” The girlhissed in a dangerous tone.

“No.”

The gun remained fixed in position,though now it was directed at Winter. “Just move,Winter.”

“Blake, I will get them out ofhere as soon as I figure out how they got in. You must have feel thepull like I did.”

Yang looked between the two otherwomen, frowning in confusion, her limbs trembling in fear. “What’s…what’s going on?”

For a moment, the Blake girl lookedamong the four girls, and she seemed to back down. But her gazelocked onto the coins in their hands, her keen eyes spotting themeasily in the low lighting. Her gun was once again locked in place,her expression both dark and hurt. “Where did you get those?”

No one could answer her fast enough andshe took a furious step closer, now clearly enraged. “Wheredid you get them from?!”

“They just came to us, we swearit!” Ruby cried out in fear, cowering as the gun jerked in herdirection before Weiss openly flinched, spooking the already frazzledFaunus.

They knew that she was going to shoot,and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

[kingdomimpacttv]

DO YOU HAVE A YEARNING DESIRE TO LAY HANDS ON THE SICK AND SEE THEM HEALED?

ARE YOU CONFUSED ABOUT HOW TO START?

DOES THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD TELL YOU THAT YOU JUST DON’T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO PERFORM A MIRACLE?

Hi, I’m Andrew Nkoyoyo, Host of Kingdom Come broadcast, author of Working the Works of God, and founder of Kingdom Impact Ministry and the School of the Anointing. Thank you for joining me.

As a missionary from Africa to America who, through the power of God, has healed blind eyes, deaf ears and delivered those who were bound, I have fantastic news for you:

YOU TOO CAN HEAL THE SICK AND SET THE CAPTIVE FREE!

After more than 27 years of fulfilling a powerful miracle ministry around the world, God has revealed to me the keys to operating in His power through miracles, signs, and wonders. And, now He has instructed me to teach others how to operate in that same spiritual dimension.

That’s why I’ve created an online training course that will transform your life and enable you to move in the anointing of the Holy Spirit as part of your everyday life and ministry. I will teach you how to perform the same miracles as Jesus and the apostles.

Please watch this video to the end. You won’t want to miss what I’ve prepared for you!

Jesus spoke earnestly when He said, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father. (John 14:12)

Yet, most Christians who read that Scripture possess the private belief that they are powerless to perform miracles of the same caliber as Jesus.

If you are shackled by doubt and a sense of inadequacy, be encouraged. I too have been in that place of uncertainty. Let me share with you how God brought me from reluctance to witnessing true miracles of God.

At the age of 14, I accepted Jesus as savior. When I saw people suffering, my heart filled with compassion and the yearning desire to preach the gospel, heal the sick, and set people free from demonic forces.

When I studied the miracles that Jesus and the apostles performed in the gospels and in the book of Acts, I struggled with doubt, fear, and many questions:

“How shall I operate in God’s miracle-working power? What shall I do to get started? Am I worthy to perform miracles through the power of God?

Feeling void of God’s power, I lacked the faith and boldness to believe that I could perform the same miracles that Jesus did. By ignoring my desire to move in God’s power, I became spiritually bored and complacent. Over time, I felt empty, unfulfilled, far from God.

Finally, I realized that to do the same works that God performed through Jesus and the apostles, I desperately needed the POWER of the ANOINTING in my life. I surrendered myself to God.

Although I had no ministry experience or bible college degree, I preached the gospel to friends and neighbors at the market. I continued preaching and praying with them for an entire year without ever seeing a true miracle.

Then, one day I took action---and God met me! One afternoon after preaching at the market, I asked those who need prayer to come forward. To my joy, a blind beggar came forward, and when I prayed for him in the Name of Jesus he was instantly healed! Yes! The blind beggar saw his friends and family for the first time in his life!

Those who didn’t believe before now saw that Jesus is alive! And, my miracle ministry was born!

What brought me from spiritual boredom to a powerful miracle-working ministry?

The anointing power of the Holy Spirit!

Without the anointing of the Holy Spirit, healing and deliverance cannot occur.

After nearly three decades of learning the precious nature of the Holy Spirit and the anointing, I’ve created a course that will enable you to perform the same miracles as Jesus.

I’m excited to introduce to you The All New School of The Anointing: A Complete Online Training Program for Operating in the Fullness of the Anointing of The Holy Spirit.

The School of the Anointing (SOTA) is a brand new 6-week online training course that I’ve developed that will equip Christian ministers and lay people to operate in the fullness of God’s anointing power through the manifestation of miracles, signs and wonders, in their lives and in the lives of others.

Through this training program, I will share with you the 14 keys to receiving, increasing, and even doubling the anointing. Upon learning the 14 keys, you will see miraculous results in your life and ministry. You will learn to cultivate a lifestyle full of God’s power and manifest His miracles daily.

I will share practical tips on how to use them and you will have the opportunity to “take action” throughout the lessons. Mastering these essential keys will enable you to live the anointed and empowered Christian life that God dreams for you so that you can fulfill whatever God places on your heart, or calls you to do, at any given time.

WHY LEARN FROM ME?

After the blind man received his healing, the Lord led me to go into ministry full-time by the age of 18. The more I obeyed God’s voice, the more God increased His miracle-working power in our meetings. Now, when He leads me to pray a mass prayer for salvation and healing in churches, convention centers and miracle crusades, miracles begin to erupt: the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame stand up and walk, tumors disappear, and broken limbs are instantly healed!

Here are a few testimonies from the people who attended our meetings:

 “I was born with one foot shorter than the other. I needed extra support in my shoe to walk without pain. But after attending the encounter God’s Power and Andrew releasing the miracle power of God on the audience in a prayer for healing. . . . I woke up the next morning and found that my foot had grown new tendon, cartilage and muscles I didn’t have before. And now I can stand on both feet and I don’t need the extra padding and support for my foot!” Paul, Montrose, Colorado

 “God's anointing touched me in the audience at the Night Vision Festival when Andrew prayed for the sick. I was miraculously healed from twisted and herniated discs after 12 years of constant back pain!” Mark, Olathe, Colorado

  “I was miraculously healed at the Encounter God’s Power event with Dr. Andrew Nkoyoyo and team. The power of God was like lightning as it touched my life. As a result, I was instantly healed from damaged vocal chords and in addition delivered from 10 years of hip pain & 43 years of excruciating migraine headaches caused by a car accident. Wow!!” Cyndi, Olathe, Colorado

 Since the birth of my ministry, God has opened doors for me to minister on major TV networks like TBN, DAYSTAR, IT’S SUPERNATURAL WITH SID ROTH, NIGHTVISION MUSIC FESTIVAL with speakers and Christian artists such as THE NEWSBOYS, JACI VELASQUEZ, NICK VUJICIC, FOR KING AND COUNTRY, SIDE WALK PROPHETS and many more. I have been honored to minister at THE BURNING BUSH FESTIVAL in Romania: the largest Christian gathering in all of Europe.

My life story is living proof that you can transform lives through the power of the Holy Spirit. Let me show you how through The School of the Anointing:

 During the course, I will take you on a deep-dive into various aspect of the Holy Spirit.

Here’s some of what we’ll cover in this 6-week program:

 Week 1: Understanding The Anointing:

You’ll learn the nature and purpose of the anointing, and the 30 blessings such as divine revelation, protection, freedom from bondage and many more. 

Week 2: Understanding The Source Of The Anointing:

Discover the role of the glory of God, the Baptisim of the Holy Spirit, how to become anointed and hear God’s voice.

Week 3: Overcoming Hindrances To The Anointing:

Learn how to overcome doubt, unbelief, anxiety and fear. Conquer spiritual apathy and pride.

Week 4: How To Operate In The Anointing:

Find out how to operate in the anointing for salvation, healing, deliverance, and creative miracles. How to flow in the gifts of the spirit and access God’s blessings in the anointing.

Week 5: Experiencing The Anointing:

Learn how to surrender and die to self. How to be filled with the Spirit and be one with the Lord. How to fellowship with the Holy Spirit and break through barricades.

Week 6: Increasing The Anointing On Your Life:

How to increase the anointing through positive desire, unity, faith, worship, prayer and fasting. How to protect the anointing so that you don’t lose it. How to receive a double portion of the anointing and more! 

What You Receive When You Enroll Today:

·     24/7 member area access to all training videos

·     Transcript of every lesson

·     100% online -- watch from computer or mobile device

·     Free course updates

·     Email course support

·     Submit question and comments

·     Private training community

THE NORMAL COST OF TUITION IS $897

ENROLL NOW AND GET OUR SPECIAL $500 SCHOLARSHIP APPLIED INSTANTLY

YOU PAY ONLY $397 - What you receive in return will transform your life!

 BONUSES

Bonus #1: 24/7 member area access to all training materials for life (Value $1,000)

Bonus #2: Transcript of every lesson (Value 1,000)

Bonus #3: Free action guide (Value $500)

Bonus #4: Certificate of completion (Value $100)

Bonus #5: Free course updates (Value $1,000)

Bonus #7: Private training community                   Priceless

Value

You receive ALL this as part of the SCHOOL OF THE ANOINTING!

That's over $3600 worth of bonuses alone!

Summary

 What You Get When You Enroll Today:

·     24/7 member area access to all training videos for life

·     Transcript of every lesson

·     100% online -- watch from any device

·     Free course updates

·     Email course support

·     Private training community

·     Certificate of completion

·     Free action guides

·     Submit questions and comments

 ENROLL NOW IN THE SCHOOL OF THE ANOINTING!

Who Is This For?

 It is for believers of all walks (teachers, doctors, lawyers) who desire to operate in power and see miracles, who hunger and thirst for an intimate relationship with God.

It is for ministers who desire to operate in a greater dimension of power and see greater results.

It is for every Spirit-filled believer who wants to make an impact for Christ through miracles, signs and wonders. Those who want to learn how pray for themselves and release healing or deliverance from demonic oppression.

Who Is This Not For It is not for those who don’t believe in the Holy Spirit and the modern-day manifestation of His power through miracles, signs, and wonders.

 ENROLL NOW IN THE SCHOOL OF THE ANOINTING

Enroll now and get the special $500 scholarship toward the regular course tuition of $897. You pay only $397.

 You also get 7 bonuses join the school of the anointing online training program to operate in the Anointing of the Holy Spirit and manifest miracles, signs and wonders, in you and through you for others.

 This special scholarship is only available through the link below. Enroll now and guarantee your spot!

Modules release each week for six weeks when school starts. See the start below this video. You'll have lifetime access to the course and can go at your own pace. 

 ENROLL NOW IN THE SCHOOL OF THE ANOINTING

You can live life “as usual” and achieve the same routine results that you’re getting now, or you can take action, fulfill your yearning desire, and experience exciting results that will transform your life and the lives of others!

 Upon taking the course, you’ll experience the following results and more:

·     You will receive a fresh new anointing, faith and boldness to minister to people

·     You will begin to heal the sick, cast out demons, and see instant miracles

·     You will walk in a greater level of spiritual authority and pow

 You will achieve a more intimate relationship with God

·     You will begin to clearly hear God’s voice

 ENRICH YOUR LIFE!

Overcome     doubt and unbelief

Overcome     the fear of failure and fear of man

Discover     who you are in Christ

Obtain     a new and powerful prayer life

Host     the presence of God in your life to a level that transforms environments

And so     much more!

 ENROLL NOW IN THE SCHOOL OF THE ANOINTING

You can be everything that God says you are and can do everything that God has commissioned you to do as a believer.

And it doesn’t depend on YOU!

The bible says, “Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, says the Lord.” (Zech. 4:6)

Spiritual success depends only ON THE MIGHTY WORKING OF THE POWER OF THE HOLY SPIRIT – THE ANOINTING IN YOU AND THROUGH YOU, as you are willing to totally surrender to God.

WHY I TEACH AND MINISTER? FOR THE GLORY OF GOD:

Now, more than ever, people need JESUS. We are called to be God’s voice, “HIS TRUMPET ON THIS EARTH”, reaching people worldwide with the message of Jesus Christ.

Together, we focus on bringing the world to Christ and to preparing the church (the Bride of Christ) for His soon and coming return to earth. Miracles make the difference. They give irrefutable proof that Jesus is alive!

The bible says, “And these signs will follow those who believe: In My Name they will cast out demons . . . lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.”

 “As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.” Then he breathed on them and told them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.” Jesus is Still Breathing on those who believe in His Name!

 If you long to make a difference in the world and work the miracles of God, Please act now. ENROLL TODAY!

And, “when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, you will receive power to testify about me with great effect, to the people in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth, about my death and resurrection.” (Acts 1:8 Living Bible)

 ACT NOW. ENROLL NOW USING THE LINK

And I will see you inside…

[ryanjtrimble]

The Boxcar Kids

Reading time: 10 minutes

A new gang of artists, armed with gall and heart and tools from Harbor Freight, threatens to diversify Provo, Utah, with fine art, artisan coffee, haircuts, tattoos, and community events. They’ve taken over the tired midcentury building located at 156 West 500 South and have turned it into a parlor of sorts, a source of golden light and autumnal galas and monthly Drink and Draws with nude models. They call the place The Boxcar Studios.

The Boxcar Studios opened twelve months ago, unofficially. Jake Buntjer—father, photographer, found art sculptor, and now community organizer—founded Boxcar when he acquired the building on a bargain lease. Inspired by Corey Fox, owner of Velour and godfather to Utah Valley’s music scene, Buntjer set out to create a marketplace and community for fine artists and their patrons. “I knew in my gut,” says Buntjer, “if I could acquire this space, if I could create the opportunity for myself and then share it with other people, that we could hook dreams. And if I hooked a dream with somebody and they hooked with me, then we could hook more dreams together and create an ecosystem that benefitted everybody.” Boxcar has since endured on Buntjer’s vision, enlisting artists’ faith and gumption and gristle from volunteers. On any given day at the Boxcar, Millennials and Gen-Xers can be found rewiring electrical circuitry, plumbing new pipes, nailing up reclaimed boards, or painting walls. On weekends you’ll find art shows, musical performances, mingles, and costume parties. This February you can attend a private carnival for $50, which includes live music by Timmy the Teeth, premium cocktails, fire dancers, contortionists, stilt walkers, and whatever shenanigans might ensue in such an environment. In recent months, Boxcar has hosted Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s gatherings, providing a free space for friends and community members to gather for drink and food.

Seven artist studios flank the rear of the Boxcar, while three shops comprise the storefront—Revolución Barbershop & Co., Man in the Moon Mercantile & Reclamation, and Rugged Grounds, a coffeehouse. Azure paint adorns the building’s face, corrugated steel roofing runs down its west side. Out front, on a crumbly sidewalk, a wooden sign beckons folks inside, where they are apt to meet Jeremiah “Pete” Hansen behind the glass counters of the Mercantile.

Pete is lean and blond, wears a newsboy cap. A reassuring Paul Newman-like smile springs easily and frequently across his face, erasing the worry that traces his temples and brow. Pete’s background is in the restaurant and construction industries and his first love is culinary arts, but the vagaries of life have sent him meandering. He got to know the Boxcar while patching its roof one day, working odd jobs. It didn’t take long for the unheated and leaky building—combined with Buntjer’s vision—to seduce Pete, like an empty frontier. He soon began regularly working and hanging around the Boxcar, volunteering his time. Now he mans the entry point five days a week.

What inspires a grown man to abandon a recurring paycheck for some impossible opportunity, to take a chance on art and community?

“The short story?” says Pete, “I grew up in a big-ass family, the seventh of nine kids. Always shared a room. Married young, always shared a house. Got divorced, didn’t know what the fuck. Got remarried, tried to make that work. Didn’t work out. I don’t know how to be alone. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what 'me' is. So why not?”   Besides, he adds, "I can reinvent myself, I can be whoever I want. And reality is what?”

Reality does seem to twist and morph inside the Boxcar. The Mercantile, for example, is bedecked with green soda bottles, burlap bags, clackety typewriters, trilobites, brass belt buckles, wired spectacles, fraying leather jackets, false teeth, and black-and-white postcards. Drunken Sailor Radio plays on Pandora. A gray housecat named Toby toes about, purrs. There’s a velour chaise lounge, a yellow Tonka truck, a stuffed piranha, bat, and boar’s head, one sheep skull covered in turquoise, and a brocade sofa in the colors of The Mystery Machine—sea green and aqua. In the evenings, bistro lighting colors the timbered room copper and gold. In the mornings, the large south-facing shop window is platinum white, a portal back to a world of concrete and cubicles, where the pathway is known. But inside the Boxcar, possibility wafts around like an invisible river, and there’s the sense that, if lucky, you can hitch and ride the flow.

Next door, inside Revolución Barbershop & Co., California natives E’Sau and Lizzy Negrete cut and buzz hair. Actually, Lizzy quietly works the counter, swiping cards, taking money, smiling at the conversations that ricochet around the shop. E’Sau wields the scissors, clipping hair with jabs and hooks, while she dances around each customer. Rectangular black-rimmed glasses accent her round face. She talks in loud, quick gestures, her tattooed arms unfurling in all directions. Old liquor bottles—Jack Daniels, Don Julio, Jim Beam—fitted with spray nozzles, line a shelf below a mirror. E’Sau’s been cutting hair for 24 years.

“I’m the oldest of fourteen kids,” she says, “and I have ten brothers. My mom bought me a pair of clippers from K-Mart one day, when I was 13. I’ve been cutting hair since.”

Being the eldest, E’Sau spent most of her life taking care of younger siblings. “I never got to know who I really am until I moved away,” she says. Until she came to Provo.

And until Revolución, she’s always barbered from home. Having an actual shop, for the Negretes, is a dream come true. To see it through, E’Sau provides the chutzpah, Lizzy provides pragmatic oversight, encouraging her rebellious partner to play by the rules and file for all the appropriate licenses.

To the other side of Mercantile lies Rugged Grounds, set to open for business this February. Partners Skyler Saenz and Sadie Crowley, with help from friends, have renovated the old tax and payroll office entirely with reclaimed materials, from the paneled walls to the stainless counters to the modified sawhorse tables. They plan to sell traditional espresso and coffee, but will also offer kombucha, pour-overs, and cold-brew. The two blow kisses to each other from across the room, hug when they collide in the kitchen area. They both are young and attractive, and their endearments give off an intoxicating air of youthful promise, but without naivety. What they have seems solid, rugged, adding charm to the already quaint quarters.

“I’ve thought about doing something like this forever,” says Sadie. “Since I was pre-teen. And Skylar thought about it forever, too.”

Skyler confirms this. “Big dream on a whim,” he says.

When Boxcar hosts a gathering, the three storefront shops come alive. Doorways connect the structural trio like tunnels between funhouse rooms. The Negrete’s Latino community descends on the brightly lit barbershop en force, showing this gringo what familial relationships should look like—the generous hugs and fearless laughter. Ceviche and tequila abound. In the dimly lit Rugged Grounds and Mercantile, the scent of dried fruits and cocoa drifts between the chatter of Provo’s curious and outcast, who flock to the Boxcar on such evenings. Espresso and soymilk swirl inside paper cups, mimicking déjà vu.

After coffee and conversation—or during or before, there are no rules—guests mingle their way up a flight of creaky stairs, northward through Buntjer’s own atelier, and back down a set of creaky stairs into the industrial tail of the Boxcar. Depending on the evening, a band plays on a makeshift stage or art hangs from the rafters—photographs, paintings, mixed-media installations. The artists in residence open their doors and answer questions about their work.

Painter and illustrator Chase Henson rents a studio. Pencils, brushes, and tubes of paint litter his space. A while back he was studying aviation mechanics, following his father’s footsteps, but an internship opened his eyes. Chase realized mechanics wasn’t for him, so he altered course and earned a degree in art. Around the same time he abandoned the religion of his upbringing, became fascinated with religion in general, and in particular Hinduism. He now portrays its mythologies and gods in his paintings, metamorphosed in various ways. Of the Boxcar he says, “This place saved my artistic life.” Chase recently lost a tattooing apprenticeship and was ready to forsake the starving artist’s way. Boxcar, with its burgeoning community and forthcoming tattoo shop, represents a second chance.

Artists desperately need second chances in Provo. With a pious religious base and a politically conservative worldview that spiders through its suburban sprawl, the third largest city in Utah feels more like the set of The Donna Reed Show than an actual metropolis. Culture is something primarily emitted via Mormondom. Artists who have succeeded in Provo tend to paint portraits of Jesus Christ or depict dead Mormon prophets, Mormon temples, scenes from the Book of Mormon, and so on. Photographers succeed by snapping happy and glistening pics of Utah’s scenery. So making Hindu-inspired paintings that connote mysticism (Chase Henson) or honest photos of naked men (Trevor Christensen) or found art sculptures that hint of death and magic (Jake Buntjer) or photos that color youth and playfulness with loneliness and nostalgia (Lyndi Bone) or mixed media that decry industrialism and corporatism (Kelly Larsen) is a labor of love and uphill battle. But the Boxcar has enabled this motley crew to concentrate their artistic efforts, and they are puncturing cultural barriers, pushing through.

The crew is more interested in building than in tearing down, however. Buntjer’s vision of Boxcar is inclusive. Despite being an ex-Mormon and divorcee—marks that Mormondom customarily frowns upon, even shames—Buntjer doesn’t want to alienate members of the dominant culture. He in fact sees Provo’s homogeneity as artistic promise—a clean page on which to score a new song. He wants to give back to the community that shaped him by sprouting a culture that it can one day appreciate. And if that day doesn’t come, well, he and the other misfits will have each other and whatever they make of themselves through art. “I just want the community,” Buntjer says. “I want church.”

The community is coming together, and maybe the “church” is too. Boxcar is akin to a clubhouse for adults, a chapel, a place of play and spiritual replenishing. Sometimes in the late hours, usually between one and four a.m., when the night is taut and black and all that remains of the crowds is echoing whispers, three or four or six overgrown youth will circle within the gold light, among the stuffed beasts and skeletal fragments and vintage tools, and share wine or whiskey or whatever alcohol can be found hiding in a dilapidated desk drawer. The stars turn overhead. Those gathered begin to skip and leapfrog their words, so that they end up communicating more through vibes and frequencies than actual language. Psychologists call this “flow,” except they’ve yet to study it in conversational contexts. To a stranger or latecomer, it would sound like gibberish. In truth, it’s a deeper form of communication than everyday chatter, something that occurs at the level of the soul, and often regards matters of the same—what it is or isn’t, how to attain it or express or channel it. The details of these revelries are often forgotten by morning, but lingering impressions remain—footprints on each being’s nucleus, pictographs of the night tattooed onto vital organs. Of these clubhouse sessions, Pete says, “They happen when they need to.” You can’t buy tickets. No money required.

The beasts and skeletons and tools belong to Buntjer. His studio is where the Boxcar’s more serious and subdued meetings occur. His also radiates the greatest amount of magic. Whereas the other studios feel like studios, splotched with paint, flung with framed illustrations and photos, Buntjer’s studio is part shop of horrors, part dreamland, part American Pickers collective. There are leather and felt hats, fur coats, and twenty-one pairs of rusty pliers. There are hammers, saws, tapes, an old tequila bottle filled with purple goop. Block letters on a beam read: MISTER PAUPER. There are springs, wires, cloths, razor blades, dressmaking torsos in wicker, iron, and plastic, and over twenty-five doll heads, many with their eyes plucked out. A horse bust sits blindfolded in one corner. There are canvas bags, model ships, birdhouses, dusty jewelry boxes, a wall of brass curiosities. Buntjer reimages the refuse when he sculpts, which involves grinding, cutting, stitching, tying, wiring, hammering, gluing, and dreaming. The floor creaks. Light streaks through its cracks. A stuffed desert bighorn sheep stands in the center of the room. Above it drapes a large white flag bearing a red X, as if to suggest: this is the place.

Buntjer, with his pointy beard and heeled boots, resembles a satyr. Fitting for a mythmaker. Between overseeing Boxcar’s operations, sculpting, shooting photos, pitching art shows, and directing art for a new theatre in Provo, Buntjer works sometimes eighteen hours in a day. He is in the Boxcar’s tail, the storefront, and out back unloading his Jeep all at once, planning, directing, organizing. Sculpting. Sometimes following a Boxcar event, which represents the climax of a month’s work, he retires to his studio, the hearth of Boxcar, on a burgundy sectional next to the desert bighorn, for a clubhouse session. For church. But even as he unwinds, a vision visibly turns in his head, one he has expressed a hundred times in a hundred different ways, but that always resounds the same:

“I knew in my gut if I could acquire this space, if I could create the opportunity for myself and then share it with other people, that we could hook dreams. And if I hooked a dream with somebody and they hooked with me, then we could hook more dreams together and create an ecosystem that benefitted everybody. Then maybe everybody could be a little more creative, a little more real, a little more daring, a little more risky, because they were connected to other people doing the same thing. It’s a family.”

A family of foolhardy misfits, a chest of coupled dreams. Without them, Boxcar is just an old building. But, for now, it feels like a train car being pulled toward some remarkable, enchanting place. And I, for one, am aboard, if only to see what's at the next stop.

A version of this story was originally published February, 2017, at Utah Stories.

[ramon-balaguer]

Do You Know my Jesus?

No seriously, do you know my Jesus? Now, I’m Not talking about Jesus to cutting your grass, painting your home or replacing your roof…

I certainly Not talking about the Jesus exclamation mark Christ the Bostonians often yell out to make a point.

No, no, no… And I’m Not talking about the prophet or Messiah or messenger God sent to guide Israel for a short time and was eventually replaced by a “last” prophet named Mohammad who while high on opium in some cave got visions of Judaism and Christianity to create Islam…

I’m Not even talking about the man called Jesus the Mormons through the revelation after the Holy Bible Revelation according to Joseph Smith (the other “last” prophet) who while high on weed had a vision of an angel he called Moroni and wrote the Book of Mormon to create the church of Jesus Christ and Latter-day Saints. Their Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary and the one and only god the Father who was once a man like present day human beings, but who lived on another planet and sent his semen by his spirit to spiritually inseminated her and therefor Jesus inherited godly powers as His son.

 When I found out I wasn’t following the real Jesus, I was totally undone. I had long left Catholic private school I attended and Catholicism my family raised me in to run the streets and women as an atheist and eventually landed in the Mormon cult and subsequently dibbled and dabbled in Islam (Yes, they have a Jesus too, mentioned above as one of many prophets) having read and studied the Koran or Quran at least 5 times cover to cover. The hard work of making Jesus fit my brain, answer when I called, and label me righteous was a full-time job that robbed me of peace.

 When I finally fell into the loving arms of the real Jesus, I began a genuine relationship with the Savior of the world—the One who died for me. He is everything He promised and so much more.

 Our culture presents us with so many versions of Jesus, letting us make Him in our own image. Maybe you’ve come to depend on a false Jesus and didn’t even realize it. If you are struggling to find peace, read about these false Jesuses with an open mind. Consider what Jesus said about Himself and test your beliefs against the Truth from Holy Scripture.

 Here are 10 false versions of Jesus people keep falling for:

 1.      Mean Jesus

 Perhaps this image of Jesus comes from social media and the rants we see from devoted churchgoers. Maybe it is our constant news sources bickering over who is better or what is Right & Wrong. Or it could be you had a hellfire and brimstone pastor growing up, and this became your earliest depiction of Jesus. Mean and angry, full of wrath, ranting and raging about how Sin would destroy you (it will, if you remain in it and reject Jesus).

 But balance this image of Jesus with the story of the little children gathering to him, with His compassion for the Lazarus’ sisters, with His dealing of the woman at the well to forgive her and her to reject Sin and share The Good News. While Jesus called out Sin when He saw it, He was never cruel it except that one time with the Pharisees and Sadducees in His House of Praise, Prayer & Healing. Jesus, the Lamb, went to slaughter so that you would be free from His Wrath.

 2.    Political Jesus

How would Jesus vote? Since there were no Democrats or Republicans in His day, we don’t know. What we do know is that He loved and would Never Vote against Himself or His Father. I other words, he would Not Vote for Satan and his followers or folks for killing babies or justifying illegal activities or any manner of Sin. But the apolitical Jesus took the side of those in need and that my friends is what we The Church should be doing and Not trying to depend on the government to do for US. Today, we are all in need in one form or another, and we all need Him.

 As a believer in Jesus Christ, He is on your team. He is for you. He is for your redemption. He is for your Sanctification. He died for you while you still Sinned. Right or left, wrong or Right, He is for you. He is patient with us as we learn and grow and understands the frustrations that we face with both the Republican and the Democrats and especially the Sin Sick Socialist Lying Leftist Liberals.

 He walks with us through the valleys, and He delights in our newfound wisdom and growth.

 3.    Genie in a Bottle Jesus

Your wish is not necessarily His command. That the Oprah Winfrey kinda Jesus. We’re often mystified when we clasp our hands tightly together and summon Jesus to answer our every request…and nothing happens. We become deflated by what we believe is unanswered prayer, allowing our faith to increase or decrease by what we perceive.

 If you’re a parent, chances are you desire a good relationship with your child. But if your child asks for $10,000 and you say no, does that mean they stop believing or depending in you and the relationship is destroyed? Of course not. In the same way, you must consider what you are asking of Jesus. What are your expectations and motives? And are you still going to Believe in Him even when you don’t get your way?

 4.    I’ll Teach You Jesus.

Imagine what your relationship with your child would look like if these were some of the requirements: You will meet me at 5:00 every morning, I don’t care if you didn’t sleep. Now tell me what you want. I may or may not give it to you. If you have been completely impossible to deal with, I might sprain your ankle or give you a brain tumor to teach you something. Laughable? Sure.

 But how many of us believe in this works-based and punishment-loving Jesus? He died while we still Sinned. He came to bind up the brokenhearted, not break our hearts and spirits to keep us in line.

 5.    You Look Like You Can Take It Jesus.

“God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Do I look like I can handle the Big C cancer or even the lil c COVID19 the left has left many in fear of or the lung disease doctors have given up on my brother-in-law is dying from and dealing with? Or the Black Lives Matter and Antifa domestic terrorists’ Stealing, Killing and Destroying Democrat ran cities the “leadership” there allows? Or bankruptcy, or a natural disaster, or the death of a child? Do I even look like I could handle an itchy rash or ingrown toe nail much less a combat related wound or Divorce?

 Scripture teaches that we can’t handle anything apart from Jesus Christ. Far from doling out sickness or discomfort or tragedy, He promises to be with us in times of need, Not to mention at all times to Never Leave us nor forsake us. In our weakness, He shows Himself strong and makes us stronger by His Spirit.

 6.    I Couldn't Care Less Jesus.

Sometimes we feel like He is nowhere to be found. We call, and there is no answer. This Jesus is not the Compassionate Christ who laid down His life for ours. Still, in times of heartache, it is hard to understand why He doesn’t answer. Or at least, we don’t know or understand His answers. He has shown me it is okay to question Him.

 My most favorite prayer in these seasons? “Lord, help my unbelief.” One of the shortest but most impactful and helpful prayers in The Holy Bible. A relationship with Jesus is a journey. There will be ups and downs. He can take the heat—He proved that through the cross. It is okay to ask why. He always shows up, every time. He said in this life, your life, you will have troubles, but be of good cheer, He has overcome it ALL. Ask, Seek, and Knock. He will answer.

 7.    Church Jesus

The Law is Holy and Good, but it doesn’t make me Holy and Good. No more than the full nice 2” clerical or ordained minister’s collar I wear from time to time. No matter how good a church and it’s teaching of the Word of God, it does not make me Holy. Paul reminds us, do not neglect the assembly (Hebrews 10:25). Yes, hold each other up, hold each other accountable, and by all means encourage one another.

But if the pew is shaken, guess what shouldn’t be? You and Jesus. Your relationship with Jesus is separate and not dependent on the church (body of Believers congregating in a place), But The Church, You, Yes, You.

 No matter what unexpected challenges happen in “the church,” you and Jesus should still be on solid ground. He is the Solid Rock of our Faith, Salvation and ALL. The church is made up of imperfect people, while Jesus is Perfect and Holy.

 8.    Rule-Play Jesus

This Jesus and I have been super tight for many years. I obeyed all the rules. I even laminated a list and used color-coordinated markers to check off my accomplishments, believing they counted me worthy, while Not writing down my failures and Sin so as Not to remember them or the wretched man I am. Beloved, Salvation is the Cross plus nothing. The thief on the cross was asked only to Believe and that very hour he was Saved. There was really nothing left for him to do. He couldn’t attend a service, memorize Scripture, sing in the choir, take a meal to a neighbor, volunteer, or wash feet or the altar clothes.

 He was made Righteous because he said Yes to Jesus. There was no other requirement to fulfill. Circumcision? No; Water Baptism by full or even partial immersion, pouring, sprinkling or even the mystical and unseen Fire Speaking in Tongues Baptism? Nope!  There is nothing that can make the Perfected Work of the Cross anymore Perfect than the Perfect One our God, The Son and Lord Jesus The Christ. Your yes to Jesus counts you as Righteous. Toss out the rules of religiosity and bask in the refreshment of relationship. But stay connect and Sin Not so as Not to lose the salvation you gained as a Born Again Believer; or rather remain Not in Sin that His Grace may abound. God forbid.

 So don't get it twisted, Jesus does have a Rule Book He Lives and Plays by, it's Called The Holy Bible or The Word or His Word... Because He Is The Word. Just remember, that all the Rules and Laws Given fall under His Two Greatest Commandments to Love Him with ALL your Heart, all your Soul and all your mind. And the second is like unto the first, You shall love your neighbor (Family and friends or everyone) as yourself.

 9.    Confused Jesus

A couple years ago I went to a pastor and asked some questions about the Sermon on the Mount. The pastor laughed and said, “Yes, ours is not to understand. Ours is just to obey. Jesus was a confusing guy.” I lived with this, heavy on my heart.

 It would be two more years before I heard a sermon by another pastor and was undone by the revelation that Jesus was not confusing, except to unbelieving hearts and minds.  My Jesus fulfilled the Law and set us free from this heavy burden of condemnation. Jesus did died to set me and yes, you free. There is nothing confusing about Him, this and His Word. Not Confusing, No Contradictions and No Controversies. We walk free from condemnation in the grip of grace.

 10. If/Then Jesus

This is the most elusive and deceptive Jesus. If I do such and such, then Christ will do what I expect. But Jesus cannot be manipulated, and our works do not make Him move; our Faith does. Our good deeds do not make Him love us more and our bad deeds less. In fact, NOTHING can separate us All Sinners and Saints alike from His Love (Don’t get that confused with our ability to lose His Salvation and therefor Separate or Sever ourselves from Him). Again and most Importantly, nothing can separate us from the LOVE of JESUS.

 The belief that “If I do or do not do, then Jesus will or won’t do” is a Jesus of colossal works. This Jesus keeps us in bondage to busyness and striving that keeps us apart from the good nature of my Jesus Who just simply Loves. He Is Love. He Loved perfectly so that we might be together for eternity. That was all. Simply Jesus.

 Was there even a twinge or flutter in your spirit?

One that said, “Oh, that is the Jesus I have been serving?”

I know as I came to a place of Knowing, Understanding and Loving the real Jesus, my God, I saw pieces of the false Jesuses falling away and more of His natural and good character shining through.

Will you pray this prayer with me?

Jesus, I said Yes to You. Thank You for Saving from this world and myself, the clutches of Death and the Devil. I Love You with ALL my heart, soul and mind; and live to Serve You. I want Only You First and Foremost in my Life, Heart, Soul, Mind and Spirit. The real You. All of You. You promised that if I seek I will find. Help me seek the Truth in ALL things and keep my eyes wholly fixated on the True and Holy You to Love and Serve You ALL the more and to  love and serve fellow Believers and others all the more. Amen. 🥰🙏💘 #REBTD 😇