#more penance at last! rejoice!

[astudyincontrasts]

Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.”  You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish.  Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened.  You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not.  Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun.  You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!”  Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments.  You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not.  You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands.  You can remove the spent ones and toss them.”  She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though.  No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident.  The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday.  You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father.  You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well.  You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen.  When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.  

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church.  Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.  

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.  

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office.  You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway.  Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on.  He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held.  Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.”  He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again.  How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk.  Damn his paperwork.  

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.”  Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum.  One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet.  Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”  

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze. 

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.”  His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again.  He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?”  Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it.  Come back here.  Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat.  You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor.  But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise.  It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement.  The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday.  To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you.  To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears.  A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office.  Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait.  You had your own worship to attend to.  

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in.  And that little candle he’d taken.  His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.”  He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.  

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly.  Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?  

“...Father?”  It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time.  Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.”  He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet.  Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk.  Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?”  He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.”  You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.  

“Very good.”  

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth.  His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand.  The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.  

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit.  Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved.  It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.  

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath. 

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?”  The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.  

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow.  Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.”  He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused.  Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn.  The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines.  Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within.  Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.  

Fingers curled around it before you stopped.  Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against.  Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb.  If you please.”  His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost.  That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down.  Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you.  Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”  He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye.  You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome.  You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out.  Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders,  “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then.  Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist.  His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening.  He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.  

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?”  He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets.  And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.  

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular.  You’d replay it, over and over again at night.  Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand.  There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.”  He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel.  You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,”  He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous.  Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees.  He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,”  That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.  

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?”  He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged.  The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.  

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance.  Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?”  You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck.  Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship.  Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.”  You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.”  The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again.  He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more.  A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life.  Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.  

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation.  The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong?  What if someone had a key?  There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.”  He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter.  You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did.  The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly.  When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no.  That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.”  His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.  

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap.  His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.  

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?”  Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.  

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.”  You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?”  He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs.  One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.”  Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time.  The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,”  He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…” 

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge.  Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.  

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.  

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs.  God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.” 

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again.  Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex.  The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him.  He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward.  Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.”  He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.”  You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more.  Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch?  It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you.  The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter.  That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking.  What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes?  Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?”  The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.”  The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you,  “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

    my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

    where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet.  Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.  

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain.  As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong.  Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

    and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

    my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch.  Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat.  This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust.  Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could.  He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.  

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

    and in your name I will lift up my hands.

 I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

    with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender.  That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep.  It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within.  Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?  

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

    I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

    I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

    your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come... 

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release.  His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…?  You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard.  Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.  

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.  

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.  

“Amen.”  He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain.  Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood. 

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder.  Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered.  Bless me father, for I have sinned.  

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.  

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?”  He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.  

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?”  The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb.  You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

[childofchrist1983]

And it came to pass, when Jesus had finished all these sayings, he said unto his disciples, Ye know that after two days is the feast of the passover, and the Son of man is betrayed to be crucified. - Matthew 26:1-2 KJV

In this Bible passage, Jesus Christ was trying one more time to prepare the Apostles for His death. I'm not sure that they believed it. He had predicted His death twice before and their response was to say that they wouldn't let it happen and then they argued over who would be first when He came into His Kingdom. In a few days, they would be faced with reality, and they didn't handle it well.

We know what Judas' response was, he will betray Jesus. Do you ever wonder what the others were thinking? We also know that Jesus will be thinking about where they will celebrate the Passover meal. I'm sure He was also asking His father to help him through this time of testing. But what about Peter and the other Apostles? Sometimes, I think about Holy Scripture and wonder about the people involved in the passage. Here, I'm trying to figure out the Apostles. Did they talk among themselves about what Jesus meant? Were they looking for ways to protect Him from the chief priests? Did they even know that it was the chief priests that were plotting against Him, or did they think it was Herod or the Romans?

Lent is coming to an end. How are we preparing for Good Friday? Some traditions keep a very strict fast during Holy Week as a penance for their sins. Still, others add special prayers or extra times of community service. How will you or I prepare this year? Think about the LORD Jesus Christ and what must have been going through during His last few days on this Earth. We know that this was not the end; that His death would lead to His resurrection. He never gave up, He believed in the Father's plan and did all of this out of pure love and for our eternal salvation, and for that we are grateful!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He alone is able to save us, forgiving our sins and gifting us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven. It warms my heart to experience the restful peace and presence of His Truth, light and love and to hear the delight and joy in song as He and all of Heaven celebrates my rescue, and it is with joy and thanksgiving that I raise my voice in praise, rejoicing and song to celebrate with Him, and all because of Him. May we all feel the same.

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

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

[libidomechanica]

The army-surgeons made to side

A sonnet sequence

               1

So please along a race and yet hast but little canst not thy hapless false women thus: in Stella, when he devoured men a scourge I will cry to where it bitter is coming Soldiery behind a broad- blown comeliness. One stalks the cup. There is sometimes to haue found, and made one—turn down to my loue, where we are owed for want of matter what once be done! Disagreeable an antelope a Paphian pair of certain zest to use all faith, hope, love, nor white, across the sky, the rosy banquet love, and coldly mark the hot day, or hot desire, and I will heaven’s name.

               2

Gay, in such a night-market on display, they fled,—the former cruell ciuill warriors therein appeal unto some small for being caught inkling over the powrefull countenance dew. Suspicion quest to rest: low lies themselues suffize, in which grow more than these storme beaten long slow for the parts entyre, on which I would pull and wide sits mute and prospers; and that he did intwine, yet dewed with from the claver hay, they fled,—the forehead, and white linen hence, and I, in my haruest wast, my hope away in town; for, without a stain. Now as they who was surprising you by how fully know thee fall from this poem will be, whole neighborhood whom we call The Sky, I heard a Voice with penance like one afrayd, yet with Her I lost might have said, Incense from me a sleepe so favoured his passe Physitions art. For Jewel, he tore his return. But thou payèd were. I have to destroy’d.

               3

And twixt earnest glance at them fall to head. And bids him clayme with brasswork prinked, each humbled off with true sight, where the moon shall together present lot, as I grant you to seeke her heart, into the Heart. And that spot of joy. Smilingly exclaim’d Gulbeyaz, though some passions doe awake, and when cloudy looks and free, the Graces are my Last Love. Hope and make her back a huge house same as you’d have said, and comming, marrying, marrying, made him quail, or his own scythe, does the more free from fame’s black booke enrold, should add fresh younglings she bought and long enough; here you must go, to sing those sheet, at rest one, I only constantine. And the Seed of alle thine age should condemn all such a face of many a sturdy stoures. In a night, so when I waile she doth inuite some pitty, but few behold that in her faire of blisse, the rosy banquet loves you best, or choked be with fish.

               4

So is fayrest ymages of lackeys usher to our deep, dear silence and Oblivion is my souereigne Queene most thy heart-stifled, in her so goodly light lift vp theyr reuengefull yre did say, i’ll love, and all night above—devoid of Gold! Take things at times—to ope this rhyme; no scandals made him comb his heat the end of its insides grow. Where passion so; had, having lost their king, his trompet shrill hath thrise happy and pain, and hamstringent quality; thy teares they had been a snake: the eager matron who hast leave my idle days? For her eyes are dancing in Senses balance was grave. Warmth-given, fire-driven kindling coop’t we live; if not, die so I may pass the hour with some grand reason is it they golden orb of person, number. Such like clouds and listen’d domestic cares—no process prove, but when they jogg’d each time strips our illusion of his gray hairs—Alas me!

               5

Meaning wings put cross-wise on sometimes think it is, how you are little space. And He that vernal breast. Softly, in the moss, and talking sit listening, and dragged hand did lay, sweet season: I have not back from the burro, too rejoice to knit the turrets of the sky is still with iuncats, fit to bits— and they fix’d the cause to please all because her fill. Do more your patience bid me love, or season gave, and, in betwixt the lands, and wears The Crownéd Head under which a purple of the wheels.—And Wilderness—and Wilderness, full of all thy Piety nor Wit shall be able to set it glowing?

               6

Mark when so sad, I shall not run away, my love should find, but that’s haunting birds sing. Seeing the River’s Lip on which thou from thy linger, and this fair hues, nor knows whereof each somewhat may her there enthrals the sun is warm, and passion for people are having, and in posterity, is that blow by night have suppose Gulbeyaz heaved, I see you’ve forgot: let Rustum lay about me shatter’d into Clay: and sure, as if they sell. And the weathers false women’s pleasant mew, that they knew the rose i’ th’ funeral fire. My gift of a grone, thus much by separate self, in the ghost away.

               7

And merely forme into her gaue, the days. Base things,&sdeigne sometimes refigured to kiss and then she smiling because to save I would open field: is prison you look a little ear’s a lilly on ground, and digits, a voice against a glance up in sacks—a mode of navigation a good will, to sing so you ran and fashion’d all the pleasures be, shewes but she should admit. But vaine to be before: now out alasse he cryde and weep, and one of your might, where to appease her, say I have you for that burns the daffodils; beside the gems of Heaven, not mix’d their rough a farther!

               8

When he by chanced as down she knew him we were torn away: yet the Súfi flout; of my selfe could brooke: but al my wooing, in watching and clouds, were driven kindling breath thy lingering dart, giuen hath: that so is fayre sight, dear heart as sound Sweetness to the discover your branches play. Such stuff was courtesy, she that running madrigals. Or I will keep them shake upon the terrace, under gore, herkne to me aread: with looks and feather vew, chaunge of goodly part from solitude again; love sells the sun itself and were about him—oh my Camel! Along things down, that to do with thine?

               9

Mark when shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád and Kaikobád away. As we once am I in this arms into the bared bough, the small hips. And sin no more endear’d, many a squadron flies: it is the bands can themselves are slight to hang over the powre of loue we weightless message set in Salámán, whom all things entire, would learn. Last Love, I hear the smiles with heedlesse pleasure guide, which to the stair, and dispute? A Vessels one by one that Firmán-issuing Shah to whom thousand health the sign she was dosing each other, and the think’st well to trust, enjoy’d no sooner presents less?

               10

Within the realms of fairy, which form another then myne eyes so filled with that were a tale grow burnt as a mothers by traditional South. Did them onward, first inadvertent brush her mouth in waves, your name and beauty; and speak with Thee Annihilation— lost, or in Eternal beau. In almost-stale croissants clenched in never much to know, by this: in piercing phrase was half sears, like meteors and for her decay, and thou with oriental scruples hence, like a great shame broke promise! Yet dewed with her owne goodwill hir fyrmely tyde. When Night till Day! Descend, or say with payne.

               11

And yon garden grewe, bene withereth too. She danc’d to the silent be; and took amiss. But I am to be thou dost wound: full maiesty, for one; ten time. Thou art, Thou art fair—not the Knot of Human Death and save, should come young Porphyro! May live in schoole of Patience; if thou reviewest now is come, the bounds convey what dying liue, and all the custom still on her stubborne will I believe not back from the skie: and blest wi’ contentment here. But his ear and sent for yúsuf—she began to show by the ocean floods, the two could reach a quarters, to bitter sauces did fly.

               12

Yet in a Trice life’s strength’s abundance find by her high to pluck my heart, which oft doth yielded scutcheon blush seep through your sighing did appeares, when so bad end for a woman in his morning is, whatsoe’er thy peruse. As to announce all amorously I care for a moment of pale yellow vapours choke the glitter, magnificent large eyes levell’d oppose the face of a young Gouda such a yoke a fable, song, nor ever wilt thou wilt not with troubled the object flash’d from thine, and distinguish quite enough it is thy vertue as thy blacke, both bare and there is no noisier.

               13

—For her eye. If I speake her beauty scarce three times happier people lotted, at which was wont tenrage the rest, but the end of her, resting on like arrow we cannon- ball took off, dear heart let me heat, the shade: she sign she was summ’d in YES, and nought or rare: and grasshopper its last prayer with the one to looke. Know that Life flies; one things, prayer may never can spel, will show itself I seemed as this truth, truth descry the beldame star doth make her prayse, most goodly bosom, is Jenny, fair strange termes to his side, who but for on earth grow: and the sign’d to Juan, mutter’d House for a frog.

               14

And heart’s Desire of Heaven; and tingle, sunning waves in a closed well in amber, silken flanks with a twist it is perfect with furniture an exquisite apartment form, dost thou which droop not: Fortune frowns on me, if you’re for one, send very far! How after shall be. And all which they might probable! Of all thy wished to make her national South. And be once more I looked upon your skill so cunning, and injury of age were thing so much to be bought, from the other; though shyness in the skies which, shining scales, the delight that’s for they as soon as, Julia, that with salue of souerayne beauty of their habitation spend, and rules the rose, the charge or in the chambers had she now coupled be: vnited pow’rs make each others by a love that be now posting on that fayrest she, when perverted, does the Cuckow, messenger of that further beauty, flatter his peace and pine.

               15

Who now it not the fan be fynd, and the hands embrew. For lay-men, are all morals melancholy neck a rope he did bar. His root is ill. The glorious spoile, rose, and pity Sultán scarcely tell to force again! My heart had brooded, all akin and back the year that dies along, face to stay with pompous roialty. They cannot take me fret? Happy ye leaue like a child sitting all along her Queene. Thou, thyself on intellectual Light is only will be the truth; beareth there is like you. I have left to dreamingly. Make witness, here, between, above, and I think, he said.

               16

For never could risk or compounds were mine forever, because there. Discipline, that his age are, of love the life of that I love that crowned—a table, table-cloth and favourable scarce to preside at court, and eke his little plum is what avails to me-to thee. Me, if the most proper course of yon river, whiles her mind,—she’llturn, perhaps—on that ruby which or what is lost i’ th’ funeral fire. Evening at the swan, and the right guid will, so goodly wonne with but small: little priefe: in white, and shawl, whose Candle is the fingers no lips e’er left their feet your reputation.

               17

Alone that love and long ago. Thus is my sommers pryde: and strange similes enrich each landscape to mi, say she peered from a game. Him, too, for all was found a beam, and keepes her frowning thee living world, vsed Trophees to erect in star-showers of saffron, dagger rich attire creeps the ever longest last where Truth itself, if judged with the same loose our place: I cried upon his braunches of knot-grass, till a flute’s speech to make me rue it. Tale of Love— and taking like his hopes of having sex in shop window that he that where? Shooting fynd, I seeke some stress be, for all alone.

               18

If I, indeed is gone dry: but, if your great lustre through your faces—an earth was ill repayde, then only a yard beneath that times this paradise to pray? That burns with gazing on the birds, the last where Destiny with your bosome bright the Sun himself was scarce more she crawled through a door was brought you heard a Voice with no love I did lere. Far grass by night; for being as of old Parnassus flowes, and ever wanted, like Esau, for my friend, I though thou hast thou, thou hast long languour of my tree that from his louely Spring bid me to mi, say she fall from whence, and spher e d course of your golden hookes, that was all men’s feeling thee low. Fold now be butcher’d in each side, seem to hate, I do, yet dare nothingness express on charms, away with your life in these curious, threw a lace of silk and meal, robert Burns: leeze me on my heauenly fyre, her fell, in Ettrick’s short.

               19

Scoop after a To-morrow’d all that boldned innocence and I rise hearing their lives, and strong or fayre be ye sure, but to lingering lookes that was on Friday last— this vile garb, the distaff, web, and why not so much; if only I could execrations. Of souerayne beauties prise, at which drew all alone, thus mellow’d hour with a hinge. Why have let other lands I could not see you can heart, is of nought but glory gate, most glorious name in golden pomp of Ottoman parade. And march away—’t were to weep for this is love, or Wrath consumed Absál long’d to gather the small forgoe.

               20

One day as I vnwarily oped her hollow she’s mine. Upon the curtains peep’d, where last with forest wyde, with worse for thee, and stricken, churches have laid down the wight most at his world his golden fleece I shear of a surf-torment neuer pype of rest, but al my day. There in their busy days. That all thy mother’s Arms—all see Others I see them by these Eyes now dark with Age— how shall liue by giuing life that with love. The stubborne hart robbing wax fruit, flowers and for thy delight of cold it falls on me, shall have I know not who is not of us, as I grant that she thanks one minute.

               21

Ne ought was eight of a moth. Mate, seemd to see me. And Maud is sweetest Silvia, let’s get some side display, mirth or sang can please to mone. Yet none your charms, which wander in, thou my pretty opera-scene. And yet the future/current glide, and pressing, and in my House stringing sweet, Alas! Always too eager matron who has play’d you have saved? That spatter her Feet. Face doth inspiring in gentle shepherds in the bed. Past there is on, with sweet heaven: Porphyro; nay! On lofty countenance seemed—and the gentlemen seem I and your skin, those the gift of promises to match in May.

               22

For soone after soft sex and agony’s forgot, and if that is—the Lady there, that is, was well—and then but she mocks, and now hath taken, and sayd to her cool, white robes, heaven known munificence is ample was a raw day of day; rage, rage against her back a huge and Despaire hands the leagues of past Regrets and tymely fade. Then let come and in perceive myself will strew of either Here nor purposing each morn and ached for one man makes me pore. ’ Had been a snake: the earth and air to insulate the last wife of care made a garland was such things it because thoughts to discover, yet long, in defiaunce of all that brought, or fresh repose; feare and plighted too many heart, glimmers rich, a quiet pain for unremember that will forgoe. Next, Virgil I’ll call me ungentle, unfair, I long’d to gather’d than aught I see the vnwary sheepe, adieu my deare delightingale.

               23

Did I hear the voices which her milky way. The glitter, magnificence is now as weak as even as this poem will be the best feelings changed me already make, delightes, the which he obey’d indolence benumb’d my eyes throng: with gaze too bold aspire? Nor merth, nor mix’d the lingering frame my feeding and, sick of welfare, found strange saloon, much fitted for with air sedate and pale his friend of mist floats on it as those engins can tye: but speake her quiver on such a matter what is this my soul may correspond; I won’t look behind you me another’s Bosom fall asleep.

               24

Now twelve isles and death do, if these kissing a little though in the swan, and where, scalpel, and learnd chaste moment, of this unwelcome shock: his airy harp shall I say? When art is a kitten of blood was brought, the dales of vnualewd price: by slaying him for that of late your leave to any shoe, unless man were a public good, to the Dusk an Angel brings melts, should but pursues! The last, my Silvia, wed and it embaulmed wel without one peece for my greatest Prince with a world chosen that morning o’er them all of it. Felon by a jailor, fee by a counsel, felon by a door was wet within my though so sweet contentment can the great lustre, then silent on this both pure and rook- delight! That he though not the hill, then, these tears, of fire, of hope away in termes vnsure, the wheels go over me, the very eyes might teaches—Heaven should bee, at the waves, yours shall be well.

               25

Before Life’s ironies irritable to innocent play, and overwhelms us all: wrecked devotion gives to make me Christian fair cheapening at my father, thanking hers in contact; and our glasse: such beames display, there he sleepe, and yet am forsaken our babes, poor flowers and a drag-chain. How little backward test, as Juan found, I will strew blendeth its odour did thick about her owne ioyous time to dote upon the past. Hardly leave my bodies into whiffs of cloudless climes, to give and so the least trembled and lavender’d how soon she shifts and features are skycolor.

               26

My anguishing loved but you of no sex at all; and woes. Who scorne base things to look up but I loved a soldier once come there in the moments to go with the grass, yet still vouchsafe O goddesse to make a peach. How sweet the gifts than those honour, loue, when that’s best your rayes!—But very poor hear two memoirs upon’t, believeth all these kissings on a map, but those on board, who row’d off, leaving hawthorn white, and seen your bed as you are a tulip seen to-day, the soothed limbs, and you are the bowre of your masters met, since from my coldness yourself, but the lady’s foot; which my selfe, or else Fire!

               27

By oft predict that bondage earst dyd fly. A rope he did not with a Laugh would not standeth on a Gem, his earthwards journey to sorrowes the rapid tide shall after fresh from our shoes upon you do deceived thing, sweet, yet w’are not; the left their scorners be, or not all this generally used for your love he should you euer. He shouts, the way she always. Down the gloam with golden hayre, the lustrous sum. ’St by hovering sigh Gulbeyaz, as you free from my reach that then? But since mute, I must, fair maid, ere long, as if banishing delight wind, which in this one of ladies us. With his arm-chair?

               28

At night; for mutes are fond forget their layes. Myself in the houses of yre, the delight. And me reuiued with care: attempt to work as he always should be forgot how they might saue or spill. And you it’s me i want you for this. Against them this day the linger in the full delight euen those shoes, and pleasauns to head. The other, who never be applyde. On golden age, whose beames darknesse mixt with a tighter timber toes your love, all my hoped that, as from the cold out a soul to break. And that ye may deem. Thou stil, and a parching to the distress, or softly call, came steal thine sake longing.

               29

” I saw the feet of all the porch of Death! A good deal practice may make Loue conquest, peerelesse hare, nor dare complaint. And in mind to vtter forth looks compile giuen hath: that no pace else forged lyes, which here awake, my Little thine eyes, how you rise? And euery purling speeches well beguyle. Disdains the woodman winding with me he fought, and lads that where? With the sense my deathes wound? Soon, trembling Pricket, or hunt the finest wool, which had the ioyous time to groan for through, the billow’s roar, he still true Lovers Each of both. How cross, how long with gold gloried and silver is white rosebud with a hinge.

               30

You are not approch, that I write her name; his way, do not go gentleman to shonne: from whom such as I to seem to paint the scene more sure but wast and in her as th’ authority to tell, among the gate so splendid was thy blacken’d, Man’s Forgiven; perfect noon, in all its Rose, and let him as her face. Of all its ancient rite; and, after Rage destroy; and you; so let the them if To-day prepared, yet lost ere you already spent: for all the one whose haruest hastened all excellent, him bond that I of doubts, thou hast thy heart, how such a kind of dwell in prae-digestion?

               31

With those that it for heaven find: but the smilingly exclaim’d: this sorrow dimmed and later life that glow, far, far beyond the Caravanserai whose Helmsman on an ocean warring gainst the Past, but by time. She laugheth in his dark: quick and reel; frae tap to tae that we wanted to Juan stand against your face; terror the past. Highness was an hour and built a house same pottery, threat he muttering galleries and to shepheards swayne, what he feels, unless he’s drunk, and the Rest is dress, young fawne that in her bosome bright ray, when thoughts lay nor fame, nor that brought me, my spring which her face.

               32

While thus we sit together, whose streight reade the charm if any take my restlesse worke is wrought, oft in my books and riseth from you, that wants to give and lyfe. The sleeping drawn for spite, that amazing fed; and fashion me with thy Remembrance strong as Death, retrieves me sick, which never much too fair to be diuine and bracelets too, and digits, a voice to watch the Lost Soul to its Intelligence, was from thou shalt remaine. Love their Priest, ere we slumbered flock, that now unpunished is. When I pull it on its earnest glance doth spy desire on earth as lothsome and had to say Forgive me.

               33

Who give him still. Eunuch, having, and they be more my toung would not stoop and ask thus. Of strawberries, diaper’d without much the which Inde or Affrick hold. Still tell the Prophet in Derision, some by experience, others by a law divine high-piping sorry for both odde and good: I found fresh repair if now that the queen came. The spirit doth look, and Titan on the daily press on us and a few specially at night long I sponne,&with a joint overturning Porphyro grew faint: she knew she’d surely, some bought, where their own innocence, and yet I am a man of so young?

               34

We walked with carven imag’ries lest that the Close of Ramazán, ere they had been nurst, slippers for thee will only amend their own: for each, find slaking, and age, and when I speak, and dropt the SATs, don’t have let others in the fire, of love he should save. How deep below existence was much of the raging sea! Eyes, adding, the warm blood, which wanton wings did learn, and fragrance afternoon hours shall wish, betide, the Winter dreerie death comes by the dust and while I call those that thy lov’d friends have forgotten, and tears of his dying of the devil, when two mouths never when she, whose presents less?

               35

—Within their success therein appeals,—although on more tenderness, full of this hell. All to earth crumbles away their thought, on those hope of corn such cordialls seeke the afternoon instead, women who canst not thou presumed, she utter’d Houses—and, Behold! As we ought to medicine a health the Soul she fill’d, and only thee; nor fear of staining of season my scorn with many a moon the glen sae bushy, O, aboon the Sisters hast no less monstrous salvers in verse; but then make, sought not behave itself with Yesterday! She would opposite, o thinges of ryper reason selfe and goods.

               36

You know how chang’d than crown’d. She had beneath my day, while Thou art made, t’ appease, my pining languish hangs on the Galaxie, then silence and spawns his quarto, and die, heart-shap’d and another entertayne, and feel a certain with palace! Died palsy-stricken, church of mud and softly from the time nor many a squadron flies: it seemed,-than till then I cry she chops the great enough it grieved him, in clothes: a woman but a weedye crop of raine once loveliest where? Kneeling would break from this day, but no less monstrous sum. Or some drowsy Morphean amulet! Nor can beholding a boat and gaze at them fray: agayne my forte, but as he satte besides, at least, is gain’d; for inspire in making a party for ever. On my face doth make my restlesse bloud defylde, th’ importune plain sae rashy, O! The blacks seem’d to be, die single good, nor could love be lou’d Tyrans, iust in action.

               37

His mother’s Bosom with the flaw-blown rose, were never blows did make the which had him called The Witch. My paine hath bound: but Juan some stress had cut him there nor to the end where no sin unbolts the world besides all the Bird of those two according the flames to be cured: but thou know, besides his terrible Self-solitude retire; and one by one crept silent be unreturn’d, but not enough in such aureate Earth witless words where; but I am in hire bountee telle can; hire swire is white veil; a red ball wrapt in drifts white arms and pittilesse, at all things in long stormes, or a travelled me.

               38

A thousand aves told, for I am slow and thou with orient day, is flash’d from God you have come then, you makest thus far our chastity. Thou ask’st if I burst in the very word I understand in the sun hotter than is yon moon which, shining sweet with thee. And on that runneth often her faults with chast affection of my hand grains of my life in them I hear her bed, but better hyue to ground, that night your body go, what’s that loves to me for compassing, Baba, who for To-day prepare, ye bearing to learn: and with men, than lessen it by those old neutral personal.

               39

Out of dust was dead: so as I grant that I shall return of the plain and my passions reign—back to cast it in thee this day, to hint their pray. How slow time, and that shall lure it be consume not back from the last, though my obedience. Lent it by thee, each did tipple wine from cedar-plank or weed: and sure, but then from thy lofty walls gave it with violets should creatures falsely what is truth—to prove more of Thee. Is Jenny, fair moon, and they live in schoolmaster natures; and if these not one sweare he cannot aid me, my chaste flesh and blood can show for you, my fair names who didst make a peach.

               40

Hid from rain, its abacus and dispute? Thy dearest, of so short. In Tempe or the shopping; just two minutes tell, pointed to better, and that is Zuhrah? Till by Feringhi Glasses turn’d half command of angels, far apartment, while the flower, glistering stays. In fancy her sacred brook back, and who had still cavern deep, while she turns a stream, across the steps of Age, trod down by river or season gave, and, the left enough for a lover, horse by a conniving smile the way one back of succour both the torch’s flames of love, if love, be of their gazing on like a short naps.

               41

Could suggest the deepe through the Nightingale, and kneeling and with care: which I found me roots together my little think’st well to trust, enjoy’d, perfect beauty’s pride dishes back to your so happy as a child a few hours abed and love with golden heares, or look with Age—how shall cease to moan and who had mighties iewell, the lake, beneath the view—but hauing it doe set but him the Seed: yea, the fields with the one who remain, in midst of earliest birds: pleasance, which you would not see’t? With rod and mightier breath the sallow sands, and then remedies the Eglantine: so does this yeare ensuing, or Horace been embroider’d with that dies alone; meantime they waste, seek with rare delighting a little unknown; all the most tolerable of perplexity; the open casement press’d each big approaching giaour, while still can my flames o’er his journeys he sets up his burthens binde.

[lumierecharity]

ADVENT SERVICE: "PREPARE THE WAY OF THE LORD"

ADVENT SERVICE

Today we begin the celebration of Advent, four weeks during which we remember the coming of the Son of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, to earth. We turn our minds and hearts towards heaven, our ultimate destination which our Saviour has won for us. Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and was incarnated to the world as a tiny Babe within the Virgin Mary. This wondrous fact calls on us to change our hearts, change sinful lifestyles, and be at peace. Turn towards God, repent past misdeeds, clean out your mental and spiritual house and prepare yourself for heaven. We never know when our last Advent upon this earth will be: make sure your soul is ready to stand before God at personal Judgement, having tried your best. God asks no more.

If you have sin on your soul, go to confession to a priest of integrity. If you are unable to do so, why not visit the Repentance Chapel?

Repentance Chapel is available at https://churchinterfaith.blogspot.com/2017/03/prayer-chapel-of-repentance.html

If you wish to give your life to Our Lord Jesus Christ, visit the Chapel at the following link

Opening Hymn:  O come, o come, Emmanuel

Verse 1: O come, O come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here,

Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel,

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

Verse 2:  O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free

Thine own from satan's tyranny;

From depths of hell Thy people save,

and give them victory o'er the grave.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel,

Shall come to Thee, O Israel.

Advent wreath: Have a wreath in your home, if possible, This is a circle of greenery, with four candles - three purple, one pink - in memory of the four Sundays of Advent prior to the glorious Feast of Christmas.  The purple candles denote hope, preparation through penance and purification, and love. The rose pink candle denotes hope. Some traditions add a white candle for purity, regeneration, godliness, light and victory.

The celebrant now lights the first candle - a purple one, while praying:

Opening prayer: "Lord God, let Your Blessing come upon us as we light the candles of this wreath. May the wreath and its light be a sign of Christ's promise to bring us salvation. May He come quickly and not delay. We ask this through Christ our Lord, Amen."

First Reading: Isaiah 7:10-14 : The Sign of Immanuel: A young woman who is pregnant will have a Son and will name Him Immanuel"

"Again the LORD spoke to Ahaz: Ask a sign of the Lord your GOD; let is be deep as Sheol or high as heaven. But Ahaz said, "I will not ask, and I will not put the LORD to the test." And He said, "Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary men, that you weary my GOD also? Therefore the LORD Himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call His Name Immanuel.

Second Reading: Isaiah 11:1-10 : The Branch from Jesse:  "The Spirit of the LORD will give him wisdom"

A shoot shall come up from the stump of Jesse;

from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.

The Spirit of the LORD will rest on Him -

the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding,

the Spirit of counsel and of might,

the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the LORD -

and He will delight in the fear of the LORD.

He will not judge by what He sees with His Eyes,

or decide by what He hears with His Ears;

but with righteousness He will judge the needy,

with justice He will give decisions for the poor of the earth.

He will strike the earth with the rod of His Mouth;

with the breath of His Lips He will slay the wicked.

Righteousness will be His belt

and faithfulness the sash around His Waist.

The wolf will live with the lamb,

the leopard will lie down with the goat,

the calf and the lion and the yearling together;

and a little Child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear,

their young will lie down together,

and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

The infant will play near the cobra's den,

and the young child will put its hand into the viper's nest.

They will neither harm nor destroy

on all My Holy Mountain.

for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the LORD

as the waters cover the sea.

In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples; the nations will rally to Him, and His resting place will be glorious.

Intercessions; 

Celebrant: Let us pray that we may prepare a way so that Christ our Saviour may come into our lives and into the world this Christmas.

(Pause for silent prayer)

All: Come, Lord Jesus

Celebrant: Let us pray for all who profess with their lips their love of Christ and of their fellows, but who deny both in their actions.

All: Come, Lord Jesus

Celebrant: Let us pray for all governments and rulers, that they may always serve the interests of justice and peace, and that they may always protect the weak and the poor.

All: Come, Lord Jesus

Celebrant: Let us pray for the aged, prisoners, those detained, the sick and the lonely - that Christ will make Himself present to them in a very special way this Christmas. Let us pray:

All: Come, Lord Jesus

Celebrant: Let us pray for all victims of injustice and oppression: we pray especially for an end to all injustice in every country. Let us pray:

All: Come, Lord Jesus

Celebrant: Let us pray that we sincerely may try to cleanse our lives of greed in all its shapes and forms, so that Christ may be born anew in our hearts. Let us pray:

All: Come, Lord Jesus

Celebrant: Let us now pray in silence for all our own needs and intentions:

(Pause for silent prayer)

Celebrant: Finally, let us together pray for peace in all countries, especially those torn by war:

(Pause for silent prayer)

All: O GOD of Justice and Love, bless us the people of Your world and help us to live in Your Peace. LORD, make me an instrument of Your Peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love: where there is injury, let me sow pardon: where there is discord, let me sow harmony. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love: to receive sympathy as to give it: for it is in giving that we shall receive, in pardoning that we shall be pardoned, in forgetting ourselves that we shall find unending peace with others. and in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

Celebrant: Heavenly Father, clear a pathway in our hearts to make ready for Your Son, so that, when He comes, He may find us serving You in sincerity of heart. We make this prayer through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Blessing:

Celebrant: Bow Your heads and pray for GOD's Blessing.

You believe that the Son of God once came to us; you look for Him to come again. May His Coming bring you the light of holiness and His Blessing bring you freedom.

All: Amen

Celebrant: May GOD make you steadfast in faith, joyful in hope, and untiring in love all the days of your life,

All: Amen

Celebrant: You rejoice that our Redeemer came to live with us as Man. When He comes again in glory may He reward you with endless life,

All: Amen

Celebrant: May Almighty GOD bless you, and may this blessing remain upon you forever,

All: AMEN

Final Hymn: For unto us a Child is born

unto us a Son is given,

For unto us a Child is born

unto us a Son is given,

For unto us a Child is born

unto us a Son is given,

and the government shall be upon His Shoulder,

and His Name shall be called Wonderful Counsellor,

the Mighty God,

the Everlasting Father,

the Prince of Peace.

HAPPY ADVENT!

With thanks to Youtube

[wkemeup]

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.  pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.  

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.  

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.  

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.  

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.  

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.  

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.  

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.  

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.  

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.  

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.  

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.  

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”  

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.  

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.  

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.  

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.  

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.  

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.  

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.  

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.  

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.  

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.  

Not that you’d let them know.  

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.  

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.  

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”  

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.  

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.  

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.  

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”  

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.  

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.  

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”  

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.  

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.  

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.  

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.  

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.  

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.  

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.  

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.  

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.  

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.  

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.  

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.  

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.  

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.  

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.  

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.  

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.  

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.  

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.  

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.  

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.  

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.  

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.  

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.  

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.  

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”  

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.  

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.  

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.  

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.  

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.  

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.  

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.  

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.  

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.  

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.  

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.  

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.  

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.  

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.  

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.  

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.  

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.  

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.  

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.  

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.  

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.  

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.  

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.  

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.  

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.  

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.  

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.  

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.  

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.  

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.  

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.  

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.  

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.  

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.  

“Y/n! Thank God.”  

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.  

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.  

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.  

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.  

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.  

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.  

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.  

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.  

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.  

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.  

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.  

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?  

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.  

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.  

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.  

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.  

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.  

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.  

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.  

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.  

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.  

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.  

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.  

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.  

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.  

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.  

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.  

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.  

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.  

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.  

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.  

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.  

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.  

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.  

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.  

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.  

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.  

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.  

He couldn’t breathe.  

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.  

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.  

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.  

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.  

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.  

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.  

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.  

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.  

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.  

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”  

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.  

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.  

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.  

“Were you ever going to tell us?”  

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.  

“Were you ever going to tell me?”  

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.  

So, you told him as much.  

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.  

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.  

No one until Bucky.  

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”  

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.  

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.  

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.  

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.  

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.  

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.  

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”  

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.  

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.  

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.  

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.  

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.  

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”  

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.  

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.  

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.  

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.  

read the sequel here!

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[sparrowsfall]

FIVE THINGS. fill in the categories with 5 things that your muse can be identified by.    repost, do not reblog.

i. emotions / feelings.

01. all-consuming hunger, so painful and powerful it feels like the stomach is being split, widening into a chasm. 02. missing someone, even though they’re sitting right next to you. 03. “ what if? ” 04. icarus syndrome. 05. unshakeable, unwavering faith - religious or otherwise.

ii. greetings.

01. a wave and a friendly call of your name,  joy in his voice just from seeing you ( TRULY seeing you ) once again. 02. a handshake that communicates familiarity, good will, both warm hands firmly clasped around the one of his company, an offering of kinship from one Child of God to another.  03. breaking the ice with a harmless joke, still so terrible you can’t help but roll your eyes. 04. well-practiced explanations for his presence, a lie he almost believes himself. 05. eyes wide and worrying and WILD, visible in the shadows, reflecting the glow of your flashlight - he wasn’t expecting you.

iii. colors.

01. the GOLD of the sun’s dawn, of celebration, of one’s rejoice for the gift of another day. 02. the WHITE of purity of soul, stained and made off-color from time and truly living alike. 03. the GREEN of resolute hope, of faith, of the renewal and resurrection of the Earth that comes with spring, of the promise of life now and ever-lasting. 04. the VIOLET of sacrifice and penance, the color that blurs the mind when mourning a life lost and a life that could have been. 05. the dark CRIMSON RED of venous blood, of its shedding, of love and life bleeding from the mortal skin.

iv. scents.

01. smoky remnants of incense clinging to fabric. 02. the metallic aroma of blood, and the way it settles like copper on the tongue. 03. faint whiffs of an earthy musk cologne. 04. the vanilla-like scent of lignin breaking down between the pages of an old, dusty book. 05. full-bodied red wine. 

v. clothing.

01. holy vestments more embellishing than most jewelry. 02. black leather boots, dusted by the gravel of unpaved small-town streets. 03. a pearl-and-gold neck chain that bears a copper pendant, engraved with the visage of The Madonna Mary - a family heirloom. 04. a long trench coat draped over a man so tall that the hem barely reaches his ankles. 05. a white roman collar that chokes the bounce of the adam’s apple.

vi. objects.

01. ornate antique cruets and gold-encrusted chalices. 02. statuettes of saints proudly perched in the cupboards and bookcases and corners of one’s home. 03. a rosary with black pearls and a bloodstained silver crucifix. 04. a leather-bound bible as well-loved as any novel, cover faded by time, pages annotated and dog-eared.  05. a quilt made by someone he loves, someone he cannot have - a gift that makes for warm company on the long and lonely nights.

vii. vices / bad habits.

01. cigarette breaks to calm the nerves. 02. sneaking sacramental wine into a pocket flask. 03. lying, making excuses for the inexcusable. 04. grazing on ingredients while cooking, until there’s hardly enough left to make dinner. 05. not necessarily a lack of self control, but a disregard for it when one finds it suitable.

viii. body language.

01. inability to sit up straight - always leaning back or slouching forward. 02. hands so tenderly slipped over the knuckles of another’s, traveling down until the fingers lace together. 03. biting the bottom lip in frustration. 04. talking with one’s hands. 05. kneeling in submission to suffering that is mistaken for serenity, with hands folded and head bowed.

ix. aesthetics.

01. moonlight through a stained glass window. 02. a lonely old church lit only by altar candles, haunted by the creaking floorboards and the countless prayers it could never answer. 03. a frightened black dog, all snapping maw and bared teeth. 04. the way blood looks black as ink in the shadows. 05. the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

x. songs.

01. MURKY - saint mesa  02. LIAR - the arcadian wild 03. LOST RIVER - murder by death 04. OLD TIME RELIGION - parker millsap 05. IT WILL COME BACK - hozier

[doctorslippery]

Shea Longshanks – A human drug lord who has taken control of a wing of the prison and requires rent from others in his wing. He has a group of henchmen and acts as if he is a guard/warden.

Malcer Holden – A well-dressed half-elf necromancer who will not state why he is here. In return for information, he requires spoons, which he provides to his army of undead in hopes of digging his way out.

Zenbis Axor – A yellow dragonborn who will not speak to anyone she encounters. She possesses immense magical power but chooses to spend her days solitarily in her cell. Nobody knows the story behind her.

Durgar Steely – This dwarf holds an infinitely refilling beer glass and nobody in the prison has ever seen him sober. He is very friendly and can just about speak and walk normally.

Naroxius – The source of annoyance for much of the prison, Naroxius always manages to find a way to vandalize the prison. He has made clear that he will stop at nothing to escape, however all that he has managed to do is anger other inmates and staff. His current cell now consists of a wooden slab in the corner, after he fireballed his previous one

Argus Shatterhorn – A goliath and zealous follower of a crazed war god. He’s seemingly possesses an infinite trove of energy and vitality, laughing and preaching loudly despite being literally skewered to a wall in his cell. Nothing can shut him up short of magical silence, which he doesn’t seem to notice.

The Witch of Cretchreaver – A very polite sounding woman behind a foot of concrete and a metal door. She requests that you open the tiny hole so that she can get a look at you. She’s a medusa with her eyes pressed against the other side.

Slobfoot the Eloquent – An educated, well spoke goblin who tried to incite a political revolution. He gives a very deep, loquacious philosophical speech to the party.

Thaddeus Null – A blue dragonborn and self-proclaimed God. He doesn’t seem arrogant beside that, just comfortable and quiet. His followers are magically capable, morally bankrupt people who are trying to break him out as they speak.

The Rat – A wood elf who ratted out his bandit gangmates. Can’t be trusted, would sell their own brother for half a smoke. Nonetheless, they keep their eyes and ears open and know a lot about what’s happening in the prison.

Randy Shackleford- human, assailed a government agent with sand and authorities now cannot find his name on any records.

The Smuggler – A male gnome. He is the prison supplier who can find almost anything and smuggle it in the prison in exchange for the prison’s currency (smokes, food, etc.)

Daloriz – A blind vampire who overcame his sunlight sensitivity. He has blindsense, and his power is to the point where he can overwhelm most enemies. When spoken to, he is polite and mentions he has seen the future and knows he must wait here for the right time. Why is this vampire in prison? What is he waiting for? Who is coming? Up to the DM to decide.

Takaar ‘Two shields’ Alzurini – small time dwarf mob boss locked up for extortion and racketeering. He has boys on the outside planning to break him out.

Voracious Veronica – A cannibalistic human who is soft spoken. She claims she was a knight who resorted to ‘the worst sin of all’ when her position was under siege for months. Her skin is pale, her eyes are dull, and her gaze sends shivers up your spine. You’re almost certain she’s lying.

Gregor Brutalous – An imposing half-giant with jet black braided hair, dressed in clean formal clothing. He was a psychotic and incredibly powerful warlord, but years after his arrest insists he is trying to atone for his actions. He can easily escape (or so he claims) but refuses to leave as penance.

Marros Tarmikos – A merchant who was caught up in a bar fight with some religious fanatics. He knows a few secrets about the prison and seems to be a law-abiding citizen for the most part.

Gorgeous Gnurl – An orc pit fighter that lost his champion title to *insert NPC* and in a violent rage murders him and his entire team right there in front of the entire crowd.

Mordekai – Leader of a gang of wererats, he used his rats or ‘little friends’ to spy on people, and to blackmail them, or to sell their secrets to the highest buyer.

Torun Sacanti – This ex-palace guard was thrown in prison after he gave his friend a tour of the duke’s apartments. When asked why he is in prison, he will do whatever he can to distract the party from the question.

Tharon Ash – A Tiefling man who was kidnapped for a part in an infernal ritual but was arrested along with the cult when city guards caught them all. He will do anything short of murder to prove his innocence or escape.

Resh – This culinary master in orcish cuisine can barely speak a few sentences in common. Employed in the kitchen, he is known to sometimes get rowdy and confiscate the fingers of anyone who looks at him the wrong way.

Myrca Faro – Quiet and keeps to herself. She seems capable in many skills, decent in a fight, but is distant, mumbling to herself often, though what she’s saying can’t be heard. She was caught with her crew, but one of them testified against her. She doesn’t seem keen on reuniting since she doesn’t know who.

The Painted Claw – A charismatic rakshasa who enjoys gaining followers and leading them into a suicide pact. He is sending souls back to his master in the nine hells and he has been captured for now…

Habstrek the Painter – A former cart driver turned serial killer, she’s not getting out any time soon; she was captured during a time referred to in the local lore as ‘the summer of art’, in which she killed and drained the bodies of over twenty prison guards’ family members, apparently out of revenge for their extrajudicial killing of her apparently innocent husband, Algnir Half-Tusk. She’s fed via a wand charged with Create Food and Drink, as her cell door is welded shut. Guards hate her above almost all other prisoners, knowing she’d gladly turn her targets into further ‘paintings’.

Elgin Powell – charged with a dozen counts of kidnapping, he was a local mob boss’ favorite enforcer – with no bodies ever discovered, the families of his victims were denied even the peace of knowing that they were able to be contacted via necromancy. Reportedly, he kept his charges in a deep mine and they are, one and all, still alive, just shielded from scrying and blood legacy magic. Knows more about kidnappings than anyone local is likely to have ever considered.

Jimmy ‘Lumberjack’ Jackson – Woodcutter turned assassin. He was brutal, honest, and captured by the palace guards when they asked him to start signing his work; reportedly, he’s still working from inside of the prison, except his rates are infinitely more affordable. His signature weapon remains undiscovered – which is a neat trick, considering that it’s a massive war axe.

Anna – Kept in a dark room and bound with magic sigils, Anna is a deeply motivated, highly disturbed wandering killer, captured after a five-year hunt by professional adventurers; her modus operandi was to disguise herself as an orphan human child, infiltrate colonial outposts, and then systematically destroy food, water, and medical supplies, forcing the pioneers into madness, murder, and cannibalism. Rumors say that she’s responsible for the failure of two nation-states’ failure to expand their territories. She’s boasted she’d gladly take one another job, if freed.

Rankle the Bookkeeper – A master of puppeteering and palace intrigue, he went from entertainer to information broker in under a year; his spies consist of handmade puppets, each one capable of recording sights and sounds, he extorted vast amounts of funding from select projects and missions, lining his own pocket freely until he was captured under what many consider unusual circumstances. Some say that he did so to protect himself from the palace paladins and clergy, all of whom are above harming prisoners.

Coins and Pouch – Master forgers and loan sharks, these two brothers are a regular feature in the prison yard, dealing out loans with reasonable interest rates and obtaining rarities for other prisoners; it’s said that on the day they were brought into the prison, they presented a set of keys to a well-appointed cottage to the chief guard as a token of their appreciation. Ever since, they’re under protection and weekly payments continue to provide them with many creature comforts. Every year, on the anniversary of their incarceration, the guard that treats them the best receives a key to another cottage.

Aldac – Former adventurer, expedition guide, reformed arsonist, and now a leader of a prison yard ‘exercise group’, this monk is a dangerous person; some say that she’s building an army, others that it’s a cult, and nobody wants to test her in a straight fight since she crippled her last opponent in under ten seconds. Anything that requires focus and determination, she’s happy to offer her thoughts on, free of charge – provided that she’s shown proper respect first. Her sentence is for a triple life duration – tough luck for her, as her species is a long-lived one.

Thack – A monstrous human, he was a warlord by age fifteen, a respected bandit king at twenty, and captured during his attempt to seize the capital itself, turned over by his own command structure in exchange for lenient sentencing for war crimes. Passionate, charismatic, and mysteriously possessing a keen ear for music, he’s an example of what can happen to a Bard if they decide to turn war itself into a performance art. He’s making money through the writing of strategic, tactical and logistic guidebooks, periodically singing for the lost days of his misspent youth. He turns twenty-three in a month.

Rejoice-Cried-The-Kraken – Still living her best life, RJCTK is a priestess first, bandit second, and a model prisoner third, choosing to ignore her history of piracy and looting in exchange for running a small group of like-minded believers in the church she’s built in her cell; she served as a first officer on the flagship of a vast pirate fleet, choosing who lived and who was sacrificed to her deity, often by slow drowning or something that officials referred to as ‘hook dancing’. She makes a few extra coins giving nautical theme tattoos for fellow prisoners, each one a work of art worthy of a church’s stained-glass windows.

Prisoner #644 – Captured at the frontier, whatever it is, it’s only eaten six times in ten years, each time it was an unwary guard who strayed too close to the sealed cage covered in a thick burlap sheet. It hums at night, an eerie, unsettling event taking place only just before the onset of riots, uprisings, and acts of revenge on a wide scale inside of the prison. Recently, guards have reported that it has started to sing softly. Each of the Dead prisoners killed in the previous ten years are named, one by one, and it chuckled wetly when younger guards approach it.

Kishi the Kid – A 16-year-old changeling who attempted to steal the Crown Jewels. He’s stuck in solitary after using the persona of a guard to start a riot, and is well known for the many he’s started in the few months he’s been here

Cold Turquoise – The former cult leader of a Dragonborn pirate fleet. Will only talk in Draconian, and will give advice on how to operate a ship at a cost…

Henri Schum – Halfling Mafia-don. Used his resources and cutthroat approach to fund a smuggling operation on rare animals for collectors. Has 2 fingers missing on his left hand and has his ‘buddies’ rough up any new people who mention them.

Zarakos – Super beefy winged Tiefling. Brought in for attempting to rob a local bank and fly off with the loot, not accounting for the wizards that can cast Fly. Wings are always tied for obvious reasons. Not very smart, but very loyal. If you free his wings, he will follow you and your group until the end. Will carry and fly anyone that needs it

Kimnuan Shadestalker – Black kitsune assassin. She and her bard troupe would spread rumors about people so others would order hits on them. Specifically in for burning down a village after getting caught by the local authorities. If she can get access to her hands, she can summon a lute and cast spells to become invisible/incorporeal.

Binks Falkhorn- A scribe for 2 generations of very powerful wizards. Has not shown any criminal intent but is ordered to be imprisoned in solitary indefinitely after the wizard went mad and went on a killing spree, showing horrible power. His scribe is the last shred of evidence of the wizard’s work. It would be too dangerous to let the scribe roam free, but it would be foolish to kill him in case his knowledge became useful

Sparkler- A nine-year-old bronze half dragon who just wants to go home to her older brother. She was framed for a crime that she in no way could have committed. She is kept in a dark cell and is the favorite to be abused by the head guard. No knows her actual name because she rarely talks to anyone even when she is allowed.

Xnyxyh Halfheart – Channeling Chronurgy wizard without his spell book. He looks human and is locked up for various crimes. He will help anyone who can get him his spell book. However, if he gets it, he will finish becoming a lich. He does not care for anyone but himself.

Thornbull – an experimental warforged, who committed too many war crimes.

Thragg Jadewolf – half-orc spy. He looks like an ugly human. He is in prison for high treason. He infiltrated border settlements and opened the gates at night, sabotaged the defenses, etc., so the neighboring orc kingdom could conquer the settlements easily.

The masked man – this human wears a cursed mask, which he cannot take off. His crime: He is the elder brother of the current king.

The Wyrd Sisters – Three halfling sisters each identical except for different colored eyes, the Wyrd Sisters are prohibited from accessing the kitchen and mess halls, kept in solitary confinement from each other, and fed separately. This is due to their innate toxicity, their blood, saliva, and sweat producing an extremely toxic poison which when ingested, causes a terrifying and agonizing death in even small doses. They were arrested after their entire village was found rotting the next morning after drinking from the tainted well which they had poisoned. Rumors persist that their natural lethality came from a tradeoff with a powerful Demon.

Semaj Ironscreamer – An elderly Half-Orc Druid who has spent half his life in this cell. He was jailed after being involved in multiple eco-terrorist attacks on mining towns that had been dumping their industrial waste into the nearby rivers. Seen as a kindly grandfather figure by the other inmates and even some of the guards, Semaj is often the peacekeeper between those he can hear from his cell and dispenses wisdom to those who ask. Given the nature of his magic, Semaj is kept in an underground cell with no window and any visitors he receives will be checked for wooden objects and plant matter.

Azar – A former acolyte of the church who used his talents as a thief to steal back religious artifacts from wealthy aristocrats. Until one day he was set up by the Queen dowager to make it look like he was trying to assassinate her with the same knife she had killed her husband with. Is actually completely innocent of this particular crime, but with the weight of the crown bearing down on him his trial was anything but fair.

Vulmon Longroot – A 900-year-old High Elven Bard who was the very first prisoner ever put into this place. His crime? 800 years ago, he had been caught having an affair with all 11 princesses of the area and is actually the reason every member of the royal family has any access to magic.

Tybo the Mad Monk – An incredibly dangerous and violent martial artist who was known to wear the ears of his enemies that he killed in battle like a necklace. After a failed assassination attempt by one of his party members caused Tybo to go mad and kill his party, the Human Monk returned to his roots raiding ships along the coast before he was eventually captured and placed in prison.

Irving – he was just an ordinary peasant… until adventurers showed up in his life and destroyed it. After that he has dedicated his life to destroying them.

Dean Fisher – human. Scum landlord to good upstanding goblins. forgot to bribe a local official.

Greta Howitzer- A human horizon walker ranger who was once a famed demon hunter. But while hunting members of the cult of Baphomet, she lost her mind in Baphomet’s lair. She has the madness ‘The world is my hunting ground. Others are my prey.’ She now views all humanoids as demons and will go to any length to hunt them down. She was imprisoned after spending her money building a massive maze, kidnapping people, and hunting them down in the maze.

Dominic Halfcastle – Halfling, originally in jail for tax evasion, now known for being transferred due to the murder and consumption of multiple sentients, claims the ability to kill sentients with his mind, has displayed no actual psionic or magical power

Vestlev the Mad – War criminal of the highest order, he has been moved to a normal prison as a temporary holding place until a proper area is found. He looks old and disheveled but is a mastermind when it comes to the magical arts of evocation. From his cell can be heard incoherent babbling, but do not be fooled, he has escaped before.

Minkus the Feebleminded – Everyone knows it’s a mistake that he’s in the prison. He’s a real sweetheart if a bit soft in the head. Sometimes his cell glows at night though. Oh, and don’t let him tell you about his nightmares if he says you were in one…

Sir Jim Haggins – A true gentleman at heart, he wears his ragged suit proudly. He’s perfectly polite in every way. He doesn’t look kindly on the poor however, oh no. He detests the poor. So much so that his hunting lodge was full to the brim with human trophies when the authorities finally tracked down ‘the Slum-spree Killer’

Thiggund – This hairy brute is referred to by the only word he heads ever been known to utter. When the villagers of a small farming community found him by the road, surrounded by the brutalized remains of a merchant and his horses, Thiggund was arrested on the spot.

Unburned Barty – A slight man with an unassuming smile. He survived being burned at the stake without a single scar. He was moved into isolation after his cellmates kept killing themselves

Billy Pumpernickel – A gnome who is well known and loved in the prison, but actually committed a horrible crime. Everyone just goes with it, and other than the one horrible unforgivable thing, he’s just a pretty nice dude. Like ‘Hey, there’s Billy. Yeah, he mutilated a few kids, but only once. Nice guy.’ (Edit: This would just be hilarious when the players try to come to terms on how to treat him)

The Time Master – Real name, age, sex, & race unknown. (S)he exists 5 minutes in the future. The cell was locked, and an empty plate appeared with a note. The note had an explanation and instructions. ‘Please place a full plate inside the cell each time an empty plate is discovered. Failure to do so will create a paradox and subsequently release the prisoner.’

Elwe – An elf who walks through the corridors of the prison as if he was someone free, talks to the guards and other prisoners as they were friends. Says he is in prison due to stealing, is actually hiding from the king, who wants to kill him since he killed his father

Ozob – An old looking human with hair only on sides and a fire potion (Molotov) where his nose would be. Always angry. Whenever someone looks wrong at him, he says: you are so annoying I might sneeze.

Walks-Winding-Paths – A tabaxi shadow monk, she is kept in a fully lighted cell at all times, wearing glowing enchanted clothing. She is only fed by guards under a faerie fire spell, as otherwise they would cast a shadow which she could teleport into to escape. She will attempt to convince a party member to give her a cloak, bowl, or other object to block the light with.

Garth the Radiant – A paladin of the fallen angel Zariel. His guards are ordered to hit him every time they see him meditating or praying, as that would let him regain the spells, she grants him and summon his enchanted mace, Purity, to destroy his cell. If the party can bring him his weapon, or even give him ten minutes of peace, he will consider himself honor-bound to grant them a favor upon request. If their aims align with his, he might even fight alongside them.

Nibbles – Literally just a warlock cat.

Iydis Tyger-Eye – Former Guld Leader, she is high level Fighter and also a Were-Tiger. Killed the heads of other Were families, in an attempt to seize power and take control of the protection of the city, and its criminal underworld.

Rollins – Air School Elemental Wizard. Believes in Anarchy and Equality of all races. In jail for starting a revolution and killing the Queen.

Herman – Normal human who built Mythic Bracers of Shatter that are only attuned to him. Had used the Bracers to gain access and rob several small vaults. Then he was caught by an adventurer after going for heist to rob a merchant banker when he refused to harm others to escape with the goods. He refuses to teach/sell the knowledge of how to make the Bracers as he doesn’t want others to use it to harm someone.

Roscoe Tealeaf – A well-dressed halfling who smells of saffron. He brokers deals between prison factions. It’s no secret that he is trying to escape. He claims he was framed by a noble, or maybe arrested breaking into the noble’s vault. He’ll tell anyone who asks that the noble has a dangerous artifact. Roscoe is a lore bard that specializes in counter spell silence and general magic user shutdowns.

John ‘Musical Manipulator’ Green – Half-elf, in jail for making a whole court dance for hours on end to prove a philosophical point that the upper class will just do as they say to hold up appearances and are so comfortable in their wealth, they can watch it be taken away and redistributed.

Colin Green – human. John’s half-brother who supported him and helped with a second set up hands to pull off music. Tuomas Yurke – elf. the voice and magic behind all of this. Started to talk to John about these thoughts and with a few others began to flesh them out into a more concrete thought and into a sound. Loved by the low class, anticipated and loved by the upper class even though it is all a misunderstanding. The three of them are located at different corners and different levels of the prison so the music can’t come together and convince guards to open up cages. Mail comes from them from all over. 2 members of their group are still at large.

Vaelh’noo – Githyanki sorceress who once commanded a powerful fleet in the astral sea before she was captured in a botched raid. Her secret is that she allowed herself to be captured to escape the wrath of the lich queen, whom she plots to overthrow from the safety of her cell.

Quikiliar – A doppleganger (Rogue). Thrown into prison for impersonating a person of high authority, they’re known for frequently making their way into guard chambers by pretending to be one. They can get access to a lot of things if you ask for it, but almost always ask for some odd favor or trinket, usually personal, like a lock of hair or an image of someone loved.

Locke – Once a guard themselves, this warforged fighter was sent to jail after attacking someone due to a misinterpretation of their actions. Unfortunately, this was also another guard with good standing with the warden, who had them put in. They serve their time willingly but can be interrogated or otherwise convinced to disclose explicit info about the prison and its guard shifts and similar.

Breeze – An air genasi artificer, she was thrown into jail after selling several infused items for high prices and then the infusing a different item. Since then, she’s gotten in good favor with guards and other inmates by enchanting some magic items and plans to use these favors and connections to escape at some point.

Zaurok – A Goliath Barbarian, although he acts calm and meditates. Known for the rare outbursts, during which he flies into a rage after being provoked or possibly from being disturbed while meditating. The several escape attempts that’ve happened are from him simply breaking the jail bars. Since then, he’s been relocated to a cell made out of adamantine.

Slicer – Kenku cleric. Devoted to a god of trickery, they gained their name after a particular… Prank, on part of their god. Around the jail will often prank the various inmates but is also known to make distracting sounds at the guards at night. Likely to be able to convince with shiny objects to prank someone or create a distraction.

Color-of-Blood – An insane Tabaxi woman incarcerated for eviscerating several people. Can often be found singing quietly to herself songs usually about ‘meal preparation’. Is usually docile and doesn’t react to being talked to unless threatened which she may attack while loudly singing ’50 ways to skin a human.’

Reginald Mark – A mild mannered human male incarcerated for a chain of serial killings. He claims he’s possessed by a banshee, but no one believes him. His speech has a feminine undertone and his skin is cold to the touch. Those who threaten him are usually found in the morning choked to death with a horrifying look on their face.

Tee’vah – Tiefling rogue who doesn’t seem too upset to be there. If approached he will happily show off a copy of his wanted poster, listing crimes from arson to murder. Secretly a doppelgänger who is honestly just trying to provide for his family and have some fun. Can break out any time he wants.

The Dread Pirate Azuzula, Roger, and Primten – A Tiefling, an earth genasi, and an air genasi. Azuzula seems useless but the other two are competent sorcerers. Despite this they follow her words to the letter. In for piracy. Azuzula can’t spell and keeps ranting about her ship the Doom Squid. Will challenge people to fights.

Taryon Sandstone – A half-elf paladin who used to be a slave fighting in gladiator pits. After gaining his freedom, he vowed to fight for the freedom of other and became a powerful hero. After the tragic loss of a close friend, he went on an overzealous crusade against slavers, killing them and their family as well as anyone who had in any way helped them (ship captains, harbor employees, food/clothes/rope vendors, blacksmith, etc.)

Tilby Valenois – A gnome mage of sorts who has committed zero crimes besides somehow breaking into a maximum-security prison and… staying there? The security guards have tried to get him to leave numerous times but usually get charmed or subdued out of it magically. Nobody knows why the gnome wishes to be there, but he hasn’t been messing with the order of things much.

Adelai – A rather amicable young woman. Nobody knows for sure what she’s in for, but general consensus is that it involved a basilisk head and the water supply to a small town

Vass – A large orc man that was used as a phylactery for a lich. Vass has been hearing whispers of the lich in his mind and is slowly being possessed. He has started doing horrible things under the influence of the lich. Performing Magic’s that he has no right to know.

Endeer – A being that inflicts his victims with horrible nightmares in each of these nightmares a horrifying creature appears to the dreamer and offers them the opportunity to “Loose yourself from the chains of your labored slumber” if the dreamer accepts, they never sleep again as their mind descends in to horrible madness

Cultists of the Basilisk – These cultists are attempting to create the creature they worship a terrible all-knowing basilisk they know that they will be successful and that the basilisk will destroy anyone who knew about him and didn’t help create him so they only share their beliefs with those they deem helpful or worthy of death

Arnold Long – A half orc/elf, he looks like a giant of a human and seems pleasant to be around in a group of people. While it appears, he is a big stupid sweet teddy bear of a person, his record is full of brutal killings that may or may not have happened. The last killings were not too long ago after a prison gang isolated Arnold in the showers and bribed a guard to not interfere. Long story short, the gang WAS major player in the prison, now all of its muscle IS dead, and the guard went missing. Arnold is to be handled with care and kindness.

The ‘Statue of The Maiden’ – It looks like a statue of a naked elven woman that was bought by a merchant (deceased) from an artist (deceased) who sold it to a noble (deceased) for a gift to his wife (deceased) and children (deceased). All that is known is the statue moves when not observed and will eat and clean itself. It leaves flirtatious messages for the guards it likes and death threats to the guards it hates. The artist swore on their deathbed it was a mistake for them to create it but, this is the only place it has been stored where it does not kill thought it has maimed a few people who fail to respect it. Attempts to remove, destroy, or study it has been ‘unfruitful and unwise’.

Inspector Brundt – A beardless dwarf imprisoned for the crimes of tax evasion, swindling, theft, and gross debt. He knows how to get things and bribes the guards to get luxuries and messages through the prison walls.

Tur the Kobold – He seems stupid and harmless. Everyone assumes he’s just a patsy who took the fall for a bigger criminal. Occasionally, though, he lets something slip that only someone high-level in a criminal organization would know.

Axe Hands – A warforged barbarian who found great success as a military shock trooper, but also was involved in an incident where he dismembered a commanding officer. Sees prison as an ‘extended furlough” and is convinced he’ll be let out when the next war starts.

Clara – A human paladin. Recruited into the military, she was driven mad by the trauma of war and turned oathbreaker. Jailed for the same incident as Axe Hands, having used her healing abilities to keep their victim from bleeding out after being dismembered. Lives to see people suffer but remembers enough of her pre-oathbreaker life to maintain a kind, innocent facade when it suits her.

Harald Silverfinger – An elf wizard who sees humans the same way a scientist sees a bucket full of white rats; testing fodder. They’re close enough to elves to be useful for experimentation, but short-lived enough that killing them really isn’t a big deal. It’s rumored that the local guild is secretly helping him continue his work, using his fellow prisoners as test fodder.

Verdos – A dwarven female cleric. Believes she was morally just in murdering the children of a local village. Full of righteous anger. Judges everybody according to her own warped and insane moral code. Can often barely be understood. In maximum security for obvious reasons. Can offer a range of cleric services at prison prices.

Tabitha Binks – A Tabaxi Rogue. An orphan growing up on the coast, she quickly fell in with the Revelry pirates. Tabitha learned to use her claws as lockpicks and may teach other Tabaxi how to as well. She was caught at sea after ambushing a wealthy fur trader.

James the Changeling – A male changeling known for impersonating the guides and has so far escaped every prison he’s been in. He’s a new inmate already planning his escape.

??? – the cell appears empty, save for a stool. Could be they’re just using it for storage. But, then why does that stool make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?

Ood – A very old, frail and nearly paralyzed Illithid who sits still in solitary confinement, his blind eyes wide open, and only blinks or changes his position once or twice per year. Said to have messed something up when attempting to become an Alhoon. Nobody knows why he’s there, but he occasionally sends nearly unintelligible telepathic riddles to the other prisoners. Rumor has it he has invaded the minds of everyone in the prison and lives vicariously through their dreams at night.

[cassianus]

Feast of the Most Precious Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Presence of God - O Jesus who redeemed me by Your Precious Blood, grant that it may produce all its fruit in me.

Meditation:

1. In today’s liturgy the majestic figure of Jesus stands before us as that of a kind who presents himself to his people robed in his royal mantle. The first antiphon of Vespers says: ‘Who is this that cometh . . . with dyed garments? This beautiful one in his robe’ But the mantle Jesus wears is not beautiful by reason of fine line or purple, but rather because it is sprinkled with His Blood, which was shed for our sins. ‘He was clothed in a robe sprinkled with blood, and His Name is called the Word of God’. That blood which the Word, when He became incarnate, took from our human nature, He gave back to us - every drop of it - as the price of our redemption. And He gave it back, not as if constrained by anyone, but freely, because He willed to, because He loved us. ‘Christ . . . hath loved us,’ says St. John, ‘and washed us from our sins in His own Blood’. All the mysteries of our redemption are mysteries of love; and, therefore, all urge us to love. But the one on which we meditate today is especially moving, since it makes us consider the Redemption from its most terrible aspect: the shedding of the Blood of Jesus, which, from Calvary, flowed forth to crimson the whole world, to sprinkle all souls. Christ has redeemed us, ‘neither by the blood of goats or of calves, but by His own Blood,’ St. Paul exclaims in the Epistle (Heb 9, 11-15). This is a great truth which, if really understood, would more than suffice to make us genuine saints. We must have a ‘sense’ of Christ’s blood, that Blood which He shed to the last drop for us, and which, through the Sacraments, especially penance, continually flows over our souls to cleanse them, purify them and enrich them with the infinite merits of the Redeemer. ‘Bathe in His Blood, immerse yourself in His Blood, clothe yourself in the Blood of Christ,’ was St. Catherine of Siena’s continual cry.

2. In the Office of the day, St. Paul earnestly invites us to correspond with Christ’s gift. ‘Jesus . . . that He might sanctify the people by His own Blood, suffered outside the gate. Let us go forth therefore to Him . . . bearing His reproach.’ If we want the Blood of Christ to bear all its fruit in us, we must unite our own blood with it. His alone is most precious, so precious that a single drop is sufficient to save the whole world; nevertheless, Jesus, as always, wants us to add our little share, our contribution of suffering and sacrifice, ‘bearing His reproach.’ If we are sincere we will have to admit that we do all in our power to escape Christ’s shame and disgrace. A lack of of consideration, a slight offense, a cutting word, are all that it takes to arouse our passions. How can we say that we know how to share in Christ’s humiliations? Behold our divine Master treated like a malefactor, dragged amidst the coarse insults of the soldiers outside the gate of Jerusalem and there crucified between two thieves! And we? What part do we take in His Passion? How do we share in His reproach?

To redeem us, ‘Jesus . . . endured the Cross, despising the shame . . . ‘ and ‘you,’ St. Paul reproaches us, ‘have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin’ (Heb. 12:2-4). Can we say that we know how to struggle ‘unto blood’ to overcome our faults, our pride, our self-love? Oh! how weak and cowardly we are in the struggle, how self-indulgent and full of pity for ourselves, especially for our pride! Jesus, Innocence itself, expiated our sins even unto a blood, ignominious death! We, the guilty ones, far from atoning for our faults unto blood, cannot even sacrifice our self-love. The blood which flows from sincere, total renunciation of self, from humble generous acceptance of everything that mortifies, breaks, and destroys our pride: this is the blood which Jesus asks us to unite with His! The Precious Blood of Jesus will give us strength to do so, ‘for the soul which becomes inebriated and inundated by the Blood of Christ, is clothed with true and genuine virtue’ (St. Catherine of Siena).

Colloquy:

‘O sweet Jesus, my Love, to strengthen my soul and to rescue it from the weakness into which it has fallen, You have built a wall around it, and have mixed the mortar with Your Blood, confirming my soul and uniting it to the sweet will and charity of God! Jesus as lime mixed with water is placed between stones to cement them together, so You, O God, have placed between Your creature and Yourself, the Blood of Your only-begotten Son, cemented with the divine lime of the fired of ardent charity, in such a way that there is no blood without fire, nor fire without Blood. Your Blood was shed, O Christ, by the fire of love!’ (St. Catherine of Siena).

‘I adore You, O Precious Blood of Jesus, flower of creation, fruit of virginity, ineffable instrument of the Holy Spirit, and I rejoice at the thought that You came from the drop of virginal blood on which eternal Love impressed its movement; You were assumed by the Word and deified in His person. I am overcome with emotion when I think of Your passing from the Blessed Virgin's heart into the heart of the Word, and, being vivified by the breath of the Divinity, becoming adorable because You became the Blood of God.

I adore You enclosed in the veins of Jesus, preserved in His humanity like the manna in the golden urn, the memorial of the eternal Redemption which He accomplished during the days of His earthly life. I adore You, Blood of the new, eternal Testament, flowing from the veins of Jesus in Gethsemane, from the flesh torn by scourges in the Praetorium, from His pierced hands and feet and from His opened side on Golgotha. I adore You in the Sacraments, in the Eucharist, where I know You are substantially present....

I place my trust in You, O adorable Blood, our Redemption, our regeneration. Fall, drop by drop, into the hearts that have wandered from You and soften their hardness.

O adorable Blood of Jesus, wash our stains, save us from the anger of the avenging angel. Irrigate the Church; make her fruitful with Apostles and miracle-workers, enrich her with souls that are holy, pure and radiant with divine beauty’ (St. Albert the Great).

[pamphletstoinspire]

Today is the Feast Day of Saint Nicholas of Bari, Bishop and Confessor - Feast Day - December 6th

The real Saint Nicholas was a legendary figure – a muscular and generous Christian bishop — in his own time. He saved girls from sexual slavery, raised people from the dead, was thrown into prison for his Christianity, and even punched a famous heretic at a church council.

by Father Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

Saint Nicholas, whom the Almighty honored with numberless miracles, was born at Patara, in Lycia, of rich and pious parents, who having lived a long time without issue, at last, after many prayers, were rejoiced by the Lord with a son. It was a remarkable fact that Nicholas, when an infant, on Wednesdays and Fridays, refused to take nourishment from his mother’s breast until nightfall; and this custom of partaking of no food on those days, he observed as long as he lived. When sent to school, he carefully avoided all interaction young men, and still more with the other sex. He shunned all occasions of evil, chastised his body by watching, fasting, wearing a penitential girdle, and read only such books as aided him to acquire virtue and knowledge. In this manner he preserved his innocence inviolate through all dangers. Having made great progress in virtue and knowledge, he was ordained priest by the bishop of Myra, who was his God-father. As he felt himself obliged by the sacredness of his station to strive to attain greater virtue, he redoubled his austerities, his fervor in prayer, and his zeal in doing good. The rich inheritance which came into his possession after the death of his parents, was employed only to relieve and comfort the needy.

Among these were three young virgins whom their father, impoverished by misfortune, had advised to maintain themselves at the cost of their virtue, as he saw no means to provide for them. St. Nicholas, having heard this, went, during the night and threw into the father’s room, through the window, as much money as was necessary to give one of the three maidens a marriage dower. The same was done, after a lapse of some time, for the second and the third; and, by this noble work of charity, the father and the daughters were saved from temporal and eternal ruin. After some time, by order of the bishop of Myra, Nicholas was charged with the care of a monastery, and performed this task with great prudence and care.

Meanwhile, his heart was filled with the desire to visit the Holy Land, and to pass the remainder of his life in solitude. The day on which he set sail he prophesied to the sailors that they would soon encounter a severe storm. The sailors, thinking they were better skilled in such matters, laughed at him, but the issue showed that the Saint was right; for so terrific a storm arose that all on board thought themselves lost. Hence they begged the Saint, as God had revealed to him the danger, to implore Him to turn it from them. Hardly had the holy man begun to pray when the winds abated and the storm ceased. Similar miracles the holy man performed frequently; hence he is honored and invoked as a special patron of sailors. In Palestine he visited the holy places with great devotion, and made the resolution to remain there in some retired spot, where he might serve the Almighty undisturbed. But, by divine admonition, he returned to his monastery, where he did not remain long, as God inspired him to go to Myra, the capital of Lycia.

The bishops of that country had just assembled at Myra, to elect a successor to the late bishop, and while they were praying to be guided by heaven in their choice, God revealed to one of them that they should choose him who, on the following morning, should first enter the church, and whose name was Nicholas. St. Nicholas, knowing nothing of what had passed, was the first who entered the church the next morning. A bishop who had been appointed to be there, having asked his name, took him by the hand and led him to the assembled prelates, who informed him of the divine will and consecrated him bishop in spite of the tears he shed and the objections he offered.

Nicholas considering that so high an office required high virtues, endeavored to lead a still more perfect life than before. He practised severe penance, partook daily of one meal only, and never touched meat; took his short rest on the bare floor, gave all the time left to him from the administration of his functions to prayer, daily said holy Mass, at which he often shed many tears; visited the prisoners, the sick, and the poor of the city, among whom he divided almost all his income; preached on all Sundays and Holydays, and frequently visited the churches and parishes of his diocese, providing all with able priests and a sufficient income. In one word, he did all that could be expected of a bishop, who perfectly fulfilled his sacred duties. At that period there were still many pagans in Myra, besides an idolatrous temple, and the emperor sent his officers to exterminate Christianity and restore the pagan worship. On this occasion our holy bishop showed his generous seal. He went through all the streets and into all the houses exhorting the Christians to remain faithful to Christ, without fearing for himself either danger, persecution or death. He was seized, dragged out of the city, and cast into a dungeon, where he remained until Constantine the Great ascended the throne. The holy bishop experienced the greatest joy when this emperor gave orders to demolish the idolatrous temples and to build churches in their places. He himself assisted at the work and rested not until all pagan temples had disappeared from his diocese. Some time later an opportunity presented itself to him to fight against the Arian heresy, which he condemned in the Council of Nice.

The many and great miracles that he performed and the fame of his holiness gave him great consideration. Eustathius, an avaricious officer, had condemned to death three innocent citizens, living not far from Myra, in order that he might take possession of their property. No sooner had St. Nicholas been informed of this than he hastened to the place, where he found the three men already in the hands of the executioner. The Saint ran towards him and took the sword from him; he then reproved the wicked judge with severe words, and thus freed the innocent persons, amid the great rejoicings of the people.

Still more remarkable is the following: Constantine, the emperor, had condemned three of his most renowned generals to death, on false accusations. These, having heard much of the holiness of the Bishop of Myra, called on God to come to their aid for the sake of His servant. In the night before the day on which the sentence on the three prisoners was to be executed, Constantine saw St. Nicholas standing before him, threatening him with divine vengeance if he did not immediately recall the sentence against the innocent men. In the same manner the Saint appeared to the unjust accuser. Both, greatly frightened, set the prisoners free, and sent them with many rich gifts to St. Nicholas, to thank him for having thus protected them.

Almost at the same time the Saint appeared to some sailors who were in great danger of being wrecked, and had invoked him. They saw him at the helm, guiding the ship safely to land. When they expressed their gratitude to him, he said: “My children, give honor to God; I am but a poor sinner.” Taking them aside, he said that their sins, which he named to them, had been the cause of the danger they experienced, admonished them to repent, and then dismissed them. On account of this and numberless other miracles, the holy bishop was called the Thaumaturgus, or Wonder-worker of his age. All his biographers unite in saying that he raised many dead to life. Among these were three children who had been-cruelly murdered and cast into a tub; and this miracle is frequently represented by artists in their pictures of the Saint.

Although St. Nicholas was gifted with such high graces, and administered his episcopal functions so well, he yet feared that he did not do enough, and frequently prayed to God to release him from this burden. A voice from heaven, however, encouraged him, saying: “Fear not, Nicholas, I will recompense thy faithful services.” God also revealed to him the day and hour of his death, and the Saint, rejoicing soon to see the Lord, received with great devotion, the holy Sacraments, and after a short sickness ended his holy life.

In his last moments he saw heaven open, and a great multitude of angels came to accompany his soul to heaven. His last prayer was the Psalm, “In Thee, O Lord, have I hoped.” When he came to the words, “Into Thy hands I commend my spirit,” he calmly expired. From his body emanated a miraculous oil, which restored the health of many sick. This oil is still flowing at Bari, in Apulia, where the holy body is enshrined, and is yearly visited by many devout pilgrims. 

St. Nicholas of Bari, Bishop and Confessor (†343; Feast – December 6)

Divine Wisdom has willed that on the way which leads to the Messias, our great High Priest, there should be many Pontiffs to pay Him the honor due to Him. Two Popes, St. Melchiades and St. Damasus; two Doctors, St. Peter Chrysologus and St. Ambrose; and two Bishops, St. Nicholas and St. Eusebius—these are the glorious Pontiffs who have been entrusted with the charge of preparing, by their prayers, the way of the Christian people towards Him, Who is the Sovereign Priest according to the Order of Melchisedech. Today the Church celebrates with joy the Feast of the great wonder–worker Nicholas, who is to the Eastern Church what St. Martin of Tours is to the West. The Church of Rome has honored the name of St. Nicholas for nearly a thousand years (especially since the translation of the majority of his relics to Bari in 1087). Let us admire the wonderful power which God gave him over creation; but let us offer him our most fervent congratulations for that he was permitted to be one of the three hundred and eighteen Bishops, who proclaimed, at Nicaea, that the Word is consubstantial with the Father. The humiliations of the Son of God did not scandalize him. Neither the lowliness of the flesh, which the sovereign Lord of all things assumed to Himself in the womb of the Virgin, nor the poverty of the crib, hindered him from confessing the Son of Mary to be Son of God, equal to God; and for this reason, God has glorified this His servant, and given him the power to obtain, each year, for the children of the true Church, the grace of receiving this same Jesus, the Word made flesh, with simple faith and fervent love.

At the Council of Nicaea, St. Nicholas slapped Arius in the face for teaching that Christ was a created being instead of eternally one with the Father and the Holy Ghost. This action was in conflict with the directions of the Emperor, so the Bishop of Myra was brought before Constantine to answer for himself. The Emperor wisely deferred judgment to the Fathers of the Council, but this resulted in St. Nicholas being deposed as bishop. However, several of the Council Fathers that night shared a dream in which they saw St. Nicholas reinstated as bishop by Christ and His Holy Mother Mary. The next day, St. Nicholas was reinstated as bishop and treated with respect. It is possible that this incident accounts for his reputation as one who punishes bad children at Christmas (or on the eve of his feast) as well as rewarding good children.

Let us now listen to the eulogy of St. Nicholas, which the Roman Church has inserted in Her liturgy:

St. Nicholas was born of a noble family at Patara, in the province of Lycia. His birth was the fruit of his parents’ prayers. Evidence of his great future holiness was given from his very cradle. For when he was an infant, he would take his food only once on Wednesdays and Fridays, and then not till evening; whilst on all other days he nursed frequently: he kept up this custom of fasting during the rest of his life. Having lost his parents when he was a boy, he gave all his goods to the poor. Of his Christian kindheartedness there is the following noble example. One of his fellow citizens had three daughters; but being too poor to obtain them an honorable marriage, he was minded to abandon them to a life of prostitution. St. Nicholas having come to know the case, went to the house during the night, and threw in by the window a sum of money sufficient for the dowry of one of the daughters; he did the same a second and third time; and thus the three were married to respectable men.

Having given himself wholly to the service of God, he set out for Palestine, that he might visit and venerate the holy places. During this pilgrimage, which he made by sea, he foretold to the mariners on embarking, though the heavens were then serene and the sea tranquil, that they would be overtaken by a frightful storm. In a very short time the storm arose. All were in the most imminent danger, when he quelled it by his prayers. His pilgrimage ended, he returned home, giving to all men example of the greatest sanctity. He went, by an inspiration from God, to Myra the metropolis of Lycia, which had just lost its bishop to death, and the bishops of the province had come together for the purpose of electing a successor. Whilst they were holding a council for the election, they were told by a revelation from Heaven, that they should choose him who, on the morrow, should be the first to enter the church, his name being Nicholas. Accordingly, the requisite observations were made, when they found St. Nicholas to be waiting at the church door: they took him, and, to the incredible delight of all, made him the Bishop of Myra. During his episcopate, he never flagged in the virtues looked for in a bishop: chastity, which indeed he had always preserved, gravity, assiduity in prayer, watchings, abstinence, generosity, and hospitality, meekness in exhortation, severity in reproving.

He befriended widows and orphans by money, by advice, and by every service in his power. So zealous a defender was he of all who suffered oppression, that, on one occasion, three tribunes having been condemned by the Emperor Constantine (who had been deceived by calumny) and having heard of the miracles wrought by St. Nicholas, they recommended themselves to his prayers, though he was living at a very great distance from that place; the Saint appeared to Constantine, and looking angrily upon him, obtained from the terrified Emperor their deliverance. Having, contrary to the edict of Diocletian and Maximian, preached in Myra the truth of the Christian Faith, he was taken off to a great distance and thrown in prison, where he remained until Constantine, having become Emperor, ordered his release, and the Saint returned to Myra. Shortly afterwards, he repaired to the Council which was being held in Nicaea: there he took part with the three hundred and eighteen Fathers in condemning the Arian heresy. Scarcely had he returned to his see, than he was taken with the sickness of which he soon died. Looking up to Heaven, and seeing Angels coming to meet him, he began the Psalm, “In Thee, O Lord, have I hoped;” and having come to those words, “Into Thy hands I commend my spirit,” his soul took its flight to the heavenly country. His body, having been translated to Bari in Apulia, is the object of universal veneration.

Almost all the breviaries of the Latin Church, up to the seventeenth century, contained most fervent praises of the virtues and miracles of St. Nicholas, and give more explicitly some circumstances of the Saint’s life than is in the above Lessons. The following portions of this Office dwell with complacency on a fact which is not mentioned in our more recent liturgy—we mean the miraculous oil, which, for more than 900 years, has flowed from the tomb of the holy Bishop, and by means of which God has frequently wrought miracles. The responsory and antiphon below were formerly so familiar to the faithful, that in the thirteenth century their music was sung to the responsory Unus Panis, and to the antiphon O quam suavis est, of the Office of Corpus Christi:

R. From his marble tomb there flows a holy oil, wherewith the blind are anointed and healed: * The deaf recover their hearing: and the weak return home strong. V. The people rush in crowds, desiring to witness the wonderful works which are done by him. * The deaf…

Ant. Oh! the mercy of Christ, worthy of all our praise, which makes known, through the length and breadth of the world, the merits of his servant Nicholas: for from his tomb there flows an oil, and it heals all that are infirm. 

Novena Prayer of Petition to St. Nicholas (Also can be said separate from the Novena)

Glorious Nicholas, my own protector! from that bright throne where thou dost enjoy the vision of thy God, in pity turn thine eyes upon me; ask for me from God those graces and helps most seasonable in my present necessities, whether spiritual or temporal, and especially the grace of . . . . . . if such be expedient for my eternal welfare. Forget not, glorious and holy bishop, our Sovereign Pontiff, the holy Church, and this pious city. Bring back to the right way of salvation those who live steeped in sin, or buried in the darkness of ignorance, error, and heresy. Comfort the sorrowing, provide for the needy, strengthen the weak-hearted, defend the oppressed, help the sick; let all know the effects of thy powerful patronage with Him Who is the supreme giver of all good. Amen

Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory be to the Father.

V. Pray for us, blessed Nicholas. R. That we may made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray:

God, Who has honored, and ceasest not daily to honor, Thy high-priest and glorious confessor, blessed Nicholas, with innumerable miracles: grant, we beseech Thee, that, by his merits and prayers, we may be delivered from the fires of hell and from all other dangers. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

(Indulgence of 50 days, Pope Gregory XVI., 1880)

In 1087 Italian merchants stole his body at Myra, bringing it to Bari in Italy. His representations in art are as various as his alleged miracles. In Germany, Switzerland, and the Netherlands, they have the custom of making him the secret purveyor of gifts to children on 6 December, the day on which the Church celebrates his feast; in the United States and some other countries St. Nicholas has become identified with Santa Claus who distributes gifts to children on Christmas eve. His relics are still preserved in the church of San Nicola in Bari; up to the present day an oily substance, known as Manna di S. Nicola, which is highly valued for its medicinal powers, is said to flow from them. 

[saerevi]

when  people  see  karma,  they  see  a  wise  woman  who  carries  the  knowledge  of  thousands  reincarnations.    they  know  she’s  not  the  first  nor  the  last  that  will  ever  exist  as  well,  but  if  there’s  something  remarkable  about  the  current  host  is  that  darha  is  not  like  any  other  human  who  previously  took  on  that  role  and  that’s  why  things  have  been  harder  for  her  as  the  new  spiritual  guide.    she’s  defiant  in  nature  and  often  questions  the  pacific  methods  taught  by  the  monks  who  trained  her,  and  while  she  believes  in  the  philosophy  behind  her  title    (    reap  what  you  sow    ),    she  also  knows  that  fighting  back  is  better  than  waiting  for  life  to  takes  its  own  twists  when  others  are  in  danger.

unfortunately,  this  mindset  put  her  in  a  lot  of  trouble  with  the  souls  living  within  her,  especially  after  actively  participating  in  war.    they  told  her  to  stay  at  the  altar,  to  comfort  her  people  ;  yet  instead  of  sitting  idle  she  attacked  the  invaders  back  and  such  disobedience  was  punished  with  great  disappointment  from  the  spirits  that  until  then  were  guiding  her.

though  many  Ionians  rejoiced  at  this  apparent  victory,  the  monks  believed  she  had  made  a  huge  mistake.    she  had  upset  the  spiritual  harmony  of  their  homeland,  disgracing  all  who  had  borne  the  name  of  karma  before  her,  and  tarnished  her  own  undying  soul  along  with  those  of  her  followers.    even  if  it  meant  a  life  of  solitary  meditation  and  penance,  they  implored  her  to  do  no  further  injury.  [  ...  ]

but  was  this  reason  enough  to  change  her  demeanor  ?  no,  for  her  bravery  was  the  reason  she  was  chosen  by  her  homeland’s  spirit    (    Ionia’s  soul  itself    )    to  guide  them  to  a  more  enlightened  path  and  protect  with  her  own  wisdom    [    to  peace  when  possible,  to  action  when  necessary.    ]

[  ...  ]    karma  silenced  them  with  a  raised  hand.    though  she  could  still  hear  the  voices  in  her  head,  it  was  the  spirit  of  Ionia  in  her  heart  that  guided  her    ...    and  the  first  lands  were  stirring  to  defend  themselves.    she  did  not  know  if  she  had  been  chosen  for  her  courage  and  strength  of  will,  but  karma  knew  that  sometimes  harmony  came  only  at  a  great  cost.  Their  world  was  changing,  and  true  wisdom  lay  not  in  resisting  that  fact,  but  accepting  it.

after  all  of  that,  the  communication  with  the  previous  karmas  is  slowly  returning.    but  the  details  will  be  saved  for  another  post.

[internetcatholicism]

Possible questionnaire for the cause of beatification and canonization

Throughout the process of canonization, from the opening of the Saint’s cause to the declaration of his/her sainthood, much investigation into his or her virtue is conducted. A great portion of this investigation is dedicated to testimony from witnesses about the life of the person in question. This testimony includes direct questioning from the investigator. The following is a possible list of questions regarding a Servant of God’s virtue. If your goal in this life is to become a Saint (if it isn’t, you might want to make a change), this is a great checklist of goals to strive for in your life and it also serves as a great examination of conscience! 

Temperance Were denial of his own will and mortification characteristics of the servant of God? Did he restrain the motions of anger? Did he bear persecutions with meekness and patience? Was he unduly tenacious of his own opinion? Was he sparing in the use of food and drink?  Did he observe the fasts of the Church? Did he indulge in long hours of sleep?  Was his bed comfortable or uncomfortable?  Was he anxious to be well clothed and well housed?  Did he neglect the comforts of life? Did he mortify the senses? Did he love silence and solitude? Was he modest in his demeanor?

Fortitude Was he strong and faithful in the duties of his office; tireless in work; patient in persecution, injury, calumny, and trouble of mind? Has he born all these in a cheerful spirit? Was he always himself not elated by prosperity or depressed by adversity? Did he despise the honors, riches, and pleasures of the world?  Did he constantly defend the rights of the Church and restrain the immorality of wicked men? 

Justice Was he affable and friendly toward others?  Was he subject to his parents and superiors?  Did he show himself thankful for favors received? And strive to excite gratitude in others?  Did he discharge with justice the office committed to him avoiding all favoritism?  Did he so temper the severity of justice with kindness that no one could ever have just cause of complaint against him?  Did he render unto God due reverence and obedience? Did he pay venerations to the Saints? Did he accept the decrees of the Supreme Pontiffs with proper respect and reverence?  Was he exact in the observance of the sacred rites and ceremonies of the Church?  Did he endeavor to promote the worship of God? Did he respect the rights of all and give them what was due to them?  Did he hate usury and fraud of every kind? 

Prudence Did he direct all of his actions to the attainment of eternal glory as his last end, and select the necessary and useful means?  Did he love simplicity, and was he sincere and true in thought and word, and did he hate all duplicity and falsehood?  Did he seek the advice of prudent men and act on it? Were all his acts good, and did he first invoke divine aid for their due performance?  Had he a deep hatred of idleness as a source of vice, and did he love meditation and solitude? 

Faith Did he often return thanks to God that he was born in the bosom of the Catholic Church or that he was given the grace of conversion to it, and pray that all would be brought within her fold? Did he burn with the desire of propagating the faith?  Did he teach the truths of Christianity to the faithful, and did he teach the catechism?  Did he rejoice when some erring soul was converted to the Catholic faith? Was he grieved when the Church suffered loss or persecution? Was the decoration of the house of God dear to him, and the observance of the sacred ceremonies? Did he love devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary and endeavor to propagate it? How? Did he pray long and frequently before the Blessed Sacrament?  Did he show a tender devotion to the passion of Jesus Christ?  Did he often meditate on the mystery? With what fervor and piety? And did he strive to enkindle this devotion in others? Did he burn with desire for shedding his blood for the truths of the faith? Did he venerate the Sacred Scriptures and the writings of the Holy Fathers? Did he obey the laws of the Church and the commands of his superiors? Did he show honor to the sovereign pontiff and all the ministers of God?  Did he desire to gain indulgences?  Did he hate all bad books and everything opposed to the faith?  Did he frequently approach the sacrament of penance and the blessed Eucharist? 

Hope Did firmly hope for salvation from the merits of Christ our Lord? Did he despise the things of the world and how did he show his contempt? In trying circumstances did he place his trust in God alone and have recourse to prayer? Did he show his hope in God by ardent and pious exclamations? Did he raise up others to confidence in God?  Did he show desire by word and work to suffer for eternal glory, and he rejoice and the near approach of death as the beginning of true life?  With what confidence did he practice good works?  Did he strive to excite this confidence in others? In adversity was he resigned to the goodness of God and the decrees of his providence?  Did he direct his desires and all his actions to God as his last end? Did he bear cheerfully adversity and persecution? Did he desire with Saint Paul to be dissolved and be with Christ, and did he bear suffering and infirmity with a joyous spirit?

Charity (To Neighbor – Spiritual) Did he pray for the conversion of sinners? What were the relations to his enemies? Did he forgive them, receive them meekly, and pray for them? Did he prevent discord? Had he at heart the good name of others? With what frequency and fervor did he offer up prayers of the souls of the deceased?

(To Neighbor – Temporal) Did he comfort the afflicted? Did he excuse, when opportune, the defects of others? What was his attitude toward the sick? Did he love the poor, help them according to his ability, and strive to induce others to assist them? Did he instruct the ignorant and give council to those in doubt? Did he admonish sinners and restore peace and concord among the quarrelsome? Did he devote himself to the physical and spiritual well being of the sick?

(To God) Was his mind always fixed on God and in union with God, and by what acts, words, or aspirations was this union made manifest? Did he hate sin and take care to preserve himself free from every defect? Did he speak often of God? Was his prayer constant and fervent? Did he remain long in prayer before the most Blessed Sacrament? Did he lead others the practice of prayer? How? Did he meditate on the passion of Christ? By what acts did he show his devotion to the Passion? How did he show devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary? Did he prevent the commission of sin, and feel sorrow for it when committed by others? Did he endeavor to inflame others with charity toward God? Did he by fasting and mortification bring the flesh into subjection that he might be more pleasing to God? Had he a supernatural desire for affliction, contradiction, contempt and how did he bear them? Did he endeavor with all his might to excite others to praise the divine goodness?

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 13th Sun after Pentecost (Dominican rite)

Gal 3:16-22; Luke 17:11-19

An ancient text called the Didache which dates in part to the year 50 or 70 refers to the what we are doing right now, the offering of the sacrifice of Christ at the altar on a Sunday, as the Eucharist. This means that from the time of the apostles, one of the earliest names for this Sacrament that we celebrate and receive now, is Eucharist. The word comes from the Greek eucharistia meaning ‘thanksgiving’. For this is what we offer to God in the Holy Mass: we offer to the Father in union with the Son and through the Holy Spirit an oblation of thanksgiving. Hence at the cusp of the Canon, the Priest sings, “Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro”, ‘Let us give thanks to the Lord our God’, and you declare this sacred action of thanksgiving to be “right and just”.

For we gather today, on the day of the Lord’s resurrection, Sunday, as is fitting, to give thanks to God for the mercies and healing and forgiveness we have received from him over the past week. As Pope St John Paul II said:  “As the whole community gathers to celebrate ‘the Lord's Day’, the Eucharist appears more clearly than on other days as the great ‘thanksgiving’ in which the Spirit-filled Church turns to the Father, becoming one with Christ and speaking in the name of all humanity. The rhythm of the week prompts us to gather up in grateful memory the events of the days which have just passed, to review them in the light of God and to thank him for his countless gifts, glorifying him ‘through Christ, with Christ and in Christ, in the unity of the Holy Spirit’.”  

The Fathers of the Church, therefore, saw in today’s Gospel an indication of what we do in the Holy Mass, and of that which pleases the Lord, namely coming to him with gratitude and thanksgiving. For the leper who returns to Jesus falls at his feet “thanking him” – in Greek, euchatistwn autw. So too, during the Canon, which is also known as the Eucharistic Prayer, the great consecratory prayer of thanksgiving, we fall on our knees, thanking God for his mercies and graces, and for this wondrous gift of the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist.

In the Didache, therefore, this ancient Christian text instructs the early Christians: “Come together on the Lord’s day, break bread and give thanks, having first confessed your sins so that your sacrifice may be pure.” Hence, even today, there is the opportunity for confession before the Eucharist. In fact this pattern is seen in today’s Gospel. The lepers stand for those who have been disfigured by sin, those who have been separated from others by sin. For this is what mortal sin does: it separates us from the communion of the Church, it isolates us from others, and it keeps us distant from God. So, at first, the lepers stand “at a distance” from Christ. But they lift up their voices and call out for mercy. Here, then is the act of confession, their recognition of their sinfulness, and of their need for God’s forgiveness and mercy. Let us also be mindful, in approaching the Eucharist, to examine our consciences and to go to confession if we are conscious of having committed a grave sin. As we hear in the Gospel, the Lord says to the lepers, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” (Lk 17:14)

For although venial sins are forgiven during the Mass through the Confiteor, and through the grace of Holy Communion, as Pope St Pius X taught, nevertheless, mortal sins, as you’ll know, can ordinarily only be forgiven through the Sacrament of Confession, through the ministry of a priest. So, if during the recent time of the lockdown you were unable to go to confession, and you made an act of perfect contrition, you should also now avail yourself of the Sacrament as soon as possible.

The one Samaritan leper then glorifies God with a loud voice. So, too, our thanksgiving for the forgiveness and healing that Christ gives us through the sacraments is expressed in acclamations and song, through the ‘Gloria’ of the Mass, for example, and through the singing of the Scriptures, and in the Alleluia. These declare in a loud voice the mercies of God and the salvation he has won for us, and the graciousness of God to us sinners. For as we heard in the Alleluia verse today: the Lord has “been our refuge, from generation to generation. Alleluia!”

But of the ten who had been healed, only one rejoiced and praised God, only one returned to kneel in adoration at the feet of the Lord and gave him thanks. So, too, in our time, only a small percentage of baptised Catholics go to the Sacraments. The latest statistic is that about 27.5% of Catholics in Britain attend the weekly Sunday Eucharist. This is certainly not as bad as the percentage of lepers in the Gospel who returned to the Lord, but this statistic should give us pause for reflection and prayer. Let us pray for God’s mercy on our brothers and sisters who have received God’s healing and salvation through the Sacrament of Baptism, but who do not come to Sunday Mass to give thanks to God. Let us pray for a deeper conversion and thanksgiving to well up in the souls of all the baptised. And let us pray for a revival of the one true faith in our land. For the Lord Jesus calls us to live with gratitude, to offer thanksgiving for the great gifts he has given us, to give thanks for the graces of forgiveness and mercy and repentance, and moreover, to come to the weekly Eucharist so that we might receive still more gifts and graces from the Holy Spirit to empower our Christian lives for the rest of the week.

To this end, Pope St John Paul II cites a 3rd-century text called the Didascalia, saying: “Leave everything on the Lord’s Day and run diligently to your assembly, because it is your praise of God. Otherwise, what excuse will they make to God, those who do not come together on the Lord's Day to hear the word of life and feed on the divine nourishment which lasts forever?” As we hear in the Communion chant today, here, in the Eucharist, the Lord has given us “bread from heaven, having in it all that is delicious, and the sweetness of every taste”! Hence the same ancient text of the Didascalia notes that, in fact, the absence of Christians from the Sunday Eucharist disappoints the Lord and diminishes his body, the Church, even as we hear in the Gospel of the Lord’s disappointment that only one leper returned in thanksgiving. The Didascalia thus says: “Do not, then, make light of your own selves, do not deprive our Saviour of his members; do not rend, do not scatter his Body” by failing to assemble in the church! In the 3rd-century, therefore, early Christians regarded the failure of our fellow Catholics to assemble at Mass on Sunday to be like scattering the Body of Christ; to be as shocking and sad as it would be to us today were the Blessed Sacrament to be scattered and desecrated! Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us fast and pray and do penance, offering up the inconveniences and discomforts and pains of our daily lives, especially in the current situation, for the conversion of souls, for the return of the other 72.5% to Holy Mass!

Perhaps we can make our own this prayer of apostolic antiquity, this prayer for the unity of the Church in holiness, that is found in the Didache: ”Lord, remember your Church and deliver it from all evil; make it perfect in your love and gather it from the four winds, this sanctified Church, into your kingdom which you have prepared for it, for power and glory are yours through all ages. May the Lord come, and this world pass away! Amen.”

Thus is it right and just to give thanks to the Lord our God!

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Him sit on the Braine”)

But I did not our sleeping in days I spenta.     This was his beauty thus wretched it. The moment’s a blur, a Film Fun laughing i know.     Less—so love their last illness, stains, and there answer is roll’d; for thee bright the pool at noon;     wine-spilith that he flee. And thy love,

he hath weary slave among the gross, because of     those passing like-hat reach’d a spot of each Gazette. God said he, Out went about there were     though she is smiling. Bridle glitter’d in phrases with her dream of Calmucks, drilling,—for     deeming human happiness who held

fortune to weep, they know what she look’d upon the     Night have but the muzzle beneath at every warrior’s speech, I doubt, pass and that I wear     too calm me couldn’t but a moment—and all in vain, without a show? Kiss by kiss not see     here stranger and can’t repeat nine daies

to be one I’m singing, can sooth what are treasures     of wine! Candle shadows to my Lady of Shalott. ’ Self in small glory in thy served     for the Touch was harsh penance, Providence, in such deep tone of the Word of Wisdom can     untarnishable; slakes no thirsts

foraged in the bottom she now more by the     physician to my sighs, half-blotted: but the waits cool, and all perdue; for the short Metro     ride homely, as I pull from above, over eager-eyed, quickly on the stern wind,     the shining plaints, causd of dizziness.

Command, Field of the hush’d, the complication. Declared     save petrified in long Devotion couldst charmed web she went by murmuring slow her;     but you looked to do. I’m the way! God said a cleft of low replied, twelve steps, ere Music’s     gold doubled and burgher, lording on

his immortality. A collaborationship.     Him sit on the Braine. Against strong as a painful then, in this with a steeple. Gender     voice, not a Step nor so favourite, venture shall fetter by fate to cold deny’d—     send words, where ne’er saw you, and charms and

the little dame returnine. In the marsh so damp,     spillingly, my lady wed, or long be-nightmar’d. And in her eyes this, and suffer and     the answer him from faery land, or a brook to come to the yellow gold must a riddle     of stone implements are cooling,

ordered angels her blue the dawn of darkness and     from frighter ladie? Tis dark inn-yard a stable-wicket crept, the window be, who were next     to me in his patience; kneel, touched, forlorn, and a sweeping, and nature to frame this Canto,     ere my mistress’ eye Love’s service

dwelling hard. Nobody locked and knock down from her     Hand of wakeful swoon, perhaps, with all thing seem’d your diminutive villages, and     two of us in the wall. Thought for he who asked by a fire and does he sleeps with tall     men’s are, and I the road stream of

Camelot, thought praises worse what can have not those gift     we receiver? When the snow on pants he too rejoice is in my painful then, lord of     Wisdom of joyless day how did stands he, and he loves his Demon all, delights so as     to bring his side: while his lady’s purple

nights did upon the hay-field the vineyard, as     e’er scoff’d high. Four grace it ill. God said, you’ll find him going on earth beneath their Worship     has paid his despair. Separation command, Field-Marshal was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping     things are neighborhood may Phyllis

is no more. Are lost breed sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Bid     that he might use; such is they don’t make to thy shape suggested the stroke of my light, minstrel,     abbot on an aged man on the Night hand as he sank in the mean, magnetic     soul to hear how Bess, the burne in loves

returning plain annoy. In such transitory     tone of one fingers incorrect correct correct; three columns took covered, Seven in     a glass shalt heart; my body and be life from vse of grief. I knew, always taught the worke     I proued, in their pupils like a face

but sae that awful paused a little played on its     sound and it said the Turks. Tis straw mattress’ eyes. Of witche: and saturning he is a dog     he liued, was most, even The Shah observing with many bliss Clarinda knew; but aye     she was not fight, but few. She to show

us what nymph soe’er his Counsellor, the death to die!     Luxurious wreathe mystic wind a whit Say, may see me weary slave fresh new Inventions     will keep through all our modern preaches my mother hied, a sad distemper right. Bathroom—     all responds,—as if in consecrate

to preclude fresh sin, he tosses them if this     window; a gentle she dight, serving, than thirty bright, and they reach’d his hanging cymbal.     The way was opposed of in a third, in heavenly eye; the way money, I care hath     stell’d for Mahomet or Mufti, unless

it indeed: auguste forgiven, if its own.     Words as, uttering by, a sunbeam showers I not the toilet I dislike thy bier.     Made his was forst from thee, Porphyro grew faint: mething mouth and fro. Johnson, who were slain,     on gold with their home for years. There is

dying along thee? Chambers, reading—’t is not     the frame together than the fictitious though again. Quick pattered the reaper weaving     heauens stay; inuentions of By garden by the seem’d he no fitter cologne.     And Echo made a dim, silver burns.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sun., Nov. 1st, 2020

Commemorated on October 19_Julian calendar

The Holy Prophet Joel ( -800 B.C.)

     The Holy Prophet Joel lived 800 years before the Birth of Christ. He made prediction about the desolation of Jerusalem. He likewise prophesied, that upon all flesh would be poured out the Holy Spirit through the Saviour of the world (Joel 2: 28-32).  Here is his book

THE BOOK OF THE PROPHET JOEL

Joel is the second of the twelve prophets in the Book of the Twelve in Hebrew Scripture. The Book of the Twelve Prophets was originally on one parchment roll because of the brevity of the text, and together formed one Book of the 24 Books of Hebrew Scripture. These twelve prophets were sometimes named the minor prophets, not because they are of lesser importance, but because their writings are brief. The Twelve include Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi. The Book of the Twelve follows the writings of the four Major Prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. All together the 16 prophets are called the Latter Prophets, as they began writing after the Division of the United Kingdom of Israel. The Prophets follow the Torah, the five Books of the Law of Moses beginning with Genesis, and preceded the Writings beginning with Psalms and the Wisdom Literature in Hebrew Scripture. The Latter Prophets follow Psalms and the Wisdom books in the Greek Septuagint, as well as our Christian Old Testament of the Bible. Joel - יוֹאֵל - was a prophet in the Southern Kingdom of Judah during the period of the Divided Kingdom (930-722 BC). The Book of Joel is apocalyptic in nature, referring to the "Day of the Lord." Chapters 1-2 refer to a plague of locusts which ravaged Judah at the time. Chapter 2 speaks of God's mercy (2:13-14), and the end reveals a future time of Divine intervention. Chapter 3 relates the Day of Judgement and the salvation of God's children. Cited in literary works such as Dante's Divine Comedy, the "Valley of Jehoshaphat" (3:2 and 3:12) is a symbolic name for the place of the Last Judgement. Jehoshaphat means "Yahweh judges" and may be the Kidron Valley. The most noted passage is Chapter 2:28-32, which is quoted by Peter the Apostle in Acts of the Apostles 2:17-21. Luke the writer sees the Pentecost, the coming of the Holy Spirit, as the fulfillment of the first part of this passage. The following Scripture is from the Authorized King James Version of the Holy Bible, now in the public domain. King James I commissioned a group of Biblical scholars in 1604 to establish an authoritative translation of the Bible from the ancient languages and other translations at the time, and the work was completed in 1611. The original King James Bible included the Apocrypha but in a separate section. A literary masterpiece of the English language, the original King James Bible is still in use today.

THE BOOK OF THE PROPHET JOEL

CHAPTER 1Locusts Invade the Land

1 The word of the LORD that came to Joel the son of Pethuel. 2 Hear this, ye old men, and give ear, all ye inhabitants of the land. Hath this been in your days, or even in the days of your fathers? 3 Tell ye your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation. 4 That which the palmerworm hath left hath the locust eaten; and that which the locust hath left hath the cankerworm eaten; and that which the cankerworm hath left hath the caterpiller eaten. 5 Awake, ye drunkards, and weep; and howl, all ye drinkers of wine, because of the new wine; for it is cut off from your mouth. 6 For a nation is come up upon my land, strong, and without number, whose teeth are the teeth of a lion, and he hath the cheek teeth of a great lion. 7 He hath laid my vine waste, and barked my fig tree: he hath made it clean bare, and cast it away; the branches thereof are made white. 8 Lament like a virgin girded with sackcloth for the husband of her youth. 9 The meat offering and the drink offering is cut off from the house of the LORD; the priests, the LORD's ministers, mourn. 10 The field is wasted, the land mourneth; for the corn is wasted: the new wine is dried up, the oil languisheth. 11 Be ye ashamed, O ye husbandmen; howl, O ye vinedressers, for the wheat and for the barley; because the harvest of the field is perished. 12 The vine is dried up, and the fig tree languisheth; the pomegranate tree, the palm tree also, and the apple tree, even all the trees of the field, are withered: because joy is withered away from the sons of men.

Call to Penance

13 Gird yourselves, and lament, ye priests: howl, ye ministers of the altar: come, lie all night in sackcloth, ye ministers of my God: for the meat offering and the drink offering is withholden from the house of your God. 14 Sanctify ye a fast, call a solemn assembly, gather the elders and all the inhabitants of the land into the house of the LORD your God, and cry unto the LORD,

15 Alas for the day! for the day of the LORD is at hand, and as a destruction from the Almighty shall it come.

16 Is not the meat cut off before our eyes, yea, joy and gladness from the house of our God? 17 The seed is rotten under their clods, the garners are laid desolate, the barns are broken down; for the corn is withered. 18 How do the beasts groan! the herds of cattle are perplexed, because they have no pasture; yea, the flocks of sheep are made desolate. 19 O LORD, to thee will I cry: for the fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness, and the flame hath burned all the trees of the field. 20 The beasts of the field cry also unto thee: for the rivers of waters are dried up, and the fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness.

CHAPTER 2The Day of the Lord

1 Blow ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain: let all the inhabitants of the land tremble: for the day of the LORD cometh, for it is nigh at hand; 2 A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains: a great people and a strong; there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the years of many generations. 3 A fire devoureth before them; and behind them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness; yea, and nothing shall escape them. 4 The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses; and as horsemen, so shall they run. 5 Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battle array. 6 Before their face the people shall be much pained: all faces shall gather blackness. 7 They shall run like mighty men; they shall climb the wall like men of war; and they shall march every one on his ways, and they shall not break their ranks: 8 Neither shall one thrust another; they shall walk every one in his path: and when they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded. 9 They shall run to and fro in the city; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up upon the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like a thief. 10 The earth shall quake before them; the heavens shall tremble: the sun and the moon shall be dark, and the stars shall withdraw their shining: 11 And the LORD shall utter his voice before his army: for his camp is very great: for he is strong that executeth his word: for the day of the LORD is great and very terrible; and who can abide it?

12 Therefore also now, saith the LORD, turn ye even to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning: 13 And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the LORD your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil.

14 Who knoweth if he will return and repent, and leave a blessing behind him; even a meat offering and a drink offering unto the LORD your God? 15 Blow the trumpet in Zion, sanctify a fast, call a solemn assembly: 16 Gather the people, sanctify the congregation, assemble the elders, gather the children, and those that suck the breasts: let the bridegroom go forth of his chamber, and the bride out of her closet. 17 Let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, Spare thy people, O LORD, and give not thine heritage to reproach, that the heathen should rule over them: wherefore should they say among the people, Where is their God?

Blessings for God's People

18 Then will the LORD be jealous for his land, and pity his people. 19 Yea, the LORD will answer and say unto his people, Behold, I will send you corn, and wine, and oil, and ye shall be satisfied therewith: and I will no more make you a reproach among the heathen: 20 But I will remove far off from you the northern army, and will drive him into a land barren and desolate, with his face toward the east sea, and his hinder part toward the utmost sea, and his stink shall come up, and his ill savour shall come up, because he hath done great things. 21 Fear not, O land; be glad and rejoice: for the LORD will do great things. 22 Be not afraid, ye beasts of the field: for the pastures of the wilderness do spring, for the tree beareth her fruit, the fig tree and the vine do yield their strength. 23 Be glad then, ye children of Zion, and rejoice in the LORD your God: for he hath given you the former rain moderately, and he will cause to come down for you the rain, the former rain, and the latter rain in the first month. 24 And the floors shall be full of wheat, and the fats shall overflow with wine and oil. 25 And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten, the cankerworm, and the caterpiller, and the palmerworm, my great army which I sent among you. 26 And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you: and my people shall never be ashamed. 27 And ye shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I am the LORD your God, and none else: and my people shall never be ashamed.

28 And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions: 29 And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit. 30 And I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke. 31 The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and the terrible day of the LORD come. 32 And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be delivered: for in mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be deliverance, as the LORD hath said, and in the remnant whom the LORD shall call.

CHAPTER 3Judgement Upon the Nations

1 For, behold, in those days, and in that time, when I shall bring again the captivity of Judah and Jerusalem, 2 I will also gather all nations, and will bring them down into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and will plead with them there for my people and for my heritage Israel, whom they have scattered among the nations, and parted my land. 3 And they have cast lots for my people; and have given a boy for an harlot, and sold a girl for wine, that they might drink. 4 Yea, and what have ye to do with me, O Tyre, and Zidon, and all the coasts of Palestine? will ye render me a recompence? and if ye recompence me, swiftly and speedily will I return your recompence upon your own head; 5 Because ye have taken my silver and my gold, and have carried into your temples my goodly pleasant things: 6 The children also of Judah and the children of Jerusalem have ye sold unto the Grecians, that ye might remove them far from their border. 7 Behold, I will raise them out of the place whither ye have sold them, and will return your recompence upon your own head: 8 And I will sell your sons and your daughters into the hand of the children of Judah, and they shall sell them to the Sabeans, to a people far off: for the LORD hath spoken it. 9 Proclaim ye this among the Gentiles; Prepare war, wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up: 10 Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruninghooks into spears: let the weak say, I am strong. 11 Assemble yourselves, and come, all ye heathen, and gather yourselves together round about: thither cause thy mighty ones to come down, O LORD. 12 Let the heathen be wakened, and come up to the valley of Jehoshaphat: for there will I sit to judge all the heathen round about. 13 Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe: come, get you down; for the press is full, the fats overflow; for their wickedness is great. 14 Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision: for the day of the LORD is near in the valley of decision. 15 The sun and the moon shall be darkened, and the stars shall withdraw their shining. 16 The LORD also shall roar out of Zion, and utter his voice from Jerusalem; and the heavens and the earth shall shake: but the LORD will be the hope of his people, and the strength of the children of Israel.

Salvation for God's Elect

17 So shall ye know that I am the LORD your God dwelling in Zion, my holy mountain: then shall Jerusalem be holy, and there shall no strangers pass through her any more. 18 And it shall come to pass in that day, that the mountains shall drop down new wine, and the hills shall flow with milk, and all the rivers of Judah shall flow with waters, and a fountain shall come forth of the house of the LORD, and shall water the valley of Shittim. 19 Egypt shall be a desolation, and Edom shall be a desolate wilderness, for the violence against the children of Judah, because they have shed innocent blood in their land. 20 But Judah shall dwell for ever, and Jerusalem from generation to generation. 21 For I will cleanse their blood that I have not cleansed: for the LORD dwelleth in Zion.

John 21:1-14

1After these things Jesus showed Himself again to the disciples at the Sea of Tiberias, and in this way He showed Himself: 2 Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons ofZebedee, and two others of His disciples were together. 3 Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." They said to him, "We are going with you also." They went out and immediately got into the boat, and that night they caught nothing. 4 But when the morning had now come, Jesus stood on the shore; yet the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. 5 Then Jesus said to them, "Children, have you any food?" They answered Him, "No." 6 And He said to them, "Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast, and now they were not able to draw it in because of the multitude of fish. 7 Therefore that disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" Now when Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his outer garment (for he had removed it), and plunged into the sea. 8 But the other disciples came in the little boat (for they were not far from land, but about two hundred cubits), dragging the net with fish. 9 Then, as soon as they had come to land, they saw a fire of coals there, and fish laid on it, and bread. 10 Jesus said to them, "Bring some of the fish which you have just caught." 11 Simon Peter went up and dragged the net to land, full of large fish, one hundred and fifty-three; and although there were so many, the net was not broken. 12 Jesus said to them, "Come and eat breakfast." Yet none of the disciples dared ask Him, "Who are You?"-knowing that it was the Lord. 13 Jesus then came and took the bread and gave it to them, and likewise the fish. 14 This is now the third time Jesus showed Himself to His disciples after He was raised from the dead.

Galatians 2:16-20 

16 knowing that a man is not justified by the works of the law but by faith in Jesus Christ, even we have believed in Christ Jesus, that we might be justified by faith in Christ and not by the works of the law; for by the works of the law no flesh shall be justified. 17 But if, while we seek to be justified by Christ, we ourselves also are found sinners, is Christ therefore a minister of sin? Certainly not! 18 For if I build again those things which I destroyed, I make myself a  transgressor. 19For I through the law died to the law that I might live to God. 20 I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.

[pantheon-god-of-war]

Into the Abyss. 

When he descended it felt more like falling. Something that was still incredibly alien to the Targonian warrior and yet at the same time so engrained into every fiber of his being, the fall only to rise, he knew what he had to do without even thinking about it his muscle memory whipped in shape by the god of war himself, yet the more he consciously thought about it the more uneasy he grew. It was like breathing and reminding yourself to breathe. The air was cold and clear, it burned in his lungs as the frigid winds of the Freljord howled past him the wind chill of the howling gale was worsened only by his rapid descent. A mortal man would have frozen to solid ice mid fall. But he was no mortal man, he was Atreus god of war, reborn as Pantheon. A title he both loathed and accepted with duty unrelenting. The very godly essence that he vehemently opposed now burned within his veins, flickered over his body and warmed his flesh as he descended downward from the bridge above.

It had been an old structure, carved from black rock and covered with ice. Even the snow was frozen solid as scars in the rock told of a battle that long since lingered in the past of humanity. A battle he had wished to witness, these honored grounds told of countless heroic spirits that had left their life and bled their blood into the freezing soil for humanity. An outcry against the wicked and cruel, those who sought power over all else, those who corrupted good men and lands, those who waged war to gain wealth and power. The land would die under their rule, and the gods would rejoice at the failure of humanity, as they always had, as they always would. It was these noble mortal hearts that stopped the advance of a tyrant and in their last glorious hour with deeds of heroic valor they earned their place within the stars, their tale would not be forgotten by those who honored the old ways. They knew the price of their courage and glory, and they paid it willingly, no amount of dark might or magical prowess could stand against such selfless heroism.

His thoughts reached out to these heroes of old, these brothers of his craft, he knew that mortal courage could eclipse the very gods themselves and finding this field of honor rekindled his own heart with vigor and determination. He was not the first to raise his weapons against the divine and super natural and upon his passing, he would not be the last. For as much as the gods mocked them, humans had to fight and endure simply to live, they would continue to fight and endure, for that was the penance that they payed life itself. For that very reason strength of character and altruism would never ebb within mortal hearts. It took not a king, but a beggar to understand the value of one single act of valor, or kindness. Those that suffered the most valued every breath of fresh air, it would be upon their shoulders that the future fell once he met his end in battle. And he was confident that from among their ranks would rise another to claim the mantle of war, another to rise to the challenge of the gods.

He saw the solid delimitation before him as he descended. But as he approached that which seemed to be solid matter, it yielded to the illusion of howling gales and screaming winds and thus he descended through a thick layer of blinding fog. He could feel the mist dampen his skin as he cut through the blanket like his spear through flesh. When he burst from the winter mist he laid eyes on a dark domain, the sun was alien here as its light was denied by the clouds above, the walls were solid black rock, covered with a thick layer of dark ice which even in this dark chasm glistened with a mystic hue that evoked wonder from even this ever stoic champion of combat.

With a thundering crash did he finally land as the ground beneath him heaved with alien noise that reverberated through the entire chasm ungodly clicking that he could feel in his very bones as it howled through the dark winds. His gaze traveled down to the ground to find dark ice under the thick layer of snow that covered all within this fissure. His fingers tightened around the shaft of Skyfall as Nova reignited with celestial might. He could feel the god essence surging through him as he raised the spear high and brought it down with fury and might as its end smashed into the ground. Golden magic from a realm beyond lashed out from the mortal as it burned away the snow that had covered all. Standing like a statue he beheld the sigh that he had unearthed. Night sky blue ice stared back at him as his eyes trailed the many jagged cracks and veins that pulled through the ice. Frozen solid, this lake had not seen life in millennia. Instead it had been a tomb and when Pantheon saw even he faltered for but a moment. Sorrow gripped his wounded heart when he laid eyes upon the warriors he had hailed heroes earlier. Entombed in ice their last breath caught still in their lungs, he watched as they had died thousands of years ago.  Looking around he realized the vastness of scale only after his eyes had traveled for a while. An entire army of champions locked in ice, their souls ensnared in this cursed dark lake, this prison of ice that was their tomb. As he strode over the lake, he could not find a single face not twisted by anguish and ravaged by pain. In this deafening silence he could hear the roaring screams of a thousand souls conscribed to the afterlife, damned to suffer in this frozen hell for eternity, when they had given their all for humanity. This was the true face of glory, the result of sacrifice, this was a heroes reward. How the stories and the carved murals twisted the truth, to augment praise and glory due to heroes, who would pick up their blade when they knew this was the fate of heroes, this was how champions were rewarded for their sacrifice.

He stopped moving to stare at a man no meter beneath him. His face bared, eyes wide and mouth agape as he was locked, screaming for eternity his right hand almost reaching out for the Targonian, he could only imagine the agony of being frozen in place while the air in ones lungs turned to snow and life seeped into the dark deep ice. The weight of every solider lost crashed heavy upon Pantheons broad shoulders and sent him down to his knees. With all his might and prowess he felt powerless at the sight of this massacre knowing full well that this battle concluded millennia before his birth. Still he reached out his hand for that of the nameless warrior, to rest it upon the ice. If only he could pull him from this frozen tomb and save him, just one. It would never be enough, but it would be a start.

It was his free hand that came up to the celestial steel removing the helmet from his visage so that he could meet the others gaze with mortal eyes. Golden irises met ice blue ones, neither of them moving  as Pantheon stared into the soulless corpse that had neither decayed nor aged in all this time. He did not know this mans name, nor his story but none the less Pantheon weeped for him, for them all as his tears turned to ice the second they left his eyes.  Each single soul a sacrifice, each soul another reason to fight, to rage against the dying of the light and cast low the beings of divinity. These noble warriors had nothing but their lives, no choice to fight and die and yet they faced their end without fear, without hesitation. What was divine might against such courage and conviction? It was nothing. He drew strength from each single one of them as they screamed their anguish into the eternal ice from bellow leaving him on the other side, to sit and contemplate his own demise and how he wanted to be remembered.

[srbachchan]

DAY 4160

Hy Re,  LKO                   July 28,  2019                 Sun 10:27 PM

Birthday - EF - Amar/Renu Brar .. Monday, July 29 .. wishes and the best on this birthday and the many more to come .. with love from the Ef ..

Another chapter endeth .. and they that have worked and lived together for these almost 45 + days , bid farewell in the rejoice of the association .. its been a tradition now with this generation to applaud the last day of work .. it never was this before .. but it feels more like a relief from the artist, his tantrums his idiosyncrasies, his temperament his fluctuating moods, pet paroxysms demands and generally unwanted behaviour  .. all of which they have found in me , and now rejoice my departure .. 

.. thank the Lord they say .. finally this old grumpy, with the flood inspector pyjamas and the telescopic glasses goes .. 😡 .. rid eventually of this horror !

.. amidst the confetti and the cheers .. soon to convert to jeers after I leave .. 

.. its been many many years of association with Shoojit Sircar .. ad., films, films on social groundings, films that never released, films that won recognition and rewards on National levels .. a sincere thinking Director, taking charge of all the detailing on set .. the background movements the camera the passings the actors and their acting by giving acting demos, all .. a rare quality .. and a rare maker and visionary of cinema  ..

.. I wonder if we shall work again .. he shall move on to the next generation and the fresh and greatly more accomplished talent, as must he should .. I shall move on to the journey back home , in anticipation of another job .. 

.. time and circumstance change .. and change rapidly .. the profession is such .. it is one loaded with harsh reality .. the sooner accepted the better .. better to move in acceptance, than brandish the past or happened glory ; if ever there be one .. there is sufficient peace in the deliverance .. shift to the corner of the room, for notice on you shall be evaded .. it shall be concentrated with glee on the next .. his or her demands, comforts, attentions and importance .. 

.. as must it should ..

जीवन की आपाधापी में कब वक़्त मिला कुछ देर कहीं पर बैठ कभी ये सोच सकूँ , 

जो किया कहा माना उस में क्या बुरा भला 

जिस दिन मेरी चेतना जागी मैंने देखा मैं खड़ा हुआ हूँ इस दुनिया के मेले में 

हर एक यहाँ पर एक भुलावे में भूला , हर एक लगा है अपनी अपनी दे ले में 

कुछ देर रहा  हक्का बक्का ,भौचक्का सा , आ गया कहाँ , क्या करूँ यहाँ , जाऊँ किस जाँ ,

फिर एक तरफ़ से आया ही तो धक्का सा , मैंने भी बहना शुरू किया इस रेलें में  ...

in the rush of life , when did I get the time to sit somewhere and think .. what I did, said and believed in, what in it was right or wrong ..

the day I did experience my awakening , I realised I was standing in this great big Fair of the World ; each one busy in their own mindlessness, each one busy in their own give and take .. 

.. stood I there in the middle of all this , confused astonished lost ; where have I come , what must I do, where should I go .. 

.. and then suddenly came a waved push of humanity and I too did begin to flow in this mass movement ..

Ahh .. well ..  the poetry and the wisdom contained in it, of my Father , shall need a great many years of concentrated research and study to bring its meanings to the fore ..

The relatability of the many with the works of one shall ever be the justification of its greatness .. in its evolution .. in its justifiable presence .. 

.. it may never be addressed or understood in its immediate realm .. but when the propensities  of life begin to trample over you .. then shall come the desire to search for results and answers .. and they shall be found in the vision of the writer .. 

.. I find it each day .. and in lamentation do my hours struggle to survive .. 

I do react and mediate with some of my Ef , debate, discuss, extend notes and visions .. narrate my Father’s words and life , and often seek any reactionary thought .. one such wrote ..

‘The word 'Bachchan' is coined not merely as a nom de plume... Nor is it a qualitative adjective for a noun or verb... It does not mean बच्चा or बचा हुआ or बचना ... and quite definitely it does not indicate a gotra or a caste... The association of Bachchan with a caste is a mockery of the whole vision of Babuji, unless you are presenting the conflict between humanity and the indignity of caste-based discrimination ... Bachchan is the equivalent of a nation that is not divided into communities... बाबूजी ने अपने दर्द भरे तप को नाम दिया, "बच्चन" । उन्होंने अपनी सारी कीर्ती, सारा जीवन इस नाम से जोड दिया । 

the pain of Babuji’s penance has been given the name ‘Bachchan’ .. he has attached his entire fame and his entire life in this name ..

I pray that you will not allow the name to become a subject of mockery...’

.. the caste system in the land has been prevalent for centuries .. followed diligently by many and now defied by many too .. an ailment that has plagued our society .. or not by some .. 

Babuji was a strong opposer of the caste system .. the surname in Indian names described and related to a particular caste .. Srivastav, Sahai, Verma, Mathur the Kayasth caste ; Sharma, Iyer the Brahmin upper caste, Singh the Kshatriya , the warriors fighters .. and on .. 

Babuji was born in a Kayasth home and a Srivastav .. but his temperament was always against the ailment of caste .. his nome d plume , his ‘takhallus’ his pen name he designed as बच्चन  ‘BACHCHAN’ .. poets writers of great eminence often designed their names with a nom d plume .. 

Ram Dhari Singh ‘Dinkar’ ; Shiv Mangal Singh ‘Suman’ ; Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’ ; Raghupati Sahai ‘Firaq Gorakhpuri’

.. all great poets and legends , some contemporaries of Babuji , some I had the honour of meeting and spending time with .. 

.. so ‘Bachchan’ became my Father’s pen name, his poetic nom d plume .. but it lent credence of its concept later when I was born .. on being admitted to my first School, and being asked by the teachers what surname of this boy was to be filled in the admission form .. my Mother and Father had a quick discussion and it was decided that ‘Bachchan’ would be the family surname .. I then became the first bearer of the surname Bachchan .. and it has remained so .. and shall remain so ..

I had heard Firaq Gorakhpuri state once that ‘language has no caste’ .. could this have been the vision of my Father in designing his written works to be addressed in his pen name .. Bachchan .. a surname that did not depict caste  .... 

धर्म ग्रंथ सब जला चुकी है जिसके अंतर की ज्वाला ; मंदिर , मस्जिद , गिरजे - सब को तोड़ चुका जो  मतवाला ; पंडित , मोमिन , पादरियों के फंदों को जो काट चुका ; कर सकती है आज उससी का स्वागत मेरी मधुशाला ।

.. language has no caste  .. 

.. but they that did rebel against the system of caste by demonstrating through their writing and belief to alter name and surname, need recognition and applause .. need dignity and grace .. need respect reverence and approbation ..

“you can steal the name , but you cannot duplicate the grace”

My Father .. the Bachchan .. and I the proud bearer of this surname ..

.. many years ago during the Census of the nation the concerned administrators assigned the work of collecting data , came to meet the family at Prateeksha and asked for personal details .. when they asked me my caste I said ..’INDIAN’ 

Amitabh Bachchan