#i put off reading this because my heart simply cannot handle the pure joy i feel

[spacedikut]

An Essay on The Blessing of a Blizzard (basically just love for ur writing)

Ok this story popped into my head today and made me smile because it’s just so soft and the miscommunication and pining and auhghhhhh. Sorry i'm not as eloquent as you in my praise but i hope this suffices

ANYWAYS

“Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.” right from the start we’re wondering why Spencer is showing such a strong negative emotion towards this guy- this stranger we don’t know yet. Spencer’s not harmless, he definitely has enough bite to shut someone down but we never see him usually this judgmental or abrasive so this is such an attention grabber.

Then in classic Spencer fashion we get the rundown of Mike’s background and name origins, but then transition to Spencer’s almost childish jealousy and hatred of this guy just because he’s stolen your heart. 

I’ll be honest and say that when I read the list of things the reader shares with Mike, I was a little confused and thought “he seems weird” BUT not enough that I would suspect anything less than what’s at face value… The con is still going on. 

“That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently.” we’re back to dramatic and angsty Spence and I love it and of COURSE it doesn’t matter, right? Because “Mike’s probably ugly, anyway” asldkjlakfj Spencer you are such a child and it’s adorable

And this line “Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.”  right before the transition is just perfect. I think I laughed out loud (probably too loud) 

The detail of Garcia’s “bejewelled hands” idk I find that a really pretty little addition, I like all the details of Morgan and Emily looking pissed lol and then we’re back to childish petty Spence “All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.”

The short interaction between Emily and Spencer and it’s so obvious Spencer is pining for you and she just smiles when mentioning Mike,,, and YES they’re all profilers but Spencer is being painfully clear he’s in love with you

Spencer catching your little expressions after getting off the call with Mike,,,, he cares so much for you (he’d probably fistfight Mike or at least step on his foot [accidentally obviously,,,] because this man wants your affection all to himself)

It’s such a Penelope idea to have a gingerbread house competition and I love her for it. <3 The little comment Morgan makes is sad for one second before you sweep in and protect Spencer and that makes my heart soft.

This entire little interaction is just,,, perfect “Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.”

And then “like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts” is such a Spencer thought to have?? The computer reference? He’s such a small nerd

AND THEN your eyes watching him roll up his sleeves?? Sir i am looking respectfully…

All the tension and electricity between them during the building??? Amazing. The almost kiss? The Yearning? The eye contact and the puff of breath on his lips? The physical contact? 

AND THE GONG! What a Penelope find. It’s the best and most abrupt way to disrupt the scene and poor you and Spence because the moment is over. 

We’re back to classic Spencer and his the cogs in his brain turning- “Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.”

Sad spence hours because now he’s confused and yearning and disappointed and conflicted about trying to kiss you and you trying to kiss him because MIKE exists and Spencer probably wants to throw Mike into the void if he could. 

This line is just adorable: “(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)” and the gingerbread sharing? How you give the piece back to him first? It’s so cute

The little tells that Spencer picks up on before you’re about to laugh is really genuinely sweet because he just wants to be with you all the time, he wants to know all of you and he’s paid as much attention as possible. 

And then Spencer’s embarrassed and a little sad but you’re laughing with him and everything’s okay. You kiss him and he meets Mike and all’s well that ends well <3

Ok asdklja;d i dont know if you’d actually like this but i feel like maybe?? Because its just endless praise for this story and the absolute genius of mike being a cat and the childish jealousy and the almost kiss and its adorable and i love it and you!! Okay spacey this is the end <3

[starlightsaeran]

Moonchild

Author’s note: Hello hello! I’m so excited to be posting the first of two pieces created for the @mysme-rbb !! I’ve been unbelivably lucky to be paired with such an overwhelmingly talented artist, @pili-art {{please go show her all the love in the world!! }}, and I've had more fun creating these than I can even put into words!! I hope you love them <3

Summary: Saeran drifts off to sleep after another night of anxiety, but for the first time in a long while, his dreams are far from torturous...

Read on AO3: here! 

Make sure to check out my partner’s STUNNING accompanying art here!! ✨

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Saeran wanders among the scintillating tightrope hung between the planets, tangled among the clouds.

The darkness is inescapable. A thick blanket of it envelops him, entangling everything it isn’t with everything he is, securing him, but never trapping him. It pulls him under into its reassuring embrace, and quellls the flames of his neverending fears and anxieties. The darkness is a lullaby to the exhaustion of his soul.

 Saeran is alone. He had long ago grown used to being alone, and now he felt the most at ease when he was by himself, in the hours when he knew no one else was around to see his weaknesses and the insecurities that were always lit up like a neon sign behind his eyes. He enjoyed being alone, but the inevitable loneliness that managed to creep up on him without fail every time he was alone made him want to run far and far away. But every silver lining has its cloud, and Saeran, being as smart as he is, knew there would never be anywhere for him ro run to. In this moment, Saeran is alone, but he isn’t lonely. The darkness, though he is sure that’s all it is and all it has ever been, feels like a friend. It remains silent, watching, though Saeran knows it is never judging. That’s why he has always found it so easy to be comforted by the darkness, to melt it into it, until he can’t remember where the darkness ends and he begins. Intertwined - with the emptiness he came from, the emptiness he belongs to. The darkness hides him. Him, and everything he is, everything he has ever been and never will be. It sees him, though for once, that doesn’t scare him. He knows he can be himself within the darkness, though in reality, he has no choice. He is simply too tired to hide it now.

No, the darkness is not empty, not as his heart had once been, is usually for that matter, but right now he doesn’t feel it; the infinite, endless cavern of depression he can't help but fall and fall and fall into. There is no escape, for it exists within him. It is him, this nightmare he can’t awake from. His heart is a blackhole. Perhaps this, the ocean of nothingness that exists many lifetimes away from all human creation, this is the perfect place for a creature like him to reside. There is nothing for him to destroy here, nothing for him to tarnish with the breaths he can’t help but to take. He is something to be feared. But perhaps here, in a place as wholly consuming as this, in an atmosphere which plucks his every thought from him like they are naught but weeds in a flowerbed, the inevitable ache which demands to be felt cannot find him.

In this moment, in this place, he cannot feel the heavy burden of his heart. This is a welcome escape from the anguish of his daily routine. In fact, Saeran can’t feel very much of anything else either. Not the untamable wisps of his hair that usually torment the corners of his always tired eyes, not the ache in his bones from the repeating days in which his body is stuck in its chair whilst his mind runs at the speed of light, or the pounding in his head that refuses to cease. He can’t even feel the rips and tears in the skin of his fingertips, which usually serve as a  constant reminder of his own weakness and lack of self control. He feels none of it. He feels...nothing. Like the darkness within which he is encased, he is still.

Saeran tries to recall how it was he wound up here, wherever here is, and vaguely remembers the ghosts of his tears as they ran down his cheeks, and the way their rhythmic flow ebbed him to sleep. His head had been resting on a pillow dampened by the tears he’d cried an hour or a day or a year before, and the night sky visible through the glass ceiling above him had seemed to be inviting him to rest with it.

That must be where he is now. Dreaming, his mind wandering as his body rests, safe. But if his body was resting beneath the stars, then where were they now?

Open your eyes.

 Saeran hears a voice say, or does he? It’s hard to tell if the words had manifested from the darkness, or if he had simply imagined them himself from the newly relaxed state of his mind. All he knows is that those words had sounded unimaginably pretty. They were a sound unlike any he had ever heard before, even lovelier than windchimes, and sirens singing in a storm. They had felt like kisses from a butterfly gliding past his skin. Regardless of the origin of the words, he feels as though he has no choice but to obey. He isn’t sure he is even in control of his own actions now, and though he hadn’t realised they had even been closed;

he opens his eyes.

An uncountable amount of stars had suddenly filled all of eternity. They are shining in all their seraphic glory, as they dance and dance with themselves and with each other, a cacophony of love, a symphony of light. They are beautiful in a way that nothing else is, and nothing else could ever dream to be. They intertwine with one another, forming families of constellations and creating a sight like nothing Saeran had ever imagined possible. They light up the world, and for the first time, Saeran can see it as it stretches for miles and miles, a whole galaxy of possibilities. Each one twinkles and sparkles in greeting. To his surprise, Saeran can feel their excitement; they are excited to see him. Their colours fill his soul, and he aches to be one of them. 

And there, like a lighthouse within the storm of the ocean, is the moon. Like a forgotten lover, she calls to him. One look is all it takes and he is mesmerized, completely and utterly lost in the light of her glow. 

Saeran.

The voice was a breeze blowing softly through him, and it called his name with such tenderness, such care, possibly even… love? Now wouldn’t that be a strange sort of thing. Love, for a nightmare like him? Yes, he mustn’t let him himself forget, even in the paradise of a place like this, he was a nightmare within a dream, a beast amongst beauty, and the blackhole of his heart would tear this goodness to shreds. He couldn’t let that happen. No, as much as he wanted to stay, and oh, did he want to stay, he wouldn’t let himself be this selfish. He wouldn’t watch his happiness be ripped from him again. He had to leave, had to get out, had to find a way to wake up, had to-

Saeran.

He hears it again, and this time he realises the voice is definitely feminine. The way she says his name holds him captive. He hadn’t been able to feel a thing, now all of a sudden he feels her, and the warmth in her glow. He feels her surrounding him. He feels her hands, as though one was stroking his cheek and another tangles itself in his hair, grounding him, but never trapping him.

Oh, Little Prince. My cloud wanderer. My star wonderer.

He melts into her soothing touch as though there is no other choice. Her light finds its way to his every corner, lighting him up from the inside, and extracting all his fear. It reminds him that this is where he exists in the present. All that matters is this moment. He hadn’t realised in his sudden calmness that his eyes had closed themselves again, shying away from the light as he was used to doing, until he hears her say;

Look. Look at all of your stars. They shine for you and only you. With each breath you take, you grant life to a new star. They exist because you exist. This is your galaxy.

Her words were a command his soul did not possess the ability to disobey, as though she retained complete control over him, and so he opens his eyes and looks. He tries to take it all in; the words of which their truth he feels in some deep, unexplored part of his soul, and the billions of lights, each one its own individual life, all shining for and because of him. If he had been on earth right now the truth of it all would have brought him to his knees. He feels like he is falling. How...how could all of this exist for him? How could a creature like him even pretend to be worthy-

Let go, my love. You are not falling, but flying.

He wants to let go, has been trying for it seemed the entirety of his existence, but the weight of his heart was an anchor to the world with which he no longer wanted to have anything to do, especially not now. Not after seeing exactly where it was his soul could escape to.

A heart is a heavy burden indeed. And yet you handle yours so well, little one. My starlit dreamer, to love as you do is a wondrous thing. Flowers grow to meet your smile. Birds sing their joy when they feel your presence. A soul as pure as yours, and a star as sweet as you, well, it’s no surprise the weight of the love in your heart made you sink, and the Earth claimed you for itself.

He feels it now. The pull of the night. The song of the stars that matched the one his soul had been singing alone for so long. He is a star. A star with a heart too full of love. And it had caused him to fall to the Earth.

You have become earthbound, and now so many worlds exist within yours, within you, within the wonders of your eyes.

Although of course the truth is shocking, more than anything, he feels a wave of welcomed understanding wash over him. He is as calm as the night. He hasn’t learnt a new truth, it’s more like unlocking a very old memory. But it is a truth nonetheless, and one he hopes he can carry with him. A truth he hopes he will be able to recall on those recurring nights of agony, when it felt as though all the world were against him. 

You know who you are in your heart, little one. You have survived until now. You have been brave, and you will be braver still. The stars have already written your name amongst theirs, and there it will always remain. Your home is only a dream away.

Then why, he wants to scream. If his home is amongst the stars and the love and the light of the galaxy, if he is so special to them, then why is he cursed to a life of pain and heartache? Why can’t he remain here, where for the first time in his life he feels loved and like he has an understanding of the world, he has a grasp on the workings and intricacies of life, and he doesn’t feel like he’s on the cusp of letting go? 

The Earth needs you, precious one. There are lives you are going to save and smiles you’re going to bring to so, so many people. They need you. And they will love you more than you could ever imagine. Your struggles make you stronger, so that your heart may find the hearts of those that need you, and in turn you may pass on your wisdom and your love to save them. And every time they look up at the stars, on the painful nights as you have, they will see you there, shining brightly, and they will know they are safe. They will know they are loved. They will know there is a world out there waiting for them, and there are lives for them to save in turn. 

You know the truth of who you are. You will carry that truth with you for always, it is not something your soul can forget. When the days are hard and the nights are long, remember that you are loved by stars both up here, and stars that are like you, whose overflowing hearts have caused them to fall through the night and land upon the Earth. You need each other, and together, you will shine across every darkened corner of a land that feels lost. Discover it. Discover yourself, and the weight of the love within you. 

I will always be with you, dear one. The stars in your eyes are the tears in mine, and though there may be little rest for the moon, your existence will never be a burden to me. I exist to guide you through the night. 

Saeran feels himself growing sleepy; not tired, as though it is torture to his eyes to keep them open. Not exhausted, as though even sleep isn’t enough to fix him. But safe, warm, full of love and of light, as though he himself were just a little cloud floating carelessly through the sky.

Rest now, my angel. Tomorrow, your eyes will once again light up the sun. For now, may you rest, and allow me to take on your worries. Whenever your heart bubbles over with fear, may your dreams carry you home, where we will always be waiting. 

And as Saeran gives in to the waves of sleep pulling him under, he rests his head against the gentle surface of the Moon, and the smile on his face is bright enough to be seen from Earth.

[iridecsense]

𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘦

                                      𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦

              ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ────

⤷ summary: Proceeding the encounter with Grindelwald in Paris, Newt goes seaward on a secret mission for Dumbledore when his ship is caught in a storm...

✧ word count: 5.2k ✧ pairing: newt scamander | siren!reader ✧ genre: romance, slow burn, angst, adventure ✧ warnings: none ✧ author’s note: You may be wondering when I will stop writing for Newt. I honestly don’t know myself, but here is my new Newt series that I am personally very excited about. Now, in order to set up plot and all that yummy stuff, reader (you) wont appear for the first three chapters, so please be patient with me. I promise you will get all the fluff soon! Feel free to comment or send me feedback via my ask box, I love hearing from you all. That being said, I hope you enjoy this new series!

              ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ────

About two months passed since Paris. Grindelwald's movement has spread across the wizarding world, earning him a significant amount of followers. Tension grew within the wizard community, causing the ministry a lot of grief. Grindelwald, being the infamous, conniving dark wizard he was, went underground. No one has seen or heard from him. He was nothing but a menacing whisper in the wind.

Even still, the damage he had caused festered. Darkness spread throughout Europe, slowly inching its way around the world like a disease. The loss of Leta Lestrange fell heavy upon Newt and his brother Theseus. Theseus, being Leta’s ex-fiancé, has become vengeful and apt to square his vendetta with Grindelwald. Newt, having also shared a love for the young, beautiful Lestrange, felt obligated to aid his older brother and guide him through his grief.

Newt had his own persuasions for bringing down Grindelwald. Had these circumstances not occurred, Newt would have nothing to do with the Ministry or the dispute at all. Though, fate has been less than kind. Grindelwald seduced his friend Queenie Goldstein and Credence Barebone to his side. This alone was enough to pull Newt from the sidelines.

After helping save Paris from Grindelwald’s killing curse, Newt’s travel ban was lifted, and he was once again called upon Albus Dumbledore for a separate mission. He disliked doing other people’s bidding, but for once this seemed necessary.

Newt was in his London flat feeding a hippocampus when his assistant Bunty called his name. Her quiet-like nature went unnoticed by him and she resorted to tapping him on his broad shoulder.

“Newt, there is a letter for you,” she said, handing him the envelope. Newt took it into his hands. “Thank you, Bunty.”

The envelope was blank, the only defining feature being the unmistakable Hogwarts seal. Newt broke the red wax, opening the letter. As expected, it was from Albus Dumbledore. The letter read simply:

Newt never said it, but he disliked how aloof Dumbledore was with him. Dumbledore would call upon him like a dog, and send him off on some journey that would most likely put him in danger. He wished that just once, Dumbledore could be straightforward instead of cryptic and mysterious. He also wished he wasn’t the one always chosen to aid him in his quarrels.

“Bunty,” Newt called as he tucked the letter into his pant pocket, unaware of Bunty’s presence looming behind him.

She inched closer to his side. “Yes, Newt?”

“I need you to finish up for me. I have taken care of the kelpie and there is no need to bother the zouwu,” he told her as he walked through the maze of creatures. “I can handle her when I get back.”

Newt was searching for his coat. Bunty saw it hung over the mooncalves’ fence and picked it up, shaking the dirt from it. Newt whirled around and she presented his coat to him. He thanked her and she helped him put it on.

“Should I finish the kappa enclosure while you’re gone?” She asked.

“No, that’s not necessary,” he said. “There is no need to wait for me. You can clock off when you’ve finished.” Newt gave her a closed smile and jogged up the stairs, leaving her behind.

Newt left his apartment and walked along the cobblestone road. It was night, and the streets were slick with rain. He looked around to ensure no one was watching before apparating to the London bridge.

Upon arriving, he saw the cloaked figure of Albus Dumbledore just a few feet ahead of him. Dumbledore had his back towards Newt as he looked over the bridge. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets and his collar was turned up.

“Have you ever wondered what controls you, Newt?” He asked, still facing the horizon. “The heart or the brain? Or perhaps you think it’s both.”

Newt ignored Dumbledore’s question and presented his own. “Why have you called me here?”

“I am not sure myself,” Dumbledore continued. “I can’t find the logic behind why we do the things we do. But perhaps that in itself is the answer.”

Newt walked to Dumbledore’s side and leaned against the railing. The air was heavy and thick with the weight of the situation. Evidently, Newt knew why he was being called. In fact, he was expecting it.

Dumbledore turned to Newt in a serious manner. “Grindelwald has successfully seduced half of Europe. Many of his followers have started carrying out his agenda, preaching to others while he continues to weaponize Credence.”

He motioned for Newt to follow him, leading him off the bridge. “What we cannot afford is more enemies. That is why I have summoned you.”

“What do you suppose we do?” Newt asked.

“You are well-traveled, Newt,” said Dumbledore as he rounded a corner. “So, naturally, it could only be you.”

They came upon a small tavern that stuck out from the rest of the surrounding buildings. Dumbledore held the door open for Newt before walking in after him. The tavern was practically empty besides the few drunk persons scattered by the bar and those who worked there. They took a booth in the corner of the room, away from prying ears.

Dumbledore took his seat across from Newt. “Have you talked to the Ministry?”

Newt shook his head. “Not recently. Not since the week after Paris.”

“Good.” Dumbledore waved over the bartender to bring drinks. “As I said before, Grindelwald’s influence has spread. Rumor has it that his henchmen have been killing and enslaving witches and wizards that do not have pure blood.”

“Last I heard, his influence was heavy in Germany,” Newt added.

“Yes, that is the last I’ve heard as well.”

The bartender came upon the two men and gave them mugs of butterbeer. Dumbledore thanked her and gave her two galleons, sending her off.

“The Ministry won't listen,” said Dumbledore. “They’ve been imprisoning traitors.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “The Dementors.” He recalled hearing rumors of Dementors scouring the city in search of Grindelwald’s followers.

Dumbledore nodded. “They think by striking fear into their hearts, they will obtain loyalty. Blind to the fact that their hostilities drive more towards Grindelwald.”

Dumbledore reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a dragon skin pouch, and an envelope. He placed it on the table. “This should be enough,” he said.

Newt furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, ‘should be enough’ for what?”

“Your trip, of course.” Dumbledore took a swing of butterbeer, drinking it all and exhaling in satisfaction. “I’d suggest going to the Mediterranean first, they’ve yet to be influenced. If I’m not mistaken, there is a ship leaving tomorrow morning in Plymouth.”

Newt was having trouble processing Dumbledore’s words. Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice and spoke to him as if what he was saying were obvious. Newt watched Dumbledore rise to his feet.

Dumbledore looked down at Newt. “I want you to know, I do not take joy involving you in this, Newt. But you are the only one I can trust. You’ll know what to do.”

“But what about—”

“Good luck, Newt.”

Dumbledore gave Newt a lopsided smile before turning on his heels and walking out the door. Newt was left in the tavern alone and defeated. The corners of his lips quirked up and he took the pouch from the table.

When he returned to his flat he ran up the stairs and barged into a side room. It was a small, dreary old room, almost too small for a grown man. It didn’t help that most of the floor was littered with bottles and half-eaten plates. In the single bed pushed up against a corner laid the shell of Jacob Kowalski. His once dapper and bubbly persona had turned sour and grim. Instead of proper pajamas, he wore a dingy wife beater decorated with questionable stains and striped white and blue boxers. He laid face down in the bed, the sheets messily intertwined between his legs, and his hand loosely gripped a half-empty bottle of wine.

“Jacob wake up!” Newt turned on the light by his limp friend’s side. Jacob groaned and turned his back to block the glare from his eyes.

“Go away, I’m sulking,” he mumbled hazily.

“Yes, I can see that,” Newt snarked. “But we have to pack.”

Jacob turned to face Newt, squinting in his direction. “What?”

Newt pulled out a suitcase and started filling it with Jacob’s clothes. Jacob sat upright in the bed. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”

“We are going on a trip,” said Newt.

“A trip,” Jacob repeated.

“Yes.”

“And where is this 'trip' taking us, exactly?”

“Italy, I suspect.”

“What’s in Italy?”

“People we need to help,” Newt said plainly.

Jacob rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed, turning his back to the wizard. “Just leave me alone, Newt.”

Newt stopped packing and glanced at his melancholic friend. Jacob struggled greatly after the battle of Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Losing Queenie took a toll on his heart. He tried desperately to get her back the first couple of weeks, hardly taking a second to sleep. He drove himself mad following pointless leads, each failure sent him deeper into a downward spiral. By the time they returned to England he was devastated.

Newt told Jacob he could stay with him, and because they both needed a friend to lean on, he stayed. Their loss effected them differently. While Newt never gave himself the time to process his grief, busying himself in any way possible to keep his mind off it, Jacob wallowed in it. He hadn’t left the house since they returned, only leaving his room to eat and relieve himself.  Wine became his new lover, and the bed his concubine. The constant disappointment brought on his own self-loathing, having convinced himself he was the cause of his impotence.

It pained Newt to see him like this. He halted his actions and moved to sit next to Jacob. He placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“We could find Queenie, Jacob.”

Jacob tensed at the mention of her name. He stayed silent, unrelenting.   Newt withdrew his hand and began to leave the room when he heard Jacob stir in the bed. When he turned around, Jacob was on his feet, a new fire swirling behind his black eyes.

“When do we leave?”

                                     ⁎ ⊹                                    ⁂ ˚ ✧ ⁂                                     ⊹ ＊

The moments just before dawn were always the most peaceful. At dawn, the sky was painted lapis, and the air was brisk. The docks were no different. The air was cool and smelled of seawater. A light fog blanketed the boats and piers, providing camouflage for the gulls hunting an unsuspecting fishermen’s catch. Newt ambled down the pier with his case in hand. Jacob less-than gracefully stumbled behind him, nauseated by the portkey they just ventured through.  

“Oh, God, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jacob groaned weakly.

His wailing went neglected by Newt who was far too busy unscrambling the thoughts in his mind. Dumbledore had told him that a ship to the Mediterranean was leaving in Plymouth this morning, and yet the docks were half empty, the only implements filling them being sailboats and fishing vessels. Upon arrival, he’d asked the first sailor they’d come across when the ship would come to port. The sailor brazenly voiced his annoyance with Newt and claimed that no such ship comes to dock there. Newt clenched his cheek. His own irritation created a deep line in the center of his forehead between his eyebrows. He shoved his hand into his pocket when he felt it brush against a piece of parchment. His mind flew back to last night’s encounter and the envelope Dumbledore had handed him. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and examined its front. The name ‘Uluras’ was written in Dumbledore's hand. He didn't recall seeing that earlier.

He whirled around and caught the arm of another passing fisherman. He asked about four strangers if they knew anyone by the name Uluras, all of whom denied ever hearing such a name. A woman who had just disappointed Newt with her answer left his presence to board a boat when a young man came up behind him. Jacob, having been aware of his presence, nudged Newt’s arm to gain his attention.

“Why are you looking for Uluras?”

A boy no older than seventeen stood in front of them holding a full box of cod. His dark brown skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and seawater. He was tall and skinny, his droopy clothes were muted and clearly worn with age.

“Do you know him?” Asked Newt.

The boy's eyes scanned the two men, using his intuition to determine whether they were a threat.

“Yeah, I know him,” he answered, finally. “What do you need him for?”

“I don’t know. I have this letter for him.” Newt handed the boy the letter. He placed the box on the ground and read the front before flipping it to the back. His eyes were drawn to the red seal that held the letter together. His once stone-set face washed over with recognition. He returned the envelope to Newt, bending down to pick up the box of fish.

He gestured towards the mainland with his head. “Follow me.”

Newt and Jacob shared a look before trailing behind him. They followed him up a trail through a rural plane. They trekked wordlessly for about a mile when they came to an isolated beach. Resting on a cliff overseeing the sea was an odd-looking shack. From where they stood at the base of the precipice it was terribly worn. It looked almost as if one strong gust of wind could send it hurtling into the sea. Taking a look back at the two men lagging behind, the boy adjusted the heavy cargo in his hands and began hiking up the cliff towards the shack. Jacob struggled to walk properly on the inclining ground, still recovering from his protkey-sickness. Newt took long strides, trailing the boy posthaste. Jacob called after Newt breathlessly as he stumbled over the rough terrain of the hill until he finally managed to grasp the back of his coat.

“Newt, buddy,” he huffed. “You know I like spending time with you, right?”

Newt slowed his pace to walk beside him, unsure of where the sudden sentiment came from. “Yes?”

“Good, good. Well, as nice as this boys trip is, don’t you think it’d be faster to do... whatever magic transportation thing you have to get to Italy? This seems shady, even for you.”

“I wish we could, Jacob. But ever since Paris, the Ministry has been adamant in restricting international travel; only aurors are allowed to travel now. They can’t know what we’re doing. We’ll have to travel like muggles to avoid them.”

“Right,” Jacob hummed. “Muggles.”

Newt smirked. “We could always use another portkey, if you’d like.”

Jacob’s face screwed up at the thought. “Nah, I’m good.”

Newt smiled to himself and continued up the hill to the shack. It was even more ghastly looking up close. The structure was crooked and with each gust of wind it appeared to sway. The wood was black with rot and mildew. Spots of green mold and moss crept up the sides and covered the roof shingles. The wind was strong at the crest of the cliff. It howled in their ears like a wailing spirit and caused the wind chimes hanging under the porch to play a tumultuous percussion. Shrieking gulls circled the shack, and swooped low to the ground upon their arrival, hoping to snag a fish from the defenseless boy’s hands. He leads them up the decaying stairs and to the door. Sounds of metal clinking together and floorboards creaking under shuffling feet could be heard from inside. With a kick of his foot, the boy pushed the door open and walked inside.

Inside was surprisingly well kept in comparison to the exterior. Though the structure was still deteriorating, it was more appealing with bright turquoise paint covering obscene blemishes and contrasting the white-painted beams on the ceiling. The various nicknacks and trinkets that lined the walls helped distract from the shabby furniture and moth-eaten curtains that covered grimy windows. It was a reasonably sized abode. From where they stood in the center of the shack they saw a kitchen, a door suspected to lead to a bathroom, and another door that was left ajar, revealing the bedroom behind it. To the left was a set of creaky stairs that disappeared to the second floor.

The boy told Newt and Jacob to follow him into the kitchen where a side room was connected. Across the room was an older man hunched over a blue wooden workbench. Above him was a wall lined with fishing gear ranging from hooks to harpoons. He worked busily on a metal contraption, screwing nails into overlapping metal sheets.

“Baaba,” the boy called.

The man didn’t turn around, entirely focused on the work in front of him. “Nuh badda mi, Niris. You know I am workin’.”

The boy sighed and placed the fish on the ground before walking over to his father. “Baaba, there’s some people here to see you.”

The man lifted his head and turned back to face Newt and Jacob standing by the archway. He had a strong face; angular, and relatively free of wrinkles. The only indication of his age was the silver streaks that colored his black locs and scraggly beard. It was no doubt this man was the boy’s father, he took after him quite well. The man gently pats the young boy’s arm and pushed him back towards the kitchen. The boy went to pick up the box of fish and reluctantly left the three men alone.  

Newt took a step forward. “Are you Uluras?” He asked.

“Aye, that’d be me,” said the man. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Newt Scamander and this is my friend Jacob Kowalski. He’s a muggle. I have a letter for you.” Newt fished the envelope from his pocket and handed it to him. “It’s from Albus Dumbledore.”

Both of Uluras’s eyebrows jumped. “Albus Dumbledore sent you this?”

Newt nodded. Uluras eyed the two suspiciously before opening the envelope. Newt shifted anxiously while he read. His eyes scanned the paper, his expression softening with each line. When he reached the end, he sucked his teeth and threw the envelope onto the work table.  

“This man come to me asking for something like this?” He exasperated. “I tell him to let me know if there be anything he needs done, and he send me a war!”

Uluras mumbled to himself as he crossed the floor, walking to a bookcase filled with anything but books. He ran his finger across one of the shelves when he came across a figurine of a pirate ship. He pushed the ship back and turned it about ninety degrees. There was an audible click and a low rumbling coming from underfoot. The bookcase split into two and pulled apart to reveal a tunnel carved out of stone leading downwards. It was hard to tell how long it stretched, but occasional drops of water that fell from the ceiling echoed throughout the passage, and flickers of burning sconces lit the way.

Once the rumbling stopped, and the bookcase seemed to set in its open position, Uluras grabbed a pile of rope lying in a corner and slung it over his shoulder, and descended down the tunnel.

“Come this-a-way, foofool!” His voice bounced off the rock walls.

Newt and Jacob peered into the dim hole, their expressions displaying their contrasting emotions.

“Seem’s like a fun guy,” Jacob snarked.

Newt looked at Jacob with an amused smile, before gripping his suitcase and following after Uluras.

Jacob threw his hands up in exasperation, begrudgingly walking inside. “So, this is what we’re doing now?” He mumbled, gruffly. “Following angry old men into creepy tunnels? Where did this tunnel even come from? Is nobody going to ask that? We’re on a cliff!”

Jacob’s remarks went ignored by the others as they descended down the stone passage. It was a downhill walk. Three pairs of footsteps echoed through the cavern as they walked in silence. It was cold, and the scent of seawater grew the deeper they went.

“Where exactly is he taking us?” Jacob whispered. Newt was going to answer that he wasn’t sure where they were heading, but Uluras spoke first, surprising them both.

“You need a ship, do you not?” He said.

“Yes, we do,” Newt affirmed.

“Then that’s where we're going,” Uluras said, effectively silencing all doubts.

As they walked through the tunnel, and the smell of seawater grew stronger, a blueish light slowly engulfed them. Light from an unseen water source reflected against the walls and ceiling of the cavern, casting rippling white beams all over. When they reached what seemed to be an irrefutable dead-end, Uluras, as though he had done it a thousand times before, pressed his hands flat on the rocky wall that blocked their path and whispered a chant in a language neither Newt nor Jacob had heard before. The rock made a terrible crumbling sound and a large crack in the center of the wall formed, splitting the stone into two halves. The earth beneath them began to tremble as the wall slowly parted like sliding doors.

Uluras stopped chanting and stepped back as the wall broke off to reveal what it was meant to conceal. What a glorious sight it was, the view beyond the wall. From the grand ceiling were stalactites that protruded threateningly. The air was thick and moist, a refreshing salty mist dampened their skin. It was a glorious cavern where a vibrant blue pool of water collected at its center and stretched farther into a canal that lead out to sea. It wasn’t the cave itself that brought awe to Newt and Jacob’s features, but the grand ship that lay anchored in its wake.

A mighty sailboat, with hefty white sails secured to three proud masts gently, swayed in the water. Despite being dwarfed in comparison to many of the steamboats procured in the 20th century, the Georgian relic was still quite the sight to see. It’s chipping wood had once been painted a radiant royal blue and trimmed with glistening gold, yet both became dulled over time. Detailed heavenly carvings lined the sides and the stern, but they were no match for the wooden angel carved at the bow. A beautiful feminine angel with a length of black coiled hair and mahogany skin stretched its fading white wings in a protective manner in front of the boat.

“A pirate ship,” Jacob gaped. “It’s a pirate ship!”

Uluras scoffed and shook his head, mumbling something under his breath in a foreign language. “This ain’t no pirate ship, boy,” he said. “That there be the fastest ship on earth, Zanj Lanmè.”

“The Sea Angel,” Newt translates, his eyes still taking in the ambiance of it all.

The smallest of smirks managed to tug the corner of Uluras’s lips. “What you know about Creole, white boy?”

Newt’s cheeks spotted red. “I did some traveling around the Caribbean a while ago. I spent some time in a village in Haiti and helped them catch a Loogaroo that had been terrorizing their people.”

Uluras pursed his lips and nodded in understanding. “Nasty things, them Loogaroo are. Even the bokor have trouble ridding them,” he mused. “How a skinny bradda like you was able to subdue one?”

“I was just lucky, I suppose,” said Newt.

Uluras hummed, not completely satisfied with Newt’s answer, but enough to let it go. He turned his attention back to Jacob, who was still processing everything.

“Well, as I was sayin’,” he tells him, “she ain’t no pirate ship. Zanj Lanmè be a ship of liberty. She was once used as a slaver ship and crossed the ocean between West Africa and the West Indies, that be until a captured slave by the name of Asha discovered that she was a sòsyè.”

“She was a witch?” asked Newt.

“Yes, and a powerful one, too. Without realizing it, she called on a great storm. The traders were left to fight against the wind and sea on deck, while the slaves stayed below. Asha’s storm was too great for any pouvwafèb to survive. They all were taken by the sea and when the storm was over, the slaves realized what had happened. They were freed. Asha used her newfound power to break their shackles, and enchanted the ship to glide through water with ease and withstand any storm to take them to the mainland. Zanj Lanmè be the ship of my ancestors.”

“Wow,” was all Jacob could muster to say amidst his amazement.

“That’s incredible,” Newt added.

“Yes, she is.” Uluras smiled proudly and walked towards the ship. Newt and Jacob followed him to the edge of the pool. With a slow wave of his hand, a stream of water rose from the pool, splishing and splashing wildly as it began to form a sort of bridge between them and the boat. Just as fast as it had appeared, it crystalized in front of them, stabilizing it enough to support their weight. Without a smidgen of hesitation, Uluras stepped on the bridge and walked up to the ship.

“Zanj Lanmè will take you wherever you need to be. You should be thanking her, you are the first white men to board her in a century,” Uluras yelled back to them.

Newt stopped on the bridge and turned to the angel at the bow. He lowered his head in a respectful manner as a small thank you and continued up the ramp.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Jacob quickly bowed to the angel as he passed.

Just as Jacob stepped on deck, another low rumbling vibrated the grotto. The three men whipped their heads to the tunnel entrance and saw the wall parting again. With a large sack in tow, Niris emerged from the passage and rushed to the ship, much to Uluras’s surprise.  

“Niris, what are you doing here?” He questioned.

“I am coming with you, father,” said Niris as he made his way up the bridge.

“No, you are staying here!”

“And do what? Sit and wait for you to come home? Besides, you need my help, Baaba. You can’t man Zanj Lanmè on your own.”

Uluras sighed, mumbling something in Creole before placing his hands on his hips. “You’re just like your Mudda: thick-headed,” he demurred, though he increasingly became convinced. “Hurry up and gadda supplies below deck,” he finally conceded.

Niris smiled widely with his teeth, rushed on deck, and thanked his father with a big hug before disappearing below.

“Mr. Kowalski.” Uluras turned to face the shorter man.

“Aye, Captain?”

“Would you mind helping my boy while I talk to your friend here?”

Jacob looked at Newt beside him, who gave him a nod to go on without him. “No, not at all,” said Jacob. “I’ll get right on that.”

Jacob lackadaisically headed in the same direction Niris had since disappeared to. Uluras walked in the opposite direction, towards what Newt recognized as the captain’s cabin. He opened the painted red door and held it for Newt to walk in after him.

The cabin was impressive, to say the least, a real French antique of the late seventeen hundreds. It was as long as it was wide, made up of dark wood in which the walls were paneled and decorated with miscellaneous objects such as maps and paintings. A few bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick unknown books and some geographical tools. The farthest wall was covered edge to edge with five long, glass arched windows, leaking streams of light into the otherwise dim cabin. To the left was a rather posh canopy bed a few feet from a large cluttered desk that was bolted to the center of the floor.

Uluras let the door close and walked towards the desk. As he passed, the lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the candles sitting on the desk lit to illuminate the room around them, creating a warm glow of light.    

“Dumbledore sent you to me with the hopes I will take you to Italy,” he spoke. “Normally I wouldn’t be bodda’d to take anyone anywhere in this here ship, but it appears I don’t have a choice.” Uluras crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk as he inspected Newt. “I get the feeling you are an honorable man, Mr. Scamander. Odda'wise, you wouldn’t be chasing demons across the world. Demons such as Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Dumbledore told you,” Newt deduced.

“Even if he didn’t, I wouldn't need him to tell me a war is brewing. Everyone knows about Grindelwald and his blind followers. And everyone knows you. You managed to fight against him twice, most recently in France. No doubt you are planning to face him again.” Uluras let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t know if you are brave, stupid, or both. Maybe I am stupid for agreeing to help. Nothing good comes to those looking for trouble.”

“Sometimes it feels more like trouble is looking for me,” said Newt.

“The best people are tasked with fixing the worst of the world. Trouble chooses you because you are destined for greatness. It’s best to remember that.”

Oddly enough, Uluras’s words gave Newt the encouragement he needed. While he was always one for an adventure, the events that transpired the last few months left him feeling defeated. The loss of Leta filled him with a great deal of grief, one that numbed him almost completely. When Dumbledore called him back in arms, there was a flicker of hope that punctured his heart. He could avenge her, and save Credence and Queenie. He could stop Grindelwald once and for all. These were the thoughts that went through his head. But once his high died down, and he realized just how serious a mission he was embarking on. He quickly became apprehensive. What if he was in way over his head? What if he failed? What could he possibly do to stop a psychotic dark wizard from waging war on muggles? All of those anxieties seemed to muffle with Uluras’s reassurance.

Newt was brought from his inner monologue when Uluras placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He must have sensed Newt’s doubts and concerns. “I will take you to Italy,” he promised. “Don’t worry Mr. Scamander, you can trust me and my son to get you where you got to go.”

Newt smiled awkwardly and bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Uluras slid his hand off Newt’s shoulder and gestured to the door. “Why don’t you go find your friend and my son. He should be able to show you to your quarters while I prepare us to sail.”

Newt nodded and headed out the door, leaving Uluras behind in the cabin to find Jacob.

               ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ──── 

❦ 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺                                                                   𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 ⊱

              ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ────

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

History: Endlessly Repeating

Summary: History repeats itself. Or Alfred realizes that there aren’t that many differences between Martha and Thomas Wayne and Bruce and Selina.

A/N: Did I have to go through and read the Pennyworth wiki for Martha to write this because I haven’t seen the show and my knowledge comes entirely from beautiful gif sets made by lovely people? Most definitely. Hopefully it doesn’t show. (And if it does, just play along and accept that this is canon for Gotham!Martha. Please.)

One thing that Alfred Pennyworth has learned during his undisclosed number of years on this Earth is that some turns of phrase are far more accurate and truthful than others. Perhaps the one that holds the most validity in his mind is “history always repeats itself.” When he was still young and living in England prior to his time in the military he used to find the phrase obnoxious because surely history wouldn’t actually repeat itself. But then two things happened:

The first: he saw men, some good, some evil, and some simply too young for their morality to even matter, be murdered in front of him over and over and over again. Eventually he determined that history had to repeat itself because there was no way that each day he witnessed such misery was a new horror and not just a nightmare that had somehow gotten stuck in a loop.

The second happened decades later and featured slightly less bloodshed. The event? He watched Bruce Wayne fall in love with Selina Kyle and it was just like watching Thomas Wayne fall for Martha Kane.

***************************************************************************************************

It started early on, when Master Bruce and Ms. Kyle were 13. Alfred had objected vehemently to the young girl staying at Wayne Manor (Master Bruce did not need a walking, talking reminder of his parents’ deaths and Alfred did not need another teenager to try and keep track of), but had been overruled. The first couple days had been nothing short of a disaster. Ms. Kyle seemed determined to prove that ‘Cat’ was an appropriate nickname and walked around the manor not interacting with others and giving the overall impression that she could not be bothered with anyone else. Alfred himself didn’t mind cats, but began to think that he might not like them if they could talk back to him like Ms. Kyle could. He was ready to evict her without a second thought when he stumbled upon the most peculiar thing. Or, more accurately, heard the most peculiar thing.

Master Bruce was… laughing. His young charge was honest to goodness laughing. Of course, this prompted Alfred to poke his head into the study where Master Bruce had been sitting, only to find breakfast food being lobbed every which way by both Master Bruce and Ms. Kyle. Under normal circumstances, Alfred would have instantly punished both and made them clean the whole room, but it had been months since Master Bruce had laughed and Alfred suddenly realized that he probably would have walked over hot coals if it meant that the last Wayne would laugh for 30 seconds. That fact alone would have granted the two children immunity for their food fight, but then Bruce turned his head so Alfred could see his profile and it was like all the air had been sucked out of the older man’s lungs because for a moment he could have sworn that a young Thomas Wayne was the one throwing a croissant across the study and not his much younger son. As much as Alfred knew that Master Bruce would never be Thomas, he couldn’t help but smile wryly because having a food fight in lieu of actually eating their breakfast would have been very characteristic of the Wayne couple.

Thomas would have always been far too serious and self-respecting to engage in such childish fun, but then he met Martha Kane and slowly but surely she seemed to fill him with a pure joie de vivre rarely seen outside of a kindergartner’s birthday party. While Alfred could not remember the older Waynes ever engaging in a food fight, he had seen Martha play countless harmless pranks on her husband. (Her favorite was always to spray Thomas with the gardening hose, a simple trick Alfred so closely associated with her that he cried the first time he had to use the hose after her death.) Martha’s ability to make Thomas laugh had always been one of Alfred’s favorite things about her, even if he had found her casual attitude a bit obnoxious early on in their friendship. But that annoyance had quickly turned to a fondness before deepening into love and perhaps the same thing could happen with Ms. Kyle (though Alfred would be horrified at the very suggestion).

History was indeed repeating itself because a young brunette has just made a Wayne man laugh with such joy that Alfred couldn't help but smile himself.

***************************************************************************************************

Master Bruce’s friendship with Ms. Kyle continued to grow as the months passed until Alfred had begun to begrudgingly accept that the young girl was likely to be at least a semi-permanent fixture in their lives. He had taken to teasing Master Bruce about developing a crush on Ms. Kyle relatively quickly after the two had become friends, but had never anticipated the two developing a friendship as deep as their quickly became.

That had been the case with Martha and Thomas as well, so Alfred likely should have seen the writing on the wall long before he did. As it was, he did not become alerted to just how close his ward and Ms. Kyle had grown until they snuck into Indian Hill together. Martha and Thomas had snuck into more places than Alfred thought he could remember, especially in the early years of their relationship. Once the two had gotten married they spent significantly more time sneaking out of galas to go home than they did sneaking into enemy territory. But, sadly, it seemed like Master Bruce had adopted the habit of getting into places he should not have been sticking his nose in much, much earlier than his parents had. (Many years in the future, Alfred was disappointed, though not surprised, to find that a long-term romance did not dissuade Bruce from sneaking around.)

As Alfred stood next to a group of GCPD cars near Indian Hill and watched the two teens talking together, Ms. Kyle perched atop a squad car with Master Bruce standing so that he had to look up at her, Alfred found himself very grateful that if Master Bruce was going to insist upon getting into trouble that he had a friend to do it with. Hopefully, some day another one of Master Bruce’s peers would come along and act as a calming influence, but until then at least Ms. Kyle was good at making sure everyone survived their misadventures. Alfred was imagining what lovely young woman or man would be the one Master Bruce would be sneaking out of galas with in the future as Officer Gordon came over to say good-bye to Master Bruce so that the older man could go off to try and find Dr. Thompkins. Officer Gordon seemed to be another man whose rebellious nature had been tempered when a loving woman entered his life. Alfred was turning around to comment on that exact idea to Master Bruce when he found the young man sharing an inside joke with Ms. Kyle and the two curling into themselves as they giggled, two people in their own little world.

And here was history repeating itself again. Afterall, Thomas and Martha had been partners in crime, just as much as Master Bruce and Ms. Kyle were quickly shaping up to be.

***************************************************************************************************

Alfred does not know how to feel when Ms. Kyle shows up at the manor just as he had finally convinced Master B to accept that she had stood him up and that he had cooked such a lovely meal for someone who would never stick around. On the one hand, he could never wish harm on the boy who he loves so very much, but on the other, he cannot imagine a world in which Ms. Kyle will not cause that boy an undue amount of pain. That girl had not had to sit across from Master Bruce as the boy fretted and worried about her wellbeing. She had not seen how he had once cried talking about how their two lives were so different and how he’d give up anything so that she didn’t have to worry about money and food and a place to lay her head. He had not seen how Master Bruce had wrung his hands as he waited for her to show up. Alfred highly doubted that she had noticed how the boy’s eyes lit up whenever he saw her. How could a girl who floated through the world like it was hers know to treat Bruce Wayne like the precious soul he was?

Many years ago, in what felt like a completely different lifetime, Alfred had once had very similar thoughts about another couple. Granted, he had had a much higher opinion of Martha Kane at the time than he did of Selina Kyle, but he had worried about if Thomas was heading for heartache when his friend had started truly courting Martha. He could remember one early outing where Thomas had arranged for an elegant dinner at one of Gotham’s most impressive restaurants only for Martha to show up an hour and a half late. Thinking back, Alfred cannot remember what her excuse was, but he can still remember exactly what Thomas sounded like as he called Alfred from the restaurant payphone asking what to do once Martha was an hour late. The protectiveness Alfred had felt for his friend then was nothing in comparison to how he felt about Master B now, but even then Alfred had encouraged Thomas to break the romantic relationship off. (His mother had always said Alfred did not have the patience for a romantic relationship that lasted longer than six weeks and she certainly had a least a bit of a point.) Thankfully, Thomas had not listened to Alfred that day, but the present Alfred certainly was hopeful that Master B would cut Ms. Kyle loose tonight.

Alfred did not think he could quite handle seeing a repeat of a history where a Wayne man had to put his heart into the hands of a girl who was not as careful with it as Alfred thought she should be.

***************************************************************************************************

Sometimes history repeats itself in a way that makes Alfred want to give up. There have been countless nights since the one in the alleyway four years ago that Alfred thanked his lucky stars that he was not there to see Martha and Thomas killed. (He knows that is probably selfish and that he should wish that he and Bruce could have traded places so that the latter had not seen his parents’ murders, but Alfred doubts that he could have shouldered the burden of that experience a fraction as well as Bruce has.) And, as he stands at the front desk of Gotham Hospital trying to fill out paperwork about how Selina came to be shot in the study, he wishes that death was not a part of history that could repeat. In a cruel twist of fate, Alfred had not seen this surely fatal gunshot take place either; no, that burden would once again be Bruce’s alone to bear.

Alfred had already wanted to murder Valeska the second he had seen what the monster had done to Bruce earlier today, but when the only remaining Wayne walks back into the hospital waiting room, his eyes empty of hope and tears leaving tracks along his face, Alfred thinks that he would happily kill Valeska at least once for every tear Bruce has cried and still feel that justice had not been done. Alfred takes the clipboard of paperwork to go and sit next to his charge in the waiting room. He knows that no amount of words he could ever say will help Bruce to feel better, so Alfred simply wraps his arm around Bruce’s shoulders and pulls the boy into a hug, just like he had in a dirty alleyway after the Wayne’s were killed. The two hug for a few minutes before Alfred pulls out a handkerchief and reminds Bruce, just like he did then, to dry his eyes because people will be watching. The advice seems just as pointless now as it did before, but Alfred believes grief should be allowed to be private, so Bruce must appear composed until he can grieve in private.

Of all the ways history could have repeated itself, this is Alfred’s least favorite one yet.

***************************************************************************************************

Thomas looked at Martha exactly like that, Alfred catches himself thinking one day. It’s the middle of summer and Gotham has been separated from the mainland for about four months. Alfred is trying his hardest to make something edible out of the small rations he has been given while Bruce and Selina are sitting on the ground in the living room of the small apartment Alfred had claimed for himself and Bruce early on. He thinks they are trying to play Monopoly, but they seem to be struggling on account of at least half of the necessary cards being absent from the box. While Ms. Kyle seems frustrated by the missing cards, Bruce seems entirely content to simply spend the evening watching her as she tries to come up with a way for them to still play. His eyes are so soft and hopeful that it hurts Alfred’s heart. Alfred had once believed that Bruce would never get to experience that whole-hearted love that his parents had had, but it has continuously appeared that, for better or for worse, Bruce has found that love in Selina Kyle.

The two are almost painfully similar to Thomas and Martha in some ways. Bruce is as committed to justice as his father. Selina’s mischievous streak makes Alfred believe she and Martha would have been great friends and a force to be reckoned with. Bruce’s eyes and jaw could have only come from his father. Selina possesses a constantly simmering anger just beneath her surface that Alfred has only seen in Martha. Bruce and Selina find themselves in trouble just as often as they find themselves breathing; Thomas and Martha were only slightly better. Martha and Thomas loved each other more than anything else and Alfred hasn’t heard Bruce or Selina say so, but he firmly believes the younger two feel similarly.

Sometimes history repeats itself in bold ways. But more often than not, it repeats itself in the small moments. Moments like this one, where Bruce Wayne looks at Selina Kyle with all the love that Thomas Wayne looked at Martha Kane with.

***************************************************************************************************

It seems fitting that countless moments of repeated history should inevitably deliver Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle to the same destination as it had delivered the former’s parents. Some of the parallels between this Wayne wedding and the one decades ago are purposeful, but many are not and Alfred smiles to himself because, in a slightly cruel twist of fate, he is the only person who has had the honor of attending both ceremonies. (Perhaps, he thinks, the fact that he gets to see both Thomas and Bruce Wayne fall in love with women who make them better men is a gift from the universe and not the curse he had once felt it was.)

Selina, who took to wedding planning significantly more than anyone had anticipated, has done her best to duplicate Martha’s wedding bouquet and chose her wedding dress around how it would look with Martha’s pearls. The young woman had poured over old wedding photos and bent over backwards trying to find small ways to help Bruce feel his parents’ presence at his wedding. When Alfred had asked Selina why she was working so hard to include Martha and Thomas in the wedding, she had explained that this was the best wedding gift she could think of to give Bruce, a sentiment so beautiful that Alfred had had to excuse himself to cry for a moment. It was just like both Selina and Martha to work to find small ways to display their love for their significant others and it was a characteristic that made Alfred love Selina more than he already did.

The wedding ceremony is short and sweet and absolutely perfect for the couple that has already vowed to spend eternity together over and over in every possible way. Alfred had had a similar thought when Martha and Thomas had been married. The couple is exiting the chapel, grinning bigger than they ever have before and reminding Alfred of the joy he felt at Thomas and Martha’s wedding, when it happens.

History repeats itself one final time as two of Jeremiah Valeska’s henchmen shoot Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne, targeting and killing both Batman and Catwoman. Alfred’s world ends for the second time as Martha Wayne’s pearls once again fall to the pavement. History, it seems, is endlessly repeating.

***************************************************************************************************

A/N: That ending was not what I was originally planning when I sat down to write this (I was going to let it end happily), but the idea came to me and I couldn’t write anything else. I’m really sorry, folks.

[slytherin-puffskein]

hope’s lullaby.

summary: The summer between Laurent King’s fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts was the one that hurt the most. Luckily, comfort came to him.

- - -

notes: a huge thank you to all my beta readers for the wonderful feedback they gave me!

- - -

Hope, as Laurent King had recently found out, is nothing but a lie. A stupid invention. A cruel lullaby meant to soothe you with unrealistic scenarios and to make you believe that everything is, in fact, alright when it is clearly not. He had made the mistake of hoping through all summer, of creating himself nonsense --illogical yet comforting scenarios in his mind-- and the truth about hope was finally hitting him full force: it’s sole purpose is to leave you, to abandon you, and to leave you stuck with your own feelings and disarray.

These were his thoughts as he laid before him the many letters he had just received. Spending the entirety of August at his aunt’s place, he had taken care to inform all of his friends of his new address. As he had expected, tons of messages have been sent to him, filled with love and friendship, now awaiting to be read. Even though he knew he should be feeling happy he felt a terrible, selfish bitterness take over his being as he realized something. Fucking called it. But why am I disappointed, if I had already sort of expected it? This doesn’t make fucking sense. None of this does. Why why why? Before him laid letters sent by Penny Haywood, Rowan Khanna, Tulip Karasu… none of them bore the name he had wished most ardently to see.

Barnaby Lee.

Throughout the course of the entire summer, Laurent had no received a single letter from him. It was as if, suddenly, Barnaby had vanished from the surface of the Earth. Or, as Laurent was thinking, as if he, himself, had vanished from the surface of the Earth. As if Barnaby had forgotten about him, had told himself he wasn’t worth it in the end, and the worst was that he didn’t even had the decency to end whatever they had via a letter. 

Whatever they had, he was using that phrase because he simply couldn’t find any other words to use. Friendship? They had more than that, ever since their date at the end of their fifth year. Love? No, they never kissed. And now it would probably, most definitely, never happen. You lost him. You lost it all. What did you do wrong? Everything, probably. It’s just as your dad tells you! No one will ever love you, not with how you currently are. A sob threatened to break through his lips, but he miraculously succeeded in holding it back. Instead of sitting on his bed and crying, he simply slipped the letters under his pillow. He’d read them later.

He didn’t have the time then, because it was time for his shift at his aunt’s bakery. Thank Merlin, I’ll have something to do to take my mind off this shit.

* * *

“Turn that frown upside down!”

Cyril Colin, Laurent’s cousin, was an all too optimistic guy, and at that very moment Laurent was finding himself feeling deeply annoyed. What does he know about what is going on anyway? I didn’t tell him shit. He has no business to try and comfort me. Of course, in another state of mind, Laurent would have appreciated that gesture, but right then the only thing he wished for was to be left alone, and to focus on the croissants he was baking.

In the face of his cousin’s silence, Cyril pouted, and insisted: “C’mon, Laurent. You know you can tell me everything, right? You’re here for me, it’s only fair that I should be here for you. So what’s wrong? Is it related to a wi--”

But before he could finish that final word, Laurent had shoved the first thing that landed in his hand, a macaron, in his cousin’s mouth. “Hush! Don’t say that word out loud, you know it’s supposed to be a secret!” And just like that, the conversation was over, much to Laurent’s joy.

However, by the end of his shift, Laurent still only held one wish: to curl himself in his blankets and to sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Oh, yeah, that sounded just like paradise, at least to him. This is so ridiculous. Why am I so affected by Barnaby not sending me any letter? It’s not like he’s… my boyfriend or anything.

But that is something you wish for dearly, don’t you? a wicked voice whispered into his mind. You want to touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he figured out just how of a terrible guy you are. Remember what your father said: you act without thinking, and in your eyes the devil slumbers! That must be true, right? It surely is, since Barnaby’s left you!

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

And all of a sudden, it felt as if his throat was closing right up. He was suffocating, suffering, hurting, and only one thing became his priority: to get the hell out of here and get some fresh air. 

Even if he still had fifteen minutes left on his shift and should have waited until he was done, it was as if his body had a mind of its own, shaky fingers untied his apron and let it fall to the floor. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he was standing outside of the bakery, his cousin’s voice faintly calling for him from the inside, worry painting each of his syllables. He hated that. He hated that Cyril always felt the need to worry over him. I’m fine, Cyril. I’m fine, I keep telling you that and you won’t LISTEN. But the truth was, Laurent wasn’t feeling alright. Not at all. He was just too proud to admit it to himself --too proud to come to terms with the fact that he was truly affected by Barnaby’s radio silence.

Too proud to admit that you’re in love.

“Damn, did you just come back from a marathon or something? You could have warned me, I would’ve come with you. Y’know I love running.” That voice. That all too familiar voice. No, it couldn’t be. Wait. Could it be? No. I spoke to him on the phone last night. Surely, he didn’t come all the way here… or…

As he raised his head and locked gazes with the man standing in front of him, it felt as if his heart was about to burst. Not because of the sadness that had been piling up over it, but because of the pure, bright joy that had suddenly taken over. With a sigh of relief on his lips, he threw his arms around Oscar Whelan.

If people declared Laurent King to be mischief incarnate, that only meant they had yet to meet Oscar Whelan --trouble incarnate. Any ounce of chaos put a smile on his face, every action of his was a mere result of his impulsivity, and his entire aura said one thing and one thing only: ‘let’s run away, you and I. Let’s flee this world and build our own’.

At least, that was what it said whenever Laurent was with him, so he came to assume that it was the same with everyone else.

Born a Muggle, Oscar had known Laurent ever since childhood. They grew up together and he’d been the shoulder Laurent cried on when his mother gave out her last breath. Following her funeral Oscar had brought him to this family’s small apartment where a sleepover without any actual sleep had taken place. Through comforting words and gentle laughter, Oscar had done everything in his power to make Laurent’s smile come back, while also helping him deal with his grief.

When his Hogwarts acceptance letter came, Laurent had been overwhelmed with the wish to tell his friend everything, but he knew very well that in no way that could happen. Instead, he told him that his father had decided to make him a student in a strict boarding school, and that as a result he was meant to leave for ten months, ever year for the next seven years. Are you serious? Oscar had exclaimed. You mean, like, a boarding school with uniforms and such? Lying to his best friend had been the worst thing for Laurent, but he was also well aware that it was for the best. If he were to reveal the existence of the wizarding world to someone outside of his family, just what would possibly happen? Oscar wasn’t a loose lipped person, but no risks could be taken.

No, that’s a lie. A risk had been taken, but an entirely different one. By hiding his true life from Oscar, Laurent had harbored the fear that a wall would build itself between them, separating them and preventing them from fully understanding each other. From his perspective, that imaginary wall would only lead to one outcome: the destruction of his friendship with Oscar Whelan, and that was something he knew he couldn’t possibly handle.

Years had passed and the wall still had yet to make its appearance. But Laurent had kept on fearing, and at sixteen years old he was still terrified. Even with Oscar currently hugging him close, the anxiety related to losing his friendship sprang forth and threatened to take control of his brain.

How unjust, that I cannot tell him everything!

After several minutes of silent hugging, Laurent pulled away at last, but his hands remained splayed on Oscar’s chest to feel his heartbeat. His friend’s arm, wrapped around his waist, provided him with unimaginable comfort. “What are you doing here?” Laurent’s eyes were pretty much filled with question marks at this point, and Oscar could only smile.

“C’mon now, Lau. I know you. When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong, so I took it upon myself and decided to pay you a visit. Least I can do, right? Though I gotta admit, the thought of stepping into your bakery was also very enticing.”

“It’s not my bakery, Oscar.” Laurent giggled. “It’s my aunt’s, you totally know that.”

“Right. Otherwise you would have added many more flowers for decorations. You should talk about it to your aunt, I’m sure it would look great.”

Oscar’s words remained in Laurent’s mind: When you called me yesterday I felt something was wrong. Yes, Laurent had spoken to him on the phone, but never had he mentioned the letters or anything else related to them, for that matter. Had he sounded that sad? He almost wanted to ask, but decided not to.

“Are you done with your shift?”

“Only a few minutes left. Had to get out to get some fresh air.”

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m here, Laurent. To give you some fresh air. Finish those minutes left, I’ll wait for you here.” But he was smiling. Smiling, because he was seeing the glint of mischief already floating in Laurent’s eyes.

Laurent couldn’t help but smile back. “How about we go now, mhm?”

* * *

They spent hours together, and Laurent hoped that this day would never end. Because, finally, he was reunited with his friend. Finally, things were feeling less heavy, and he knew all too well that the distress would return as soon as it had left if Oscar were to leave. He obviously had to, at some point, and thus Laurent was mentally preparing himself for it. At least, he will be left with memories --wonderful memories to cling into. He would lie on his bed and replay them; hearing their laughs again, tasting the ice cream that Oscar bought for him again… and listening to their conversation again.

As he walked through the city with Oscar, a smile curled his lips when he remembered a conversation which occurred only a few minutes ago. They had been sitting on a bench, in Laurent’s favorite park because of its many trees, and he had decided to tell Oscar. Not the whole wizard business, obviously, but bits and pieces of the life that he had never told him about.

His new friends, for example.

“You have Penny Haywood.” He had told with a smile while still eating his ice cream. Caramel, his favorite flavor. “She’s, like, the sweetest girl ever, I’m telling you. Rowan’s is the best nerd, he helps me studying whenever I struggle with something. At some point, he even practically held me hostage in the library so I could finish my paper! My only focus was to walk around the school, take a breather… but Rowan had other plans in mind. Tulip is the greatest prankster, I think you’d like her. I know I do, she’s one of my closest friends. And--”  The words had died out, however, as he had realized that he had been just about to mention Barnaby Lee.

Oscar had noticed the sudden change of atmosphere. “Something wrong?”

So much. I’m so worried, Oscar. No! I can’t tell him about this. It would be… too complicated. He shook his head. “Nothing, I just… I just feel bad I never told you about them sooner” Lying by telling the truth, what a funny concept. “…about anything related to my school, in truth. It… it must suck, right?” Yes, lying by telling the truth, because he wasn’t telling Oscar the real reason behind his sudden change of emotion, but he was still talking about something that was truly bothering him.

Besides, he had to mention it at some point, right? He had to address his insecurities regarding his friendship with Oscar, the magical thing he cherished dearly, or else it would truly turn to dust.

Much to his surprise, Oscar giggled and gently nudged him. “You can tell or not tell me whatever you want, Laurent. I’ll never take it personal.” He suddenly paused, his brows knitting together in worry. “You… you didn’t tell me all of this because you felt like you had to, right? Because that ain’t right.” Laurent had been unable to not smile.

“No, not at all. I wanted to tell you about ‘em. You’re my best friend, after all. As you said, I tell you everything I want.” Maybe it had been a shadow, but he believed Oscar’s smile had wavered at those two words: best friend. Why, exactly?

He was still thinking of a reason, but he snapped back to reality as he realized that it was getting late. The sun was beginning to set, coloring the sky with beautiful orange and pink hues, and offered a sight that never failed to take Laurent’s breath away. He stopped in his tracks to just look up at its splendor. To memorize all of that beauty. Oscar did the same with a smile on his lips. 

“Beautiful, right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I can show you something even better.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Teasingly, Oscar placed his index over his own lips. “Curiosity is a bad thing, Laurent King~”

“Says the most curious guy I know!” And just like that, his worries were gone again.

* * *

Oscar insisted that they waited until the sky turned black and, once it did, Laurent let himself be guided by his friend, holding his hand and trying to figure out just what he had in mind. That, however, was the problem with Oscar Whelan: You never knew exactly what he was planning. Every second with him felt like a toss of the dice, with no idea as to which result you’d get.

They stopped in front of a huge building that Laurent recognized as one of the many gymnasiums of the city. Pulling out a pocket knife from his leather jacket’s pocket, Oscar got to work, quickly succeeding with picking the lock and granting them access inside. Luckily, no alarm system began to blare, and Oscar turned proudly to Laurent, offering him his hand once again. “You trust me, right?” The fact that Oscar had picked locks frequently was not only apparent from the skill he had demonstrated, but also from the absence of shock from his friend.

Now, Laurent was having a faint idea of what his friend had in mind. And without hesitation, he reached for his hand. “Of course I do, Oscar.”

And that was how they found themselves in the gymnasium’s public pool, moonlight spilling inside through the windows and reflecting itself on the calm water. A beautiful sight, truly, one that rendered Laurent still with wonder for a moment. Oscar was right. It’s so beautiful.

“You’re crazy.” But the joy in his voice was impossible to not notice.

“Love you, too.” Oscar replied as he began to undress.

Laurent was quick to do the same and, once they were only in their underwear, he realized just how cold the air was, and how much colder the water would surely be. Oscar probably had made the same realization, because his wicked smile graced his features once more. With the moonlight illuminating the side of his face, he almost looked ethereal. Like a dream. A dream that Laurent found most comforting.

“I dare you,” Oscar’s said, voice filled with challenge, “to jump.”

Oh, you’ll see, Oscar! Laurent immediately turned to look at him, fists on his hips in an attempt to make himself look more intimidating. “I dare you to jump. Wait, no, double dare you!”

“Oh, is that the game you want to play, Laurent? You know I love games.”

The teasing, the stifled in giggles that their voices were containing, it all reminded Laurent of the many blissful moments they had spent together ever since they met, moments he'd missed dearly at Hogwarts. After months of being without his best friend, everything was now falling back into place. He had Oscar, everything was alright.

That wonderful chaos he loved sharing with him had also made its comeback, it seemed, as Oscar suddenly reached for him, his arm wrapping around his waist and bringing him closer --much closer. “You brought this upon yourself, Laurent!”

And with Laurent’s roaring laughter filling the air, Oscar jumped, inevitably dragging his friend along with him.

They broke out of the water’s surface, laughing, splashing each other; and, before Laurent knew it hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, for a reason he knew all too well and yet didn’t dare admit. Oscar realized he was crying fairly quickly, and swam closer to wipe them away. “Did you really not enjoy that at all?” He was telling this to make him laugh, it was evident in his gaze.

And it worked. Laurent giggled, then sniffled and nodded. “Yup, truly terrible.” A smile came, but he decided, at last, to tell him what has been haunting him. “I just… have a friend from school ignoring me. A friend I like a lot, and… and it sucks.”

By saying it out loud, finally acknowledging his feelings, it felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, and he could feel himself breathing with much more ease. Oscar’s features softened, and his hand landed on Laurent’s wet shoulder. An awfully comforting touch.

While Oscar Whelan usually talks an awful lot, at that very moment he was silent as he hugged Laurent closely. Despite how little they were wearing, Laurent found himself unbothered. He’s my best friend, it would take much more to bother me.

And so, they hugged, and soon enough Oscar was whispering to him the lyrics of his favorite song. Ground control to Major Tom. Laurent let that song lull him into calmness, into total peace, and his eyes fluttered shut as they both stood still in the pool, surrounded by water. Calm, soothing water.

Maybe hoping wasn’t such a bad thing. With his friendship with Oscar, he had the hope --the belief-- that everything would turn out alright. That Barnaby would talk to him again. That he would be allowed, somehow, to love him. Those thoughts soothed him to the core.

They sang quietly.

For here am I sitting in a tin can,

Far above the world,

Planet Earth is blue,

And there’s nothing I can do.

* * *

Never write to him or even speak to him, again. Or I’ll kill him.

Barnaby’s grandmother words had kept ringing in his ears ever since the beginning of summer. He sat in his room as the moon shone bright in the sky, and caught himself staring at it.

And hoping.

Hoping that things will turn out alright.

And that he’ll soon, somehow, be with Laurent again. To touch his hands, to touch his lips, to be his.

But hope is a futile, useless thing. Isn’t it?

[cgcpoems]

LEO: You really don’t want to admit it, because it’s a pretty ridiculous thought, but you’re scared of what being fully healed from the heartaches you’ve experienced entails. Because you aren’t sure of who you are when you aren’t hurting and you don’t know how to observe the world with unclouded eyes. It’s okay to be apprehensive of the sides of yourself that you haven’t had many opportunities to become acquainted with. While you may know yourself better than anybody else, that doesn’t mean that you need to be an expert on all things you. It’s okay to still be in the process of meeting yourself and figuring out who you are. You aren’t racing the clock. VIRGO: You’re finally embracing the things you’ve been talking about doing for so long, but something feels off about it and you don’t know why. Because isn’t this the thing you’ve been working towards? Isn’t this the life you pictured yourself living after pulling yourself out of the gutter and onto the grass? I don’t think it’s right to assume that you’ve made the wrong decision here, but it’s important to remember that not everything you wrap your arms around is going to feel soft and easy to swallow. Sometimes the right decision has to hurt in order for it to be the right decision. Soon you’ll know if there’s anything that needs changing. LIBRA: I know that trusting your instincts after being led astray so many times is a difficult thing for you to wrap your head around. You’re not the type to forget about the poor decisions you’ve made, or the mistakes you’ve given life to. However, road bumps and wrong turns aside, you are still a person worth listening to. It may seem as though everybody else has a map showing them the route to success and that yours was lost in the mail, but I’m going to let you in on a secret: nobody has a clue, a lot of us are just really good at acting as if we are. You haven’t fallen behind, you’re running with the wolves. SCORPIO: Everyone assumes that you have a lot of love in your life but, while it’s easy to pinpoint a handful of people that have handled your heart with the utmost care, it’s easier to identify those that haven’t. At the end of the night the latter is what plagues your thoughts and wrings the tears out of your eyes, and admitting to that seems like a sign of weakness. But I want you to know that you aren’t obligated to live up to the expectations that the world holds for you. You’re allowed to make your own goals and visit your own places of interest. And the people that can’t love you for that aren’t people that you need surrounding you, anyways. SAGITTARIUS: You have a tendency to look for yourself in everybody you meet, stacking your personality traits up like chips in a poker game that you’re destined to lose. The problem here is that in order to do this it involves reducing yourself to the most basic of traits and that isn’t what you are. Just because you can rattle off a list of acquaintances that use humor to detract from a situation in the same way that you do, doesn’t mean that you’re a carbon copy conglomerate of the souls you’ve met and interacted with. You’re unique, and you’re a lot more than simply a list of shared qualities. There are parts of you that cannot be put into words. CAPRICORN: Has anybody told you lately that they’re proud of you? I know that things have been piling onto your windowsill and that you haven’t had the energy to clean it off yet but you’re still standing tall and you’re still here and that’s something to be happy about. Celebrating the small victories isn’t something that you’re used to doing, but it’s time that you start; it’s time that you open your eyes to all of the things that you do on a daily basis that warrant praise and positive attention. An action doesn’t have to be monumental in order to be important. You do wonderful things each and every day. AQUARIUS: It’s been difficult to get back into the depths of your passion because there’s a really loud voice in your head saying that it isn’t worth it. A feeling of insecurity welling up in your throat and spilling out of your mouth whenever you open it to speak. Sure, your dream is big. Cynics may have told you that it isn’t worth pursuing. But there’s a reason that you’re chasing what you are, right? It’s because it makes you happy, and it makes you feel whole. And I know that it can be incredibly discouraging to stumble over things you care about, but you just have to keep walking despite all of that. Your goals are worth it. PISCES: Lately you’ve been haunted by the memories of people that only came into your life to take. The nightmares have become an almost regular guest in your bed, taking the sheets and kicking your shins every night like clockwork. I want you to know that what you need to do in order to gain closure over the unkind past seems terrifying because it is. I also want you to know that you deserve to move on from those that have harmed your growth in the past. It may seem impossible to reach a place of contentment with the situation you’re picturing as you read this, but you’re more than capable of surviving what’s follow you. Allow yourself to thrive. ARIES: Taking care of yourself still feels foreign, sometimes. Acting adult-like is an oversized jacket that you’re familiar with shrugging off and leaving at home despite the weather that requires its presence. There’s too much societal and social pressure to be fully grown all of the time, in my opinion. Not to say that you shouldn’t be responsible, or that you don’t already take care of the things that you need to, but you’re able to reevaluate what it means to be a successful human being. You aren’t chained to standards or rules or cookie-cutter definitions of “being a grown-up.” Don’t lose touch with the roots that mean so much to you. TAURUS: Another ending, another heartbreak, another name written through the steam on your shower wall. It isn’t fair that you give so much and still only get apple cores and empty promises handed back to you. I know you’re starting to wonder if it really is a “you-thing,” if the absences you’ve needed to learn to exist around were created by your own hands in ignorance. While most failed connections falter on both sides of a line, that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be mean to yourself for things that aren’t exclusively your fault. Being kind to yourself is a practice that will benefit you more than you know. It’s okay to give yourself a break. GEMINI: Happiness is a lover that always sends you postcards but never tells you when they’re coming home. You’ve grown so accustomed to their quick scrawl reading “wish you were here” that you can almost predict each cards’ arrival after every new bout of sadness. It feels like your emotions enjoy mocking you a lot of the time, making you cry over your latest heartache while reminding you of the moments in which you felt nothing but pure and unfiltered joy. I can’t guarantee the continuous presence of bliss in your life, but I will say in confidence that it’ll always come back to you. Even when you think it won’t. Especially then. CANCER: It’s a lot easier to let the dying embers of a fire fade into darkness than it is to stoke them back to life. I know that you’re tired of crouching next to weak flames, watching them flicker and refuse to glow despite your best efforts, and for good reason. Everybody knows that you deserve better from the world, that isn’t a question. How could you, the big-hearted lover of love, be destined for something as ugly as this? The answer is that you aren’t. Large, beautiful, fulfilling things are on their way, slowly but surely. Don’t forget that it won’t always feel like this. You won’t always view happy moments as a quick reprieve from the norm. Promise.

AUGUST HOROSCOPES, by Caitlin Conlon

[riverdamien]

Humility and Faith

Session 7: Humility and Faith--James 4:1-17 . . .Warning Against Worldliness 4 What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions1 are yat war within you?2 2 You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask. 3 You ask and do not receive, because you ask zwrongly, to spend it on your passions. 4 aYou adulterous people!3 Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? bTherefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. 5 Or do you suppose it is to no purpose that the Scripture says, “He yearns jealously over the spirit cthat he has made to dwell in us”? 6 But dhe gives more grace. Therefore it says, e“God opposes the proud but dgives grace to the humble.” 7 Submit yourselves therefore to God. fResist the devil, and he will flee from you. 8 gDraw near to God, and he will draw near to you. hCleanse your hands, you sinners, and ipurify your hearts, jyou double-minded. 9 kBe wretched and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom. 10 lHumble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you. 11 mDo not speak evil against one another, brothers.4 The one who speaks against a brother or njudges his brother, speaks evil against the law and judges the law. But if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law but a judge. 12 There is only oone lawgiver and pjudge, he who is able to save and qto destroy. But rwho are you to judge your neighbor? Boasting About Tomorrow 13 Come now, you who say, s“Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”— 14 yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For tyou are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. 15 Instead you ought to say, u“If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” 16 As it is, you boast in your arrogance. vAll such boasting is evil. 17 wSo whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Introduction: On my desk sits the picture of an old friend who passed away several years ago, Annie, she was 95 years old. We met on line, she read of our work. Her interest in me came from having the religious name of "Damien of Molokai", for she lived on the island of Molokai. She paid my way to see her. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life, walking where Damien walked, so many year ago. We had prayer every morning, and as I picked up her Bible to read a passage I noticed that the Book of James was torn out of the book. I looked surprised, and she said emphatically, "James is not supposed to be in the Bible, we are saved by grace." Through the two weeks we were there I loved joking about James, and getting her riled, it was fun. The reality is James challenges all of us. He is very blunt about the Biblical message, but what he is saying is at the heart of the Gospel, the heart of which Paul proclaimed, in a different way of speaking. When we experience Jesus in our hearts, they are transformed, and we have to share him in our actions, we have to love other people. Each day as we read the lectionary, the Old Testament scriptures ring out with the same message in connection with the Gospel. My friend felt challenged by the bluntness of James, she was 95, she believed she could not do much for others. Her whole life was given for others, my experience alone, was one of the grace of God through her hands. The truth is all we are asked to do is to give our best. To aim for perfection, but we always fail, but we tried. We shoot the arrow, aiming for the target, sometimes we get close, the majority of the time we fail. In this session we invite you to meditate on the passage, think how in this time of crisis, we can have humility, and faith, in which we love our neighbor. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- 1. James 4:1-6: Two days ago as we shopped at Safeway, a fight broke out in front of us. Was it two street youth? Two homeless people? No, it was two seventy plus year old individuals fighting over the last role of toilet paper. They came to blows, the police were called. Well dressed, nice looking, and yet they gave in to their fears. How often do we let our own needs, desires, bring us to war with others? How often do we put our own needs over that of the greater good. Wars, great, and small are caused by selfish needs. By the way the "world behaves" implicitly says to us we are going adrift, and do not reflect upon the need of others, we become friends with the world. What are some patterns or values of the world that are easy to drift along and accept with out much thought that might come into conflict with the Biblical perspective of loving our neighbor? How can fear, panic, increase this conflict? 2. Verses 6-10: "Resist the devil and he will run away from you." James may have believed in the literal "devil", personally I believe in the evil that is within all of us, that which pushes us to be inhuman to others. James tell us that the devil is a coward when he/she is resisted, with prayer that claims the victory of Jesus on the cross. The devil's trick is to whisper that we know we can't resist; he/she has got us before and will get us again, so why not just give in straight way and save all that bother? It's a lie. Resist those tendencies to turn on others, to be selfish, and self-centered, to put yourself first--and the devil will run. What are the practical ways we can resist the "devil?" For example three weeks ago I had a light case of the flue. I was at a friend's house after I had recovered, and one of my friends joked with me about having the virus. I returned home, called my doctor, made arrangements to have the test, and waited. I have shut off my phone, simply to be alone, reflect, and not deal with constant questions. Yesterday my test results were back, and I am negative, I simply had the flu. In the mean time there were emails about rumors of me "having the virus." My tendency is to get angry, but now I simply laughed, and moved on. We resisted "the devil." So what practical ways can we all "resist the devil." 3. James contrasts "resisting the devil" with this promise: "Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you" (v8). This is astonishing God is ready and waiting. God longs to establish friendship with each of us, a friendship deeper, stronger, and more satisfying than we can ever imagine. Why is it sometimes hard to imagine that God wants a relationship with us? In between his advice on "resisting the devil", drawing near to God, and having a pure heart are comments on humility in verses 6 and 10. Apparently humility has something to do with these directions. What is the connection? 4. In verses 11 and 12 James warns about speaking evil of one another. He seems to have in mind the kind of slander or gossip which eats its way like a cancer in into our relationships, and requires urgent treatment if it is not to prove fatal. His point is this: anyone who does such a thing is thereby implying that the ordinary "law" which applies to Christians --that they should love their neighbor as themselves does not apply to them. They are above it! They can look down on such petty standards from a great height? They are, says James, "judging the law," instead of doing what the law says. When are we tempted to think that we are "above the Law," of loving our neighbor as ourselves and why? 5. Why is it so easy to talk about what's wrong with other people and cast them in a bad light? 6. Throughout this passage James warns against the temptation to put ourselves in the place of God. How do verses 13-16 highlight this danger in relation to our future plans? 7. James again has strong words in store for us--don't you realize, he says, what your life is like? Think of the mist; you see out the window on an autumn morning. It hangs there in the valley, above the little stream. It is beautiful, evocative, mysterious, yes, just like a human being can be. Then the sun comes up a bit further, and ..the mist simply disappears. That's what your life is like. You have no idea what today will bring, let alone tomorrow. How do you respond to Jame's observation about the fragility of life? 8. In practical terms, what would it look like to live out an attitude that expresses, "If the Lord wills, we shall live, and we shall do this or that"? 9. The chapter ends with a warning which is far more general, and indeed far more worrying, thanloj what has gone before. Not to do what you know you should do is actually to sin. Once you learn the humility to accept God's royal law ("love God and your neighbor as yourself), and to live by it, to accept God's ordering of all life and to live within that, then you see more clearly the positive things to which you are being called. This may be a major life decision, a question of your whole vocation and path of life. Or it may be the small Spirit-given nudge to do small act of kindness for a neighbor or a stranger. But once we have had that nudge, that call, then to ignore, to pretend we have not heard it, is a further act of pride, setting ourselves up in the place of God. So the question is that as we look over this passage, in what ways is God calling or nudging us to do what is right? ------------------------------------------------------------------ Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T. P.O. Box 642656 San Francisco, CA 94164 www.temenos.org 415-305-2124 punkpriest1@gmail.com “Why am I compelled to write?... Because the world I create in the writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. By writing I put order in the world, give it a handle so I can grasp it. I write because life does not appease my appetites and anger... To become more intimate with myself and you. To discover myself, to preserve myself, to make myself, to achieve self-autonomy. To dispel the myths that I am a mad prophet or a poor suffering soul. To convince myself that I am worthy and that what I have to say is not a pile of shit... Finally I write because I'm scared of writing, but I'm more scared of not writing.” -Gloria E. Anzaldúa Tenderloin Stations of the Cross Good Friday, April 10, 2020 Noon-2:00 p.m. Polk Street side of City Hall We will have the Stations of the Cross. Our plans are to do it alone, and have people go through the Stations at home. . Holy Communion We have taken Holy Communion to individuals who request the Sacrament. We administer the Sacrament outside, and have plastic gloves on, standing six feet away. We give only use only the host. We take all precautions.

[oliverphisher]

Maryanne O'Connor

What are one to three books that have greatly influenced your life?

Jane Eyre had a profound effect on me. I found it deeply moving and stirring, particularly the feisty and proud way Jane handles herself within a chauvinistic, class-driven society. That it was written by Charlotte Bronte in the mid-nineteenth century, a woman who lived a remote and sheltered existence on the moors in England, yet managed to pen this incredible tale, renders it one of the imaginative and inspired tales in history. Many say it is the first true feminist novel and it has certainly inspired my latest manuscript Sisters of Freedom. How extraordinary to consider that it still holds enormous impact one hundred and seventy odd years later, yet prose such as this cannot help but continue to move generations:

'Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart!'

'... it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal — as we are!' ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre What purchase of $100 or less has most positively impacted your life in the last six months (or in recent memory)? My good guitar needed a lot of repairs and I kept putting off getting it fixed which meant I'd hardly played for quite a while. Playing is very meditative for me so when I saw a $50 guitar for sale I just picked it up on impulse. Since then I've played constantly once more, and it isn't just the musical creativity that I realized I'd missed, it's the fact that I tend to play outdoors and usually at sunset. There's so much pleasure to be had strumming a guitar while the day fades. A positive impact indeed. How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?

It was a big challenge getting published and it took three years before I had any success. I honestly think most people would have given up but I'm very stubborn and determined, not always a good thing but fortuitous in this case. The rejection and hardship was very difficult to take but it taught me to work on my craft and I re-wrote the first manuscript over and again to get it right and be accepted. If I hadn't done that I don't think I would have been successful and I certainly wouldn't have the depth of gratitude that I feel every day in being a published author. Are there any quotes you think of often or live your life by?

My Dad used to always say 'every day is the best day ever' which I love. I also live by my own adage when it comes to writing 'if you lack inspiration simply begin, inspiration will follow'. That really cures writers block. You may start writing something you end up deleting but so far I have always found you do find inspiration as you go along. I also love Eleanor Roosevelt's quote 'the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams' and Henri Frederic Amiel's 'Oh be swift to love, make haste to be kind'. What is one of the best investment in a writing resource you’ve ever made? A professional edit. That takes you from thinking you may be able to write a book to showing you what's missing so you can actually get published. What is an unusual habit or an absurd thing that you love? Hmmm, where to start? I love Vegemite toast with melted cheese (which I think is normal but I've been told is weird), singing ABBA songs while I cook, talking like a pirate, my husband's 'dad jokes' (when I asked him to help me think of a type of fever the other day he said 'boogie'), being pinned down by my lab cross Saxon every morning because he wants morning cuddles and loves me too much to let me get up, age-inappropriate dressing and standing in the garden with my fingers in my ears during close football games. Oh, and I also consider Homer Simpson the greatest comical hero of our time. But he's an absurdity everyone loves, surely. In the last five years, what new belief, behaviour, or habit has most improved your life? Absolute and complete belief that good news is always on it's way. What advice would you give to a smart, driven aspiring author? What advice should they ignore?

Again, get a professional edit, and really work on your craft - every day if you can. The more you write, and read, the better you'll get. My other big piece of advice is to never, ever give up. Rejection is just part of the gig for an aspiring author but if you keep working hard at it, listen to good advice and keep sending your words out there sooner or later it will happen for you. As for advice to ignore? Never let anyone tell you it's just too hard and to give up. It's worth the angst, believe me. What are bad recommendations you hear in your profession often?

Self-publishing is often made out to sound far easier than it actually is and I've seen people get disappointed. If you're keen to go down that road, however, make sure you really research the best inroads and marketing strategies. In the last five years, what have you become better at saying no to (distractions, invitations, etc.)?

Over-committing myself socially. If you're on a writing lock-down because you have a deadline you have to stay focused and pushing yourself in other areas will only make everything harder. There will be plenty of time for champagne when you finish - and all the more reason to celebrate! What marketing tactics should authors avoid?

Trying to do everything and ending up not doing any of it well. Personally, I put most of my marketing focus into Facebook rather than newsletter fan bases and multiple social media channels or other advertising. I do think it is very important to understand your own brand, your own audience and to be clear as what stories behind the stories or angles you intend to pitch to the media. What new realizations and/or approaches have helped you achieve your goals?

If I wake up in the middle of the night with an idea I get up and write now. It's going to keep me awake anyway and some of my best plot twists or character traits have been born in the wee hours of the morning. I also no longer worry that I'll run out of ideas. Every human walking has a story, it's just a matter of choosing an era and a setting and blending ideas together. When you feel overwhelmed or have lost your focus temporarily, what do you do?

I sit outside or go for a walk. Nature heals like nothing else can. Or I talk it out with a loved one - I've learned not to internalize worry. Any other tips?

Don't get so caught up on being successful or getting it 'right' that you stop enjoying yourself. If you're writing from the heart it's a privilege and as worry-ridden as it can be, ultimately it's a pure joy.

________

Enjoyed this Q&A? Want to discuss in more depth? Join Community Writers. You'll get access to 100+ exclusive writing tips. Q&As with successful authors, an exclusive ebook on building an audience and much more. Sign-up for free as a community writer here

[tpanan]

My Saturday Daily Blessings

January 7, 2017

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........

Christmas Weekday (Roman Rite Calendar)

First Reading: 1 John 5:14-21

Beloved: We have this confidence in God, that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.  And if we know that he hears us in regard to whatever we ask, we know that what we have asked him for is ours.  If anyone sees his brother sinning, if the sin is not deadly, he should pray to God and he will give him life. This is only for those whose sin is not deadly. There is such a thing as deadly sin, about which I do not say that you should pray.  All wrongdoing is sin, but there is sin that is not deadly. We know that no one begotten by God sins; but the one begotten by God he protects, and the Evil One cannot touch him. We know that we belong to God, and the whole world is under the power of the Evil One. We also know that the Son of God has come and has given us discernment to know the one who is true.  And we are in the one who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ.  He is the true God and eternal life.  Children, be on your guard against idols.

Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 149:1-2, 3-4, 5, 6a and 9b

"The LORD takes delight on His people."

Verse before the Gospel: Luke 7:16

Alleluia, Alleluia

"A great prophet has arisen in our midst and God has visited his people."

Alleluia, Alleluia,

Gospel: John 2:1-11

There was a wedding at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." And Jesus said to her, "Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come." His mother said to the servers, "Do whatever he tells you." Now there were six stone water jars there for Jewish ceremonial washings, each holding twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus told them, "Fill the jars with water." So they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, "Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter." So they took it.  And when the headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine, without knowing where it came from (although the servers who had drawn the water knew), the headwaiter called the bridegroom and said to him, "Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now." Jesus did this as the beginning of his signs at Cana in Galilee and so revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him.

**Meditation:

John, the beloved disciple of Jesus, tells us that Jesus did many signs in the presence of his disciples. John recorded seven of these signs to strengthen our belief that 'Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name' (John 20:30-31). Jesus' first sign took place at a wedding reception in the town of Cana, which was very close to Nazareth in Galilee where Jesus grew up. What does this sign tell us about about Jesus? And what is its significance for us?  

From skepticism to belief John locates his account of Jesus' first sign by telling us that it occurred on the third day (John 2:1-2). What is the significance of the third day? This is three days after skeptical Nathaniel’s first encounter with Jesus. Philip had encouraged Nathaniel to “come and see” for himself who this Jesus was. When Nathaniel met Jesus, Jesus did something out of the ordinary. He revealed something personal about Nathaniel that only Nathaniel would have known. And then Jesus made a claim: 'You shall see greater things than these.' And he said to Nathaniel, "Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man"  (John 1:50-51). Jesus in so many words told Nathaniel, '“You don't just have to believe my words, what I am saying here. I am going to perform signs that will back up the truth of what I’m saying and prove that I am who I claim to be.' If someone makes that kind of claim to you, you are going to closely watch whatever he does to see if he can make good on the claim. You want to find out if he is genuine or just an imposter or maybe deluded and crazy.

Turning failure into blessing Three days later Jesus takes his disciples to a wedding reception and there he does something quite out of the ordinary, right in the middle of the celebration - and during a very embarrassing moment for the bride and groom. When Jesus' mother presses Jesus to do something about the situation, Jesus seems to put her off. But she knows her son very well and understands that Jesus will handle the situation that way he thinks best.

Why did the wedding party run out of wine in the middle of the feast? Perhaps Jesus contributed to this embarrassing failure by bringing a group of his disciples to the feast at the last minute. But Jesus had a purpose in turning a wedding feast fiasco into a blessing beyond reckoning. He wanted to bless a newly-wed couple and all those at the wedding banquet as well. Everyone received in abundance the best of wine. John describes Jesus' first public miracle as a sign. It is more than simply a demonstration of his power to change nature. It is a sign of what he has come to do - to transform the lives of all who will believe in him.

Bridegroom of the new Israel Why did Jesus pick an ordinary wedding feast in a little out-of-the-way town to perform his first sign and to launch his public ministry? A wedding feast in nearly every culture is a very big event, often the biggest celebration that people experience, because it brings families, neighbors, and sometimes the whole town together. For many people it is the happiest and most memorable occasion in their life.

,

For the people of Israel, the wedding feast had a special spiritual significance as well. It came to symbolize God’s special relationship and covenant with the people of Israel. The Old Testament describes God as the Bridegroom of Israel and presents his covenant relationship with the people of God as a spiritual marriage (Isaiah 54:5; Jeremiah 3:14; Hosea 2:16, 19-20). One of the most powerful images of heaven is the wedding banquet (Revelations 19:7-9). The Bible ends with the invitation to this marriage feast. "The Spirit and the Bride say, 'Come'" (Revelations 21:17).

So when Jesus chooses a wedding feast for his first sign, he is giving us a hint about something that will become more explicit when John the Baptist describes Jesus as the betrothed bridegroom of his people (John 3:29). In the other Gospels Jesus also alludes to his role as the bridegroom of the new people of Israel (see Mark 2:18-20; Matthew 9:14-15; Matthew 22:1-14; Matthew 25:6) when he invites both Jews and Gentiles to share in his heavenly banquet at the end of the age (Luke 13:29).

Changing water into wine What is so special about Jesus changing water into wine? Any good winemaker knows how to take a watery substance such as grape juice and turn it into wine. First you wait for the grapes to grow and mature. Then you pick the choicest grapes for the best wine you want to make. You crush the grapes into a mush. Then you add some water, yeast, and sugar. You allow this mixture to ferment over a period of several weeks. During that time you skim off the solid material until you are left with pure liquid - wine. Wine must be slightly aged to be drinkable - white wine must sit for half a year, and red wine for a full year. Some of the most famous wines are aged for many years.

Jesus didn't turn the water into a fruity grape juice, or into ordinary table wine. He instantly produced the finest and most expensive of wines - a fine vintage wine that would normally take years to age. He didn’t produce just enough wine to satisfy the embarrassed bride and groom and guests. He produced 120 gallons! Abundance indeed. The instantaneous turning of water into wine shows Jesus' supernatural power to transform natural things - what is physical and material - into something of a higher order. He has the same power which God possesses - to create, transform, and change creation itself.

The gift of abundant life If Jesus can change water into wine for an embarrassed wedding couple, how much more can he change us through the transforming power of his Holy Spirit. John tells us that 'all who received him [Jesus], who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God; who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God' (John 1:12,13). Jesus gives us abundant life. This sign at Cana points to his power not simply to improve the quality of our lives but to change and transform us to be like him - people of joy, peace, and love who do not fear death, but who know and experience even now the taste of eternal life - the life of God’s kingdom. He gives us everything we need to live as his disciples - as sons and daughters of God.Jesus blessed a nameless couple in Cana, not only with his presence, but with his power. He will bless us as well, not only with his presence, but with his healing love and life-changing power.

Let go of pride and fear What might hold us back from allowing Jesus to change and transform us? Perhaps you feel that your faith is weak, or that you are unworthy to receive God's favor and gifts. Perhaps you struggle with anxiety or despair because your life feels hopelessly out of control. Jesus knows our struggles and weaknesses better than we do. And that doesn't stop him from offering us freedom and transformation through the gift and working of his Holy Spirit.

Paul the Apostle reminds us that God chooses to work in and through fragile and cracked vessels, such as us, to reveal the power of his glory and love. 'We have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not to us' (2 Corinthians 4:7). If there is anything holding you back from trusting in Jesus, let it go - give it to Jesus. Let go of fear - fear of losing your life. Let go of pride - wanting to always be in control and get things to go your way. And let go of unbelief - the stubborn refusal to accept Jesus on his own terms and to deny that he has the words of eternal life. Be like Nathaniel and choose to follow the master - to the wedding banquet and beyond, to even greater things.

**Prayer:

"Heavenly Father, you have revealed your glory in our Lord Jesus Christ. Fill me with your Holy Spirit that I may bring you glory in all that I do and say.” AMEN.

Sources:

Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain © 1968, 1981, 1997, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

**Meditations may be freely reprinted for non-commercial use. Cite copyright & source: www.dailyscripture.net author Don Schwager © 2015 Servants of the Word