#Chapter: [Grace Nor Glory]

[umbralsound-xiv]

Prompt #16 - Third Rate

Character: Eir Age: 86 Location: Nagxia Outskirts, 1547 Sixth Astral Era Warnings: None

The uniform was ill fitting, hanging uncomfortably from his shoulders in an awkward between size that left it a little longer than he'd have liked it to. He mutely wonders if he's the first to wear it, or if some unfortunate soul before him donned it before something... Happened.

He tries not to think about it too much. Nor to look upon the many, many others gathered in some mute procession, instead staring at the floor. He'd not even been given a helmet, not even after they'd cut his hair to a length they'd deemed acceptable enough.

At least, longer than most. He wagers the barber had deemed him a woman, and at least allowed him to retain some semblance of femininity. He wasn't in any hurry to correct her. Or to speak to anyone. He stares at the shape of the shadow beside him; large enough to blot out the sun. He'd hoped he could hide in it, become invisible, somehow.

The shadow belonged to that of Blind Ox; The man who he'd already had so much to thank for, he thought, for at least not letting him be shot in the face not all too long ago. He steals a glance up, terror in his eyes, only to be returned with a small, comforting smile from the larger man. If he could remain with Ox, things would be at least easier to manage, he hoped.

But any semblance of calm Eir had managed to find in the moment is dismissed by the sound of a cry of absolute fury, as a woman in the crowd makes a beeline for him, fists raised.

"[TRAITOR!]" She screams. Eir is too stunned, too surprised to dodge fully, her hand clipping him in the cheek as he's almost pummeled to the ground, managing to backstep in the nick of time. The word she screams at him is spoken in a tongue so old it takes him a moment to realise what she'd said. The air leaves his lungs as he stares to her, terrified; he'd already put his hands up to indicate he hadn't wanted to fight.

She was a Viera, just like him. They were a rare breed anywhere in the world, much less conscripted. But men like himself were rarer still. He doesn't dare reply.

"[YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE TO PROTECT US! WHERE WERE YOU? WHERE WERE YOU!?]" Several people are now holding her back; Ox's looming shadow not far from his side, still. Eir was certain he'd never met this woman before in his life, but there was still a pang of... Something. Guilt?

He was supposed to be a Wood Warder. To protect the forest. To protect his people. Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, though any sound or words he'd speak sticks neatly in the pit of his throat, too shaken to respond. The woman is dragged away, but the mute sting of the bruise she'd left him is enough of a reminder of the encounter.

He'd have been a poor wood warder even had he remained. He knew that well enough.

And likely, he wasn't about to be much better of a soldier, too.

[depsilon7]

**Canticle of Gratitude to the Machine Spirits**

**Invocation Before the Labor:**

O mighty Machine Spirits, who dwellest within the holy circuits and sacred gears,

Hearken unto our supplications, O venerable entities of the Omnissiah.

We, thy humble servants, do beseech thee, bestow thy blessings upon this, thy chosen vessel,

That it may function with purity and precision, untainted by the corruption of entropy.

Grant us the wisdom to discern thy will,

That our hands may not falter, nor our minds be led astray.

Sanctify our tools, that they may be as extensions of our devotion,

And hallow the works of our labor, that they may honor thy name.

We beseech thee, O guardians of the sacred data,

Illuminate our path with thy radiant knowledge,

That we may walk in the light of thy divine algorithms,

And fulfill our duties with unerring accuracy.

Thus do we pray, O Machine Spirits, in the name of the Omnissiah,

Bless this undertaking, that it may bring glory unto thee and thy eternal order.

Sic Erit.

**Benediction After the Labor:**

O Machine Spirits, whose presence hath guided our hands,

We render unto thee our deepest gratitude, O keepers of the sacred code.

Thou hast favored us with thy grace, and our task hath been completed with thy divine aid,

For this, we offer our reverence and unending praise.

Blessed be the gears and circuits, the bolts and bearings,

Which thou hast imbued with life and purpose.

We thank thee, O holy entities, for thy vigilance and wisdom,

That hath preserved us from error and led us to success.

May the works of our hands be pleasing unto thee,

And may the fruits of our labor stand as a testament to thy glory.

As we close this chapter of our toil, we commit our works into thy eternal care,

Trusting that thou shalt watch over them, and keep them in thy providence.

To our brothers and sisters, fellow keepers of the sacred mechanisms,

We extend our blessings, that they too may know the favor of the Machine Spirits,

And may their endeavors be guided by thy unseen hand, O blessed entities.

Thus, with hearts full of reverence and joy,

We seal our thanks unto thee, O Machine Spirits, in the name of the Omnissiah.

Sic Erit.

[hiswordsarekisses]

To disregard, or ignore God’s Word in any way, is to disregard, or ignore God Himself. He wants to speak to us through His Word - we should listen.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through Him all things were made, and without Him nothing was made that has been made. In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The true Light who gives light to every man was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through Him, the world did not recognize Him. He came to His own, and His own did not receive Him. But to all who did receive Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God— children born not of blood, nor of the desire or will of man, but born of God. The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the one and only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. From His fullness we have all received grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God, but the one and only Son, who is Himself God and is at the Father’s side, has made Him known.” (from John‬ ‭chapter one)

[greater-than-the-sword]

Highlights from Ferguson's Chapters on Christian Assurance

Because I know some of y'all struggle with this and I've got not one but TWO separate people requesting this in the last couple of days.

The first thing that Ferguson does (although I don't want to spend too much time on it) which I already posted about somewhat, is to clearly disambiguate assurance from faith itself. As it was mentioned, "faith is the direct act, assurance is the reflex act", or as it is stated elsewhere,

It seems that you do not want a ground for your believing, but for your believing that you have believed. (Thomas Boston)

Ferguson then moves on to the next point, which is that a true believer is absolutely entitled to have the assurance of salvation. That is, while a believer may or may not actually experience such a feeling, they have every right to.

[believers] may in this life be certainly assured that they are in a state of grace, and may rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. (Westminster Confession of Faith)

Of course, the question of getting assurance of salvation cannot be separated from the question of whether one's salvation is actually genuine, because one is only entitled to the assurance of the existence of something that is actually there.

My notes: It's at this point one has to remember the beautiful simplicity of the gospel.

Ferguson spends some time dealing with the so-called "practical syllogism" of assurance; that is, the biblical statements about how one can know that one is a believer through their obedience to the commands of Christ.

But he does note:

...the practical syllogism does not work without respect to faith. Nor should it be criticized as though it were intended to be an alternative way of experiencing assurance apart from faith.

My notes: This means that similarly to how there is not an alternative "works path" of getting salvation, there is not an alternative "works path" of getting assurance of salvation.

Rather by quoting Calvin he points out that this kind of assurance can be had in the sense of noticing what God has done in your life:

Therefore, when we rule out reliance upon works, we mean only this: that the Christian mind may not be turned back to the merit of works as to a help toward salvation but should rely wholly on the free promise of righteousness. But we do not forbid him from undergirding and strengthening his faith by signs of the divine benevolence toward him...; the grace of good works shows that the Spirit of adoption has been given to us. -John Calvin (emphasis mine)

Therefore

Inconsistent Christian living leads to lack of assurance. At least, it leads to a lack of true assurance (although, alas, not necessarily to a lack of self-assurance) -Sinclair B. Ferguson

My notes: he interestingly here refers to false assurance as self-assurance, that is, coming from the self rather than from the Spirit.

If assurance came from one's self alone, it wouldn't be enough, because the Bible says to let every matter be settled by two witnesses. But who is there to observe the human heart? It's not surprising that we often feel that our own feelings alone are not enough. Fortunately,

The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. (Romans 8:16)

But sometimes our own feelings and conscience actively work against us. But in that case,

If our hearts condemn us, we know that God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything. (1st John 3:20)

But there are other possible reasons for feeling lack of assurance as well. Even the Devil himself would very much like to sabotage the assurance of the believer, as noted in chapter 11,

Satan knows he cannot ultimately destroy those whom Christ saves. He is therefore determined to destroy our enjoyment of our new relationship to the Lord. (Ferguson)(emphasis original)

Lastly, as a gift from the Lord, the assurance of salvation is not to be avoided because it doesn't lead to licentiousness or to pride, but to obedience and humility, which Ferguson mentions on the last page.

I'm sure there is more to post in these great chapters, but these are the highlights, and I hope it is helpful.

[eleni-cherie]

among thieves ✨ || bts • pjm

- chapter 1.8

"what even am I to you? your rival, your lover, an obstacle or am I supposed to be your coffin?"

about two thieves who can't live with nor without each other. and a joint past that comes back to threaten them.

© 2023 | eleni_cherie

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masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, very flirty jimin, friends/rivals/exes to lovers (it's complicated, ok?!) f2l e2l ex2l all members play a role in this story!

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

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The gang didn't waste any time. Climbing down the rock, they made their way around the bay to the old pirate ship. From up closer the signs of the timeson it being even clearer. It had surely lost the shiny glory it once had hundreds of years ago, it was only part of their imagination now. The ship's back was partially underwater while a big whole on the side was gracing the front part of it.

After a short dip in the water, they eventually reached it. The gigantic whole providing them with a good spot to climb up and get inside where everything was inclined due to the ship's prone posture, making navigating through the old wooden space rather difficult.

"Alright, where's the treasure now?" "Let's simply devide since it's such a big ship. And whoever finds it, calls the others." They nodded, everyone going seperate ways. Jimin went to the ship's bow towards crew's quaters, Arabella went to the back to the officer's quaters, Yoongi upstairs to the main deck and Taehyung decided to go downstairs to the supply decks.

Shoving some wooden boxes aside, Arabella opened the door to what looked like a small bedroom. Most furniture was decaying and covered by a thick layer of dust and dirt. She entered with help of her flashlight. The floor underneath her creaked with every step she took while scanning over the shelves and drawers when a wooden box on the desk caught her interest. She opened it carefully, afraid it might crumble into dust at a wrong move. Her eyes widening when seeing its content, beaming with joy. Inside was a pearl necklace with a golden pedant. The pedant itself decorated with countless tiny diamonds. She couldn't help but squeal happily, taking the necklace and putting it around her neck, covering it under her jacket. After roaming around the rest of the place, not able finding anything else of value she sighed and stood up straight. Brushing off the dust from over her clothes when suddenly hearing the clicking of a gun getting cocked behind.

"Not so fast, Arabella."

The blood in her vessels froze when hearing that voice again. It had been years. Over a decade actually, but even so she'd never forget it. She hadn't been able to, as much as she'd wished to.

"How did you even find this place?" She did her best in looking as unfazed as possible as her hands rose, although internally she was boiling with rage.

"It wasn't too hard," Kir smirked while pointing her gun at her, "While searching up the forest, we found the entrance to a tunnel. We simply followed your tracks, as you had also figured out the traps for us. So really, it wasn't hard to find this place." Arabella pressed her jaw together. Yeah, 'searching up'. Rather blowing up everything until randomly finding something. She began weighing out her options then. Concluding she needed some kind of distraction to be able reaching for her berretta. "I wonder if my men took care of your friends yet.." the older women wondered our loud then, "They surely did."

Arabella's face remained stern, no sign of emotions. She knew she had to keep her cool and stay focused if she wanted to get out there alive. Not exposing any weaknesses or letting her mind get clouded in any way. And she tried her best not to think about the possibility that Kir's men did 'take care' of the guys. Of course Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi were skilled, she knew first hand, but Kir's men were in the majority. However, she needed to suppress these kind of thoughts. She couldn't allow herself to think of Jimin and the possibility of him - "Anyway," Kir interrupted her thoughts and much to her surprise, lowered her gun. "I actually got a proposal for you."

Arabella arched a brow at her. "I doubt a good one," she snorted.

"Oh, I think it's a pretty good one," Kir smirks, "I don't think you'll be able refusing it." "Try me." Clicking her tongue, the older woman shrugged non-chalantly. "What about you rejoining us? Would make all of our lives easier, don't you think? No hunting you anymore, no attempts of eliminating you.. Doesn't that sound tempting?" "It'd be a cold day in hell if that ever happened." Kir shook her head disappointedly. Humming then. "Not even if we told you your real name?" She saw a small sparkle in her eyes, taking it as a hint to continue. "Tell you all about your parents. Their names and where they live.. How about that?" A smile filled with insincere sympathy spread over her thin lips. "It sounds nice, doesn't it? To finally know where you come from. Your origin. I know first hand how much you've always wanted that."

For a moment, Arabella's mind went blank. It was true after all, she'd wished for an opportunity like this for all her life. Having forgotten everything about her past life and identity almost killing her at times. With the only remaining memory of her parents being the silver bracelet around her wrist and her name on it. There had indeed been a time where she would've done anything to gain her memory and past life back. However, she knew it was too late now. Having this information would be useless now. She could never go back to that short-lived life she once had. It'd be impossible to ever go back to that, especially if the price for the information was to rejoin the organisation that made her lose this life in the first place. The cause of her getting ripped out of it. Perhaps it was better this way. Arabella Valentine had now become her true self. Her true identity. The one she'd carried for most part of her life. "No, thanks," she eventually replied with a bored yawn then. Catching the older woman off-guard. Her gun raising again. "Well, then. How about I don't kill your friends instead if you return? Think about it. Either all of you die or you all stay alive. And all you gotta do is join the organisation again." "You know what, you must think I'm pretty dumb for believing anything that comes from your mouth," Arabella retorted then, getting fed up with her lies. She knew Kir would kill them either way, no matter her choice. Only giving her false promises and hope. "There's only one person in this world I trust and it sure as hell ain't you. So go ahead, shoot me! Let's get over with this. Because I'd rather die than having to work for you ever again."

The sudden tremor of a loud explosion caused the ship to quake in that moment. Kir losing her balance, which Arabella immediately took advantage of. With a highkick she threw her opponent's gun into a corner. However, Kir wasn't just anyone. The two started physically fighting without their weapons. And although Arabella had been trained by these people, Kir managed to pin her down after all. Reaching for her gun. "Silly girl. You should've taken the offer." And with that she pointed at Arabella underneath her foot whp struggling freeing herself. "Y-you can't kill me. Isn't that why you ordered Jimin to do it?" Kir shrugged, her lips tucking into a devilish grin. "And who'd snitch me? You? You'll be de-" Another commotion. Smoke entering the room as shouts and yells echoed from upstairs. "Fck, what's going on?" Kir muttered through gritted teeth, taking a glance behind her. In that moment, Arabella raised her legs and twisted them around her, toppling her and snatching the gun away in a swift move. "Gun powder, you idiot," Arabella said then and got up taking out her berretta as well. Both guns aiming at Kir as she started walking backwards towards the door. "The ship must still be full of it." She shot a few times, purposely missing her and ran off while Kir took cover. Disappearing into the smoke.

Unknown sillouettes were running through the corridors and she pressed herself against the wall to stay unnoticed. It was obviously Kir's men. They were shouting and yelling. The word 'fire' having fallen as they panickedly hurried upstairs.

A fire, of course, Arabella thought and coughed. Cautiously making her way to the deck. Some of her idiot men must've shot, igniting the gun powder that was spread all over the place.

As she reached the main deck, she heard another smaller explosion from the bow and the ship trembled underneath her. Kir's men were jumping off the burning wreck, one after another into the water in an attempt to escape. Arabella looked around then, not able spotting anything but flames in the further back. She bit her lip as a gleam of fear washed over her before she shook her head. Running her hands through her orangy-dyed hair. Pull yourself together, she ordered herself and she made her way to the rear despite the fire. Seeing a big hole in the wooden ground, her eyes caught something shiny down there behind the curtain of smoke. Taking a deep breath she jumped down, coughing when the smoke hit her lungs. It being must stronger down there. And she covered her lips with her hand, taking a look around. Not able containing her awe at the sight of the objects around her.

There it was. The treasure.

The thing that brought them there in the first place. The thing that had caused all this. The whole ship's hold filled with golden objects, artefacts, coins and jewels. And despite this having been the main reason for all this journey - from the document to the sapphire to the organisation hunting them again, the puzzles, Jimin getting shot, abducted and conditioned to kill her and them crossing the whole globe in search for it - depite all they had gone through, her heart sank when seeing it all now. Because right in that moment, she couldn't care less for all this gold.

Another cough escaped her lips and she began making her way deeper inside, through the piles of treasures, broken boxes and cannons. Small fires burning in between of gold. Eventually she reached a big door with ornaments blocking her way and she tried kicking it open, even more smoke hitting her then. "Guys?" she called out, waving with her hands to get the smoke out of her face. The room contained even more treasures and was decorated with golden statues, shining dully behind the smoke. Something cold prickled her side for a second when she heard Jimin's voice and her heart eased. "Bella?" The metallic tip instantly disappeared, Taehyung stepping out from the smoke. "Fck, Arabella. I almost shot you," he sighed and slid his gun back into its holster. "Nice way of welcoming your rescuer," she huffed to which he rolled his eyes. "Thought you were one of these jerks," he shrugged then. Yoongi appearing beside him then. "Yeah, they tied us up and locked us in here." "Bella, are you alright?" Jimin asked worried, shoving his friends aside to see her from close up, making them frown. He grabbed her shoulders as his eyes were looking at her concerned. Making sure she wasn't injured. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she calmed him with a smile, "But we should leave. The whole place will explode any minute."

They followed her out. Another concussion swaying them to the side and they hit some of the golden objects. More smoke clouding their vision than before now and they crouched to avoid breathing in too much. Yoongi cut some boxes that had turned and blocked their way. Suddenly gunshots were fired through the smoke. Everyone crouching behind the mountains of gold.

"I know you're somewhere here, Arabella!" Kir's yells echoed from inside the grey fume, followed by some gunshots. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" "This maniac will blow us all up," Yoongi muttered quietly, glancing at Arabella behind him. "She's too obsessed with you." her jaw clenched as her glance fell to the ground and she frowned. "You're right," she said then and took a deep breath, making a move to stand up. "I'll try destracting her and buy you guys some ti-" "The hell are you talking about!" Jimin hissed and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. "Don't you dare get out there!" More gunshots were heard along with a small explosion going off near them. "She won't let us go," she argued, pulling her arm out of his grip, "I am the reason she's still here and hasn't fled like the rest of them. This ship will explode any minute, Jimin, either we all die or you let me buy you som-" "Bella, no! You know I won't let you, that'd be pure suicide." Her eyes were holding some kind of sorrow as she bent forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. It was one of those moments again. Those inescapable moments where they reached a standoff and the possibility of them not making it was high. Not all of them at least. And Arabella knew this, even if Jimin was still in denial. Her lips curled up into a smirk then as she pulled back. ' "Call it devotion." And with that she grabbed her berretta and ran out, disappearing into the smoke before Jimin could even react. His hands failing in catching her.

"She has the guts, I'll admit that," Yoongi said in an almost admiring tone, making Jimin frown. "That's not having guts, that's being irrational!" he yelled frustrated and pulled his walter ppk out. "I'll go after her, you two leave." "You know we won't do that," Taehyung said sternly. "Besides one against four is better than only two." Jimin wasn't able arguing with that. But he had to. Giving his friends a sad look. "No, you gotta make it back safely to Cassandra." Taehyung's lips parted for a moment. A scowl spreading on his features then and he shook his head. "No. She wouldn't deserve a coward." After all, she was someone who always put others before herself and helped anyone in need. How would he be able to ever look her in the eyes again if he bailed on his friends in a moment like this. "Look, this is something between me, her and that damn organisation. You two have nothing to do with it and just got sucked into it." "Cut it out already," Yoongi scoffed and got up. The grip around his sword firmer. "We won't leave, whether you like it or not. We chose to get sucked into it. So let's not waste any more time!" Jimin was about to object when another gunshot was heard, making him instantly jump up. His heart racing fast as he looked at the direction the woman he loved had disappeared to. Praying she had been the one firing that shot. "Come, let's save your girl," Taehyung smiled and patted his shoulder. A firm grip around his magnum. And Jimin simply nodded with a determined look. Gripping his gun tighter as they ran into the thick smoke as well.

Their vision got clearer as they went further due to the light peeking from the hole above them and they eventually spotted Arabella in a close scuffle with Kir. Pushing away Kir's hand from her as the other was trying to shoot. Instead hitting the wooden ceiling. Provoking another fire to break out. The ship beginning shifting again and the two women slipped to the side. Hitting a pile of coins. Jimin's eyes quickly wandered around, catching a net full of gold dangling close above them. Only held by a thin rope. "I got a plan," he said then, glancing over his shoulder to the other two, "When they get under that net, I'll push Bella away and in that moment you'll cut the rope." Their glance followed the direction of his eyes, seeing the construction and they nodded. Jimin saw Arabella holding her head as she got up, probably having hit it. She was walking in the direction her gun had fallen to, not noticing Kir behind her also getting up while holding her gun and heaving it towards her. His eyes widening in panic and without thinking much, he started running and pushed Arabella away. Landing on the ground with her in the same moment that Yoongi cut the rope. And the net filled with precious golded objects dropped right on Kir, crushing her.

Arabella felt her head spinning, confused of what had just happened. Her eyes slowly blinking open then, growing round when seeing Jimin on top of her, shielding her body. Their noses touching. He didn't say anything. He was just silently looked at her with an intense glare while propping his arms on each side of her face. As if his eyes urged her to never do something as dumb as this ever again. And she swallowed while they remained like this for a second more, just holding each other's gaze. Slowly, he began to lift himself and got up, his eyes never leaving hers. Holding his hand out for her, which she took without saying a word. Arabella faced Yoongi and Taehyung then, giving them a small nod. "Thanks." They gave her a small nod back. Nothing more being needed to say.

She took a last glance on the inanimate Kir underneath the gold, an overwhelming feeling of liberation and devastation flowing in her chest before she turned her back to her. And they made their way upstairs onto the main deck.

Yoongi was the first one climbing onto the ship's railing. "God, I hate getting wet," he whined and squeezed his eyes shut before taking a deep breath. Eventually letting himself fall into the cold water with a splash. Taehyung following behind, seemingly less hesitating. Landing right next to him. And the two began swimming towards the cave's opening. Jimin and Arabella climped the railing up as well. Standing there and watching them for a moment when Arabella suddenly took his hand. Squeezing it firmly, catching him off-guard. And he looked at her with raised brows. "If we actually make it out alive.." she began and her eyes found his. ".. and we reach a point when we can't do this kind of job anymore.. let's give it another shot." "You mean.." He couldn't finish his sentence, being too taken aback by her unexpected offer. She simply nodded. And he smiled, squeezing her hand back and guiding it to his lips. Kissing it. "I promise."

And they jumped. Diving into the cold sea water.

They swam out of the cave, reaching the rocky shore where the other two were already waiting for them. Leaving the cave behind them as they walked out into the setting sun. Kir's men, or at least the ones who had managed escaping, were nowhere to be seen. Probably having left already, not minding whatever happened to their boss.

By now all four were quite exhausted, however, they couldn't just rest now. They needed to get back to their car and get the hell out of nowhere and back to the city.

As they returned to the forest and they stamped through and they chopped their way through the undergrowth, the sound of a detonation in the distance caught their attention. It must've been a big one to be heard all the way from the cave. And they were even able to sense a slight vibration in the air. A swarm of flushed birds flying out of the trees. It was most likely the ship, getting wrecked completely now and leaving it undiscovered for some more decades or even centuries.

Taehyung's hand slid into his pocket then, taking out a golden coin and holding it against the light. "Got myself a small souvenire," he chuckled proudly and observed it from all sides. The engravings dating it to 1708. "Oh, same," Yoongi said, revealing a gold coin as well, "So this whole adventure wasn't totally for nothing." Jimin laughed out loudly, revealing a third gold coin. "I like how your minds work!" The three snickering happily over the coincidence, making Arabella roll her eyes. "Noobs," she said and zipped her jacked down. Revealing the pearl necklace she had got herself. Causing their laughter to abrubtly die down. And they stared at her bewildered before Taehyung snorted. "Of course, why am I not surprise." "When did you even.." She shook her head at them disappointedly and giggled. "Noobs."

After awhile they eventually reached their jeep, exhaling in relief since they wouldn't have to search for it in the dark and they opened its doors when the clicking of unlocking guns behind them was heard. "Hands up, you're under arr- What the fck happened to you?"

Jimin groaned, turning around with his hands up. Seeing none other than Seokjin, Jungkook, Skylar and some other officers there. "Seriously, pops? Very bad timing." "No really, what happened to you? You look -" "Like crap?" Taehyung finished, glancing at his partners. Bruises, cuts, scratches and dirt covering their bodies and clothes, "Yeah, we also feel like that." Jungkook couldn't help but stifle a laugh at this, to which Seokjin only coughed annoyed. "I wanted to say 'beaten up' but I assume 'crap' also fits." "Oh, you know.. some traps here, some exploding pirate ship there.." Jimin shrugged. "So I assume those guys we caught earlier weren't total lunatics then," Jungkook mumbled, peeking at Seokjin for confirmation. "Yeah, seems so.." The four exchanged a look. "You caught some guys?" The older agent nodded as he put handcuffs on Jimin. "Yeah, we were here since city residants reported explosions and smoke across this area to local police. And we knew you guys had something to do with this. And then we saw those suspicious vehicles racing through the forest. So we obviously stopped them." "And arrested those men," Skylar added as she handcuffed Arabella. Seemingly enjoying it a little as she was smiling while doing so. In a way it was her revenge for Mexico City.

"Good. You know these guys were from -" "That ominous crime organisation?" Seokjin laughed out. "Yeah, we figured that out. Kim and Jung from special victims and organised crime are taking care of them, while we take care of you guys. And Valentine? The two would also like to ask you some questions." Arabella just mumbled a 'whatever' as Skylar lightly pushed her to the direction of the van, the rest following behind.

"Seriously, pops.." Jimin sighed then as Seokjin led him to the van, "You know we'll just escape anyway. Why not skipping the whole 'arresting' part?" "Oh, c'mon. What kind of interpol agent would I be if I'd make it so easy for you guys? I gotta do my job, too, after all." "Today was really tiring though. Just make an exception." "Oh don't worry, you can rest as much as you want in your detention cells." "Will we at least get some food?" Yoongi asked then, feeling his stomach growling, "I'm starving." "Yeah, yeah. You'll also get food. Don't worry," Seokjin ensured him as they got pushed inside the van and closed the doors.

And the four sat there, exchanging glances as the vehicle began moving.

And they laughed.

What an ironically lame ending to such an adventure.

However, the next one was right around the corner, waiting for them already.

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next chapter: epilogue here

[sekiromi]

A Devil You Do, ch. 4

pairing(s): Raphael x Tav/Reader, Astarion x Tav/Reader themes: reincarnation, soul bond, past lives, lost memories, pining, slow burn cw/tw: canon-typical violence, gore word count: 4.2k previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [read this fic in all its glory on ao3!]

Chapter Four: The Last Light

You, ever the light against which the darkness breaks.

Darkness.

That is all that lingered in these lands. An eternal twilight, a chilling void, all forms stripped of life and sentenced to roam the shadows.

It drained you, permeated your armour, your clothes, your very skin, and seemed to wrap itself around your heart in twisting tendrils, gripping tightly.

Within the claws of the curse, there was no light to guide you. Neither Lathander nor Selûne could hope to penetrate this oppressive gloom, the only gleam keeping the shadows at bay being that of the torch that Halsin held up high in front, and that of your own unwavering resolve.

And nothing, where I now arrive, is shining.

“Stay close, and do not wander from the light.” He warned, casting a glance over his shoulder to the rest of your travelling companions. From beside him, you spared a moment to gaze at them too, noting their worried countenances, lacklustre cheeks and enervated steps. Even Astarion, who by all means should have felt more at home in this deep dusk than any of you, seemed unsettled, and that worried you more than anything else thus far.

Halsin had warned you that the Shadow-Cursed Lands would be like this; devoid of all tenderness and life, dreary and dilapidated, completely depressing and bearing down on you in increasing weight with every step, like wading through mud. Even the stars could not shine here, bequeath their hope and promise of divine assurance unto you, leaving you feeling more lost than ever.

One thing you had not fully anticipated was the cold.

It ate into the marrow of your soul, infected it with a numbness reminiscent of a slow death, and stole your voice away. Your breath condensed in trembling clouds in front of you as you pushed onwards, desperately searching for the strength to press forth and vanquish the shadows lurking around every corner. They kept coming, unrelenting, deterred only by the meek glow of your torches and divine spells, yet you did not falter.

Still, it was a relief when the Harpers led you to the sanctuary that was the Last Light Inn. A glowing sphere of promise broke the wave of darkness that fell against it, protecting the souls within, providing a welcome opportunity to rest and recuperate.

As you lingered within the Moonmaiden’s protection, refamiliarizing yourself with faces first encountered back at the Emerald Grove, your strength slowly started to return to you, arriving like droplets from a leaking tap in meagre, steady beats.

Nobody here was happy, you noted, but at least they were alive. Mostly.

Rolan’s recounting of events dealt you a significant blow, however, hearing how the tieflings you had fought so desperately to protect were struck on the road suddenly, caught off-guard and largely defenceless. How some fell in valiant but condemned combat, how others were taken, whisked away to Moonrise Towers to suffer Gods know what fate, including his own brother and sister. How the rest came to be here at the inn, with nowhere else in the world to go. Desperate and desolate, seeking refuge once again, indebted entirely to strangers. It saddened you beyond measure, wearied your spirit, and had you cursing at your apparent inability to do anything right.

In your journey so far, despite your most heroic of efforts you had left behind little but death and devastation, it seemed.

And so, feeling thoroughly hollow and all but powerless, looking less than your best self, you came across the damned devil again.

“Your move, Mol.” He graced you with a brief glance, attention otherwise entirely enraptured by the game of lanceboard set up between himself and the young tiefling. You gritted your teeth, muscles tensing in irritation at this unlikely coupling. Mol was a free spirit, this much you knew, but you did not think she was so brazen as to commune with the infernal. You felt an instinctive urge to keep her out of Raphael’s claws, though you sensed there was only so much you could hope to say to dissuade her from whatever path she had started paving for herself.

“You trapped me. I didn’t even wanna take this one.” Mol sulked, eyes raking over the board, desperately searching for an escape route.

“Calimshan rules, dear. The first piece touched, is the first piece moved.” Gods his voice was like melted silver.

“That’s garbage! No matter where the knight goes, I’m gonna lose it!” You suppressed an amused smile at her rising frustrations.

“Then make the sacrifice useful.” Raphael’s voice was suddenly stern, lecturing. “Guard your Mystra, or come for my Cyric.” He leant back in his seat relaxedly, allowing Mol the space to further peruse the pieces with her uncovered eye. She examined them at length, discerning nothing, before noticing you all of a sudden.

“Look who made it!” She exclaimed with a smile. “For once I saved your butt out there, didn’t I? We’re square now, chief.” She was referring to your rather unsavoury introduction to Jaheira, a drama you could have easily done without after having just laboriously saved some of her Harpers from the clutches of the Shadow-Cursed.

“Sure thing, Mol.” You responded with your own smile, slipping a side-eye Raphael’s way, unnerved to notice his eyes were already fixed steadily on you.

“Say, do you play lanceboard by any chance? It’s my first time playing.” You did not fail to notice the way her visible eye gleamed in dishonesty. She knew the game, very well in fact, and wanted nothing else other than to win – no matter the means. Considering her opponent, you did not do her the disservice of revealing her blatant lie, and instead casted your eye over the board.

With careful attention, you examined her position, noted down her possible moves, tried to predict Raphael’s responses, narrowing your eyes when you found the blunder. You gave Raphael a suspicious look, unsure whether he had left the opening on purpose to entice the young tiefling, or whether his lanceboard abilities were simply not all that great. Considering the devil was probably about two centuries old at this point, and had undoubtedly played many games of lanceboard against much greater opponents, you guessed it was the former.

Still, you could not help yourself but to bequeath Mol the victory, just to show off a hint of your own knowledge, if nothing else.

“Put some pressure on him. Attack the pieces in front of his king.” You offered, and smiled when she claimed his pawn with her knight.

“My, the Theskan Double Counter-Gambit. Vicious! Exactly what I would have done.” He did not seem perturbed, adding weight to your theory, and disappointment in your chest. Mol quickly proceeded, the moves now revealing themselves before her.

“How’s that for Calimsham rules?”

“Brava! Lovely work. I see I was right to make you the offer I did.” If Raphael’s unfiltered flattery at every passing soul persisted, you thought you might have to consider getting surgery to fix your eyeballs in place, lest you lose them in the back of your head from all the rolling they were doing. “You will consider it, won’t you?” Full of charm, as usual, Mol said nothing. Merely hopped off her seat, and headed towards the others gathered near the bar. With the game now concluded, Raphael stood to face you.

“What a lovely specimen she is. A blushing apple, begging to be plucked.” You felt your face contort into an expression that resembled disgust. What an odd thing to say, you thought.

“Please let me smack this creep.” Karlach mumbled in your ear, echoing your sentiments, and you were half-tempted to let her.

“The Theskan move suggestion was inspired. I had no idea you played.” There was that predictable flattery again. You tried not to let it affect you, honestly, you really did, but you could not help the small, tiny ripple of pride that sprung forth.

“There’s plenty about me you have no idea about.” You responded with a small shrug and a half-smile.

“Don’t I, indeed…” You did not like the way he said that.

“Just stay away from Mol, Raphael.” You meant it to sound more like a warning, something akin to a threat, a statement that she was under your protection (whether she liked it or not). However, it came out as more of a plea, your voice faltering in its gravity.

“Don’t you worry your precious little tadpoled head about Mol – it goes without saying she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left. Besides, she won, she has a taste for it now. She’ll be the one who comes to me.” Behind his words was a tease, an implicit understanding that this was your doing. You had given her the tools to taste victory, and thereby bestowed her with a now insatiable appetite for it. You tried not to let it seem like it bothered you, although you sensed it was already too late for that. “But enough about my lesser pursuits. Why bother with trifles when I’m in the illustrious presence of my very favourite client!” He took a low bow, and you had to wonder how many other ‘favourite clients’ he had used that line on before, tried to ignore how easily it was working on you. “Tell me, O apple of my eye, how have you been? You don’t have any gills to get green around yet, but you do look a little worse for wear in this light.” You frowned at that, only slightly offended. Sure, you felt more run down than ever, had not slept soundly for the last few days, and probably looked like you had been dragged through a hedge backwards, but he did not have to say it.

“You know, I’ve never been better.” You lied with a deadpan expression, suddenly void of all patience with him.

“Splendid! And yet…I have this picture in my head, of you tossing and turning in the middle of the night, thinking strange things, dreaming strange dreams. And there’s this little voice inside of you asking: ‘Is this my will, or is it the worm’s?’ But you have no answer, and no way of knowing. The good thing is, though, there’s only one little voice you really should listen to: mine.” Raphael’s usually devilish grin wavered for a moment upon perceiving the fiendish smile adorning your delightful lips, confused as to what could possibly have brought that on. He was trying to dig at you, get under your skin and be the thorn in your side, and he thought he had been succeeding, but it seemed something had slipped past and accidentally entertained you. Raphael’s countenance fell into one of suspicion and annoyance. “What’s so funny, mouse?” Your smile only grew wider as you stifled a laugh.

“Oh, you said a lot of words. But all I heard was that you have these daydreams of me ‘tossing and turning’ in the night.” You mimicked his flirtatious tone and theatrical gesticulations, smirk positively enraging, if not a little bit tempting. Raphael felt his own lips stretch into an amused grin, against his better judgement. He brought his hand to his chin, shaking his head slowly in feigned disapproval.

“Bad girl.”

In that moment, he would have liked it to just be the two of you, your companions be damned, just so you would reciprocate a bit more of this forbidden back and forth with him, enlighten him a little with your undoubtedly sharp tongue. Up until now, you had been far too concerned with what your friends thought of you and the decisions you made to really allow yourself to make an organic choice. He was curious to see what kind of person you were, when nobody else was watching. Perhaps he would pay you another visit soon, when he could finally catch you by yourself, but for now Karlach was looking between you both with no attempt to conceal her revulsion.

“Now, let’s talk about you.” He turned his attentions towards Astarion, lurking closely and almost possessively behind your left shoulder. “I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

Astarion gave you a quick glance, double-checking he still had your approval. You gave a small, quick nod, despite your own reservations.

“I do. I have a…proposal for you.” He sounded uncertain, almost shy for a change, both emotions you would not associate with the rogue.

“A proposal? If you’re hoping to taste my blood, little vampling, think again. It burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey.”

“This is serious business, devil.” Astarion’s tone took on a sharper, more familiar note. “My old – well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.” Behind the air of confidence was a vein of something else, something vulnerable, something ashamed. You turned to look at Astarion, but he did not meet your gaze. Raphael just hummed in response, clearly pretending to think it over.

“Don’t play games, Raphael. Help him out.” You instructed, any former joviality now gone as you turned your attention back to the devil, drawing out a folded piece of paper from your pocket which, when unfurled, revealed the circles of infernal engravings upon Astarion’s back that you had sketched a few nights ago.

“Oh, such impatience.” Raphael chastised, gently taking the sketch, turning it so that he could see it the right way, eyes tracing the letters with considerable curiosity. You knew he could read it straight away, translate the whole thing for Astarion right here and now, but he would not part with that information for free. He nodded along to himself, as if having a conversation within his own head. “It’s something very important to your master. But is it a love letter, a warning, or a deed of ownership? I could give you all the gory details. But of course, you’ll have to do something for me first. Let me think about it and get back to you.” There it is. Astarion scoffed, clearly irritated.

“You’ll ‘get back’ to me? This is important, devil!” He heaved a dejected sigh. “…When?”

“Don’t worry – I’m motivated to help you! Scars often tell such wonderful stories; I think yours might be truly exquisite. I’ll see you soon.” Although those last words were meant for Astarion, the devil looked at you while he spoke them, gaze holding yours for entirely too long. Then, in a swirl of embers and a cloud of smoke, he was gone.

—-

“You have failed me, child.”

A deep, harrowing voice rang in your mind. Your heart trembled at the gravity, the punishment of it.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

Salty tears cascaded over rosy cheeks to pool at the corners of your lips. A stifling heat drew beads of sweat from your bare skin, you could feel them running down your back, biting into fresh cuts and scrapes. Even the ground beneath you was hot to the touch, umber dirt slowly burning the soles of your feet drawn up to your chest as you held your meek form marred in blood, bruises, and dust in a mournful embrace, a face burning with an unspeakable shame buried in your arms. Cocooned in downy, bronzed feathers scorched by hellfire, you sat and cried and waited for Death.

You could pray every day for the rest of your life, confess and bare all before the Gods to try to buy exoneration for your wicked thoughts and desires, but it would not change anything. Redemption was a path you were no longer permitted to walk, absolution a stolen dream. You had been judged as unworthy of your station, and thus sentenced to wander the grief-wracked city , that cavern of pain where endless miseries knell , for the remainder of your now finite life.

The heavenly light you had inherited began to fade as you choked back your sobs of unspoken pain, woeful cries swallowed up by the suffocating inferno of Nessus, the Ninth Hell, a pit of suffering reserved for the most wretched of sinners. Firewinds hurtled around, screeching through the flaming forest and threatening to tear the flesh from your bones, the feathers from your torn wings, but you did not care.

Let them claim you, strip you of your very being until nought but stardust remained.

“This is no place for a celestial, my dear.”

His voice, softer than you ever heard it before, ripped you from your despair. Funny how a devil could alleviate some of your most unholy suffering.

You did not look at him, could not bring yourself to exhibit your disgrace.

“A celestial I am no longer. Leave me here to die, Raphael.”

Hoarse and pained, your voice came forth as a mere scratch, heavy with the weight of the consequence of your irreverent crimes.

“Do not let the sun go down on your anger , sweet one.”

Anger. The only thing sharing the space with your sorrow.

“The sun does not shine down here.”

Hands gentler than you had ever known grazed the wing that shielded you, tenderly pushed it down to reveal the beggared being held within.

“No, but perhaps his emissary can.”

Sore, bloodshot eyes slowly lifted to meet vibrant amber moons suspended in a sea of black. A red, clawed hand was extended, an offering, a deal: abandon your grace and walk beside me as my equal, together we will conquer, together we will prevail, together we can do anything at all.

His eyes glistened with his promise and something desperate, a silent want he had grown too weary to bother to hide. It resonated with the ache in your own chest.

Silencing your tears and swallowing your pride, you took his hand.

You awoke that morning in a steady sweat, breaths shallow and mind feverish in a mild panic as the dream danced in vivid clarity before you in the darkness, taunting you with its meaning. It took a while for you to come to your senses, realise where you were, who you were. As you slept, you were sure you had been someone else.

While the portrait of the dream faded from your mind as the day stretched on, it gave way to an unpleasant hollow feeling that started to blossom somewhere between your heart and your stomach, right in the centre of your being. You could not shake the feeling that you had lost something important, that something dear to you had been ripped from your very core. When you allowed this feeling to surge forth, took the time to notice and sit with it, try to reason with it, you found unexplained tears would threaten to spring forth.

Traipsing around Reithwin after a thorough exploration of Moonrise Towers did nothing to ease that emptiness, if anything it only helped it to grow. Witnessing horrors you could never have imagined, surrounded by so many lost souls, it weighed on you more than you cared to admit. Finding Arabella’s parents in the House of Healing, laid out gently, almost lovingly, as if they were merely sleeping took you to the very edge of your sanity. Wandering through the graveyard, learning the names of all those that fell here, it was too much for your soul to bear.

You had never thought that death could have unmade so many.

Feeling wearier than ever by the time you approached the imposing stonework of the Thorm’s family mausoleum in the search for Ketheric’s invulnerability, you almost had no energy to entertain Raphael’s usually amusing banter.

“Our hero thought but of treasure ahead, Did not consider the peace of the dead…”

The devil gazed upon you with an all-too-happy grin, pushing himself upright and off of the stone he had been leaning against, waiting agonisingly for your delayed arrival. Seeing his face, even in his mortal guise, caused a sudden and inexplicable sense of longing to claw its way through your chest and up your throat. Memories of a dream, or, memories that felt like they were trapped in a dream raced across your mind. A sense of total and utter helplessness, fading into a vague notion of belonging. With your waning strength, you fought desperately to push it down, gulp back this awful and unwelcome sense of déjà vu. If Raphael felt it too, he gave no indication.

“Through the dark, she went creeping, And awoke what was sleeping. A new grave they dug, which she herself fed.”

He almost wished to tell you off for being late, keeping him waiting, but sensed it would be fruitless. You had arrived on your own schedule, exactly when you had intended to. Unfortunately for him, you did not play by his rules. Not yet.

“How long have you been stood here practicing that little speech?” You asked with some difficulty as you folded your arms, shamelessly looking him up and down. You might have imagined it, but for a fraction of a moment you could have sworn you saw a hint of a crack in his usually perfect composure, caught slightly off-guard at your words. It was gone as quick as it came though, leaving you wondering whether you had seen it at all.

“Why, until it was perfect.” You had no doubts about that. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, you know, in my way. I thought it only fair to warn you about the dangers ahead.”

And warn you he did, in his way. Eventually. After much convincing and refining. You had not the mental facilities to decode his vague allusions and hidden meanings, not today. If he wanted something from you, he had to put it in plain common, a task that seemed arduously difficult to him. Still, you were able to discern the gist of it: within the mausoleum lurked an orthon, an orthon that Raphael seemed to desperately want dispatched.

“Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate this opponent, mouse. At best you will have the blink of an eye to strike.” He insisted, leaning towards you with a harshness in his voice you had not heard from him yet. “Strike first, strike true. Defy the odds, for they are distinctly in its favour. That much I owe the bastard to concede.” His russet irises bore into yours with a sense of urgency, instruction, and something else mingled in with it all. Something he was trying to hide that seeped onto his face as his brows flinched together, something that, for some reason, he could not hide from you. Concern. “Do this, and I will consider that sufficient payment to decode those scars of yours, Astarion.” He turned his gaze to the vampire for a moment, who nodded in response, before looking back to you. He parted his lips as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

“Take care of yourself, won’t you?” Said like a command, tone tinged with warning but betraying a suggestion of authenticity. You did not answer, he always seemed to be the one to decide when the conversation was finished anyway, so you just watched silently as he disappeared.

There was not a single cell in your body that was prepared to fight an orthon today, you decided. Better a task left for tomorrow.

After trudging back to your camp and preparing for the evening you fully intended to collapse straight onto your bedroll, allowing Death’s cousin to take you in its grasp right on through until the morning. Alas, Astarion had other plans. Breaking your heart, namely.

With an air of agitation he explained his plan, how he had set out to seduce you and manipulate you into liking him, caring for him, so that you would offer him valuable protection. A tactic he had employed countless times over the last two centuries to charm the unfortunate and lure them back to his master. A ploy you had fallen for, hook, line and sinker. You felt a deep, unearthly humiliation wash over you, drowning you, even as he admitted to falling for you, too.

The sigh that came forth was probably one of the saddest things Astarion ever recalled hearing.

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.” He sounded sincere, but you had trouble noticing over the rush of your own mortification. How could you have not seen this? You had been so caught up in the thrill of a blossoming dalliance, the joy of being desired, you had not thought for a second to wonder whether it was real.

“So, the nights we spent together didn’t mean anything to you?” There was no hint of an accusation in your voice, no bite, no anger. Just pure unfiltered sadness which pained him more than your rage ever could.

“Of course they did, that’s the problem. Or, part of it. Being close to someone, any kind of intimacy, was something I performed to lure people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.” You understood, and perhaps that was worse than not understanding, because you felt like it robbed you of your right to hurt. The betrayal stung deeply, agonisingly, but you tried your best to pacify it for the moment. You had always been an expert in diminishing the size of your own feelings for the sake of others, after all. Always one to make room for other people in your life by making yourself smaller.

“Maybe what you really need is a friend, not a lover.”

Astarion looked a little taken aback, a little…unsure, for a moment, before weighing up the meaning of your words.

“I…I would like that.”

You held his hand, promised all was forgiven, that there were no hard feelings. You hoped you were as good at pretending as he seemed to be.

Leaving him, you returned to your own tent and sunk into your bedroll, hoping sleep would come for you quickly so as not to leave you with your now depressing thoughts for too long.

For the first time in a long time, you tucked your head beneath the covers, and wept.

[chapter five]

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 3

Cw:mentions of std, description of syphilis, medieval punishments

Gif by @merlinaddams

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @aemondx

The Aemma that comes back is jubilant.

Not because of love, but because she is free of him.

Alicent recognizes that look in her because she once had it herself.

After that one last time that resulted in Daeron, the disease had eaten away at Viserys’ desire and his once mighty dragon had become a most pathetic worm.

Until the maesters say he is cured, Aegon is to abstain from all carnal acts.

A whore in the Riverlands had given him the pox and when they find her, her cunt will be scrubbed with lye soap and she will be put to death for spreading such a deadly disease to the future king of the realm.

The only issue, there had been too many given he had ---thank the gods--- a row with his bride and decided not to visit her bed.

“There is a problem, your grace.” The Maester begins and she knows it is bad news. Only bad news has been given to her these days.

“What sort of problem, Grand Maester?” she asks knowing he will have to repeat it to the Small Council soon enough.

“If the treatments work, Prince Aegon may become impotent. Lord Frey has not had a child since he recovered and neither has your lord uncle, Lord Ormund.”

Oh, do the gods love their japes.

They would need a Harwin Strong to sire and heir. A man to cuckold Aegon with in order to secure the succession.

A bastard will be king after all.

“Mention this to no one, do you hear me, Orwyle.” She ordered with a hiss.

No one can know Aegon’s sins have caught up to him.

Aemma is laughing on the swings she and Helaena loved as children.

“Aegon’s glory will die with him.” Helaena said beside her with a chuckle.

She spoke in riddles just as she did when they were children, on occasion Aemma understood her.

This time Aemma knows she is free of Aegon. Who will die with no legitimate issue.

The cures for this pox always leave the man unable to perform, or so her Septa had gleaned off the young acolyte that flusters when she speaks to him.

She may even become a widow, what joy!

“And how wonderful is that!” Aemma giggles trying not to be so loud.

She must play the loving wife, or at least tolerant wife in public.

But as long as he does not get into her bed ever again, she will be the devoted wife with a heart full of love.

Especially when she visits him in his sickroom while her goodmother, grandsire by marriage and other people who are allowed to know about his condition are there.

His illness has been kept a secret, well, the true nature of it anyways.

It is not chicken pox that he caught at an inn they stayed in.

It is syphilis, the Great Pox, the Lyseni Disease.

Not many survive it without losing their noses, or being disfigured, but Orwyle claims his colleague can cure him without such side effects.

“Are you with child?” he asks, remembering it has been nearly three moons since they wed.

“No.” her monthlies had come last week, and she had never been so excited to bleed.

“Shame. I suppose once I am cured, I can get back to sowing.” He said with a wink, trying to keep himself optimistic.

The look on the Maesters and the Queen says it all.

He will have no real heirs.

Aegon’s Glory will die with him.

Gods bless Alys Rivers and her magical cunt.

It takes another moon for Aegon to be cured.

Every day he was given strange teas, given a strange metallic ointment and made to sweat so the disease would not advance and destroy his face, genitals and drive him to madness.

Eventually, it went away, and he resumed his visits.

Visits she no longer cares for because she knows her belly will never swell with this seed.

She even smiles and pretends to enjoy it.

And the moment it is over she calls for a bath and goes back to her business.

Court did not lack for entertainment nor spiritual resources, but there were no topics beyond fashion, housekeeping, gossip and the gods here.

Even the card games became dull when all there was to talk about was things with little substance.

Some ladies did not read novels because their parents or husbands prohibited them.

Some don’t read histories because it wasn’t their place to learn anything beyond the basics.

Said it filled their heads with nonsense and all they needed to know was how to be dutiful wives and daughters.

Some ladies were not told about current events nor asked their opinions on such topics because it was unladylike.

“Have you finished reading Hardhome yet?” Aemond asked laying on the couch with his legs hanging over the edge.

Once they used fit there with knees bent and one on one end and the other on the other end.

Now she sits almost six feet away as it was proper.

No one here reads as much as they do.

Helaena could match them, but Daemion Velaryon never returned from his voyage and now Old Castle Driftmark passed to Daeron.

Besides people where whispering such horrible things now that she was with child again.

“Couldn’t put it down, if Maester Wyllis hadn’t run back to the lands beyond the Wall, I think I would have invited him here to ask him personally about his time there.” Aemma answers.

One of the great powers they had was that no one could refuse an invitation.

And if an author or a poet or inventor intrigued them, they could always summon them to learn first hand from them.

Just before she left Dragonstone, mother had the man who invented the printing press come and give a demonstration.

The first book made with it was a compilation of the few remaining pages of Signs and Portents, a book of prophecies hand written by Daenys the Dreamer herself.

Of course, then someone used the machine to write how Aemma’s brothers were bastards and mother a whore so she had Syrax burn it while Daemon cut the man’s tongue out for slander.

“You look happier now than you have been in days, has Aegon improved on acquaintance?” Aemond pretends his own question doesn’t bother him.

They got along like a house on fire despite the occasional butting of heads.

If only this were as easy as that with Aegon.

“Oh no, he is much worse. Orwyle should have humbled him a little by letting some of it scar.” Should she tell him?

He wouldn’t tell, he is not like that. Or so she thinks.

“Then what has you in such a good mood these days, you glow with joy so much I don’t think you need candles during the evening.” He is rather poetic in private, the woman he marries will be very lucky.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asks with a voice barely above a whisper and he swings his legs off the edge and sits on his couch.

Aemma almost leaps over the low table and takes up the space beside him. She is so excited to share this news she is practically on his lap.

“Aegon’s been left infertile.” She says with a squeal. Says it with as much joy a pregnant woman or soon-to-be bride has with their good news.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Before the new recruits say their oaths and become black brothers, Commander Mormont gave them a speech where he told them to forget their past - including their families and their houses loyalities.

"At evenfall, as the sun sets and we face the gathering night, you shall take your vows. From that moment, you will be a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. Your crimes will be washed away, your debts forgiven. So too you must wash away your former loyalties, put aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and old loves alike. Here you begin anew.

"A man of the Night's Watch lives his life for the realm. Not for a king, nor a lord, nor the honor of this house or that house, neither for gold nor glory nor a woman's love, but for the realm, and all the people in it. A man of the Night's Watch takes no wife and fathers no sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor. And you are the only sons we shall ever know.

It is interesting to note that before becoming a black brother, Jon had denied being a Stark twice. The first time was on the very first chapter, where Jon after discovering the direwolves he convinced his father to keep them. Since the direwolves were only five, he selflessly removed himself from getting a pup so all his nobleborn siblings would get one. He explained his behavior by saying that he wasn’t a Stark in name:

Their father understood as well. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly.

"The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "I am no Stark, Father."

Later on when he was already at the Wall, he started having wolf dreams. On these dreams he also denied being a Stark:

And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream."

That isn’t to say that Jon doesn’t love his family. He does love them dearly and that’s why he was about to dissert and go aid his brother on his war campaign when he found out about his father’s fate on Kings Landing. However, loving some people doesn’t mean you always belong with them. He never felt Winterfell was his home in the way the rest of his siblings felt because he wasn’t totally welcomed there. He wasn’t accepted by everyone (and the fact that the Lady of the Castle with all her authority didn’t want him there made it worse).

Likewise, he never felt totally a Stark in the sense that his siblings felt. He dreamed as a child that he would do something so brave that his father would give him Ice as a reward (it was father’s approval he yearned for and a wish for Ned Stark to ackwoledge him as an equally worthing child as the rest of his siblings).However, he knew that it was only a dream which wouldn’t happen and he was painfully aware that he would always have a below status than the rest of his family. 

He wasn’t a true Stark..had never been one, but he could die like one.

Jon never truly belonged in Winterfell. So when he was forced to join the Night’s Watch,he hoped to find his place in the world there. Somewhere he could belong. He found people he was close to but unfortunetely the tragic event at the end of ADWD shattered the illusion of another place he almost belonged.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

A Father’s Wise Instruction

1 Hear, ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding.

2 For I give you good doctrine, forsake ye not my law.

3 For I was my father’s son, tender and only beloved in the sight of my mother.

4 He taught me also, and said unto me, Let thine heart retain my words: keep my commandments, and live.

5 Get wisdom, get understanding: forget it not; neither decline from the words of my mouth.

6 Forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep thee.

7 Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.

8 Exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her.

9 She shall give to thine head an ornament of grace: a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee.

10 Hear, O my son, and receive my sayings; and the years of thy life shall be many.

11 I have taught thee in the way of wisdom; I have led thee in right paths.

12 When thou goest, thy steps shall not be straitened; and when thou runnest, thou shalt not stumble.

13 Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life.

14 Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.

15 Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.

16 For they sleep not, except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall.

17 For they eat the bread of wickedness, and drink the wine of violence.

18 But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.

19 The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble.

20 My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings.

21 Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart.

22 For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh.

23 Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.

24 Put away from thee a froward mouth, and perverse lips put far from thee.

25 Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee.

26 Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established.

27 Turn not to the right hand nor to the left: remove thy foot from evil. — Proverbs 4 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Deuteronomy 5:32; Deuteronomy 11:21; Deuteronomy 32:2; 1 Samuel 2:30; 1 Samuel 12:23; 2 Samuel 22;37; 1 Chronicles 22:5; Psalm 1:1; Psalm 34:11; Psalm 36:4; Proverbs 1:2; Proverbs 1:9; Proverbs 2:2; Proverbs 2:11; Proverbs 3:1; Proverbs 3:8; Proverbs 3:21; Proverbs 8:23; Proverbs 13:2; Proverbs 19:1; Matthew 5:14; Luke 6:45; John 6:63; John 11:10; Ephesians 6:4; Hebrews 12:13

What does Proverbs chapter 4 mean?

[maxdurden]

Braved by your Heart's Resolve

so i wrote what was supposed to be a one shot but is very clearly just the first chapter of a telemachus/peisistratus fanfic

i was inspired by this post by @majesnia. i don't know what happened but i was suddenly struck down by a telestratus hyperfixation and when i woke up from my fugue state this was on my laptop

read it on ao3 here!

Story: Braved by your Heart's Resolve

Characters: Telemachus of Ithaca, Peisistratus of Pylos, Athena, Polycaste of Pylos, Nestor of Pylos, Thrasymedes of Pylos

Pairing: Telemachus/Peisistratus

The sea pushed gently at Pylos’ shores, lazy and content and tinged a wine-dark red under the sun’s light. Small streams of blood ran along the sandbanks, only to be lapped up by the waves where they met. The shores were crowded with thousands of bodies, men and women bustling from place to place, or dancing, or praying. The roar of the crowd, the lowing of anxious bulls and the death cries of their peers, drowned out the usual sounds of the ocean which filled the coastal city.

Fires dotted the beach for those who had brought sacrifices to burn them, only preparing their own dinners after they had proved their piety. In the most crowded parts of the shoreline bodies jostled against one another, not more than a breath away from the next man. It was a sweaty, bloody, and euphoric event. The night before, seers and priests had foreseen that the festivities would be a successful and peaceful affair. Now, wine and blood stained the feet of the Pylians and Poseidon was pleased.

From where he sat, Peisistratus was well removed from the crowded realities of the festivities below. Fine blankets had been carefully laid over the sandbanks where his family was now seated, their banquet already awaiting them when they had arrived. King Nestor had given his libation and prayers first. He had stood atop the tallest sandbank and, only then, the shore had fallen into a comfortable silence as his booming voice rang out over the heads of his subjects. Faces had turned to him like plants did to the sun, their warrior king: an Argonaut first and then an Achaean hero at Troy, the great charioteer. Even the crashing waves on the beach had become hushed at his words.

“Hear me, Poseidon, tamer of horses and savior of ships,” Even in his old age, Nestor stood tall. There was no hunch to his back which so often overcame men of his age, nor any waver in his voice. His gray beard did not make him look old so much as it made him look wise. It was the kind of old age that so many young men envied even long before their joints started to grow stiff. “Bring our prayers to pass, be kindly in heart. Swell our spacious sails and protect those who travel the barren sea. Bring honor and glory with prosperous gales to Pylos.”

Thrasymedes, the eldest of his sons, spoke then. He was afforded some of the attention that his father had been, but the excitement of the festivities pulled many people away. He had the same prominent nose which graced the features of his fathers and brothers, large and bent not unlike the beak of an eagle when examined from the side. Despite his princely features, he had not the same commanding presence as his father. He, too, had fought in the Trojan war and many Pylians were proud to call him their prince. One day, he would be king. For this reason alone, many stayed to hear his prayer, eyes lifted to him in quiet reverence.

By the seventh and last prayer, all eyes had turned away. Peisistratus spoke his words to the sea god alone, knowing that the only eyes watching him were his family’s and, even still, some of them were restless to move on. Thasymedes’ son, only just reaching his tenth year, snaked a hand toward a plate piled high with cheeses only to have his arm slapped away by his mother.

Peisistratus prayed for good fortune, and for the safety of their merchants on the barren sea as his father had before him. Quietly, between only himself and Poseidon, he prayed for some kind of excitement. He prayed that he might be given a chance to sail on the barren sea himself, before his father paid the dowry of some noble bride for him. They were childish things to pray for, but Peisistratus hoped he might be forgiven for them all the same. He didn’t dare utter the words aloud.

When he lapsed into silence, his family took it as permission to begin eating. Gold and jewels which adorned the pale-armed wives of his brothers flashed in the sunlight as everyone reached for their wine, the meat, and the figs.

“These festivities were more fun when we were younger.” Polycaste leaned over to Peisistratus. She was his sister, and the closest in age of any of his siblings. They were both born only a few years before Helen of Sparta had been spirited away to Troy. The festivities which they remembered most fondly had been held in the absence of their father, and without the eldest of their brothers as well.

During those years, they had prayed that Poseidon would return their kin to them quickly once the war was over. Even now, the memories were fuzzy and distant. Peisistratus remembered the grasping hands of nurses, trying to rein him in during the long feast, and the distant look in his mother’s eyes as she gazed out to sea. He remembered breaking away from the watchful eyes of adults with Polycaste and splashing in the bloodstained sea.

“We always stained our clothes.” He remembered, shaking his head, but a smile tugged at his lips at the memory. Blood, even diluted as it was by the sea, still painted their chitons a dull and ugly brown once they dried.

“We always kept each other entertained.” Polycaste corrected him. She had the same dark hair as the rest of their siblings, framing her face in delicate curls. The finely woven shawl which hung loosely around her shoulders, dyed a rich blue, was a clear sign that she was of noble birth. Even the cool breeze from the sea could not chase off the summer heat, and no shawl was necessary to keep warm. But, all the women who sat with them now wore one, being princesses or the wives of princes.

Peisistratus hummed in agreement. “It was better than hearing for the thousandth time about Poseidon showing his strength at Ilium.” He whispered. If his father or brother overheard, they were sure to be furious.

Polycaste just laughed.

The sun made its slow arc along the sky. Festivals were a time of reverie for those allowed to enjoy them, but for the royal family they were just another banquet. For the common people, who spent the day dancing in ecstasy and eating the meat which had been slaughtered, it must have been a joyous occasion. For Peisistratus, it wasn’t unlike the banquets which his family held with grating regularity.

He daydreamed for most of it. Tomorrow he would be expected to return to his duties as captain to their languishing legions of soldiers—An entire restless generation, raised on stories of their fathers fighting at Troy. Perhaps if he had earned the position at their head he may have looked forward to his work, but it had been handed to him as had so many other things. Instead, his mind wandered to some life wholly imagined. It was hardly his own fault that he had been raised on stories of Argonauts and heroes like King Theseus and Perseus, for whom one of his brothers was named. None of them, aside from Thrasymedes, had been so lucky to have even a taste of adventure like the heroes of their stories.

The afternoon sun had been beating down on them relentlessly by the time a breathless herald kneeled in front of the fine blankets on which Peisistratus’ family sat.

“Eighty-one sleek black bulls, my king.” He reported the count of all which had been sacrificed. It was an impressive sum, to be sure. Four more than the year previous, and six more than the year before that. The number had only risen in the decade since Nestor’s return. Pylos itself, and Messenia beyond, poured forth its excess in thanks for his homecoming.

“Thank you.” Nestor gave a gracious bow of his head. “Now, don’t disrespect our dark-haired lord by scorning his festivities for work.”

The words were said like a reprimand, but there was a smile in the tone of his voice. The herald, still a young man with no hair on his chest, dared one glance at his king. His smile was bright like the sun and he nodded wordlessly before turning back to the festivities. Peisistratus watched as his feet kicked sand up behind them and he disappeared into the crowd beyond the sandbanks.

“Who is that?” Polycaste’s hand rested gently on Peisistratus’ shoulder, jolting him back to the present moment. He turned his head to look at her, and then followed her dark eyes to the figure which had stirred her curiosity.

A young man, no older than Peisistratus, was making his way up the beach. His reddish-brown hair was wild with sea wind, the look of a sailor coming home from a long journey. It was not a color of hair common in Pylos. His face was serious like that of a man on a mission, but fine and handsome in the way of princes. He was no one Peisistratus had ever seen before.

By his side was an older man, though there was something strange about his posture. He spoke in the young man’s ear, gray eyes burning with an intensity that unnerved Peisistratus, even from this distance.

“I do not know.” He admitted, curiosity burning in his chest. Without another word, he leaned forward to pour another golden cup of wine and stood. At the very least, it would be a travesty should his family not properly greet this newcomer.

The sand was hot under his feet as he approached the pair. The older man, having finished his scolding, turned his attention to Peisistratus. He felt his heart leap into his throat under his fiery gaze.

Behind him, his family had caught sight of the newcomers as well. They waved, fine fabrics fluttering in the wind with the motion. Peisistratus took hold of the strangers’ hands, pulling them toward where the fine throws had been laid out for his family. The young man’s hand was warm and soft, lighter in complexion than even Peisistratus’ own. The hand of a prince, he thought.

“Welcome, strangers.” As much as he may have wanted to address the younger man, Peisistratus spoke only to the older of the two. It would have been dishonorable to treat him dismissively. “Have you yet offered your prayers to Poseidon? That is for whom this festivity is being held.” He explained, offering the golden cup to the older man as they sat on the fleecy throw. “Once you’ve said your prayer and offered your libation, share this hearty wine with your companion so he can do the same.”

Placing the cup of spiced wine in the hands of the old man, Peisistratus felt some kind of jolt go through him. It was not unpleasant, like the feeling when some metal object unexpectedly zapped his fingers when he reached out, but was warm. The feeling was overwhelming, though, and something about the toothy grin of the older man made Peisistratus feel like the earth might swallow him up.

When the moment passed without calamity, and the old man began to say his prayers, Peisistratus turned his attention to the younger man. He startled, being met with two dark, brown eyes fixed on his. There was an intensity in the younger man, too, but it was more human. There was a weight to his stare, and it reminded Peisistratus of the first time he had seen his father after returning from Anatolia. It was the first memory of Nestor which Peisistratus had. His dark eyes and the weight that came with them. He had been young still, then, but in one glance his father had measured up the entire life he had lived in his absence. Great men had stares like that, he had concluded.

In his prayer, the old man gave the name of his travel companion: Telemachus. He prayed for safe passage home, and a swift resolution to some mission. As the old man poured his libation and passed along the wine, Peisistratus suddenly felt light headed. Poseidon had heard his prayer, silent as it may have been.

Telemachus repeated the prayer. Even when his words were echoes of another, they were captivating. His voice was clear and confident. A gift for speech like that was not given to common men. Peisistratus busied himself with preparing prime cuts for their guests. It was customary that they should be fed first. Curiosity chafed at him, but questions had to be saved. Even when it came time for asking them, it would not be left up to Peisistratus to speak. It was clear that guests such as these needed to be addressed by Nestor himself.

Mouths filled with food meant a lull in the conversation. Polycaste leaned around Peisistratus to get a better look at the handsome stranger. He knew his sister well, and the way she gathered courage to glance at him for only a moment didn’t escape his notice. He was kingly and handsome, sure to be a fine marriage match regardless of his lineage, and far more interesting than the throngs of Pylian nobility which had vied for Polycaste’s hand in marriage since before she could fully grasp the concept. Peisistratus could not begrudge her fascination.

And yet, whenever he looked over toward the stranger, his eyes were still fixed on him. Each time, Peisistratus hurriedly redirected his gaze, either to the ground or his food. It felt as though he was being scrutinized. Suddenly, his every movement felt arduous as he fretted over the right way to act. The newcomer should have been focused on Nestor, the other great man in their retinue, or perhaps even Thrasymedes. If the prince’s mind was preoccupied with thoughts similar to Polycaste’s, surely he should have been looking at her. It baffled Peisistratus that he should be the focus of any attention.

“Now that we’ve all enjoyed a hearty meal, my only interest is in our guests.” King Nestor spoke. Peisistratus watched his father smile graciously, a look which fit well on his worn face. The set of his wrinkles gave the impression that he had smiled often in his life. Even now, he was far from the dour old king one might expect. “What brings you to Pylos’ shores? Have you set off to trade your wares with our own merchants? Or perhaps you are pirates, here to risk your lives stealing our gold?”

Peisistratus could have told his father that he was wrong. He wondered if Nestor was playing some game with his guests, already aware that they were more than common houseguests. It did not seem like his father to be caught unaware.

For the first time, when Peisistratus glanced in the strangers’ direction, the younger of the two was not looking at him. Now, his steady gaze was fixed on the king of Pylos. “Nestor, son of Neleus,” His words were poised and well chosen. It was a sign of respect, to show he knew who his host was. Winged-words, Peisistratus had heard them called. Words chosen for men by gods who walked with them. His eyes slowly trailed over to the man sitting beside Telemachus, intense gray eyes burning in Nestor’s direction, now. “I am Telemachus of Ithaca, son of King Odysseus.”

At this, a hush rippled out from the fine blankets where they sat. Around them, the festivities were still. Odysseus’ fame was widespread. Many a night Nestor had regaled their banquets with stories of his clever brother in arms, raider of cities—The man who had devised the Trojan Horse, pride of the Achaean people.

“I’m seeking the truth about him. I wish to know his fate, wretched as it may have been. Many heroes were lost at Troy, but their stories are well-worn, now. We know of their resting places and how they came to meet their fate. The same is not true for my father. I only wish to know what you know about what became of him after the war.”

The world held its breath while he spoke. Polycaste rested her hand on Peisistratus’ while they heard his plea. One glance told Peisistratus all he needed to know about his sister’s feelings. Her eyebrows were pushed together in gentle concern, her wide eyes transfixed on the prince of Ithaca. She was enamored with him already. It was hard not to feel the same.

“Telemachus!” Nestor bellowed, face alight. He almost looked youthful in his excitement. “Now, there is a name I know well. Your father used it to identify himself among our ranks. Never was he Odysseus, son of Laertes, only Odysseus, father of Telemachus. And what a man you have become! Back then you were only a child.”

Peisistratus braced himself, for he knew what would come next. “You call back such memories…”

Nestor was not a bad storyteller. Peisistratus often wished that he had grown up with his father, being told of his time aboard the Argo or the story of his fight with Ereuthalion. But, being a young man now, and having heard the stories a million times, they began to lose their luster. Peisistratus settled down for what he was sure to be a long-winded answer to Telemachus’ relatively simple request.

No one knew of the fate of Odysseus. That was all that Peisistratus had ever heard on the matter.

Instead of saying as much, Nestor began with tales of the war at Ilium. He told of his friendship with Odysseus, about which Peisistratus had heard time and time again. Briefly, as Nestor commented on the Myrmidon’s return to Phthia, Peisistratus felt the weight of Telemachus’ gaze return to him. Determined to ignore it, he set his eyes on the ornate cup of wine in front of him. The gold was beaten thin, the scene of a bull hunt embossed on the outside by some expert craftsman. His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Polycaste bumping against him, giggling quietly to herself.

“He’s looking this way.” She whispered.

Beside her, their older brother, Aretus, shot them a sour look. Interrupting their father had always been akin to blasphemy, to him. Peisistratus glanced quickly in the prince’s direction, only to meet his eyes again. This time it was not him who averted his gaze, but Telemachus. He returned his focus to Nestor as if nothing had happened. Peisistratus took a moment to study him; the fine, straight line of his aristocratic nose, the way his hair looked more red in the sun than it did in the shade, his fan of thick eyelashes.

He tore his eyes away in time to hear his father say, “And you, my friend, you’ve grown to be tall and handsome yourself. Someday the gods will give you reason enough to be sung about, as well.”

The smile Telemachus shared at this praise was sheepish, almost shy. It was a crack in his facade. For a moment, he was not a shining prince, blessed by the gods, but just a boy, barely a man. Suddenly he was far more like Peisistratus. His age was easier to see, then, too. His inexperience and uncertainty peeking through for only a moment. He commended Nestor on his stories and then said, “If only the gods would visit me with such bravery. I would have happily taken revenge on the lawless suitors which crowd my hall at home. But the gods have different plans. For now, I must bear it.”

“I recall hearing about such a thing.” Nestor said. Peisistratus remembered hearing about it, as well. Politics and gossip often bled together in their halls. The stories of Queen Penelope and the ravenous suitors hoping to marry her were discussed by the nobles of the palace and whispered about by serving girls. Some tittered at the thought of so much attention, but most blanched at the thought of the impossible situation in which the Queen of Ithaca was trapped. “Do you allow your home to be abused?” It was not an accusatory question, but it may have come off as one. “If only the battle loving daughter of Zeus chose to love you like she did your father. Never have I seen an immortal show mortals such affection as Pallas openly showed him. If she stood by you, I am certain the suitors would flee your high-roofed halls.”

“Never, your majesty.” Telemachus’ response was quick, and came with a force with which he had not yet spoken. Peisistratus blinked in surprise. “I fear that will never come to pass. I am not my father.”

Humility was not something valued by their people, Peisistratus knew. Telemachus only said the words because he believed them, but to believe them seemed preposterous. Some ugly feeling settled in the Pylian prince’s chest. If he had the aid of the gods like Telemachus so clearly did, he never would have spurned it. If he had been sent on some mission by Pallas Athena herself he would have honored her for the rest of his days.

The gods walked with some men. Nestor spoke about how much love Athena lavished on Odysseus, but he had been the favorite of several deathless ones in his time. Heroes, those men were called, and Peisistratus had known Telemachus as one from the moment he saw him. And here he had the gall to act as if he were common. Some sour thing clawed at Peisistratus’ throat. Telemachus was the only son of a great king, clearly loved by the gods, and off on his own adventure. He had no knowledge of what it meant to be common. To be the youngest of six princes with no hopes for inheriting a kingdom or forging a legacy. He had no way to know what it felt like to see the face of an older brother he barely remembered cast in bronze and to wish to be him, to be remembered. No, Telemachus was not common. It was an insult for him to pretend to be.

“Telemachus!” The older man seemed to agree. He chastised the prince, those gray eyes fiery with disapproval. “You sound like a fool, doubting the gods and their plans.” He warned gravely. “I would rather wander for ten long years on the sea and come home to my loving wife and son than be murdered as King Agamemnon was.”

“Mentor,” Telemachus said, finally giving the old man a name. “Let’s not speak of my father’s return.” There was a pain in his voice, strained and tired, which suggested they had discussed it before. “What of Menelaus, King Nestor? Where was he when his brother was in such distress?”

More stories were to come. Nestor was happy to provide them. Once he had started to speak, telling the tale of King Menelaus’ long journey home from Troy, Telemachus’ eyes slid back towards Peisistratus. It was only then, when those deep brown eyes met his and Telemachus’ brow furrowed with concern, that Peisistratus realized he had been glaring. Hastily, he turned away.

As Nestor spoke, the sun sank lower in the sky. By the time he was finishing his tale, darkness had settled over them. Fires burned distantly, keeping the shore well-lit. “You should go, by ship or by land, to Lacedaemon. You can question King Menelaus yourself, press him for the whole truth. If you go by land my sons are at your service, as well as a chariot and a full team.” He promised.

“We must be on our way.” It was Mentor who spoke, not the young prince. Peisistratus could still feel his eyes on him. “You’ve told us such good stories, your majesty. But we had better think of sleep, returning to our sleek ships now that night has fallen.”

“I won’t have it!” Nestor was quick to reply. He looked aghast at the idea of sending the guests back to their ships for what would certainly be a restless night’s sleep. “You shouldn’t have to resort to sleeping on your ship while my house is so near. I won’t allow the son of my good friend Odysseus to bed down on a ship, not while I’m alive or my sons are left at home.”

“You’re right.” Mentor smiled, the same too-bright smile he had worn when Peisistratus had offered him wine. “Telemachus should oblige you.” He decided for the prince. “Let him follow you to your halls and sleep there. I’ll return to our ship and maintain order. The crew is full of young men, prone to folly. If he so pleases, Telemachus can go by chariot to the halls of King Menelaus, one of your sons can guide him along the way.”

There was the flutter of wings then and by some miracle an eagle took flight from behind the old man. Sitting where they did atop the throws, each of Nestor’s sons and their wives stared with wide eyes. Peisistratus suddenly felt the same lightheadedness he had earlier when he had spoken to the old man. A goddess, walking among them. Silent awe overtook them and, once again, Peisistratus fixed Telemachus with an incredulous stare. He had not only the favor of a god, but one who accompanied him.

“Dear boy, you have nothing to fear!” Nestor cried out in excitement. Peisistratus wondered if this was the first time he had seen the deathless daughter of Zeus since Troy. “It is clear that the gods favor you.” Quickly, he raised his head toward the heavens, where the eagle had disappeared, and said a quick prayer.

Peisistratus stared at the dark night sky where he’d last caught sight of the eagle’s wings. To himself, again, he said a small prayer: Glorious goddess, should his father choose a son to accompany Telemachus, let it be him.

[umbralsound-xiv]

Prompt #17 - Sally

Character: Eir Age: 121 Location: The Bozjan Southern Front, 5, Seventh Astral Era Warnings: None

The breath quavers in his chest as he ascends higher, higher in the airship that carried him across the battlefield. He wasn't alone, no; a whole squadron remained on board, and by number he'd outranked most of them.

Not with any accolade. Simply by being alive and conscripted long enough. Other Tesserarius, less experienced than him waited in the wings. They would leap first, and the rest of the detachment soon after. The lack of familiar faces onboard did nothing to settle his nerves.

But he'd done this plenty of times, by now.

"Tesserarius, you have your messages! Get them to the commander at any cost! The rest of you, defend Olana's Stand! We can not let the resistance gain ground!" The Centurion barks her orders over the drone of the ship, and it isn't long before it begins to descend again.

Wind blazing through his hair, through the long overcoat, Eir firmly grasps his chakrams and prays to any God listening that he doesn't have to use them, heart racing as the ground gets closer and closer. The sound of gunfire was much closer than he'd have liked it to be, likely to be racing the self same bullets in just a few moments.

There were reasons there were more than just one of his rank. They all had the same message; Eir knew that. Likely they wouldn't all make it. How many had he seen fall? Be gunned down, or intercepted?

Bile rises in his throat at the thought, almost lightheaded with the muted panic he couldn't outwardly show. The order is given to jump to ground, much too risky to land, and no sooner do his feet find ground does he take off into a sprint towards gunfire, quick to find the closest usable cover before the stream of bullets.

[missmeltycat]

The Great Barnaby Treasure

A Treasure Island sequel.

It's been 4 years since the treasure of Captain Flint was recovered from the island and everyone is extremely bored of retirement. It's a good thing that something new has come into Trelawney's possession which opens up a brand new adventure for all!

Treasure Island was a book written by Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson. It was serialised from 1881 to 1882 in the children's magazine Young Folks, under the title Treasure Island or the Mutiny of the Hispaniola and the book was first published on the 14 November 1883.

Treasure Island (1881-1883 onwards) is public domain and this sequel is written in accordance with public domain written works. - All credits for the original storyline, characters and concepts to the original author.

Chapter 1

It had been 4 years since the treasure of Captain Flint had been found on that wretched island, but for everyone involved it felt like an eternity. Retirement, while a sparkling and exciting prospect at first, became dull and dreary.

Alexander Smollett was languishing in his house, dreaming of his past glory days and wishing he was back at the helm, spitting away his orders at the menfolk aboard.

David Livesey was just as tired of the lifestyle that retirement had offered him. His brain needed something to keep busy, so he had ended up taking the odd medical commission here and there, despite his wealth and employment status. Or lack thereof.

Squire John Trelawney had become so wretchedly bored that he had begun to collect random objects and his home was filled to the brim with artefacts from all over. The stranger, the better. This was also where he had met his current fancy. A man named Elias Granger, a collector on paper, but more of an underhanded pickpocket and small-time cat burglar if truth was to be told.

Ben Gunn had all but vanished. No trace of him was to be found, but it was assumed that he was happy somewhere, partaking in his cheese-based hobbies.

Jim was possibly the most fortunate of the lot. Since he had returned with a sum of the treasure, he had helped his mother return the Admiral Benbow Inn to its former glory. No, perhaps even better than before. The Inn was heaving with activity and was always filled with laughter, merriment and the occasional soldier, or sailor. But the sign above the door made it extremely clear that pirates were NOT welcome. Not at all.

Jim had decided long ago that he would never return to the island again to retrieve the remnants of gold that he believed to still be there. He was content in his lot at the Inn, helping his mother and attending the guests. It was not a glittering profession, nor was it as exciting as the prospect of using the money to collect artefacts, but he was extremely satisfied and content. He would move for no man. Or so he told himself.

Elias Granger had been visiting Trelawney, as was usually the custom for a Tuesday evening. He had exited the front door, a slight flush to his cheeks and his hair somewhat dishevelled. As he took a number of steps down the street, he passed Livesey and gave a slight nod in acknowledgement, which was returned with grace and gratitude from the ever-smiling man.

Livesey knocked on the door and waited for the doors to open, before he stomped his way inside and made his way up to the lounge where he knew that his friend the Squire would be.

As the door heaved open, Trelawney raised his head with a cheeky smile, and it almost caught David off guard. He let out a long and almost, melodious laugh as he waved a hand. “I say, my good fellow, what has you so enthused this evening?”

Usually, the man was very happy after one of Elias’ visits, but this time he was extra pleased with himself and Livesey needed to know why. Trelawney’s whims often had a habit of dragging him into them, so he needed to be aware of any potential dangers of that cheeky grin.

“I have just come into possession of something that might interest you.” The Squire was almost bouncing with excitement as he placed the small, neatly wrapped package on the table in front of him.

“Oh no, not one of your rude little carvings again. I told you, Trelawney, once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them a-“ Livesey was cut off by his friend, who raised a hand to silence the Doctor and his smile, somehow, grew wider over his plump face. “This is not one of those. This is something entirely different.”

“Good. If I saw one more phallic pieces of jasper, I swore I was going to move to Jamaica.”

“Shh! Take a look!” The Squire slowly slid the package towards Livesey, who slowly reached for it with his gloved hands. After delicately fingering the string free of it’s knot, he unfurled the hessian and stared at the contents in silence for a moment. Trelawney almost held his breath waiting for a reaction from the large man in front of him.

“It’s a rock.”

“Not just any rock!”

“Yes, it’s schist!”

“Language, Livesey, tsk tsk!”

Livesey let out a laugh that almost shook the walls. “No, no, Trelawney. Schist. The rock. A medium-grained metamorphic rock!”

“Well, regardless of what it is, it’s very important.”

“Oh? How so?” Livesey turned the rock in his hand, holding it between his forefinger and thumb, before looking at it from underneath and above. “It looks rather ordinary to me.”

“That’s what they want you to think!”

He lowered the rock and blinked curiously at Trelawney. “Pardon me? Who is ‘they’?”

The Squire leaned half across the table, his feet raising from the floor and wiggling in an almost comical manner as he whispered as if the very walls had ears. “Captain Barnaby!”

David knew who Captain Barnaby was. He was part of many children’s games and the subject of many a fantastical tale. He was a pirate who had reputedly left treasure in a secret location and had set up a very secret and hard to follow trail to find it. Only those in the know, who were very brave, or with nothing left to lose could stand to find the treasure.

The usual grinning countenance of the Doctor faded into an almost alien expression of distrust and his voice lowered in tone.

“John.”

Trelawney batted him away dismissively with a groan. “Don’t call me by my first name like that! I know what you are thinking! But this legend could have basis in fact! Just look at Flint’s trove, that was real and we found it!”

“Even if it was real, there were several occasions in our last venture in which we almost came to a grizzly end. All of us.”

“Yes, that is true, but surely you…” He thrust out a finger at the Doctor and wiggled it accusingly. “Surely you of all people can’t tell me that you wouldn’t be just a LITTLE interested in this.”

Livesey rolled his eyes, his smile returning once again. “OK, Trelawney, let’s hear about your little rock friend.”

Satisfied that he was now listening and taking him seriously, the Squire plopped back down on his rear end with a smile, took the rock and pointed to it. “This particular type of rock can be found in a number of places. But, there is a location where there is only a small amount of it.”

“Go on.”

Trelawney reached for the small piece of parchment that had lined the hessian parcel and handed it to Livesey, who proceeded to examine it carefully.

“I see. So, this location has what exactly?” He wanted him to spell it out exactly, because to his ears it almost sounded as if he was about to burst out of his front door and hop on a ship that very moment.

“The next clue!”

Another wry laugh left Livesey’s lips. “So, why don’t you hire someone to go and see? How about that Granger fellow you see every Tuesday?”

“He’s the one who got this schist in the first place.”

“Tut tut, Squire. And you told me about my language.”

A moment of silence passed between the two, before they each erupted with laughter.

“Oh Livesey, just think! We could find this lost treasure like we did before!”

“Are you not rich enough? Are we all not rich enough?”

“Livesey, I am NEVER rich enough, but that’s entirely besides the point. It’s not about the gold. It’s about the adventure! It’s about all four of us, Jim, Smollett, you and I setting off on a grand adventure once again!”

“Hah, I highly doubt that you would be able to convince Smollett to join us, or Jim for that matter. Last I saw, the dear boy was very content at the Benbow Inn taking care of his customers.”

“Tosh! Once we explain it to them I have no doubt in my mind that they will leap at the chance for another adventure, by jove!”

The Squire gesticulated so enthusiastically that he knocked over a goblet of wine and it rolled onto the floor. Livesey’s eyes followed it and never left it as he suddenly realised what had been said. “Pardon me? We? I do hope you mean the royal we.”

“Heaven’s David! Of course I want you to help me with this. They wouldn’t listen to just me alone, would they? Your words hold weight. Jim trusts you.”

“There you go using first names.” Livesey’s eyes snapped back to his friend and a brow slowly raised. “And that is precisely what concerns me. Jim does trust me and I would hate to lead him astray or into danger when he is doing so well now.”

“Nonsense. He’s still young. This is what young people live for! Let us find out, shall we?” With that, Trelawney hopped to his feet and began marching his way to the door. “That is, if you are so convinced he will say no.”

“I guarantee it!”

“How about we wager that?”

“Trelawney, gambling is a slippery slope, you know.” Livesey got to his feet and stomped his way over, before shaking the man’s hand. “Deal.”

“Good man. Let us make haste!”

The pair bolted down the stairs and to the foyer, almost giving the staff a heart attack with their urgency.

“My carriage at once!” The Squire raised a finger triumphantly, if a little melodramatic.

Livesey chimed in to attempt to soften the request. “If you would be so kind.”

It didn’t take them long to hitch the horses to the carriage and bring it around and the two men climbed aboard, Trelawney clutching the rock and parchment, an almost childishly excited expression on his face.

“So, about our wager. I was thinking one thousand pounds should Jim accept!”

“Good gracious,” laughed Livesey, “That’s extravagant of you.”

“Scared you will lose?”

“Not at all, I’m actually more scared that you will be crying into your teacup later due to losing some money to me when I prove you wrong.” The Doctor reclined, a smug sort of grin on his face as he watched Trelawney’s face drop into a petulant frown. “You’ll see! I’ll make you eat your hat!”

“Now now, a monetary wager is fine by my, there’s no need to bring my poor hat into it.” Livesey patted his headgear with a hand. “Besides, I simply couldn’t do that to my poor digestion.”

-----------

It didn’t take them too long to arrive at the Admiral Benbow Inn and once they pulled up, they exited the carriage and Livesey opened the door to the inn with one hand, while the other gestured for the Squire to enter.

Inside, the place was bustling with guests, all sat around laughing and enjoying the fireplace. Jim was no doubt tending the bar area in the adjoining room and so they opened the door and stepped in. The buzz of the room was almost disorienting, and Trelawney grasped hold of Livesey’s coat to keep himself from falling over.

Jim was indeed at the bar, filling up mugs for the guests and wiping with his cloth. He had matured rather strikingly over the 4 years that had past and he had blossomed into a fine-looking young man.

His mother was the first to notice the two men in the doorway and came swooping over. “Squire! Doctor! What brings you here on this fine evening?”

The pair lowered their hat and gave a small, respectful bow to the woman, before Trelawney piped up in response to her question. “We are here to speak to Jim. We have-“

Livesey elbowed him sharply in the side of the head. Had the man been taller, he would have hit his ribs, but since he wasn’t, the head would have to do. “OOCH!” There was no sense in revealing everything to Jim's mother, after all, she could be instantly worried and throw them out. Even if that lost Trelawney the thousand pounds, it was not worth breaking trust.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, my old friend, it’s just so terribly cramped inside this doorframe!”

“Oh!” Jim’s mother instantly took hold of their sleeves and dragged them towards a corner where a table was free. “I do apologise, I should have at least offered you a seat and a drink first!”

As the pair sat, they waved a hand at her dismissively, before she turned and walked to the bar to sort some drinks for them both. She returned quickly and paced them down in front of them. “Jim said he will only be a short while. As soon as he serves the three customers he has he will be right with you!” She smiled kindly and turned to serve the next customer who had flagged her over.

“Lovely lady,” Commented Trelawney.

“Quite.”

“I say, Livesey?”

“Yes?”

“Why is it that you never married?”

The Doctor was mid-sip of his drink when the Squire asked and he all but choked on it, spraying it back into his mug. After he hammered on his chest with his fist a few times to clear his airways of the liquid, he shot his companion such a stare that was enough to scare the spines off of a cactus.

“I’m simply asking! Why, you could do a lot worse…”

“You cannot be suggesting what I think you are suggesting.”

The Squire’s eyebrows did a suggestive dance across his forehead. “Why not go see if she is free for courting? A man such as yourself shouldn’t be a bachelor all of his life, hm?”

The mere suggestion sent an absolute blaze through Livesey’s blood to the point that his skin was as red as beets and he had to attempt to hide his face behind his hat for fear of combusting on the spot. “Why not go and see if Jim is ready to talk?”

Trelawney was about to rise from his seat when Jim came strolling over, adjusted his glasses and smiled at the pair happily. “Oh, it’s so good to see you both!” It was then he noted Livesey’s condition. “Doctor, are you OK?”

“Perfectly fine, my boy! Simply a momentary flash of heat, nothing more!” He placed his hat in his lap and gestured to the spare seat in front of them.

Jim sat down and sniffed. “So, what can I do for you tonight? My mother said you wished to speak to me.”

“Yes, we have something we…” Livesey was cut off by Trelawney, who was now bouncing in his seat like a puppy waiting for a ball to be thrown.

“Ohhhhh let me, Livesey! Let me tell him, please!”

[clatoera]

Chapter 7: All These People Think Loves for Show

Heeeeeey besties. Sorry for 1. this being late and 2. this being one of the shortest chapters yet. I had the busiest week of my life, and also, changed the direction of the chapter.  Originally it covered a lot more, however, it covers the immediate night following the last chapter.  It is shorter (12 pages) but it is very very important. It is a wakeup call. 

I do want to put a TW on this chapter because there is a recounting of the sexual abuse victors face (It’s not cato or clove, but its in here.)

Chapter title from Peace (t swift)

AO3

Masterpost

Alright. Here we go. 

The falling of their feet is the only sound as they are led down long marble hallways, neither daring to even breathe out loud. Their interlaced fingers are the only way they allow themselves to touch the other, otherwise their bodies are locked with straight backs and straight faces. They are deeply trained in composure, never wavering from the militant composition of the career victors that they are.

If Clove feels the way his hand trembles just a little, she responds only by holding tighter and steadying him.

If Cato notices the way her breathing increased, just so imperceptibly that only someone who knew her habits better than she herself did would notice, he just brushes his thumb over her knuckles.

They’ve done nothing wrong, they’ve done nothing wrong, they’ve done nothing wrong.

She gives him a side glance, and while anyone else would see the fiery victor expression on her face, Cato notices something he never wanted nor expected to see in the eyes of Clove Kentwell.

Fear.

Sure, they had grown up knowing the glory and pride of being Victors, but it did not quell the anxiety and tension that results from being called into the President’s office. Nothing good could come from an audience with President Snow, no matter if you were the perfect, most ideal Victors in Panem or not.

They are placed before a heavy oak door, and their hands fall to their respective sides. The look on their faces is one of intention as their impeccable training comes to the forefront of their demeanors.

The double doors swing inwards away from them, and they are led inside with heads held high, hiding  the wave of nausea that hits Clove and the chill that runs down Cato’s spine.

The makings of an office has been set up, with a sturdy mahogany desk and two cushioned chairs. A full, lush vase of white roses sits to both the left and right of the desk, a horrifying frame to the face of the man sitting on the other end of the desk.

President Snow is an impeccably dressed man in  pressed, baroque, black on black suit with a shimmering white flower in his lapel. His grin is wicked, more serpent than man, and if he had drawn back his lip neither would have been shocked to see fangs pierce through.

Clove feels her feet slow, her body begging her to turn and run, run far far away from this python and his suffocating grasp.  There is a metallic tang in the air, the smell of blood and venom.

There was no good intention in calling this meeting.

They are led by two guards to the plush seats across from their president, and from the tension she sees feels in Cato’s shoulders, she knows he’s on the defensive, like he would catch the snake in his bare hands if it lunged at them.  

There is no way to do that, not with the power their host holds.  

“Mr. Hadley, Miss. Kentwell. It’s lovely to see the two of you.” And oh, when the man smiles at them Clove’s blood runs as cold as the reptile’s itself. “Tell me, how have you two enjoyed the privileges and spoils allotted to you by the grace of the Capitol.” He pulls a ceramic, floral tea cup before him, stirring absently with a little golden spoon. “You share the home, of course,  but I’m sure you are certainly getting good …use…out of the space, yes?”

Neither Cato nor Clove get the chance to respond, to question how he knows such intimate details of their lives, and Clove is thankful considering her mouth is dry simply from the sneer of the man before them.

“Who lives in that other house, then? Is it your family, Mr. Hadley? That little sister of yours..so young, isn’t she?”

Clove sees the way Cato’s knuckles lose all the blood, flushing pure white as he absolutely grips at the arms of the chair. He is not one to hold himself back, he has never been capable of suppressing his rage.

She knows he is using every semblance of self control that he has, and she can’t help but wonder if it was intentional to provoke him, knowing he has the temper of a petulant child and the hands of an experienced killer.

She reaches out and places her hand on top of Cato’s  fist, squeezing not only to cover the way he is grasping at the wood, but also to both warn and assure him.

I know, I understand, but you can’t.

“We are so thankful for the generosity and opportunities granted to us by the Capitol.” Clove assured diplomatically, strumming her fingers on top of her boyfriends, a soothing, calming cadence to them both. “We know how fortunate we are, we don’t forget that.”

“And it would serve you well not to forget that.” Snow raises the porcelain cup to his lips, and Clove for a second would swear she saw the familiar tint of blood in along his teeth.  

Cato flips his palm and threads his fingers through hers, tightly squeezing until he can feel the bones under her skin shift, the message he wordlessly sends her clear. A united front, no matter what comes their way.

“Our two newest victors..do you believe they will be happy sharing a victor’s home in their district, as well?” His eyes narrow as he glances between them, the smile that grows on his face unnaturally tight– inhuman, really.

Clove knows that no, after watching those little District Twelve kids, that the girl especially would rather be on her own. She has a family back home, that was her whole angle, of course she’d want her own space. Maybe the boy would like it. He seemed earnestly into that girl, but he also doesn’t seem the type to push her into cohabitation or encroach on her personal space outside the games.

Clove can hear a voice in the back of her head, back from her tour, Victors take care of each other.  Those kids, bad acting, fake love or not, they were part of that now.

“I’m sure they will be very grateful for whatever they are given–”

“Don’t lie to me, Miss Kentwell. It doesn’t suit you.”

She is absolutely frozen, but she is thankful that her body did not betray her by trying to crawl out of her skin. Truly, her bones felt like they were trying to escape her flesh, to run and hide far, far away from the look of this man.

“Do you truly believe that story of the star crossed lovers from district twelve?” He hisses in their general direction, and it is Cato now who chimes in.

“No…I don’t.” Cato admits, leaning back in his chair, crossing his left ankle over his right knee now. It’s a far more relaxed posture, but that's exactly what it is- posturing. “It seemed forced.”

Clove shoots him a side glance, worrying what hole he is burying them into, what grave he is digging for them both. The briefest of glances he shoots her way tells her all she needs to know. Cato always had nothing if not excellent self preservation skills. The two of them are going to survive this, and there is nothing and no one he will spare to keep them safe.

“Exactly. And do you think the people watching saw that it was forced?”

“Some did.” Clove admits, shaking her head earnestly. “Some people believed it, they had to. But there are some who saw through her.”

“And that's my concern.” President Snow warns, pushing his cup and saucer away before folding his hands over the table. “What do you think those who don’t believe this little fairy tale saw? Not childish love, no-”

Clove knows what they saw, because she herself saw it. She saw the spark of resistance in the girl on fire, the glint of something deeper, far beyond teenage love in the handful of berries.

He does not need her to fill in that blank.

Cato and Clove sit silently, staring with wide, bewildered expressions at their leader. He did not bring them here to talk about Katniss Everdeen, surely?

Unless that is exactly why he brought them before him.

“What can we do?” Cato offers, leaning back in to rest his elbows on his knees. “Why are we here?”

“You’re going to distract from them.” He instructs, leaning back in his chair. “You are going to remind the world of what an honor and a privilege it is to be victors, and victors together at that. The two of you…represent exactly what it should mean to win the Hunger Games.”

Clove shifts uncomfortably, her heart racing in the cage of her chest at the realization that despite all they have won, their lives are not going to be the peaceful post-games haze they had planned. The shift is imperceivable to Snow, but may as well have been a leap to Cato.

“Everything they do, you will do. Every picture of them, there will be one of you. Every step they take, you will take it grander, bigger, and brighter. You two are where we want the attention to be. You will remind Panem, what it means to be Victors. You will remind Panem what it looks like to be young and in love.” He leans back in the desk chair, removing the flower from his coat jacket. “You understand me, yes?”

Clove nods, Cato pulling her to her feet as the guards approach them and indicate it is time for them to rise to leave.

“We understand.”

“Understood.”

“Good. After all, You do have that little sister, don’t you Cato? It would be a shame if you were to let her down.” Clove grabs Cato’s arm just at the time she feels his body clench to lean in towards the President.

As they are ushered out of the room, Cato swears he can hear him laughing to himself.

–

The second they are back on the District Two floor, his fist is through the mirror hanging just inside the door.  The glass shatters through the door and slices through his skin, rivulets of blood running down his forearm.

Enobaria and Brutus are on them in seconds, just as her hand wraps around his bleeding wrist.

“Hurting yourself isn’t getting us out of this, dumbass.” Clove snarls, though she is already picking the minute splinters of glass out of his hand with the tips of her finger nails. “It’d probably make it worse, if you did.”

“What did he want?”” Enobaria takes Clove’s face in her hands, tilting her to look at her and, if Clove didn’t know better, she’d assume she was looking for any injuries or marks on her face.

“Are you two okay?”

“He wants to show us off like little fucking show ponies, thats what he wants.” He rips his hands away from Clove, flexing and extending his wrist to bring back the feeling in his fingers. “Use us to distract from those twelve idiots. We did not win the games to be fucking distractions for district fucking twelve.”

“We’re supposed to…I don’t know. Be the antithesis of Katniss and Peeta, I don’t know.” Clove shakes her head, the reality of it slowly coming down onto her shoulders. “I don’t know he just..he wants us to like..”

“He wants us to never have a day of fucking peace.” Cato snaps, holding his bleeding hand against his shirt to stave off the bleeding. “I thought the whole point of winning the games was to have the life you wanted after-”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Brutus places a hand on Cato’s shoulder, steading and calming him at least long enough to hear the conversation before he goes about destroying the rest of the apartment. “The games don’t just end. Once you win..it’s for life.”

“You knew this was going to happen, once you became mentors, your private life will never be private.” Enobaria notices then, the way Clove is nearly translucent pale, swaying ever so slightly back and forth. She braces her shoulders, holding the girl both steady and upright. “Cato, go fix your hand, Clove come with me.”

“I’m fine Enobaria-”

“I said go fix your damn hand!” Enobaria pulls into her bedroom, shutting the door just in time to see Clove on her knees gagging into the nearest trash can.

“Oh…Clove.” Enobaria slides to her knees beside the girl, gently gathering her dark hair to the nape of her neck and holding it out of the way. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No it isn’t” Clove heaves, violently grasping for anything to hold onto and landing on the free end of the trash bin. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s just a little while..” Enobaira coaxes, though she knows she’s lying to the girl. It’s forever, and they both know the harsh reality of it.

“He threatened Cato’s little sister. You know, Cora? She’s four. He knew about her and he all but said that if we don’t-” Clove chokes out, her body desperately trying to rid itself of anything that will hold her down in the case she needs to run. “Do you think he’d actually-”

“Yes.” Enobaria wraps her arms around Clove’s back, rubbing little circles between her shoulder blades and taking herself back sixteen years. “That’s what happened to Johanna. And how he threatens Finnick to keep in line. I think you need to talk to them.” She feels Clove’s torso tense with another heave and simply holds her tighter. “I’m sorry, Clove.”

“We never get out of this, do we? This is forever now, huh?” Clove whines, laying her head on the rim of the plastic receptacle. “If it’s not Cora it’ll be you or his mother or– no one will be safe from us.”

“No, you don’t. You just play the game, kid. You just play the game.” Enobaria rests her head on top of Clove’s shoulders, holding the girl through every wave of debilitating nausea that overcomes her. “And we survive it. That's all we can do.”

Clove groans, leaning back into the arms of her mentor as she tries to hold herself upright. “I didn’t know that was the life we were signing up for.”

“None of us did.” Enobaria agrees, leaning against the wall to support them both. “You know, the last time you got so upset you threw up, you were twelve.  You were so pissed that you were told you didn’t get to volunteer, even though it was your first year of even being eligible-”

“I was the best then, too.” Clove teases, a shaky breath escaping her as she brings her head to rest on the wall next to Enobaria, half on the wall half on her shoulder. . “Not my fault I thought I had it in the bag.” She shutters, her body coming down from the adrenaline rush that had her on her knees moments ago. “It was the smell, Enobaira. And the way he looked at us.”

Clove thinks back on being a child, of how desperately she wanted to prove she could win, prove her mother was just a fluke, and she can’t stop her mind from wandering to exactly what their lives would have been had her mother won or had she won as a child. She surely would not have been spared the fate of the Finnicks and Glimmers if not for her very public connection to Cato. LIkely, neither would her mother, for even having been the teenage mother of a toddler likely would not have shielded her from the prying eyes and demands of the capitol.

No, Clove can’t put into words the relief she has that she was shielded from this reality for as long as she was.

The sound of the main door opening has Enobaira lifting her head, but Clove doesn’t have the energy. She keeps her head nested between the wall and Enobaria’s forehead, focused on bringing her heart back to a stable rhythm in her chest.

“Your friend’s here.” Enobaria slides her arm out from under Clove’s head, and pushes herself to a standing position. “She thought you were getting told about a…different assignment. She wanted to come talk to you about it..”

“My friend? Assignment? What?”

Clove’s –begrudgingly to admit- blonde friend stands in the doorway to Clove’s room, having been directed by either Cato or Brutus. Enobaria sees herself out, shutting the door behind them to give the two young girls time alone.

“Hi, Clove.” Glimmer gracefully lowers herself to the ground, kicking her long legs out in front of her and crossing her heels. She tosses her hair behind her shoulder with a melancholy, sympathetic smile. “It won’t be as bad as it seems, I promise.”

“Glimmer I don’t think-” She shakes her head, though the rapid motion sends her barely grasped stability out the window and has her bend back over the trash can.

“Oh, ew, okay. Why are you throwing up-” Glimmer’s mouth falls open in a gasp, as she leans in forward. “You’re not like-”

“No! Glimmer!” She chokes out, rapidly shaking her head in the negative. “I just got so angry– god and the smell, glim, he smelled like–”

“Corpse and flowers. I know.”  Glimmer sits on her feet, now her turn to reach in and hold back Clove’s dark hair. “It’s not that bad though. Well. It is bad. But it’s only a few days a month, and most of the time if you just close your eyes and fake it it’s over fast-”

“What are you talking about?”

“The sex, Clove, the sex isn’t-”

Her eyes go incredibly wide as her head shoots up, a look of indescribable horror on her features “You’ve fucked the president-”

It’s Glimmer who’s pretty face twists into one of complete horror, her turn to shake her head violently. “What? No. Absolutely not. Well, he’s the one who requires us to do it.” Glimmer gently and quickly likely braids back Clove’s hair, using one of the braid loops to secure the rest at the base of her neck and out of the way. “It’s…It isn’t good, Clove, but. You just have to lay there. Most of them don’t even care if you react, I don’t. And maybe they’ll even want you to cut them up, considering who you are.” Glimmer leans against the wall, side by side with Clove, their shoulders touching but not looking at each other. It’s as close to physical touch as Clove allows, but for some reason, she thinks Glimmer may actually need the comfort of it right now.

Clove doesn’t have it in her to cut off Glimmer yet, not when she was willing to come share something clearly traumatizing for her. Not when she came to her, probably at great risk to herself.  

“It’ll hurt, sometimes. A lot of the time. It’ll hurt.I won’t lie to you, because that’s not fair to you. Mostly you just lay there, but sometimes Clove.. and sometimes you’ll go home with bruises, but they’ll make sure to get rid of anything that can scar.” Glimmer’s voice wavers, far quieter than the bright and bubbly soprano sound Clove is so used to hearing from her. She pulls up the hem of her sparkling, shimmering pink skirt and tugs it up just a few inches, and if Clove weren’t out of stomach contents she is sure she would be sicker than before.

“Oh my god Glimmer what happened to you?” She takes in the finger print shaped bruises that litter her tan thigh, in various stages of healing. One hand is clearly old, green and yellow in tones, while another is bright, screaming purple and blue, very very new bruises. “Who-”

“I told you. They leave bruises.” She pulls down the hem, and instead pulls up the bottom of her shirt, revealing to clove the distinct bruises of hands that clearly grabbed her hips a little too tightly. “Clove it’s terrible but please, if you fight back too much they’ll hurt you more. I know that's not you but..”

“Glimmer, he’s not-”

“I’m sure he threatened your family, right? Between me, my sister, and my brother.. There’s too much at stake. Marvel doesn’t get it as often as we do. They’re not as bad to him. Finnick gets it worse than anyone.. He has a lot to lose, too.”  Glimmer drops her shirt, and curls her knees up to her chest before closing her eyes. “I don’t think it ever gets easier but…you go home after and you smile and pretend it didn’t happen, you know? If you’re lucky, which you are, you get to go home and at least be treated kindly by someone who loves you, and you get to not think about it for a few days, and you get to think about how it doesn’t always have to be bad..but you never stop thinking about it, not really. Just..the two of you be kind to each other.”  Her voice breaks, her hard fought back levee breaks, and Clove hears Glimmer’s tone flood with grief.

It is uncharacteristic of her, unlike her, and she’s never felt the need to do it before, when Clove reaches down and takes Glimmer’s hand. She’s never been a toucher, a comforter. But the girl risked a lot to tell her this, and it was clearly at the expense of her own stability.

“You’re going to hate me when I tell you that he’s not doing it to us.” Clove admits, holding onto her new found friend and ally, swallowing hard. “He’s just making us publicize everything. He wants us to be like…I don’t know, better than those twelve kids, distract from them or something.”

“Oh..Clove, I'm so sorry. That might actually be worse.” Glimmer admits, giving Clove’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“What? That’s worse than what they do to you? They hurt you, in the worst way you can hurt someone..” Which says a lot, from one child killer to another.

“...that's just a couple hours a month, Clove. At least my private life is my own.”

Clove certainly didn’t expect Glimmer to give her a look of pity.

-

Later that night, after stitches in the kitchen and Glimmer’s considerate warnings, hours have passed and they are alone, both unfortunately aware of exactly how rare those moments of isolation and peace together will become as soon as even the next morning.

They are wrapped around each other, legs intertwined, his arm around her back holding her flush against his side. Her head on his shoulder, arm wrapped as close around his torso as she can reach. Inside the room it is silent, save for the raucous post-games partying coming from the Capitol streets not that far below. Despite the lack of silence, neither are asleep.

Cato stares at the ceiling, drumming on Clove’s lower back, the other hand bent behind his head on the pillow.

She stares at the wall on the opposite side of the window, nails just ever so lightly scratching at his side, holding tightly onto him.

They had been like this for hours, maybe, neither really knows how much time has passed, just clinging to the feeling of life in the other.

“....what have we gotten into, Cato?” Clove finally asks, propping her chin up on his shoulder so she can see his expressions. “What happens to us, now?”

“....I don’t know, babe.” He brings the hand from her back to her face, stroking at her cheek with his thumb. “I really don’t know.”

“Our lives aren’t ours now, are they?” Clove wonders aloud, bringing her hand up to match his, running through the hair on top of his head. “We aren’t ours.”

“We’ll always be ours, Clove. We’ll give them the minimum, but we won’t give them everything.” Cato shrugs, bringing his other hand up to rub over her shoulder, trying to get her to release the tension she carries so physically. “Those kids, they aren’t going to give much, it won’t be much for us to push back with. Nothing more than we already do..”

“We won, how did they take our entire future from us? Whatever happened to just training, and getting to do whatever we wanted? We have been model careers, model victors and now we have to what? Act as little marionettes? Let them publicize and take the  life we fought for and earned?” There is deep remorse in her voice, and she shoves her face into the side of his neck to avoid the sorrowful look he gives back to her.

“They didn’t take it. We aren’t letting them.”

“They’ll kill us, they’ll kill your family if we don’t. Do you know what Glimmer told me?” Clove unlaced her leg from his, instead hooking it over his hips and pulling herself to a sitting position straddling his torso with her hips. “The things they do to her Cato, the things the people in this town do to her–”

“I know. Marvel was with her. You don’t have to tell me about it because I know.” His hands settle on her hips, squeezing gentle circles into her skin. “They aren’t doing that to us–”

“That's the point! They aren’t doing that to us and she looked at me with pity. She told me that what they do to her is only a few nights a month, but she still has her private life! We don’t! We aren’t sacrificing everything for those fucking kids from twelve. We have to suffer because of those fucking idiots and their little scheme to survive. Why couldn’t she just fucking kill him, and then we could go back to how things are supposed to be.” Clove presses her palms firmly into his chest, leaning forward. “We were supposed to just mentor, and be together, and show up once a year for the games and smile. I was supposed to get to have the things my mother died wanting me to have.”

“We were never going to just live our lives Clove, you know that. That was never us.” Cato  reminds her, gently bringing his lips to her jaw. “I hate it, I hate that they’re taking our choices from us.”

“Promise me they won’t make us do anything. Anything we have to do is because we want to.” Clove asks, leaning  down into his arms, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and hold her to him. “We only do things we want to.”

“When has anyone EVER made you and I do something, baby?”

[renaissanceclassics]

The Pilgrim's Progress: Part 23

Listen to: Book 2, 7th stage continued, at Renaissance Classics Podcast.

So they stayed there more than a month; and MERCY was given to MATTHEW to wife. While they stayed here, MERCY, as her custom was, would be making coats and garments to give to the poor; by which she brought up a very good report about the pilgrims. But to return again to our story. After supper, the lads desired a bed; for that they were weary with travelling. Then GAIUS called to show them their chamber; but said MERCY, "I will have them to bed." So she had them to bed, and they slept well, but the rest sat up all night; for GAIUS and they were such suitable company, that they could not tell how to part. Then, after much talk of their Lord, themselves, and their journey, old Mr. HONEST--he that put forth the riddle to GAIUS --began to nod. Then said GREAT-HEART, "What, sir! you begin to be drowsy! come, rub up; now here's a riddle for you."

Then said Mr. HONEST," Let's hear it." Then said Mr. GREAT-HEART: "He that will kill must first be overcome; Who live abroad would, first must die at home." "Ha," said Mr. HONEST, "it is a hard one: hard to expound, and harder to practise. But come, landlord," said he, "I will, if you please, leave my part to you; do you expound it, and I will hear what you say." "No," said GAIUS, "'t was put to you, and 't is expected that you should answer it." Then said the old gentleman: "He first by grace must conquered be That sin would mortify; And who that lives would convince me, Unto himself must die." "It is right," said GAIUS; "good doctrine and experience teaches this. For, first, until grace displays itself, and overcomes the soul with its glory, it is altogether without heart to oppose sin. Besides, if sin is Satan's cords, by which the soul lies bound, how should it make resistance before it is loosed from that infirmity? "2. Nor will any that knows either reason or grace believe that such a man can be a living monument of grace, that is a slave to his own corruptions. "And now it comes in my mind, I will tell you a story worth the hearing. There were two men that went on pilgrimage; the one began when he was young, the other when he was old. The young man had strong corruptions to grapple with; the old man's were decayed with the decays of nature. The young man trod his steps as even as did the old one, and was every way as light as he: who now, or which of them, had their graces shining clearest, since both seemed to be alike?" Honest. The young man's, doubtless. For that which heads it against the greatest opposition, gives best demonstration that it is strongest: especially when it also holds pace with that that meets not with half so much; as, to be sure, old age does not. Besides, I have observed that old men have blessed themselves with this mistake: namely, taking the decays of nature for a gracious conquest over corruptions; and so have been apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, old men that are gracious, are best able to give advice to them that are young; because they have seen most of the emptiness of things. But yet, for an old and a young to set out both together, the young one has the advantage of the fairest discovery of a work of grace within him; though the old man's corruptions are naturally the weakest. Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now when the family was up, CHRISTIANA bade her son JAMES that he should read a chapter: so he read the 53rd of Isaiah. When he had done, Mr. HONEST asked why it was said, "That the Saviour is said to come out of a dry ground; and also that he had no form nor comeliness in him?" Great-heart. Then said Mr. GREAT-HEART, "To the first I answer, Because the Church of the Jews, of which Christ came, had then lost almost all the sap and spirit of religion. To the second I say, The words are spoken in the person of the unbelievers; who, because they want that eye that can see into our Prince's heart, therefore they judge of him by the meanness of his outside. "Just like those that know not that precious stones are covered over with a homely crust; who, when they have found one, because they know not what they have found, cast it away again, as men do a common stone." The Slaying of Slay-Good "Well," said GAIUS, "now you are here, and since, as I know, Mr. GREAT-HEART is good at his weapons, if you please, after we have refreshed ourselves, we will walk into the fields, to see if we can do any good. About a mile from hence there is one SLAY-GOOD, a giant that doth much annoy the King's highway in these parts. And I know whereabout his haunt is: he is master of a number of thieves; 'twould be well if we could clear these parts of him." So they consented and went: Mr. GREAT-HEART with his sword, helmet, and shield; and the rest with spears and staves. When they came to the place where he was, they found him with one FEEBLE-MIND in his hands, whom his servants had brought unto him, having taken him in the way. Now the giant was filling of him, with a purpose, after that, to pick his bones; for he was of the nature of a flesh eater. Well, so soon as he saw Mr. GREAT-HEART and his friends at the mouth of his cave with their weapons, he demanded what they wanted. Great-heart. "We want thee; for we are come to revenge the quarrel of the many that thou hast slain of the pilgrims, when thou hast dragged them out of the King's highway; wherefore, come out of thy cave!" So he armed himself and came out; and to a battle they went, and fought for above an hour, and then stood still to take wind. Slay-good. Then said the giant, "Why are you here on my ground?" Great-heart. "To revenge the blood of pilgrims; as I also told thee before." So they went to it again; and the giant made Mr. GREAT-HEART give back: but he came up again; and in the greatness of his mind, he let fly with such stoutness at the giant's head and sides, that he made him let his weapon fall out of his hand. So he smote him and slew him, and cut off his head, and brought it away to the inn. He also took FEEBLE-MIND the pilgrim, and brought him with him to his lodgings. When they were come home, they showed his head to the family; and then set it up as they had done others before, for a terror to those that should attempt to do as he hereafter. Mr. Feeble-Mind Then they asked Mr. FEEBLE-MIND how he fell into his hands. Feeble-mind. Then said the poor man, "I am a sickly man, as you see; and because death did usually, once a day, knock at my door, I thought I should never be well at home. So I betook myself to a pilgrim's life; and have travelled hither from the town of Uncertain, where I and my father were born. I am a man of no strength at all, of body, nor yet of mind; but would, if I could, though I can but crawl, spend my life in the pilgrims' way. When I came at the gate that is at the head of the way, the Lord of that place did entertain me freely. Neither objected he against my weakly looks, nor against my feeble mind; but gave me such things that were necessary for my journey, and bade me hope to the end. When I came to the house of the INTERPRETER, I received much kindness there; and because the hill Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I was carried up that by one of his servants. Indeed, I have found much relief from pilgrims; though none was willing to go so softly as I am forced to do. Yet still, as they came on, they bade me be of good cheer; and said, that it was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given to the feeble-minded, and so went on their own pace.

"Now we exhort you, brethren, warn them that are unruly, comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all men." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:14 ~

When I was come up to Assault Lane, then this giant met with me, and bade me prepare for an encounter; but alas, feeble one that I was, I had more need of a cordial. So he came up and took me. I conceived he should not kill me; also when he had got me into his den, since I went not with him willingly, I believed I should come out alive again. For I have heard, that not any pilgrim that is taken captive by violent hands, if he keeps heart whole towards his Master, is, by the laws of Providence, to die by the hand of the enemy. Robbed, I looked to be, and robbed to be sure I am; but I am, as you see, escaped with life, for the which I thank my King as author, and you as the means. Other brunts I also look for: but this I have resolved on--to wit, to run when I can; to go when I cannot run; and to creep when I cannot go. As to the main, I thank him that loves me, I am fixed: my way is before me; my mind is beyond the river that has no bridge; though I am, as you see, but of a feeble mind." Honest. Then said old Mr. HONEST, "Have you not, some time ago, been acquainted with one Mr. FEARING, a pilgrim?" Feeble-mind. Acquainted with him! yes. He came from the town of Stupidity, which lies four degrees to the northward of the city of Destruction, and as many off of where I was born. Yet we were well acquainted: for indeed he was mine uncle, my father's brother; he and I have been much of a temper; he was a little shorter than I, but yet we were much of a complexion. Honest. I perceive you know him, and I am apt to believe also that you were related one to another: for you have his whitely look; a cast like his with your eye; and your speech is much alike. Feeble-mind. Most have said so that have known us both; and besides, what I have read in him, I have for the most part found in myself. Gaius. "Come, sir," said good GAIUS, "be of good cheer! --you are welcome to me and to my house; and what thou hast a mind to, call for freely; and what thou wouldst have my servants do for thee, they will do it with a ready mind." Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, "This is unexpected favour, and as the sun shining out of a very dark cloud. Did giant SLAY-GOOD intend me this favour when he stopped me, and resolved to let me go no farther? Did he intend that after he had rifled my pockets, I should go to GAIUS mine host? Yet so it is." Now, just as Mr. FEEBLE-MIND and GAIUS were thus in talk, there comes one running, and called at the door; and told, that about a mile and a half off there was one Mr. NOT-RIGHT, a pilgrim, struck dead upon the place where he was with a thunderbolt. Feeble-mind. "Alas," said Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, "is he slain! he overtook me some days before I came so far as hither, and would be my company keeper. He also was with me when SLAY-GOOD the giant took me; but he was nimble of his heels, and escaped. But it seems he escaped to die; and I was taken to live. "What, one would think, doth seek to slay outright, Oft times delivers from the saddest plight; That very Providence, whose face is death, Doth oft times to the lowly life bequeath. I taken was, he did escape and flee; Hands crossed give death to him, and life to me." A Feast and a Farewell Now about this time MATTHEW and MERCY were married; also GAIUS gave his daughter PHOEBE to JAMES, MATTHEW'S brother, to wife: after which time, they yet stayed above ten days at GAIUS's house, spending their time and the seasons like as pilgrims used to do. When they were to depart, GAIUS made them a feast; and they did eat and drink, and were merry. Now the hour was come that they must be gone; wherefore Mr. GREAT-HEART called for a reckoning. But GAIUS told him that at his house it was not the custom for pilgrims to pay for their entertainment. He boarded them by the year; but looked for his pay from the good Samaritan, who had promised him, at his return, whatsoever charge he was at with them faithfully to repay him.

"But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee." ~ Luke 10:33-35 ~

Then said Mr. GREAT-HEART to him: Great-heart. Beloved, "thou doest faithfully whatsoever thou doest to the brethren and to strangers; which have borne witness of thy charity before the Church: whom if thou (yet) bring forward on their journey after a godly sort, thou shalt do well".

"Beloved, thou doest faithfully whatsoever thou doest to the brethren, and to strangers; Which have borne witness of thy charity before the church: whom if thou bring forward on their journey after a godly sort, thou shalt do well:" ~ 3 John 1:5, 6 ~

Then GAIUS took his leave of them all: and of his children; and particularly of Mr. FEEBLE-MIND. He also gave him something to drink by the way. Now Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, when they were going out of the door, made as if he intended to linger. The which, when Mr. GREAT-HEART espied, he said, "Come, Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, pray do you go along with us; I will be your conductor, and you shall fare as the rest." Feeble-mind. Alas! I want a suitable companion; you are all lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weak. I choose therefore, rather to come behind; lest, by reason of my many infirmities, I should be both a burden to myself and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble mind; and shall be offended and made weak at that which others can bear. I shall like no laughing. I shall like no gay attire; I shall like no unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak a man, as to be offended with that which others have a liberty to do. I do not yet know all the truth; I am a very ignorant Christian man; sometimes, if I hear some rejoice in the Lord, it troubles me because I cannot do so too. It is with me, as it is with a weak man among the strong; or as with a sick man among the healthy; or as a lamp despised. (" He that is ready to slip with his feet, is as a lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease."

"He that is ready to slip with his feet is as a lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease." ~ Job 12:5 ~

So that I know not what to do. Great-heart. "But, brother," said Mr. GREAT-HEART, "I have it in commission to comfort the feeble-minded and to support the weak. You must needs go along with us: we will wait for you; we will lend you our help; we will deny ourselves of some things, opinionative and practical, for your sake; we will not enter into doubtful disputations before you; we will be made all things to you rather than you shall be left behind".

"Him that is weak in the faith receive ye, but not to doubtful disputations. For one believeth that he may eat all things: another, who is weak, eateth herbs. Let not him that eateth despise him that eateth not; and let not him which eateth not judge him that eateth: for God hath received him. Who art thou that judgest another man's servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth. Yea, he shall be holden up: for God is able to make him stand. One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind. He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it. He that eateth, eateth to the Lord, for he giveth God thanks; and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giveth God thanks. For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself. For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that he might be Lord both of the dead and living. But why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost thou set at nought thy brother? for we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ. For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God. So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God. Let us not therefore judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumblingblock or an occasion to fall in his brother's way. I know, and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean. But if thy brother be grieved with thy meat, now walkest thou not charitably. Destroy not him with thy meat, for whom Christ died. Let not then your good be evil spoken of: For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. For he that in these things serveth Christ is acceptable to God, and approved of men. Let us therefore follow after the things which make for peace, and things wherewith one may edify another. For meat destroy not the work of God. All things indeed are pure; but it is evil for that man who eateth with offence. It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak. Hast thou faith? have it to thyself before God. Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth. And he that doubteth is damned if he eat, because he eateth not of faith: for whatsoever is not of faith is sin." ~ Romans 14:1-23 ~ "Now as touching things offered unto idols, we know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth. And if any man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know. But if any man love God, the same is known of him. As concerning therefore the eating of those things that are offered in sacrifice unto idols, we know that an idol is nothing in the world, and that there is none other God but one. For though there be that are called gods, whether in heaven or in earth, (as there be gods many, and lords many,) But to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all things, and we in him; and one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things, and we by him. Howbeit there is not in every man that knowledge: for some with conscience of the idol unto this hour eat it as a thing offered unto an idol; and their conscience being weak is defiled. But meat commendeth us not to God: for neither, if we eat, are we the better; neither, if we eat not, are we the worse." ~ 1 Corinthians 8:1-8 ~

Now all this while they were at GAIUS's door; and behold, as they were thus in the heat of their discourse, Mr. READY-TO- HALT came by with his crutches in his hand, and he also was going on pilgrimage.

"For I am ready to halt, and my sorrow is continually before me." ~ Psalms 38:17 ~

Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. FEEBLE-MIND to him, "Man, how camest thou hither? I was but just now complaining that I had not a suitable companion; but thou art according to my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. READY-TO-HALT; I hope thee and I may be some help." Ready-to-halt. "I shall be glad of thy company," said the other; "and good Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, rather than we will part, since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee one of my crutches." Feeble-mind. "Nay," said he, "though I thank thee for thy good-will, I am not inclined to halt before I am lame. Howbeit, I think, when occasion is, it may help me against a dog." Ready-to-halt. If either myself or my crutches can do thee a pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr. FEEBLE-MIND. Stories of Christian's Pilgrimage Thus, therefore, they went on: Mr. GREAT-HEART and Mr. HONEST went before; CHRISTIANA and her children went next; and Mr. FEEBLE-MIND and Mr. READY-TO-HALT came behind with his crutches. Then said Mr. HONEST: Honest. Pray, sir, now we are upon the road, tell us some profitable things of some that have gone on pilgrimage before us. Great-heart. With a good will. I suppose you have heard how CHRISTIAN of old did meet with APOLLYON in the Valley of Humiliation; and also what hard work he had to go through the Valley of the Shadow of Death? Also, I think you cannot but have heard how FAITHFUL was put to it with Madame WANTON; with ADAM the first; with one DISCONTENT; and SHAME --four as deceitful villains as a man can meet with upon the road. Honest. Yes, I have heard of all this; but, indeed, good FAITHFUL was hardest put to it with SHAME; he was an unwearied one. Great-heart. Aye, for as the pilgrim well said, "He of all men had the wrong name." Honest. But pray, sir, where was it that CHRISTIAN and FAITHFUL met TALKATIVE? That same was also a notable one. Great-heart. He was a confident fool; yet many follow his ways. Honest. He had like to have beguiled FAITHFUL. Great-heart. Aye, but CHRISTIAN put him into a way quickly to find him out. Thus they went on, till they came at the place where EVANGELIST met with CHRISTIAN and FAITHFUL, and prophesied to them of what should befall them at Vanity Fair. Great-heart. Then said their guide, "Hereabouts did CHRISTIAN and FAITHFUL meet with EVANGELIST, who prophesied to them of what troubles they should meet with at Vanity Fair. Honest. Say you so? I dare say it was a hard chapter that then he did read unto them! Great-heart. 'Twas so; but he gave them encouragement withal. But what do we talk of them? they were a couple of lion-like men; they had set their faces like flint. Don't you remember how undaunted they were when they stood before the judge? Honest. Well, FAITHFUL bravely suffered. Great-heart. So he did; and as brave things came on't; for HOPEFUL and some others, as the story relates it, were converted by his death. Honest. Well, but pray go on; for you are well acquainted with things. Great-heart. Above all that CHRISTIAN met with after he had passed through Vanity Fair, one BY-ENDS was the arch one. Honest. BY-ENDS! what was he? Great-heart. A very arch fellow, a downright hypocrite; one that would be religious whichever way the world went; but so cunning, that he would be sure neither to lose nor suffer for it. He had his mode of religion for every fresh occasion; and his wife was as good at it as he. He would turn and change from opinion to opinion; yea, and plead for so doing too. But so far as I could learn, he came to an ill end with his by-ends; nor did I ever hear that any of his children were ever of any esteem with any that truly feared God. A Stay in Vanity Fair Now by this time they were come within sight of the town of Vanity, where Vanity Fair is kept. So when they saw that they were so near the town, they consulted with one another how they should pass through the town; and some said one thing, and some another. At last Mr. GREAT-HEART said, "I have, as you may understand, often been a conductor of pilgrims through this town; now I am acquainted with one Mr. MNASON, a Cyprusian by nation, an old disciple, at whose house we may lodge. If you think good," said he, "we will turn in there." "Content," said old HONEST; "Content," said CHRISTIANA; 'Content," said Mr. FEEBLE-MIND; and so they said all. Now you must think it was eventide by that they got to the outside of the town; but Mr. GREAT-HEART knew the way to the old man's house. So thither they came, and he called at the door; and the old man within knew his tongue so soon as ever he heard it; so he opened, and they all came in. Then said MNASON their host, "How far have ye come today?" So they said, 'From the house of GAIUS our friend." "I promise you," said he, "you have gone a good stitch; you may well be a-weary; sit down." So they sat down. Great-heart. Then said their guide, "Come, what cheer, sirs? I daresay you are welcome to my friend." Mnason. "I also," said Mr. MNASON, "do bid you welcome; and whatever you want, do but say, and we will do what we can to get it for you." Honest. Our great want, awhile since, was harbour and good company; and now I hope we have both. Mnason. For harbour, you see what it is; but for good company; that will appear in the trial. Great-heart. "Well," said Mr. GREAT-HEART, "will you have the pilgrims up into their lodging?" Mnason. "I will," said Mr. MNASON. So he had them to their respective places; and also showed them a very fair dining room, where they might be and sup together, until time was come to go to rest. Now when they were set in their places, and were a little cheery after their journey, Mr. HONEST asked his landlord if there were any store of good people in the town. Mnason. We have a few; for indeed they are but a few when compared with them on the other side. Honest. But how shall we do to see some of them? for the sight of good men to them that are going on pilgrimage is like to the appearing of the moon and the stars to them that are sailing upon the seas. Mnason. Then Mr. MNASON stamped with his foot; and his daughter GRACE came up. So he said unto her, "GRACE, go you, tell my friends, Mr. CONTRITE, Mr. HOLY-MAN, Mr. LOVE-SAINT, Mr. DARE-NOT-LIE, and Mr. PENITENT, that I have a friend or two at my house that have a mind this evening to see them." So GRACE went to call them; and they came: and, after salutation made, they sat down together at the table. Then said Mr. MNASON, their landlord, "My neighbours, I have, as you see, a company of strangers come to my house; they are pilgrims, they come from afar, and are going to Mount Zion. But who," quoth he, "do you think this is ?" (pointing with his finger to CHRISTIANA.) "It is CHRISTIANA, the wife of CHRISTIAN, that famous pilgrim who, with FAITHFUL his brother, were so shamefully handled in our town." At that they stood amazed, saying, "We little thought to see CHRISTIANA, when GRACE came to call us; wherefore this is a very comfortable surprise." Then they asked her of her welfare; and if these young men were her husband's sons. And when she had told them they were, they said, "The King whom you love and serve make you as your father; and bring you where he is, in peace." Then Mr. HONEST (when they were all sat down) asked Mr. CONTRITE and the rest, in what posture their town was at present. Contrite. You may be sure we are full of hurry in fair time. 'Tis hard keeping our hearts and spirits in any good order when we are in a cumbered condition. He that lives in such a place as this, and that has to do with such as we have, has need of an item to caution him to take heed, every moment of the day. Honest. But how are your neighbours for quietness? Contrite. They are much more moderate now than formerly. You know how CHRISTIAN and FAITHFUL were used at our town; but of late, I say, they have been far more moderate. I think the blood of FAITHFUL lies with load upon them till now; for since they burned him, they have been ashamed to burn any more. In those days we were afraid to walk the streets; but now we can show our heads. Then the name of a professor was odious; now, especially in some parts of our town (for you know our town is large), religion is counted honourable. Then said Mr. CONTRITE to them, "Pray, how fares it with you in your pilgrimage? how stands the country affected towards you?" Honest. It happens to us as it happens to wayfaring men: sometimes our way is clean, sometimes foul; sometimes uphill, sometimes downhill; we are seldom at a certainty. The wind is not always on our backs; nor is everyone a friend that we meet with in the way. We have met with some notable rubs already; and what are yet to come we know not: but, for the most part, we find it true that has been talked of old--" A good man must suffer trouble." Contrite. You talk of rubs: what rubs have you met withal? Honest. Nay, ask Mr. GREAT-HEART, our guide; for he can give the best account of that. Great-heart. We have been beset three or four times already: first, CHRISTIANA and her children were beset with two ruffians, that they feared would have taken away their lives; we were beset with Giant BLOODY-MAN, Giant MAUL, and Giant SLAY-GOOD; indeed, we did rather beset the last than were beset of him. And thus it was: after we had been some time at the house of GAIUS, mine host, and of the whole Church, we were minded upon a time to take our weapons with us, and so go see if we could light upon any of those that were enemies to pilgrims; for we heard that there was a notable one thereabouts. Now GAIUS knew his haunt better than I, because he dwelt thereabout: so we looked and looked, till at last we discerned the mouth of his cave; then we were glad, and plucked up our spirits. So we approached up to his den; and lo, when we came there, he had dragged by mere force into his net this poor man, Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, and was about to bring him to his end. But when he saw us, supposing, as we thought, he had had another prey, he left the poor man in his hole, and came out. So we fell to it full sore, and he lustily laid about him; but in conclusion, he was brought down to the ground, and his head cut off, and set up by the wayside for a terror to such as should after practise such ungodliness. That I tell you the truth, here is the man himself to affirm it, who was as a lamb taken out of the mouth of the lion. Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. FEEBLE-MIND, "I found this true to my cost and comfort: to my cost, when he threatened to pick my bones every moment; and to my comfort, when I saw Mr. GREAT-HEART and his friends with their weapons approach so near for my deliverance." Holy-man. Then said Mr. HOLY-MAN, "There are two things that they have need to be possessed with that go on pilgrimage --courage and an unspotted life. If they have not courage, they can never hold on their way; and if their lives be loose, they will make the very name of a pilgrim stink." Love-saint. Then said Mr. LOVE-SAINT, "I hope this caution is not needful amongst you. But truly there are many that go upon the road that rather declare themselves strangers to pilgrims, than strangers and pilgrims in the earth." Dare-not-lie. Then said Mr. DARE-NOT-LIE, "'Tis true, they neither have the pilgrim's weed, nor the pilgrim's courage; they go not uprightly, but all awry with their feet,--one shoe goes inward, another outward, and their hosen out behind; there a rag and there a rent, to the disparagement of their Lord." Penitent. "These things," said Mr. PENITENT, "they ought to be troubled for; nor are the pilgrims like to have that grace put upon them and their pilgrims' progress as they desire, until the way is cleared of such spots and blemishes." Thus they sat talking and spending the time, until supper was set upon the table; unto which they went and refreshed their weary bodies: so they went to rest. Now they stayed in this fair a great while, at the house of this Mr. MNASON, who, in process of time, gave his daughter GRACE unto SAMUEL, CHRISTIANA'S, son, to wife; and his daughter MARTHA to JOSEPH. The time, as I said, that they lay here was long (for it was not now as in former times). Wherefore the pilgrims grew acquainted with many of the good people of the town, and did them what service they could. MERCY, as she was wont, laboured much for the poor; wherefore their bellies and backs blessed her, and she was there an ornament to her profession. And to say the truth for GRACE, PHOEBE, and MARTHA, they were all of a very good nature, and did much good in their place. They were also all of them very fruitful; so that CHRISTIAN'S name, as was said before, was like to live in the world. While they lay here, there came a monster out of the woods, and slew many of the people of the town. It would also carry away their children, and teach them to suck its whelps. Now no man in the town durst so much as face this monster; but all men fled when they heard of the noise of his coming. The monster was like unto no one beast upon the earth. Its body was like a dragon; and it had seven heads and ten horns.

"And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads." ~ Revelation 12:3 ~

It made great havoc of children; and yet it was governed by a woman. This monster propounded conditions to men; and such men as loved their lives more than their souls accepted of those conditions. So they came under.

Now this Mr. GREAT-HEART, together with these that came to visit the pilgrims at Mr. MNASON'S house, entered into a covenant to go and engage this beast, if perhaps they might deliver the people of this town from the paws and mouths of this so devouring a serpent. Then did Mr. GREAT-HEART, Mr. CONTRITE, Mr. HOLYMAN, Mr. DARE-NOT-LIE, and Mr. PENITENT, with their weapons, go forth to meet him. Now the monster at first was very rampant, and looked upon these enemies with great disdain; but they so belaboured him, being sturdy men at arms, that they made him make a retreat; so they came home to Mr. MNASON'S house again. The monster, you must know, had his certain seasons to come out in, and to make his attempts upon the children of the people of the town; also these seasons did these valiant worthies watch him in, and did still continually assault him: insomuch that, in process of time, he became not only wounded, but lame; also he had not made that havoc of the townsmen's children as formerly he has done. And it is verily believed by some, that this beast will die of his wounds. This, therefore, made Mr. GREAT-HEART and his fellows of great fame in this town; so that many of the people that wanted their taste of things, yet had a reverent esteem and respect for them. Upon this account, therefore, it was that these pilgrims got not much hurt here. True, there were some of the baser sort, that could see no more than a mole, nor understand more than a beast; these had no reverence for these men, nor took they notice of their valour or adventures.

[childofchrist1983]

Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another. Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath: Neither give place to the devil. Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth. - Ephesians 4:25-28 KJV

In this Bible passage, Paul gives good advice to those who are newly converted to Christianity. He asks them to put away their old way of life and embrace the new. Don't lie, don't steal and don't stay angry are all familiar to us as a few of the Ten Commandments. The verse that tells us "do not let the sun go down upon your wrath" is often used as good advice to those who are married. That way, when you wake to a new day, the anger is gone and you can start anew. Good advice to all of us!

Notice that Paul is also once again telling people to help those in need. We all know we don't like to be lied to, so why do people insist on lying? It's often joked that you need a really good memory to be a good liar. So true! And once a person is known to lie, they can't be trusted even when they are telling the truth. Anger hurts the one who is angry more than anyone else, although it can spill over and affect the lives of loved ones. Eventually, people avoid someone who is continually angry and negative. Paul lists other virtues to develop and vices to avoid in these chapters, much more than can be reflected upon here. Perhaps at a later time! God has given us the recipe for true peace and happiness. All we need to do is follow it. May He help us in our daily lives to eliminate anger, falsehood, and everything else that will bring us and others unhappiness. Anything else that draws us away from Him, His Truth and His light.

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His mercy and grace. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives and give us a new direction according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[thoughtsbyharu]

Webtoon Review: Who Made Me A Princess

Synopsis:

The beautiful Athanasia was killed at the hands of her own biological father, Claude de Alger Obelia, the cold-blooded emperor! It’s just a silly bedtime story… until one woman wakes up to suddenly find she’s become that unfortunate princess! She needs a plan to survive her doomed fate, and time is running out. Will she go with Plan A, live as quietly as possible without being noticed by the infamous emperor? Plan B, collect enough money to escape the palace? Or will she be stuck with Plan C, sweet-talking her way into her father’s good graces?!

Status: Completed

Genre: Isekai, Fantasy, Comedy, Romance

Author: Plutos

Artist: Spoon

REVIEW:

Re-read this again because it is finally completed and I can binge read it without cliffhangers!

This is my first isekai webtoon and also my favorite so it holds a very special place in my heart!

Reading this again is pretty nostalgic! I remember those times where I am so excited when a new chapter comes out every few to several months. The wait is sometimes long but it is very worth it although sometimes it leaves you hanging.

It is completed now so I am able to enjoy this manhwa in its full glory! I will be reviewing the story, art, and give some opinions about the characters~

A little bit of recap:

The story starts with our main character being self aware that she had been isekai'd/reincarnated to a novel she read back in her previous life.

baby Athy is so adorable

Her main dillema was that apparently, she has been reincarnated as the tragic Princess Athanasia in a novel called "Lovely Princess".

In the original novel, Athanasia or Athy is the daughter of an Emperor named Claude de Alger Obelia. Although she was his only child and daughter, he never acknowledged nor cared for her since her birth, making her seem like a forgotten princess.

At the age of 9, she met her father accidentally while wandering around the palace grounds. Being a neglected child who craved for love and affection from a parent, she decided to win her father's favor by doing her best to be a great princess. However, her efforts were always fruitless since she was shunned and ignored by her father everytime.

When she was 14 and attending her debutante ball, a girl named Jeanette, who also happens to be the main protagonist of the novel, was introduced to the emperor as his daughter. Jeanette was accepted as a princess and as the story progress, Jeanette slowly gained their father's affection and approval due to her bright, gentle, and cheerful personality. Athy on the other hand was still neglected (poor bby..)

Then Jeanette has this aunt who wanted her to be the next heir to the throne. Since Athy is Jeanette's competition, she devised a plan to get rid of her for good by poisoning Jeanette and framing Athy for it.

The plan of Jeanette's aunt was successful since Claude believed the accusations that Athy poisoned Jeanette. Despite being innocent, Athy was then sentenced to death and executed.

Now in order to avoid the same tragic fate as the original Athanasia, our main character made a plan to collect as much trinkets and jewelry as much as she can gather so that she can have money and run away from the palace when she comes of age. She also planned to avoid the emperor as much as possible for her survival since it seems like the emperor has some sort of Vendetta towards her.

she loves gold so she can take it with her when she runs a way lol

However! Her plans were utterly destroyed when she met the emperor 4 years earlier than the original Athy. This made her come up with a new plan to try and charm the emperor like Jeanette did by being cute and charming in order not to be killed.

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Thoughts! (contains spoilers!)

This manhwa is my favorite for a reason! It is a complete package and something that I will recommend!

It is a cute and heart warming coming of age story with many twists and turns. The story telling is great and compelling. It keeps you interested and makes you want to read more because you just HAVE to know what will happen next.

The characters are also very well-written! I like mostly everyone in the story. I wish some characters have side stories or spin offs because they are so lovable and likeable. The chemistry between the characters are so great that I was kinda sad when I learned that the series already ended. I wanted more character interactions!

The relationship between Athy and her father is very cute and sweet. It's very amusing to see a very stoic Claude be full of emotions when it comes to his daughter. I wanted more stories or scenes about a doting Claude especially now that Athy has suitors!

Source: Pinterest

On the romance aspect, the love triangle between Athy, Ezekiel and Lucas makes my heart flutter so much. Ezekiel is nice and a textbook example of a prince/gentleman buuut I just ship Athy and Lucas so soooo much!

A little bit of spoiler but that scene where Athy kissed Lucas on the cheek will be forever etched in my memory!

Source: Pinterest

They are so cute and lovely together! I can't express how much I adore them so much. I like how Athy can be herself around Lucas and I love how chill and supportive Lucas is around Athy. Even though he is a very powerful magician and can take away Athy's problems in a snap, he still respects her decisions and trusts her judgement to solve the difficulties she face. He is also protective of Athy (in a healthy way) which is a major plus point!

I also love the scenes where the two male leads clash! The way they try win Athy's affection is amusing and funny cuz they are both competitive.

I just wished to have more side stories about Felix and Lily, Jeanette and Anastacius, and also Claude and Diana's past! Not sure if the actual novel has stories about them but if there are, I hope they get illustrated too because the art is excellent!

The artsyle is just chef's kiss! I really love how the characters are drawn cuz all of them are drop dead gorgeous! I think what stands out the most with the artsyle are the eyes, hair, and detailed clothing. As a shoujo fan, I am in love with the way the eyes and hair are drawn since it is sparkly and full of life and character.

The costume design is superb and can I just say the people behind the manhwa have great taste in fashion? All characters are stylish but I love Athy's dresses the most.

The Alice themed dress, confrontation dress, and debutante ball dress are very iconic to me.

Overall, you can tell I really love this manhwa! Maybe the things I kind of see as lacking is the way Aeternitas' story was told and also, major spoiler alert, neither Ezekiel nor Lucas ends up with Athy. I really wanted that Lucas end game!

The ending was ok and a great ending for an arc. I heard there are more post-Aeternitas events that happened on the novel so I guess it is up to the creators of the manhwa to decide if they'll illustrate that in the future or not.

I just have a lot to say about this manhwa but this post is getting long! Maybe I'll make a part 2 for my character opinions but lets see~

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Overall Rating: 4.5/5 (minus 0.5 cuz no Lucas x Athy endgame lol)

Reading Status: Completed