#this came to me in a vision and i am but a humble messenger

[c3rnunnos]

“... have you seen... the thread of light?”

#cern's art #bloodborne #ludwig the holy blade #ludwig bloodborne #holy moonlight sword #guidance rune #got hit with the fattest idea about the guidance rune and the thread of light voice line #so have a vaguely.... homowerotic painting of ludwig being crowned by the guidance rune #with the thread of light going to bind him because he will trust it wholeheartedly #this came to me in a vision and i am but a humble messenger

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Chapter 20

Ah, now the truth shall be revealed! Time to show our cards and see where they will lay. So I actually wrote this chapter and the chapter to follow BEFORE I wrote the Kamoba battle chapter because I was overwhelmed trying to pack all of that information and detail into a chapter that read that way and not like the notes of a deranged lunatic from the inside of a padded cell. And writing this chapter and the one to follow flowed so nicely and it helped me keep the focus on the characters and their story lines and their arcs within a battle sequence and not get lost in the battle itself. Which was a struggle for me. Not going to lie. 

@punkhorse96​ and everyone else- enjoy.  

Blood For Gold 

Chapter 20

The moment all of you came down to breakfast and just before Gregori could announce the news of the case being dismissed from court, a messenger from Buckingham Palace arrived with a proclamation as all of you stood respectfully to receive it. 

“It is ordered by her Majesty Queen Dowager Anastasia Raymond, that all occupants of the Palace of Windsor are hereby requested to go to Buckingham Palace for an audience with the Queen Dowager, His Royal Highness, His Majesty the King, as well as Her Royal Highness Queen Alexandria as soon as possible.” He read aloud before you all immediately disbursed and practically ran back to your rooms to dress in your best attire that you had before you came back down. 

“Countess Audravienne Morrigan, you are requested to ride in the head carriage alone.” The messenger informed you as you looked anxiously at your family and Demsey who looked particularly anxious to have you leave his sight as you were only allowed to give him one last squeeze of his hand before the attendant escorted you away and into the royal coach of a carriage as you sat there, alone before you finally found you had the opportunity to read that damn journal as you opened it up and immediately started crying when you saw it was from Demsey two days prior. 

You barely noticed everyone else get loaded up into the various carriages behind you as once everyone was loaded up, the whole caravan travelled towards the palace as your heart reached out to Demsey as you resolved in yourself that no matter what would happen at Buckingham Palace, if you did not make Demsey yours by the end of the day, you felt like you would die. Finally, after all this time and pain and hurt, you found what you were looking for, a gentle man who would love you without reserve, be faithful and loyal to you without question or waiver. Who didn’t care if you were penniless, poor and destitute or had nobility or not. All he wanted was you and you would be giving everything you had to him, no matter how much or how little that was as you read through it before pressing it to your chest and wiping happy, grateful tears from your eyes as the knowledge of his love gave you so much peace and comfort and was exactly what you needed as you regained your composure as you only had time to write a single line in it- in answer to the pages upon pages of declaration of love. 

‘I love you too.’ 

Once at the palace you were taken out of the carriage and escorted into the audience room where the Queen Dowager and the King and Queen were seated on their thrones as the Queen Dowager’s Mage was seated nearby and on the other side of her was seated a second mage, a male one this time, as you handed the journal off and requested that it be put into Duke Demsey Voyambi’s hands and no one else’s before you entered the room and approached them. 

“Your Majesties,” you greeted respectfully as you bowed low. 

“It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, again, congratulations on your victory in the Kamoba battle yesterday Countess Morrigan or do you prefer the title of Sultana Saharazat?” The Queen Dowager greeted you formally. 

“Whichever you prefer to use your Majesty.” You answered. 

“Sultana Saharazat it is. Now, it has come to my attention that your correspondence has gone missing within the Royal Mail Service?” Dowager Queen Anastasia asked from her spot on the thrown that flanked her son’s, mirroring her daughter in law’s throne on the other side of the King. 

“Yes.” You confirmed. 

“If you will come forward and approach this table, I think you will find it has all been found and is hereby given back to you.” She offered as you obeyed and came forward as you noticed stacks of mail, organized by who sent what. So many letters from your parents, from your family, from your friends, especially Leumeni, he seemed to have written the most to you before you noticed your own letters that were meant to reach them, and none of them had been opened and they all looked as if they had been written only yesterday before you noticed more than just your mail was on the table, but letters from members of your own household to the Morrigans and Richard’s mistress, Myra as you noticed even more letters from Dr. Rickets to Gregori which was the most surprising to see along with letters from Richard to various members and masters at the Royal Mail Service there as well. 

“Unfortunately, all those letters that you see on the table, they are all duplicates of the originals, since the originals were all destroyed by fire. These are just humble recreations of what was lost. We have proof and solid evidence as you can see from the letters on the table, that there are some directed from Count Richard Morrigan to the members of the Royal Mail Service. That is the proof that it was his direction that all of your mail coming in or out to you personally was to be destroyed the moment it touched the hands of the mail sorters and messengers.” She explained as you picked up the letters in question and read them yourself. 

“Mage Bellfast, who is seated over there,” She continued as she gestured over to him as you looked over and nodded respectfully at him as he did the same to you. 

“He was ordered by my son Gregori, to recreate all of them and I asked him to come to me and deliver it all to me as evidence and proof. Your own personal correspondence to and from you personally was never opened but all other correspondence was to gather evidence. And the proof of such sabotage is as you can see, very sizable. I wanted to tell you personally that because this involved my family and the Royal Mail Service and because it exposed it’s corruption, I am the one who dismissed your case in the public and even the private court systems and I hope you can, one day, forgive me. But I insist on giving you justice myself and dealing with this matter personally because a grave sin has been made against you and I insist on doing everything in my power to set it right. And I will serve as judge and jury, for surely you know that even I, was once a moura bride just like you. And such a slight will never be tolerated again and such a case of corruption can never be allowed to happen again. And may I also offer my deepest and most sincere apologies to you for such grievances and I hope that you will allow me to make amends.” She offered as tears flooded your vision, while a mixture of emotions seemed to wage war within you, part of you was relieved, at least for Jane’s sake, another part of you wanted to expose Richard and Agnes Morrigan for the monsters that they were for all of England to see. But you were not going to refuse this help by any means. 

“Of course, thank you, your Majesty.” You thanked her as you did your best to wipe the grateful tears from your eyes as you saw that Demsey had even tried to write you a letter a few days before the ball, to warn you about who might be there and who would mean you harm. 

“Now, Mage Bellfast as well as my own Mage, Mage Altissia have found your scene catcher spell and if you will forgive them, but they found your passwords, but let me assure you that I, nor any of the royal family have seen what was behind those passwords, only that they were there and only with your explicit permission will such footage be shown or it can be destroyed upon your decree, but, for now, if you would hold off from making such a decision before this entire case is heard out, I have all parties coming to assemble to so that everything can be sorted out with everyone and once the air is clear and all the sins against you have been exposed, then justice will be dealt out accordingly. Now, as far as I can tell, this involves Gregori, Yalin and their family and the entire Morrigan family as well, along with Dr. Rickets and the post men who Richard has contacted. I also have Dr. Chu and his wife, who is practically a doctor herself here along with five other physicians to serve as their own jurors along with stable masters from Dorierra to change your classification. And with your permission, I would like to call them some of them in now.” Anastasia offered. 

“Yes of course,” you agreed. 

“Call in, the physician-, Dr. Rickets and the post men, the entire Morrigan family as well as my son Gregori and his family along with Sultana Saharazat’s family in, at this time.” Queen Dowager Anastasia commanded before they came in, all at once from different doors around the room since they all had been waiting in different rooms attached to the main audience room so as not to cause a stir outside of it.

“You bitch!” Agnes screamed as the moment the side door was open and she saw you, she ran towards you before guards came and stood between her and you. 

“Countess Morrigan! You will conduct yourself with the dignity of your station or I will strip you of it, have you whipped and then drawn and quartered in the town square!” Anastasia boomed as she stood from her throne as she glared down hatefully at Agnes. 

“Sultana Saharazat is under my protection and any threat against her is a threat against the crown and comes with a death sentence and you and your family will be branded as traitors to the crown and everything you have will be awarded to her in retaliation, do I make myself clear?!” Anastasia snarled as Agnes realized the royal family was there immediately slinked back. 

“I apologize, your Majesty, I did not think you would be in here but this woman is a...” Agnes did her best to try to excuse.  

“You didn’t think that I would be in my own palace? Much less in my own audience room? Are you mad or a simpleton?” Anastasia demanded. 

“Neither, just...careless your Majesty.” Agnes tried to defer but her face was as red as beet as Richard looked angry and ashamed as his mistress, Myra stood a decent distance behind them and looked particularly annoyed as well. 

“Now guards, keep a line between the whole Morrigan family, the Sultana’s family and the Raymonds, just for good measure.” Anastasia commanded before more guards were called in as your family joined you as you reassured them that you were ok and that the Dowager Queen, was going to be acting as judge and jury in your case as your family was relieved. 

“Many many thanks to you- your Majesty for dealing with this matter personally.” Your mother and Grandmother offered as they knelt down respectfully as was their custom. 

“Do not thank me yet, we are just getting started, please, get up, also someone get everyone chairs so that they may be seated comfortably.” Anastasia commanded as she had you sit down at the table where all your letters were. 

“Now, let’s start at the beginning shall we? Ramsey, what exactly did you say to your father at Sultana Saharazat’s wedding to Count Edward Morrigan?” Anastasia demanded as Ramsey’s eyes got as wide as saucers as everyone except for Axal seemed to be surprised at the news that all of this would start with him and not the Morrigans. 

“I uh...well, you see at the time…” Ramsey fumbled over his words as he stood on his feet and fidgeted with his cuff links as Anastasia looked irritated as did the rest of his family especially his parents. 

“Ramsey, for the sake of time, please just tell this audience chamber- you said to your parents that day?” Anastasia tried to gently coach him. 

“That Sultana Saharazat was the perfect bride and that no one could match her.” Ramsey finally admitted. 

“But I don’t see…” Ramsey began before his grandmother raised her hand to silence him. 

“Now, Gregori, Ramsey is nearly forty, you have been on him to wed for the last two decades and in the last eight to ten years you have become harder and harder on him to find a bride, to get married and give your family line the legitimate heir it so desperately needs but you were stopped since Ramsey up until that point, has been a roguish rake clinging onto boyish foolishness as if it was his lifeline instead of realizing that it was his downfall and was going to be leading to his ruination, I believe the current lengths you had gone to up until that point was that if Ramsey had not found a bride that season you were going to cut him off financially completely and send him into the army to get the rakish ways beaten out of him one way or another.” Anastasia said with a hard look to her grandson who seemed to wilt under her intense gaze. 

“But since then, I have found a bride, and I am leaving behind my rakish past and she is the one true bride for me.” Ramsey offered. 

“And was it Sultana Saharazat?” Anastasia demanded. 

“Well...no,” Ramsey winced. 

“Right, so what I want to know was why you chose Sultana Saharazat on her wedding day to another as your bride?” Anastasia demanded. 

“I chose her out of panic, because since she was getting married that day, she was no longer available and it would give me more time and I figured that when Edward would eventually die, I would have had enough time to grow up by then.” Ramsey confessed shamefully. 

“So you deliberately chose a bride who was unavailable to put yourself and your parents at an impasse, thinking that they would stop hounding you and threatening you with the army if you chose one who conveniently was already married, by mere minutes.” Anastasia concluded. 

“Yes.” Ramsey confirmed as his cheeks were also beet red as he looked at you apologetically as everyone in your family as well as his own actually groaned, along with the Queen Dowager, the King and the Queen herself as the King looked ready to strangle his nephew with his own hands. 

“So you had no real feeling or attachment to Sultana Audravienne Saharazat, she was just a moura bride in a white dress at the end of the season and it was either chose an impossible option or lose everything?” Anastasia pressed further. 

“Yes.” Ramsey nodded guiltily. 

“And do you realize because you panicked and did that, that you are the reason Sultana Saharazat’s life was destroyed?!” Anastasia seethed as Ramsey’s eyes flooded with tears as he looked particularly mortified. 

“Please! No! I had no idea!” Ramsey wailed as he shook his head no. 

“How could Ramsey have known that the Morrigans would try to poison her with mourkatili! No one could have predicted that they would be so cruel and abuse her, thinking that because Edward Senior would have her that no one else could?!” Yalin insisted, coming to her son’s defense. 

“No, nor could you foresee that your own husband, my own son, which after today, that may be up for debate and put into question, but that is a battle for another time. In an effort to give your son the impossible would go so far as to poison his own countrymen to death.” Anastasia revealed in a snarling growl as everyone gasped as all eyes turned towards Gregori who was unusually silent as he kept his gaze on his mother defiantly. 

“Dr. Rickets, I believe it is your turn to tell the truth, the whole truth or you will be sent to the tower, drawn and quartered, your house burned after it is turned into a public toilet and your family turned out into the street.” Anastasia leveled at him as Dr. Rickets gulped. 

“The day after Edward came home from his honeymoon, he had gone to town on business and had run into Dauphin Gregori Raymond and when the Dauphin questioned Edward Senior about his new wife and he had confirmed that she was the perfect bride, he sent for me. He told me of the encounter and gave me a sum of a thousand pounds if I would poison Edward Sr. with Wolf’s Eye to be mixed in with his regular medicine, Wolf’s Eye is known for causing delirium before it causes a stroke and with his old age, going senile and dying of heart failure would not raise suspicion.” Dr. Rickets answered. 

“You took a bribe to kill my father?! To poison him?!” Richard roared as he stood up and pointed his finger at Dr. Rickets and had Richard been armed, you were sure Dr. Rickets would be run through from the rage in his voice alone.  

“Yes,” Dr. Rickets confirmed as he could not raise his eyes to Richard out of shame. 

“And when you discovered that he had been poisoned, I lied to you to protect myself and my family and put the blame on someone who would know poisons,” Dr. Rickets confessed. 

“Which in that household only left me to be suspect.” You volunteered. 

“So you asked for mourkatili but at the time the Dauphin was in Dorierra, trying to find Ramsey another wife, and the letter couldn’t reach him in time for me to find an answer and you said that if I did not supply you with mourkatili, that you would find another source so I obtained some, but I added Jade’s Crown to it, to help neutralize it’s lethality until the Dauphin could be reached.” Dr. Rickets tried to excuse as the whole royal family practically groaned and rolled their eyes in annoyance. 

“Except that Jade’s Crown when mixed with mourkatili while it does lesson it’s lethality when first ingested, it does not neutralize it, instead it makes it lethally addictive so that the moura who drinks it is instantly addicted and will drink themselves to death trying to drink more and more of it which in turn can lead to madness in a moura with 77% of the cases studied to date it leads to the moura being completely deranged beyond repair, if you really wanted to neutralize it, you would have added Dragon Heart Flower which turns mourkatili from sweet to putrid, salty and bitter so that even the smell of it makes everyone want to vomit, if you were so intent on offering up Sultana Saharazat to the Raymonds, why didn’t you do that or go to the police at the very least to report that Sultana Saharazat was about to be poisoned?” Mage Altissia snapped angrily at Dr. Rickets. 

“Because I was afraid, that if Dauphin Ramsey had found his bride once he visited the stables, that I would be found out, and I couldn’t risk the Morrigans knowing I tampered with the mourkatili, they knew what it smelled like and what it was supposed to look like, I could not use Dragon Heart Flower, because they would know that I knew too much about poisons instead of medicine and they would be suspicious of me and I would lose my medical license and my living as a doctor.” Dr. Rickets blubbered as he did his best not to cry and failed miserably. 

“Do you think after this moment anyone is going to trust you with their health? If I went to the papers and even hinted to the editor to tell the gossip columns about this, you would be run out of England and all of Europa based on rumor alone.” Yalin seethed. 

“And it’s not like Count and Countess Morrigan didn’t know that Audra was innocent. Jane informed me that when it was Audra who discovered that his medicine had been tampered with and tried to talk to you all about it, that she was dismissed and then accused of the very thing she was trying to bring to light and you repaid her by poisoning her in turn and how Jane, through her own snooping found the Wolf’s Eye and the Jade’s Crown in his own medical bag but yet you still did not believe her.” Charlotte offered with a pointed look to Agnes and Richard as Jane stayed by Rian’s side with your family because she didn’t want to be with the rest of her family for fear they would hurt her. 

“And the fact that your daughter even now, shrinks back from you proves your own guilt of abuse.” Anastasia pointed out as she noticed Jane’s reaction to all of this. 

“And the fact that you then accused her of being brainwashed by Audra and then disciplined her for just using her own mind and powers of deduction because Jane had investigated Audra herself and found that Audra brought no such things with her, says a lot more too.” Charlotte smirked smugly at the Morrigans as well as her grandmother. 

“So, what happened after that Dr. Rickets?” Anastasia asked. 

“The Dauphin sent a transmission via messengerari, and when I found out that Ramsey did not find another bride, I told him about what the Morrigans had done and what I had done to try to diminish it and then he told me to up the dose to Count Edward Senior and that he wanted to see Edward Morrigan’s obituary in the paper when he got back so that Ramsey would only have to wait another year before he could marry Countess Audravienne Morrigan. But I did not expect Edward’s body to be so strong. And I did not think he would hold on so long, nor abuse Countess Audravienne Morrigan to the extent that he did and I did not think that the Morrigans would be so determined to bury her with Edward.” Dr. Rickets confessed. 

“So, your own doctor was bribed to poison your father and yet you blame the innocents in the situation and break the contract by trying to murder the very one who knew something was amiss. Why didn’t you go to the police? Why didn’t you have her arrested and investigated, why go through all the trouble of poisoning her and trying to kill her?” Anastasia asked RIchard and Agnes. 

“We didn’t want to ruin our good name and reputation. Mouras are known to die of broken hearts, we thought it would be less suspicious if she died with him and we could pass the blame onto that.” Richard confessed. 

“And bury your own guilt with her, brilliant.” Anastasia sarcastically praised as she glared down at them. 

“But that wasn’t all your Majesty, the Morrigans have more sins that should be known.” Charlotte insisted. 

“Well, no one in this court room can trust either of you to ever tell us the truth, I would like ask the only trustworthy Morrigan left. Jane. Before you speak, know that when and if you decide to do so. You have my word to be protected from those monsters over there that you are unfortunately related to. And if you are worried about your own name and reputation being called into question, know that I personally will guarantee your safety and integrity of your own reputation and if I have to invite you to stay at Buckingham Palace as my honored guest and ward, then I’m ready and willing to make that offer.” Queen Alexandria finally spoke up. 

“And I second that.” Anastasia insisted. 

“The first time my parents had the mourkatili served to Audra, it was in a tea, disguised as hibiscus tea with sugar and honey to hide the mourkatili. Audra took one sip and immediately knew she had been poisoned and called out for help but they bound her and gagged her and forced it down her throat. She spent the better part of a week being drunk off of it and then almost another week being hungover and refused any drink other than water and nothing even remotely purple in her food. The second time my parents tried to poison her, they had my oldest half brother Dale, who is my father’s mistress, Miss Myra’s son she has born to my father out of wedlock, who was only 20, come and serve it to her and my mother insisted to prove that it was not poisonous, insisted that he taste test it first and Audra could tell from the smell that it was mourkatili and tried to stop him but he obeyed my mother and the moment it touched his lips, he fell down dead. My mother tried to pin the blame for his death on Audra, saying it was her insistance that all of her food and drink be tested first to Myra who came to Audra and demanded to know what Dale had ever done to her for her to poison him. And when Audra tried to tell her the truth, she didn’t believe her. Then my father returned home from business and when he heard about it and saw Dale’s dead body being carted off, he had Audra bound and gagged and then he whipped her himself, even though I was just in the other room and saw and heard it all, And I had a messengerari in the room and captured the moment and it wasn’t until I made Myra and my father both watch it when they learned the truth. Myra apologized to Audra, by my father never did. Instead he then did the same abuse he did to Audra, he did to my mother only twice as worse. My mother couldn’t leave her room for two months after and could barely walk without the help of a cane because he had beaten her so badly, he nearly killed her.” Jane confessed as Ramsey was actually sobbing, feeling so much guilt and remorse as Axal wanted nothing more than to comfort him but the line of guards kept him from doing so as you watched as your own family stopped looking at Jane like the enemy, instead, looked at her with kindness and sympathy instead. 

“So then, a month later, my mother tried to have my youngest half brother- George, who was only six, to come and serve Audra that mourkatili tea and tried to do it again only that time Audra, in an effort to protect little George, drank all of it down as quickly as she could so that he would not be harmed at all.” Jane revealed with a broken sob. 

“Jane, show them.” You pleaded with her before she nodded and together you went up to the large mirror on the wall that was itself, a grand messengerari  and put in your code to bring in the feed from your scene catchers for it to play out on the it before you put in your first password into the messengerari and then Jane put in the second as everyone watched as it all played out as you and Jane held each other and cried as you watched it all as you noticed that someone had gone through this and strung all the “best parts”, or “worst parts” depending on your point of view-  together so that it really showcased just how horrible and vicious the Morrigan’s- besides Jane- were. 

“This is an outrage! To have our privacy invaded as such!” Agnes screeched. 

“Guards, will you bind and gag that wretch to her chair and handcuff that beast next to her...” The King, Leopold snarled angrily before they came and bound and gagged Agnes so that she was tied to the chair and couldn’t move as the rest of it played out as Richard looked fully ashamed and like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole and didn’t fight when irons were put on his, neck, wrists and ankles so that he was bound just like all the postmen who had also been brought in were. 

“But your majesties, there is something missing from the record, where is the moment of Edward’s death?” Dr. Ricket’s volunteered. 

“He had either a stroke or heart attack by your diagnosis and that happened while he was in the act of raping Audra, I helped her strike it from the record to at least preserve what little bit of dignity she had left.” Jane defended evenly. 

“And that will be allowed and of course accepted.” Anastasia insisted. 

“Absolutely.” King Leopold agreed. 

“Indeed.” Queen Anastasia readily agreed as well. 

“So, since it is clear that Sultana Saharazat is the innocent party and since she has paid for every bit of gold and wealth she has with her own blood, it is unthinkable that she should have to pay any more for anything else. However, in order to protect the Crown, the Dauphin’s involvement in this case can not be made public, so, Sultana Saharazat, what can Gregori, Yalin and Ramsey offer you in recompense for their involvement? Besides their deepest apologies and regrets?” King Leopold asked you. 

“There are a few things I want from them. The first, I want Charlotte to be free to marry whoever she deems worthy, whether he be of high status or low. It is clear her parents enjoy a loving and wonderful marriage and I want her to enjoy the same with someone who she wants. The second is I want Ramsey to be free to marry Octavia Lafronze and I want her own fee to the stables for her and her companion, Katardrina to be paid as well. I want my brother Axal to marry Katardrina but stay close to Ramsey and Octavia since the four of them are very close and I do not wish to pull them apart. It is clear to me that Ramsey did not intend for any of this to happen and he made a mistake and neither he nor anyone else could foresee how desperate his father was to see him married. And the fact that he has shed so many tears of guilt and remourse, I know he does not take this lightly and I believe he has learned his lesson and will never make this mistake ever again. Gregori and Yalin have been nothing but kind and compassionate and generous with me while I have stayed with them. But now I feel that they only did so out of guilt, at least on Gregori’s part, because they knew they provided the figurative spark that ignited the forest fire that happened at Broadcove. Third, my griffin Heavencrest has mated and paired with their own griffin Charlico. I would like him to be mine so that Heavencrest and Charlico may stay together and fourth, at the ball at Havenfield, Ramsey, in friendship offered that I and the other mouras who came from Dorierra would be elevated to Dowager status, and I want those promises and guarantees to be fulfilled, So I want everyone who has come from Dorierra up until this point in my case, either male or female, to be given Dowager status and any who wish to stay in English society, I would like for them to receive titles of Nobility, they do not have to be high, but I would like them to be high enough that they all can move about in high society with ease, if they wish to.” You answered. 

“Audra, please know that at least my children and I had no idea of Gregori’s involvement and I want you to know that all kindness and consideration from them and myself, was always genuine, of course you can have Charlico, I will give you his papers the moment we get home, please is there anything else we can do?” Yalin offered and you could tell she was being genuine. 

“I will let you know when I think of something else.” You offered. 

“Thank you.” Yalin thanked you graciously. 

“Now for the Morrigans, let’s revisit your case, because it does not stop here. You actually bribed four members of the Royal Postal Service to destroy every piece of mail Sultana Saharazat sent out and every piece she would receive and you hired a mage to cast a spell on your own lightning rods so that it would disrupt the signal from every messengerari not only on at Broadcove and Mirador but it was so strong that it made all your neighbor’s messengerari’s cut in and out for the last two years. The fact that you put into question the integrity of the Royal Mail Service was the reason I dismissed your case from court. But as you can see Mage Bellfast was more than happy to duplicate every piece of mail that you ordered to be burned and Mage Altissia provided the rest. But if that wasn’t enough, you had your mistress, send her own children, your own bastards as servants in the Sultana’s household to work for you as spies as you continued to pay them their wages that you had been paying them at your home while they collected wages from Sultana Saharazat as well. Your wife is one to talk about an invasion of privacy, when you yourself have been invading hers all along.” Anastasia insisted as you began opening the letters and read them for yourself, only to find about three months into your widowhood, how all of them told their father in their own way how they would spy on you no more, because you had treated them with kindness, respect and dignity and how he could keep his money, they didn’t need it or want it. But instead, that your own wages to them were plenty generous enough for them to have comforts enough to suit “the likes of them”. 

“Except she turned my own children against me, they haven’t reported to me in over half a year! Practically nine months! And they keep sending back any money I try to send them, which is hurtful and deceitful in itself.  She has deceived you all and she has clearly conspired with the Raymonds!” Richard tried to accuse.

“Did your nanny drop you on your head? Are you mad to make such an accusation?” King Leopold asked Richard who shut his mouth to keep from saying anything else. 

“Nevermind answering that, I have come to my decision. Because of your shameless exploits and treachery. You will be stripped of your nobility. Since you both are guilty of murder as in the case of that wretch who goes by Agnes or attempted murder in both of your cases. Everything you have, all wealth, all connections, all property, business enterprises, investments, land ownership, everything, will be handed over to Sultana Audravienne Saharazat to do with as she pleases and she can turn your precious Broadcove into a public latrine for all I care. Both of you will be sent to the asylum for clear insanity, where both of you will not only be treated with Wolf’s Eye but Wolf’s Mane as well and both of you will rot in a prison cell going insane and because Jane has been with the Raymond’s she was not exposed to the sickness that caused both of you to go mad in attempts to bribe Dr. Rickets into giving you mourkatili to poison and kill the Sultana Audravienne Saharazat.” King Leopold decreed. 

“Except for little Edward. He is only a boy, and is completely innocent in all of this too.” You offered. 

“Very well, since Sultana Saharazat has spoken for him, he will be brought to be with Jane. 

“Actually, your majesty, if I have a suggestion, if you like it, you can use it, if not, let things happen how you have directed them to.” You intervened again. 

“Very well, what are your thoughts on this matter?” He asked. 

“I have read these letters that all of Richard’s eldest children have written to him, rejecting him because if their father loved them so much, why would he put up with Agnes mistreating them so cruelly so that with just a little bit of kindness, respect and dignity from me- they happily switched their loyalties to me. Richard’s mistress, Miss Myra Bellafont, I wish for Broadcove may go to her. For she too has spent most of her life having to put up with Agnes, and was powerless to protect her own children from her partner’s wife, to the point that her own eldest son lost his life because of Agnes’ hate towards them. They were blameless in that they did not ask to have the father they do and they did not ask to be brought into the world or had any control over their circumstances and as much as Richard and Agnes made my life a living hell, I can’t imagine what they have made her go through. If at all possible, if she could be given a title, it doesn’t have to be a high one, but I wish for her and her children to inherit Broadcove and even though Agnes has treated Myra and her children with animosity, I know Myra doesn’t hold any towards Jane or little Edward and even Edward Senior was kind and partial to them while he lived. Even now the children of hers that remain at Broadcove are little Edward’s playmates and if Myra can swear and promise me as well as their Majesties that she will care for Edward and Jane well, I trust she will care for little Edward as well as she does her own little Geroge and I do not wish for Jane or little Edward to partake in their parent’s disgrace and I want the same freedoms that I have requested for Charlotte to be Jane’s as well, so that she can accept any offer of marraige from anyone she deems worthy as well, who will love her and treat her with kindness, respect, reverence and dignity, all of which she is just as deserving as I am.” You offered hopefully. 

“Very well, Myra Bellafont, you are now awarded the title of Marquise, you have come from somewhere foreign, you are a wealthy widow and have bought up Broadcove once you learned that Count and Countess Morrigan had gone on holiday and contracted a disease that made them go mad and your own sympathy towards their innocent children have moved you to take them on as your wards and you are now their loving and caring guardian. The house is to be cleaned thoroughly and Sultana Saharazat will award you any businesses that the Morrigans have so that you may upkeep Broadcove and that income may provide for your needs and the needs of your children.” King Leopold proclaimed. 

“Yes your majesty.” Yourself and Myra happily accepted as she curtsied deeply as Anges wriggled and screamed around her gag in her spot.

“Take Mr. and Mrs. Morrigan and Dr. Rickets to the asylum at once and turn these four traitorous men over to the tower.” Dr. Leopold insisted as he gestured to them since they had come in already in chains. 

“But it was Audra who dealt Edward his death blow!” Dr. Rickets hollered as the hair on the back of your neck rose as your anger blazed as you gripped the dagger at your waist so hard your knuckles turned white as you wanted to stab him. 

“You yourself proclaimed he had died of heart failure in your autopsy report before his body was buried.” King Leopold frowned as Jane and yourself looked at each other worriedly before your own desperation to never be afraid of this secret that you had given almost everything to keep hidden. But no more. If you were going to expose everything, you would not hold back.  

“Your Majesties, I do not wish to live any kind of lie. I do not wish for anyone to ever hold anything over me or blackmail me ever again. So, I will show you the moment of Count Edward’s death and you can judge for yourselves, whether I was guilty or not of his death, but I ask all of you watch and really see all of it, do not look away, do not close your eyes and do not turn a blind eye to it.” You insisted as you held Jane’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze as you gave her a reassuring smile as you both put in the third and final password that showed the truth as all of the Royal Family as well as yours watched in horror as Edward tried to rape you then once his flesh touched yours, he turned into a statue of platinum and fell to the bed and broke it, the crash echoing through the audience room as gasps were given by everyone except by Myra, Jane and yourself as it showed you in a panic, touching Edward and turning him to flesh again and then calling for Jane for help as you told her what had happened and how confused you were about it and wanted to know what to do as both of you called in Dr. Rickets to make a diagnosis and then to Myra and the servants to keep quiet about the crash as Myra herself brokered for you to take her own children with you when you would leave Broadcove as a widow and pleaded with you to be good to them. 

“Audra, I would like to apologize, had I known that that was the reason for the crash I heard, that  I never would have made that deal with you and I’m so sorry if my own children following you to Mirador caused you any distress, I never asked them to spy on you.” Myra offered as she wiped her tears from her eyes. 

“I know, but Richard did.” You answered. 

“So you did kill him!” Richard practically crooned, feeling vindicated and validated.

“Oh enough! Guard, gag him as well so that nothing else of a poisonous nature leaves his mouth, only enters it.” King Leopold ordered before Richard too was gagged with a handkerchief. 

“No, she is innocent of murder because she didn’t purposefully do so because if she did know she had had that ability prior to that instant, don’t you think you yourself would have turned to platinum the moment you landed your first slap? It was self defense, surely you know enough of moura history and heard the tales that any one who dare force a moura to bed, would be turned into a pillar of gold by morning?” Anastasia defended you evenly. 

“That was our protection for millenia. Audra did not intend for Edward Senior to die and had Edward Senior had his wits, he never would have done so to begin with. And now that you are officially branded as insane, you can scream such things at the top of your lungs and no one will believe you.” The Queen Consort- Alexandria replied to the Morrigans.  

“I judge you innocent in all things, do not let this moment define you and do not let this moment stop you from living your life to the fullest.” Alexandria urged you warmly and comfortingly. 

“I too judge you completely innocent. And hereby decree, that because you suffered at the hands of Richard Morrigan, Edward Morrigan Senior and by extension, Dauphin Gregori Raymond, all previous rulings will stand, and this doesn’t change anything except for one thing. I hereby promote you and all mouras who choose to stay in England- the noble rank and title of Marquess as well and award you personally, a living of twenty five thousand pounds a year from the crown for the rest of your life, whether you choose to remarry or not. And all others who wish to stay in the country, a living of ten thousand pounds a year.” He decreed. 

“Thank you, Your Majesties, might we invite all the other Mouras in to tell them the news directly?” You requested before King Leopold nodded and ordered for Calla and her brothers as well as Benny and her brothers to come in along with Octavia and Katardrian as the messengerari was cleared to just show a mirror’s reflection yet again. 

“So, the reason I have brought you all here today was to discuss Sultana Audravienne’s Saharazat’s case in the courts. Because of certain components of the case and sensitive nature of it, I myself put a stop to it going into the court system to keep reproach from coming to the crown. And with such concessions to protect the privacy of all involved, the Sultana has been reimbursed accordingly and hopefully to her satisfaction.” Dowager Queen Anastasia began. 

“Yes, it has been settled to my satisfaction, thank you Your Majesty.” You happily replied as you and Jane smiled happily and with relief to each other as you sat side by side and still held onto each other because now, you both were safe, and more importantly, free. 

“So part of the concessions and reimbursement that the Sultana asked for was that all of you from Dorierra, male and female alike, are now all considered Dowagers and are invited to stay in England as Maquess and a living will be awarded each of you for ten thousand pounds a year.” The King ordered as they all smiled brightly and happily. 

“Thank you, your Majesty.” They all happily and excitedly thanked him. 

“Now, call in the stable masters from Dorierra so that their masters may be updated to Dowager status.” King Leopold instructed before the stable masters came and took two at a time, starting with the adults just as Agnes and Richard were being led out along with Dr. Rickets as he too was gagged and bound. 

“Marquess Saharazat.” Mage Bellfast approached you as you sat down at the desk and continued to go through all the letters there. 

“Yes?” You asked. 

“Again, I am Mage Bellfast, I was hired by the Dauphin to recreate your mail that was burned.” He reintroduced himself. 

“Oh, yes, thank you so much. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have it all back.” You smiled happily as he offered his hand as you graciously gave it to him for him to kiss your knuckles in a very gentlemanly like manner. 

“But I was hoping to get just the smallest of tokens from you in thanks.” Belfast began. 

“Of course, what would you like?” You asked. 

“For you to turn this bar of moura gold into platinum for me.” Belfast said as he produced the bar and put it onto the table in front of you as Mage Altissia practically ran towards you. 

“Do not do that!” Mage Altissia demanded. 

“Why not?” Belfast asked. 

“Do you think she would give me moura platinum and not you? Surely you have something made from moura gold that she can turn for you.” Belfast replied calmly as you picked up the bar but nothing happened. 

“No, because she only got the power once the mourkatili was in her system and since the Dragon Grevu healed her, thus her indigo violet hair, she has lost such capabilities.” Altissia offered as you blew out a breath of relief as you squeezed the bar with all your might but nothing was happening. 

“Well that won’t do, will it.” Belfast before in a flash he hit you with a spell that knocked you backwards off your chair and your feet flying over your head and onto the floor which caused everyone to stop and stare and rush over to you. 

“What did you do to me?!” You yelled as everyone watched as the indigo violet drained from your hair back into your scalp just as you found your feet, drew your dagger and aimed it at Bellfast’s throat before he used magic to stop your fist.

“Temper, temper.” Belfast tsked and smiled wolfishly as the golden dagger turned platinum white in your grips as indigo violet blood dripped from your nose as your eyes changed color from gold- to a glowing indigo violet as well as once again the mourkatili entered your body as you felt weak and fell to the floor coughing and sputtering, your blood splattering and staining the wood you stood on as your blade clattering to the floor with you. 

“Mage Bellfast, what is the meaning of this?!” Queen Dowager Anastasia demanded as she and the Queen and the King came over to see for themselves. 

“Well you saw it for yourself, she is a platinum moura now and I wanted my payment for all that mail and correspondence I had to conjure up.” Belfast explained. 

“And since your Majesties have ordered for her and every other moura who came to England to have nobility and a very generous yearly income, wouldn’t it be fair for her to help mitigate that cost by turning any number of moura gold bricks you have in the place to platinum for you?” Belfast offered as King Leopold hesitated for a beat. 

“Guards, have ten moura gold bricks be brought in.” King Leopold ordered as Alexandria and Anastasia both gasped in outrage. 

“Leo that is uncalled for, hasn’t the poor girl suffered and given enough?!” Anastasia demanded. 

“You said yourself that she shouldn’t have to pay anything to anyone ever again, this is going back on your word!” Alexandria insisted as she stared in horror at her husband. 

“I’m just asking her to change ten small bricks of gold into platinum, then I’m sure Bellfast can cure her again and all will be well.” Leopold insisted. 

“Now, if you’ll please.” Belfast insisted as he handed you the small gold bar as you touched it and watched with regret as it turned from gold to platinum before you hatefully gave it back to him before you turned and walked over to where your grandmother’s dagger had clattered away as you picked it up but when you touched it again, it turned back to gold, before turning to black ash in your hands and disintegrated in your hands as all the jewels fell through your fingers and fell to the ground as everyone else screamed to see your hands now stained black just as Bellfast took the platinum bar in his gloved hands and made the fatal mistake of kissing it, the moment the bar touched his lips, his whole face began to be eaten away and turned into black ash which caused everyone to give Bellfast room as they watched helplessly as Bellfast completely disintergrated into a pile of black ash and clothes, the platinum bar now landing in a heap. 

“The plague! You have unleashed the golden plague again!” The Dowager Queen screamed in horror at Leopold as she struck at him. 

“Your Majesties, I can explain this phenomenon. Because Audravienne unlocked her platinum abilities once the mourkatili was in her body, that means that only when she has mourkatili still in her system can she turn moura gold into platinum, but that also means that all platinum she turns has the same properties as mourkatili. So, I would not advise for her to turn anything else into platinum, and for her to return to where Grevu is and become healed again, then all will be well, besides, the “cure” that Mage Bellfast gave to Gregori was not infact a cure, but it would make everything Audra touch turn into deadly platinum and she would surely die of starvation.” Mage Alitssia insisted before you went over and picked up the platinum brick and watched as it turned from platinum white- to gold but then black ash almost instantaniously once again. 

“Guards, disregard that order about the gold bricks. As soon as they have all been classified as dowagers, they are free to go. My apologies Marquees Saharazat.” King Leopold offered as he looked both fearful yet apologetic before he ordered for that mess to be cleaned up immediately before the Voyambi’s finally came into the audience room to see the King, the Queen and the Queen Mother leave quickly through one door as the Morrigans had already been carted off in chains which was a relief to see before they came in to see you standing there with blackened hands but with golden hair again with a pile of black ash at your feet and on your dress. 

“What happened?” Demsey asked as he approached you before the masters returned with your parents and your grandmothers and your hier father and his wife and his mother in tow as they all had their masters rolled up in their hands with big bright smiles as the smiles immediately fell when they saw the scene. 

“Addie? What happened?” Your mother asked. 

“I unleashed the gold plague.” You whispered before you were called back by the masters of the stables to be reexamined by them and the group of doctors with them as you explained to them what had just happened in the audience room with Mage Altissia’s help.  

“Unfortuantely Sultana Saharazat, because of the mourkatili and because of your affect on moura gold, we can not give you the status of Dowager, the best we can offer you is Tavnit and until you are healed, you can not set foot back into Dorierra.” Master Ophelia offered apologetically as you closed your eyes and let your tears of disappointment fall. 

“That’s fine, I accept.” You nodded as it was put into your master and stamped in as your hands were washed clean from the ashes as you walked away and went over to Dr. Chu and his wife to get reexamined by them as Dr. Chu took your blood pressure and his eyes went wide. 

“Mei, take her blood pressure and pulse.” Wen insisted in Mandarin to his wife before she did as he asked as her eyes went wide. 

“What is it?” You asked them softly in Mandarin to keep your conversation private in the corner. 

“My Lady, you have the happy heartbeat.” Mei informed you with big wide eyes and a serious face. 

“I what?” You asked. 

“You are pregnant, about three and a half weeks to a month along.” Dr. Chu diagnosed as Mei nodded in agreement to that diagnosis as you searched your thoughts back before you remembered- that last night with Demsey Draft, at the Masquerade ball, you were so heartbroken, that you forgot to order the pregnancy warding tea. You did not drink it that last time and apparently that was all it took. 

“Can I get rid of it? Surely it’s too early…” You tried to ask. 

“No, this is why Grevu healed you. I can tell by your chi, aura and energy readings. His magic is protecting this babe from all harm, even now, the mourkatili is not harming it at all, it’s being shielded and protected.” Mei explained as she waived her hands over your abdomen to feel the variations in energy as tears flooded your vision. To be so close to finally being with Duke Demsey Voyambi and Demsey Draft planted an obstacle right into your belly and you loved Demsey too much to try to pass this on as his, even if you married him today, the baby would come a month too soon. And while Mr. Draft and Duke Voyambi shared a lot of the same features, surely you couldn’t live with yourself if you passed this baby off as his. You needed to get out of here. And fast. 

“Say nothing, to anyone.” You pleaded with them. 

“Of course.” They readily agreed. 

“Thank you.” You thanked them as you hugged them tight before you bowed in respect to both of them to honor them. 

“I have to go.” You excused yourself as you left the room and the moment you saw Demsey, as much as you wanted to run into his arms, you couldn’t and it felt worse than a thousand stabs to the heart as you came out into the audience room with your master rolled up in your hands as you went over to your family and revealed what had happened with the stable masters as they too started crying. 

“Leumeni? Why are there so many letters between you and Audra?” Kiera asked as she picked a small stack of them up and looked them over. 

“We are just close friends, that is all.” You tried to excuse as you grabbed the letters out of her hand as you readily got a bag and hurriedly dumped all of your mail into it to keep anyone else from looking through it.  

“Yup, just close friends,” Leumeni did his best to deflect just as you heard Benny scream out a ‘What?!’ in horror and outrage. 

“What the hell?” You asked as Benny came storming out of that room. 

“Leumeni! Coravien! Come we need to go home! Now!” Benny demanded angrily in Marinai as she stormed out of the examination room before you went over to Dr. Chu and his wife. 

“What was that?” You asked them in Mandarin.

“She has the happy heartbeat too. Grevu’s snot made the seed from the sex she had the night before the Kamoba take root. His magic is protecting her babe just like yours, but until he lifts his magic, she has no choice but to bear the babe. Even now she is going to plead with him to lift it so she can kill it.” Mei answered as you gasped and covered your mouth with both hands as Sierge came over to you. 

“What is wrong with Benny? What are they saying?” Sierge asked you. 

“Uh, Sierge, you need to go back to the Palace of Windsor and stay with Benny and do not let Benny approach Grevu until she tells you exactly why she wants anything to do with him.” You advised him with a gesture to your belly as if you were stroking a very pregnant belly as Sierge’s eyes went wide when you made that gesture before he fled Buckingham Palace to chase after Benny.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Chapter 20 #regency era orc period drama #regency orcs #orcs #orc love story #orc romance #monster boyfriend

[wowzers-howzers]

Ok *slaps hands together* got some good good content right here. Rohan x wife!reader x Jotaro

Reader is joot’s wife, sex pollen stand trope, you know the deal. It’s obviously smut so like yea. Also, it’s a collab with @sacreddarknesss and we listened to Dreamscape the entire time we wrote. Brit Knee is an OC me and my friend came up with on the fly.

Mori mori mori moriocho radioooooo

Morioh was a quiet town, save for the occasional unruly stand user. Rohan sighed to himself in boredom. The only bad part of this town was the fact that there was nothing to do. When inspiration is lacking, the only thing to do was wander around until it struck.

The artist stands up, slowly stretching his back out. Hearing a few pops, he smiles to himself. Maybe he could go check on that new cafe downtown? Or maybe he could people watch down at the beach? Options.

Rohan checks his Rolex and notes that it’s a little after lunchtime, prime time at the cafe. He decides to go there and packs up his camera and a small sketch pad should inspiration strike him.

Walking briskly down the sidewalk, Rohan sees a streak of pink in the corner of his eye. Odd; He slows his walk to a stop and looks around cautiously. Something isn’t right.

Rohan’s emerald eyes flit across the street and at the various suburban homes lined up neatly as far as he can see. Nothing seems off, until he notices an unusual plant breaking up the monotony of the pristine lawns. It looks to be a large Calla lily in full bloom. That shouldn’t even be possible, Morioh doesn’t have the proper climate to support those. Odd.

Deciding to investigate, Rohan crosses the road and silently creeps toward the flower. Inspecting the leaves, suddenly a fine mist sprays out from the stalk of the flower. A sickly sweet scent envelopes Rohan in a stupor. His senses are overwhelmed with the strong smell and he finds himself on his knees coughing. His eyes are watering from the aroma.

“What the hell?!” He shouts, covering his mouth with his shirt. Rohan quickly scans his surroundings, hoping to find the stand user, but he has no such luck. Damn. He fishes his phone out of his messenger bag and dials Jotaro’s number. He was given orders to call Jotaro should any stand related problems arise.

Rohan waits with bated breath as the line rings several times. His hands grip his pants tightly, knuckles turning white from strain. Rohan feels his entire body burning, like a flame swallowing him up. A haze falls over his vision. This stand could pose a serious threat if he doesn’t get Jotaro here now to take it out.

Finally, the line clicks and a female voice greets him on the other side.

“Hello? Who is it?”

Rohan’s throat tightens up and his mouth goes dry.

“Get Jotaro,” he manages to sputter. He hears a commotion on the other end as (y/n) fetches her husband. Rohan swallows roughly, trying to ignore the pulsating tension flowing through his body.

“I don’t know where he is. Are you okay?” Concern is evident in her voice.

Rohan clenches his jaw.

“Enemy stand. Go to the old bookstore. I’m across the street,” he gasps out.

The dial tone drones on. He hopes that she is hurrying. He doesn’t know how much more he can deal with choking every time he breathes.

Rohan lays down on the cool grass, his senses heightened and feeling every blade of grass against his skin. His head pounds with what feels like a migraine and his vision swims deliriously.

He can’t get the sound of her voice out of his head. The soft tone plays on repeat.

Jotaro’s wife was a wildcard. She was a powerful stand user, but she rarely used her powers, preferring to be a support on the back lines. She had a quick wit and didn’t hesitate to give verbal lashings to anyone she believed deserved it. The image of her stuck in his head. No matter how hard he tried, he could never quite capture her in drawing. Her soft features, silky hair, lovely curves. Wait. Rohan tried to snap himself out of it. He had never thought of her in any sexual way, mainly out of respect to Jotaro, but now? He couldn’t help imagining her plush thighs in his hands, her gasps for more, how warm and soft she would feel around him. What was he doing?

Rohan feels a new tension in his stomach and notices his pants tightening slightly. He moves to sit up and groans at the friction. Why was he so hypersensitive? It must have something to do with that stand.

Panicking slightly, he realizes that he may not be able to actually fight the stand user. His mind is too clouded and stuck on his base desires. Part of him has the sick desire that (Y/N) will help him with that after they defeat the stand user. Rohan imagines her form, covered in glistening sweat after an exhausting battle, chest moving up and down as she pants.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears a shout of his name. Oh. His name. The way it flows out of her mouth has him whining. More. He wants her to say his name more. (Y/N) sprints across the street and kneels down next to Rohan.

“Are you hurt? What happened? Did you see the user?” She rapidly fires questions at him. Rohan stares at her in a daze, unable to speak. She frowns slightly and puts a hand to his forehead.

“You’re burning up!” She shouts, but Rohan can only comprehend her soft skin on him, hoping to feel even more. He barely chokes down a whimper when she takes her hand back.

Her (e/c) eyes shoot around her surroundings, looking for anyone who may be watching. She slowly stands up, clenching her fists as she calls out her stand.

She notices movement behind the curtained window of the house whose lawn they were in. Bingo!

Bounding to the door, (y/n) quickly rips the door open and grabs the user before they have the chance to even react.

“What did you do? Tell me what you did!” She yells at the cowering man in her grasp. He looks back at (y/n) in utter disbelief, how had he been found out so quickly? He smirks as he stands up slowly, looking over the female, assessing how much of a threat she is. (y/n) glares at the man, his long blonde hair parting on the left side, with hints of a strawberry pink highlight going down the middle of the part. His blue cyan eyes look her up and down rapidly, perhaps if he activates his stand in time he could have a chance of seducing her.

He smiles widely now that he has the skeleton of a plan forming in his mind. He adjusts his belt buckle, showing off both the gender symbols, his entire outfit screaming 80’s. The white bell bottom pants, the pink v-neck shirt, and the bedazzled pink scarf around his tense neck showing off one of his many amazing hobbies.

“Why hello there beautiful, what brings you over to my humble abode?”

“Well I can’t kick your ass without coming inside now can I?”

“Aweee easy kitten, I don’t mean much trouble. I just wanted to help your friend out there, it seems like he was a little wound up.”

“What the hell did you do to him!”

“Heh, well sugar, I’ll tell ya, if you let me have a little fun with ya.” His smile grows wider as (y/n) glares harshly at him, ready to kick his ass into the next millennium.

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but there is now way in hell I would ever even consider ‘messing around’ with you. Now tell me what the hell you’ve done to my friend or I’ll beat your ass!”

“Oooh~, kinky. Well, my dear, my name is Brit Knee and it seems that I’m going to have to teach you a lesson on how to be much nicer to people, you naughty little thing.~”

(Y/n) grimaces in disgust. Fucking cretin. Brit waves his hand up dramatically in the air as his stand materializes, a bright pink stand covered in calla lillies emerges from the ground. It’s face is made from one giant calla lily, and it makes a noise which roughly sounds like a horse neighing. It raises its petal covered arms and fires lillies at (y/n), who quickly doges out of the way.

“That’s it!” (y/n) yells summoning her stand, a giant dolphin-human hybrid emerges from behind (y/n).

“Tell me what you did,” she growls out, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him in the air. Brit chokes at the pressure on his neck.

“Fine!” He sputters. (Y/N) drops him to the ground abruptly, standing over the pathetic man ready to fight if he tries anything.

“Bare Naked Ladies is an aphrodisiac, but I can’t take away its effect,” he cries. “Once you inhale it’s fumes, if you don’t have sex within 24 hours you die!” Brit whimpers on the ground, curling into a ball. “I can’t do anything now so please don’t kill me!”

(Y/N) scowls in disgust. This stand’s power is absolute hedonism. What’s this about dying? She never knew a stand could do something like that.

“What do you mean? Are you even telling the truth?” She interrogates the bawling man.

“I said what I meant! He will die! I swear I’m not lying! Please don’t kill me!” He continues cowering like a little bitch.

“Well how do I stop it?” She questions.

“Well...uhhhhh...hmmm...my best recommendation is take him to a whore house,” he mutters under his breath.

“A what?!”

“Get him a prostitute!” Brit Knee cries out.

“He’ll have to fuck it out of his system!”

“What the fuck kinda stand is that?!” She screams.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! I am creature I cannot help this!” He cries. (y/n) glares at the broken man before her, almost pitying him. But then she pushes her pity aside and decides to deck him in the face.

-Time skip-

Rohan is curled against the ground, cradling his massive headache. (Y/N) slowly approaches him, hearing him groan in pain.

“How could I be so stupid? Putting my face in a plant! I, the great Rohan Kishibe, have made an utterly terrible mistake!” He cries out to himself.

“Shut up, stop being a baby,” (Y/N) scowls at him. “I found the stand user, he’s done. Let’s get you fixed up,” she leans down to pick up the smaller man.

Rohan cries out almost immediately after (y/n) touches him, which makes her pull away in shock. She sees him sweating and clenching his jaw. Rohan struggles to get to his feet alone.

“Don’t touch me,” he breathes out.

“Are you okay to walk?”

“Who did this?” Rohan demands.

“Brit Knee bitch,” she solemnly answers. “Sorry, that was a joke,” she trails off.

Rohan doesn’t even acknowledge her, “Where is Jotaro?”

“I don’t know. I’ll take you to the hotel in the meantime, you’re in no state to go anywhere alone right now,” she reasons, offering an arm to Rohan again, which he promptly refuses.

“We can call Koichi when we get back. He may know where Jotaro is.” (Y/N) looks sympathetically to the artist. He was drenched in sweat and visibly struggling to keep a grip on himself. He walked with a drunken stupor and (y/n) couldn’t help but grab his shoulders to steady him.

“Please,” he begs her, “I don’t know if you should do that.”

“Well I do know that you can’t walk so unless you have a better idea, this will do,” she snaps at him. Picking him up in her arms, she speedwalks to the hotel, ignoring any passerby’s who look oddly at the pair.

(y/n) enters the hotel, doing her best to ignore the gazes of the staff and any guests who happen to walk by. They probably thought she was having an affair, as they knew that she had checked in with her husband who was definitely not the man she was carrying up to her room right now. Rohan tries his hardest to ignore the problem arising in him, but it’s hard to do when the woman you’ve been silently pining after is holding you in her arms. (y/n) quickly makes her way to the suit and enters, using her foot to kick the door closed. She makes her way over to the bed, gently setting him down, much to his dismay.

Rohan breathes in the smell of the sheets and notices how much they smell like her. How many times had she and Jotaro laid in this bed together? If only she knew how badly he wanted to take Jotaro’s place, holding her and loving her until neither of them could stay awake.

Oblivious to Rohan’s thoughts, (y/n) quickly dials Koichi’s home phone. She bounces leg to leg, praying for someone to pick up soon. The line connects and she smiles brightly, happy for a breakthrough. Rohan notices her smile and can’t help but breath out heavily, wishing he could make her smile like that.

“Hello, this is the Hirose residence. Who is this?”

“Hey Coochie,” (y/n) laughs to herself at her joke, “Is Jotaro there?”

Rustling is heard on the other end as Coochie goes to check, a distant sounding “yes” is heard as he readjusts the receiver.

“Yes he’s here, want me to get him Mrs. Kujo?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” He sets the phone down and runs off leaving (y/n) on hold.

(Y/N) worriedly looks toward the artist resting on her bed, hoping that Jotaro has an answer on what to do about this. The phone is picked back up and a gruff voice answers.

“(y/n), what’s wrong?”

“Well, ya see, um…” she trails off. “Rohan got attacked by a stand, I took care of the user but there are some...residual effects.”

“Residual effects?”

“Um, he is, uh, incapacitated by, well I don’t know how to put it. The user said something about fuck or die.”

“What?”

“Fuck or die? I don’t know but he made it clear that if Rohan doesn’t get release within 24 hours, he will die.”

“Well isn’t there a strip club in this town? Take him there. He has enough money to get a happy ending,” Jotaro reasons.

“I don’t think so? Even if they did, I really doubt it’d be like American strip clubs where money will get you anything.”

“Does he have anyone who he can call for this?”

“What, like a booty call? Him? Fat chance of that, but I’ll ask,” she answers. Calling out to Rohan, “Do you have anyone who um, you could ask for, hm how should I put this? A favor? Of the sexual kind?”

“I’m not a whore,” he shoots back.

“Yea that’s a no from him,” she informs her husband.

“No wonder he is so awful. Can’t even get laid. Well, do what you have to do.”

“What? What are you saying Jojo?”

“Fuck him. Quick and easy. It’s not like we have any other options. We can’t just let him die. Good grief, woman, what do you think I’m saying?”

“But! I can’t just! I-I can’t do that!” She protests.

“Why not? You aren’t cheating on me, and it’s not like he will come back for more. If that’s the only way to save him, I’ll allow it.”

“Jojo! I feel like I should have a say in this!”

“Okay. What do you want to do about this? Do you have any better suggestions?”

“Not really, but there must be some other way,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What’s the issue then?”

“I-I don’t want to do this alone…”

“Good grief, speak your mind!”

“Please come back. We can do it...together?”

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” he abruptly ends the call.

(Y/N) let’s out an unsteady breath. What had she just agreed to? A threesome with her husband and Rohan? How would that even work? She glances over to Rohan, seeing him panting.

Five minutes pass agonizingly slowly. Finally, the door to the room is opened and quickly slammed shut as Jotaro stalks into the room.

Jotaro glares at the man on the bed, “Pathetic.”

Rohan scoots away from the side of the bed closest to Jotaro, inadvertently bumping right up against (y/n).

“Are you sure this is the only way?” (Y/N) looks at Jotaro.

Rohan covers his lap under the fluffy duvet and looks down.

(Y/N) rubs his back, to which Rohan responds with a low gasp.

Jotaro’s eyes squint, “It seems this is the best course of action.”

Rohan looks between the two, silently praying that one of them will break the tension and just start.

(Y/N) shakily puts her hand against Rohan’s chest.

“Don’t worry, we will take care of you,” she soothes.

Rohan shudders at her low voice and pushes against her touch. Jotaro gets the message and stands behind (y/n) resting his hands on her hips.

She nervously pulls Rohan forward into her grasp and gently kisses him.

It’s like a shock to his system. Rohan can’t help himself as he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her back onto the bed, her legs straddling him. Jotaro leans over and leaves soft kisses up and down (y/n)’s neck, ending by sucking against the junction where her neck meets her shoulder.

Rohan’s hands roam all over her body, coming to rest on her chest. He gives an experimental squeeze, eyes lighting up when he hears her shuddering groan. Jotaro holds her hips tightly in his own grasp, hot breath fanning across the back of her neck. The taller man pulls her ass towards himself and slowly grinds against her, feeling himself start to harden.

(Y/N) reaches a tentative hand down to Rohan’s lap, and squeaks in surprise when he roughly grabs her hand and pushes his hard length against it. Rohan shakily sighs, finally getting some form of friction. Taking his lead, she massages him, pressing the palm of her hand firmly along his cock.

She sighs as Jotaro, kneels behind her, giving her support from the awkward angle she was in. He gently caresses her ass, ghosting his large hands over her heat.

Rohan whines against (y/n)’s touch and quickly breaks apart from her soft kisses to take his shirt off, finding the constriction unbearable.

“Calm down there buddy,” (y/n) laughs nervously, only to be met with Rohan’s lust-blown eyes. His mouth is parted slightly, panting. Rohan looks to Jotaro, as if asking permission to do something. Jotaro nods slightly. Rohan roughly pulls your shirt up and off of you, leaving you in a bra. Jotaro makes quick work of that, flinging the now useless garment somewhere in the room.

You gasp in shock and Rohan greedily takes one of your nipples into his mouth, already roughly grabbing and massaging the other one.

“R-Rohan!”

He growls against you and lightly nips at your sensitive chest. Jotaro, not one to be outdone, pulls your pants down and off of your legs, leaving you in your underwear. He presses one hand roughly against your clothed slit. Your back arches against him.

Rohan pulls you down to sit on his lap, relishing in the heat between your legs rubbing against him deliciously. Jotaro glares at him, resigning himself to holding your head back for heated kissing.

You wiggle your hips, gyrating on Rohan, sending him into even more of a frenzy than before. Jotaro snakes an arm around you to reach down your front side. His hand momentarily rests against the elastic band of your panties before diving underneath, teasing you with one finger against your lips. You whine against him, trying to adjust your hips to feel more, but Jotaro refuses to give in and finger you. Instead, he gently presses against your clit, adding more and more pressure every time you move against him.

“J-jojo, please,” she whines needily.

“Please what?”

“Please go in, please use your hand, I can’t take the teasing,” (y/n) grinds against Rohan and Jotaro’s fingers.

Suddenly, Jotaro dips his fingers into her wet pussy, roughly finger-fucking her. She screams out, slamming her hips down, making Rohan moan as well.

Hearing him, (y/n) looks down and sees how painfully clothed he still is.

“Rohan,” she mewls. “Take your pants off, please~”

He visibly shakes, hearing her beg and say his name so sweetly is like music to his ears. He slides his pants down, leaving him in only boxers. (Y/N) palms against him before grabbing him through the thin material. He gasps at her hard touch. Keening against her for more, Rohan bucks his hips into her grasp.

(Y/N)’s thighs squeeze against Jotaro’s hand, prompting him to take his hand out, seductively licking her moisture from his fingers before giving her another open-mouth kiss.

Tasting herself on him, she moans against him, tilting her hips against him to give him a roll. Jotaro breathes out heavily before pulling back and stripping off everything. (Y/N) finds herself licking her lips, watching her husband take it all off for her before he rejoins her on the bed. Jotaro presses his thick length against her still clothed pussy, rubbing in between her thighs, groaning at the feeling.

Rohan watches with rapt attention, the pure eroticism of the action making him drool. He watches (y/n)’s face as it contorts in pleasure. Rohan grips himself, tugging himself out of his boxers, grabbing her hand to grip him directly.

His tip is leaking, after being so needy and wanting for so long, he can’t take much more waiting.

Jotaro grabs (y/n)’s hips, hands playing with the band of her panties before ripping them off.

“H-hey! Those were my good ones!” She protests.

“Shut up, I’ll buy you more,” Jotaro silences her, one hand holding her neck, not putting pressure on it yet, but just holding it there. Rohan, taking the moment she is distracted, runs his fingers through her folds, gathering up moisture.

She squeaks in shock, watching as Rohan puts the finger in his mouth, sucking her essence off of him.

“Exquisite,” he sighs, gazing at her adoringly.

“Mine,” Jotaro replies, possessively grabbing (y/n)’s body, positioning himself at her entrance.

“Me first,” he grunts, relishing in the feeling of her tight walls clamping down on him.

(Y/N) let’s out a shaky gasp, never getting used to how well her husband fills her up, just how large he is. Jotaro finally bottoms out, only to pull her hips back up before dropping her back on his dick. Rohan watches, eyes stuck on the sight of her cunt swallowing the large dick whole.

“Make yourself useful,” Jotaro glares at Rohan, prompting him to stimulate her clit while she bounces on his cock. Rohan eagerly complies, using his hands to rub against her.

(Y/N) cries out, overstimulated from Jotaro’s dick jackhammering into her combined with Rohan’s skilled hands working her clit.

“G-Gonna cum,” she gasps out, thighs clenching, hips bucking against Jotaro.

“Cum for me, show him how well I treat you,” Jotaro growls in her ear.

(Y/N)’s orgasm hits her like a freight train, spasms ripping through her body as her vision whites out from the pleasure. Her pussy clenches onto Jotaro’s cock, bringing him to release too.

He holds her hips steadily against his own, panting in her ear as he empties himself out into her. Rohan finds himself transfixed by the sight of Jotaro’s cum oozing out of her.

“Here. Your turn,” Jotaro removes himself from her folds still breathing heavily.

“Blow his mind, honey,” he whispers against her ear. (Y/N) shudders at the gravelly tone in his voice before nodding, falling down to cage Rohan between her arms. Her arms support her weight, not wanting to just fall against the smaller man. He is broken out of his stupor when she lines herself up against his cock and sinks down slowly.

To say Rohan enjoyed it would be an understatement. It was pure bliss, Jotaro’s cum acting as a lubricant, allowing him to slide against her velvety walls. The warmth made him feel like he was melting underneath her, eyes rolling back as she finally reached the bottom.

Giving an experimental roll of her hips, Rohan’s arm shot up to her back, his nails digging in in pleasure.

“A-Ah~ (y/n)! Please,” he begged. Oh how the mighty fall. The great Rohan Kishibe, reduced to a begging fool at the slightest provocation. If he had the mental wherewithal to be ashamed, he would be, but right now, the only thing he could think about was how warm and wet her pussy was as she bounced up and down on him.

(Y/N)’s sweat-covered body warmed up again, the angle Rohan’s dick hitting her in just the right way. Her back arched, pushing her pelvis against him. The new position added just the right amount of friction against her clit with every bounce of her body.

“Rohan, I’m, fuck, I’m cumming!” She shouted, her hips losing rhythm as she ground herself against him, clenching down. Rohan moves his hands to her hips and roughly pulled her up and thrust into her, not wanting to lose the delicious friction.

Gasping out, (y/n)’s body went into overdrive, the added pleasure wiping her out entirely. “F-fuck~!”

Rohan moaned his approval, hips canting to meet her hips every time he dropped her down onto his dick.

“So close,” he cried out. Unable to hold out any longer, Rohan slammed with more fervor. Like an animal seeking release, Rohan held her body tightly against him until finally the coil of tension snapped, crying out as he rode out his orgasm.

“(Y/N)!” Rohan couldn’t help but scream her name, shooting his cum inside her to mix with Jotaro’s. His vision was filled with stars, drool spilling out of his parted mouth, body entirely blissed out.

Jotaro watched in amusement, he knew his wife was a dream in bed. He watched as she rolled off of Rohan to the side. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the bathroom to clean her up.

“You’re welcome,” he said, kicking the bathroom door closed to clean (y/n) up.

Rohan, thoroughly spent, stared up at the ceiling, unable to move from his pure exhaustion. His body finally started ramping down, finally relaxing after hours of pure tension.

#My writing #rohan x reader #rohan x reader x jotaro #jotaro x reader #part 4 jojo #rohan kishibe #jotaro kujo #youtube

[tea-with-cinnamontoast]

"I am impertinent!" Percy said.

[a/n: kinda crack but do i care? nope. anyway context: remember that scene where percy sent the gods medusa's head? yeah, the gods were concerned]

Hermes rushed into the Olympian throne room, carrying a rather large box signed by a boy named Percy Jackson. Earlier today he had been busy, not realizing that one of the mail was to himself, or rather, the whole Olympian Council.

"Mount Olympus

600th Floor,

Empire State Building

New York, NY

With best wishes,

PERCY JACKSON"

the boy had written, then putting a pouch of Drachma for a Hermes Express. The god knew who this boy was, Poseidon's child, but wasn't sure what was inside the box. The godly 'know-it-all' is Athena or Apollo's job. Nope, that wasn't in the god of thieves' job description. Hermes had informed his family about the package, telling them it was from a demigod. That took triggered everyone's curiosity.

The god sat up on his throne, holding the box on his lap. He just finished today's shift and was tired, but the package is killing him. The immortal answered calls from his caduceus-phone, with his curly brown hair dangling by the side. He looked about 21 and was wearing some jogging pants an a normal shirt with "bros before hoes" written on it.

A few minutes later, others started arriving, first one being Athena. Typical. The goddess would always arrive as soon as she's called or on time, depending on how sudden it was. Her stormy grey eyes looked to the package and examined it for a while. Hermes hummed and Athena sat on her throne, contemplating and thinking about what the mail could be. After all, it's not everyday (every century, in fact) that the gods get a package to Olympus.

Hera, Aphrodite, and Ares came in, with the girls having their normal chitchat and Ares just silently walking. Apollo and Artemis came next, with the twins still on hunting gear. Apollo's daily shift just finished and it was Artemis' turn, but she poofed herself here. Hephaestus and Demeter arrived and sat on their thrones. Dionysus wasn't allowed to join. Then, bickering can be heard.

"I am not guilty, dearest brother! Why would I even take your Master Bolt!" Poseidon growled, opening the door to the room. "How am I supposed to know, Poseidon! It is not I who decided it was a rather amusing idea to steal my Master Bolt!" Zeus boomed in the room. Hestia sat by the hearth, silently trying to calm her brothers down. As they argued, the other Olympians flinched and groan, if it were possible.

"Lord Zeus, Lord Poseidon. Please be seated," Hera commanded, feeling the discomfort around her and from herself. They kept fighting whenever they see each other. Zeus hated Perseus Jackson for stealing his bolt, and yet there were no proof of that. He had just gotten claimed in camp, but ol' thunderpants was sure it was the barnacle beard's doing. Through his demigod son.

The sea god and the sky god grumbled something, glared at each other, and then decided to take a seat. Hermes figured it would be the perfect time for him to flutter down and show them the package. "So, um, we all know that a demigod sent us this package," the god of messengers' voice echoed. He hesitated. "Well, it was from Perseus Jackson."

Silence covered the room. Zeus looked like he was going to zap some poor, unfortunate mortal into dust. Poseidon got curious, what would his son possibly send them? He had a bad feeling. The others were amused on this demigod's bravery, knowing very well he was stuck in the middle of a fight Percy didn't know existed until now.

A look in Apollo's face flashed, only for a while and if Hermes didn't observe the room, he wouldn't have noticed. The sun god's looks went unnoticed, but Hermes knew that face. It was the manner of the god of prophecy's visions, even only near-time future. The blonde looked more amused, and then full-on laughed.

"Apollo. Apollo. Apollo!" their father called. The sun god stopped, composing himself, but letting a giggle or two escaped. "What is the meaning of this?" Ol' Thunderpunch asked, glaring at the poor sun god. "Nothing, father. Just... a little vision." Hermes knew well enough that it was about the mysterious 'gift' from the oh-so-humble Jackson. "Let us hope it is my bolt," Zeus mumbled.

The god of messengers opened the box, as the others watched. Slowly, he began to unravel the layers of plastic covering the... thing. Hermes grabbed a part of the thing and it felt like snakeskin. Multiple of them. Who in the right godsdamn mind would sent a god, or the whole council in this case, a lot of snakeskin?

Apollo looked like he was tearing, holding the chuckles that were going to erupt. Steadily, Hermes grabbed it and held it up, revealing Medusa's head.

Yeah okay, gods cannot get petrified by the gorgon, but holy hades was that horrific to see, considering they have seen wars, nasty ones at best. The head's eyes looked glossy and opened its eyes on them. The snakes started hissing and sort of alive. Yeah... it wasn't the best nor sane gift they've gotten.

"WHAT THE HADES!" Demeter yelped. It's not like they see a severed head everyday, and they're immortal. Apollo laughed in amusement, earning a few quizzical looks and glares. Hermes felt like throwing the head down the mountain, or building if you will. He had the urge to slice it and send it back to Tartarus. Wow, this demigod really is impertinent, but brave. Reckless, yet courageous.

Poseidon sighed in "what the fuck" and "honey, you didn't" and muttered something about impulsivity being a genetic thing. Athena just gasped in horror, Aphrodite looked like she was about to hurl. Ares wanted to pulverize the kid and Hephaestus just looked amazed. Artemis looked disgusted, trying her best to cover it, clearly failing. Only Hera looked more or less collected. Confused, but calmly looking at it.

"Let me kill the boy!" Zeus bellowed, Poseidon standing up to interfere. "You do not hurt my son," the sea god responded. But Hermes has a trick up his sleeve. "Lord Zeus, I think I have a better idea," showing his infamous mischievous grin. "He wants to send this to us?" he grabbed a magic pen, "Then let's just return it."

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson oneshot #oneshot #the lightning thief #olympians are concerned #twelve olympians

[buzzdixonwriter]

Mark Twain's "War Prayer" memorial day

It was a time of great and exalting excitement.

The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came – next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams – visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation

God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory –

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal,"Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside – which the startled minister did – and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

"I come from the Throne – bearing a message from Almighty God!"

The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention.

"He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import – that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of – except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two – one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this – keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer – the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it – that part which the pastor – and also you in your hearts – fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words:'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!'That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory – must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father,

our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle – be Thou near them! With them – in spirit – we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe.

O Lord our God,

help us to tear their soldiers   to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave

and denied it –

for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet!

We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts.

Amen.

(After a pause.)

"Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

#Bible #Christianity #culture #ethics #evil #Hell #history #Jesus #love #Mark Twain #morality #rank hypocrisy #sin #writing

[hearts-hunger]

“D’you need a pencil, love?”

Part Five || Masterlist

Summary: You and Roger have a study date at Kensington Market, and Freddie gets to dress you up to his heart’s content.

Pairings: College!Roger x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: None!

A/N: Ok lovelies! Here’s part five. I feel like it’s not super great because I got a little in the weeds about the details (as I tend to do) and I didn’t really know how to end it, but I hope you like it! ♡

“Alright, so... molecular mass.”

You groaned and laid back on the artfully thrown pillows and blankets piled in the corner of the shop where you and Roger had set up camp. Technically the mismatched rugs and pillows were for patrons who wanted to lounge while their friends tried on clothes, but Freddie had waved you and Roger over to the corner when you’d arrived. Kensington Market had the feel of a Middle-Eastern bazaar all fit under one roof, each of the shops side by side and packed full with exotic and bohemian items. The shops had been placed in such a way that they created winding, narrow streets between them; it felt like a different world entirely from the city just outside. Both of you had happily settled in the corner of the wondrously cluttered shop, your textbooks and a bag of fries - or, rather, chips - between you.

“What about it?” you asked.

Roger laughed. “Define it, you goose. Tell me what you know about it.”

You sighed dramatically. “Um... it’s the sum of the mass of the elements times the number of atoms in each element.”

“Okay,” Roger said. “Right out of the textbook, at least you’re good at memorizing.”

“Shut up,” you said with a laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

He gave you an amused smile. “Yeah, but d’you know what it means? If I picked a molecule right now, could you calculate the mass?”

You wilted. “Probably not.”

“Hey,” he said consolingly, moving closer to you. “It’s ok. You will, if I have anything to say about it. Look, let’s practice one.”

He closed the textbook and grabbed a loose leaf of paper from your binder, scrawling a few example molecular formulas across it.

“None of these letters and numbers make sense to me, Roger,” you said morosely. Through the course of your study session, as much as you loved spending time with him, you’d been worn down to defeat by the number of times you messed up an equation or misremembered the definition of some term.

“They will, love,” he assured you. “Give yourself some time.”

You watched his face as he continued writing you some practice questions. “Promise you won’t get fed up and decide not to help me any more?”

He looked up at you. “I promise. You could get the answer wrong a hundred times and I’d still help you try and figure out the next one.” He smiled. “Besides, I don’t think you’d let me kiss you if I said I’d help and then left you to your own devices the moment you mixed up an equation.”

“Who said anything about kissing?” you teased, though you liked the idea. You'd found yourself dreadfully distracted in class that morning, replaying the feel of his lips on yours.

His expression flickered with worry. “Do you not want to? I mean, it's perfectly fine if you don't, I just thought with last night and all - ”

“No, last night was wonderful,” you assured him. “I really liked it.”

His face softened as tipped your chin up, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“We can go as slow as you like,” he said gently. “No rush, love. All I want is to be with you, get to know you.”

“That’s what I want too,” you said, enchanted by his blue eyes and his soft features and his fingers on your skin. “You know, you can get to know someone pretty well by kissing them.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Is that a fact?”

“Hm,” you agreed. “Maybe you should try it some time.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I will.”

He leaned closer to you and kissed you gently, his fingers softly running down your neck and under your jaw. When he pulled back, he smiled at the dreamy look on your face.

“Can we just do that instead of chemistry?” you asked.

He bit his lip. “You don’t know how much I want to say yes, love, but...”

You sighed. “Ok, ok. Let’s do chemistry.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “How about, for every right answer, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“No fair!” you said. “I’m terrible and you know it.”

He laughed. “I have a few discretionary kisses I can use if I feel you’ve gone too long without one,” he said. “But you’ll get better and you’ll get more and more answers right as we practice, I promise.”

“Okay,” you agreed, warmed by his sweet reassurance and the promise of more kisses.

“Atta girl,” he said. “Here, try this one.”

You spent the next hour or so working on equations; as he’d promised, you did find them a little easier every time. He corrected your mistakes with grace and praised you when you got things right, kissing you between words of encouragement and pride. It was by far the most enjoyable study session you’d ever had, and you looked forward to many more over the course of the semester.

“Look how easily you figured that out!” Roger said excitedly as you finished the last problem on the homework assignment. “All by yourself, love, and not one mistake.”

You blushed, beaming with pride. “All thanks to you.”

“Nah,” he said, dismissing that with a wave of his hand. “I’m just here to help. You’re quick once you get the basics down, and that’s all I’ve given you. The rest was you.”

“Do you think we should try some more?” you asked.

“We can if you want,” he said. “Or we can be done, since we’re finished with the homework.”

“Oh, do say you’re done, darlings,” came Freddie’s voice. Both of you looked over to the register to see him leaned on the counter, his chin propped in his hand. “I’ve been waiting ages for you to finish.”

“We’re done,” you told him.

He brightened. “Wonderful!” he said with a grin. “I’ve got so many things I want to try you in, darling, I’ve been making a list of them all day.”

You helped Roger pack up your school things and put them in your messenger bag; he brought it over to the register and stowed it behind the counter.

“You and Y/N go have your fun,” Roger told Freddie. “I’ll mind the register.”

“Hm, you’re actually going to get some work in today?” Freddie teased.

Roger laughed. “I seem to recall you slacking off work to be with Mary more than once, mate.”

“Who’s Mary?” you asked, coming over to where they stood.

“Fred’s girl,” Roger told you. “You should meet her, you’d like her.”

“I’m bringing her to the show tomorrow,” Freddie told you. “I told her all about you last night and she’s dying to meet the girl who turned Roger Taylor into the biggest softie this side of the Thames.”

You hid a laugh behind your sleeve as Roger blushed.

“Come on, my darling,” Freddie said to you. “Let’s find you something absolutely outrageous to wear tomorrow night. Roger, dear, go help that poor chap over there in blazers. He looks absolutely lost.”

You looked over to where the rack of blazers were towards the front of the shop, seeing that the young man browsing it did seem a little overwhelmed with the variety of colors and materials.

Roger smiled. “On it. Come show me whatever you try on.”

He made his way over to the customer, starting up a conversation easily as he started to point out the different styles and what they might pair well with. Roger himself was evidence of the fact that clothing could be artfully mismatched and look amazing. He showed the customer how he’d paired his plain black shirt with his dark blue jacket patterned with white flowers. You’d complimented him on it when he came to pick you up; it looked good on him with his worn-in jeans and a simple necklace around his neck.

“Roger’s quite the salesman,” Freddie told you, a hint of pride in his voice.

“You trained him well,” you said.

Freddie smirked. “Damn right, darling.”

Freddie’s style was a walking advertisement of how the myriad of eclectic second-hand clothes that filled the shop expressed a vibrant personality in the wearer. If you couldn’t tell Freddie was a bit outrageous in the best kind of way by the way he talked or the glint in his eyes, you could certainly tell from his outfits. The look today was a black and white polka dot shirt with a flowy red overshirt and tight black pants, bracelets jangling on his wrists as he took your hand and led you to the dressing room at the back of the shop.

“I’d like to start from the ground up, my dear,” he told you. “Not that I don’t like your outfit - it’s a very cute dress on you - but I’m going to completely make you over.”

You laughed. “I entrust myself completely to your artistic vision.”

He grinned. “That’s the spirit. Go on in and I’ll bring you something.”

You did as he said, drawing the curtain closed behind you and slipping off your dress. Freddie handed in a lacy green dress with huge poofy sleeves and silver butterflies embroidered across it.

“Brian, darling!” you heard Freddie say as you put the dress on. “What brings such an eminent scholar to our humble establishment?”

“I’ve brought you a present,” Brian said. “Who’ve you got in there?”

“Y/N,” Freddie told him. “They finally got done with homework and now we’re playing dress up.”

You stepped from behind the curtain to show off the dress, twirling slightly. “Good? Bad? Horrible?”

Freddie’s eyes widened. “Not at all, darling, it looks marvelous on you! Don’t you think so, Bri?”

Brian gave you a sweet smile. “It’s very nice, Y/N.”

“Oh, I know just what it needs,” Freddie said excitedly. He went to grab a scarf and tied it in your hair like a bandanna. “How’s that?”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror and smiled. “I love it.”

“Naturally,” Freddie teased. “I am a style expert, after all. Go show Rog.”

You turned and looked to see if Roger was still with the customer and saw he was ringing him up at the register. You hung back until the customer left, not wanting to be in the way; no sooner had the customer taken his things than Roger turned his attention to you, a smile lighting his face as he looked you up and down.

“What do you think?” you asked.

He bit his lip, trying to hide a smile. “To be perfectly honest, love, when I saw that dress on the rack I thought it was hideous.”

You gave an incredulous laugh. “Roger Taylor!”

He laughed. “Now, no need to get upset, if you’d give me half a second I’d have told you that all it needed was the right model to make it absolutely breathtaking.”

You blushed. “Well, for the dress’ sake, I hope it finds someone pretty to wear it.”

“It won’t find someone prettier than you, love,” Roger said easily. “In fact, I think - ”

He cut himself off, his attention drawn from you. A second later your attention was diverted too - the music that suddenly filled the shop was nothing like you’d ever heard before. Freddie and Brian were standing at the turntable shoved into a spare space on one of the shelves that lined the wall, looking at each other in wonder at the sound of the song they’d put on.

“Who is that?” Roger asked. “That run down the toms is bloody marvelous.”

You assumed that had something to do with the drums; you didn’t have the ear to isolate that, but the lush, driving sound of the song was really something. You continued to listen, thinking of who it could be.

“Here come old flat top, he come groovin’ up slowly,” came the lyrics. You gasped.

“That’s John Lennon!” you said excitedly. “Is this their new album?”

Brian looked over at you with a grin. “Yeah, it’s just come out today. ‘S called Abbey Road. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“What a sound,” Roger agreed, an awed tone to his voice. “It’s not like anything they’ve done before, is it?”

“Tim can’t say they’re not rock ‘n roll now,” Freddie said.

“No,” Brian agreed. “This certainly proves that wrong.”

“Keep it playing while we work, darling,” Freddie said to Brian. “Unless you have to hurry off?”

“I came to look at shoes, actually,” Brian said. “Rog told me you got some new ones in.”

Freddie smirked. “Yes, dear, there’s a pair of clogs in there I think you might enjoy. I put them over with the others, go have a look.” He beckoned to you. “Come, darling, I’ve got another dress for you.”

You went back over to the dressing room, trying on the dress he handed in. You tried on lots of different things - dresses, skirts, flouncy shirts, leather pants, and everything in between, modeling your looks for the boys but beaming especially under Roger’s lavish praise. Abbey Road played as you laughed and joked and made fun of each other’s fashion choices. Roger nearly had a heart attack listening to Ringo’s drum solo, insisting on moving the needle to play it again. A few customers came in and either Freddie or Roger took care of them.

“Now that’s the look I’ve been going for,” Freddie said to the latest outfit you’d tried, a white top and frayed jeans with the most extravagant shawl you’d ever seen. It was the one Freddie had mentioned to you last night, a silky blue thing with tassels on the hem and beading across the back that made it look like a spread of peacock feathers. It was your favorite thing you’d tried on so far.

“I knew it would look dazzling with your eyes,” Freddie said, teasing out your curls a bit. “You’re a perfect model, you know? Much better than anyone I ever had at school.”

“Because I’m so willing to trust your artistic instincts?” you teased.

He smiled. “That and because you’re a darling little thing to work with. You’ll have to go model for Mary some time - she’s dying to try some new looks with the spring line at Biba.”

“Mary works at Biba?” you asked, impressed. You hadn’t been there yet but you knew its high-end reputation.

“Mmh,” Freddie agreed, replacing one of the shirts you’d tried on earlier to its spot on the rack. “She loves clothes nearly as much as I do. It’s why we’re a perfect match.”

You smiled. “Just that?”

He smiled back, a hint of bashfulness in it. “Well, that and the fact that she’s a divine and wonderful creature I could never deserve in a million years, and she somehow chose me to be her love. That makes me pretty well besotted with her, as you can imagine.”

“She sounds lovely,” you said, endeared to his obvious love for her. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You’ll have a grand time, darling,” Freddie said happily. “We’ll all get to be the best of friends, and if ever poor Brian can find a girl, she can be our friend too.”

“Oi, I heard that,” Brian said from across the shop.

“As intended, darling,” Freddie said airily. You giggled and he gave you a conspiratorial grin.

“What’s got your funny bone, then?” Roger asked, coming over from the register after finishing up with a group of girls buying jewelry. “Not talking about me, I hope?”

“Oh no, darling,” Freddie said. “We can’t very well make fun about you being single, can we?”

Roger smiled as he glanced over at you. “No, I don’t suppose you can.”

“Oh, we’re officially an item now?” you teased. “Whatever happened to taking it slow?”

He laughed. “You’re the one who said we should get to know each other by kissing.”

You blushed. “Yeah, well...”

He gently tweaked your cheek. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind, love. In fact, I think it’s a bang-up way to get to know someone.”

You would have leaned in to kiss him right then and there had it not been for Freddie’s dramatic sigh.

“God, I do feel so ignored when you two get within three feet of one another,” he keened. “I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse.”

Roger smirked but didn’t take his eyes off you. “I think you’re right about that, Fred.”

He took you gently by the chin and kissed you; your hand went to his chest of its own accord, lightly brushing over where his heart beat, steady and strong. He was right. This was a bang-up way to get to know someone.

Freddie gave both of you an exasperated smile when you broke apart. “Yes, yes, you’re very sweet. It’s lovely. Can I have my model back now?”

Roger laughed. “Sure, but this outfit’s missing something.”

“Don’t be silly,” Freddie scoffed. “If you’re so smart, then, what does it need?”

Roger reached to unclasp the necklace he wore, a small silver disk on a chain, and let it dangle from his fingers. “Needs a bit of flash, that’s all.”

Even you knew that the last thing your outfit needed was flash - the beading on the shawl sparkled as it caught the light every time you moved. But that wasn’t was this was about.

“Turn around,” Roger told you gently. You did as he said, letting him put his necklace around your neck; you shivered at his touch as he moved your hair from under the chain, his fingers brushing the back of your neck.

“There,” he said, nodding to your reflection. “Perfect.”

You felt the same, seeing you and Roger together in the mirror. Your hand went to the trinket round your neck, feeling the metal warmed by its contact with him, knowing you’d be hard-pressed to ever take it off.

“You’re going to be out of a wardrobe soon,” you joked, your voice soft with affection, thinking of the shirt you’d put back on after your shower last night just so you could have his scent of smoky sweetness around you.

He chuckled and kissed your cheek. “I don’t mind.”

You smiled. “Thank you. I love it.”

“You’re welcome, love,” he said sweetly. “I couldn’t let Freddie have all the fun.”

You laughed as you looked over at Freddie, who had busied himself with re-hanging clothes to give you and Roger a moment.

“Do you think this is good to wear to the show?” you asked him.

He smiled. “If you like, my darling. You’re taking home this one and some of the ones you really liked, and any of them look lovely so it’s up to you.”

You blushed. “I didn’t bring money with me.”

He waved you off. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of making you pay for letting me dress you up. Besides, it’s good advertisement. When people ask you where you got styled, send them to me.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“You’ll find I’m hardly ever not,” he said smartly.

You smiled. “Thank you, Freddie.”

“You’re more than welcome, my dear,” he said. “Roger, help her pick out a snappy pair of shoes to go with that, won’t you?”

Roger smiled as he offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You let him lead you towards the front of the store where the shoes were, Roger stopping briefly to compliment Brian on the white nail polish he was working on at the counter.

“White’s a bold choice,” he said appreciatively.

“Um... thanks,” Brian said, a bit distracted as he carefully painted another coat. “Thought it’d make my solos a bit flashier, you know.”

He nodded to the shoes. “There’s some blue heels in there that’d look good with that, Y/N,” he said.

“That’s where we’re headed right now,” you said. “We have to complete the look.”

You heard him chuckle as you and Roger crossed to the shelves fairly bursting with different kinds of shoes, looking through them to find ones that might go with your outfit.

“What classes do you have tomorrow?” Roger asked you.

You thought for a moment. “Well, chemistry, obviously, and then two more classes. Why?”

He shrugged. “After chemistry, I’m headed to De Lane with Bri and Tim, so I thought if you weren’t busy, maybe you’d like to come hang out.”

“What’s De Lane?” you asked.

“Oh, ah, recording studio. De Lane Lea, technically. Mercury Records wants us to put down a few songs, and you could come if you like.”

“Can I?” you asked. “I mean, would they let me in?”

“In the booth, yeah,” he said. “I mean, now I’m thinking on it, I won’t be able to spend a lot of time with you since I’ll be in the studio, so I guess it wouldn’t be the most fun in the world for you, but - ”

“Roger,” you said with a smile, saving him from his progressively more apologetic rambling.

He blushed and looked over at you. “Sorry.”

You took his hand. “I’d love to come,” you assured him. “I’m not done till 2:30, but if you’ll still be there, I’d love to come listen.”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” he said. “Do you really want to come? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You smiled. “No, it’ll be fun. I’ve never been to a recording studio before. And I can just stay with you until the show, right?”

He beamed. “Of course you can. Do you know where De Lane is?”

“No clue,” you said. “But my roommate probably does.”

A flicker of worry crossed his expression. “I don’t want you to get lost,” he said. “Maybe I should come get you.”

You had to admit that the thought of travelling around London by yourself was intimidating, but you wouldn’t dream of disrupting their recording session.

“It’ll be fine,” you assured him. “It’ll be good for me to see the city. I don’t get out much, you know.”

He chuckled. “Can’t say that any more, can you?”

“I’ve been out more in the past 48 hours with you than I have the whole semester so far,” you told him.

“And you’re loving every second of it, hm?” he teased.

You smiled. “I am, actually.” You stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I really like being with you, Roger.”

He lightly touched the place you’d kissed, his cheeks rosy with warmth. He gave you a shy smile. “I really like being with you too, love.”

Read Part Six!

taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod @somekindofroger @dashlilymark @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @crushthewiredlove @marvel-lously @rogertayolr @strawberryfields-forever 

#i hope you guys liked it! #it has its moments #maddie writes stuff! #roger taylor x reader #ben!roger x reader #smile era!roger x reader #college!roger x reader #roger taylor fic #queen fic #roger taylor x reader fluff #borhap fic #smile era

[pamphletstoinspire]

Feast of St. Patrick - March 17

RESURRECTION MIRACLES PERFORMED BY ST. PATRICK, APOSTLE OF IRELAND

"He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood, hath everlasting life; and I will raise him up in the last day." (John 6:55)

It has been said that St. Patrick (c.389 - c.461) performed a thousand miracles. And why not? Many more (40,000) were prudently attributed to St. Vincent Ferrer the Dominican missionary and "Angel of Judgment."

Moreover, the author knows of no saint for whom there are claimed so many resurrection miracles during one apostolic lifetime as for St. Patrick; there were as many as 39 of these wonders. Thirty-three are mentioned in one specific report:

"For the blind and the lame, the deaf and the dumb, the palsied, the lunatic, the leprous, the epileptic, all who labored under any disease, did he in the Name of the Holy Trinity restore unto the power of their limbs and unto entire health; and in these good deeds was he daily practiced. Thirty and three dead men, some of whom had been many years buried, did this great reviver raise from the dead, as above we have more fully recorded."

The above is quoted from "The Life and Acts of St. Patrick", translated from the original Latin of Jocelin, Cistercian monk of Furnes of the 12th century, by Edmund L. Swift, Esq., Dublin, 1809. A writer that far back probably had sources not available 800 years or more later. Paul Gallico (in "The Steadfast Man") wrote the following concerning the value of tradition: "Tradition is sometimes more to be trusted than written records, and particularly in a country such as Ireland, where in the early days there was no written record and history was handed down by the poets in the form of sagas, and memory was cultivated far beyond what it is today. In pre-Christian Ireland every educated man's head was the storehouse for the archives of the nation."

St. Patrick was a great missionary bishop who converted a whole land from paganism, overturning the religion of the druids. He consecrated 350 bishops, erected 700 churches, and ordained 5,000 priests. In less than 30 years the greater part of Ireland was Catholic; St. Patrick so consolidated it in the Christian faith that during the Protestant Revolt Ireland was almost unique in its preservation of the Faith. Even today, people speak of "the faith of the Irish."

It is hard, indeed impossible, to comprehend such a vast and enduring transformation without the visible support of God through great works and wonders. But that is what Christ promised to His Apostles, and it has been historically demonstrated in the well-attested lives of His great missionary saints.

St. Patrick himself has personally attested to some of these signs and wonders: "And let those who will, laugh and scorn -- I shall not be silent; nor shall I hide the signs and wonders which the Lord has shown me many years before they came to pass, as He knows everything even before the times of the world." This seems to apply in particular to his prophetic dream-visions.

In his "Letters" (as in his "Confessions" and his "Letter to Coroticus"), Patrick wrote such things as: "I was not worthy... that He should bestow on me so great grace toward that nation." And: "I baptized in the Lord so many thousands of persons." And: "that many people through me should be regenerated to God." Patrick also wrote: "that I might imitate, in some degree, those whom the Lord long ago foretold would herald His Gospel, for a witness to all nations before the end of the world." St. Patrick indicated that the Holy Spirit was within him, and he compared himself with St. Paul in a reference to the "unspeakable groanings" of the Holy Spirit.

Further, the ancient author quotes from a reputed "epistle" (letter) of St. Patrick to a friend in a country beyond the sea:

"The Lord hath given to me, though humble, the power of working miracles among a barbarous people, such as are not recorded to have been worked by the great Apostles; inasmuch as, in the Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, I have raised from the dead bodies that have been buried many years; but I beseech you, let no one believe that for these or the like works I am to be at all equaled with the Apostles, or with any perfect man, since I am humble, and a sinner, and worthy only to be despised."

Perhaps because of rumors and his fame St. Patrick was trying to put things in proper perspective. The word "humble," in his usage, probably meant "lowly" or "insignificant." The author of the ancient manuscript observes that he admired the greatness of Patrick's humility more than his raising of the dead. Patrick himself knew well that his abundance of charismatic gifts (given by God for the glory of God and the benefit of others), far from making him holy, could be a great liability.

Despite his limited number of references to his own greatness, and despite their modesty, it is obvious to anyone familiar with great missionary saints that the spiritual greatness indicated above and displayed in Patrick's life would also call for the marvelous gifts often accompanying such apostles - the most common of which is the working of numerous miracles, including the raising of the dead.

Anyone could gather from his writings, and also from the results of his apostolate of 20-30 years, that St. Patrick was a resolute, steadfast "iron man"; he was a bishop who established monastic discipline in a pagan land, who apparently baptized hundreds of thousands, who converted princes and turned pagan princesses into virgin nuns, who converted the worshipers of idols and the sun and impure things, and who organized and built many churches, leaving behind priests to care for souls. These were the tremendous and enduring accomplishments in one apostle's missionary lifetime.

St. Patrick's was an achievement unique in history. Thus it would seem to be a moral certainty that St. Patrick raised the dead on several occasions. This chapter has been cut down from an originally much longer manuscript-chapter on his reported raisings of the dead, because of the lack of historical records on these matters. Herein are presented only the best substantiated cases.

Since St. Patrick is claimed to have worked 33 resurrection miracles, it seems a moral certitude that he truly must have worked at least a good number of such wonders, even if the count of 33 may not be exactly accurate. (Some details may be confused, and thus two slightly different accounts could actually refer to the same event.) It is only fair to report at least several of these.

One day St. Patrick came to a place called Fearta. On the side of the hill two women had buried. Patrick ordered the earth removed; in the Name of Christ, he raised them up. The two proclaimed that their idols were vain and that Christ was the true God. Along with the women, many bystanders were baptized. As the ancient writer observes, Patrick not only revived these two from a double death (both temporal and eternal death), but by this miracle he gave spiritual resurrection to many other souls.

When Patrick came to Dublin he prophesied how great that small village would someday become. He also caused a fountain to spring up there. It happened that in the region nearby, the young son of the king lay dead in his chamber. The sorrow over his death was compounded when it was learned that his sister, who had gone to bathe in the neighboring river, had drowned in midstream. Her body was finally found resting on the riverbed, and was laid out beside that of her brother. Tombs were prepared for both according to pagan custom.

At this sorrowful time the rumor spread that Patrick of Ardmachia (Armagh), who in the Name of the Unknown God had raised many that were dead, had arrived in the village. The king, Alphimus, promised that he, his nobles, and the whole "city" would be baptized into the new faith if his two children were restored. Patrick, seeing the opportunity for a great gain of souls, raised them both to life.

By the physical resurrection of the prince and princess, the spiritual resurrection of the whole area from the darkness of paganism and idolatry was accomplished. And the temporary resurrection of bodies (that is, until they died again) gave a promise of eternal life in Heaven and of the resurrection of the body on Judgment Day.

After the raising of this royal brother and sister, churches were built and tributes appointed to Patrick as their patron, that is, as the first Archbishop (or Bishop) of Ardmachia. It is reputedly from the revived Princess Dublina that the present great city of Dublin got its name.

In the country of Neyll, a King Echu allowed St. Patrick to receive his beloved daughter Cynnia as a nun, though he bewailed the fact that his royal line would thereby end without issue. The king exacted a promise from Patrick not to insist that he be baptized, yet to promise him the heavenly kingdom. Patrick agreed, and left the matter in the hands of God.

Sometime later King Echu lay dying. He sent a messenger to St. Patrick to tell him he desired Baptism and the heavenly kingdom. To those around him the King gave an order that he not be buried until Patrick came. Patrick, then in the monastery of Saballum, two days' journey away, knew of the situation through the Holy Spirit before the messenger even arrived. He left to go to the King, but arrived to find Echu dead.

St. Patrick revived the King, instructed him, and baptized him. He asked Echu to relate what he had seen of the joys of the just and the pains of the wicked, so that his account could be used for the proving of Patrick's preaching. Echu told of many other-world wonders and of how, in the heavenly country, he had seen the place that Patrick promised him. But the King could not enter in because he was unbaptized.

Then St. Patrick asked Echu if he would rather live longer in this world, or go to the place prepared for him in the heavenly kingdom. The King answered that all the world had was emptiest smoke compared to the celestial joys. Then having received the Eucharist, he fell asleep in the Lord.

There was a prince in Humestia who was baptized. Later he expressed unbelief about the doctrine of the Resurrection. After St. Patrick quoted various texts from the Scriptures, the prince said that if Patrick would raise his grandfather, by then buried many days, he would believe in that Resurrection which Patrick preached.

Patrick signed the tomb of the grandfather with his staff, had it opened, and prayed. A man of very great height, but not as big as a "giant" who had recently been raised from a huge tomb by Patrick, came forth from the tomb. He described the torments that went on in Hell, and was baptized. He received the Eucharist, and retired again to his former sepulcher and "slept in the Lord." After witnessing this miracle none doubted the truth of the Resurrection.

On another occasion a band of men who hated St. Patrick falsely accused him and his companions of stealing, and sentenced them to death. Patrick raised a man from a nearby tomb and commanded him to witness to the truth of the case, which the resurrected man did. He protested the innocence of Patrick and his companions and the deceit of the evil ones. In the presence of all, the resurrected man also showed where the alleged stolen goods--some flax--were hidden. Many of those who had conspired for the death of St. Patrick now became his converts.

It is interesting to note that each of the miracles related here was aimed at establishing truth, besides doing good to various individuals. Here is a final example.

An evil man named Machaldus, and his companions, who placed on their heads certain diabolical signs called "Deberth," signifying their devotion to Satan, plotted to mock St. Patrick. They covered one of their group, Garbanus, with a cloak as if he were dead. Garbanus, though in perfect health, was placed on a couch as if laid out in preparation for burial. The men then sent for Patrick, asking him to raise the covered Garbanus from the dead. This was a fatal mistake.

St. Patrick told them it was with deceit, but not with falsehood, that they had declared their companion dead. Disregarding their entreaties, Patrick went on his way, praying for the soul of the derider.

Then, uncovering their friend, the plotters found Garbanus not feigning death, but actually dead! Contrite of heart, they pursued St. Patrick; they obtained pardon and were baptized. At their entreaty, St. Patrick also revived the dead Garbanus.

The same once-evil Machaldus became a great penitent, a bishop eminent in holiness and miracles, and became known as "St. Machaldus."

Patrick also once raised to life a dead horse belonging to the charioteer of Darius. He also restored to the charioteer the health he had lost after accusing Patrick of killing the horse.

One wonders why men question and marvel so at the "miracles of the saints" as if these were really their own miracles? If one thinks of these wonders as being primarily the miracles of God, which they are, why marvel? They are not "miracles" for God; for Him they are quite "ordinary" actions.

In the appendices at the end of Jocelin's "Life of St. Patrick", in the "Selections from the Elucidations" of David Rothe, sometime bishop of Ossory, that bishop quotes another learned bishop: "Credulity may enter even the most virtuous mind; but when eminent men decline from this readiness of belief they fall into the opposite error, and become incredulous, while there is little fault in credulity, but much incredulity."

Let no one doubt that the Lord gave to the humble Patrick the gift of raising the dead to life--for the glory of God, the proof of the True Faith, and the salvation of countless souls.

#st patrick

[obstinaterixatrix]

2018 Fic Retrospective

it’s that time of year again! the end of it. all in all it’s been about 15 fics and about 40k, so like? that’s a pretty decent amount I think.

1/25

The Intricate Art of the Spite Selfie (or, Say What You Mean), Voltron, 3.5k words

The first selfie Lance takes with Keith, the first selfie Keith takes with Lance, and a few of Lance's many, many selfies that follow.

this was posted on my 9 year anniversary of the first time I posted fic, but it was actually written a solid while before? and scenes were drafted even longer before that? technically an old fic but w/e

3/28

Page Turner, or, Why Shoujo Manga isn't a Valid Point of Reference, Persona 5, 12k words 

Yusuke comes to Makoto for love advice. Futaba intervenes.

this was technically started in 2017, but finished in 2018 so it’s for the 2018 retrospective. it’s also like. the crown jewel of fics this year In My Humble Opinion. I’m so happy with this fic, it’s pure self-indulgence. my extensive experience with shoujo manga finally came in handy. I also get like. really irked when an f/f ship is tagged and it’s like... .001% of the fic so I wanted both my Big Persona Ships but I. Needed to focus on mako/haru. they deserve it.

4/7

follow the warmth of the sun, Persona 5, 2k words

Ryuji asks Haru for advice, then offers some of his own.

companion to page turner... still feel :/ abt the title but I honestly truly couldn’t think of anything else.

writing haru’s always really hard but something that’s nice and canon is how soft everyone is around her. also liz pointed out that page turner and this one basically start out the same and I. didn’t realize. I didn’t notice at all. I was tunnel vision on characterization I didn’t think about parallels at all,

4/13

ask a question, get an answer, Persona 5, 1k words

Hindsight is 20/20, but Ryuji feels pretty effin' dense for missing this.

I love foxskull. originally this fic was planned to be like. three times longer but then I realized I could condense it into a one scene oneshot. who cares about setup... foxskull time

4/21

shoot the messenger (at your peril), Persona 5, 2k words

Yusuke refuses to let Ryuji play the martyr.

[Rewrite of Ryuji's 8th rank]

okay I said page turner was the crown jewel of fic but this is also the crown jewel of fic because it’s really good alright it’s fantastic. sister helped me make the text segment because this was when my laptop died but such a trifiling obstacle can’t hope to get in the way of my foxskull agenda (this is hubris do not take it to heart). seriously though I’m a fan of my own vibe. slow-burning fury rooted in genuine concern... thats my brand and I am catering to my own tastes 

4/26

at your side, as your side, Kamen Rider W, 700 words

Philip apologizes. At least, he tries to.

you’re welcome jem

5/10

Live and Learn, Steven Universe, 700 words

A conversation about mistakes.

lapidot lol. I love writing peridot... she’s such a disaster dumbass but a genuinely good and kind character trying to learn from her past mistakes... also lapis’ song killed me... I... wamt to see how their reunion goes...

5/15

Inertia, Persona 4, 700 words

It's not an ending, just a change.

I’m adding this in the retrospective even though the majority of this was written like. four years ago. technically I also ‘finished’ vector sum and the dr fics but like. I’m not. including those. they’re so old,

6/17

it’s not nostalgia if there’s nothing to miss, Persona 5, 1.7k words

Ryuji and Yusuke talk about the kind of shenanigans they got into as kids: eating paint and flaming dodgeball.

legit the only time air was like ‘you could add conflict’ and I was like. no. 

I really liked writing dumb kid shenanigans... one of my friends once said how her sister tricked her into thinking color was a recent invention and that photos were black and white because colors hadn’t been dug up yet. while drafting I kind of kept that in as a placeholder for yusuke’s dumb kid thing, but thankfully I hit on the idea of. eating watercolors for art. what a yusuke thing to do. also I’ve said this before but flaming dodge ball was literally something that a friend did when they were a kid and I’m honestly kind of sad I never got to do something so ridiculously dumb and dangerous. is it really childhood without the threat of self-inflicted immolation?

7/28

the shortest distance between two points, Voltron, 7k words

Just when Keith thought he had his relationship with Lance all figured out, finally, Lance marches in and not-so casually declares his undying love.

(Or, his extremely small barely-there crush, but knowing Lance, same difference)

despite all my various feelings about voltron the show now that it’s over. I have to say. my voltron content is good content. You Can’t Change My Mind.

keith’s always a little harder to write than lance, but I really like... writing lance from an outside perspective. ‘this makes total sense,’ lance thinks, digging his own grave. ‘what the hell is he doing,’ everyone else thinks, as they get a front row seat to lance digging his own grave. also also I really like writing miscommunications that are like. fun.

9/18

accounting for taste, or, the unfortunate specter of middle school sensibilities, Persona 5, 1.5k words

Ryuji gives Yusuke an old necklace neither of them like.

99% of the foxskull I write is directly appealing to my own sensibilities and basking in my egregious self-indulgence because otherwise I’d be dying in the desert. this fic... is good.

10/1

star-crossed ain't the right word for it, Persona 5, 1k words

A handful of texts between Ann and Shiho.

this was a little tough to figure out at first— air def helped w the trajectory of the third chapter. but... I’ve always wanted to write more fun shenanigans with these two... and I’ve had the last chapter planned since the very beginning... I love ann/shiho...

11/11

Forward Momentum, Kamen Rider Drive, 2k words

After Chase comes back, Gou takes him to an amusement park. Then a movie. Then a cafe.

while watching the series I was like... ooo chase/gou has potential but the only thing that’s really selling me is the death scene so there’s not much I can do here... then... I listened to the drama cd... yall the drama cd... I’ve Been Pandered To... I really like writing Chase’s awkward perspective, also, I really like Chase.

11/16

coda, The Adventure Zone, 700 words

Sloane and Hurley rally people for the final battle.

(epilogue for Fortune's Wheel, Reversed)

this was a draft for a pretty long while but I really did need to give them something that reflected their current canon end. I like tragic romance but I like it *more* when it actually ends happily thanks griffin.

12/27

variety, spice, and however that saying goes, Persona 5, 4k

Rewrite of 6/11-6/12; instead of staying at Leblanc, Yusuke stays at Ryuji’s place.

a while ago jack was talking abt his headcanons for ex-sukeban mom sakamoto and ever since then I’ve been like... wow I want to write that. I think this actually has some of the best yusuke I’ve ever written just because I had to spend a paragraph describing a wine glass. also I have to admit, when I thought up the symbolism thing, I was very much. Oh I Am So Genius.

#fic retrospective #my writing #long post

[loveofyhwh]

December 22: Obadiah—Jonah 4; John 14; Psalm 142; Proverbs 30:18–19

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/december-22-obadiah-jonah-4-john-14-psalm-142-proverbs-3018-19/

December 22: Obadiah—Jonah 4; John 14; Psalm 142; Proverbs 30:18–19

Old Testament:

Obadiah—Jonah 4

Obadiah (Listen)

1 The vision of Obadiah.

Edom Will Be Humbled

  Thus says the Lord GOD concerning Edom:   We have heard a report from the LORD,     and a messenger has been sent among the nations:   “Rise up! Let us rise against her for battle!” 2   Behold, I will make you small among the nations;     you shall be utterly despised.Or Behold, I have made you small among the nations; you are utterly despised‘>1 3   The pride of your heart has deceived you,     you who live in the clefts of the rock,Or of Sela‘>2     in your lofty dwelling,   who say in your heart,     “Who will bring me down to the ground?” 4   Though you soar aloft like the eagle,     though your nest is set among the stars,     from there I will bring you down,       declares the LORD. 5   If thieves came to you,     if plunderers came by night—     how you have been destroyed!—     would they not steal only enough for themselves?   If grape gatherers came to you,     would they not leave gleanings? 6   How Esau has been pillaged,     his treasures sought out! 7   All your allies have driven you to your border;     those at peace with you have deceived you;   they have prevailed against you;     those who eat your breadHebrew lacks those who eat‘>3 have set a trap beneath you—     you haveHebrew he has‘>4 no understanding. 8   Will I not on that day, declares the LORD,     destroy the wise men out of Edom,     and understanding out of Mount Esau? 9   And your mighty men shall be dismayed, O Teman,     so that every man from Mount Esau will be cut off by slaughter.

Edom’s Violence Against Jacob

10   Because of the violence done to your brother Jacob,     shame shall cover you,     and you shall be cut off forever. 11   On the day that you stood aloof,     on the day that strangers carried off his wealth   and foreigners entered his gates     and cast lots for Jerusalem,     you were like one of them. 12   But do not gloat over the day of your brother     in the day of his misfortune;   do not rejoice over the people of Judah     in the day of their ruin;   do not boastHebrew do not enlarge your mouth‘>5     in the day of distress. 13   Do not enter the gate of my people     in the day of their calamity;   do not gloat over his disaster     in the day of his calamity;   do not loot his wealth     in the day of his calamity. 14   Do not stand at the crossroads     to cut off his fugitives;   do not hand over his survivors     in the day of distress.

The Day of the Lord Is Near

15   For the day of the LORD is near upon all the nations.   As you have done, it shall be done to you;     your deeds shall return on your own head. 16   For as you have drunk on my holy mountain,     so all the nations shall drink continually;   they shall drink and swallow,     and shall be as though they had never been. 17   But in Mount Zion there shall be those who escape,     and it shall be holy,   and the house of Jacob shall possess their own possessions. 18   The house of Jacob shall be a fire,     and the house of Joseph a flame,     and the house of Esau stubble;   they shall burn them and consume them,     and there shall be no survivor for the house of Esau,       for the LORD has spoken.

The Kingdom of the Lord

19   Those of the Negeb shall possess Mount Esau,     and those of the Shephelah shall possess the land of the Philistines;   they shall possess the land of Ephraim and the land of Samaria,     and Benjamin shall possess Gilead. 20   The exiles of this host of the people of Israel     shall possess the land of the Canaanites as far as Zarephath,   and the exiles of Jerusalem who are in Sepharad     shall possess the cities of the Negeb. 21   Saviors shall go up to Mount Zion     to rule Mount Esau,     and the kingdom shall be the LORD’s.

Jonah Flees the Presence of the Lord

1 Now the word of the LORD came to Jonah the son of Amittai, saying, 2 “Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and call out against it, for their evilThe same Hebrew word can mean evil or disaster, depending on the context; so throughout Jonah‘>6 has come up before me.” 3 But Jonah rose to flee to Tarshish from the presence of the LORD. He went down to Joppa and found a ship going to Tarshish. So he paid the fare and went down into it, to go with them to Tarshish, away from the presence of the LORD.

4 But the LORD hurled a great wind upon the sea, and there was a mighty tempest on the sea, so that the ship threatened to break up. 5 Then the mariners were afraid, and each cried out to his god. And they hurled the cargo that was in the ship into the sea to lighten it for them. But Jonah had gone down into the inner part of the ship and had lain down and was fast asleep. 6 So the captain came and said to him, “What do you mean, you sleeper? Arise, call out to your god! Perhaps the god will give a thought to us, that we may not perish.”

Jonah Is Thrown into the Sea

7 And they said to one another, “Come, let us cast lots, that we may know on whose account this evil has come upon us.” So they cast lots, and the lot fell on Jonah. 8 Then they said to him, “Tell us on whose account this evil has come upon us. What is your occupation? And where do you come from? What is your country? And of what people are you?” 9 And he said to them, “I am a Hebrew, and I fear the LORD, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land.” 10 Then the men were exceedingly afraid and said to him, “What is this that you have done!” For the men knew that he was fleeing from the presence of the LORD, because he had told them.

11 Then they said to him, “What shall we do to you, that the sea may quiet down for us?” For the sea grew more and more tempestuous. 12 He said to them, “Pick me up and hurl me into the sea; then the sea will quiet down for you, for I know it is because of me that this great tempest has come upon you.” 13 Nevertheless, the men rowed hardHebrew the men dug in [their oars]‘>7 to get back to dry land, but they could not, for the sea grew more and more tempestuous against them. 14 Therefore they called out to the LORD, “O LORD, let us not perish for this man’s life, and lay not on us innocent blood, for you, O LORD, have done as it pleased you.” 15 So they picked up Jonah and hurled him into the sea, and the sea ceased from its raging. 16 Then the men feared the LORD exceedingly, and they offered a sacrifice to the LORD and made vows.

A Great Fish Swallows Jonah

17  And the LORD appointedOr had appointed‘>8 a great fish to swallow up Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.

Jonah’s Prayer

2 Then Jonah prayed to the LORD his God from the belly of the fish, 2 saying,

  “I called out to the LORD, out of my distress,     and he answered me;   out of the belly of Sheol I cried,     and you heard my voice. 3   For you cast me into the deep,     into the heart of the seas,     and the flood surrounded me;   all your waves and your billows     passed over me. 4   Then I said, ‘I am driven away     from your sight;   yet I shall again look     upon your holy temple.’ 5   The waters closed in over me to take my life;     the deep surrounded me;   weeds were wrapped about my head 6     at the roots of the mountains.   I went down to the land     whose bars closed upon me forever;   yet you brought up my life from the pit,     O LORD my God. 7   When my life was fainting away,     I remembered the LORD,   and my prayer came to you,     into your holy temple. 8   Those who pay regard to vain idols     forsake their hope of steadfast love. 9   But I with the voice of thanksgiving     will sacrifice to you;   what I have vowed I will pay.     Salvation belongs to the LORD!”

10 And the LORD spoke to the fish, and it vomited Jonah out upon the dry land.

Jonah Goes to Nineveh

3 Then the word of the LORD came to Jonah the second time, saying, 2 “Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and call out against it the message that I tell you.” 3 So Jonah arose and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the LORD. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly great city,Hebrew a great city to God‘>9 three days’ journey in breadth.Or a visit was a three days’ journey“>10 4 Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s journey. And he called out, “Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” 5 And the people of Nineveh believed God. They called for a fast and put on sackcloth, from the greatest of them to the least of them.

The People of Nineveh Repent

6 The word reachedOr had reached‘>11 the king of Nineveh, and he arose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. 7 And he issued a proclamation and published through Nineveh, “By the decree of the king and his nobles: Let neither man nor beast, herd nor flock, taste anything. Let them not feed or drink water, 8 but let man and beast be covered with sackcloth, and let them call out mightily to God. Let everyone turn from his evil way and from the violence that is in his hands. 9 Who knows? God may turn and relent and turn from his fierce anger, so that we may not perish.”

10 When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil way, God relented of the disaster that he had said he would do to them, and he did not do it.

Jonah’s Anger and the Lord‘s Compassion

4 But it displeased Jonah exceedingly,Hebrew it was exceedingly evil to Jonah‘>12 and he was angry. 2 And he prayed to the LORD and said, “O LORD, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster. 3 Therefore now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” 4 And the LORD said, “Do you do well to be angry?”

5 Jonah went out of the city and sat to the east of the city and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, till he should see what would become of the city. 6 Now the LORD God appointed a plantHebrew qiqayon, probably the castor oil plant; also verses 7, 9, 10‘>13 and made it come up over Jonah, that it might be a shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort.Or his evil‘>14 So Jonah was exceedingly glad because of the plant. 7 But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the plant, so that it withered. 8 When the sun rose, God appointed a scorching east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint. And he asked that he might die and said, “It is better for me to die than to live.” 9 But God said to Jonah, “Do you do well to be angry for the plant?” And he said, “Yes, I do well to be angry, angry enough to die.” 10 And the LORD said, “You pity the plant, for which you did not labor, nor did you make it grow, which came into being in a night and perished in a night. 11 And should not I pity Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also much cattle?”

Footnotes

[1] 1:2 Or Behold, I have made you small among the nations; you are utterly despised [2] 1:3 Or of Sela [3] 1:7 Hebrew lacks those who eat [4] 1:7 Hebrew he has [5] 1:12 Hebrew do not enlarge your mouth [6] 1:2 The same Hebrew word can mean evil or disaster, depending on the context; so throughout Jonah [7] 1:13 Hebrew the men dug in [their oars] [8] 1:17 Or had appointed [9] 3:3 Hebrew a great city to God [10] 3:3 Or a visit was a three days’ journey [11] 3:6 Or had reached [12] 4:1 Hebrew it was exceedingly evil to Jonah [13] 4:6 Hebrew qiqayon, probably the castor oil plant; also verses 7, 9, 10 [14] 4:6 Or his evil

(ESV)

New Testament:

John 14

John 14 (Listen)

I Am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life

14 “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God;Or You believe in God‘>1 believe also in me. 2 In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?Or In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you“>2 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. 4 And you know the way to where I am going.”Some manuscripts Where I am going you know, and the way you know‘>3 5 Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” 6 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7 If you had known me, you would have known my Father also.Or If you know me, you will know my Father also, or If you have known me, you will know my Father also‘>4 From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

8 Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us.” 9 Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? 10 Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority, but the Father who dwells in me does his works. 11 Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or else believe on account of the works themselves.

12 “Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father. 13 Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. 14 If you ask meSome manuscripts omit me‘>5 anything in my name, I will do it.

Jesus Promises the Holy Spirit

15 “If you love me, you will keep my commandments. 16 And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper,Or Advocate, or Counselor; also 14:26; 15:26; 16:7‘>6 to be with you forever, 17 even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will beSome manuscripts and is‘>7 in you.

18 “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. 19 Yet a little while and the world will see me no more, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. 20 In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. 21 Whoever has my commandments and keeps them, he it is who loves me. And he who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him.” 22 Judas (not Iscariot) said to him, “Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself to us, and not to the world?” 23 Jesus answered him, “If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him. 24 Whoever does not love me does not keep my words. And the word that you hear is not mine but the Father’s who sent me.

25 “These things I have spoken to you while I am still with you. 26 But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. 27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. 28 You heard me say to you, ‘I am going away, and I will come to you.’ If you loved me, you would have rejoiced, because I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I. 29 And now I have told you before it takes place, so that when it does take place you may believe. 30 I will no longer talk much with you, for the ruler of this world is coming. He has no claim on me, 31 but I do as the Father has commanded me, so that the world may know that I love the Father. Rise, let us go from here.

Footnotes

[1] 14:1 Or You believe in God [2] 14:2 Or In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you [3] 14:4 Some manuscripts Where I am going you know, and the way you know [4] 14:7 Or If you know me, you will know my Father also, or If you have known me, you will know my Father also [5] 14:14 Some manuscripts omit me [6] 14:16 Or Advocate, or Counselor; also 14:26; 15:26; 16:7 [7] 14:17 Some manuscripts and is

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 142

Psalm 142 (Listen)

You Are My Refuge

A MaskilProbably a musical or liturgical term‘>1 of David, when he was in the cave. A Prayer.

142   With my voice I cry out to the LORD;     with my voice I plead for mercy to the LORD. 2   I pour out my complaint before him;     I tell my trouble before him. 3   When my spirit faints within me,     you know my way!   In the path where I walk     they have hidden a trap for me. 4   Look to the right and see:     there is none who takes notice of me;   no refuge remains to me;     no one cares for my soul. 5   I cry to you, O LORD;     I say, “You are my refuge,     my portion in the land of the living.” 6   Attend to my cry,     for I am brought very low!   Deliver me from my persecutors,     for they are too strong for me! 7   Bring me out of prison,     that I may give thanks to your name!   The righteous will surround me,     for you will deal bountifully with me.

Footnotes

[1] 142:1 Probably a musical or liturgical term

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 30:18–19

Proverbs 30:18–19 (Listen)

18   Three things are too wonderful for me;     four I do not understand: 19   the way of an eagle in the sky,     the way of a serpent on a rock,   the way of a ship on the high seas,     and the way of a man with a virgin.

(ESV)

[veridium]

To read the previous Episode, click here.

The distance between them has grown, and now Lady Inquisitor Treveyan and Lady Ambassador Montilyet must find a way to move forward somehow in their lives. The Inquisitor comes to terms with aspects of her life and the life of the woman she’s falling for - and how everything seems to fall out of place. A return to Skyhold after a hard-earned victory in Emprise du Lion awaits her with the difficult answers she seeks.

The camp was bursting at the seams with laughter and relief, feelings that were all-too-rare in such settings. It was the day of all days: they had captured Suledin Keep, for good. The arduous advancement had brought them to the epicenter, wherein Theia, Cassandra, Dorian, and The Iron Bull battled with the self-proclaimed “Choice Spirit” once and for all. While the Inquisitor had concerns over her shape and ability to be as good as she was before her injury, her success in the battle proved to her that she was inches away from a complete recovery.

Wine jugs and sacks were passed around to encourage the merriment of all. Not too much, to ensure that guard could be maintained. But, for the Inquisitor and her allies, the wine was as therapeutic as it was recreational. Everyone had bandages and scrapes to tend to, and perhaps one night where they could pretend they were the Kings and Queens of the Maker-forsaken winter wasteland they found themselves in could be just as healing as herbs and cloth bandages.

The keep was not outfitted enough to be worthy of such a celebration – surely the grandeur of a snow-filled camp of hide tents and wooden tables would more than suffice.

“Boss, you really had him there with that…ice…thing you did. It was fantastic!” The Iron Bull roared, patting her on the back, so much so it pushed the breath out of her lungs and made her choke in recovery. This was not an uncommon phenomena when the Bull was feeling congratulatory.

“Bull, you have the best way with words!” Theia chimed back, always trying to be a good sport.

“Ahaha! You’re damn right! If only Krem were to come to his senses!” off in the not-too-distant scape, you could see Krem shake his head as he tended to cleaning his armor, surrounded by most of the Chargers.

Theia chuckled and took another sip of wine from her humble cup. She was not planning on getting too intoxicated that night. Tomorrow morning was move-in for the Keep, as well as outfitting Valeska’s watch. Blackwall returned to Skyhold two days prior, having been fielding Darkspawn and Templar skirmishes in her absence.

Somewhere, hopefully near, Dorian was recounting some of the newer troops with the latest and most dramatic news from the front. A battle with a 3-in-1 demon sounded like the final battle with Corypheus if you were to listen to Dorian Pavus go on and on about it. The romances of battle were amiable only to a certain extent for Theia, especially when the said battle was within the previous 48-hour period.

Theia’s eyes perked up as she saw a certain personnel walk past, and she turned her head to flag them down.

“Messenger! Are you sure there’s no more correspondences from Skyhold?” she said, feeling futile but at the same time, harboring a raw strand of reckless hope that perhaps something was being kept from her that would make this night all the more sweet.

The scout turned and nodded her head quickly. “No, ser, not since midday. We have sent all the necessary dispatches about the events of the day already.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry I’m such a nervous wreck,” Theia humored, before turning back to the fire and gazing at it with indifference.

From her right side, also utilizing the campfire for light as she cleaned her sword, Cassandra noticed the Inquisitor’s behavior. “Leliana warned me in passing before we left that something transpired between you and Lady Montilyet. Is this why you keep hounding the Messengers like you’re expecting the worst news of your life?”

Cassandra’s words spoke life to the subliminal anxieties Theia had managed to suppress well enough to capture a keep from the clutches of a demon and liberate villagers from oppressive murder in the Sarhnia Quarry. All in a day’s work for a jilted lover who happened to be Lady Inquisitor.

“Not at all, Seeker, I was simply inquiring as to if we had a note from the person I’m playing a chain mail round of Wicked Grace with. Surprise, it’s Varric,” she gave a front of pure, unadulterated sarcasm.

Cassandra smirked under her breath. “Inquisitor, even I know you do not have the patience for such hobbies.”

“You never know, I am a woman of many wonders.”

“Yes, and many habits.”

Theia eyed her friend and comrade from the side, lowering her posture and resting her elbows on her thighs. “We had a disagreement. It is hardly the end of the wo—you know what, nevermind.”

As the Seeker sheathed her now sterling and clean weapon, she placed it to the side of her and put her attention fully on the Inquisitor. “Well, whatever has happened, I wish you the best of luck. You have remained steadfast and focused even with all that is in your mind’s eye. Your dedication is appreciated, as you can see,” she motioned towards the small clusters of troops and scouts who finally had a night to bask in the accomplishments of their work.

“If anything happens, you know where to find me,” Cassandra said, standing up, still in all her armor and ready for anything. Theia nodded at her simply, and she was off. Did the Seeker ever enjoy a late night of casualty? The world may never know.

That left the Inquisitor surrounded by many, but lonely all the same. It wasn’t that her people always left her feeling that way – it was the circumstances of her departure from Skyhold, and who specifically she left behind on less-than-stellar grounds, that left a hole in her chest. It had gotten to the point where the first person she wanted to tell the down and dirty details of the day, just so happened to be the person farthest away from reach. And now, that person was probably scorned beyond affection.

Theia gazed up at the stars and wondered just how much longer it would be before love would stop driving her wild. When she was a child, the adults made marriage and bonds look so professional, like a transaction. Then, when the truth of everyone’s socially-accepted infidelity came to light, then it was a polarity between feeling nothing and feeling everything like some animal.

Then, in the Circle, it was all about filtering what you did feel for the sake of self-preservation. In the rebellion, it became survival.

Only when she had the courage – some of it was probably recklessness – to pursue Josephine, did the grey area of it all became clear. With it, came wildness.

They would return to Skyhold in the next few days to switch shifts, re-stock, and return the Inquisitor and her team to headquarters. She didn’t know whether to be excited, or scared shitless.

--

The days passed by so slow at first before she found a rhythm again. For Lady Montilyet, work was as much part of herself as anything. Once she was able to throw herself back into her duties and not anxiously look up every time someone with an average build and height with blonde hair darkened her doorway, she could almost fool herself into thinking everything was fine. At least, if you didn’t count the small scrap letter Theia had left her being in her right-hand drawer, for whenever she could steal a moment of unproductivity to herself to be emotionally masochistic.

The reports came in the following morning that Suledin Keep was now a stronghold for the Inquisition. No major fatalities, no major disasters. She was alive, they all were. When she first got a copy of the report, she remembered how relieved she was to know it wasn’t going to end this way. She was going to see her again, and even if that filled her with rage and hurt, it filled her with something.

Her dreams were never quite a rambunctious as that one, the night before they left for Emprise du Lion. Part of it was her refusal to sleep for more than 4-5 hours at a time, much to the chagrin of Leliana, who had taken to checking on her during off-hours in the night. Another aspect of it was just how unafraid Josephine became of such visions.

Josephine did not bother writing, mostly out of self-preservation. However, she also wanted to give them both room to really sit with what had happened, and the implications of their relationship. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? Well, at this point, their hearts should be pretty damn fond.

As she sat at her desk, doing what she did best, she heard Leliana enter from the Council door.

“They are returning in two days time, I imagine, from the reports,” Leliana greeted, gauging a preemptive reaction from her friend who had remained rather closed-off about the whole thing.

“Sounds par for the course. It will be good to move onto the next major challenge,” Josephine remarked distantly, not even bothering to take her eyes away from the letter she was writing.

“Josie, is that all you feel?”

“Should I be feeling more?”

Leliana shook her head at the Ambassador, wearing a sympathetic grin. “My mistake, I suppose.”

As Leliana exited, Josephine bit her lip pensively and sat back in her chair. There was so much unknown, and this would not be an easy landing.

--

It was a fog-ridden morning when the signaling horn rang through the air at Skyhold. The path from the front gates to the main entrance was cloaked in what felt like opaque mountain clouds. It proved an ominous and rather intimidating ambiance for when the Inquisitor arrived. Theia, armor-clad and on horseback, was ushering in the group of troops and wagons of trappings. She was closely accompanied by Seeker Cassandra and Lord Dorian flanking her on each side on their own mounts.

The Inquisitor, wearing a cowl hood that had kept her head warm as they traversed the freezing mountain paths, was relieved to be “home.” For an Inquisition epicenter, it also proved the most stable and welcoming home she had her entire life. Being greeted by the sight of the battlements, weaving in and out of the foggy air, and the dimly-lit windows of the Mage tower and the guards quarters, was heartening to say the least.

Coming to the center of the courtyard, which was lined with people who had come down to see what was arriving, The Inquisitor instinctually looked up at the slope of the Hall stairwell. There, she saw Commander Cullen, looking as reliable and tired as ever. Leliana, intrigued and vigilent as ever. But no one else. By that, she meant no one who looked like the one person she had been anticipating seeing, for better or for worse.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor,” a young man from Master Dennett’s stables approached, taking hold of her horse.

The Inquisitor grinned and patted her horse’s neck. “Thank you very much,” she replied cordially, tossing the reigns down lightly and slipping her feet out of her stirrups. Dismounting without fuss, she turned to face the direction of her allies, who had also dismounted.

“Well, friends, we are home,” she remarked, unstrapping her riding gloves and slipping off the first of the two.

“Indeed. I shall spend the next two days thawing out everything other my smallclothes,” Dorian responded with travel-weary snark.

“Dorian, if you are so off-put by the elements, perhaps you would consider armor that does not expose the most thermally vulnerable parts of your anatomy,” Cassandra retorted.

“Ridiculous! How else would I stun my enemies who envisage their impossibly attractive nemesis?”

“Ugh,” said, well, you know who said it.

Eventually, Inquisitor Trevelyan was able to climb up the stairs and into the Hall entryway. Greeted by Cullen, who reminded her of the reports of soldier and casualty numbers from their other holdings spanning across Thedas, some which needed her confirmation. Leliana, who would prime her later on the intel that had since gathered on various areas of interest.

Two out of three Advisors. Two out of three faces.

As they entered the Hall, Theia took off her cowl and gripped it along with her gloves. “Tell me Leliana, how is she?” her voice was audibly softer now.

Leliana began to speak, but she stopped herself and took a short breath. “You did not go to her. That is all she has told me. She will not discuss it at all with anyone. Not even me.”

Theia took a deep breath and looked around, half-scared an arrow would come flying at her in vengeance. “That’s not good, is it?”

“In a word? No.”

Leliana quickly departed the Inquisitor’s side. A warm welcome indeed.

--

Up in her bed chambers, she was garnering the resolve to go look for her. She knew that the Lady Ambassador wouldn’t step away from her desk for just anything, nor did she retire early from a day’s work. This was all Theia’s fault.

In one minute she had convinced herself to go and do it, and in the next she would stop herself. At the root of her indecisiveness was the fear of what awaited her on the other side of this search: would she be angry? Would she be resolute in her distancing? Would she send her away? She had to reassure her own self that she could endure whatever she was walking into.

Theia made her way downstairs to the Great Hall. The first place she would look, just to be sure, was her office. Peering in through the door, there was no one. Okay, so, that only leaves so many places the Lady Ambassador would feel appropriate in going to.

The Library. Nothing.

The Requisition office. Nothing.

The Gardens. Nothing.

Hell, The Battlements? Nothing.

People were starting to notice that the Inquisitor seemed to be on an at-home quest on her day off. Not finding who she was looking for, she would sigh heavily and make her way back to the center of the grounds. That left only one place left: her chambers. She wouldn’t have guessed that Josephine would simply go to her room to wait out the storm of her return, but, perhaps she did not want to be found after all.

Theia walked slowly down the Hall path leading to the door which would bring her closer to Josephine’s bedroom. She battled with herself in her mind about whether or not it was wise.

Would it be worse if she never tried to see her, though? Not only had she left without a word, but now she would return without one? Something inside her said it would definitely be over in that case.

So, when she made her way to the Ambassador’s door, she felt the nerves in her throat and chest go haywire with the potential disaster that lay before her.

Knock, knock, knock.

The silence felt maddening as the butterflies in her stomach did back flips. Girding herself against whatever was to come.

A noise: the door opening, wider this time.

It was her.

Seeing her face, her beautiful, deep bronze skin, those piercing eyes that had haunted her in her dreams while out in the field. Her shorter hair curls framing the sides of her face. She knew how they would smell if she put her face to them.

Josephine knew from the moment she heard the knock just who it was. Having retreated to her bed chambers proved just out of the ordinary enough to pique the Inquisitor’s curiosity after all. Sometimes the quickest way to gain her attention was to make her come looking herself. She always did look for trouble energetically.

But, admittedly, the second she saw her face, all of the breath that had preserved itself in her chest escaped like in on a getaway mount. There she was, at her door, like a suitor come calling. No flowers, but, her being alive and well was good enough.

A silence filled with so much. Theia’s mouth opened, but she hesitated at first. So much to say, so much owed.

“Lady Ambassador.”

Josephine placed a hand on the door flat, blinking quickly as she finally heard her voice say something so…polite.

“Inquisitor. Welcome back to Skyhold.” She did her one better: an admittance to location and a greeting of warmth. It was Theia’s move.

Theia’s chest tightened, her right hand rubbing her opposite forearm. “Oh, uh, thank you. I…I came to see if you were well. I, uh, didn’t see you in your office, and wondered if—“

“I am well, thank you for asking.”

“Oh, good. I had…hoped you were, um, well. That’s good.”

Another pause, the awkward tension prevailing. Josephine eyed the Inquisitor with a façade of blissful, unassuming geniality. Inside, she knew just how difficult this must be for Theia to be at her door, trying to piece together something that was falling apart at the seams.

“Oh! I had also wanted to ask…” Theia tried to continue.

“Hm?”

“If you had received the note…I, um, left you at your desk.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

Theia nodded, biting her lip with aggravation. Oh, great. So that was the verdict. Wonderful, well, I’ll just go cast myself off into a Fade Rift then, ta-ta!

“…And? Thoughts, opinions? Critique of my handwriting?” Theia wanted something but she didn’t know what that was exactly. Perhaps emotion, like some form of admittance that what had happened resonated with Josephine, instead of hardening her. Her fear that Josephine had tucked away the parts of herself she had laid out in front of Theia’s eyes and ears for weeks with fearlessness was roaring between her ears.

Meanwhile, Josephine was all wrapped up the polarities of her truth. Yes, I did, and it tore me apart for hours. I had to choke back tears every time I remembered that it existed. Sometimes I just wanted to tear it into tiny pieces and toss it in the fire. Sometimes I had to fight the impulse to sleep with it under my pillow. You wrecked my balance. I can never forget that.

“Lady Trevelyan, come in for a moment, would you?” Josephine rejoined, opening the door enough and stepping to the side. Clearly, Theia had come here for answers, and while Josephine wasn’t going to give them all, she could at least stop pretending that what happened, didn’t.

Theia walked in, feeling like she could just as easily be kissed as stabbed. All bets were off, as far as she was concerned.

Turning around to face the Ambassador as she closed the door behind her, she knew it was inescapable, whatever her fate was in this moment.

“Inquisitor, I—“

“What happened to Theia?”

“…Lady Trevelyan.”

Theia held her breath and nodded with surrender. “Fine.”

Josephine stepped closer, folding her arms stiffly. “I want you to know that I have the utmost respect for you and I will continue to follow your leadership with loyalty and admiration.”

Theia’s heart sunk. So, there it is. She continued to listen, although the white noise of anxiety in her head was rapidly growing.

“I hope that you will share my sentiment, that I wish this to be as easy and comfortable for us as possible. A working relationship of respect and cordiality is worth its weight in gold, and I believe we have done well with that--”

“So, this is where it ends?” Theia cut her off, now left with nothing to lose in manners and delicate dancing around nerves. Josephine caught herself, and sighed quickly.

“…Theia, you must understand. You had to have known when you departed that this would be my conclusion. That this would be the right thing to do, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“If all you are to do is repeat my words back to me, I will consider this conversation redundant.”

“Maker’s ass, Josephine, you’re not speaking to one of your assistants or staff. You’re speaking to the woman you shared a bed with and felt up in the ambiance of candlelight and wine!” Theia’s voice grew louder with frustration.

“Oh, please do contain your temper. Or, you can be sure that everyone in Skyhold will know our personal matters like it was published in the fortress periodical.”

“Good, I hope so! Because then they will know just how horrible it is that you are letting go of something like what we have.”

Josephine growled under her breath. “You did that when you left me to go to battle with your last words to me being distaste and disagreement. After all I did to show you how much it affected me to watch you leave. You did this to yourself!”

“I was hurt and foolish, Josephine! I left that note to give you some truth to that. Obviously, you did not think much of my words.”

“No, because they were a knife in my side! You hardly provided comfort or solace!”

“And what did you do? Spent the entire night beguiling and conversing as if your day was going business-as-usual. I was tearing myself up on the inside thinking of how badly I screwed up, and watching you act as if…as if it didn’t matter!” Theia’s arms animated her anger as she spoke.

“I was watching you the entire time, do not be ludicrous! You were the one sitting there at the head of the table, giving your happy dinner toast, elated to share company! I felt like a tossed-out lover left to the machinations of the Court!”

“If you had seen the face I was making at those men seated beside you, you would have sworn I was possessed by something malevolent,” Theia said, her voice cracking now with emotion.

“Oh, I see, so I was just supposed to know? Am I supposed to take notes on the surveillance, then? Tell you names, give you the topics of conversation, a minute-by-minute interpretation of the scene? Be your Bard?”

“You’re circling around, Josephine, and you know it.”

“Maybe I am,” Josephine yelled under her breath, her voice low and intimidating.

Theia turned away from her, placing her hands at her hips and stepping with tense legs as she took a break from this fire-with-fire dalliance. The silence brewed with emotional recklessness. Josephine could feel it, along with the welling of anxious and enraged tears preparing in her chest. The worst possible moment for her to be pushed to tears was right in front of her.

“Can’t you see this is only for the best? Our lives…would be like this for as long as you and I have responsibilities greater than our own desires. We belong to causes bigger than ourselves. I am atyour service as an Advisor. This never would have grown into something sustainable.”

Each word hit Theia like an individual sword strike. The words she hoped she would never have to hear, but nonetheless was terrified of. It made her injury feel like it might as well have been a paper cut.

“Josephine, I came back with the intention of telling you…” Theia let escape from her mouth, but she stopped herself briskly, so as to save them from something truly agonizing. Her voice had calmed, softened with melancholy.

“…What? What were you going to say?”

A pause, while she deliberated on her feet whether she would give into temptation, give into her temper, or just let it go.

“Nothing. I just…” she turned to face the Lady Ambassador, chin up and shoulders straight for some measure of dignity. “I know what I did was unwise. I know what I expected of you was, too. I never wanted you to be my object. I only wanted to celebrate with everyone else just how happy I was to have you. Now that I have obviously lost you, there will be no need.”

Josephine’s heart felt as though it had stopped for good. She remained stoic and kept-together on surface-level, but underneath she was grasping for something stable in a collapsing space. Her dream was echoing.

“Josephine, I…” Theia approached now, making Josephine’s chest do backflips with nerves. She froze in her position, awaiting what it was Theia hoped to accomplish. When she stood closely in front of her, Theia reached a hand up and put it to Josephine’s cheek with a sorry tenderness. “I know you could never be owned, or kept, or controlled, and that I share that fate as well. But, for what it’s worth, it was enough for me to know you’d be there when I returned. It was never my desire to objectify you, because I fell for the way you were indominable. But…when I did not see you this morning, it was far more devastating than knowing that I could never hope you would belong to me.”

And with that, Theia boldly brought her lips to Josephine’s forehead. Josephine closed her eyes, coming undone rapidly, trying with immense difficulty to preserve herself enough to watch her depart. Feeling her lips on her skin, no matter the location, was like trying to hold onto something impossibly feral, impossibly boundless.

Theia did not bother to make eye contact again, for the sake of her own nerves and façade. She left through the door resolutely, shutting it behind her with respect to noise and forcefulness. There she was, Ambassador Montilyet, left to her own devices once more.

A single, aching tear fell from her eye and streamed down her cheek. This was going to be agonizing to endure. She had thought Theia would come back with energy, determined in her opinion. Knowing now that she had softened, that she was ready to compromise. It made her feel like she had ran when she should have walked.

Oh well. Too late now. Perhaps the band-aid had been ripped off for the better. She kept trying to remind herself, as she tried desperately to let go of the way she smelled: like dirt and sweaty grime, but also like a light and sweet bundle of herbs. Herbs she had always carried with her on her travels. Herbs like those she burned for incense in her chambers.

Something that you risk, something that you fear, and something that you need to let go.

TO BE CONTINUED...

#oc stuff #fanfiction #Inquisitor x Josephine #Theia Trevelyan #Josephine Montilyet #romance #heartbreak #I'm sorry ya'll I had to post it because it was eating me up inside

[mattchase82]

Nativity of Saint John the Baptist Prophet († 30)

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The birth of Saint John was foretold by Saint Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, to his father, Zachary, who was offering incense in the Temple. The son of Zachary was to be the prophesied Messenger, Zachary was told, whose mission would prepare the way for Christ. Before he was born into the world John had already begun to live for the Incarnate God; even in the womb he recognized the presence of Jesus and of Mary, and leaped with joy at the glad coming of the Son of man. Before Christ's public life began, a divine impulse sent Saint John into the desert; there, with locusts for his food and wearing haircloth, in silence and in prayer, he chastened his soul. In his youth he remained hidden, because He for whom he waited was also hidden.

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Then, as crowds broke in upon his solitude, he warned them to flee from the wrath to come, and gave them the baptism of penance, while they confessed their sins. At last there stood in the crowd One whom Saint John did not know, until a voice within told him that it was his Lord. He affirmed: I did not know Him, but He who sent me to baptize with water said to me, He upon whom thou wilt see the Spirit descending and abiding, He it is who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.' With the baptism of Saint John, Christ began His voluntary abasement for the sins of His people; and Saint John indeed saw the Holy Ghost descend, under the visible form of a dove, indicating in the humble Jesus of Nazareth the divine Perfection of the peaceable Eternal King and High Priest. Then the Saint's work was done. He had but to point his own disciples to the Lamb, he had only to decrease as Christ increased. He saw all men leave him and go after Christ. I told you, he said, that I am not the Christ. The friend of the Bridegroom rejoices hearing the Bridegroom's voice. This, my joy, is fulfilled.

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Saint John was cast into the fortress of Herod on the east coast of the Dead Sea by the tyrant whose crimes he had rebuked; he would remain there until beheaded at the will of a girl and her cruel mother. During this time of imprisonment, some of his disciples visited him. Saint John did not speak to them of himself, but sent them to Christ, that they might witness His miracles and hear His doctrine, proofs of His mission. After Saint John's death, the Eternal Truth pronounced the panegyric of the Saint who had lived and breathed for Him alone: Verily I say unto you, among those born of women there has not risen a greater than John the Baptist.

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Reflection. Saint John was great before God because in complete forgetfulness of himself he lived only for Jesus Christ, who is the source of all greatness. Sacrifice every day some of your natural inclinations to the Sacred Heart of Our Lord, and learn little by little to lose yourself in Him.

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Prayer to Venerate Any Saint

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Nativityof John the Baptist: Feast Day June 24

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I desire therefore, first of all, that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all men: For kings, and for all that are in high station: that we may lead a quiet and a peaceable life in all piety and chastity. For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour, Who will have all men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth. (1 Timothy 2:1-4)

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And another angel came, and stood before the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given to him much incense, that he should offer of the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar, which is before the throne of God. And the smoke of the incense of the prayers of the saints ascended up before God from the hand of the angel. (Rev. 8:3-4)

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ETERNAL Father, I wish to honor St. (Name), and I give Thee thanks for all the graces Thou have bestowed upon him (her). I ask Thee to please increase grace in my soul through the merits of this saint, and I commit the end of my life to him (her) by this special prayer, so that by virtue of Thine goodness and promise, St. (Name) might be my advocate and provide whatever is needed at that hour. Amen.

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PROMISE: "When you wish to honor any particular saint and give Me thanks for all the graces I have bestowed on that saint, I increase grace in your soul through the merits of that saint. When you commit the end of your life to any of the saints by special prayers, I appoint those saints to be your advocates and to provide whatever you need at that hour."-Our Lord to St. Gertrude

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Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich revealed in her Visions that saints are particularly powerful on their feast days and should be invoked then

#saint john the baptist #nativity of john the Baptist #catholicism #traditional catholic #catholic #christianity #heaven #love #jesus christ #its the truth #catholic saints #catholic faith #jesus loves you #true love #catholic prayers

[dfroza]

Paul begins with another Letter

to encourage his friends to trust in the message of grace that is illuminated in the Son. and he writes of the Love that unifies, that points to the Reality of the eternal.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures is the first chapter of Philippians:

Paul and Timothy, both of us committed servants of Christ Jesus, write this letter to all the followers of Jesus in Philippi, pastors and ministers included. We greet you with the grace and peace that comes from God our Father and our Master, Jesus Christ.

[A Love That Will Grow]

Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God. Each exclamation is a trigger to prayer. I find myself praying for you with a glad heart. I am so pleased that you have continued on in this with us, believing and proclaiming God’s Message, from the day you heard it right up to the present. There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.

It’s not at all fanciful for me to think this way about you. My prayers and hopes have deep roots in reality. You have, after all, stuck with me all the way from the time I was thrown in jail, put on trial, and came out of it in one piece. All along you have experienced with me the most generous help from God. He knows how much I love and miss you these days. Sometimes I think I feel as strongly about you as Christ does!

So this is my prayer: that your love will flourish and that you will not only love much but well. Learn to love appropriately. You need to use your head and test your feelings so that your love is sincere and intelligent, not sentimental gush. Live a lover’s life, circumspect and exemplary, a life Jesus will be proud of: bountiful in fruits from the soul, making Jesus Christ attractive to all, getting everyone involved in the glory and praise of God.

[They Can’t Imprison the Message]

I want to report to you, friends, that my imprisonment here has had the opposite of its intended effect. Instead of being squelched, the Message has actually prospered. All the soldiers here, and everyone else, too, found out that I’m in jail because of this Messiah. That piqued their curiosity, and now they’ve learned all about him. Not only that, but most of the followers of Jesus here have become far more sure of themselves in the faith than ever, speaking out fearlessly about God, about the Messiah.

It’s true that some here preach Christ because with me out of the way, they think they’ll step right into the spotlight. But the others do it with the best heart in the world. One group is motivated by pure love, knowing that I am here defending the Message, wanting to help. The others, now that I’m out of the picture, are merely greedy, hoping to get something out of it for themselves. Their motives are bad. They see me as their competition, and so the worse it goes for me, the better—they think—for them.

So how am I to respond? I’ve decided that I really don’t care about their motives, whether mixed, bad, or indifferent. Every time one of them opens his mouth, Christ is proclaimed, so I just cheer them on!

And I’m going to keep that celebration going because I know how it’s going to turn out. Through your faithful prayers and the generous response of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, everything he wants to do in and through me will be done. I can hardly wait to continue on my course. I don’t expect to be embarrassed in the least. On the contrary, everything happening to me in this jail only serves to make Christ more accurately known, regardless of whether I live or die. They didn’t shut me up; they gave me a pulpit! Alive, I’m Christ’s messenger; dead, I’m his bounty. Life versus even more life! I can’t lose.

As long as I’m alive in this body, there is good work for me to do. If I had to choose right now, I hardly know which I’d choose. Hard choice! The desire to break camp here and be with Christ is powerful. Some days I can think of nothing better. But most days, because of what you are going through, I am sure that it’s better for me to stick it out here. So I plan to be around awhile, companion to you as your growth and joy in this life of trusting God continues. You can start looking forward to a great reunion when I come visit you again. We’ll be praising Christ, enjoying each other.

Meanwhile, live in such a way that you are a credit to the Message of Christ. Let nothing in your conduct hang on whether I come or not. Your conduct must be the same whether I show up to see things for myself or hear of it from a distance. Stand united, singular in vision, contending for people’s trust in the Message, the good news, not flinching or dodging in the slightest before the opposition. Your courage and unity will show them what they’re up against: defeat for them, victory for you—and both because of God. There’s far more to this life than trusting in Christ. There’s also suffering for him. And the suffering is as much a gift as the trusting. You’re involved in the same kind of struggle you saw me go through, on which you are now getting an updated report in this letter.

The Letter of Philippians, Chapter 1 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is chapter #2 of 2nd Kings where Elijah is taken up to Heaven:

Elijah and Elisha were leaving Gilgal when the Eternal One planned to snatch Elijah up into the heavens by the power of a fierce dancing wind.

Elijah (to Elisha): I ask you to remain here. The Eternal has commanded me to go all the way to Bethel.

Elisha: As certain as your own life and the life of the Eternal, I refuse to abandon you.

So the two men traveled down to Bethel together, where Elisha was approached by the prophets’ disciples who lived there.

Prophets’ Disciples: Are you aware that the Eternal One is going to snatch Elijah, your mentor, away from you today?

Elisha: Yes, I am aware of this. I want you to keep quiet about it.

Elijah (to Elisha): I beg you to remain here. The Eternal has commanded me to travel to Jericho.

Elisha: As certain as your own life and the life of the Eternal, I refuse to abandon you.

The two men then traveled to Jericho together, where the prophets’ disciples living in Jericho approached Elisha.

Prophets’ Disciples: Are you aware that the Eternal One is going to snatch your mentor away from you today?

Elisha: Yes, I am aware of this. I want you to keep quiet about it.

Elijah (to Elisha): I beg you to remain here. The Eternal One has commanded me to travel to the Jordan River.

Elisha: As certain as your own life and the life of the Eternal, I refuse to abandon you.

So the two men then traveled to the Jordan River together.

While Elijah and Elisha were standing near the Jordan River, 50 of the prophets’ disciples from that area stood at a distance from them on the other side. Elijah removed his cloak and rolled it up; then he struck the water with it, and the water divided. Elijah and Elisha then walked across on dry land. After the two had made it to the other side of the Jordan, Elijah spoke to Elisha.

Elijah: Tell me what it is you would like me to do for you before I am taken away from you.

Elisha: Please, I wish to receive a double portion of your spirit. As your successor, I want to have twice the portion of your power.

Elijah: What you have requested of me is challenging, but it will be done if you witness my departure. But if you do not watch, then you will not have your double portion.

Now as the two continued walking along and talking as they normally did, something incredible happened. A blazing chariot pulled by blazing horses stormed down from the heavens and came between Elijah and Elisha. Then Elijah was swept up into heaven by the fiery storm. Elisha witnessed this amazing spectacle.

Elisha: My father, O my father! The chariots and riders of Israel!

Elisha never saw Elijah again. Elisha grabbed the clothes he was wearing, and he ripped them in half. He picked up Elijah’s cloak, which had dropped to the ground when he was taken up into heaven, and then he went back to the Jordan riverbank and stood. He struck the water with the cloak.

Elisha: Where is the Eternal One? Where is Elijah’s True God?

After Elisha struck the water, the Jordan River divided, just as when Elijah had struck the waters. Elisha then walked across on dry land.

The prophets’ disciples at Jericho standing on the opposite shore were watching this.

Prophets’ Disciples: Elijah’s powerful spirit now rests upon Elisha. Elijah’s cloak now clothes Elisha.

Then the prophets’ disciples at Jericho approached Elisha and humbled themselves before him.

Prophets’ Disciples: There are 50 strong men along with us, your servants, who could go looking for your mentor. Perhaps the Spirit of the Eternal inside the whirlwind swept Elijah up into heaven and left him on some mountaintop or in some valley of the lowlands.

Elisha: That won’t be necessary.

But they kept asking his permission for a search, and he felt ashamed, so he finally agreed. They sent out a search party of 50 men who spent three days looking for Elijah, but they found no trace of him. The search party came back to Elisha while he was still in Jericho.

Elisha: I told you not to go. He’s gone from the earth.

Men of Jericho: Life is pleasant in this city; and as you can see, the city is in an advantageous location, except for the water. It’s contaminated, so the land is barren.

Elisha: Fetch me a new bowl, and pour some salt into it.

So they brought him the bowl with the salt he had requested. He then walked outside to the water spring and tossed some salt into it.

Elisha: This is the Eternal’s message: “This water is now entirely pure. It will no longer bring death or cause the earth to be barren.”

This water has been potable ever since, just as Elisha said.

Elisha then traveled north to Bethel retracing his last steps with Elijah. On his way there, a large group of young boys came out of the city and began making fun of him: “Keep going, baldy! Keep going, baldy!” When Elisha looked back at them, he spoke against them by the authority of the Eternal. Almost immediately, 2 female bears walked out of the forest and ripped up 42 of the young boys. Elisha then returned to Mount Carmel, and he went back to Samaria.

The Book of 2nd Kings, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, december 7 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A message from an email by Glenn Jackson

December 7th

* Since the day when Adam opened the door for evil to enter God's Creation, the "world-order" has shown itself to be hostile to God. There is, then, an ordered system, "the world", which is governed from behind the scenes by a ruler, Satan. Originally our physical earth had no connection with the "world" in this sense of a Satanic system, nor indeed had man; but Satan took advantage of man's sin, and of the door this threw open to him, to introduce into the earth the organization which he had set himself to establish. From that point of time this earth was in the "world" (kosmos), and man was "in the world". So we may say that before the Fall there was an earth; after the Fall there was a "world"; at the Lord's return there will be a Kingdom.

...."Do not love the world nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him [not known]. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world. The world is passing away, and also its lusts; but the one who does the will of God lives forever".... 1 John 2:15-17 NASB

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

December 7, 2020

At Ease in Zion

“Woe to them that are at ease in Zion, and trust in the mountain of Samaria, which are named chief of the nations, to whom the house of Israel came!” (Amos 6:1)

Zion (or Jerusalem) was the capital of Judah, the southern kingdom, and Samaria was the capital of the northern kingdom, Israel. Despite the ungodliness rampant in both nations, as well as suffering due to drought and other judgments sent by God, the leaders in Zion and Samaria were still living in decadent luxury, and most people were following their example. The rustic prophet Amos was thus called by God to pronounce coming judgment on both nations and especially on their leaders.

God’s nature and God’s principles do not change. “For I am the LORD, I change not” (Malachi 3:6). If God was angry with those of His ancient people who were living in affluent ease while indifferent to the sin in the nation and in their own lives, must this not be true also in modern “Christian” America? Have evangelical Christians today become “lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God” (2 Timothy 3:4)? One should at least raise the question when their churches become cathedrals and their homes become showplaces, when their music stirs their feelings but not their souls, when they spend more time in “rest and recreation” than with the Lord and His Word, and when they begin to allow “the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches [to] choke the word” so that they become “unfruitful” (Matthew 13:22).

God was longsuffering with Israel, but judgment finally came to them. Perhaps He has been calling to us in the earthquake and the hurricane, the drought and the flood, the famine and the pestilence, telling us that judgment is coming. Are we at ease in Zion, saying, “Soul,...take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry” (Luke 12:19)? If so, may God stir us to repentance and rededication! HMM

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Noble Lines, Chapter 15

*Secret Santa swings across the Atlantic and drops a present down your chimney* IT’S CHRISTMAS WHERE YOU LIVE. GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

Merry Christmas @septhi-draw​!

Chapters 1-14

It’s a fortnight’s travel from Wistal to Seiran, provided there are no complications. And fortunately, there is not. Oak gives way to pines, frost to thickening snow. At every village and inn they take shelter at, the manners shift. The polite deference in the South shifts to overly friendly welcomes the further north they go. The food becomes thicker. The beds, harder.

It feels – almost – like he’s heading home.

When the tree line ends, giving way to a flat blanket of rolling white, they stop, breathing in a great inhale of icy air.

“Finally,” Zen sighs, rolling his neck. “I don’t think I want to see a horse for at least a week.”

“Is that Seiran Castle?” Mitsuhide inquires with a tilt of the head. Surely, it was a greater house than he would ever have, but it seemed… not enough. “I would have thought such an old name would be housed in a more—”

“Ostentatious setting?” Zen supplies, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Seiran didn’t become the oldest name in the kingdom by showing off.”

Mitsuhide blinks at him.

Zen smiles sadly, tapping the side of his horse to urge them both towards the conclusion of this journey. “I heard the household went under great hardship for the sake of my family after my father’s death. If it weren’t for this… humble presentation, I doubt it would still be standing.”

Mitsuhide looks up at the towering gray stone and spires. “Is that why Lady Kiki is the only Clariness noble still listed as a potential future wife?”

Zen hums. “Perhaps,” he admits after a time. “But thankfully, Kiki wants nothing of it. We’re just a way to keep marriage meetings to a minimum anymore.”

Mitsuhide glances at the Prince, concerned.

“Can you have the horses stabled when we arrive?” Zen asks with a smile that does not meet his eyes. “I would like to speak with Lord Seiran in private for a moment.”

Mitsuhide’s concern only intensifies. “Of course.”

~ ~ ~

The stables are heated here, burners bright at every corner and his face flushes at the sudden rush of warmth from the second he passes through their doors.

“Ahhhh,” he sighs, kicking the ice off of his boots as he looks around for a groom.

A blonde head pops out from one of the stables, a deep frown worrying their brow, and Mitsuhide smiles.

“Squire!” he calls in greeting, dusting the snow off of his hair. “Can you take our horses?”

Large eyes round in surprise and Mitsuhide laughs when the boys mouth doesn’t seem to know how to answer the question. He leans in, looking around them conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone else,” he whispers dramatically. “But the lipizzan is the Second Prince’s favorite mount. I’m trusting you with a very important mission in taking care of him.”

“Um.”

“The thoroughbred is mine,” he continues brightly, sitting up straight and patting the flank of his own horse. “She starts easy, but she’s a good horse. They’ve come a long way. Just make sure they don’t drink too much cold water and get them dry. And if you could give them some extra grain that would be nice, too.”

The boy pinks at the cheek when he hands him their reigns. “Um. Sure?”

Mitsuhide brings his hand down on his head, ruffling his hair, and is charmed at the way he ducks his head, pinking more. He remembers how it was at that age. Every new knight that came across his path was a joy.

“We’ll be here for a while,” he informs him cheerily. “Maybe you and I can spare some time in the training yard, providing the Lord can spare you. It’s important business that you do here, after all. Must keep you busy. But I’ll be sure to pass your good deeds on to the Lord of the House.”

“…Great.”

~ ~ ~

In some respect, the out of doors is reflective of the inside of the Seiran manor. In others, it most certainly does not.

The butler leads him through the great doors into the main hall, a cavernous thing which echoes every footstep that clicks against its marbled floors. It has all the refinement of Wistal with its towering paintings documenting Seiran’s heritage and fine sculptures that were certainly more difficult to safely carry over the mountains, but it is as if the forest itself has been brought in from the cold. Bright banners of holly red line the paneled walls and wreaths of evergreens fill the space in between. Trees laden with baubles and fresh candles fill every corner and, ah- even the ceiling has not been spared foliage and décor.

“Lord Seiran,” Zen announces and Mitsuhide’s jaw snaps shut, eyes quickly dragging from the glass dangling from the ceiling like icicles. “This is my retainer, Mitsuhide Roeun.”

Seiran appraises him with a cool once over. “Very good,” he nods. “You’ll have to forgive my daughter for not being here to greet you. She went out riding this morning, but she should be back in time for dinner.”

“I look forward to meeting her, Lord Seiran.”

Zen smiles, appeased. “And Obi?”

Seiran’s face tenses around the eyes. “Unfortunately, he is still taking his meals abed. It will be a while still before he can join us at the main table.”

“Can I see him?” Zen asks gently.

“Of course, Your Highness. Please,” he gestures, “follow me.”

~ ~ ~

They’ve just reached the fourth door on the third floor when Lord Seiran pauses, hand held over the doorknob.

“I must tell you,” he says grimly, his head bowed. “That while my description of Obi’s injuries were brief, they were not understated. He is still very weak.”

Zen takes a deep breath. “I understand.

The door opens from the inside, swinging open to reveal a tiny, but round, woman with fly away gray curls.

“Oh, Your Lordship!” she frets, shifting a bowl filled with bloody cloth to the side. “All of my apologies. I just finished changing his bandages.”

Seiran grimaces. “It’s quite alright.”

His eyes fixate on the bowl as she bobs. It must have been a deep wound to still be seeping enough to leave traces like that.

“Pardon,” she says, slipping past them.

Zen’s eyes follow her, and he looks as pale as his hair. “Is that the infamous Cookie Kiki and Obi speak so highly of?” he asks weakly.

Lord Seiran’s smile is faint but present. “It is. She’s seen three generations of Seirans well fed.” He gives Zen a meaningful look. “With any luck, she’ll see a fourth.”

The blood rushes back to Zen’s face in a flush and he muses his already unruly hair. “Ah…” His eye flash, panicked to Mitsuhide before forcing a grin. “I shouldn’t keep Obi waiting. Come on, Mitsuhide. Let me introduce you to my future messenger.”

“O- oh!” Mitsuhide stutters, dragged through the half opened door. “Of course!”

Mitsuhide thinks he catches a sparkle of humor in Seiran’s eyes as they sweep past him.

~ ~ ~

The first impression of the boy Zen had not stopped talking about since the first day they met is that he is lucky to be alive.

The boy laid out beneath the blankets is all lank, sweaty and sickly pale beneath a skin tone not native to Clariness soil. From the look of him, by all rights he should be unconscious, but he is panting, floundering under the weight of his covers, hands braced against the mattress as he struggles to push himself up to sitting.

“Your-”

“Obi,” Zen crosses the room quickly, placing a staying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get up.”

Strange, cat like eyes stare up at Zen and he reluctantly lowers himself back down to the pillow. “Your Highness,” he greets, his eyes folding shut in embarrassment.

“None of that,” Zen says, pulling up a chair. “And how many times have I told you to use my name?”

Obi smiles faintly, his lips so pale he can see the blue of his blood. “At least once more, Your Highness.”

Zen laughs, patting a lump at the edge of the bed where the boys hand must be. “You scared me, you know? Getting yourself hurt like that. I had to run clear across the country because I thought ‘If Obi of all people can’t make it to Wistal, he has to be on his deathbed.’”

Obi huffs a laugh. “Not quite.”

Zen’s voice gentles. “I am glad of that.”

Obi ducks his head, eyes peeking back open and a smile bordering on shy tugging at his lips.

“What are you doing, getting yourself involved with the business end of the sword like that?” Zen admonishes. “Don’t you know I need you above ground?”

“I’m fine,” Obi replies. “Just a little scrape, is all.”

“I heard you took the blade to your chest,” Mitsuhide says, drawing both of their attention. “That’s not a small thing.”

Obi opens his eyes wider, wary. “It really is nothing.”

Zen smiles at Obi, and reaches with his free hand to grab Mitsuhide’s forearm. “Obi, this is my man, Mitsuhide. You and Kiki will be working together when you are better and can make it to Wistal.”

“Ah,” Obi nods, clearing his throat. “Hi.”

Mitsuhide grins, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Can we see?”

Obi blinks. “See?”

“Well, I guess you can’t take off your bandages yet,” he concedes. “But it’s tradition to show off your scars!”

The first sign the boy still has blood in him rises to his cheeks. “Um.”

“Here,” Mitsuhide says, tugging his shirt over his head. “I’ll show you mine.”

When clothes clears his vision, Obi is staring at him with wide eyes; Zen at his side, slack jawed.

“This one,” Mitsuhide begins, pointing to an ugly gash along his side, “I took at a tourney. It was a dirty trick, but I still won the bought.”

The light behind the boy’s eye shines. “It looks nasty. What happened to the other guy?”

Mitsuhide grins. “Disqualified after the fact.”

“And that one?”

Mitsuhide scrunches his neck, looking down at his chest. “Ah! This one,” he says, pointing at the rough line that crosses his collarbone, “was in pursuit of a thief. They threw a dagger at me and got a lucky shot in.”

“I am good with throwing daggers,” Obi offers, before backpedaling. “I- I mean-”

“Really? That’s a great skill! I never could get the hang of it myself.” He pulls back on his shirt. “You’ll have to show me when you’re feeling better. Maybe you could teach me something that they couldn’t in Sereg.”

Obi positively glows, and he manages to wink at him. “Only if you can keep up.”

Mitsuhide chokes back a laugh. Zen wasn’t exaggerating about this part of his personality at all.

“Now yours,” he asks with a tilt of the chin. “Where did the sword leave its mark?”

The good humor melts from the boy’s face and Obi grimaces. “You’ll have to help me with the bedding,” he says.

Mitsuhide nods, rolling the covers down just enough to reveal the bands of fresh cloth wound across his torso. Even so recently changed, there are still light pink marks against the white. Mitsuhide’s lips draw into a thin line.

“It goes from here,” Obi reaches up, touching where his clavicle must be and draws a straight line across his front to his ribcage on the opposite side. “To here.”

So it was as he thought. Whatever happened was no mere accident.

But now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions.

“Wow!” he leans back, impressed. “You’re like a warrior for living through that! Mine aren’t nearly as impressive as yours.”

“Ah,” Obi turns his head, looking out the window. “There’s no way to tell. Might not even leave a mark by the time it heals.”

“Well,” Zen interrupts, looking positively ill. “When it’s healed up, you’ll have to share.”

“Do you have scars, Your Highness?” Obi rolls his head across the pillow to give the Prince a weak grin.

Zen sputters. “Of course not!”

“Now, now,” Obi’s smile grows just a bit, but his breath is short. He’s overdoing it. “Don’t be shy. You should share with the rest of the class.”

Zen makes a frustrated noise. “You’re just as outrageous as ever!”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t forget you,” Obi laughs, eyes fluttering as he sinks back against the pillows.

A soft knock at the door pulls their attention.

“Pardon me, Your Highness; Good Sir,” the woman from before nods. Her aprons have changed and are now spotless white. “Dinner is served in the main hall.”

Zen nods. “Rest, Obi,” he says, rising from his chair. “I’ll come and visit again tomorrow.”

Obi licks his lips, eyes opening again with some effort. “Have you-” his eyes dart towards him, unsure. “Have you seen Kiki yet?”

Zen pauses, looks at Mitsuhide and then back down to Obi. “No, not yet,” he says slowly. “Is everything alright?”

“I-” Obi’s face darkens. “Yes. Everything is alright. I just- I just wanted to know if she was okay. I haven’t seen her… since.”

Zen frowns. “I’m sure she just doesn’t want to tire you,” he comforts. “She has to be missing you terribly.”

Mitsuhide has never seen one so young look so old. “I wonder…”

~ ~ ~

“You didn’t tell him,” Mitsuhide says quietly when the Cook has rolled her food cart into Obi’s room and closed the door behind her.

Zen grimaces, cape fluttering as he turns on his heel and leads them back to the stairwell. “It’s not a good time,” he says, glancing around to make sure they’re alone. “I want to give him time to heal. It would be too much of a shock to bring it up now.”

Mitsuhide’s face pulls tight. This isn’t fair to any of them. “He needs some time to think it over before giving you an answer.”

“I know.” Zen runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just- This would have been so much simpler if he hadn’t gotten hurt. They would have had time to get to know each other.”

“But he did get hurt,” Mitsuhide reminds him gently. “And she’s running out of time.”

~ ~ ~

His upbringing in Sereg prepared him little for being in the presence of the fairer sex. What women he knew were servants or bride’s to elder knights; women who possessed a core of steel, but little grace. His time in Wistal had rectified that to an extent, but even there he had not met a Lady like the one here.

Lady Kiki is that of a vision, descending the stairs in waves of gossamer indigo that sets off the golden halo of her hair. Every inch of her is fair and lovely and he can see the years of training that kept her steadily as one of the most sought after brides in the kingdom.

Zen and Lord Seiran’s eyes are wide as saucers. It’s amazing that she has this effect on even those who know her well.

Seiran recovers first. “Kiki,” he says. “Darling. You look stunning.”

She places a delicate hand on her father’s outstretched palm. “I thought I would air out one of my dresses. As appropriate to meet our company.”

Lord Seiran’s expression is inordinately pleased and Mitsuhide glances between her and Zen. Kiki greets the Prince with all the deference and poise his station deserves, as much warmth as proper for a Lady of her standing, and Zen-

Well, Zen is watching her with a very odd expression, indeed.

~ ~ ~

If she were not an Earl’s daughter and not on the short list for potential Princess, Mitsuhide would be hard pressed not to court this woman.

“I have always been interested in the Sereg military training, Lord Rouen,” she says, perched delicately over her soup spoon. “Did you train there since childhood?”

“Yes,” he smiles kindly. “I started as a Page there when I was six, and stayed until a year after I received knighthood.”

“That’s impressive,” she commends. “You were made a knight unusually young, were you not?”

Mitsuhide feels his face heat. “Not at all, Lady,” he says with a shake of his head. “There have certainly been ones that were younger.”

“If there have been,” she says, appraising him with a glance as cool as her fathers. “I certainly have not met them.”

Zen clears his throat delicately. “Are you going to join us in the training yard tomorrow? Show ‘Sir Rouen’ how to properly wield a weapon?”

Kiki flinches, silverware nearly tumbling from her fingers. “Oh,” she recovers quickly, face rearranging itself until it is unreadable as Prince Izana’s. “Um. Yes. Of course. That would be… lovely.”

~ ~ ~

Zen sighs dramatically for the third time that morning.

“Did you not sleep well, Zen?” Mitsuhide asks, lifting a halberd from it’s hold amongst the other weapons lining the wall and appraising it’s weight. “I can speak with the butler if there is some issue with your accommodations.”

“No,” Zen says, but his voice malcontent. “No, it’s just- Everyone here seems to be so happy to see you.”

Mitsuhide swallows a smile. “They’re just being polite,” he replies, taking the pole in both hands and giving it one testing swing. “Me being new here and all.”

Zen doesn’t sound convinced. “Do you really think-?”

“Oh!” Mitsuhide perks when a young man enter the training room. “That is the Squire I told you about! Hello!” He waves enthusiastically.

When he glances over at Zen, his face is the perfect picture of horror.

He wonders why.

“I’m so sorry,” Mitsuhide says, turning back to the young man who is staring at him from across the room. “I never did get your name back in the stables.”

“…you’re an idiot.”

The squire lifts his wrist to his mouth to hide a smile.

~ ~ ~

“I thought we would practice archery,” Lady Kiki says much later after much groveling.

Zen makes a disappointed sound, hand already wrapped around a wooden practice sword. “I missed sparring with you, though.”

Her jaw ticks. “I haven’t been too involved with swordplay these days,” she says dryly. “It’s doesn’t hold my interest.”

“Ah, come on Kiki,” Zen presses. “You love swordplay.”

“My temperament is not good for a blade,” she pushes back.

Mitsuhide’s brows furrow.

Zen looks crestfallen. “You’ve been practicing since you were a little kid, though! Beat all the neighboring Lords sons, remember?”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she asks the ground.

The final dot makes it’s connection in his brain. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like they’ve done the same in Zen’s. 

“Did who tell me what?” he asks.

Kiki’s face crumbles. “Of course he didn’t,” she whispers.

“You don’t-”

“Excuse me for just a moment,” she bobs her head, walking swiftly towards the door.

Zen takes a step to follow her and Mitsuhide catches his hand on his shoulder, holding the Prince back.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he says quietly. “Let me.”

~ ~ ~

He finds her on the stairwell facing the low lying sun. This time of year, the light only peaks over the horizon and its stark light casts her in harsh shadows.

“Did you mean to cut him down?”

She freezes, every muscle in her body becoming a taut wire. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. It’s what I did.”

Mitsuhide pauses, staring at her hunched back. “He misses you, you know.”

Kiki raises her head from her hands and glares. “You don’t even know us.”

Mitsuhide hesitates for only a moment. There was nothing more intimidating than risking the ire of a noble Lady, but this time he had no choice in the matter.

“This is true,” he nods, staring out across the snow blanketing the Seiran Estate. “But it doesn’t take more than eyes to see your absence is making him sicker.”

“Obi would forgive anyone.” Her voice is so quiet. “Even those that don’t deserve it.”

His lips twitch. “I don’t think it’s your business to say who he can and cannot forgive.”

“I almost split him in two!” she snaps.

Mitsuhide looks down at her and her eyes are filled with liquid fire.

It doesn’t suit her.

“With those little arms?” he replies, rolling his shoulders. “I doubt it.”

Her voice drops low. “Excuse me?”

“Maim, sure,” Mitsuhide comments, nodding to himself. “But split in two? I saw him myself and I assure you, Lady, he is very much only one man. You should go see for yourself.”

“I already saw the damage to him when I made it,” she snaps, shooting up to standing and descending the stair towards the frozen hedges and dry fountains of the gardens.

“Kiki,” he calls, watching her. “Zen tells me you’re an excellent swordsman. I would hate it if I never had the chance to see it myself.”

Kiki stops dead, fists so tight at her side the knuckles are drained of blood. He would swear she was one of the garden statues if he hadn’t witnessed her moving so fluidly just a moment ago.

“One of the best,” he continues, staring at the staggering weight resting on her shoulders. “You could slay dragons if we could find one.”

She finally lets go of a little of it. Looking over her shoulder, she gives him a long considering look. “Did he now?”

~ ~ ~

Obi seems to be getting healthier every day and as the life returns to him, the less he looks like a boy and the more he looks like a man.

Too bad he doesn’t act it.

“What spell did you cast on him?” Zen huffs when Obi preens for him saying so.

“No spell,” Mitsuhide grins. “Everyone here is just so nice. Makes me want to be nice, too.”

Zen glowers, expression broken by Obi laugh and he leans forward with a leer. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. You’ll always be my Princess.”

Zen rolls his eyes towards the heavens. “Are you ever going to live that down? We were, what? Ten?”

“Nine. I was twelve. And you’re still prettier than me,” he replies, eyes sparkling.

“Ughhhh.”

“Lay back down before you pull your stitches, Obi.”

All the blood drains from Obi’s face at once. His head snaps towards the door, expression completely wiped from him.

“Kiki-”

She smiles faintly, hovering at the threshold. “I want to get out of here before my father finds someone to marry me off to. Can’t do that if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Obi’s mouth struggles to make a shape. “I was wooing my Princess, though,” he jokes weakly.

The air is so thick it is suffocating.

“Well!” Zen claps his hands together and looks pointedly at Mitsuhide. “The day grows late and we still have to go riding with Lord Seiran, do we not?”

Mitsuhide blinks at him. “We do? I mean, it’s still early-”

“Yes,” Zen says through grit teeth. “But we have a lot of things to discuss, do we not?”

“Oh. Oh! Right,” Mitsuhide nods, abruptly coming to stand. “Lots of things.”

“A great many,” Zen agrees, pushing his chair closer to the bed. “We’ll likely be hours.”

Obi and Kiki haven’t even looked away from each other.

“See you tonight,” Mitsuhide offers as he and Zen slide past her.

She tears her eyes away from the man still staring in stock silence. “See you then, Sir Rouen.”

#bubbleswrites #ansgiftexchange #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #noble lines #look i thought long and hard about this and thought you might like a substantial chapter (or two :3) the most #merry christmas septhi! #(this au is still your fault! ^_^ ) #part 1 of 2

[fictiontyper]

3 - The Herald of Andraste

[ Chapter List ]

Warnings: none

_____________________________________ _________ _____ ___ __ _

Nothing but blackness waited for her. She couldn’t tell if she was dead or not, and if she was, then she had surely been sent to the deepest pits of the underworld. The dark void was endless and unchanging. Occasionally she thought she saw Solas standing just in her peripheral vision, but he would disappear every time she turned to get a better look. She chalked it up to her going mad in this endless expanse. But, the darkness began to fade, replaced by a warm red, as sound started to fill her ears. She could hear faint whispers that she couldn’t make out what they were saying. With the sound came the feeling of being paralyzed, she was trapped in her mind.

It was hard to tell time in this state. She kept track of how many minutes passed, for all of six hours, before becoming bored and instead focused on the sounds around her. The voices were distorted and caused her head much pain when she tried to focus on what was being said. So she didn’t try; she just existed.

When she finally woke for good, she found herself atop a soft bed with pillows cushioned around her. She had thought she was going to remain in that state forever, but it was a sound of something dropping that woke her up; and she was so thankful. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes at the ability to feel her body again. Turning her head, she found herself looking out into a small room and she wasn’t alone. A young ellon was in the room with her.

“Oh!” The ellon gasped, dropping the small box she was clutching, looking fearful. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

“Don’t worry about it. I only-” Wynne started, trying not to startle the child, but stopped upon watching the ellon fall to her knees.

Her voice was raspy from not being used, and her throat dry. She started to speak again, but the young elf spoke first.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” She said, her forehead touching the floor. “You are back in Haven, my lady.”

Her head lifted ever so slightly, “They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.”

At the mention of the mark, she turned and looked down at her left hand, watching the faint green glow crackle over her hand like lightning. The ellon looked at her hand as well.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.” She said, happy.

Three days? Was that it? It had felt like an eternity. But at least she did it. They were safe.

“Then the danger is over.” Wynne breathed, relief washing over her.

“The Breach is still in the sky, but that’s what they say.” She said gently, then with more haste. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘At once.’”

A frightened look overcame the ellon again, and she stood up and shuffled backwards towards the door, wringing her hands.

“And where is she?” Wynne asked, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of her bed.

“In the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said.” The girl said before darting out of the door, leaving Wynne alone.

Tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of the elf that was afraid of her. She closed what she could of the damn hole in the sky. Why were they so scared of her? Hadn’t she proved herself innocent of causing this mess? She angrily brushed the tears from her face and stood up. Her body was weak, but nothing that she hadn’t dealt with before during harsh winters when food was scarce.

She needed to speak to Cassandra and find out what was going on. Then… she was going home. The thought of being back in the Free Marches brought a buoyancy to her step. She could almost feel the cool grass on the pads of her feet as she stalked her prey. Sighing, she opened her eyes and strode purposefully towards the door. Nothing prepared her for what lay outside.

Upon opening the door, she found that a crowd awaited her with armed guards saluting her as if she were someone with great power. Although it wasn’t untrue, her mark surely counted for something, but it still unnerved her. She was just an elf, a Dalish elf. Timidly, she walked forwards, hoping to get past them. Their eyes followed her every movement and hushed whispers reached her delicate ears.

“That’s her. That’s the Herald of Andraste.” A voice said softly, “They say when she came out of the Fade that Andraste herself was watching over her.”

“Hush, we shouldn’t disturb her.” A female voice chastised.

Wynne wanted to bolt, this feeling wasn’t something she wanted. The Herald of Andraste? What did that even mean. She was no messenger of a God. She was a spy, a thief… an elf. Sighing, she pushed the thoughts from her mind, heading towards the Chantry building. It wasn’t hard to miss, as it was easily the biggest building in Haven. What a perfect name for this place.

As she passed through the city, people would stop what they were doing to watch her walk by, all conversation halting in her presence. It was starting to annoy her. There was one group of people who didn’t pay her no heed as she passed, instead gossiping about her.

“That’s her. She stopped the Breach from getting any bigger.” A boy said in awe.

“I heard she was supposed to close it entirely.” Another replied in disgust.

“Still, it’s even more than anyone else has done. Demons would have had us otherwise.” The boy compromised.

Wynne looked over at the group at the source of the two voices. The boy was an elf, taller than her and was wearing attire to indicate that he must have been a city elf; a servant. The other voice belonged to a beautiful raven haired woman. Her ice blue eyes bore into Wynne as they made eye contact. Dropping her gaze, she picked up her pace to the Chantry.

Once entering the giant double doors, her worries about the people outside were all but forgotten. The interior was decorated with candles and books lining the walls. Wynne had always been an avid reader, getting her hands on any books she could find during their encounters with humans. But this… this was extraordinary.

The sound of voices from the far end of the hall caught her attention. If not for her keen senses, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it, but nonetheless she moved towards the door, listening in on the conversation behind closed doors. It felt wrong, but she heard her name, and wanted to know why they were talking about her in private.

“... have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” Chancellor Roderick’s voice exclaimed.

“I will not believe she is guilty.” Cassandra replied.

“The elf failed Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky! For all you know, she intended it this way.” Chancellor Roderick said persuasively.

“I do not believe that.” Cassandra snapped, her tone hard.

“That is not for you to decide.” The Chancellor sneered. “Your duty is to serve the Chantry”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded Chancellor.” Cassandra replied with equal disgust. “As is yours.”

Wynne had enough. If they were going to talk about her, then she was going to be in the room. She yanked the door open and found herself looking into a large room, where Cassandra stood with Chancellor Roderick and Leliana, two armed guards stood by the door. No sooner had she entered the room, the Chancellor spoke again.

“Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” Chancellor Roderick ordered.

“Disregard that, and leave us.” Cassandra ordered.

They saluted her and turned sharply on their heels and retreated from the room, closing the door behind them. Wynne looked over at the Chancellor, whose face was beet red.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.” Chancellor Roderick sneered from across the table.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat.” Cassandra said darkly, walking up to the Chancellor until they stood but a few inches apart, “I will not ignore it.”

“I did everything I could to close the Breach.” Wynne said, backing up Cassandra, “It almost killed me.”

“Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.” Roderick condemned.

“Have a care, Chancellor.” Cassandra warned. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana stepped forwards, in an attempt to diffuse the situation between the two.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect.” She reasoned, then adding in an accusing tone towards the Chancellor. “Perhaps they died with the others; or have allies who yet live.”

“I am a suspect?” He exclaimed in disbelief.

“You, and many others.” Leliana confirmed.

“But not the prisoner?” He said, exasperated.

“I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called to her for help.” Cassandra vouched.

Wynne couldn’t help but to smile at Cassandra standing up for her. It was the noblest thing a human had ever done for her, a Dalish elf.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand; all a coincidence?” He said, not listening to reason.

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” Cassandra replied.

“You realize I’m an elf. A Dalish elf.” Wynne said, airing her doubts.

“I have not forgotten.” Cassandra said, disapproval flicking across her features. “No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

“The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.” Leliana said gently.

Realization dawned on her, they wanted her to stay; needed her to stay. She wasn’t going to get to go home. A hollow ache formed in her chest as she looked to Cassandra, who had retreated to the back of the room.

“This is not for you to decide.” He said.

Cassandra returned, hefting a thick book under her arm that made a resounding thump on the table as she slammed it down.

“Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” Cassandra asked, pointing to the book. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn."

She advanced on the Chancellor, causing him to retreat in fear.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.” She promised.

Chancellor Roderick seemed like he was going to say something else, but he bit his tongue and walked out of the room without another word. As he left, Cassandra looked fearful as to what he might do after realizing her meaning. She ran a hand through her hair nervously as Leliana walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder in reassurance before looking towards Wynne.

“This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” Leliana informed her, “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice. We must act now.” Cassandra said, then turned to Wynne. “With you at our side.”

This was the moment she had been dreading. Them asking her to stay and help close the Breach. In the darkest place in her mind she knew that she wasn’t finished, that she still had a great deal to do before she was allowed the peace to return home.

“When I woke up, I certainly didn’t picture this outcome.” Wynne replied.

“Neither did we.” Leliana agreed.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late.” Cassandra implored, extending her hand towards the elf.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Wynne stepped forwards and grasped the woman’s outstretched arm and sealed her fate within the Inquisition.

[wiv-journal-blog]

QUIET TIME: JULY 22

I slept early tonight because I wasn’t feeling well. Woke up at 12 MN to pee and meant to continue sleeping as soon as I got back to bed. But I knew I had to talk to God  first. I had to tell Him about the thoughts that have been wrestling in my mind since last night.

I was crying and praying, and I was prompted to go back to the passage I read last night about Paul’s thorn in the flesh. But before that, I also got reminded of the verse in Romans 12:2 that says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

So I prayed that God would renew my mind. I prayed that he would remove wrong mindsets. I prayed that He would help me discern His will. I prayed that I would clearly recognize His voice, just like how sheep know the voice of the shepherd.

 After that, I went on to read the ESV, CEB, MSG, and TPT versions of 2 Corinthians 12:1-10, and they made so much sense to me now. 

ENGLISH STANDARD VERSION

12 I must go on boasting. Though there is nothing to be gained by it, I will go on to visions and revelations of the Lord. 2 I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows. 3 And I know that this man was caught up into paradise—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows— 4 and he heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter. 5 On behalf of this man I will boast, but on my own behalf I will not boast, except of my weaknesses— 6 though if I should wish to boast, I would not be a fool, for I would be speaking the truth; but I refrain from it, so that no one may think more of me than he sees in me or hears from me. 7 So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations,[a] a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. 8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. 9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

COMMON ENGLISH BIBLE

12 It is necessary to brag, not that it does any good. I’ll move on to visions and revelations from the Lord. 2 I know a man in Christ who was caught up into the third heaven fourteen years ago. I don’t know whether it was in the body or out of the body. God knows. 3-4 I know that this man was caught up into paradise and that he heard unspeakable words that were things no one is allowed to repeat. I don’t know whether it was in the body or apart from the body. God knows. 5 I’ll brag about this man, but I won’t brag about myself, except to brag about my weaknesses.

6 If I did want to brag, I wouldn’t make a fool of myself because I’d tell the truth. I’m holding back from bragging so that no one will give me any more credit than what anyone sees or hears about me. 7 I was given a thorn in my body because of the outstanding revelations I’ve received so that I wouldn’t be conceited. It’s a messenger from Satan sent to torment me so that I wouldn’t be conceited.

8 I pleaded with the Lord three times for it to leave me alone. 9 He said to me, “My grace is enough for you, because power is made perfect in weakness.” So I’ll gladly spend my time bragging about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power can rest on me. 10 Therefore, I’m all right with weaknesses, insults, disasters, harassments, and stressful situations for the sake of Christ, because when I’m weak, then I’m strong.

THE MESSAGE TRANSLATION

12 1-5 You’ve forced me to talk this way, and I do it against my better judgment. But now that we’re at it, I may as well bring up the matter of visions and revelations that God gave me. For instance, I know a man who, fourteen years ago, was seized by Christ and swept in ecstasy to the heights of heaven. I really don’t know if this took place in the body or out of it; only God knows. I also know that this man was hijacked into paradise—again, whether in or out of the body, I don’t know; God knows. There he heard the unspeakable spoken, but was forbidden to tell what he heard. This is the man I want to talk about. But about myself, I’m not saying another word apart from the humiliations.

6 If I had a mind to brag a little, I could probably do it without looking ridiculous, and I’d still be speaking plain truth all the way. But I’ll spare you. I don’t want anyone imagining me as anything other than the fool you’d encounter if you saw me on the street or heard me talk.

7-10 Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.

THE PASSION TRANSLATION

12 Although it may not accomplish a thing, I need to move on and boast about supernatural visions and revelations of the Lord.[a]  2 Someone I’m acquainted with, who is in union with Christ, was swept away fourteen years ago in an ecstatic experience. He was taken into the third heaven,[b] but I’m not sure if he was in his body or out of his body—only God knows.  3 And I know that this man[c] (again, I’m not sure if he was still in his body or taken out of his body—God knows)  4 was caught up in an ecstatic experience and brought into paradise,[d] where he overheard many wondrous and inexpressible secrets[e] that were so sacred that no mortal is permitted to repeat them.[f]  5 I’m ready to boast of such an experience, but for my own good I refuse to boast unless it concerns my weaknesses.[g]  6 However, if I were to boast, it wouldn’t be ridiculous at all, for I would be speaking the truth. Yet I will refrain, lest others think higher of me than what I demonstrate with my life and teaching.

Paul’s “Thorn”

7 The extraordinary level of the revelations I’ve received is no reason for anyone to exalt me.[h] For this is why a thorn in my flesh was given to me, the Adversary’s messenger sent to harass me,[i] keeping me from becoming arrogant.  8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to relieve me of this. 9 But he answered me, “My grace is always more than enough for you,[j] and my power finds its full expression through your weakness.” So I will celebrate my weaknesses, for when I’m weak I sense more deeply the mighty power of Christ living in me.[k]  10 So I’m not defeated by my weakness, but delighted! For when I feel my weakness and endure mistreatment—when I’m surrounded with troubles on every side and face persecution because of my love for Christ—I am made yet stronger. For my weakness becomes a portal to God’s power.

This passage of scripture talks about the revelations Paul had received and how it would’ve been easy to brag about his experience. He was brought to paradise, he heard a heavenly language, and he received revelations from God. Oh, what a glorious experience that might have been! What a wonderful story to tell to everyone around him! But instead, he chose to stay silent. And from this, I learned the following:

1. Let the fruit speak for itself.

“If I did want to brag, I wouldn’t make a fool of myself because I’d tell the truth. I’m holding back from bragging so that no one will give me any more credit than what anyone sees or hears about me.”

2 Cor 12:6 CEB

Paul experienced a wonderful thing. It was a personal encounter, a personal revelation. Had he shared it with anyone else, it would’ve simply been him telling the truth. But he felt that it wasn’t necessary. There was no need to shout to the rooftops that he experienced God in a different way. Whatever change that brought him, that would already speak for itself. What came naturally after that encounter was already a testimony.

In my case, I don’t need to post about me starting from the bottom. I don’t need to post about seeing God’s faithfulness through the years- from me having that simple prayer request of wanting to observe in Kids Church, to now being a team admin, and possibly the future team leader. Yes, that is a testimony. It’s a testimony of humble beginnings. But sharing that story wasn’t necessary, especially if it would just cause me to brag. Like how it was natural for Paul to praise God after his encounter with him, what was natural for me was to keep encouraging my team mates. No need to share the history of my journey as a volunteer, but simply, words of encouragement that came from an overflow.

2. We have our own thorns in the flesh.

I wasn’t so sure what the thorn in the flesh meant, but I knew it was simply something that kept on bothering Paul, something that stopped him from bragging.

I googled this so-called thorn in the flesh and came across this article that says:

“There have been many theories as to what exactly this thorn was—so many theories in fact, that it is impossible to diagnose Paul's situation with complete assurance. Some have suggested that Paul's thorn came in the form of Jewish persecution because of the surrounding context speaking of opponents. Even in Numbers 33:55 thorns are used as a metaphor for the enemies of the Israelites. Others have suggested that Paul's own remembrance of his past was his thorn; Paul's past included the persecution of the church (Acts 8:1-3; Gal 1:13; Phil 3:6) which may have continually haunted him and kept him humble. Some even propose that Paul dealt with either carnal temptation or depression.”

“The ambiguity of the thorn in the flesh is actually a positive thing. If Paul would have specifically stated the identity of his thorn, believers from following generations may have discarded his experience if they were not afflicted with the same affliction. However, Christians from many generations have benefited by his reference to the thorn while applying it to their specific problems.”

ambiguity = the quality of being open to more than one interpretation; inexactness.

I felt relieved knowing that the thorn in the flesh could mean anything. The first time I read it, I knew I had that too, but I wasn’t sure if I interpreted it correctly. I knew there was something holding me down, trying to stop me from feeling at peace with posting my breakthroughs. That was my thorn. It was God actually tugging my heart and telling me that it’s only Him who should be getting the glory.

I could go on and on about how I meant well, how I just wanted to encourage others, but again, telling the story wouldn’t be as necessary as seeing the result.

I’m so glad I had that thorn. I’m so glad I didn’t have that peace last night. I’m so glad my thoughts waged war. And I’m so glad God gave me the grace to humble myself and accept correction from him.

3. We are not completely freed from our limitations because that’s where God shows His power, and that’s when we learn to depend solely on Him.

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord to relieve me of this. 9 But he answered me, “My grace is always more than enough for you,[j] and my power finds its full expression through your weakness.” 

2 Cor 12:8-9 TPT

I could relate so much with how Paul said, “three times I pleaded the Lord to relieve me of this.” Three times. Paulit-ulit. Naramdaman ko yung pagod niya. Then I realized I had these other thorns that I also pleaded God to relieve me from:

My fragility

My arrogance

My insecurity

My tendency to seek for approval in other people

For the past week, I’ve been feeling like this is my default, like that’s already part of who I am, and I desperately wanted to heal from all of that. I would ask God, why am I naturally like this? Why is it that when something happens, I always have the urge to post? To brag? To make others see what I’m doing? To make myself look good? To prove that I’m good enough?

I’m so so tired of feeling that way, Lord.

But then, I realized, that’s just another thorn in the flesh.

7-10 Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

2 Cor 12:7-10 MSG

At first, Paul pleaded with God to remove that thorn in the flesh, or in this version, his handicap. He didn’t see it as a gift. But he came to realize that his limitations were exactly the places where God would show His power.

Now I feel glad that I’m weak, that I have all these thorns, because I know that these would help bring me to my knees in full surrender to God.

I have no capacity to change myself completely, to change the way I was created, but I do know that God is the potter, and I am the clay, and that His ways are higher than my ways, and His thoughts are higher than my thoughts.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Saint Teresa of Calcutta India - Memorial Feast Day: September 5th - Ordinary Time

“Wholehearted and Free Service to the Poorest of the Poor."

Mother Teresa of Calcutta (1910-1997)

“By blood, I am Albanian. By citizenship, an Indian. By faith, I am a Catholic nun. As to my calling, I belong to the world. As to my heart, I belong entirely to the Heart of Jesus. ”Small of stature, rocklike in faith, Mother Teresa of Calcutta was entrusted with the mission of proclaiming God’s thirsting love for humanity, especially for the poorest of the poor. “God still loves the world and He sends you and me to be His love and His compassion to the poor.” She was a soul filled with the light of Christ, on fire with love for Him and burning with one desire: “to quench His thirst for love and for souls.”

This luminous messenger of God’s love was born on 26 August 1910 in Skopje, a city situated at the crossroads of Balkan history. The youngest of the children born to Nikola and Drane Bojaxhiu, she was baptised Gonxha Agnes, received her First Communion at the age of five and a half and was confirmed in November 1916. From the day of her First Holy Communion, a love for souls was within her. Her father’s sudden death when Gonxha was about eight years old left in the family in financial straits. Drane raised her children firmly and lovingly, greatly influencing her daughter’s character and vocation. Gonxha’s religious formation was further assisted by the vibrant Jesuit parish of the Sacred Heart in which she was much involved.

At the age of eighteen, moved by a desire to become a missionary, Gonxha left her home in September 1928 to join the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary, known as the Sisters of Loreto, in Ireland. There she received the name Sister Mary Teresa after St. Thérèse of Lisieux. In December, she departed for India, arriving in Calcutta on 6 January 1929. After making her First Profession of Vows in May 1931, Sister Teresa was assigned to the Loreto Entally community in Calcutta and taught at St. Mary’s School for girls. On 24 May 1937, Sister Teresa made her Final Profession of Vows, becoming, as she said, the “spouse of Jesus” for “all eternity.” From that time on she was called Mother Teresa. She continued teaching at St. Mary’s and in 1944 became the school’s principal. A person of profound prayer and deep love for her religious sisters and her students, Mother Teresa’s twenty years in Loreto were filled with profound happiness. Noted for her charity, unselfishness and courage, her capacity for hard work and a natural talent for organization, she lived out her consecration to Jesus, in the midst of her companions, with fidelity and joy.

On 10 September 1946 during the train ride from Calcutta to Darjeeling for her annual retreat, Mother Teresa received her “inspiration,” her “call within a call.” On that day, in a way she would never explain, Jesus’ thirst for love and for souls took hold of her heart and the desire to satiate His thirst became the driving force of her life. Over the course of the next weeks and months, by means of interior locutions and visions, Jesus revealed to her the desire of His heart for “victims of love” who would “radiate His love on souls.” “Come be My light,” He begged her. “I cannot go alone.” He revealed His pain at the neglect of the poor, His sorrow at their ignorance of Him and His longing for their love. He asked Mother Teresa to establish a religious community, Missionaries of Charity, dedicated to the service of the poorest of the poor. Nearly two years of testing and discernment passed before Mother Teresa received permission to begin. On August 17, 1948, she dressed for the first time in a white, blue-bordered sari and passed through the gates of her beloved Loreto convent to enter the world of the poor.

After a short course with the Medical Mission Sisters in Patna, Mother Teresa returned to Calcutta and found temporary lodging with the Little Sisters of the Poor. On 21 December she went for the first time to the slums. She visited families, washed the sores of some children, cared for an old man lying sick on the road and nursed a woman dying of hunger and TB. She started each day in communion with Jesus in the Eucharist and then went out, rosary in her hand, to find and serve Him in “the unwanted, the unloved, the uncared for.” After some months, she was joined, one by one, by her former students.

On 7 October 1950 the new congregation of the Missionaries of Charity was officially established in the Archdiocese of Calcutta. By the early 1960s, Mother Teresa began to send her Sisters to other parts of India. The Decree of Praise granted to the Congregation by Pope Paul VI in February 1965 encouraged her to open a house in Venezuela. It was soon followed by foundations in Rome and Tanzania and, eventually, on every continent. Starting in 1980 and continuing through the 1990s, Mother Teresa opened houses in almost all of the communist countries, including the former Soviet Union, Albania and Cuba.

In order to respond better to both the physical and spiritual needs of the poor, Mother Teresa founded the Missionaries of Charity Brothers in 1963, in 1976 the contemplative branch of the Sisters, in 1979 the Contemplative Brothers, and in 1984 the Missionaries of Charity Fathers. Yet her inspiration was not limited to those with religious vocations. She formed the Co-Workers of Mother Teresa and the Sick and Suffering Co-Workers, people of many faiths and nationalities with whom she shared her spirit of prayer, simplicity, sacrifice and her apostolate of humble works of love. This spirit later inspired the Lay Missionaries of Charity. In answer to the requests of many priests, in 1981 Mother Teresa also began the Corpus Christi Movement for Priests as a “little way of holiness” for those who desire to share in her charisma and spirit.

During the years of rapid growth the world began to turn its eyes towards Mother Teresa and the work she had started. Numerous awards, beginning with the Indian Padmashri Award in 1962 and notably the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979, honoured her work, while an increasingly interested media began to follow her activities. She received both prizes and attention “for the glory of God and in the name of the poor.”

The whole of Mother Teresa’s life and labour bore witness to the joy of loving, the greatness and dignity of every human person, the value of little things done faithfully and with love, and the surpassing worth of friendship with God. But there was another heroic side of this great woman that was revealed only after her death. Hidden from all eyes, hidden even from those closest to her, was her interior life marked by an experience of a deep, painful and abiding feeling of being separated from God, even rejected by Him, along with an ever-increasing longing for His love. She called her inner experience, “the darkness.” The “painful night” of her soul, which began around the time she started her work for the poor and continued to the end of her life, led Mother Teresa to an ever more profound union with God. Through the darkness she mystically participated in the thirst of Jesus, in His painful and burning longing for love, and she shared in the interior desolation of the poor.

During the last years of her life, despite increasingly severe health problems, Mother Teresa continued to govern her Society and respond to the needs of the poor and the Church. By 1997, Mother Teresa’s Sisters numbered nearly 4,000 members and were established in 610 foundations in 123 countries of the world. In March 1997 she blessed her newly-elected successor as Superior General of the Missionaries of Charity and then made one more trip abroad. After meeting Pope John Paul II for the last time, she returned to Calcutta and spent her final weeks receiving visitors and instructing her Sisters. On 5 September Mother Teresa’s earthly life came to an end. She was given the honour of a state funeral by the Government of India and her body was buried in the Mother House of the Missionaries of Charity. Her tomb quickly became a place of pilgrimage and prayer for people of all faiths, rich and poor alike. Mother Teresa left a testament of unshakable faith, invincible hope and extraordinary charity. Her response to Jesus’ plea, “Come be My light,”made her a Missionary of Charity, a “mother to the poor,” a symbol of compassion to the world, and a living witness to the thirsting love of God.

Less than two years after her death, in view of Mother Teresa’s widespread reputation of holiness and the favors being reported, Pope John Paul II permitted the opening of her Cause of Canonization. On 20 December 2002 he approved the decrees of her heroic virtues and miracles.

#st. teresa of calcutta