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hekateanwitchcraft · 4 years ago

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An Introduction to Worshipping Medeia

As a Hellenic witch, the worship of Medeia is an important part of my practice. She was a witch and priestess of Hekate, possessing nearly unparalleled knowledge of magic and poisons. I wanted to write this post to give some background on who Medeia is, her role as a witch and a priestess, and how I have come to honor her in my practice.

Who is Medeia?

Parentage

Medeia (Μήδεια) is given mainly two parentages, either Aeetes, son of Helios, and Eidyia, daughter of Oceanus, or Hekate and Aeetes. Hesiod offers us a description of the first, writing:

“To the tireless Sun the renowned Oceanid Perseïs bore Circe and King Aeetes. Aeetes, son of the Sun who makes light for mortals, married by the gods’ design another daughter of Oceanus the unending river, fair-cheeked Idyia; and she bore him the trim-ankled Medea, surrendering in intimacy through golden Aphrodite” (Hesiod 31)

Alternatively, Diodorus names Hekate and Aeetes as her parents, explaining:

“Perses had a daughter, Hecate, and she excelled her father in her brazen lawlessness...She was a keen contriver of mixtures of deadly drugs [pharmaka], and she discovered the so-called aconite. She tested the powers of each drug by mixing it into the food given to strangers...After this she married Aeetes and gave birth to two daughters, Circe and Medea, and also a son Aigialeus” (qtd. in Ogden 78)

Either of these parentages could make sense, but I personally observe the first.

(Art: Medea by Frederick Sandys)

Medeia as the Witch Priestess of Hekate

One of Medeia’s most important roles in literature and myth is that she is a priestess of Hekate and a witch, being called “Medea of the many spells” (Apollonius of Rhodes 109). In most literature there is no way to separate these roles.

She was extremely devoted to Hekate, Apollonius of Rhodes stating that “as a rule she did not spend her time at home, but was busy all day in the temple of Hecate, of whom she was priestess” (116). Euripides also writes that Medea says “I swear it by her, my mistress, whom most I honor and have chosen as partner, Hecate, who dwells in the recesses of my hearth” (Euripides 13). Clearly, the relationship between her and Hekate was very close, and it was said on occasion that she even learned magic from Hekate, Herself. Apollonius of Rhodes writes that “[t]here is a girl living in Aeetes’ palace whom the goddess Hecate has taught to handle with extraordinary skill all the magic herbs that grow on dry land or in running water” (123). Diodorus also claims this, but adds an interesting addendum that attributes to the character of Medeia:

“They report that Medea learned all the powers of drugs from her mother [Hekate] and her sister [Kirke], but her own inclination was the opposite. For she continually saved the strangers that put in from dangers” (qtd. in Ogden 79)

(Art: Medea the Sorceress by Valentine Cameron Prinsep)

Regardless of the origins of her powers, they were no doubt incredible. Apollonius of Rhodes explains that “she can put out a raging fire, she can stop rivers as they roar in spate, arrest a star, and check the movement of the sacred moon” (123). In one instance Apollonius states that “the beautiful Medea spell through the palace, and for her the very doors responding to her hasty incantations swung open of their own accord...From there she meant to reach the temple. She knew the road well enough, having often roamed in that direction searching for corpses and noxious roots, as witches do” (148). This is clearly an indicator that her powers are incredible, but what is even more awe-inspiring is what Apollonius says happens next:

“Rising from the distant east, the Lady Moon [Selene], Titanian goddess, saw the girl wandering distraught, and in wicked glee said to herself: ’So I am not the only one to go astray for love, I that burn for beautiful Endymion and seek him in the Latmian cave. How many times, when I was bent on love, have you disorbed me with your incantations, making the night moonless so that you may practice your beloved witchcraft undisturbed!” (148).

Medeia is said to be able to actually banish the moon Herself from the sky, an unimaginable feat. This is indicative of the degree of power she possesses, having sway over nature itself.

She is most known to have used her knowledge and powers repeatedly to help Jason, her husband, on his quest for the Golden Fleece. The first instance of this was that she made Jason an ointment which would make him invincible. Apollonius describes this in length, writing that:

“She had twelve maids, young as herself and all unmarried...She called them now and told them to yoke the mules to her carriage at once, as she wished them to drive to the spending Temple of Hecate; and while they were getting the carriage ready she took a magic ointment form her box. This salve was named after Prometheus. A man had only to smear it on his body, after procreating the only-begotten Maiden [Hekate] with a midnight offering, to become invulnerable by sword or fire” (131-2)

He continues, detailing the ritual of how she obtained the plant she used to make this ointment:

“Medea, clothed in black, in the gloom of night, had drawn off this juice in a Caspian shell after bathing in seven perennial streams and calling seven times on Brimo, nurse of youth, Brimo, night-wanderer of the underworld, Queen of the dead. The dark earth shook and rumbled underneath the Titan root when it was cute, and Prometheus himself groaned in the anguish of his soul” (132).

Here we see a process that is depicted often, the bathing of Medeia and her ritualistic harvesting of herbs. We also see her here call on Brimo (Βριμω), an epithet of Hekate, in Her role as nurse of the young (Kourotrophos/Κουροτρόφος), night-wanderer (Νυκτιπολος/Nyktipolos), of the Underworld (Χθονιη/Kthonia), and Queen of the Dead (Ανασσα ενεροι/Anassa Eneroi), indicating the importance of Hekate to her witchcraft.

(Art: Jason and Medea by John William Waterhouse)

A similar harvesting of herbs and roots is seen in fragments of Sophocles’ play The Root-Cutters. What we have of the play states that “She [Medea] covers her eyes with her hand and collects up the white-clouded juice that drips from the cut in bronze jars...the covered chests conceal the roots, which this woman reaped, naked, with bronze sickles, while crying out and howling” (qtd. in Ogden 83). Hekate is then said to be “crowned with oak branches and snakes” (qtd. in Ogden 83). Then the women chant “Lord of the sun and holy fire [Helios], sword of Hecate of the roads, which she carries over Olympus as she attends and as she traverses the sacred crossroads of the land, crowned with oak and the woven coils of snakes, falling on her shoulders” (qtd. in Ogden 83). In this short but incredible fragment we see that Medeia calls on both Hekate and Helios, her grandfather, to bless their ritual. We also see a repeat of incantations to harvest magical herbs, and an introduction of her association with bronze.

Another one of Medea’s feats was charming the snake that guarded the Golden Fleece into a slumber. In the Argonautica, Apollonius of Rhodes writes:

“The monster in his sheath of horny scares rolled forward his interminable coils, like the eddies of black smoke that spring from smoldering logs...But as he writhed he saw the maiden take her stand, and heard her in sweet voices invoking Sleep [Hypnos], the conqueror of the gods, to charm him. She also called on the night-wandering queen of the world below [Hekate] to countenance her efforts...the giant snake, enchanted by her song, was soon relaxing the whole length of his serrated spine and smoothing out his multitudinous undulations...Yet his grim head still hovered over them and the cruel jaws threatened to snap them up. But Medea, chanting a spell, dipped a fresh sprig of juniper in her brew and sprinkled his eyes with her most potent drugs and as the all-pervading magic scent spread around his head, sleep fell on him.” (150-1).

(Medea and the Dragon by Maxwell Ashby Armfield)

She was also said to have killed the giant Talos, a gift given to Zeus from Hephaistos, with her witchcraft, specifically the Evil Eye. In this more horrifying passage, it is said that:

“[W]ith incantations, she invoked the Sprits of Death [Keres], the swift hounds of Hades who feed on souls and haunt the lower air to pounce on living men. She sank to her knees and called upon them three times in song, three times with spoken prayers. She steeled herself with their malignity and bewitched the eyes of Talos with the evil in her own. She flung at him the full force of her malevolence, and in an ecstasy of rage she plied him with images of death” (Apollonius of Rhodes 192).

In this passage, she calls on the Keres, and with them is able to use the evil eye to bring immediate death to a direct creation of the gods. This is a horrifying feat, not only for the power it must require, but for her ability to kill in an instant.

Finally, she also is said to have rejuvenated Jason’s father Aeson. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Jason pleads with Medea to take years of his own life to give more to his father, but she rejects him saying that Hekate will not allow such a thing to take place. Instead, she offers that through her witchcraft, instead, if Hekate is willing to help her, she may rejuvenate him. Under the full moon, Medeia performs the ritual. She calls on Hekate, Night, the Moon, and Helios to aid her in her task (126-7). A chariot drawn by dragons appears to her and she takes it to gather herbs harvested with her bronze scythe. After nine days and nights, she returns to Jason to perform the ritual. The ritual is extensive and is essentially repeated in full. She builds two altars, one to Hecate and one to Hebe. She also digs two ditches on sacrifices a black sheep into the ditches, also pouring wine and milk into them. She also calls on the “deities of the earth” which may mean deities of the land or chthonic deities, and Hades. Once she appeases these gods and goddesses, she spells Aeson to sleep on a bed of herbs and tells Jason to leave her to perform her magic. She then dips sticks into pools of blood and lights them with the flames on the altars, then purifying the man once with fire, three times with water, and three times with sulfur.

She then adds many herbs, roots, and flowers to her bronze cauldron as well as “hoar frost gathered under the full moon, the wings of the uncanny screech owl with the flesh as well, and the entrails of a werewolf which has the power of changing its wild-beast features into a man’s. There also in the pot is the scaly skin of a slender Cinyphian water-snake, the liver of a long-lived stag, to which she also adds eggs and the head of a crow nine generations old” (Ovid 129). Then, she slits the throat of Aeson and replaced his blood with her potion, finally rejuvenating him.

There is more descriptions of Medeia’s magical feats throughout literature, but these are simply some of the most detailed and famous. She is clearly a very powerful witch and a significant figure within the history of Hekate worship. With her bronze cauldron and chariot of dragons, she is quite awe-inspiring.

(Art: The Sorceress by R. Willis Maddox)

Medeia’s Character

One of the issues we run into with Medeia’s mythos is her defamation and portrayal as a child-murdering and vengeful woman. She is indeed vengeful against Jason, and rightfully so, for he bade her to leave her homeland, murder her brother, and constantly had her aid him with her witchcraft, only to abandon her for another. However, Euripides’ tale of her brutally murdering her children has some criticisms from scholars who note that there are other versions of the tale.

One such tale is that from Apollodorus who writes that “Another tradition is that on her flight she left behind her children, who were still infants, setting them as suppliants on the altar of Hera of the Height; but the Corinthians removed them and wounded them to death” (1.9.28). In the modern era, a scholar named Sarah Illes Johnston, author of Restless Dead and Hekate Soteira, also writes that Medea prays to Hera Akraia to make her children immortal, and Hera either declines or breaks her promise to fulfill this task, leaving the children to die (62-3). Johnston denies the implication of Medea in her children’s death, instead attributing it to circumstances outside her control or by the hand of another.

These different tellings of Medeia’s story fits with the Colchian princess who aids Jason in a much more believable way than the suddenly spiteful women who murders her children. This variation is less popular, the other being popularized perhaps to demonize magic and women of power.

(Art: Medea by Eve De Morgan)

Worshipping Medeia

Now that Medeia’s character and mythological status has been discussed, I think it’s important to talk about how I actually go about worshipping Medeia. I worship Medeia in both divine and ancestral ways, which I suppose could be attributed to methods of hero worship in Ancient Greece. Worshipping Medeia can be done alongside Hekate and/or Helios, as well as alongside Kirke. If you observe the Mighty Dead or Witch Ancestors, she could also be worshipped alongside them.

Offerings

Offerings for Medeia can include wine, frankincense, milk, honey, food, poisons, sacred plants, bronze artifacts, candles, snake parts or figurines and dragon figurines, artifacts of witchcraft, and even Hekate iconography. One could also offer her blood, but that is up to your personal discretion.

Names and Epithets

Names/epithets I call Medeia include ‘Of the Many Spells,’ ‘Vengeful Maiden,’ ‘Witch Priestess of Hekate,’ ‘Medea of Poisons,’ ’She Who Knows All Herbs,’ ‘Giant-Slayer,’ one that could also be said of Hekate, ‘Princess of Colchis,’ ‘Granddaughter of Helios,’ ’Daughter of Sun and Moon,’ one I use to indicate her relationship to Helios and her devotion to Hekate, and Medea Pharmakeia, or Medeia of Witchcraft/Magic.

Sacred Objects

Sacred plants of Medeia could include any poisons, juniper, olive, and aconite specifically. Sacred animals include dragons and snakes. Bronze is also sacred to Medea, as are cauldrons of any kind.

Specializations

Medeia can be called upon for justice and vengeance, especially for spells of justice and vengeance, witchcraft of any kind, to bless herbs, for gardening, for aid in Hekate worship, for the downfall of your enemies, for protection from harm, for protection from snakes, and for guidance in magic.

Prayers to Medeia

Prayer for Medea’s Aid in Witchcraft

Prayer to Medea for Vengeance

Conclusion

In conclusion, while Medeia may not be a part of the usual canon of hero worship, or worship in general, if you are a devotee of Hekate or Helios, worshipping Medeia might be right for you. Likewise, any witch who observes the Hellenic pantheon should give serious thought to venerating Medeia in their practice.

Works Cited:

Medea by Euripides

Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts in the Ancient Greek and Roman Worlds by Daniel Ogden

The Voyage of Argo by Apollonius of Rhodes

Theogony by Hesiod

The Library by Apollodorus

The Metamorphoses by Ovid

“Corinthian Medea and the Cult of Hera Akraia” by Sarah Illes Johnston

(Art: Medea Casting Spells by Henry Ferguson)

#Medea #Medea worship #hellenic polytheism #hero worship #witchcraft #witch #paganism #Hekate #hecate #hellenic witchcraft #hellenic heroes

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deniigi · 3 years ago

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Blame @petrichordiam for this.

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Title: centerstage

Summary: An academic goes to a conference and is jazzed to see a jedi speak there. He unknowingly sits next to this jedi’s Support Squad.

The jedi Support Squad is like 85% clones, and 15% Jedi Generals.

No one mentions that the jedi speaking has never done this before and is petrified out of his blessed little mind.

*Anakin is like 19-20ish here.

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Sion Jissard has spent the last ten years of his life in the dredges of archives, digging through documents and testing fibers found between the flimsy, papery pages of old texts—scrounging for clues to recreate the conditions of the great conference halls and small, tucked away offices in which some of the most powerful people in the galaxy once gathered to whisper and shout over the fate of whole planets.

He has a hypothesis that the conditions in those rooms affected the decisions made in them. His hypothesis is strong enough that it has endured several rounds of peer-review and escaped those vulture-like clutches mostly unscathed in published form—both in journal and, his chest swells to recall, in book formats.

His book has sold several hundred copies and been cited in a plethora of upcoming article submissions.

The last eight years of tension in his marriage has eased in light of this. The salary from the professorship obtained in light of the book certainly hasn’t hurt it either.

His two doctorates are set on the wall of his office and when he receives word that a conference on ‘Intergalactic Unionism and Peace Negotiation’ is to be held in two months time, he opens up the speakers list and raises his head to gaze upon those two solid frames.

There will be jedi speakers at the conference. Several, actually. The whole thing is to be held on Coruscant, in the small visitors’ wing of the Jedi temple itself.

Sion Jissard pinches the fabric of his suit and then lightly slaps at his cheek to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He has only recently begun studying the jedi order’s material world and the role that world plays in their intergalactic peace-making practices. Prior to this, he considered the subject too on-the-nose. Jedi studies are rampant. Everyone wants a piece of that pie—the allure of it being that the jedi themselves, scholars in their own rights, refuse to partake in examinations of their culture.

They are notoriously obstinate. Their grandmasters refuse to let outsiders into their archives. Their masters shut down any and all attempts to obtain interviews or transcripts or documents with empty expressions or gentle, pitying smiles. Their knights blink with confusion at personal and personal-adjacent questions, and the little ones, the apprentices, are shielded behind all of these people as though the elbow-padded questioners are threatening their precious little lives.

In short, the jedi are happy to listen but loathe to teach. If you are not one of their soldiers or one of their fellows, they will lie to your face and tell you that it is their religion to do so.

And yet here they are, offering up a scholar’s wetdream and even allowing a handful of their own to present on their areas of expertise.

Sion Jissard will pass up this opportunity only upon pain of death.

He applies for the conference as a participant, not a speaker, and is delighted to receive confirmation of his place within mere minutes.

He puts the date on his calendar and starts looking into transit to Coruscant for the event in two months time.

Sion arrives on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple itself, and stares up at it for so long that he begins to feel sick to the gills.

He fumbles for his confirmation at the little table set up in the interior courtyard behind a side-entrance door. He is distracted by the fact that the woman he is standing in front of is a Jedi. She is helped by two small children and holds a baby who is dead-set on unraveling the knots that decorate her thick waist band. Even the baby is dressed in double-collared cream-colored robes.

Sion has so many questions he wants to ask.

The jedi asks him for his name. She has a collection of name badges before her, but none of them are his. He gives his name and the master turns to the little girl sat at her right elbow with a brush in hand and instructs her to write it out.

The jedi child—not an apprentice, her robes are cream still, there are no additional earth-colors layered on top of it—writes Sion’s name in beautiful script on a little card and hands the card to the master, who puts it in a holder with a pin on it and places it into Sion’s hand.

She instructs him to go through the side door and enjoy some refreshments before the event begins. The baby in her lap looks up at her abruptly and bonks his sweet little head against her chin.

Sion forgets himself.

“How old?” he asks automatically, gesturing to the baby.

The master looks down into her lap.

“He is eight months and 75% lung,” she says affectionately.

“Ah. Mine was like that, too,” Sion says. “He grew out of it. He’s only 40% lung now.”

The master smiles.

Sion removes himself from her table before he embarrasses himself further.

There are enough people inside the front room of the jedi’s visitor’s wing to nearly fill it to capacity. The volume, though everyone is whispering, is great enough to be heard from outside the door. The room itself is earth-colored with a high ceiling. Its walls all contain niches with rounded borders. Columns with deep-cut creases in them arch high to the skylights.

It is all beautifully geometric, stoic, and clean. And even though the walls and floor are built from materials of warm tones, the skylights overhead and the surrounding addtion of books and holorecords set into the walls lend it a cooling quality.

What should have been imposing architectural feels more like holy space. The room is one that reverberates with reminders to respect all around you.

Sion’s fingers yearn to document this, but there is a sign right by the room’s entrance that asks politely for no recordings or holographs to be taken.

“Professor Jissard,” a familiar voice says.

Sion feels his whole body droop. He turns to see Teo Detras stood before him in his obnoxious, roaring red robes.

“I’m pleased that you too were able to secure an invitation, sir,” Teo says as though he has not attempted to place Sion on the metaphysical chopping block for each of his premises since the time they began their academic programs.

Sion opens his mouth to point out that this is also his area of study and that Teo has no monopoly on the field of Jedi architecture when a quiet passes over the room. Sion watches the heads around him lift and searches for the source of the sudden shudder of silence.

He finds it in a tall master with dark skin standing at the very front of the space. The man has tucked his hands neatly into the mouths of his sleeves.

He is Jedi Master and General Mace Windu. Sion has read and reread his essays, not caring so much for what he is talking about but how he is talking about it. His metaphors and examples should have been insight into the common experiences of those living in the Jedi temple.

Sion has found, however, that Jedi Master Mace Windu does not especially care for eloquence or metaphor. He cares only to methodically destroy the argument (if it could be called that) published by a jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn many years ago. Though Master Jinn has not published for several decades now, Master Windu’s writings remain agitated by his interpretations of the jedi’s Spiritual energy, the Force.

Just gazing upon the man now, Sion would not think him capable of agitation.

Master Windu welcomes the academics to the temple and says that he regrets not having more time to speak with each of the attendees as individuals, but there is a war on and his clone troopers require his services. He encourages people to refrain from any recordings of the temple due to its sacred nature, and he asks that attendees be mindful of the jedi Initiates (the white-robed children) who are confused and intrigued by all of the non-jedi people inhabiting their usual playroom.

He cautions everyone that if anyone slips on a toy, he warned them, and the temple is not liable for their medical bills.

This is a joke.

People are unsure of whether or not to laugh. Some laugh awkwardly far too late. Master Windu gives no sign on his face that he appreciates or disapproves of this.

Instead, he steps from his space of honor and leaves in his place a young man with feathery blonde hair and a highly expressive countenance, who drops his armload of documents on the floor obnoxiously and flings himself down to snatch up only the conference program, as if this was the most efficient way of finding it.

People know to laugh this time.

The young man begins announcing panel topics and rooms and give his strong opinions on each of them.

More people laugh. It feels less like a sin.

“And that’s all, my dears and darlings,” the young man says, “Mind your step into the conference rooms, our predecessors derived joy from an unexpected drop.”

Sion has only one panel that he will kill at minimum three bodies to sit in on. It is the one on peace strategy and resource management. He is not here for the peace strategy or the resource management parts of the talk; his burning interest yearns instead in listening to how and if people talk about their space and things. He wants to write down the language they use. He wants to learn about the physicality of peace.

He thinks ‘The Physicality of Peace’ would make a very compelling title for another book.

So he slips through the arched doors of conference room 3 and finds himself in a tiered lecture theatre. There is a small balcony with rows of pew-like benches that hangs over a lower seating area. He takes a seat at the edge of the front pew and sets his datapad on his lap for note-taking. At the front of the room there is a long bench—not a quite table, but definitely a tall bench, and behind it, there is an enormous screen for displaying images and information. Someone has very kindly thought to place a jug of water and some cups at the center of the bench by a microphone.

Sion gets the impression from its awkward, dead-center placement that it is an addition that the jedi themselves usually forego.

He wonders what that means. He only wonders for about 15 seconds before a hand touches his shoulder and he jerks in alarm.

“My apologies, sir. We were just wondering if the space next to you is available?” says the smooth-faced, copper-haired man standing above him.

He is wearing white armor on top of his layered robes. The arms and legs that emerge from his long off-white tunic are dark in color, but his boots are hard and white and come up and over his kneecaps.

Sion is speechless.

This is General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has touched Sion’s shoulder and apologized to him.

He doesn’t have words. He can only make fish-mouthed motions and then point and nod.

General Kenobi accepts this with grace and stands up straight. He waves behind him to call his companions over to join him on the balcony’s edge.

They arrive as a pack.

Instead of coming around and staggering past Sion’s knees at the edge of the bench, General Kenobi climbs over its back and settles in. He then twists back over the row and holds his hands out; a Clone Trooper in full armor hands to him a strange bundle of woolen, brown robe. It produces legs and arms and then bright blue and white lekku once Kenobi has situated it next to him.

“Fooled ‘em,” the little Togruta that emerges from the cloth says brightly.

“Shh,” Kenobi says. “Cody, you next.”

“No, I want Rex to sit with me.”

“Ahsoka, shhh.”

“Rex.”

“Child, this is how people like me get banned from meetings; you’re not even supposed to see—”

“REX.”

“HUSH. Okay, okay. Rex. Pst. Cody, get Rex. Cody, oh for the love of—Wolffe, yes—no. Wolffe, look at me. Get Cody to get Rex.”

Sion cannot believe what he is seeing. General Kenobi appears to be sneaking half of his command into the balcony area. There are more than a few clone troopers there are at least twenty. They are somehow visibly excited despite their matching helmets. The General is able to tell them apart easily. He leans over the back of the bench again and crooks his finger at one of the troopers who leans forward. He tells them to throw something at their commander.

The Clone takes off his glove, stands, and nail a clone standing in the aisle in the head with it. The slap of contact makes this clone cease speaking in serious low tones with a clone decorated with blue edging in front of him. The first clone draws himself up perfectly straight and turns around with a fury that even Sion can feel the heat of.

His armor is painted yellow in places.

He holds the glove in his hand like a threat. The clone who threw it winces and points wordlessly to General Kenobi, then sits down in a hurry. Kenobi smiles wide and white. He has freckles on his face that do not appear on any of the images of him that appear on the news.

He’s also shorter than Sion himself, even sitting.

“Sir,” the white and yellow clone says stiffly.

“Rex,” Kenobi says through that threat of a smile. “Get over here.”

The Togruta child twists around excitedly as the clone in white and blue exits the conversation with the one in white and yellow and surveys the rows of his fellows piled into the space behind the General and the child. He has to squeeze past the line of knees and then climb over the bench to sit down next to the child, who immediately cuddles up to him.

“Hey, that’s my seat,” a new voice whispers.

Sion looks back to see General Quinlan Vos with his arms crossed over his chest, recognizable in any setting. Behind him is General Koon. General Kenobi slaps a hand to his forehead and grumbles, then shoos the blue edged clone and the child a few seats down.

The generals clamber just as awkwardly as the blue clone through the sea of knees of the troopers and then over the back of the bench.

Somehow, Sion has won the jackpot. He is now surrounded by jedi culture, literally.

“All of you, back,” Kenobi snaps down the bench when everyone is just starting to get comfortable. “Cody. Commander, come here.”

The clone trooper with the yellow edging does not want to play this game. He shifts his weight back onto his other heel as Kenobi pats the newly vacated space next to him. General Vos croons in a teasing tone something about Kenobi being especially fond of this clone.

Kenobi lurches out across the empty seat to punch him in the gut and then returns peacefully to patting the space over the sound of Vos’s moaning.

The Clone Commander has no choice. His general is giving him a directive. He gives in to the inevitable and makes his way through the knees and—much more neatly than the others—steps over the back of the bench to its seat and then into sitting. Kenobi beams at him, practically purring.

Sion needs desperately to take notes, but the subjects of said notes are right there and rudeness is intolerable in retaining his vantage point.

He fights the urge to vibrate in space as the lights begin to dim overhead and the panel chairman comes out to introduce the topic and speakers. It is only about a minute or so when a hand lands firmly on Kenobi’s right shoulder—the one by Sion’s arm. Sion jumps, but Kenobi resolutely stares directly down at the speaker.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Mace Windu’s low, low voice says right into the space between Kenobi and Sion’s ears, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kenobi begins to melt but catches himself.

“You didn’t for a while,” he said.

“Get her out of here.”

“She has a right to see her Master.”

“What part of these orders are challenging for you?”

Kenobi still does not turn around to see Master Windu, but his eyebrows sink and his brow becomes more pronounced.

“No padawans,” Master Windu says. “Ahsoka. Out.”

The togruta, still bedecked in that heavy cloak, turns to stare owlishly at Master Windu while the person at the front of the room moves on to introducing the next speaker.

“But I’m not a padawan,” the child says. “I’m obnoxious. Master Kenobi said so.”

Kenobi holds his face in a hand.

“You can be both. Come,” Master Windu says, holding out a hand.

“But I’m a cloak,” Ahsoka tries instead.

Kenobi crumples further. Master Windu’s hand finds his shoulder again. Sion can feel its heat.

“If not her, then you,” he says.

“After,” Kenobi says.

“I’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

Master Windu vanishes from behind them. Sion shudders. Kenobi turns to the side and hisses at Ahsoka,

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You’re my co-conspirator,” Ahsoka hisses back. “My—my—Rex, what’s the word?”

Clone Commander Rex does not want to give her the word. Ahsoka tugs at him.

“Rex,” she insists.

“Enabler,” Commander Rex says with bitter regret coating his words.

Ahsoka beams over the laps of the other Generals at Kenobi. He glares back through a squint. He starts to say something, but General Vos tells him to shut up in a sharp tone.

Sion looks back to the front of the room and finds that a young man with dark hair has come out to the center of the front table-bench to speak.

He is a jedi. His robes, however, are dark in color. Blacks and browns with knee-high boots.

He’s very young. Very, very young.

And nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Even from the balcony seats, Sion can see his hands shaking. He is holding a stack of white paper. It is trembling like a branch on a windy day.

“Go, go, Master, go, go,” chants little Ahsoka.

Sion finds himself abruptly appalled by the realization that the child on center stage is the master of the child a few seats over from him.

General Koon gently shushes Ahsoka. Commander Rex helpfully wraps a gloved hand over the bottom half of her face to keep her distracted.

Sion looks from them to the young man and finds that he’s already knocked over the jug of water on the bench and looks about ready to sob about it. He gathers himself, though, and brings the microphone closer to him.

He is General Anakin Skywalker, Sion now understands. He is the first speaker and he’s never in his life presented a paper at a professional conference before.

His voice shakes as he reads out the title of the article that he published (and that Sion has read) on battlefield surrender. After the second paragraph, Sion brings a hand to his lip to help him contain the emotions that come with the understanding that this boy is about to read his article, word for word, in front of a room full of academics.

He thinks now that he has been too harsh with his students.

General Skywalker is not a strong public speaker. Clearly, his expertise is in action. He stammers. He loses his place in his reading and accidentally rereads three whole sentences. Only twice does he look up from his paper, and each time it is not at the audience but at Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat next to Sion, serious as a plague.

Kenobi nods sagely.

General Skywalker is General Kenobi’s apprentice. Was General Kenobi’s apprentice. However, it is clear to all who are present today that General Skywalker is still General Kenobi’s apprentice. Desperate, the poor thing is, for Kenobi’s reassurance.

His confidence in reading grows under his former (current?) master’s approving eye until he turns a page and—horror of horrors—drops the stack of paper.

Sion’s whole body tenses in sympathy and second-hand embarrassment. Skywalker flings himself down and messily collects the papers. He hurriedly reorders them, all while stuttering ‘ums’ and ‘uhs.’

Yet, when Sion chances a peek down the line of Generals next to him, he finds that not a single one has winced. No one has laughed. Even the clone troopers all around them are as silent and steady as the night itself.

It seems like they are all listening intently to their young General on center stage. The only giveaway that sympathy is being had by any is the tiny gesture Clone Commander Rex is making with his hand. He is moving it almost imperceptibly in a circle, as if to say ‘come on, come on.’

Sion looks back to young Skywalker and waits patiently as he finds his place and carries on reading again, this time faster. This time he does not look up for his master’s eye.

He wants only for the torture to end.

He gets to the end of his paper without dropping it or repeating himself and is flushed red. He does not ask for questions. He merely says quietly into the microphone, “Thank you.”

The panel chair waits a beat before walking over to Skywalker and asking the crowd for questions on his behalf. Skywalker becomes even more luminous. Sion cannot decide whether asking a question would be more or less stressful for this poor boy.

No one asks a question.

The panel chair then starts to ask for applause for Skywalker, but before he can even finish the sentence the whole balcony breaks into uproar.

General Kenobi hoots and whistles piercingly in Sion’s ear. General Vos claps and shouts what sounds like ‘You FUCKING did it, kid. You FUCKING did it. Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH,” the Clone Troopers behind General Vos finish for him in perfect unity.

“Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH.”

More applause and congratulations erupts after this.

General Skywalker slams his paper into his face and bursts into tears at the front of the room.

He bolts for a doorway that Sion hadn’t even noticed was right next to the bench. General Kenobi whacks at his Clone Commander’s shoulder, and Commander Cody wraps hands around his waist and hoists him up so that he’s standing on the guardrail at the edge of the balcony. He leaps from there to the lower level then goes jogging out the same doorway his former apprentice ran through.

After another moment or two, Commander Cody stands up and snaps at the whole collection of troopers in their language. Everyone shuts up and sits back down. Commander Rex gestures for Ahsoka to put up her hood and takes from General Vos a small datapad which he gives to the child—presumably for her to occupy herself with for the next hour and a half of papers. She takes it and immediately becomes absorbed in its lightly-glowing screen.

The balcony is once again on its best behavior.

Sion doesn’t bother with listening to any of the other papers. He feels no shame at all in beginning to furiously take notes on his last twenty-five minutes with the jedi.

Upon leaving the conference room nearly two hours later, he finds himself swept up in the clone troopers’ swift and orderly exit from the space. They line up outside the hall in lines by regiment and they wait for their commanders and generals to arrive before marching back towards the visitors’ wing’s exit.

After two or three minutes, only two lines remain.

Clone Commander Rex and Clone Commander Cody stand perfectly at attention beside their lines of men. Clone Commander Rex has his jedi’s apprentice thrown over his shoulder; he has balanced her on one arm while she sleeps.

It’s very sweet. She obviously trusts the Clone Commander very much.

“Gentlemen.”

The clones snap to even tighter attention as General Mace Windu appears, walking briskly their way.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to them. “Commanders, you will remain. Obi-Wan and Anakin will join us shortly.”

“Sir,” both commanders say simultaneously.

There is a pause, and Sion sees that all of these people are now looking at him.

“Can we help you, sir?” General Windu asks.

Yes. And Sion will pay any amount of money to just know this one thing. This teeny, tiny detail.

“Sir?”

“Is that normal for you?” he blurts out.

The Clone Commanders stare. The general stares. The apprentice coughs lightly in her sleep.

“I regret to say that it is not only normal, but expected of these general and units,” General Windu says. “Please vacate this area.”

Right.

“Thank you,” Sion says.

He stiff-legs it back to the crowd of other academics and hunts down a liquid to soothe his parched throat.

The new book’s title will not be ‘The Physicality of Peace.’ It will be ‘All is Fair in Love and War: The Jedi Order and Ideologies of Family, Part I.’

--------------- Yeah, so anyways, Myth and I decided that Anakin is bad at public speaking and nothing anyone says can take this from me now, I’m invincible. (If you want this on Ao3 let me know).

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #the clone wars #clones #guys sometimes anakin is allowed to be cute #but only like every so often I don't want him getting uppity #and thinking I actually like him or something like that #ahsoka and rex's relationship is everything to me #fic #ficlet

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traumacatholic · 3 years ago

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Praise thy Saviour, O Sion! praise thy guide and shepherd, in hymns and canticles. As much as thou hast power, so also dare; for He is above all praise, nor canst thou praise Him enough. This day, there is given to us a special theme of praise, the living and life-giving Bread, Which, as our faith assures us, was given to the Twelve brethren, as they sat at the Table of the holy Supper. Let our praise be full, let it be sweet; let our soul's jubilee be joyous, let it be beautiful; For we are celebrating that great day, whereon is commemorated the first institution of this Table. In this Table of the new King, the new Pasch of the new Law puts an end to the old Passover. Newness puts the old to flight, and so does truth the shadow; the light drives night away. What Christ did at that Supper, that He said was to be done in remembrance of Him. Taught by His sacred institutions, we consecrate the Bread and Wine into the victim of salvation. This is the dogma given to Christians, that bread passes into flesh, and wine into blood. What thou understandest not, what thou seest not, that let a generous faith confirm thee in, beyond nature's course. Under the different species, which are signs not things, there hidden lie things of infinite worth. The Flesh is food, the Blood is drink; yet Christ is whole, under each species. He is not cut by the receiver, nor broken, nor divided: He is taken whole. He is received by one, He is received by a thousand; the one receives as much as all; nor is He consumed, Who is received. The good receive, the bad receive, but with the difference of life or death. 'Tis death to the bad, 'tis life to the good: lo! how unlike is the effect of the one like receiving. And when the Sacrament is broken, waver not! but remember, that there is as much under each fragment, as is hid under the whole. Of the substance that is there, there is no division; it is but the sign that is broken; and He Who is the Signified, is not thereby diminished, either as to state or stature. Lo! the Bread of Angels is made the food of pilgrims; verily, it is the Bread of the children, not to be cast to dogs. It is foreshown in figures, when Isaac is slain, when the Paschal Lamb is prescribed, when Manna is given to our fathers. O good Shepherd! true Bread! Jesus! have mercy upon us: feed us, defend us: give us to see good things in the land of the living. O Thou, Who knowest and canst do all things, Who feedest us mortals here below, make us to be Thy companions in the banquet yonder above, and thy joint-heirs, and fellow-citizens with the Saints! Amen. Alleluia.

#Catholic #Catholicism #Christian #Christianity #Prayer #Hymn

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domestic-iliad · 4 years ago

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Tonight There Is Rest

Pure fluffy prose of Melkor and Marion enjoying some well needed rest, and being in love. Written all fancy for no reason.

Read on AO3 under domestic_iliad or read below.

Tonight Marion rests well, grasped in heavy arms the weight of mountains. Tonight Melkor's mighty chest rises up and presses into Marion's back, his breaths deep and steady; a sound that consumes the silence. A sound of rest. Of ease. The only other sound that of a fireplace, cracking rhythmically behind them. A sound that is mere background to the music of Melkor's breath. For it is music, sweet and enrapturing, to Marion. Just the mere breath holds him as equally as the arms. His hand- those blackened hands- rests one on Marion's stomach, and the other lazily against the bed, slack in front of his Maia, his arm caught under his side. His precious Maia is curled up in front of him, his back pressed as firmly into the Vala as he can be without becoming something incorporeal- to be absorbed into Melkor as one is to be surrounded completely by darkness. Could he be any closer, there is no doubt to Melkor that he would chose to be. That he would be consumed without thought, without hesitation. That his Maia would crawl inside his chest and live within his heart if it were at all possible. That he would carve out a home there. But the way Melkor holds him- has he not already done so? Does he not already live there?

Tonight, Melkor, Lord of Darkness, holds a bright flame in his grasp, and he breathes something powerful into his ear. Something sacred. Something holy. It is said in but a heavy whisper, and it is answered when Marion pulls Melkor's right arm up and into his chest, and his heart speaks for him words that he cannot muster. For all of its power, all of its holiness, it is not enough. They are words that are too weak in his mouth, no matter the language. Words that are not strong enough, not deep enough, not powerful enough. For no language can speak of his devotion, of his worship, of anything that he wishes to convey to his Master. They are too weak when he means them so deeply. The words have never been enough, and tonight they don't come close enough to even mutter. Tonight his heart sings for him a song that they share, and their hearts sing it in harmony. Melkor's dark hand remains over Marion's heart, and its thump under his palm is more beautiful that any music Eru, the Valar, or even Melkor himself could make. It is more perfect than any creation before or after it; and it speaks more powerfully than any words either of them could put together.

Tonight Marion holds his hand over Melkor's, and while it is smaller its grip is firm enough to make Melkor pull in even closer, press in even harder. He is desperate to hold, to have, and to never release. In this moment he cups the Vala's hand in his as if they are melded together, and he breathes at ease with his palm to his chest. He is gentle with the burnt hand; gentle- but unwavering in pressure. Here, there is flesh that touches flesh, corporeal and present, and Marion finds comfort in knowing that to Melkor he belongs; in all times, over all spans of distance, but right now here, laying in his hold. He has carved a home in this bed and this melody sings of his place. It sings of his complete and total devotion, of his respect, his passion, his worship, and his adoration. Tonight he feels the rise and fall of Melkor's mighty chest behind him. He feels the sacred song beat into him. He feels the hold of great mountains. He feels the heat of charred hands that touch only him uncovered. And he finds respite in knowing that as much as he is Melkor's- Melkor is his as well. And in this moment, nothing can part them. Their souls meld together in the chill of the darkness and the heat of the forge- melt into a comfortable warmth that steadies them both. In this moment their hearts sing one melody, of words whispered and words unspoken.

Tonight Melkor lifts a lazy hand up to hold Marion tigher, and still it is not tight enough. It is not close enough. It is never close enough. But Marion sings with him beneath the crackling of burning logs, under the light scent of wood and warmth, and that is enough. They sing together something that causes even Melkor, in all his disdain, in all of his power and pride, to thank Eru for the music that sung into creation Marion, that he was granted the chance to hear a music that made him bend to it. That he might listen to the perfection of Marion's heartbeat, and hold him tight enough that they could become one, with but little more pulling. To the mighty Vala, Marion is the most beautiful thing ever created, and Melkor's song speaks that none may ever come close to comparing to him. It pounds into their embrace that Marion is above all servants, is above all of Angband, is above everything. It pounds into his Maia that Melkor will only ever hold him, that there is nothing, no-one else, that would ever be worth Melkor's embrace. It is a song that is stronger than any words he could ever offer the flame. And yet, it is still not strong enough. But Melkor could come up with no stronger song. He could not create a more powerful music than his heart beating in rhythm with Marion's.

Tonight, they are tranquil in their embrace. Tonight the Maia rests in Melkor's hold, his Lord unfaltering in his grip. He lulls to sleep feeling as if there is nothing else in all of Arda- in all of Ea- but Melkor and himself, locked in an eternal hold, his heart beating in Melkor's palm, Melkor's beating against his back. Melkor finds his own kind of rest watching his flame breath lightly under his hold, safe, and warm. He needs not the sleep, but he will hold Marion through the night, and listen to his song far past Marion being able to hear it. He will listen as it relaxes, as it rises, as it falls, as Irmo graces his Maia with dreams.

They have this moment. Respite. A breath. Let them have this. Let them indulge in the music of beating hearts. Of shared touches. Of closeness.

For tomorrow, Melkor will leave his Maia's side. Tomorrow Marion will worry, and he will only worry more as the hours stretch in to days. He will pace the halls until his footsteps wear a groove into the floor. Tomorrow he will get news, late into the night, that Melkor stands trial in Valinor. He will get news that his master has been imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos, and he will let out a scream that shakes all of Angband. Tomorrow will be the start of waiting, patiently, for Melkor's return. For a chance to free him. And he will be loyal, and he will do his Lord's work. But there will be no mountain to press into, no charred hands to hold, no shared melody to sing him to sleep. The Maia will be alone in his bed and lost. He will be full of sorrow and anger. He will be afraid and restless, and sleep will not come. He will be missing a part of him and he will find no true rest.

But tonight, they are clueless in the absence to come.

Tonight gives something for them to hold onto. Tonight, they are safe in Angband, and their hearts beat together. Tonight, their breath rise and fall in pace with each other. Tonight Melkor watches over Marion, his Marion, his flame Imperishable, and he feels a beautiful thing that no Valar could ever hope to witness. The song of Marion's heart underneath his fingertips. Tonight, there is respite. There is rest. And there is Marion, and Melkor, in an embrace stronger than anything in Arda. Tonight, there is rest. Let them have this. For it will be long until Melkor hold Marion again. It will be long until they sing the sweet music.

But tonight, they sing and they rest.

#angbang #the silmarillion #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #the silm fandom #silmarillion #melkor #sauron #marion #morgoth #fluff #dark lords in love

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years ago

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Let him go, pt.2

Summary: When Nick decided to keep Y/N out of the loop regarding Lucifer Morningstar, he never imagined one of his worst fears would come to life - to lose her.

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 2.2k

Part 1

“I can go in there.” I spoke up, annoyed sitting on the sidelines and being kept out of the loop. If Nick had anything to do with it, I’d have ended up either dead or in the church with the rest of them. I was lucky not to be at the Academy when the hunters came, even luckier I had found a pastime with a riveting Summoning and Bounding literature masterpieces.

“No. Not gonna happen.” Nick waved me off, not bothering to spare me a glance and I scoff.

“Why not?” Harvey raised an eyebrow, eyeing me with interest. He definitely had questions.

“Yeah…Why not?” Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my head to the right ever so slightly with the faintest, coldest smile I could muster.

“Because I don’t want you there.” Nick’s lips press together and I roll my eyes, but Sabrina was faster than me with her reply.

“I’ll go. I was baptized with holy water, remember?” She smirked, shrugging my way.

“So was I.” I raise my hand, stating it a bit too bitterly. Jealousy isn’t easy, especially not when it’s between two women who greatly respect each other.

“I am half angel. I reckon I have a good chance to stop them.” Yet my mouth keeps moving as if I want to say YOU’RE NOT THAT SPECIAL SPELLMAN, but I don’t say it. I don’t, but I can sense someone’s in my mind, probing for answers. Usually I’d assume it’s the Weird sisters, but this is Ambrose. I just know it.

“NO. They despise nephillims more than witches!” Nick raises his voice, turning to me with a hostile look in his usually loving eyes. The hostility doesn’t come from anger or hate, it’s not animosity, rather worry. It’s fear. “I will.” Sabrina repeats with a sigh, glancing between Nick and me. His eyes remain on me, lips pursing as the eye contact breaks and I finally feel like I can breathe. “You’re not seriously gonna let her go alone, are you? It’s a suicide mission.” Harvey’s eyes wander to me, pleading. He wants me to go, especially after he heard of my roots – a half witch is usually less than impressive, but a half angel with witch blood is unseen. Well…until I appeared. “You don’t seriously think I tell her what to do, do you?” Nick smirks, shrugging it off. He watched them leave, his back turned to me and I felt uncomfortable for the first time since I’ve met him. Nick had let his girlfriend go, yet asked me to stay.

“I couldn’t…I can’t risk you. You’re all I have in this wretched life and if something happened to you, I don’t think I’d survive it.”

His words aimed for my heart and I flinch with the sheer intensity of the truth hidden within each, emotional syllable. It was the first time he had made me feel as if I matter since Sabrina came along. I felt loved. I felt needed.

It didn’t last.

A week later he and I parted ways.

Nick stayed true to his word, giving me space to breathe and he had his hands full with the new Sabrina and her wish to convert the coven into a church per her father’s view. She wanted to make a difference and while I agreed with some of the teaching, I didn’t fall prey to her charm. Something didn’t feel right and while I was expertly kept out of the loop, I had time to realize how much of my life revolved around Nick.

What little I had left of him felt as if it never existed.

I can’t lie and say he didn’t reach out a few times. It wasn’t a face to face talk, but I did get a few messages on my arm – a little secret we used to have. An enchanted pen to talk in class, when he was away for holidays. It was our way to always stay in contact and from what I’ve learned, he had given our secret away when he made the same pen and gave it to Sabrina. I was no longer our thing. It was just a thing.

“You really should be more careful with your thoughts.” Ambrose Spellman settles beside me, a small smile playing on his lips as if he isn’t here to reprimand me for the distasteful thoughts I’ve had about his cousin.

“Stop peering into my mind and you won’t be as insulted.” I shrug, turning my attention back to the book I’ve been studying. I have always been one of the best students at the Academy. I’d go as far as to claim I’m at the same level as Nick, if not better.

“You do realize Nick is miserable without you.” Ambrose leans on his elbow, smirking once he notices I closed my eyes. “He’s always talking about you. I’m genuinely concerned Sabrina will spell his mouth shut.” He chuckles, looking around as if to make sure we’re alone. “I mean, there’s an apocalypse happening and in an hour, yet he’s still only interested in threatening everyone not to tell you a single word about it.”

Snapping the book shut, I sit up straighter and turn to Ambrose. “What, in the name of Satan, are you talking about?!” The smallest of smiles appear on my lips, assumptions of it being a well-crafted lie making my heart remain steady. However, the smallest inkling of it being a truth thrashed my usually peaceful mind.

“Sabrina’s father, aka Satan, wants to make her his queen and from what I’ve realized, it is happening tonight and we made plans to trap the dark lord but I have a feeling it might not be as easy.” Ambrose pauses as he notices me pale and I’m sure I’m barely keeping a straight face at this point. “Everyone’s in it, but you. Even the mortals.” Ambrose leans back, having set the bait and he knows this will be the reason why I engage.

“We’ll be waiting. You might want to pop in for the coronation.” Ambrose raised both hands in mock surrender as if he didn’t just drop a major bomb my way. He made his way out of the library while I grabbed my bag and frantically searched for the pen.

CORONATION?!

No response.

NICK!!

No response. I know he sees it. I know he feels it. But if he knew me, he knew it would only provoke me. Just because we lost each other doesn’t mean I don’t love him – as a friend, as a woman. I need him, even if he doesn’t really need me back. He may think he does, but he doesn’t.

I am the one who needs his whispers and smiles. I’m the one who needs promises sweet as the touch of his hand. I was a slow dying flower, turning sour and untouchable when he found me. He saved me. And ever since then I’ve needed the darkness, the sweetness and even now I need the sadness and weakness coming from loving him. I need his voice to lull me to sleep, his fingers running through my hair, the tender touches that brought me peace.

I need him. It was dark enough, he saw me, he had me – he just didn’t want me. He made his choice and I know what that choice brings. He’ll do anything for Sabrina. It’s who he is, how he always wanted to love and he will risk everything.

At the end of the day, I’m the one who has nothing left to lose. He has everything to live for. I love him enough to let him go…to protect him while I do it.

With a snap of my fingers, a long, blood red dress wraps around my body. The lace weaves around my arms into long sleeves, the silk falling down to my feet. A slight chill runs down my spine as wind dances along my uncovered back and I smile – the dress is perfect. With a sigh, a spell the only earthly possession I care about onto my neck, the pendant with his initials resting just above my low-cut decollete.

“So you always have me close to you.” Nick smiles widely and my heart stops. He’s so beautiful. I wonder if he knows that he’s more than just a body though. He’s beautiful, inside and out. And he’s gifting me jewelry, something I’ve never had. How did he know?

Struggling to keep my tears in, I smile, looking down on the half a heart pendant. “I love it.”

I love you. I wanted to tell him. I did. I wanted him to know and to hell with it, but I couldn’t. To be so brave, to tell him what weighs on me is to risk losing him. He’d be uncomfortable around me if he didn’t feel it and I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

Instead of waiting for an invite, I followed the screams.

“Lanuae Magicae.”

Transporting myself into the ballroom wasn’t the plan, but I had to hurry. And I was right to.

“Well played, Spellman.” I hear Nick’s voice, instinctively looking for him and it seems as if he had felt me too as he turns to me, our eyes meeting. The surprise passing his features made my lips twitch, wanting to smile. It’s inevitable – Nick always makes me smile. But our reunion is cut short, the prison they tried to hold Satan in falling apart and I step back, looking to Nick in a panic, but he’s looking at her. He always is. “You try and try to defeat me. I am the Great Satan that no prison may contain!” Ignoring how handsome Lucifer is, I close my eyes and swallow thickly. Opening them again, I look at him and every time I look at him I know. I know he’s never going to be mine. But I can make sure he has his happy ending. “I can’t restrain him for long.” Sabrina warns and I take a step closer while Nick speaks. I always believed he’d be back to me – that we’d become more in time and we’d work out. We’d be the couple everyone envies – the power couple. I always wondered how he looks at me with so much love and tenderness but holds not romantic feelings. “There’s nothing stronger than an Acheron.” Nick exclaims, panic written on his face, fear rising in his eyes and clouding his judgment.

“Incorrect, Mr. Scratch. The mightiest prison is the first one, created by the False God. The human body. Flesh and bone. The strongest and most sacred bindings in nature.” Lilith explains, her own fear evident as she looks to Lucifer who was ready to kill everyone in the room. “It has to be me.” Sabrina says and I hear him scream “No” as he used to do for me. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t. He’d do anything for her and I’d do anything for him. “I’m the best binder and conjuror since Edward Spellman. If anyone can keep Him trapped, it’s me.” He exclaims, but I shake my head and look back at him only to see anything but certainty in his eyes. He feels like he must do it.

“No.” I step forth, determined – more than he is. “I am the best binder and conjuror.” Smiling, truthfully, I speak before he can interrupt me. “You love her. I love you. This is a testament to how much. Don’t forget me.” I plead, keeping my eyes on him as his lips quiver and shock paralyzes him. “Carne teneantur tenere tenebrasque.” I begin without so much as blinking. I don’t want to miss a single moment of the last time I will ever see him. Nick is trashing against someone. They’re holding him back. He’s muttering something and I can’t understand what, my focus must remain untouched. “Palatium, carcere…” And my mind darkens.

Gasping, I find myself on the sidelines, my body no longer mine to control as I leap toward Sabrina only for my eyes to close with Ambrose’s spell. “A sleeping spell. Well done.”

I think to myself, keeping an ear out to the outside. I can hear them, but it’s distant.

“You’ve made a big mistake, little nephillim.” Lucifer appears and I roll my eyes at him.

“Shh.” I point up, telling him to listen which only insults him.

“HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO SHUT UP?!”

“Gah, you’re annoying.” I groan, casting a spell to bind him but it doesn’t work.

“Really thought you’re in control? Think again, little one!”

“Shit!”

What I didn’t know is how they decided my fate after I’ve fallen. “What happens now?” Sabrina asks, watching Nick crying over Y/N’s body, calling for her, muttering spells like it would make a difference. “You won’t like it, I’m afraid.” Lilith frowns, a sincere look of compassion in the borrowed eyes of Mary Wardwell.

“You’re not touching her!” Nick growls, his eyes focusing on her pale face and dark red lips – his favorite lipstick from the past times she’d asked for his opinion. He always chooses maroon. He won’t be able to again.

“She’s not going to Hell with you. I will make an impenetrable room at the Academy.” Nick promised, his heart aching and breaking at the sight of his necklace resting on her chest. She wore it – even now.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” And that’s when Nick fell asleep too.

PART 3

#nick scratch #nick scratch x reader #nick scratch angst #chilling adventures of sabrina #nicholas scratch x reader #nicholas scratch angst #gavin leatherwood

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impala-dreamer · 4 years ago

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Two Weeks Notice - Day Eight

~With the world practicing self-isolation, Y/N and Dean break all the rules of social distancing and common decency as they explore an empty bunker and use the time alone to their playful advantage…~

Dean x Reader

3,575 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Toy Play. Edging. Remote Control Vibe. Dom!Dean. Sir!Kink. Sex in an uncomfortable place (not the back of a volkswagen).

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Y/N stood at the side of the bed and checked the time on her phone again, deciding enough was enough.

Very slowly, she slid into bed beside Dean and curled up next to him, tucking her knees and hands against her chest. She was careful not to touch him, not wanting him to wake just yet. She stared for a while, like she loved to do, attempting for the thousandth time to count every freckle on his sleeping face. She never made it past thirty before he either woke to disrupt her or she got so distracted by his beauty that she lay into kissing him instead.

She interrupted herself this time, too excited not to rouse him. With the tip of her index finger, Y/N softly traced the line of his nose from bridge to tip and then again as she whispered his name.

“Dean…”

He wriggled his nose and huffed. “I’m asleep.”

She laughed under her breath and ran her finger over his nose again. “Time to get up.”

He groaned and jerked his head to the side, trying to swat her away. “You promised me a nap.”

“And nap you did. It’s nearly three. Get up.” She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. She meant to hop out of bed immediately after, but Dean’s reflexes were quick, and he grabbed her arm, yanking her down for a proper kiss.

His arm locked her to him, clamping down and around the small of her back like a gate closing. He moaned into her mouth, leisurely licking at her gasping lips, and Y/N felt the stir of desire ready to distract her fully.

“Nope!” She pushed him back and sat up, quickly shaking off the shiver of need.

Dean popped up as well. “Excuse me?” His forehead creased adorably as he questioned her departure.

Y/N crossed her arms. “I have plans for today.”

Dean groaned and fell back against his pillow. “You always have plans.”

Offended, Y/N pushed at his nearest shoulder and damn near rolled him out of bed. “We can stop anytime you want. Just sit here and stare at the walls for another week.”

Dean sighed. “Fine.”

“Don’t fucking sigh at fucking. What’s wrong with you, old man?”

He half turned, glaring over his shoulder at her.

“Stop being grumpy and go get the blue box from under my bed.”

“You get it.”

Y/N swiftly removed her shirt and tossed it in his face. “You get it.”

Dean rubbed a tired hand down his face and sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. “Why do you need your photos now?”

“Photos are in the green box,” she corrected. “I want the blue box. It’s towards the headboard next to the hatchet.”

He paused, hand on the doorknob. “Why do you have a hatchet under your bed?”

Y/N shrugged and settled into the pillows. “Grimes Protocol.”

Dean laughed and shook his head as he stepped into the hallway. “The Walking Dead isn’t real, Y/N!”

Grinning, she shimmied out of her panties. “You don’t know what this Corona-thing is gonna do! I’d rather be safe than dead!”

Her room wasn’t very far and even if it was, with the empty hallway, it was easy enough to talk through the space between. His voice was a little muffled by the distance, but Y/N could just picture his face.

“Holy crap!”

“Pick one!”

“What do you mean pick one?”

Y/N sat up and pushed her voice towards the open door. “I mean, pick one and get back here with it!”

“Can I pick two?”

She chewed her lip for a moment. She knew what was in the box and would not be opposed to him using more than one at a time. Not at all.

Before she could reply, Dean yelled, “Hey, what’s this pink squiggly thing?”

Her eyes lit up and her nipples hardened with excitement. “Bring it!”

The ‘pink squiggly thing’ was an internal, remote controlled vibrator, and one of Y/N’s favorite toys. Dean was a little annoyed that she had never shared the contents of her toy box with him, and thus decided to use the remote control app to his advantage, in a little game that he was making up as he was going along.

For the rest of the day, Y/N was to wear the toy, and only the toy, as she went about her usual routine. There were plenty of chores to be done around the Bunker, and Y/N was going to do them all while Dean did whatever he wanted. The catch was simple: whenever she got buzzed, she would fall to her knees and crawl to wherever Dean was and service him in any way he chose. It was only fair.

After all, she had disturbed his nap.

There was something intensely erotic about walking around the Bunker naked. Dean had been nice enough to let her wear socks, as the floors were always cold, but the rest of her was completely bare, on display for the ghosts that haunted the tiles.

Of course, there weren’t really any ghosts, but as she walked down the halls, she imagined the Men of Letters of old gasping and clutching their hearts as they saw her defiling their sacred underground lair. Oh, how they’d lose their minds.

With a proud smile, she shook her hips a little more as she carried the laundry basket to the machine. Even under quarantine, socks must be washed.

As she set the basket down in front of the washer, she felt a wave of vibration deep inside her cunt. Her body stiffened and her muscles squeezed against it, momentarily blocking any brain function as the pleasure took her by surprise. When she could think, she immediately dropped to her knees on the cold tile and turned, ready to crawl to her newly appointed master.

Dean wasn’t far, leaning in the doorway with a smirk on his lips and his phone in hand. He swiped his finger across the app and the vibration intensified, making Y/N shiver as she crossed the room to sit at his feet.

“Very good!” he praised, resisting the urge to reach down and pat her head like a dog. He knew she liked to be degraded, but that would probably have earned him a hard flick in the nuts.

Y/N licked her lips and sat back on her heels, clenching her thighs as the buzzer kept doing its job. She looked up and smiled, waiting. “How may I service you, Dean?”

He hummed and dropped the intensity. “Dean,” he echoed. “Sounds so... informal.”

She bit back a smirk. “I’m sorry.” Clearing her throat and squeezing her tits together, she tried again. How may I service you, Mr. Winchester?”

“Better,” he said with a shrug, tapping his screen to make the buzzing pulse at a steady pace. “But...let’s try… Sir. I think I’d like to hear that.”

Y/N closed her eyes as a wave of pleasure overtook her momentarily. She’d been wanting to call him that forever, that and more, but it was an awkward conversation. However, if they were already playing, and he was offering…

“Yes, Sir,” she cooed, looking up at him and batting her eyes. “How may I service you?”

A smile broke out across his face. “Oh, I like the sound of that.” He cocked his head and looked her over, deciding where to start. “Why don’t you rub those pretty tits for me? I want to see how hard your nipples can get.”

Y/N bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, Sir.” Both hands cupped her breasts and she bounced them for him, watching as his eyes widened with delight. A few twists and tugs on her nipples had them standing tall and each tweak made her shoulders twitch.

When her breath began to get heavy and her eyes refused to open, Dean turned off the app and her vibrator and shoved his phone in his back pocket. “That’s all for now. Get back to work.”

Y/N’s eyes were huge as he spun on his heel and walked away, shocked that he was actually leaving her like that. “Fuck,” she whispered to herself as she climbed to her feet. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

Dean was in the Library when Y/N walked in with her duster. She and Sam had a routine worked out where she knocked the dust onto the floor and he mopped it up. Seemed sort of silly for her to be reaching up so high when he was so tall already, but she figured the boys liked watching her climb and stretch and bend.

Dean was certainly appreciating it now. He pretended to read a book, something he had grabbed from the shelf without looking at the spine as he jumped into the armchair to beat her into the room, but his eyes were glued to Y/N’s bare ass as she fluttered around the room, cleaning.

As she dusted, she hummed to herself. It was a sweet familiar melody, something that Dean felt had a Disney ring to it. He smiled and gave up the ruse, closing the book in his lap and resting his chin in his hand, elbow on the arm of the chair.

Her nakedness stood out starkly against the stacks of books; she looked like a faerie floating about, whipping away dust with her feathery wings.

“So this is love...do do do do... so this is love…” Y/N made her way through the Library, flicking away every drop of dust and totally ignoring Dean. She could feel his eyes on her body, following wherever she went, but she kept her mind on her task. When she felt that she’d done enough, she looked around, hands on her naked hips, and nodded. “Very nice.”

Another swoosh of feathers against the nearest shelf and she took off, heading into the next room. As her foot hit the bottom stop, her vibrating bat signal went off.

Taken so by surprise, the feather duster fell from her hand like an angel falling from heaven. “Oh my…” She moaned at the violent pulsing against her g-spot and sank to her knees, slowly turning towards Dean.

His eyes were dark and mischievous as he controlled the toy, thumb sliding back and forth across the screen, mucking with the intensity and speed of the vibrations. With his free hand, he crooked a finger at her and puckered his lips, calling to her with two quick air kisses. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Y/N crawled to him, hands and knees flat on the polished floor, bare ass high and open for any eyes that would have a week ago been passing by. She shivered at the thought and bit her lip, holding in a tiny moan of weakness as Dean drove the toy to its highest setting.

As she grew closer, he let her stimulation ebb, slowly subsiding to a light and steady wave. She sank down further, laying on her forearms, panting slightly as she looked up at him.

Dean set the book down on the end table next to him and leaned forward, clasping his hands, elbows on his knees. “Hey there,” he grinned, body tingling with the power he held over her. “How ya feelin’?”

Almost out of breath, Y/N looked up, stretching her neck awkwardly to meet his gaze. “I’m pretty fucking horny, actually.”

Dean laughed and licked his lips. He scooted to the edge of the chair so he was even closer to her and whispered, “Is your pussy nice and wet?”

His voice ran down her spine like fire, and she nodded. “Very wet, Sir.”

He tapped his upper lip with one finger and then sat back, getting comfortable. “So play with it,” he ordered casually, resting one hand on his right thigh, watching.

Y/N swallowed hard and sat up, spreading her knees wide as she rested on her heels. One hand fell behind her, palm flat on the cold floor as the other slid down her belly and tapped gently on her clit. She bit her lip as the pleasure rolled through her; the vibe inside, her hand on her clit, it was all breathtaking and delicious.

Dean watched on as she rubbed, fiddling now and then with the controls. He loved the tremble in the soft flesh of her thighs; the way she began to bounce as if on his cock as she got closer to cumming. He kept a closer eye on that edge, making sure she rode it as long as possible without tipping over. When her stomach tightened too much, he eased up on the vibrations. When her panting ceased, he turned it up. When her eyes began to roll and her jaw hung slack, letting out heated moans, he cut the power, turning the toy off completely.

“Wha-hey!” Y/N’s eyes popped open and she pouted, near to tears as she was denied once more.

“Hands off, Princess,” he told her, clearing his throat and picking up his book. Dean crossed one leg and turned to a random page, tearing his eyes from Y/N’s shivering body. “Get back to work.”

She grumbled to herself as she struggled to her feet, using a nearby chair for help. “You suck.”

Dean lifted a brow, but not his head. “What’s that?”

“Nothing…”

Dinner came and went with Y/N still naked, sitting at the table on a dishcloth. Dean let her be for a while, keeping his phone and the app safely tucked in his pocket. She had even gotten used to being naked in the open. It felt sexy, freeing, if not a little chilly now and then.

Somehow, Dean managed to keep his hands off of her the entire day, not even accidentally brushing against her or playing footsie under the table. Nothing stopped him from looking, however, and he spent his quiet time memorizing the curves and movements that he never got to see in the dark. She was perfectly imperfect, just like him.

After dinner, Dean disappeared, leaving Y/N alone to do the dishes and clean up. She’d just about finished putting the utensils away when her page went off, sending jolts of pleasure through her body.

“Fuck.” She turned around, but Dean wasn’t in the room with her. “Dean?”

There was no answer, but the buzzing increased. Y/N dropped to her knees and crawled quickly from the kitchen, wondering where he’d gotten to and hoping the remote didn’t have too long of a range.

“Dean?” she called again to no response, growing more aroused and annoyed as the stunt went on. She’d have to crawl the entire Bunker looking for him if he didn’t answer. Her knees were starting to protest as she toddled up the steps into the War Room, but the pulsing in her cunt took some of the edge off.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Tisk. Tisk.” His voice boomed through the giant room, her toy speeding up as he scolded her. “Mind your manners, missy.”

Still on her hands and knees, Y/N looked around the War Room, unable to find him anywhere. He was a disembodied voice teasing her from another world.

“Dean, come on…”

“You need to crawl to me,” he said loudly, “that was the deal.”

She gasped as he pushed the toy to its limit. “Yeah but...where- fuck- are you?”

Y/N teetered on her knees as Dean laughed at her predicament. She crawled on, moving towards the table.

“Warmer.”

Biting her lip, she listened to his echoing directions, crawling closer to the table. When she reached it, the buzzing subsided enough to catch her breath, and she turned towards the Library archway.

“Colder!”

Y/N spun back and continued through the room. As she neared the stairs, the vibrations increased and Dean guided her home.

“Hot.”

Slowly, she sat back on her feet and looked up the long metal staircase.

Dean waved and grinned smugly from his seat at the chess set on the balcony. “Boiling.”

Y/N’s hands instinctively flew to her hips. “Are you kidding me?”

With a swipe of his finger, Dean upped the pleasure and Y/N fell back down into crawling position.

“Imma kill you.”

Dean laughed. “I don’t think that’s likely.”

One step at a time, Y/N climbed, fingers curling into the ornate grates, knees pushing into the smooth metal. It was cold and hard but she managed, keeping her mind in the gutter, comforted and fueled by the intimate pleasure of her favorite toy, controlled by her favorite asshat.

Dean hid his surprise well when she reached him, figuring Y/N would have given up halfway up the winding staircase. “Welcome,” he teased, lowering the speed. “Nice of you to join me.”

She was panting already, out of breath from her climb. “Nice of you to pick such an easily accessible location.”

Her sass was vibrant and Dean bit his lip, grinning.

“How’s your sweet little cunt doing?” he asked, tip of his tongue pressing between his teeth.

Y/N shivered. “It’s...good.”

“Just good?” His thumb waved over the controls, brushing the toggle back and forth.

“V-very good.”

Dean let her linger in that moment of fluctuating pleasure and sat back, opening his jeans while he watched her twitch. He set the control to a setting called “fireworks” and lay his phone down, taking his cock in his hands instead. He stroked it slowly while the explosions went off inside her pussy.

“What does it feel like?” he asked, lips puckering as he jerked his cock.

Eyes closed and lips shaking, Y/N shook her head, unable to find an answer. “Like...like you’re drumming inside me. Like lightning… like… fuck- I don’t know.” Her eyes popped open and locked on his erection, mouth flooding at the sight.

Dean smirked. “Do you want it?”

She nodded.

“Tell me where.”

She chewed her lip hard, brows furrowing tight, chest heaving. “I…”

Dean fisted his cock, squeezing at the base. “Tell me where you want it.”

“In my pussy,” she begged, chin quivering, near to tears. “Please, Dean. I need you to fuck me so bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Please!”

“Get up here.”

Moaning with relief, Y/N jumped up into his lap, kissing him wildly as his hands locked around her back. She licked into his mouth, bit at his ear, sucked his lip between her teeth. She’d been too crazed all day, too desperate to hold back any longer. She felt his cock against her belly and bounced, rubbing her throbbing clit against his veiny underside.

Dean grunted. His blunt nails dug into her ass.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

Her whisper floated through him and he grabbed her tight, standing up and spinning, dropping her onto the empty chess set. She gasped but settled quickly, wiggling into place on the oversized antique gameboard. He dropped his jeans, letting them collect around the tops of his boots and then reached down to yank the still vibrating toy from her cunt.

Y/N cried out as the toy dislodged, a flood of hot built-up slick running down her ass as it went. “Fuck!”

“I’m getting to it!” Dean huffed back, tossing the toy over his shoulder. It hit the railing and disappeared down below, to be remembered only by a faint buzzing as it danced across the glowing table.

Y/N grabbed hold of the back of his neck and scooted down to the edge of the board, wrapping her legs tight around him. He sank inside without hesitation or restriction, covering himself in her wet flesh, hiding deep inside.

It was fast and hard, the way she came on his cock; her pussy clamping down on him as he thrust in and out. Hours of torture, being played with and edged had left her a sloppy mess, and Dean savored every second. He kissed her breathless, keeping his eyes open so he could watch hers roll. He nipped at her collarbone and rubbed at her clit.

She had been waiting all day, but so had he.

The pawns and bishops rolled inside the table, safe in their velvet cubbies. The pink toy died a slow death, battery draining somewhere around South America.

Above the empty Bunker, not far from the big steel door, Dean made her cum again, rolling her first orgasm into another, his thumb winding around her clit until she screamed at the soreness, slapping him away.

He set his hands beside her head, fingers curling around the edges of the old wood, pulling it close as his hips pushed forward. The thick muscles of his arms strained against his shortsleeves and Y/N pressed her nails deep into his biceps, clawing at him, her teeth grit, eyes dark and exhausted.

“Come on, Dean,” she urged, voice deep and cracking. “Give it to me, please.”

His jaw clenched, sweat beading on his upper lip and brow.

“Cum inside me, Dean. Please.”

Another rough jerk of his hips sent him over. Dean trembled over her, phantom thrusts pushing him even deeper as he emptied into her.

When the best had passed, he looked down with a goofy smile. Green eyes glazed, freckled cheeks bright, lips swollen and red as he laughed, “Checkmate.”

2020 Forever Tags:

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TWN:

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#dean x reader #series #smuttt #fluff #dean winchester x reader

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91percentpynch · 4 years ago

Text

lonely heart - kevaaron au pt 4

oh look it‘s me, coming out of my dark hole to make you suffer with a super sad chapter with a nasty cliffhanger:) so get your tissues ready and enjoy!! okay first of all sorry that i didn‘t update this in a g e s and that it‘s rather short and for the cliffhanger, but i‘ll try to update it more regularly now:)

check this out for the other parts:)

trigger warnings: drug abuse, mention of suicide, mention of mental health issues, very sad aaron, mention of blood

“You were too good for me”, Aaron whispered into the void. “You were way too fucking good for me. You made me a better man. And I fucked up”

Aaron got up as he felt the tears burning in his eyes. He knew he wouldn‘t be able to sleep alone tonight. Like every single goddamn night since he left Kevin. Like every single goddamn night since he made the biggest mistake of his life.

„Taylor?“, the blonde haired boy murmered, „You up?“

„Babe, you know I‘m up. My girlfriend lives three states away, we talk every single day at the same time as you call your man. Not that I would be able to sleep when you call him, cause a) i love Day and b) you‘re always sad and high and end up in my room anygays, so did he take the phone darling?“

Taylor was Aaron‘s roommate and the closest thing he had to a best friend. She had been there for him every single day, cuddled him, held him while he cried and dried his tears afterwards. And Aaron did the same when she misssed her girlfriend too much.

„You do realize he is not my man anymore, I fucked that up. Big time. He did actually take the phone just to tell me to fuck off and stop calling“

„You could always go over there and say it in his pretty face. Didn’t say you can’t come over did he?Pro point: Might lead to making out“, Taylor said while taking him in her arms. „Plus another pro point: you‘d get sober again. And you‘re less moody. No offense but a Kevin-less Aaron is hardly managable, like you‘re either a whiny little bitch or you‘ll give me the death glare of the cenutry. Legit worse than Andrew‘s and I called him a cute little baby boo once when I was drunk and he almost stabbed me right there with a look on his face like I just murdered Neil in front of him“

„Tay, I take that as a compliment. And we both know Kevin’s a bit of a dumbass so he did not exactly tell me Not To Come over just stopp calling. Anyways I don‘t even know where he lives. And stop talking about me getting high, you do the same shit“

„Yeah but I know my limits and I have not the same history as you. And for the i DoN‘t EvEn KnOwS wHeRe He LiVeS, phone number. Now“

„O- okay“, Aaron said and told her Kevin‘s phone number while Taylor calmingly stroked his back.

„Neat, got him“, Taylor said after a while. „He‘s with the scary big dude and his adorable little boyfriend I think? I have their address right here, I think we‘re gonna visit them tomorrow cause it‘s like 4 am right now and we don‘t wanna rob him his beauty sleep plus we don‘t want to wake the scary big dude. And I‘m pretty sure the adorable small golden retriver boy could and would stab us“

„Did you just stalk my ex and located his phone at 4 am like fucking Garcias in Criminal Minds?“, Aaron said confused.

„Anything for you big guy. And as I said I miss Day‘s pretty face, preferably in your pretty face so you shut the fuck up about how stressed and depressed and lonely you are.“, Taylor chuckled as Aaron looked at her shocked.

„Well I miss Casey, preferable in your face so YOU shut up“, Aaron was never as good in witty remarks as his brother. Especially high Aaron.

„Babe I think it‘s time for you to go to bed, you‘re not fun when you‘re sad, high and tired. Come here, let me cuddle you, while you whiney little bitch sleep“

Aaron slowly went over to Taylor and into her loving arms, laying down, trying to fall asleep.

After a long while aaron drifted into sleep, just to be greeted by familiar smaragd eyes. In his dream Kevin and he never broke up. Kevin was on top of him, his hands gently discovered Aaron‘s body, touching him as if he was sacred, something to worship. Kevin‘s lips were at Aaron‘s ear whispering sweet nothingness. Aaron‘s hips moved against Kevin‘s loving touch. „Stress release“ Kevin called these holy moments in dawn. „Highlight of my day“ Aaron called them.

The dream was as beautiful as it was cruel. It was as if his body, his mind were as much refusing as able to believe that Kevin was gone. It was his own fault, Aaron knew it. But the ever present voice of his mother, disapproving and disgusting, in his head was just too much for him to handle. He thought - foolish as Aaron was - that the pain of living without Kevin would be better, less cruel, less painful. But he never knew real love and therefore never experienced its lost. Until that faitful day. Until Kevin took his bags and left.

Aaron was used to pain. The hot one after an extraordinarily vicious hit. The cold one when his mother died. The numbing one when the hunger was growing more and more unbareable. But nothing was even slightly as hard to handle as the loss of Kevin in his life.

Kevin was the first good thing Aaron had. He gave him a will to stay, to try, to give this stupid sport everything he got. And Exy turned into more mundane things like getting his eating routine under control or getting a more or less acceptable sleeping schedule. The dark days were still there, for both of them, and they would probably never leave them completely alone, but they got less. And when they did happen they would hold each other together.

Ever since he fucked up things with Kevin, Aaron had more and more dark days. The voice of his mother telling him he‘s a failure, the bored stare of his brother and Aaron convincing himself Andrew wouldn‘t even bet an eye if he died, the voice telling him the world would be a better place without him growing louder and lourder every passing day.

Logically he could say that the death of a single person wouldn‘t change much for the over all world population, expect maybe it‘s some kind of insane mademan dicator or someone important, but still. It made sense. All he did after all was fucking up, being a failure, never good enough, never perfect.

His lonely heart only screamed Kevin‘s name and he knew if Kevin didn‘t take him back, his life wouldn‘t make much sense anymore. Well he would definetly not tell Kevin that. He would not manipulate Kevin into loving him, because that wouldn‘t be much better than not having him at all.

Aaron woke up the next day around noon. He didn‘t really feel like getting up, like getting up was simply too much. But Aaron knew he had to. He didn‘t want to worry Taylor more than he already did. And it would end today. One way or the other.

So he got up, put on the first pair of black jeans he could find and the first sweater his hands could find. Ironically it was one of the sweaters Kevin gave him, on the third of december last year. It was one of Aaron‘s favourites as well.

„Ready for the big Day, small guy?“, Taylor said winking at him.

„Not really? What the fuck am I supposed to do there anyways?“, Aaron replied on his way to the coffee maker.

„Talk to him? Deliver one of those borderline cringe big speeches. Get im flowers. Break into his bedroom and say ‚Draw me like one of your french girls‘, naked of course“, Taylor laughed at the face Aaron made, listening to her suggestions.

„I think I like the big speech. I mean I‘m shit with words, but I‘m sure you want to help your boy getting ‚his man‘ back, right? Also what kind of flowers would you give someone you dumped cause the voice of your dead mother told you it was wrong and disgusting, which you never told him for obvious reasons?“

„Honey, you‘re so fucked up sometimes, I love you but you should go to a therapist or something. Also I‘d say sunflowers or roses? I don‘t speak flowers man, I‘m the tech nerd. Not the romantic one, the nerd. But we‘re gonna make a snazzy speech and you‘re gonna get your man back“

After their typical breakfast - if Aaron didn‘t forget to eat again - they sat down together on the living room floor, paper and pen ready, trying to write the world changing speech.

„Why is this so fucking hard? Why can I only tell him how much I love and miss him when I‘m high off my ass“, Aaron complained.

„What about you don‘t think about him that much. Just tell me what you love about him and then we write that down?“, Taylor suggested.

Aaron took a deep breathe and closed his eyes. „I loved him because he was the first one who saw me. Aaron Minyard. And not just the other Minyard, the lesser twin, the shadow of Andrew. He looked at me and somehow chose me. Even if he could have had everyone else. He chose me, even though I‘m not special. Kevin chose the failure when he could have had the first prize. He looked at me and saw something worth loving, worth keeping around. Hardly anyone could tell Andrew and me apart. But it took him less than a day to do so. Kevin is strong, so so strong and somehow chose the most fragile thing he could find, took it and made it worth soemthing. Kevin made me feel something. Not numbness. Not pain. Something warm and beautiful and living. He gave me a reason to stay alive. Kevin made my life bearable, he made my life beautiful. We were both broken and we would probably still be broken if we were together but we softened each other‘s edges. Kevin believed in me when no one else would. He knew how I felt, knew what I needed and when I needed it. Kev gave me love and safety and I kicked it with my feet. This man is like a god who fell for whatever reasons for a homeless man. And I know I don‘t deserve him but I also know I cannot live without him. And I know that I must tell him that before it‘s too late. If it‘s not too late already“

Taylor wipped a tear out of her eyes. „That‘s it. You tell him that and we‘ll get him back“, she said. „Can I hug you?“

„Sure you loser“

„Ah there is my boy“

They spent the rest of the afternoon writing down the speech, making edits here and there. In the end Aaron collected the pages and went to his room to change. He replaced Kevin‘s sweater with a simple black jumper, put on his Docs, got his keys and left.

Aaro did feel a little uncomfortable, stalking Kevin like that. But he knew this was his chance to fix things. This was his chance to get Kevin back, to make his life worth living again. Which to be fair was a bit selfish, but you are allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, aren‘t you?

Jean and Jeremy‘s apartment complex was a 15 minute drive away from the flat Aaron shared with his three roommates. Theirs was fanzier, obviously. After all Jeremy was a professional Exy player and Jean was some kind of semi famous artist or fashion maker or whatever. They could give Kevin the world. They could give him what he desereved. All Aaron had to offer was an apology and his love. No money. Not yet anyway. Just anxiety, depression and stress.

But if Kevin was willing to take his love, to give Aaron one more chance, he promised himself Aaron would make it count. He will tell Kevin how much he loves Kevin every single god damn day. Aaron will get therapy and work on his issues. Sober up and this time for good. He will do anything to be worth of god‘s love. Just that god in his case was a twenty two year old boy with black hair, forming soft waves at the end and a smile that will make the sun jealous. Eyes made out of smaragd. Lips so sinful and kissable.

Aaron sat down in front of the door, waiting for his courage to come back to him. He could do this. He would get his man back.

Hours passed, or maybe it were only minutes or seconds after all before someone came closer. Ever so slowly Aaron lifted his head, just to look in the ever so familiar green eyes, big with shock.

„You said to stop calling. You never mentioned face to face conversations“, Aaron said, his voice hoarse.

Kevin stared at him as if he was a ghost, a reminder of his past life, something he rather wanted to forget.

„Look I know I fucked up. I know I‘m not good enough for you. I know you deserve the world and I cannot give it to you. And when you look me in the eyes and tell me you don‘t feel anything for me anymore, no love or hate or affection or whatever humans feel, I will turn away right now and go and never come back. Never bother you again. But if you allow me to apologize, if you however decide to gieve me one last chance, I prepared this whole ass speech for you“

Aaron was sure they could hear his heart beating against his chest, roaring, screaming to return home. To return to Kevin where it belonged.

Kevin‘s eyes wandered to the floor, his fingers automatically closed around his left wrist. A nervous habit. Just another little part that makes Aaron‘s heart ache.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he lifted those unbelieveable beautiful eyes and met Aaron‘s golden ones. Kevin studied him and the world around them stopped.

Out of the corner of Aaron‘s eyes he could see Jean going still, his breathing too calm, too even. It‘s the same thing Andrew does when someone fucks with Josten. At least his death would be fast. Or slow. Whatever. Aaron didn‘t really care, without Kevin it wasn‘t worth anygthing anyway.

„Why“, Kevin said after what feels like forever, „Why would I forgive you? Why would I give you another chance? Why would you think you can come back here just to fuck me over again? Aaron I loved you, I really did. I always will. You were my first love and maybe, yeah maybe, my last one. But right now I can‘t. I just, I just can‘t. Please leave. Please leave me alone. For now. Maybe, one day we can talk about it. But right now I cannot handle the thought of you to leave me. To tell me all these beautiful lies, to cut me open and leave me to bleed out. I love you“, tears were running down Kevin‘s cheek. Tears Aaron one day, a long time ago, promised himself he would never let Kevin feel again. Pain. Sadness. Everything because of his failure, because of his weakness, because he‘s a fucking piece of shit.

„Thank you for giving me a reason to stay. Jusst remember that you were my light, my warmth, my happiness and I never stopped loving you. Never will. Please just be happy“, Aaron replied as he turned around to walk to his cars.

When he was sure he was out of ear shot, he let himself feel. Feel the pain. Feel the loneliness. Feel the numbness and the cold and the hatred. It was in that moment, that moment where he was alone and nothing more to lose, that he decided that it was enough. He would end it. End it tonight.

„Thank you“, he texted Taylor. „I‘m glad I didn‘t eat you in the womb“, he texted Andrew. „You were not so bad after all“, he sent to Neil. And lastly „Thank you for taking me under your wing“, to Nicky. They would understand. It would take them some time but in the end they would feel better. They would be happier without them. Because at the end of the day he caused them pain and wasn‘t really worth a thing.

So when he got in his car, tears running uncontrallably down his cheeks, he knew what he had to do.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king’s men #kevin day #aaron minyard #ship: kevaaron #kevaaron

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

Note

For the kiss prompt, is 36 good? For Ruthari?

…to give up control.

So, uhh, this one got long! And angsty af. Really, really angsty. But you know me and my endings. I did my best to pull out a softer ending. This is a really hard subject though.

cw: fighting, yelling, pushing, Ethari actually swears

Runaan sat quietly, sorting through his pile of freshly picked moonberries in the waning moonlight. One berry, carefully considered and placed in its appropriate bowl, and then the next. No pause interrupted his focus. No emotion rippled the cool mask of his expression.

His deliberate calm was driving Ethari crazy. Perhaps if he had turned further away as they sat, he wouldn’t be getting so irritated right now... The craftsman felt his shoulders stiffen, and he took a deep breath and forced them to relax. Runaan’s moonberrry sorting habits weren’t upsetting. He was just taking his care with life and death as seriously as he always did--

The berry in Ethari’s hand lost its shape in a juicy splatter, and hot rage spiked along his spine. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel Runaan’s sudden focus, cool and intensely turquoise, brushing against him. His husband’s unspoken question flowered open with quiet concern.

The deep crimson juice ran down Ethari’s wrist. He stared at its sweet tickle. Was it a moonberry, or a deathberry? He couldn’t even remember.

Runaan handed a soft cloth into the periphery of his view, silently answering Ethari’s worry. Not juice to be licked clean, then. Poison. Ethari took the cloth without meeting Runaan’s eyes. But its soft paleness, unbesmirched, screamed in denial.

He couldn’t do it.

“How can you do this?” His words grated like the slow grind of a landslide. One that finally admitted it was falling. One that let go of its illusion of stability. Its momentum was inevitable.

“You’re not talking about the moonberries, are you?” Runaan asked.

Ethari flicked his hand, sending the cloth against Runaan’s chest with a little thud. His husband’s fingers caught it there on instinct. Cradled it over his heart.

Ironic. So, so ironic.

Ethari rolled onto hands and knees and faced Runaan directly. “She. Is. A. Child. Why aren’t you stopping this? Why did you agree to take her? It’s madness!”

Runaan’s brows tightened, and a brief pout of hurt puckered his lip before he smoothed it away behind that thrice-bedamned mask.

Ethari hated that mask. It was for other people. Not for him. His crimson-stained hand lurched forward and grabbed the front of Runaan’s shirt, crumpling it, soaking it in red. “No, don’t you hide from me, not now. You tell me what in the name of the sacred shadow you were thinking when you said yes to her. This isn’t a picnic, Runaan! It’s not a jaunt, it’s not an outing! You’re the adult. You have the power to instruct. The power to decide. Why were you so soft with her, the one time I needed you to be hard? Why?”

Runaan’s eyes met his, and the ice in them frosted his breath. He wrapped one hand around Ethari’s and tried to tug it off his shirt.

Ethari didn’t let him. The corner of his mouth curled into a snarl, and he tightened his grip further. His gaze flattened into cold steel. “Answer me.”

Runaan’s eyes flickered wide for a moment, flashing from Ethari’s, down to their taut and tangled grasps. Without looking up again, Runaan shifted his grip, added a twisting push with his other hand, and popped Ethari’s grip free. He flowed like water to his feet and began striding out of the clearing, leaving Ethari alone in the moonlight with his questions and his anger.

No.

Ethari’s bowl of moonberries cracked against the tree next to Runaan’s head, and red fruits rocketed out in a juicy explosion, leaving Runaan splattered with crimson. He jerked to a stop, shoulders stiff, hands in fists.

Ethari matched him, chest heaving hot, red edging his vision, nearly in tears of desperation.

“It’s for the best.” Runaan’s voice was quiet.

“No, it isn’t. Don’t you lie to me.” Ethari’s voice grew tighter and louder with each sentence. “Not about Rayla, don’t you dare.”

“It’s not a lie.” Runaan still hadn’t turned to look at him.

“It’s not for her best, then,” Ethari amended. “Runaan, you know her heart. You know what this will do to her. She’s too young! You can’t. You can’t take her.”

“I have no choice. She asked to participate, and she was right to do so. She knows what truly matters, Ethari.”

Ethari threw his arms wide, though Runaan couldn’t see it. “And I don’t? Is that what you’re telling me? I’m no assassin, so I must not see the world properly? I love Rayla too, and I’d do anything for her. You know I would! But this isn’t helping her. What if something goes wrong?”

Runaan raised his chin and stared into the gloomy forest ahead. “I won’t let that happen.”

“What if she has to take someone? At fifteen, Runaan? Even you weren’t that young.”

Runaan jerked his head sharply, letting Ethari see his face in profile. “I won’t let that happen, either.”

A rampant growl escaped Ethari’s mouth. For a moment, raging in the moonlight, he understood werewolves all too well. “Then why in the fuck are you taking her with you at all?”

At his sudden curse, Runaan spun in surprise. The look on his face was open for a moment. Vulnerable. Streaks of berry red crossed his forehead and marked his cheek. A blooded assassin, ready to soak Rayla as well. Ethari stalked closer. Runaan’s brows lowered again, and he reassessed Ethari with a guarded look. “I told you, my heart,” he murmured. “I have no choice.”

Ethari seized the front of Runaan’s shirt again and tugged him onto his tiptoes. “Stop! Just stop it! Stop it all, tell everyone you made a mistake! Let her stay with me! Stop this, Runaan! Or I will!”

Runaan’s hands flew to cup Ethari’s. A protective grip. Why would he protect Ethari, but not Rayla? “No, you can’t. You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will!” Ethari roared. “Someone must! Someone must look out for Rayla, and if you’ve lost your mind and turned your back on Rayla’s heart, Runaan, then by the moon in its orbit, I will step up and do it myself! No matter what the cost! You, of all people, not willing to do whatever it takes for Rayla?” He looked Runaan up and down, seeing his markings, his horn cuffs, his tunic patterning, and all that it said about him. Every inch of Runaan proudly proclaimed who he was, to anyone who could read it. But in his rage, Ethari loosed a deadly strike. Glaring at the pendant he’d lovingly crafted for his husband so long ago, he growled, “I don’t know who you are right now.”

A soft grunt of pain from Runaan’s lips told him his daggered words had found their mark. Runaan squeezed Ethari’s hands as they gripped his shirt. “Ethari...”

But Ethari refused to meet Runaan’s eyes. If he did, he knew what he would see. He didn’t want to get distracted into softness, as Runaan so often managed during their arguments. He needed answers. Facts. Truth. Things his husband tended to hoard behind locked doors and series of traps. Sometimes, Ethari could disarm them. Other times, he had to march through and take the hits. Like now.

“I won’t fight you on this,” Runaan said. His voice was low, but it held a strange edge to it. “You can’t fight this.”

“I can!”

“You can’t win, my heart.”

Ethari’s gaze sharpened to an outraged point. “Are you...? You’d have taken her even if she hadn’t asked, is that what you’re hinting at?”

Runaan’s eyes widened sharply. “No, I--”

“Don’t you dare lie to me about that!” Ethari’s voice broke as he reached the edge of his hope. Was Runaan truly so dark that he would willingly spend Rayla’s life to expunge the stain of dishonor Lain and Tiadrin’s betrayal had drenched them with?

Runaan let out a sharp hiss of breath, twisted his grip on Ethari’s hands again, and shoved him back into the middle of the moonlit clearing. Ethari caught his balance and clapped a hand over his chest, where Runaan had pushed him away. His husband stood as if hunched against some unseen attack, shoulders heaving, head bowed, one hand outstretched to ward off Ethari’s return. Moonlight kissed his horns and lit his hair, but he was not beautiful. Not like this.

Ethari straightened and marched right back to Runaan, stopping just out of reach, hands on hips, chin high. “I’m not letting this go.”

Runaan’s bright gaze snapped up to his, eyes shimmering with hidden hurts and the tears they freed. “The tighter you hold it, the harder it grips me,” he whispered shakily.

Ethari’s fury faltered, stuttered, shifted gears. “I’m not... Runaan... Change your mind, then!” He threw his hands in the air.

Runaan clutched fists against his chest and bowed his head again.

“No, don’t you dare keep that to yourself. Talk to me, what are you hiding?” When Runaan didn’t answer, Ethari took his face in his hands and forced their eyes to meet. Runaan’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t like being forced to make eye contact. But Ethari was past politeness. “If you shut me out again, Runaan, I swear on the Moon’s holy light--”

“I told you,” Runaan growled.

“Tell me again,” Ethari growled back.

“I. Had. No. Choice.”

Ethari blinked. Runaan had said that. And Ethari had blown right past it as the deflection he assumed it was. “No choice in what?” he goaded, searching his husband’s eyes for hidden truths.

“I cannot change my mind about Rayla, Ethari, because I never made the choice to take her in the first place.” Runaan’s voice remained quiet, but it sounded ragged, a flag battered and shredded by gale force winds.

“What? Then why--?”

“Duty demands--” Runaan began.

Instant fury. “Your duty does not get to demand Rayla’s--”

Runaan clutched at Ethari’s hands as they held his cheeks. The corners of his mouth drooped sadly. “Honor requires--”

“Fuck your honor, Runaan! It’s going to get you killed! You and Rayla both!”

“I KNOW!” Runaan roared. His sudden rage burst across the clearing like a thunderclap, leaving Ethari stunned.

The night went silent around them, quietly turning its back to offer plausible deniability for Runaan’s dark admission.

Both elves trembled in the lull of their argument. Hands fell away, chests heaved for breath, heads bowed. After a moment of silent apology from them both, their eyes met again.

Runaan spoke first. “I know,” he repeated, recovering his soft tone. “Don’t you think I know that? I know it as I know my own heartbeat. It is our fate, Ethari. It has always been our fate, one way or another. But what is served by dwelling on the things we cannot change?”

Lost in Runaan’s blindside confession, seeing only the looming loss of the rest of his most precious family, Ethari pressed the back of his wrist against his mouth to stifle a sob.

Runaan drew in a sharp breath at Ethari’s sudden shift. His gaze found the grass, and soon, so did one of his tears. “I’m sorry.”

The soft angst in Runaan’s tone told Ethari exactly what he was apologizing for. Despite the aftershocks of their fight, he slipped easily into his old reassurances. “No, don’t you dare. My heart chose you, and the life that came with loving you.”

Runaan’s gaze didn’t rise. “If you’d loved someone else... if I’d never told you...”

Ethari eased closer, resting warm hands on Runaan’s bare shoulders. “You didn’t trick me into loving you, Runaan. You’re not nearly skilled enough for such illusions.”

Runaan coughed softly in wry amusement.

“I chose you, as you chose me, remember? I was there. Lunablooms, dancing, our whispered vows? Ringing any bells?”

“Yes, my heart.” Runaan’s voice was small.

“I came into this life with you with my eyes open, as much as they could be. Don’t hold yourself away from me for fear of disappointing my expectations of you. We’re stronger together, remember?”

Runaan nodded once, but his brows rode low with confusion. “You were so upset. I didn’t want to make you feel worse.”

Ethari’s fingers squeezed hard. “Runaan, it got worse anyway, because you didn’t trust me! I’ve only been so frustrated because I...”

“Because you what?” Runaan breathed.

Ethari fiddled with Runaan’s collar, smoothing his shirt atop his shoulders. “We’ve both been right, and we’ve both been wrong, haven’t we?” he murmured.

“What do you mean?”

Ethari kept his voice low, soft. “You haven’t been putting Rayla first. But that’s because you can’t. Your assassin’s honor won’t let you.”

Runaan closed his eyes and lowered his head. Twin tears tracked over his markings.

Ethari bit the inside of his trembling lip. “And so... there’s no way out, is there?”

Runaan shook his head.

Ethari managed a steadying breath. “Because you’ve looked. You��ve tried to find a way to spare her from this.”

A tiny nod. Hesitant. Uncertain whether it had been enough, and whether it even mattered anymore.

Ethari surged forward, gasping in deep relief, and hugged Runaan tightly. His arms squeezed around his husband, pinning him against his heaving chest. Runaan’s arms hesitantly slid around Ethari in return.

“Then I still know you, my heart.” Ethari’s whisper danced against Runaan’s ear.

A sudden, soft cry flew free of Runaan’s mouth, and he clung hard, digging his fingers into Ethari’s crop top. His cry ended with a deep gasp of relief, and he buried his face against Ethari’s scarf. His shoulders tensed and released, and he nodded against Ethari’s collarbone.

“You keep her safe.” Ethari’s voice was urgent, even as he held Runaan with tight reassurance. “She’s all we have left. Keep her safe.”

Runaan lifted his head, and his steady gaze met Ethari’s. Despite the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks, his breathing was even and his eyes were clear. His brows rose softly, and a small smile lurked in the corner of his mouth. “I’d be lost without the advice of my heart.”

Ethari pulled one arm free and pressed his hand atop Runaan’s chest. “I’d be lost without the dedication of my heart. I should’ve trusted it more, and I’m sorry. I won’t fight you on this anymore. Your way, Runaan.”

Runaan’s expression struggled with angst for a long moment before he nodded. “My way. For what it’s worth.”

Ethari leaned his forehead against his husband’s. “I trust you with all that I love, my heart. I trust you.”

His lips brushed Runaan’s softly, surrendering to a fate that had held them in its grip for far longer than he realized. If it wouldn’t let them loose, then he’d just have to hang on all the tighter.

Runaan kissed him back with urgent softness, hungry for Ethari’s trust. “I won’t fail you. I’ll make it right. I promise.”

And Ethari smiled and nodded, pretending for love that such things were possible.

#ruthari ficlet #ruthari #tdp angst #ruthari angst #did i mention the angst #my writing

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mattchase82 · 3 years ago

Text

OUR LADY OF PERPETUAL HELP

The Picture

The original picture painted on gold ground, is the work of a devout and skillful master. The best judges concede that it must have been painted in the 13th or 14th century, in the East, as its Grecian or Byzantine style plainly shows. The Blessed Mother, in half-figure, has her child on her left arm, and in her right hand, she holds the hand of her Divine Infant. Her beautiful eyes are directed towards the beholder with an expression of tender reproach, and speak eloquently of her great anguish at the sufferings of her Son. On either side of her head are four Greek letters, which stand for the words "Mother of God."

The Divine Infant is in full figure. On his head is a crown. He wears sandals, one of which is fastened to his left foot, the other hangs loose from the right. Over his left shoulder are the Greek letters signifying "Jesus Christ." He clasps his mother's right hand in both his own, as though seeking protection from the instrument of His Passion, presented to Him by the two angels at his side. The Angel on the right, over whom are to be seen in Greek the initials of the name of "Michael the Archangel," presents to the Holy Child, the Lance, the Reed and the Sponge of His future Passion, while the Angel on the left holds up before His gaze four nails and a cross, with two beams, as well as the tablet of the inscription; over Him are the initials in Greek of "Gabriel the Archangel." The drapery of the picture is exquisite.

History of The Picture

The original picture, just described, was venerated for many years in the Island of Crete (now called Candia), when upon an invasion by the Turks, about 400 years ago, it was taken away by a pious merchant of that Island to escape profanation. Having been the means of enlisting the power of the Mother of God during a violent storm which occurred on the voyage, a landing was finally made at Ostia, near Rome. At Rome, by a clear manifestation of God's will, the picture was to remain. The pious merchant, falling grievously ill, and feeling death's approach, summoned his host and friend, and exacting from him a strict promise that he would have the picture set up for veneration in one of the churches of Rome, he confided the precious treasure to his care, and then breathed his last. Now become manifest the wondrous ways of God. The wife of the man who had the holy picture confided to him, conceiving a strong natural affection for the Madonna, deaf to her husband's representations, finally prevailed upon him to disregard his promise and retain the picture. Three different times the Blessed Mother appeared in a dream to the unhappy man to remind him of his obligation. Affrighted, he related these occurrences to his wife, who only laughed at his credulity. A fourth time Our Blessed Lady appeared, and said to him in a tone of great severity: "I have now warned thee three times, but in vain,--I see there is no other means of leaving thy house, than that thou be first carried out of it." Very soon after the man died.

The husband's death seems to have been no warning to the obstinate widow. A new warning was at hand. One day her daughter, a young innocent girl, came running to her, saying: "Mother, I have just seen, in our house, oh, such a beautiful Lady, who said to me, 'Go tell your mother and your grandfather that the 'Mother of Perpetual Help' (for the Blessed Virgin gave herself this sweet title) 'wishes her picture to be set up for public veneration in one of the churches in Rome.'" The mother, deeply moved, was about to comply. But a wicked woman of the neighborhood, hearing of the mother's determination, violently opposed the plan, and at the same time insulted and blaspemed Our Blessed Lady. Instant retribution followed. She was stricken down with mortal illness, but repentant and confessing her crime, was permitted to touch the holy picture, when she was instantly cured. The evident miracle conquered the widow's obstinacy. But now the question presented itself: "To which of the three hundred churches of Rome shall the picture be given?" Our Blessed Lady herself graciously deigned to answer this question, by appearing a second time to the child and saying to her: "I desire to have my home between my beloved Church of St. Mary Major, and that of my dear adopted son John (St. John Lateran)." Between these two Basilicas stood the Church of St. Matthew, at that time in charge of the religious of the Augustinian Order. To the Prior, then, of these religious the Picture was given.

On March 27th, 1499, by a triumphant procession through the streets of Rome, the picture was solemnly installed over the High Altar of the Church of St. Matthew, where, for three hundred years it was the fruitful source of numberless graces and favors to the Romans and their neighbors. In the year 1600, a Roman historian writes: "In the Church of St. Matthew is a picture of the Blessed Virgin, which, from the numbers of miracles wrought and the countless graces received, well merits to be regarded as Miraculous.

During the French occupation of Rome (1809—1814) the Church of St. Matthew was demolished by order of the usurping government, compelling the Augustinian Fathers to abandon their monastery. On removing to the Church of Santa Maria, in Posterula, they took with them the miraculous picture but no longer exposed it for public veneration, dreading sacrilegious profanation. One by one the older members of the Community, who had known the Church of St. Matthew in happier days, passed away. In the year 1846, however, two persons were praying in the oratory of the Augustinian Monastery of Santa Maria, in Posterula, one an old man of more than seventy years, the other a youth. Suddenly the old man, pointing out to the youth this long-forgotten picture of the Madonna of Perpetual Help, on the wall of the oratory, said impressively, "This picture was formerly held in great veneration in the Church of St. Matthew, and every year a feast was celebrated in its honor." The speaker was an Augustinian Brother, Orsette by name, the last survivor of the Community of St. Matthew. The youth, Michael Marchi by name, looked attentively at the picture, but attached no great importance to the old Brother's words. Towards the close of his life, Brother Orsette, now almost blind, took great pleasure in conversing with young Marchi of his dear Madonna, her glory and the magnificent feasts of former days. He would sometimes say, with great earnestness and in a mysterious way, "You understand, Michael, that the Madonna, so long venerated in St. Matthew's is the one you see here in the chapel. Mind, don't forget it," adding, "I tell you, Michael, this is certain. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I say? Oh, how many miracles this picture has wrought! Oh, it was indeed miraculous!" The young Marchi listened and "kept all these things in his heart."

Not long after the death of Orsette (1853), Pope Pius IX. ordered the Superior-General of the Redemptorists to transfer the Central House of the Order from Naples to Rome; hence, the Redemptorists, in June, 1854, purchased, on the Esquiline, the Villa Caserta, an old Roman palace, in the garden of which were still visible some ruins of the Church of St. Matthew. The house was transformed into a monastery, and a new church was built close by, dedicated to St. Alphonsus, the founder of the Redemptorist Order. One of the Fathers of Villa Caserta, searching one day among some old books and manuscripts for historical information concerning the site on the Esquiline, discovered some valuable documents relating to the ruined Church of St. Matthew, and in particular to a Picture of Our Lady, famous for its many miracles. When he gave an account of what he had found out, one of the Fathers suddenly exclaimed, "I know where this miraculous Madonna is. I have seen it myself many a time, in the chapel of the Augustinians of Sancta Maria, in Posterula." The Father who thus spoke was none other than the youthful confidant of Brother Orsette, Michael Marchi, who had become a Redemptorist soon after the foundation of the Villa Caserta. He died there in January, 1886.

One Saturday, in February, 1863, Father Blosi, S. J., preaching on the glories of Mary, took for his subject the ancient and miraculous "Picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help," recalling its past glory and how the Blessed Mother had made known her will, that the picture should be placed for veneration in a church situated between St. John Lateran and St. Mary Major. The Redemptorists were deeply impressed when they heard of this sermon, for many providential circumstances pointed clearly to their own Church of St. Alphonsus as the new sanctuary chosen by Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The Very Rev. Father Mauron having waited two years longer and after many prayers offered to ascertain God's will, on December 11th, 1865, had an audience with Pope Pius the IXth, in which he presented a supplication, that His Holiness would deign to grant to the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer the possession of that venerable picture. Pius IX. gladly signed the petition, and January 19th, 1866, after a banishment of sixty years, Our Lady of Perpetual Help was again brought back to a sanctuary between St. Mary Major and St. John Lateran.

On April 26th, the Feast of Our Lady of Good Counsel, and of St. Cletus, the Pope, who first built the Church of St. Matthew, the holy picture was carried in solemn procession through decorated streets, amid the acclamations of more than 20,000 people, to its place in the Church of St. Alphonsus.

During the Triduum more than 50,000 persons came to honor the sacred picture. Again, as in 1499. Mary strewed her path with graces and miracles. On May 5th, Pius IX. himself came to honor the Madonna. He had already placed a copy of the original picture in his Chapel.

The Chapter of St. Peter at Rome has the custom of crowning with a golden diadem the most illustrious and venerated pictures of the Madonna. On the Sunday preceding the Feast of St. John Baptist, the Dean of the Chapter confided the crown to the Most Rev. Father-General of the Redemptorists, after receiving from him an oath, that it would always remain over the picture. Mass and the ceremony of coronation followed, whilst outside the roaring of cannon and the pealing of bells announced, that the Picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help was numbered among those worthy of the title miraculous.

The beneficent action of miraculous pictures is generally confined within certain limits, and does not extend beyond the shrine where the original picture is venerated, but not so in regard to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Her sweet influence extends wherever this devotion is practised.

The devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help soon spread throughout the Christian world. Exact copies of the beautiful picture were made, and a greater value was given them by the fact that they were touched to the original picture in Rome. Notwithstanding the unholy carpings of captious critics, there is nothing unreasonable in this practice. If we treasure a lock of hair of some dear departed one; if we stand with reverent mien in the apartment used by a saint of God, and there yield our soul to holy reveries; if we value at an unspeakable price a shred of the garment, or a tiny bone of God's heroes and heroines; if we kiss with reverent love those spots pressed by the Saviour's feet; why should we not place a special value upon that which has touched a wonder-working picture, made illustrious by God's holy Mother?

Prayer to Our Lady of Perpetual Help

O Holy Virgin Mary! Thy sweet name, "Mother of Perpetual Help," inspires me with unlimited confidence. I beg of thee to help me at all times and in all places; in my temptations, after my falls, in all my difficulties, in all the miseries of this life; but above all at the hour of my death. May I always have recourse to thee, for I feel sure that if I invoke thee faithfully, thou wilt be faithful in helping me. Obtain for me, then, the grace to pray to thee with the confidence of a child in order that I may secure thy perpetual help and final perseverance. Bless me, O tender Mother; and pray for me now and at the hour of my death. Amen.

PRAYER OF CONFIDENCE

O Holy Virgin Mary, who to inspire us with boundless confidence, hast been pleased to take the sweet name of Our Mother of Perpetual Help, I implore thee to come to my aid always and everywhere in my temptations, after my falls, in my difficulties, in all the miseries of life, and above all, at the hour of my death. Give me, O loving Mother, the desire and the habit always to have recourse to thee trusting that thou wilt be faithful and come to my assistance. Obtain for me the this grace of graces, the grace to pray to thee without ceasing and with childlike confidence, that I mayest ensure thy perpetual help and final perseverance. O Mother of Perpetual Help, pray for me now and at the hour of my death. Amen.

Litany of Our Lady of Perpetual Help

For Private Use Only.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, hear us.

Christ, graciously hear us.

God, the Father of Heaven,

have mercy on us.

God the Son, Redeemer of the World,

have mercy on us.

God the Holy Ghost,

have mercy on us.

Holy Trinity, One God,

have mercy on us.

Holy Mary,

pray for us.

Holy Mother of God,

pray for us.

Holy Virgin of virgins,

pray for us.

Mother of Christ,

pray for us.

Queen conceived without the stain of Original Sin,

pray for us.

Queen of the most Holy Rosary,

pray for us.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help,

pray for us.

O Mother of Perpetual Help,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may love God with all my heart,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may in all things conform my will to that of thy Divine Son,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may always shun sin, the only real evil,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may always remember my last end,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may often and devoutly receive the Sacraments,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may avoid every proximate occasion of sin,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may never neglect prayer,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may ever remember to invoke thee,

particularly in time of temptation,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may always be victorious in the hour of temptation,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may generously pardon my enemies,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may arise quickly, should I have the misfortune

of falling into mortal sin,

Come to my aid. O loving Mother.

That I may courageously resist the seductions of evil companions,

Come to my aid. O loving Mother.

That I may be strong against my own inconstancy,

Come to my aid. O loving Mother.

That I may not delay my conversion from day to day,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may labor zealously to eradicate my evil habits,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may ever love to serve thee,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may lead others to love and serve thee,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

That I may live and die in the friendship of God,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In all necessities of body and soul,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In sickness and pain,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In poverty and distress,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In persecution and abandonment,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In grief and dereliction of mind,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In time of war, famine and contagion,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

In every danger of sin,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When assailed by the evil spirits,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When tempted by the allurements of a deceitful world,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When struggling against the inclinations of my corrupt nature,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When tempted against the holy virtue of purity,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When death is nigh,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When the loss of my senses shall warn me that my

earthly career is at an end,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When the thought of my approaching dissolution shall fill me with fear and terror,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When at the decisive hour of death, the evil spirit will endeavor

to plunge my soul into despair,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When the priest of God shall give me Extreme Unction,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When my friends and relations, surrounding my bed moved with compassion,

shall invoke thy clemency on my behalf,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When the world will vanish from my sight, and my heart will cease to beat,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When I shall yield my soul into the hands of its Creator,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When my soul will appear before its Sovereign Judge,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When the irrevocable sentence will be pronounced,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

When I will be suffering in Purgatory, and sighing for the vision of God,

Come to my aid, O loving Mother.

Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world,

Spare us, O Lord!.

Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world,

Graciously hear us, O Lord!

Lamb of God, Who takest away the sins of the world,

Have mercy on us.

V. Pray for us, our powerful Mediatrix,

R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray.

O Almighty and merciful God, Who, in order to succor the human race, hast willed the Blessed Virgin Mary to become the Mother of Thy only-begotten Son, grant, we beseech Thee, that by her intercession we may avoid the contagion of sin and serve Thee with a pure heart, through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.

http://catholicharboroffaithandmorals.com/Our%20Lady%20of%20Perpetual%20Help.html

#the blessed virgin mary #blessed virgin mary #immaculate heart of mary #mary mother of jesus #mary mother of god #catholic prayers #traditional catholic #catholicism #catholic #christianity #heaven #love #jesus christ #its the truth #catholic saints #catholic faith

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wisdomrays · 3 years ago

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TAFAKKUR: Part 374

THE QURANIC APPROACH TO SCIENCE: Part 2

DOES THE QUR’AN ALLUDE TO SCIENTIFIC DEVELOPMENTS?

Before answering this question. we should point out that however great a mistake it is to consider sciences as conflicting with religion and to consider scientific study as separate from and independent of the Qur’an. it is also a mistake of the same degree to reduce the Qur’an to being a book of sciences and try to show every new scientific theory or fact as compatible with it.

Scientific theories are usually like clothes which, after being put on for some time, are worn out and discarded. Trying to show that every new scientific fact or theory was predicted by the Qur’an is a display of inferiority complex and means giving priority to sciences over the Qur’an. Each verse and expression of the Qur’an has a universal content addressing each learning level of mankind at all times: any interpretation put forward during history points to only one aspect of that universal content. Every interpreter or every scientist and man of gnosis depending either on his spiritual discovery or intuition, or the evidence he obtains, or his natural disposition prefers one of those aspects. Besides, as was pointed out earlier, we accept both the physics of Newton and the physics of Einstein as ‘science and true. Although. in absolute terms, both may be false, there must certainly be some truth in both. Causality is a veil God Almighty has spread over the rapid flux of existence so that we could plan our lives to some degree, and therefore both the physics of Newton and the physics of Einstein are relatively true. In short, while pondering the Qur’anic verses, we should take into consideration the relative truths in existence and our lives, which are much more numerous than the unchanging absolute truths.

By way of an example of the multiple meanings of the Qur’anic expressions. consider the verses He let forth the two seas that meet together, between them a barrier they do not overpass (55.19-20). which are ardently repeated by saintly people in their daily recitations. There is an indication to all of the pairs of ‘seas’ or realms, spiritual and material. figurative and actual. from the realms of Lordship and servanthood to the spheres of necessity and contingency, from this world to the Hereafter, including the visible corporeal world and the World of the Unseen, the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, the Mediterranean and Red Sea, salt water and sweet water in the seas and under the earth, and the big rivers such as the Euphrates and Tigris carrying sweet water and salty seas to which they flow. All of these, together with many others I do not deem necessary to mention here, are included in the content of the aforementioned Qur’anic verses, whether in a literal or figurative sense. Because of this, even if we see that a Qur’anic verse or expression exactly points to an established scientific fact, we should not restrict its meaning to that fact, rather, we should take all other possible meanings and interpretations into consideration.

However, this does never mean that the Qur’an does not point or allude to any scientific development and fact, Being the Divine Revelation which includes everything of wet or dry (6.59), it should certainly not exclude scientific developments and facts. Indeed. it refers to them directly or indirectly, but not in the manner of science and materialistic or naturalistic philosophy. It is not a book of science that it should speak of the cosmological or scientific matters elaborately. It is the eternal interpretation of the book of the universe and the interpreter of sciences dealing with the phenomena of creation. It comments upon the visible and invisible worlds, and discloses the spiritual treasures of the Divine Beautiful Names in the heavens and the earth. The Qur’an is the key with which the hidden realities behind the events taking place in both nature and human life may be perceived. and is the tongue of the Hidden World in the Manifest World. It is like the sun shining in the spiritual and intellectual sky of Islam. and is the sacred map of the next world. It is the expounder of the Divine attributes. Names and acts, and the educator of mankind guiding them to truths and virtues. It is a book of law and wisdom, a book of worship and prayer, a book of Divine commands and prohibitions, and also a book which contains everything to satisfy man’s spiritual and intellectual needs.

There is actually no problem of a theological, social, economic, political, or even scientific nature that the Qur’an does not deal with briefly or in detail, directly or by allusion or symbolically. However, its method of’ approach and presentation is unique to itself and inimitable by mankind. It expressly says that it has adopted a special manifold method of its own which is termed tasrifi that is the display of varieties of topics and the shifting from one subject to another and then the reverting to the previous one and repeating the same subject with deliberation and purpose thus showing the essentially integral character of existence and displaying unity within multiplicity. It uses unique and rhythmic forms of recitation to facilitate understanding and memorization.

Also the Qur’an considers the creation not for its own sake, but for the sake of knowledge of its Creator. By contrast, science besides considering the creation only for its own sake, addresses particularly those specialized in it. The Quran addresses the whole of mankind, and since it uses creation as evidence and proof to guide mankind, and the majority of’ mankind are common people the evidence should be manifest and obvious in order to be understood by the common people easily, and guidance requires that things of little importance should be touched on only and the subtle points be made understandable by means of parables and comparisons. In order not to mislead people into errors, it should not change things which in their view are obvious in a way which will be of no use or may even be harmful to them.

Essentially like every other thing in existence, sciences have their sources in one of the Beautiful Names of God Almighty. It is the Name the All-Healing that shines on medicine: geometry and engineering depend on the Names the All-Just, the All-Shaping and the All-Harmonizing and philosophy reflects the Name the All-Wise and so forth. As was pointed out above, the Creator has referred in His Book, the holy Qur’an to everything that He has allowed man to learn and a means to his material and spiritual progress. Since the Qur’an’s primary aim is to make God Almighty known to man, to open the way to faith and worship and organize man’s individual and social life, thus guiding man to perfect happiness in both worlds, it makes references to things and events, as well as to scientific facts, to achieve this aim. So it mentions each thing proportionally to its significance with respect to this aim: the more significant a thing is the greater right it has to be mentioned in the Qur’an. Thus, the Qur’an while elaborately explaining the pillars of faith fundamentals of religion, and the foundations of human life and essentials of worship hints at some other things according to their significance for human life, The meaning of a verse may be compared to a rosebud: it is hidden by successive layers of petals. A new meaning is perceived as each petal unfolds, and everyone discovers one of those meanings according to his capacity and is satisfied with it.

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marinette-adrien · 5 years ago

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MischiefGod!AU

Ok, so the amazing @sidsinning came up with an amazing AU and gave me persmision to write a fanfic about it. It took me a long long time and I’m sorry for that. But finally here it is!

The lovely people who asked to be tagged: @kay-great @geminikessa @carolinaleo-blog @nadinemarie-art @ellysia-banearrow @skellingtonia @waitingfortheshadows @ink-stains-on-ceilings @crisjim @dulcetfoxao3

Sorry if I forgot someone. Totally not intentional.

People who I saw asking for writers to write it or if someone was writting it, saying they’d read it or needed more of it, will be following this au or something along those lines: @washikook @smackthat-allonthefloor @greymouser13 @miraculousshipping @missca7astropcat @rhymeringlamb @sharkiethesharkperhaps @bridgetinerabbit @wewonmrstark3-0-0-0 @a-mahou-shoujo @thenovelartist @me4ml @inkshila @sakuramarie @parlezvousladybug @blue-peach14 @teardroplet @theunfortunatefangirl @doll-gloss @berry-loves-otome @trapqueeni @onesmolbirb @millie27love

I deeply apologize if you didn’t want to be tagged. Please ignore it. I just didn’t want anyone to feel I left them out.

And finally I can’t start without a big shout-out to @thecaptainfandom who bore with me for three days and beta’ed the flip out of this work. It was a mess and now is readable. She deserves all the praise.

Anyways, here’s the story! Hope you enjoy.

AO3 link

The Mischief Bride

Gods die too. They live and they age, even if it is slow enough to deceive time and humans. Gods live and play and sometimes, they trick and they lie. Sometimes they love and they care. Other times, they just want entertainment.

Kim, god of rivalry and fire, was one of the latter. And he got bored pretty quickly too. He was a relentless god who didn’t discriminate between humans or other gods to challenge for a competition. He had a reputation of picking random humans who were good athletes to compare his abilities to the very best of the human race.

Generations ago, the townspeople, tired of being spirited away randomly, asked for the lord of the land to make a pact with the god. Every year, they would offer a competitor, the very best of their sport, to be challenged by him, in exchange for leaving the other humans alone.

Now, every year, Marinette’s town would offer a “sacrifice” for Kim, the god of fire and rivalry. The reason they were called sacrifices instead of competitors these days was because they never came back. Nobody knew what happened to them, but people speculated that no matter if they won or lost, they ended up dying. Perhaps they perished trying to keep up with his challenges or perhaps were punished by the god’s wrath for not being able to.

The day of the sacrifice was just around the corner but Marinette didn’t have the mind to worry about it. Sure, she was in good form but was by no means an athlete, so there were very little chances she would be picked as the sacrifice, and she had better things to worry herself with. Primordially, her parents were both sick.

Autumn had brought the flu to her household and she had her hands full attending her family’s bakery and tending to her parents. Regardless, she knew no matter how much she worked, she couldn’t afford medicine for both her mother and father.

She was scared.

She spent nights alone with her thoughts, unable to sleep and just watching them breathe. She bit back tears, wondered how she could make the medicine last just a little longer, hoping that somehow, it would be enough.

Kagami didn’t have many friends. To be precise, Kagami had only one friend, Marinette. Since they were little, people tended to mistake one for the other because they seemed very much alike. They had the same blue hair and similar height and build. Their skin was pale and their hearts were kind.

Despite appearances, one thing that they didn’t have in common was their families. While Marinette’s parents were loving and caring, Kagami’s mother was cold and reserved. She was a proud samurai that served the feudal lord of the land, which proved to be her daughter’s downfall.

Just as her mother, Kagami was a very good swordswoman, a trait that was rare among the villagers. Almost no one around these parts dared to practice and excel at any sport because then they would be selected as a sacrifice to the god of fire and rivalry. The Tsurugis, regardless, were a proud family that had always served the royal family, and was expected to be good samurai by them.

The people started to become restless. They didn’t practice any sport for fear of becoming good enough to be selected as the new sacrifice. Due to the lack of athletes this provoked, the sacrifices started being picked between people with almost no training at all. Tired of this situation, the town demanded for the feudal lord to do something about it. The solution that was finally approved and exposed to the god by prayers and rituals with incense, came in the form of a last sacrifice in the shape of a wife.

They promised a wife who would be as powerful and athletic as she was beautiful and thus, Kagami was selected. It was a great honor for Tomoe, as the lord put it, to be able to prove her loyalty by offering her daughter.

Tomoe couldn’t afford to lose her daughter, but she couldn’t afford to lose her honor either. She looked at Kagami and felt a pang of pride and shame at the same time when the girl took the news with dignity and resignation. She only made one request: to go visit her friend one last time to say goodbye. Her mother granted her permission without protest.

To Kagami’s surprise, Marinette looked exhausted. Her eyes were red and had big purple bags under them. She was paler than usual and perhaps a little bit thinner too.

They hadn’t seen each other in a while, since Kagami’s mother didn’t usually let her out of her supervision for too long, and the catching up was sad for both parts. They both cried in each other’s arms until their eyes ran dry.

Marinette felt like she was losing three people dear to her now instead of two, and life seemed gloom and grimm like never before. Late at night, Kagami’s mother went to pick her up since her daughter hadn’t return, she was hit with the resemblance of the girls that she had forgotten, and a twisted idea was planted on her mind, making her both ashamed and hopeful at the same time.

On their way home, Kagami told her mother about what Marinette was going through and that she felt bad she couldn’t do anything to help her anymore. Selfishly, she asked her mother to help her friend in her place and to her surprise, Tomoe accepted.

The very next morning, Tomoe went to see her daughter’s friend and offered her help, in exchange for a favor.

Marinette accepted.

III

Marinette knew she was being taken advantage of, but she bit back the injustice and kept going. For her parents. She knew that when Kagami realized the scheme, she would make good of her mother promise to nurse her mom and dad back to health. She hoped her friend would forgive her for taking her place, too.

Tricking the feudal lord of the land was easy. He had never seen Kagami up close and Marinette covered her head with the wataboshi anyways, so no one would suspect a thing.

Like all sacrifices before her, Marinette walked willingly to the sacred mountain where the gods would be descending soon. Legend said that during the fifteenth day of the seventh month, gods and youkais descended to Earth to have a festival and, sometimes, to interact with humans.

For that reason, anyone who had the intention of meeting them would venture to the sacred mountain. Said mountain that was actually a sleeping volcano, the very same that would wake if they dared anger the gods.

But Marinette’s step didn’t quiver when she set foot on the holy ground. She lighted her way with an oil lamp through the misty woods of the mountain and repeated to herself that she would find her husband-to-be walking northeast, so she walked until the oil ran out. She walked until the mist grew heavy and her feet hurt, and then she walked some more. She walked until she realized the moon changed positions in the sky randomly, making her confused as to where to go. She stopped when she realized she was lost.

She dropped to the ground in defeat, feeling tired and hopeless. She rubbed her feet and wondered if she was lucky or unlucky if she ended up not meeting with the god. Probably unlucky, if her town suffered the consequences.

Then, she heard a chuckle.

It was soft and falsely sweet. When Marinette lifted her gaze looking for the source, she met a pair of olive eyes.

“A human,” said the apparition. “Are you lost?”

It was a girl with caramel colored skin and brown, long hair. She was dressed in orange from her clothes to her smile, and even though there wasn’t particularly anything wrong with her, Marinette’s gut told her something was off about the lady. When she squinted, she realized —and how could she have missed it— that the girl had the ears and the tail of a fox.

She was a kitsune, a youkai better known to be a trickster. Marinette felt alarm rise to her head, but bit her tongue to remain calm.

“I am,” she said. “Do you happen to know which way is the northeast?”

The kitsune disappeared and reappeared closer to her, to her right. Marinette stood up and followed her gaze, her uneasiness increasing. The youkai ignored her question.

“Are you, perhaps, by any chance, the god of fire’s new toy?”

She didn’t think it was wise to offer the spirit too much information, but figured that either way, there was little else she could do.

“I am this year sacrifice, yes. Would you be so kind as to point the way to the northeast, please?”

The kitsune chuckled and disappeared again.

“He’s not at his usual spot right now,” she informed, appearing right at her back. Marinette jumped to get some distance between them. “He got tired of waiting and decided to go the Ghost Festival instead”

Marinette cursed her luck. She hoped he wouldn’t be too angry because she didn’t appear and roast their village by morning.

“I can show you the way to the festival if you want,” offer the kitsune with a sweet smile. A little too sweet, perhaps.

The young baker still had reservations. She didn’t feel comfortable following a kitsune. She would probably play a prank on her, preventing her from reaching the god Kim.

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. It would be more than enough if you pointed the right way for me to follow.”

The kitsune laughed again and disappeared once more. She wasn’t in sight for a few moments and Marinette feared to have offended her, provoking for her abandon her to her luck. But the youkai talked to her once more, making herself visible again sitting on a low branch of a tree.

“It’s that way,” she said, pointing ahead.

Marinette looked to the path that the mist opened when the youkai pointed at it, still feeling uneasy. Sensing her discomfort, the kitsune giggled one last time.

“You can trust me,” she said making the gesture of crossing her heart. “I never lie.”

Having no other alternative, Marinette thanked her and sighed, trying to appease her distrust as she heard the spirit ghostly laugh disappear as she followed the path she had told her.

It had been a lie, of course. Marinette kept walking until the sun threatened her with down, but she couldn’t find nor the festival nor the god. She felt stupid, gullible and hopeless but refused to give up. She swallowed her tears and kept going, not ready to abandon hope yet.

Then, she heard sobbing.

Her eyes tried looking for the source jumping from place to place around her until she finally located it. A very small, red creature kept flying around a spot near the overgrown roots of a tree. Even with her own problems unresolved, Marinette couldn’t help to stop to see if she could help.

“Hello,” she said to the creature, approaching slowly. “Are you okay?” She asked as an icebreaker.

The little spirit turned in surprise and regarded the bride she had in front of her.

“Oh, hello,” she returned the greeting politely, drying her big blue eyes with a tiny, tiny hand. “Well, no,” she admitted.

“What’s the problem?” Inquired Marinette, coming closer. She noticed that it was a kind of fairy with antennas and big black spots that made her resemble a ladybug. She didn’t recognize the kind of youkai that she was, but thought that it was perhaps a zashiki-warashi. If she offered assistance, maybe the youkai would actually help her in exchange.

“It’s one of my earrings. I dropped one of my precious earrings down this hole in the ground, but it’s too small to reach, even for me.”

Marinette approached the area the youkai was hovering over, and discovered a small hole that formed between the roots of the tree and held something that shined. It was far enough to be unreachable for the small creature or her fingers, but she gave it a thought and looked over her surroundings to find some inspiration. She ended up grabbing a thin stick and one of her hair pieces that she tied with a decorative ribbon from her outfit to make a tool long enough to reach it and pick it up with the hair piece, so in a few minutes, the earring was back to its owner.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

The little creature was beyond happy, and her happiness was contagious. Marinette laughed with her but promptly remember that she was in a predicament too.

“Hey, by any chance, would you know how I can get to the gods? I have only encountered youkais tonight.”

The spirit then seemed to become aware of the human in god territory and taking notice of her clothes, she had a feeling about what was happening.

“Oh,” she said quietly, “where you offered as sacrifice?”

“Well, yes. But it’s fine. I did it willingly. I cut a deal to save my parents, so it’s alright for the most part, I guess.”

“I see. You must have a very kind heart…” said the creature, noticing that the young lady in front of her seemed to have her motivations always in helping others, and took a like of her almost instantly.

“Marinette. My name is Marinette.”

“Well, Marinette, my name is Tikki and I can help you find the god you are looking for”

“Really? That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Which god are you searching for? This part of the mountain is the territory of one of them, actually.”

“Really?” Marinette asked, surprised. Perhaps the kitsune hadn’t been lying after all. “Then I was in the right path, after all!”

“I can send you to him if you want, I can sense he’s close”

“Oh, thank you, thank you Tikki! That would be wonderful, you’ll be saving my life!”

Tikki giggled. “It would be my pleasure, Marinette!”

Feeling like things were finally getting back on track, Marinette saw Tikki fly around her a couple of times and then, she felt the ground disappear under her feet. She stumbled backwards a couple of steps and then fell on her butt.

She sat up and lifted the wataboshi to inspect her surroundings and was immediately met with a pair of green, mischievous eyes.

“W-where am I?” Asked Marinette disorientated.

In front of her was a young man with golden hair wearing a montsuki. Similar to the previous youkai, he had a pair of black cat ears crowning his head. Unlike the previous spirit, though, she could feel a different aura from him. It felt old and dangerous. He wasn’t a youkai, he was a god.

His eyes gleamed with excitement when he saw her and he showed her a smile full of teeth and untold secrets.

“You’re in the Sacred Mountain, girl. In our territory, to be precise.”

Marinette then took notice of the small black creature floating close to the god’s head. It had green eyes too and was similar in size to Tikki, if not a little bigger. Much like the god beside him, he resembled a cat.

“Oh. Are you the god of fire?” She asked, composing herself.

Both of them interchanged a look and then smiled down to her.

“Why, yes. Yes I am. And who are you, pretty lady?”

She jumped to kneel in front of him, suddenly assuming a formal posture. The most important part was yet to be accomplished. She had to make sure that the god accepted the new pact.

“I am Marinette! And my people begs for you to take me as a wife as a last sacrifice, as our prayers had supplicated in the name of your clemency!”

There was a moment of silence, and neither the god nor the creature said a thing.

“Your people thought that getting the god of rivalry, the very one that likes to challenge anything that moves to an athletic competition, a wife, would solve the problem?”

Put it that way, Marinette recognized that it sounded kind of moronic but she was just trying to help her people, especially her parents, and following orders.

“Please,” she said quietly having no other argument.

He looked at her and found nothing but sincerity in the form of big, expressive eyes, pleading and impossibly blue.

The god’s heart jumped on his chest without his permission, making him feel a weird tug on his heartstrings. Usually, if it wasn’t funny, he was not interested, but there was something about this lady that felt odd, though not in a bad way.

“She smells… like luck,” said his companion, getting close to her and giving her a sniff, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Well, then I guess it’s your lucky day, pretty lady. I’ll take your offer.”

Marinette blinked.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he extended a hand to her, to help her stand up. “Yes. It was wife day after all, wasn’t it Plagg?”

“Yes, yes it was!” smirked the little black fairy-like-creature.

Marinette admitted to herself that indeed she ended up being pretty lucky, successfully achieving her goal to reach the god and convince him to take her as a wife. She extended her hand to take his and he grasped her in a tight grip. He pulled her to her feet and a red string tied their wrists together. The ribbon shined and popped, disappearing into tiny sparks.

Marinette felt the ground banish from underneath her for a moment, unable to divert her gaze from his face. It was probably rude. Humans weren’t supposed to look at gods in the eyes, she believed, but couldn’t help herself. His green gaze was mesmerizing, all deep and lively and fresh as a lime. He caught her when her footing failed and gave her a wicked smile.

“T-that’s it?” She asked, catching her words. “Are you my husband now?”

The gleam in his eye sparkled with mischief.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Marinette had kept going for the last couple of weeks by mere will power. First taking care of her increasingly ill parents and then of the bakery by herself. She lost a whole night of sleep after Kagami’s visit and later operated almost on automatic mode focusing only on the task she had been entrusted with. When she successfully achieved it and her worries about the village and her parents were lifted from her shoulders, it was as if the strings that had been keeping her standing and going were cut.

She remembered the god of rivalry and fire had asked her to come with him, as he was bound to return to his castle since the festivities were ending, and follow him she did. Or at least, she thought she did because now she was waking up, which meant she must have fallen asleep at some point. She didn't remember when it happened but there were a few times in her life when it did. She woke up disoriented, covered in silks, in a room she didn't recognize.

The sun was high in the sky while the last time she had seen it, it had been just rising. She looked around and she found herself in a big bed, like the ones people from other parts of the world slept in, the ones lifted from the ground. It was very comfortable and probably the reason she had slept like a baby. The room was spacious and a big balcony window let the sunlight in, painting golden rays in the dark floor and blankets.

But most importantly, she noticed, she wasn't alone.

A familiar blond head lied beside her. He was not touching her and was facing the opposite side of the window and her. His breathing was even, denoting he was asleep but when she fell off the bed in her haste, he woke up.

Marinette grimaced in pain and heard a chuckle. A pair of mischievous green eyes looked at her from above on top of the bed, paired with a playful smirk.

"Where am I?" asked Marinette.

"I carried you like a princess. You fell asleep on me on the way home.”

"Why were we on the same bed?"

"Well, I mean we're married, remember? Why wouldn't we be?"

Marinette was speechless for a moment. She tried to come up with a reasonable answer to rebutt his argument, but could only come up with none. She sat there on the hard floor letting her eyes stare into nothingness. At that moment, she was hit with the realization.

She was married. To a god.

“Are you okay?” He asked when she didn’t say anything else.

“No,” came the immediate answer. She was a little overwhelmed.

He had the nerve to chuckle again. Marinette recomposed a little to glare at him, but he just stretched, completely unimpressed. He looked like a cat perched in a tree looking down at her like that and she could almost picture him swaying a tail contently.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out.

“We are in my castle of course, princess. Your new home. Or should I call you queen?”

“Queen?”

He crawled out of the bed towards her, never losing his smile. Something in him screamed “danger” but something else locked her in place and made her heart race. He kept getting closer and closer until she could feel his breath on her face.

“Queen of Fire and Rivalry. Queen of everything that I reign of. My Queen.”

He took her left hand, the one he had taken when the invisible ribbon tied them together, and kissed it without dropping her gaze. She blushed. He was very attractive.

She noticed then that the ribbon had left a mark like a bracelet on her wrist, a remainder of their pact.

“Or would you like to be the Queen of something else?”

He was teasing her, she knew, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad. She was just a sacrifice. She had ventured the mountain, giving up on her future so her parents could have one. She was ready to die trying or live like a prisoner in a loveless marriage. She never thought she would look at her husband and blush. She never thought that he would call her his queen, sharing his rein.

Perhaps, she thought, gods didn’t think so little of humans. Perhaps she was starting to feel truly lucky, and not just by being able to save others. Perhaps she wasn’t doomed. Perhaps she didn’t hate her situation anymore.

“Your queen is fine” she said, quietly.

He raised his eyebrows, clearly not expecting an honest response.

“Your queen is fine,” she repeated, letting a smile tug at her lips this time.

Slowly, he returned the smile and for the first time, it wasn’t mischievous or teasing. It had something in it that reminded Marinette of tenderness and hope.

Marinette followed him to the dining room, where a banquet was expecting them. The little black creature that accompanied the god the night before was already filling his mouth with cheese. He introduced himself as Plagg and then proceeded to explain to her that he was a kwami. Every god had one following them around who shared the nature of the god powers. They were the companions of the gods.

She discovered Plagg loved cheese as much as he loved teasing Kim, and that the blond pretended to be deeply offended if the tiny creature dismissed his puns but Plagg had worst on his repertoire, if she was honest. They seemed to be very good friends.

She didn’t pay much attention to their banter once she focused on her meal though. Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t eaten in almost a day and even before that, her meals had been frugal thanks to her lack of appetite. The table in front of her was filled with delicious fruit, cheese, seeds, tea and wine so she helped herself to seconds of everything. She ate until her belly couldn’t fit one more bite.

Shortly after breakfast, Kim excused himself, saying he had some business to attend to, but that he would be back in a few hours.

“You can familiarise yourself with your new home in the meanwhile, my queen,” said her new husband with that mischievous smile that she was learning to recognize as the one he almost always wore. “If you need something, just ask for it and it shall be given to you.”

He stole a kiss from her cheek and then he was gone with his kwami before she could ask to who she could ask for her hypothetical needs.

So she finished her breakfast and decided she would follow his advice and explore the castle. She spent the next couple of days wandering around its hallways, which were empty for the most part. The palace was made of stone and has long staircases that led from one floor to another several times. It was huge and a little lifeless, with dark marble walls that gave the palace the appearance of being cracked. It reminded her of the European fairytale like castles, where invisible servants would tend to the inhabitants from the shadows.

The god of fire and rivalry disappeared everyday by the afternoons, but always returned to have their meals together, which Marinette had to admit, was nice. He was a bit of a dork with a bad sense of humor that never failed to pull a smile out of her nonetheless. As the days pass, she learned that his jokes and bright smiles hid a lonely, old soul underneath the youthful appearance.

During her exploration around her new home, she discovered that everything was… raw, in a sort of way. The bed was covered in linens and silks, but they were just fabric instead of blankets. The walls were bare of paintings or any kind of art, and even the furniture, despite being indeed luxurious and made of high quality woods and materials, was simple and minimalistic.

Even their meals were simple. Their table was always full of delicious fruit, vegetables, meat, fish, grains, seeds, milk, honey, cheese and bread but they were all fresh or cooked very simply. There was plain bread but never pies or cakes. There was meat but never stew. The fruit was always fresh and clean but never in a dessert. When she asked him about it, he shrugged.

“It’s because I’m the god of…” he stopped, with the chopsticks midway to his mouth.

“Fire,” said Plagg, giving him a funny look. “He’s the god of fire and sometimes he burns his own stuff by accident. The servants are not good at crafts and that’s why the castle is what it is”

“You burn stuff by accident?” asked Marinette, alarm in her voice.

“No,” said he quickly. “Well, sometimes, I guess. But it hasn’t happened in a long, long time, has it Plagg?” He glared at his kwami.

The Kwami agreed dismissively, getting back on his cheese, and the subject was quickly diverted after that.

After that incident, Marinette took it to herself to make something of the materials that were scattered around the castle. She made actual blankets for the bed and found the kitchen to cook when she could. She made quiches and cookies and dumplings. Bread, of course, she always baked because old habits die hard.

The first time Kim got home to a table full of dishes, he had a bewildered expression on his face. He didn’t stop singing her praises when he discovered that she made something new everyday. Not only food, but the palace was suddenly beginning to feel like a home. The windows had curtains and the bed had actual blankets. Suddenly there were cushions on the chairs and an amazing smell of bread in the air at lunchtime.

“You’re amazing, Marinette,” he’d whisper every night before falling asleep while holding her hand, and she’d felt a tingling in her heart at the tenderness of his voice.

The only thing he did was hold her hand, but she found herself snuggling closer and closer with every moonrise. He never asked for a consummation of marriage, but she didn’t know how god-human marriages worked. She already felt very lucky to have control of his domain.

She only had to wish for something out loud or command something to be done, and as if by invisible servants, her instructions were followed. She never saw anyone outside or inside the castle, besides Kim or Plagg, but even though she appreciated the hours he gave her for herself, she started to feel lonely.

And then, she met Tikki again.

Tikki, now that she thought about it, looked just like a Kwami, but Plagg was always near Kim and if the little red creature was indeed a Kwami, Marinette wondered why she wasn’t with her god.

She had been sewing in the castle, making clothes for herself with all the pretty fabrics available in the house when her little friend appeared.

“Marinette! I was hoping to find you here.”

“Tikki! I’m so happy to see you! What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit Plagg.”

“Ah, I should have guessed you were friends. He’s not here though. But I’m sure they’ll be here soon. Would you like to wait with me?”

“I’d love to,” she said, and sat on the table Marinette was using as a desk.

“Tea and pastries for Tikki, please,” she said, and in a few moments, a trail with what was ordered appear beside the Kwami.

“I can see that you are doing well,” said her guest. “Now you manage a castle instead of being lost!” she giggled.

Marinette smiled.

“All thanks to you, Tikki. I was so lucky that I found you before the night ended. I could find my way to the god I was looking for and convince him to stop the annual sacrifices. My village is safe because you helped me.”

“You did mention your village. I’m glad they’re safe but how are you doing?”

“I’m doing better than I thought possible, to be honest,” Marinette confessed. It was easy talking to Tikki. She picked the needle once again and let herself ramble while she worked. “I feel a little lonely sometimes, but I never imagined I’d actually come to like my new husband. He’s kind and attentive. He respects my space and I think he genuinely is amazed by my cooking and sewing skills” she giggled. “He gave me power over his domain since day one and… yeah, I think I like him.”

Tikki looked at her with giddy eyes and a kind smile.

“I’m happy for you, Marinette. I knew Plagg chose well. Adrien is such a gentle soul, a perfect decision for the God of Destruction.”

Marinette went rigid.

“The god of what?”

“The god of destruction” repeated Tikki slowly, eyeing her reaction. “And mischief. And misfortune.”

Who, now?

Marinette looked at her friend like she had just slapped her.

“But… but… no. His name isn’t Adrien. He is Kim, the god of the sun, rivalry and fire! The one who would melt my land with the volcano if there isn’t an annual sacrifice!”

But her memory was bombarding her with all the times he had almost slip. The times Plagg and him would send each other furtive or disapproving glances, as if trying to keep a secret from being revealed.

“Oh. Oh, no Marinette,” said Tikki, with heavy realization. “I think there has been a misunderstanding. You were on the territory of the god of destruction, misfortune and mischief when I found you. I should have asked for clarification.”

“No, but.. but he said so himself! He is Kim, god of fire; not… not…”

“Adrien?” asked the voice she had learn to miss on her afternoons.

She turned abruptly to face him, and for the first time since she knew him, a guilty expression cast a shadow over his features.

“I am,” he said softly. “Adrien, god of destruction, mischief and misfortune. That’s me.”

There was a long pause. Tikki, who had been longing to meet with Plagg, couldn’t help but get offended on Marinette’s behalf. She flew right towards him, a big frown on her face.

“Plagg! This has your mark painted all over! Was it your idea to trick Marinette like that?”

“Well, hello to you too, cheesecake. Can see that you missed me. I didn’t know you knew the bride.”

“Plagg!”

“Ugh, I can’t talk to you when you are being unreasonable,” he said, and flew off.

“Unreasonable! I can’t believe you’d trick an innocent girl who were just trying to help her parents! How cruel can you be?” Exclaimed Tikki, following him while giving him a piece of her mind. Soon, both of them got lost in the hallways of the castle.

“It’s true, then. You are not the one who I was supposed to marry,” Her tone was calm, but her mind was racing, going through all of what that entailed. Was his kindness, the kindness that got her, fake? Was he laughing at her back while she blushed and thought that she was oh, so lucky to have such a kind and humble husband? Did he realize what he jeopardized? Her parents, her village?

Oh, her people…

What if they were already gone? What if Kim, enraged, had already burned to ashes her village while she was here playing house? She could not fathom the thought.

“Well, I… it’s true I’m not the one one you were looking for, but even gods are not free from The Fate’s domain, and after knowing you, I was hoping…”

“Hoping?” She interrupted him. “Hoping for what? That I’d forgive you? For impeding me of helping my people? My parents, who were the only reason I had to…” her voice broke. But she bit back her tears and continued. The more she thought about it, the more betrayed she felt, the more hurt she got and the more stupid she knew she had been.

“I’ve been here! Losing time, married to you! When I should have been saving my people!”

She dashed towards the door, but a hand on her wrist stopped her.

“Let me go, I have to make sure that they… that they’re not…” she could not finish that thought.

“Marinette. Marinette, listen to me. They’re fine.”

“How can you know? They could all be dead by now. My parents, my friends…”

“They are just fine, please listen to me -”

“You lied to me! You tricked me into marrying you and to let my village to die! And for what? A stupid prank?”

“I know you are mad at me, and I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I couldn’t help it. It’s who I am. I am the god of mischief.”

He probably should try to excuse himself after he explained, he realized. Marinette turned to him and pushed him hard. He stumbled back and she kept throwing her fists in his direction.

“The god of mischief! And destruction! Very well played! You destroyed everything that I care about!” She accused with tears streaming down her face. She finally collapsed to her knees and started sobbing.

“Marinette, please listen. They are fine.” He said softly, kneeling beside her. He wanted to touch her but noted that perhaps it wasn’t the best of ideas.

“How can you know?”

“Because I have been going to visit Kim everyday. I don’t really need to leave the castle to do my godly duties. And even if I did, I’m sure the world would do just fine without cataclysms for a few weeks. Or years.”

“You went… to Kim?” She asked, perplexed. She wasn’t following completely, but figured she could at least trust that her village was still intact.

“Yes, I went to offer him a deal. If he gave up this year sacrifice, then I’d be his challenge buddy for the next decade. No questions asked, every time he wanted. Turns out he has been challenging me to play various sports every day. I hope the novelty passes after a few months, but I’ll still have to accept his challenges for the next ten years,” he grimaced.

“He… gave up the sacrifice?”

“Well, not exactly. Since you were supposed to be the last one, I could only buy you a chance. He’ll challenge you to a match. If you win, he’ll revoke the sacrifice policy off your village. If not… well, you’ll be his challenge buddy, like the rest. And your village would have to send another every year, like before.”

“Wait. The rest?”

“Yeah, every single one of the previous sacrifices are alive. They live in his domain now. They have to accept every challenge he asks of them, but they have good lives. With all the luxury a human blessed by the gods could expect.”

It was a little too much information for Marinette to handle. She needed a moment.

“So everyone is alive? All of them?”

“Every single one of them,” he smiled.

Marinette felt so relieved that she almost hugged him and thanked him, but she held herself back.

“You still lied to me.”

“You’re right. It was a stupid prank that got out of hand, but I did my best to make it harmless. I’m also giving you an opportunity that none of the others had: a chance of freedom. Would you… accept that as an apology?” He asked hopefully.

With all that he’d done to take the danger out of the situation… it was indeed a harmless prank from his point of view, she guessed. Except that she was tricked into marry the wrong guy.

“You still tricked me. To marry you.”

His smile, ever changing, was a little sad then.

“I tricked you into believing that we’re married,” he said.

He took her hand again. The one he held in their sleep and the one that had the binding bracelet painted on her skin.

“This is just a mark that shows you as a blessed-by-the-gods human. It’s not a marriage contract. I can easily remove it, if you want. I thought that perhaps it would give you at least a little of an advantage in the upcoming match, but… perhaps coming from me, the God of misfortune, you’ll want it removed.”

“So you’re saying that we’re not married?”

“No.”

“Oh,” for some reason, she felt a little empty.

“When were you going to tell me?”

He made a pause, uncomfortable.

“Ten years?” He tried.

“Adrien!” She reproached. It was the first time she said his name and a little magic mingled in the air, like every time you said a god’s name out loud in their presence. She realized that she had been sharing a home with one of the two most powerful gods that there were. And he was kind of a goofball. And sweet. For a god of destruction, of course.

“Sorry! I’m kidding. I was planning on telling you the very next day, when I made the arrangement with Kim. But when I came back… you were wearing the kimono I picked for you and you made the most delicious bread I have ever tasted, and… you smiled. You didn’t seem bothered by being here, with me. And… I guess I wanted to pretend for a little longer.”

There was a pause. Marinette realized he had mentioned Kim had a kingdom. Perhaps the other gods did too. Perhaps his land was empty because no one wanted to pray to the god of destruction and misfortune. Perhaps his castle was built with raw materials because everything broke in his presence. Perhaps “everything” included his relationships with everyone else too.

“I can challenge Kim whenever I want?” She asked after meditating it for a moment.

He nodded.

“Well, I’ll be challenging him tomorrow, then,” she declared firmly.

He sighed.

“I’ll take you there.”

“And,”

He looked up at her face. She averted her gaze.

“And if you’d have me… I’d like to come here. And pretend for a little longer. If you want.”

VII

Kim was nothing like she imagined him. He was goofy instead of mighty and gave the impression of not being too bright. Yet, just like Adrien, he had a youthful appearance and that aura that Marinette was learning to recognize as one that outlined the gods.

The real Kim’s Kwami was a little monkey that, much like his companion, was extravagant and playful, pure chaotic energy. He fluttered around him non-stop, apparently unable to stand still for more than a minute. When Adrien and Marinette entered the Chinese-style palace to meet their king, they found the owner and his Kwami immersed in a childish fight that included faces, grimaces and stuck out tongues, provoking each other like little kids.

They had been waiting for them on the palace throne room, but didn’t notice them when they arrived. Adrien cleared his throat to announce their presence and the pair turned in their direction, their attention effectively redirected.

“Hello, there. I see you were expecting us, so I’ll cut the formalities short. Kim, this is Marinette.”

"Ah, finally!” He exclaimed, not seeming to care much for said formalities and jumping from his throne to have a closer look at his guests. “I was starting to get bored of always challenging the same people. Tell me, girl, what are you good at? What challenges can you offer?”

"Not so fast," Marinette interrupted. Kim stopped and looked at her raising a brow. She bit her lip fearing that she overstepped by being rude, but Adrien squeezed her hand beside her and she continued. “I need confirmation first. Adrien says if I win, I can be free, do I have your word?”

Kim gave her a smirk.

“Of course” he promised. “If you win”.

He eyed her critically. Marinette knew that she didn’t look so much of an athlete. She was small and skinny, but he’d be disappointed if he thought she would abandon so easily.

“I’ll even let you pick the challenge, just so you see that I’m a just god,” he promised and promptly dropped to the ground to start a warm up. He looked eager to start.

Marinette tried to think of a sport she could have a chance with, a frown on her face. Adrien looked at her and squeezed her hand one more time. When she met his eyes with her own, he gave her an encouraging smile.

“You’ll be just fine. I have faith in you. You are amazing, Marinette. I’m sure you can win.”

She smiled back and nodded her head. Adrien and Plagg stepped aside and watched her form the lines.

“You’ll do good, Marinette,” said Tikki and kissed her cheek. “For luck.” Then, she flew to join the unlucky pair.

Marinette turned her attention once again to the god of rivalry and fire, trying to think of an option that would allow her to win. She thought that he might not get along with water, being the god of fire, and perhaps challenging him to a swimming competition would be a viable idea, but it was very obvious. Surely others would have previously challenged him to a swimming competition without success. As Adrien had told her, Kim always won in every competition he had suggested.

If only shōgi was a sport she might have suggested it. Looking at Kim, he looked more on the side of impulsiveness rather than on the analyzing side. She had a strong pair of arms due to all the kneading and lifting and carrying sacks of flour, but nothing as near as a god’s strength. She didn’t want to test his endurance either because Adrien once told her that he didn’t need much sleep, but it was nice and relaxing to lay on bed. He supposed Kim would be the same.

He was still doing a warm up when she lifted her eyes in his direction again. She tried to look at his body type to guess which kind of sports he had less experience with, when it hit her.

“I know which challenge I’d like to propose,” she declared.

“About time!” said Kim, jumping from the floor where he was doing squats. “Well, what is it?”

“Gymnastics” said Marinette, with no trace of doubt on her voice, despite her inner turmoil.

“Gymnastics?”

“Yes, especially flexibility.”

Kim was surprised. He had never been challenged for a gymnastics match, and despite that his Kwami was a monkey, he was only a monkey in name. He was good at climbing trees and swaying from one branch to another, but that was about it. Truth be told, he wasn’t very flexible. But how could this girl have known?

She must have seen the insecurity twinkle in his eye, because she smiled.

“Are you backing down from a duel? I have no problem by winning by default.”

“Never!” He responded immediately, like a petulant child. “I never back down from a dare!”

“Very well, then. Shall we start?”

Marinette challenged him to three different disciplines form gymnastics, and he lost all of them. First part of the challenge, he could not touch his head with his toes. For the second he couldn’t do a split and for the third, he could not even reach to grab his toes while sitting down. She won fair and square.

Plag and Tikki cheered. Adrien smiled at her and she returned the smile. After a moment, she ran to him to hug him. Despite everything, he returned to her the one thing she thought she had given up for ever, her freedom.

“Thank you”

He held her a little tighter before he had to let her go.

VIII

Marinette didn’t really go back to her village. Spirited away people were not always well received among mortals. She visited her parents in secret though. And Kagami. She told her about her adventure and how she didn’t regret it.

She also made good friends with the goddess of curiosity and investigation, who’s name was Alya. One afternoon, she told her that no youkai dared to venture the mountain during the festival of the gods. They stayed in the festival but did not wander around to interact with humans. They had no interest in them since, unlike the gods, youkai interacted with humans all the time, even if people didn’t notice.

“But then, who did I…?”

“Probably the goddess of lies. She likes to disguise herself as a youkai, especially kitsunes. Which sucks because kitsunes are the kind of youkai I reign above”.

Marinette visited her frequently, but for the most part stayed with Adrien. She thought about going to another human village or city, where no one knew her, but every time she returned to the European style castle, Adrien’s eyes lit up like a million fireflies, and her heart felt warm when he said her name. So she returned. So she stayed.

“They sure make a lovely couple,” said Plagg, voice casual, to Tikki.

“They do,” she replied, a little dreamily.

“Too bad she’s a human who’ll die too soon.”

The little red Kwami made a pause. She looked over to Plagg and saw him eating cheese without looking at her, making a show of not caring about what he was saying. She knew him too well to notice his intentions, though. He was the yang to her yin, after all.

“What? Why would you bring that up?”

“Well, she is. She’s a human. Human lives expire faster than cheese. But I think she would be a good goddess, given the chance, if you ask me.”

“I’m not.”

Plagg shrugged and kept eating cheese, but the silence was heavy with the weight of the idea implied.

“They just seem so… compatible, like you and me. The kid’s been happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

“Are you suggesting that I make Marinette the goddess of Creation?”

“Ugh, no. Wouldn’t that be awful? She’s been creating stuff since she put a foot in this place. Curtains, clothes, bread. What’s next? Furniture? As if the simplest creations of a human girl could endure the power of the mere presence of a god? Ha, no.”

Tikki knew exactly what Plagg was doing, and even if she didn’t entertain the lazy way he was using to try to get in her head, she took a moment to think. She remembered how spontaneously Marinette had created a tool to help her regain her earring, the very same piece of jewelry that helped the Kwami to give mortals the power of the gods.

If she gave Marinette the earrings… she would become a chosen one. A goddess.

“She does create a lot of things, doesn’t she?”

“I was just pointing out how well they fit” said Plagg. “It’s important that our charges do, if we don’t want things to get unnecessarily complicated. Again.”

Tikki sighed. She liked Marinette very much, and she could also read her heart as Kwamis could. She was a kind soul. She would be a compassionate goddess.

The silence stretched while she kept thinking about it. Plagg had long finished his cheese when he spoke again in a soft tone that he rarely used.

“You’ve been alone for so long…”

There had been a couple of centuries since her last goddess.

Tikki sighed, and looked in the direction where Marinette and Adrien were. They were laying on a blanket on the grass, laughing and watching the sunset. The air around them felt different. Electrified, complete. Like it usually felt when she and Plagg where near each other and in perfect harmony.

Plagg had a point. No matter how mischievous he could be, he was always serious when it came to matters of her, like her lack of a chosen one. He was always serious when it came to them.

“Let’s give them this night,” she finally said, when the sky was upon them with a million stars. “Tomorrow, I’ll ask her.”

Plagg, who was dozing beside her, smirked with his eyes closed.

“Ah, you are so easily influenced.”

“Don’t push it, stinky tabi.”

He chuckled and she smiled. She laid her head against his and closed her eyes. She knew it was a good match.

-.-

Just adding a little vocabulary in case not everyone is familiarized with traditional Japanese clothing and/or mythology:

Wataboshi: The all white hood called the wataboshi is the Shinto equivalent of the western bridal veil. The bride wears it before and during the ceremony and is a symbol of innocence and purity.

Youkai: A are a class of supernatural monsters, spirits, and demons in Japanese folklore.

Kitsune: In the literal sense is the Japanese word for 'fox', specifically in the red fox of East Asia. Foxes are a common subject of Japanese folklore; in English, kitsune refers to them in this context. Stories depict legendary foxes as intelligent beings and as possessing paranormal abilities that increase with their age and wisdom. According to Yōkai folklore, all foxes have the ability to shapeshift into human form.

Montsuki: All black formal kimono for men. Worn in ceremonies or parties. They are also used for the martial arts, theater and very popular among artists.

Shōgi: Also known as Japanese chess.

Tabi: Traditional Japanese sock.

-.-

Well, there it is. I’m sorry if you were expecting a multichapter series and I only offer a oneshot. Also, I write fluff and made it as less controversial as posible in order to keep it one chapter long. I’m sorry if you were expecting angst. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed! I wrote it with all my heart.

#MischiefGod!AU #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #LadyNoir #plakki #cheesecake #naty writes

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benji-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Cherry Blossom

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Word Count: 4041

Summary: You and Bucky finally find the love you deserve. Underneath the cherry blossoms, everything is beautiful. -- What the two of them find is a fantastical real life dream of mine. I hope you think it’s as beautiful as I do.

Warnings: Mentions of death, but nothing graphically depicted. Should be edited more, but I literally could not read it again.

He sat on the steps of the back porch. She sat beside him. He hated that this place was so quiet now. It wasn’t supposed to be. It never was before. He looked over at the woman sat beside him and he could see it. The two of them together, happy, in this same place. He prayed she could see it too.

“When my grandparents first bought this place, there was hardly anything here. The house they’d bought was this tiny little dump, with rotted wood and broken windows. Mom has pictures. It’s amazing how different it looks now. Nana told me they liked the land, and that’s why they bought it. That the trees and the grass were perfect. That the air smelled just right.”

She looked over at the man she loved. She’d never seen him like this. It was almost solemn. A solemn yearning for something he didn’t yet have. She leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “Will you tell me about them? Will you tell me about this place?”

He looked down at her, this woman he loved enough to bring here, to this sacred place. He was unafraid with her beside him, “I’ll tell you everything. It’s a long story though.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, “Don’t worry. We have time.”

He kissed her temple and her eyes fell closed. She looked out at the garden and said, “How did they first meet?”

“Well. He fell flat on his face in front of her.”

—

You weren’t sure if he’d noticed you, but you’d long since noticed him. You’d sit everyday at the picnic table by the cherry blossom trees. You could see the pond from where you sat, with it’s geese and frogs and lily pads. In the distance, where the birch trees grew, you could hear the sound of woodpeckers. It was the world’s most perfect spot.

You were a teacher, and so most days, after you changed out of your work clothes and went home to get a snack, you’d come sit in the park. You’d grade your papers there, watch the geese float in the water. The local geese were familiar with you now. They’d sit by you sometimes during the week, though mostly they kept their distance. On Sundays though, they’d flock to the shoreline when they saw you coming. You’d bring a big bag of rice and corn, and spread it across the ground. Sometimes they’d eat right out of your hand, especially Mister and Lady Goose. You’d fed them as goslings, and years later, they’d sit by your feet as you fed their goslings. You loved them, and you loved that park.

There we other picnic tables scattered throughout the park and around the pond, benches and lights lined the pathways. There were always people about, and that was how you first saw him. He ran through the park everyday. Morning and afternoon. You’d see him Sunday mornings while you fed the geese, and weekday afternoons while you graded. You’d watch him, hair tied back, long sleeved shirt. He was always sweating. His shirts were long, but he didn’t wear gloves. You paid enough attention to him to realize he had a prosthetic arm. He wasn’t trying to hide it completely, but he didn’t want to call attention to it either. It made you wish the world was kinder. Maybe then he’d be less afraid to show himself.

He’d noticed you of course. How could he not? You were there everyday, and were half the reason he kept running through that park, even though the path was old and cracking, raised in some parts, and not great if your goal was speed. Fortunately, his goal, at least by the pond, was a leisurely jog. The longer he jogged by the longer he could see you. Sometimes he’d stop there, drink some water, as if he really needed a water break, and pretend to take in the scenery before he went on his way.

You were usually working on something. Writing on papers, though he never knew what exactly. You were so beautiful and you didn’t even know it. Alone at that picnic table, you’d laugh out loud at something that you were reading. You’d put your face in your hands when it was really bad, shake your head before you continued writing. Sometimes a gust of wind would blow through the trees, and the cherry blossoms, and petals would swirl around you like you were their very center of gravity. You’d sometimes look up from your work, and watch the petals fall into the pond. You didn’t even notice the way they fell at your feet like an offering, and decorated your hair like they’d been destined to land there. You looked like a scene in a movie.

On Sundays, you’d feed the geese. This was amazing to him, not only because you’d get so close to those horrifying birds, but because you’d pet them too, paying no mind to the absurd amount of geese droppings you had to step around. The goslings would nuzzle at your feet, while their parents ate out of your hand. You weren’t like anything he’d ever seen.

The day you and Bucky met, it was a Friday afternoon. The sun fell softly across the pond and you didn’t have any work to do. You sat there, picking the cantaloupe out of your fruit cup so you could save the best for last, and reading a book on your phone. You could hear his steps as he came around the corner, and though you were usually pretty discreet, for the first time, you accidentally made eye contact. You were looking at him, and by God he was looking at you, and neither of you could stop. But with all his attention on you, he had no awareness of where he was going. He tripped right over the raised concrete and fell smack on his face, barely catching himself in time.

“Holy shit,” As soon as you saw him fall, you were out of your seat running over to him. He rolled over, groaning, hands holding onto his scraped up face.

“Oh my god, are you okay? You’re okay right? Oh goodness, lemme see please.” You grabbed onto his wrists and slowly pulled his hands away from his face. You could feel a little bit of resistance, but could also tell he was letting you do it.

He was a little scraped up, but looked mostly fine. The words slipped out as he said, “God, you're even prettier up close.”

You felt your face heat up. Nobody had ever said anything to you quite as sweet as that. He groaned again, pulling his hands back up to cover his face.

“Is this as embarrassing as it feels?” His voice came through muffled underneath his hands.

You smiled so bright and said, “Maybe a little, but it’s working in your favor. If it’s any consolation, I find it pretty charming.”

He pulled his hands away, looked up at you and said, “I can work with charming.”

You rolled your eyes at that and said, “That’s the line you’re going with? Really?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, not my best work.”

You shook your head, “No kidding.”

You stood up, and reached you hand down to help him up. He didn’t need the assistance, but he thought it was sweet of you to offer. You wiggled your fingers and said, “Well come on then, Prince Charming, time to get up.”

Once he was standing he brushed himself off and said, “So, Princess, what do you say?”

You were confused, “What do I say about what?”

“Sunday morning. Right about here. I’ll bring the coffee and cinnamon rolls?” He was a little nervous, but something in him just told him this was right.

You looked at him for a minute, arms folded across your chest. You’d hardly spoken, but somehow it already felt natural. Easy. Like when you run into a friend you haven’t seen for years, and fall right back into old patterns. Everything following a natural rhythm as if it had been that way all along.

“Cream, two sugars. Bring lots of napkins”

He smiled at that, “See you then, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled as you two said goodbye, “You’re not really gonna stick with that nickname, are you? I mean, Princess? No originality. No flair.”

He barked out a laugh, “Okay. Alright. Listen, I see you in this park everyday. I have a nickname for all the park regulars. I can always call you that instead?”

“Oh God, is it even worse than Princess?”

“Maybe,” he said. “See you later, Chess.”

Your eyebrows and nose scrunched up in confusion, “Chess? I don’t play chess.”

He blushed, looked at his feet with a shy smile and said, “Well not chess like, chess chess. Chess like Duchess. Y'know cause, when the blossoms blow in the wind, and you’re sitting over at your table, it’s kinda like that scene from the movie y'know? The Aristocats? When O’Malley shakes the blossoms off the tree and they fall all pretty around Duchess. I thought that was kinda what you looked like, so.”

Your eyes were glassy, and you clenched your jaw to keep the tears from falling. No one had ever made you feel so beautiful. In a burst of courage, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, “See you Sunday, O’Malley. I’ll be waiting.”

—

“So that’s why there’s a Cherry Blossom Tree in the front yard?” She asked.

He looked out over the backyard and said, “Once the house was built, it was the first thing they did. There are pictures of Nana at the plant nursery, with this little tree in a pot. It was maybe five feet tall, a little bigger maybe, when they planted it. It’s been growing well over sixty years now. Closer to seventy maybe, not too sure on the math if I’m being honest.”

“Well what about the rest of this place? There’s so much here.”

“Nana used to say you could travel the Earth and never find somewhere with as much love as this place. When I was a kid I thought that of course there had to be somewhere else, but now that I’m older. Now that I’m back here, in this place, I know she’s right.”

He breathed in deep, wishing his grandmother were here to tell her the stories instead, “You see the gazebo?” He asked. “That gazebo is the reason this place happened the way it did.”

—

It was quiet in your bedroom. In the late hours of the night, a Nuwave Air Fryer infomercial played in the background. The tv was muted, but with your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat was all you needed.

Bucky’s prosthetic was wrapped around your waist, and the cool of the metal was a nice contrast to his body heat. With his other hand, his fingertips drew lines on your back. That behavior, rhythmic and comforting, like the beat of his heart. The assurance that came with the feel of his fingers tracing up and down and back up again in time.

This was all you’d ever wanted. This peace that came from laying beside someone you loved wholly and entirely. Someone who loved you back. In that bed, in that moment, a sort of quietude took root. You had grown so used to the cruelty of men that to be shown such raw love, such unashamed kindness, from this man brought to you an ease you’d never known. It was strange. It felt like it had always been this way. Like something inside of you always knew you would end up here. You knew he felt the same.

“Hey, Chess?” He said, his voice fell over you like the comfort of a familiar blanket.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“It’s the same for you, right? You feel it the same?”

You patted his stomach, “Yeah, Buck. I do.”

His arm that ran up and down your back stopped for a minute. He took his hand, and turned your face up so you were looking at him, “Will you marry me?”

You smiled up at him. That sweet bedtime smile he was so fond of, “Only if you marry me back.”

The side of his mouth turned up, and he ran his hand through your hair, “Ok, I promise I will.”

You kissed his chest, and knew that this was right. Some people had grand proposals. Elaborate secrets, everything carefully timed, so someone could ask the person they love to be with them forever. And that’s beautiful – for them. It’s what’s right for their marriage, and for each other. But you didn’t want that, and neither did Buck. It felt right this way. The two of you, together as you would be always. You’d sleep like this every night for the rest of your lives, and it felt more special this way. Like there wasn’t a question at all. Like this was always how it would be. Like something inside of him always knew he would end up here. He knew you felt the same.

He reached over with his hand to the nightstand, head turning as much as it could to see what he was doing, opened the drawer, and pulled out a little box. He opened it with one hand, and held the box close to you so you could get a good look.

He felt his chest start to get wet, quiet tears falling down your face. You didn’t say anything, just kissed his chest again, and picked your left hand up off his stomach and held it up for him. He took the ring out of it box, and slipped it onto your finger. It fit just right.

He put the box back on his nightstand, and started running his fingers up and down your back again. You burrowed into him as close as your bodies would let you, “Let’s get a house, now. One with lots of windows.”

You and Bucky had long since talked about what you wanted in the future. A house, somewhere quiet, but not too quiet. Kids, who would run around. Children who you could show everyday how beautiful this world could be. You’d take them to the park where you first met every Sunday, and feed the geese under the cherry blossoms.

Bucky’s words came right in step with yours, “A big backyard, with lots of grass. When the kids come, me and Sam can build them a jungle gym.”

“With a swing set. I loved the swings when I was a kid. I still love the swings.”

Bucky nodded, “With a swing set.”

“We can have a wrap around porch. One with a porch swing, and we can sit on it together. Maybe we can grow a vegetable garden. With lots of basil and rosemary. Maybe hot peppers, and tomatoes. Behind it we can grow an apple tree. We’ll cook all the time, sometimes with the stuff we’ve grown ourselves.”

“I want a plum tree too. Some blueberry bushes. Or a strawberry patch in the front yard. And I want a big kitchen. Something nice, with all kinds of pots and pans, and a walk-in pantry. One day we’ll teach the kids to make cookies there.” Bucky said smiling.

“With granite countertops. The kind that you have to Windex to keep clean.”

It went quiet for a moment, before you spoke again, only a little hesitant this time, “What if we... What if we got married there? We could... We could build a gazebo in the backyard. Do it up with lights and flowers. Invite just the people we love. We’d get married right there. Maybe have our first dance inside there too, or something. That way there’d be nowhere more special than our home. We could sit on the steps of the back porch, and for the rest of our lives we’d look out at that gazebo and remember. We could dance there all the time and know that no place in the world had known more love. And one day, growing up with the pictures on the walls, having seen the old videos, one of our kids will want to get married there too. If we’re real lucky.”

You looked up at Bucky, after realizing you’d gone off on quite a fantastical tangent. He was already looking at you, silent tears rolling down his face.

“Our wedding night could be the first night we spend in our new home. I’d carry you into the house. We could... we could plant a cherry blossom tree in the front yard.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile, and neither could he. He laughed through tears, too full of joy to keep it in.

“I love you, James.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

—

“Your grandparents really got married here?”

“Yeah. I can show you the pictures when we go back inside. I told you this place was a dump when they bought it. They had a lot of help fixing it up, but when they did, this was where they got married. Uncle Steve got married here too. So did Aunt Becca. Mom and Dad were never married, but that’s probably for the best, since they separated anyways. I wonder if mom knew it might happen. Didn’t want to taint this place.”

Your grandson took a moment to breathe before he kept talking, “Even with how mom and dad turned out though, I never doubted that love was real. So many of my friends who grew up with divorced parents came out of it so scarred. With this fear of love and marriage, like it was always destined to go wrong. But Nana and Grampy always loved each other. When we were little, we’d sleep over, and run around in the yard while they sat together on the porch. I can still hear their laughter echoing throughout the house. I rarely ever saw them argue. And mom says, when they got angry at each other when she was a kid, they’d walk away, and stay apart for the rest of the day. They’d dance in the gazebo that night, and mom says it was like the anger had never been there at all. Like, when they came back together in that place, they agreed to let it wash away with every step.”

“They must’ve been incredible.” She said in awe.

“They were. Not without their faults, of course, but they were really something,” he took a deep breath. “You know, Uncle Steve owns this place now. When Nana passed, Grampy couldn’t take it. They were both in their nineties, but Grampy had more years in him still. But without Nana it was like he didn’t wanna do it anymore. He wanted to be with her again so bad. But when I close my eyes, I can still feel them here. See them dancing, hear their laughter. I’d sit between them on the porch swing sometimes, and listen to them tell stories. It’s like, those stories are still in the walls. Just waiting for new ones to be created.”

He looked over at the woman he loved, and stood up with his hand held out. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“My favorite spot here,” he said.

—

Your kids were growing so fast. Steve was nearly 15 now and it all felt so strange and wonderful to see them grow. Becca had just turned 13, and your youngest, Winnie, turned ten not long after. It hurt in the best way possible, and there was nothing that could have prepared you for that feeling.

You and Bucky sat on the porch swing, looking out at your Cherry Blossom. It was so big now. It would keep growing of course, but compared to the little thing it was when you first got it, you could hardly believe what it had become. Where had the time gone?

You curled into Bucky and sat quietly. Music played over your speakers, softly in the background, and he hummed along.

“Hey, Buck. I got a stupid idea. You on board?” You looked up at him, mischief on your mind.

“Always, Chess.”

“Okay, stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You went through the front door, giggling. Steve was sitting on the couch as you passed through the living room, and for some reason, it made you feel like you’d been caught.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

You slowed your pace and said, “Nothing. Mind your business, nosey butt.”

You made it into the kitchen, and began giggling again. You went to where your purse sat on the counter, and rummaged around till you found your pocket knife.

Walking back outside, trying to appear very normal as you passed a very suspicious Steve in the living room, you sat back down on the swing. You flicked open the knife and looked at Bucky with the smile that always meant trouble, “Ready?”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him, and he laughed at you, “What the hell do you plan on doing with that?”

You closed the knife for the time being, grabbed his hand, and said, “Just follow me, Buck.”

He shook his head as you dragged him up and over to the Cherry Blossom tree, where you opened your knife again.

He leaned against the side of the tree watching you as you began to carve a heart into the bark, “Are you seriously carving out initials into this tree like we’re a pair of pre-teens.”

You smiled at him, “Obviously.”

He shook his head, but looked at you like you were the moon, “You are so impossibly dumb.”

You laughed at that, “Yeah, I know. Married you didn’t I?”

He rolled his eyes as if annoyed, but you knew better, “Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

You had finished the heart and began carving your initials. When you finished, you handed Bucky the knife, and he carved his own. When he finished he closed the knife, and kissed you softly.

Inside, Steve, knowing something was up had called his sisters. All three kids sat watching from the front window. Once you kissed, they all pulled away rolling their eyes. Winnie said, “Do they always have to do that?”

Steve shrugged, “Better that than the opposite, I guess.”

Becca nodded, “Still gross though.”

“Oh, yeah definitely,” Steve said. “Definitely gross.”

Outside, you and your husband looked at each other. In that moment, it was all you needed.

—

“See, look,” Your grandson said standing underneath the blossom branches. “I used to come out here as a kid, and trace my fingers along their initials. Nana told me she thought it was like something out of an old movie. I just thought it was special.”

He watched as the woman he loved traced her fingers gently around the heart and over its letters, “It’s beautiful.”

The wind blew by, and the petals fell from the trees. He knew, this is what his grandpa felt when he saw his grandma in the park. He understood why he called her Chess right up to the day she died. Cause right here, right now, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen looked up at the petals as they fell. She looked ethereal. Blissful. Soft and dreamy. Just like Duchess.

She was too busy looking at the petals to notice him drop to one knee. When the wind finally stopped and she went to look at the love of her life, she froze. There he was, so handsome, down on one knee. Her hand came over her mouth as he said, “I love you so much. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, and if you let me, I’ll love you till the day I die... Uncle Steve agreed to sell me this house. We could live here, if you want. Get married, just like my grandparents. There would be so much love here. I want to share it with you, if you’ll let me.”

She fell to her knees, kissed him fiercely, and without an ounce of hesitation said, “Yes.”

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