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whatanoof · 3 years

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Of Angels and Promises

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Word Count: ~12.2k

Warnings: fluff, smut, violence, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, daddy boba is a warning all on his own, implied throne fucking

Summary: Promises are bad. They imply attachment and accountability, both very hard to come by in the maker-forsaken deserts of Tatooine. Falling in love inspires promises that one isn’t able to keep, and you let your guard down with him.

You saw the ship. It soared through the sky, slicing through the air like an arrow. It was the same one that he had drawn for you on the rough sketching paper in your mechanic’s workshop, and it was even more beautiful in person. It was a cloudless day, and the green paint contrasted the sky perfectly. You could track every movement across the blue expanse and expected to watch the ship set down directly by your hut. But it didn’t. It continued, stretching farther away in the direction of the palace with every passing second that you stood, frozen in space and time.

So you do what every other abandoned lover would. You ignore it and tell yourself that you were mistaken. It’s easy to pretend you’d imagined it. Because if Boba ever came back, he would come back to you, right?

A gentle knock on the doorframe rouses you from the depths of overthinking, and you accidentally slam your head on the shelf in surprise. “Shit! Motherkriffing, dank fucking farri-”

Your first name echoes through the building and cuts through your vicious curses like a bell, and you stop in shock. No one out here calls anyone by name. Your hand drops to your workbench and grasps a heavy wrench. You slowly approach the door and slide to one side of the frame to prepare an ambush. The voice calls your name again, and this time you register that it’s female, low-pitched and soothing. An arm appears through the doorway, and you swing the wrench with all of your might.

You expect at the very least to graze the limb appearing through the doorway of your workshop, but you’re sorely disappointed when you miss entirely. You stumble forward, off-balance from the misplaced strike. A hand seizes your wrist, torquing it violently to one side and forcing you to drop the makeshift weapon. Before you can blink, you’re pinned against the wall with your arm twisted behind your back.

“Let me go!” You struggle against the grip, but it’s too strong, and you grunt at the strain in your joints. “Please, I have water, maybe a handful of credits in the house.”

She doesn’t release you and your name is muttered sharply again. “Is that you?”

“You found me. If you’re going to kill me,” You turn your head enough to spit on the ground, “Tell Bib that I’ll come back to haunt him and shove it where the suns don’t shine.”

“I don’t come on Fortuna’s orders.” She spits the Twi'lek name like a curse. Now you’ve pissed her off. If you weren’t going to die before, you would now. “I come on Boba Fett’s.”

You stop struggling immediately, “What?”

“Boba Fett sent me to bring you to him.” You inhale sharply at the confirmation.

Betrayal flashes through you like lightning. “Let me go.” The words are an angry hiss, reminiscent of a desert serpent ready to spit venom.

She does so and you turn, rubbing your shoulder. The woman is deceptively small, with dark hair in a long braid down her back. A form fitting leather tunic and coat accents her slim waist and fit body. She’s wearing a helmet, though you can see dark eyes through the visor, and a long rifle rides on her back.

“Who are you? Are you a bounty hunter?”

“I am.” You wait for her to reach for her rifle, “But that is not why I am here.” She disengages her helmet lock and pulls it off. She’s too pretty to be a hunter. You wish that wasn’t your first thought, because now you can’t help but stare. You’re vaguely aware that you probably look stupid, but you’re too busy gaping at her smooth skin and fine features. The only indicator of her profession is the stern set of her mouth and perfectly shaped eyebrows, okay you need to stop.

Because you weren’t mistaken earlier. Boba is back on Tatooine, and you’re not sure how to handle that after so much time.

---

“Come on, don’t do this to me right now. No, no no no no n--” A puff of smoke drifts from the comm unit, and you drop the screwdriver with a defeated sigh. Kriffing hell. Weeks of searching for the right parts, the blazing hope within you that you might be able to finally get off this ball of sand when you saw the Imperial signal boosting unit, all ending in a smoking and sparking mess in your hands. Anger flashes hot through your veins, and your hand flies up and whacks the communicator hard, hard enough that the stinging impact chases away the anger momentarily. Then the fury returns, doubling in intensity, and the sheer injustice almost makes your vision white out.

The distant grinding of the sandcrawler shakes you out of your fervor, and you haul yourself to your feet with a sigh. Trading days always... intensify you. But you can’t afford to get hung up on one comm unit. It has been years of fried comm units. Even if you managed to patch together a working one on your limited knowledge, who would you call? A single name flits across your mind, but you veto it instantly. Even if he was in range, he wouldn’t come to get you.

So, back to the original plan. The long plan, the one that has stranded you on this planet for solar cycles. You busy yourself with the various scavenged parts that you’d collected over the past month, polishing and dusting the pieces until they glint like gems in the late afternoon suns. Every small scratch garners another twelve minutes of debate over whether the rebuilt astromech viewport would be worth the trade for the polished transparisteel, or the additional inhibitor units.

The first thing that’s off is the Jawas themselves. They seem… tense. No, that’s underselling it. They’re always high strung, running around and worrying about different bargains and barters. But today, they’re absolutely freaked out. Dual sun-stroked. High on their anxiety. Which is good for you; they’ll be distracted and maybe they won’t try to barter for your spare vapor consolidator again this time.

So you naturally pay it no mind while setting up your line of wares. You had a good haul this week, enough to make the water taxes this month.

The Jawas crowd out of the sandcrawler deck, and you greet them as you recognize them. A flurry of Jawaese flies around your head as they run about, laying out the wares for you to examine. One scurries to your offerings this week: random parts and a series of old mouse droids that you had reprogrammed. They examine the small droids while speaking to each other too quickly for you to follow. Finally, they come back with two of the small droids, nodding to each other as they present the desired pieces to you.

“Got any working EC processors lying around in there to trade?”

They look at each other, and one says a single phrase that you translate roughly to, ‘Bring him out.’

“Bring what out?” But you’re too late and the Jawas are already inside, hauling a mass covered in sackcloth down the ramp. “Is that a patch-in droid? Where the hell did you scavenge a whole one fr…”

The second thing that’s off is the human body. They rip the sackcloth off of the form, and you trail off. “What in the kriffing hell is that?” After further examination you confirm that it is probably a he. His eyes are closed, and he’s lying in the sun too limply to be healthy. There are bruises and cuts on the skin that you can see, but he’s draped in dark clothing that has to be sweltering hot in the Tatooine suns. A Tusken gaffi stick lies pinned underneath his body.

The Jawas erupt in a storm of chattering, waving their arms around their heads as you try to keep up your limited Jawaese. You crouch by the man. He’s breathing shallowly, and you don’t see any visible injuries, but dammit, you don’t know much about first aid. “Slow down, please!”

They don’t slow down, and you’re left scrambling trying to remember the difference between preterite verb forms while continuing to try to check on the man’s health. “He broke into the sandcrawler, killed your warriors, and took a nap?”

More unpleased Jawaese flies around your head, “He broke in, killed your warriors, and didn’t try to escape, just sat down and tried to interrogate you. And then you knocked him out and broke his legs.” The Jawas cheer gleefully in affirmation, and you sigh. A second glance at the man reveals the sunken skin around his eyes and the unnaturally pale color of his skin. There are white scars over his face that look like acid burns. “Maker, how long has he been in there?” The Jawas keep talking, but you’re not paying attention. He won’t last another day without attention, and that is coming from an inexperienced mechanic. You may not know medicine, but you can’t leave him in good conscience.

“I’ll take him off of your hands. Keep the mouse droids.”

It’s a kriffing miracle that you manage to get him back inside your hut and onto the cot without pulling a muscle. You don’t even know if he’s going to wake up. He just lies there, and the weight of the situation slams down on you in a single crushing moment. “What the hell did I just do?” You rake your fingers through your hair, “Take in a dying stranger, why don’t you? Sign away half of your supplies, half of your food, half of your water, half of the credits meant to get you out of this damned place? Dumbass.”

He groans, and you start. He’s awake. With a heavy sigh, you face the newest burden in your life. “Here, drink some water.” You grab the half-empty jug from the table and kneel beside the cot. “You’re lucky that the Jawas decided to meet me today. If they had gone to Tokonu’s farm, you might not have lived through the next few hours.” You reach to prop his head up.

In retrospect, you shouldn’t have tried to touch him. There’s an explosion of movement, and you suddenly find yourself pinned to the ground, arms locked painfully behind your back. Maker, he’s half-dead, and you barely saw him move. “Where am I?” The growl is so deep that you can feel it in your toes, though the roughness of his voice suggests that it hasn’t been used in a while.

You look over your shoulder, and you see dark eyes piercing into you. A shudder runs the length of your spine at the predatory gaze, and you’re feeling less like an unlikely caretaker and more like trapped prey. This is a dangerous man, no matter the state of his health. Then he curses and the weight on your back lifts as he falls to the side and you remember the broken legs.

You shakily roll to the side and sit up, studying the man next to you on the floor, who’s clutching his legs and muttering rude phrases about Jawas and thieves that you’d rather not repeat. He’s older, with creased skin and a dark scowl contorting his features. Scars run the length of his face, adding to the aged appearance. His dark clothing masks most of his body, though you’re sure that the rest of his skin bears similar scars to the ones slicing through his features.

“You done staring?” The rasping voice makes you jump and look away hurriedly, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment.

You stand. You have to find a way to splint his legs. “I don’t see many other Terrans out here.” He grunts, and you hurry to your workshop. You need wood, or metal, or something straight. Fuck you’ve never set a broken bone before, but you grab the bacta from the back cabinet. Your gaze lands on the ladder in the corner of the room.

“Hey.” His head lifts when you re-enter the room, lugging the ladder through the door frame. You dump it on the floor in front of him, and he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Angel, I’m not going to be climbing anywhere anytime soon.”

You ignore the endearment and the sass, “I’ve never set a broken leg before. I need your help if you ever want to walk normally again.”

“You’re going to set my legs?” He asks.

“I’m assuming that you know how to.”

He doesn't confirm your theory, instead tilting his head and looking at you more seriously, “Big assumptions.”

“If you know how to break an arm, you know how to set one.”

He just leans back and laughs, “You have a tongue on you.” You won’t dignify that with an answer, and his smile only grows. “Break the ladder. I need two straight planks.”

---

The massive palace is dank and cold, the polar opposite of the planet outside. It’s a new world compared to the heatwaves and sand dunes. The silence amplifies your quiet footsteps as Fennec leads you through the hallways. Speaking of which, she is absolutely silent. Her footsteps are nonexistent even on the cold metal floor. She put her helmet back on when you entered the palace, so you can’t even hear her breathing. The only sounds are the ones made by you, and the walls seem to amplify them to the point where you’re sure that wherever you’re going, you will be expected.

You can’t help but feel like you’re walking to an execution, though you haven’t decided if it’s your own yet. It could be. You don’t know if he’s changed. It’s been years. You’ve changed, that’s for sure. Actually, scratch that. You know that he’s changed, because he didn’t come straight to you.

You frown. There’s a piece of the puzzle missing, though you can’t place your finger directly on it just yet. After years of being tied to no one, of being perfectly free and independent, why would he come back to Tatooine? What is tethering him to this desert of a planet besides his own suffering?

Out of nowhere, a staircase yawns in front of you, and you hesitate slightly before following after Fennec. The arched ceiling opens into a large room that prominently displays a raised dais, though it all falls away when you see who is seated on the throne.

It’s been a long time since you’d seen him, and you’d never seen his armor in color, only a sketch. The smooth green and red accents are color combinations that are in short supply on Tatooine, he cuts a menacing figure against the dark throne. He’s splayed out on a throne built for a Hutt thrice his size, legs spread and arms resting on the sides. It might be intimidating if it were a stranger, but you keep telling yourself that he’s not a stranger. It’s easy to imagine that he is, due to the blatant showmanship and armor. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, but this suit of armor isn’t the Boba that you knew.

---

“What’s that?” You’re sitting at the workbench while he’s in a kitchen chair that was dragged into the workshop so that he could have a place to rest. He’s recently become mobile, though he’s only allowed to move under your sharp eye, making sure that he doesn’t try anything stupid that will leave him bedridden for another month. That would be another seven weeks of extreme food rationing and existing on supplies only meant for one. That being said, he mentioned that he was willing to lend an extra pair of hands in your workshop, and you’re not one to deny free help, so long as he promised to not push himself too hard. Your measurement tools were left on the table, and to your surprise, he picked up the stubby pencil and began sketching with it. The rough parchment now shows evidence of a human-like figure.

“My armor.”

“What color is it?”

“Green.” Another purposeful sketch on the paper and there’s a prominent blemish in the helmet. “And red.” Stars, it’s like pulling teeth.

“Did you lose it?” Maybe you’re intruding, but you’ve been taking care of him for the past month, so you’ll excuse yourself from this one.

“Yes. These--” He waves a hand around his face, indicating the pale scars, “--are from a Sarlaac. When I fell in, I lost consciousness. Woke up without the armor. I need to find it.”

The Sarlaac pit is an execution site for those who oppose the Tatooine crime syndicate. You’ve never heard of anyone surviving either the wrath of the Hutts or the Sarlaac. “It’s important to you.” “The armor belonged to my father.” It’s hard to imagine the toughened man in front of you ever being dependent upon someone else. Though, you suppose that everyone comes from somewhere. You wonder not for the first time where this man came from. “It’s part of who I am.”

---

“Boba?” The name is a quiet whisper that echoes emptily through the chamber.

He says your name in return, but his deep baritone makes it sound so much more full than his did floating in the air. “Just as beautiful as the last time I saw you.”

“Can’t say that I can make the same observation.” You shift nervously. It’s too empty and cold in here, the absolute antithesis of the world you made your own. You can feel the dampness leeching the energy from the air.

“That’s fair.” There’s a beat of silence.

“How have you been?” It’s a passive question, nothing more than something to say to break the silence.

“Good. And you?” The conversation is stunted and awkward, though it only used to be stunted. Now, you’re looking at this man and you don’t know him anymore. Even before, he was your friend above all else. Now you’re stuck making basic observations about him.

“You got your armor back.”

The helmet inclines once, barely an acknowledgement of a statement that you feel should receive so much more. “Found it through a friend.”

“Some friend. Am I going to get that story?”

“Later.” It’s infuriating, the distinct lack of personalization. For solar cycles, you had Boba. Then, nothing. Now you have Boba Fett, the bounty hunter.

---

“What’s your name?” You can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ask, though in all fairness, there’s not much need for names when there are only two people around for leagues. You simply speak, and he assumes you’re talking to him. He rarely speaks, so when he does, he’s always talking to you.

He doesn’t answer at first, only continuing to hold the sheet of metal in place so that you can continue welding it shut over the gap in the droid’s body. You don’t mind. If he wants to answer, he’ll answer. Though it would be nice to have a name to place to the stoic face. It would also be nice to have a name to whisper when you touch yourself at night.

You hadn’t meant for it to end up like this, but you can’t help but admit that you had been setting yourself up to fail. Living with a man, especially one so tall, strong, so… kriffing dominant in how he carries himself? You’re just surprised that it took the dreams half a solar cycle to start up. But now you can’t stop thinking about how it would feel for him to back you up against a wall and pin you to the rough stone with just one of those wonderfully strong hands.

“Watch it angel--”

You snap back to the present just in time to see your torch drifting dangerously close to your hand. You yank it away, but the damage is done and your glove is burning. He curses, bare hands immediately flying to the thick cloth and yanking your arm forward. A few rough pats later, and your glove is smoldering. Shit. That had been your last good pair. You sigh, pulling the glove off and getting up to find another. You snag a mismatched glove from the bottom compartment of your storage unit and settle back down to finish the job.

You’re two inches into the welding line when he speaks. “If I had known you’d be so distracted by silence I would have spoken.” The tone is dry and sardonic, and your gaze darts up to meet his deadpan one before flicking back down to your work in time to keep the welder from drifting again.

“No you wouldn’t have.” It’s the truth, based on how he doesn’t seem to have a snappy answer.

Finally, he sighs, “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” This time, you know better than to look away from your work.

You raise an eyebrow at the sheet metal, “I know.” You finish and click off your torch, settling it carefully down on the work station beside you. “No one ends up in a Sarlaac pit by following the law.” Air puffs out of him a little more forcefully than normal, and you squint. Was that a laugh?

“I wasn’t the one getting executed.”

“Didn’t take you for a clumsy person.” He doesn’t dignify the jab with a response, and you suppose that you deserve that. You examine the weld before pulling the torch back out. It’s a little sloppy. “Do you regret those things?”

“No. The sum of a person’s lifetime is found in his actions. Regrets or none, they are who I am.” That… is shockingly poetic considering that you’d only asked for a name.

“You’ve killed people.” It’s not a question, there is no doubt in your mind of the answer, but you want to hear it from him.

“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Depends.” You inhale slowly, trying to figure out how to phrase this, “I… understand that you don’t have an easy past.” He snorts at that, and you glower at him before continuing. “Tatooine doesn’t need more war.”

“You’re scared.” It’s a pointed statement, blunt and uncaring about the blatant assumption.

“No.” No, a million times no. You had not cowered in fear during the Clone Wars, you had picked yourself up and survived. But ever since Bib Fortuna took over the syndicate, violence had been minimal. You do not need more. “As long as you live here, I do not want you to be the one who brings it back.” You’re on shaky ground here, considering that you really don’t have much control over him or his choices. But this is the only request you have made of him so far.

He grunts in response, a thoughtful silence settling over the workshop. “You really care for this planet?”

“No. I fucking hate deserts. I’m blowing this joint as soon as I can.” You yank the glove off with more force than perhaps you needed. Whatever, it got the job done. You squint down at your calloused hands, “I just don’t want to be the reason that more innocent people get hurt around here. Bib does enough on his own.”

Bib Fortuna. The Twi-lek that currently commands the most powerful force planet-side on Tatooine: the crime syndicate that was left leaderless after Jabba the Hutt died in mysterious circumstances involving a Jedi and a Sarlaac execution. Wait a minute...

“No violence?”

You shake your head, chasing away the puzzle pieces that just began to slot together. “Only self-defense.” You’re not unreasonable, Tatooine may be more peaceful than during the war, but lowlifes still exist. “And if you get a chance to get off-world, take me with you.”

“Steep price.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I saved your life. You may as well return the favor.”

“Fair enough. You have my word as a…” He slaps a hand over his chest, but trails off before finishing the sentence, as if only realizing then that his armor is not there. He amends, “You have my word as a man.”

An awkward silence settles over the shop again, though there is no logical reason why it should be awkward, giving you the moment to remember the seed of the conversation. “A man with a name?” It’s a fumbling and clumsy attempt to turn the conversation back towards your objective, and you can tell that he picked up on it.

He looks at you with amusement, “Persistent.” There’s a half-beat of silence as he considers you. “You may recognize my name.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere.” You counter. “Who would I tell?”

“That’s not why I don’t want to tell you.”

Oh. You can’t really think of a response to that, so you stand and begin cleaning your station. Rusty bits of scrap go into that bin, useful parts go into that one over there so you can tinker late at night when you can’t sleep.

“I don’t know your name either.”

You turn a prop a hand on your hip, dramatically lowering your voice, “My name is tied to my past. I’ve done some bad things.” There! Another huff of breath, and a halfway crooked smirk from the usually grim-faced and unreadable man. You smile back, “Trade?”

He considers it briefly, “First names only.”

You grin. That’ll do nicely. “Deal.”

“Boba.”

You introduce yourself, “Nice to meet you, Boba.”

---

“Why are you back?”

“Are you not happy to see me?” He sounds amused.

“I am.” You shift back and forth on your feet. “Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to see you. To know that you’re alive and healthy.” He’s avoiding answering.

“That’s only half of my question.” Your voice becomes small, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“If I had come to the farm, Bib would have sent hunters out again. You know how that ended last time. You have to cut the krayt’s head off, or it will just keep coming.” You don’t miss how he’s avoiding calling the farm his home.

“You don’t have to pretend, Boba. You have your armor and your ship, you don’t need me anymore. If you came back to take over the syndicate, I won’t be angry.” Even if it means that he’s throwing you away and not looking back. Your heart would heal.

“I--” He hesitates to finish the sentence, and your stomach drops as you expect him to confirm your suspicions. “I didn’t only come back for the throne. I still wanted to see you.”

“If that were true, you would have come yourself.”

“Ang--”

“Stop making excuses.” Your gaze narrows onto the visor blade, meeting his cloaked eyes, “If you really wanted to see me, you would have come to the farm, not sent your lackey. You have your armor and your ship. Why are you back?”

---

It’s all he talks about anymore. And it’s not like he talked that much before, so now ninety-nine percent of the conversations that you have with him are about the nearest pawn stalls, or the Jawa trading route, or the ship scrap yards scattered around the planet. He’s been moving about independently for the past two months, each day venturing out further into the sand hills in search of his armor.

The jug of water is disgustingly lukewarm, but refreshing all the same. You swipe a hand over your forehead as you pace around, propping open all of the windows and shoving the door open. You don’t want to work anymore, it’s too hot for this shit. Late afternoon is the worst, hanging the promise of sunset overhead while continually beating the world into submission with the heat that makes it feel like you’re dragging fire into your lungs. With nothing better to do, you slowly sweep the floor of the house, brushing sand outside just as it continues to blow inward.

The moisture vaporator is functioning passably, your supplies were restocked two days ago, and you made decent headway in your workshop. Nothing is urgent enough to spur you into action. All there is to do is wait for Boba to come home. That’s the brightest point of your day; seeing his figure appear in the shimmering heat waves as he treks through the sand towards you.

He still doesn’t talk much. Neither do you, but there is a comfortable sense of companionship every night when you set the meal down and eat together. If conversation is needed, then it’s needed. But until then, you’re content to sit with him. He’s my friend. The stark realization nearly makes you stop in your tracks. You’re friends with the gruff man who you took in with two broken legs and who leaves you alone for the better part of the day. The man who you imagine on the rough nights when you long for a body beside you.

Finally, finally it’s sunset. You climb to the top of a nearby dune. He’s there in the distance, he always is. You watch the suns sink beneath the horizon and turn to head inside.

You don’t hear him come in, though to be fair, you never do. You expect him to sit at the table. Instead he appears at your elbow, silent as a wraith but as large and solid as any human. You nearly jump out of your skin, “Stars, Boba, you kriffing scared m--” You turn, but are stopped short because he’s right there, crowding you against the counter and there’s something feral in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He’s breathing heavily through his nose, face hovering an inch away from yours and gaze fixed on your lips. Your eyes are glued to his almost black ones. His flick up to meet yours. You can smell him, something spicy and musky that’s drawing you in. Stars, you want to fuck him.

Your eyes flicker down to his lips and the tension shatters. He shoves past you, planting his hands on the counter. He hasn’t changed out of his gear, and the gaffi stick sways threateningly on his back. The tip is darkened and shines in the dim light of the lantern.

Dread pokes your heart. “Boba, are you hurt?” You try to look over the rest of his body for hints of injury, but his baggy clothing masks his body. He seems to be moving fine.

There’s a strained silence before he rips himself away from the counter and stalks away with a terse, “I need to change.” He halfway out of the door when he stops, and you watch him carefully as his head turns back halfway. “Meet me in the bedroom.” The ‘fresher door bangs in the distance, and you nearly collapse against the counter.

You’re not sure how you make it to the room. You’re a trembling ball of nerves, anxious and fidgeting as you stare at the corner of the room. He killed someone. Someone is dead, because of him, and he doesn’t seem to be torn up about it. Only… tense. Like he’s more concerned about the consequences on you than him. You remember his promise.

He’s standing there now, dressed in clean clothes and looking at you like you’re the most complex problem in the room. He seems calmer, though he’s in this mode that you can’t describe with a single word, though you had witnessed it before when you first brought him into your home. There’s a feral intensity about him, almost primal. You don’t know what to say, so you keep your mouth shut.

Finally, he speaks, “I would never hurt you, angel.”

You nod. There’s a shared understanding of this, though it had never been verbalized. He has your back, and you have his. A mutual survival and benefit exists between you two.

“Will you come here?” There’s an underlying question to read in the rasped question. Will you go to him? There’s also a warning. He’s not a safe man, but you’re willing to ignore your fears about that if it means you'll have him. You stand and walk towards him purposefully, each step sealing your choice. You stand in front of him, barely allowing yourself to breath as he scrutinizes you. A hand comes up and tilts your chin upwards carefully.

And then he’s kissing you, more like absolutely devouring you with how far his tongue is down your throat. It’s sensory overload, because all at once he’s so close and so there right in front of you, pressing against your front so closely that you can feel him hardening against your thigh. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, and you gasp as he yanks your head back.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle, angel.” His pupils are blown, dark eyes even blacker with desire and boring into yours. You can see the restrained lust in his eyes, and you shiver at the silent promise in them.

You grin, only barely aware that it’s slightly feral, “No one asked you to be.”

His own responding smile is nothing short of primal. “Maker, you’re fucking perfect.” His hand roughly smooths over your hair, and you melt into his touch. “Now strip.”

You can’t yank your shirt off quickly enough, but he stops you as soon as the offending fabric flutters to the ground. A hand traces over your collarbone, the rough calluses scraping over the crisp outline of the ink. “What’s this?”

You hesitate before answering, “It’s, uh, it’s artistic.” He makes his skeptical face at you, and you step in closer to him, pressing your body against his more clothed one, “I saw the design in a shop and liked it.”

The distraction seems to work, because he crushes his mouth to yours again, his hands removing the rest of your clothes so that you stand completely bare before his piercing gaze. You fight the urge to cover yourself. He has this way of making you feel like an open book even when you’re clothed, and now you feel that he can look into your soul without any other barriers.

“Beautiful.” The compliment is growled into the tension filled air. Blood rushes to your face, and you duck your head shyly. A hand tilts your chin back upwards to meet his eyes, “Get on the bed.”

He pushes you backwards gently so that you land on the mattress, bouncing slightly as you watch him remove his coverings. With every delicious inch of skin revealed, you feel another shot of heat between your legs. You hadn’t seen much of his body since that first day, and it’s like watching a gift unwrapped in front of you. When he pulls the last of it off, your eyes unavoidably drift between his legs, and your heart stutters at the sight. Stars he’s thicker than you’d expected.

You don’t get anymore time to overthink because then Boba is caging you to the mattress with his body. Your breasts heave, nipples brushing against his chest with every inhale. One thick finger slides through your folds, and you almost cry at the contact. Maker, you’ve wanted this for so long. He pushes into your heat and you swear your body seizes at the sensation.

Boba grunts, “Angel, you’re so tight.” His hips jerk seemingly of their own volition against your leg, his erection sliding over your skin. “Want to be inside of you. But--” He adds another finger, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out more, “--I think I’d break you.”

The heel of his hand grinds into your clit, “Boba. Please, fuck. Told you not--” He curls his fingers against your g-spot and you gasp, “--not to be gentle.”

He pulls his fingers out with a growl and flips you around to your hands and knees. You shiver in anticipation as you glance over your shoulder while he aligns his hips to yours. He barely gives you any time to prep before he sinks into your heat.

Oh shit.

He is so much thicker than you expected. The stretch burns so good, and-- you spare another glance over your shoulder as it just keeps coming. Your arms give and you collapse to your elbows with a whine. Your teeth clench as you focus on taking him, and your hand slaps the mattress as you tense. He stops behind you, “Angel, you need to relax.”

You exhale shakily. Fuck, you can’t relax, it’s too much. He’s going to split you in two. You’d told him to be rough, but you hadn’t been prepared for this. So you crouch on the bed, trying to breathe enough to allow yourself to form words.

“I can stop.” His cock inches marginally out of you, and you panic.

“No! Fu-- keep--keep going. I can do it.” He’s holding himself back. You can tell in the tiny quiver of his hips as he inches further into you. All you can focus on is the feeling of him rubbing against the inside of your cunt. His fingers rub your clit, and a garbled moan escapes your throat as your hips press backwards into him. The pain mixes with pleasure, a bone-deep one that you feel through your entire body as it arches against the bedsheets.

When his hips finally fit to yours, you let out a breathy moan. But he doesn’t continue. He just rests there, which is ridiculous considering how every nerve ending in that region of your body is firing with pleasure and how is he staying so still when this feels like fucking paradise? You might go insane just lying here with him bottomed out so deep inside of you that you can feel it in the back of your throat. His hand leaves your clit to grasp your waist. He eases out of you, the satisfying fullness retreating until the head of his cock hovers at your entrance, just barely inside of you. He’s teetering on a cliff, all of that potential energy built up behind his body as he hovers there, waiting for something. He’s trembling, Boba is trembling as he waits for something that he never asked you for. There’s molten lust creeping through your veins, you need him to move, to fuck you nine ways to next week. “Move. Please. Need--need it.”

He rolls his hips forward and you swear the world implodes behind your eyelids. He doesn’t stop this time, just yanks you closer on the bed and fucking wrecks you. The pace is unforgiving and rough, and the obscene slapping sound of skin on skin echoes through the small home, making you ever more grateful that there are no neighbors for miles.

A whine escapes your throat before you can help it, and you clap a hand over your mouth. He chuckles as he pushes back into your dripping pussy, “Oh, you like that angel?” His hand seizes your hair and drags your back flush against his body, “Ah ah ah. Take it off your mouth.” You do so, your hand trembling, “I want to hear every.” Thrust. “Beautiful.” Thrust. “Noise.” Thrust. You could almost feel him in the back of your throat with that last one, and a strangled cry is ripped from you. “Understand?”

You whimper and nod at the velvety purr against your throat and he hums in satisfaction. “Good.” He shoves you back down onto the sheets, one hand pinning you to the cot by your neck, the other curling around your waist. Without your hand to muffle the noises, your sounds come without you intending; choppy moans that are only broken by the force of his thrusts. He’s anything but quiet himself, a series of soft grunts and curses coming from the general vicinity of his head as he continues to slam into your body.

Your orgasm peaks without warning, ripping through your body before you can think to prepare yourself for it. The climax ripples outwards from your center, white flashes appearing behind your eyelids as you keen high in the back of your throat. Your floor muscles clamp down on Boba, and his rhythm stutters.

“Angel--” With a curse, he rips himself out of you, painting your ass with his release. You’re in a daze of pleasure as you come down from your high, the sheets smooth beneath your cheek and his cum warm on your back. He pulls the sheet, and you whine in protest as he yanks the comfortable bedding from underneath you. He cleans you up with the cloth, tossing it to the side into a random corner of the room.

It’s dark now. The only light in the room comes from the flickering lamp in the corner. Boba pulls blankets over your cock-dumb body, and you snuggle down into your bed, fully expecting him to leave. He doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, he naps on the floor with a blanket or two. You don’t expect him to climb into bed behind you, arms wrapping firmly around your waist and pulling you close to him. You drift before finally surrendering to peaceful sleep.

You wake when he moves behind you. The sunrise glints through the window, spraying warm light around the room. You’d have to get up soon, but not yet. He doesn’t have to go. You turn and look at him.

Your voice is raspy with sleep, but it cuts decidedly through the silence of early morning. “I trust you. You know that, right?” You don’t wait for an answer, because if you don’t say it now, you probably won’t have the courage to do it later, “It’s not hard to earn my trust. It’s hard to keep it, and even harder to regain it.” He’s quiet, and you can feel his deep, even breaths against your front and how his arms tighten fractionally around your waist.

He rolls over, and you feel the mattress dip as he stands. “I need to cover another sector by tonight.”

You turn on your side so that you can’t see the door. Best not to get attached anyway.

---

“Should I be calling you a title or something?” You’re hesitant to refer to him as anything in your mind. He’s just Boba. Not your boyfriend, or your lover, because you only name things you expect to endure. If you find a super cute loth cat, but you can’t keep it, you don’t name it, that's just a rule of life. Don’t label it if you don’t want to keep it. Don’t get attached to something that will not stay. “Lord Boba? King Boba? Master?”

He snorts, “Not necessary, Angel. Though I wouldn’t mind that last one.” You blink at the old nickname, the familiarity of the endearment stirring up emotions that you’d thought had long since been buried. “I’m still me.”

“Are you?” The question slips out before you can think to restrain yourself, the tone more accusatory than you expected.

“Do you want me to be?”

Now you’re the one caught off guard. You had thought about it, in the empty silence while he was gone, when the bed was too cold and empty after so much time adjusting to his weight on the other side of the mattress. No decision had been made. But once, in the darkest hours of the morning, right after you’d made yourself cum on your own fingers that couldn’t hope to measure up to him, you’d wished. You had wished that you had labelled it when you had the chance. Because maybe you had wanted the relationship to stay.

---

“Why do you call me that?” The words are whispered into the darkness of another early morning. He’s curled around you, the heat of his body keeping you warm despite the freezing cold desert night. You need to start thinking about getting up soon. It’s a new day, a fresh start, a time to restart. Chores are waiting, like they always are. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to want to move when he’s at your back.

He shifts, breathing in the scent of your hair, “Call you what?” His arms tighten around your midsection and you wiggle slightly in his grip, your hips pressing back against his half-hard length. “Ohhhh, angel you’re going to start something that you won’t be able to finish.”

You turn so that you’re facing him in the darkness, his features just a ghost of an outline against the early dawn rays glowing faintly through the doorway. “That. Angel. Why do you call me that?” He grinds against you, and you stifle a whimper at his heavy erection against your thigh. “Stop distracting me.”

He sighs heavily, but he does stop and allow you to regain your focus, “I call you angel because of that first day. Do you remember?”

You roll your hips against his, “Hard to forget.”

“Yes.” His teeth sink into the bare flesh of your shoulder, licking and sucking until you’re sure that there’s a mark. “I was in that sandcrawler for days, it’s a haze in my memory. Just blinking in and out, hoping that the sound would stop, that the world would stop moving, that those damn creatures would stop jeering at me for just a few minutes.” Your hand slips down and grasps his erection, and he inhales sharply, “And--and then. They’re grabbing me and dragging me out of that hell. And you’re there, standing above me, framed by the suns. And my first thought was that you--” He grunts as he thrusts up into your fist. His cock is leaking profusely over your hand, and you swipe your thumb over his head, “-- you must be an angel. How could you be anything else? You saved my life.”

“Bold of you to think that I’m from heaven.” With a wicked smile, your other hand drops to fondle his balls, massaging the flesh in your hand as you continue to slowly jerk him off. He snarls quietly, hand anchoring in your hair and tugging your head back so that he has access to the bare flesh of your neck and shoulder.

“Now, you’ve become more of a devil in my bed, my angel of death.” His teeth sink into the juncture of your shoulder, no doubt leaving a mark. You were prepared for the pain, but you weren’t ready for his hand zeroing in on your sensitive clit, rubbing with the exact amount of pressure that could cause you to come in seconds, and you have other plans.

You roll on top of him, swinging your leg over his hips and positioning his head at your entrance, “So you try to break the arm of every angel you encounter?”

“That was your fault.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hands reach to grasp you around the waist. “For pushing me, like you are doing now.” His hips roll up, and your eyes roll back. The day can wait.

---

The surge of emotions only serves to make you more frustrated, and that’s not going to help matters. You may have a long fuse, but once your anger ignites, it burns hot and long. He knows this, and yet he continues to push you. “I came down here because I owe you one, for saving my ass. So you better talk if you’re going to keep me here.”

“I saved your beautiful ass twice in return.” He’s amused, and that only serves to make you angrier. “So you owe me two, one for coming and one for staying while I explain.”

Hell no, he doesn’t get out of this by throwing in a shabby compliment, though you furiously fight the rising embarrassment all the same, “No, the first one repaid me for dragging your dying carcass out of the sandcrawler. And the welding incident hardly counts, so you’re on thin fucking ice right now.”

“Angel--”

“No, you are going to stop with this pretentious bullshit and tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing.” Your arms are waving in the air, you’re on the verge of hyperventilating, your voice is rising in pitch and you’re vaguely aware that you shouldn’t be working yourself up like this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, because he’s there. And you’re here, at the foot of the throne.

“Why are you so angry, angel?”

A laugh explodes out of you so forcefully that your throat stings, “Your fucking audacity, is pissing me off. You leave without explaining. You come back, and don’t think to come to find me yourself. You send your incredibly attractive, what are you, his sidekick?” Fennec raises her chin in response, though you don’t know if that’s a confirmation or not. “You drag me down here where I find out that you’ve killed Bib Fortuna and become Tatooine’s newest crime lord. And yet, you still haven’t shown the basic decency of telling me why I’m here. Do you have to kill me because of some new fucked up bounty hunter code? Because you know that I won’t go down easy, whether you have me two to one or not.” You’re scarily aware of Fennec’s gaze boring into the back of your neck.

Silence screams into the empty air as Boba freezes on the throne. “You know.”

“That you’re a bounty hunter? I’m not an idiot. It was smart to not give me your last name that first time I asked. As soon as the hunters told me, I knew. Jango Fett was your father.” The name drops a bombshell in the center of the throne room.

“What do you know of Jango Fett?”

“Not much. Only what Hondo told me.” Hondo Ohnaka. The pirate, the outlaw, the man who had morals enough to take in a starving child rather than leaving her to die.

“Hondo Ohnaka.” He leans forward, clearly interested once he recognizes the name. “But you’re not Weequay.”

“Fortunately, the man cared for children. He wouldn’t abandon one in need. He fed me, essentially raised me.” You’d been caught picking his pocket. Instead of killing you, Hondo took you in. You feel the corner of your mouth quirking up at the memory of the old pirate and the small-time smuggling jobs he’d allowed you to help out on, with your small size and quick fingers. “He’d always remind me that he used to be a feared outlaw throughout the galaxy, and that he wouldn’t be as soft the next day.”

“But he kept you anyway.”

You shrug, “He lived by a code.”

“The pirate code?” There’s skepticism in his voice, and you don’t blame him.

“Hondo… didn’t exist by societies’ laws. He was honorable, but never good. Told me to be the same.” The advice was the best that you’d ever gotten. It allowed you to move on from guilt, to live isolated from the chaos of the galaxy. It taught you to live on your own and to be independent, to not feel for the suffering of the collective galaxy. But it also commanded you by the morals that saved your life. Don’t steal from the poor, but the rich won’t miss a handful of credits. Don’t hurt a sick child who’s just trying to eat. Don’t kill a helpless enemy, even if he hijacked your ship and crashed it onto a desert planet in the middle of nowhere. Leave him to die in the sand instead.

“I was stranded on Tatooine a few years ago. I had no money, and no ship. I found the abandoned farm, and put together something so that I could save enough to escape one day.” No communicator either, and you’d only just struck out on your own too. Hondo was lightyears away by the time you’d thought to try to comm him, and none of the technology was current enough to reach that far. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have come to pick you up anyway. “Whe--” Your voice breaks, and you curse your emotionally sensitive vocal cords. You clear your throat, “When you left--” “You think that I could have taken you with me.”

“You could have!”

“It was dangerous, angel. I hated that I had to leave the way that I did, but--”

“You smeared bacta on me and disappeared. Was I supposed to feel happy?”

---

The day he left started the same as any other. The moisture filter needed replacing, but you didn’t have the credits yet. So you had a date with an ancient filter and your multitool. You look up, flicking hair out of your face when you hear the footsteps behind you. “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer, as per usual, but he nods and rubs your hair with a gloved hand. “I’m scouting towards the flats today. Only a day trip, I’ll be home before dark.”

“Sounds good. See you.” You turn back to your multitool. You’re too focused on tweaking the settings to allow for a greater flow rate to see him smile, a rare one-sided grin before he turns to leave. His path takes him south, so he doesn’t see the three dark shapes in the heat waves approaching from the north.

The vaporator beeps loudly, protesting the absence of the filter and loudly proclaiming that it needs the filter to harvest water from the atmosphere. You tune out the obnoxious sound. After a ten minute struggle, you snap the filter’s frame out of place, exposing the internal wiring. You’re going to need a smaller drill point to reach the last resistor knob. You walk towards the workshop, wiping the sweat out of your eyes, fiddling with the screen as you do so. You’re too distracted by the tech in your hands to notice the figure slipping around the outside wall of your hut.

You grab the smaller bit and unlatch the last knob, absentmindedly walking outside to get better light into the inner workings. Despite the heat, Tatooine’s afternoons were perfect for mechanics, with the twin suns illuminating all but the tiniest crevices. Unfortunately, with your attention elsewhere, it doesn’t reveal the crime syndicate members waiting outside your door.

The air rushes out of you as something slams into your midsection, effectively knocking you onto your ass on the sand. The filter flies out of your hands, but you’re focused instead on the helmeted figure standing over you, vibroblade levelled at your throat. “Where is he?”

Your hands are shaking as you raise them in the air, attention fixated on the masked figure. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you almost don’t notice the second one hanging back near the wall. A third, the only unhelmeted one, stands beyond the first, smiling nastily. The blade grazes your throat, and you whimper at the cool metal against your skin. “I said. Where is he?”

“Who? Maker, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fett! Boba Fett!”

Your stomach drops at the surname. The hunter curses viciously, holstering the weapon and grabbing you by the front of your shirt. You’re yanked to your feet, “Intel said that he’s here, so I’m guessing that you’re his little pretty piece on the side.” An arm presses over your throat, and you gasp as your airway is almost cut off. “Where is he?” The question is purred into your ear silkily.

He must be insane if he thinks that you’re giving him that information. “I don’t know, he said he’s going towards the Dune Sea today. I swear, he’s gone. Left an hour ago.” You inhale sharply as the blade stops against your jaw.

“You’re pretty.” Your stomach turns at the sneer, and you fight the urge to bite him. Better to bide your time. “But an awful liar.” The angle changes so that the point is pressing into your skin and you cringe in anticipation of the cut.

A sharp command rings through the air and your captor stops. You exhale shakily, but don’t allow yourself to feel any hope. Boba’s gone and will be all day. They’re going to kill you, or use you as leverage when he returns. Or both. You’re not getting out of this alive, but you’re not going to lay down and die. Your eyes fix on the knife in front of you, but you’re visualizing where the hunter’s holster is.

Blaster fire explodes behind you, and you duck as sparks shower down onto you and your captor slumps to the ground. You don’t waste a second, ducking to rifle through the hunter’s pockets, snatching the blaster. Boba is there, features contorted in rage. He’s standing over a body, blaster in one hand and his staff in the other. Your eyes lock, and for a moment, you can almost hear him asking if you’re okay. You nod your head almost imperceptibly, but he gets the message.

A laugh rings through the air, and the moment shatters. There is a single hunter left, the one who was hanging by the hut while the other one threatened you. The cocksure swagger tells that this is the one in charge, the one who gave the command to keep you alive. And yet, the favor doesn’t hold any value to you as the helmet tilts up at Boba, “Boba Fett. You’re a hard man to find.” Boba doesn’t answer, instead jerking his head and you move towards him, “Bib Fortuna wants to talk.”

Now Boba responds, “I don’t.”

“150,000 credits to me says that you will.” Another blaster(fucking blasters) points at you, and you stop in your tracks, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s only a few meters away, a dead shot if he decides to let his finger slip.“Because he may want you alive, but not her. And she lied to me. Drop the blasters, or I shoot her now.”

You slowly lay the weapon down, eyes fixed on the barrel. Boba does the same, his hands raising placatingly as the shiny metal plops into the sand, “She’s nothing to me.”

“You can try to tell Bib Fortuna that, but he’ll believe it even less than I do. I’ll cut you a deal. You come with me, I get my credits, she gets to live.” You focus on Boba’s face, trying to steal some of his stony calm.

Boba smirks, “You’re even stupider than you look.” Then he’s moving, eating up the meters between them faster than you can blink. The staff arcs up, the wicked point glinting in the sun before smashing into the hunter’s helmet, crushing the metal with stunning ease. Your mouth is still hanging open when white-hot pain flares through your shoulder. Fucking blasters. You drop to the sand, curling in on yourself as your entire body seems to throb in agony. There’s no blood on your hand when you pull it away, but the smell of burnt flesh almost makes you vomit. The suns are too bright and you blink rapidly, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in your vision.

A form crouches over you, blocking out the light. Someone is saying your name repeatedly, slapping your face gently as they support your head and neck, “Wake up, stay with me. Gotta get bacta on that shoulder.”

You blink blearily. The world is swimming before your eyes and nothing is focusing correctly. It’s a struggle to stay awake, never mind focusing on what Boba is saying to you. The sand is so warm. Sleep would be nice. You wouldn’t have to stay awake and focus on the implications of what just went down. You wouldn’t need to feel the hole burned in your shoulder. Fuck, Boba had been shot before? How did he bear it?

He turns away, but he’s instantly back, gloved hands ripping apart your shirt at the shoulder. You mutter, “Leave it. Self cauterizes. Best way to get hurt.” The suns blend into twin slurs of light across the sky. ‘Meteors,’ you think, ‘They look like meteors. Or shooting stars.’ People make wishes on those, right?

Boba snorts, “Bantha shit.” He smears the bacta on the wound, and you shudder as the pain lessens marginally. He starts talking as he works, though it’s a struggle to understand anything when you’re so distracted by the world spinning beneath you. “Angel, I have to leave. They’ll be coming for me. I can’t stay here with you. Do you understand? Tell me you understand.”

Okay. Okay, you tell yourself it’s okay. You’ve been expecting this day for some time. He’s a dangerous man, it was right to assume that he’s wanted by someone, you just didn’t expect the someone to be the resident crime lord of the planet he is kriffing living on. It’s hard to stay in one place for some time, but he did. For you. And now it’s your turn to let him go, to sacrifice for him because he sacrificed for you. But you can’t seem to bring yourself to say it. You have to settle for a shaky breath and a tiny nod.

He lifts you and carries you inside, arranging you on the bed. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, a second of tranquility before he turns and begins gathering supplies. You fight against the encroaching sleep, resolving yourself to watch and savor these last moments. He won’t be coming back, not while Bib Fortuna holds the bounty on him, and Bib has a long memory.

So you commit every detail of him to memory. His grim and stoic face and the deadpan sarcastic humor that you’ve grown to love. His broad shoulders remind you of the first time you met him. It was absolute hell fitting his massive frame through the small doorway of your home, only for him to flatten you to the ground when you moved wrong. His careful and smooth gait that you observed every time he walked out into the dunes and away from you. His lips, which sometimes wear that devastatingly attractive sideways smirk that promises trouble, but more rarely wear a genuine smile that you’ve only seen once or twice. His powerful legs that pinned you to the mattress more than a few times. And you wish on the twin meteors outside that this wouldn’t be your last memory of him.

You try to summon words to your dry throat, but they come out as a raspy cough on your first attempt. “Boba.”

He’s by your side instantly, so quickly that you would do a double take if you had any strength to do so. “Here.” He offers the water jug to you and you sip, remembering the first day that you met him.

But there’s no time to reminisce, “I know that you have to go. I know that I probably won’t se--” Your voice breaks, but there’s no need to finish the sentence. “But I’ll be here. If you ever come back.”

---

“You broke your promise that last day.”

“It was self-defense.” A huff of air echoes through the modulator, and he sits back on the throne, “Angel, everytime I kill, I kill for a reason. It’s not senseless.” No, that’s not what you’re talking about.

“You broke your promise when you left Tatooine without me.” You took a chance on him. You trusted him to hold to his word. And he’d betrayed that trust.

“I was trying to protect you. You couldn’t come with me, it would have been too dangerous. You have an entire life ahead of you. Coming with me off-world would have thrown it all away.”

You laugh scornfully, “So what, you just made that promise without ever intending to keep it? Is that all your word as a man is worth?”

“I made the promise intending to keep it.” His voice is stiff, mirroring his posture as he regards you with all of the bearing of a king lording over his subject. You hate it. “But my loyalties changed, angel.” You open your mouth to continue, but he cuts you off, “I couldn’t bring you into my life within good conscience. I promised to save you in any opportunity promised. My way of saving you was leaving you here.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“Angel, if you had come with me, I would have been violating both aspects of the promise. You would have seen killing, pointless and meaningless death. And it would have destroyed you, whatever good hope for the universe you had left.”

You scoff, “I am not a good person. I have flaws, Boba, you just refuse to see them.” You tear your collar open, revealing the tattoo inked into your skin. You’d told him that it was artistic, and it was the most beautiful reminder of your old life that you had. It’s the mark of a thief on your home planet, curling into your skin and reminding you everyday of what you had run from. “I lied and cheated and stole my way through life. I am not too naive to hear the real reasons for you coming back.” Because that’s why he didn’t tell you. He thought you were too pure to know about his job. He thinks you’re too innocent to know why he’s back. Well, you're done with him handling you with kid gloves.

“If you ever cared about me, you’ll explain why you’re here now. Because I won’t stay.” You stare down the emotionless visor, knowing that you can’t hold your ground. Your anger is still burning white hot, but it’s beginning to subside for lack of fuel. You’re exhausted, and you have no power here. You inhale, ready to continue to ream him out except the breath catches in the back of your throat and comes out a strangled half-sob. You continue to stare at him, but all you can manage is a little, “You promised.”

The suit of armor staring back at you holds the power, and he could kick you out in an instant without a backwards look. What’s a few solar cycles compared to a lifetime of independence? But someone is going to have to give ground here, and you’re almost convinced that it’s going to be you when he speaks.

“Fennec.” Without a single word, she turns and leaves. You watch her retreating back, not knowing if you should feel relieved or trapped. “Do you want to know why I came back today? Or that day?”

A rebellious tear slips down your cheek, and you scrub it away angrily. “Pick one first.”

He’s silent again for several heart breaking moments, and you’re terrified that you’re going to have to leave, “I didn’t break my promise at first. I didn’t leave Tatooine that day.”

“What?” The tears have stopped, and that’s one little victory you won’t have to fight for here.

“The day that I left.” His hand rubs against the visor of his helmet, and you can almost imagine that he’s rubbing the visor of his helmet, right over the bridge of his nose the same way he always used to when he was stressed. “I went to Bib and bargained. A year of my service to leave you alone. I had no choice, it was the only way I could try to protect you after they came after me.”

Your heart drops and rises in your chest simultaneously, making you feel both like you’re plummeting off of a cliff while bound to a torn parachute. Puzzle pieces click into place too quickly, laying out a picture that’s still unfinished, but one that you understand primitively. The next command from Boba is unexpected, slicing through your problem solving.

“Up.”

You blink, “Excuse me?”

“Come here.” You stand and walk to him. “Give me your hands.” His grip is gentle, guiding your fingertips under the lip of the green painted beskar. His hands stay on your wrists as you carefully lift the helmet, inch by inch, and it’s a good thing that they did because without his support your hands might have been shaking too hard to get the damn thing off.

He looks the same as when he left all that time ago. Same strong chin, stern mouth, and scarred skin. But you look at his eyes, and you know that he did change in the time away. There’s a soft look in his eye that you had never seen before.

“What happened to you?” Your hand grazes over his skin, and he leans into your touch.

“I fell into a Sarlaac pit.” The familiar sardonic smirk appears, but you don’t smile along with him. It vanishes, “I--” He breaks eye contact with you, looking down and licking his lips as if he’s trying to gather the words to explain, “I met a man. And a child.” He looks back up, and you almost melt at the muted shine in his eyes, “They reminded me of what is important. I came back.”

You gently set the helmet on the ground and raise your hands to cup his face. “Boba--”

“I came back that last day because I realized that I loved you. I turned around and came back to tell you, and it’s a good thing I did.” His hands come up to cover yours, and there’s the wicked spark of humor in his eye. “I wanted to stay, angel. I wanted to stay so bad, but you were safer if I didn’t.” Your eyes slip closed as you lean down and graze your forehead against his, the way that he taught you. His hand leaves yours to plant on the back of your neck and holds you there. “We couldn't be together until Bib was dead. I was wrong, to come here first and to send Fennec for you. But I needed time to… prepare.”

He had to prepare for the possibility that the bargain didn’t work, or that you had moved on. He hadn’t needed to worry, because you promised that you’d be here. You slip onto his lap, straddling his thigh without moving your head away from his. “I’m here.”

“Are you still upset?” A hand comes up and ghosts over your hair. You lean into the touch almost subconsciously.

“I’m working through it.” You pull back and fix him with a stern gaze. “This isn’t resolved.”

“But?”

“We’ll work through it.” He nods, his mouth hanging slightly open in a look of contemplation.

“I won’t stay.” What? You freeze, dread spiking through your chest. He must feel the tension in your body because he rushes to clarify, “I-- uh I, ah shit that was a bad way to put it.” He pulls away and meets your eyes, “I will leave this. I’ll be Boba. Not Boba Fett. Not king of the crime underworld. I’ll be anything for you. We’ll escape off-world together or some shit. We can go find Hondo, if he’s still alive.”

You snort, “That old man is too tough to die.” You tap his nose with your fingertip, “Like one other that I know.”

He snaps his teeth playfully at your finger, and you squeal happily. “My point is--” He looks up at you with such peace in his eyes that you want to curl up against his chest and never leave, “We can do whatever you want. Just the two of us. But I want to stay with you, this time around. That past life is all done. We’ll find something else to do, besides hunting bounties.”

Your eyes track towards the doorway that Fennec disappeared through, and his gaze follows. “Fennec will be fine. I’ll release her from my service. Hell--” He chuckles dryly, “Maybe I’ll leave the throne to her.”

That’s a terrifying thought that you’re not quite ready to consider just yet. “You’d give this all up for me?”

“Angel, that’s what love is. Sacrifice. I just didn’t learn it soon enough.”

You kiss him, a real one this time, melting into his lips, “Love can be compromise. And this is a point I’m willing to give on.”

“What?”

“I’ll admit,” You tilt your head, a mischievous grin sliding across your face, “Queen of the crime underworld has a nice ring to it after being a moisture farmer for several years.”

He smiles, the real one this time, “I like the title on you.” His hands attach to your hips, holding you down on the hard ridge of his thigh as he grinds the leg up into your cunt. “Makes me wanna act out, Your Majesty.”

You gasp at the surge of wetness between your legs. Stars, it’s been so long that you almost forgot how much you loved the feeling of his body beneath you. “Boba--”

“Ah ah, is that any way to address your king?” So this is how he wants to play? Fine.

“No, Your Royalness.” Wrong answer. One hand comes down hard on your ass, and there’s going to be a mark for sure. “Your Excellency?” Nope, and another spank burns on your butt. “My king?” You brace yourself for another, but the hand stays.

“Hmmm, I like that one.” His grip tightens, and you know that you’re going to have finger shaped bruises on the pillowy flesh. He captures your lips against his, and you roll your hips downwards onto his thigh. His erection rests heavy against the inside of your thigh, and you purposefully angle your hips to create more friction against it. “Angel, I want nothing more than to take you now, but--” He stands with a grunt, easily hoisting you into the air with his hands supporting your butt.

“--I’d rather taste you first.”

A/N: Okay wow this took me so long. This project has literally been in the works for months, and I found a way to finish it finally! I’m not sure if the Boba Fett craze has passed yet, but either way here we have Boba. Some throne-fucking for those of you who would care for it.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #smut #fluff #violence #daddy boba #could rail me anyday and I would THANK him #sir #just a crumb of cock please

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leaderoffestivals · 2 years

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Black Cat Rhapsody: Chapter 3

Leo: Oh, you’re here, you’ve shown up! The angel who occasionally reveals his evil, villainous smile!

Grrrrr! What have you done to this innocent child, you Big Bad Guy!

Season: Summer Author: Mitsuki Characters: Leo, Madara, Eichi, Keito Proofed by: Twitter: junsweats (EN) Tumblr: ryuseipuka (EN) ohcheckmate (CN)

Leo: Knock knock! Anzu, we’re here! Uchuuuu~☆

Madara: Hahaha! Although we were notified by Anzu-san’s message in advance that you’d be here, I’m still overjoyed that we’re able to meet in person!

Eichi: Hehe. Are the two of you so involved in greeting only Anzu-chan, that you’re ignoring the rest of the room? The kitten that you’ve been searching so ardently for is in my hands right now. ♪

Leo: Oh, you’re here, you’ve shown up! The angel who occasionally reveals his evil, villainous smile!

Grrrrr! What have you done to this innocent child, you Big Bad Guy!

Eichi: Ahaha, with your bared teeth and flashing claws, Tsukinaga-kun does resemble an infuriated kitty cat indeed! ♪

Madara: …What? Anzu-san is saying that we’ve gotten it all wrong? Eichi-san has been helping to take care of the kitten all this while?

I see! On a closer look, the kitten is safe and unharmed, all sprawled over Eichi-san’s lap and sleeping soundly.

Leo: Oh, it even seems to be snoring, it’s no wonder it’s not moving! Thank you, Tenshi, you’re a good guy after all!

Eichi: Tsukinaga-kun’s criteria for differentiating between “good” and “bad” people is really too simple… Although this can save a lot of unnecessary trouble indeed.

Hmm? Anzu-chan, you’re saying that since everything has been resolved, you should be going now?

Leo: Ehhh, Anzu, don’t leave so soon~! The world won’t end if you stay to talk a while longer with me, you know!

It’s alright… I know that the work of a “Producer” is very demanding, but still, don’t overdo it, alright? If you have time, let’s hang out and play together while I’m still in Japan.

Then it’s settled! Bye bye~☆

Keito: Alright, you two. Don’t you think it’s time you’ve explained why you’ve allowed a kitten to run loose in the building?

Madara: Hahaha, so Keito-san is here as well. Don’t be mad, don’t be mad~ Actuallyyy, neither Leo-san nor I are its owner.

We first found the kitten in the Hanging Gardens today, so it was already in the building at the time. As to how it actually got in, we’re just as clueless as you are.

Eichi: Come to think of it, Anzu-chan said that she came across it in the elevator.

Since it already knows how to take the elevator by itself, it should be no big feat for it to slip into the central building when someone else is entering through the main door, too?

Leo: Wait a minute! Don’t rush to a conclusion, let me start up my fantasies, and look for an answer from among the countless wonderful possibilities in this world…!

Ahhh, I’ve got it! Maybe this kitten is actually a cat-shaped organism cast here by aliens, or it’s some sort of shape-shifting demon!

No, it’s possible that there are superpowers involved! Like… poof! It teleported from one space to another!

So close! Just a little bit more, inspiration is about to flow! Sure enough, talking to people every now and then can prove to be even more stimulating!

Madara: Then let’s continue the conversation to expand on this subject, shall we? If it were possible, what kind of superpowers would everyone want to have?

Keito: Wait a minute, Mikejima. Aren’t you changing the topic too quickly? After all, this is just an ordinary cat, so how could it have superpowers—

Eichi: Fufu, so this is what it’s all about. I had heard that Tsukinaga-kun had taken up a commission to compose a soundtrack for a period drama with superpowers, but I would never have thought that even geniuses suffer from composer’s block, too.

Since the meeting is over, and Keito is free for the rest of the day anyway, wouldn’t it be nice for everyone to have a leisurely chat together after so long? ♪

Keito: … … I can't refute the fact that I am very free at the moment.

Leo: Wahaha, then let me be the first to answer! I want the superpower of being able to fly from Earth to outer space with a whoosh!

Wander around all the different planets, meet many different kinds of aliens, and make friends with all of them! Uchuuu~☆

Madara: Hahaha, that idea really is Leo-san’s style indeed. I, too, have a wish that I’ve alwayyys wanted to realize——

And that is to be everyone’s Mama! In order to be able to be at every child’s side, I’d probably need a cloning technique to achieve it, right?

And if there are countless Madara Mikejimas participating in aaall the festivals held in different parts of the world, every day will be a festive holiday beyond compaaare! Wasshoi wasshoi ☆

Keito: …It’s already noisy enough with one Mikejima in the Starmony Dorms. If that many more appear, I’ll be unable to sleep peacefully at night.

However, superpowers and the like, …they’re common tropes in manga, so it’s not like I haven’t spent any time thinking about them.

If I were still in Yumenosaki, I would probably wish for the ability to control time. After all, I was so busy back then, that I have always felt that there was never enough time.

However, now that I have no student council duties, and Akatsuki has yet to receive any sort of decent idol work, I’ve got way too much free time on my hands, with no idea on how to spend it.

If I were to determine what truly bothers me, it would be that people are always taking my things without my permission, so I have to hunt high and low for them to no avail.

With this point in mind, having the ability to sense the location of objects would be the most practical choice.

Eichi: Oh? That’s unexpected. I thought it would be something like wanting the ability to create as many different pairs of glasses as you wish.

Keito: If so, there’d be no joy in collecting them, would there? What’s more, matter cannot be created out of nothing, so if it results in stealing glasses that already belong to others, I wouldn’t want it.

No, that’s not the point at all… it’s about the ones who make me feel the need to have that kind of superpower in the first place! How incorrigible!

Leo: Hmm~ Although I am the one who got hold of Keito’s glasses, I remember that I properly informed everyone about it on HoldHands before, didn’t I? (1)

But then, I never expected Keito to show up at the airport all red-faced and panting. That was such an interesting scene, I will never forget it! Wahahahaha!

Keito: You had better wipe it from your memory! No, you need to carve it into your memory, so you would never dare do such a thing ever again—

Madara: Hahaha! Oh, my. Keito-san’s expression is just too scary. Fortunately, I’ve never done anything like that before!

But then, I have witnessed someone remove something sneakily from Keito-san’s room, smiling serenely and pretending that nothing was happening all the while, you knowww?

Eichi: …Hmm? Why are all of you looking at me? Oh, is it my turn to share about the superpowers I want? ♪

Although there were many interesting ideas thrown about just now, if it’s a power that can truly be used in reality, then the power that I want to attain the most is the ability to make everything I wish to achieve come true.

Leo: Ehhh~ aren’t you too cunning, Tenshi? Isn’t that the same as being able to achieve everything that our superpowers can do, too?

Madara: To put it nicely, even though you’re still following the rules, isn’t this cheating in the same way as saying, “My wish is to have three more wishes”?

Keito: —Alright, the idle chatter should end here.

Eichi! You’re an unapologetic cretin for stealing my D (2) at every turn! Be prepared to face an extra long lecture!

And you, Tsukinaga! I have not settled the score with you for kidnapping my glasses for your worldwide trip yeeeet—

Black Kitten: Meow~

Leo: Oh, the kitten is awake and meowing non-stop! It seems to be hungry, right?

Eichi: Yes, yes. You see, Keito? The poor kitten is hungry. I’m going to the resting room to see if there is anything suitable to feed it ♪

Madara: Hahaha, then let's go together! Let's go, let’s go~

Keito: … …

-----------------------------------------

Translator’s Notes:

(1) Re: Keito’s Feature Scout 4* story. (2) From Spy: The Mission TLDR: Keito draws doujinshi under a pseudonym, and Eichi often borrows them to read without permission. Keito is embarrassed to say out loud what he’s searching for when he is looking for them, so he refers to the doujinshi as ‘D’; i.e. “I’m looking for my D; give me back my D!” throughout, which sounds as wonky as you think it does.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (End)

#enstars #Ensemble Stars #Leo Tsukinaga #Madara Mikejima #Eichi Tenshouin #Keito Hasumi #enstars translation #Black Cat Rhapsody #CNStars #MamaLeo friendship is the best #See how Madara supports Leo #defends him twice the second time by throwing Eichi out so that Keito will stop browbeating Leo

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years

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7th October >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on

Luke 1:26-38 for The Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

And

Luke 11:1-4 for Wednesday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time.

Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 1:26-38

'I am the handmaid of the Lord'

The angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. He went in and said to her, ‘Rejoice, so highly favoured! The Lord is with you.’ She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, ‘Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God’s favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.’ Mary said to the angel, ‘But how can this come about, since I am a virgin?’ ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you’ the angel answered ‘and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so the child will be holy and will be called Son of God. Know this too: your kinswoman Elizabeth has, in her old age, herself conceived a son, and she whom people called barren is now in her sixth month, for nothing is impossible to God.’ ‘I am the handmaid of the Lord,’ said Mary ‘let what you have said be done to me.’ And the angel left her.

Gospel (USA)

Luke 1:26-38

You will conceive in your womb and bear a son.

The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his Kingdom there will be no end.” But Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” And the angel said to her in reply, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.” Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Reflections (3)

(i) Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

Today we celebrate the memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary. The Catechism of the Church refers to the rosary as ‘the epitome of the whole gospel’. The Rosary invites us to reflect on the great mysteries of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Luke in his gospel presents Mary as a reflective person. In the second chapter of his gospel, in response to the words of the shepherds, Luke says of her that she ‘treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart’. Again, in response to the words her twelve year old child spoke in the temple, Luke says of Mary that she ‘treasured all these things in her heart’. Luke presents Mary as a contemplative person, reflecting deeply on all that was happening in her life. To that extent, she embodies the attitude of mind and heart that we are invited to bring to the praying of the Rosary. In praying that prayer, we too treasure and ponder upon the key moments in the journey of Jesus in this world and from this world to the Father. Mary not only pondered on what God was doing in the words and deeds of her Son, but she gave herself over to what God was doing in her own life, as shown by her response to the visit of Gabriel in today’s gospel reading, ‘Let it be to me according to your word’. As we ponder on the great mysteries of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we too will hear the call to give ourselves over more fully to God’s purpose for our lives as Mary did. Mary teaches us that our contemplating the word of the gospel is to find expression in the doing of that word, in allowing God’s word to shape us.

And/Or

(ii) Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

The Rosary has been a very important prayer in the prayer life of the church for many centuries. It is a prayer which invites us to reflect on the birth, life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus and on the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, as well as on Mary in glory. The two readings this morning present us with two of the mysteries we reflect on in the Rosary. The gospel reading is the first Joyful Mystery, the annunciation to Mary. The first reading is the beginning of the story of Pentecost; the disciples are in continuous prayer, together with Mary the mother of Jesus and other members of Jesus’ family as they wait for the coming of the Spirit. In the gospel reading, Mary is told by Gabriel that the Holy Spirit would come upon her and so the child to be born of her will be holy and will be called Son of God. It could be said that Gabriel announces Mary’s personal Pentecost. The Holy Spirit was needed at this moment of crucial new beginning. The first reading reflects another moment of new beginning, the beginning of the church. Again the Holy Spirit is needed at this second moment of new beginning, and, once again, this second moment involves Mary. Having had her own personal Pentecost, she is present at the Pentecost of the whole community of believers. There are always moments of new beginning in our own lives. Regardless of where we are on our life’s journey, the Lord is always calling us to make some new beginning. The same Holy Spirit is given to us as our resource at each of our own moments of new beginning, as he was given to Mary and the early church. As we set out on whatever new beginning we are making, no matter how small, we can confidently pray, ‘Come Holy Spirit, fill my heart’.

And/Or

(iii) Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

October has been traditionally the month of the Rosary. When I visited one of the First Holy Communion classes during the week, the teacher invited the children to show me the Rosary rings that they had made. This is a little ring with ten beads on it, made out of various materials, representing one decade of the Rosary. The two readings for today’s Mass reflect two of the fifteen traditional mysteries of the Rosary. The first reading is linked to the third glorious mystery, the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. The eleven disciples were gathered in prayer, along with several women, including Mary, the mother of Jesus and other members of Jesus’ family. It was in that context of prayer that the Holy Spirit came down upon them all. The first reading is the first joyful mystery, the annunciation to Mary of the birth of Jesus, her son and God’s Son. Mary is told by the angel Gabriel that the Holy Spirit would come upon her and, as a result, her child will be called Son of God. Through the coming of the Holy Spirit on Mary, Jesus was conceived and born. Through the coming of the Holy Spirit on the disciples, including Mary, at Pentecost, the church was born. Through the working of the Holy Spirit in our own lives, we are continually reborn as sons and daughters of God, and brothers and sisters of Jesus. Saint Paul, in his letter to the Romans, tells us that the Spirit is given to us to help us in our weakness, because we do not know how to pray as we ought. We need the Spirit to pray as God desires us to pray. Whether we pray the Rosary or pray in some other form, our opening prayer needs to be, ‘Come Holy Spirit, help me in my weakness; empower me to pray as God desires me to pray’.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 11:1-4

How to pray

Once Jesus was in a certain place praying, and when he had finished, one of his disciples said, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.’

He said to them, ‘Say this when you pray:

‘“Father, may your name be held holy,

your kingdom come;

give us each day our daily bread,

and forgive us our sins,

for we ourselves forgive each one who is in debt to us.

And do not put us to the test.”’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 11:1-4

Lord, teach us to pray.

Jesus was praying in a certain place, and when he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray just as John taught his disciples.” He said to them, “When you pray, say:

Father, hallowed be your name,

your kingdom come.

Give us each day our daily bread

and forgive us our sins

for we ourselves forgive everyone in debt to us,

and do not subject us to the final test.”

Reflections (3)

(i) Wednesday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Prayer can take many different forms for all of us. Sometimes our prayer is quite informal. We talk to the Lord as if to a friend expressing spontaneously to him what is in our heart. Such prayer can be deeply personal. The old catechism spoke of prayer as the lifting up of the mind and heart to God. In this kind of spontaneous prayer we lift up all that is in our mind and heart to God. We reveal ourselves as we are, with great freedom, trusting that God wants us to be ourselves before him. There are other times, however, when we are glad to be given a prayer to pray rather than having to pray spontaneously ourselves. We look for guidance in how to pray. That is what we find the disciples doing in today’s gospel reading, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples’. Jesus did not always find his disciples such willing pupils, but on this occasion their question revealed a great openness of heart to what Jesus might have to teach them about prayer. In response to their request, Jesus gave them an actual prayer to say, which is itself a teaching on how to pray. Jesus’ prayer is addressed to God as Father. The Father of Jesus is also our Father, because we have come to share in Jesus’ own relationship with God. In this prayer, Jesus teaches us to begin our prayer by surrendering to God’s purpose for our lives and the life of the world. We pray not to promote our own kingdom but to open ourselves to the coming of God’s kingdom. This was the prayer of Jesus in Gethsemane, ‘not my will but yours be done’. In this prayer, Jesus teaches us to also ask on behalf of ourselves. However, we are to ask for what we need and not just for want we want. What do we need according to Jesus? We need the daily sustenance that only God can provide; we need forgiveness for our sins and a willingness to pass on the forgiveness we receive to others; we need the Lord’s strengthening presence when our faith and the values that flow from it are being put to the test. Here indeed is both a prayer to be prayed and a rich teaching on how to pray.

And/Or

(ii) Wednesday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Luke immediately follows the passage of the visit of Jesus to Mary and Martha’s house with the passage which is today’s gospel reading. Mary’s prayerful listening to the Lord’s wordgives way to the prayer of Jesus. Luke tells us that he ‘was in a certain place praying’. Jesus’ prayer in turn evokes the desire to pray in the heart of one of his disciples, ‘Lord, teach us to pray’. We all recognize our need of a wise guide when it comes to prayer. In response to that request, Jesus gives his disciples a lesson on how to petition God. The prayer of listening is one form of prayer; the prayer of petition is another. We all feel the need to ask God for something from time to time. Jesus’ teaching suggests that our prayer of petition should focus first on what God wants, ‘your name be held holy, your kingdom come’. All our requests are subject to that fundamental request that God’s kingdom would come and God’s will be done among us. Then Jesus suggests what it is we really need as his followers and, therefore, need to ask for, namely, forgiveness for our sins, sustenance for the day, God’s help when our faith is put to the test. Those petitions are to take priority over all others, and, by implication, all other petitions are in some way to derive from those fundamental ones. The prayer that Jesus gave his disciples is itself a lesson on how to pray.

And/Or

(iii) Wednesday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In yesterday’s gospel reading Mary was commended for her prayerful listening to the word of the Lord. Jesus himself was a person of prayer, while leading a very active life. The gospels suggest that he often went away to a lonely place to pray. His own prayerfulness inspired his disciples with a desire to become people of prayer, like himself, ‘Lord, teach us to pray’. The disciples seemed to recognize that if they were to pray they would need the Lord’s help. Prayer is not just a human activity; it is the Lord’s activity in us, through the Spirit. The disciples’ request is, in itself, a valuable prayer, ‘Lord teach us to pray’ or to express that prayer in different words, ‘Lord, help me to pray; Lord, pray within me’. The ‘Our Father’ has been rightly called the ‘Lord’s prayer’ because it is a prayer that the Lord himself has given us. The prayer begins with a focus on God and on God’s purposes for our lives and the world, and it then shifts to a focus on our primary needs as human beings and the Lord’s disciples. There is a pattern there that is valid for all of our prayer. We attend first to God and to whatever God desires and then to our needs before God.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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dollsorwhatever · 4 years

Text

Disney Bloodbath

Today was a very, very exhausting day lmfao Long semi-interesting doll story and pictures of the new LE Ariel under the cut!

I stayed up all night waiting for Disney Store to list the new Limited Edition Ariel doll online, which usually happens at midnight PST (3am my time), but she never showed up lmfao. I guess they’ve recently changed the launch time to 7am PST (10am my time) for the newer dolls, but rather than risking the chance of losing her online (and worried about defects) I decided I didn’t need to sleep and instead would go to the mall at seven AM with my mom, wait for them to open the doors, and then sit outside of the Disney Store until they opened at ten. So... three hours of literally standing there doing basically nothing but waiting for Disney to open the door lmfao. I actually snuck into the mall through the service entrance but was caught by security, and they had me wait outside of the mall until they actually opened the doors, then I could go wait at DS until they opened lol I’d never actually purchased an LE doll directly from a Disney Store location so I was really confused about how to do everything, but the 3 people waiting with me were pretty helpful-basically you go to the front of the closed-up Disney Store and line up, then once the store opens the employee will tell you what they have in stock and then give each person a ticket, reserving their items for them (starting at the front of the line, so first come first serve), and then you just go to the register once the store opens, give them the ticket and they sell you the doll. Apparently it’s sometimes different for Designer Dolls (they’ve done right-to-buy lotteries a few times) but the ticket system is always done with the 17′‘ dolls. Ofc I didn’t know about the line thing until after two people had already started the line, putting me in third place and...wow, what luck lmfao. Lady finally comes out after two hours of standing at the entrance to tell us how many they have of each doll. They had two Vanessa dolls, and the two people in front of me just happened to want her as well lol so I was fucked with Vanessa (they only made 2000 of her, half of which were for Europe, meaning the US only got 1000 dolls for the entire country-yikes), but they had eight Ariel dolls and one was reserved for me (I almost had my mom get another one for me too but I didn’t want to be greedy, there were like ten other people behind us by the time the store opened) I was a little sad about Vanessa, but I only decided I wanted her, like, yesterday, so I wasn’t invested in her enough yet to really care so I laughed it off and took my Ariel. Plus I already had a list of other dolls I wanted from the DS so I knew I’d end up with a pretty good haul lol. I’ve decided to just pay the scalper prices for Vanessa for Christmas since I really do want her, but she can wait! After picking and purchasing my Ariel I decided to go with the new Ariel and Her Sisters mini doll set because they’re soooo well designed and detailed, and I have a huge thing for both mini dolls and mermaids. Also I still regret never getting the Wreck it Ralph Princess set when ti wasn’t 300$ and figured this would soften the blow lol And then I looked around at the Animators dolls, since I had Moana and the new Rapunzel and Ariel dolls on my list, but Ariel looked crosseyed in person and all of the Rapunzels had really thin hair, so I passed on them and went with something else that I’d been eyeing for a little bit. Don’t laugh at me it’s SUCH a silly purchase lol

Baby Rapunzel!! Okay, it’s not really that dumb, because she’s fucking adorable but I really have no use for a literal baby doll and a crib, logically speaking lol. But I’ve wanted a doll of this scene since Tangled had first come out, and this is the best baby Rapunzel ever done. Look at her lively little face! And her thick shiny hair!! The detailed little crib! UGH she’s even cuter than in the movie. HER EARS ARE BLUSHED TOO OMG

Oh also she was 80$ so...yeah SILLY My only disappointment with her is that she’s like a baby doll baby doll, like her body is plush with a vinyl head, arms and legs, when I assumed she was all vinyl. Kind of weird and makes it really hard to style her hair when she’s flopping around, but she’s fucking adorable sooooo idgaf But back to the doll that has now deprived me of 42 hours of sleep, Ariel!

I love her so much, I’ve been impatiently waiting for Disney to replace her old 17′’ head sculpt with something new, with a new screening, and they finally delivered this year! I took like, two pictures of her freshly deboxed and mint before I did my usual blasphemy and stripped her down for some hair styling:

Miss Fish, who do you think you are, coming into MY HOUSE with crunchy ass hair like that?? Some tidbits about her outfit- the jewelry is all metal, you need to remove her hands to get off the (gorgeous) bracelets, and the halter on her bra doesn’t have a clasp- I had to undo the chain to remove it, but the connector rings are pretty large so it was easy as hell and I put it right back together once I took it off. The back of the actual bra fastens with velcro, though. And the flower ornament? demonic. It has strings of pearls hanging down, done with clear thread to make the pearls look like they’re just stuck in her hair I guess. Whatever, it was tied into her hair in several sections and I literally pulled off all of the pearls to remove it, and I’m gonna add a clip to the flower to use on it’s own. They also did some tweaks to the 17′’ body, though I’m not sure when this happened- the elbows have improved articulation as a result of them shaving off the back of the elbows a little more, making them less like Barbie Fashionista arms and more like Pivotal or FR arms. I’ve also noticed this change on the 12′’ dolls, so that’s great. The upper leg joints look slightly different too, but Idk if that’ss my imagination. I haven’t tried to make her sit so I truly don’t know. And I really really need to talk about these HANDS. They’re so beautiful. Gone are the ugly graceless hands of the old dolls, say hello to these beautifully sculpted hands (though Vanessa still annoyingly has the old hands lol):

Now all they need to do is get rid of those HIDEOUS hinged knees, replace them with pivotal knees and give the body some better feet- I hate the articulated feet on this body, they’re MINISCULE and have the ugliest shape. Please Disney save the lower half of this body!! After about five seconds of enjoying her stock look, I stripped her down and washed her hair:

I really need to know how they made her hair so crinkly and frizzy, because the natural texture is clearly a smooth, soft wave. I don’t know if this makes me a fake fan, but I actually despise Ariel’s bangs, especially on dolls. They’re IMPOSSIBLE to keep organized, especially with nylon hair, and I wish they left it all long instead of doing the bangs. Luckily, they actually do look pretty nice on this doll and I’m certain I can make them look good even when they’re dry. This is how she’s looking right now, while I’m letting her hair dry. Will likely flat iron it some but I’m really shocked and pleased with how nicely it washed out:

And once again showing off those stunning hands. I love them so much. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I am very broke now, but I’m very happy and proud of myself for pushing so hard to get this doll and the adorable baby Rapunzel, along with the Ariel And Her Sisters set. Definitely need one of the Vanessa dolls next month, and perhaps even the D23 Ariel because I hate myself lol. Hope ya’ll enjoyed the longest post in the history of mankind!

#Disney dolls #Disney store #ariel #the little mermaid #Disney limited edition dolls #Rapunzel #dolls #blabber

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basicshadowhuntersstuff · 5 years

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This super-sized news roundup covers the past two weeks in Shadowhunters news, updates, sneak peeks, and behind the scenes. All the stuff you need to stay up to date.

Official Promotion

Season 3B Sneak Peek: 3x12 Malec morning scene (part of the #MarchToThePolls promotion). [1]

For all the last minute planners. Happy #Halloween! #Shadowhunters

Getting spooky. Magnus behind the scenes of #Shadowhunters Season 3B.

Behind the scenes: Us counting down to Friday. #TBT #Shadowhunters

SAVE. THE. DATE. The final episodes of @ShadowhuntersTV begin Monday, February 25th. #ShadowhuntersLegacy

Behind the scenes with Alberto (Simon) and Alisha (Maia): Can't help smiling at these two. #Shadowhunters

Freeform releases a Ziploc ad with Kat (Clary).

Isaiah (Luke) kicked off his tenure as Freeform Santa on November 1st.

Behind the scenes with Dom (Jace) and Kat (Clary): Going up. #Shadowhunters [3]

Behind the scenes with Mimi Kuzyk (Imogen Herondale): When the boss asks if you can come in on Saturday. #Shadowhunters

Behind the scenes with Emeraude (Izzy) and Will Tudor (Sebastian Verlac): Izzy & Sebastian's band name would be ______. #Shadowhunters // @EmeraudeToubia & @willtudor1

Season 3B Air Date Revealed - February 25, 2019

Freeform revealed that season 3B would premiere February 25, 2019. Here are some of the highlights related to that.

Isaiah (Luke) teased some upcoming Shadowhunters news.

Kat (Clary) shared a flashback behind-the-scenes photo while also teasing the upcoming news.

Kat (Clary) tweeted: It’s official! Get ready angels... it all begins Feb 25th. Are you ready? #ShadowhuntersLegacy. @ShadowhuntersTV @FreeformTV

Emeraude (Izzy) tweeted: Thrilled to FINALLY announce we have a premiere date for season 3B – Monday, Feb. 25th !!! #Shadowhunters #ShadowhuntersLegacy

Isaiah (Luke) tweeted: That Final Episodes 😭 02.25.2019 💚🐺#Shadowhunters

Dom (Jace) shared the air date announcement on Instagram.

Matt (Alec) tweeted: Final 12 episodes start Feb 25th!

Harry (Magnus) tweeted: 2.25.19 IT’S ON! @ShadowhuntersTV

TV Guide (article): Here's When Shadowhunters' Final Episodes Will Air

TV Line (article): Shadowhunters Return Date Revealed: What to Expect From the Final Episodes

Entertainment Weekly (article): Shadowhunters final season gets February premiere date

Teen Vogue (article): The Final "Shadowhunters" Season Will Premiere in February 2019

Sensacine (article): 'Shadowhunters' ya tiene fecha para su recta final

TV Insider (article): 'Shadowhunters' Legacy! Freeform Announces Premiere Date for the Final Episodes

ScreenSpy (article): Shadowhunters Gets a Season 3B Premiere Date

Hypable (article): ‘Shadowhunters’ final season officially has a premiere date

KSiteTV (article): The Final Hunt: Shadowhunters Returns February 25 On Freeform

Matt Carter (video) : Shadowhunters season 3 return date + 5 things to know!

#MarchToThePolls

Members of the Shadowhunters cast encouraged fans in the United States to vote in the mid-term elections.

Shadowhunters TV tweeted a video about [t]he most important 11 minutes of your year. #MarchToThePolls featuring Kat (Clary).

Kat (Clary) tweeted a photo: In the name of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - #Vote. Do your part. Make your voice heard. Choose the world you want to live in. [2]

Harry (Magnus) tweeted a photo: The day has come! Don’t take your right to vote for granted! Also an excuse for millions of Americans to take a selfie and be proud of it! Get out and #VOTE.

Dom (Jace) shared a photo on Instagram with the message: TODAY IS THE DAY TO VOTE. You have a wonderful ability to make you voice heard and shape a future. PLEASE don’t waste it. Don’t squander it. Don’t take it for granted. UNRELATED. Here a video of rajah drinking water from a people glass (mine).

ShadowhuntersTV tweeted a photo of Isaiah (Luke): @IsaiahMustafa did his part. Did you?

ShadowhuntersTV tweeted a photo of Emeraude (Izzy): Your words and your vote matter.

ShadowhuntersTV tweeted a photo of Isaiah (Luke): It’s Tuesday November 6th, 2018... Time to Vote! #beheard #vote” - @IsaiahMustafa Tag us in your photos as you #MarchToThePolls. We’ll be reposting the #Shadowhunters fam throughout the day.

Just Jared (article): Lily Collins, Katherine McNamara and Nina Dobrev attend #TelethonForAmerica.

Shadowhunters In The News

Bisexual Representation Awards 2018: Harry Shum Jr. wins for his portrayal of Magnus Bane.

BELLO (interview/photoshoot): Issue #117 Features Kat McNamara discussing Shadowhunters’ end and her upcoming role on Arrow.

ELLE (interview/photoshoot): Hollywood needs Harry Shum Jr.

GayTimes (article): A definitive list of the 30 most iconic queer characters in TV history

Man About Town (cover): Will Tudor for Man About Town: The Game of Thrones actor wears Prada on the cover of the Winter 2018/Spring 2019 issue.

For, She is You (interview): Katherine McNamara // #sheisjoyful

Fr Conventions (interview): [1 Actor, 1 Word] : Will Tudor - Shadowhunters

TV Guide (video and article): Shadowhunters: This Exclusive Malec Sneak Peek Will Melt Your Heart

The Series Regulars (article): New Malec Sneak Peek Has ‘Shadowhunters’ Fans Swooning

Film Daily (article): #SaveShadowhunters: The fans speak

E! Online (interview): Get as much scoop as Kat McNamara could share with us on Arrow and the end of Shadowhunters.

Cosmopolitan (article): You Need to Watch Cult Show 'Shadowhunters' Before It's Gone.

OZY (video/panel): Harry Shum Jr. joins OZY for a #TakeOnAmerica discussion about being Asian-American. (Some twitter highlights: "How about stories from Asians we haven't heard from?", this audience is VERY excited to see him, "Seeing those images over and over again, for yourself, it's like, am I good enough? That is a really damaging thing.", "I was born in Costa Rica.")

Refinery29 (article): Everything We Know About Shadowhunters' Final Season.

Twitter & Social Media Stuff

Grand River Conservation Authority tweeted: What do spooky TV series Hannibal, The Strain, and Shadowhunters have in common? Episodes for each were filmed at our very own Rockwood Conservation Area! The park is open for hiking year-round...if you dare #HappyHalloween #Halloween

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted a photo: Happy Halloween #beckysback #lewissiblingsstaystrong #microtrailer #3b #shadowhunters

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted a photo: Halloween party at the Hunters Moon #funinside #3b #iftheywontdoitiwill #shadowhunters

Jade Hassoune (Meliorn) shared a photo of himself taken by Chai Hansen (Jordan Kyle).

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted: 312! A malec gem directed by @mattdirector written by @AlexSchemmer and oh yeah, there’s Paris as well #showhasneverbeenbetter #3b #shadowhunters

Anna Hopkins (Lilith) shared her excitement over receiving her Teen Choice Awards surfboard.

MCM Comic Con announced Chai Hansen (Jordan Kyle) as a guest at their Birmingham convention.

Zarata Events announced that Jade Hassoune will be attending Pandemonium Con in London.

Alberto (Simon) shared photos of his Movember mustache on Instagram.

Brian Hui (makeup artist) shared a photo on Twitter: Our trio of heroes with production Petey.

Harry (Magnus) was Eric Draven for Halloween.

Kat (Clary) dressed as Where’s Waldo? for Halloween.

Aisha Porter Christie (writer) tweets a Malec tease: Um well... it’s ONE of the scenes I was talking about. There’s still... so so much more... Get your inhalers ready. #malec #shadowhunters

Kat (Clary) tweeted about Harry (Magnus) being featured in People Magazine’s ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ issue.

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted: He enjoys candles, long walks in the sand dreaming of the family he never had, sword play, and Earl Grey tea #Jonathanjustneedslove #dontweall #3b #shadowhunters

Todd Slavkin (showrunner) tweeted: Of course. Alec is his partner who will always listen, especially about this loss that is so utterly life changing #whatloversdo #malec #alwaysthereforeachother #inspirationtousall #shadowhunters

People’s Choice Awards 2018

All 8 main cast members attended this year’s Peoples Choice Awards. Shadowhunters won 4 out of the 5 awards they were nominated for: The Show, The Bingeworthy Show, The Male TV Star (Harry Shum Jr.), The Female TV Star (Kat McNamara). Here are some highlights from the event.

Video of Harry (Magnus) accepting his award.

Video of Kat (Clary) accepting her award.

Video of the cast accepting their award for #TheShow.

Video of the cast being interviewed on the red carpet (starts off with Kat and Harry, who are joined by the rest of the cast).

BBC News (article): Cancelled TV show sweeps People's Choice Awards.

Decider (article): Shadowhunters nabbed 4 major awards at last night's People’s Choice Awards.

TVLine (article): Shadowhunters Wins Big, Nicki Minaj Makes a Booty Call and More Major Moments.

E! Online (article/video): Shadowhunters Cast Thanks Dedicated Fans After Winning TV Show of 2018 at People's Choice Awards.

Yahoo! Entertainment (article): This show took home the most People's Choice Awards, even though it's canceled.

E! Online (article): 5 Biggest Jaw-Droppers at the 2018 People's Choice Awards.

Teen Vogue (article): Shadowhunters Stars Harry Shum Jr. and Katherine McNamara Won People's Choice Awards They Weren't Originally Nominated For.

ExtraTV tweeted: The Shadowhunters squad basking in all the #PCAs love!, Shadowhunters stars Kat McNamara & Harry Shum Jr. pose with their awards at the #PCAs!

Harry (Magnus) shares some photos: Y’all are really something else. THANK YOU! This belongs to ALL of US. Thank you for your votes for Male TV Star of the Year, Female TV Star of the Year and Show Of The Year! Let’s celebrate with love! [4]

Kat (Clary) shares a heartfelt message on her Instagram along with some photos: Oh what a night... I wish there was a way for me fully express how full of love and gratitude my heart is after #PCAs...

Personal: Harry Shum Jr. and wife Shelby Rabara are expecting their first child (a girl).

Harry (Magnus) shares a photo announcing that wife Shelby Rabara is pregnant with their first child.

E! Online (article): Shadowhunters’ Harry Shum Jr. Expecting First Child With Wife Shelby Rabara.

E! Online (video interview): Harry Shum Jr. is having a baby girl with wife Shelby Rabara (interview from the People’s Choice Award’s red carpet).

Access (article): Daddy duty! Harry Shum Jr. dishes all about his wife's big pregnancy news! Find out why they are so excited!

Entertainment Tonight (article): Harry Shum Jr. and Wife Shelby Rabara Expecting First Child.

People (article): Harry Shum Jr. and Wife Shelby Rabara Are Expecting Their First Child — See the Adorable Reveal.

Other News

Deadline (article): Katherine McNamara Boards Charlie Day’s ‘El Tonto.’

Just Jared Jr. (article): 'Crazy Rich Asians' Cast Is the Breakout Ensemble at Hollywood Film Awards 2018!

PopSugar (article): If You Thought Harry Shum Jr.'s Costume Was Good, Wait Until You See His Wife's Prince Look

Socialite Life (article): Adam Lambert, Matt Bomer, Harry Shum Jr, The Weeknd, Jensen Ackles and More Kill It With Their Halloween Costumes

Just Jared Jr. (article): Katherine McNamara, Darci Lynne Farmer & A Bunch Of The Best Celeb Halloween Costumes You Missed

#shadowhunters #people's choice awards #saveshadowhunters #bss news roundup

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omkargokhale · 3 years

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Who is Omkar Gokhale?

I am a kind and joyful person. I have big ambitions in life - hoping to leave a lasting positive impact on society - while also making sure to enjoy the smaller stuff and take life as it comes. I have completed my MBA from IIM Calcutta and my Computer Engineering from Fr. CRCE, Mumbai. I have been a straight A student throughout school and college, also being a recipient of the prestigious National Talent Search (NTSE) Scholarship. I currently work in the strategy team of an airline in a fulfilling and challenging job reporting directly to the CEO. I am a part of the Tata Administrative Service (TAS) which is the management cadre developed at the Tata Group level across companies. However, my ambitions in life are not restricted to my career. I want to serve society and make a difference to the lives of people around me. How will I do this? In what way will I be able to use my talent and abilities to contribute to the building of this nation? I have not fully found this answer, and I hope to find a partner together with whom I will be able find and fulfill my calling in the years to come. While I collect the pieces to fill out this "big picture", I have also tried to develop hobbies to remain happy and centered. I find that it is important to devote time to creative pursuits beyond work. While I enjoy my fair share of entertainment and do binge watch netflix, more of my free time goes into caring for the plants in my garden or in cooking up new exotic recipes! I love working with my hands and over time I see myself taking up more interest in woodworking, tinkering with electronics and other such interests to engage myself meaningfully. I love hindustani classical music and have learnt classical singing for 2 years. Those two years were a particularly enjoyable period of my life as I learnt how ragas help you shape emotions into music ! Unfortunately, I could not devote the time necessary for regular riyaz and had to stop, but this is something I will return to later on in life! In the meantime, I quench my thirst by spending hours on peaceful sundays unwinding and listening to classical performances. "People have a way of leaking into each other, much like flavors when you cook" -- Salman Rushdie It is rather impossible to know a person, without knowing their family, friends and how they have shaped the person as he / she stands today. My father is a "Steel Man", a metallurgist from IIT Bombay, who built his career in the steel industry across the globe. It is due to his globe trotting nature that I was born in Trinidad, West Indies, and I also spent time in Singapore growing up. It is through him that I have inherited my wanderlust which has spurred me to travel across India and abroad whenever I get the opportunity (made easy right now since I work for an airline :) My mother is an educationist, having Masters degrees in Economics and English. She has taught kids from KG till 12th grade across English and Social Studies and retired as a Vice Principal. She has been the spark that lit a fire for my love of books and who encouraged me to express my thoughts and ideas by writing them down - whether they be poems or essays or just scribbled notes on the margins. My Grandfather, who also stays with us is a 94 years young RSS Swayamsewak. He is one of my biggest role models in life and he has taught me - through his own example - how to serve society selflessly and remain happy and contented with whatever life throws at you. He has been the driving force pushing me towards yoga and spirituality, whether it be through stories of Samarth Ramdas when I was young, or through discussions on the Gita now. I also have an elder sister who is a dentist by profession and a loving mother of 2 bright young girls. Growing up playing (/ fighting) with her and attending her compulsory sermons on feminism have helped me become a better man I feel, atleast someone she can feel proud to call her younger brother! This is already a rather long introduction and I haven't even talked about my love of history, mythology and

philosophy. My politics, my beliefs, my pet peeves.. But I guess if you find this trailer interesting, you will love the movie. Give me a call if I seem like the person you can spend the rest of your life with - exploring this world, experiencing what it has to offer and discovering ourselves in the process :)

#essay #article

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leonbloder · 3 years

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The Gift of Disagreeable People

I'm realizing some things about myself as I reflect on this past week of election chaos...

I am realizing that despite my best intentions, I often struggle to surrender the outcomes in my life to God and to be at peace with what happens--no matter what.

I am also realizing that anger and frustration are a by-product of the kind of helplessness that ensues when I don't surrender the outcomes, and they can be not only self-destructive, but they also bleed out into my relationships, work, and pretty much every other area of my life.

I am also realizing that the people who I disagree with have some of the same kinds of fears, anxieties, and worries that I do---they just express them differently.

I was recently reading Awareness, one of my favorite books by Anthony de Mello. He talked about how being confronted by people who not only disagree with you but who might even irritate or agitate you is a gift that you should accept with joy.

Fr. Anthony writes:

Think of someone you don’t like or avoid… they “will make you a gift that none of your charming, pleasant friends can make you...

If you are wondering what sort of gift can come from having a disagreement with someone or encountering someone who "pushes your buttons," Fr. Anthony outlines it like this:

He or she is going to reveal your real human nature to you—a revelation as precious as any found in Scripture, for what will it profit you to know all the Scriptures if you do not know yourself and so live the life of a robot?

In other words, when we encounter someone who would ordinarily bring out the worst in us, we can redeem that kind of encounter by being instructed, shaped, and matured by it---if we are courageous and vulnerable enough to do so.

Instead of falling back on knee-jerk reactions to those with whom we have disagreements, we would be well-served to be curious about why we are feeling the things we are feeling.

That curiosity comes only through intentionality, however. You have to work at it. And it can begin with a simple statement: "What I see in you, I see in me."

If we begin with that statement when we find ourselves at odds with someone, we are more easily able to move from a defensive stance to openness and learning.

You see, more often than not, what we find irritating, abrasive, or hurtful in others are the very things we fear are true about ourselves.

Or we might just have a negative and unresolved history with the person in question or someone like them. Our reactions are rarely born in a moment and almost certainly never in a vacuum.

May you go out in the world today with an openness that leads you to curiosity despite the interpersonal conflicts you might face. May you see those with whom you disagree as gifts that will help you know yourself better.

And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.

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neurotribe · 3 years

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Scenes from a funeral

Today's post is addressed to a specific audience.

One of the areas in which I have taught over the years is the subject of spiritual formation. In this discipline I cover the effects that family of origin has upon the shape of our spirituality. I find the best way to teach is grounding the theory in my own experience. It seems to me that this is the most helpful approach. Seeing what it looks like grounded in another person's life, students can then easily do the necessary translation. Consequently, I have shared my experiences of growing up in a home marred by domestic violence. It was always a difficult prospect because I live in a web of relationships. Not only was the perpetrator still alive, but I was still in relationship with him and there were other people involved in my story. Trying to know how best to manage the telling of my own story whilst being bound up in the stories of others is complicated.

As I shared my experiences in teaching contexts, I have been profoundly moved as students hearing me tell my story find their own voice and in turn the courage to share their story with others, often with me. In many instances I have then been utterly honoured and humbled when some time later I would be contacted by former students who would share their own formative stories of attempts at transformation, reconciliation and some kind of resolution.

I have connected with many ex students and people who have heard me speak via social media. If that is you, reading this post now, you are my audience today.

Two weeks ago, my father fell and sustained a massive brain injury. After about two weeks in ICU and then a palliative care ward, he died because of this injury and from complications associated with it.

Towards the end of his life, I spent close to three days, two of those alone, with him. During that time, I wrote. Some of the writing included some of the stories that I have shared in my teaching work. I thought that what I had written was going to be dad’s eulogy. After writing it, and then reading it to him, alone, holding his hand as he lay dying, I felt the writing had done what it needed to do for both of us. I felt that when it came time for his funeral, I no longer needed to say anything. I felt that what needed to be done was done.

As it turned out, the Catholic priest who has been a long time friend of the family had the occasion to read what I had written. After having some time to digest it, he called me the day before dad’s funeral and asked me to give dad’s eulogy. On Friday, the immediate family gathered for dad's funeral where I gave the eulogy.

For those who have found some help or hope in my story and my attempts to reconcile a difficult past, I post dad’s eulogy. May you find it helpful and hopeful.

(Please be advised that the following includes a description of family violence. If you are or have suffered family violence and are seeking help, in Victoria please contact Safe Steps Victoria at https://www.safesteps.org.au/ or 1800015188 or seek relevant local help.)

What I am going to read here is a shorter version of something I wrote as I have reflected upon my relationship with dad over the years. I actually read the longer version to dad, as I sat by his bedside, holding his hand, about a day before he died. I shared my writing and experience with Fr Vic. He encouraged me to share this shorter version on this occasion. This version is as a result of his guidance. Thankyou Fr Vic not just for your support today, but for being a gift to our family over many years. Inħobbok ħafna sabiħ.

I want to tell three stories about Charlie. The first story took place at our family home in St Albans one hot summer Saturday morning. I was probably seven or eight years of age. This morning, as was often the case in our house, dad exploded in a fit of rage. As a young child, I was terrified by the sounds, his actions, about the prospect of one of us being hurt, because in previous situations like this, and subsequent ones, getting hurt was not uncommon. I remember mum shepherding us children out of the house and onto the driveway, where we stood around the car, hesitating. It took me a few moments before I realised the reason mum was hesitating was because we had nowhere to go. Eventually mum packed us three kids into the car, and we drove around the streets of St Albans for about an hour or so, before heading back home, hoping that Charlie's rage had run its course.

I’ve come to learn that one of the most important experiences in a child's life is an experience, a knowing that they belong. If a child is to have any chance of moving into some kind of healthy adulthood, it is a vital experience. In that moment, standing on the driveway, feeling like there was nowhere I belonged, and that there was no safe place for me, a traumatic wound was inflicted upon a young child, a wound that I have carried with me through my childhood and teenage years, into adulthood, into the present.

The second story I want to tell about Charlie occurred a couple of years later. We were at home and one of mum's sisters called on the phone, obviously in significant distress. I remember dad angrily, but quietly springing into action, heading out the door, returning a little later with my three terrified cousins, all covered in the paint that was a result of the shenanigans that had reduced my aunty to tears. Dad ordered them into the bathroom and cleaned them all up. Later, we had dinner together, where my sisters and I joked about what we thought was an hilarious incident. Not long into our meal, our cousins thought so too. I vividly, distinctly remember all of us, mum, dad, my sisters and my cousins, all sitting around that same kitchen table together, sharing a meal, laughing, being together.

The final story involved my distinctive red BMX, as well as some other details that I have never shared with my wider family until today. As a 13 year old, one Saturday morning a friend and I took off on one of our epic bike riding adventures. We met two girls at a park. We started talking to them. I was pretty obnoxious and rude so the conversation ended rather quickly. My friend and I thought nothing of it and we continued on our way.

Later that afternoon, my sister and I, accompanied by one of our cousins headed on down to the local milk bar, they on foot and I on my distinctive red BMX. Whilst my sister and my cousin went inside, the weekly Saturday night Greek Orthodox church service had just finished. About a dozen well dressed Greek boys emerged from the church building. When they saw me, they raced toward me and surrounded me, trapping me against the milk bar window.

I quickly realised that these boys were friends of the two girls we had met earlier that day. The girls had told them of my appalling behaviour. That’s the bit I haven’t shared with anyone else until this day. This was all my fault. The boys recognized me by my distinctive red BMX.

The leader of the pack, frustrated by his inability to provoke me in throwing the first punch, hit my left eye with a chunky ring, damaging my vision for a few days as well as giving me the biggest black eye of my life. I desperately willed myself not to move. It was like I was frozen in time.

And then I saw one of the most beautiful things in my life to this day. I saw Charlie's yellow Land Rover four wheel drive, dangerously screaming through the busy intersection and then bouncing wildly into the car park, horn blaring. Before the car came to a halt, dad flew out of the cabin, barefoot, dressed only in his singlet and unbuttoned shorts. He was swinging this packing hook, a brutal metal and wood hook used by dock workers on Melbourne’s waterfront. Like a terrifying bat out of hell he flew at the boys who fled the scene in abject terror. I can still see the looks of fear on some of their faces. After they had scattered, I collapsed onto the ground shaking, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

What had happened was that my sister could see the scene unfolding from the inside of the milk bar. As soon as she realised what was happening she phoned dad. Within seconds, dad was there. My dad, most likely, had literally saved my life. My father's anger rescued me.

Each of these stories have left a significant mark, a significant legacy in my life.

The first story tells of Charlie's lasting legacy of anger, and the violent ways in which he expressed it and the wounds that it inflicted, leaving scars upon my body, and my soul that I carry this day, and for the rest of my days.

The second story also leaves an enduring mark upon the shape of my life. For most of our married life, Lisa and I welcomed young people, often at risk young people, into our home. We have tried to live our lives in such a way as to give people that critical experience, an experience of what it is like to have a home, to belong.

The course that my life has charted, seemingly without any intent on my behalf, this significant part of who I am, whether I like it or not, whether it makes sense or not, is because of an unskilled, overworked, underpaid, migrant shift worker, struggling to make some kind of life. On his one day off from a gruelling job on Melbourne’s waterfront, on a day where he by rights should have been trying to simply catch his breath and catch a break, he instead opens his meagre home to his wife's children, without thought, without hesitation. Yes dad was angry, at them, at the situation, at the circumstances. His anger led him to what he concluded was simply the only appropriate response. This angry act, that led to hospitality, as dysfunctionally as it played out, has also powerfully shaped the course of my life. Because of what dad did in that moment, to me every problem looks like a problem of belonging, and I feel like the only possible response is one of hospitality and welcome. I feel like I have to be this way, not because someone told me this is what we do, or because I feel guilty or obligated, it’s because it feels right. It is because someone, my father, showed me what to do.

Over the years, I have discovered, not from dad mind you, but from others, that dad quietly invited people into their home on several occasions.

The third story is perhaps the most difficult for me. For the first time in my life, I felt his anger, aggression and power not as something to fear or flee from, but something that could make me safe. This part of who Charlie was has also powerfully shaped the man I am today. There are many who have confided in me that my commitment to them, my commitment to their safety, the lengths I am prepared to go to in order to protect them, keep them safe, the ways in which I help shepherd them through the moments where they have had to deal with the consequences of their unwise choices; these people have told me that they have been transformed as they have witnessed my anger at their injustice and my acting on their behalf.

When I hear people speak of me in this way, I know, without any doubt, that this part of who I am is due once again, not to what dad told me I should be, rather it is because of who, and how he was in this world. This kind of life is not a consequence of following his advice, it is as a result of my instinctively following his irresistible example.

Countless times, it feels like I have come close to losing my mind when I try to reconcile these three stories, these three parts of who Charlie was, and what each part represents. How can a man in one moment terrify his young son, yet in another be such a breathtaking example of care and concern? How do I reconcile these three seemingly irreconcilable stories? To say that Charlie was a collection of contradictions would be the understatement of my life.

There were times in my relationship with my father, where I was able to move beyond my own anger and bitterness and move towards him. There were moments where I actively tried to understand. I tried to ask him to tell me stories about his childhood, about what it was like in Malta, what it was like to migrate to the other side of the world, what it was like being a foreigner, trying to find work, facing the prejudice of race and class, trying to make a life?

I don’t feel as though we were ever able to connect. I don’t know if I understood him. I don’t know if he understood that I was trying to understand, that I cared.

My relationship with Charlie was a constant up and down. When I no longer feared him, his contradictions brought us into conflict for the majority of my adult life. There have been stretches where I have chosen not to be in his life, because it was simply too painful. The last time we spoke prior to his brain injury was another one of our arguments.

But I am noticing something. I’m aware that the confused look that must have adorned my face when trying to figure out my father's contradictions is mirrored back to me in the faces of those around me. I see the look upon the faces of my partner, my children, when they see me in one moment acting with great courage and nobility, and in the next when I act with selfishness and cruelty. I realise that as I move between being a beautiful human being and a terrible one, often with a speed that can be deeply disorienting to those around me, I realise something. I realise that I too am a man of contradictions. I realise that I am my father's son.

When I become aware, often too late, that I have made choices and decisions that hurt those around me, and I crave nothing more than their understanding and their forgiveness, I realise, I am my father's son. I realise, if people are ever going to accept the contradictions that exist in me, perhaps I need to accept the contradictions that existed in Charlie.

Hear me carefully, I am not saying that domestic violence is ever acceptable or excusable. Domestic violence is unacceptable, it is inexcusable. Period.

The Austrian psychologist Viktor Frankl, said:

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom. - Viktor E. Frankl

The task at hand, my task, is to find that space between stimulus and response, to reflect in that moment, and in that moment, to make a decision to choose not to be the worst parts of Charlie, but to choose the best parts of Charlie. My task is, in that moment between stimulus and response, is to realise that one of the greatest gifts my father has bequeathed to me, is a righteous anger that, if harnessed, can be a gift to the world.

My task is not to try and reconcile the contradictions. My task, which is not too different to Charlie's task, when he made his way to Australia as a teenager with nothing and attempted to make a life, my task is to take the hand I have been dealt, and to do my best.

Dad, for the ways in which you have wounded and broken me, I forgive you.

Dad, for your examples, for the great and beautiful gifts that you have bequeathed me, I am forever indebted, and I am forever grateful.

Rest in peace dad.

#spirituality #theology #discipleship

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terraclae · 6 years

Text

Morning light

Lore pings: @yuushanoah-fr @cityofinoue

It's been a rough night for the crew of Paramo city. A few POV shifts happen in this one, it rounds out back to Arodan though.

Carmen tended not to give much thought to Dreams she had. If she did she was never going to get up in the morning and she didn’t have time for that. She stayed in bed for five minutes more and that would be it. Through the small windows early pale morning light fell, dust dancing in the light. Carmen’s room on the ship was cluttered with all manner of objects she had taken from the ship’s hold. Books, clothing, furniture, trinkets, things she liked and things she knew Epoch would have liked.

‘Okay.’ She said through a strained breath. Slowly she got up and crept out of bed. She wore easier clothing now and if she didn’t think too much of things she was up and going within another five minutes. She met her face in the mirror, paused, and stopped to fluff her hair. ‘Let’s do this.’

Balam hadn’t slept a lot that night. He knew he had drifted off a few times but truly sleeping wouldn’t happen. Slow and heavy, he rose and listened to the ship’s creaking around him. In the hall he could hear someone pass and he wondered who it was. Balam rubbed his face and groaned quietly. He had yet to figure out what was next, beyond the problems that had already manifested on the boat. Where would they go now that they didn’t have home to come back to?

‘Balam?’

Carmen stuck her head through the door. When he last her stare she smiled. ‘Sorry, I’m late, am I not?’

‘Nah. I think we all need some extra sleep.’ She remained by the door. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Little tired.’ He shook his head and his eye fell on his hands. He’d have to apologize to Sachairi later, or at least the person that he truly was. ‘I’ll come up when I’m ready.’

Carmen paused, her eyes drifting elsewhere. Without looking up she stepped in and closed the door behind her. ‘Hey. I’ll wait.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It’s not as if I have anything better to do.’ She sat down at the end of Balam’s bed where his feet weren’t. He was just a little too big for the frame. ‘Maybe I will take over sailing the ship for a while. Caer fell asleep against the wheel this morning and there’s only so much the coffee supply can do.’

‘Do you know how to steer a ship?’ Balam slid out of bed around Carmen and paced to an overloaded closet in the corner. It was bolted to the floor like most furniture. ‘I can do that too.’

‘The sea’s been easy. Maybe it’ll get worse once we reach the coast but for now it’s calm.’ She kept her gaze on a plant in the corner which looked dried out. ‘Epoch taught me once, so I might be able to take over for a bit.’ She knew Epoch’s name made Balam worry over all sorts of things again but if they danced around to that would remain. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Balam?’

‘Yes?’

‘Help me out with something.’ She hopped up and towards the plant where she knelt down. Balam finished pulling a shirt over his head and came to bend down besides her. ‘Hold out your hand and make a block of ice.’

‘I… I see.’ Balam did as asked. In his hand ice started to form and shape. He focused and his eyes glowed a fierce blue as he extended his magic until he held a block of ice the size of his palm. ‘So what now?’

Carmen pulled his frigid hand closer by one of his fingers. She moved it to be above the pot and placed her hand on the block of ice. Her own magic flared and melted the block slowly. Water dripped into the pot and hydrated cracked soil. ‘That will be a welcome change. Maybe it’s too dry to be saved but we tried.’

‘Is this a metaphor of sorts you’re trying to show me?’

Carmen grinned. 'The point I am trying to make is that we work better as a group. Look at us.' She tilted Balam's hand down. 'We were at each other's throats over something as minor as Sachairi not being trustworthy. We should not fight each other despite our weariness.'

'I know that.' Balam quietly responded and he didn't dare to look at her, instead fixing his focus on the plant. 'I don't want us to fall apart as a group.'

'I know… I know we lost Paramo. And it will be a long time before we all will learn to deal with the effects of that.' Carmen added. She briefly squeezed Balam's hand to draw his attention back to her. 'But at least we still have each other. We can do this together.'

'I want to get it back. Not today, but once we figure out the way to do so.' He said this with a mild, simmering resolve. All the ice melted in his hands and he waved it over the pot so the remainder of the water dripped off his hand. 'But you are right. I will not do that alone.'

'We'll get back our home my liege.' Carmen said quietly. 'For Epoch, and for the city of Paramo.'

'... For Epoch.' Balam hummed in agreement.

'You know, you do have big enough hands to play drums perhaps.'

'I'd smash right through them Raz.' Sachairi said with a long, drawn out sigh. He drew Raz closer to him who murmured something nondescript. 'I don't think I'm made for making music.'

'People aren't made for specific purposes, Sachi.' Raz said and giggled. He looked out over the field wistfully and Sachairi loved that kind of look. The landscape before them was beautiful yes, snow coated and pristine. The sky was a vibrant blue and the sun illuminated countless snow hardy flowers that popped up from out of the snow. None of that compared to Raz. 'We're just people. I play the harp because I want to.'

'Well, you're good at it.' Sachairi hummed. He rested his chin on Raz's head and the skydancer responded by creeping deeper into the larger man's coat. 'That's your thing. My thing is brute force.'

'Okay, listen.' Raz held up a finger and tilted his head back. 'What if you made me a harp? Maybe subtle isn't your forte, but rough is. You can try carving something.'

'I don't think I can do that.'

'I think you can.'

'Yeah, but you can think I can do anything if I just set my mind to it.' Sachairi said, unhelpfully grinning. Raz turned and proceeded to knock him over. 'Look, Raz, I-'

'Look, Sachi-' Raz grabbed Sachairi's face and shook him a little, a narrowed stare meeting Sachairi's wide, confused gaze. 'There, you always say that. What I want to say, is that I understand what bothers you, but that upkeeping the attitude you have now isn't going to make you happier.' He smiled warily and pressed his forehead to Sachairi's. 'Try being more positive. Try it for me if you don't want to do it for you.'

'I know, I know.' He held up his hands and Raz gently took them. 'It's just… Difficult. This is new for me.' He glanced up and wordlessly questioned further before finding that wouldn't help. 'You know, having a home.'

'It's new for me too.' Raz whispered. He lay down and settled back into part of Sachairi's coat. 'It's new to be safe, it's new to be free.' He nuzzled Sachairi's neck lovingly. 'That is why we have to be the best versions of ourselves or try to be.' He grinned against the skin of Sachairi's neck. 'Whether you want it or not.'

'Ooh, stubborn, are we?' Sachairi grunted in response, his lips still curled into a firm smile. He heard Raz giggle and it was music to his ears and sugar to all of his other senses.

He was definitely dreaming.

As soon as he became aware of it and turned his head he could see him in the distance. Dmitri stood in the haze of snow and Sachairi remembered his time already was up. 'Raz, I… I have to tell you something.'

'What is it?' Raz raised his head and looked curious as to what had so suddenly soured Sachairi's mood. He couldn't tell him. He woke up, and realized there were too many things he wouldn't be able to tell Raz once he found him.

'Sachi.'

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and stretched the incoming soreness out of his back. Two, no three figures stood by the door to his cell. The open door, that was. His sight cleared and he first saw Balam, then Carmen, then Kassa. Kassa held the key. 'What-'

'No Sachi, I'm not going to push you around. Got my gloves on, you see.' Kassa said. They looked far more vulnerable without their glasses, but what Sachairi was more interested in were the black gloves they wore with wristbands clipped to them. 'Point is, I won't hurt you. I know it will be hard seeing me as a friend or even an ally after that, but at least see me as a fairly well behaved stranger.'

'You are right, I do not see you as a friend.' Sachi grunted. For once he successfully wrestled his anger into submission and held out his restraints. 'You're letting me out?'

'Under the condition you don't try to hurt anyone on this ship.' Balam sternly responded, stopping Kassa from stepping forward. 'Kassa agreed to precautions, for you I will not hesitate to use force.'

'Sheesh, sir, really?' Sachairi backed away cautiously. 'I promise I won't. I haven't even had the time to figure out myself, so I'd rather not waste my time figuring out right now what I think of others.'

'Very well. But I'm warning you nonetheless.' Balam let go of Kassa and they were quick to unlock Sachairi's restraints. Balam turned away and started to walk off. '... Welcome back, Sachairi.'

Sachairi didn't respond beyond the same sort of grunt he always used, but he was glad to be back.

Arodan woke up with a headache that felt like an axe to the head. Not a well swung one at that too. His vision still flitted in and out and he worried he was going to be fully blind due to the mistake he made. It wouldn't be a first. When his vision did finally return, he didn't recognise the room he was in as his own. It was far less messy and things were stored in crates labeled their particular category. The bed he was in felt decidedly more worn than his own. Everything clicked into place once his gaze drifted to the floor and he saw Atlas lying there, on a bedroll, burrowed in a thick blanket. 'Oh, Atlas.'

He sat upright and his head swam once more. He was not about to throw up on Atlas' sheet, that kind of person was not who he was going to be today. He stifled his nausea and slid out from under the covers, instead taking to sitting on the floor besides Atlas. He didn't know what to say to him and wanted to ask him why he brought him to his room. Words left him however and he felt more at ease than he had ever felt just sitting there. Despite the headache, despite the nausea, and despite the soreness, he felt calm.

'I can hear you, Dan.'

Then he wasn't. Arodan shook out of his calm state of mind and immediately crept back to the bed. 'I um...'

'Did you have a nightmare? You sound out of breath.' Atlas sleepily asked, hauling himself up. He sat there with his eyes closed and his teeth grinding together lightly. 'Watchu doing up already?'

'Atlas, I'm pretty certain it's noon already.'

'Ah, fuck.' Atlas groaned, and pressed his head into his hands. 'Fudge, I mean, or… Ugh, whatever.'

'Are you… Are you alright, Atlas?' Arodan carefully crept closer again and leant around Atlas in an attempt to see if he was hurt. 'Did you sleep at all?'

'Yeah. I you know, wanted to keep watch but I fell asleep without me noticing.' Atlas dragged his hands down his face and rounded them around to smooth his hair back. 'Keeping watch in the night was never my strong suit.'

'I see.' Arodan bit his lip pensively and looked away. 'Atlas?' The other man looked at him with one half closed eye, the other hidden by his hand. 'I'm sorry if I kept you up because you were worried.'

'Yeah, I shouldn't have done that, that wasn't worth it.' Atlas grunted. He looked uneasy and exhausted, which wasn't a good expression on him. 'But I'm not angry with you anymore.' He looked over Arodan worried, ready to fuss over him. 'Just please… Never do that again. I don't like seeing the people I love in pain, Dan.'

'I will, I just… Forget to think of that sometimes.' Arodan scratched the back of his head, not knowing what else to do with his hands. 'I knew I was going to be difficult but I'm sorry I'm acting this way this early on.'

Atlas needed a moment to figure out what Arodan meant and then nodded along once he did. 'Look, it isn't that I mind you being difficult. I mind that trait being constant.' He reached out and dragged Arodan into a very awkwardly angled hug. 'I love you, but we need to be better, okay? I don't want to be someone you will think of badly once all is said and done.'

'I promise.' Arodan murmured this into Atlas' shoulder. 'I love you too, and I want to be around you. So I will try.'

'Can you keep that promise?'

'I don't usually make promises lightly.' Arodan retorted. 'Make of that what you will.' He drew back and took Atlas' hands. 'I want to learn more magic by your side, I'd like to see the world, I want to make something of myself. That is why I'm promising this to you.'

'Okay. Once more then.' Atlas whispered. His hands left Arodan's and cupped his jaw to draw him in for a kiss that lingered. He drew back and remained nose to nose. He smiled, basking in the moment, and then his brow furrowed which made his expression look a lot more mischievous. 'You really need to shave, this is getting out of control.'

'That makes me want to do it less.' Arodan bluntly responded without too much thought. Atlas responded by pulling a knife out from under the drawer by his bed. He looked deadpan and held it up and Arodan got the message. 'Oh my gods, we're not doing that with a knife!'

'What, that's how I used to do it.' Atlas said and shrugged. 'It never really hurt me too bad.'

Arodan understood more clearly now why Carmen had helped him to shave concerning Atlas apparently didn't possess foresight. Gently he took the knife from Atlas' hand. 'Fine, I'll use this. Do you have a mirror?' Somehow Arodan had started to love him more that morning and made sure to be as careful as possible in removing the beard he had grown. He left his hair as it was besides tying it into a braid. He liked having long hair as opposed to the short hair he once had in the past.

When both men had finished getting ready to head upstairs they did quietly so. Atlas tailed Arodan closely and whenever he met his eye he would smile knowingly. Arodan didn't have anything else to tell Atlas, so he didn't mind. He opened the hatch and stepped out into the morning sun that illuminated Atlas as soon as he got to bask in it too. It was a beautiful sight still. Atlas went ahead of him and disappeared in the direction of the bow of the ship.

'Hey librarian.'

Arodan turned and saw Caer behind him at the wheel. A half full container of coffee sat besides her and she looked as if she was about to fall asleep. 'Caer? Are you alright?'

'Peachy. Like lack of sleep will get to me.' She picked up the coffee and took a pensive sip. 'Carmen is gonna take over the wheel for me though, so I can pass out for a bit. Isn't she sweet?'

'Yeah… You look um-'

'I know.' She smiled, a little distant in her emotions. 'But you don't look too well either Dan. Take care of yourself, will you?'

'Of-Of course.' He stepped towards her and she took to putting away the coffee entirely. 'But please go sleep, you look like you're on death's door.'

'When you're at the point I'm at you'll never feel more alive.' Caer said, an attempt to joke around. 'Don't worry about me. I'm going to sleep, we're near land anyway.' She pointed towards the horizon and as she said, a coast could be seen, lined with rocky cliffs and swaths of pale grey clouds drifting over it. Arodan swore he could see more ashen lands to the west of it, where the skies grew darker. 'We're going to see an old ally of Waldemar's.' She got up and stretched. 'Hopefully he'll be courteous to Balam.'

'Who exactly is this person? Can we trust them?' Arodan narrowed his eyes in an odd misplaced attempt to see more. 'How do we know they're going to help us?'

'Well, we never know for sure. But it is president Odin of the Stratus Corporation.' She spat her words, looking appropriately disdainful. 'Some aid would be nice.' She shook her head. 'By the way, the others are on the bow. I'm sure your boyfriend already ran over there.'

'Right. I'll go over there then.' Arodan slowly backed away from Caer and decided he probably shouldn't ask her about her further thoughts on Stratus Corp. He made his way over to the bow slowly and saw five people. He wondered who the other's were before he saw them and instinctively backed away again. Kassa stood by Balam's side, looking over the taffrail. They seemed to be quietly discussing something and Kassa didn't notice Arodan. Sachairi stood more separate from the group and leant against a mast. He sidled over to Sachairi first. 'Hey.'

'Hey.' Sachairi glanced at Arodan. 'Seems like they let me out.' He took in a deep breath of ocean air and seemed to be enjoying himself. 'I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to uh...'

'Choke me? That isn't new.' Arodan rubbed his throat and felt a sting of pain in his head again. 'Can't say I forgive you yet but I'm not mad.'

'That's weird.'

'Yeah, it is.' Arodan nodded and gently reached out to pat Sachairi's shoulder before stopping himself. 'How are you handling it by the way?'

'It's weird. It makes sense, but it won't stick.' Sachairi said, closing his eyes. 'Like it can't be real.'

'Take your time thinking on it okay?' Arodan responded, moving over to where Balam and Kassa were. 'I know it can be a lot.'

'Well… I don't have anything better to do.' Sachairi said. He turned away from Arodan to focus on the ocean. 'So I might try to make something out of this.'

Arodan nodded and left him by the mast. Without another word he settled at Balam's other side. Kassa shared a sidelong glance with him and he could sense the magic from the wristbands they wore. He was safe then, and at this point he was okay with it all. As they stood now, he felt a comfortable familiarity. He hadn't seen Carmen join, but the next moment she was among them, having crept in between Balam and Arodan. Atlas joined Arodan's free side snugly. This time, their shared moment was far more uncertain.

#my lore #fr #flight rising #ch: Arodan #ch: carmen #ch: Balam #ch: Kassa #ch: Sachairi #ch: Atlas

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littlelovelymemes · 7 years

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✰ * º ❛ even more popular text posts ask meme. ❜

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tired??? sleepy??? yes, constantly. ’ ‘ i’m pb&j -- petty, bitter, and jealous. ’ ‘ the fact that sloths aren’t extinct somehow proves that if you go at your own pace and mind your own fucking business you too can succeed. ’ ‘ i wish i could be the person i want to be, but i’m too tired. ’ ‘ i always look sleep deprived. is that hot? ’ ‘ just because there’s always room for improvement doesn’t mean you’ll never be good enough. ’ ‘ my heart is a soft and sensitive mess. ’ ‘ all i want is a big garden and no responsibilities. ’ ‘ honestly someone not liking beyonce is a deal breaker and not for any political reasons, but just like you’re probably, definitely really boring. ’ ‘ hey guys, i’m a huge fan of genuine love and affection. ’ ‘ now i’m falling asleep and she’s calling a crab and he’s having a smoke and she’s kissing the crab. ’ ‘ i’ve been ever since i heard ‘lonely’ by akon at 9 years-old. ’ ‘ my new years resolution is to stop. ’ ‘ i’m irritated cause i’m not lovable in a romantic soulmate way. ’ ‘ i hate knowing that people that ruined parts of me still live and function like nothing ever happened. ’ ‘ i know i’m cute, but you can remind me. ’ ‘ hey, just wondering, but are you fucking kidding me???? ’ ‘ i can’t wait to be in love with someone who is also deepfuck in love with me and we love each other forever n’ ever. ’ ‘ me? clingy? yes. please don’t leave me. ’ ‘ girlfriend application compatibility question: do you keep your depression pile on the bed or on the floor? ’ ‘ anything heart shaped is automatically 200% better. this is a fact. ’ ‘ today’s agenda: screaming into the abyss. ’ ‘ going from ‘today is a good day’ to ‘i hate my life’ takes me approximately 2.6 seconds. ’ ‘ everyone needs to wash their face and go to bed. ’ ‘ i’m worth so much more than the ways i’ve been treated. ’ ‘ hey, can i claim you guys as dependents on my taxes? ’ ‘ i really just ignore phone calls. like leave a message. i don’t check those either but like ’ ‘ i honestly just want to pack my bags and go travel the world and see and explore everything possible. ’ ‘ remember being little and thinking dandelions were fun or a pretty color or something and every adult in an 80 mile radius wouldn’t let you say that without screaming IT’S A WEED. ’ ‘ why did we just accept catdog? ’ ‘ my ‘stay in bed all day’ game’s too strong. ’ ‘ you deserve to be loved without having to hide the parts of yourself that you think are unlovable. ’ ‘ i always forget that i literally don’t owe anyone anything! ’ ‘ i wonder what it feels like to know what the fuck is going on. ’ ‘ honestly... us girls? us women? we always out here, knowin. ’ ‘ would an alien think i’m pretty? ’ ‘ i love boys, but only as a concept. ’ ‘ why do parents get mad when you sleep in all day? like i’m staying out of trouble and i’m not spending your money like what’s the issue here???? ’ ‘ i identify as an inconvenience to the world. ’ ‘ i seriously regret telling anyone, anything, ever lmao ’ ‘ dating me is like dating a five year-old. i need all of your attention and i’m cranky if i haven’t had a nap. ’ ‘ i’m literally tired of myself. ’ ‘ don’t introduce me to ur parents unless you plan on marrying me because they’re going to love me and ask about me for the rest of your life lol ’ ‘ what the hell is a straight person? only straight thing i know about is the edge of my beloved sword. ’ ‘ i highly recommend never having feelings. ’ ‘ self care is going into a cornfield at night to get abducted by aliens. ’ ‘ staying up late with another human is such a weird thing like you get this special bond and a what-is-this feeling ’ ‘ do u ever feel like ur not even friends with ur friends? ’ ‘ um no offense but whom’st’ve going to loveth me? ’ ‘ date a girl who fucks everything up. ’ ‘ not all who mcfreakin wander are mcfreakin lost. ’ ‘ i may legally be an adult but don’t be fooled. i have no idea what i’m doing. ’ ‘ a fun and interesting fact about me is that i’m a fucking idiot. ’ ‘ you can start again anytime! ’ ‘ all you can do is learn your lesson. there’s no point in wishing you had did differently. the past is the past. ’ ‘ i can’t believe an angel like me has to suffer so much. ’ ‘ you’re all so obsessed with love and being loved. what about just going to sleep? ’ ‘ i’m smart, but i do dumb shit anyway. ’ ‘ tbh i never deal with my emotions. i just let them ravage my body and then go to bed and then i wake up and do it all over again. ’ ‘ first of all: i don’t know shit, so jot that down. ’ ‘ i’ll just ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯ my way through life. ’ ‘ i’m tired of things costing money. ’ ‘ don’t you hate it when you’re dead inside and run out of apps to refresh? ’ ‘ who cares? do better, move on. ’ ‘ i don’t need a significant other. just a significant income. ’ ‘ appreciation for everyone who’s ever talked to me bc i’m annoying and dumb. ’ ‘ thnks fr th mntl llnss. ’ ‘ what hasn’t killed me has just made me overly sensitive and defensive. ’ ‘ i don’t know shit ya’ll!!!!! i’m just out here. ’ ‘ binge-watching is great until you run out of the show and have to start watching it weekly like some sort of medieval peasant. ’ ‘ i’m in the wrong realm and i think everyone can tell. ’ ‘ this might come as a shock but I’m Not Feelin too good my dudes. ’ ‘ i’m alive, but only ironically. ’ ‘ there she goes again being over dramatic and by she, i mean me. ’ ‘ do you ever feel like have tried Too Hard to a friend and now you have become That Obnoxious Weirdo? ’ ‘ lgbt: lasagna! garfield’s beloved treat. ’ ‘ my favorite phrase in the english language is ‘i shit you not.’ ’ ‘ i’m a real boring bitch! a snoozer! ’ ‘ i honestly look so good lounging in an oversized t-shirt and no pants. when will someone experience the blessing of domestic living w/ me? ’ ‘ you don’t understand how hard it is to take a selfie when you’re ugly. ’ ‘ you son of a mumford! ’ ‘ hi, i’m here to ruin everything. ’ ‘ you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands. for example, if it’s a skeleton hand then they’re dead. ’ ‘ the year is 2020 and i am found guilty of treason against the united states for vague blogging that i hate someone and donald trump thought it was about him. ’ ‘ everybody calm down, we’re going to be fine! :))) we’ve weathered worse than this! :) :) :) :) really all this panic just seems like a huge overreaction imho ’ ‘ no beta readers. we publish our crap writing like men. ’ ‘ i need $$$$$ not feelings. ’ ‘ ‘idk imma see’ = i ain’t coming, never was coming, never considered it, never gave it a single thought, only remembered cause you asked again. ’ ‘ oops, i don’t care lol ’ ‘ why girls always crop the halo out of their selfies? stop being so modest. we know the truth. ’ ‘ maurice, you’re not gonna fucking believe this, ’ ‘ i always get told i look like a bitch bc i’m always glaring while i walk, but i’m not glaring, i’m squinting. i have sensitive eyes. they’re watering. ’ ‘ concept: it’s 3 am. candle lit room. a record is spinning. you’re kissing me. we have no worries in the world. we’re warm and content. ’ ‘ i need to go into the forest and scream for an hour and a half. ’ ‘ pls kill all men who yell at girls from cars. ’ ‘ life really isn’t what i expected it to be. less quicksand. almost no quicksand to be honest. lots of metaphorical quicksand tho. ’ ‘ i have a question for u: like are u done... like is it over? ’ ‘ we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive. ’ ‘ we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive. for me, it’s myself. ’ ‘ whenever i see police i always try not to act suspicious and fail internally even though i never did anything wrong. ’ ‘ new years resolution: less bitter, more glitter. ’

#ask meme #inbox memes #rp ask meme #sentence starters #indie rp #sentence starter meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp ask box meme #rp inbox meme

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years

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12x14 watching notes

this show normally never makes me cry except that 1 episode in season 7, but god dammit Berens got me TWICE I’m disowning him

Expectations - it's the 14th episode of the season. (This isn't snark, have you ever gone back and looked at the 14th episode of the season since, say, oh, season 9? Talk about a winning streak you don't want to break :P)

I woke up with a migraine which is getting worse after being up for like... half an hour... so I'm just launching straight into watching it before today is totally ruined.

At this point from the recap I genuinely can't tell if there's a meta point to make about Dean as a killer and vampires, or you can't recap it without implying it because vampires are just that tied to Dean's identity as a hunter/killer

- or, well, that arc that Buckleming anvil'd Mary onto last episode where Ketch told her SHE was a killer.

For what it's worth, they picked 1x20 and 6x05/6x07 to use the most of instead of the sympathetic vamps from later. NOT any of the Gordon stuff visibly on screen. Missed the boat on using "see you next season" in the recap. Anyway, lots of reminders of vampires as a monster; the Twilight knock off vampires, the alpha vamp because duh but in his season 6, not 7, iteration, and of course mixed with Dean's reaction to vampires, him saying it gets funnier every time, and reminders of the time Dean WAS a vampire, to make it Dean-focused.

I guess Ketch using the rocket launcher was so expensive they're always gonna show it and you know what if every episode for the rest of the season starts with Cas staring down that explosion I'm all for it. Anyway, reminder that they blast vampires with radiation, which I'm sure won't cause any problems this episode, and a recap of why we don't trust them.

Season 1 Colt recapping - it's kind of terrifying to see tiny season 1 Sam n Dean on screen when you're not prepared for it at this point. It's like looking at their own children or something. John continues not existing in the narrative except for a faceless appearance of his arm handing the Colt to Dean. It's significant that vampires were the first reason to use the Colt, that John then gave it to Dean the episode after and passed on the revenge arc to him, and that Dean then used it to fulfil it. We also see Dean pointing it AT "John" in 1x22 and Sam failing to shoot Azazel in 1x21, and MARY'S repeat of of the "There's only 5 things in creation it can't kill" which blurs her, Samuel and Lucifer nicely >.>

Then of course the horror of 1x01 on screen (AAAH SMOLLEST WINCHESTERS) "You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" Sam asks, cut immediately to Mary like "Nothing comes before my family" before the only 3 lines you need from 12x13 about their argument re: Sam and Dean being a little suspicious of her and then Mary being like "hi you need to be a lot susicious of me".

The Margikugel beer is in pride of place in this shot

"Just hear me out." "Wow... Just, wow." Oh no, there Dean goes, freezing her out like he said they had in the promo from slightly later in the episode >.>

This angle on the war room table always makes it look like a coffin.

Mary makes some defences that she's aware that the BMoL kinda suck and Sam cuts into that with "When." Mary answers with exactly what he wanted to hear which was "exactly how much has this already screwed us over" so she phrases her answer by measuring time with common era as "the lake house" which I'm pretty sure was that time travel romance with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves.

Mmmokay Dean uses "Cas almost died" against Mary and I've decided that's something I really hoped would happen but now I heard it it just feels terrible :P Like, it's weighing their stock against each other and Cas obviously outweighs Mary on found family points in almost infinite supply and now Mary's being tested not on abstract family love from blood ties, but the gritty stuff, and... yeah. Looks bad, Mary. Cas is their most treasured family for like however many years before you come back and then you get him hurt >.>

Oh and then Sam's like "a hunter died" I mean talk about the personal with Cas and Dean vs impersonal with Sam and some other perspective thing they do *all* the time. Is that like, the star example now?

"I watch him die every night" YOu weren't even theeeere

(Also Wally was married apparently... yikes. Piling on the angst.)

"Good." Oh dear, that's the "You're dead to me" look. Mary probably shouldn't start cataloguing these looks to chide Dean about...

[title card]

[ow]

Ooh is this like the Campbell's compound? Looks like Mary's gone dark, literally, wearing her dark beanie hat and Mary-sized version of Ketch's going around killing things suit. I wonder if they also give her fancy tailored suits for their down time. Anyway I have no idea why the BMoL have access to such a thing - you'd have to assume they have internal help here, Muggle proofing if not, or are ready to deal with the problems of randomly making an armed compound in the wilderness in America.

Or they're on a remote industrial estate in Northumberland.

TBH if they're just bribing local authorities to look the other way while creating a massive armed compound full of foreigners I wouldn't actually be that surprised.

More random egg shaped BMoL devices. Some BMoL version of Q really has a thing for that shape. "Gonna spray paint it gold." "WHY. What about stealth?" "They ain't gonna need stealth with whatever this egg thingy does"

Mary and Ketch both space out remembering what the gold whistling egg thingy did. Ketch looks slightly turned on. Mary looks like she's having a bit of fridge horror about what her job currently involves. It definitely feels like she's washed up in a dystopian future and I think we should be treating her POV on it like "time traveller to the far flung future where everything is awful" and not like any continuation of the world she used to know >.>

Ah they're living in shipping containers. This is now definitely the Doctor Who vibe I got from the promo and didn't want to mention anything about because Tumblr vs Doctor Who these days, but shh I'm both nostalgic for RTD era and British, okay. It looks like those episodes where they just show up on a research base on some planet/under the sea/in space which is a bunch of shipping containers bolted together, with a high tech interior, and then shit goes down on the tiny enclosed shipping containers, with a great cast of random one off characters who usually get eaten >.>

Also this means the BMoL basically just shipped over a base and plonked it in the American wilderness and have a sort of razor wire over the fence keeping the monsters out mentality about it. They've seen just enough Doctor Who (it's a national passtime) to know what to do here, and America is all full of ikky monsters, and should definitely be treated like a hostile alien environment.

I suppose this is their "embassy" for their diplomatic mission and I am rabidly curious about how it looks to the locals, because the Campbell compound at least had that American survivalist weirdoes feel to it, where you kinda know there's a strange local family on their huge compound out of town and they all have guns but you just... don't ask questions and hope they're only waiting for the Rapture or something.

So it turns out Ketch is a total dick. Surpriiise. I hope Serena kills him and survives the episode. "I have three phds" - she's the hyper competent one who in Doctor Who would probably end up being the only one knowing how to press some button and stay behind to save everyone and get ejected into space or something. Or be the only survivor because she's smart and the Doctor appreciates her :P I have no idea why I'm making this into Dr Who cross over territory but I'm just waiting for the other personnel here to fit some of the usual tropes.

Mary in a tank toooop

Surprise surprise it's Dean she's been texting and is morosely checking her phone about instead of Sam, but if she tried him, the other promo video showed that he's attempting to make peace. Winchesters, I swear. *shakes head*

They do all look good in tank tops though

OH NO more conversation.

"Our whole lives, you've been GONE" Oh DEAN this is... the kind of stuff I have been expecting/wishing they'd say to Mary and it's so terrible that they CAN'T COMMUNICATE so it takes something so ridiculously messed up to make them talk about something like this.

They're FINALLY telling each other how hard it has been to deal with being back/having her back... and because they left it so long, it's all fucked up :(

*sits here misery-eating an apple* I might have go to get the giant box of waffles downstairs and eat them if it gets any worse than "How about for once you try and be a mom!?" "I am your mother!" (so they have 2 different definitions of this - Dean wants her to ACT like it, she's using it like a title, and to HER that has all that complicated and REAL love but it's all so abstract from what Dean WANTS and AAAH) "But I am NOT just a 'mom'" And that's all I wanted out of this season but it's so painful I just wanna find the receipt and return it :P "And you are not a child" "I never was" bonus thing I only hoped in my wildest dreams we'd get out of the season but I feel like every single Dean!girl just took a critical hit and is laying on the floor in agony...

brb finding the floor

"between us and them" "yeah MARY it is"

oh great she's not "mom" any more with the title to Dean...

"and you made your choice"

I can't believe there's actually a scene worse than 6x20's confrontation out there like how does that even happen

Oh Sam, sitting here watching all that while Dean speaks for the both of you :S

But he gets up and follows Dean

"You should go" It's more neutral, not judging her per say but obviously she can't be here while Dean has told her to leave and Sam can't take her side, he can just... not intentionally cast her out.

The stuff between him and Mary is stuff from the past - the stuff from 4x03. The stuff between DEAN and Mary is his early childhood vs what's going on NOW. Sam and Mary stuff is being dealt with another way - this is the Dean part of the arc and Sam has to give up his mother for it

Argh >.>

Well that was horrible but I really appreciate the BMoL compound set.

"We already have the best Winchester"

I have a pretty compelling argument for all 3 of the others (the third being Cas :P)

Obviously they did not see the footage of Dean in Purgatory

Or any time Sam does the shoulders thing

I mean Mary's great and all but... we've seen 12 years of Sam and Dean being incredible hunters so it's a bad argument to the audience :P

Ketch and Mick do have an interesting dynamic, I'll give them that. Mick made Ketch kinda smile. Mick's happy at his desk job. Please let him get menaced by a vampire and scream a lot. It's all I ask for after that heartbreak. Lighthearted goofy vampire episode.

(Okay Berens is like, angst central. I think he couldn't write goofy if he tried but that's not why we love him :P)

Anyway someone higher up wants Sam and Dean recruited - right when the whole Mary thing seems to have cut ties forever and lost all chance they'd EVER consider it since it's now the face of Betrayal and Families Being Shattered and all.

I guess 12x06 establishes that the Winchesters are semi-legendary themselves (although a very dubious look from Dean about the stories told about him) and Wally also seemed to idolise Dean in that diner scene. It's a fair chance the BMoL "Old Men" are right about this re: other hunters. Unlike Cas and his actions getting him kicked out of Heaven and losing all social standing with the angels, one way or another the Winchesters seem to have scraped by as admired figures in their community. Mom Winchester is not well-known and the Campbells lost all cred years ago after most of them were murdered by Azazel's lot and later Samuel's little group also ended up all dying and getting a lot of their hunters killed (6x07, which no one seems to remember or watch but DOES introduce alpha vamp so it's on my mind)... Not sure anyone knows them.

Okay Sam's fucking around with the rings on the table but he's assembled them in such a way they look like a kid's toy - that one where you stack all the rings. Sam seems like he barely moved since the Mary thing, still being at the Conflict Table. Dean stormed off but now he's stormed back and this is the promo scene, so let's pay much closer attention to the words now I know the context...

Ugh Dean not dealing. He just wants something to hit. While wearing that red shirt of his Mark of Cain murdery moments (10x10, 10x17)

What even IS Sam doing on his laptop if he isn't finding cases.

Youtube. Happy dog videos.

"Do you want to talk about it" "Not really." *starts talking about it unprompted*

Dean's stewed on it, Sam has got all philosophical about it, once again putting his own feelings to the side to think about how Mary feels. "She must have had a good reason" Argh he's just... so good... I love him.. This episode is making me love all the Winchesters (Mary included) more than I thought possible. I am in paaain.

I'm totally gone on this family. I love them.

"For once why don't you pick a side?" FINALLY we see what Sam was hiding on his phone - that he's been staring sadly at all the messages from Mary. Who is not saved as "mom" in his phone as she was in Dean's, right? I should go check that.

oh god she was in 12x04, when Dean was still asking if it was weird to call her mom or not

and then he called her "mary" cold as anything

*I* need a drink

(went and got chilli hot chocolate)

Anyway yeah the trouble with telling someone to pick a side is that they may pick the one you don't want and Sam's last message from Mary was that she had urgent business to meet him, while Mary's last text to Dean was just that she wanted to talk to him in a way that was still clearly about the fight. "urgent" implies new developments, a reason to go... Does she KNOW that the BMoL want to snare her sons or is she walking into it by just wanting to reconcile?

Sam goes to at least give the other side a chance, even if he's not picking it.

Also is he driving a rental car. It doesn't look so much like the car Soulless Sam had but it's certainly not the junkers and stolen cars and vans Sam's used before.

Also did she just go and give Sam the address of this place??? Not even meeting at a diner or something? I suppose it is a cool set.

Sam gives the compound a weird look like "wtf" as a sort of incidental moment when Mary references it

Anyway ARGH Mary telling him she's working with the BMoL so that there's a world without monsters - the magical endgame where the world is totally normal (but how do you stop witches and ghosts and all the stuff that happens in a world which is not like "Our" one in the French Mistake, where no magic at all happened... you'll ALWAYS need hunters) if she doesn't want to be JUST their apple pie mom, but to be a hunter too, she's taking away her OWN way of living in an attempt to save them from their version of normal life

That Sam says he's chosen. Argh, after all that waffling about whether he wanted to, or that he was only doing it because Dean is... I think when he gets to Mary saying that, suggesting a world where it's not their life and no chance of going back... Maybe he really feels it for the first time?

(”Normal life” ignoring, of course, ghosts and the fact unless you turn off magic and delete Heaven and Hell, there will ALWAYS be shit going on... Seasons 1-2 are the "normal" baseline type of this world, minus the extra demon activity attempting to destabilise it. And Sam and Dean mostly worked on ghosts, magic, and generic monsters, in a way that these things were just a part of the background of the world. Stuff like Provenance or Bloody Mary or Asylum were cases deeply rooted in their own history and with a long story behind them before the Winchesters stumbled into them, stuff John had been keeping notes on for years without tackling it, or had collected only half the picture. Or stuff which had been out in the world and would always have surfaced and kept on killing people if hunters hadn't helped. Stuff like that, you can't stop just by obliterating all the vampires. Monsters were isolated and stuff like the wendigo *takes a shot* were the sort of thing that just sort of happens, a horrible natural phenomenon along the lines of ghosts being created...)

I do wonder with Mary saying they can have normal lives, how much 2x20 is haunting this entire season as well, because the entire burden there that turned Dean to go save himself and go back to the shitty world where he was a hunter, was to hunt and save people. He even gave up being with Mary and Sam who was happy and with Jess and safe from the whole demon blood arc, because people had DIED. But Mary's djinn dream I think would be eerily similar to that one - one where the responsibility was off them and they could be themselves but not hunters. It's interesting to look at what she wishes - or the one that's been planted in her head, because she is echoing the "world without monsters" thing... She too has hunting in her blood and 12x06 showed that too, that she never could give it up. She's been paralleled to Dean a lot with that, and 2x20 is the episode where Dean is finally after wanting to give up all of season 2, brought to a point of decision and commits to, I guess, being a hunter for life and giving up that normal world where everyone's happy and at peace.

Same decision from season 5/6 - that "peace or freedom" talk Dean and Cas had.

Now it's Mary's turn to go through the same arc. She's going for, essentially, something we can parallel to the Archangels and their idea of paradise where everything is perfect. Dean kept talking about it being "stepford" then...

Oh noooo she brought up Sam going to school oh noooo

Why is every line in this dang episode just pure pain

where are my goofy vampires

"You've got to understand, things are going to change" Yeah, their plans are already underway and the threat is not going to be stopped by JUST talking Mary out of helping them. Have you seen the compound?

Uhoh Sam and Mary are walking in step. He's like... so much more leg than her

And Mary shows Sam the control room so he can SEE that the BMoL are already deeply underway with their thing.

Since he and Dean are separated the vibes I'm getting are 9x17 (maybe because Mittens was talking about it yesterday) but because at the end of that having seen Abaddon's soul mining operation, Sam comes back and sits with Dean and is way more onboard with taking her down than before and it unites them... Not saying that will happen here (more likely it will be subverted some way) but Sam's getting a peek behind the curtain at what the bad guys are up to while Dean's off drinking and moping around (see also, 10x17 although that time Sam was actively trying to save Dean while he was drinking also we now have at least 3 episodes were Sam and Dean were separated and the main reason given was that Dean was off drinking, this is getting PAINFUL)

"The Brits talk like they're roughing it" yeah you can't get the right fuckin' tea in America, you have to bring all your own teabags and then Americans make fun of you for it. And there aren't any jaffa cakes! What the hell!!

Sam sees Mick and is like "!!!" Mick sees him and is like "!!!" and then it's super awkward.

Yeah don't shake his hand, Sam.

"Yeah, um, I really dig the whole low budget Mission Impossible vibe, but I'm going to head back." I LOVE WHEN SAM DOES THE POP CULTURE SNARK

He's much quieter than Dean, so without him around he really gets to shine :P

Also amused at the budget comment because obviously Supernatural can not have the same budget as MI

"Sammeh!" I love it when he does that. I guess he's stumbling in drunk. The shot of the sword to introduce us back to the Bunker was actually TERRIFYING. It also had an empty glass and whiskey decanter so I guess the bros or at least Dean have been wandering around the Bunker drinking everything/everywhere. >.>

Nice establishing shot.

Sam's note is not in upper case something is WRONG

Dean discovers MORE empty decanters and bottles. Wow you hit it hard. You should probably listen when Ramiel tells you you all have fucked up livers.

I'm assuming this is like 12x01 and the Bunker is "not safe" but this time the threat is real and not a fake out that it's Cas coming home

and also Dean doen't have his mom with him :(

Wait no apparently they knock

Heeeey it's the other people I was expecting from the generic Dr Who cast. Geek with long hair and curly haired dude. Serena to keep them all in line. Mick as the weird sketchy boss.

Sam is the Doctor in this scenario, FYI

Tall and knows better than them.

"Hello mate"

I mean at least he knocked

I love Dean and Ketch looking each other up and down.

Also Ketch doesn't think he's as good as Mary, so tension - and not just that he wants to recruit Dean, but that Dean has to pass his opinion of whether he's good or not.

This should probably end with Dean and Ketch like, grappling each other.

"how did you find us" "this is a Men of Letters Bunker"

Wow Dean being bribed with rare scotch. I'm reminded both of Crowley in general and how Dean won entrance with Rufus back in 3x15

but also think that his alcoholism needs to be addressed and he should, like, chill, because I swear he just CAME from getting a drink and he's already desperate for another, enough to let Ketch in >.> Bad idea, he’s like a vampire. The regular non spn sort.

I mean his alcoholism has been mentioned a few times, especially with the liver comment

Awww curly haired dude is an American hunter, so there's only like, 3 Brits here.

"Serena Coleman" - because of the twilight episode reference I'm just reminded of using the actor's names so blatantly. Serena was already dressed like whatserface played by Jenna COLEMAN as a Dr Who reference but now this? Like, I have no idea if this is just confirmation bias but I really hope someone else got such ridiculous vibes from it as me :P

I am really quite disturbed by how many different countries they're operating in

241 vampires in the mid west. That's REALLY not a lot when you think about it, I mean, comparing them to demographics of people. Assuming the BMoL have been wiping them out with a focused effort, still means there really aren't that many in general. I mean, back in season 1 & 2 they were recovering from being nearly hunted to extinction by hunters like Gordon and Dean spent a lot of season 10 killing vampires... I am reminded a lot of Eve talking about the natural order, about how a few of her children killed a few of the humans, and they killed a few but not ALL of them... a sort of equilibrium. And the natural order of how this world runs IS important and rarely mentioned. I've been thinking about Eve a lot in relation to this episode without knowing how to bring her into it really, but I guess this a good wedge to get her in >.>

ACK there's only 11 vampires left

that's just scary

*gratutious vampire flashbacks*

Oh they are so scary. I actually feel sorry for the vampires just for the fact the BMoL are so ruthlessly efficient and deal with the vampires this way, which makes you scared about how any organisation with the right resources could watch and profile in this way...

And we know the vampires can be SO much more complicated, like Lenore or Benny...

I mean they don't know about the cure, the whole case by case basis of dealing with vampires in case it IS more complex and there's still some humanity in them/can be saved from them, which the one on one process of the Winchesters treating them less like statistics has done... I mean sure the whole waiting for a trail of bodies thing isn't ideal, but... doing the job HUMANELY stands out here.

Sam looks like he's rooting for the vampires too. :S

Oh no, now some sympathetic vampires

*feels sorry for them*

Even while they're drinking human blood.

I mean I am literally in a blanket and have drunk hot chocolate to recover - she is very relatable

ALPHA VAMP

Always got to have a dramatic entrance

Oh dear, Dean and Ketch, savouring their drinks, the bottle in the neutral territory on the map between them. I've only watched them drink so far, and I can tell this is going to be a top 10 use of this table, ever.

"Not much for small talk" He is when he likes you

Ugh his face when he's talking about Toni. Ketch is not allowed to talk about women. He's disgusting and filled with hate, and this actually does make me like Toni a little better just because I resent him talking about her as a neurotic time bomb

Also Dean, I know you hate her but don't listen to this >.> Do not let him get to you a little by having a bonding moment over how awful she is. I know you are in a really dark place right now but don't make me go through this with you >.>

"We used to date" Ugh.

I actually now feel sorry for her :P

Berens: most reliable un-Buckleming-er on the show.

Ugh, I really hate this :P I mean, for Dean, because Ketch is intentionally channelling all the worst in him. This is where 12x11 and where I was horrified about Dean as an attack dog when it was all stripped away comes back.

But he has a dual basic nature - SAVING PEOPLE, HUNTING THINGS. He was a sweet goof who loved and cared about people who were kind to him even when he had no idea between Sam or Rowena. He has a HEART. Ketch does not, but Dean has enough darkness in him to feel like he doesn't have a heart, and he's dealing with having told his mom where the door is. But he DOES have lightness in him. Ketch is like, dark side seducing him, with the whole "Inclinations" thing cluing us in it's queercoded and a seduction... This has happened to Dean before. He's wearing a red shirt he bought during the Mark of Cain crisis after CROWLEY dark side seduced him.

Of course that all involved the love triangle with Cas who represented the good side of Dean's duality for having an angel and a demon on his shoulder, and feeling the pull between them... Dean here is taking on Ketch alone and there's no pull in the other direction because Dean is isolated in the Bunker and Cas doesn't have an opposing role to the BMoL so he has no narrative tug back in the other direction, on the side of them having a HEART.

(I just watched 9x22 last night and I'm still dying about how much Dean loves Cas)

Anyway Ugh. I don't like the queercoded implications about demon!Dean that it seems more overt when he's evil and I don't particularly like that this is all Ketch "seducing" Dean to the dark by linking killing to that SO queer word "inclinations" about the both of them - I mean enough that Dean has to comment on it and wow that's a moment and a half, for the bi!Dean annuls, but UGH.

Have to stop and meta in 3 paragraphs about how Dean has a heart and isn't evil but is still queer and not because he's a killer >.>

Jesus christ we're at the halfway point - this is like the opposite problem of a Buckleming episode. I know Berens can DESTROY me in about 2 minutes of screen time, so I'm just, like, permanently on edge.

Anyway aside from everything else I hope Dean got to ride on the motorbike

I mean that scene was just so harsh on Dean, with Ketch winning his way in with scotch, and then winning Dean out the door with the promise of vampires to kill that he couldn't find on his own earlier

(Big business came and stole all the work from small local businesses. They are a vampire hunting supermarket)

Yeeeee Rufus mention.

Aww poor terrible hunters. It's like Garth - "How are you still alive!?"

I'd say Pierce should probably be black if he's from Baton Rouge but honestly if he's meant to be a dingus, then all the good hunters are probably escaping this by bad association and we don't see a hapless idiot PoC hunter :P They're all the top shelf ones Ketch can't win over

The ones who take pride in their work and have enough confidence in their skills to not want to go work for the big supermarket >.>

*Dean disappointingly follows Ketch in the Impala*

They probably raced

Checking out each other's equipment. Ketch opts to take one of Dean's knives. You know, Dean has a corrupting influence on everything he meets, I swear :P Like, Ketch was complaining it was too easy, but still just going along with his job, he meets Dean, seems to be off-assignment because he's just GONE to do it, no idea Sam wasn't even there tbh, but gets Dean, lures him out, and then Dean just has to make the old school way of hunting look cool by waving a knife around and suddenly Ketch wants in and also has a go at flipping a knife... And he's already getting “where are you??” messages from Mick. I mean, just the compulsion to meet the Winchesters on honest ground - now everything's in the open. He didn't even like them as much as Mary? But once he knows they need to be won over he goes to get at least one of them... But now he's not answering his mobile, and Dean's handed him a knife aaand

they really are being reckless by going in here alone without checking to see if something like the ALPHA VAMP isn't here

Oh wait shit the vampires are coming to the BMoL

Maybe there really is nothing in the hotel

Oh no there's just the sad vampire I was sorry for

Ketch don't you dare kill blanket vampire

Okay, now Dean feels sorry for the vampires

That was a surprisingly short line to cross before Dean's like hey stop being mean to the monsters

HE HAS A HEART

I guess if we're subverting Bloodlust all you can do is make Dean not like the Gordon parallel even SOONER- in 2x03 he NEARLY fell for it... he WANTED to. He knows so much better now

(Bennyyyy)

This vampire looks EXACTLY like a girl I used to work with who coincidentally... was called Magda

"Hunting... they went hunting." "Hunting whom?" "The hunters"

That was SUCH a good exchange. DRAMA. TENSION. SHEER TERROR ABOUT WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO BELOVED CHARACTERS

This season, notable exceptions, is SO much on its A game. Almost every episode has been like, High Drama.

Vampire tiiiime

Sam taking chaaaarge

I love it

Aw no don't kill the one random black guy here. :<

WHY DID THEY LEAVE ALL THESE DOORS OPEN?

Is it because sealing yourself into shipping containers sucks and is probably airless and stinky?

At least in space they wouldn't have this problem

(In a good Doctor Who episode even the random guards would have names and personalities and a decent story arc for a side character even if they get killed... In this episode the guards aren't exactly the only hired muscle to save them because there's at least 3 hunters in the building and one of them is Sam Fucking Winchester, so he'd be more likely protecting the hired muscle regardless :P Not like killing them did anything but remove characters to worry about rather than raise the threat level that would be in an episode when everyone else was nerds instead of trained killers)

Mick's got soft hands though

All I ask is one scream of horror

"Our intel has him in Morocco. He's been there for at least the last decade." Sam, with barely a side glance, "Wrong."

Yeah that's been a theme all season and as far back as "Cassiel" - their intel SUCKS

Read the Winchester Gospels

Or... don't. That actually turns you into an effective enemy

I love when Sam's got the snarky interrogation face on. It's a fun Sam

Mary's wearing basically Sam's red and black plaid but in a Dean way

Oh Mick is scared

And Sam has a headache at the stupid

Considering there's only 3 hunters in the room they managed to scrounge up a lot of weapons.

Not enough...

"Where is it?" *significant looks* Okay, Sam's going to find out now. He's been much kinder towards Mary, obviously, even if he's still got a ton of issues and meant to leave when shit started happening, but... yeah. Is he as forgiving or at least willing enough to hear her out when THIS is revealed?

*Mary side-glances at Sam*

*sword in the stone moment for Sam*

Who is literally crying to have such awful history returned to him. He knows this weapon is cursed.

I can't deal with Sam crying openly while writing the ingredients for the bullets and also the lore dump of how they make the damn things like AAH I ALWAYS WONDERED

And Mick's EYES. Like "what the fuck sort of hunters ARE these guys?"

This is what happens when you unexpectedly come across Legendary level hunters and you are all noobs

he's met the alpha, lived to tell the tale, and now is telling you how to make bullets that could kill him

Sam Fucking Winchester

(I just wanted to say that)

Oh the red flashy lights in the corridors is SO Doctor Who

It occurs to me that 11x14 also was the sort of episode that mimics the tropes of one of those but this one has the aesthetic.

I think Berens just wants to write for Doctor Who

Pleeease, two vampires against Sam Fucking Winchester

[slightly evil nyoooom] Nyooooom

Mick sounds scared while doing the incantation over the bullets. Hope it works.

Dude, don't stand with your back to the open door

... Amazingly that didn't take more than a second to pay off.

Noooooo Serena

I liked her :<

*Sam Fucking Winchester kills everything*

Can't believe the blatant disrespect for England that the alpha vamp doesn't like us

Actually starting to worry Mick's last episode is right here and now :P

Aww Mary is hurt and Sam's instinct is to be all "mom!" and help her

I am so emo about this family, help.

I am so with the alpha vamp

I mean I will miss Mick but nah. Byeee.

Aww nope fortunes change all at once

*Mick legs it away from the alpha vamp and goes and stands behind all the hunters*

"If that were true I'd be dead already" I bet the lore about the 5 things is both right and wrong at the same time - we KNOW it doesn't work on Lucifer, but I bet a ton of stuff pretends it won't work on them, and honestly Lucifer might not have been right about 5, and basically there's "recorded" like at least a dozen things it won't kill

but in this case Sam calls his bluff because the alpha vamp is still talking with the gun trained on him instead of just fighting them...

Anyway Sam's just like, ready to throw Mick to him

"Who said I was here to save all of us. My family and I, we kill vamps when they get outta line. And you've LET us." "I have many children, Sam. What's one, two, here or there..." "Exactly! So? Let my mom and me go. We'll walk away, go back to the way things were. To the way things are SUPPOSED to be. Hunters and vampires. Cops and robbers! A fair fight!"

!!! I LOVE SAM SO MUCH

Also that "the way things are SUPPOSED to be" is denying everything Mary said about a world without monsters, and calling back to Eve's natural order.

Poor old Mick

Maybe he'll turn him into a vampire

"What are you doing?" "Picking a side"

LOVE HIM

That was a badass montage of how Sam got a bullet in the gun

Bye bye Alpha Vamp, Dabb tidies up another loose end and sits back smiling to himself - not a plot hole so much as the itch of “see you next season” being for nothing

Serena nooo

All the dead people

Oh, wait, I'm having the same moment as Mick

Mary like "come on" to him, quite gently

aaand walk out and there's Ketch and Dean, 5 minutes late to the party.

Ketch lecturing Mick on his ivory tower and how people die...

Oh Ketch your attempt to get Dean didn't work.

Awwww Dean was worried about Mary and Sam's deducing it because Sam's all deduce-y and stuff. When he has to deal with things on his own, he really shines. You should do more episodes alone. I've really missed you, Sam :P I feel like I haven't seen you since 11x14

Are the Winchesters making up??

"It's not your job to make me lunch and kiss me goodnight" Help

Aww they all made up

Ooops and here's Ketch back being all awful and with the traitor hunter. Who's "gone rogue"

I suppose this compares to 12x06 AGAIN, where they let Bucky go because they don't kill their own, just ostracise them

but um

Still thinking about Samuel Campbell... is that ever going to come up? In this case the Winchesters seem to agree that killing this guy for selling them out to vampires is appropriate. Or, well, whatever Ketch does to him. Worse than death, maybe

Maybe Mary would understand despite the fact it was her father >.>

Had not considered that until after seeing this episode

Aw Sam no, I CRIED WITH YOU TODAY.

Was Sam talking crap with the Cops n Robbers speech or did he change his mind about the status quo? He picked his side in the moment Mick helped get the bullet to him? Or? Thinks the MoL are such idiots the only way to protect Mary is to go with her?

Dean looks kinda isolated at the end with Sam and Mary standing next to each other but he has had reason to DISLIKE Ketch after he roughed up the poor vamp girl, and he still indicates he doesn't like Mary's decision but he loves her anyway...

Kinda feel bad pointing out if he doesn't go for it (and one of them needs not to) that kinda does mean he and Cas are left alone on this side :P

Don't feel bad enough NOT to point it out and end on that note >.>

#12x14 #season 12 spoilers #Berens fanclub #my stuff #SAM!!#remember in 11x14 where Sam chugged 18 cups of coffee shortly before the episode #and was this weird perky happy fun Sam who I fell madly in love with for one episode?#I'm pretty disappointed #because now he's only my 3rd favourite Sam #(1st favourite Sam is Sam in 7x14 because duh)

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years

Photo

18th October >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on

John 17:11, 17-23 for Mission Sunday (Ireland)

and on

Matthew 22:15-21 for Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A.

Mission Sunday (Ireland)

Gospel (Ireland)

John 17:11, 17-23

Holy Father, keep those you have given me true to your name, so that they may be one like us. Consecrate them in the truth; your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world, and for their sake I consecrate myself so that they too may be consecrated in truth. I pray not only for these, but for those also who through their words will come to believe in me. May they all be one. Father, may they be one in us, as you are in me and I am in you, so that the world may believe it was you who sent me. I have given them the glory you gave to me. that they may be one as we are one. With me in them and you in me, may they be so completely one that the world will realise that it was you who sent me and that I have loved them as you loved me.

Reflections (3)

(i) Mission Sunday

We sometimes use the phrase ‘on a mission’ to describe someone who is very intent on doing something or going somewhere. To be ‘on a mission’ is to be focused on a very definite goal and to invest time and energy in attaining that goal. To be asked, ‘have you a mission in life’, is to be asked whether you have a goal in life, a purpose that gives meaning to your life and that shapes your life in some very fundamental way.

Today is Mission Sunday. It is a day when we are reminded that the whole church is ‘on a mission’. Mission Sunday reminds us that the mission of the church is a continuation of the mission of Christ. The Lord wants to continue his mission today in and through the church. Jesus entrusts his mission to the church. The church cannot continue the Lord’s mission without the Lord’s help. If the church is to remain missionary, it needs to acknowledge its own poverty, and to keep on invoking the Lord’s help, without which the church can do nothing. That help from the Lord is assured, because the church’s mission is the Lord’s own mission. As Paul reminds us in today’s second reading, our mission comes ‘as power and as the Holy Spirit’.

All of us who make up the church are called to be missionary. The Lord wants to continue his mission through all of us. We may not think of ourselves as missionaries. We may consider that mission is the work of a small number of people who have been specially called and trained. Yet, the late Pope John Paul once wrote, ‘Mission cannot be left to a group of “specialists” but is the responsibility of all the members of the people of God. Those who have come into genuine contact with Christ cannot keep him for themselves; they must proclaim him’. As members of a missionary church we are all called to be missionary. The mission field is all around us. It is the place where we live and work; it is the people that we meet in the course of our day. We draw from the Lord the spiritual energy that we need to be his missionaries wherever we find ourselves. We invite the Spirit, whose coming upon the bread and wine transforms them into the body and blood of Christ, to come also upon us so that we may be continually transformed into the Lord’s missionaries. The Lord’s mission was to give himself, his very life, in the service of others. We share in the Lord’s mission by seeking to serve others as generously as he did. As Jesus says in today’s gospel reading, ‘As you have sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world’. Whenever we allow the Lord to serve others through us, he is enabled to continue his mission in the world. The missionary is the one who loves with the heart of Christ, and to this we are all called, both as parish communities and as individuals. To love and to serve with the heart of Christ is to allow the light of the gospel to shine through us. The late Archbishop Helder Camera of Recipe in Brazil described mission as ‘refusing to be locked into the problems of the little world in which we exist’. He wrote, ‘Mission is always looking outwards, reaching out beyond ourselves, our home, our community, our parish, our diocese, our nation. Mission is opening ourselves to others as brothers and sisters, discovering and encountering them, sharing their joys and sorrows’.

Today, as well as reflecting on our own call to be missionary, we are also asked to remember and assist missionaries on the front line, many of whom often work in difficult and dangerous circumstances. Every one of those missionaries would say that they could not reach out in mission to others without the support of the people in the home church. The support we can give is threefold. The first support is prayer. The second support is the offering of suffering on behalf of our missionaries. Saint Therese of Lisieux offered each painful step of her illness to assist a missionary. That is why she was proclaimed patroness of the missions, even though she had never gone beyond her convent. The third support is a financial offering. The collection taken up today enables native priests, sisters, brothers and lay leaders in the young churches to be formed in their vocation; it is also used for building simple churches and health clinics, for assisting missionaries serving refugees and for providing emergency aid in times of civil war or natural disasters. The collection goes to various Pontifical Missionary Societies who ensure that every cent goes to a mission territory. The most significant of the Pontifical Missionary Societies is the Society for the Propagation of the Faith. This particular Missionary Society was founded in 1822 by a French woman, Pauline Jaricot. She saw the Society as a vehicle for helping not just French missions and missionaries but all missions and missionaries, especially the poorest. One hundred years later, in 1922, it became the primary organization of the Church for support the activity of missionaries. The bulk of today’s national collection will go to that Society.

And/Or

(ii) Mission Sunday

Today is Mission Sunday and the second collection today will be taken up for what is termed the Pontifical Mission Societies. The purpose of these Mission Societies is to support the church in mission territories such as Botswana, Gambia, Guinea, Lesotho, Namibia, Uganda and the Philippines. There are a number of Pontifical Mission Societies, but the largest and most significant is the Society of the Propagation of the Faith. This Society was founded by a French laywoman in 1822, Pauline Jaricot. She wished to help not only French missions and missionaries but all missions and missionaries, especially the poorest. It was Pauline who drew up the basic plan of the Society, which consisted in supporting the work of missions and missionaries by prayer, the offering of one’s suffering and the giving of material support. In 1922, the Society became the primary organization of the church for supporting the activity of missionaries. Pope Pius XI instituted Mission Sunday in 1926 as a day of prayer and material support for missionary activity. The collection that is taken up in churches throughout Ireland today will be sent in its entirety to missionary churches to support current missionaries in their witness to the faith. The collection enables native priests, sisters, brothers and lay catechists to be formed in their vocation. It is also used for the support of pastoral centres, the formation of lay leaders, and the building of simple churches and health clinics. Some of it is set aside for emergency aid in times of civil war or natural disasters, and for assisting missionaries who are serving refugees.

In his message for Mission Sunday this year, Pope Benedict states that ‘present in the Eucharist is the same Redeemer who saw needy crowds and was filled with compassion because they were harassed and dejected like sheep without a shepherd’. He remarks that ‘it is in his name that pastoral workers and missionaries travel unexplored paths to carry the bread of salvation to all… spurred on by the knowledge that, united with Christ, it is possible to meet the deepest longings of the human heart. Jesus alone – the Pope says – can satisfy humanity’s hunger for love and thirst for justice; he alone makes it possible for every human person to share in eternal life’.

Even though very few of us here today will end up travelling unexplored paths to carry the bread of salvation to others, there is a very real sense in which we are all called to be missionary. As the Pope says in his message of Mission Sunday, ‘those of us who nourish ourselves with the body and blood of the crucified and risen Lord cannot keep this gift to ourselves; on the contrary, we must share it’. We are called to share the Christ we receive in the Eucharist, to become Christ for others. Peter in today’s second reading refers to that calling as ‘living a good life in Christ’. Peter goes on to say that Christ died to lead us to God. Indeed, we can say that Christ lived, died and rose from the dead to lead us to God. To live a good life in Christ, therefore, is to live in such a way that our lives lead others to God. Christ wants to lead others to God through us. It is sobering to realize that our calling as baptized Christians is to lead each other to God. That is what it means to be missionary. In that sense we are each called to be a John the Baptist. John’s role was to lead people to God - to lead people to Christ, and, through him, to God. Our calling too is to live in such a way that our lives create an opening for others to encounter Christ and thereby to find God.

To lead others to God is one of the most important ways we can express our love for them. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is asked his view as to which of the 614 commandments of the Law is the greatest one. In his reply to this question, Jesus not only gives the most important commandment, but he names the second most important commandment as well. In making this connection, Jesus was showing that these two commandments are inseparable. In other words, our love of God has to be neighbour-centred and our love of neighbour has to be God-centred. In what way can our love of neighbour be God-centred? In his Prayer Inspired by the Our Father, St. Francis of Assisi prays as follows: ‘May we love our neighbour as ourselves, by drawing them all with our whole strength to the love of God’. For Francis we love our neighbour as ourselves by leading them to God, by drawing them to the love of God, helping them to experience God’s love for them and to love God in return. His understanding of love of neighbour was very God-centred.

There is always the danger of disconnecting the first and second commandment. The worship and service of God can, at times, go hand in hand with the oppression, the abuse, the damaging of others. Likewise, the love of neighbour can sit alongside an almost total forgetfulness of God. Jesus would insist on holding those two loves together, and he would put the love of God before love of neighbour. The worship and love of God is our first service. The respect and love of the neighbour, who is God’s image, flows logically from that first love. If we strive to hold those two loves together, while giving priority to the love of God, then our love of neighbour will be God-centred, our love of others will in some way reveal God to them and lead them to God. In other words, our love of others will be missionary. That is the kind of love to which this Mission Sunday calls all of us.

And/Or

(iii) Mission Sunday

We can think of mission as something that is the responsibility of others. It belongs to priests and religious, and it involves travel to distant parts. Today, Mission Sunday, reminds us that the whole church is missionary, and that each of us, in virtue of our baptism, has a role to play in the church’s mission. To be a member of the church is to be missionary. To believe is to witness to our belief.

Each of us, in different ways, can be a little like Peter in the gospel reading. We can be slow to take ourselves seriously as missionaries. After Peter’s experience of the wonderful catch of fish, he may have sensed that the Lord had something in mind for him to do. He attempted to head Jesus off, as it were, with his cry, ‘Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man’. Overcome by his own sense of inadequacy and unworthiness, he sought to put as much distance as possible between himself and Jesus. As far as he was concerned, he was merely a fisherman, and not always a very successful one. Perhaps the experience of working hard all night and catching nothing was not new to him. Yet, Jesus recognized that this fisherman, and others like him, could draw people to God. Jesus did not take his leave of Peter, as Peter had suggested. Rather, he called Peter to accompany him and to share in his mission.

The gospels are full of Peters - people from all walks of life who, in various ways, share in Jesus’ mission and witness to him before others. Many of these would not have been regarded as ‘religious’ in the usual sense of that word at the time. They would not have thought of themselves as potential missionaries. We need only think of the leper who ‘began to spread the word’ after his healing (Mk 1:45), the demon possessed man from the country of the Gerasenes who ‘began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him’ (Mk 5:20), the parents who brought children to Jesus that he might bless them (Mk 10:13), the Samaritan woman who brought the people of her town to Jesus, the nameless woman who anointed Jesus’ feet head with precious ointment, and whose good deed Jesus declared to be part of the gospel (Mk 14:9), the Roman centurion who publicly declared that the crucified Jesus was the Son of God (Mk 15:39). The list could go on. Here are men and women from all walks of life who proclaimed the gospel by their words and deeds.

We are all invited to join the company of these men and women. When Jesus called upon the seventy two to ‘ask the Lord of the harvest to send labourers into his harvest’, he had all of us in mind. There is a role for each one of us in the Lord’s harvest. We each have a part to play in the Lord’s mission. There is a task for each of us to do, which, if not done by us, cannot be done by anyone else. We each have a unique set of opportunities to reveal the Lord to others, and to allow those around us to experience the Lord in us. It is not easy to share our faith in the culture in which we live. Faith in God has come to be regarded as something private, like our pin number. Yet, by definition, to believe is to witness to our belief. The very public act of going to Mass on a Sunday is one form of witness. In today’s culture where church attendance is declining, such a public act can be more powerful than ever before. Yet, there is more to witnessing and to being missionary than going to church. We are called to be witnesses in our homes, in our schools and colleges, in our offices and our factories, in our supermarkets and our places of recreation. We are called to bring the values of the gospel into all the contexts in which we live, and, also to recognize and to affirm the gospel values that are already there.

The call of Peter in today’s gospel reading began with Jesus asking him to put out a little from the shore. Jesus subsequently asked him to put out into deep water. The call to put out into the deep can sound rather daunting to us. We may not be ready to launch out into the deep. Perhaps the Lord may only be asking us, for the moment, to put out a little from the shore. There may be some small step we can take to become more missionary in the living of our faith. When Jesus appointed the twelve, he first called them to be with him, and only after some time did he send them out (Mk 3:14, 6:7). The call to mission begins with the call to be present to Jesus. The first small step the Lord may be asking of us in becoming more missionary could be to become more prayerful. Our prayerful communion with the Lord of the harvest prepares us to be labourers in the harvest of the Lord. We pray for the freedom to take whatever small step the Lord may be asking of us this Mission Sunday.

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Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

Gospel (Except USA)

Matthew 22:15-21

Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar

The Pharisees went away to work out between them how to trap Jesus in what he said. And they sent their disciples to him, together with the Herodians, to say, ‘Master, we know that you are an honest man and teach the way of God in an honest way, and that you are not afraid of anyone, because a man’s rank means nothing to you. Tell us your opinion, then. Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ But Jesus was aware of their malice and replied, ‘You hypocrites! Why do you set this trap for me? Let me see the money you pay the tax with.’ They handed him a denarius, and he said, ‘Whose head is this? Whose name?’ ‘Caesar’s’ they replied. He then said to them, ‘Very well, give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar – and to God what belongs to God.’

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 22:15–21

Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.

The Pharisees went off and plotted how they might entrap Jesus in speech. They sent their disciples to him, with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. And you are not concerned with anyone’s opinion, for you do not regard a person’s status. Tell us, then, what is your opinion: Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?” Knowing their malice, Jesus said, “Why are you testing me, you hypocrites? Show me the coin that pays the census tax.” Then they handed him the Roman coin. He said to them, “Whose image is this and whose inscription?” They replied, “Caesar’s.” At that he said to them, “Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”

Reflections (2)

(i) Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Image is very important in our media-conscious age. How someone looks can make a bigger impact than what they say. Yet, we are aware that image is not everything. We expect people to live up to the image they present. We look to people to be authentic, and we tend to value authenticity more than image. We resent it when someone appears in a guise that does not correspond to who they really are.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is approached by people who begin by flattering him, ‘Master, we know that you are an honest man and that you teach the way of God in an honest way’. Yet, their flattery was deceptive, because their real intent was to trap Jesus, to get him to say something that would leave him at odds either with the people or with the Roman authorities. Their friendly and flattering image was a cover for great hostility. The image did not correspond to the reality.

When Jesus requested a coin from the pockets of his questioners, he showed it to them and asked them, ‘Whose image and inscription is this?’ The coin had an image of the emperor on it. Behind that image was the reality that this coin belonged to the emperor and should be given to him, and, so, Jesus said ‘give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar’. However, Jesus immediately goes on to say, ‘and (give) to God what belongs to God’. We might well ask: ‘If the coin with its image of the emperor belongs to the emperor, what is it that belongs to God?’ Each one of us bears the image of God, and therefore, it is we ourselves who belong to God. Jesus was reminding his questioners that, whereas the coin in their pockets belongs to the emperor, they themselves belong to God, and they must live and behave as people who belong to God. They must give themselves first and foremost to God, and not to the emperor or anyone or anyone else.

If the same question were to be asked of us that Jesus asked in relation to the coin - ‘Whose image is this?’ - the answer would have to be, ‘God’s image’. Because we are God’s image, we belong to God, and we strive to live our lives accordingly. We are called to live as people who bear God’s image, who belong to God. What we owe to God is far more fundamental than what they owe to anyone else. The gospel reading proclaims that the basic loyalty in our lives must be to God. In the words of today’s first reading, ‘I am the Lord, unrivalled; there is no other God besides me’.

Every other human loyalty is subordinate to that fundamental loyalty in our lives. We owe allegiance to the State, but we owe a greater allegiance to God as Jesus has revealed God. As Christians, our primary allegiance is to the values that Jesus proclaimed and lived. It can happen that people’s allegiance to the gospel puts them in conflict with the State. That was certainly true of the time of Jesus and of the time when the evangelists were writing their gospels. The Roman emperor was considered divine, and those who lived in the Empire were expected to honour the emperor as a god, to worship him. The refusal of Christians to do so resulted in their execution. In more recent times, many Christians who refused to submit to the ideology of the Nazi state were put to death. The great Protestant pastor and theologian, Dietrich Bonheoffer, and the Catholic priest, Maximilian Kolbe, come to mind. There were many others, laymen and women, whose commitment to the values of the Lord at that time resulted in their death.

Today, the pressure on us to compromise the values of the gospel comes less from the State and more from the society and culture in which we live. We can find ourselves under all kinds of subtle pressures to buy into ways of doing things that are in conflict with the values of the gospel. We are called to live as the image of God, the image of Christ. However, the culture in which we live can sometimes offer us other, very different, images to identify with and to live out of. As people who belong to God, we are called to give all areas of our lives to God, to allow God and his Son to shape all the areas of our lives. Yet, the culture of which we are apart can attempt to put a very different shape on some areas of our lives.

When Paul wrote to the members of the church in Thessalonica, he was aware that they were under this same kind of pressure. Yet, at the beginning of his letter, he thanks God for them because they had resisted this pressure. He remembers with gratitude their faith in action, their work of love and their persevering hope. These early Christians can be our model and inspiration. They show us that we can give to God what belongs to God, even when under pressure to do otherwise. We can give to God in this way because of all that God has given to us. In the words of the first reading, God has called us by our name. God has given his Son to us and at this Eucharist we receive anew this great gift. Strengthened by this ongoing gift that God makes to us, we are enabled to live in such a way that we give to God all that belongs to God.

And/Or

(ii) Twenty Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Taxation has always been a contentious issue. We all appreciate that we need to pay taxes if the Government is to have the necessary financial resources to run the country. The issue is around how much tax we should be paying. Taxation was even more contentious in the time of Jesus because the taxation authorities were the occupying power, the forces of Rome. The question that is put to Jesus in today’s gospel reading was a highly contentious one, ‘Is it permissible to pay taxes to Caesar or not?’ Many of Jesus’ Jewish contemporaries, like the Pharisees, would have given a clear ‘no’ to that question, because they believed that to pay taxes to Rome was to recognize Rome’s legitimacy. Other Jews, like the Herodians, the followers of Herod, would have givena resounding ‘yes’ to that question because they had a vested interest in the status quo and were doing very nicely out of the Roman occupation. The gospel reading says that the people who asked Jesus the question, the Pharisees and the Herodians, were setting out to trap his. They hoped that no matter how he answered he would end up losing face.

In response to the question of the Pharisees and the Herodians, Jesus asked for the money that they pay the poll tax with; the fact that they were able to produce the coin so quickly indicated their own willingness to pay the tax. Noticing that the image of Caesar was on one side of the coin, Jesus declared, ‘Give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God’. This is one of those many enigmatic sayings of Jesus in the gospels. The emphasis in that saying seems to be on the second part, ‘give to God what belongs to God’. What exactly is it that belongs to God, which should be given to God? Jesus would answer that question by saying that we as human beings belong to God because we are made in God’s image. Because we belong to God, we have to give ourselves to God. If Caesar’s image is on the Roman coin and, therefore, the coin can be given to Caesar, God’s image is on each one of us, and, therefore, we are to give ourselves to God. In next Sunday’s gospel reading Jesus spells out a little more what it means to give ourselves to God. Once again the religious authorities ask Jesus a question - ‘Teacher, which commandment in the Law is the greatest?’ Jesus answers, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind’. As people made in the image of God, this is what we owe to God, according to Jesus, a love that embraces the whole person. It is clear that Jesus is saying that no one else is to be loved in this way. There is no one else to whom we are to give ourselves to this extent. Jesus would certainly be saying to his contemporaries that they are not to give themselves in this total way to Caesar who sits on his throne in Rome. This was quite a subversive statement in the context of the time, because Roman emperors thought of themselves and wanted to be recognized as ‘sons of God’. The Emperors, in other words, demanded absolute allegiance, the kind of allegiance that was due to a diving figure. For Jesus, of course, there was only one God, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God whom he addressed as Abba, Father. Besides this God there is no other God; Jesus claimed to be the unique spokesperson for this one God and he declares that it is to this one, true God, that we belong, and because we belong to God we are to give him ourselves, all our heart, soul and mind, in love. We give ourselves fully in love to God because God has given himself fully in love to us through his Son. Jesus was saying, Caesar can have the coins that belong to him and bear his image, but that’s it.

Jesus is declaring in today’s gospel reading that all of human life belongs to God. It is not the case that there is a bit of our lives that belongs to Caesar or to whatever political authority is in power and then another bit that belongs to God. There is nothing in human life that is outside our relationship to God. In that sense there is no sphere in life that is purely secular; there is no area of life in which we are dispensed from living out to the best of our ability our relationship with God in Christ and through the Spirit. In fact, the secular is the normal setting in which we give expression to our spirituality. In everything that we say and do we strive to give glory and honour to God, to please God, to do God’s will as Jesus has revealed it. In today’s second reading Paul praises the church in Thessalonica, the capital of the Roman province of Macedonia, for the ways they have shown their faith in action, worked for love and persevered through hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. Paul gives us there a very fine summary of what it means for us to give to God what belongs to God.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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fadingpersoncollectorstuff-blog · 6 years

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