#also infants are EIGHTEEN MONTHS JESUS

[hazard-and-friends]

infants were allowed to sleep in the people bed because there was a windstorm

[hvckleberried]

yeah, he’s smoking inside. fucking sue him. miles leans back against the countertop and watches these idiots actually work. he takes a long drag. blinks. are you gonna, like, help at all, man? his exhale’s elongated; he watches his own breath fade into the rafters. 

“ oh, does this bother you ? ” he asks, feigning concern. even cocks his head to the side for good measure. he lifts the cigarette in question to confirm their distaste. the other boy nods. miles’s forefinger taps against the cig and flicks ash onto his stupid west ham high shirt. and there it is. the smirk.

 “ my. bad. ”  

or, alternatively : ‘tis i, linc, with *dj khaled voice* anotha one !!  greetings & salutations to huckleberry jeremiah vernon. call him MILES or he actually might kill you. 

[   m   i    l    e    s        v    e    r     n     o     n      ––    OPEN   FLAME .

✔  oc + wc┊❝ ( aria shahghasemi. he/him &. cismale ) eighteen year old huckleberry jeremiah vernon was listening to "paint it, black” by the rolling stones when the field trip buses turned around. rumor has it he spent two years in juvie & is the unbeknownst father of becca’s child, but who knows if that’s true? what we do know is that their friends describe them as alluring & deft, even if they’re known to be a little anarchic & noxious from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: huckleberry jeremiah miles vernon

nickname(s) or alias: miles, vernon, fuckleberry finn ( west ham football team, freshman year ), that asshole, the scary one, the kid ( his foster parents )

preferred name: miles. call him anything else and it’s your funeral, fuckface.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: scorpio

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: bisexual

romantic preference: biromantic

home environment: the kiersney household. a manor-like three-story at the edge of west ham’s easternmost woods. it looks like ikea ate pier 1 imports and fucking barfed up its bones the next day. statement walls. matching furniture. modern art on the walls. his foster parents have a motherfucking sculpture in the front foyer. it’s sickening. suburban. tame. tidy.

current occupation: student. delinquent.

language(s) spoken: english. i’ll-wring-your-neck-with-just-my-eyes. spanish, barely.

native language: english.

current relationship status: his knuckles kissing your face.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: huckleberry jeremiah vernon won his name in the lottery of misfortune: at least, that’s what his aunt used to say to the young boy. he doesn’t know a lot about his parents. enough to know they were royal fuck-ups, crackheads with nothing better to do than fuck and get high and have an accidental kid. they thought it’d be a hilarious form of payback: this monster takes nine months of their precious time, so they’d make his life hell. simple. so when his parents died when he was just an infant, his aunt had the opportunity to change his name. shift the tide. but she couldn’t bring herself to go against her dead sister’s wishes, however fucking twisted up she got because of her bad-news boyfriend. she took huckleberry in and insisted on calling him by his birth name until, at three years old, he was sent home from school with a drawing of his aunt with x’s for eyes. “ my auntie if she keeps saying it ”. from that day forward, he was jeremiah. then miles. only miles.

birth order:  first and only for his biological family. the second-youngest of his cousins, when he lived with his aunt. they had a massive falling out after he returned from juvie. she chucked him out like he was rotten meat. the oldest ( or perhaps same age ) as his current foster brother.

ethnicity: what’s it to you. iranian-american

nationality: american.

religion ( tw: death, acts of violence ): fuck that shit. there’s no god. if there were a god, it’d be fucking him. this wasn’t always miles’s view; it started when he was 4, and accidentally killed his aunt’s cat in front of his cousins. they always hit people when they were doing something wrong in cartons! the cat was trying to steal his cheese stick. so... he hit it with a book. his aunt she made him go to bible camp that summer, where he was vilified for his name. “huckleberry’s a dingleberry! hahaha! where’s tom sawyer, huh?” whatever god there was wouldn’t let him have this name. or this life. he wouldn’t have let his parents die: huckleberry would later find the news clipping. “ bronx couple found shot dead in stolen vehicle, ruled double-suicide. ”  religion’s the opiate of the masses. it’s how pansy people sleep at night. young huckleberry wasn’t allowed back at church after he dropped one of those big candles and watched the altar go up in flames. fine by him. he started playing with fire. messing with the wrong people. getting wrapped up in sketchy city boy shit. any shred of faith left in his body was torn away when he and his older buds planned to rob a bank: miles was 12; his cohorts ( ty & presley ) were 18. miles did most of the electronic work: hacking the cloud, derailing the security system. they stormed the fucking bank of america. one of them whipped out a gun. miles... stabbed somebody in the shoulder, to get them off of ty. he watched that security guard die, that day. but not before his bullet ripped through ty’s head. juvie happened. two years. aggravated manslaughter. he got off easy, as a minor. presley’s still behind bars. so, yeah. there’s no motherfuckin’ god out there. and if there is? he can kindly suck miles’s dick.

political views: politics. are. bullshit. go cry to somebody else about your opinions. there’s 7 fuckin’ billion people on this planet and you think your thoughts on zoning laws and gun control matter? cry him a fucking river.

financial status: he’s secure, because of his foster parents. he keeps testing ‘em, to see if they’ll fuckin’ send him back. broken merchandise; we want a refund. but they don’t, so he... just keeps taking. stealing money from their wallets. selling expensive shit from the house to buy good shit. pocket knives. lighters. alcohol. a gun. 

hometown: bronx, new york city, new york. now it’s west ham. fuck that.

level of education: high school junior. because of his time in juvie, he entered school in west ham as a freshman at 15. he’ll turn nineteen before his senior year. not that it matters. he’s already planning his escape. he’s lifted enough money to skip town soon, go back to new york. avenge ty’s death. he’s got the other security guard’s details, from that day. it pays to be skilled with a keyboard. he’s brilliant, when he wants to be. sharp-witted. his idea of a prank last year was sending an anonymous tip in to the school saying the whole place might blow. hacking the database to make it look like it was sent from a real address. he’s still surprised people aren’t more fucking grateful. he secured them a stupid day off. he’s also known to hack into the cloud to get test answers, and sell ‘em to people that don’t completely make him want to punch them.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): aria shahghasemi. he’s got these midnight black curls. piercing gray eyes. 

height: 5′10. but don’t let that get your guard down.

figure/build:  lean and muscular. won’t be caught dead in west ham’s stupid gym, but he’s fit. his foster parents put in a whole boxing studio in their basement just for him. he’s been known to get into fights, throw punches. it was their way to kind of, like... get his anger out. joke’s on them; he’s not giving it up. that shit’s his. 

hair colour: black.

hair length: mid-length. curly, so it looks shorter than it actually is.

eye colour:  gray.

glasses?:  no. just shades.

skin tone: olive. smooth.

tattoos:  he got one in juvie, on the side of his right wrist. a cross. makes him laugh. irony. he’s in the process of self-tattooing fuck between his left forefinger and thumb, but only the jagged f is there right now. it’s a process. he can’t stomach the needle.

piercings: one diamond stud in his left ear. it’s about the side of a pencil eraser. stolen.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: a few faded cross-hatches near his hairline, from fights that resulted in stitches. a six-inch line across his chest. knife. a few patches of scar tissue from burns on his palms. all juvie.

dominant hand: left-handed. you can tell because that’s the hand he always uses to flick his lighter on and off, on and off. he’s always playing with that damned thing.

if painted, what color are their nails?: who do you think he is, fuckin’ bowie? jesus.

usual style of clothing: black on black on black. did i mention black? black t-shirts, leather jackets, denim jackets, dark jeans, boots. wouldn’t be caught dead in fuckin’ sneakers. failed gym because he wasn’t about to put on dowdy shorts and t-shirts just to run around a glorified prison for 30 minutes every day. oh, there’s a pep rally? we’re supposed to wear centurion colors? fuck you.

frequently worn jewelry:  he wears a thin gold chain around his neck every day. sometimes he’s got rings.

describe their voice, what accent?:  his voice is very punchy, low. cat-like. glimmers of some new york peppered in here and there.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?:  clipped. acidic.

describe their scent: amber. tobacco. smoky.

describe their posture:  he stands tall, defiant, aloof. chin always tipped up in the face of oncoming threats. his whole body’s a proverbial middle finger to the world: yeah, i’m here. bite me.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?:  yep. went 80 in a 25 zone.

have they ever been arrested?:  yes. at this point, the west ham police force is really tired of his shit.

do they have a criminal record?:  absolutely. various misdemeanors. cybercrimes. property damage, breaking & entering. shoplifting. aggravated assault. 

have they committed any violent crimes?:  hAs He CoMiTtEd AnY vIoLeNt cRiMeS ??? ( he’s laughing. )

property crimes?: affirmative.

traffic crimes?: should be the least of your concern.

other crimes?: don’t even get me started. the moral compass on this kid is... nonexistent. the answer to the world’s problems is fuck ‘em. anarchy.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: december 3rd. 3:32am. witching hour. ha.

place of birth: shitty hole-in-the-wall crackhouse. his parents dropped him at his aunt’s before freewheeling.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male.

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?:  yes / yes / yes. what can he say? he’s an equal-opportunity employer.

allergies: grizz visser. fuckin’ ass. nosy people. pop music.

ever broken a bone?: his nose in second grade: the other kid got it worse. his hand in fifth grade. worth it. couple ribs in juvie. his arm, when he was a baby. his parents wanted to see if gravity was, like. real.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nah. not that he’d tell you anyway.

any medication regularly taken: nyquil, sometimes. helps him sleep.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  *blinks at you like you’re speaking swahili* 

positive traits: alluring, deft, crafty with computers. sly.

negative traits: anarchic, acerbic, explosive. heedless. noxious. 

likes: the flick of the flame. beat poetry. darkroom photography. scared glances. messing with the system. sidestepping boundaries. wintergreen lifesavers. blueberry slushies. ac/dc, the stones, lynyrd skynyrd, sting, the offspring, kansas. buttered toast. milk duds. history. cigarettes: he’s always got one tucked behind his ear.

dislikes: fucking football team. working on yearbook ( detention punishment ). catch him taking photos of those morons with his middle finger in frame. his roots. his aunt, for casting him out. his foster family, for giving him so many chances. he doesn’t deserve them. his name. bright sunlight, hurts his eyes. pistachios. remembering. weak alcohol. fraternizing with the idiots of west ham.

strengths: he’ll figure out your nervous ticks within two minutes of talking to you. he can go hours watching someone ramble and not say a thing, and not break his expression. making others feel small. digging his fingers into your dirt. finding back doors, loopholes, and getting through cybersecurity like a hot knife through butter. baking – but tell anybody and he’ll end you. tying cherry stems with his tongue. making sense of ginsberg. remembering stupid historical facts. pope gregory ix executed cats and that allowed rats to spread the bubonic plague in masses. still fuckin’ like your religion, asshole?

weaknesses: vengeful. his definition of justice is very much based in vigilante action; an eye for an eye. he’s got an aloof disposition, but his past wounds are still seething. empathy. expressing emotions other than anger. patience. impulse control. he can’t hide that you’re pissing him the hell off. swears in front of kids, often. probably slept with your aunt two towns over. can’t lose an argument, ever. even with authority figures.

insecurities:  what if he... caused ty’s death? what if that’s on him? is he worth shit? he’ll make himself worth something. he’ll get them back. all of ‘em. he’ll make ‘em pay.

fears/phobias:  hates needles. but fucks with ‘em anyway. fears oblivion, but puts up a front like he’s chill with it. fears he’ll never muster up... a purpose. or whatever the fuck people call it. fears this is all he’ll ever be: an eighteen-year-old fuckup with a record, hands that itch to fight, to crush, to destroy. 

habits:  playing with his lighter. chewing on toothpicks. popping milk duds like pills. glaring at everyone, no one, nothing. everything. laughing in the face of authority. making unprecedented digs at people, just because he can. propping his feet up on the desk in front of him when his teachers ask him to answer questions, twirling a pencil in his hands like he’s god. grabbing a slushie from 7/11 just to have something to do with his hands. messing with the popular kids’ social medias, just for fun. hacking the online lunch menu to see his classmates get fuckin’ pissed when mozzarella sticks are served on friday, not today, sorry. driving to neighboring towns’ parties and hooking up with chicks there. masquerading as a man with a reason. hitting up college parties often. lingering in shadow. living in gray areas. writing his own notes in the front of library books, on the title page, in sharpie. “ fuck you ten thousand ”  on the school’s copy of pride & prejudice. “ kindly die, thanks ” in gone with the wind. “ congrats, you’re literate ” in the front of catcher in the rye.

quirks: always sits in the back left corner of the room, near the window. he literally jumped out, sophomore year, when the school security officer tried to bust him for selling pills to a freshman in the hall earlier that day. popping his earbuds in during lectures. maintaining unbroken eye contact with teachers as he does so. getting ~very close~ and speaking ~very low~. purring threats. can never drink lightly. skipping school often, fabricating online attendance to avoid suspension. barely eating the food his foster parents prepare. leaving the table early, unexcused. digging into the leftovers after everyone’s gone to bed. severing ties. if he’s lucky, never makin’ ‘em in the first place. his new yorkisms come out when he’s drunk, or high, or tired.

hobbies: darkroom photography. reading poetry. burning shit. smoking. walking around the mini mart like he’s a hunter in the wild, just to make the clerks uncomfortable.   

guilty pleasure:  he listens to “lore” and “my favorite murder”. but he disguises that shit, saving the album covers of the podcasts as seether.

desires: to avenge ty’s death. get the fuck outta west ham. to find a reason to be here. a reason why.

wishes: his parents didn’t kill themselves. cowards. they deserved to deal with him. they deserved to be tortured, for doing this to him. he wishes he hadn’t pulled that knife on his aunt. then at least he’d still be in new york city, instead of here, with this stupid fuckin’ foster family that just won’t let him go.

secrets: killed a guy. the reason for his juvie sentence is redacted on his public record. he’s lonely, a lot of the time. and, oh yeah: he’s becca’s baby daddy.

turn ons:  no bullshit. sarcasm. intellect. no strings.

turn offs:  sentimentality. smileyness. too much perfume. caring.

lucky number: 1. he’s all he’s got.

pet peeves:  chewing gum: fucking pellegrino and his damned bubbles. bubbly people. cassandra pressman and the tree-sized stick up her ass. foot tapping. prying. school involvement. slow drivers. slow walkers. slow thinkers.

their motto:  “ fuck you very much. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: falafel. shut up.

drink: he brought vodka to school in a water bottle once. diet coke.

fast food restaurant:  wendy’s. he likes the chocolate frosties.

flavour: chocolate. 

word: fuck. for a vast array of reasons.

colour:  black.

clothing: his most worn leather jacket. touch it and he’ll end you.

accessory: the gold chain ‘round his neck. it was ty’s.

candle scent: smoke. tobacco. whatever that shit is, patchouli.

game: fuck games. fuck fugitive. leave him alone.

animal:  he has such a soft spot for caterpillars.

holiday: christmas. he likes baking shit. but if that ever gets out, he’ll flip.

weather: pouring rain, with patches of sun in between. it’s rare, but damn. it’s kind of beautiful.

season: summer. fast drives, windows down. no school. no bullshit.

book: on the road, jack kerouac.

artist: aerosmith.

band/group: ac/dc, kiss, guns ‘n roses, van halen, def leppard.

song: we’re not gonna take it, twisted sister.

movie/film:  star wars. fuck off, it’s good.

tv show:  history docs. he likes those decade pieces on the history channel.

sport: boxing.

possession:  his lighter.

number: 1.

person:  that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. himself. he’s lying.

( &&. skills )

talents: hacking. lying. breaking rules. testing limits. photography. playing people.

ability to drive a car?:  yes. recklessly.

can they ride a bike?:  yes, chooses not to.

do they play any sports?:  tonsil hockey. heartbreaking. boxing.

anything they’re bad at?:  empathizing. serenity.

do they have any combat training? why?:  yep. his friends in grade school. juvie.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: crushing a handful of cheerios in his tiny hands and feeling... powerful.

crush: ava watson. she said she liked his eyes.

email address: jinxyouoweme@aim.com

job: reception at a local gym in west ham. lasted a day; he punched a guy.

phone: flip-phone. now he’s got an iphone.

kiss: hanna parler. 6th grade. said she’d miss him before he left for juvie.

love:  HA. nice try, dick.

sexual experience: josie thwaites. 6th grade. they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  try again.

worst childhood memory?:  seeing ty’s eyes go dim.

what were they like as a child?:  angry. electric. not easily tamed.

any crushes growing up?:  some. he doesn’t do that now. crushing.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?:  expensive.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygienic.

open-minded or close-minded?: close-minded. his way or bust.

introvert or extrovert?: introvert. buzz off.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic. optimism’s dead.

daredevil or cautious?:  daredevil. caution’s an early grave.

logical or emotional?:  emotional.

generous or stingy?:  stingy.

polite or rude?:  rude. so rude.

book smart or street smart?:  both.

popular or loner?:  loner. notorious, though. everyone knows who he is. wonders what his deal is. he’s got this... dark magnetism. if you’re smart, you’ll stay away.

leader or follower?:  leader. follows his own path. likes disrupting order.

day or night person?:  night.

cat or dog person?:  cat. despite what his childhood mistakes might lead you to believe.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?:  open. come get him.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to facebook and instagram. no twitter, no vine. has a snapchat, rarely uses it. yes to tinder.

if so; name on facebook: miles vernon.

instagram user: milesvernon.

snapchat user: milesvernon.

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: paint it, black –– the rolling stones. 

makes them sad:  anything by the beatles. makes him think of his aunt’s apartment. and then he gets angry.

makes them dance:   nope. he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing in front of the likes of you. when he’s drunk, anything with a decent beat will make him sway his hips a little.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?:  hell yeah. a couple.

are they a virgin?:  ha. no.

describe their signature:  chaos. barely legible.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  he’d bite a zombie’s fuckin’ head off, if that answers your question.

do they travel?: nah.

one place they would like to live:  anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit:  anywhere but here.

celebrity crush:  camila mendes. tell anybody and he’ll hunt you down.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: cigs. lighter. some form of tic tac. 

place(s) your character can always be found:  in the shadows. on rooftops. places he shouldn’t be.

when does your character like to wake up?:  7:03am. he doesn’t like rounded numbers.

how does your character spend their free days?:  reading. burning some stuff. driving out to other towns to do reckless shit.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  read some poems. have a cigarette. knock out.

what does your character wear to bed?:  boxers, no shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?:  ty’s brains. that knife. juvie. getting back. making them pay.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?:  revenge.

on what occasions do they lie?:  on what occasions don’t they lie ?

most marked characteristic: his ghost-gray eyes. his smirk. his hair.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  only one?

how would they like to die?:  in a blaze of fucking glory.

do they snore? no.

can they curl their tongue?: yes.

can they whistle?:  yep. he likes doing that yoo-hoo kind of whistle. makes people uncomfortable.

do they believe in the supernatural?:  nope. bullshit.

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  no.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. on purpose.

are they squeamish?:  not at all.  

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?:  see above: ty. that security guard. he’s sure they won’t be the last.

are they a lightweight?:  not at all.

[glittermork]

Modern Royalty AU pt. 3

part 1 part 2

Summary: Jaemin’s mom is suing the king.

(Alternatively: Renjun and Jeno finally have that talk they’ve been meaning to get to for the last three months, and Jaemin is alive.)

Jaemin hasn’t woken up in a hospital since he was seven and his father bashed an empty soju bottle over his skull. Back then, the scar had been cool and the schoolwork he’d missed was easily made up. His mother had been by his side crying when he’d woken up. His father had given him ten bucks and the new Spider-Man comic for lying to the nurse about how he’d gotten hurt.

Roughly sixteen years later, he wakes up to the sound of someone sobbing.

“Hnnngnhghn,” he says, and the sobbing stops with a choked gasp.

Jaemin peels one eye open and regrets it immediately. Sitting on Jaehyun’s lap on the left side of his bed is Taeyong. (Fuck. Jaemin doesn’t know how to deal with people when they cry! This isn’t part of his job!)

“Oh shit, he’s awake,” he hears Jaehyun mumble, and he just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, (mostly because he suspects that it would really fucking hurt), as he struggles to sit up. Unfortunately, this is also the exact moment his body decides to let him know that there is a bullet hole in his fucking torso, and maybe he should take that into consideration when he tries to make any sudden movements.

Collapsing on the bed in an uncoordinated flop, Jaehyun smirks at him and Taeyong frowns. “Lay back down, you dummy,” Taeyong sniffles, collecting himself from his boyfriend’s lap. Jaemin would spare a thought to wonder why he’s not worried about being caught, if it didn’t feel like his entire body was on fire. He should probably stop jumping in front of bullets.

“Na Jaemin,” Taeyong begins his lecture, and Jaemin groans. “Do you have ANY IDEA how fucking worried we were about you? You almost died on the operating table! TWICE! I thought we were really going to lose you the second time! What the fuck!”

“I almost died again? Jesus,” Jaemin mutters.

Taeyong splutters. “The fuck do you mean—AGAIN?!”

“You know I had a job before this, right?”

“Well, yeah, of course, but—you know what? No. Shut up. I was worried! And I thought your mom was going to actually strangle my dad and—“

“Hold up, my mother is here?”

Taeyong stares back at him blankly. “You got shot, Jaemin. Of course she came.”

“Your mom is, like, really fucking mad at you, by the way,” Jaehyun says. Jaemin assumes he’s just here for Taeyong’s emotional support.

“Shut up, Jae,” Taeyong groans, drying his tears on his boyfriend’s sweater. “I’m gonna go get a nurse. Play nice or I’m not putting out for a month.”

“Damn,” Jaehyun mutters under his breath, and sits back down in his chair next to Jaemin’s bed. “Seriously, though, kid, the doctor handed your mom your nipple piercings in a plastic bag ‘cuz I guess they had to take them out for surgery or some shit and she fucking, lost her mind.”

“Great! Thanks, Jaehyun! That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, two minutes after waking up from a coma!”

“I didn’t know you had nipple piercings,” he continues, and Jaemin thinks this is maybe the last conversation he’d like to be having right now. He’s tired. and he misses Jeno and Renjun. “Aren’t you, like, five? I didn’t know they let toddlers get nipple piercings?”

“First of all, I’m twenty-three,” Jaemin grumbles, glaring at him. “And I’ve had them since I was eighteen, so fuck you.”

Jaehyun holds his hands up defensively. “Hey, you do you, man, all I’m saying is—“

Jeno and Renjun, of course, decide that it’s the appropriate moment to make an appearance. Seriously, fuck his fucking life. The door flies open, and standing there, in all their slightly-haggard, stayed-at-the-hospital-for-over-24-hours-glory, are the two (2) loves of his life. Jaemin kind of wants to go back to sleep.

“Fucking hell, Nana,” Renjun mumbles, and promptly bursts into tears. Jeno looks mildly alarmed but he’s also holding up his boyfriend with one arm and staring at his other boyfriend (they really need to have that talk) in a hospital bed, so, whatever. Together they sort of half-limp-drag-walk to the unoccupied side of Jaemin’s bed, and now Jaemin has to fight the urge to cry as well. So maybe getting shot is god-awful, but as long as these two are safe, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Please never do that again,” Jeno breathes, and buries his face in Jaemin’s neck. Jaemin wonders if maybe this is some sort of punishment from god or whoever the fuck is up there, for falling in love with the prince and the prince’s boyfriend. There’s no other explanation for why they’re both climbing into his bed, and crying on his shoulders and holding his fucking hands.

“Um. What is happening here?” Jaemin asks Jaehyun, who is currently taking pictures of them for his blackmail folder.

Jaehyun gives Jaemin the most deadpan look, and sighs. “There’s no hope for you.”

He’s about to make a weak retort, when Taeyong, followed by a line of medical professionals, the king, and his mother, burst into the room.

Jaemin sighs. It’s going to be a long morning.

—

“What I don’t understand,” his mother is saying, but Jaemin hasn’t been listening since she started ranting about the Pride photos again. “Is why you didn’t think to tell me that boys you were in love with were the prince that you’re supposed to be guarding and his boyfriend?”

Jaemin shrugs half-heartedly, and licks another spoonful of pudding. They’ve gone over this four times already. He wants to take a nap. He misses his. . . .charges. (Are Jeno and renjun considered his charges? Is that the right word for it? Does he need to maybe cool it with the pain meds? Yeah, probably.)

“Could you keep your voice down?” He winces, and glances out the door. It would honestly be the cherry-on-top of the bullshit-sundae, if he got fired for being in love with Jeno and Renjun after he quite literally just took a bullet for them. Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“Oh, shut up,” his mom rolls her eyes, brushing a lock of Jaemin’s hair out of his eyes, and kissing his forehead. “You know they love you back, right, baby?”

“Mom, I—“

“No, you listen to me, Na Jaemin.“ Shit, she full-named him. “Those two boys have been here since the moment you were admitted. They’ve been crying over you all night and all morning and if you think that doesn’t mean they love you too, you’ve got another thing coming, honey.”

“Mom,” he sighs, and closes his eyes. The Academy didn’t train him for this. “They love each other. I’m sure they were just worried about me because we’re friends. Or they felt guilty that I took a bullet for them. Which they shouldn’t, it’s my fucking job. I’m probably just—reading too far into things. They’ve been in love since they were, like, infants, you know? I can’t mess that up. And I don’t want to.”

His mom gives him an unreadable look, and huffs, shaking her head. “you always were too stubborn for your own good, baby,” she says, and pats his thigh.

“Mom,” he sighs, and hides his face in the sweatshirt Jeno had given him because ‘I know you get cold easily’, (Jaemin had practically swooned right on the spot). He’d looked nervously to Renjun after that comment, but the older boy was just smiling affectionately at both of them, hand easily continuing to stroke the hair at the nape of Jaemin’s neck, his other resting clasped with Jeno’s over Jaemin’s lap. The entire morning had felt unreal.

“Jaemin,” his mom sighs back in the same tone of voice, and gives his sweatshirt a pointed look.

So maybe they do have some things to work out. But he just can’t get his hopes up. He’s doesn’t know what he’ll do if they get crushed.

“Don’t give me that look,” he blushes, tugging the hood over his greasy hair, and grimacing. “When’s the soonest I can take a shower?”

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck replies, poking his head into the room to announce his arrival. “You should’ve thought of that before you jumped in front of a bullet, idiot.”

“Hyuck!” Jaemin grins, making grabby hands at the giant plushie Hyuck is balancing with a bouquet of sunflowers and what looks like the entire boxed set of Buffy DVDs Jaemin keeps in the back of his closet.

“What’s up, Nana,” he grins, handing his mother the flowers and setting the DVDs on his bedside table. “How’s my favorite little bodyguard doing?”

“Shut up, Hyuck,” Jaemin rolls his eyes, hugging the soft bumblebee plushie to his chest. “I'm guessing the flowers are from your other thirds?”

“Yeah, Mark said sorry he couldn’t be here, poor baby’s been arguing with the charity ball security team all morning. The plushie is from Jisung, though.”

“Yikes,” Jaemin winces, “tell him I’m sorry I can’t be there to help him. And I know it’s from Jisung, I got his for him for his birthday last year.”

Hyuck shrugs. “I forgot about your weird symbiotic relationship. Anyway, clean up is Mark’s best skill, Nana. Besides, you should tell him yourself—he hasn’t stopped anxiety-ing over you all morning.”

“Tell him the flowers are lovely, too!” His mother interjects, gathering her purse and jacket and kissing him on the forehead. “I’m gonna go get lunch and find that dumbass king of yours—“ “Mom! Promise me you won’t—“ “I’m not promising anything!” She finishes, calling over her shoulder as she swings out the door. Jaemin would be assed to stop her if he didn’t already know what a losing fight looked like.

Hyuck rolls his eyes, and peels open Jaemin’s other pudding. Jaemin just barely suppresses the urge to pout.

“What kind of shit are they feeding you in here, anyway?” He asks, licking the lid, and Jaemin slumps back onto his pillows.

“Mush.”

“Gross. Okay! I’m done with small talk, time for the real reason why I’m here: you took a fucking bullet for them.”

“Hyuuuuck,” he whines, smashing his face back into the bumblebee plushie to avoid Hyuck’s knowing gaze. “Can’t you just be a normal visiting friend and tell me I was brave or some shit?”

“Fine. You were brave! And incredibly fucking stupid! Now, please tell me how you call that ‘a little crush that I’ll get over eventually’?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Jaemin mumbles into the pillow, “it’s kind of my fucking job.”

Hyuck sighs dramatically, and plops down on the newly-vacated chair. “Hopeless,” he mutters, and shoves another spoonful of low-fat pudding in his mouth.

—

The nurses had cut him off after two seasons of Buffy, so Jaemin and Hyuck had elected to play quiet music and talk about food. A subject neither of them could ever grow tired of.

Hyuck’s not really sure how that turned into this.

There are tears streaming down Jaemin’s face. It’s only two in the afternoon. The Weekend by SZA is playing for the sixth time in a row. Hyuck is five seconds away from murdering him in cold blood. His bullet wound kind of throbs but maybe it’s just his heart breaking into a million pieces.

“You’re not a side hoe,” Hyuck groans, snatching Jaemin’s phone and turning it off.

“Fuck you,” he sniffles, leaning back on the crinkly hospital pillows, “I’m a home wrecker. And I’m ugly.”

“You’re so incorrect about both of those things that I’m not gonna even respond to that! Okay, I think that’s enough phone-time. How about we just talk, okay? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Jaemin sniffs. “Maybe,” he admits, sinking slowly into his pillow pile until the only visible part of him is his hair sticking out like an unruly tree branch.

Hyuck snorts. “Do you want to go to take a nap, baby?”

“Shut up.” Jaemin replies, and promptly passes out.

“Absolutely fucked,” Hyuck sighs to himself as he tucks the younger boy in.

—

Renjun has never been certain of anything as much as he and Jeno.

JenoJenoJeno. He could talk about him for days on end. He could wax-poetic about his eyesmile and his teeth and his hands for the rest of his life. Really, he plans to. Jeno, Jeno, Jeno. The boy he’s loved for as long as he can remember.  

And while Jeno is lovely and beautiful and Renjun’s very best friend in the entire world, he has a tendency to hang off Renjun’s every word. And while that’s, admittedly, fantastic, it’s not always what Renjun needs. Sometimes he needs someone to push back. Someone who can meet him blow for blow. Someone who’s not afraid to talk back.

In other words, Renjun needs Jaemin.

JaeminJaeminJaemin. His ears, his nose, his cheeks. Renjun could think about him for hours—days—weeks, on end. He feels like the wind is knocked out of him every time the bodyguard makes eye contact with him with that gorgeous smile. That smile. Renjun has dreams about it.

And, if his suspicions are correct, (fucking hell, please let them be) Jeno needs him too.

“So,” says Jeno after fifteen minutes of him and Renjun staring at each other across the unforgiving plastic benches of the hospital cafeteria.

“I think I’m in love with your bodyguard,” Renjun blurts out, and then immediately freezes.

“Oh, good,” Jeno sighs in relief. “Me too.”

—

“You can’t sue him,” Taeyong sighs for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Of course I can’t sue him,” Jaemin’s mom rolls her eyes. “He’s the fucking king. I’d lose in a heartbeat.”

“Then what, exactly,” Taeyong pinches the bridge of his nose, “was the point of you wasting my entire day?”

She shrugs, and takes a neat sip of the Diet Coke the prince had bought her after the first twenty or so minutes of arguing. “Just buying my idiot son some time to figure his shit out.”

—

Jaemin wakes up to the two people he’s most recently almost died for. It’s a pleasant surprise, considering he thought he’d be fired by now. Shit. Maybe they wanna do it in person?

“—min? You’re not listening to us at all are you?” Renjun chuckles, and Jaemin feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. So much for not being obvious. These meds are seriously fucking him up, huh?

“Jaem,” Jeno continues for Renjun, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand. Despite his better reasoning, Jaemin let’s his gaze rest painfully, just a second too long, on their clasped hands, and sits back against his pillows with a wince. Apparently, it’s time to be friend-zoned by the first people he’s been interested in since he was 20. What a sad end to a short career as a professional Kevlar vest.

“Jun, and I have finally had a talk, and—“We love you!” Renjun blurts out, and then promptly buries his head in Jeno’s shoulder as the prince chokes out a laugh in surprise. “Yeah,” he nods hopefully, staring expectantly at Jaemin as he scratches the back of his neck. “We love you. And we want you to be ours. That about covers it.”

Jaemin is absolutely floored. There are very few people in the world who Jaemin considers worthy of his complete love and protection, and two of them are standing here in his room looking at him like he’s the last piece to their 2000 set jigsaw puzzle, and this cannot be real.

He’s distracted from his own frantic, rambling thoughts by Renjun’s delicate, light fingertips brushing away a tear. That’s an interesting development, he hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

Through a few disgusting, choked out sobs, he manages to warble in his stupid, watery voice, “I love you too.” And then lips—he doesn’t know, and, frankly, doesn’t care who’s—are on his like a lifeline, and there’s nothing he feels like thinking about more right now, than how good it feels to finally, finally be complete.

In Renjun and Jeno’s strong, warm, arms, it feels like home.

—

There’s something to be said about the persistence of the paparazzi. Somehow, someway, they always know where to be to make the most absolute inconvenience of themselves and to make their subjects’ lives just that much less private. Truly, a marvel of a job.

There is also, however, something to be said about the sheer terror of going head to head with Jaemin’s mom.

“LISTEN UP, YOU FUCKING CREEPS,” she yells, and Jaemin doesn’t bother listening to the rest. “That was a pretty good start, I think,” Renjun comments, happily playing with the strings of Jaemin’s hoodie. He’s sitting on Jaemin’s lap and they’re both snuggled under the hideous blanket some nurse had draped over them when they’d gotten situated on the wheelchair. It still feels unreal to Jaemin, just as unreal as the sweet kiss Jeno drops on both of their foreheads as he skirts around them to deal with even more paperwork. Who knew even the prince’s bodyguard had to sign release forms?

“I can’t wait to get home,” Jaemin murmurs shyly into the base of Renjun’s neck, receiving a mouthful of soft, baby-pink turtleneck for his efforts.

“Me too, baby,” Renjun sighs, leaning further into his boyfriend’s embrace.

*click*

Their moment is interrupted by the snap of Jeno’s phone camera, as the prince shrugs at them sheepishly. “What?” He laughs, turning back to his paperwork. “It was perfect lock screen material, don’t judge me!”

Jaemin blushes, thinking back to his own lock screen, a picture of Jeno and Renjun he’d taken on one of their many forbidden, late-night, this-never-happened adventures. Renjun is on Jeno’s back, kissing Jeno’s cheek and holding up a peace sign, and Jeno is practically beaming at the camera, eye smile in full power. It’s Jaemin’s favorite picture of them ever, and he’s certainly spent an embarrassing number of nights staring at it desperately. Oh, if only he knew what was coming for him.

When he shows Renjun, the older boy gasps, immediately shoving it in Jeno’s face. “Oh, baby, this is one of my favorite pictures of us too! But, if I’m being honest, it’s missing something.”

“Hey!” Jaemin pouts playfully, trying not to grin. “It was the best I could do with my shitty old phone! I promise I’ll take many, many more.

“He didn’t mean the photo, Jaem,” Jeno laughs, leaning over to wrap Jaemin’s slightly-shaking hand in his warm, steady one. “He meant you.”

“Oh.” Jaemin, gasps, tears welling up in his eyes. How did he possibly get so lucky?

“Awwww, baby,” Renjun grins brightly at him. “We’re just gonna have to take a million more,” he shrugs.

Jeno nods solemnly in agreement, as he takes the safety brakes off of the wheelchair. Renjun slides off his lap reluctantly, taking Jaemin’s hand and tucking his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Jeno grins, flicking his favorite pair of baby blue heart-shaped sunglasses down from their perch on the top of his head. Jaemin makes a mental note to buy him more colors when Renjun playfully whines that he wants to borrow them.

“Let’s go, you fucking dorks,” Jaemin laughs, tugging on Renjun’s hand and leaning his head back gently against one of Jeno’s arms. Renjun squeezes back and Jeno grins down at him, leaning down to peck Jaemin’s nose, and they’re out the door in mere seconds, to the flashes and screams of paparazzi and reporters alike.

Jaemin instinctively stiffens in his wheelchair, but relaxes immediately as both Jeno and Renjun squeeze his respective hands tightly in comfort.

It’s going to be fine. He has everything he needs, right beside him.

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 8 January – Blessed Eurosia Fabris (1866-1932) “Mamma Rosa”Laywoman, Wife and Mother, Secular Franciscan, Apostle of Charity, Marian devotee, Apostle of Prayer and of the Holy Eucharist – born on 27 September 1866 in Quinto Vicentino, Italy and died on 8 January 1932 at Marola di Torri, Vicenza, Italy of natural causes.

Eurosia Fabris was born in Quinto Vicentino, an agricultural area, some kilometers from Vicenza in Italy, on 27 of September 1866.   Her parents, Luigi and Maria Fabris, were farmers.   In 1870, at the age of four, Eurosia moved with her family to Marola, a village in the municipality of Torri di Quartesolo (Vicenza).   She lived there for the rest of her life.   She attended only the first two years of elementary school between 1872 and 1874 because even at such a young age, she was forced to help her parents with farm work and her mother in particular with the household chores.   It was enough, however, for her to learn to read and write with the help of the Holy Scriptures or religious books such as the Catechism, Church history, the Philothea and the Eternal Maxims of St Alfonso Liguori.

Besides her domestic tasks, she helped her mother in her work as a dressmaker, a practice which Eurosia would also take on later.   Even as a child, she was rich in virtue and spirituality, always very careful in providing for the needs of her family.

She was twelve years old when she made her First Holy Communion.   From then on, she received Holy Eucharist on all religious feasts, since at that time daily communion was not the practice.   It was not until 1905 that daily communion was permitted by a Decree of Pope St Pius X.

Eurosia joined the Association of the Daughters of Mary in the parish church of Marola, and was faithful in participating in their devotions.   She diligently observed the practices of the group which helped increase in her a love for Mary.   In Marola, she lived within sight of the shrine of the Madonna of Monte Berico.

Her favourite devotions were to the Holy Spirit, the infant Jesus, the Cross of Christ, the Eucharist, the Virgin Mary and the souls in the Purgatory.   She was an apostle of good will in her family, among her friends and in her parish, where she taught catechism to the children and sewing to the girls who came to her home.

At the age of eighteen, Eurosia was a dedicated, pious and hardworking young lady. These virtues, along with her pleasant personality, did not go unobserved and several young men proposed marriage to her, though she did not feel called to accept.

In 1885, Rosina, as she was called by her family, was affected by a tragic event.   A young married woman near her home died leaving three very young daughters.   The first of them died shortly after her mother.   The other two girls, Chiara Angela and Italia were only 20 months old and 2 months old, respectively.   The father of these girls was away, living with his uncle and a grandfather who suffered from a chronic disease.   They were three very different men, always quarrelling among themselves.

For six months, every morning, Rosina would go to care for the children and take care of their home.   Later, following the advice of her relatives and that of the parish priest and after praying about this turn of events, she decided to marry.   Rosina was joined in marriage to a man named Carlo Barban, well aware of the sacrifices that married life would hold for her in the future.   She accepted this fact as the will of God who she now felt was calling her through these two babies to embrace a new mission.   The parish priest would often comment:  “This was a true act of heroic charity towards others.”

The marriage was celebrated on the fifth of May 1886 and, in addition to the two orphaned babies, was blessed with nine other children.   Her home was always opened to other children as well.   Among them were Mansueto Mazzuco, who became a member of the Order of Friars Minor, taking the name, Brother Giorgio.   To all these children, “Mamma Rosa”, as she was called since her marriage, offered affection and care, sacrificing her own needs to provide for them a solid Christian formation.  Between 1918-1921, three of her sons were ordained priests, two for the Diocesan clergy and one as a Franciscan (Fr Bernardino), who would become her first biographer.

Once married, she embraced her marital obligations, always showing the greatest love and respect for her husband and becoming his confidante and adviser.   She had a tender love for all her children.   She was a hard worker and a person who could be counted on to fulfil her duties.

Mamma Rosa lived an intense life of prayer, which was evident by her great devotion to God love’s, to the Holy Eucharist and to the Blessed Virgin Mary.   Like the strong woman in Sacred Scripture, she became a real treasure to her family.   She knew how to balance the family budget and at the same time exercised great charity towards the poor, sharing her daily bread also with them.   She cared for the sick and gave them continuous assistance, showing heroic strength during the final illness of her husband Carlo, who died in 1930.

Mamma Rosa became a member of the Franciscan Third Order, known today as the Secular Franciscans.   She faithfully attended all their meetings but above all tried to live the true Franciscan spirit of poverty and joy in her home, in the midst of her daily work and prayer.   She had a gentle manner with everyone and praised God as the Creator and source of all good and the giver of all hope.

Mama Rosa’s family home was an ideal Christian community where her children were taught to pray, to obey, to respect the will of God and to practice Christian virtues.   In her vocation as a Christian mother, Mamma Rosa sacrificed and consumed herself day by day like a lamp burning brightly on the altar of charity.   She died on 8 January 1932 and was buried, with the hope of final resurrection, in the church of Marola.

The canonical process of beatification and canonisation was initiated on 3 February 2005 at the Diocesan curia of Padova, after getting passed several difficulties and misunderstandings among the different juridical persons trying to promote the Cause.

Mamma Rosa was a model of holiness in what should be the daily life of a Catholic family.   Her three sons who became priests were encouraged in their vocation by her example of holiness.   She was proclaimed Venerable on the 7th of July, 2003, by St Pope John Paul II who recognised the testimony of her heroic and singular virtues.   It was the wish of Venerable Pope Pius XII that the life of this marvellous woman be known among all Christian families of our day…Vatican.va

Blessed Eurosia was Beatified on 6 November 2005 by Pope Benedict XVI the recognition was celebrated by Cardinal Saraiva Martins at Vincenza, Italy.

(via Saint of the Day - 8 January - Blessed Eurosia Fabris (1866-1932) "Mamma Rosa")

[emilyclementinehayes-md]

 @dr-caelebmcarthur  ⇾   65 Days || Emily & Caeleb

               They had bought a house, granted it had taken them a month to do so, but they had bought a house. While it had been her own suggestion, Emily had been filled with a quiet apprehension upon their first inspection––too many bombarding memories that demanded a great portion of her concentration, of house shopping with Christopher. It had been before everything had turned terribly upside down, and the fact that they’d been happy then and her and Caeleb were currently happy now, well the parallels were undeniably uncomfortable. Still, it had been her suggestion and Emily was above all else, determined that the relationship her and Caeleb were currently tangled up in would be her last and thus her happiest. There was no room for the flashing memories and the quiet voice in the back of her mind reminding her how quickly said happiness can turn on a dime.

        Just because it happened then, it doesn’t mean it has to happen now. That’s what she kept reminding herself.

               The move-in process had happened in glitches, a few boxes here and there and one truck worth of her furniture. Partly because the house in question wasn’t entirely habitable to begin with––they’d found something with charm, a five storey home built in the late 1800′s situated in Bay Village. It wasn’t suburbia, and it wasn’t a white-picket-fence kind of home, but its bones were beautiful and there was enough of a space for a small yard without sacrificing the city. Emily had wisely hired a small team of men to polish the original floorboards and fit the kitchen and bathrooms they’d selected together, but upon Caeleb’s insistence, they were doing the rest. 

                For the most part though, the moving and the renovating had been ground to a halt when complications with her pregnancy arose. There had been issues with Grace too, perhaps a big flashing reminder that Emily Hayes was not supposed to be a mother and although on some level she’d been expecting it, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop, it still terrified her when it did. She’d been carrying a box of crib sheets and comforters that she’d ordered online into the newly painted nursery when the denim hugging her thighs dampened with a deep red. There’d been no pain, which was a ‘good sign’ she’d assured Caeleb as he drove her to the hospital, even though he also held that medical knowledge and the assurance was mostly for her.

              Placenta Praevia had been her diagnosis, minor but worrying enough with her age taken into consideration that she was hospitalised and monitored for the following three days.

               Caeleb had requested she begin her maternity leave there and then, but the honey blonde denied his request with the simple fact that she’d go mad being at home for the next ten weeks. Not to mention that she simply couldn’t, because she had an eighteen year old patient flying in from New York whose surgery had been scheduled months ago. Emily had first consulted on his case when he’d been eight and had presented with ongoing issues relating to tetralogy of Fallot and the initial surgery he’d had as an infant. He’d been delightful for what she could remember, and had been pleasantly surprised to receive his father’s email requesting her as lead surgeon to replace his pulmonary valve.

                The honey blonde still held a quiet caution when she returned to work though, and while she never allowed herself to drop the proverbial ball, she discreetly cut back her hours and was careful never to be on her feet for hours on end. That morning she’d been woken early to the insistent pattering of feet against her bladder and it had been enough to remind the cardio surgeon just how much she had to lose. Their daughter was real to her now, as real as she could be without holding her in her arms and every one of her thoughts was consumed with the welfare and health of the little girl that was growing steadily in her womb. While Emily had managed to keep a strong facade when she’d wound up in hospital, the real possibility of burying this baby alongside Grace had shaken her to her very core. 

               Night terrors had been endless and persistent and night after night she’d awoken dampened with a cold sweat and a racing heart. Visions of tiny mahogany caskets, disturbed earth and pools of warm metallic blood. That morning had been no different and it was enough to have soft words floating past coral lips as she buttoned a blouse over her rounded stomach. “I think after my scheduled surgery today––on that tetralogy of Fallot boy from New York––that I might cut back my practice until she’s born.” Golden speckled eyes rose from the buttons to the mirror before her, in time to catch Caeleb’s gaze in the reflection. 

              In truth, Emily struggled to picture the young boy she’d treated all those years ago. Ironically she had been pregnant then too, however much smaller than she currently was and her situations vastly different. While her first daughter had been a blessing, the pregnancy had been an unexpected nightmare and her marriage had been less than desirable. It was almost frightening to look that far back and realise how different and yet also how little her life had changed in some ways. Heels clicked against the hospital linoleum as Emily rounded the corner and found the room that currently held her awaiting patient, the one who had unknowingly brought with him a hoard of memories. She’d been on the tale end of answering a question posed to her by one of her shadowing interns that hazel eyes hadn’t brushed over her patients face until she was at the foot of his bed.

      What greeted her was not at all what she’d been expecting.

               He was Caeleb. In the same rounded dark eyes hooded with thick lashes, mop of chocolate curls and nervous smile. The caramel apple of his cheeks rounded the same when his smile widened, and for a moment Emily thought she ought to add ‘hallucinating’ to her growing list of pregnancy symptoms. When she finally gathered the composure to adjust to her surroundings, she caught the voice of the intern to her left reciting his medical history.

             “––Evan McArthur, eighteen years old. Presenting with a failing pulmonary valve as a result of the previous diagnosis made in infancy of tetralogy of Fallot. Admitted and scheduled for a pulmonary valve replacement today.”

               Her entire twenty minutes in his room was spent making mental comparisons between the father of her unborn daughter and the eighteen year old she was about to open up in her OR. She’d told herself not to jump to any rash conclusions, but by the time they’d vacated his room she was already on a mission to find Caeleb––which she managed rather quickly. It had been one quick trip down to the Pediatric floor and she’d found him leaning against the nurses station with a file open before him. “Cae,” she managed to get out as she pulled to a stop in front of him. “I don’t know if it slipped your mind or if you just don’t know but I––I think you have an eighteen year old twin and I’m due to prep him for surgery in two hours.” It came out more fluent than she’d expected which in hindsight she was grateful for––it helped her not sound half as mad as she felt. 

             “...He has your last name and your eyes, and your face. Jesus Cae, he even does that odd little twitch thing with his lips when he smiles but isn’t really sure if he’s happy or uncomfortable.”

[pamphletstoinspire]

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha - Virgin (1656-1680) - Obligatory Memorial USA: July 14 (Ordinary Time) - Canonized - October 21, 2012

Known As: The Lily of the Mohawks

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha (1656-1680), also known as Saint Catherine Tekakwitha, is honored by the Catholic Church as the patroness of ecology, nature, and the environment.

Tekakwitha’s baptismal name is Catherine, which in the Iroquois languages is Kateri. Tekakwitha’s Iroquois name can be translated as, "One who places things in order." or "To put all into place." Other translations include, "she pushes with her hands" and "who walks groping for her way" (because of her faulty eyesight).

Tekakwitha was born at Ossernenon, which today is near Auriesville, New York, USA. Tekakwitha’s father was a Mohawk chief and her mother was a Catholic Algonquin.

At the age of four, smallpox attacked Tekakwitha’s village, taking the lives of her parents and baby brother, and leaving Tekakwitha an orphan. Although forever weakened, scarred, and partially blind, Tekakwitha survived. The brightness of the sun blinded her and she would feel her way around as she walked.

Tekakwitha was adopted by her two aunts and her uncle, also a Mohawk chief. After the smallpox outbreak subsided, Tekakwitha and her people abandoned their village and built a new settlement, called Caughnawaga, some five miles away on the north bank of the Mohawk River, which today is in Fonda, New York.

In many ways, Tekakwitha’s life was the same as all young Native American girls. It entailed days filled with chores, spending happy times with other girls, communing with nature, and planning for her future.

Tekakwitha grew into a young woman with a sweet, shy personality. She helped her aunts work in the fields where they tended to the corn, beans, and squash, and took care of the traditional longhouse in which they lived. She went to the neighboring forest to pick the roots needed to prepare medicines and dye. She collected firewood in the forest and water from a stream. Despite her poor vision, she also became very skilled at bead work.

Although Tekakwitha was not baptized as an infant, she had fond memories of her good and prayerful mother and of the stories of Catholic faith that her mother shared with her in childhood. These remained indelibly impressed upon her mind and heart and were to give shape and direction to her life’s destiny. She often went to the woods alone to speak to God and listen to Him in her heart and in the voice of nature.

When Tekakwitha was eighteen, Father de Lamberville, a Jesuit missionary, came to Caughnawaga and established a chapel. Her uncle disliked the "Blackrobe" and his strange new religion, but tolerated the missionary’s presence. Kateri vaguely remembered her mother’s whispered prayers, and was fascinated by the new stories she heard about Jesus Christ. She wanted to learn more about Him and to become a Christian.

Father de Lamberville persuaded her uncle to allow Tekakwitha to attend religious instructions. The following Easter, twenty-year old Tekakwitha was baptized. Radiant with joy, she was given the name of Kateri, which is Mohawk for Catherine.

Kateri’s family did not accept her choice to embrace Christ. After her baptism, Kateri became the village outcast. Her family refused her food on Sundays because she wouldn’t work. Children would taunt her and throw stones. She was threatened with torture or death if she did not renounce her religion.

Because of increasing hostility from her people and because she wanted to devote her life to working for God, in July of 1677, Kateri left her village and fled more than 200 miles through woods, rivers, and swamps to the Catholic mission of St. Francis Xavier at Sault Saint-Louis, near Montreal. Kateri’s journey through the wilderness took more than two months. Because of her determination in proving herself worthy of God and her undying faith she was allowed to receive her First Holy Communion on Christmas Day, 1677.

Although not formally educated and unable to read and write, Kateri led a life of prayer and penitential practices. She taught the young and helped those in the village who were poor or sick. Kateri spoke words of kindness to everyone she encountered. Her favorite devotion was to fashion crosses out of sticks and place them throughout the woods. These crosses served as stations that reminded her to spend a moment in prayer.

Kateri’s motto became, "Who can tell me what is most pleasing to God that I may do it?" She spent much of her time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, a kneeling in the cold chapel for hours. When the winter hunting season took Kateri and many of the villagers away from the village, she made her own little chapel in the woods by carving a Cross on a tree and spent time in prayer there, kneeling in the snow. Kateri loved the Rosary and carried it around her neck always.

Often people would ask, "Kateri, tell us a story." Kateri remembered everything she was told about the life of Jesus and his followers. People would listen for a long time. They enjoyed being with her because they felt the presence of God. One time a priest asked the people why they gathered around Kateri in church. They told him that they felt close to God when Kateri prayed. They said that her face changed when she was praying. It became full of beauty and peace, as if she were looking at God’s face.

On March 25, 1679, Kateri made a vow of perpetual virginity, meaning that she would remain unmarried and totally devoted to Christ for the rest of her life. Kateri hoped to start a convent for Native American sisters in Sault St. Louis but her spiritual director, Father Pierre Cholonec discouraged her. Kateri’s health, never good, was deteriorating rapidly due in part to the penances she inflicted on herself. Father Cholonec encouraged Kateri to take better care of herself but she laughed and continued with her "acts of love."

The poor health which plagued her throughout her life led to her death in 1680 at the age of 24. Her last words were, "Jesus, I love You." Like the flower she was named for, the lily, her life was short and beautiful. Moments after dying, her scarred and disfigured face miraculously cleared and was made beautiful by God. This miracle was witnessed by two Jesuits and all the others able to fit into the room.

Kateri is known as the "Lily of the Mohawks." The Catholic Church declared Kateri venerable in 1943. She was beatified in 1980 by Pope John Paul II. Kateri was the first Native American to be declared Blessed. Her feast is celebrated on July 14th in the United States. Pope John Paul II designated Blessed Kateri as a patroness for World Youth Day 2002. Pope Benedict XVI canonized Kateri a Saint on October 21, 2012.

Saint Kateri’s tomb is found at St. Francis Xavier Mission in the Mohawk Nation at Kahnawake, near Montreal, Quebec. Saint Kateri is honored at the National Shrine of Saint Kateri Tekakwitha in Fonda, New York and the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs in Auriesville, New York.

Prayer to Saint Kateri Tekakwitha

Saint Kateri, Star of Native People and Bright Light for all! We thank God for your heroic courage, constant perseverance and deep love of the Cross. Pray for us that our love for Christ may deepen. And may we imitate you in following god’s Will even when difficulties arise. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

[ofbrutus-blog]

if only u all knew about how pumped i am for this ,, i highkey haven’t been in a group in literal months ?? anyway, i’m claire, i’m 18, i’m from australia ( hello gmt +11 ,, hello hell ) & sloane is ... lsiten i love this child ?? a lot ?? & i’m SO EXCITED to be able 2 play him again bc honestly i care abt this fuckin mess so much & i’m lit already in love w everyone else’s muses & i’m just so ..., fuckenin excited ?? anyway ! i’ve got all his details under the cut ,, it got rly long i am so sorry

‹ × landon liboiron ×  › yo, meet sloane vonnegut, aka brutus, a twenty-seven year old lion mess from texas. he’s been living in hennessy for two months now and was convicted of, believe it or not, corruption. a bisexual scorpio, this bartender is pragmatic & equitable, as well as jaundiced & tempestuous.

B A C K G R O U N D.

born in the heart of texas, sloane was raised to be a perfect southern gentleman from the start. whilst his parents were insistent on teaching him right and wrong, they never inflicted any kind of physical, mental, verbal or emotional harm upon their son if he strayed down the wrong path from time to time. as a result, sloane grew to absolutely adore his parents and to this day, he keeps a photo of them in his wallet to remind him to stay grounded. they ultimately taught him the true value of family, and he can never thank them enough for that.

growing up, sloane’s interest in the police force and, ultimately, the fbi, was absolutely undeniable. ( he had the miranda rights memorised before the time he was ten. ) evidently a passion of his, annabelle and joseph vonnegut encouraged sloane to run for it. he starts his police training at fifteen, and by the time he’s eighteen, he’s recruited into the force. ( to this day, he still says it was the happiest day of his life. )

sloane’s a fucking good police officer. wonderfully charming, yet cunning and sly, crime rates plummet under officer vonnegut’s rule. armed with nothing but a sunny smile and a fast-track mind, he’s ( taylor swift vc ) a nightmare dressed like a daydream. he’s every criminal’s worst nightmare, because he’ll send you off with a smile and a lovely little threat.

he’d planned to accelerate through and move to virginia to try and get a training spot with the fbi ; his plans are ruined when, at twenty-four, his girlfriend announces that she’s pregnant with his child. a year later, as he’s cradling his newborn son, he gets a call from his father that his mother has been diagnosed with stage iii breast cancer. that basically puts everything on a halt, bc little mr. family man can’t just let his mother die while he’s off in virginia. 

tbh, he worked his ass off to provide for his then-fiancée, hayley, and their infant son, connor. he was also working to earn enough for his mother’s chemotherapy, and to pay off their mortgage, so ngl he’s working to do a shit ton !!

the pressure gets to him when a killer offers a bribe to look the other way. he knows it’s the wrong thing to do, but he accepts, and he still hasn’t lived it down. sloane fucking hates himself for accepting that bribe, just bc of the consequences.

obviously he gets thrown in hennessy, but hayley breaks off their engagement and tells him it’s best if he doesn’t see connor again which is .. the fuckin final blow bc u know that sloane cares about that baby more than he cares about anything else and the entire concept of not being able to see him fucks him up BEYOND BELIEF

P E R S O N A L I T Y.

once upon a time, sloane was the picture of southern hospitality. sunny smile plastered across his face, he’d lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it. ( bc he’s a good guy that way. )

the police force never really changed that sunny disposition, tbh - he just got a little more suspicious of people, and stopped believing that everyone was good at heart. he realised the nature of humanity to do harm and it fucked him up a lil ngl

at hennessy, he’s got a bit of a reputation as an alcoholic hardass. he’s never quite forgiven himself for taking a bribe and letting a killer walk free, and it’s taken a toll on him. he drinks to deal with the guilt, and as such, he’s a horribly bitter man. 

catch him on a good day, and you might get to see a glimpse of a past self - he might throw you a generous smile, make a genuinely funny joke, he might even treat you to that southern hospitality that still lingers somewhere within him. catch him on a bad day, though, and you’ll swear that it’s the devil standing in front of you. he’ll get bitter, and angry, and he might start going off for no apparent reason, and he’ll look gorgeous while he’s doing it but you just know that you shouldn’t go anywhere near him bc jesus fuckin christ that’s an angry man.

A P P E A R A N C E.

standing at a solid six foot, he uses his height as an intimidation tactic sometimes. he’s not even that tall compared to some, but he gotta do what he gotta do tbh.

his hair curls right down, past his jawline now. he’s too lazy to cut it again, so he’s full-on growing it out.

his beard is disgusting and he needs to shave it and everybody should tell him this

his tattoos are ,, actually so pretty ?? i haven’t decided on what they are yet, but they’ll get their own tag and they spiral down both arms, across his back, down his hips and he has a few on his thighs bc why the fuck not. he loves tattoos so much ??

he has ,, really pretty eyes ?? like they’re this piercing green and they can be so warm n inviting but also they can get cold and harsh and bitter so QUICKLY and it’s kinda hot

he’s real pretty and everyone hates it

W A N T E D  P L O T S.

honestly give me cute shit bc i’m a baby and i want sloane to like ,, not be sad

confidant: gimme someone who sloane just ,, talks to ?? is actually a decent human being to ?? is actually soft n nice and gentle ??

friends with benefits: drowning their sorrows in sex ?? drowning anything in sex ?? absolutely

sparring partners: whether it be verbal or physical, these two work their aggression out on each other and whilst they don’t openly hate each other, they look like they could tear each other’s heads off whilst they’re going at it.

honestly i have a ton more but just like ,, fuck idk

[carriefisherscokenail]

1-102 >:)

there’s so much raw energy in that face i feel like im being physically forced to do this

1. Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it?it was my mom so i hope so 

2. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now?im eighteen so yes sir

3. When’s the last time you were aggravated and happy at the same time?every waking moment of my life

4. Would you ever smile at a stranger?i smile at every single person i make eye contact with

5. Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are?im pretty sure 

6. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today?i heard deepthroat and i thought of santa claus

7. What exactly are you wearing right now?jean jacket and pj pants

8. How often do you listen to music?every day

9. Do you wear jeans or sweats more?jeans for sure

10. Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2013?this question is literally so funny

11. Are you a social or an antisocial person?depends on the day honestly

12. Have you ever kissed someone whose name begins with the letter ‘A’?yes 

13. What about ‘R’?also yes

14. Can you drive a stick shift?i can hardly drive a normal car

15. Do you care if people talk badly about you?i care way too much

16. Are you going out of town soon?i mean im goin to calgs tmrw if that counts

17. When was the last time you cried?saturday night

18. Have you ever told someone you loved them?yes

19. If you could change your eye color, would you?probably not

20. Is there a boy who you would do absolutely everything for?yes i love my friends

21. Name something you dislike about the day you’re having.its christmas i love christmas

22. Is it cute when guys kiss you on your forehead?im a lesbian

23. Are you dating the last person you talked to?noooo

24. What are you sitting on right now?my bed 

25. Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you?my friends who i also love

26. Have you ever wanted someone you couldn’t have?december has done a number on me 

27. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night?colby 

28. Do you get a lot of colds?ive been sick for the past 30 years

29. Where is the shirt you are wearing from?probably target

30. Does anyone hate you?you betcha

31. Do you have any empty alcohol bottles hidden somewhere in your room?when isn’t there

32. Do you like watching scary movies?love em

33. Do you want your tongue pierced?never ever

34. If you had to delete one year of your life completely, which would it be?2016 for sure

35. Did you have a dream last night?yes and it was super fucked up 

36. When was the last time you told someone you loved them?today

37. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years?i have no idea

38. Do you think someone has feelings for you?well i THOUGHT SO but people love to play w my emotions 

39. Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?i don’t know

40. Did you have a good day yesterday?yeah it was pretty good

41. Think back 2 months ago; were you in a relationship?i think so?? 

42. In the next 48 hours, will you hang out with a girl?yes literally in 8 hours 

43. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you?yes i think

44. What’s the best part about school?playing fun games like let’s see how long i can hide in my car and smoke before administration catches me and testing to see if they will REALLY not let me walk the stage for missing too many classes

45. Do you have any pictures on your Facebook?yes 

46. Do you ever pass notes to your friends in school?it’s not 1986 we have phones now

47. Do you replay things that have happened in your head?all the damm time

48. Were you single over the last summer?nope

49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago?not even a lil 

50. What are you supposed to be doing right now?sleeping

51. Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?no i lov him

52. Are you nice to everyone?i try to be

53. Have you ever liked someone you didn’t expect to?i never expect to like anybody 

54. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months and not cheat?uh people who can’t have problems 

55. Are you good at hiding your feelings?it depends on what im hiding

56. Do you think you like someone?sure do!!!

57. Have you kissed someone whose name starts with a ‘J’?i don’t think so 

58. Do you prefer to be friends with girls or boys?girls usually

59. Has anyone of your friends ever seen you cry?every single one of them.

60. Do you hate anyone?yes god yes

61. How’s your heart?ready to be harvested and sold

62. Is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?yell heah

63. Have you ever cried over a guy?no

64. Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?everyone

65. Are your toenails painted pink?no

66. Will your next kiss be a mistake?well every single other person ive kissed in the past month has DONE ME DIRTY so probably

67. Girls love it when boyfriends cry; correct?i hope not dear god

68. Have your pants ever fallen down in public?no i own belts

69. Who was the last person you were on the phone with?colby

70. How do you look right now?like a rat

71. Do you have someone you can be your complete self around?im a libra

72. Can you commit to one person?yeah

73. Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?yeah

74. Have you ever felt replaced?once again yeah

75. Did you wake up cranky?im always in a bad mood

76. Are you a jealous person?eh it depends

77. Are relationships ever worth it?of course jesus christ who the hell wrote these tell them to break up with their damn boyfriend

78. Anyone you’re giving up on?santa 

79. Currently wanting to see anyone?see above

80. Name something you have to do tomorrow?

going boxing day shopping

81. Last person you cried in front of?colby AGAIN 

82. Is there someone you will never forget?a billion people

83. Do you think the person you have feelings for is protective of you?i don’t think she gives a shit abt me

84. If the person you wish to be with were with you, what would you be doing right now?praying and reading scripture

85. Are you over your past?never babey

86. Have you ever liked one of your best friends of the opposite sex?im a lesbian

87. Is there anyone you can tell EVERYTHING to?yes maam

88. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept?we ended on good terms buddy boy

89. So, the last person you kissed just happens to arrive at your door at 3AM; do you let them in?probably??

90. Have you ever liked someone who your friends hated?god u have no idea

91. Will you be in a relationship in 2 months?god willing

92. Is there anyone you know with the name Michael?yeh

93. Have you ever kissed a Matthew?no

94. Were you in a relationship in January? How was it going?i wasn’t 

95. Were you happy with the person you liked in March?i was

96. Don’t tell me lies, is the last person you texted attractive?i mean she’s pretty but ive known her since i was an infant so

97. Who do you have texts from?rogers telling me ive gone over my data limit

98. If the person you like says they like someone else, what would you say?i’d brush it off babey thats what i do

99. Have you ever kissed someone older than you?yes

100. Who’s in your profile picture with you?a can of pepsi

101. Ever kissed under fireworks?nope

102. Has anybody ever given you butterflies?all the time

[apostleshop]

Saint of the Day for Saturday, October 7th, 2017 - Saints & Angels

Great News has been shared on https://apostleshop.com/saint-of-the-day-for-saturday-october-7th-2017-saints-angels/

Saint of the Day for Saturday, October 7th, 2017 - Saints & Angels

St. Artaldus

Artaldus (also called Arthaud) was born in the castle of Sothonod in Savoy. At the age of eighteen, he went to the court of Duke Amadeus III, but a year or two after, he became a Carthusian at … continue reading

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Tomorrow’s Saint

St. Pelagia

Pelagia, more often called Margaret, on account of the magnificence of the pearls for which she had so often sold herself, was an actress of Antioch, equally celebrated for her beauty, her wealth and … continue reading

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42.

St. Rita

Saint Rita was born Margherita Lotti in Roccaporena, Italy in 1381. The day after her baptism, Rita was surrounded by a swarm of white bees, which went in and out of her infant mouth … continue reading | shop

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St. Gerard Majella

St. Gerard Majella is the patron of expectant mothers. He was born in 1726 in Muro, Italy to a family of seven. Majella grew up in a poverty with a great respect for the poor. As he was … continue reading | shop

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St. Mary Magdalene

St. Mary Magdalene is one of the greatest saints of the Bible and a legendary example of God‘s mercy and grace. The precise dates of her birth and death are unknown, but we do know she was … continue reading | shop

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St. Martha

“Jesus loved Martha and Mary and Lazarus.” This unique statement in John’s gospel tells us of the special relationship Jesus had with Martha, her sister, and her brother.

Apparently Jesus was a frequent guest at Martha’s home in Bethany, a small village two miles from … continue reading

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Angels

St. Michael the Archangel

Saint Michael the Archangel isn’t a saint, but rather he is an angel, and the leader of all angels and of the army of God. This is what the title “Archangel” means, that he is above all the others in rank.

St. Michael has four main responsibilities or offices, as we … continue reading

St. Gabriel, the Archangel

St. Gabriel is an angel who serves as a messenger for God to certain people. He is one of the three archangels. Gabriel is mentioned in both the Old and the New Testaments of the Bible. First, in the Old Testament, Gabriel appears to the prophet Daniel to explain his … continue reading

Saints Fun Facts

St. Angela Merici

St. Angela Merici was an Italian religious educator and founder of the Ursulines whose deep prayer life and relationship with the Lord bore the fruit of mystical encounters with God. She was born on March 21, 1474 in Desenzano, a small town on the shore of Lake Garda … continue reading

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[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 15 October – St Teresa of Jesus/of Avila (1515-1582) Virgin, Mystic, Ecstatic, Reformer, Apostle of Prayer, Writer, Doctor of the Church.    Born Teresa Sanchez Cepeda Davila y Ahumada  at Avila, Old Castile, 28 March 1515 –  died at Alba de Tormes, 4 October 1582 of natural causes in the arms of her secretary and close friend Blessed Anne of Saint Bartholomew.  Her relics are preserved at Alba – her heart shows signs of Transverberation (piercing of the heart), and is displayed, too.   Her Body is incorrupt.  Patronages: • sick people; against bodily ills or sickness • against headaches • against the death of parents • lace makers or lace workers • people in need of grace • people in religious orders • people ridiculed for their piety • World Youth Day 2011 • Amos, Canada, diocese of • Avellaneda-Lanús, Argentina, diocese of • Berzano di Tortona, Italy • Pozega, Croatia • Spain.   Attributes –   Habit of the Discalced Carmelites, Book and Quill, arrow-pierced heart.   St Teresa was Beatified on 24 April 1614 by Pope Paul V and Canonised on 12 March 1622, only forty years after her death, by Pope Gregory XV.   Tradition associate Saint Teresa with the Infant Jesus of Prague with claims of former ownership and devotion.   On 27 September 1970 St Teresa, was named a Doctor of the Church by Pope Paul VI.   Her books, which include her autobiography (The Life of Teresa of Jesus) and her seminal work El Castillo Interior (trans.: The Interior Castle), are an integral part of Spanish Renaissance literature as well as Christian mysticism and Christian meditation practices.   She also wrote Camino de Perfección (trans.: The Way of Perfection).

The third child of Don Alonso Sanchez de Cepeda by his second wife, Doña Beatriz Davila y Ahumada, who died when the Teresa was in her fourteenth year, Teresa was brought up by her saintly father, a lover of serious books and a tender and pious mother.   After her death and the marriage of her eldest sister, Teresa was sent for her to the Augustinian nuns at Avila but owing to illness she left at the end of eighteen months and for some years remained with her father and occasionally with other relatives, notably an uncle who made her acquainted with the Letters of St Jerome, which determined her to adopt the religious life, not so much through any attraction towards it, as through a desire of choosing the safest course.   Unable to obtain her father’s consent she left his house unknown to him to enter the Carmelite Convent of the Incarnation at Avila, which then counted 140 nuns.   The wrench from her family caused her a pain which she ever afterwards compared to that of death. However, her father at once yielded and Teresa took the habit.

Teresa lived in an age of exploration as well as political, social and religious upheaval.   It was the 16th century, a time of turmoil and reform.   She was born before the Protestant Reformation and died almost 20 years after the closing of the Council of Trent.

The gift of God to Teresa in and through which she became holy and left her mark on the Church and the world is threefold:   she was a woman;   she was a contemplative;   she was an active reformer.

As a woman, Teresa stood on her own two feet, even in the man’s world of her time.   She was “her own woman,” entering the Carmelites despite strong opposition from her father.   She is a person wrapped not so much in silence as in mystery.   Beautiful, talented, outgoing, adaptable, affectionate, courageous, enthusiastic, she was totally human.   Like Jesus, she was a mystery of paradoxes:  wise, yet practical;  intelligent, yet much in tune with her experience;  a mystic, yet an energetic reformer;  a holy woman, a womanly woman.

On St Peter’s Day in 1559, Teresa became firmly convinced that Jesus Christ presented Himself to her in bodily form, though invisible.   These visions lasted almost uninterrupted for more than two years.   In another vision, a seraph drove the fiery point of a golden lance repeatedly through her heart, causing an ineffable spiritual-bodily pain.

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold and at the point there seemed to be a little fire.   He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart and to pierce my very entrails;   when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God.   The pain was so great, that it made me moan;  and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it…

This vision was the inspiration for one of Bernini’s most famous works, the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa at Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome.

The memory of this episode served as an inspiration throughout the rest of her life and motivated her lifelong imitation of the life and suffering of Jesus, epitomised in the motto usually associated with her:  Lord, either let me suffer or let me die.

Teresa was a woman “for God,” a woman of prayer, discipline and compassion.   Her heart belonged to God.   Her ongoing conversion was an arduous lifelong struggle, involving ongoing purification and suffering.   She was misunderstood, misjudged and opposed in her efforts at reform.   Yet she struggled on, courageous and faithful;  she struggled with her own mediocrity, her illness, her opposition.   And in the midst of all this she clung to God in life and in prayer.   Her writings on prayer and contemplation are drawn from her experience:  powerful, practical and graceful.   She was a woman of prayer;  a woman for God.

Teresa was a woman “for others.”   Though a contemplative, she spent much of her time and energy seeking to reform herself and the Carmelites, to lead them back to the full observance of the primitive Rule.   She founded over a half-dozen new monasteries.   She traveled, wrote, fought—always to renew, to reform.   In her self, in her prayer, in her life, in her efforts to reform, in all the people she touched, she was a woman for others, a woman who inspired and gave life.

Her final illness overtook her on one of her journeys from Burgos to Alba de Tormes.   She died in 1582, just as Catholic nations were making the switch from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar, which required the removal of 5–14 October from the calendar.   She died either before midnight of 4 October or early in the morning of 15 October which is celebrated as her feast day.   Her last words were:  “My Lord, it is time to move on. Well then, may your will be done. O my Lord and my Spouse, the hour that I have longed for has come.  It is time to meet one another.”

Her writings, especially the Way of Perfection and The Interior Castle, have helped generations of believers.   She and St Catherine of Siena were the first women so honoured as Doctors of the Church.

Interesting fact – her Spiritual Director was St Francis Borgia whose Feast Day we celebrated on 10 October.

(via AnaStpaul – Breathing Catholic)