#i hope you have a blessed day/week/month/year and that your crops grow and your families are healthy and happy

[agir1ukn0w]

so it looks like I've been getting one of two types of asks lately:

I obviously won't be addressing type #2, but as for type #1, I've already said what I needed to say many times over. It was one fucking post and I wasn't aiming to call out the entire kanthony fandom, only the actions of a few obnoxious bigots (which NONE OF YOU, polins or kanthonies, should be denying that you have at this point). If I had known the details about what the kanthony fandom was also facing I probably would have addressed that as well. All y'all needed to do was let me know what I needed to know in an even-tempered way and I would have been like "yeah, no, you're absolutely right and I am supporting you all the way." which I do, btw, and you are. but because you decided you knew everything about me after one fucking post and projected all your issues onto me, I'm not going to engage with this anymore. "good riddance," you're probably saying. yeah. good fucking riddance. I gave an opinion that was not as well informed as it should have been and I should have known more.

but I also wasn't wrong.

[aalinaaaaaa]

The Saint's Revival

—

With dappled times, come promises of prosperity and vibrance. Born on midsummer's eve, this boy gave his parents a personal reason to rejoice, during a year already blessed with hope due to the coronation of the next generation of Verlova's, the family tasked with ruling over a now unified province.

Alastor's childhood was like any other, for a child in a rural area at the time. The first few years were bright, vivid, but not without clouds on the horizon. Every month or so, his father would travel back to Alaske, the capital of Former Delitsyia, just to deliver food to his family members living there. When the boy was older, about seven or so, he'd ask his father if he could come along, but always would his father say the same thing. "I wish, my son, but alas you must stay, it's more important for you to provide charity at home first."

After a kiss on his forehead, his father would go, and return again two weeks later. At this point in time, the icy blight plaguing much of Former Delitsyia had pervaded into Seladian soil. His mother had the boy grow plants and sometimes help his older sister bring food to families in the next town who needed it.

As the years went by, the blight spread further, trapping more and more land under its wintry grasp, even at the height of summer. With its reach, came hopelessness and trepidation. Alastor could see it in everyone, and himself. His father became consumed by his idealism, that everyone could be saved if only enough food was produced, while his mother worried about their lack of income.

"Ishar, Ishar, leave some for us. Our family is starving and our income's bare." She pleaded one day, watching as he loaded another wagon destined for Alaske.

"I can't my dear," He kissed her briefly. "My family needs it, the others need it."

"We are your family. When are you going to see that responsibilities start at home? You cannot save everyone, people are going to die from this whether you like it or not." Her calloused fingers curled into a fist.

"I have no choice, I promised my relatives that I would help them."

From behind a bush, Alastor could see her clamping on her lip. "Fine. I see how it is, you're using us for your own gain."

"Kateryn, I一"

She slapped him in the face. "Remember who grows your crops, Ishar Rechersi. Now go, and never return here."

With that, she walked off, leaving Alastor to emerge from the bush. "You're not actually going to leave forever, are you?"

His father gave him a forlorn look. "I may not have a choice in that, son."

"But how could you? You're seriously going to abandon us after all this time?"

"Don't say that, it's a lot more complicated than that." He put a hand on his son's shoulder, looking away slightly. "Look after your mother for me, won't you? Farewell, my boy."

That night, Alastor's use of light to warm the home flared erratically, coming out as electric, wispy sparks, yet cold as the ice that enveloped almost the entire town.

Argumentive screaming filled the house that night, and he found himself relegated to resting in the lofty attic. Sorrow filled his hollowed heart, and the next morning turned it to anger.

Glistening ice had overtaken the Tolyvenko's land, leaving everyone to stare at the aftermath. And he didn't know who to be more angry with, his father or himself. For once, he actually agreed with his mother. None of his other siblings knew what happened the day before, though he suspected that Ivan had an inkling on what his father's motives were.

For the following days, Raisel, Ivan and Alastor took turns going out to the field and melting its ice, only for it to reappear overnight. Even with their abilities to grow plants magically, everyone in the household could feel themselves becoming weaker by the day. Their reserve of smoked salmon was fiercely limited, and Raisel was already coming down with headaches.

The next day, the majority of the community convened, bar a handful of nobles who kept to themselves for fear of being pillaged for food. Uncertainty and apprehension rattled many, Alastor included.

Rumours swirled and circulated, that this blight was caused by frost demons from Eldania, or that this was a sign of Fate's grand intervention, and by extention, the beginning of the apocalypse.

Common to a lot of complaints was the inaction of the Verlovas. Aside from some shipments of grain, smoked fish and a handful of flamewielders all said to be on the way, they haven't done much.

Though if there was one thing that Alastor took from this, was that there could be a tangible source of all this madness.

"I want to learn how to fight." He said to his elder brother, and at any chance he got, he practiced sparring with his brother and a handful of friends. His mother denounced it, saying he was wasting his energy, though he couldn't care less.

Weeks later, a familiar wagon pulled up in the dead of night, though this time a hooded figure stepped off of it. At first glance, he thought it was his father, but then the figure pulled the hood off, revealing a blonde-haired face that looked like a more feminine version of his.

She came up to him, and presented him with a sword. "This is for you, your father wanted you to have it."

Perplexion lit up his features. "Wait, who are you? And do you know what happened to him?"

She gave him a kind smile. "I'm your grandmother, dear. But about your father, he's, uh..."

He awaited the end of her sentence with bated breath.

"He's dead." His jaw dropped, shock rising as a lump in his throat. "But that's impossible, how did he..."

"He over-exerted himself, though his heartbreak may have been the spark to the stake."

Speechless. The boy stood there in the cold, unsure what to do, what to say. His grandmother approached him, shaking his hand and hugging him. "I'm sorry that you have to bear this loss. How have things been at home?"

He shrugged, hoping no one else was listening. "Things used to be better, I guess. Everyone's angry now, and we don't know where to direct it."

"Well, I can't say that things are much better on my side. But, I would store a bit of hope in your heart if I were you, for the whispers of the wind suggest there's a culprit behind all this."

"Really? Who?"

She started to pull herself back onto the wagon seat. "An ice queen, of sorts, hell bent on freezing this place for some reason."

"Wait." He blurted out, slinging the sword over his shoulder. "Can I borrow one of your horses?"

"Well, sure, of course. Just make sure to visit Alaske some day, alright?"

No sooner did she untie one of the horses, did he get on it and ride it through the night. The black stallion was much faster than any other horse he went on, and he found its speed over the frozen ground quite comforting.

Over the course of a few days, he ventured through fields and forests of ice and snow. Beneath the icy exterior, he could make out properly formed leaves, as if this was just a freak snow event in the midst of summer, and not a blight going on for longer than he was alive.

Eventually, he heard the sound of icicles hitting off each other. A sharp wind cut across his left, and then his right. Chills ran through his spine, and then manifested in front of him, as a thin, lithe figure with the legs of a doe and an icy torso, headed by a bony face with white hair and deer antlers.

"Interesting, so you're the one who sets out to end my reign on your land. Think you'll actually be able to do it?"

He immediately threw out his sword, only for her to dodge it.

"Now, now, no need to get stabby. Tell you what, I'll do a deal with you. You get three attempts to rid my ice off your land, and if you succeed, you get to keep it."

"And if I fail?" He took a step back, gripping his sword tightly.

"For one, your land will forever be mine. And your family will freeze also, just be aware of that."

"Fine." He snarled, annoyed by her non-chalance.

"Brilliant. Just flip a coin on this symbol and I shall be summoned. After all, I do need to verify your deeds, now don't I?"

The ice creature brought a clawed finger over his left hand, marking him with a diamond within a diamond. With a click of those twisted fingers, he was back in his family's field again, along with his grandmother's horse.

Upon his arrival home, his mother was upon him, asking where he'd been. After a terse and heated exchange, she had gone quiet, in disbelief about what she just heard.

"Just promise me you won't summon her, I don't want anyone else to die."

He sighed and walked off, unable to promise her anything.

At the break of dawn the next morning, he found himself in the field again, sword in one hand, coin in the other. His hands quivered with nerves and the biting cold. But alas, with a flip and a stamp, the deed was done.

In her purple morning splendor, appeared the one and only so-called ice queen. The ice on her antlers reflected the glow of the early morning light, and her eyes the dark sheen of glass.

"Early bird, I see. Here's to hoping that you get what you wish for, if you're this eager to get things done. Show me your power, farmer boy."

"Yeah, I'll show you." He murmured, before flicking his hands and summoning a ball of light. It shone like low-lying sunlight, bright but fleeting, rising higher and higher until the equivalent of the half the field melted.

The strange being seemed amused.

"Not bad, kid, not bad at all. Yet, is that all you got? Something stellar rests inside you, I can only hope it's not Fate's blessing."

He pressed harder, his light flickering and spluttering to nothing. "Damn it, anyway."

"Is that all you can show me? Oh, what a shame. You have two more chances, boy. Perhaps not all hope is lost."

Later that night, he found himself by the now-frozen lake, resting after a training session with Ivan.

"Brother, please don't do it tomorrow, you need to rest."

"But I have no choice, we're getting weaker by the day. If things don't let up, my third attempt is going to be a disaster."

"Don't say that, have a good rest and surely you can show her who has the right to our land. Going in straight after failure just leads to more failure."

If it weren't for the very cold conditions, he'd jokingly push his brother into the lake. But for now, Alastor wanted to savour this moment, in case it was to be his last. "Thanks, not just for the advice, but for everything. Hopefully it will be enough to pull through."

The day after next, he found himself in the field, staring her down with a greater sense of anger inside him. He wanted her to suffer for driving a rift between his parents, and indirectly killing one of them.

"Will today be your lucky day? Surprise me."

"You deserve to perish." He mumbled, raising his light once again. For some reason, his light wasn't as strong today, only melting a quarter of the field.

"Still a bit sleepy today? Shame, I expected more from you."

He allowed the light to sink toward him, covering his body for a moment. In an instant, a bunch of dead gray leeches fell into the grass.

"Leeches? Are you trying to sabotage me? This is not on."

The ice queen chuckled and smirked at him.

"It can't all be simple summonings, now can it? That would be very boring."

"Is this all a joke to you?" He barked, one hand gripping on the hilt of his sword.

"Don't pull it out just yet, save it for the grand finale. You only have one attempt left, boy, and the hopes of two regions rest in your hands."

The next day, he tried to get out the door, only for it to be locked.

"Where do you think you're going?" His mother asked, while loading kindling into the fire.

"I'm just heading outside."

"Oh no you don't. Don't think that I'm stupid, because I know what you've been up to these past few weeks."

"But I have no choice." He protested, hiding his left hand. "It's the only way to get rid of these conditions."

"I understand, but it seems you have failed how many times? Once, twice?"

He nodded, and his mother continued. "Well then, I specifically told you not to do it, yet you did it anyway. Thus, until the shipment of food arrives in this town, you're staying in the house."

"What? No."

She stood up, shaking her finger. "No buts, mister, this is for your own good. Now, you can help me wash these clothes."

A couple days later, Alastor woke up to a ruckus, not seen for a long, long while.

"Get into your fanciest clothes, the zsar is here."

Standing in the town square, were a series of containers stocked with grain and other essentials imported from the south. People lined up eagerly, awaiting their chance of salvation.

Men dressed in crimson uniforms went round to various people, discussing plans on how to purge the ice for good.

In the midst of that crowd, the Zsar of Vaer stood there talking to some noble courtier, making himself look productive. But behind him, what was that? Surely Alastor wasn't seeing ice in the wind.

Later that night, the people celebrated in the square, though this party was thankfully light on the food and drink.

This was one of the better nights he had in a while, where he could just enjoy the moment for what it was. Even his mother seemed elated, though he knew that she was likely tempering her expectations. The problem wasn't solved yet, there was one thing left to do: banish the plight.

The next morning, he went back into the field at midday, armed with his father's sword and a silver coin once again. He unfurled the bandages that his mother tied onto his left hand, but the gust of wind whizzed by him before his coin could flip.

"A bit late today, aren't we? Party a little too much last night?"

He shook his head. "The zsar was found dead this morning, had to pay my respects."

"Well good riddance, he did too little too late for his people. Bloody coward."

Something clicked in his mind. "It was you. You did it, didn't you? But why?"

The ice spirit let out a wicked laugh. "Smart boy, your wits are almost as sharp as icicles. I murdered him because I had to. Nothing good comes of centralised rule."

"So that's what this is about? Your political opinions?"

"Oh, it's much more than that. Do know that I'm doing everyone a favour by trying to end their line. After all, is it any coincidence that Fate and her first reprisal are both ancestors of the Verlova line? I think not."

"But why should that mean that ordinary people get caught in all this? My father died because of you, countless others have died and suffered because of you. What good is preventing Fate's reprisal if you cause suffering to others? What good is all of this?"

He unsheathed his sword, rushing towards her. The boy jumped high in the air, sword ready to pierce her heart一

The spirit fainted to the side, dodging his attack. A mangled hand gripped Alastor's shoulder, shoving him by the wayside. He looked up, stunned for a moment. "Dad? But that's impossible."

He rolled to the left, avoiding the clawed hand of his dad's husk.

"Come here son, won't you join me in the afterlife?" He backed away further, standing upright and away from his 'father's' sweeping blows.

In a sense, his father's body shared some of the same corruptions as the wraith. The boy raised his sword, doing a sweeping cut along the corpse's torso. With nothing to lose, his opponent reached out, sinking its purple, writhered fingers into his arm.

Alastor tried to wrench him off, but his grip held too hard for that. Push, pull, push, pull, he found himself close to slipping. And so he let his sword fall to the ground, and opened his hand. Light burst out like never before, flooding his vision and beyond.

At last, his father's corpse fell to the ground, but still did his hand shine, with pure, pristine and piercing light, so white that it could burn his eyes.

The tainted spirit let out a shrill cry, screaming out in pain. "This light, it's一 How did you summon divine light?!"

The boy found himself kneeling on the ground, his right hand still raised. His eyes, although closed, felt like they were burning with a thousand suns. Yet still he kept going.

His pure light shot up to the sky, bursting like a single firework. In an instant, the clouds, the snow, the ice, all of the spirit's wrongdoings melted away, leaving blue skies, summer's sunlight and nature's shades of green in its place.

All over the greater part of Serrantine and Vaer, people stared up at the sky, many wondering what happened. In the space of a few seconds, their lives changed for good, closer to the normal days they had over twenty years ago.

Meanwhile, Alastor still writhed on the ground, crying out in pain. He opened his eyes, but still he could see nothing. And the spirit, now in human form, stumbled and ran off into the wood, thankful that she still had her sight.

Later iterations of this tale often omit the last part, of how Ivan picked up his brother's sword and ran into the wood, slaying the ice queen right there and then.

Upon the realisation of what had occurred, celebrations broke out all over the two regions and beyond. But for the Rechersi's, this was a time of mourning, for their son's show of divine power proved too much for him, and so his body got buried in that very field.

To add further insult to injury, about a month or so later a messenger, dressed in the green and black royal colours, came up to the house with a letter for Ivan. Due to the nature of which Romerius Verlova died, his daughter Aurandra declared that the guards who accompanied him to Raselka were all dismissed.

The sixteen-year-old offered him a position as one of her guards. Much to his mother's slight disappointment, he took the position, eventually becoming one of Aurandra's most trusted strategists. He kept this position right up until the Night of the Blue Embers.

To the current day, Alastor is revered as a saint, and people send him offerings so that he may bring hope and revival into their lives. His saint's day is June 21st, for the summer solstice represents a lot of what he stands for and it happens to be the day he died.

—

General taglist: @thelaughingstag @thebluesthourcommunity @wip-nook @guessillcallitart @original-writing @bigboicol-theflamingcol

Flamebearer taglist: @scarletteflamerald @midnight-the-ambitious-writer @ceph-the-ghost-writer @another-white-hole @outpost51 @mattresses-and-macaroni

[avengershumanresources]

blood 10 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 9 - part 11

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

10 - a trick

Peter had Sam and Clint notify the guard. Natalia and James secured the Queen and Princess Morgan, and before anyone had time to breathe, Peter stormed Obadiah’s bedchamber.

The king woke with a start, opening his mouth to protest the interruption and stopping immediately when the tip of a sword went to his throat. 

“Is this supposed to be a coup?” he mocked while Peter marched him out of the bedroom toward the throne room. “You’re in over your head, boy.”

Peter didn’t reply, keeping his sword up until they were securely in the throne room where Wong, Steve, and Thor waited with crossed arms. 

“King Rumlow will not stand for this,” Obadiah’s confident tone faded once Peter shoved him forward. “Whatever you’re planning, you’re outnumbered.”

“Per the law, if the council feels the king is unfit, he may be removed in favor of the next in line,” Wong recited. 

“He’s not of age!” Obadiah spat but Steve looked between the men. 

“A few months?” he asked the group. “I saw the records say his birth was yesterday, 22 years to the day.” 

“It’ll be noted,” Wong hummed, the quartet watching the king for his next move. 

“Traitors-,” Obadiah threw a finger between the men accusingly. “Where’s Strange? Not man enough to face me himself?”

“Uncle, if you step down peacefully, you can live out your days unbothered at the border,” Peter offered tersely, watching the manic man for any sudden movements. “Please.”

“Ha!” Obadiah threw his head back, taking a few steps away from the group. “Do you honestly think I believe that? You’ll send that bitch assassin or the cripple missing an arm after me.”

Peter saw Steve tense at the insults, but maintained a firm tone with the disgraced king. 

“Please uncle,” he tried to reason. “There are many who wish to see you punished for your transgressions-.”

“Transgressions?” Obadiah spun on to him. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve tried to bring peace to the kingdom. I’ve broken no law.”

“You ordered the death of my father,” Peter stated, unflinchingly. He stated the older, larger man down. “The punishment for treason is death and I am giving you the option of survival.” 

Shouting was beginning to rise from the courtyard outside the throne room. Flickers of torches and the whinnying of horses soon meshed into the sounds. 

“The men who wish to see you dead far outnumber anyone loyal to you,” Steve warned, eyeing the lights through the stained glass. “You have nothing to offer Rumlow, there’s no guarantee he’ll be willing to waste the men on a lost cause.”

There was a there was a crash from the hall outside the locked throne room door. Swords clanged against once another and the shouting grew louder. 

Turning to the men, Obadiah smirked when someone began slamming against the door. 

“Are you certain of that, Peter?” he asked, his grin growing wider. “Don’t think I was blind to your schemes. I know all that goes on in this castle.” 

He rounded on Peter, a finger prodding the prince’s chest. 

“I heard all about the tavern meetings with the Asgardians and this pathetic attempt on my throne,” he glowered down at him. “I knew exactly why the Asgardians were here, a betrothal, don’t be stupid! I knew about that little slut too. Now she’s with her weak father... probably lamenting how I outsmarted them. You’re a fool, Peter, and you’ll hang for this.”

There was a stunned silence, all eyes falling on Peter, who’d backed away with Obadiah towering over him. Shouts and banging could still be heard from the halls, a group now trying to break down the door. 

All at once, Peter let out a furious yell. He grabbed the front of Obadiah’s sleeping gown with one hand, the other going for a dagger at his side. 

“Do you see this knife?” he snarled, pricking the tip against Obadiah’s neck to draw a single droplet of blood. “My sister used it to defend against that beast you’ve brought into my home. Do you know who gave it to her? One of the most dangerous criminals in the next two kingdoms, pray tell me, uncle- what do you think they will do to do if I don’t kill you now? The assassin who so trusted my beloved sister, he gave her a weapon to defend from you?”

“You’re going to lose.”

“What will they do, Obadiah-,” Peter dug the blade a little deeper into the kings skin, making the man squirm. “When the truth of her death comes out? When the truth of my fathers death? The longest reign of peace and economic prosperity in generations. What will the farmers, whose crops Rumlow burned under your orders, do to you?”

“Peter!” the door burst open and Wong grabbed Peter, teleporting him, Thor, and Steve away before Amora could blast the group. 

She rushed toward the king, hands glowing, while she skimmed him over for injury. 

“The queen and princess are gone,” she reported. “My king rallied his troops the moment he caught wise of what the prince was planning. Sir, he still commits his men to you, per your agreement.”

“No marriage?” Obadiah practically stammered out. 

“My grace, the specifics can be dealt with, should we survive this treacherous siege, now hold on,” she grabbed his wrist and teleported with a cloud of green smoke. 

(—)

“The princess was moved to the crypt,” Loki reported once he met Stephen in the courtyard, his troops readying to support the guard within the castle. “One of the priests heard wind of the siege and gave her a quick blessing before fleeing.” 

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Stephen had done his best to ensure you would have been removed from the stone coffin before you could risk suffocating. With an active battle, there was no guarantee when he could rescue you.

“I have to move her now,” he realized at Loki’s urgent implication. 

“Better now than when the castle is burning,” the prince replied snarkily. His attention was caught by a large flame in one of the guard towers. Obadiah had resisted.

It was time. 

“Go, before I go myself to avoid this barbaric carnage,” Loki pulled on his battle helmet and began to rally his men. 

Stephen didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly drew up a portal to the Stark family crypt below the castle. He raced to the newest section of the tomb, where your grandfather and your father’s empty coffin sat under a carving of your great-grandfather.

He ignited the torches with a wave of his hand, immediately spotting the recently disturbed stone tomb. Raising his palm, he blasted the lid of the entrapment, pushing the stone aside and summoning a light to better see inside. 

To his relief, you were there, arms folded over your chest, body tucked in a hastily wrapped funeral shroud. He ripped the cloth back, pulling your unconscious body out of the stone chamber and draping you over his lap on the ground. 

A quick check of his spell, and it was still holding. Your seidr was still concealed and you were still alive, just in a deep, charmed, sleep. 

He scooped you up, throwing open a portal to the chambers he’d prepared at his home, and quickly draped you onto the bed. 

Sensing his magic, Wanda stepped through her own portal, glancing up at her friend in concern. 

“It’s early,” she noted with a tilt of her head. 

“Obadiah didn’t surrender or attempt to negotiate. Brock joined the attack,” he explained. “The king needs to rally the troops here and notify our allies.”

Wanda gave a curt nod, disappearing as quickly as she’d appeared. 

He returned his attention to you, lightly touching the seidr seal on your wrist and ensuring the spell would hold while he was out of sight.

“I will return my love,” he vowed, tucking a strand of hair out of your face and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He double checked the wards around the bedroom a final time before opening a portal to Tony’s encampment within his estate grounds. 

(—)

“Peter, what’s happening?” Pepper demanded when the trio sudden appeared in her chambers. James and Natalia were both in their feet, awaiting further instructions. 

“Where’s Morgan?” he demanded, moving through the room until he located his baby sister in the old nursery attached to the suite. “We have to get the two of you to safety.”

“She wanted to sleep, James and Natalia told us to stay ready, but-,” Pepper hurried after him. “Peter, what is going on?”

“I’m removing Obadiah from the throne,” he stated matter of factly, scooping up Morgan and grabbing a cook off a nearby hook. “Brock is trying to help him, but our men far outnumber theirs. You and Morgan are being moved to Kamar-Taj for the night, then into the Asgardian keep.” 

“And the lords and ladies?” she stammered out, overwhelmed by his calm demeanor despite the screams and fires outside. She absently took her daughter when Peter passed her off, watching James and Natalia assemble a few more essentials into a small silk bag before passing it off to Peter. 

“Long evacuated, the men who wished to fight still remain,” Steve supplied. “Wong and myself will be accompanying you to Asgard. Queen Frigga will provide passage to Asgard once Brock’s troops are recalled from the border and Amora’s mystic boundary is broken.”

“Kamar-Taj has a prepared trunk for you,” Natalia explained softly. “I put it together with Peter a few weeks ago. It should have what you need until you reach Asgard.”

“What about the rest of you?” Pepper’s gaze feel on Peter. “What will you do?”

“I’m going to kill Brock and Obadiah,” he promised confidently. “Overcome and conquer.”

Pepper paused, reaching for his face and cradling his jaw with her palm. 

“Your father would be so proud,” she whispered, the brief spell broken when an explosion sounded in the courtyard. 

“Magic,” Wong confirmed. “Amora probably summoned her apprentices. We need to move to ensure we are not followed.”

“Be safe, my sweet son,” Pepper kissed his cheek and followed after Wong and Steve, Morgan tucked tightly in her arms. “I love you.”

“Goodbye mother,” he replied, watching the spot in the room until the portal snapped shut and he was left with Thor and the assassins. 

“What now?” James asked, peeking through the queens window nervously. 

“There’s a passage down the hall that should lead you to the armory. Through there, you should be able to reach Loki and our combined men. Mordo and Stephen have called for reinforcements from Kamar-Taj, and they should be able to fend off magic users while we handle the rest.”

“Asgardian forces will be here by dawn,” Thor promised. “With another wave due before nightfall.” 

“Obadiah won’t be missing for long,” Peter continued. “He’s a pig, but not a coward. He will want to oversee things in person, likely with Brock. That’s when we hit them and end this.”

“And Amora?” Natalia quirked a brow. 

“Leave that to Loki,” Thor muttered grimly. “He has a score to settle with the Enchantress.”

(—)

You jolted up with a gasp. 

The room was dark, but something unfamiliar about it sent the seidr in your veins prickling through the goosebumps on your skin. 

Reaching around, you swallowed anxiously. The bed was all wrong. The fabrics not the silks and cotton you’d grown up with. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you realized you weren’t in your bed chambers at all. 

A yell and response outside the window had you scrambling to your feet, spying a number of fires burning in the dark sea of land outside whenever you now found yourself. 

Your groggy brain ran through its last memories. The assault. The conversation with Stephen. 

The sleeping draught. 

How powerful had it been?

You looked down at your hands, a faint glow of violet emitting from your hands and up your arms. You’d barely had time to examine it when the door to the room burst open. 

“You’re not supposed to be awake-,” Wanda stated, swooping on you and catching sight of the seidr. Eyes wide, she tried subduing the small bit of magic, but the moment the crimson tendrils tried touching the violet, the seidr grew brighter and spread more thoroughly over your body. 

“What is going on-?” You reached for your skirts and realized your dressing gown had been changed to a deep crimson formal gown. “Where is Stephen? Where is my home?”

“Princess,” Wanda reached for your hand, but the seidr snapped back at her and she pulled away. “I don’t know what’s happened. Stephen is... I can better explain...” 

She looked overwhelmed, her eyes constantly dropping to watch the raw power radiating off of you. 

“You’ve been asleep for two days, almost three nights,” she stated briskly, and you shook your head, frowning. 

“That’s impossible,” you whispered. 

“The sleeping potion Stephen gave you... it was to mimic the effects of death,” she continued softly. “We’re at the main keep for his family. Princess, the kingdom is at war.”

“Wanda, you were supposed to seal it, what’s taking so-,” Loki stopped in the doorway of the room. “Princess.”

He looked as bewildered as Wanda to see you standing and alert. And twice as concerned with the seidr energy coming from you. 

“That’s not good,” he stated bluntly. “Amora is going to see you like a beacon in the night.”

“Brock’s men have secured the castle already, if he knows she’s alive-,” Wanda agreed, speaking quickly and tersely with the prince. 

“Alive? Of course I’m-,” you paused. Mimic the effects of death. Eyes growing wide with realization as to what Stephen had done, you huffed a sigh. “Brock is still aligned with Obadiah?”

“It’s tentative,” Wanda replied. “But if his Stark bride is alive and well...”

“He’s already calling troops through the Kree empire, and the sea artillery is moving toward Asgardian waters,” Loki frowned, reaching forward and trying to calm your magic with his own. When it spat back at him like Wanda’s, his lips formed a thin line of concern. “Strange’s seal was so powerful I couldn’t sense it, so he isn’t holding right now because of the princess. There’s something else keeping him by Obadiah’s side. This will just soldifiy whatever deal they’ve struck. We need to figure out how to seal the seidr.”

“Could she just learn to control it?” Wanda offered. “I don’t think external means are going to suppress it much longer.”

“Wanda, how long did it take for you to learn to hide your own essence from enemies?” Loki pressed. “We need to locate Stephen.”

Eyes glowing, Wanda nodded and disappeared, presumably to retrieve the sorcerer in question.

“Loki, is my family-?” you started and he nodded. 

“Your mother and sister are in Asgard,” he replied. “Peter is...”

“He’s on the battlefield,” you finished with a knowing sigh. “Do we stand a chance?” 

“The Wakandans have mobilized and will be sending reinforcements soon,” he explained, gesturing for you to hold out the hand with the seal on your wrist. “Incredible. Your power... destroyed the rune. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The Wakandans have no loyalty to Peter,” you voiced, furrowing your brows. Are they aligned with Asgard?” 

“Well, no-,” he started. “They stand behind House Stark but, there is an important thing you should know now that you’re awake.”

He drew a portal, knowing her couldn’t teleport with your present state, and led you to what looked like a massive dining hall within the same building.

Hundreds of men were resting, some singing ballads and others sharing large bowls of stew and bread. 

You looked to Loki for explanation. 

Was Stephen hurt? Had your brother perished? 

He stood stoically, his gaze falling on the back of a man tending to an infantryman’s dressings. When he turned his head, you gasped and rushed over. 

“Father..?” you hesitated, his face was covered in mud, and he’d grown a large beard, but as soon as you saw his eyes, you knew. 

“Look who had risen from the grave,” he teased. “Welcome to the afterlife. It’s not quite what the priests suggested-.”

You cut him off, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“You’re alive,” you stammered in awe. “I... how? They say a pike went through your chest.”

“Oh, about that...” he touched the from of his chest. “Loki is a very skilled healer, and Wanda foresaw that particular complication... it’s a long story, best served for better conditions.”

“The seidr broke the potion’s effects,” Loki stated, looking down at the soldier and waving a hand over his bloodied wound. The wound was immediately cleaned and the soldier’s eyes drifted shut, his chest soon rising and falling in a peaceful sleep. “We’re trying to locate Stephen. Wanda and myself couldn’t interact with her.”

“I see,” Tony looked to you, eyes following the new elements of magic dancing lazily over your upper body. “Certainly the wards around the keep should continue to mask it?”

“For now,” Loki reported. “If Amora approaches too close, it could mean exposure.”

“You knew about all of this as well?” you looked to your father, still struggling to keep up with everything being said and plotted. She turned to Loki. “And you knew he was alive”

“And Wanda,” Loki added. “Natalia, and more recently, Stephen.”

“What?” you blinked in surprise. That wasn’t right. Stephen certainly would have told you. 

“We couldn’t risk Amora catching on,” your father quickly sensed your shift in emotion. “She was watching you because of your seidr, trying to tamper with your thoughts. You had to be left in the dark until we knew you were a safe distance from her.”

“Amora is a very powerful magic user who betrayed the trust of my mother and yours,” Loki informed you, his hand tensing at his side. “We couldn’t risk her getting ahead of our plans.”

“That’s going to go to waste if we can’t continue the charade you’re dead,” Tony clarified. “Brock is only barely allied with Obadiah. We have the numbers right now, but if he becomes serious about taking our kingdom, he and the Northern Kree far exceed our men, the Asgardians, the Wakandans, and the Southern Kree.”

“Your grace,” a blonde woman in knights armor approached and bowed her head. You noticed that the blood from the cuts on her cheeks was teal- a Kree. “King Odin is riding for us. He will be here within the hour, ready to provide more men.”

“Thank you Lady Carol,” Tony nodded while the female knight bowed and exited the room. Your eyes trailed after her in a dazed stupor. You’d never seen a female knight before. You’d read that the Kree society was more favorable to the female gender, but you never would have imagined the Kree would let a woman directly report to a king. 

“We need Frigga,” Tony sighed.

“We would have to ride to Asgard ourselves. The mystic boundary Amora out on the borders of too powerful, no one has been able to teleport or portal through it,” Loki grumbled. 

Tony cursed under his breath and stood, a hand on your back, guiding you through the mess of cots and soldiers. Some were injured, most were just worn from battle and resting until they were called upon again. 

Leading you and Loki out of the hall, Tony stopped once he was certain you were alone. 

“Only the sorcerers and myself are aware of your situation,” he murmured. “Peter and the queen are none the wiser. We need to keep you within the walls of this keep until Stephen is located and we have our next steps.”

“Can I help at all?” you asked, feeling more like a prized hen than someone who was useful. “I know some healing salves and wound mending?” 

“We can’t risk it,” Loki looked to Tony who was considering the suggestion. “One incident with the uncontrolled seidr and that could be the end of us.”

“My sweet, I’m sorry,” Tony pulled your head in and kissed the top of your hair. “It won’t be long until Stephen arrives and we can make a clearer decision.”

As if on cue, Wanda appeared, blood coating her hands and the dark robes she wore. 

“Stephen was injured in battle,” she explaine, Loki quickly teleporting with her without another word. 

“I bet he’s in the master suite,” your dad mused, a wink in your direction. “He has all of his potions and trinkets in there for emergency.”

You paused, hesitating between leaving your newly alive father, and being by your love’s side. 

“I’m needed in a war council,” he answered the dilemma. “We can catch up when the world isn’t burning around us.”

He gave your hand a final, reassuring, squeeze before giving you a quick layout of the keep. You thanked him, promised to keep him updated, and dashed down the halls. 

As you hurried, you felt your dress restricting your movements, and briefly considered trousers to be a more apt clothing option for the moment. 

It was when you felt the restriction around your legs disappear when you looked down and saw your clothes had shifted. Your crimson gown now crimson trousers, your corset a more reasonable bustier, and a cloth shirt tucked under a matching jacket with the Stark sigil subtly embroidered on the chest. 

Stopping in shock at the change, it occurred to you that the seidr had merely been responding to your mental requests.

That, you could get used to. No wonder Stephen and Loki were always ready for balls and events faster than you. 

You picked up your pace, rushing through the halls until you found the master suite exactly where your father had told you. 

A maid was shuffling out as you approached and you quietly slipped in, doing your best to ignore the blood saturated towels tucked under the maids arms. 

“It was a toxic arrow,” Wanda was explained to Loki. “It isn’t allowing the blood to coagulate properly. He’s going to bleed out.”

“I imagine Amora had something to do with this,” Loki murmured, glowing emerald hands hovering just over the gushing wound. “Strange. Stay with us. Stay awake.”

You were discarding your jacket and rolling up your sleeves, moving toward the makeshift apothecary stand while Stephen kept his eyes squeezed in pain.

“If she enchanted the poison or venom before applying it, we should be able to pull the toxins magically, right?” you recalled from a text you’d read during one of the long nights in the observatory. 

“I’m trying to, but I can’t detect any traces of magic in the wound,” Loki replied tensely.

“I tried isolating a few drops of his blood to detect any foreign components, but the poison is too powerful. It’s using the body’s defenses in its favor,” Wanda looked rattled, a far cry from her usual, composed, demeanor. “If we had more time, I know I could find the proper antidote, but he’s going to bleed out before then.”

Your fingers hovered over the herbs and elixirs, eyes shut while you considered their words and tried to recall the specifics of what you’d learned under his tutelage. 

“Is it actively poisoning his body, or just preventing the wound from clotting?” you asked, your finger twitched toward an herb used to create fiberous seals on wounds from cuts.

“Preventing the cut from sealing,” Wanda reported back, watching Loki try and fall to seal the wound magically. All the rags and bandages he piled ontop of the injury just continued to saturate through. “Bandages are not working. He’s bleeding through everything.”

“We need ice on the wound,” you called out, throwing the proper herbs and liquid into a mortar and pestle. “Shrink the blood vessels and slow the bleeding temporarily.”

Loki’s hand turned to ice and he pressed it on the skin around the injury. 

“It’s working,” Wanda called back.

“Clean the area,” you instructed, the paste now smooth and plentiful. You turned and searched the room for extra bandages, finding some by a pile of Stephen’s ripped and bloodied robes. 

You passed the remedy and bandages to the sorcerers at his bedside, knowing your seidr would prevent you from making close contact with him. The thought in itself breaking your heart. You wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead, press a kiss to his hand and promise all would be well.

“Put the paste on the bandages and cover the wound. Keep applying the ice until we can get the bleeding to slow,” you watched Wanda move swiftly in tandem with Loki, pressing the seal to the injury and letting the prince take over applying pressure and ice. 

“Princess?” Stephen’s voice called, almost delirious.

“I’m here,” you moved within his eyesight, a smile thrown on your features to conceal your deep worry for him. “What did I tell you about getting shot with arrows, my love?”

“You never mentioned arrows,” he grunted, eyes opening briefly to take you in and closing when he winced in pain. “Next time be more- hngh- specific.”

“Next time don’t get shot,” you countered playfully, eyes falling to the white bandage at his abdomen. Ideally, only a little blood would be able to get through. It’d buy enough time for Loki and Wanda to find a better remedy without letting him bleed out. 

“It’s working,” Wanda announced, jumping and moving to the large library of books scattered around the room. Her hands began to glow, her fingers pulling texts off the shelves and discarding them almost as fast.

“Strange, were you injured anywhere else?” Loki asked tersely, eyeing a cut by the sorcerer’s eye. “We need seal all of your cuts, just in case.”

“Face,” Stephen replied after a pause. “Hands.” 

Loki got to work, smothering the bandages with the salve and covering the cuts. 

“Got it,” Wanda held up a book victoriously. “Antidote will take a few hours to prepare. Loki, you’re going to need to move to the front line. Let Peter and Thor know what is happening. I’ll make sure there’s enough for everyone afflicted.”

“I hadn’t heard any reports of similar circumstance,” Loki murmured, looking back down at the bandage to ensure it was still holding. “This seems personal.”

“To our favor then,” Wanda hummed, summoning her ingredients and moving quickly through the steps. “I will report this to King Anthony. Go.”

Loki disappeared with a flash of light, leaving only traces of smoke where he stood.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” Stephen realized after you’d seated ourself next to him. 

“The seidr had other plans,” you noted softly. “Do not worry, we will address each problem as it’s necessary. You need to rest.”

“Wasn’t I just tell you that?” 

“Then listen to your own words, you do often boast of how good your own advice is,” you teased. 

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away, frowning apologetically at him. 

“The seidr is… it doesn’t like magic-users at the moment,” you explained quickly.

“That’s… unfortunate,” he mumbled, lolling his hand forward and staring up at the ceiling. “Ever the more reason not to die, I suppose.”

(—)

11- a battle cry 

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

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[pinky-the-elephant-room]

Messenger

AN: This is my prompt for @liliesoftherain​ and I’s server April prompt. I thought I would do a Greek Gods with Japanese fusion. I haven’t edited it thoroughly just yet, I will do it later when I have time.I cut this prompt short cause I had a whole ass plot figured out before Final weeks hit then I was too late to finish on time and so I’m posting it as is. I still hope you guys enjoy it though <3. Read rest of the prompts: HERE

Warning: Contains explicit sex and smut. Read at your own discretion. 

Gods & Godesses:

Aizawa- Hades

Keroberosu- Cerberus. It’s now a three headed cat cause I said so. 

Haru- Another “potential reader” Persephone. Her name means Spring.

Shikaku- Basically an OC who is suppose to be Demetor. Her name means Harvest.

Hawks- Hermes.

Endeavor/Todoroki- Zeus

Hadajuban- a white layer worn underneath a kimono

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

The Messenger God known as such to mortals, nicknamed Hawks by fellow gods, and Keigo Takami among his closest companion, smiled indulgently as he tried not to show his irritation. He really couldn’t be mad at the Spring Goddess as she ran around trying to gather her necessities to leave the underworld, she was too wholesome. Her childish sunny smiles and giggles echoed throughout the desolate world as she ran.

She abruptly stopped in the middle of her packing.

“Shouta, do you think I can take some pomegranates with me?” she asked the dour god eagerly.

The God of the Underworld paused in his playtime with Keroberosu, the three-headed cat.

“I don’t care, but you better hurry up. It’s rude to keep people waiting,” Shouta said as he spared a glance at Keigo before he resumed playing with his cat.

Keigo raised an eyebrow at Aizawa. When people picture the God of the Dead, they certainly don’t expect a man like him. Many times, Keigo made the trip down here and he spotted the God sleeping on a makeshift futon, while souls passed through. Though, Aizawa certainly resembled the part with the appearance of being half-dead with baggy eyes.

Keigo didn’t make the trip here often before the debacle. But, now with seasonal change, Haru was ordered to return to her mother so that spring and crops would flourish again. Though humans all suspected Aizawa kidnapped her when in reality the Goddess had wandered into the underworld, and Aizawa wasn’t bothered enough to order her to go home. Keigo suspected that Shukaku or the Goddess of Harvest had spread the tale of kidnapping and rape to her priests who in turn spread it throughout the lands. After all, she was the only Goddess who regularly had contact with the mortals.

Keigo turned to observe Aizawa as he lured Keroberosu with a toy and the black feline excitedly chased the bait.

Yet, what was suspicious in all of this was how quickly Aizawa had married Haru. While delivering messages between Todoroki, Shukaku, and Aizawa, in that short amount of time they had gotten married, consummated it, and Haru had even eaten seeds of the underworld. Preventing the Goddess from returning the surface world for 6 months. Clearly, the man cared far more about his interloper than he let on at the beginning.

“I’m finished!” she announced cheerfully. Keigo sighed with relief. Finally. He was anxious to go.

Aizawa petted Keroberosu one last time before he turned around to face them both. He approached Haru and caressed her cheeks.

“I will see you later,” he rasped quietly to his wife. Haru, in turn, smiled gently.

“Try to get some sleep while I’m gone ok?”

Aizawa grunted and kissed her forehead.

Keigo looked away from the intimate scene as his heart clenched with jealousy. The easy affection between the Gods was something to be cherished not torn away in their world of immortals.

The Spring Goddess skipped happily to Keigo.

“Ready?” he asked.

She grinned and nodded as she held up the basket of goods for the trip home.

Keigo gathered the Goddess in his arms as his red wings sprawled out from behind. He flapped them a few times.

He could feel the harsh glare from Aizawa, Keigo couldn’t help but smirk. He carefully maneuvered Haru and bridal carried her. The glare seemed to intensify like Aizawa wanted to rip his soul out and cast it into Tarutarosu. Keigo sweatdropped and flew off before Aizawa could comment. Haru screamed out her goodbyes as she twisted around to wave to her husband.

Hours later Keigo let down Haru in the shrine of Shukaku that was her home.

‘This is my chance.’ He thought.

Shukaku didn’t like any Gods to linger around her dwellings or shrines. Her wrath was worth fearing especially since her daughter had gotten married, she was even more short-tempered. However, he noticed how for a few hours she would be distracted by the arrival of Haru, caring for her daughter.

He gave a salute to the young Goddess before he flew off. Just in time too as Shukaku barreled to her daughter and gave her a tight hug.

He encircled the temple a few times before he spotted her. He made his way to the temple and landed on top of it, to get a perfect bird’s eye view of the worshippers who were making their tributes. Keigo felt his heart skip a beat as he finally spotted Y/N. She was a bewitching human. He had noticed her a while ago when making a delivery to Shukaku who had noticed his wandering eye and shoved him away in a hurry. So, a few days after that encounter, Keigo had disguised himself as a peddling old man to get a glimpse at Y/N who would take care of the incoming devotees.

She wasn’t perfect, her skin too tan evident of her farming origins. Her clothes too torn and shabby, but her smile and gentleness as she accompanied the disguised Keigo enchanted him. The swell of her breasts took his breath away when she bent down to offer him a meager meal of bread and potatoes. She was at first another peasant that hung around the shrines before the priests took advantage of her youth and put her to use. The priests themselves were too busy appeasing the Harvest Goddess to deal with the hungry and the poor.

Yet, all he wanted to do was adorn her in silk and riches. Why didn’t anyone steal her away was a mystery. Didn’t anyone else not notice the beauty behind the dirt-covered fingers and peasant clothing?

Ever since that day, Keigo would whisk away after delivering Haru to her mother to catch a glimpse of his beauty. He watched for hours as she worked in the shrine before finally, she headed home for the day. However, Keigo knew he couldn’t just watch anymore, his desire to possess her overwhelmed him. He had to have her and soon. Keigo smirked, he knew exactly how to do go that, and he flew off to make the appropriate preparations.

  A few days later, Keigo straightened up his extravagant yukata as he kept a close eye on his entourage that was accompanying him. All of them were nymphs ordered to participate in this charade by him. This was necessary he can’t have Y/N’s family suspect him for even a second. The neighboring villagers gathered around to watch the wealthy man in his riches make his way through the slums. They had reached their destination and with inhumane finesse, Keigo lept off the horse, made his way to the bowing man who’s home they had stopped in front of.

“My lord. How may I help you?” the peasant asked as he bent low.

“You are Y/N’s father, aren’t you?” Keigo asked despite already knowing.

The peasant looked up in surprise before looking down in a hurry.

“Y-yes, I’m her father. Is she alright? Or has she done something to offend you, my lord?”

Keigo shook his head.

“I have something to offer you. Let’s talk inside.” Keigo conveyed with this head towards their shabby shack of a house.

Y/N’s father shook himself and quickly made his way inside with Keigo following close behind him.

Keigo fought hard to keep the frown off his face as he looked around the surrounding. His beloved Y/N grew up in such a dwelling when clearly, she should have been a queen.

Y/N’s father offered him a seat and even some drinks and food to the rich man who just refused.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I want to ask for Y/N’s hand.”

The peasant gasped incredulously.

“My lord, I cannot accept that offer. She is in Shukaku-sama’s service. I can’t with good conscious deprive of her duties,” he begged.

Keigo smirked. “Oh yes. The Goddess that still starves your family despite your devotion. Remind me how many of your crops survived this year? Or do you and your wife still starve yourself every night so that Y/N and her siblings can have something to eat?”

Y/N’s father looked away in shame.

Keigo seized the opportunity, seeing the peasant’s weakness. “Give her to me. I’ll adorn her like she deserves. She will sleep every night with a full belly. All the children that are blessed to Y/N and her future generation after won’t ever starve.”

The peasant was now shaking, just a little more.

“Even you. As Y/N’s immediate family will it not be her husband’s duty to take care of them? I will make sure all your children prosper. Though, I cannot make your crops grow. I can give you gold to buy all the food you will ever desire.”

Y/N father’s felt his heartache at the dilemma. For far too long the family has been struggling with meager rations and crops.

“I have to ask since she is my eldest daughter. Will you treat her with the respect a wife deserves? You won’t cast her aside, will you?”

Keigo felt his inwards burn with fury and felt the need to bury his claws and talons into this mortal. Even throw some of his sharpened feathers to turn him into minced meat. He forced himself to calm down as he breathed a deep breath through his nose.

“Of course not. I have made a journey all the way down here to ask for her hand from her father. I wouldn’t do that for a woman I was just going to set aside.” Keigo reassured the mortal.

Y/N’s father wiped the tears that welled up and solemnly nodded.

Keigo felt the first genuine smile since he came here threatening to creep upon his face and he became serious once more.

“Get her ready in a week. I will send supplies to make sure she’s ready for the journey,” Keigo said as he made to leave the shack.

Y/N’s father interrupted, “but my lord what will I tell her?”

Keigo shrugged and let a small smile bloom on his face. “Tell her she’s going to become a bride.”

With that, he hurriedly made to leave the slums that rank of animal feces, tracked mud and dirt everywhere. Keigo gathered his entourage as he made his way back to his temple that was worshipped by his cult. There he celebrated his win with a cup of sake.

“To Y/N and I’s future! May she forever remain lovely and exquisite as she does now.” He toasted brilliantly before drinking his sake.

  Wedding

 Keigo couldn’t help but sneak peeks at his bride. He was right she looked impeccable in the bridal clothes he had provided. Y/N was clearly nervous as her hands shook and she also snuck peeks at her husband. Keigo would flash warm smiles to her each time she did. Y/N would quickly turn away as she blushed.

With the wedding party settling down, Keigo was anxious to get Y/N alone. It had been hours of festivities as minor deities and nymphs visited disguised as humans. Y/N’s family, of course, wasn’t allowed to attend, instead, she had said her goodbyes in the morning before she was whisked away for preparations.

No, what his attention was currently focused on is discerning the secrets underneath the kimono of his lovely wife. When the last guest had retired to their home, Keigo helped his wife up. He took her to the room in his temple that would be their shared room. The futon was laid out along with some sake. Keigo quickly put away the sake as he didn’t want Y/N to get too drunk to enjoy their night.

He offered her his hand as he brought Y/N closer to him.

“Did your mother explain about your duties to your lord husband?” he whispered huskily in her ear as he toyed with the obi of her kimono.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt his warm breath sending goosebumps throughout her body.

“S-she did. She also told me that it would hurt,” Y/N whimpered out.

Keigo let out a chuckle.

“Y/N, I’m going to make you so delirious with pleasure you won’t feel a thing,” he promised as he undid the knot on her obi and took off her kimono.

The white layer underneath showcased just a bit of Y/N’s curves that he ached for so many days to touch and hold.

Keigo grabbed her face as he softly kissed her and coaxed Y/N to respond. Slowly and reluctantly she did as he subtly taught her the art of kissing. While she was busy, Keigo let his hands wander getting the hadajuban off her body. He slid the robe off and let it flutter down onto the tatami.

He pushed her down to the futon, still kissing her as she let out quiet, reluctant moans that Keigo cherished. He made his way to her neck, leaving behind marks showing his claim on her. Kissing the tops of her breasts, he caressed her thighs that had her keening for more. She grabbed his shoulders and tightened her hold on him, not knowing what she needed at that moment. Luckily for Y/N, Keigo's favorite type of lover to have were virgins. He loved the way they got all excited and needy from a few touches, he knew exactly what she needed.

He removed his own kimono before switching positions with Y/N to settle her on top of him. Y/N blushed as she felt her husband’s member hot against her juncture. She balanced herself by putting her hands on his chest and tried to get off.

Keigo grabbed her waist before she could.

“Stay. This way it will hurt less.”

Y/N started breathing erratically as he started to pluck her nipples and grinded against his hand when he checked her readiness. He could feel her virginal barrier still intact.

“I-I’m not sure what to do,” she confessed as she looked anywhere but at her husband.

When Y/N felt him shaking, she looked down to see him chuckling.

She felt his hands tightened around her hips. “I have you so don’t worry,” he reassured. “Though, you should probably start by putting my cock inside.”

Y/N spluttered at his straightforwardness and felt her face get even hotter. Keigo smirked, delighted she could be undone by a word, though by the time he’s through with her he’s going debauch her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t even look him in the eye for weeks.

Keigo reminded her to start by thrusting and grinding below her. Y/N whimpered in return as the contact sparked tingles through her core. She hesitantly grabbed his member, the temperature, and hardness of which perplexed her. Keigo exhaled, trying to remain in control as he watched the mortal he was obsessed with, fulfill his wildest fantasies.

She couched her hips nearer so that her entrance she was so intimately familiar with lined up and slowly sank onto his cock. Her breath hitched as he stretched her out so wonderfully, giving a pleasure that she had only felt through her fingers. Yet, her fingers couldn’t compare to the fullness that his cock inspired. The strange sensations of his ridges also provided extra stimulus.

Keigo held her steady as Y/N let his member in and out several times before finally letting him in deeper. Y/N licked her lips in nervousness as he was only a few inches in and the rest of him still to go. She hesitated before changing her mind and was about to withdraw. Keigo seeing Y/N’s second-guessing herself when she had made such good progress, made him impatient. He tried to wait he really did, but sometimes even an immortal can be tempted by earthly pleasures. He thrusted in fully, as he ripped through her hymen and filled her to the brim. Y/N choked out a gasp at the slight pain, but mostly pleasure as her body slumped forward.

“Come on wife show me what you can do,” he said as he nudged her to move.

Y/N straightened up and moved her hips. At first, her rhythm was all off and she kept her thrusts short and uneven. Still, she gained more and more confidence as she found what she liked and fulfilled her needs. Soon her body naturally started doing a wave of sorts as her hips rose and fell on his cock. Y/N gasped and moaned as sweat started dripping from her forehead and down her body. Keigo reached up and licked the salty moisture before it disappeared into the valley of her breasts.

She was truly a magnificent sight as Y/N evolved from a peasant girl into a God’s woman right before his eyes.

Y/N finally finding the rapture she was looking, sped up, and starting actively bouncing. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Keigo held the bouncing globes in his hands as he swirled his tongue and suckled. That proved to be too much for Y/N as she let out broken groans and clenched her eyes shut. The sensations exploded and overwhelmed her mind as Keigo helped her ride it out from below. She collapsed on top of him as her body rested.

Keigo helped her move to the side and spooned her from behind. He grinded into her back, his cock still pulsing with need. Moving Y/N’s hair out of the, he kissed her neck a few times before plunging his cock back into her. Keeping her flushed against his body as he had his hand over her waist to keep her still as his thrusts rocked her body back and forth.

She concealed her screams into her futon as he set about a harsh pace, faster than the one she had been used to. He stealthily trailed his hand down to her pussy. Her clit was well lubricated due to the moisture that gushed out each time he pulled out and slammed back in. Feeling himself get close, Keigo started rubbing her clit frantically, wanting to feel her walls squeeze him and greedily suck his seed into her womb.

Y/N despite muffling her sounds, got louder and louder, screeching as she came once again. Keigo groaned and nestled his face into her shoulder as he released his cum into her. Y/N groggily felt herself being tucked in beside him and a blanket soon covered them both before she drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later Y/N was hastily woken from her rest for the third time that night as Keigo took her over and over. As she keeled over from yet another orgasm, she blearily looked at her blonde husband who was panting above her and swore she saw his eyes turn gold and red wings erupt from his back.

[thejosh1980]

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes...

We've sure had a few changes here at The Ocean Shores Resort. It's been a full on month since I last wrote... Through the good, the bad, and the ugly, we've been keeping positive, enjoying the cooler days. Damn summer is hot and long here!!!

The past few months have all been about learning to deal with life's unexpected roadblocks and detours.

There's a lot to tell, but I think the main thing is, at least for me, that I've been a student for the first time the late 1990's. I've spent the past 4 weeks in class, learning, studying, researching, getting to know my classmates and finding all of it challenging, stimulating and exciting.

Studying counseling has been surprisingly awesome for my mental health too. I mean, I have had some really challenging days, especially when it comes to some of the assessments. The first one, well I just about quit the course over it. I really was at my wit's end. An assessment, I suspect, that was created by some office nut job in a government position, who never taught a day in his life and thinks his open ambiguous questions are making it easier for us to answer. I think the whole class suffered sleepless nights that week!! Terrible, but I chipped away at it, persevered and managed to finish it a few days early. Not only that, I learnt a lot about myself and the situation at hand, as you know I'm all about the process.

I learnt that I have to work slowly and meaningfully at these assessments. I can't expect to finish it in one sitting or even in one weekend. Just starting and having a go, finding the easier parts to get done first, using different resources (I love how I can spend the day watching youtube videos and count that as research) and making sure I take time to focus on me with a little bit of self care.

Alex has been super great too, as I delve into this mysterious world of study and being a student. She listens to me talk about the counseling theory of the day, the one we just did in class and how great it is because I can already apply it to friends, family or, more importantly, myself, only to hear me talk about the next theory the next day, like it's gods gift to therapy. She proof reads all my work, debates theories, offers very good suggestions (not only is she super self aware, but she's studied psychology) and somehow, I don't know how she does it, but she knows when I need a break and encourages me to take it. Otherwise I would be at the books day and night.

I've also learnt a lot in class about myself. Part of that comes from comparing my experiences, beliefs and knowledge with my classmates. They are all really great people from a wide variety of backgrounds. But some, push my buttons ever so gently, and I love it. I love the challenge of figuring out why I react to that person that way. What is it I'm feeling and why?

I am thankful this is not an online course!

I've gotten to know some classmates fairly well, and I am surprised at how they openly offer words of appreciation and support. Like “your voice is really calming” and “your vulnerability and openness is a breath of fresh air”. I always thought my voice sounded pretty crap! (Yes I know I sing, but that still doesn't mean I like the sound of my own voice). Also, I never thought I was actually being vulnerable, I always thought that I was just sharing stuff, my stuff, in the hope we can understand each other better. I may have to stop that now....

Nahhhh, just kidding...

The course is something that is right for me, right now. I don't think my mental state would have been ready 2 to 5 years ago, let alone 10 or even 20 years ago!!

Besides the 2 afternoons being ruined by frustration, anger and hopelessness, due to the above mentioned assessment from hell, it's been a good 4 weeks into the year long course. I look forward to each day in class... I even go to the college on my off days to work in the library instead of working from home. I just get more done, even though Mijo misses my lap!

I don't know where the course will take me, I haven't even thought of what job I want to do once I'm a qualified counselor. I hope that during my time as a student, the course will guide me in the direction best suited for me. Learn my weaknesses, follow my strengths and work with both. It's all too overwhelming to think too far ahead. See, I'm learning...

Right here and now... That's all that matters....

During my first week at college, Alex changed jobs. Arriving in Australia and diving head first into real estate sales 1 hour away from home was a real high jump to begin with! The pressure of the job, not to mention the 2 hours a day traveling time, the weekend work and the small size of the business with undefined job roles made it tough! Real tough!

Alex decided to side step into an admin position in a bigger real estate company closer to home with defined job roles, massive support and a very positive outlook. She basically took up her role she had in New York. She's lovin' it! I am too. She's home each night at the same time, doesn't bring much work home with her, other than stories of her awesome day, which I love to hear. Additionally she now has her weekends free to explore and relax too.

She also found a psychiatrist who confirmed her ADHD diagnosis. Alex was originally diagnosed in her early 20's after her turbulent teenage years. She had therapy and medication back then but after a huge burn out in the US, she came back to Germany and let it all lapse. It has been a real struggle for her to cope, and at times, I'll be honest, it has put strain on our marriage. Well, 1 day after her first doc appointment and her meds had kicked in, she's become a new woman. It's been great to get to know this side of her. While things are not 100% perfect, I now have a wife who looks forward to getting up and attacking the day with gusto.

Mum's had a hard run lately too... We all know that I came back to help support her as her eye sight slowly deteriorates. I've been here to read every label, drive her to every appointment and help her work the wonderful world of her laptop, printer and Windows. Alex has been alongside us for the ride too. There's been a few recent health issues that have cropped up. I can't go into detail, but it's fair to say, I can see it was the right time to come home and be here to support Mum.

Mum is strong willed, strong minded and independent, and little of that will change while she can fight against all the odds throwin' at her. It's been a tough couple of weeks, and mum's kept focused on the bigger picture, her health, it's been inspiring.

Mijo has been through the wars.

The little deaf cat recently celebrated his 6 month birthday, but the poor fella has something seriously going on with his health which means we are delaying any big celebrations until his 1st birthday... Besides ringworm (it's not actually a worm, it's a fungal infection), a tooth that won't grow down (it grows directly forward and needs to be surgically removed), no appetite and losing weight, he's doing fine! The poor lethargic fella sleeps all day, which is kind of normal, except I can't remember the last time he had the energy to chase a toy or even run.

I haven't been taking him out much, he needs rest. We did explore the beaches, rivers and parks nearby together, I hope that in a few months I can pick up where we left off. For now he needs rest, calmness and another trip or two the vet.

Through all these ups and downs, we're all actually quite good.

My deep hole from February/March is just a blimp on the computer screen of my life. Studying has raised a few challenges but I am working my way through them, determined to kick that courses ass and learn, learn, learn... One day I hope I can help others through similar struggles as my own.

Alex's struggles with ADHD are progressing in the right direction now and her new job sure was the right call. Mum is showing the world she can take on whatever is thrown at her, and then some.

Alex and I keep going from strength to strength. I'm blessed with her support, respect and love. One classmates already calls her “the awesome wife”, and they've never met!! I guess when I talk about my wife, I reek of pride and love, as it should be.

Thanks for reading,

The Josh

[missameliep]

Is This Love? - Part 2

Book: Desire and Decorum Summary: The sands of time do not stop trickling down, and Elizabeth is no longer a child. Mary reminds herself that being born poor and beautiful might be either a blessing or a curse, when she realises that love and lust will soon be a permanent part of her daughter’s life. Word count: ~3.200 words Notes: * Part of the events in this series take place prior to the story of Book 1 and my series The Pursuit of Happiness, and retell some of the events from the first chapters of that book. The third from this chapter scene takes place at Chapter 3. * Characters belong to PixelBerry, except OC; * English is not my first language;   * The series was inspired by an ask from my friend @princess-geek​​​ (I hope you enjoy it!).

This is my late submission to @julychoiceschallenge​​ - Day 14: Love.

Grovershire – May, 1808

This year’s harvest festival must be the greatest festivity since Mary moved to Grovershire. Even though the fields have not been blessed by favourable weather or an exceptional crop like previous years, the community got together these past months, supporting one another, and bravely enduring the intense frost and the arid weeks that followed. Once the worst is behind them, the townspeople found more than enough reasons to celebrate.

The sun was setting, and the square was brimming with people. A dancing crowd before the lively band with their graceful – and not so graceful – matching steps. Laughter and music filling the air, joining the inviting smell of baked goods and food displayed at numerous carts.

This evening, Mary helped her long-time friend Pavarti Daly with her cart filled with delicious pies, just like she did on previous years. While she served another piece of her friend’s famous walnut pie, she caught a glimpse of her twelve-year-old daughter standing beside the square fountain and smiled.

The green and beige summer dress, which was tailored using leftover fabrics from Mary’s creations for the townswomen, contrasted with the girl’s pale skin peppered with light freckles and hung a little loose over her lean childlike frame. Luckily, Mary ponders, it will fit her for the next two summers at least, if she doesn’t get tall as her father all of a sudden.

With every passing day, Elizabeth resembles less and less the image of the child from her mother’s memories. Soon, every trace of the infancy shall be gone, and the haunting likeness she shares with her father will grow even more evident. Ever since she was a baby, she already took too much after him, either on her looks, with the same dark brown hair, and on many other aspects. For instance, Mary enjoys reading and her attention can be captivated by a good story. Once upon a time her entire craft relied on her ability to become someone else entirely and bring stories to life. Nonetheless, Elizabeth’s fascination for books since she was a little girl is unlike hers. Her green eyes shone with the mere sight of an unread book, just like her father’s once did.

“Our little Lizzy is growing into a handsome young lass, my friend,” Mrs. Daly beamed, nudging her friend’s side. “Soon all the lads in the village shall be smitten and singing her praises outside your windows...”

Before Mary could say anything, her friend grabbed her arm and pointed. Their attention shifted to a group of teenage boys, standing a few metres away from her daughter. Mary recognized some of them as the sons of Grovershire’s richest families. Two of Mrs. Dunne’s boys were in the group, Francis, with his lavish caramel curls, and Sean, the youngest with his distinctive fiery red hair. The older boys stared at her daughter, wolfish smiles curling their mouths while her half-braided hair and skirts swayed while she mimicked the steps of the dancers.

“Oh! It seems she’s already caught their eyes!” Mrs. Daly corrected herself and did not try to stifle a chortle while they watched the scene like an act of a play.

Briar, who had returned to Elizabeth’s side, whispered into her ear and the two laughed, before walking with arms linked past the group of boys towards the fields, where the harvest games were held. Faces turned and eyes accompanied the pair of giggling girls distancing, then many pairs of feet marched towards the same direction.

Mary sighed, still looking at the place her daughter once was, contemplating the end of the act.

The fact that Elizabeth and her undeniable good-looks would eventually catch the eyes of the opposite sex was anticipated, and for years her mother has prepared herself and her daughter for that moment. Although, high-class young men taking an interest on the girl at such a young age and what they might feel entitled to considering their perception of her social status, that concerns her terribly.

A shiver ran down her spine. The most difficult conversations she shall engage with her daughter looming at the horizon.

Throughout the years, Mary witnessed – and experienced herself in a few occasions – how entitlement works and the way men relying on their wealthy and power hold their claims over poor women’s companies and favours, unapologetically reminding them that what is not given voluntarily, might be taken by force.

“That is the natural order of things, my dear.” Mary can still hear the male, low and ragged voice, uttering those words into her ear. At the occasion, she was only a few years older than her daughter, and unfortunately it wasn’t the last time similar ones were spoken to her.

At last, as if coming out of a trance, she turned around, facing the other woman.

“I am afraid both of our girls have, my friend,” she pointed out with an undeniable hint of melancholy, and her attention returned to the cart and to the people standing around. Plastering an insincere smile, she handed a piece of pie to a smiling Mrs. White, who thanked her and turned around to re-join the animated conversation with friends, oblivious to Mary’s concerns.

Mrs. Daly put the knife and plate down, and inched closer to examine her friend’s contemplative face. Worry creasing the space between her eyebrows and a sudden sadness clouding her eyes.

“You make it sound like a bad omen and I wonder why.”

“For a woman, being born beautiful and poor may be either a blessing or a curse,” Mary started, in a tone sufficient loud to not be muffled by the music and heard exclusively by her friend, “and one can never predict which way it shall go.”

Mary experienced both.

God willing Elizabeth would be more fortunate.

Grovershire – April, 1811

The sun was almost above their heads in that spring morning. The gentlest breeze blowing through the trees while a flock of birds presented their choreographed dance across the cloudless blue sky.

Up since before dawn, mother and daughter had fed the chickens, brought water from the well, watered the garden, gathered the vegetables and broken the fast, completing part of the tasks for the day. Now, side by side, they tended to the small garden surrounding their cottage.

Like every other springtime, what had been green only a few weeks ago, now has become colourful and vibrant. The flowers in bloom and their sweet fragrance filled Mary’s lung with pride and were counted amongst the most cherished accomplishments on the process of turning the ancient lifeless cottage into a home filled with happiness and love.

Focusing her gaze on the neat raised beds of herbs and vegetables, that soon will fill their steaming pots, she looked for signs of weeds and pests. Groaning, the woman plucked the roots of weeds growing next to the rosemarys, while her daughter stared with a quizzical expression.

“Mama,” Elizabeth called her softly, and Mary’s head tilted to face her. “Would you mind answering a question?”

“Of course not, my dear. Ask away.”

“It is... rather personal, I am afraid.”

Sensing the seriousness of the subject, Mary removed her hands from the dirty, sat on the balls of her bare feet, and indicated for her to continue.

“Did you and father fall in love right at first sight like the characters from the tales?”

Surprise rounded the woman’s lips and eyes and she drew in a sharp inhale.

“...You told me you loved each other very much, and it got me wondering...”

The corners of her mouth slowly curled up with reminiscences of love confessions uttered so long ago.

“Only your father,” she replied with a wistful smile. “Or so he used to say…”

“You didn’t?”

“Due to many circumstances, it took me a while longer to understand the nature of my feelings... However not that long, I must admit. Clearly Cupid’s arrows had stricken us both down.”

“Which circumstances?”

Mary paused and scratched one dirty palm. The actual worries that filled her mind at the time regarding the social abyss separating a young Viscount and an Opera singer or the fear of engaging into the kind of forbidden relationship that could only have a tragic ending like the many Operas she’s performed cannot be addressed.

“Unimportant and foolish concerns of a young lass, long buried under the sands of time.” A vague response to avoid follow-up questions.

Elizabeth tilted her head and pondered about the pieces of information received. Throwing some weeds at a basket, she dusted her hands off, cleaning them from dirt and small pieces of the roots.

“But how did you know?” she asked picking at the dirt beneath her fingernails. “That it was love, I mean.”

Mary rubbed the back of her hand on her forehead, wiping beads of sweat and removing a strand of blond hair stuck in front of her eye, and looked at her daughter with an amused expression. “Is it my imagination or has Cupid paid you a visit recently, Eliza?”

“Me? No, mama! I – Absolutely not!” Elizabeth's cheeks reddened and stumbling on words, she protested some more about the absurdity of her mother’s insinuation.

Raising her eyebrows at how vehemently her daughter wanted to deny it, she suspected that maybe some young lad has indeed caught her eye. However, if that was the case, it could be wiser to be patient for the moment and allow her strongminded daughter the opportunity to share the news whenever she felt ready.

Mary stifled a snicker, and apologised for teasing her so, but it was not enough for Elizabeth’s cheeks to return to its regular colour or to erase the vexed expression from her face.

“Tell me then, if you may, what stirred the sudden interest on the matter?”

“I was just curious, because I have been reading this book suggested by Mrs. Dunne and –”

“Ah! I should’ve known,” Mary interrupted with a knowing smirk. Anytime she started a new book, her mouth could not help but communicate the interrogations multiplying inside her mind. “And may I know what this book says that has you wondering about this particular subject?”

“It is not a specific fact, actually… Perhaps the contradictory notions... Most of the stories I have read this far insist the hero fell in love with the heroine at first sight. A glimpse of a handsome woman across a ballroom and that seals the gentleman’s fate. Which comes as an absurd notion, I think. Beauty being the exclusive aspect on which love is based seems utterly vain, do you not agree?” she inquired looking at her mother, who nodded, aware that love can at times be mistaken by desire and the urges of the flesh by young and inexperienced hearts. “While others – and this book particularly – glorify the use of reason at the moment of choosing the right man to wed, the necessity of taking under consideration the parents’ and the society’s good opinions, scrutinizing the possible suitor’s every possession to see if in the end he is a favourable match. It also seems very odd...”

Feigning scandal, Mary gasped, “Would my only daughter not want my advice?”

“I will never venture to even accept a courtship without first hearing your opinion, but…”

They shared a knowing smile.

“I have sensed a but…” the mother said, shaking her head slowly. Strong willed as her daughter is, undoubtedly, she would desire to take the reigns of her own life. “Care to explain what feels odd about this second notion? Being sensible before making a life changing decision such as marriage seems reasonable enough.”

“But should reason led when it comes to the matters of the heart? It also does not strike me as correct,” she paused and casted a glance at the chirping birds on the ground.

“Affection grows in spite of reason. That is a certainty.”

“It seems utterly odd that family or society’s opinions should matter the most, since I am the one who would wed and spend a lifetime with such a man...”

“Fortune, status and society’s opinions about a suitor are important to some…”

“Not to me,” Elizabeth stated with resolution. “A man who offers empty hands and a kind heart is preferable to one whose pockets are full of gold and the heart devoid of affection.”

“Indeed.”

The corners of Mary’s lips raised in a smirk. Another similarity bonding Elizabeth and her father. Vincent never failed to deliver a similar speech whenever she felt insecure of her low birth.

“One does not choose who to love…” Mary admitted, and her daughter’s attention focused on her. “A husband, on the other hand, that is a choice. A major one in my opinion.”

The teenager’s brows knitted together, while she pondered over those words. “Enough to one being forced to marry someone against their will?” she inquired but did not wait for a reply. “In this book they praise as a perfect son one who obliges to his family’s request and breaks an attachment to the woman he loves… He broke not only the engagement, but his own heart to obey… Is it not incredibly sad?”

Empathysing with the familiarity in this tale, Mary’s head bobbed in agreement. A lump on her throat kept her from speaking her mind for a long moment. The only conversations in the garden coming from the clucking chickens in the back.

“Then your heart may rest, since I promise to not meddle or force you into marrying someone you would not choose yourself,” Mary teased meeting Elizabeth’s gaze. “Though I suspect you had no reasons to worry about that...”

Elizabeth confirmed and they both chuckled, until Mary coughed a few times, face turning red.

“Mama,” she called softly, worry creasing her forehead, but she received a curt wave in return and when her mother finally managed to speak, she told her not to worry.

“You should visit Mrs. Clarke about that cough.”

“I will. When I find the time…”

After a little consideration, Elizabeth raised to her feet and went inside, returning a moment later with a jug and a cup. Sitting on the ground beside her mother, she watched her swallowing the water as if she had just come from the desert.

Mary thanked her and took the jug from Elizabeth’s hand to pour herself more water.

“I have one last question, if you don’t mind…” she said softly, a blush tinting her cheeks. “How does one know the feeling is actually love? What if my mind mistakes everything? I have only known the love I feel for you... and Briar and Mrs. Daly... I do not want to misinterpret if it happens –”

“When it happens,” Mary corrected her with a smile. “Love is not something easily described, though so many poets have tried... But you will know, trust me. The warm feeling inside… and the butterflies in your stomach… It shall not be mistaken by admiration or friendship. This person’s company, you will crave it like the air you breathe and, if you are fortunate enough, he will yearn yours as well…”

Mary closed her eyes for an instant, almost feeling the same fluttering in her heart just remembering those days of stolen kisses and longing. Then, her eyes reopened, and she concluded, “Some people acknowledge it very rapid…”

“Like father?”

“Exactly like your father. To others it can take time…” she replied and looked at her daughter fondly, enjoying the opportunity to revisit those memories. After so many years, speaking about the matter doesn’t feel like tearing open an old wound anymore. Actually, if she could, she would speak more often about it, afraid of forgetting everything with time. She still remembers his scent, but his voice – is it his or is it someone else the one she hears in her dreams?

“Though, I advise you to resist first impressions, they tend to be deceiving. Trust your instincts and search for honesty. Excessive flattery can be misleading…” With a smile, the woman proceeded listing advices and desirable qualities to search in a partner.

Raising her fingers, Elizabeth started speaking and counting, “In conclusion, I should trust my instincts, avoid flatterers, remember my social rank does not define me, love is a desirable thing and… And something about first impressions, possibly?” Failing to keep a straight face, she raised her shoulders and hands, holding her palms facing the sky. “Were violent passions good or bad?”

“Aren’t you impossible, daughter of mine?”

Bursting into laughter, Elizabeth asked, “How shall I remember all of that, mama? I fear I should have a paper and quill at hand to write the entire thing down!”

“You may always ask me, silly,” Mary replied, and they beamed fondly at each other. “Since I trust my recommendations are far better than any other you have read on those books.”

“Perhaps you should write your own book advising young and confused women searching for love and marriage...” Elizabeth suggested, and Mary snorted with laughter.

“Perhaps I will do just that. When I find the time.”

Edgewater – March, 1816

Elizabeth’s eyes were still marvelling at every little detail at the luxurious manor that welcomed her the previous day, from the furniture to the tall floral arrangements that invited spring inside, to the polite company and their fine dresses. Her ears could certainly get used to the music that Ms. Parsons’ long and skilled fingers create while pressing each ivory and ebony key.

If only she had the same skills... She would adore to let her fingers glide on the keyboard, producing sweet melody as well. However, a seamstress’ daughter is not taught how to play the pianoforte. Perhaps, an Earl daughter might have the chance.

Exhibiting her natural talent, Elizabeth sings the verses effortlessly and in perfect harmony with the woman playing. For the first time since her arrival, she feels like herself again. Memories from singing so many times with her mother along the years flood her mind, and she blinks away the emotions from her eyes and read the lyrics from the partiture.

Sitting by the pianoforte, Ms. Parson flashes a sincere smile, when they finish and their performance earns applauses and praises, especially Elizabeth’s voice, which have marvelled the trio of young women.

The only one who doesn’t seem content is the Countess, whose disgusted expression is not kept in secret.

Per usual, from her tongue fly unkind remarks.

Elizabeth cannot prevent her ears from listening her words, however she can and must succeed in training her own tongue to not speak harshly or out of time. The words she wishes to say are kept on her mind for now, and she does not respond the offenses.

From across the room, she casts a glance at the older woman, and contemplates if the pain of losing a loved son might have turned her into the spiteful creature who cannot tolerate her presence there, even if it brings joy to her father.

How can she be so cruel, knowing so well the unbearable pain of mourning someone we love?

When the pleasant conversation with Ms. Parsons is interrupted by the Countess, who urges her stepdaughter to return to the embroidery, in order to perfectionate the craft, she sighs at her companion and with resignation returns to the same place at the settee. Sitting beside the spot where the needle work was left moments ago.

Smoothing the skirts of the dress, fine fabric unlike anything she has laid eyes on, she catches bits of Ms. Sutton and Ms. Bowman’s conversation, their needlework forgotten on their respective laps.

The Countess did not conceal her annoyance at the exchange and the sound of her future daughter-in-law, stabbing the fabric harder than necessary.

“…and then I saw Mr. Sinclaire here at Edgewater yesterday!” Ms. Sutton concluded and her nasal voice ringed in the drawing room. 

“Again?” the other woman gasped.

Inadvertently, Elizabeth disclosed about being introduced to the gentleman by her grandmother and having him escort her in a tour of the gardens.

“How was it, Lady Elizabeth?”

“What were your impressions of him?”

“Tell us everything!” Ms. Sutton and Ms. Bowman spoke at the same time, staring at her expectantly.

Elizabeth chewed over their questions for a while and on her lower lip.

What were my first impressions?

[spn-safeandsound]

15. Meg Complicates Things

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x21; Salvation

Word Count: 7,605

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, demons, John Winchester

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! Please reblog and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Julia,

When you were born, I remember taking one look at you and knowing that our family was complete. You weren't an expected child but you weren't an unwelcome one, either. Your mother and I knew that you would be a blessing, just like each of your siblings. And we were right. Our lives would not have been the same without you.

You're special, kiddo.

You were young when your mom got her diagnosis but you still knew that something was wrong. You were scared but you still put a smile on your face for Naomi whenever you saw her. You were strong for her. You've always been so strong and I always thought that you got that from me but I know it's not. You got that from Naomi. All of you kids got her strength. You and your siblings have been there for each other through thick and thin, even when I wasn't there. Never let that go, Julia. You will always need your family.

I'm sorry that I left but I have something important to do. John knows that and he's accepted that I have done all I can to help him with the demon. This important task is big—bigger than just me—so I don't know if I will see you again for a while. It could be months but it could also be years.

I just want you to know that I'm proud of you, Jujube. I always have been and I always will be. I know your mother would be very happy to see the woman you have become. I know I am.

I love you, kiddo.

Lucas Alexander

Julia wiped the tears from her eyes and set the letter down on her lap. Her dad was gone again and she didn't know whether to be sad or angry. The sad part of her was winning, though. Luke was saying goodbye in the letter and even though he had never been good with words, she felt the love he had for her and her family. Even with that love, though, she didn't want to say goodbye. She had just lost Levi, she didn't want to lose her dad, too.

When she had woken up that morning, John was the first person she saw. He had pulled her aside to break the news that Luke had left for an important hunt and apologized before giving her the letter Luke wrote for her. At first, she was in shock but now she was confused.

What could her dad possibly be doing? What was oh-so important task that needed to be done? Why would it take so long?

Julia didn't just feel sad for herself, either. At least she got to see him. Abby and Beth hadn't and that was going to destroy them. Abby was the closest to their father but Beth had always been a daddy's girl, too. Julia only hoped that Luke sent them letters or called them to tell them what was going on. Otherwise, the three of them were pretty much left in the dark.

Julia grabbed her phone from the nightstand and opened it, sending Beth a text message.

Jules: Did Dad send you a letter?

It didn't take long for her oldest sister to reply.

Beth: Yeah. He sent one to Abs, too. Call me when you have the time

Julia sent a confirmation back and sighed in relief, glad that Luke had made contact with her sisters, too.

"So, this is it," John told Sam and Dean as the two of them looked over the various research that he had gathered on the demon that killed Mary and Jess; Julia snapped her phone shut and slid off the bed she was sharing with Sam, heading over to the table where the Winchester boys were huddled. "This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we've been searching for this demon, right? Not a trace, just nothing...Until about a year ago. For the first time, Luke picked up a trail and called me."

"And that's when you took off," Dean finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

John nodded. "Yeah, that's right," he confirmed. "The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"What's the trail?" Julia asked, her eyes shifting from the information on the wall to John.

"It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California," John explained. "Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us."

"Families with infants?" Sam wondered.

"Yeah," John nodded. "The night of the kid's six-month birthday."

Sam stiffened, looking at his father in shock. "I was six months old that night?"

"Exactly six months."

"So, basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me?" when John avoided his eyes, Sam scoffed. "So, Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?"

"We don't know that, Sam," Dean stated.

"Oh, really?" Sam huffed. "Because I'd say we're pretty damn sure."

Dean gave him a frustrated look. "For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault."

"Right," Sam raised his voice. "It's not my fault but it's my problem!"

"No, it's not your problem, it's our problem!"

Julia sighed and walked over so she stood between the brothers, gently grabbing their arms. "That's enough," she said calmly. "Come on, settle down."

And, like magic, Sam and Dean took deep breaths and calmed down. Julia looked at them in surprise as they turned to John to focus back on the demon. Either they weren't really upset or she had forcefully calmed them down and she had no idea how she did it.

"So, why is he doing it?" Sam asked John. "What does he want?"

John's curious gaze went from Julia to Sam. "Look, I wish I had more answers, I do. Luke and I were always one step behind it," he sighed sadly. "We never got there in time to save..."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as he trailed off, knowing exactly what he wasn't saying.

"All right, so, how do we find it before it hits again?" Dean spoke up, looking to John for answers.

"There's signs," John told him. "It took us a while to see the pattern but it's there in the days before these fires. Signs crop up in the area; cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms..."

"Demonic omens," Julia muttered thoughtfully, wrinkling her nose.

John nodded at her. "And then I went back and checked and..."

"These things happened in Lawrence," Dean realized.

"A week before your mother died," John confirmed before looking at Sam sadly. "And in Palo Alto, before Jessica."

Julia pursed her lips together, her eyes stinging, and grabbed Sam's hand. She squeezed it tightly, knowing that if she was having trouble, he was two times worse. He bowed his head, holding onto her tightly and drawing comfort from her.

"And these signs, they're starting again."

Sam looked up. "Where?"

"Salvation, Iowa."

-

It was a ten-hour drive from Manning, Colorado to Salvation, a little town an hour outside of Des Moines, Iowa. Sam and Dean took turns driving through boring Nebraska, taking their time off to sleep, while Julia switched between taking naps, reading, or talking to whoever was driving so they wouldn't fall asleep.

She was able to talk to Beth and Abby, both of whom were equally upset about the letters that they received from Luke. Julia was even informed that Taylor, Lizzie, and Maggie got their own letters, which somehow made Luke leaving all the more official. Beth was really torn up about her letter and Julia could tell that Abby was, too, but she wasn't one to share her emotional distress. Abigail Petersen was the closest you could get to a female Dean; always staying strong for others in their time of need while hurting on the inside.

After a long drive, they had just entered Salvation's town limits when John pulled his truck over to the side of the road. Dean followed his lead and all three of them got out of the car to see what was going on.

"God damn it!" John angrily slammed his hand against the bed of his truck. "Son of a bitch!"

Dean gave his dad a concerned look. "What is it?"

"I just got a call from Caleb."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine," John confirmed for Dean. "Jim Murphy's dead."

Julia exhaled sharply at the news. "Pastor Jim?" her voice wavered. "How?"

Pastor Jim had been an uncle-figure to her and her siblings just like John was. He was a faithful man like her family and had trained in the hunting life with her dad, though he was a couple years older. Before he retired and went to preaching full time, the Petersen family used to see him every year around summertime.

He was also important to the Winchesters for the same reason. Sam and Dean had spent more time combined with Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer than their dad growing up. Sam had always told her that he liked staying at Pastor Jim's house because he'd make good spaghetti.

"His throat was slashed. He bled out," John sighed. "Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place."

"A demon," Sam stated flatly. "The demon?"

"I don't know," John shook his head. "Could be he just got careless and he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close."

"What do you wanna do?"

"Now we act like every second counts," John declared. "There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up and cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week."

"Dad, that could be dozens of kids," Sam pointed out. "How do we know which one is the right one?"

"We check them all, that's how," John said sternly. "You got any better ideas?"

Sam quickly shook his head. "No, sir."

John nodded and silently dismissed them; Julia paused as she turned back to the Impala, sensing his energy. He was angry and upset, a little guilty. Even if the man acted like a cold drill sergeant most of the time, it didn't mean that he didn't have feelings like everyone else.

"Uncle John, are you okay?" she asked tentatively.

Dean and Sam looked back at Julia before their eyes slid over to their father as they waited for him to answer her.

"Yeah," John's tone was exhausted; it was clear that he just wanted this all to be over with. "It's Jim, you know? I can't..." he paused for a second, his determination strengthening. "This ends, now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes."

-

They split up just like John said they would. John went to the women and children's hospital while Dean went to Salvation Memorial, and Julia and Sam went to the medical center.

Julia and Sam acted as police officers, asking the receptionist on the pediatric floor for all the records of the babies that would have turned six months old that day. It took a while for them to gather all the information but, in the end, there were only ten records they had to jot down.

It was when they were leaving the medical center that they had trouble. Julia was in the middle of reciting some of the records for Sam when he stopped in his tracks. He winced painfully and held the bridge of his nose, like he usually did when he was having one of his visions.

"Sam, are you all right?" Julia anxiously asked him, stashing the notebook under her arm so she could steady him. "Sam?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm just..." he paused, grunting as another wave hit him. His energy was twisting just like the last time he had a vision and it worried her. "I'm getting something..."

He winced, unable to speak again while the rest of his vision passed. Julia just made sure that she was staying calm and steadied him, making soothing noises as he continued to see whatever was coming to him.

"A train," he whispered once his vision was finished.

"A train?" Julia stood on her tiptoes to put the back of her hand against his forehead to check for a fever; he felt normal. "Tell me what you saw, S."

"I saw and woman and her baby," Sam breathed, pulling his backpack around his body so he could pull a map of Salvation out of one of the pockets. "I kept hearing a train and the—the demon was there."

"Okay," Julia nodded, pulling the notebook out from underneath her arm. "Give me a location of the train. Maybe something will match."

Sam nodded and pointed at the map, his finger trailing the marked train tracks. "All right, there's a Violet Avenue."

Julia went through the list of names they wrote down, wrinkling her nose in concentration. "There's one on here," she told him. "Rosie Holden, born to Monica and Charlie Holden."

"Let's go."

The Holden household was only two blocks from the medical center. They had to cross through a park that was strangely full of kids for a rainy day but the neighborhood the new parents lived in was nice. If this had been another life, Julia could see herself living on a street like this.

Luckily, just as they crossed onto Violet Avenue, Sam pointed out a woman only a few years older than them, pushing a baby stroller on the sidewalk and holding an umbrella over her head. He whispered to Julia that it was the woman he saw in his vision.

"Hi," Sam greeted the woman when they approached her just as she was attempting to close her umbrella and keep a hold of her baby's stroller. "Here, let me hold that for you. You look like you don't need that anymore."

"Oh," the woman smiled kindly as Sam made sure the stroller kept still. "Thanks."

Julia grinned and looked under the hood of the stroller, taking a peek at the baby. She was the cutest little girl—but most babies were cute, it was just science—with long eyelashes and big brown eyes. "Wow, she's beautiful," she complimented the woman. "Look at those eyelashes. Is she yours?"

"Yeah," the woman nodded proudly.

"Oh, wow, hi," Sam cooed to the baby. "Sorry, we're being rude. I'm Sam and this is Julia. We just moved in up the block."

"Oh, hey, I'm Monica," Monica perked up in realization and introduced herself before looking down at her baby. "This is Rosie."

"Rosie," Sam confirmed while Julia smiled, glad that they found the woman that Sam had a vision of. "Hi, Rosie."

The baby just stared at him, quietly picked at the blanket that covered her.

"So, welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you," Julia silently awed as Rosie blinked up at her and Sam. "She such a good baby."

"I know," Monica nodded. "I mean, she never cries. She just stares at everybody. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear, it's—it's like she's reading your mind."

That made Julia pause but her smile didn't falter. If the demon was coming for Rosie and Monica tonight, just like it did for Sam and Mary, did that mean Rosie was like Sam? Did she have mental abilities like him already? Or was that why the demon was coming in the first place?

"What about you, Monica?" Sam wondered politely. "Have you lived here long?"

"My husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born," Monica informed them, pointing to the house they had all stopped in front of.

"And how old is Rosie?"

They already knew how old the baby was from her records but they needed to make sure that they were the family the demon was coming after.

"She's six months today," Monica looked down at the stroller fondly. "She's big, right? Growing like a weed."

"Yeah," Sam laughed sadly, looking down at Rosie; Julia grabbed his free hand, squeezing it tightly. "Monica..."

"Yeah?"

"Just, uh, just take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, you too," Monica smiled gratefully. "We'll see you both around."

Julia nodded and waved as she started walking again, up her driveway where an SUV had just pulled in. A man Monica's age got out of the vehicle and greeted his girls with fond kisses that brought a sad smile to Julia's face. They had to make sure the demon didn't ruin this family. They just had to.

-

"A vision," John's voice was flat as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

After speaking with Monica, Rosie's mother, Julia called Dean while Sam freaked out. He and John were already done with their recon missions and had rented a motel room for their use. She had explained to the oldest Winchester brother what had happened to Sam. Sam had then pried the phone from her hand to tell Dean that they needed to tell John what exactly was going on.

Telling John about Sam's visions didn't exactly go well.

"Yes," Sam answered, pressing his fingers against his pounding head. "I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."

"And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because...?"

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them."

"It started out as nightmares," Dean stepped in, moving from his spot on the bed next to John and making his way over to the table where Julia and Sam were seated. "Then it started happening while he was awake."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, agreeing with his brother. "It's like—I dunno—it's like the closer I get to anything to do with the demon, the stronger the visions get."

John bristled and set his annoyed gaze on his sons. "All right, when were you going to tell me about this?"

"We didn't know what it meant," Dean offered tensely.

"Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me," John glared at him.

Julia shook her head in disapproval; there had been zero times that John had picked up the phone, despite each of them calling many, many times over the last nine months. He had practically abandoned his sons and now he was getting onto Dean for not getting a hold of him? It was his fault that Dean—or Sam, for that matter—didn't inform him about what was going on.

Dean scoffed. "Call you? Are you kidding me?" he asked in disbelief. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right? I called you when Julia was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the fucking lottery."

Julia was surprised by Dean's words but proud, nevertheless. Dean had always followed orders and never argued with his dad; he had always taken John's crap without protest. It was nice to see him breaking out of his daddy's-little-soldier persona and coming into his own person.

Not to mention that she had a thing for angry Dean. He was gorgeous, what could she say?

John was silent for a few seconds before he answered. "You're right," he admitted; Dean relaxed, having tensed when he realized what he had told his father. "Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours—"

Of course, Julia mentally scoffed.

"—you're right. I'm sorry."

"Look guys, visions or no visions, the fact is that we know the demon is coming tonight," Sam spoke up. "And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through."

"No, they're not," John declared firmly. "No one is, ever again."

Sam's phone rang at that moment; he flipped it open and looked at the caller ID—which declared it was an unknown number—and answered the call, putting it on speakerphone.

"Hello?"

"Sam?" a woman spoke.

"Who is this?"

"Think real hard, it will come to you."

Sam's face hardened. "Meg."

Julia stiffened at the mention of the woman who had killed her brother. She had heard from Dean that she fell out of the building when Sam trashed the altar she was using to control the Daeva. If she was still alive—because Julia doubted that she'd just survive a seven-story drop like that—it meant that Meg was probably possessing the poor girl's dead body.

Dean took the place behind Julia, putting his large hands on her shoulders comfortingly. Absentmindedly, forgetting that John nor Sam knew about them, she reached up and held the hand on her left shoulder.

"Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window," Sam said, his voice low and tense.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Meg said sourly. "That really hurt my feelings, by the way."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop."

"Let me speak to your dad."

Sam nervously looked over at John, who was slowly making his way over to the table where the rest of them were gathered. "My dad?" he faked confusion. "I don't know where my dad is."

Meg clicked her tongue. "It's time for the grown-ups to talk, Sam. Let me speak to him now."

John held out his hand to Sam and the youngest Winchester reluctantly handed the phone over.

"This is John."

"Howdy, John," Meg chirped. "I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood."

Julia inhaled sharply, squeezing Dean's hand at the mention of Pastor Jim. Dean returned the gesture and rubbed her palm with his thumb.

"Still there, John-boy?"

"I'm here," John confirmed shakily.

"Well, that was yesterday," Meg boasted. "Today, I'm in Lincoln, Ohio, visiting another old friend of yours. He wants to say hi."

A man spoke now, his voice shaky and frantic. "John, whatever you do, don't give—"

Meg shushed him, cutting him off.

"Caleb?" John stiffened; Julia and Sam exchanged concerned looks while Dean tightened his grip on her. "You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go."

"We know you have the Colt, John."

John paused for a second. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, okay," Meg scoffed. "Well, listen to this—"

They could all hear the quick slash of a knife and then there was choked gasping. They assumed the worst; Meg had just slashed Caleb's throat and there was nothing they could do to save him.

"Caleb?" John called, paling considerably, his eyes sparkling with tears.

"You hear that?" Meg taunted him. "That's the sound of your friend dying...Now, let's try this again. We know you have the gun, John. Word travels fast. So, as far as we're concerned, you just declared war—and this is what war looks like. It has causalities."

John angrily clenched his jaw. "I'm gonna kill you, you know that?"

"Oh, John, please. Mind your blood pressure," Meg scolded him mockingly. "So, this is the thing. We're going to keep doing what we're doing. And your friends, anyone who has ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you've ever loved? They'll all die unless you give us that gun. Next on the list is Luke Alexander, so I'd think hard."

Julia gasped softly at the mention of her father. She had no idea where he was and now demons were going to be on his ass unless John gave them the Colt. While Dean clenched her hand tightly, John gave her an assuring look. She relaxed as much as she could; John wouldn't let her dad get killed.

"I'm waiting, Johnny. You better answer before the buzzer."

"Okay," John agreed quietly.

"Sorry? I didn't quite get that."

"I said okay," his voice hardened, a murderous glint in his brown eyes. "I'll bring you the Colt."

"There's a warehouse in Lincoln on the corner of Wabash and Lake," Meg informed him. "You're gonna meet me there."

"It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there."

"Meet me there at midnight tonight."

"That's impossible," John scoffed. "I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on a plane."

"Oh," Meg clicked her tongue. "Well, I guess your friends die, don't they? If you do decide to make it, come alone."

She ended the call, then. John flipped the phone shut and tossed it back to Sam. Julia sighed and let of Dean's hand, though he still hovered behind her worriedly.

"I'm just gonna say it," she spoke up, her eyes nervously flickering over John. "I think Meg's a demon."

"Really?" Sam gave her a surprised look.

John agreed with her. "Either that or she's possessed by one—"

Julia mentally disagreed. Every demon had to possess a body. Otherwise they wouldn't be anything other than a cloud of black smoke. She certainly wasn't going to correct John, though; she was way smarter than that.

"—it doesn't really matter."

"So, what do we do?" Dean wondered.

A determined expression fell over John's face. "I'm going to Lincoln."

"What?" Sam, Dean, and Julia spoke in unison.

"It doesn't look like we have a choice," John stated firmly. "If I don't go, a lot of people die. Luke will die and so many of our other friends."

"Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family," Sam reminded him, a conflicted look on his face. "That gun is all we have. You can't just hand it over."

"Who said anything about handing it over?" Dean, Julia, and Sam gave John confused looks. "Look, besides us, Luke, and a couple of vampires, no one's really seen the gun. No one knows what it looks like."

"So what, you're just going to pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"An antique store," John corrected him.

"You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?"

"Look," John sighed. "as long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"But for how long?" Julia spoke up. "What happens when she does figure it out?"

"I just—" John paused before continuing. "I just need to buy a few hours, that's all."

Sam gave him a knowing look. "You mean for us," he stated. "You want us to stay here and kill this demon by ourselves?"

"No, Sam, I want to stop losing the people we love," John declared. "I want you to go to school. I want Dean to have a home. I want...I want Mary alive. It's just—I just want this to be over."

-

Julia tightened her grip on her rosary, blessing the jug of water for John. He had confessed that Luke was usually the one that made holy water, so she had volunteered to bless the water for his trip to Lincoln. She had also written the blessing down for him, so he could make more for himself if he needed it.

Sam and John stood in front of the mechanical weapon stash, making sure everything was prepped and waiting to go. They were talking about something but it was too quiet and she was too concentrated to eavesdrop on their conversation. The three of them were waiting for Dean to come back from an antique store from the next town over with a gun that resembled the Colt.

She finished blessing the water, finishing her prayer, and brought the jug back over to John. He gave her a thankful smile and wordlessly put it in the stash after filling up his flask.

"Sam, do you mind if I speak to Julia alone?"

Shit, Julia panicked to herself, did I do something wrong?

Sam simply nodded; John led Julia around a hundred feet away from his youngest son so he couldn't overhear what they were going to talk about.

"Did I do something wrong?" she blurted out nervously.

John had always made her nervous. She didn't know why, though; he had never been rude to her or did anything to hurt her. In fact, he was nicer to her than he was his sons, but she chalked that up to the fact that she wasn't a Winchester and he didn't have to father her like he did Sam and Dean.

"No, of course not," John shook his head. "I just wanted to tell you that you can back out of this, if you want to. This isn't your fight."

Julia's mind raced. She wasn't going to walk away from Sam and Dean; they were her best friend and lover, respectively, and she loved them to death. They had been part of her family since before she was even born. You can't walk away from family and she wanted to help the Winchester finish what that demon started twenty-two years before when it killed Mary.

And, this was a little selfish, but she wanted Meg to die, too. She could hardly stomach the fact that Meg was still around but Levi wasn't. Abby and Beth weren't there so they couldn't do anything about it, but Julia was. She owed it to herself, her family, and—most importantly—Levi to make sure that Meg was sent straight back to Hell.

"I'm not walking away," she told John firmly. "You guys are my family, too, and Meg killed my brother. This isn't something that I can just ignore while leaving you guys in danger. If I can help, then I will. I'm not leaving."

John sighed and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "You're a good person, Julia," he smiled softly; Julia turned away, embarrassed. "And you're good for my boys. Especially Dean..."

Julia quickly looked back at him, shocked. "How do you—how do you...?"

"How do I know that you and Dean are together?" John supplied when she trailed off. "It's hard to miss it. You two are like magnets or something. Either way, it's good. You guys have always been close. Do you love him?"

"I don't—I don't know," Julia stammered, flushing. "I'm certainly heading that way, though."

"Be patient with him," he advised.

"I will," she promised him and then joked, "This is one of the things I can be patient about."

John shook his head with a small grin. "Just make sure to look after my boys, all right?"

"Of course."

"Let's get back over to Sam. I'm sure Dean will be back any minute now."

John was right; only a minute after they rejoined Sam, Dean showed up. He parked the Impala only a few feet away from the truck and got out, carrying a wrinkled paper bag that was conformed into an outline of a gun.

"Did you get it?" John asked him.

Dean gave him the bag without a word; John pulled the gun out. It was nearly identical to the Colt but it was easy to tell the difference since they knew what the actual Colt looked like.

"You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean told him. "That's why Meg wants you to come alone."

"I can handle her," John assured him. "I got a whole arsenal loaded; holy water, Mandaic, amulets—"

"Dad."

"What?"

"Promise me something."

"What's that?" John blinked at him.

"If this thing goes South, just...get the hell out," Dean shoved his hands into his jacket, voice shaking slightly. "Don't get yourself killed, all right? You're no good to us dead."

Julia grabbed Sam's hand and they both squeezed each other tightly. If things went wrong, and Meg found out that the gun wasn't the Colt, this might be the last time they see John. It was nerve-wracking and John wasn't even her dad; she couldn't imagine how Sam and Dean felt.

"Same goes for you," John turned so he could see Sam, Dean, and Julia all at once and pulled the Colt from his jacket. "All right, listen to me. They made the bullets special for this Colt. There's only four of them left. Without them, this gun is useless. You make every shot count."

"Yes, sir," Julia and Sam spoke in unison while Dean nodded.

"I've been waiting a long time for this fight," John sighed. "Now it's here and I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you three now. It's your fight, you finish this. You finish what I started. Understand?"

Sam, Dean, and Julia all nodded at once; John handed the Colt over to Dean, who took it without a word.

"We'll see you soon, Dad," Sam promised his father, trying to stay optimistic.

"Be careful," Julia added, glancing at Dean worriedly. He hadn't spoken much since he got back and she could tell that he was having a hard time with what was going on. He had already lost his mother to this demon and now he may lose his father, too.

John nodded at them. "I'll see you later."

He clapped Sam on the shoulder and gave Dean a serious but fond look before closing the back of his truck and getting in. The truck rumbled as he drove away, mud squelching each time the tires rotated.

Julia sighed sadly and reaching over with her free hand, taking Dean's. She held onto her boys as the truck disappeared down the road, leaving them to finish the fight by themselves.

-

It was past nine o'clock and they were still watching Monica Holden's house, waiting for the demon to show up. Throughout the three hours they had been parked on the other side of the street, they tossed around ideas that could work in getting the young family out of their house. So far, they had come up with nothing.

Halfway through their stakeout, Julia was antsy and—admittedly—a little bored. Ignoring Dean's protests, she had climbed into the front seat and settled herself in the middle of Sam and Dean. It wasn't anymore exciting in the front but this way, she was able to carry on conversation better than when she had to lean forward to get a hint of what the brothers spoke about.

"Maybe we could tell them that there's a gas leak," Sam suggested after a silent five minutes. "It might get them out of the house for a few hours."

Dean scoffed and looked over Julia's head at him. "Yeah and how many times has that actually worked for us?"

"And we already spoke to Monica outside of her house," Julia added. "It'll be suspicious if we randomly show up at night to tell her to get out of her house."

"Yeah, you're right," he gave in and paused for a few seconds. "We could always tell them the truth."

Julia turned to Sam this time, an eyebrow raised; it amused Sam to see Dean pulling the same face at him.

"Nah," the three of them chorused.

"I know, I know," Sam sighed. "I just—with what's coming for these folks..."

"Sam, we only got one move and you know it, all right?" Dean stated. "We gotta wait for that demon to show itself and then we get to it before it gets them."

Sam nodded in agreement and looked back at the Holden's house.

"I wonder how Dad's doing."

"I'd feel a lot better if we were there backing him up," Dean muttered.

"I'd feel a lot better if he was here, backing us up."

The three of them continued watching the house for another half-hour when Sam spoke up again. "This is weird."

Julia gave him a curious look. "What?"

"After all these years, we're finally here," Sam told her and Dean. "It doesn't seem real."

"We just gotta keep our heads and do our job like always," Dean advised his little brother.

"Yeah, but this isn't like always."

Dean cocked his head and agreed. "True."

"...Dean, Julia," Sam said hesitantly. "Uh, I just wanna thank you guys."

Julia's eyes darted back to her best friend. "For what?"

"For everything. You've always had my back, you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone, I could always count on you guys. And, uh, I don't know...I just wanted to let you know. Just in case."

Julia's eyes stung and she bowed her head. She was grateful for what Sam said but they weren't needed. She didn't love Sam because it felt like she owed him or that she had to be by his side all these years. She loved Sam because he was her brother and best friend rolled into one. She looked after him for the same reason as Dean—even though she was two-and-a-half years younger than him.

And she didn't like the way he was talking. It was like he didn't expect to make it out of the fight and was already saying his goodbyes.

"Woah, woah, woah," Dean objected, looking at his brother in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"Don't say just in case something happens to you," Dean shook his head firmly, irritated. "I don't wanna hear that fucking speech, man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except that demon—that evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?"

Sam reluctantly nodded; satisfied, Dean turned to Julia.

"Julia?"

"I know, Dean," she whispered, wiping her wet eyes.

An hour later, Dean started calling John. He called three times, each time getting John's voicemail.

Frustrated, Dean harshly closed his phone. "Dad's not answering."

"Meg might be late," Julia offered, trying to stay positive. "Maybe he doesn't have cell reception."

"Yeah, well—"

Out of nowhere, cutting Dean off, the radio started making noise. It was staticky, like they weren't tuned into the nearest radio tower. Julia reached in front of her, turning the knob so the volume was higher.

Around them, the wind started blowing harder, jostling some of the thinner trees. The lights in the Holden's house flickered on and off. The staticky radio, the wind, the flickering lights...they were all omens.

"It's coming," Sam breathed in realization.

The scrambled out of the Impala at once, drawing their guns—and in Sam's case, the Colt—and entering the house after Julia picked the lock. It was quiet on the first level but suddenly, there was chaos.

A man—Julia assumed it was Charlie Holden—popped up out of nowhere and swung a bat at Dean. Dean quickly ducked, missing the blow, but a lamp was trashed in the process.

"Get out of my house!" Charlie roared at them; Dean quickly grabbed the man and pressed him against the wall, hardly effected by his struggles.

"Please, Mr. Holden, please," Julia pleaded. "Please be quiet."

Charlie continued to struggle but Dean locked him up. "Be quiet and listen to me. Be quiet and listen," Dean said sharply. "We're trying to help you."

"Charlie, is everything okay down there?" they heard Monica call from upstairs.

"Monica, get the baby!".

"No, don't go into the nursery!" Sam shouted at the same time as Charlie called, "You stay away from her!"

He was struggling against Dean's grip again but the oldest Winchester had no more patience. He backhanded Charlie so hard that he fell unconscious, slumping to the ground. Dean quickly picked him up, heaving him over his shoulder.

"You guys go," he told Julia and Sam. "Get Monica and Rosie."

Julia and Sam took off, up the stairs. It was easy to find Rosie's nursery, considering that Monica was crying and screaming desperately for help. When they entered the room, she was pinned against the top half of the wall by the door and there was a dark figure with yellow eyes standing next to Rosie's crib.

"ROSIE!"

Sam quickly held up the Colt and aimed it at the demon. He pulled the trigger but it disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. Monica fell to the floor now that the demon was gone.

"Where the hell did it go?" Sam asked frantically.

Monica didn't care; all she could focus on was Rosie.

"My baby!" she exclaimed, lunging forward; Sam quickly caught her, helping her stand up. "My baby!"

"Get her out of here," Julia told Sam, hurrying over to Rosie's crib. "I got her."

"Rosie!"

Sam tried to pull Monica out of the room but she was fighting him. "My baby!"

"Julia's got her."

Julia quickly picked up Rosie, including her warm blanket, and flinched away as the crib shot up in flames. Making sure that she held Rosie properly, she raced out of the nursery and down the stairs, following Sam and Monica out of the house.

"You get away from my family!" Charlie shouted at Julia and Sam as he was held back by Dean.

"No, Charlie, don't. They saved us," Monica cried, turning to take Rosie out of Julia's arms; she wordlessly passed the baby, giving Monica a sad smile. "They saved us."

Dean let go of Charlie and he immediately went to Monica and Rosie, wrapping his arms around them.

"Thank you," Monica looked at Julia, Sam, and Dean gratefully.

Julia nodded and smiled softly. She was so glad that the Holdens were safe from whatever the demon had wanted to do to them. It was nice to see the love that the three of them shared. She envied that.

"It's still in there!" Sam shouted, his gaze locked on the nursery window where the same figure they had seen earlier was standing.

Dean immediately grabbed Sam before he could run back into the house; Julia joined him in holding the youngest Winchester, who was fighting hysterically.

"Sam, Sam, no," Dean grunted.

"Let me go! It's still in there!"

"No!" Dean raised his voice. "It's burning to the ground. It's suicide."

"I don't care!"

"Well, we do," Julia helped Dean continue to pull Sam away from the house.

The three of them looked back at the nursery window; the demon was gone.

-

Dean paced back and forth in their motel room, his phone up to his ear as he tried calling John again. He had already tried four times and his dad had yet to answer. "Come on, Dad. Answer your phone, dammit," there was still no answer; Dean shut his phone and tossed it on his bed before turning to Sam and Julia, who were sitting side-by-side. "Something's wrong."

Julia nodded in agreement while Sam stared blankly at the wall behind the television.

"You hear me?" Dean asked his brother, frustrated. "Something's happened."

Sam didn't react the way that Dean wanted him to. "If you guys had just let me go in there, I could have ended all of this."

Julia sighed in frustration, tired of his pity party. She and Dean saved his life; he was willing to kill himself because of his rage but he didn't even care. "Sam, you would have died," she said firmly. "All you would have ended was your life."

"You don't know that," Sam protested feebly.

Dean walked over to their bed, standing in front of Sam with his arms crossed over his chest. "So, what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?"

Sam abruptly stood up, towering over Dean. Julie got to her feet, too, ready to intervene if things got more heated between the bothers.

"Yeah, you're damn right I am."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Dean raised his voice. "Not as long as me and Julia are around."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Dean?" Sam matched his volume. "We've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the only thing we've ever cared about."

"Sam, I wanna waste it. I do, okay?" Dean tried to placate him. "But it's not worth dying over."

Sam reared back like he had been struck. "What?"

"I mean it," Dean insisted while Julia nervously shifted from foot to foot. "If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing."

"That thing killed Jess," Sam reminded him lowly. "That thing killed Mom."

"You said it yourself once," Dean stated. "That no matter what we do, they're gone and they're never coming back."

Sam clenched his jaw and grabbed Dean's shoulders, roughly pushing him against the wall. "Don't you say that, not you!" his eyes glistened with tears. "Not after all this. Don't you say that."

"Sam!" Julia rushed toward the brothers, tightly grabbing Sam's arm to pull him away from Dean. "Get off of him!"

Surprisingly—because Sam was much stronger than her—she managed to pull Sam away from Dean. It must have been because he was more sad than angry and he truly didn't want to hurt his brother.

Once Sam released him, Dean said softly, "Sam, look," he gave Sam a pleading look. "The four of us, that's all we have. It's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. Without you and Jules or Dad..."

He trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Sam exhaled shakily and walked back to the bed he shared with Julia while Julia gave Dean a small smile and reached for his hand.

"Dad," Sam said quietly, tears still in his eyes. "He should have called by now."

"You should try him again," Julia suggested.

Dean nodded and grabbed his cellphone, calling his dad once again. Dean looked surprised when John took his call, but it wasn't the eldest Winchester who was answering.

"You three really screwed up this time," Julia, Sam, and Dean heard Meg's angry voice.

While Julia and Sam stiffened, Dean angrily clenched his jaw. "Where is he?"

When Meg spoke again, they could practically hear her devious smirk. "You're never going to see your father again."

(Gif is not mine)

[dailyaudiobible]

01/10/2021 DAB Transcript

Genesis 23:1-24:51, Matthew 8:1-17, Psalms 9:13-20, Proverbs 3:1-6

Today is the 10th day of January, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is great to be here with you as we greet a brand-new week, a shiny sparkly new week that we are entering into as we continue to move into this brand-new year that we have together. So, it is wonderful. We are falling into a rhythm and it is a meaningful one. Every day we come around the Global Campfire together as a community and hear the word of God spoken over us, and then it becomes a part of who we are, it becomes a part of the soil, the fabric of our lives and it yields a crop. We’re planting seeds right now that are going to come up and it will be the fruit of the spirit, like it will be good in our lives. It will be perspective and context in our lives. And, so, we got a good thing going here and let’s dive into our next week together. We’ll read from the New Living Translation this week and pick up where we left off yesterday. Genesis chapter 23 verse 1 through 24 verse 51.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for Your word. We thank You for bringing us into this brand-new week. We thank You for what wisdom has told us today, that we should trust You with our whole hearts. That's all of us, that we should trust You with who we are and not depend on what we think we know, not depend on our own understanding. We should seek Your will in all that we’re doing, and You will show us which path to take because we will be walking with You at this point, and You will be pointing out the beauty of life together with You. You know all of the hidden vistas, You know all of the secret lookouts, You know all of the cool places of life, and You have invited us to walk through life with You, the most-high God. And, so, often we’re just so busy trying to appease our fellow human beings and get some sort of identity from them when You have invited us into an adventure. So, come Holy Spirit, help us. This begins by trusting You with everything and not thinking that we’re gonna figure it all out but knowing that You know it all. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here. Of course, if you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app you can access pretty much all of this as well using the app. But this is where we get connected. This is where we stay connected. This is home base. It's the home of the Global Campfire. It's…well…I mean we’re a virtual community. We are far-flung. We are all over the earth. And, so, this is the place that we can come back together and be together. So, be aware of that and check it out.

Check out the community section, either via the app or the…the website and that…that's where the Prayer Wall is. There’s always someone to pray for, always, and there are always people praying. So, you can always reach out for prayer. So, be aware of that and…yeah…pray for each other. That's what we do here. It’s one of the distinctives. It’s one of the beautiful things that we do here, is just accept people where they are on their journey and no matter…no matter where they’ve been or how this is all gonna play out, we’re…we’re willing to accept each other where we are on the journey right now knowing that everybody's in process, none of…none of us have…have reached perfection and just to accept…accept each other where we are and be willing to walk the path and pray for one another and encourage one another. We’re very very good at that here maybe better than anywhere I have ever seen. In fact, not maybe, better than anywhere I’ve ever seen. And, so, we love one another well and there are places like the Prayer Wall to always have a place to reach. So, be aware of that.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage. I thank you. I thank you profoundly. If what's happening here, God's word spoken read fresh every day and given into the world and community built around that rhythm, encouragement and prayer for one another, if this brings life to you than thank you for being life-giving. There is a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app or you can dial 877-942-4253.

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

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning Daily Audio Bible friends this is Kimberly calling from __ first of all I just wanted to welcome any new listeners and just want to know…just wanted you to know that I’ve been praying for you for this new year that you would be truly blessed by this podcast as we…we all are that listen. Along the way you will find that people share wonderful manifestations of the way that this podcast has changed their lives. And, so, I pray that that is…is your case. I…I pray truly that you are blessed and that your relationship with God it grows so much deeper this year than you could ever imagine. Second thing is I just heard Hope calling from the Heartland and I just love your prayer and hope I…I heard about your mom and I wanted to offer my condolences, that I just so appreciate the blessing that you gave of your perspective on her passing. And I often think about what heaven will be like because none of us have seen each other for the most part. I guess at the More gathering and things like that we’ve seen each other’s faces but to a large extent most of us haven’t met or seen each other’s faces but guess what? In heaven we’re gonna know each other and we’re gonna know Hope’s mom. And as I’m driving to work on this beautiful beautiful January morning, I’m just in of the beauty that God has given us on this side of heaven. We had a nor’easter last night and dropped quite a bit of snow and it was a powerful storm and the clouds are low over the town as I drive in the sage brush is covered with snow and it’s just…

Hi DABber family this is Tonja with a J in South Florida and I am so excited. It is January 5th of 2021 and I did it. I did it, I did it, I did it thank you Brian thank you Jill and China. God bless you and your baby girl. I actually did the Bible in a year. And to anyone who thinks you can’t do it just listen and if you…if you forget a week or day…I actually forgot…almost forgot a month because I just was busy with life but I caught up and today I finished the Bible in a year. And I can’t wait I’m already started January with everybody. I am just so happy to be around the campfire and we really our family here. And I did the Bible for the first time in my whole life in the year. I…I’m so excited and even my hubby is getting excited and…and you know…let’s pray to get him listening to this every day as well and…and I’m just…I love the way Brian that you explain what you’re going to say and then you read the Scriptures and then you talk afterwards. It’s very educational. I can’t wait. This is my second year and I’m going nowhere. Stick to everyone. Stick to it. If you fall behind just…no…listen to two or three. I mean lately I’ve been listening to ten a day because I was behind in November and December. And oh I’m just so happy. It is an accomplishment. It was my goal I wanted last year, and I reached it. Thank you very much. I…I love everyone and I love listening to you all and I pray with you all when you pray. I’m just so happy that I’m…I’m crying. How stupid. Anyway…so, have a lovely day and you can do it. If I can do it, you can do it. This is Tonja with a J and have a good day. Bye-bye.

Good morning this is Daniel in Arizona. Good morning family. It is the 6th of January I’m trying into work and I just felt overly compelled by the Holy Spirit to reach out and I’m sorry if I butcher your name. I have some…I do have some hearing problems. So, Zinab in London. I just I heard you call, your first call in to the Daily Audio Bible and I just want to let you know welcome, welcome welcome to this great and wonderful community where we can come together and learn more about Jesus, about the Bible and what…how great it is to be in community with each other with our great Savior. Welcome and I’m just praying for you. My heart goes out to you. And I know that you were saying that you come from a Muslim background and from a lot of stories and that I’ve read and people that I met there could be some…there can be some great rejection. And I just wanted to welcome you with open arms and that we will be continuing, that I encourage everyone in this community to be praying for our…our…our friend here and just encouragement and love. And I just felt so compelled by the Holy Spirit to reach out to you and to know that this is just a wonderful place to be and that we can walk in the freedom of Jesus. And thank you for…for reaching out and may the Lord bless you that may He keep you and as we journey together in 2021.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family. Hallelujah to God and grace and peace be to all of you. I am calling in this morning for our sister Zinab from London to welcome you sister to this community and just tell you that it’s going to be fantastic journey, to encourage you to lift you up and tilt you know that you will be well loved here. Zinab I encourage you to continue in this journey to be faithful to it to God’s word and faithful to the prayer and the prayers of the community. Love you, we encourage you, we look forward to hearing from you, Zinab. So, blessings to you all.

Good morning DAB family its January 6th and this is Amazed by Grace Sally in Massachusetts. Just wanting to wish you all a wonderful blessed new year as we walk in the Lord together. And I was just so blessed by our Christmas party. So good to hear all of your encouragements and just thankful that I can be out of this body, part of this ministry. And today as Brian was introducing the reading, he mentioned how important it is for us to grow in awareness of God’s presence and our dependence on Him. And that just really struck me because that is so true how much we need to be aware. God is always with us He will never forsake us. And I and we are so dependent on His love and grace and His spirit to guide us. So, thank you for that reminder Brian. And I am thankful that we have this ministry of the Daily Audio Bible to encourage and to support each other. Isn’t it wonderful that God made us a body, a body that can support and encourage each other? So, I pray for each of us as we go into the new year that we will grow in our awareness of God’s wonderful loving presence and our total dependence upon Him. And I’m thankful for the call from our sister in London who is a recent Muslim convert. We do support you and we do love you and we’re so thankful that you joined us. We pray for you to grow in your walk with God along with us as we each need to grow. And again, thank you for all those, Brian, Jill who make this ministry possible and each one who puts a log on the fire. Thank you and thank you God.

Hey guys I actually just found the Daily Audio Bible app.  This year I want…one of my things for the new year was that I wanted to read my whole Bible this year and so I found this, and it has just been such a blessing in my life and I am…I’m just so overwhelmed and amazed at how fast God has worked in my life and the amount of love that I feel from this whole community. So, I’d just like to say thank you and I’d like to thank God for kind of showing me and giving me all of you. It’s actually…I’m coming up on my last ever semester of college in a couple of days and I’m already feeling pretty overwhelmed and stressed out about it. So, if anyone wants to take a couple seconds out of their day and just shoot a prayer for me that’d be very appreciated. Just thank you all.

[floralseokjin]

;of the sol (m)

A runaway, you’re not accustomed to the way the kind village that took you in live their life—worshipping and celebrating the dragons’ descendants. A story you only ever thought was legend, is that of real life, and you’ve fallen in love with one of this century’s dragon kin. The baker’s son, Kim Seokjin.

;or alternatively, Seokjin is hiding a gold dragon dick under all that clothing...

pairing; kim seokjin x reader genre/warnings; (loose) yona of the dawn au, dragon! seokjin, blonde! seokjin, smut; first time, lots of romance, lots of fluff, …...a dragon dick…… (pls give it a chance) words; 13,359

Inspired and semi-based around Yona of the Dawn. (if you have time, I really recommend the anime/manga, it’s amazing!)

⤑ read over on ao3 here

author’s note; can you believe it’s finally here? I could cry happy tears, seeing as this was an idea of mine I had since early February. Their love story was daunting to write because of all the fluff…and well…the dragon dick… The concept sounds a little crazy, but it truly is the sweetest, most romantic thing i’ve ever written, and i’m so happy with it! p.s. I really wanted to link a pic of his ahem… 🐲🍆but I really don’t want to risk this story being flagged anyway haha, so if you’re curious, please message me and i’ll try to attach the pic! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy ~

Kim Seokjin was your knight in shining armour. Quite literally when he found you that night with his father, although you weren’t to know that until a couple of months down the line. It was a peculiar thought to realise you’d been residing in the village of Helios for over a year. Seokjin had taken you to market with him on the anniversary, selling the bread he and his father baked. That was how they had come across you that fateful night, on their way back from trading, finding you slumped against a tree, exhausted and dehydrated. It seemed fitting to remember such an occasion, because ever since that night everything had changed for the better. You had passed the tree on your way to the surrounding villages, lost in sudden thoughts and memories. It seemed so long ago now.

A runaway, you had escaped your gloomy village in despair, unable to stick a moment longer. If you were to die of starvation, you’d rather it be some place else. You had no idea of the outside world, only jumbled tales and fables that were surely fiction, but too scared to ask for shelter, you’d kept on travelling, moving past every village you came across. You knew without Seokjin and his father’s kindness you would have died out there. They could’ve walked past you, surely coming across all types of riffraff whilst traveling, but instead they rushed forward, immediately checking if you were alive. You would never forget the warmth in Seokjin’s hands that night as he cupped your face and searched for life in your eyes.

It was a warmth you were used to, that’s why. These days it was hard to find you apart, his fingers entwined with yours as you walked around the village, enjoying your free time, away from work. The Kim bakery was the heart and soul of Helios and you were honoured to be working there. You were just so honoured to be living in the beautiful village, period. It had taken you a few weeks to heal fully when you first arrived, and you remembered being so scared that you’d be asked to leave once better. You loved it here, everyone was so kind and accommodating. Especially Seokjin’s family, with who you were staying with. It was only him and his parents, a family unit you never had, and as hard as you tried not to, you’d found yourself growing attached to them. You were over the moon when they asked you to stay, enough room for you to live with them in the house next door to their bakery.

You’d began working at Kim’sBakery—so fittingly titled after the family name—gradually. At first it was to help out while Seokjin and his father went off to trade, just his mother and the baker boy left to hold the fort. They were thankful for your aid, and slowly it happened more and more, a day or two here and there turning into hours upon hours a week. You did not mind at all, it was fun having something to do, and in all honesty, you had never had a job before. Your own village was poor and tarnished, population hardly there for work to be profitable. Most people survived by stealing from passing travellers and hunting wild animals in the woods. You were overjoyed when Seokjin’s parents finally sat you down and asked if you’d like to make it official. Now, you worked almost every day except for Sundays when Kim’s Bakery was closed for the holy day.

Helios village didn’t worship just any average God though. It was a dragon. You had heard lots of tales about this land, once home to such beautiful, mystical creatures hundreds and hundreds of years ago who lived amongst the humans. All colours, all sizes, until one day, the King dragon, a beautiful red beast named Airule, the largest one of all, decided he wanted to change six into men, making them the leaders of six respected tribes of freshly built villages. He wanted to bring the land, the Kingdom of Airule, so fittingly named, together. To create harmony and tranquility; a Kingdom which he would rule peacefully.

That was as far as your knowledge had gone, taking it for hearsay and fiction, but alas, you had been naïve, cooped up in your tiny village and unable to explore and travel the rest of the land. It was notfiction, you found that out once residing in Helios. What you thought was legend, was that of real life, and it blew your mind.

Helios was one of the six main villages in this Kingdom. Six villages for six dragons. Long ago it was land to the Sol tribe, the ancestors of today, and its leader was none other than the golden dragon Helios, a name the village had been christened with too. The human form he lived life in had been beyond stunning, drawings passed down through the centuries, alive and well in children’s books used as bedtime tales. He had flowing long blonde hair, golden in the sunlight, a body strong and muscular, and he radiated love and positivity wherever he went. A smile that was contagious, or so you had read. You’d only found that out since your time here, noticing and wondering what the meaning was of the giant golden dragon statue in the middle of the village. Helios’ dragon from was even more beautiful, scales dazzling under the sun.

That was another thing. The village of Helios was always draped in the glow of the sun, leaves on the tree in beautiful shades of rusty orange, and when it rained—enough to keep drought away and crops fresh—you were always blessed with a rainbow. It truly was a beautiful place and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have finally found happiness.

A large part of said happiness was down to one boy. Kim Seokjin. Who just so happened to be the sun dragon’s kin. Unbelievable, implausible. You had no idea there was such a thing until he’d confided in you one evening. He was oddly serious before he explained everything, concerning you, but the truth rendered you speechless. You had no clue there were even such things, but as you looked up at the statue that glowed as the sun set for the day, you listened in earnest.

Born every twenty-five years or so—maybe a lot longer depending on creation, Helios was blessed with a fresh sun kin. It could be passed down father to son, a logical explanation, but if the man created no sons, it could also be at random—the village were all descendants of the dragon after all… The latter was Seokjin’s case. Born just as the old sol kin was at death’s door, with golden hair and sun kissed skin, perhaps at first glance he could pass as any babe birthed in this hearty village. For the rays of the sun beamed down on them all. Only there was one difference. Something that set him apart from the rest. He glowed like the sun itself. Blinding, a beacon, and there was no way of denying it. A new dragon had blessed Helios. A new King was born.

Of course, the blazing light simmered after a few days, but the adoration didn’t. He was visited by every single villager, a ceremony in place to pass down the honour. Gifted things he couldn’t possibly have any use for as a week-old baby, and he’d been worshiped ever since. Twenty-one years of unrelenting love. You had always been curious as to why the village seemed to hang off every word he said. Curious as to why everyone looked at him with such love and devotion. Seokjin was indeed amazing, your short time knowing him had taught you that. He was so kind, so attentive. Voice as gentle as a lamb, but a body built like it could go to war. It all made sense. He had the dragon in him. He wasthe dragon. The children’s books could tell you all you needed to know about the dragon Helios, and it was now obvious, every description was Seokjin. He radiated the positivity this world very much needed, like a light. Like a beacon.

He was telling you all this now, and felt awful for keeping it from you, but you had been the first person to see him as just that: a person. His whole life he’d been placed on a pedestal, and even though the village loved him, and he loved the village, they didn’t treat him like one of them. He was different. A greater being. Above them. With you, he was equal. He wanted to be greedy for a little while, because you made him realise he was a good man. You made your decision without any bias, and it was because of that, he finally had to indulge the truth.

He showed you something. Something unbelievable. Something that surely should be impossible, but it wasn’t. Not when he was of dragon. Granted a gift from Helios himself. Your eyes bulged and your mouth gaped as you watched Seokjin birth a ball of golden light from his palms.How else did you think I found you that night,he’d laughed gently, the orb bouncing around between his hands. And there it was, it all fitted together. Your knight in shining armour.

That wasn’t the first time you felt something different for him, but it was the first time you truly acknowledged it. Stood there, the sun finally set for the day, awing as he let the ball of light bounce around your body. Your eyes met and lingered, and your heart jumped inside your chest.

You had no idea his heart was also beating a little harder for you. He asked you if you would accompany him for a picnic down at lake tomorrow afternoon and you accepted eagerly, unable to sleep well that night, nor work properly the next morning. Your heart wouldn’t stop leaping around as you made your way to the lake, but it momentarily stopped once you saw him lounging on a blanket by the bank. This place was the prettiest in the village, where the sun shined the strongest, and you swear he seemed to glow in the rays.

He hadn’t been in the bakery today, training the baker boy how to trade for days he wasn’t available and you soon pushed your nerves to the back of your mind to ask him how it had gone. Talking with Seokjin was always easy, he had been your friend for a couple of months now, but it was increasingly harder to concentrate with the realisation of your feelings. Now he had confided in you, you only felt a deeper connection, and by the way your bodies leant into one another, you could tell he felt it too.

“Do you ever feel scared?” You asked him, tilting your head, squinting slightly as the sun hit your eyes. You could only imagine the pressure he felt on a daily basis. The kin of a dragon, the village’s heart. It was a lot of strain for a boy barely an adult.

“I do,” he admitted quietly after some thought. He looked you in the eyes, as if he’d decided right then and there to be as truthful as he could. “I often wonder why me? I’m just a son born to a baker. There must be someone worthier.”

“Don’t feel like that,” you insisted, unable to stop yourself when you reached for his hand, soothing it with a squeeze. “I think you’re worthy.” Your voice was but a whisper, suddenly shy.

His nose wrinkled, a lopsided smile itching at his mouth. His smile was always your favourite, but his laugh was a close second. It tinkered in your ears. “You only found out I was part dragon not twenty-four hours ago.”

That made you blush a little, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and you cast your gaze down, eyes catching your hand still atop his. For some reason you couldn’t seem to pull it away. He was correct, before yesterday he had still been human. He wasstill human. There was no difference for you. He was still the same person, and if you thought really hard, if the dragons still had to exist, you couldn’t think of a better person to take the honour. Before you could explain that though, he spoke again.

“Is it stupid that I’ve felt the most at ease with myself since I confided in you?”

Your head shot up at that, surprise in your eyes, just as he slipped his hand from under yours to squeeze it instead. He watched you warily, afraid he’d said something he shouldn’t.

“Not at all,” you reassured him with a small smile. “I’m glad I could help in some way.” You didn’t let him know how warm and happy that made you feel. How hopeful.

Something had changed between you and he since yesterday. It was like you were waiting with bated breath for something. Something exciting, something you’d only let yourself pine for not twenty-four hours ago. You both turned your heads to the sky, watching it in absentminded enjoyment. Your hands stayed together. It felt comforting. It feltright.

“Are there more of you…?” Your curiosity itched at you. It was impossible to sate it. There was so much you wanted to know. A world you had been secluded from for so long. A world you could never have imagined before now. You felt Seokjin’s gaze on and you turned your head to face him again. “Dragons,” you added, eliminating the crease of his brow instantly.

He nodded slowly, turning back to look at the sun. You could tell he felt at ease here. He looked magical. How could you have never known? It radiated from him. “Six more, if legend is correct.”

“Will you ever meet them?” What did they look like? What powers did they hold? It was all too much. You wanted to talk about this forever.

“Probably not.” Seokjin chuckled, shrugging casually. “Airule is vast. Some parts so dangerous not a soul in their right mind would try to cross.” That much was true. The south was tamer in comparison. You’d heard stories about further north, and travelling across the kingdom was near impossible. Wasn’t he a little curious though? To learn more about where he came from… To meet people just like him…

You were so lost in thought you hadn’t realised Seokjin’s attention had turned to you, a small smile on his face. Almost fond. It made your heart skip a beat. That pesky thing. “You take this all in your stride,” he mused. His voice sounded so gentle, fluttered through your body, almost made you want to shut your eyes, to revel in it a little more. A little longer.

You smiled wide, making sure to lock eyes as you spoke. “Maybe I always knew you were special.”

His eyes widened, taken by surprise and he looked away hastily, pink colouring his cheeks as he tried to think of something to say. He couldn’t. Speechless. It was cute. The realisation made you feel all warm inside. More so when he chose to squeeze your hand in reply instead. You acted without much thought, recklessly maybe, but it just felt right. To link your fingers carefully with his. The action made you feel safe. He didn’t pull away. He just squeezed harder.

Yes, something had changed between you two. You were sure of it now. The hope in your chest bloomed until it slightly overwhelmed you, and all you could do was stare out over the lake. The sun had begun to sink a tad. You were relieved when Seokjin spoke again.

“I have more secrets.” He began hesitantly, swallowing before continuing. “Confessions.” You turned your head his direction, watching him carefully. He kept his eyes locked on the sky. “I thought I’d be selfish if I told you, but I can’t keep this silent for any longer…and… and besides,” he chuckled lightly, upturning his shoulder. “I think you wouldn’t mind at all.”

Your heart stopped then. At his words. At his actions, as he turned to face you. To stare you right in the eyes. You knew. You knew what he was about to say.

“I like you.” You gripped his hand tighter, his words overcoming you. Surely this was a dream… However, no. Fate had been kind to you since Seokjin found you. “I’ve fallen for you, and there’s no escape…”

He almost sounded sad, mouth downturned as his gaze fell to his lap. You took that as worry. Worry you didn’t like him back, and you clung to him harder, moving closer. Your shoulders brushed against one another, legs soon after. You wanted to touch him some more. You wanted to never let him go. You wanted him to be yours.

“Seokjin…” You breathed, hot air hitting his cheek. He closed his eyes, like he couldn’t bear to see you this close. Feelyou this close. “You know I like you too.”

His next breath was shaky. It left him like he was almost afraid, but he fluttered his eyes open again. They pooled with sincerity. His tone of voice the same. “You see me for me.”

Why did he seem so shocked? What else would you see him for? You couldn’t help but slowly reach for his face with your free hand, cupping the soft flesh of his cheek. He fell into your touch.

“Even now, after you know the truth you don’t treat me differently. You’re not melodramatic, feverish…” You giggled at that. The girls that seemed to flock him every time he appeared at the bakery didn’t go unnoticed to you. Maybe it was the jealousy, not that you would ever admit that out loud, but it was incredibly obvious that most of the women of Helios had an enthusiastic reaction to him because of who he was… Although, what he looked like sure helped things too… He was beautiful. Maybe he didn’t see that…

Your giggle died down when he wrinkled his nose, still lost in thoughts of his own. “…Disgusted…”

That was absurd. Impossible. He was talking nonsense, and you wanted to kiss it from his mouth. To abolish such foolish thoughts. You carefully slipped your fingers from his, and he went to chase them on instinct, stopping when he felt your hand clasp the back of his neck, locking him place. You tilted your head to press your forehead against his. He took another shaky breath.

“I think you’re amazing.”

You were taken by surprise when he wrapped his arm around your waist, embracing you intimately as his other hand toyed in the locks of your hair. His next breath sounded like a relieved sigh. You carried on. Finding it easy to confess.

“Always have. Even more so now.” He watched you pause and smile with curiosity. “Seokjin, I can’t fight it any longer.”

It seemed like you both couldn’t. Your breathes mingling together. The warmth of your body heat merging also. Your eyes closed the same time your mouths met, and you knew right then, right there, you had never felt happier. It was like you were born to experience this moment. Born to feel the plush of his lips against yours. Born to taste the sweetness of his tongue.

You had dreamed about your first kiss since you were a child, long before the harsh realities of life became apparent, and over time the small act seemed stupid and insignificant. Meeting Seokjin had made you wonder once again… Nerves were nonexistent, not when it concerned the boy in front of you. It was just natural.

He was a gentle kisser. Gentle and kind, just like himself, and you only stopped momentarily to catch your breath and tell him the most important thing of all. The last thing that needed to be shared.

“I’m glad you found me.”

He smiled, lips kiss bitten—your doing, a realisation that made your face burn semi- innocently—and stroked your cheeks, thumbs circling the apples, agreeing wholeheartedly before he was closing the distance once more.

The murmur of your name sounded against your sticky mouth as Seokjin tried to pull back. He moved almost hesitantly, reluctantly, because you knew he didn’t want to stop. However, he did manage to break away enough to rush out more words, a breathless chuckle leaving him too. “Let us catch our breath, my love.”

You pouted instantly, crushing him to you as you rolled him onto his back. He let you without little resistance. You wouldn’t be able to do it otherwise. “I don’t want to,” you whined, catching his lips with yours again.

Kissing Seokjin was addictive. With each passing month, week, day, it was getting harder and harder to control yourself. The burning need in your body needed to be satisfied. You’d surely blow up if not. You’d been happily courting for over ten months now, and despite enjoying the content feeling, the safe feeling when it came to having him in your life—not only romantically, but he was your friend too—there was just something missing… Lover.

Even the word made made you heat up, cheeks ablaze, palms turning sweaty. You were in love with each other, you told that to one another every single day, so logically there was one last step to go… You wanted him. You wanted him to make love to you.

Frowned upon by the elders, consummating such a relationship was near impossible to do. You had to make use of stolen moments like these, in your bedroom, when you were both free from the bakery, Seokjin’s father out to trade with the baker boy, Seokjin’s mother busy baking in the kitchen. This afternoon was the perfect opportunity, they weren’t given to you often, but Seokjin… Seokjin was always hesitant to take it to the next level.

“W-we should stop.” He tried again. This time turning his head when you tried to chase his kiss instinctively. He averted his gaze too, almost refusing to look you in the eyes. However, his mouth was parted, breathing shallow. He couldn’t hide how affected he was. What was he running from?

“Seokjin,” you insisted with a sigh. “I really do not mind.” If he felt guilty, there was no need. You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. His irises were almost black, pupils blown out double their size. The carnal urge inside you roared, but your voice stayed softly sweet. “I knowhow much you love me.”

He shook his head as best he could. “It’s taking advantage.”

“Of what?” You laughed loudly. “Don’t be so silly.” There was no such thing as taking advantage. Not when your love for Seokjin was concerned. Besides, was it so bad? In the end you both wanted to take advantage of one another. The itch for a pleasure unimaginable incessant. You gripped his face harder, so close your mouth brushed against his as you murmured more clandestine confessions. “I want you. So bad.” His lips moved like he couldn’t control it. Capturing your bottom lip to tug softly downwards. Your heart jumped, just like something between your legs. This was torture.

A groan tore from your throat as your neck fell back. “Kim Seokjin, you drive me crazy.”

“Likewise.” He agreed, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he closed his eyes. He looked beautiful lying on your bed, blonde hair fluffed out against the pillows. He truly was out of this world. A painting. Your body and heart were near to bursting.

“So. Let us give way to sin. Isn’t that what they say?” You urged, clinging to his shirt to tug at him almost petulantly.

He sighed gently, long fingers circling your wrists, stilling your motions. The action was stern enough to make you stop in your tracks. “You speak without thought.” He murmured. It somehow caused your cheeks to flush, embarrassment settling uncomfortably in your chest.

You let him carefully sit you upright, with him following until you slid to the side to let him bring his legs out from under you. His feet hit the floor. Gentle, but it was a thud to your ears. His back was to you now. “I should go back next door. See if they need me.”

“They don’t.” You couldn’t help but try one last time, even though his rejection was heavy in your heart. Your hand landed on his shoulder clumsily, attempting to stop him from rising. You didn’t miss the way he stiffened. “Seokjin…” You barely whispered, voice filled with concern. It even wobbled, so you swallowed, hardening your exterior. If there was one thing this life had taught you, it was to always act braver than you were—than you felt.

You tried again. “Don’t you want me like that?”

Seokjin whipped around immediately, horror in his eyes and tone as he spoke. “Of course I do!” He clasped your hands tightly. Almost a little tootightly, as if he needed you to understand.

“Then what’s the problem?” You begged quietly. You needed to know. If it was because he wanted to wait, that was fine with you, of course it was. However, from the way he was acting right now—the way he’d been acting every time he stopped you short—it was something more than that. The anguish on his face right now told you that. He looked pained, beside himself as he battled an internal dilemma raging inside his mind.

Finally, he spoke. Voice tiny, gaze unable to hold yours as he looked down at your clasped hands. He opened his mouth, stopped himself and then let go of you, tugging at his cotton trousers instead. He tried again. “You won’t want me when you see the truth.”

“See the truth?” You puzzled after a tiny pause. You wanted to reach out to him but you were too scared. Nothing made any sense.

He shook his head, eyes closed as he scoffed pitifully. “I really should go…”

“Seokjin.” Your voice was gentle, tender, as you tried to let him know everything was alright. Whatever he was afraid of, he didn’t need to be. Whatever it was he was keeping from you, you would not stop loving him, wantinghim. He looked up, blinking slowly as he gazed into your eyes. You had never seen him look so scared. Seokjin, your Seokjin, who was always so bright and brave. You continued, desperate to make your voice reassuring. “Tell me. We promised no secrets.”

He looked at you still, as if he was contemplating his options. You watched him shift, and for a split second you were half expecting him to bolt. Instead he averted his gaze yet again.

“Okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “When I was born…” You waited patiently, the unexpected wrenching you with worry. Silence felt like it dragged on for eternity until he finally continued. “There was a…deformity…”

The word seemed to taste foul in his mouth, lips downturned in a grimace. Your heart skipped a beat, shock and confusion rooting inside you. Whatever it was you expected him to say, it was not that.“The dragon’s gift came with a curse.” He sounded bitter. Pained and bitter.

‘Where?” You wondered loudly, unable to stop yourself. “What are you speaking about? I have never seen anything…”

He shook his head again. “It’s not visible right now.” He sounded weak, speech stunted as he tried to lock eyes with you once again. “We dragon kin possess powers.”

He was struggling and you tried to help, edging a hand closer to his atop his thigh. His body was still half twisted away from you, and you wanted him to relax, lie back again, assure you he wasn’t going anywhere… wasn’t leaving you. You nodded earnestly. “Yours, light to darkness.”

“Mhm.” He tried to agree passively, pulling at a loose thread on his trousers. “But we also have physical traits too.” He was slow again, cautious. “Scales. Limbs. Tails…” Your eyes widened, the news a shock. He had never told you that, which made you wonder what his physical defect was… “Mine is much…” He stopped to grimace, physically disgusted. “Mine is vile.” He spat the word. You felt the hate behind it.

You rushed to hold his hand, unable to hear him talk like this. “Seok—

“Embarrassing. Inhuman.” He cut you off, his brain now going in to overdrive. Like he couldn’t stop. He pushed your hand away, looking at you gravely. “You don’t understand.” He was anguished, sorrowful, humiliated. “It stops me from showing you how much I love you…”

Your brow furrowed, trying to make sense of his words, and then ever so slowly everything began to get clearer. Your hand fell limp to the side of his leg, eyes grazing down his torso and into his lap. Stops him from showing…That could only mean one thing. How he’d been reluctant to take your courtship further. Why he’d been reluctant… Physical traits.That’s what he’d just said, so what did that mean? Scales… You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but what? He still hadn’t told you exactly what was wrong. You felt wrong for even guessing such a thing, but by the look in his eyes, you knew your assumption was correct.

“You’ve guessed.” He finally confirmed solemnly. “I’m so sorry. I kept this from you when I shouldn’t have, but how do I dare tell anyone?”

You wanted to reassure him straight away. To tell him not to be silly. However, your head was spinning, trying to make sense of such a baffling thought. Shock was still sparked in your body, and it showed on your face.

“Won’t they see me as a monster?” He continued, almost like he was asking himself. You caught his eye as he looked up. “Do you see me as a monster?”

“Seokjin, no,” you gasped immediately. This time when you cupped his hand he didn’t pull away. You seemed to catch him by surprise. He was surprised you weren’t repulsed by him? That poor boy. What did he think he was? You knew right then and there, that this piece of new information didn’t change a thing between you and him. He needed to understand. “Seokjin, you’re not a monster.” You insisted, but he shook his head adamantly.

“Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long. Not when I knewit would end like this.”

End? You panicked. What was ending? “This is silly.” Your voice was shrill when filled with the reality of loosing Seokjin. Why was he acting like this was over? Nothing had changed. Why couldn’t he see that? Why couldn’t he listen to you?

You reached for his face instead, clasping his cheeks so hard he’d surely get pressure marks. “Seokjin, you’re being silly. Let’s talk some more. Tell me everything, so I can understand better.” You were pleading, eyes wide, filling with tears.

“There is no point,” he half-wailed, wrenching from your grip. “Don’t you see? There’s nothing to understand, other than I’m a monster to you.”

“No,” you uttered, ears burning, not wanting to hear this nonsense.

“If you saw, you’d realise.” His voice was low, unlike anything you’d ever heard before. Almost like a warning.

“You are definitely not anything of the sort!” You were near to shouting, desperate for him to listen to you. What would it take for him to believe you? You went to reach for him again. “You’re—

“I need to go.” He raised his voice. Louder than yours, and pulled back from your hands, standing to the floor.

“No,” you cried, your fingers managing to catch in the loose fabric of his shirt, tugging as tight as you could. His hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

“I wantto go.” He whispered. Voice tight, eyes pooling with tears that threatened to spill any moment. That just broke your heart even more. “I want to be alone. I’m sorry.”

He let go of your wrist and you loosened your grip on him, hand dropping to the bed. What choice did you have? You needed to respect his wishes. He stepped back immediately, turning from you as he flew to the door.

“I’m sorry for everything,” was the last thing he said as he shut it behind him.

That night you couldn’t sleep a wink. Once the tears had come, they couldn’t stop for the whole evening. That was your first argument. If you could call it that. Neither of you were angry at one another. At least you thought Seokjin wasn’t mad at you. Mad at himself it seemed, yes. Ashamed, mortified? They both seemed fitting too. Even though he had no need.

Your head buzzed. Trying to make sense of the little information you had. Your imagination could have never fathomed such a thing, so it was finding it hard to do so right now, but gradually, and as the sun began to rise, throwing Helios into a dim glow, the shock wore off. It didn’t change a thing.

It didn’t change anything at all. You were positive. You still loved Seokjin just as much as you had moments before his cryptic revelation. You were even… No, you couldn’t think that…but… Your hunger for him still ached away at you. It was fierce now, because he’d finally acknowledged something deeper between you two. He felt it too. It stops me from showing you how much I love you… He’dsaid that. He wanted you too. However, he was afraid you wouldn’t want him when you found out the truth.

You were torn. Feeling too many emotions at once. Your need for him, but also your sorrow. Your heart ached. He had lived with this secret for twenty-one years. Living his life under the assumption it would be alone. He was the apple of the village’s eye, but in his eyes, he harboured a nasty secret. He thought he was a monster, and that just broke your heart.

He was nothing of the sort. The kindest, gentlest man you’d ever met, and nothing would change that. It was about what was on the inside, not a physical deformity.

Shamefully, just with all this thinking, you pulsed underneath the sheets. Curiosity itched away at you, wondering what he looked liked. If only he knew. Would he be disgusted? Or would he realise that you didn’t mind at all? Nothing he could tell you could make you love him less. Make you want him less… You needed to talk to him. Needed to make him understand.

However, the next day brought busy work. You were in the bakery all day, rushed off your feet and Seokjin had been out with his father since 7am, visiting the nearing village. You’d seen him in passing this morning, but he’d paid little attention to you, refusing to meet your eyes when you’d politely greeted him good morning as he left the dining table. You’d carried on your day with a heavy heart and when they still hadn’t arrived back to catch supper, you’d made your way to bed with an even heavier one, stomach empty with loss of appetite. Perhaps Seokjin’s mother knew something was wrong, but she didn’t bring it up, wishing you a good night’s sleep with a kiss to your cheek.

You’d been lying in bed, wide awake, for an hour when you’d finally heard the tell-tale noises of his arrival back home. He and his father always tried to be as silent as possible, but the stairs creaked when they tip-toed up them and you could hear them bid goodnight to one another. You thought you may be able to sleep then, relieved he’d come home safe, but the need to see him pained you. You couldn’t spend another night like this. Tomorrow may be busier, a Saturday. You had never not said a word to one another for longer than a few hours…

You waited another thirty minutes, careful to make sure his parents had enough time to fall sound asleep, before you got out of bed, creeping out the door and down the hallway. Seokjin’s bedroom was right at the end and thankfully his mother and father resided the opposite. They’d collapse of heart failure if they found out what you were doing, but you couldn’t feel guilty now. You needed to see your boyfriend.

His door was slightly ajar, and any worry you had of him possibly being asleep disintegrated when you saw the glow of his oil burner in the dark. You lightly tapped on the wood, hoping he could hear you. When you were met with silence, you whispered his name. Another silence, and then he whispered yours back, question in his tone. You took that as an invite, quietly pushing the door open and slipping inside.

Seokjin was sitting up in bed, cheesecloth sleepshirt threaded loose across his chest and shoulders. His blonde hair laid across his forehead, having brushed it for the night and he had his diary in his lap, open has he wrote. You opened your mouth to apologise for interrupting him, but he beat you to it.

“Are you angry at me?” He looked worried, eyes wide as he leaned forward, discarding the diary atop his nightstand.

You shook your head firmly. “Never.”

“But I lied to you.” He sounded confused. Voice small, eyebrows knitted together.

“You have never lied to me.” Seokjin was an honest man. He may have hidden things from you, but they were not lies. He was just scared to disclose the truth. However, he needn’t be. Nothing had changed.

“Please,” you begged softly, taking a step closer to the foot of his bed. “I need you. Can you just hold me right now?”

He watched you, seemingly in a little shock. Whatever he expected your reaction to be at his news, it was clearly not this, but he nodded slowly, stretching his arms out to when you began to crawl up the bed. You latched onto his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. He clung on to you just as hard, burying his face into your hair and taking a relieved breath. You could have stayed like that all night, but soon enough you found yourself under the sheets with him, curled into his body, head cushioned by his chest as he ran his fingers through your locks.

“If my parents find you out of your bed…” He murmured, kissing the top of your head. You buried your face into him, filling your nostrils with his scent as you closed your eyes. You felt ten times lighter. Dramatic maybe, but you were so glad to be back in his arms. For the whole day you’d been scared that would never happen again…

“They’re asleep. I waited,” you reassured him. He didn’t say anything in reply, fingers never stilling as he soothed the strands down your back. You lifted your head a tad, looking up at him before placing a kiss on his chest. Your lips caught the gaps of his skin, visible through the threaded laces. You wanted to kiss every inch of him. “I don’t like not speaking with you.”

“Likewise.” His smile was sad, voice gentle. He cupped your face now, thumb caressing circles. “I’m so terribly sorry. I was… ashamed yesterday.” He looked away as he finished, still obviously embarrassed by the memory. “Still am.” He added, chuckling softly. “But you can’t see my cheeks burn in this dim lighting.”

Your eyes met for a second and you couldn’t help but giggle along too. Seeing him joke around was relieving. You shuffled closer to him, face now level with his as you took it in your palms. “You never have to be ashamed.” You whispered. “Ever.” You watched for a reaction. Instead he closed his eye, visibly struggling with your words. What would it take to make him believe you? If only he could open up more…

“Seokjin,” you began carefully, and ever so slowly he fluttered his eyelids open. His large eyes glassy. “If you love me, you have to explain everything to me. I’m owed that.”

“I already did,” he croaked.

You pulled back, giving him some room, but also because you were about to ask something that made you grow hot, cheeks blushed. “You…” You shook your head, beginning again. “You have…” However, try as you might, you could not finish, gaze falling down his body instead, hidden by the sheets.

Perhaps he misunderstood your hesitation though, because he sounded forlorn when he replied. “Yes. I do.” How was he supposed to know that your body desired him just as strongly as yesterday? You almost felt ashamed, knowing he was so distressed, but you couldn’t help it. If only he understood… Would it make him feel better?

“I’m not human when it comes to that,” he continued, shaking your hands from his face. His hand fell to the mattress, too shamed to touch you.

“I don’t care,” you pleaded, clutching a hold of his shirt instead. You had gotten so passionate you were now kneeled over his body, begging him to listen to you. “Seokjin, I still want to be with you. I love you. I don’t give a damn.” You were shaking him, forgetting to keep your voice down.

He firmly circled your wrists with his fingers, stilling you, and your voice broke off with a cry, scared and panicked. You couldn’t lose him. Not after everything you’d been through in your life. He was your one happiness. Your light in the once never-ending darkness.

“My parents were so happy when I told them about us,” he began almost wistfully. His voice was so gentle it caught you off guard, and you relaxed your body, feeling him entwine his fingers with yours. “To finally see their son so joyous and in love…” Your chest swelled, wanting to hold him some more, but then his expression fell. “But they also know the truth. They’re the only ones who do. Imagine birthing a child to be met with such horror.”

“Shush,” you quickly rushed, letting go of his hands to grip his face. “Don’t say such things.” How could he think himself a monster when he was the most gentle, loving man around? Could he not see the real him? Could he not look in a mirror and see the truth? He was blinded by his disgust for himself. It had tainted his life since he was old enough to understand.

“They’re nervous of it ending. Just like I am.” He continued, barely there, hushed under his breath. The word endscared you beyond belief, only dispelling when you felt his large hands grip around yours, holding you to him tightly. “But I don’t want to let you go.” He sounded desperate, broken. Almost like he was begging. It cut at your heart. “I love you too much.”

“Then don’t!” Your faces were so close by now, noses crushed up against one another as you pleaded. Both teary eyed, both so hopelessly in love with one another. “You don’t have to. I won’tlet you.”

“How can I ever love you properly?” He cried out, voice breaking as he tried to keep quiet. “Satisfyyou?” He sounded tormented. Like this was all he’d been thinking about. You felt a flood of guilt wash over you. All this time, ever kiss and touch you secretly shared together. While you craved and hinted for more, he was tortured, under the impression you would never love him the same again if you knew the truth. For months he hid, thinking he couldn’t give you what you wanted. No matter how much he wanted it too.

None of that mattered now. You needed him to know that wasn’t important. What wasimportant was your love for him, and his love for you. “You already love me as best as humanly possible, because that is what you are.” You pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “Human.” Not a monster. “This heart that beats,” you signalled, reaching one hand between your bodies and covering his chest. The muscle beat under your palm hard. “It’s all human.”

He let out a tiny sigh, almost like he’d been holding his breath. Your words sent a relief through him, and one of his hands laced through your hair at the back of your head, holding you close. Your breaths mingled with one another. You slightly out of breath, desperate to make him see, and his shallow, listening as you continued.

“You just have the blessing of Helios inside you. It shines bright, and I couldn’t think of a better man for the job.” He let you pull back to look him in the eyes. This time he didn’t look away. He shone right now, you swore it. He was of the sun. A gift. Your gift.

“Seokjin,” you murmured, unable to stay away from his mouth a moment longer. “I love you.” His lips were warm and soft. The instant comfort that you’d longed for all day. He felt like home. You’d never had one of those until you met him. You pulled back slowly, mouth parting to tell him one last importance. “I love you no matter what you hide, and I am so lucky to have met you.”

He made a noise as he reached for your mouth hastily; one of relief and happiness. It rumbled as his lips touched yours and you whimpered, because it seemed like you’d finally gotten through to him. This time he kissed you without hesitation, without something to say, and you felt the difference instantly. His tongue eagerly swiped across your bottom lip, delicate but restless, and you parted instantly, your muscles meeting, caressing one another.

He clutched your cheek tighter, rising his head before he began to sit up. “I love you too,” he rushed, and before you could take another breath, you were pushed on your back, his large body twisting to crawl over yours. His legs kicked the sheets away, crumpled to the bottom of the mattress, and the bed frame groaned under the sudden movement, but Seokjin was too distracted to notice. He cupped your face with both hands now, words pressed tight against your lips. “So, so much.” You were too breathless to reply.

After he was done chasing your mouth, he found your jaw, kissing hot trails towards the sensitive flesh of your neck. This was a new feeling altogether, your skin erupting with goosebumps, each breath turning into little shallow gasps. When his hands began to caress your sides, you felt as if your heart was beating outside of your body. It drummed manically, alive only to the sensation of his touch. How long had your body craved for this? Imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on you like this? Even his touch above the material of your bodice was enough to suffice. You felt him everywhere, his palms burning their way to the skin. A moan slipped from his lips when he found the swell of your breasts, kissing them like he had been kissing your mouth for months. His tongue slipped between your cleavage, your eyes closing, basking silently in the pleasure until you felt his palms cupping the soft flesh and they flew open again.

“Seokjin,” you breathed, hands running along his large shoulders. He kissed up your chest, peppering your throat in kisses until he found your lips again. He was out of breath, moving without direction, like he couldn’t stay still for long enough to think clearly. His thumbs found where your nipples were, hidden beneath the cotton and they hardened under the pads magically. You were beginning to get aroused, much more aroused than you’d ever been before. It coloured your cheeks. They felt hot. Like they were burning.

“You’re so beautiful,” he got out. Voice an octave lower, gruff. It shot up your legs, finding home beneath your nightgown. “I want to kiss every inch of you. I want to see how beautiful you are bare. I want to hold you. Touch you. Feel you.”

You felt like you were drowning. Either that or going crazy. You were beside yourself, squirming underneath him, his body heat seeping into yours, causing your head to go giddy. If you died right now, you’d go happy. You would want to see the whole thing out, of course, but with how fast the blood was coursing through your body right now, who knew if you’d blow up…

Beside himself also, you felt his hands reach under your nightgown, gripping the underside of your thighs. His palms were clammy and hot, and the contact made you jerk into him; new and exciting. He didn’t stay there for long though, a strangled noise leaving him as he fumbled over your body, unable to keep still for his greed took over.

“I cannot hold back any longer,” he admitted almost embarrassingly, fingers playing with the lace of your bodice. They shook and you clasped them in your own.

“Then don’t.” You whispered.

Your gaze was unwavering, speaking unsaid words, expressing your desire, and a moment later he was hastily unlacing you. Your lips met in a frenzy, your fingers helping his as he freed your chest from its confines. When he felt your soft breasts against his hands he had to pull away, jaw slack, eyes unblinking as he drunk the image up. You kissed at his nose, his cheeks, his open mouth, giggling quietly at his reaction.

“Can I kiss them?” He requested, all but a breath, and you nodded quickly, bracing yourself, but never ready for when his tongue delicately brushed against your left nipple. You arched your back, chasing the feeling, wanting more, and he engulfed the flushed peak between his lips, caressing it with the tip of his tongue. The stimulation was making your toes curl, his sheet sliding off the bed as you jerked your leg and moaned sweetly. He liked that, working wider strokes of his tongue until he was kissing your breast like he would your mouth. His right hand reached for your forgotten breast, kneading the flesh, his thumb circling the hard bud. There was the most scorching burn between your legs, and Seokjin’s weight against your body did nothing for it. It just made it blaze harder.

“Is this alright?” He asked, pulling away slowly, mouth all sticky, lips shining in the muted glow of the oil lamp. He looked golden in this light, the shadow of the flames flickering across his face as he kneeled straight, hands cupping your sides tightly, as if he needed to anchor himself down.

You wondered if you looked as beautiful as he did? He was looking at you as if you did. You wanted to look even more bewitching… Nodding your reply you carefully began to rise. Seokjin had no other choice but to move back, letting you sit on your knees. He watched in silence as you took the hem of your nightgown in your hands, eyes wide and mesmerised when you began to lift it up, shimmying it over your hips and up your torso. It freed from your shoulders easily, and there was a moment of darkness as it covered your face, and then it was gone, dropped to floor, in which you hoped was seductively.

You both kneeled before one another, you bare, except for the cotton underwear that hid your innocence. It throbbed so hard you were shocked Seokjin couldn’t notice, but he was too distracted, drinking in the sight before him like you were a painting. Your eyes met, and and you felt no shame, only love. So much love it overwhelmed you, gripped at your lungs, squeezed at your heart. You were moaning in relief when his mouth flew at yours, clutching him tight around the neck as your bodies pressed against one another.

He moaned too. It didn’t sound real, but such a beautiful sound could only come from such a beautiful young man, so it was yours to hear, and yours only. When you finally drew apart, he clutched your jaw, mouth open, breath heavy, eyes unfocused and blown out. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He told you, shaking his head a little to correct himself. “Willever lay eyes on.” His gaze travelled down between your bodies, a sweet sigh leaving him. “There is so much I want to do to you…”

Something in your abdomen began to flip around, his words affecting your body until you were trembling something chronic. However, there was something else that needed to be done before you could even think about being so selfish. You brought one of your hands over his shoulder, running it down his chest until you stopped at the centre, gripping the cloth in your fist. “Please undress too.”

He looked at you quietly at first, as if he was contemplating it. You didn’t want to rush him at all, nor force him into a situation he felt uncomfortable with, but he seemed just as desperate as you, and after all, there was so much youwanted to do to him too… With a resolute nod he let go of your face, placing one sweet, lingering kiss on your mouth with a smile before he moved to slip his nightshirt off. You had never had the pleasure of seeing Seokjin shirtless. Although this summer had been incredibly hot, he was considerably modest—which made perfect sense now—and he’d rather swelter in the heat than cool down with one easy motion. It was all worth the wait now.

Seokjin was built so large, that had been one of the first thing you’d noticed when you’d initially met him, but his bare torso was a sight to behold. His skin almost glistened in the flamed light, and he looked so divine you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and caressing him. He was hard too, chest firm beneath your palm as you dragged one across slowly. The other ran along his shoulder, gently massaging the muscle. Your mouths met again, you just couldn’t get enough. It felt like you were only breathing properly when you kissed one another. He wrapped his arms around your middle, holding you close, your bare chests pressed against one another. His skin was boiling. You found yourself on your back again, head cushioned by his pillow, hair pushed out like a halo. He pulled back on his heels, taking the opportunity to stare down at your naked body laid out on his bed. You ran your fingers down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his breeches.

“More,” you whispered, begging him with your eyes. You felt his body freeze up. “Please.”  You added. You wanted terribly to show him how perfect he was. “I want to see. There is nothing in this world that could make my love go away.”

That seemed to comfort him, and even though there was still fear in his eyes, his hands moved to the buttons along his crotch. “Promise?” He asked, voice small.

You nodded firmly. “I swear on my life.”

That was all he needed, and you watched with bated breath and a drumming heart as he began to unfasten his trunks. He believed you. He trusted you. You were overwhelmed with love again, struggling with how to express it all at once. You would spend your whole life doing so, you were sure of it.

You kept silent as he stepped out of the garment, even when you grew surprised at the bounds of woven gauze wrapped around his groin. You had not been expecting the great lengths he had to take in order to keep it concealed. Whether he needed to, or whether it was because he couldn’t bear to look at it himself… You hated to think it was the latter.  

“I…” He trailed off, fingers visibly shaking as he found the end of the cotton, fiddling with it as it loosened. “I have to hide it well.”

He sounded embarrassed and you hated it, sitting up to console him.  “It’s okay,” you murmured, catching his fingers with yours. You held on for a while, looking up at him with a small smile, waiting for him to return it. When he did timidly, your heart swelled. “I love you, Seokjin. So much.”

He nodded his head, perhaps to give himself confidence, because he soon dropped your hand to your side, busying himself with the gauze again and ever so slowly he began to unbind himself. With each layer that fell you could make out the obvious bulge that laid in the middle. You were not so innocent. His arousal was a lot harder to hide than yours…

“Is it not painful wrapped so tight?” You couldn’t help but ask, worry colouring your tone.

“A little,” he admitted bashfully.

As he got closer your mouth parted in awe. There were small golden scales that trailed up the right side of his groin, along his hip and upwards, trailing off as they hit his stomach. These didglisten in the light, and you just had to touch them, following the scatter with the tip of your fingers. Seokjin’s breath hitched, stilling momentarily to look down at you. “They’re beautiful,” you said, voice hushed.

He smiled gently at you. The fear was still in his eyes, but so was a warmth. He knew you loved him unconditionally, and despite his reservations, he carried on, unwrapping the last of the woven fabric before he dropped it to the mattress.

“Oh.” You let out, blinking a few times at the sight before you.

He took your silence as a fear for the worst, panicking as he pulled back from you, your hand on his hip falling to your side. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—

“You’re beautiful,” you interrupted him, reaching for both his hips this time as you held him still. You should have said something immediately, but you were speechless. Astounded by the beauty. He let you study him, but kept his eyes trained to the wall in front of him. You could hear his heart pounding from here. You didn’t want him to feel ashamed.

“Gold,” you breathed. For reasons unknown, you had not been expecting such a sight. Yes, he had told you he was cursed but really speaking, you had no clue how. You could never have fathomed this. It was golden, just as you saw him. He really was the sun, and there was nothing hideous about him. He was beautiful.

It stood from his body, distended from arousal and its entrapment. Tip pointed and a slit that seemed to be leaking some type of clear substance that made it shimmer even more. The length was a little intimidating, but that may have been down to your inexperience. Smooth and curved, three ridges followed the tip until a larger one hit the base, bulbous and veiny. Under his member sat his scrotum, equally as golden. The scales that speckled his hip started at the groin, no faint hair in sight, but they also travelled down his left leg, at the inside of his thigh, stopping midway.

You had never seen another manhood, so logically speaking, this was no matter. You had nothing to compare it to. You would now neverwant to compare something so breathtakingly beautiful. The sight had you in awe, but he didn’t seem to notice, squirming in your grip. Trying to get free, trying to hide.

“Seokjin, look at me,” you implored, reaching for his waist as you knelt too, desperate to get as near eye level as you could. You clung to his face, kissing his mouth, but his arms lie limp at his sides. “Seokjin…” You started, taking his hands to drag him down over your body.

“Come here.” He complied, body almost sagging, and once he’d lowered enough you flipped him, straddling his chest. You found his face again, kissing his mouth open, desperately, your breathing getting louder.

“You’re beautiful. Perfect.Please don’t be ashamed.” You pleaded. He didn’t say anything in reply, but you felt his hands behind your thighs, holding you in place. His tongue peeked out of his mouth, delicately laving yours with each caress of your mouth. You pulled back to catch a look of his face, and you were pleased to see his gaze was on yours now.

“Thank you,” he smiled. “For everything.”

“You never have to hide with me,” you smiled back, lowering your body to his thighs. As you did so, your hand accidently brushed against his member. It was the lightest of touches, but his bottom half jerked upwards, a strangled cry leaving him.

You froze, eyes wide. You wondered if you should apologise, confused by his reaction. Confused altogether. Your stomach lurched as you thought back. He had felt so smooth, like marble, but soft, and so warm. Bravely, you ran your hand over his length again, with purpose this time, watching his face for reactions. His plush lips parted, swollen and pink from your stolen kisses, and a beautiful sigh left him. It sounded like your name. It wasyour name.

“Does that feel good?” You questioned, voice high-pitched with excitement. You didn’t give him time to reply, wrapping your fist around the thickest part of the shaft—the part you guessed had most the feeling. He jerked forward again. You could feel him pulse against your palm. “I want to make you feel good,” you murmured determinedly.

He moaned in response, too overcome for words at that precise moment. All he seemed to do was rock his hips into your hold, almost as if he was trying to create friction. You acted on the spot, sliding your fist up the ridged flesh. He let out a sigh of relief, and you moved back, repeating the action slowly.  

“Yes, it feels so good.” He finally replied, voice strained. “It feels more than good.” This time a small chuckle fell from his lips. It was music to your ears. “I’ve never…” He stopped to swallow, and you crouched lower over his body, blood rising to the surface of your skin when you felt his hands slide up your buttocks, shaping the flesh in his palms gently. Everything about him was gentle, and it only made you love him more.

He tried again. “I’ve never done this… felt this…” You could tell he was feeling bashful at his confession, so you shushed him with your mouth, kissing him sweetly, lovingly. It made you sad to know he had hidden from his body—from who he was—for so long. Sad to know he was that disgusted with himself… How tortured he must have felt every time you kissed him so brazenly… Bound like he had been, fit to burst. How much willpower did one man have?

“Let me do anything you want,” you whispered. You wanted to make him feel the divine like pleasure an orgasm brought. “Faster?” You prompted, beginning to rake your palm a lot quicker. He moaned in response, head pushing back into the pillow, his thick neck on show. His fingers dug into your buttocks now. It helped with the ache between your legs.

You were getting greedy, chasing his reactions. His cheeks flushed, just like the rest of him; patches of red scattering his neck and chest. It was odd to see him so rosy when he was always so golden. The only thing that was gold now, was his throbbing member in your hand. The crests ran along your palm as you moved, and bravely you curled your thumb over the slit of the tip, dampening the pad with the clear substance that continued to leak from it. He jerked his hips once more, a groan leaving him. It didn’t sound human. You repeated. Every time your fist hit the head you circled what you now understood as the most sensitive part of him.

You knew he couldn’t take anymore when one of his hands gripped around your wrist, panicking, blurting your name to get you to stop. However, you didn’t. This sensation was new to him, overwhelming. He had no idea what was happening, probably scared, but you knew. You knewhe was close. His stomach clenched as he writhed around. It only took two more runs of your palm, and then he was stilling, a quiet, drawn out moan leaving his throat.

His length convulsed, and you looked down in time to see the spurts of white stain his abdomen, rising up and down with his pants. It speckled across his golden scales, painted him even more beautiful. You let go of him immediately, throwing yourself into his arms.

“Oh, oh.” He was still out of breath, trembling as he wrapped his arms around your body, kissing you messily. “I love you.” His chest heaved, and he sounded drunk. You couldn’t help but giggle as you pulled away to peek at him. He looked sinful, spread naked in front of your feasting eyes, not a care in the world now that a part of his soul had left his body, manhood growing slightly limp against his stained stomach.

“We need something to clean you up with,” you continued to giggle, aware your cheeks were practically burning, unable to stop soaking in the view.

“Use my shirt,” he muttered, dazed.

“Your shirt?” You exclaimed, putting a hand to your mouth when you realised how loud you’d been. You both needed to remember you weren’t alone in this house. You couldn’t get found out.

“Mhm.” He confirmed. “I’ll wash it in the lake tomorrow.”

You laughed again in disbelief, but obeyed, finding the garment in a heap at the end of the bed. You straddled him again, sopping up the arousal on his body. He helped you, capturing your lips with his in the process and soon enough you were distracted. You felt him drop the shirt to the floor as his tongue delicately opened your mouth, arms winding around your waist.

“Do you want to stop?” You wondered out loud, breathless and trembling. Your body longed for some relief, but you did not want to be unfair. He could be near exhaustion now.

“No,” he exclaimed, coughing to clear his throat. “Not at all.” He gripped your hips as you sat on his stomach, a light shining in his eyes. He was almost like an excited puppy. “I want this night to last forever.”

You smiled at that, touched by his words and wholeheartedly agreeing. Ever so lightly, you felt his fingers trace the waistband of your underwear, lids turning heavy as he cast his gaze upwards to your face. His voice was low when he spoke again. A request. “Please let me see you.”

In all honesty, you had forgotten you were still clothed where your need burned the hardest, and you moved quickly, kneeling higher to drag the cotton down each leg until you were just as bare as him. You looked down at him with heavy eyes, slightly shy, but only because he was studying you with such intensity.

He traced your hip bone with his finger, voice but a breath. “You are stunning, my love.” My love. His love. That was correct. You were his and he was yours. You leaned over his torso, needing to kiss him again, to feel his warmth. He cupped your face, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“All my wildest dreams don’t even…” He trailed off when your lips met, kissing you slowly. You moved closer, between your legs brushing against the smooth, gold beauty that laid between his. You couldn’t help the groan that fell from you both. Pleasure burst from every nerve in your body.

“Does that feel good?” Seokjin wondered, pulling back to cup both flushed cheeks now.

“Y-yes,” you sighed, moving your hips again. He kissed your nose as you moaned, his breathing becoming shallow again. He grew harder again as you slid over each crest, growing hotter, more sensitive, until he was surely ready for more. Your arousal felt heavy between your legs, sticking to him, greedy for his touch.

“Seokjin… I want you,” you uttered, mouth parted in pants. You clung on to his chest. “I needyou.”

“Please.” He agreed.

You lifted on your knees again, hand shaking as you gripped his member. You were nervous, but your body was acting on its own accord. Instinct.You hovered above the tip, letting him settle against your opening. “A-are you sure?” He asked, worried, holding your hips. You were aroused greatly but pushing down on him was intimidating. You struggled, feeling a little foolish.

You silently give up, needing a moment. Your heart was beating so fast. Moving back to crouch down, you dropped his length to kiss your way across his hip, catching the golden scales with each peck. You took deep breaths, calming yourself.

“Let me…Let me help you,” he suggested, curling his hands around your waist to flip your back to the mattress. “Come here,” he whispered, bending over your bottom half. “I want to touch you…feel you…kiss you…”

When two of his fingers brushed carefully over your folds, you felt a flutter travel up your stomach and a pulse down below. You bucked into him, overcome by not only his words, but his actions. He repeated, spreading your left leg by the inside of your thigh to gaze upon you even more.

“Seokjin,” you breathed, staring down at him.

“You’re beautiful.” He praised. “Can I kiss you?”

He was not talking about your lips. Or maybe he was…just a different kind. You nodded quickly, afraid to even breathe as you watched him descend. His tongue was delicate, laving against the soft flesh hesitantly. This was all new to him, but you could tell he was desperate to make you feel good. His eyes closed tight, face burying between your legs as the tip of his tongue dug between your folds, catching on a spot that had you moaning sweetly, spreading your legs shamelessly. He froze, experimentally repeating the curl of his tongue. It had the same effect, an arm reaching out to entangle your fingers in his locks. He moaned against you, sending a rumble up your pelvis.

You had explored your own body before. Most of the time after Seokjin had left you in a hot and bothered state, cheeks red, out of breath, thighs trembling, but it did not feel anything like this. His sweet tongue was a divine state of being, coaxing your tense, nervous body, and with a few more laps of his wet muscle, your moans grew more persistent. You remembered to keep the volume down, but it was impossible to stay silent altogether. Seokjin worked you until you were trembling underneath him, squirming in his hold, a pleasure settling deep inside the pit of your stomach and staying there, glowing.

He pulled away when he realised you were growing sensitive, lips shimmering with your arousal. He looked absolutely stunning. “You sound so… It is driving me crazy.” He laughed with a trembling voice.

Sated, but still greedy, you smiled at him, breasts heaving slightly with your chest, and you ran your hand down your stomach, hooking your finger under Seokjin’s chin. “Do you think I’m ready…?”

“We can try…” He murmured. “Should I see…?” He trailed off, one of his fingers circling your entrance carefully. You could hear yourself, sticky as you coated the pad, and you fidgeted, wanting more. On cue, he slipped the digit inside you. Your velvet walls squeezed around the intrusion, but it was in a desperate need, locking him in placed. He explored you a little, dragging and rubbing inside you, trying to stretch you for what was to come.

“You feel so soft.” He told you, reluctantly pulling out. “Do you want to try, my love?” You nodded almost feverishly, gripping onto his shoulders as he crawled over your body. You spread your legs, letting him nestle inside them as he kissed your forehead and down your nose.

When he reached your mouth, he stopped to pull away. “Are you sure? Tell me right now if not.” He rubbed your nose with his lovingly. “We can stop… I know… I know this isn’t what you were expecting…”

You clutched his face in your hands. “It is better.” You promised. “Better than what I could have ever imagined.” Tonight was perfect. You were so lucky, and so happy. “I want you so much.” You whispered, mouth tugging at his bottom lip. You rolled your hips upward, brushing against his length. “So much it hurts.” His breath caught, surprised by your brazen words. “Please…”

“When you beg like that it is impossible to even think of saying no,” he chuckled under his breath, voice strained as he held himself up by the palms of his hands.

You dragged your tongue along his, too far gone. You were speaking without thinking, so needy for his love. “Want to feel you inside me.”

He shook, voice just the same as he whispered in your ear. “Sinful.”

“Love cannot be sin,” you shook your head, and he pulled back to watch you with a small smile.

“You are right.” He agreed, caressing your cheek before he glided the hand down your body; down your cleavage, to your navel, goosebumps erupting all over you. You heard him grip his member in his fist, rubbing it ever so carefully up and down your swollen folds. “I want to be one with you.” He confessed sweetly, and you braced yourself, blood rushing in your eardrums.

“Alright?” He murmured. Reassurance as he found your entrance and began to push inside. You nodded your head, strands of his hair that dangled down tickling your forehead. “Slowly…” He followed his own advice, opening you up bit by bit, until he stopped at the first ridge.

Like this you felt no pain, and you gripped his hips. “Keep going.” You whispered, watching his face almost mesmerised. The veins in his neck bulged, visibly holding his breath as he struggled with his pacing. You could tell the sensation was overwhelming for him, his eyes glassy. As your flesh stretched over the first golden crest, you felt the burn, instantly fuller, and you dug your nails into his skin, overcome. It happened two more times, popping over the final ridges until he hit the bulge at the base, your vagina unable to strain that much right now. You both gasped upon the sensation, mouths open, eyes wide as you stared at one another in disbelief.

“Can we stay like this for a little while?” You asked, slightly panting for breath as you kept painfully still. There was not so much pain, just a dull burning as your skin tightened around him. He nodded his head, speechless himself, and reached for your mouth, kissing you as best he could. His arms trembled and he moved to rest on his elbows, caressing your face with his fingers.

“I love you,” he told you through sweet sighs, careful to hold his body weight up, not to crush you or add excess pressure between your bodies.

“I love you too.” So much. It felt like you were floating this time. Staying afloat because you had Seokjin. You had his love. You were one. Connected like no other way, and you wanted to stay like this forever. Safe in his embrace.

“You feel so soft,” he choked, unable to keep still a moment longer as his knees buckled. He pulled back, and you couldn’t help but moan out, pleasure hurtling through your body.  

“Yes, do that again,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck now, holding him close. He moved forward, repeating his action until he was shallowly thrusting into your warmth. “Seokjin…” You breathed, fluttering your eyes closed.

“You feel so good. So warm. My head may explode,” he whimpered, driving a little faster in to you, and that’s when you felt it, the stretch as his bulge steadily pushed inside you. You were now more aroused than ever, and greedily, you took him all.

Seokjin’s hips stuttered, head flying back as he buried deep inside your velvet walls, but you rutted upwards, desperately trying to keep him moving. It felt so good, and you wanted to feel the drag of all his crests as he thrust inside you. The bed frame creaked again as he laid over your body, the warmth encasing you, and you clung to him tightly, moaning loudly.

“Shush,” he strained, because it seemed he wanted nothing more than to join you. “We mustn’t wake my parents up.”

You agreed, from then on trying your best to stay silent. You’d gnaw at your bottom lip if needed. He buried his face in your neck as he continued to furiously make love to you, both of your bodies glistening with sweat, sliding against one another. Breathing laboured, the occasional groan, and the sounds of your arousal as he slid in and out of you filled his bedroom. It was a masterpiece. Beautiful.

Your right hand found his hip, tracing the patterns his scales made. You would never get enough of touching him. He pulled his head back, watching you with unfocused eyes. “S-seok…” You trailed off, unable to continue, panting loudly. You wanted to tell him he was gorgeous. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, the sheen of sweat on his face twinkling in the flamed light, his brows furrowed as his thrusts grew weaker, sloppier. Your heart swelled inside your chest. Filled with so much love you didn’t know what to do.

“I’m going…” He tried, shaking his head. “Again—!” You knew what was coming, the tell-tale signs right there, but this time as he orgasmed, he captured your lips in his, sheathing his gold as deep as it would get, filling you with the hot warmth you knew from earlier.

He stayed like, buried inside your warmth, growing partly limp as you both caught your breath like you’d been drowning moments earlier. You wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him tightly, inhaling his scent, melting into his skin.

You found one another’s mouths again, his hands cupping your jaw as he kissed you hard. This time was different though, there was no urge behind it, no desperation, just a need that lived inside him. A need to show you how much he loved you. Pulling away with a gasp, he clutched your face harder. “I love you—I love you. So—much.” Another kiss to your mouth. He didn’t give you time to reciprocate.

“I want you forever.” He gushed. “Marry me.” More kisses, but this time you were too stunned to even try and kiss back. He broke apart, murmuring softly now. “Marry me…”

“Are you sure?” You found your voice. Quiet and full of disbelief. This was your wildest dream. Marrying Seokjin. Your happy ending. Something that seemed impossible before finding yourself in Helios. Impossible until you met the love of your life…

“I’ve never been surer of anything, my love. I will love you for my entire life.” He professed, and you giggled, happiness swelling inside your chest. You kissed him like your life depended on it, until he was desperate to know the answer. “Yes?” He gasped, breaking apart.

“Of course it’s a yes,” you nodded wildly, running your fingers through his hair, before pressing his forehead against yours. He grinned harder than you’d ever seen.

“I love you, Seokjin. Forever.” 

[theofficersacademy]

The warmth of the Goddess’ blessing has blanketed the land in a rich array of color, and the people whisper their prayers for the year’s crop to grow bountiful under her care. As they wait, hearts and minds turn to thoughts of love and friendship, women weaving fresh petals into lush garlands as gifts for close friends, or to court the attention of a hopeful lover. Overhead, the skies open, and rain pours down in sheets, marking the beginning of another fertile — but also potentially dangerous — rainy season.

At Garreg Mach monastery, there have been reports of this year’s rain being more potent than usual, badly affecting many surrounding villages. It’s too much for just the clergy to handle, so a call goes out from the administration, to the Black Eagle House:

Black Eagles Mission: Assist villages damaged by the rain!

Welcome to TOA’s second season, and our first that is house-centric! This season’s mission will be focused on the Black Eagle house, but there are also non-mission tasks available as well. (Please see the FAQ for details on how this works, even if you’ve read the FAQ before.)

Aside from the BE mission, there’s other fun things taking place! This season will run from Garland-Blue Sea Moon in TOA canon, but since it’s October-November in real life, some of our non-mission tasks are going to be in honor of Halloween! (Fodlan celebrates Halloween in June now, I guess.) Take a look!

BE Mission Task Board

Safeguarding towns against the floods and mudslides of the rain calls for a lot of heavy lifting, but it’s rewarding work and it needs to be done. Reinforce houses, assist in handing out emergency supplies or building sand bag walls. The more hands, the better. [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

A lot of extra help is needed at a nearby farming village. The flooding is driving people out, and worst of all, all the animals need to be moved before they get caught in the floodwater. Anyone know how to round up cows, chickens, or even a pig or two?

A group of local Alliance merchants have decided to donate their supplies to devastated areas as charity instead of to their intended destination. But their supply route is being blocked by debris and downed trees, and they need help getting through! To make matters worse, Lord Acheron has showed up to express his displeasure and force them into their scheduled delivery. Looks like the supplies were originally meant for him...

While passing through a flooded riverbank, shouts are heard coming from nearby. There’s a family stuck in the river swollen with rainwater, their wagon tipped over, supplies washing downstream. But even more distressingly, their child is also caught in the rapids! Surely you have to help! Didn’t Oregon Trail teach you anything? Never ford the river.

Escorting villagers displaced by flooding to Garreg Mach is grueling enough work. Morale is low, and people have suffered and lost their homes and, in some cases, more than that. Unfortunately, there are those who would use the opportunity to prey on the vulnerable. En route, shouts erupt and chaos ensues in a matter of seconds. A bandit ambush! [Grants Any Weapon Skill +1]

NEW! As you escort a family to safety, the rain picks up. You’re able to find shelter in a small cave, but it doesn’t look like the rain will let up anytime soon. The exhausted parents are quick to fall asleep, but the day’s excitement leaves their three young children wide awake and terribly, terribly bored. Know a story or two? [Grants Authority+1]

NEW! Just as important as helping villages during the flood is helping them recover in the aftermath. Remire Village itself has escaped the worst of the flooding, but the overflowing river swept half of their harvest away. It’s not too late for Remire to replant what was lost, but they’ll need all the help they can get.

Non-Mission Task Board

The Pages of the Blessed Incunabula, a book club, is hosting a costume contest! Dress as your interpretation of characters from songs and stories and enter to see if you win! There is a category for each house, encouraging students to use their own country's folktales. Winners get the special Lion's Garland, a gigantic wreath of flowers that is traditionally refused by the victor and granted instead to a close friend or (potential) lover. Make your costume and fantasize about who you'll give the Garland to (or grumble about why you can't keep it for yourself).

The Sorcerer's Order, a club of amateur spellcrafters, has set up their annual Haunted Chamber behind the sauna! It looks like a regular dorm room, but it's actually a gauntlet where you must survive three grueling rounds of random objects being thrown at you (ranging from pieces of paper to frying pans to the dreaded wardrobe), unarmed. Because of the potential danger, the students keep it a secret from the faculty so that it doesn't get banned. There's no shame in losing, but winning means a special secret prize. [Grants Gauntlet +1]

The Inter-House Reception is a traditional event on the 29th of the Garland Moon intended to bring down walls between students of different backgrounds at the academy. Many professors are giving out extra credit points for studying or completing classwork with a student from a different house. Others are assigning projects that ask students to familiarize themselves with the cultures of places outside of their own homes.

Sweet-tooth Week is the second week of the Garland Moon, but who says humans should be the only ones allowed to celebrate? The staff needs a few students to help acclimate some of the new horses to carrying riders, so try taking them for a spin in the closed pastures, or even the riding trails if you’re feeling brave. Spoiling them with sugar cubes might make them less likely to bite or throw you. Maybe. [Grants Riding +1]

NEW! The Rite of Rebirth is one of the most important days of the year, and in some ways also one of the most dangerous. With the Holy Tomb open to visitors for a single day, security needs to be tight to handle the massive crowds coming from all over the continent. Students with availability have been asked to help patrol. Hopefully no one causes a commotion.

NEW! Saint Cethleann is well known for her fondness for fishing, and merchant stands all over sell collectors’ fish hooks just for St. Cethleann Day. But the real tradition is making one yourself, from scratch, cutting your own tree, carving your own wood, and everything! [Grants Axe+1]

NEW! The sight of the Blue Sea Star, where the goddess is said to dwell, brings memories of home to all who gaze upon it. During the second week of the month, the monastery kitchen hosts a Head Chef Challenge, encouraging any and all to participate by cooking and sharing traditional meals from their homelands with those around them.

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Black Eagles. Therefore, tasks from the ‘BE Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone from the Black Eagles house. However, they may choose to perform the task with someone who is not from their house as well. In logistical terms, this means that if you play a non-BE muse and want to do a mission task, you must ask someone who plays a BE muse to thread with you. All thread participants will still receive any skill point rewards.

Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed. You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person! However, you can only claim any skill points once.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 5 notes (not counting likes, only reblogs with replies in them) and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point.

Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

[jarrodwbrown]

Brokenness and A Plan for Mass Transformation.

A man, lying in the road, literally on fire.  A flame wicking off of his heal as bystanders looked on for the best shot with their phone cameras.  Then the attention shifted to something moving in the bushes, and as the camera changed its focus a person, perhaps a woman was moving, the look on her face was of desperation, burned from head to foot, skin coming off.  Noone to offer help.  No ambulance on the way.  No LifeFlight to the nearest burn unit.  This was on the road just a few miles from the school Mission Lazarus operates in North-East Haiti.  The man in the road was driving a motorcycle carrying the woman from the side of the road along with two five gallon jugs of gasoline when they wrecked.  The gasoline quickly combusted and engulfed the two in an inescapable inferno.  The driver hadn’t lasted long and the woman in the bushes would not last long either.  This did not have to happen but due to a massive fuel shortage in Haiti the people have been forced to take drastic measures to obtain fuel.  Fuel for their cars to get to work and fuel for their generators so that their businesses can operate (only 20% of Haiti has electricity).  So while it might seem obvious that carrying two jugs of gasoline on the back of a motorcycle would be extremely dangerous everything is relative in Haiti.  

I will probably make someone mad by writing this.  What I’m trying to say will most likely not be understood by more than one person.  I know that my life experiences are unique and that they have greatly shaped who I am, how I think, and how I view others, the world, and the Kingdom of God.  I cannot avoid using my lenses to see but I do recognize that not everyone has my lenses.  I hope that this will give you insights into how I see the transformational work that I believe that as followers of Jesus we are all called to.  

On thursday afternoon September 12 I was flying from Cap Haitien, Haiti back to the US after a week packed full of reviews and planning meetings.  My trip was a success and I was blessed to be with our team there.  But I was exhausted.  Not exhausted from working hard, something that I’m accustomed to, rather exhausted emotionally from the clear reality of life in Haiti.  I was exhausted and I was only there for five days.  

If you’re not aware, Haiti has been plagued this year by political turmoil.  From a massive government report detailing how  billions of Dollars, were skimmed off of the Haiti / Venezuela discounted fuel program “PetroCaribe”, to a fuel hike to reduce the level of government subsidy on the price of fuel, and to fuel shortages throughout the country due to a shortage of US Dollars to pay for fuel imports since the PetroCaribe scheme collapsed.  Those three primary issues coupled with a democratic political system that resembles more of a playground of bullies rather than the leaders of the nation, where the Survivor TV series tagline of “Outwit, Outlast, & Outplay” takes on a whole new meaning.  These realities can lead to many problems, one of the most common is massive protests and a crippling of the nation’s already fragile transportation infrastructure.  These protests are often times at the beckoning of whatever politician’s agenda is looking to stir something up this week and whether or not he has 1,000 Gourde bills to hand out (Haitien currency where roughly 100 Gourdes = $1).   Since 1,000 Gourdes is about US $10 or twice what a well paid Haitien garment factory work would normally make in a day it is easy to understand why unemployed men, young and old, will quickly take to the streets to block roads for the day for $10 each.  A rather cheap way to inflict possibly fatal political wounds on your political rivals.  And also a rather easy way to provide some food for your family for the day.  

However, when the protests get out of control and the crowds become mobs, when the road blockages become riots and the mob mentality takes over, all safety and security guarantees that should be afforded to private citizens of any democratic country are off of the table.  Such has been the case numerous times this year in Haiti resulting in the US state department declaring Haiti a Level 4 travel risk, the same level of travel risk shared by nations like North Korea, Afghanistan, and Iraq, for a few months this past summer.  But we’re talking about Haiti, our neighbor, just 900 miles from Miami, a 90 minute flight.  The result was economic devastation with hotels and restaurants throughout the impoverished island struggling to survive.  Travel booking sites like Expedia removed, at least for a while, all hotel and flight options to Haiti from their sites.   And not only has the tourism industry been affected but nearly all industry in Haiti.  When it is unsafe to go to work or when it’s unsafe to get home from work or when it’s unsafe to transport your goods to the port for export or when you cannot distribute your goods throughout the country then the entire nation is affected.  And then there are the  ministries or aid organizations operating in Haiti.  For better or for worse you cannot deny the incredible economic boost that foreign ministries and aid organizations provide to the Haitian economy.  Thousands of travelers come every year to Haiti to serve and when they don’t travel the loss of Dollars that are spent to house, host, transport and entertain missions and aid workers is devastating.  Tens of millions of Dollars are invested annually by these organizations as well, invested in everything from from water wells to new houses and schools.  All of which is put at risk when the country is practically shut down.  

The results of a year of political turmoil were seen everywhere on my recent trip.  In a country where brokenness is hardly able to be hidden.  Where the reality of living in a fallen world is ever apparent, not hidden by the excesses of materialism enjoyed by the West, the brokenness is palpable in a different way.  In North-East Haiti, where we focus our efforts, added to the political turmoil has been a prolonged drought which has made growing even the hardiest of crops, such as okra, nearly impossible, much less a crop of Haitian staples like rice, corn, and beans.  As I encountered friends from the rural villages we serve in, men and women alike, the result was obvious.  Malnutrition.  Plainly put everywhere you look the farming families we work with are skinny, bone skinny.  They never were exactly healthy but now these families were for sure suffering.  Another, more subtle result, is stress.  It was noticeable on the faces of our local leadership.  The constant concern over how will I get to this place or that, or if I get there will I get home or worse will I get home safely has taken its toll on our team.  While I was there last week I witnessed hundreds if not thousands of factory workers from the Caracol Industrial Park walking back to their homes in Cap Haitien, some 10 miles away, because their buses could not pass through the numerous road blocks along the way.   This level of stress is exhausting.  While generally a protest or road blockage rarely turns violent the possibility is that it always could.  And yet, day after day, our leaders make our operations happen.  They make it to work.  They make sure that our programs continue.  They make sure that our school can function.  They make sure that the teachers have the materials they need.  They make sure that the kitchen has food for breakfast and lunch everyday.  And they make sure that, even if just for six or seven hours a day,  the children of the Academie Lazare are able to be children, able to enjoy the most basic of things like a plate of food, a classroom to learn in, a playground to play on, and a safespace behind a wall that separates them from the painful reality of their village, their community, and their nation.  

So why bother?  It’s too broken to even fix.  I think that this same conversation could be had often or maybe has been had, between God and Jesus, or perhaps Gabriel and Michael, away from the earshot of God, have discussed this very topic, but in regards to the US, or perhaps even with regards to those “Christians” in the US, or maybe it’s with regards to humanity as a whole.  I don’t really think they are limited or defined by geo-political lines that man has drawn across the globe that seem to somehow indicate that this nation has or has not been deemed worthy.  In the US our strong economy, our good jobs, our nice houses, our facades tend to fool us to believe that we’re not broken when in reality the brokenness of Haiti is ever present in the US as well, we’ve just become skilled experts at covering up the stinch.  No it’s not evidenced by piles of burning trash on the side of the road covered in 300 pound hogs rooting for a meal, or poor roads making travel a nightmare or even by starving families, it’s evidenced by our own divisive politics that is hell bent on dividing our nation by political color or even skin color and by religion.  It’s evidenced by schools and churches, rather than being safe havens they are becoming targets for individuals who are obviously not well, who are broken and are hell bent on forcing their brokenness on others.  It’s evidenced by our economy, not the dire lack of economic activity but rather an obsession with spending and an overwhelming number of families drowning in debt.  It’s evidenced by corporate expansion that defies all logic, generating shareholder wealth at the expense of the most vulnerable in the foerign countries where they manufacture their wares.  So why bother?  It would appear that it’s too broken to even fix.  

We  learn from Jesus’ teachings that he came for all of mankind but his approach was to focus on the 1.  And that as a good pastor he’ll leave 99 behind to go after the 1.  The 1 woman by the well, the one blind man, the one tax collector, the 1 Jarrod, the 1 you, the 1 Haitian.  He’s always been about the individual, that 1!  He ministered 1 by 1, 1 at a time.  He healed 1 by 1, loved 1 by 1, and transformed 1 by 1.  He knew that the brokenness of man could not be cured in mass, rather that individual transformation requires individual attention and when massive numbers of individuals have been transformed then the masses are able to invest in massive numbers of 1.  Jesus knew that his saving ministry individual approach must be shared because serving the individual 1 by 1 was slow and unless there were others doing the same thing many, if not most, would be lost.  His investment in the disciples, 1 by 1, loving them, 1 by 1, correcting them 1 by 1, and encouraging them 1 by 1, put into motion a series of relationships and discipling opportunities that continues to this day, you and I are a direct result of that intentional effort, 1 by 1.  

Back to Haiti.  Would I like to see the city streets of Cap Haitien clean?  Sure.  Would I like to see the beauty of the Haitian countryside restored to what it once was?  Sure.  Would I like to see her coastline sparkling turquoise blue again? Sure.  I’d also like to see an end to brokenness in the US, failed marriages, addiction, abuse, debt, hate, and bigotry.  Sure I would.  But if I only focus on the masses and the enormity of the brokenness then I’ll never notice the impact that I’m having as a disciple of Jesus, one of his ambassadors, one of his representatives on this earth who is investing in the life of one other person.  I do not believe that the social political problems of Haiti, or any country for that matter, will be solved by schemes and strategies to solve social-political problems.  I do however believe, wholeheartedly, that when followers of Jesus invest their time, talent, and treasure in just 1 then there is a ripple effect, that grows exponentially.  Where 1 quickly becomes 10 and 10 quickly becomes 100 and 100 quickly becomes 1,000 and so on and so on.  I gave up on politicians solving the brokenness of our nation or any other nation a long time ago.  But I’ve not given up on believers, like you and I, doing what we can to guarantee that Jesus’s proclamation in John 10:10 not be a lie to billions of people living in brokenness in this world, some rich and some poor, but all broken.  

“I have come that they may have life, and have life in abundance.”  John 10:10

[dfroza]

“it is impossible for God to lie.”

and so we can trust in the eternal hope we carry throughout the course of this temporal life in this world.

Today’s reading from the Scriptures of the New Testament is chapter 6 of Hebrews:

So let’s push on toward a more perfect understanding and move beyond just the basic teachings of the Anointed One. There’s no reason to rehash the fundamentals: repenting from what you loved in your old dead lives, believing in God as our Creator and Redeemer, teaching about baptism, setting aside those called to service through the ritual laying on of hands, the coming resurrection of those who have died, and God’s final judgment of all people for all time. No, we will move on toward perfection, if God wills it.

It is impossible to restore the changed heart of the one who has fallen from faith—who has already been enlightened, has tasted the gift of new life from God, has shared in the power of the Holy Spirit, and has known the goodness of God’s revelation and the powers of the coming age. If such a person falls away, it’s as though that one were crucifying the Son of God all over again and holding Him up to ridicule. You see, God blesses the ground that drinks of the rain and then produces a bountiful crop for those who cultivate it. But land that produces nothing but thorns and brambles? That land is worthless and in danger of being cursed, burned to the bare earth.

But listen, my friends—we don’t mean to discourage you completely with such talk. We are convinced that you are made for better things, the things of salvation, because God is not unjust or unfair. He won’t overlook the work you have done or the love you have carried to each other in His name while doing His work, as you are still doing. We want you all to continue working until the end so that you’ll realize the certainty that comes with hope and not grow lazy. We want you to walk in the footsteps of the faithful who came before you, from whom you can learn to be steadfast in pursuing the promises of God.

Remember when God made His promise to Abraham? He had to swear by Himself, there being no one greater: “Surely I will bless you and multiply your descendants.” And after Abraham had endured with patience, he obtained the promise he had hoped for. When swearing an oath to confirm what they are saying, humans swear by someone greater than themselves and so bring their arguments to an end. In the same way, when God wanted to confirm His promise as true and unchangeable, He swore an oath to the heirs of that promise. So God has given us two unchanging things: His promise and His oath. These prove that it is impossible for God to lie. As a result, we who come to God for refuge might be encouraged to seize that hope that is set before us. That hope is real and true, an anchor to steady our restless souls, a hope that leads us back behind the curtain to where God is (as the high priests did in the days when reconciliation flowed from sacrifices in the temple) and back into the place where Jesus, who went ahead on our behalf, has entered since He has become a High Priest forever in the order of Melchizedek.

The Book of Hebrews, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 12th chapter of First Chronicles that documents the army of King David:

These are the men who joined David in Ziklag; it was during the time he was banished by Saul the son of Kish; they were among the Mighty Men, good fighters. They were armed with bows and could sling stones and shoot arrows either right- or left-handed. They hailed from Saul’s tribe, Benjamin.

The first was Ahiezer; then Joash son of Shemaah the Gibeathite; Jeziel and Pelet the sons of Azmaveth; Beracah; Jehu the Anathothite; Ishmaiah the Gibeonite, a Mighty Man among the Thirty, a leader of the Thirty; Jeremiah; Jahaziel; Johanan; Jozabad the Gederathite; Eluzai; Jerimoth; Bealiah; Shemariah; Shephatiah the Haruphite; Elkanah; Isshiah; Azarel; Joezer; Jashobeam; the Korahites; and Joelah and Zebadiah, the sons of Jeroham from Gedor.

There were some Gadites there who had defected to David at his wilderness fortress; they were seasoned and eager fighters who knew how to handle shield and spear. They were wild in appearance, like lions, but as agile as gazelles racing across the hills. Ezer was the first, then Obadiah, Eliab, Mishmannah, Jeremiah, Attai, Eliel, Johanan, Elzabad, Jeremiah, and Macbannai—eleven of them. These Gadites were the cream of the crop—any one of them was worth a hundred lesser men, and the best of them were worth a thousand. They were the ones who crossed the Jordan when it was at flood stage in the first month, and put everyone in the lowlands to flight, both east and west.

There were also men from the tribes of Benjamin and Judah who joined David in his wilderness fortress. When David went out to meet them, this is what he said: “If you have come in peace and to help me, you are most welcome to join this company; but if you have come to betray me to my enemies, innocent as I am, the God of our ancestors will see through you and bring judgment on you.”

Just then Amasai chief of the Thirty, moved by God’s Spirit, said,

We’re on your side, O David,

We’re committed, O son of Jesse;

All is well, yes, all is well with you,

And all’s well with whoever helps you.

Yes, for your God has helped and does help you.

So David took them on and assigned them a place under the chiefs of the raiders.

Some from the tribe of Manasseh also defected to David when he started out with the Philistines to go to war against Saul. In the end, they didn’t actually fight because the Philistine leaders, after talking it over, sent them home, saying, “We can’t trust them with our lives—they’ll betray us to their master Saul.”

The men from Manasseh who defected to David at Ziklag were Adnah, Jozabad, Jediael, Michael, Jozabad, Elihu, and Zillethai, all leaders among the families of Manasseh. They helped David in his raids against the desert bandits; they were all stalwart fighters and good leaders among his raiders. Hardly a day went by without men showing up to help—it wasn’t long before his band seemed as large as God’s own army!

Here are the statistics on the battle-seasoned warriors who came down from the north to David at Hebron to hand over Saul’s kingdom, in accord with God’s word: from Judah, carrying shield and spear, 6,800 battle-ready; from Simeon, 7,100 stalwart fighters; from Levi, 4,600, which included Jehoiada leader of the family of Aaron, bringing 3,700 men and the young and stalwart Zadok with twenty-two leaders from his family; from Benjamin, Saul’s family, 3,000, most of whom had stuck it out with Saul until now; from Ephraim, 20,800, fierce fighters and famous in their hometowns; from the half-tribe of Manasseh, 18,000 elected to come and make David king; from Issachar, men who understood both the times and Israel’s duties, 200 leaders with their families; from Zebulun, 50,000 well-equipped veteran warriors, unswervingly loyal; from Naphtali, 1,000 chiefs leading 37,000 men heavily armed; from Dan, 28,600 battle-ready men; from Asher, 40,000 veterans, battle-ready; and from East of Jordan, men from Reuben, Gad, and the half-tribe of Manasseh, heavily armed, 120,000.

All these soldiers came to David at Hebron, ready to fight if necessary; they were both united and determined to make David king over all Israel. And everyone else in Israel was of the same mind—“Make David king!” They were with David for three days of feasting celebration, with food and drink supplied by their families. Neighbors ranging from as far north as Issachar, Zebulun, and Naphtali arrived with donkeys, camels, mules, and oxen loaded down with food for the party: flour, fig cakes, raisin cakes, wine, oil, cattle, and sheep—joy in Israel!

The Book of 1st Chronicles, Chapter 12 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, january 11 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about this week’s reading of the Torah by Jews worldwide:

Shavuah tov, chaverim. Recall that last week's Torah portion (i.e., parashat Shemot) explained how Moses and Aaron were commissioned to go before Pharaoh and deliver the message: shalach et-ammi (שַׁלַּח אֶת־עַמִּי), "Let my people go" that they may hold a feast to me in the desert" (Exod. 5:1). Not only did Pharaoh dismiss the request, but he imposed even harsher decrees against the Israelites and caused them to suffer miserably. Moses then appealed to the LORD, who reassured him that Pharaoh would eventually relent because "the greater might" of the LORD’s power would deliver His people.

In this week's portion, parashat Va’era, (i.e., Exod. 6:2-9:35), the LORD told Moses that He was now going to fulfill His promise to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob by giving the Israelites the land of Canaan, and that he had heard the "groaning of the people of Israel whom the Egyptians held as slaves" (Exod. 6:5). The showdown between the LORD (יהוה) and the so-called gods of Egypt was imminent, and God therefore encouraged the people with precious promises: "I AM the LORD (אֲנִי יְהוָה) and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from their bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgment; and I will take you to me for a people and I will be to you a God" (these are the “four great expressions of redemption” that we recite during our Passover Seder every year).

Despite these promises, however, the people were unable to listen because of their “shortness of breath” (miko’tzer ru’ach: מִקּצֶר רוּחַ) on account of their harsh slavery. The LORD then told Moses: “Go in, tell Pharaoh king of Egypt to let the people of Israel go out of his land,” and the great showdown between the LORD and the gods of Egypt began. However, even after repeatedly witnessing the series of miraculous plagues issued in the Name of the LORD, the despot remained proud and unmoved, thereby setting the stage for the final devastating plagues upon the land of Egypt and the great Passover redemption of Israel. [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

1.10.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

January 11, 2021

Many Books

“And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” (Ecclesiastes 12:12)

It seems amazing, at first, that we should be reading a complaint from almost 3,000 years ago that too many books were already being published. The greatest book, of course, is the collection of 66 books known as the Bible—that is, the Book (which is the meaning of “Bible”). This Book has been “for ever...settled in heaven” and “endureth for ever” (Psalm 119:89, 160).

The first mention of “book” in the Bible is found in Genesis 5:1: “This is the book of the generations of Adam.” Similarly, the first mention of “book” in the New Testament is Matthew 1:1: “The book of the generation of Jesus Christ.” These “books” are now incorporated into the Book and, in a striking way, emphasize the continuity of Old and New Testaments—the one dealing with the first Adam, the other with the last Adam.

The final mentions of “book” also are very important, again dealing not with books that are temporal but with books that are eternal. In the Old Testament we have the beautiful promise of Malachi 3:16: “Then they that feared the LORD spake often one to another: and the LORD hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the LORD, and that thought upon his name.”

The final mention of “book” in the Bible, on the other hand, is a sober warning not to tamper with the Book. “If any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book” (Revelation 22:19). Let us honor it, guard it, believe it, and follow it. HMM

[the-traveler-errant]

The Legacy of Winter

So I wrote a bit of a short story that’s honestly starting to turn into more of an outline for an even longer story about Nomad and his life story. Well, his backstory at least. The first major battles he faced, his first failures, his first losses, his first slain demon, all that stuff.

It ended up being sixteen pages long, and is the third or fourth “First Draft” I’ve written for him. It’s long, so I’m going to slap most of it beneath a “Read More”, but I’m happy with the fact that I actually wrote something resembling a short story. 

So HERE WE GO! NOMAD MONOLOGUE TIME BABY!

To understand my story, you must understand my homeland. I hail from a land of constant winter. Ice and wind were as familiar to us as sunlight is to you. Our beasts were fierce, merciless, full of cunning. We treated the forests and mountains as if they were living creatures, for they would strike down any who did not treat them with the respect they demanded. My people would not be turned away from this land though. We found its inability to be tamed beautiful, a reflection of what the world should have been.

So we let the land shape us. Our kings and queens, whose bloodlines carried powerful magic, carved entire glaciers into sprawling castles. They took the stones thrown by the mountains, and turned them into cities. Their hunters, proud and fearless, would stalk the mightiest beasts of the forests, take their fur and meat to keep our people warm and their bellies full.

And we knew that somewhere, trapped beneath the ice and snow, there was land fertile enough to grow our crops on. Our sages prayed to the gods, and the gods answered, parting the clouds and letting sunlight fall upon small pieces of the land. We did not have many fields, but our farmers were tough, their will stronger than the winter around them. Their harvests were never as plentiful as any of the others I have seen in my travels. Yet this did not matter to them. It was the act of farming in a frozen land, that existence based on defying the odds, that truly mattered. That they could farm was enough for their stubborn hearts.

We named this land Winterfury, and called it our home for nearly a thousand years. Our lifestyle was never easy, but it was ours. It made us strong, taught us to be resilient. We thought we could stand proud against anything.

Then, three hundred years ago, our people were nearly destroyed. A foolish sage, a heretic, formed a covenant with a god of chaos and fire. The heretic was sickened with the endless winter, driven mad by his failures to drive it away. He desired to plunge the land into fire and destruction, and so they willingly followed the orders of that wicked god. Using forbidden and forgotten rituals, he summoned forth the child of this god, a child of chaos, a Lord of Brimstone and Ash, a King of Demons.

Entire armies fell to this demon. So fierce were his flames, so destructive his rage. He slaughtered thousands on his rampage. Nothing could even hope to stop him.

Until High King Lysandre took the field. He stepped forth, wielding a sword forged by the gods themselves, and met the demon in single combat. The sword, imbued with the blessings of the divines, was more than a match for that unholy terror. With a single strike, the sword sealed the demon away far, far beneath the earth.

High King Lysandre then ordered that a temple be built atop the site of the demon’s fall, to praise the gods, and remind our people of how close we came to annihilation. And, as if speaking the words of the gods themselves, he gave his people a grim prophecy. He spoke of the demon’s return, of how his strength would be more terrible and greater than before. He warned of the demon’s fire, how it could spread to consume the entire world if left unchallenged. He spoke of many dire warnings related to that demon’s return.

But he also spoke of hope. He foretold that four heroes would emerge, to claim the king’s holy sword, and once again use it to seal away the demon. The sword would deem one of them a worthy successor to his legacy, to his bloodline, and allow the heroes to draw the blade in the name of the people, and banish the demon back to the abyss from whence it came.

It was the word of our hero, the word of the High King. Why would anyone doubt him, when the gods had so readily come to his aid?

He ordered his sages to assist him with the construction of a tomb, to ensure that whoever tried to seek the sword would have to endure trials of their design, and prove themselves worthy to carry his sword into battle. Lysandre ensured that the location of his tomb would be kept secret as well. After all, what sort of trials would they be if anyone could take them?

Why would any sword deem a simple peasant worthy of wielding its holy power?

Three hundred years passed. Life went on. Though they watched for signs of the demon’s return, and the rise of the heroes, they were not afraid. Even when the first fires began, they held hope that the heroes would save them. It was the promise of their old king.

I once heard that the first sign of the Lord of Brimstone’s return came in the form of a fire that engulfed the church that was built over that now legendary battleground. I was not there to witness it, nor was I there to partake of the rumors surrounding it. In fact, I had never heard of that prophecy until I was well into manhood.

Prophecies do not mean much to someone who has spent more than half their life in a prison.

When I was still a child, I was imprisoned in Glacialholde. This prison had stood for more than two hundred years, providing a commodity to the people of Winterfury that was very rare in that land:

Entertainment.

Nobles and rich merchants from across the realm would gather at Glacialholde to wager upon the outcomes of whatever fights were arranged by the wardens. Inmates would be made to fight all manner of creatures, purely for the enjoyment of the audience and the purse of the wardens. And the inmates would willingly participate in these fights, fights against rabid beasts, other prisoners, even arrogant knights and warriors who wished to prove their mettle or earn the favor of a noble.

Many inmates died in that arena. They preferred to die in battle, than the alternatives Glacialholde had to offer to its visitors. The wardens believed that a volunteer would fight better than one who was forced to fight. So they made the alternative to the arena as undesirable as possible.

We were kept in cages. Exposed to the ice and wind, given only a thin wool coat to shield us from the elements. Guards would throw our meals into the middle of our cages, and watch as we attempted to murder one another for scraps of dried meat and molded bread. It was not uncommon for ten inmates to be kept to one small cage, and there was never enough room for everyone to sleep with their back against a wall. I don’t believe anyone lasted more than a month in those cages.

So they would volunteer for the arena. Those who survived would be given a private cell to recover from their injuries in, with solid walls and a single door made of iron. They would be given a blanket, and if a noble took a liking to them, they might spend a portion of their winnings on an extra ration for their favored fighter. But once you volunteered for the arena, you were expected to participate until your sentence was served, or you were killed.

I was the only one sent to Glacialholde who did not die there. I spent thirteen years in that prison, accused of a crime I never committed. I was only a child, and they thought I had murdered a noble. Bah. They only wanted a scapegoat, one they could toss away, that could be forgotten in the depths of a prison. I had no family. No friends. No one who could stand for me, or promise to help me escape that frozen hell. The only scrap of hope I had was to fight in the games for as long as I could. So after one week of suffering, I volunteered.

I remember that my first match was against an aging wolf. It had already torn out the throats of seven other inmates. The beast damn near took off half my face, nearly blinded me. But I had already spent most of my life fending off death in the alleyways, the abandoned streets, and in the desolate winters. I managed to strangle the wolf with my bare hands.

I spent three weeks recovering from my wounds. As soon as I was able to, I went back into the arena. I knew that I would likely die in that place. I went into every fight, thinking it would be my last. But instead, I became stronger. I wrestled wolves, strangled bears, fought with tooth and nail against every man or woman the wardens threw at me. I came close to death many, many times, but it could never fully take me.

My strength was unmatched. The wardens and nobles began to call me The Titan of Glacialholde, and I became a crowd favorite. No one ever wanted to parley for my freedom, though. I was of more use to their coffers as a fighter they could bet their gold on. So I fought. I murdered. I killed. I became a savage beast, mindless, relentless, only focused on survival, on becoming as strong as possible. I began to fight every single day, no matter how severe my injury.

No matter what manner of monster they made me fight, I would not fall.

One day, as I was being escorted back to my cell, three strangers approached me. They carried with them a mythril collar, and a letter from the current High King. The letter, given to the guard, stated that I was needed. The “Prophecy of Lysandre” had begun to take form, and the fourth hero was needed. I was told that, if I went with the strangers, and helped them to prevent the end of Winterfury, that I would be pardoned for whatever crimes I may have committed, and be allowed to walk as a free man once again.

The strangers were shocked when I told them to go to the gallows. I don’t think I knew then why their “request” had filled me with rage. It was only years later, that I realized why. They only believed I was important to them because of the words of a dead man. Not because anyone cared of my innocence, or because a child had been forgotten and abandoned. Only because they needed my strength.

They were insistent. They told me to forget my anger, to realize that my country needed me, that evil would arise and lay waste to the land if I did not help them. They promised that they would personally ensure my freedom, and that no one would try to imprison me again, only if I accompanied them on their quest.

In the end, I joined them. I put on their damned collar, their way to mark me should I try to escape. I only joined because freedom meant I could begin to fight on my own terms, and no one else’s.

And it was then, that I heard the prophecy for the first time:

Four Children of Winter shall arise,

Four Heroes to prevent our Realm’s Demise.

One, From the Forest, swift as Wind

One, From Royal Blood, with the Wisdom of Sages,

One, From the shadows, silent as Night,

One, Born from Constant War, stronger than all

Together they shall find the Holy King’s Tomb

And prevent the Demon King’s Doom

The prophecy never translates well into any language, least of all my native tongue. It always does a poor job of describing the “heroes” I was with.

There was the Ranger, Elsiwhyr. Tall and graceful, whose heart belonged to the wilds of our land. His arrows could find their mark even in the fiercest snowstorm. One of the king’s personal rangers, he had spent years watching the forests for any threat to the crown, hunting spies and assassins as if they were mere rabbits.

There was the thief, Brin. As sharp as their knives and as cunning as a fox, they could walk through fresh snow and leave no trace. They lurked in the shadows, striking at the heart of corruption, exposing the lies of the powerful. Brin would only steal from those they deemed deserving, who thought themselves above the law. There was not a place on Earth Brin couldn’t escape from.

And there was the sage, Lyn, heir to the throne, who could have become the High Queen. But instead, she chose a life of knowledge, seeking to understand the mysteries of the arcane. As wise as she was kind, she could summon the fury of the elements, and smite the wicked with hardly a single effort. Yet of all of us, she was the most humble, the one who led us forth upon our quest.

I once thought them all arrogant. In the first days of our journey, I thought that they were all soft, untested youths who had never known suffering. To my mind, that was the true reason they needed me. They needed a brute, a monster who would heed their beck and call. Someone to give them time to loose their deadly arrows, to cast their spells, to draw attention so they might sneak away into the shadows. They did not need me. They just needed my strength.

So I gave it to them. I stayed silent while they planned our routes, bought our provisions. While they studied in ancient libraries, desperate for clues of the tomb’s location, I would stand guard at the door, watching for any sign of our foes. There were many, in the wake of signs of the demon’s return, who wished to follow the path of the Heretic Sage, and gain the favor of the Demon King’s father. We fought them countless times on our quest.

Despite the many trials we endured together, it took me an eternity to begin to trust my comrades. I told myself it was because they did not trust me. I thought they all mocked and judged me whenever they believed I could not hear them; that they would betray me as soon as they did not need me. Every time the Ranger would make light of my past, I thought it because he had already decided what he thought of me. Whenever the Thief silently stared at me, I thought it because they were planning where to stick their knife in me. And every time the Sage offered to teach me a prayer or how to read, I thought it was out of a sense of superiority.

I was foolish. It was not until the Thief pushed me out of the way of an arrow meant for my heart that I realized that. They took the arrow instead, and nearly died for it. The Sage exhausted herself using magic to keep them from the brink of death, and the Ranger made sure that the assassin knew what it was to come face to face with a true archer.

I was frozen in place, shocked that anyone would do something like that. The concept of “Sacrifice” had no place in Glacialholde. I… felt something, then. It is too complex to put into words. It was anger, regret, confusion, longing, a myriad of feelings I did not understand.

We spent two weeks at a tavern, waiting patiently for the Thief to heal from their injury. The Sage could only encourage their healing with her magic, as the arrow had been laced with a poison that was meant to strike down something much larger and stronger than they were. They were in so much pain.

I felt guilty. I felt as if I should have taken that arrow and been the one to suffer, not them. Instead of thanking the Thief, I told them they were foolish for doing something so reckless. And the Thief smiled at me, despite the poison. I never left their side as they recovered. The Ranger would venture into the city to study at libraries, and The Sage would consult with wisemen and scholars about any hint of the location of the tomb. And while they did that… the Thief and I talked. It was difficult, at first. I had very little knowledge of how to carry a conversation. Most of the time, I would listen to The Thief talk about their past exploits, their successes and failures.

And I began to open up to them. Just the Thief, at first, but slowly I began to talk to the Ranger and Sage as well. I don’t know which of us were the most surprised.

I learned that the Thief was enslaved as a child. They had suffered at the hands of a cruel owner, a noble who seemed above the law. Like me, they knew what it felt like to be abandoned and helpless in the face of such cruelty. The Ranger was the bastard son of one of the High King’s own knights, and was cast out in shame. He learned to survive in the harsh wilderness, and had to fight for everything in his life, just as I had to.

And Anya had chosen the life of a Sage simply to escape from her fate as heir to the throne. She did not desire to rule over anyone’s fate, and wanted to dedicate her life to the stories and teachings of the people she loved so very much. She wanted to pass on that knowledge to others.

They heard my story as well. And we found a camaraderie between us. I started to trust them, little by little, until they became the family I had lost so long ago. I began to laugh at the Ranger’s jokes, to trust the Thief’s silent warnings, and found comfort in the wisdom of The Sage.

They all taught me skills that are still with me today. How to survive the wilderness. How to watch for trouble. How to read a book and find meaning in the ink and paper. How to laugh. How to trust. Most importantly of all, they taught me compassion and mercy for others around me. I learned that my strength could do more than harm.

I loved them. Do you understand that? They were the ones who ensured I would no longer be anyone’s beast. They removed my collar one day, and I wept for the first time in more than twenty years. I followed them willingly, and I would have gladly shed every single drop of blood in my body if it meant that I could see any of them smile again, hear their laughter. Gods above and below, their laughter was beautiful. I could never hear it enough. It still haunts my dreams.

We traveled together for more than a year. We promised that when our quest was ended, we would still journey forth, and right the wrongs of the land together. With our cunning, wisdom, grace, and strength, we could be the heroes that our homeland deserved.

And then we found the High King’s tomb. We braved its trials, fought past the heretics who had followed us and wanted to destroy the Holy Sword. We emerged from that tomb with the sword, convinced our quest was nearly at an end.

But none of us could draw the sword from its scabbard.

We thought it a mistake. We all took turns trying to draw the blade, we all tried to draw it together as one, but the sword would not move a single inch. In a cruel twist of fate, created by some mirthless god, the Holy Sword of King Lysandre had deemed us unworthy of its power. It had thought our past sins too much for its pristine self

The Ranger was a bastard. The Sage had forsaken the throne. The Thief had stolen, and was proud of that act. And I had too much blood on my hands for the Sword’s liking. None of the “chosen” heroes were worthy to use the sword, the one object that the prophecy said could prevent the demise of our home. That piece of scrap metal thought we were not good enough to save innocent lives.

And by that time, the Lord of Brimstone, that terrible Demon King, had returned. When we emerged from that tomb, we could only see smoke and fire. Winterfury was ablaze. Smoke filled the sky, ash replaced the ice and snow, and the horizon had been replaced by endless fire.

I remember that I wanted to run. I tried to tell my friends that we had done everything we could, and if the sword decided we were not heroes then we could leave that damn prophecy to burn and save ourselves. I didn’t want my friends die. I had dreamed so long of a life of peace with them.

They would not abandon their loves though. This was their home. The Ranger’s forests, The Thief’s people, The Sage’s stories. Everything would be burned to nothing if no one stood up to the Demon. None of them could turn their backs on what they truly cared about. They knew that Winterfury held nothing like that for me, and did not judge my desire to flee.

My friends started to go to that demon. And I followed them, because they were what I loved. The land had shaped them, made them who they were. I could not bear to see what they loved die. So I went with them, to confront the Lord of Brimstone. As we made our final march, we thought that perhaps the sword would only show itself in the presence of the demon, or needed true heroism to shine forth through the darkness. When we found that Demon, we gladly put ourselves in its path and openly challenged it to battle.

And it was useless.

The Blade would still not let itself be drawn forth.

We fought it anyways, despite how hopeless it was. Yet none of us could truly comprehend what the demon truly was. I could not understand, until we fought it. I took the first move against it, I tried to cut its head off with an axe. And as I approached it, the Lord of Brimstone looked into my eyes, and hesitated. I remember its look of… longing, as I tried to strike at it. It then looked from me to my friends, and it did something none of us expected.

It spoke.

It spoke to me.

“Hail, Savage,” it said. “You must sleep. There are forces that hold you back from being the challenge I have so desperately sought.”

It then grabbed me by my neck, and strangled me until I lost consciousness. The last thing I saw, before darkness overtook me, was the sight of my comrades rushing toward me… and the demon laughing.

When I awoke, the world was nothing but fire and cinder. And my precious friends… dead. Burned to almost nothingness. The sword, that damned and accursed sword, still in its scabbard, lay next to them, the only thing untouched by the fire. The sight of it, flawless and shining, was too much for me to take. I felt rage build up inside me, hotter than any fire the demon could summon forth. I let it consume every inch of my being, let it burn through my soul.

I took that sword in my hands, and I broke it in half. That wasn’t enough though. I kept picking up its pieces and snapping them, again and again, until my fingers bled so much that I couldn’t hold the damn thing. Nothing like that deserved to be beautiful in the face of such tragedy, tragedy that it could have prevented. I wanted it to rot in the abyss, but all I could do was toss its pieces to the wind. I’m sure the Divines cursed me for such an act, but I did not care. I still do not care.

Their blessing caused the destruction of my home and family. Their curse could not do anything worse than that.

I wanted to die then. But I did not want to die alone. I wanted to take the Lord of Brimstone to the Abyss with me, so that I could spend my afterlife murdering him again and again for what he had done to me. I tracked him through the corpse of my country for weeks, until I found him standing in the ruins of Glacialholde, and he greeted me with open arms.

He was waiting for me. The Lord of Brimstone told me he had looked upon my soul at our first clash, and wanted me as someone who could match him in strength and fury. He was glad I had destroyed the sword, because he wanted a truly fair and honorable fight. He knew I would hold myself back, and that I would be distracted if I had to worry about the lives of my comrades.

He had done himself a favor and killed them, just to make sure that when I fought him, it was because I wanted to do more than kill him because of a prophecy.

He said to me, “I would face you as you truly are. I have waited so long for you.”

So we fought. His flames against my strength. He was a child of chaos and fire, and I was a savage born of winter and darkness. He laughed with the thrill of the fight, so overjoyed to be met with a real challenge. All of Winterfury had burned at his hands, and yet I was something that his flames could not touch.

We struggled against each other for hours. Perhaps days. I do not know. There are only moments in that fight that still stick with me. The clearest thing I remember is how the fight ended. The demon was on its back, exhausted and with its legs broken. I stood above it, and it smiled at me as if I were its lover.

“Thank you,” it said. “Take my life, and take my blessing, warrior.”

It started to laugh, tears of joy in its eyes. It had won everything it desired. The land was in cinders. The prophecy had failed. It had been given a true fight, and soundly defeated without the aid of any god. The Lord of Brimstone even smiled as its head was ripped from its shoulders.

And so I stood there. Nothing remained for me in Winterfury. The land was truly dead. My friends were dead. I truly had nothing left.

I asked myself if I should just lie down in the ash and mud, next to the corpse of the demon, and wait for death. I had fought Death so many times that perhaps now was the time to let it take me away. But then I thought of my friends. Of how they had died for something they loved.

I thought of how Winterfury was part of an entire world. How there were other lands out there. Other stories. Other people.

How the rest of the world had other prophecies that might betray them, as mine had.

And in that thought, I found purpose. I left Winterfury. I found a single boat that was only partially burned, and gathered what supplies I could. I buried my friends upon the coast, and found the hilt of the now broken Holy Sword. I carry that piece with me, even to this day, kept so that I may never forget what is truly important to me.

I still miss my friends. I miss Elsiwhyr whenever I look upon the forest, or drink a pint of ale. I miss Brin whenever night falls, and when the birds sing. I miss Lyn whenever I read, and think of what she might say if she saw me now.

In their memory, I fight for what they never had the chance to see. For the people. For the untamed wilds. For the stories they never heard.

I am Nomad. Titan, Demonslayer, Sword-Breaker, and Oathkeeper.

I am the Legacy of Winterfury.

[pathofcoffee]

Some reflection

It’s been roughly six months since I began my path as a witch. In some ways, I can’t believe that the six month mark came up so quickly–in others, not so much. Anyway, when I started this path, I promised myself I’d stop and take stock of my progress and feelings about the whole thing at the six month mark. Why? Well, that’s half a year, and a lot of people in and out of witchcraft stop considering people beginners after six months. So there we are. And since writing is a huge part of my life and how I analyze myself, I’m going to write it out. And who knows, maybe this will be of some use to others. :) 

So! if you’re curious, here’s my reflection on my craft, which in a sense didn’t get all of it’s legs from me. Also, fair warning, I’ve got some family history tied into this, and some language to match. :) Sorry. Check the tags for trigger warnings. I’m not really graphic, but you know yourself best, and what you can and can’t read. 

I have always been a bit too drawn to witchcraft for my own good. In a christian household where Harry Potter was forbidden, and the Chronicles of Narnia encouraged, witchcraft was a taboo. The closest we were allowed was during Halloween, in which all the spoopy fun was fine. Just as long as it stayed as a costume for a single night.

But there was always a fascination that, though I was very good at hiding, and at times, tried to quell on my own, never really went away. Eventually, I did read Harry Potter–Pirated the Audio Books (Relax, I’ve since gone back and bought them legally.) and snuck other such books to my room. Maybe such things I couldn’t love aloud, but through fiction, for certain.

Then when I hit college, I found my writing in need of something more. So I bought some oracle cards (Because I was too broke for tarot) and used them to randomize and switch up a character’s course. They were easy to hide–easier than my books, and honestly, felt good in my hands.

And then my grandmother started talking. Not just her usual hemming and hawing that she had most of her life, and all of mine–but truly speaking. She could, and still does, see her time here coming to a close, as her husband and one of her sons were both buried early this year. The church gave her no comfort, no kindness, and no answers. And for the first time, she began to speak her mind. She got angry. She admitted regrets. She cried about fears. And she told me the very thing that set me on my own path:

“If I hadn’t been born the way I was, in the world I was, I’d be a witch.”

Plain and simple. No preamble. No apologies. And none were needed. My grandmother had been born in a time where children from wedlock were automatically lower class. Perhaps in the north this wouldn’t mean much, but in the deep south in that time, it was known. To this day, the town I grew up in asks who your family is, or worse…already knows. And if being born from wedlock were not enough of a stigma, than being a girl was an additional problem. Girls were not as useful as boys at farming–they cost more and had to be married off, and without a good family background, that wasn’t likely. But despite those odds, my grandmother prevailed by societies standards. She was always kind, showed up to church, worked hard, and married at a reasonable age, and had three boys. 

Society was wrong. She married a working man who proved to be an alcoholic who was as mean as my grandmother was kind. Her sons got the brunt of his temper–screaming mostly, so who gave a damn? And each of them grew into something sad and tragic. The youngest became a reclusive hoarder, depressed, and unable to handle confrontation. He was a kind man, and I’ll never forget how much I wanted to slug my grandfather one Christmas for verbally abusing him. He belittled this gentle giant, picking out his every flaw and failure and screaming it out for all the family to hear. (Gods and Goddesses bless my Step Father for stepping in to stop that assault, and giving my asshat of a grandfather the riot act.) My father, the middle son, became an alcoholic like his father before him. Unlike my grandmother though, my mother had the resources and the strength to leave with my brothers and I in tow. My father, though I love him even now, (Though he pisses me off a whole hell of a lot) has forever seared into my mind what I don’t want to be. The eldest was the one who had been able to go to college for a semester. But just that one. School officials found a weed plant in his closet, and since he and his roommate blame one another for it’s existence, both were kicked out. And from there, he proved just as interested in addicting substances to numb him, (Not the safer weed, unfortunately) and while seemingly the most stable of the three, continues to abuse substances.

And now, my grandmother, looking over her life, seeing her husband dead (admittedly, none of us were or are particularly morose at his passing) and her son gone, and looking at what she has left, feels that desire that I believe like myself, she has always pushed aside. Why make things worse? Society wouldn’t support her. Not here. Not in the south. Not a bastard child with no prospects. She’d done okay by their standards.

But when we speak, when I hear her, even through her confused moments, even when her voice grows weak, I hear the undeniable in her. While she feels unable to change what she has left live, she looks at me, and prays to whoever will listen, that I won’t live a regretful life–that I won’t ignore what calls me.

So I chose not to.

It started with the trepidation most Christian and Catholic witches know very well. (Though I doubt they own the market. Let’s be realistic.) Could I be a witch? Wasn’t that…wrong? Then again, Christians debated Homosexuality all the time anymore. What was one more thing? So I googled my question.

And I found out that there were such beings as Christian Witches. And I had no idea what to make of that. So I read on. I researched. I learned about the many paths, the diverseness and vastness of witches, and that, despite of what I was taught, there were people like me, and people willing to welcome me into my own path. So I took my first step.

And as I walked, and I warded, and cast safe travel spells, binding those who did wrong, and learned what I liked and what I didn’t, I found friends. It started with my loneliness. Solitary practice is fantastic, but when you’re a closet witch, you crave a person to be witchy with. So I looked for a solution. And spirit work kept popping up. Both on my dash, in my research, and in my personal readings. And then there was a great opportunity for me, and I took it. And I have never been so glad in my life. L, is perhaps one of the best friends I’ve ever had. And while I’m still learning, I have become a far better witch for her company, her advice, and her love. I hope I’m half the witch she thinks I am or will be.

And then there were the spoonies. People who experienced similar issues with health and practicing witchcraft? How much more amazing can you get? More kindness and understanding, advice and camraderie than most college clubs I’d seen. 

As I walked though, I realized something that was both painful and wonderful. I was raised in a christian household by an amazing mother. Human, fallible, and someone who has certainly made a lot of mistakes–but also strong, capable, and practical. I digress. My whole life had been spent in and out of churches. Some were wonderful. Others were two steps from Cultism (And no, we obviously jumped ship on those as soon as those signs cropped up) Even now, church is important to her. But it no longer was for me. The God I had loved as a child wasn’t really there. It was as if he’d decided that I didn’t need him any longer. Or perhaps I felt too much christian guilt to ask him along the path with me. 

And so I decided to search. I didn’t know for who or what really. I felt like there was a feminine energy maybe–but then again, what did a young witch like me really know? So I asked for a sign. And for almost a week, I got one daily until I was able to identify her. The Morrigan. (And although I didn’t really get why she’d choose a chilled out, boring closet witch like me, I’ve come to understand and am truly grateful to have her in my life)

And then there were other challenges to face. Suspicious spirits, growing my craft, finding a fellow IRL witch also in the woods, more amazing online witches. And then there was H, and a guardian angel, Kokabial. (Which was a heck of a mental trip for me personally, but has been wonderful.)

And then there were the non-pagans. My dnd group, whom I admitted I was pagan to. And instead of the shock and or the mild amusement I expected to receive, it was treated with as much general respect as another player being a catholic, and another being an atheist, and so on. The most I ever got were curious questions and general acceptance.

While I am able to gush in joy over it all, there were many painful moments intermixed of course. There were times when I was afraid I was going to screw up my relationship with my companions because I was making thought-forms of them (I’m just good with psychic communication as it turns out. L still gets a kick from that though.) or concerns about spirits and why all the creepsters liked to hang around me and L despite my wards. (H has pointed out my problems with various wards–man have I learned a lot.) and the guilt and fear that having a guardian or guiding angel gave me. (Yes, I know. Angels are not inherently christian, and demons are not inherently satanistic. The guilt doesn’t go away just from knowing that.)There was pain that I couldn’t share my new path with most of my family because of how it would hurt them, and how it would damage my relationships with them. There were the fears of being alone, of not being enough, of not learning fast enough, of not being good enough (Sigils…I still am not good at making my own) or that I would anger or upset my goddess, my angel or my companions. (Oh hi Anxiety. Could you not?) 

But all in all I am glad I took my grandmother’s advice. I’m glad that at 25, I stopped trying to live against myself, and I decided to embrace myself. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But I would rather embrace my good qualities and use them to help me grow and become better than who I was before. A spell to banish negativity, a thank you to the goddess for strength, walks in nature to refocus, movie nights with my companions for joy, and a quest to grow and be a better witch. And here, at the six month mark, I invite anyone who has thought about it, to consider it for themselves. Whatever path you choose in life, please, choose it for yourself. Whether you walk in secret with your loved ones as I do, or choose to be open in all you do, you stay with your craft or leave it, remain a part of your original religion or never pick one up at all, I pray that above all else, you you pick your path for yourself. Not for society, or your family, or for comfort, or for what you think you must or must not be according to someone or something else–but for you.

If I hadn’t been born the way I was, in the world I was, then there is a chance that I wouldn’t have ever been a witch.

~Coffee

[pamphletstoinspire]

Saint Gerard Mejalla - Feast Day: October 16th - Latin Calendar

Introduction

The life of St. Gerard Majella reads like a fairy tale for children: full of surprises, full of impossible things that happen anyway because of him. An archangel brings him Communion! A statue comes to life! Empty pantries suddenly bulge with bread! A bird bolts out of the air to perch on his finger and sing for a crying child! The life of St. Gerard teems with such things. If you are one who finds wonders hard to stomach, if dozens of “commonplace” miracles tax your forbearance . . . this booklet is not for you. Lay it aside.

Children will love this story . . . and their mothers, too. That is only as it should be. For today, for some secret reason of Divine Providence, little ones and their mothers are St. Gerard’s favorite beneficiaries. Thousands of children in the United States bear the name “Gerard” because of his powerful intercession. He is commonly called the Patron of Mothers.

The Beginning

Annibale Rosso! It was incredible. He had suddenly given up membership in the Communist Party. Even more surprising, he was seen at mass. People naturally talked in the small town south of Naples. Communism was on every lip just then, for it was the month of April 1948. On the third Sunday of the month all Italy would vote and Communism might well take over the government. But one thing was certain. The vote of Annibale Rosso would be against the Hammer and Sickle. He said so himself. He swore a solemn oath, he would have no more truck or traffic with the Party . . . not after last night.

Last night he had been ranting in his usual fashion against the “duplicity and trickery of the Church.” If anything he was more boisterous, more caustic than ever. The occasion was a candlelight procession that had come to town. People singing. Little children in white carrying spring flowers, and priests in the black cassock and rosary of the “Liguorini” – the Redemptorists. Annibale cursed the “tomfoolery.” He was all for stoning the priest preaching in the public square before the church. “What new-fangled sort of nonsense is this?” he muttered . . . “digging up a saint two hundred years dead and carrying him round the countryside! It’s a trick. The whole thing is a trick of these priests.”

At the wish of the Archbishop of Conza, the remains of St. Gerard Majella had been traveling through the Archdiocese since the first of April. They would continue visiting town after town until April 15th. It was an attempt at waking the towns of the Archdiocese to the practice of their Faith; to warn them of their duty as Catholics to vote on April eighteenth and avert the red menace. Gerard Majella had come from that neighborhood. He had visited these very towns as a Redemptorist laybrother two centuries ago. He had died at Materdomini in 1755 at the age of twenty-nine. Wonders were his specialty. Stories of his miracles were still handed down from father to son all through that countryside.

During the fifteen-day tour of his native diocese of Conza, St. Gerard continued his wonders. All spring the skies had been clear. The fields were parched and dry. Farmers, among them Annibale Rosso, were hoping for rain for their crops. The evening the procession came to the town, it rained for the first time in weeks. The same thing had happened in many other places. Then there was a little thirteen-year-old girl suffering from an incurable malady – tuberculosis of the bone. The afternoon St. Gerard passed through the village, she was cured instantaneously.

The rumor of all these happenings ran like wildfire. By the time the procession came to the town of Annibale Rosso, new wonders were already passing from lip to lip. It was too much for Annibale. The peasants with their beads and shawls, the smoking candles, the church bells, the sermon, the flower-decked statue of Our Lady of Materdomini. People stood in queues waiting to confess their sins. Eight Redemptorists were constantly busy. And there was to be a Mass at midnight! Annibale Rosso swore a withering oath and went home to bed.

Then it happened. In his sleep he saw St. Gerard Majella accompanied by a group of priests. “Annibale Rosso, have I not helped you often before this?” The saint’s face was stern. His dark eyes flashed disapproval. “Have all my graces been fruitless? Do you think you can make sport of the Saints of God and come off unscathed? It is not as you say, a “trick” of these good priests, that I am carried through the countryside. I am visiting my friends . . ." Annibale Rosso sat up in bed. He was trembling. Dressing at once, he hurried down to the church, waiting with his townsmen to confess his sins and receive the absolution of the missionary.

In 1948, just as in 1755, Brother Gerard Majella of the Redemptorists was busy – not only battling with Communists in Italy, but leading the counterattack in America on the forces of Anti-life, pouring favors on countless mothers, and blessing the unborn.

A Pretty Lady

He was born in the South of Italy in a small town called Muro on the sixth of April. It was in the year 1726. His father, Domenico, was a tailor. His mother, Benedetta, had already borne three daughters. Gerard was the youngest – the only son. They were an ordinary hard-working Italian family. Pious too. Donna Benedetta often brought her three youngest to Mass with her at the shrine of Our Lady of Graces at nearby Capotignano. And, like thousands of other small boys, then and now, Gerard was all eyes for the strange new things he saw. Not quite four, he was too young to know what was going on. But he did know this: he liked the “pretty lady with the baby.”

“Mama, Mama, see what I got from the little boy.” In his hand he clutched a small roll of bread. Nobody paid him a bit of attention as he chattered about a pretty lady and her baby who had given him the bread. Small boys love to make up stories! But the next day he brought back another white roll, and again the next day, and the next. His mother decided to investigate. Next morning she followed her son. Off he ran the two miles to Capotignano, making straight for the chapel. Benedetta followed. It was then she saw who his playmate was – the Christ-Child himself. The statue of Our Lady of Graces had come to life. The infant climbed down from his Mother’s arms to romp with Gerard. A bewildered Benedetta ran home to Muro. At mealtime, little Gerard came back with another roll of bread.

In after life this childhood attraction for the “pretty lady with the baby” ran over into a love for all children and their mothers. This can be seen in the most cursory glance at his life. There are so many wonders wrought for little children . . . and for mothers. The “Mother’s Saint” has earned even greater claim to the title in the nineteen decades since his death.

His Lordship’s Latch-Key

Ten years later when he was houseboy for Bishop Albini at Lacedonia, children went home to their mothers with all sorts of stories told them by Gerard Majella. But the townsfolk had learned about the new houseboy themselves. Everyone had tales of his kindness, his visits to the poor in the clinic, his compassion. How he bandaged the wounds of the sick and brought them leftovers from the bishop’s table. Anyone who noticed him at prayer in the cathedral knew Gerard for what he was.

But the morning they saw him running down the cathedral steps with the Bambino, they didn’t know what to say! It was the last week in December in 1743. People stopped and stared at Gerard racing down the street with the statue of the Infant from the crib. A crowd followed after him. He paid no attention. On he ran to the public well.

What happened? What’s the matter?” Someone explained how His Lordship had gone for his morning walk, and the house-boy had locked the door and come down to the well for water: but as he leaned down to haul up the bucket, the bishop’s key had dropped into the well.

Gerard had by now tied a rope around the Bambino, and was lowering it gently into the well. “Gesu, Gesu Bambino” he prayed aloud, “find me my key. It’s the key to His Lordship’s house . . . and he’ll be back in half an hour . . .” Bystanders craned their necks to peer into the well. Others shook their heads and walked off. Some smiled a little smugly at the antics of the frightened houseboy. But when he pulled up the rope from the well and the dripping statue of the Infant came into view, there in Bambino’s tiny hand was the Bishop’s key.

In June of 1744, Bishop Albini died at Lacedonia and Gerard returned to his hometown of Muro. He had been apprenticed to a master-tailor before going to Lacedonia to work for the bishop and knew the trade quite well. Now after a short apprenticeship with a second tailor, he set up his own business in his mother’s house.

There’s magic in an established name. And the sign “Majella the Tailor” hanging over the shop brought many of his father’s old customers to the door. His growing reputation for faultless workmanship won him patrons from all walks of life. His prices were always fair. He was scrupulously honest. From the poor, he took no payment at all.

One day, a man came in with some goods for a suit. Gerard spread it on the table, and laid his tape measure along its length. “Mmmmm!” He shook his head. The cloth was much too short. The poor man could not hide his chagrin, as he had no money for more. “It is nothing,” said Gerard, running his fingers along the edge of the cloth. He measured it once more. Three yards . . . four . . . five! More than enough for a fine substantial suit! As a matter of fact, when the garment was finished, the man received a good extra piece of material. The cloth had grown longer under Gerard’s miraculous touch.

One and Twenty

April 6, 1747. How the years fly! Gerard was twenty-one and as yet had not found his heart’s desire. He had a fair business: at least he could support his mother. He gave he a third of all his earnings. Another third went to the poor of Muro. The rest was for Masses for the Poor Souls. As for himself . . . God would provide. Not too practical to a hard-headed businessman, but he was more than just a small town tailor. He wanted to be a saint.

His mother was driven to distraction by her son. He would not eat her meals. He was lean from fasting and penance, pale from long vigils of prayer in the nearby cathedral. But if his constitution was frail, his disposition was always on a holiday: gay as a lark, merry as a little child.

Hope Deferred

Twice he had applied for admission to the Capuchin monastery at Muro. But a glance at his sunken chest and thin white hands, and the Capuchins turned him down. Candidly, they told him, he had not the health nor stamina for so strenuous a life. Perhaps he should go off into the hills to live as a hermit in seclusion and holy meditation! He tried it but his confessor firmly forbade it. So Gerard went back to his needles and tape. He understood that a man can achieve holiness in any walk of life, in the faithful discharge of his duties. If it were God’s will that he be a tailor, then he would be a good one.

And God showed evident approval. The whole countryside spoke openly of his supernatural powers. Had he not cured little Amata Giuliani! The little girl had tumbled into a vat of boiling water and for all the medications of oil and wax, the child whimpered in her mother’s arms all day. As Gerard was passing the house he heard the child and went in. “It is nothing,” he said, laying his hand on the scalded skin. Suddenly, little Amata Giuliani was smiling. The next morning all trace of the burn was gone.

Walking down a side street of Muro another day, Gerard noticed a new house abuilding. Work was at a standstill. The carpenters stood awkwardly by while the foreman ran his fingers through his hair in a helpless rage. The rafters had been sawed too short. “Pull them with ropes,” suggested the onlooker. Practical men though they were, they took the suggestion. The rafters fitted snugly from wall to wall, and work was resumed.

Always in Church

No matter what was ado about the cathedral, Gerard was there. He attended all the Sunday Masses, the May devotions, the tridua. In fact, he often spent the whole night locked up in church. One of his relatives happened to be sacristan. The rest was easy. One evening while deep in prayer, Gerard heard a voice . . . “Pazzarello . . . My little fool, what are you doing?” looking up at the altar, he answered. “Ah, but you are more a fool than I, a prisoner for me in your tabernacle.” When the bells rang for Mass the next morning, Gerard was still in church.

He was there the afternoon of Low Sunday, April 13, 1749, for the start of the parish retreat. A newly founded congregation of missionaries were to preach in all three churches of Muro. Their founder had been a well-known lawyer at Naples, Alphonsus de Liguori. Wherever these missionaries went, they moved all hearts with their fervent words. It was the same in Muro.

One of the missionaries, Father Paul Cafaro, made a deep impression on Gerard Majella. “I must join these men as a lay brother,” he decided. Each day the resolution grew more insistent in his heart. He even gave away all his worldly goods – one extra shirt and a pair of linen breeches! Finally, he went to see Father Cafaro.

No Encouragement

But like the Capuchin superior a few years before, Father Cafaro gave him no encouragement. He was too frail for the rigorous tasks of a lay brother. Despite the rebuff Gerard was not disheartened. He was convinced that God wanted him to join his new Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer. He went on making preparations for departure.

When his mother discovered the plan she was frantic. His three sisters wept aloud, pleading with him to stay. “Mother needs you at home,” they insisted. But Gerard stood firm. He was going to Iliceto to become a Redemptorist! They ran to the missionaries, begging them not to accept their brother. Father Cafaro has no intention whatever of accepting the young man. However, he shrewdly foresaw it would be hard to dissuade this importunate youth. “Detain him at home somehow the day we leave,” was Father Cafaro’s advice to Gerard’s distracted family. They promised to do so.

Benedetta bolted Gerard’s door the morning the Redemptorists left Muro. But later when she tiptoed into the room, he was not there. His bed-clothes, knotted together, streamed from the open window, and on a small table lay a scrap of paper: “Mother, I am off to become a saint,” it read. It was signed “Gerardo.” He had gone after the missionaries.

Success

“Wait, wait for me!” The group of missionaries half way to Rionero turned to see a cloud of dust on the road behind them. It was that young man again. He had pursued them for twelve miles. Gasping for breath, he commenced his entreaties all over. He was too frail for the life, the missionaries countered. He had better go back to Muro. But Gerard would not be put off. He argued. He nagged. He pleaded. He prayed to Our Lady. He made such a holy nuisance of himself during the next few days in Rionero that Father Cafaro at last gave in. He wrote a short note for the Rector of the monastery at Iliceto, and gave it to the persistent young man. At once Gerard was on his way. By nightfall, he had reached the novitiate of the Redemptorists.

On a Saturday evening, the seventeenth of May in 1749, a tired young man, dusty from long hours of walking, knocked on the door of the monastery at Iliceto. Soon he was presenting his precious letter to Father D’Antonio, the rector. He had no idea of what Father Cafaro had written. As the Rector unfolded the note, Gerard was all happiness, his face wreathed in smiles. “I am sending you a brother, who as far as work goes, will be perfectly useless.” The Rector glanced up at the young man over the letter, noting the frail little frame and the pallid face. He read on . . . “But because of his many earnest entreaties, and the high reputation he holds in Muro, I could not quite deny him a trial . . .” Now Father D’Antonio was smiling. “This is not an easy life,” he dryly remarked, “But we will give you a chance at it.” Gerardo Majella was happy unto tears. He was going to be a religious . . . a lay brother of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer.

Gerard Majella, the Redemptorist Lay-brother

A lay brother is lay: he is not an ordained priest. He is not bound to the Divine Office. He does not say Mass or hear Confessions, or preach missions. But he is a brother to the priests of the community, wearing the same Redemptorist habit, living under the same roof, eating the same meals, sharing the community’s prayers and good works. He is a religious with the three vows of Poverty, Chastity and Obedience . . . the same vows as any Redemptorist priest. In no sense is he a servant to the priests. He is their helper. He takes care of the material upkeep of the monastery while his confreres are busy with the spiritual work of the apostolic ministry. He has little commerce with the world beyond the monastery walls except when the business of the house may require it. He should be modest, humble, simple, and joyously obedient. Above all, he must be devoted to prayer.

Knowing what we do of Gerard, we can appreciate how ideally he fitted these requirements. Today, in the Constitutions of the Lay Brothers of the Congregation, St. how ideally he fitted these requirements. Today, in the Constitutions of the Lay Brothers of the Congregation, St. Gerard Majella is named their patron and model. But, back to Iliceto in May of 1749.

Next morning he began his new apprenticeship: doing odd jobs here and there about the monastery, helping the brothers at their various tasks. His first assignment was the garden . . . hard and back-breaking work for a lad accustomed to needle and thimble. Somehow he managed to finish his own work and always have time to help the others. “This new-comer does the work of four of us,” was the comment of his new companions. Their admiration mounted wit the weeks; and by the time Father Cafaro came as Rector to Iliceto in October of that year, the young man from Muro was considered the jewel of the house.

The Will of God

The new Rector of Iliceto was quick to realize how premature he had been with his scribbled recommendations. Absolutely worthless! It embarrassed him to remember what he had written. Not only could the postulant do the work of four, he did the downright impossible! He read the minds of total strangers. He cured sicknesses. He set the natural laws at naught. His recollection was constant. So fixed were his thoughts on God and His Holy Will, he became a model of punctilious obedience. That was the secret of Gerard’s holiness: that in everything he sought the Will of God. For him the Redemptorist Rule in its minutest detail was the express Will of God. He knew it by heart. Were the rulebook to be lost, he could have rewritten it from memory, line for line. He obeyed his superiors to the letter. Often they had but to think of a task for Gerard, when at once he began to execute their wish.

There was the morning the Rector sent him off to Lacedonia with a letter for one of the priests of the town. He had been gone some time when the Rector remembered a post-script he had meant to add. “If I could only get hold of that letter,” he thought. Hardly had he phrased the thought when there was a knock at his door, and Gerard walked in with the letter. Without a word, he laid it on the Rector’s desk.

Some weeks later, the Rector was visiting the Bishop of Melfi. Conversation turned to the young man at Iliceto whom everyone regarded as a saint. The Rector spoke glowingly of him, so much so that the Bishop wanted to meet the young novice: would it be possible for Gerard to visit with him at Melfi? When the Rector agreed, the Bishop called for a messenger; but the Rector smilingly assured him a messenger would be unnecessary. “Your lordship, I will show you the extent of this young man’s obedience. I will close my eyes and desire him to come to Melfi.

At that same moment, Gerard went to Father Minister at Iliceto for permission to go to Melfi, as the Rector wished to see him. And while the Bishop was still conversing with the Rector, Brother Gerard came into the room.

“And what brings you here, Brother?” the Rector feigned surprise. “Obedience,” said Gerard. “I sent no message for you to come here,” the Rector spoke sternly. “No,” replied Gerard meekly. “But in the presence of His Lordship you commanded me to come, as he desired to meet me.” So the Bishop of Melfi met the novice. He remained at Melfi for three weeks.

Intruder

Reports of his wonders came from all quarters. One afternoon a rough looking character came to Iliceto and asked for the Rector. He wanted to go to confession. After making his peace with God, he told how he had come to seek out Iliceto. “I was coming down the road quite a distance from here thinking my own wicked thoughts, when just below Acadia at an intersection I met one of your Brothers. He stood there as though he were expecting me. I hastened my pace as I had no mind to talk to him. When he saluted me, I snarled that he mind his own affairs. He was a frail, thin fellow; but then he reached out and grasped my arm and held me as in a vice. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I may be able to help you.” I was furious at his impertinence! I tried to jerk my arm from his grasp. “I know what is in your heart. You are in despair. You are on the point of giving your soul to the Evil One.” I turned pale at his words, because it was the truth. That very moment I had been mulling over that very idea. “God knows what you are thinking. He sent me to this spot to warn you.” Frightened at the way he could read my soul, I admitted I was about to commit a crime, and asked his guidance. He told me to come here to Iliceto to you.

Acid Test

The days of Brother Gerard’s novitiate were drawing to a close. He had tried the Redemptorist Rule and found it to his liking. His various superiors had tried him in many ways and found that he passed their tests. Anyone who observed him in chapel knew he was a man of prayer. His fellow Brothers could vouch for his alacrity at the hardest work. From all over came reports of his wondrous dealings with the poor and the sick and the sinner.

Professed Religious

On the feast of Our Lady’s Visitation in 1752, Brother Gerard commenced his fifteen-day retreat in preparation to make his vows as a Redemptorist. On July sixteenth, the feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, he knelt in the chapel at Iliceto and pronounced in the presence of his community, the vows of Poverty, Chastity and Obedience, and the oath of Perseverance until death. Brother Gerard Majella was a professed member of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer. Two months later, with the consent of his Director, he made a fifth vow: To do always that which was most pleasing to God.

Much as Gerard preferred solitude and meditation, his life as a lay brother demanded that he often leave the monastery on business. He traveled with the missionaries, helping them in every way possible, in their tedious weeks of preaching in many villages and towns. Often too, he was called by the poor and the sick. Wherever obedience demanded his presence, Gerard was there to “do the Will of God.” And God in turn seemed to do the will of Gerard for the benefit of countless souls.

His hometown of Muro was his first assignment after Profession. It was now three years since he had climbed from his bedroom window and run after the missionaries. His mother was dead. She had passed away in April, four months before he returned. So during his stay in Muro, he lived with Alessandro Piccolo, the watchmaker, though he had invitations from nobles and well-to-do, and was greeted like a hero by everyone in the town.

Not in Text Books

The students of the new seminary in Muro could hardly believe their ears. Their rector had invited Brother Gerard to give them a conference on the first chapter of St. John’s Gospel. Some of them had been boys with him. They knew he had left school at the age of twelve; that he could barely read or write; and had never studied theology. And yet when he began discoursing lucidly on the eternal generation of the Second Person of the Trinity, he held them spellbound. He made it sound so simple! Canon Bozzio was later to write of Gerard . . . “Learned men are silent before this poor unlettered Brother. He draws knowledge from its source, the Heart of Christ, not from the muddy cisterns of the human mind. In his mouth the most obscure mysteries become luminously clear.” Is it any wonder that confessors flocked to Gerard seeking advice?

And always there were the children. They flocked to him from all over Muro. He told them stories, taught them to pray. One little fellow tumbled from a cliff and was found, to all appearances, dead. He was the son of Piccolo, the watchmaker, with whom Gerard was staying. “It is nothing,” he told the distracted father. He traced a little cross on the boy’s forehead and the child awoke.

Mind Reader

Back at Iliceto that winter, there were the usual retreats for men, held at regular intervals. During several of these, Gerard was instrumental in regaining souls to Christ. There was one man, especially, who, despite all the urging of the lay brother, refused to make a good confession. One evening Gerard obtained permission to go up to the man’s room. He carried a large crucifix, and before the man could open his mouth, “Look at these wounds!” he told him. “Your evil deeds have made the blood to flow.” Red blood began oozing from the nails of the crucifix. “For you, He was born in a stable,” Gerard continued. Suddenly the trembling man beheld the Infant Jesus in Gerard’s arms! “If you persist in your sins, you will be damned . . .” The brother made a gesture and a soul from hell appeared in the room writhing in torment! After that there was no need for words. At once, the man ran down the stairs two at a time to one of the confessors. He told what he had seen and asked that the whole incident be made public for the instruction of all. He made a good confession. Brother Gerard was indispensable to the success of the retreats.

Pied Piper

It was the month of April and Gerard was on his way to the town of Corato, when a poor farmer, thinking him a priest, called out to him: “Padre, can you give me consolation?” The man pointed sadly to his farm. “See how the mice have eaten my seedlings. They are everywhere. My family will die of hunger because of them.” Gerard raised his hand and blessed the fields. “There now,” he said. “Everything will be alright,” and was on his way. The wretched farmer stood there watching the “Padre” awhile. He turned back to his stricken fields. He blinked his eyes and took a second look. All along the furrows, little field mice lay by the hundreds, not a one alive. “Wait, man of God, wait,” he shouted, but Gerard was turning a bend in the road. Corato was waiting.

During the greater part of the Lenten season, Gerard was at Corato. Word of his doings there came by post to the Rector of Iliceto . . . “his good example has attracted everyone and wrought many conversions,” the letter said . . . “Crowds follow him everywhere in Corato. They carry him about as though he were a Saint come down from Heaven. From six in the morning till six at night, they gather round the house of Don Felice Papaleo where Gerard has been staying. The people here want not only a mission by the Redemptorists, but a retreat. A large group are planning to go to Iliceto around the twentieth of next month . . . There are so many wonderful things (about Brother Gerard) I can recount for you, when I see you in person . . .”

While at Corato, Gerard paid a call at the Benedictine convent where Mother Abbess begged him to pray that she be relieved of her duties, as the responsibility weighed too heavily on her heart. Gerard assured her, she would soon be relieved of her cross, but that the Lord would give her another cross that she must carry to the grave. Shortly after Gerard’s departure, the good woman was relieved of her office, and as Gerard has predicted, she had developed a cancer of the foot, which remained incurable to the day of her death.

He often foretold that persons were to die. In June of 1753 while in Muro at the home of his old friend Piccolo, the watch-maker, he called the wife aside one day and told her a secret sin that had been troubling her for quite some time. “Make your peace with God,” he urged, “as you have but a short while to live.” At the time, she was in the pink of health. But a few days later she fell ill and died so unexpectedly that could not even have the priest. Later Gerard met Piccolo and told him that his wife had passed away with the name of Jesus on her lips.

Everywhere he went, he visited the sick. Some he cured; others he passed by, and often he gave his reasons. At Castelgrande he paid a call on the mother of a three-year-old boy whose little hands were crippled from violent convulsions. “The child will suffer no more,” said Gerard, and made a cross on the boy’s head. Long years later, the mother attested to the truth of his prediction. Her boy had been well ever since. Little Judith, the daughter of the mayor of Castelgrande, was blind. Her mother begged Gerard to pray that Judith regain her sight. Gerard said, “No. If Judith were to see, she would lose her soul.”

The Man Who Disliked Redemptorists

Sometimes there is a touch of irony in the stories recounted of Gerard Majella. One of these concerns a young Michele de Michele. For some reason, he bore a grudge against religious, and he particularly disliked Redemptorists. He lay ill of fever at Melfi and Gerard cured him instantly with a little sign of the cross. Awed at such power, Michele spread the story all through Melfi.

A few days later, he met Gerard in the street and stopped to speak. Before long, however, he saw that all dissembling was useless. Gerard could read his inmost thoughts . . . even his antipathy for religious. “Michele,” Gerard said to him as they parted company. “The day will come when you will be one of us.” That was a little too much. “I’ll join the Redemptorists the day I can touch the sky with my thumb,” quipped Michele. In less than six months, Michele de Michele was a Redemptorist novice at Ciorani.

Michele had not come to Ciorani as yet when nine young Redemptorist scholastics made their memorable pilgrimage to his patron’s shrine, St. Michael the Archangel at Monte Gargano. It was in September and Brother Gerard accompanied them. The Rector put Gerard in charge of the pilgrimage, entrusting him with the money for the trip – thirty silver carlins. In our money, it amounted to $2.00 . . . hardly enough to defray the expense of food and lodging of ten young men for a fortnight, even in 1753! The students were all for abandoning the trip but Gerard calmed them. “Money isn’t everything,” he said. “God will provide.” So they set out.

However, by the time they reached Manfredonia at the foot of the mountain, all Gerard had in his purse was twenty cents . . . and they had twelve more days and nights to go. Being a thoroughly practical saint, he spent the twenty cents on a spray of flowers and took them into the chapel at the castle of Manfredonia. After praying awhile with the students, he walked up to the altar. “See, Lord, we’ve thought of You. Now you must think of us.” With that, he laid the bouquet in front of the tabernacle.

The chaplain of the castle was spectator to this little scene, and after greeting the group, invited them to spend the night there. Next day they climbed the mountain to St. Michele’s shrine and spent the night at a nearby inn. By this time, the students were thoroughly worried. How would they pay for their lodging? They were whispering among themselves when a well-dressed Signore came up to Brother Gerard and without further ado, he presented him with a purse of silver.

Exorbitant

The inn near Monte Gargano did a brisk trade. Long lines of pack mules brought provisions up the steep slopes each day. There was always good food to be had there, but prices were high. When it came time for Gerard and his party to leave, he asked the inn-keeper for the bill. Exorbitant! Gerard questioned this item and that to no avail. The inn-keeper could not be swayed. “Very well, my good man, I’ll pay you.” Gerard counted out his silver coins . . . “But if you are over-charging us, you will suffer. All your pack mules will die.” The inn-keeper reached for the money, chuckling to himself, when the door burst open and his son rushed in. “The mules, Dad! They’ve got the plague! They’re all lying down half dead.” The inn-keeper crossed himself in terror. Clutching Gerard by the sleeve, he admitted he had added this item and that to the bill. “Your lodging will be on the house,” he pleaded. “I will give you food for your trip home,” he cajoled. “Only keep my mules from dying!"

Gerard paid the amended bill. “Signore,” he said. “I gladly forgive you; but never forget that God is with the poor.” As the ten pilgrims trooped into the inn-yard, the mules were again on their feet.

Summer had been all sunshine and no rain. By mid-September, the roads were a powder of dust and the rivers low. Along the way from the shrine to Manfredonia, Gerard asked a farmer for water as the students were parched with thirst. “But if I let every passerby take a drink from my well, I’ll soon have no water at all.” The man was reluctant. “Look out, Signore,” Gerard was angered at his selfishness. “Your well may refuse water even to you!” As he spoke, the well ran dry. Panic-stricken, the farmer promised them all the water they wanted. So Gerard dropped the bucket into the dry well. It landed with a splash and came up filled with cold water. The nine young men had plenty to talk about when they got home to Iliceto.

The Plague

In late November of that year word came to Iliceto that an epidemic had broken out in Lacedonia. Doctors were powerless to check it. People were dying off by the hundreds. Finally, a letter came from Bishop Amato; an urgent request for the presence of Brother Gerard in the stricken town. Gerard was shortly on his way.

Death hung like a mist over Lacedonia. As Gerard approached, he saw the hills were a patchwork of new dug graves. Church bells were constantly tolling – funerals wending through the streets and out to the cemetery. Scarcely a home in the city had escaped the plague. At once he commenced his rounds of mercy. Here he prepared one for the end. Another he assured hat the illness would pass. But he wrought many miracles, too – with a simple sign of the cross. Doctors stood helplessly by. Not so Gerard! Patients got well as he touched them – all trace of their fevers gone.

During the seven weeks in plague-ridden Lacedonia, Gerard stayed at the home of Don Constantino Capucci, a brother of the archpriest, in the cathedral. Two of the gentleman’s daughters had already entered the convent. Two more were still at home. Here Gerard often delivered short discourses to the people crowding round the house. Some came for counsel. Some for solace or encouragement. He found time to give instructions to anyone seeking information on matters religious. His nights and days were spent in an endless activity for God and souls. Towards the end of February, the epidemic had run its course, and Gerard left for Iliceto. His own health was none too good.

A Wagging Tongue

One girl in Lacedonia escaped the plague, though it might have been better had she succumbed! Neria Caggiano with several other girls of the neighborhood had gone to the conservatory at Foggia. They had been admitted through the efforts of Brother Gerard and were happy in the convent. Then Neria came home. Soon, she was slandering the nuns, and the whole way of life at Foggia. However, as many families in Lacedonia had daughters in that very convent, they turned a deaf ear to Neria’s gossip. People avoided her. They feared her tongue.

Resenting this, she turned her spite on Gerard who had helped her to enter the convent. She belittled his “so-called sanctity”; blamed him for all her troubles. The good people of Lacedonia turned from her in horror.

Now she tried a new tack. Very demurely she confided to one of the priests of the town that she had been highly disedified by Gerard’s love for Nicoletta Capucci at the house where he had spent his stay in Lacedonia. She feigned to know of secret meetings between them! The priest was perturbed at such a confidence. If it were true then by all means Neria must write to Father Alphonsus Liguori at Nocera, the Superior General of the Order. She must inform him of the fact that he might dismiss Gerard from the Redemptorists before it were too late. Neria Caggiano took up pen and wrote.

Dilemma

When Alphonsus de Liguori read the letter from Lacedonia, he could not believe it. At once he ordered an investigation of the girl’s allegation. No evidence was forthcoming to prove the Brother’s guilt. But none could be found either to prove his innocence. The word of Neria Caggiano stood alone. She had sworn to the truth of her statement, and the priest of Lacedonia had given her credence. Alphonsus summoned Brother Gerard to his headquarters at Nocera de Pagani. Reports on this lay brother had always been the best. On all sides Alphonsus had heard of wonders wrought be Gerard. He had been seen in an ecstasy on Good Friday by the people of Corato. His confreres at Iliceto could vouch for his punctilious obedience . . . even to reading his Rector’s unspoken wish. He fasted much. He prayed long into the night. They even called him saint! Alphonsus had never met Brother Gerard face to face. Not until today . . .

Sitting at his desk, Alphonsus read the letter aloud to the young man standing before him. He folded it slowly, awaiting Gerard’s denial of so preposterous a charge. But Gerard just stood there looking at the floor. Baffled beyond words, Alphonsus sat studying the lean face . . . quietly waiting . . . affording him every chance to clear his name. Gerard said nothing. He would not deny his guilt. He would not affirm it. He simply stood there in silence.

There was nothing to do but impose a severe penalty until the matter could be further resolved. Expulsion was the normal penalty for such a misdemeanor, but Alphonsus had not been a lawyer for naught. He prudently bided his time. Gerard was to have no further communication with the world beyond the monastery. He was not to receive Communion until further notice. That was his penance. He accepted it in silence, quietly leaving the superior’s room.

April, May and most of June, Gerard remained at Nocera under the surveillance of Alphonsus de Liguori. For all practical purposes he was in disgrace. The community, when they noticed his abstention from Communion, suspected a calumny of some sort. Several of them urged him to clear his name – to speak. But, “It is in God’s hands,” Gerard would always say.

“If He wills that my innocence be proven, who can accomplish it more easily than He?”

Trial

Meanwhile, the damp climate brought on a recurrence of his malady. Gerard was confined to bed. Though still deprived of Communion, God was with him. His miraculous faculty continued as before. One of the Fathers, making the evening meditation with the patient, saw him fall into an ecstasy that lasted for hours. The Superior General himself experienced Gerard’s gift of Obedience to the unspoken wish. One morning Brother Gerard rose up from bed and went straight to Alphonsus Liguori. “Why are you not in bed, Brother?” the superior asked. “I came because you desired to see me.” It was true. Just at that moment the thought had passed through the mind of Alphonsus. Thus, Gerard left his case in God’s hands, and the Lord took care of it. That he burned to receive Communion can be imagined. One morning when a priest asked him to serve his Mass, Gerard begged off . . . “Please do not tempt me,” he pleaded. “lest I snatch the Sacred Host from your hands.”

In June, Brother Gerard was transferred to the house of Materdomini at Caposele. The climate there would benefit his failing health. Here too on the last Sunday of June, he was again permitted to receive Communion. The clouds were lifting from his life.

A few days later, a letter sped from Lacedonia to Nocera. Neria Caggiano, gravely ill, now admitted that he previous letter was a tissue of lies. The innocence of Brother Gerard was at long last confirmed. Alphonsus Liguori was overjoyed. It was not long before the two saints met again.

“You were innocent all the time, my son, and yet you said nothing,” Alphonsus Liguori’s face was radiant with solicitude. “How could I, my Father,” said Gerard simply, “when our Rule forbids that we make excuses.” It seemed the warm Nocera sun poured in more brightly through the window!

A Mother Pleads

The last brief year of Gerard’s life was spent a Caposele, with a few short sojourns to Naples where he assisted the Procurator General of the Order. He also began a tour of the Archdiocese of Conza at the request of the Archbishop, but illness brought him back to Materdomini – to die.

Caposele and Naples won the favor of his wonders, as did Iliceto a year before. At Naples, great scholars came to him seeking advice. People begged his blessing in the streets. One morning, the Duchess of Maddaloni approached him as he entered the Cathedral, begging him to cure her little daughter who was ill. Gerard pointed to the altar, saying it was not he but God who wrought such miracles. But the mother persisted until Gerard promised to pray for her little one. An hour later, a liveried footman came to fetch the Duchess, bringing news that the little girl had suddenly recovered.

One day when Gerard was in Naples, one of those summer storms blew up, bringing lowering clouds and a chill wind from the Appenines. At once the fishing fleet hauled in traps and sail and made for shore. They well knew the damage a squall wrought. Off the rocks of Pietra del pesce the sea was leaping in huge bursts of spray, tossing a hapless boat like a stick. Fearing shipwreck, the panicky rowers signaled shore, but not a soul would dare put out to their rescue.

At the moment, Brother Gerard happened along and saw the little fishing smack pitching helplessly among the whitecaps. Walking down to the shore, he made the sign of the cross, threw his cloak back over his shoulder and without more ado, began to walk across the churning breakers till he came alongside the boat. Then while the crowds on shore shielded their eyes to watch, he grasped the prow and pulled the boatload of fishermen in the harbor. “Santo! Santo!” screamed the people. They mobbed around him . . . so that he had to dart away and hide in a shop, as though hunted by the police. By evening, all Naples was talking of Brother Gerard.

The crops had been meager that fall, and by winter famine stalked the hills round Caposele. Gerard had been appointed porter there in November and was delighted: he had thus to care for the poor. Every morning, several hundred peasants came to the monastery for clothing and warm food. No matter how many came, there was always plenty. Food seemed to double and triple in his hands.

However, to the brother who baked the bread, this lavish charity of Gerard seemed imprudent. He had filled the pantry with fresh loaves that very morning . . . and there was not a loaf left. Hearing of this, the Rector reprimanded Gerard. There was nothing left for the community! Nothing for dinner! Gerard looked so dumbfounded that Rector and baker went down to the pantry to show him his folly. The baker threw open the cupboard, and . . . it was loaded with fresh baked bread.

When spring came in 1755, Gerard was extremely frail. Several times he had to take to his bed. But he recovered and accompanied a group of missionaries to Calitri, where his presence brought many back to the practice of the Faith. The mission was an outstanding success. That summer he made his last trip on business for the monastery, visiting a dozen towns and in many working wonders.

At the town of Senarchia, they were repairing the church roof. Workmen had felled great trees in the nearby woods. They were so heavy that a whole gang could not pull a single tree over the rough terrain to the church. Gerard heard of the problem and promised to help. The workmen followed him into the woods where he tied a stout rope to the largest log. “I command you to follow me.” He then pulled the huge trunk as though it were a child’s sled. The workmen, at his bidding did likewise, and the logs slid along at the slightest tug.

In the same town, a young mother was in danger of death after an extremely difficult birth. Gerard assured her friends that he would pray for her. Later, he told them the woman would recover. Both mother and child survived as he had predicted.

Auletta, Vietri da Potenza, San Gregorio, Buccino . . . Gerard visited town after town. At Buccino, he fell ill and the doctor advised that he go to Oliveto where the climate would be better for his lungs. Here he wrote to his Rector at Caposele, “Tell me what to do, I beg your Reverence. If you wish me home, I shall come at once. If you wish me to continue the tour, send me an emphatic obedience, and all will be well . . .” His superior wrote him to wait at Oliveto until he had strength enough to come home.

Materdomini

But Gerard’s strength was waning. He must set out for Caposele to spend his last days at Materdomini. On the way, he paid a brief visit to the Pirofalo family, telling them to watch for a white flag flying from the house at Materdomini. As long as they saw the flag, he would be alive. As a matter of fact, even on a clear day it was all but impossible to see that distance. But the family could see the monastery plainly, and the white flag flew all the days of September, and for half the following month.

Gerard had already left the house, when one of the Pirofalo girls called after him, telling him he had left his handkerchief. “Keep it,” he told her. “You may need it someday.” Long years after, when married and all but dying in childbirth, she remembered the words of Brother Gerard. She asked that the handkerchief be applied to her. Almost at once, her pain abated and she gave birth to her child.

Home at Last

The Rector of Materdomini was heartbroken that last day of August when Brother Gerard came back. He was so worn and emaciated! “Cheer up, Father. It is God’s Will,” said Gerard with a smile. “We must do His Will with gladness.” He scarcely stopped speaking of union with the Will of God. When Doctor Santorelli, the house physician, asked him if he wished to get well or to die, Gerard looked up from bed and answered simply, “I wish only what God wants.” His one last request was that a small white placard be tacked to his door with the inscription:

Here the Will of God is done, as God wills, and as long as God wills.

On September fifth, the acting Rector gave Gerard an obedience to get well. The Will of God! At once all trace of his malady vanished. He got out of bed, ate with the community, walked in the garden, and was present at all the religious exercises. For a full month, he was well again. Then on October fourth, he said to the doctor, “I should have died a month ago, but for obedience. Now my time is near. Tomorrow, I go to bed.” And so it was. For the next ten days, he grew steadily worse. The afternoon of October fifteenth, he tried to sit up, crying to his confreres, “Look! Look! It is the Madonna!” and fell into a sudden ecstasy of love. That evening at seven-thirty, he died. He was twenty-nine years, six months, and nine days old. For six years, he had been in religious life.

To recount the happening after his death in 1755 would demand a large book. Because of the numerous miracles performed through the saint’s intercession, proceedings for his canonization were instituted shortly after his death. In 1893, he was beatified. Eleven years later on December the eleventh, 1904, Pope Pius X proclaimed his solemn canonization at St. Peter’s in eternal Rome. Brother Gerard of Muro and Materdomini was now Saint Gerard of heaven and the whole world.

[dailyaudiobible]

01/29/2017 DAB Transcript

Exodus 7:25-9:35 ~ Matthew 19:13-30 ~ Psalm 24:1-10 ~ Proverbs 6:1-5

Today is the 29th day of January.  Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible.  I'm Brian and it is great to be here with you at the threshold of a brand new, shiny, sparkly week.  Before this week is out, we will be moving into the second month of the year and just like that we are up to cruising altitude and moving on our way through the Bible this year.  So this week we’ll read from the English Standard Version and we’ll dive back into the story that we’re reading in the book of Exodus, where Moses and the Lord and Pharaoh are in the midst of a showdown and signs and wonders known as plagues are coming on the land of Egypt.  Exodus chapter 7, verse 25 through 9:35 today.  

Commentary

Let's go back over to Egypt.  So these plagues, seven of them have fallen on the land of Egypt as God is insisting that it is time for the people to leave, the people he has chosen, the people he has given a promise to so long ago, all those centuries ago.  They are a vast population now and they are slaves and God is about the business of freeing his children from slavery, so seven plagues have fallen.  There is just so much richness in all of that.  I’ve heard research that ties each one of these plagues to a specific Egyptian god that the pharaoh would have had allegiance to, and so there is a dismantling of what the Egyptians worshiped as divine happening here.  The pharaoh himself would have thought himself to be divine, to be a god to be worshiped.  So another god of a slave people coming into his land and making demands upon him?  Well, you can see where his heart would be hardened toward that.  

A lot of times when I'm reading the Bible, though, I am trying to find myself. I'm looking for hints of my own life in these stories and I can see myself in Pharaoh.  I can see pieces of my history, times in my history where I was like this.  You probably can too.  You know how it is when things go sideways all of a sudden and now you’re facing something that you don’t know how to get out of, right?  It could be a financial problem.  You know, how are you going to get the bills paid?  Or it could be a more long term problem.  You don’t know how to get over this health thing.  Or this relationship, it is heartbreaking and absolutely devastating and there is carnage all around you and you just don’t know how you got to this place with a person you loved so much at one time. Maybe they’ve betrayed you or maybe you’ve betrayed them and it is just a mess.  It is kind of in those times that we turn to God and hold on for dear life, right?  Because it becomes a point where we don’t feel like we have anything else solid to hold onto, so we hold on and our intimacy with God grows profoundly and our awareness of the world that we’re living in, even though we’re in a lot of pain, is clear and we can see and we’re like I’ll never go back to that other me again.  But then, once the hardship has kind of moved on and God has come through in some sort of way and we’ve followed him and he has navigated us out of whatever it was, we harden our heart again, right?  And we find ourselves slipping back toward the old paths, toward the more known places in our lives, the very things that had gotten us into trouble in the first place. We just kind of wander back into that slavery.  

So I kind of get it.  I mean, when we come and have an encounter with God, God is life, God is love, God is true and pure and holy and righteous and all-powerful and all-knowing, he is that He Is, once we’ve experienced that, to turn and move in other directions, to walk away, to betray that friendship and relationship requires that we harden our hearts in order to move there.  And it can happen in very, very subtle ways, but we know it is happening.  Which explains a lot when God says “I will harden Pharaoh's heart.”  Of course, anything other than what God is, well, to be apart from that we have, to harden our hearts, to be away from it, we have to deny what we know and then start questioning what we think we know and move ourselves into doubt and then move ourselves into cynicism in order to get away.  Our hearts have to grow cold and hard.  

I'm pretty sure it's not just me that has ever experienced this in my life. Like I'm pretty sure we all have in one way or another experienced this in our lives, and so all of a sudden we’re here rooting for Moses and Aaron and looking for God to smite the Egyptians so that his people can be free, not realizing that we’re more like Pharaoh than maybe we realize.  But as we’ll find in the story, we’re very much like the children of Israel too as the story unpacks and unfolds.  We will find ourselves in so many of the nuances of these stories.  So may we look at this one as we continue forward in it and find the places, the times where we’ve allowed our hearts to grow hard, because we’re coming up against the righteousness of God and the invitation to life, but the blinking lights that promise quicker gratification pull us away.

Prayer

Father, we invite you into that.  Our hearts have gotten hard in lots of ways in lots of different seasons, but you haven’t grown hard toward us.  You haven’t turned your back on us at all.  You’ve remained true.  You are that you are and you are present to us.  It is we who have hardened our hearts to you  So we invite you into that, Holy Spirit.  It is like we have things we need to invite you into almost every day.  But this is how life is transformed, by inviting you to access those places, those wounds, those bitternesses, those betrayals, that pain, those situations, our hopes, our dreams and aspirations.  We invite you into all of them to show us the ones that really have nothing to do with you and that we’ve excluded you from because we can see where this road is going and we can choose.  We choose you.  We choose to humble ourselves before you.  Apart from you we can do nothing and it is like that is a lesson we have to keep learning for some reason.  Help us to just know it now.  Apart from you we can do nothing.  With you, you would move heaven and earth to set us free.  So come, Holy Spirit, into all of this, we ask, in the name of Jesus, amen.  

Announcements

Www.DailyAudioBible.com is the website.  It's home base.  It is where you find out what is up, what is going on around here, so be sure to do that and find out what people are needing prayer for and maybe say a prayer, maybe post a word of encouragement.  Or maybe you have something that you want others to pray for. You can post that on the Prayer Wall at www.DailyAudioBible.com.  So be sure to stay tuned there and see what is going on there.  

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at www.DailyAudioBible.com as well.  There is a link on the home page and if you’re using the Daily Audio Bible App, you can push the More button in the lower right-hand corner. Of if you prefer, the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, TN 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, (877) 942-4253 is the number to dial.  

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

Community Prayer Requests and Praise Reports

Hey family.  This is Arjen from Florida.  I'm calling to lift up Tim and Carissa from New Mexico.  They lost a child.  Father, first and foremost, I ask that you would make very clear to them that you know this pain of losing a child, that you lose children who don’t know you or go astray, that you know what it is like and you know what grief and sorrow and darkness is like because you went there for us.  Father, first I pray that you would plant that fruit into the heart of Tim and Carissa, Lord.  Father, I also just pray that you would show them that you are there.  Show them that even though this is going on, that through their grief, even through the turbulent waves of their grief, that you are there to comfort them, Lord, and make your presence very clear.  Lord, I pray that you would let them enter into a season of their lives where this will seem so dim because of the children and the love that you are going to give to them, Father.  Strengthen them.  God, Dad, please, please strengthen them and I pray all this in Jesus’ name.  Tim and Carissa, I just want to say we’re here for you as a community.  I’ve lifted up my prayers, but I also offer my shoulder to cry on.  My email is AlexIyer12@gmail.com.  I love you, Brother.  Bye.  

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family.  I'm new to this ministry.  This is my first day of starting.  I'm not a new believer, but I'm new to this ministry and so, so excited about being able to hear God's word and everyone responding to prayer.  I'm calling to ask prayer for our brothers and sisters in the central part of India, in __________, specifically a young missionary there. His name is Ahmed D.  They have been working with __________ Christian Mission for the past nine years and this past Sunday he was found in a nearby village, had been stabbed and tortured badly.  The reasons are still unknown, but they are asking for prayer for his wife, Dorothy, his 6-year-old daughter Erica, and also please pray for __________ and __________, the founders of this mission.  This mission is 30 years plus and going strong and has accomplished so much for the gospel in India and for India.  So please be in prayer for the family of this precious young man who was martyred this past Sunday.  We know quite often that the blood of martyrs becomes seed for explosive __________ of the gospel, so please pray that the seed that he has planted through his ministry will land on fertile ground and will continue to produce a crop of souls for the gospel.  Thank you so much.  Be blessed.

Hi, this is Elaine from Victoria, Canada.  This is for Tim and Carissa from New Mexico.  I heard your plea for comfort.  My sister went through the same thing, but I want to give you Matthew 5, the beatitudes.  Matthew 5:3-4:  Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.  I want to give this to you today, dear Brother and Sister, for your comfort. Also I want to give you this that my granddaughter gave me.  I think she was only 8 years old, but she felt the Lord had touched her.  She said someone touched her and I knew it was the Lord. And this is what was given to her. May the Lord bless you wherever you are because he is the one that hears your prayers and he comforts you.  He loves us all and he also takes care of us.  I love him.  So does my Grandma Elaine and so does my brother Riley.  I love him and he loves me.  He is awesome because he died on the cross for all of us.  Love, Aislyn.  That's my granddaughter.  Bless you. You’re in my prayers, Tim and Carissa. I love you and I love you, Brian, for this ministry that we can reach out to others.  So have a good day everybody.  My prayers are with this program.  Thank you. Bye.  

Hi DAB family.  This is Rob S., worship dude in Nashville, TN.  Thanks to all of you who listen and pray.  I want to offer up my prayers for Brian.  I want to say thank you so much for the piece you did on your mother.  Man, that was just so helpful to hear how you processed the various issues of her passing and we mourn with you, Brother.  God bless you.  Also I want to pray for Mark from Florida who recently got engaged and feeling anxiety about your employment situation.  I pray that the Lord would give you great peace and great joy in this new season of your life and provide for all of your needs.  Also I want to lift up McKenzie, a first-time caller, 13 years old from California.  I pray that the Lord would deliver you from all anxiety attacks and he would give you peaceful and restful sleep and everything that is a cause behind that would be resolved for the glory of Jesus.  Finally, I want to lift up Karen, first-time caller from St. Louis, and her nephew Todd who has been dealing with a lot of mental issues and is being recruited by Islamists.  Lord, we pray that you would deliver him from all evil, that you would give him a right mind and, Lord, we just pray your blessings to be upon him, in Jesus’ name.  Finally, brothers and sisters, if you would please pray for me and my wife.  We are in a season of transition.  I'm leaving employment at the church where I’ve worked for the last five years or so and really seeking the Lord's clarity, guidance, and provision.  I feel like he is leading me to focus more on my writing and teaching.  I have missions invitations to Eastern Europe for later on this year and anyway, just trusting God to make all things work together for good.  The Lord bless you guys.  Thanks for your prayers.  

McKenzie, a 13-year-old girl suffering with anxiety attacks, I am standing with you.  When two or three are gathered together and I am on my knees right now and going to lift you to the Lord.  Father in Heaven, I thank you, Jesus, for this tender heart of McKenzie, this young teenager. I bring her to you, Lord, with these anxiety attacks.  She realizes, Lord, that you can help her with this and I am praying for healing over these attacks that come in the middle of the night and rob her of sleep.  Father, I just pray for your mighty hand to reach down from heaven and touch her body and her mind and just bring peace and calmness and relaxation, Lord.  Bless her. Encourage her.  Uplift her.  And I pray for healing for her this morning.  Thank you for her sweet spirit, Lord.  We ask these things in Jesus’ precious and holy name.  Amen.  

Hi, this is Doneen K.  I'm in California.  I’ve been listening for three years now.  I just heard Tim and Carissa, they just lost their baby, and I want to tell them that is so horrible.  I know it is so horrible.  I had a miscarriage and it was just terrible, but I want you to know you will get through it and call on the Lord and call on your people in your church.  Don’t let the devil get you down.  You know your baby is alive in heaven.  I love that.  I love that we have a place to go to, to ask Jesus to help us.  So I just want to tell you, Tim and Carissa, I love you from the bottom of my heart.  I'm so sorry you’re going through this and I pray Jesus will help you along the way.  Bye now.